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[write-it-good-imagines]

is the pretty boy with tattoos finished?

Hi nonnie!! Technically, the first part of it is finished as of chapter 11. I plan to end this series soon, and I have some work in my drafts for it, but I am struggling over some plot lines I don't want to turn into holes and I need to decide what to do about those.

Pretty tough because my characters have a mind and a soul of their own but oh well. Samara's story isn't finished yet and we still need to see how all her relationships evolve to the end.

I'll probably drop an announcement before we continue with it!! Thank you for sticking around, means the world to me <3

[write-it-good-imagines]

Big Boy Ain't A Man Yet

cw: >> ±17k words, gachiakuta x jjk crossover, enjin x reader, satoru x reader, reader is a cleaner and a giver, light yandere satoru if you squint, satoru calls reader angel, enjin calls reader doll, reader has a bit of an unleashed mouth but it's valid crashout, nanami cameo, sukuna cameo, akuta team + 1st years cameo lots👏of👏yearning, angst/hurt/confort, mutual feelings & mutual pining & everyone can see it, unprocessed feelings, porn with plot, unprotected sex, light exhibitionism, 18+

inspired by the objectively best jjk scene + this song i use yt music sue me.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

You know chaos. You fight chaos every day, and you survive chaos every day. In the desert, in No Man's Land, sometimes at HQ, you're no stranger to danger. You've learned over the years you spent on the Ground to always be doubtful; of things, of intentions, of people.

Especially foreboding signs.

The task at hand couldn't be easier. You and the Akuta team are out hunting for run-down objects to help Rudo with his training. Enjin insisted he knew a place where all sorts of things fell down from the Sphere. Plenty of material to work with, he said.

Enjin didn't mention that a kid's coloring book would teleport you to whatever that place was, hot as hell and too nice to be real, where an unusual white-haired man with cerulean eyes would want you for himself.

...37 minutes before disaster...

Zanka kicked a piece of metal away. "This place is full of shit."

"Quite literally," Riyo echoed, kneeling down to rummage through a pile of broken hairstyling appliances. "I wonder if any of these can be salvaged at all."

You followed after Enjin past the doorframe of a collapsed mansion, where the damaged roof made way for the objects to fall from the sky and into what was left of the construction. You adjusted the mask on your face, still cautious not to touch anything that might still have life in it.

Broken toys, torn clothes, books with missing pages, and all sorts of equipment with missing pieces, scattered all over the place. Rudo couldn't care less about safety; all he knew was that he was brought to paradise.

"Usually not," Enjin folded his arms over his chest, keeping a close eye on the youngest Akuta member. He leaned against the crumbled balustrade in what you deduced once was the main hall.

"Whatever drops in this ditch is far beyond repair. Figured we could pick up something from here. No one's gonna miss any of this anyway."

Your eyes drifted around the hall. A tall, mahogany clock on the anterior wall still ticked under the shattered glass. Old enough to witness the passing ages, yet present enough to keep time in place.

You approached it out of curiosity, your gloved index drawing a mindless pattern in the desert sand that pooled at its base.

Enjin followed your movements with his shielded honey eyes. The kids were loitering around, too far away for them to care about you two.

"I know a guy who repairs antiques," Enjin remarked, studying the steady line of your back. "We can fit it in the truck."

"Think this guy still has some life in it," you replied, fingers digging slightly under the surface of the sand dune. Your glove brushed against an unidentified object. "But it'll probably cost a fortune to restore it. I ain't got that money."

Sometimes, Enjin was too fed up with your perfectly crafted excuses, you always used to avoid asking for his help.

Complicated was what it was.

"Maybe he owes me a favor," Enjin shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world to claim. Not that his shoulders would press on too harshly if he didn't try his luck. "See what I can do about it."

"Aren't you a gentleman?"

Enjin's shoulders would press on too harshly anyway; what with your chuckle and your teasing words that you didn't really mean.

You straightened your back, holding something in your hand, sand grains dipping away. You cleaned the rest with the back of your glove, inspecting it on both sides. You didn't realize when Enjin approached you to hover over you, so casual in your proximity.

"A kid's coloring book," Enjin stated, eyes flickering as your fingers hovered over the notebook. "Dear would like that."

"We're not taking this back," You said, and yet you felt inexplicably drawn to it. To open it, skim through the pages. Which tickled your senses in all the worst ways. "I have a very bad feeling about this."

Enjin smirked under the mask. "Just because it's titled The Curse Of The Strongest, doesn't mean it's ominous."

"Specifically because it's titled The Curse Of The Strongest," you scoffed at Enjin's amused tone and threw the coloring book right back where you found it. "You value my judgment because I'm the skeptical one in this team. I'm being skeptical now, and I'm telling you to leave it where we found it."

Enjin knelt to grab the coloring book when you turned to walk away. "I do value your judgment," He took one long stride to block your path and showed you the notebook. He felt you roll your eyes under your mask.

"But sometimes you just have to let loose, y'know? Learn a thing or two from me."

You crossed your arms, watching him blast the notebook open with a carefree attitude that only Enjin could influence you with.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Permanent fight or flight mode will put wrinkles on your face—"

A vortex whirled from between the pages and sucked you both in, leaving no trace behind. The notebook fell with a soft thud to the ground, closing and resting at the base of the broken clock.

"Oi, Enjin!" Rudo yelled from a distance. "How many things can we take back?"

Silence.

"Enjin?"

You blinked. Once, twice, as many times as it took for you to try and wash away the blinding light that flooded your eyes. When you finally accommodated to the light, you realized you were caged by soaring, intricate structures with tall windows and immaculate paint. Thriving vegetation, functioning cars, and people dressed in beautiful clothes that you've only ever seen August make surrounded you from everywhere.

It was hot as hell.

Then realization hit you. You weren't on the Ground anymore.

"Oh well, that did it."

You could kill Enjin.

"Don't," you sneered. "Don't speak to me right now."

"Doesn't look cursed to me—"

You abruptly turned to Enjin and felt the anger boil in your veins, simmering even, at the ease with which he took off his mask and let it hang on his sash. You wanted to bark at him, raise your voice out of the sheer frustration of having said I told you so which Enjin never seemed to listen to.

At least the air was not poisonous.

"Have you lost your mind?" You settled, trying to keep yourself composed. The last thing you needed was to attract even more attention to yourselves, as if you weren't dressed like two fucking clowns in the middle of a fashion parade.

"No, you haven't lost it," you continued, tossing your own mask to your belt. "Because there was nothing there to begin with."

You discarded the overcoat of your uniform and the sleeved commando blouse, leaving only the white tank top on. The dog tags jingled around your neck and over your breasts, held together by the black sports bra underneath.

"Fine, look, you were right," Enjin tried to reason with you, trailing after you like a lost puppy to wherever you were headed to. He opened Umbreaker to cast the protecting shade of its canopy over you both. "But hey, not dangerous. Nothing's out for our neck here. You can relax."

Perhaps Enjin would have allowed himself to be intimidated by your piercing glare were it not for that bead of sweat resting between your tits. He knew he was being horrible right at that very moment.

"Tell me to relax one more time, and I swear to everyone who'll listen, I will cut your tongue out of that fucking mouth."

"Always knew you were a kinky one, doll."

Enjin took a step back before you armed your vital instrument. He gave you some limited space before he reclaimed his stance by your side, umbrella floating over your silhouettes.

"We need to find more information about this place—wherever the hell we are—and get back home as soon as possible," you sighed, fanning yourself with one hand. "Fuck, we left the kids all alone in the middle of nowhere."

The teasing smile died down on Enjin's lips. No matter how much of a jester he wanted to play, he knew the situation was less than ideal. He was worried for the safety of his team, for your safety in the middle of uncharted territory, where people looked at them sideways, and the air didn't pierce the lungs with venom.

"Let's assess what we know," Enjin spoke and rummaged through one pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He lit one up and savored the nicotine. "We can assume we got eaten up by that coloring book. The section I opened it at was fully drawn, no white space left."

You took the cigarette from his mouth and put it in between your lips, letting it rest there, not puffing on it, just to tolerate the awful spice of the drug, mixed with Enjin's distinctive aroma. The Akuta leader felt something knot in his chest every time you did that; you took his breath away.

Little did he know his aroma was the last thing keeping you from crashing out. You raked a hand through your locks, tugging lightly at the roots.

"We have no idea what this means," you mumbled, and Enjin watched the cigarette bounce with every oscillation of your lips. You were too focused on your surroundings to care that you were tearing him apart at the seams. "Either this part of the story is finished, and we're just added to it, or we are just bystanders that are supposed to witness whatever's happening out here."

"Don't think we're bystanders. These people, if we can assume they are people, are reacting to us being here."

"Either way, we have to find some clues. Maybe there's a shaky section somewhere where the sketch wasn't finished that we could use as getaway—"

"Could you not touch him so casually, YOU HOMEWRECKERS?"

Huh?

"Megumi-chan has violin practice with me now. Let's go home, Megumi-chan. Today I'll have you master Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

"What the fuck is a twinkle shminkle pickle star?"

...present time...

You honestly don't know either. You're too flabbergasted by what is going on a mere 25 meters away to break down Enjin's dumbfounded question.

You have an analytical mind; you never ever take anything at face value; you split every fact and every claim apart, turn it 360, make a papyrus of a list of pros and cons until you even consider what your next move should be.

You're calm, you're never flustered whenever something happens that you possibly couldn't anticipate. You're open-minded, too; the Ground taught you to always expect the unexpected.

But ever so rarely, like a once-in-a-lifetime situation, certain unexpected's were above even your pay grade. The cigarette fell from between your lips straight to the concrete.

"Explain!"

Hell, raven-haired boy, someone should explain to you, too, why a white-haired man dressed like a gigolo would make a scene in the middle of a fucking street to leave his precious Megumi alone.

A white-haired man whose aura was unlike any you have ever met.

"Let's just go," Enjin kissed his teeth, fingers curling tighter around Umbreaker. "I don't like this."

You knew the other man's orbs were fixated on you, even behind the tint of his sunglasses.

"We can't," you reply, straightening your back. Bracing yourself for something, anything to happen. "He's staring at me."

Too late.

The unknown man is approaching you with the pace of a man who knew he had the whole world at his feet. Visceral, composed, with something thrilling and terrifying all the same.

You've never been intimidated by anyone in your life. And you're not intimidated now, but you're certainly intrigued.

"I know I would've remembered meeting you before, angel," He quips with a grin that is spreading gradually on his faultless visage. He reaches out to take your hand in his. "So do me the honor of telling me who you are—"

Enjin slaps his hand away. Not quite, though; the blonde was under the impression that he did, but realized that his tattooed hand never really came in contact with the other's. The Akuta leader takes half a step forward, just enough to protect you with his body.

The white-haired man cocks an eyebrow beneath his sunglasses, his grin shifting into a mocking smirk. He digs one hand leisurely in the pocket of his trousers.

"Classic. I would deflect that to keep a beautiful woman for myself. Greed is a pathetic sin to have, you know?"

The corner of Enjin's mouth veers into a sneer. Maybe not as evident to the assisting audience, but the white-haired man wanted to provoke him, and you knew he succeeded. You couldn't understand why Enjin allowed himself to be provoked by a fictional stranger.

"Makes two of us. I don't see any beautiful woman dying to be kept for yourself. Envy is a pathetic sin to have, you know?"

A gust trembled through the alley. Your ears perk up to a faceless noise. Danger tingles faster than the bizarre sentiment coiling in your stomach at Enjin's snarky and highly possessive comment. The Akuta leader must have felt it, too.

"Captain."

A downpour of metal scraps suddenly clouds the immediate atmosphere over the three teenagers.

"Yeah."

The pink-haired boy watches as a peculiar creature soars from the sky, in a straight trajectory to the white-haired man.

"Sensei!"

You and Enjin move on autopilot.

Enjin flicks Umbreaker closed and dashes forward with innate ease. His boots thump against the ground to position himself at the center of the group of teenagers, and he snaps the umbrella open. The canopy spreads wide, and the metal bangs heavily against the surface.

Enjin's eyes shimmer golden.

"Oh?"

You catch the creature's claw inches away from the white-haired man's head. You spare him a glance to confirm to yourself that he never even flinched, his posture impossibly relaxed, while you crush the claw and kick the creature away. It lands in a nearby building and digs a crater in the concrete.

Color him impressed.

"You anticipated we would save them," you say, your tone coming out more accusatory than you intended.

He simply chuckles and deliberately allows the sunglasses to slide down the bridge of his nose. A quiet gasp bubbles out of your lips; the azure of his eyes feels like infinity wrapped in absolution. Unsettling at a careful distance, that nothing crossed without permission.

He pushes the sunglasses back on top of his nose. You realize then that he wasn't judging you. He was measuring you.

"I had a feeling. I'm never wrong about feelings."

You feel the vibration of the earth when the creature lunges back at you. You don't get enough time to react; the white-haired man kills it before you get the chance to blink. He breaks it apart into a million pieces, too tiny and too shallow for the untrained human eye to know that such an entity had ever existed. That's how you know you underestimated him.

This place is dangerous.

"Sensei! That was so cool!"

The pink-haired teenager beams up at his teacher. The raven-haired boy is certainly scrutinizing both you and Enjin, while the girl is trying her hardest not to ogle at your leader's tattoos but fails miserably.

"So, where were we? I believe introductions are in order."

Enjin lights up his third cigarette in a row. Curses, which were the more evil counterpart of trash beasts, cursed energy, which was the equivalent of a giver's energy manipulation abilities, and sorcerers, which were yet to be defined as friend or foe.

You and Enjin have a lot of cursed energy, as per Gojo Satoru. Also dubbed as the strongest. Which was rather hypocritical of anyone to call themselves that, but you've witnessed enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The grey smoke dances and evaporates in the air. In any other situation, Enjin would have been mindful of smoking inside a school. But he absolutely despised the way that blindfolded bastard kept on staring at you, and the piece of material did nothing to hide his intentions.

Not that he cared to, anyway. He never stopped staring, not one moment, after you and Enjin met him in that alleyway.

Yuji—the pink-haired boy—is examining Enjin's vital instrument with great interest. He wants to touch it, but Enjin pulls it out of Yuji's grasp. "It was spiky before."

"It was."

"So you infuse it with cursed energy like Kugisaki does with her nails and hammer?"

"I just use it."

Yuji tilts his head. "How do you make it spiky?"

Megumi—the raven-haired boy—tuts at his classmate's questions.

"Itadori, just shut up."

"Let him talk," Nobara chirps, completely in a trance by Enjin's tattoos. "Enjin's voice is very sexy."

Gojo claps his hands, a lazy smile curving at his lips, and his students fall quiet. He's manspread in a chair that's clearly too small for him, but his full attention is given to you. Gojo is not ignoring Enjin's presence, not entirely; he's just keeping the blonde at arm's length.

Which pisses Enjin the fuck off.

"Your turn now, angel. This for that. What brings you to our humble abode?"

"My name is not angel," you state, your head held high and Gojo knows you're holding his gaze through the material purposely. "I'd like you to stop calling me that."

Who is Gojo Satoru if he doesn't love a good challenge?

"Doesn't change the fact that you are divine. Even though your eyes can and will cut deeper than any blade."

Enjin's lungs deflate through a shallow snicker, and it's far from being an entertained one. Enjin doesn't lose his cool; you've never seen him lose it, not once, not never. Yet there's an underlying acrimony in the sound he lets out, and it keeps on growing larger and larger every time Gojo makes a comment, any comment, about you.

That's not the Enjin who picked you off the streets all those years ago. The Enjin you know is carefree, he's loud, and he's obnoxious, and he's confident in himself like no other. The Enjin you know has always had your back, but mocked you; has always protected you, but poked fun at you.

The Enjin you know has always acted and never reacted to any man's provocations. Yet somehow, he reacts, time and again, to Gojo's provocations about you.

"I wasn't wrong, was I?"

"Fuck around and find out."

"Territorial, are we?"

You turn to Enjin, and you grant yourself the luxury to temper the sharp edge in your eye. You catch the exact sliver of a moment when his irises soften, just for you, always for you, before they go back to the frosty shade of gold he uses against his enemies. And you tell yourself it's the adrenaline, the uncertainty that makes him hyperprotective of his subordinate, and nothing else entirely.

Truth be told, you don't know if Gojo Satoru is friend or foe.

"Gojo—"

"Satoru," he corrects through a flick of his wrist.

"Gojo," you resume, and seat yourself across him. No matter how close or how far, the intensity of his persona is too permanent to ignore. You'd rather close the distance than deepen the canyon. "Thank you for bringing us up to speed with the current situation."

Each smile Gojo sends your way feels like a punch to Enjin's gut.

"Anything for you, angel."

Gojo would have never engaged in that conversation with Enjin if it weren't for you. He made that obvious enough.

How much of your current situation could you reveal? You find yourself in an impossible predicament; you know nothing about this universe. You don't know how much power this universe has over your lives. You don't know how much time passes on the Ground while you are there.

Gojo Satoru feels so much like a human being that you don't even believe you're in a simple children's coloring book anymore. You're no scientist, but you don't need to be to understand that he'll see through any deliberate lie you say.

"We don't know how we got here."

So, you alter the truth.

"We were browsing through a yard sale at an old home for some instruments. You see, I like antiques, and we're actually mentors to our own students, just like you are for Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara. While they were looking around, I found this book and opened it randomly somewhere in the middle. We got sucked in and woke up 4 blocks away from where we met you."

Gojo grabs his chin between thumb and index. He is listening intently to your story, and you keep your pulse under control with practiced mastery. Enjin lights up another cigarette.

"Do you want to go back?"

"Goes without saying."

Gojo nods. Then nods again.

"Okay."

Your lips part slightly. "Okay?"

"Okay."

He straightens his limbs out of the chair and stretches his body with effortless motions. Your gaze lingers subtly on the veiny forearms left bare by the rolled sleeves of his shirt, and you can't help but notice he unbuttoned the shirt halfway through.

You're no stranger to sexuality by all means. What you are, though, is a woman, so you see what Gojo is doing. He owns all the required cards to play, knows how to play them to appear eye-candy, and worst of all, he has the right to do so because he's pretty and he knows. And you see it coming from miles away.

Enjin sees that you see, and it's driving him up the wall.

"It's most likely a curse that sent you all the way here. Nothing I cannot break."

You dare to push through.

"Will you help us break it, Gojo?"

"I wouldn't be the strongest if I didn't! And I thought we established you and I are on first name basis now!"

You sense there is a but incoming. Enjin steals the words right out of your mouth.

"What do you want in exchange?"

To which Gojo approaches you with measured satisfaction. He shoves both hands in his pockets, but he flexes his arms and angles his head just enough to give you a glimpse of his defined chest hidden under the material. Playful, calculated motions under the impassive facade of Gojo Satoru.

You're used to the height difference because Enjin's just the same. Gojo looks at you through the tint, and it forces you to make a conscious effort to remain seated, to bear that height difference that's not as familiar, nor as warm as Enjin's. You have to bear it because you need to go back home, and Gojo Satoru would never disclose any helpful information to your captain.

"Call me Satoru, angel. We're friends now!"

Gojo rummages through the pockets of his tux jacket to reveal a key chain that he dangles in Enjin's face.

"I know you'd love to take a bath, angel, wind down, drink some good wine. I got a penthouse on top of Tokyo—quite literally—got the views, got that jacuzzi on the rooftop. All the best for my guests."

"Thanks. We don't need your pity. We're good enough on our own."

Enjin stomps the butt of his cigarette with the heel of his foot. Gojo catches that and shrugs. The tone in the classroom is changing; the air grows heavy between Enjin's visceral stare and Gojo's mischievous smile.

The teenagers feel it, too. Megumi has changed his stance from cautious to guarded. Yuji is clearly awkward by the unfiltered look on his face. And Nobara has stopped openly gawking over Enjin's bare arms.

"Enjin," you speak, and you push yourself off the chair. "Could you give me a moment to discuss with Gojo?"

Enjin can't believe his ears. Gojo's smile widens shamelessly. They both know what you're asking.

Enjin cannot leave you alone with that man.

"Whatever you want to say to him, you can say it now."

"Clearly, she cannot. Do yourself a favor and take the hint, blondie."

You don't see him, but you swear Enjin's eye twitches. You swear the prominent vein in his inked neck is popping, and you swear all he wants to do is to strangle Gojo by the neck for taunting him. You feel it burn in the back of your head as he watches Gojo's hand lifting to your face.

You swear he sighs relief when you whack it away. You cannot turn to him to confirm because you know you don't have it in you to see him like that. Why don't you?

You're a coward.

"Enjin," you insist despite your fingers running cold, despite the scorching heat of Gojo's elegant digits you have just dismissed. Although you doubt you ever felt it, really. For a fraction of a second, his skin blazed into yours, and then it was no longer there. "Please."

You articulate that word like you've never asked anything so audacious of Enjin before. Maybe you didn't. You pride yourself on knowing your captain like the back of your hand. You don't say please to one another; that's how it works. You just do, or you do not. Silently, without boasting, without demanding, you both do. You don't remember whether you've ever said that word to Enjin at all.

You never asked him to help you. You restored that antique music box you still have on your nightstand on your own, even though Enjin told you he'd help. You still have a scar on the inner side of your wrist from the chisel that skidded from the wooden ballerina and cut your flesh. You vividly remember the hurt in his drunken irises when Eishia said the wound was too sharp to be healed completely. You vividly remember walking away when he tried to touch it because he smelled of another woman whose name you bet he couldn't even remember.

You say it now. To ask him to leave you alone with a troubling stranger with bottomless ocean eyes whose interest you piqued.

You hear the unmistakable sound of his boots hitting the flooring. Heavy steps, doubtful steps, steps that carry him away from the classroom at the command of a word.

"Let's see if the umbrella turns spiky, kids."

The door creaks in their wake. Gojo chuckles, and there's something that tells you his shoulders relaxed in whatever triumph your request gave him.

"Aren't you cozy with one another."

"Enjin is my superior."

"Ah, a forbidden office romance! I love that trope so much." He points his finger in the air like he'd just discovered the Americas. "I know! We can have a marathon of cheesy movies, and I'm sure you'll jump ship to the genre."

"I hate cheesy movies," you said, keeping your timbre flat and even. "Don't mistake me for someone I am not."

Gojo cranes his head to the side, and the lopsided grin on his lips betrays much more than casual flirtation.

"You're not sincere, either."

You hate patronizing people. You hate entitled guys who think that the world revolves around them. You hate condescending men who think that humanity comes crawling if they snap their fingers. And your better instincts are howling at you because Gojo Satoru was the epitome of said pattern.

"All women have their secrets, do they not?"

Gojo Satoru lives and breathes entitlement, and you feel it in his stifling stare that he urges you to confront when he lowers his sunglasses again. You don't gasp this time around when you meet his eyes, and he's interested to know why you're not unraveled. By his looks, by the abyss of his eyes. By the endearment he's trying to push your limits with.

Do you break? If so, when? What's the button he can push? How much can you really endure?

"Come on, angel. I'm asking for a bit of honesty here. We both know you're not honest with me."

Oh, but you can endure. He notes it in the way you carry yourself. He's dressed in a fancy suit, and you're wearing a tank top and commando pants tugged in knee-high boots, but you don't care that your arms and shoulders are naked, or that your breasts are close to spilling out. No, but you're not doing that on purpose, and that's not vulgar, which means it's dangerous.

Your hair's a mess from the summer heat, from the remnants of the curse you all but crushed with your energy that was anything but cursed. There's a scar at the base of your neck where the four dog tags are wrapped around. There's a scar on the wrist that Satoru has tried to kiss two times now. There's a pouch at your waist that radiates kindness, and Satoru doesn't know what to do with that.

You're fixating him with your orbs from under your lashes like you're debating whether he is worth your time. And a hunch trashes through Gojo Satoru that he wants to earn your time.

"Because you're such an open book?"

"Should I be?"

"Do you want to be, Satoru?"

You enunciate each syllable of his name slowly, and he can't help the smirk you're painting on his lips with each roll of your tongue. Satoru's eyes are starting to hurt, but the summer twilight flutters through the open window in the classroom and cascades over your hair and catches your eyes. All he wants to do at this very moment is to ruin you.

"You still haven't told me what you want from me. How about we start there?"

Satoru nudges the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. His smirk borders on sadism, and you're not sure what sentiment whirls through your veins at the palpable danger. Enjin is not there to breathe safety into you.

"I'll give you a better one. You cannot help me with what I want now. Take the keys, freshen up, order some takeout. I'll have some clothes sent for you to the penthouse. While you do that, I'll think about how you can pay me back."

"Enjin is not going to agree with this."

He laughs, and your smile at his reaction is delayed. "That's exactly why you wanted me alone. You don't have any better option, and you know you don't. It matters very little what your captain thinks or even feels because you're rational enough to take this, even though you don't like it too much yourself."

Your eyes flicker almost imperceptibly to the side before returning to Satoru's face. You know your expression is unnaturally still, and Satoru really admires your self-control in suppressing your real emotions. He wonders for a fraction of a second if your blonde counterpart knows it, too.

Satoru notices the exact spot between the crease of your eyebrows where you're debating whether to step on your boundaries. He knows you won't, but something in him desires that you will.

Earlier, when he first saw you, Gojo pondered over how easy you would be. Another effortless case of charming his way into your mind, giving you nothing, not even the bare minimum of attention, but knowing you'd submit to him all the same. You didn't. That was when he knew he had underestimated you.

And now, Satoru finds himself wondering how your mind would feel in the shadows of a darker sundown. You outplayed him when he turned off his infinity for you, and you didn't even realize it.

"I always repay my debts," you finally declare, and Satoru's mouth parts open slightly when he sees your candid smile. "Name your price, Satoru. I'll meet it."

You step out of the bathroom, droplets of water dripping from the ends of your hair onto the obscene marble of the penthouse. The floor is cold under the soles of your bare feet, while the cool of the AC wakens goosebumps on your naked skin. You don't bother to dry up, and you don't bother to wrap a towel around your body.

Enjin is not there.

But you know he was because he tossed his old red shirt on the satin couch in Gojo's luxurious living room. The black matte box tied with a ribbon the color of Gojo's eyes seems to belittle the battered fabric of Enjin's clothes. A note is tucked neatly under the ribbon, and your intuition tells you the handwriting doesn't belong to that poor Ichiji man.

You bite into the plush of your cheek. You toss the note, and it lands somewhere in the living room. Your fingers hesitate over the ribbon until you finally decide to open the box.

The only clothes Gojo got you were cute and floral summer dresses and lacy lingerie sets.

You grab a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from the plastic bag Ichiji dropped, along with the elegant present meant for you. There's a pair of flip-flops in the plastic bag, and you poke through the mess to take them out. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the broad mirror glued above the couch, and you laugh.

You couldn't look more homeless in Enjin's clothes if you tried.

You grab your crocheted pouch you left on the coffee table. Enjin didn't touch the takeout bags, or the sodas, or the bottled water left on the kitchen island. The pouch emits a faint light in your hand, and the yarn warms up your palm.

You're upset because you're angry that Enjin's angry, even though he'd sooner die than admit that. You're upset because worried that he hasn't eaten for a full day and because he keeps himself dehydrated by virtue of his fat ass ego. You're upset because you care, again, beyond the duty of a vice-captain to their captain.

And most of all, you're upset because you've been crossing a line lately that you know Enjin will not cross for you.

You find him some minutes later in what appears to be the building's gym area. The lights are dim, and the air is musty with sweat amplified by the damp of a midsummer's night. The silence fractures now and then with Enjin's jabs in the punching bag. No one else is around to dishearten him.

You observe him for a while. You rarely get the privilege to watch him train. Back at HQ, you're the one in charge of the kids' sparring sessions; Enjin is always lounging around, cigarette in hand and smirk on his lips like he's feasting his eyes on you sweating and putting the teenagers in their place when they hope to outsmart you.

Enjin looks different now. His deltoids contract with every hit he lands on the punching bag. His trapezius glows under the rush of perspiration on the fine lines of his tattoos. He stops and hugs the bag for a brief moment to steady his breath, and you glance at the way his chest rises and falls with every sharp inhale.

You're toying with the dog tags at your neck. "Fancy seeing you here."

Enjin spares you a glance, and there's an element of surprise in those golden eyes covered by his soaked fringe. It disappears then, when he realizes you were always going to find him; Enjin is still wearing the uniform trousers where you've sewn a daisy on the hem of his butt pocket.

For good measure, he'd said during one of your missions where you'd descended on the yarn of your armed crochet hooks and soared down the edge of a cliff to save his ass, in case life splits us apart and you're missing me.

"Is that Gojo's face you're trying to punch?" You tease and approach him.

Enjin chuckles dryly but says nothing. Another punch vibrates through the air.

"You should eat," You try when you reach him. You know better than to approach him when he has that animalistic look in his eye, but you try. "We need to preserve our strength."

A low growl rumbles in his chest, and his jaw tightens at the memory of that white-haired piece of shit. "What did he want?"

"He didn't say—"

"To get in your pants is what he wants," Enjin kicks the bag so hard that he sends it flying.

You watch him stop it with his forearm. His action sends a shiver down your spine and an unrequited fever in your chest.

"Don't you think I know?"

"You're letting him."

You scoff. You cannot believe your ears, and you cannot believe Enjin is going back to punching the fucking bag, without bothering to look you in the eye when he says it.

"That's pretentious coming from you."

That's when he stops whatever he was pretending to do, but doesn't look at you, still. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then fucking look me in the eye when you're saying shit like that to me."

You're mad, and Enjin knows. You swear only when you're mad. Enjin finally allows himself to look at you, to finally take a good look at you. He immediately regrets; your shoulders are tense under that T-shirt that could have fit him but is too large for your frame. Your body is rigid, but your lower lip is trembling, and Enjin knows you're struggling to contain whatever words you are going to say, even if he knows he ultimately deserves everything you were truly going to say.

"Whose fucking fault is it that we're here?" You spit through gritted teeth. "Didn't I fucking tell you to leave that book the fuck alone, and you went and did everything you wanted anyway? And now you're calling me a whore for trying to get us out of here?"

Enjin watches you push your finger into his pectoral, and it burns when you do because he knows he has no right to call you out like that. He's frozen in place, but you've destabilized him under the surface.

"I don't deserve to be treated like this. Maybe you should go out and fuck around a bit." You spit acid laughter, and he instantly regrets that you do. "Get in someone's pants tonight. Hell, maybe I'll leave the penthouse to you. I'm sure the girls would love to be fucked in front of that giant mirror in th—"

Enjin grabs your wrist, and your traitorous body stills. His voice is strained and rough around the edges when he speaks.

"I didn't mean it like that."

You can't bring yourself to look up at him. You're hyperaware of the closeness, of the musky scent in his skin, of the warmth he radiates. You can't bring yourself to face him.

"Do you really think so little of me?"

Enjin forces you to face him when he tugs you closer until your clothed chest wavers over his own. His thumb lingers on the scar on your wrist, which he caresses with a tremor that sticks for a second too long. Enjin is wrestling his own desire into submission, and your raging pulse on the pad of his finger is not doing him any favors.

"You know what I think of you."

You jerk your hand away from his because that unfamiliar touch is charting into unexplored territory, and it's yanking a plug out of your soul. You clutch your injured hand; it's hard enough to meet his eyes now when your own pupils are quivering, and Enjin's have darkened in a shade of harvest bronze.

"I don't, Enjin."

You say his name, and he goes utterly still, like your murmur snapped some invisible thread in him. Enjin's breath is so loud in the silence, and it mixes with yours, but he's not close enough to justify it.

"The only reason I'm leading the Akuta team and not you is that I was there first." Enjin breathes, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He doesn't trust himself enough to be around you now. Desire shouldn't feel like gravity failing. "I trust you with my life."

You still feel the pungent rain collapsing on your skin, in that murky alleyway all those years ago, lying over the dead bodies of the people who raised you. You still feel the weight of Enjin's hands over your wounds and the brush of his fingers over the cut in your neck that you wrapped yarn around, clinging to survival.

You were the one to trust him with your life first, all those years ago, when he stood by your infirmary bed to nurse you back to health. You were the first member of Team Akuta, the first person Enjin himself chose to share his duties with. But you were younger, and so was he, and in a frenzy of grief and regret, at a moment when you crashed under the numbness of being a walking corpse, you threw your body to him to do as he would with it.

Every time Enjin returned to HQ, reeking of another woman's perfume and painted in territorial lipstick, you questioned why he never chose you.

"Then why don't you trust me now?"

"I do. I don't trust others with you."

You laugh, and it echoes in the gym.

"You don't get to say that to me."

Enjin flinches at how bleak your voice is. He wants to reach for you, yet you back away and hug yourself. Your knuckles turn pale under the pressure, and your flesh stings, but you prefer the pain to the hypocrisy Enjin is spewing at you. You choke on your own breath.

"You don't fucking get to say that to me." You hiss when all you want to do is scream. You don't see how Enjin's eyes lose their light, and you don't see the sheer fear that colors his face. He reaches out again, and his digits are shaking, but you choose to distance yourself.

You tried, you really did, to get over the illusion of Enjin. You fought with your treacherous heart to step out of the fire, and you nearly got it; your mind nearly won. And each time you felt so close to winning, that blonde idiot would come back from his nightly ventures to ask about you, to look for you, to pretend he wanted to choose you.

Pretending that perhaps you meant something to him.

"Fuck," and your voice breaks halfway through, until all that's left is a useless whisper. "Fuck."

Enjin watches you stumble over the bottle of water you brought for him when you walk away. The gym door shuts with the softest of clicks, but Enjin hears it roar like thunder in the sky.

He doesn't know how much time passes after that.

The night is thick through the glass walls of the gym, and the stars are glimmering a light that doesn't reach him. He punches and kicks, and punches the bag, over and over again, until blood spills over his skin, and Enjin still feels too numb to the pain in his hands.

When he gets to the front door of the penthouse after there's no more fuel left in the tank, he's surprised you left it open. The quiet inside is deafening.

Enjin closes the door behind him, and the exhale he lets out is an earthquake. The blood on his knuckles has clotted, but all the pain in the world wouldn't erase this image from his mind. Enjin discovers the discarded note, sealed still, on the marble floor, and the open present box. He sees the dresses and the lingerie, and your deliberate choice not to wear any of it.

Enjin knows but doesn't acknowledge; it isn't love that destroys him. It's the silence that comes after.

He never stopped thinking about you.

Enjin assumed you had stopped thinking about him, that it was nigh impossible for you to think about him in that manner anymore. You both were young, and you both were grieving the loss in your lives when he turned you away, in a judgment he still thinks is right.

You both are older now.

You carry yourself with dignity. You're not a ghost of your former self anymore. You laugh now, a lot, really. You laugh at his jokes sometimes, too, which makes Enjin stop, really look at you, and his smile just...softens. Like something inside him gives up fighting.

You both are older now.

You lecture him. You teach the kids. You're Corvus's favorite even though Corvus will never admit you are. And for good reason. You're better than Enjin in any way possible. You stay true to your heart. You don't lie because you say it hurts. You don't deceive because you believe in reality. Enjin watches you be gentle with others and thinks you'd ruin him if you were gentle with him like that.

You both are older now.

And clearly that's not enough.

Enjin collapses on the couch, twisting the sealed envelope in his hand.

Hello angel, I trust everything is to your liking! I know I have a keen eye, so forgive me for going ahead and ordering some designer clothes for you :) If there's anything else you want, please tell me. I'm here to spoil you.

P.S: I hope you won't get frisky with blondie. Or do, but keep the blue lace out of his hands. We can have a great time with it together :P Yours truly, Satoru

Enjin takes out the lighter from his pocket and sets the letter on fire.

"Faster, Yuji."

"I don't get it," the pink-haired boy pants, chunky blobs of perspiration trailing down the side of his head. "I'm going as fast as I can. And you haven't broken a sweat!"

Clearly, Megumi echoes Yuji's sentiment because at the other end of the dojo, Enjin is casually swinging Umbreaker on his wrist without a care in the world.

You twist your locks into a bun that you tie on top of your head with your crochet hooks. Gojo had yet to arrive; he called you early in the morning to ask you to train Yuji and Megumi because he had some boring meeting with higher-ups that he'd much rather have spent time with you.

Gojo frowned like a toddler when he heard that Enjin burned his letter, and you didn't read it. To which he promised he would tell you, word by word, what he wrote in there when he got back from his meeting. It got you curious.

"You're too slow on your feet," you say to Yuji, approaching him to correct his stance. "You need to press on your arch and shift your center of gravity—"

"Brat, change with me."

You are taken aback by the mouth growing on Yuji's cheek. He slaps his hand over it, and it just morphs inches above again.

"You're embarrassing me."

Enjin stares at Yuji's face as an eye socket pops next to the mouth. "What the fuck is that?"

"Does it bite?" But you don't wait for the answer when you try to poke Yuji's face where the mouth formed. Much to your surprise, it shifts away.

"Insolent peasants," the mouth speaks again from Yuji's forehead. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Clearly some farce," Enjin chuckles, but Megumi doesn't.

"Don't taunt him. That's a very dangerous curse—"

"Enhchain."

You don't blink when you arm the hooks. And thank fuck you don't, because if you lost any fraction of that second, you would have fallen dead on the wall Yuji punched you into. Which was in another building on campus altogether.

Rubble falls around you, and you feel wobbly on your feet. Your hooks are crossed at your chest, thick dark steel reflecting sunlight in the dirt. You cough, and you expect blood to come up, but it doesn't. You spit at your feet, and it raises dust in the air. You straighten your body, sliding your now-sabers to your sides.

Yuji flexes his hand, crimson eyes angled in your direction. "That's one tough woman. I haven't known one in centuries." He cracks his neck and laughs. "Entertain me more, woman."

Yuji launches himself at you and swings his fist through the air. The punch crashes with the ferrule of Enjin's unleashed Umbreaker, and the blonde man glares at him from behind the canopy.

"Move, peasant," Yuji orders, unimpressed. "I'm not interested in you—"

"You're not laying another finger on her," Enjin growls and starts pushing Yuji backward. "That's enough show of power."

"You think the brat was capable of this?" He barks through a vicious grin and charges another punch just to prove a point. "Know your place, fool."

"Enjin!"

You both jump away when you feel the imminent pressure building. The entire building virtually disintegrates.

"Come on, humans," He sighs, drawing one hand through his hair. "I didn't come out to be bored. Show me how pathetic you really are."

"Aren't you cocky?"

You soar into the air and propel the swords at Yuji's feet. You maneuver two smaller hooks between your fingers to bind green yarn like a cocoon around Yuji's body, with the swords serving as props. The yarn ferments with sap, and Yuji arches an eyebrow at the tingling sensation he's feeling in his body.

"Interesting," He says, like he's carefully studying your technique. "This is an interesting poison. It's not lethal, but it's anesthetic. And most importantly, you're not using jujutsu. Which means..."

The yarn starts smoldering until the smaller hooks you're holding char in your palms. Your inertia in the air is completely gone; you cannot use your hooks to adjust your trajectory, and you're entering a free fall. Yuji frees himself and watches your body descend, with a sinister smirk. He's aiming two fingers at you.

"Your flesh must be so tender, woman."

You brace for an impact that never comes.

Another explosion erupts in the cloudy sky, and its aftermath flares like fireworks through the smog. You open your eyes, and you're unharmed. Gojo is holding you in his arms with relaxed ease. He looks down at you through the blindfold.

"I missed all the fun! Can you stand angel?"

"This is nothing," You reply, and Satoru puts you down with a care that makes your eyes linger on his visage. "Yuji's gone crazy."

He chuckles and gestures vaguely through the air. "That's not Yuji. It's Sukuna. A bit of a long story, angel, and I don't want to bore you to death with it, but he's inhabiting Yuji for a little while."

"Inhabiting? Like, possessing him?"

"Gojo Satoru," Sukuna speaks, head tilted at the white-haired sorcerer. "Is that your woman?"

"I'm no one's woman," You reply instead, and Satoru arches an amused eyebrow at your words. But he likes it that you're feisty. By the looks of it, you didn't get frisky either with blondie. So, excluding the unfortunate coincidence that you provoked Sukuna and his boring morning meeting that had his coffee run cold, his morning turned out to be a very good one overall.

Sukuna simply sighs. "Women are so impertinent in this era. You need to be taught a lesson."

With that, he disappears. The tattoos wash away from Yuji's face, and it looks like the teenager is back to normal when he blinks and finds himself out in open terrain. That and, well, the destroyed building.

"Are you hurt?"

Enjin's large hands on your shoulders shake you out of the adrenaline trance. You nod slowly; when you spot the carnal concern in his daffodil eyes, you endure a cold shiver down your spine. It has been a while since you've faced a life-or-death situation. Your knees almost buckle.

"I'm fine," you murmur, and you recall your weapons to arrange them back into your pouch. The steel is yet to cool down properly.

"No thanks to you," Gojo tuts and cranes his head to the side. "If that fireball had hit her, she would have been incinerated. Weren't you supposed to protect her?"

You expect Enjin to bark back at Satoru. You expect your captain to quip something, anything, to reassure you that what happened wasn't scary at all. He did that after you fought Amo in her tower. He did that after he brought you to HQ on the brink of death. He did that when he stopped you from mass murdering an entire town for revenge.

He doesn't now. Enjin backs away, and your stomach turns inside out.

"Doesn't matter," Satoru's voice breaks the aftermath of the unnamed sentiment whirling through the ringing in your ears. "You're safe now. Sukuna won't pull a prank like that on you with me around."

It's the first time Enjin allows someone else to reassure you, and you feel like you'll vomit any second now. You swallow the pungent taste in your throat because you need to overcome it. You need to play your part, and you need to go back home. And throughout this elementary little plan of yours, you have to stand up straight, head held high, and you have to face this Enjin that's as silent as a tomb.

You don't register the conversation Gojo is having with Megumi and Yuji. Enjin is not reaching for you, and it feels incomparably worse now than it did at 19.

"We're going to a ball tonight, angel! I'll arrange for the perfect dress to be sent to you. You'll be my plus one after all."

Why isn't Enjin reaching for you?

"I know for a fact you'll be absolutely gorgeous in red. Maybe emerald? What do you think about olive yellow? You'll be gorgeous wearing a trash bag anyway—"

Satoru sees you're distraught. There's a mixture of emotions skipping through your eyes: fear, anxiety, betrayal. You're as pale as a ghost, and you're leaning away from both him and Enjin. You're staring the blonde man down like you're daring him to turn his back on you.

And Enjin does. He lights up a cigarette and steps away to keep his distance. He keeps his distance because he cannot bear to see Gojo's fingers caressing your own like he's comforting you. He keeps his distance even though Gojo taunts him that he saved you, and he couldn't. Enjin is keeping his distance, hoping that his own shortcomings will matter less if he's looking away.

The measured distance a captain should keep from his subordinates.

Enjin still trusts you with his life despite that look on your face. Maybe you don't trust him with yours anymore, and he thinks he can take it. He cannot. If you allow Gojo to intertwine his fingers with yours, Enjin knows the ground will collapse right underneath him.

And Enjin is still selfish enough to believe you won't allow Gojo to have his way with you. For days, months, years on end, Enjin had hoped something would finally force his hand, so he wouldn't have to choose. He feels that he has to make that choice himself now, but he doesn't know if he is scared of losing you or if he is scared of having you.

Truth is, Enjin knows. And has known for the better part of his life, in the embrace of every woman who wasn't you, in every laughter you shared but not with him, in the quiet of every late night when you were stretching out on his couch with zero self-consciousness, back arched, shirt riding up, chasing the lull only dreams could provide.

Enjin had known the answer every time he watched you with the quiet panic of someone rehearsing the grief.

"What am I your plus one for exactly?" You want to twist the knife deeper into the wound; Enjin should know you're hurting, he always knows. You want to be wretched enough to pay Enjin back. An eye for an eye.

You draw your hand away from Satoru's reach.

"I need you to be my beloved fiancée for the night."

Enjin bites down on the cigarette and breaks it in half. Your body wrenches toward Satoru. "Why would I do that?"

"These old farts are pushing for me to have an heir, yada, yada. Not on my bingo card at the moment," Satoru waves his hand like the physicality of it hurts him.

"Jujutsu Tech is hosting an official this-or-another tonight, and they need my face to keep up the facade. I'm incredibly tired of listening to their broken record, so I need your help to save me the pain. Drinks and food will be great! Pretty convenient, huh? Blondie can come too if he wants."

"Convenient for who? I'm not a show horse, Satoru."

"Oh, angel," Satoru accentuates, and you know there's no room left for negotiations. "You told me you pay all your debts. Didn't take you for a liar."

You twist the knife deep enough when Enjin clenches his jaw so hard his teeth are grinding against one another. Golden irises turn metallic when he looks at you, and even in his darkest hour, which apparently is happening now, he cannot bring himself to glare at you. The softness is still there.

That's good enough for you. But you cannot keep making Enjin's choices for him.

"Besides," Satoru all but purrs, "After the clock strikes midnight, I can point Cinderella to find her lost shoe to return home right away."

The ballroom is buzzing with snobbish executives.

Enjin rubs shoulders with some flamboyant dudes and draws the attention of superficial women on his way to the bar. He shrugs each of them away when they try to brush his arm with exaggerated touches; in another lifetime on the Ground, this would have been his dissolute paradise. Luxurious bathrooms to bend them over alabaster sinks. Unlimited champagne bubbling. Rinse and repeat.

Enjin is not in the mood for any of that tonight.

He taps the countertop, and a glass of bourbon on ice follows right after. Enjin twirls the sphere chunk against the glass until he decides to dunk it down at once. The bartender is utterly disgusted, but doesn't have a choice when Enjin nudges the glass back for a refill.

"Haven't seen you around before."

Enjin downs his second glass and angles his head toward where that voice is coming from, husky and rather accusatory. Another blonde man is sitting two chairs away with a glass of bourbon of his own, but significantly patient with his liquor in contrast to Enjin's rushed drinking.

"Not from around here," Enjin replies, and the bartender is downright offended that the tattooed man is asking for another. You're a brute or something similar, he says, but Enjin isn't bothered enough to care.

The other man seems bothered enough. He takes a calculated sip and lowers his glass with a textbook clank against the mahogany.

"Are you a threat?"

Enjin sketches a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Not if I can help it."

Good answer. The other man presents a smile of his own that's half-polite, half-intrigued. "You're making the bartender uncomfortable."

A sunflower eyebrow cocks on Enjin's forehead, and he turns halfway to meet the other man. "He called me a brute. Gotta give him a run for his money."

The stranger mirrors Enjin's stance and slants his glass toward him.

"Nanami Kento."

"Enjin," He offers, "But we're not staying around enough to become best friends."

Nanami watches Enjin drain his third drink in as many minutes and figures it's doing nothing to the tattooed man. Perhaps someone fit enough to hold his alcohol, with whom Nanami could share an interesting conversation. "We?"

Enjin doesn't need to reply to Nanami's inquiry. The entire ballroom comes to a halt when you and Gojo make your belated appearance.

By some miraculous coincidence, you are the only woman in the hall who is wearing red. A fiery shade of red in a corseted gown, sculpted in silk chiffon with draped details. Your gown is so layered that it requires two attendants to help you ease into it, but you don't need them. You're wearing it with the ease of a woman who knows that the world watches her every breath.

Your arms are caressed by opera gloves of the same fiery red, and one of yours is encircled by Gojo's. Your fingers rest on Gojo's forearm, gently, timidly, even, when he guides you deeper into the hall. He leans closer to you and whispers something indistinct in your ear. You laugh, and the vibrations make your neckline dip just enough off of your bare shoulders to be provocative. A diamond ruby teardrop necklace rests just shy of your breasts, where you used to wear your dog tags, and fits like a charm over the scar. You didn't cover the scar, and it makes you look all the more regal.

The real rebellion is those red lips of yours that beam at Gojo when he sweeps a curly lock of hair behind your ear. It looks like it deserted from that elegant yet messy bun styled on the crown of your head. Gojo idles over the crook of your neck to savor your aroma, and you linger just enough to gift him a giggle that's too provocative to be unintentional.

Something dies in Enjin's ribcage. It gnaws and it claws and it rips Enjin's heart apart.

Because you look like you belong on Gojo's arm.

The luxury, the attention, the fairytale, Enjin cannot give you that. He basks in a sentiment that's too useless to describe, and he knows he'll never amount to anything close to what Gojo is giving you now.

"She's a marvelous woman."

Nanami's comment barely reaches Enjin's ears. He wishes it didn't. Nanami is watching his profile, and it feels too tough to challenge Kento's inadvertent pity.

"Don't I know it?"

Maybe it's better this way, Enjin tells himself.

Your eyes meet his across the hall. You felt Enjin's presence right away the moment you stepped inside; the daisy you'd sewn for him was tucked away in the pocket of his emerald tuxedo, right over his heart.

You're on Satoru's arm, and Enjin smiles, a little undone under the artificial glamour of the candelabra glossing over him. The shadows are dancing over the lines in Enjin's face, and he looks happy in the illusion of the penumbra coloring between the lines.

Maybe it's better this way.

Satoru lifts the hand you've intertwined around his, and the pads of his fingers waltz with your glove, removing the fabric on each of your fingers little by little. The glove is floating for an eternity until it dies on the ground, but Enjin feels it like the final nail in his coffin.

Then Satoru's lips press a kiss on the inside of your wrist like he's sealing your scar with something akin to carnal hunger. The hall erupts in fervent applause. The Akuta leader closes his eyes to still a tremor.

Enjin is in love with you, and his train is leaving the station.

"Satoru," you hum, but it comes out strained. He's watching you over the tint of his sunglasses. "Please."

That, admittedly, takes Satoru by surprise. "Please what, angel?"

You want to jerk your hand away from his grip, but you cannot, and Satoru knows you cannot. He takes advantage of that to plant another kiss, this time open-mouthed, and you feel the tip of his tongue swirling on the hammering pulse in your veins.

"You wanted us to make it convincing. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts now. These assholes love this little show of ours."

You feel pathetic that Satoru's gesture is doing things to you. Yes, you're hurt, and you're betrayed, even though you told yourself, time and time again, that you shouldn't wrap yourself in sham fantasies. Oh, but you want, you hope, with the virgin innocence of a child, that those fantasies will come alive.

You wanted Enjin to be your fantasy. And you counted on your captain to be just as hurt and just as betrayed that Satoru is laying claim to your body. And there he is, dressed in that emerald tuxedo that hugs his every muscle just the right way, with your spiritual energy over his heart like it means something. Enjin turns away to the bar, and a woman with blue-tinted silver hair makes her way to him.

You want to cry.

"Focus on me, angel."

Satoru is gazing at you. Not a command, not a request. Something in between. Something that makes your toes curl when he slides your glove back on your arm. And Satoru is not as steady as he wants to be; to the meaningless public that scrutinizes every move you two make, he's a master puppeteer who reveres his woman. Your conviction in fulfilling your mission and role shakes Satoru to the core.

Your chest rises and falls with irregular breaths. Your visage appears stoic, but your lower lip is trembling. Your pulse is off the charts, and still, you're not letting your mask fall apart.

Satoru intended to break you tonight. Now, he wants to show you just how much Enjin is missing out on.

His fingers delay their departure from yours, and he wonders if he can focus long enough to read your mind with those cerulean eyes of his.

"Satoru," you say, cold, sharp. Relentless enough for Satoru to understand that he couldn't read your mind even if he tried.

"Yes, angel?"

"Let's give these assholes a show."

You do. Satoru makes sure of it.

He's dancing with you on every sappy rendition the orchestra is playing. He's introducing you to everyone who asks, even if he's not interested in the least to fill his mind with their memory. He kisses your gloved hand like it's a sacred thing, and his hand hovers at the small of your back like it was the solemn duty he was born to do.

And you? You play your part with precision that not even Too Lilly could produce. You down glass after glass of champagne. You laugh with your head thrown back at Satoru's every joke. You don't hold your liquor well; you never have. Every glass of champagne that disappears down your throat makes you do things you don't mean out of the oppressive spite you're feeling.

You tap on Satoru's shoulder, and you trace patterns in the navy fabric of his jacket, down his arm, until he takes it off entirely. You rest your palm over his chest when he finally allows his hand to settle just above your glute muscles. It's tender enough that it elicits goosebumps on your skin, and it's possessive enough that it churns right in your lower belly.

All the while, Enjin's golden eyes incinerate a hole in the back of your head.

"Let's get some fresh air, angel," Satoru coaxes in your ear, and the alcohol in your veins whirls over time, that you think it's honey pouring instead.

You don't know when you reach the rooftop.

The summer breeze tickles your bare shoulders. Even late at night, the air is sizzling. It might as well be the heart galloping in your ribcage that makes you feel so hot. Darkness engulfs the rooftop, and it's pierced only by the tiny flower bulbs on the balustrade. Tokyo stretches vast under your feet, and you have to hold onto the metal to admire the neon lights of the city.

Satoru walks lazily behind you until he leans over the balustrade. You're too focused on the fluorescent posts to notice he's admiring you. You look so fragile and so strong in such a perfectly balanced antithesis that makes him take his sunglasses off. Satoru has you right where he wants you: inebriated, heartbroken, all alone with him on the rooftop of a reception held for him. All that's left for him to do is to play checkmate.

And yet, he doesn't.

"Beautiful."

"It is," You mumble, and for a second, you feel like you're back on the Ground, on top of Canvas town, the day they celebrated Remlin. "Very beautiful."

Satoru laughs with his whole chest, and you don't know why. You're slowly losing to the layers of your body, to the booze that's quickly gaining the upper hand in each of them. Your lower lip juts into a pout.

"The hell's so funny?"

Satoru approaches you with a shameless stride that crowds your proximity. "You are funny, angel," He hums and extracts one of your gloves to throw over the balustrade. "You shouldn't follow strangers alone into the night, you know. God knows what they want to do to you."

You swear you mean to retort some sassy answer to that smartass, but all bravado drowns in your lungs when you meet his eyes. The baby blue in his irises, now completely revealed to you, has darkened in a shade of royal azure that makes you weak in the knees. Satoru's orbs are all-consuming, and there's a chained greed behind them.

He yanks your other glove. Satoru's velvety digits descend down your arms to guide them around his neck. You let him.

"Performed a wonderful role tonight, princess," Satoru speaks, and it's throaty. His hands travel to your hips, and it's unlike him that he wants to ground himself, but he does. "You're a natural at playing pretend."

Satoru is not wrong. You've played pretend for years until you started to believe in the farce yourself. Satoru's thumbs dig into the plush of your hips, stroking oddly comforting circles in your clothed flesh. He draws you closer into him, until your breasts are pressing into his chest. Satoru cannot tell if it's the Six Eyes making him feel like that, but he groans lowly in his chest when he feels the weight of your tits.

"Do you want to stop pretending?"

Do you?

When you imagine it's Enjin's chest you're pressing into right now? When you imagine it's Enjin's arms anchoring you right now? When you imagine Satoru's breath smells like cigarettes, and that something else that is unmistakably Enjin?

Your crocheted pouch is warm on your thigh.

"I can't."

You're in love with Enjin, even though he's not in love with you.

Your breath collides with Satoru's when you heave those words out. You sense the smile in his sigh when he pulls away, untangling himself from you. He pushes the sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose and his hands into his pockets.

"Perfect timing, blondie."

Enjin blasts the rooftop door open. His eyes search for you with a frenetic pace, and his heart stills for a brief moment, then stops beating altogether. You're standing so close to him.

The fiery red of your dress burns bright in the darkness.

"Come closer, little curiosity," Satoru chuckles and takes out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his shirt. He hands it to you, and you accept it with trembling hands. It's a torn page out of the coloring book that brought you to this Universe. "The clock strikes midnight. I'll seal the opening after you go. We won't see each other, ever again."

Enjin has to be sure. He has to be sure that his eyes aren't playing any pranks on him. Satoru gives you one final smile and, for the first and last time in his life, he calls your name. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

Enjin watches Gojo as he walks away from you, fingers snapping in an acute motion to reveal a bag with all your belongings. He gives it to Enjin and stops right at his side, cerulean eyes mocking the Akuta leader. "You don't deserve her. Least you can do is stop wasting her time, Enjin."

The rooftop is overrun with stillness after Gojo leaves.

Enjin approaches you with uncertain steps. He stops at an indecisive distance, where the moonlight veils your face with its radiance. He's scared of your eyes that are fixated on the concrete, and he's willing to die to know what is going through your head. Enjin doesn't know what to say, so he stares at you, and he wonders.

You open the paper.

In the blink of an eye, you're back in the collapsed mansion, and the three teenagers gawk at you both.

"What the hell..." Zanka starts but cannot finish his sentence. Just moments ago, you both were there, dressed in your normal cleaner uniforms, so why the hell are you both dressed in attire that would give August a field day?

The poison on the Ground fills your lungs, and you choke on the toxic atmosphere. Enjin helps you put your gas mask on, and you take a deep breath. The broken clock has stopped ticking in place and gone utterly still. The coloring book is no longer there, as if it never existed.

You're back home.

On the car ride back to HQ, no one utters a word. Not Rudo, who usually hates the stale silence. Not Zanka, who's way too curious to know what happened to both of you in those five minutes you were gone. Not Riyo, who's dying to know who has styled your hair to perfection.

Something has changed between you and Enjin, and it's too oppressive for the teenagers to ask about.

They see the way Enjin continuously glances at you sitting in the passenger seat more than he's focused on the actual road, so much so that the car jumped 3 hills and almost rolled over in the sand twice so far. Meanwhile, you're completely detached, your eyes glued to the desert. You don't say a word until the car reaches HQ.

Semiu lifts her eyes from the magazine she's reading, and she has to double down on that. Your heels are clacking decisively against the floor, and August, who came to pick up some packages with new materials he'd ordered, drops them all when he sees your dress.

You ignore his frenzied screeching and the way he circles you like a madman reborn, and you stop at Semiu's desk.

"I want to talk to the boss. Is he here?"

The Akuta team follows right after you and August's interest transfers to Enjin's posh outfit. Semiu spares Enjin a glance over your shoulder, asking for a silent explanation as to why your voice is so bitter.

"In the office," Semiu replies when the explanation fails to arrive. "Did you get what you need—"

You walk away from the chaos in the reception, down the hallway where Corvus' office is located. You close the door behind you before Enjin finds the chance to stop you.

"What the hell is going on?" Rudo demands. "Why is she not talking to us?"

Riyo is spinning the Ripper on her index, eyeing her leader. "You did something to her, didn't you?"

The ghost of your perfume is frozen in the hallway. It steals Enjin's breath because, for half a second, it felt like you were right there. Enjin cannot breathe while you're in Corvus' office. A looming omen suffocates the entire Akuta team.

After what feels like forever, the latch clicks and the door opens. The hallway is foggy from all the nicotine Enjin smoked. He jumps to his feet, and there's muted desperation in the way he forbids himself to reach out for you.

"As of tonight, I am no longer a member of the Akuta team. I will be transferring to the Southern Branch tomorrow morning."

You render the Akuta team speechless.

"No, you're not."

You don't have any energy left to fight with Enjin. You turn to walk away, but Enjin catches you by the wrist. "You're not going anywhere. Not tomorrow, not ever."

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

Enjin winces. "What?"

"Good. Let it hurt."

"Oi! What do you mean—"

"Rudo. Guys. Give us a moment."

"Enjin, didn't you hear what she said—"

"Rudo. Leave me alone with my vice captain."

Riyo grabs both Rudo and Zanka by their shoulders and has to drag them away forcefully. The hallway turns so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. Enjin seeks the warmth of your fingers, and the way you recoil violently from him makes his stomach drop.

"Why didn't you talk to me about this first?"

He hates it that you look so beautiful beyond your downcast eyes and the clenched fists you anchor at your sides. He hates it that your lipstick is still flawless over your lips, even though your mouth is pursed in what looks dangerously close to resentment. He hates it that your dress is still impeccable on your body.

Enjin hates it that he envisioned you in the arms of another, and now you're here, untainted and distant.

You breathe out, and it comes out unsteady. The truth is infinitely heavier than the lie. "I cannot be around you anymore."

Enjin's hand freezes mid-motion in the air, fingers shuddering like you're slipping right through them. A million thoughts race through his head, and he cannot articulate any of them to give them life. Alas—

"If this is about Gojo Sat—"

You laugh. It's muted at first, the way clouds gather in the serenity of a summer sky. It spills after, all at once, like thunder crashing, like a torrent over skin, when the wind is too strong, and the umbrella you were holding is stolen by the cyclone. It leaves you vulnerable in the raging storm.

"I should've let him take me," you snap, each word ascending an octave, "Right on that fucking rooftop I should've—should've let him fuck me—should've let him take me—"

Until your throat rips apart. "I would've had a reason to feel guilty."

You're rubbing your arms, shoulders slouched together. Your eyes carry the stillness of deep water, where nothing shines on the surface, but the pressure explodes beneath. And you cannot look at him because you'll break if you do. You know it because you noticed his feet moving as if he wanted to gravitate toward you.

"Do you think I can wake up tomorrow morning and go back to what we were—"

"I don't want to go back."

Your head jolts upwards at Enjin's words.

"I don't want to go back."

Enjin is devastated. You've never seen his honey eyes dropping under their lids. You've never seen the fine lines of his face chiseled so exhausted. You've never heard him breathe so abnormally fast. Enjin has never been so disheveled before. Not with anyone, not for anyone.

Not for you.

"I've been—fuck," Enjin runs his hands through his perfectly styled hair until it turns a mess. "Been saying shit I mean and shit I don't mean—been trying to sort it out—"

Your hair cascades down your back from how hard you're shaking your head. "No, you don't get to say this—"

You don't deserve her.

"I think you deserve to know—shit, fuck—I want to go forward with you, with none of the damage I did then. Fuck I'm not even sure it's fucking possible—"

"You don't get to say this to me!"

You scream so loud is resounds in the hallway. Probably reverberates through the entire building, and it's not loud enough to cover the shield that's falling apart from your heart. You're shuddering under the weight of the emotions you are unable to tame anymore.

"Just because—" You choke, and it's pitched, and something warm pricks at your eyes. "Because a man comes—comes along and treats me well—you think you can...you can come clean? FUCKING NOW?"

Your throat bobs desperately, but it's too late. The thorns in your esophagus perforate too deep in your lungs. Enjin watches the tears swallow your face, and his whole being snaps violently. He's known you for half his life, and he's been with you through the toughest shit a human being could face, and you've never shed a tear. Not with anyone, not for anyone.

Not for him.

It's taxing to even try to speak, but you feel like you'll burst into a hundred thousand different pieces if you don't let it out of your chest.

"Do you have—any—any idea how you're making me feel when—" You pause, and there's a ragged inhale that you manage through the tears. "When you come home, drunk off your fucking face, smelling—bathing—in the scent of another woman, AND YOU ASK FOR ME? TO SEE ME?"

You stumble forward to grab him by the shoulders, trying, hoping that Enjin will understand your anger. Your fists are hitting him, weaker each time, until they unclench and you grip his shirt. You're drunk, you're emotional, you're exhausted, and Enjin is looking at you like he is the one coming undone.

"You don't..." you sob, losing your balance, and Enjin lowers himself to hold you in his arms until your knees buckle and rest on the ground. "How many times do you think I can forgive you for breaking my heart?"

The stillness is stretching thin in the hallway. A fragile wreckage is all that's left behind. A sob story, a catastrophe, written by one who was the poet but hoped to be the muse, orchestrated by one who lied but hoped for the truth. You had hoped the truth would bring you closure.

Something wet falls in chunky droplets on your forehead.

"I don't want to do this life without you."

Barely bolder than a murmur on the edge of a regret that's letting go. Your head is lolling to the side when Enjin clings to you tighter. His hands lock at the small of your lower back, and you pull back just enough for another droplet to land on your scarred wrist.

Enjin is too ravaged to be real. He's not seeing you properly anymore; a silhouette in a summer dress that's floating away.

"I compared you—shit, I did—to everyone. Nothing, nothing like you. How could...if I died you—fuck...I thought I had to leave. Didn't want to leave you alone in this world."

You wish he didn't. You wish Enjin were man enough to realize that by trying to protect you from a future without him, he built exactly that. You look away, hands slipping from his chest to your lap. "That wasn't for you to decide alone."

"I love you."

One last lonely tear departs from your orbs, leaving a mascara trail in mourning over the raging emotions in your bones. Every atom in your body is bursting with the love you carry for him, and even now, when he's on your knees crying for you, it multiplies, and it grows to the point you know you'll never love another beating heart the way you love Enjin.

"You're so selfish."

Enjin stares at you with the dejection of a beaten puppy when you straighten your body away from his embrace. You don't say anything else for a moment too long, and his jaw is slack with the anticipation of a criminal sentenced to death who awaits the executioner to deliver the last slash.

"I've never wanted to do this life with anyone else, En'."

Sunlight could never shine as radiantly as the hope that brings Enjin's golden eyes back to life. He bounces to his feet, and you take a step back. You can't let him reach you because you don't want to love him with half a heart anymore.

"I need time to think this through."

You don't trust him, and Enjin sees it in the imprinted hesitation in your orbs. He thinks he's prepared to wait while you decide what to do about the two of you. Loyalty is not an excuse to stay miserable, and he'd rather have you free than faithful. Enjin has let go of too many things to count during the course of his life; what's one more to let go?

You take his heart with you when you turn your back and walk away, the red chiffon casting a whiff of your aroma that's engraved on his being deeper than any nicotine could ever repair.

"Oi, Enjin, you coming out with us tonight?"

Enjin is manspread on the tattered leather couch in the common room. A ring of smoke bubbles past his lips, curls through the air until it dissipates lazily against the pendant lamps, as if giving Enjin time to ponder Gris's question. A half-full beer bottle has long been forgotten on the coffee table.

"Nah," Enjin shrugs, crossing his legs on the low furniture. "Have some stuff to pick up tonight."

Gris thinks Enjin is doing a terrible job coping with the aftermath of your departure.

41 days, 13 hours, 26 minutes, and 57 seconds. But who was keeping count?

Most people in the HQ fared pretty badly when the news broke out. The Akuta team, especially. They are fighting sharper, faster, now, more efficient. A lot of the missions Semiu sends them on are cleared faster than their usual average. Cleaners and simple citizens alike are reliant on them.

Most of the people got over it just as fast. Life doesn't stop for the Cleaners just because someone leaves.

But the Akuta team has lost its joviality. Rudo has lost a mother figure. Riyo has lost a sister. Zanka has lost a mentor.

"You sure?" Gris tries. Enjin was always the first one to take people out, the first one to gather everyone around. Which he still does, mind you. It's a whole other story when it's about his own well-being. "Grab a drink, play some poker in that restaurant we all like, eat good food. Good ol' times."

Good ol' times would have had you there. To call him out when he was cheating the cards but still take his money nonetheless.

"Rain check," Enjin ultimately says and flicks his wrist. Ash falls from his cigarette. Gris picks up the jeep keys from the bar counter and closes the door behind him. There's no room left to argue in the apathy of Enjin's voice.

Enjin doesn't want to acknowledge that he's lost a lover. Not yet. You would've found a way to tell him. Surely, right?

Nothing has changed in your room since you left. Enjin is the sole owner of the key to it, and he doesn't let anyone walk inside. He goes in there religiously every morning, secretly hoping that he would find you sleeping in your bed like you usually do. Covers half-up, one arm over one under, hair tied up in a loose braid that always, always comes undone during the night. Enjin has tested that with you, so he knows. It comes undone fastest when you sleep on his chest after particularly tough assignments.

There's that red dress on the bed you made when you left. Enjin forbade August to touch it, and August is still inherently mad at him. A thin layer of dust rests over the book on your nightstand you left half-read. The water is stale in the ceramic mug you repaired with golden clay, and Enjin can still see you warm up the mud on the stolen stove in his room. You kept him all night to repair it, in complete silence, your fingers nursing the object back to health, while he mapped out all your characteristics in his soul.

You didn't take anything from your room when you left. A passerby in a hurry to catch the next train, with no luggage and no earthly belongings. Just Enjin's love and the regrets that came with it.

Enjin is still holding onto the daisy you sewed for him, still keeping it in a pocket he blackmailed August into stitching it over where his heart is. He tells himself he is fine. He tells himself it will be fine if you never come back. Enjin goes to the garage and revs up the engine of the other jeep of the Cleaners.

On his drive to Canvas Town, he's thinking about what you did today. He's tried his luck again this morning to persuade Semiu to ask Mildretta about you. In the earlier days of your reassignment, Mildretta told Semiu plenty of things on report: you're settling in well (of course you are, you're the most easygoing in the group), you're a fierce fighter (of course you are, you've strangled and poisoned dozens of trash beasts with your yarn), and you're incredibly smart (of course you are, there's no question you cannot answer).

At some point, Mildretta reported to Semiu that you're evolving into a natural leader of the Southern Branch altogether. You could transfer into that role naturally, if you wanted. Corvus supported it. When Enjin found out about that, he disappeared from HQ for 3 whole days. His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, and night is settling down in the distance.

You could really leave him if you wanted.

41 days, 15 hours, 18 minutes, and 22 seconds.

Enjin parks the jeep outside a tucked-away shop in Canvas Town, which is right at the western entrance. There is a festival going on, so the town is abuzz with excitement. Despite its small exterior, this antique boutique has a spacious basement that can accommodate up to 200 people when it's housing auctions. With the festival in full bloom outside, the place is crowded. You always spent your entire salary at such auctions.

You would've loved it now.

"Oh, Enjin," The owner greets the Akuta leader at the door. "Need to run around, but your clock is as good as new. It's in the back. Everyone's mad they can't shop."

Enjin climbs down the stairs and is fairly surprised to see the thick crowd in the basement. There are a lot of restored objects on display at good bargains. Some people are haggling with the staff; others are just browsing. The mahogany clock is placed on the back wall of the room, and there's fair attention given to it. Enjin makes his way through the mob using Umbreaker.

There's an eerie pause between seconds, as if his world is buffering again, when he spots a familiar figure standing in front of the clock. The clock hands appear to tick out of sync, and the world quiets down to allow time to move around, not through. Enjin's heart warms up under the daisy shining bright in his pocket.

Your hair is shorter than he remembers.

You got new boots to wrap around your commando trousers. You're not wearing gloves on your hands, clasped at your back. You stand taller than in his memory, if that's even possible. You tilt your head backwards, and his heart slows down in a lilt no one but you could invoke.

"Enjin!"

You're engulfed in his arms faster than his name comes out of your mouth. Enjin holds you tight like he's scared you'll disappear if he lets go. A corner of your mouth quirks up when you rest your head on his chest.

"So, you didn't forget about me," you tease, but there's a hint of raw emotion in your tone. "Should've done something more dramatic—"

Enjin cradles your face, the honey in his eyes melting across each of your features. The air in his lungs expels through a sigh that's too insecure for him to articulate any proper words. "You came back."

You nod, an unhurried motion that gives you both time to breathe. Your eyes are smiling, shadowed by the serenity on your visage, when you grab his wrists, grounding yourself to him. "I came back."

"Why?"

There's an electric charge in the air that you both cannot ignore. Enjin's eyes lower on your parted lips, quick and shattered, then look away in a suspense that makes his entire being fidget.

"Why?" You echo, and it's half a giggle. You don't move away, and you're hyperaware of the eye contact that lasts a beat too long. "You're my favorite person in the world, En'. Might not feel like it, but I missed y—"

Enjin crashes his lips onto yours. The angle is weird, and his lips are chapped where yours are sweet. It's a reluctant press of his mouth on yours, but you clasp his wrists, and he gets braver to go back for more. He's hungry, and he cannot wait any longer for permission that you give to him anyway. Your teeth clash briefly when you go left, and he goes right, and damned Enjin for how fast he catches on to your rhythm.

He eats up the sigh you leave in his mouth when he glides his tongue into your mouth. Your fingers fumble for the lapels of his coat to tug him closer to you, and you clash with him for dominance neither of you is willing to give up. Enjin grunts low in his chest when you suck on his tongue, and you both pull away with swollen lips.

Stunned silence settles between you both. A hand lifts to your mouth, the ghost of contact drumming on your plush lips. Enjin can't speak at all, but he doesn't need to. There's an obscure lust in his eyes as he stares at you, waiting to be unleashed, thirsting to be unleashed.

You don't know when you make it back to the car. You both mess up with your belts, with the zippers on your trousers, with the laces on your boots. Enjin hits his head on the door panel in a rush to climb into the backseat, and you almost fall over to the side when you straddle him. You're processing what's just happened, and you both gawk at each other. Enjin's laughter resonates in the car, and it has you giggling.

"How could I ever forget about you?" Enjin snickers, hands hovering awkwardly at your hips. "I can't stop thinking about you, and it's driving me crazy."

You take the initiative and slide your fingers through his wild locks. Enjin groans when you tug faintly at the scalp. For better or for worse, you are straddling him, and you feel his hard-rock bulge twitch against your clothed cunt. "Are you?"

"Damn—yes," Enjin groans, digits digging into the softness of your flesh. He kneads the muscles of your butt and rocks you lazily against him. "41 days, 15 hours, and 30 minutes. That's how long I've been away from you."

A strong hand lands a rough slap on your ass, and he sticks it when he massages the delicious pain into your skin. You whimper almost inaudibly when you throw your head back, but you know Enjin catches that when he slaps your ass again to chase that sinful sound out of you.

"Fuck," He mutters, biting his lips at the sight of you arching your back with your nipples perking up at him through the thin material of your bodice. "You don't understand what that sound is doing to me."

So you roll your pelvis in a sluggish passage that clamps your clothed pussy right on the outline of Enjin's cock. You trace his jaw with your index, and you feel it toughen under your butterfly caress. Your panties are drenched with your slick that is pooling over Enjin's boxers.

There's a beat in your movement when you whimper again, louder, bolder, because the feeling of him, swollen against your cunt, is so vulgar you're losing your mind. All the while, his pupils dilate until they're blown, drinking in the image of you losing your mind. For him.

"Tell me what I'm doing to you, Enjin," you purr in a command that you know will get you in trouble. You want the trouble. You need the trouble. "Make me understand."

Enjin drifts his cock into your labia, nice and easy, back and forth, lewd squelch sounds swamping the confinement of the car. The jeep he took for the night doesn't have tinted windows; any passerby could witness your perversions. Above all, Enjin doesn't care.

"Doll," Enjin rasps when he attaches open-mouthed kisses to your neck. A string of saliva follows with each stop he makes on the pounding pulse in your veins. You lean into him to give him more access, your fingers dancing with the hem of his boxers. "You've lived in my head before. Ever since you left, you're all I think about."

Enjin fondles your naked thighs in tandem with his shallow thrusts, your useless panties pushed so deep the material catches your clit. He's watching you with patience that is thinning out with every second; you're grinding against him, and erotic sighs fall one after the other.

"Been going to your room every fucking morning," He groans and abandons your thighs to grope your breasts. "Hoping you'd be there," he continues when you mewl, and he squeezes your nipples through fabric. "Hoping I'd get to—fuck, doll, you arch so pretty—hold you again."

"Yeah?" you gasp, and you lift your hips just slightly to free Enjin's cock from his confinement. It slaps your clothed hole, which you push onto the tip that's already too big to be decent. One big hand shoves under your shirt, flat on your back. "Hold me, En'. Mm, fuck—I belong to you."

Enjin's other hand snaps your underwear to the side, and you move as one when you sink down on his cock. The fingers on your back tremble because you take him so well, you're molding around his shaft, down to the very hilt.

"I missed you—hah, princess—so fucking bad."

A moan rips out of your ribcage; it's so loud it's exquisite, and it melts perfectly with Enjin's, the sound of a famished man at the mercy of his lover.

Enjin has to consume those filthy sounds you're making, and he seals your mouths together as he thrusts tentatively inside you. Your orbs roll into their sockets when he rides the momentum to propel his cock all the way to your cervix, juices drooling out of your pussy to puddle on his balls.

"Fuck baby, yes, fucking tight," Enjin grunts against your lips, tongue darting to lick from the bottom one to the top, devouring each moan you're chanting for him. Your plushy walls are fluttering around him in sheer ecstasy, fighting and trapping him in like the primordial sin.

"I belong with you. Just like that, baby—take me, all of me—been fantasizing about you in that red dress. Fucking you smitten in it."

You try to laugh, but it's a splintered sob as you grab on his shoulders for the solace you need to bounce back on his dick. Enjin pistons into you, and it coils deep into your womb. The car is creaking with your shared passion; each drive of Enjin's cock out of you leaves you empty and wanting, and each drive of his cock inside you stuffs you to the brim.

"I wa-wasn't—ah, fuck En', faster—wasn't even wearing panties."

His cock spasms in the depths of your belly at your confession. Enjin wraps his arm around your frame to hold you in place, to hit that buried spot in your cunt again, again, and again, like he's trying to take revenge on you for keeping a secret like that. And revenge tastes so sweet when it's pure degeneracy in your pussy.

"Shit, fuck—no panties under the goddamned dress—was that for me?"

You're seeing stars from the pent-up frustration Enjin is releasing from your body with each insatiable shove of his cock. "Yes, yes, yes—" You moan, or you cry, or you whine, you don't know. You're too close to care about the sounds Enjin is tearing out of you. "'nd you didn't even take it—"

"I'm damn well taking it now," Enjin growls and shoves his free hand to abuse your poor, neglected clit. Your breathing hitches in your throat in a violent huff, your back arched, pretty and fucked out on his cock. "Taking this pussy, show you how much I missed you. Make you mine."

Your head lolls to the side with a final wail when the curve of Enjin's cock bullies that spot that pushes you over the edge. He synchronizes his fingers with his thrusts, and you let go completely, spurts of liquid and syrup flooding the backseat of the car.

"Oh, fuck me, baby," Enjin moans as he watches you squirt all over him, eyes rolled to their orbits and lips parted in muted chokes of pleasure. "Shit, shit, shit—haah, princess—"

"Fill me up, Enjin." You pant, still rocking your pelvis into his, chasing for more. "Need your cum inside me. Need to cum again."

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and bites in the intimacy of your collarbone, leaving his mark on you. You tangle your fingers through his hair, the last resort that keeps you grounded, and then you feel Enjin's hips stutter into you in a string of salacious curses and sinful blessings.

Enjin fucks his cum into you like he wants to keep it there. And he makes sure of it when he pulls out, and you pursue his digits that go knuckles deep to load your pussy with his seed. He watches you through lidded eyes that scald through you with carnal desire.

"Take my cum baby, squeeeze it in, there you go," Enjin praises, and he makes you sit all the way to cockwarm his fingers. He keeps them buried inside you, and you do just as he dictates, corrupted by the bliss he's instilling into you. "I'm never letting you go again, you hear me?"

Your plump walls squeeze around his fingers, and you are frenzied enough to reach for his cock and stroke the remnants of his cum out on your digits. You open your eyes, glassy yet smudged at the corners, and you stare deep into his honeyed ones when you lick them clean with a swirl of your tongue. Enjin's cock convulses against the flesh of your ass.

"You'd better not," You smirk, and it's as depraved as it is mesmeric. You grab your bodice to lift it over your head and liberate your aching tits from their imprisonment. Enjin's fingers scissor inside you at the sight with a precision that doesn't allow any drop of his cum to escape from your pussy. You're so full of him it's hypnotic. "I came back because I love you."

You never said it when you left; you couldn't. You needed to clear your head and heart; you needed to sort out your feelings before you'd let Enjin hear them. You wanted to test him, to see if his own feelings for you were real enough, not just remorse manifested as superficial infatuation.

"I love you too," He replies, for you to see that everything you were and everything you are to him is the one raw emotion he cannot, won't live without anymore. Enjin knows you two are long overdue for a crude conversation, to figure out what you want your present to be like, and what you want the future to bring for you. "The kids will love to have you back."

Until then, Enjin has an insatiable vixen to treat.

"But for tonight, you're my lady first."

a/n: guys it's coachella season, which means...welp, some things might be cooked, some might be cooking, we don't know. what we do know, is that i had a shit ton of fun writing this crossover. i hope you guys liked it and thank you for staying with this story until the end!! p.s: some things we do think with the coochie. 0 regrets

i have an entire playlist for this fic which i'll probably post soon because i've suffered for it too much to keep it hidden

[write-it-good-imagines]

Asking you ragebait questions

...with Enjin, Gris, Bro Santa, and August

>> wc: ±700 words/character, fluff, crack, sfw, Enjin & August on crush pining stage, Gris & Bro Santa established relationship, slight manga spoiler for a character cameo.

>> Enjin: tried to rizz you up but failed miserably.

You were minding your own business, really. And if you thought you could mind your own business when Enjin simply existed in your life, you had to be proven wrong time and again.

You were lounging around with Semiu at the reception desk, browsing through the latest magazines the Ground had to offer. Giggling and gossiping, your favorite activity in the world to do with her. And then—

"Oi, pumpkin!" Enjin calls out from the entrance, and it takes him exactly three long strides to reach Semiu's desk. "Hafta ask you somethin'."

"That's not for me," the blonde woman replied and flicked another page of an explicit magazine, trying to remain as unbothered as possible.

So you turned to the Akuta leader, shit-eating grin on his face, and you just knew he was cooking up something. Especially when he leaned over the other end of Semiu's desk, one eyebrow cocked to the Sphere if possible.

"What's something you would fix about me if you could, without telling me?"

One would think that for a leader of an entire platoon of people, a person who brought others together, an unofficial father of a handful of kids, Enjin would have come up with a better strategy on how to court his forever crush.

You simply shrugged, looking him dead in his honey eyes. Making a conscious effort not to laugh yourself out of character.

"You realize all the things I fixed about you that I haven't told you about?"

The magazine fell out of Semiu's hands with a soft thud on the table. She wished she had a camera to film the disastrous expression as it broke apart what used to be a confident smirk.

Enjin peeled himself off the desk, palms tapping against the wooden surface. He never expected you to give him a strong dose of his own medicine. He never expected to love like you more for putting him in his place like that.

"Oh, hell no," Enjin coughed, trying to disperse the lump in his throat. So much for his clever strategy. "Damn, that's...that's crazy."

Semiu stared at you with the reverence of a fanatic worshipper. "Wow. You broke him."

"She didn't—"

"She did—"

"I don't think I'm given the credit that I deserve here for being a better man every day."

You turned to him fully, a hint of a smirk dancing at the corners of your lips. Enjin's orbs fell on your lips for the shortest second, thinking you'd finally, finally, ease into his trap, and then—

"I give you a lot of credit, En'," you nodded, luring him in with a sheepish bat of your eyelashes. "That's why you never realized."

Enjin didn't speak to either of you for the rest of the day.

Bonus:

Like any rational best friend, you decide to pay Enjin back for his game. That's why you approached him in the common room, amidst the chaos of another party. You caught him alone, just as he refilled his glass with another round of beer.

You tapped on his triceps lightly, and part of Enjin hated how fast he recognized the warmth of your fingers on his tattoos. He truly meant to keep up his butthurt act, but couldn't, not when he saw the soft smile lighting up your face.

"Hey, hottie," Enjin chuckled, tilting his head to acknowledge you. "Came to apologize for earlier?"

Dickhead.

"Actually," you muttered, fumbling with your fingers. Any other sane person would have seen right through your act. Not your loverboy. Not that you would know Enjin was your loverboy. "I hoped to clear the air between us."

You almost felt bad for what you were about to say when you caught the glimpse of tenderness flashing through his eyes. You chose to ignore it; if you had heeded it, you knew your heart would race a million miles per hour.

"Yeah?" He said, voice lowering an octave. "What about?"

"What expectations do you think I've lowered to be your friend?"

The glass Enjin was holding shattered like a bomb against the floor.

>> Gris: he couldn't continue with his joke because you were too sincere

Gris really shouldn't have listened to the youngsters. He shouldn't have allowed himself to be convinced that some trends (which were objectively wrong in his mind) would be a good idea to try out, with his partner, nonetheless.

That's what he got for loitering around with the Akuta team when you were out on assignments.

"Come onnnn, Gris," Riyo taunted, half a smirk accompanying her words. "She's witty, you know she's gonna like that for a change."

Enjin blew the nicotine out of his lungs. "Bet. I do it all the time with my vice-captain."

Gris snorted. "And how well did that turn out?"

"That's besides the point."

"That's the entire point," Gris stressed, feeling a premature headache kicking in. "While she has a great sense of humor, I just don't see why I would—what was that again—ragebait her."

Amo rested her chin in her hands, eyeing Gris with a stern look. "Sometimes, these conversations help you deepen your bond with your partner! Amo thinks it's worth experiencing these situations with your lover."

Zanka folded his arms over his chest. Maybe Amo swayed him more than she managed to sway Gris, but he'd never admit that. "Could be worth trying."

In the end, Gris accepted the proposal with half a heart. He found you in your shared room, shortly after you had returned from your mission with team Beauty. You had just showered and changed into comfier clothes for the night.

"Hello, handsome," you greeted, and wanted to rush into his arms, but stopped in your tracks when you noticed the crease on his forehead. "Something happened?"

Gris hesitated for a moment. "I wanted to ask you something."

You braced yourself for a nightmare to come. "Yes, sure. Anything."

The sooner he got it over with, the better.

"What's something you think I just had to accept about you?"

You blinked at his words, trying to make sense of his question. You nodded and sat down on the bed, and Gris hoped he would just be buried 6 feet under because he couldn't stand that stretching silence.

"Well," you said, peeking up at him. "I have no choice but to be honest here."

"Wait, flower—"

"I am absolutely not perfect, and I have been a class A bitch to you the entire week because I'm getting my period."

Gris opened his mouth to say something. He closed it right back, fair eyebrows furrowed. You continued, your voice picking up the pace.

"I made you run around to get me my favorite snacks and some fucking stupid foundation all the way in Canvas because Rudo knocked mine over and spilled it. I am so sorry for yelling at you because you accidentally stepped on my toe, I know you were just trying to get Guita's cat down from the tree—"

"Sweetheart—"

You were absolutely relentless.

"And I have to confess I ate the last two slices of pizza tonight and I absolutely meant to keep them for you, but I was so fucking hungry—"

Gris took a step closer to where you were gesturing vaguely through the air. "Sweetheart, wait—"

"And your favorite pair of boxers has a fucking hole in it because I accidentally washed it at a high temperature with the other clothes—"

You stopped rambling when Gris knelt beside the bed and grabbed your hands in the comfort of his big ones. Much to your surprise, he was grinning ear to ear.

"It was supposed to be a joke."

You just stared at him with a dumbfounded expression.

"What was?"

"I was supposed to ragebait you."

Silence. Utter, monumental silence. Then, you burst out in hearty laughter, falling over in Gris's arms.

"That is absolutely not how ragebaiting works, baby," you managed through laughter hiccups. "I thought you were mad at me!"

"I'm not mad at you, love. Couldn't be," Gris chuckled and pulled back just enough to cradle your face. "I'm glad I asked, though. Didn't we agree you'd tell me when your chest got heavy?"

You leaned into his touch. "Not even that I destroyed your favorite boxers?"

"Stupid boxers," Gris pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I'd do anything for you. I'm sorry are two words you'll never have to say to me. Although..."

You always knew Gris was a fast learner. He winked at you.

"I am a bit hungry now."

>> Bro Santa: he hoped he'd pop out the M question, and he didn't know how

One could just say that Bro Santa did not really have the best ragebait-o meter when it came to the Cleaners.

While playing poker on their usual boys' night, he listened to Enjin getting absolutely blasted by his longtime secret crush, and on the other hand, he listened to how wholesome Gris's interaction turned out to be.

Your relationship with Bro Santa was nothing short of divine. He adored how laid back you were, how you always seemed to find the right words to say, how you were always the funny one in the couple. You knew how to balance him out, how to care for the children like they were your own.

There was never anyone else for Bro Santa. Everyone and their mothers knew that. Not that he cared to hide it, anyway.

"So," Enjin said, drawing a new flop from the deck. "When's the wedding? Hope we're invited!"

"Have you asked her yet?" Gris doubled the pot. "I know you were planning for it."

"Not yet. But you guys gave me the best idea."

A couple of days later, the Cleaners organized a film night on the rooftop of HQ. Bro Santa found you sitting on a secluded blanket and handed you the margarita you had requested.

"Thanks, babe," you smiled and made space for your big man to sit beside you. Bro Santa leaned on his side, propped against one elbow to angle his head in your direction. His other hand lay leisurely in the pocket of his pants, allegedly, like he wasn't holding on to that velvet box for dear life. "Where are the kids?"

His eyes softened. You were so beautiful under the twinkle of the night sky. "Enjin's keeping an eye on them for the moment. I wanted to enjoy a quiet moment with you. I missed you while we were away."

"Oh?" You challenged and nudged his foot with yours. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had something to hide."

In case Bro Santa needed any sign that you were meant to be his wife. You read him like an open book.

"Nothing to hide really," but he bet you could see right through his white lies. "I wanted to ask you something."

You never anticipated what his ulterior motive was, even though you couldn't shake the feeling that he was, in fact, hiding something.

"Okay, color me intrigued. Tell me."

Bro Santa took a sharp breath. "Is our relationship good, or have you just never had any better?"

You almost laughed in his face. He'd tried those tactics with you before, so you decided to play along.

"I'm afraid I never had any better," you replied, feigning ignorance. "The last guy cheated on me, so the bar is with the trash beasts."

Bro Santa laughed. Nervous laughter, all things considered. The line between farce and truth seemed thinner than ever.

"But that doesn't mean our relationship is not good, right?"

You took another sip of your drink. "Mm, how would I know now, really?"

You expected him to quip back. Say something smart, play dead, scoff, or any reaction that you knew he would give back. You panicked a little when he didn't and remained quiet instead.

"Mi amor," you began and snuggled closer to him, keeping your eyes cemented on his, "I was kidding. You are all the wishes I blew candles on and all the hopes I've had for a better future. Of course, I don't think our relationship is good because it is the best."

When Bro Santa stood up, panic turned into fear that he rejected you, that you struck a sensitive cord. You watched him get down on one knee, and your brain couldn't process his actions out of the fear drumming in your chest.

"That's a relief," he started, tiny cracks surfacing in his voice, fingers trembling when he opened the velvet box. You covered your mouth in shock. "Because I want, I hope, you'll grant me the pleasure of building our future as one, mi cielo."

Tears pooled in your eyes.

"Will you—"

You threw your arms around his neck, overwhelmed by a proposal you never saw coming. Not like that anyway.

"Yes," you breathed, sobbing in the crook of his neck. "Yes, I will. You're a psycho."

Bro Santa held you close, kissing the crown of your head. "You're the psycho. You almost got me there."

"Who even ragebaits their girlfriend into marriage?"

He choked through laughter. "Well, it's actually a funny story."

>> August: when ragebaiting turns into unrequited confessions

There seemed to be a trend going around the HQ.

August paid little attention to whatever people did or said around those parts because he had a handful of costumes to make for the Doll Festival. When he was in the zone, there was nothing that could really, truly, make him lose his focus and redirect his attention.

Except, the ongoing trend was a tad too intriguing to ignore.

"It's just you're an asshole," Zanka declared, shoving an entire sandwich in his mouth. Even though Rudo was not the one to agree with him, he just had to for that particular statement. "If you think you can compare to Bro or Gris, you're delusional."

"Ouch?" Enjin scoffed, munching on a burger. "'m not an asshole. I just had a bad approach to it, it's all. We've declared war on each other now."

Rudo couldn't listen to Enjin's self-imposed narcissism. "You asked her if she would leave you to go with another attractive man she saw on the street, and you almost cried because she tossed you away."

"What's that about?"

Enjin would have to treat August for saving him from that terrible misery.

"Enjin's just too much of a coward to confe—"

Enjin kicked Zanka in the shin under the table, and the teenager almost hit him with the Lovely Assistaff.

"Hey Auggie," Enjin continued without a care in the world. "We're ragebaiting each other these days. Bro got engaged thanks to that!"

Since truths are often told through jokes, it seemed a reasonable approach August could use with you. It had a 50% success rate, after all. What was there to lose?

One afternoon later, August found you in the small HQ library. He didn't have to look too much for you, really; he knew all the places you liked in the HQ. You two had grown arguably closer during the past couple of months since you joined the Cleaners. And boy, were you everything August had hoped for in a muse.

Charismatic, smart, sassy, not taking shit from anyone, charming above all. For scientific reasons, of course. You never bit off more than you could chew. You never openly flirted with August, but you knew he preferred oily nuggets over salads. You never openly said you liked him, but you respected his craft enough that you boasted about it to everyone who'd care to hear.

You never got too close, but you always stopped by his studio before you left on a mission to say goodbye.

"If I was quieter, would you like me more, or less?"

You were startled by his voice that you stepped outside of the chair you were climbing on to get a book from a top shelf. August rushed over in time to catch you, and you both fell to the floor with a loud thump. You landed on top of him, his glasses and hair disheveled, and your hands resting on his clothed chest.

Perhaps you didn’t register your exact predicament when you opened your mouth to reply.

“Quieter how?”

August looked at you like you were speaking a different language. Surely you did, because you looked that much more like a literal goddess on top of him, head tilted to the side, that soft shade of lipstick shining like a goddamned calling home—

“I like my man loud, August.”

You blinked. He blinked. You sprung away from him, crawling next to the shelf, your face losing its lively color.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not quite—didn’t lie though—“

August had never been that quiet before. Not when his fat ass crush was rambling about her preferences in a man which just happened to be him. Not when his fat ass crush was at a loss for words.

That had never happened before.

“Fuck,” You concluded and jumped to your feet. You patted your clothes, looking anywhere but at the blonde man smirking at your feet. “Stop. Fuck. I have to go. Bye.”

August had raised the success rate of the newest strategy in town to 60%.

a/n: stumbled upon this idea on Instagram and I fell in love with that couple who made this series. you could definitely see i have a bias for making my favorite blonde miserable lmao

[write-it-good-imagines]

Back to the Future II - Enjin x Gris Centered

In the dystopian year of 2350, 200 years after the fall of the Sybil System, Japan's capital was split into two regions: Sphere and Ground. The Public Safety Bureau was transformed into the Cleaners' Headquarters, wardens of Sphereites and Groundlings alike. Their responsibility is to keep the peace between the two factions, clearly separated by their status, in the newly established System.

A woman is awakened from her cryogenic prison to do the bidding of the Cleaners against a murderous, lawless band that tries to bring down the System to return freedom to the true people. A potent weapon and criminal, you are awakened 200 years into the future, and all you want is to take the system down with you.

tags>> villain!reader, surgeon!reader, enemies with benefits, mentions of abuse, reader displays signs of depression and/or deranged behavior, angst, gore, explicit speech, explicit blood violence, mdni, akuta team, major character death(s), tragic romance, minimal use of y/n ±8k words gachiakuta x psycho pass cross universe

chapter 1 chapter 2 coming soon... chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 alternative ending

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Chaos unraveled in the streets of the Sphere.

"Hey girl, did I tell you that your chakrams kick ass? What are they called?"

"Altair and Vega."

Because of your pure offensive power, you and Riyo were assigned to a team together to free the streets of the clutter of trash beasts. Where Riyo would dash, you would punch; where the Reaper cut, Altair and Vega would slice. You two were working well together, all things considered. Perks of being criminals: you understood each other's intentions before you even thought them.

Riyo soared through the air in a double-spinning attack and dragged the Reaper on your ankle to slash the abundance of trash beasts into thin pieces of rubbish. "Oh, I know this! It's a myth of star-crossed lovers, innit?"

You recalled the chakrams only to relaunch them together. The speed increased until they formed a tornado that cleared a path to the destroyed City Hall building. "Aren't you kinda chatty?" You snickered and landed on your feet to focus your sight on the passageway. A cubical-shaped core floated in even motions to create and release new trash beasts into the world.

"Fighting in silence just kills the mood," Riyo laughed back and touched down by your side. Emerald eyes locked down on the primary target. The core. "Was your husband cool? For sure he was, scoring a dandy woman like you. I won't tell the others, promise!"

You knelt in a sprinting position, arming your chakrams in both hands. Riyo raised the Reaper in a straight trajectory, preparing to gyrate it as soon as you dashed away. "Yes, he was. The coolest."

"I knew it!" Riyo put a finger in the air with a knowing expression dancing on your face. "What was his name?"

With Riyo guarding your back, you launched yourself through the created avenue, wind hissing in your wake.

"Gris. Gris Rubion."

"Hey, handsome."

The fair-haired man abruptly stopped taping his wrists. The boxing ring was empty, except for the coach, his sparring partner, and some crew, so he didn't realize that the sublime voice was calling out for him. His sparring partner didn't either; he was the one to respond to the blatant catcalling.

"Hey, sweetie," the dark brown head craned toward you, a lazy smile toying with his lips. Despite the confidence he presented, he let his grey eyes travel up and down your body, covered by a doctor's coat. "What's a catch like you doing in this shithole?"

"I'm not interested in inspectors of the bureau," you chuckled, high heels clicking against the tattered vinyl around the ring. "I was talking to your blonde companion."

An eyebrow cocked against his forehead. "How did you know I was an inspector at the bureau?"

You laughed, bold and loud. Charming. The fair-haired man admired your hair bouncing with your laughter and your porcelain eyes curling into crescents. "My, my, you gave me a card in my own emergency room, flirted with me, and you don't remember me? Inspector Kougami Shinya, I dare say I'm not that forgettable—"

"Doctor L/n," Kougami's sparring partner approached the rim of the ring, finishing up the tape on his left wrist. His other hand was naked, still, hypnotically warm when you shook it. "You're not forgettable at all."

You glanced into his blue eyes, staring into waves that you knew would pull you under, but let them anyway. "Please, don't mind my partner. I trust the child we brought in after that unfortunate accident has made a full recovery?"

"Pfft, that's low, Gris," Kougami whistled, "Of course, I know who you is. I watched your crack open that child's shin to prepare him for surgery. Right in our faces like it was just another Tuesday."

"Because it was a Tuesday," Gris simply chuckled, and your fingers lingered in his touch. He must have noticed, for Gris dared to trace the pads of his calloused fingers over the silky skin. "I apologize, I must not have given you my name. My name is Gris Rubion."

"Nu-uh-uh," Jabber tutted, Altair bouncing sharply against the metal of his claws. "Patience, ma'. Boss is not done with his stuff yet, can't let you destroy this."

You pirouetted on your foot and jumped a back flip to gain distance from Jabber. You sent Vega flying to sweep the cube on its blade, but Jabber parried it. Both chakrams returned to their owner.

"Interesting needles," You snickered, wiping both chakrams on your uniform. "Reek of poison."

"Ah~ do you like them?" Jabber lifted his arms in the air, a fizzling liquid dropping from the edge of his claws. "Game knows game, ma'. I knew you'd appreciate the newest concoction I made with my Mankira!"

He showed his jinki with great pride to you, who should have been his opponent, and instead felt like Jabber was the worshipper. A sad worshipper, by the manner in which his characteristics dropped. "But there's just something I don't understand."

"Yeah?" You rotated both chakrams on your wrists, generating circles of fire. "What's that?"

"How could you let them kill your man and not torture them to death one by one, lil' mama? Did you forgive them?"

You thrust both hands forward, slinging the chakrams toward Jabber. Digits moved imperceptibly to change the trajectory of the blades, forcing Jabber to guard with his Mankira against the flurry of slashes.

Why did you let them all go, indeed?

"That's something I also desire to know."

Glassy eyes remarked on the unknown figure, gliding through the hole in what used to be City Hall's ceiling. You had to blink once, twice, to make sure the sharp snap sound that coated the area was, in fact, coming from a bird's broken neck. A fractured neck that the unknown silhouette swallowed whole.

"In a world that took everything from you, no matter how hard you fought for it, you should be the one to do the taking now."

The man descended his arm, and dark senbon feathers detached from a shadow of a wing that kept him flying. Between Jabber lurking in the whirlwind of your chakrams and the senbon rain sent to collapse on you, you had to make a quick decision: poison or bleeding?

Bleeding should have been the lesser of two evils. You braced for impact, pushing Jabber backwards with a definitive slash of the Altair blade, Vega used to carve into Jabber's femoral nerve. You could at least make sure you would have one less enemy to worry about.

The impact never came.

Featyours came crashing down on the Umbreaker, metal clinking against metal. The downpour awakened a screeching sound that scraped the ear. Enjin strengthened his body, back against yours, Umbreaker shredding the enemy's attack.

"Good decision," Enjin smirked, folding the canopy. "You're quick on your feet."

"And here I thought I would die today," you smirked right back at him. "I have to try harder next time."

The nameless Raider opened his wings and cast an oppressive shadow over the ruins. Zanka and Riyo both appeared from outside the building, weapons aimed at the two intruders.

"You're outnumbered, boys," Riyo said, pointing the Reaper at the floating figure. "Say your prayers before we take you in."

The unknown man spared the Akuta team one last glance. A satisfied one, if you dared suppose. He deliberately threw the brown dossier at the Cleaners' feet. "My objective is complete for today. I expect you to join me, Y/n. I know we can do great things together."

Enjin's ears perked up at the muffled yelp of a child. He tilted his head in the direction of the sound and spotted the little boy crawling behind a severed wall inside the hall. A menacing gust created a current that intensified into a hurricane, tearing apart what remained of the building. You watched the nameless Raider descend to collect Jabber's laughing body from the ground. A choice between them and the little boy whose tiny frame was squashed by the wall falling over him.

You sent your chakrams flying to tear the cement apart.

By the time the Akuta team managed to open their eyes through the dust, you had already knelt by the little boy's unconscious body. You pressed your ear against his chest; muffled gurgling sounds. His lungs were full of fluid from the aftershock of the wall collapsing over his body.

"Enjin," you dropped a scalpel from under your sleeve. The blade was a tad too big for the emergency operation, but it had to do. "I need a thin object that can be used as a catheter and a bottle of booze."

Zanka watched you tear apart the little boy's clothing. "You can't be serious. The specialized medical team is on its way."

"I am the specialized medical team," you undressed yourself from the suit jacket and used your chakrams as flints to start a fire with the discarded material. "Stop whining so much all the time."

You used another scalpel to tie your locks in a messy bun at the base of your neck while waiting for the small fire to intensify. You hovered the initial scalpel over the flame, pressing your fingers into various points in the child's ribcage. And maybe Zanka wished you ill because a bunch of officers crowded what became an open medical field.

"Put your hands up and step away from the child!"

You laughed in response. You pinpointed the proper spot for the pleural aspiration. "No can do, assholes. This is now a medical field; be obedient and stay away."

They were adorable with their useless Dominators pointed at you.

"At ease, officers."

Enjin's command baffled them. "But, sir—"

Enjin approached you with a bottle of expensive bourbon and some sustainable straws he collected from some cracked vault he found in the debris. "This is a licensed pediatric surgeon and a Cleaner in the Akuta team."

"Sir!" The captain of the platoon saluted. "Apologies, ma'am. Medical team is 5 minutes out."

You glanced at Enjin. You wanted to say something, but the stoicism on his face made your reconsider. The second time he backed you up that day. What was Enjin after? "I only need two. Enjin, pour the alcohol over his chest and keep some for me to wash my hands and one straw."

He did. You placed the seared blade under the alcohol to rinse it and sterilize it. Then, you traced your index over the spot you'd pinpointed earlier and angled the scalpel at a sharp 45 degrees. "Wash the straw. Be careful how you hold it because I need it clean."

Enjin peeked at you; the fine lines on your face disappeared under the stone-cold concentration you put yourself under. Nimble fingers cut a precise opening between the child's ribs, with minimal blood dropping from the incision. Your irises glowed with warmth, a color too delicate to belong to a serial killer or a criminal.

You were strikingly human when you were saving a life.

"Straw," You requested and didn't even look when Enjin placed it in between your fingers. You inserted the straw through the middle of the incision, and rose colored liquid exploded through the artificial canal.

"Is it normal for blood to come out?" Enjin asked, even as his eyes observed your visage rather than the procedure.

"Yes," you nodded and gently grabbed the child's wrist between your thumb and first two fingers to assess his pulse. The way you tended to the child was so effortless and so easy, Enjin thought.

"Blunt force trauma inflicts shock on the skin tissue and muscle, so it's natural that blood vessels would break and leak blood under the skin. See here," you circled the scalpel over the magenta bruises.

Enjin didn't look where you pointed; golden eyes were fixated on your visage, and you were too focused on your patient to notice. "Yeah, I see."

"Pulse is steady. If there's no major internal damage, then clear, pale-yellow fluid should come out right about—"

As you described, the liquid erupted from the straw. "—now."

The child took a deep breath, arching his spine off the ground. He was unconscious, still, and you laid him down softly. Enjin let out a gasp he didn't realize he was holding. You saved the child.

"Congratulations, commander. You can now perform a thoracentesis yourself."

You put out the fire and straightened your body. You threw the scalpel in the ash and walked away from the child. "Judging by the swell in the upper right quadrant of his abdomen, it's highly likely either the liver or the gallbladder was damaged in the fall. The medical team will know what to do."

Enjin looked at you. "Don't you want to be the one to do whatever needs to be done? You're the one who saved him."

"Make no mistake," You stopped in your tracks, and Enjin watched your fist clench. "I am not a surgeon anymore. I am a classified murderer who no longer has a past and certainly has no future. I don't exist in this lifetime. So no, I don't want to be the one to do whatever needs to be done."

The properly equipped medical team rushed over to assist Enjin and the little boy on the cold ground. When he gazed in your direction again, you were no longer there. Zanka and Riyo approached their leader, and one didn't have to be a psychic to notice the remorse tugging at both their expressions.

"Captain," a medical crew member turned to Enjin. "Did you apply first aid to this child?"

Enjin chuckled lowly. Bitterly. "Never in hell could I do this."

"Well, whoever did, I wish I could speak to them in person. I've never seen such a perfect thoracentesis made by human hands in my life. This is machine-grade precision."

You relaxed against the edge of the bathtub, hair sprawling over the acrylic material. You crossed your legs in a lotus position, hands childishly brought together in your lap.

"What is it, darling?" Gris chuckled, kneeling down beside you. You were bouncing your knees impatiently. "Someone's excited for me to wash your hair."

"Of course I am!" you pouted, eyes feasting on Gris's face. "I love it when you do it!"

Punch, kick, kick. Ponytail lingered in the air with every hit you landed on the training dummy. You tried your best to remember the sound of his voice. You couldn't.

Punch.

"For a doctor, you surely eat too much sugar!"

You licked your ice cream again, openly ignoring Gris's words. He was holding a cotton candy in his hand and a chocolate bar in the other. The chocolate bar was a pretext; protein, vegan, he said.

"For a professional athlete, you surely eat too much sugar," You retorted with a sheepish look on your face. The sangria dusk mirrored in the ocean, sky competing with the trembling waves, on which could paint the best tableau.

"You know what," Gris snorted, "I've had just about too much of your little attitude, missy."

You snickered. "Oh, yeah?" Another lick of the vanilla ice cream. "What you gonna do about it?"

Gris threw away his sweets in the sand and jumped on his lover with an avalanche of tickles. You dropped what was left of your poor ice cream and collapsed on the sand, wild hair tangling in the grains. When your laughter died down, Gris caressed your face with one hand, hugging your waist with the other.

"I'm going to kiss it out of you."

Kick, punch, kick. Your body neglected the scorching pain in your bare knuckles and ankles in favor of the turmoil in your mind. Sweat engulfed your forehead, falling in fat blobs on the side of your face.

Punch. Why couldn't you remember the sound of his voice?

"Marry me."

You all but dropped the can of beans in the middle of the supermarket. You were just trying to check when it expired.

"Very funny, Gris," You giggled, despite the thudding heart in your ribcage. "What is it, fool's day today?"

Gris approached you, cupping your face in his tender touch. "It's actually our second anniversary today," he smiled, and your entire world stopped spinning. "I didn't forget."

"It's 10 in the morning, Gris, and I start a 24-hour shift this afternoon—"

"I'm positive we can make it in time to the City Hall and back before you start your shift," Gris laughed and shoved a hand in the pocket of his jeans.

"I didn't exactly plan to ask you like this, but I woke up this morning, with you in my arms and cuddled up in my chest, and I knew I couldn't waste a single moment more."

Gris dropped to one knee. The whole supermarket basked in the unexpected proposal that filled your eyes to the brim. "I'll ask you again properly, I promise, but in the meantime..."

Gris's voice quivered with emotion, raw and so full of passion. "Will you make me the happiest man alive and grant me the privilege of becoming my wife?"

You slammed your head into the training dummy with a force so suppressed it cracked it in two. When blood flowed from the hairline in a creek, it whirled down the inner corner of your eyes in place of the tears you were unable to cry.

An empty, useless murmur was all you could let out. "I can't remember the sound of your voice."

Enjin couldn't stand by to watch you fall apart any longer. He caught your fist just as you were about to punch it through the splinters in the broken dummy. "That's enough training for today."

You didn't, or rather couldn't, register Enjin's presence in the room. The silence in your brain was too deafening, too numbing to understand the real world. You simply perceived Enjin's block for retaliation of the dummy and lifted your free hand to deliver your punch again.

Scarlet droplets stained your shirt as they dripped. Enjin's eyes softened at the sight of your shallow irises. There was nothing behind your orbs, just the void screaming back at you, gone before you could even breathe.

"Hey," Enjin tried again, holding your injured hands with forgotten gentleness. "It's me."

That wasn't Gris's voice.

"Enjin," you mumbled and pulled yourself away from his grasp. His touch burned beyond the pain in your knuckles. "What do you want?"

You came back, but at what cost?

"I came by to bring you this," Enjin replied, retrieving the scrolled brown dossier from the back pocket of his jeans. Steady, measured tone. He hated speaking to you like you were nothing but a caged animal. "This belongs to you."

Under the flickering neon light of the improvised training room that once used to be the leisure room of the CID Division 1, your eyes shimmered ice blue, sharp as broken glass in the snow. The pool table was still there; you had beaten Kougami's ass one too many times right in that very place. The same pool table that later witnessed a tragedy.

"I don't need it," You said with empty stoicism. "There’s no point for me to read it. I'll hear all about it in the objectivization meeting tomorrow."

"I didn't read it."

You let out a muted laugh at Enjin's words.

"Why? Too scared to find out about all the filth in there?"

"Not my story to tell."

You lifted your head to look up at him properly; there was a distinct sentiment in the way he was looking at you. Not pity, not mercy. Not sympathy either. Something else. Something closer to understanding. You couldn't name it.

"No one in the Akuta team read it, and they won't," Enjin's voice irked you. It was too even, too calm. Too human. "Burn it, tear it apart, feed it to the dogs. It's yours to do as you will with it."

The ghosts swirling in the darkest corners of your mind must have been at fault for allowing you to see Enjin in a different light than before. More neutral, more real. Not between a master and its slave, not between a commander owning a piece of flesh. One human to another.

"Is it your husband's voice you can't remember?" Enjin asked and placed the file on the coffee table nearby. He watched your eyes turn from ice blue to the barren bleak midwinter. Like you blamed yourself for not remembering. "You don't have to answer that."

"How long does it take, I wonder," You responded, a tremor in your tone. "Before I forget his face, too?"

A lone tear melted within the clotted blood on your face. "I can see him so vividly now, in our memories, but it feels like I'm deaf. There's no sound, no harmony, no nothing. How long until I turn blind, too?"

You clutched at your face like you intended to gouge your eyes out. "You asked me why I'm so keen to die. It's because I can't kill myself."

Step by step, you backed yourself into the wall by the door, clutching harder at the skin. "I tried. Fuck, I counted it. 46 times I tried to take my life, and 46 times they brought me back to life. Punishment for defying the system, they said. But of course, no one would remember that, just like there's no trace left of my husband. Just a ghost, only I remember."

Your body collided with the floor; your knees buckled under the pressure of the tears you couldn't cry anymore.

"How long 'till he disappears?"

Enjin wrapped his arms around you. Tightly, securely.

Your lifeline.

The collar of Enjin's shirt dampened. He pulled you closer into him.

On the other side of the door, Zanka dug his nails so deeply into the flesh until wounds opened. Riyo stopped playing with your pair of scissors. Frozen in place, frozen in a transient suffering of a dubbed criminal.

That wasn't a criminal's deceit. It was a cry for help.

"Let go," you said, pushing into Enjin's chest. He only hugged tighter. "Let fucking go."

You slapped him, hit him, cursed him. Nothing you did made Enjin let go. Tears overflowed in the material of his shirt.

"I don't fight for the system."

You flinched in his arms. Enjin cupped the back of your head to lay you against his chest.

"The wise should learn from history," He continued. For a split second, you remembered Gin talking. It was his favorite quote, after all. "What history taught me is that the system can go fuck itself right up the ass. As far as I'm concerned, I couldn't care less if a riot happens right now." A chuckle. "In fact, it would do me a favor if it did."

Enjin paused. To take a breath. For the words to settle.

"I cannot do anything about what happened to you. I can't change your past. But I meant it when I said you're part of us now. I fight to protect my people, to protect all the innocent people. Spherite, Groundling, doesn't matter. For now, from the position I'm in, this is what I can do."

He pulled back to look at you. Shattered, frozen, broken. Infinitely beautiful beyond that. The cold in your eyes stuck to his skin.

"I won't tell you what to do," Enjin finally said, and his tattooed hands lingered around your midsection. "That's not in my job description. Still, after what I saw today, how you saved that child, the way you fight, this doesn't look to me like a resolution of someone who wants to die."

You slapped Enjin's hands away. Your body reacted violently to that simple touch, a touch that engraved the imprint of a monster so deep your waist was unable to feel anything else. "You don't know jackshit about me, Enjin."

Enjin wanted to reach out to your but hesitated. You had closed off within your shell, arms wrapped tightly around your middle.

"Yeah, I don't," he said instead, almost regretful. Enjin loitered around, delaying the inevitable. "I'll stick to my gut."

"Read the file then. Out loud."

Enjin blinked. "What?"

"Read it, go on," You jerked your head to look him straight in his golden eyes. "Stick to your gut. See what you find." Laughter. Crude. "Hell, I don't even know myself!"

"I'm not falling for this," Enjin said, and straightened his body. "I won't read it."

You scrutinized him as his body angled towards the door. "You're a coward."

Enjin didn't reply.

"You pretend you're fighting for justice and shit, but you're afraid to dig any deeper. What's this justice you're fighting for? You say history taught you something, but I say you turned a blind eye."

He reached for his pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips. "Go join the Raiders then."

"I just might," You spat, even though you didn't believe a word coming out of his mouth. "Give you your fucking anarchy."

Enjin tapped on his choker. You felt a sharp burn in the back of your neck. You touched it, and your fingers coated with incinerated silicon.

"You have about 2 minutes to make your choice until they come down here and install you a brand new one," Enjin exhaled the nicotine in his lungs. "So, go. Run away and join the Raiders. Kill yourself and be done with it. Or stay." A pause. "And have free will."

You laughed. "You can't give me free will."

Semiu stormed Enjin's office the following morning. The glass door shattered from the force of her slamming it open.

"Mornin' to you too," Enjin greeted, eyes skimming through a report and ash falling from his cigarette. "That's about 1.5 grand. Coffee, tea?"

Semiu smacked both hands down on his mahogany desk. "Are you insane?"

"Depends on what standards," He replied. "By the old system, I'd say my coefficient should be about 35 because you startled me just now—"

Semiu snatched the cigarette from between his lips and slammed it into another report on the desk. It sizzled instantly.

"It took me 3 hours to do that," Enjin sighed, grabbing his pack for a new tobacco roll.

"What if she ran away?"

The lighter flicked. "Collateral damage."

"What if she shot her brains out?"

Enjin shrugged. "Collateral damage. See, I don't know where this is going—"

Semiu reached over the desk to snatch the cigarette Enjin had just ignited, but he dodged it with a swift gesture of the head. "I'm not letting you ruin another 3 hours of my life."

"What if she killed us?"

"She didn't. Won't."

"You had no right to vouch for her."

Enjin shrugged again. "I had all right, actually. It's written in the Akuta leader's textbook somewhere. I never cared enough to read it all. Besides, I already did it for Riyo, and look how that turned out."

Semiu sighed through her nose. "Yes, because Riyo, we knew all about. I can't begin to tell you how many gaps there are in this woman's story, and you won't even let me read that fucking file!"

"Read it if you're oh so dying to do so."

You appeared in the door frame, brown file in hand, heels crushing the glass shards. You threw the dossier on Enjin's desk, which earned you an amused glance from the Akuta leader. You were looking posh, brand new suit, hair styled freely in casual curls, and were you wearing perfume?

"Spoiler alert, it's not crazy," You continued and turned on your heels to walk away. "It's just skeletons in the closet of the people who laid the foundations of the Cleaners as you know them today."

What even was that scent? Rose? And not only rose, but also blackcurrant? Sandalwood?

"How do we know it's not just you and the Raiders bullshitting?"

Did you order it yourself?

"You can't, I guess. But if your almighty boss had a frozen skeleton in his closet—surprise surprise, me—I wonder how many others he stuffs back there."

"For fuck's sake, say something, Enjin."

Semiu's voice snapped him from the trance he fell under. Good thing his eyes had become obsessed with the report Semiu ruined. It was easier for Enjin to veil his piqued interest behind his casual disinterest.

"I say that we should prepare for our meeting," Enjin exhaled, fingers curling around his cigarette. "We have to meet our contacts today to find out who manufactures those weird-ass core cubes."

Semiu decided to openly protest against her leader and said no further words for the rest of the day unless it was absolutely critical to the mission. And Enjin? It wasn't like Enjin couldn't care less about Semiu's open protest, far from it, but he found himself fighting with his sense of smell to stay focused on the tasks at hand rather than whiffing you like a fucking hound dog. Ironic, right?

"Riyo and I will go to Canvas District. Zanka, you're with Evelyn, Hole District."

"Looks like you're stuck with your favorite criminal today, kid," you taunted, crossing your legs in your chair. Sending another fucking gust of perfume through the room. "Hope you're not a boring babysitter."

Zanka clicked his tongue in unmistakable displeasure. "Why do you get to go to Canvas District and have all the fun?"

"Because I'm the only one who knows the tattoo artist informant," Enjin replied, and stifled a snort at your comical, mocked claw gesture and the muted Rawr! that followed after. Riyo didn't need that self-control; your laughter popped a vein in Zanka's forehead. "Besides, it's not fun, Zanka. It's a mission!"

So, long story short, Zanka and you arrived in the Hole District to stick out like two sore thumbs, despite their alleged undercover outfits.

"That was Enjin's worst idea," Zanka mumbled under his breath, pulling the hood lower on his face, "And he's had many terrible ideas."

Perhaps, in other circumstances, you would have laughed. But the poverty and suffering in the Hole District were too oppressive to ignore. The two Cleaners were ridiculously out of place in the area; even with their improvised ragged outfits, the way they carried themselves was beyond anything those poor residents were capable of.

Decaying bodies in the gutter, both dead or still enduring, filled the air with a pungent smell of rot. Bony stray dogs hovered to eat whatever aftermath remained. Destroyed houses barely holding up. Human beings burning the last of their goods to keep themselves warm in a winter that came early. The people who retained their capacity to walk, or at least stand up straight, hovered around murky corners and pierced the exotic intruders with their orbs.

The only mercy given to those people was the snow that had started falling from the sky; a kindness from the heavens to bury the misery under the purity of the flakes.

You stood corrected. At the peak of the Sybil System, all humans had a home and a warm meal on their tables. 200 years had passed, and everything was unbelievably worse.

"It gets better when we get to Delmon's house," Zanka said, like he could read your mind. A surgeon was bound to see many horrors in their profession, and yet, the horrors unfolding before your very eyes were tangible and readable in the reflections of your glassy eyes. Beyond anything you'd ever seen.

True to his promise, Delmon's house was perched on a small hill, standing guard over an impressive orchard and a greenhouse. Delmon Gates, a retired Cleaner turned informant, chose to live with his wife in the poverty of the Hole District, despite his handsome pension. Ask him why, and he'd answer that he felt like he had to leave the world a better place than he'd found it. So, Delmon became a farmer who fed over 150 mouths with the food he grew in his backyard.

"What can I get you?" Delmon's wife greeted them and seated them in their humble living room. "Would you like some tea? Coffee, perhaps?"

You didn't dare ask for either. Felt wrong to do so, after what you'd seen. "Nothing for me, thank you."

"I don't think we've met before!" Delmon chirped, extending his muscular arm to you. "Are you a new recruit of the Cleaners? You must have joined after my retirement, surely!"

You offered your name. Despite being a trusted informant, Delmon shouldn't have been bothered with the politics and intrigues of the HQ. There was no need to disclose more than necessary. Your sharp instincts would come in handy, eventually. "I'm a new joiner indeed. Team Akuta."

"Oh? With Enjin, huh?" Delmon laughed, and the ground vibrated when he sat down. "How's he doin'? Still cheeky?"

"Delmon," Zanka cleared his throat, "We want you to take a look at something."

Zanka revealed the cubical-shaped core from the sash under his cape. Delmon took it to inspect it closely. "I've never seen something like this before. Is this the object that spawned trash beasts into the City Hall? The event was all over the news."

"Yes. Semiu's first analysis discovered that it emits high-frequency signals that collect the energy from the ground and disperse it into inanimate objects. We've come up with a gadget to cancel the effect, but we don't know what kind of variations can be made from it."

"It's impressive mastercraft," Delmon agreed, "And intricate design. I've heard rumors about some underground giver blacksmith. Not in this District, though. I believe someone sighted him at Midnight. I can put you in contact with someone there, if you want."

A weak knock on the Gates' front door interrupted their conversation. Zanka armed his staff preemptively.

"Mrs. Gates! My children are feeling sick again," an unsteady voice of a woman came through. "Can you help me with some syrup again?"

"It's okay," Delmon's wife smiled. "We know her. Her children are anemic and always sickly, so I help them with some herbs and syrup as often as I can."

The front door opened, and the woman timidly stepped inside, accompanied by three little children, much more underweight than they were supposed to be. You visually examined the children: one of them did have the typical symptoms of anemia. Paler skin, shortness of breath, and, judging by the way she breathed, she also had heart palpitations. The second child, a boy, was sweating profusely and looked bloated in the belly. The third, despite being malnourished, seemed to be in a stable condition.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Gates," the woman said, dipping her head in a bow. "My son doesn't stop vomiting. I made tea with the herbs you gave me, but nothing changed. So I came back to ask for more."

"Does he have a fever? Noticeable bowel changes?"

The woman looked toward the couch, where your cloaked figure spoke. You untied the shawl and let it fall to the floor when you stood up, hair flowing from its confinement. A common gasp echoed in the room; the poor family was dazzled by your appearance. You approached the boy and knelt beside him.

"Hello, little one," You cooed. The boy flinched in surprise, caramel eyes staring right into winter-blue irises. "What's your name?"

The boy blinked. A bold shade of pink colored his freckles. "Kayle."

"Kayle," You repeated and gave him a smile. "Let's play a game. Do you like games?"

Kayle nodded.

"Good! It's a simple game. I'll ask you some questions, and you only need to answer with yes or no. Is that okay?"

Kayle nodded again. "Yes."

"Good boy! You're doing great already!" You giggled, and the little boy unconsciously straightened his back. "Does your stomach hurt?"

"Yes."

"Does it hurt bad?"

"Yes."

"Can I touch your stomach to check where it hurts?"

"Yes."

The mother watched you press two fingers into her son's belly, and he winced in pain under specific pressure points. You touched the back of your hand against his damp forehead.

"Mrs. Gates," You said calmly, "What herbs did you give for the boy?"

"Oh, it was fennel, sage, and turmeric. Why?"

"You might have just saved his life. You prolonged the time it took for his appendix to become inflamed. Perfect timing, we'll take it out now. Mrs. Gates, do you mind cleaning a large table for me, please? I'll also need boiling water to sterilize the scalpels."

The mother watched you fetch a first-aid scalpel kit from a backpack on the couch, unable to form coherent words. Zanka discarded his own cloak and eased his body into the sofa. Try as he might, there was a sense of pride for his companion that he couldn't hide behind his constipated smirk. "Looks like we'll be here a while."

"20 minutes," You corrected him, and got the choker from the bag to dial HQ for supplies. "That if I'm given what I need stat."

"Miss..." the mother mustered the courage to speak to your savior, brought by the Heavens. "I have nothing to give you. Only my life."

"Keep your life. You'll need it to care for your son." You glanced at the woman with a smile. Enjin picked up the call. "Hey, commander."

"Mm, 'sup?"

"I sent in a detailed prescription of medication, anesthetics, and some emergency equipment I need delivered to me in the next 10 minutes max. Code black or whatever."

Enjin laughed on the other end of the line. Like he was expecting you to call sooner rather than later. "On my tab. Anything else?"

You twisted your locks into a bun. "So that's why you sent us to this shithole of a place, huh? You were testing me."

"You can call it testing, I like to call it goodwill. How many lives are you saving today?"

You turned to the children. "Kids, cover your ears!" They did. You continued. "You son of a bitch."

Enjin laughed again, heartily that time around. "Ouch. Nasty shit to call your benefactor. Are you by any chance good with kids?"

"I'm hanging up," You rolled your eyes. A sliver of a smile in your tone. "Hope I don't see you again."

"Tough luck. I'm your boss. You get to see me ever—"

You hung up on Enjin, and Zanka cackled loudly. "Asshole deserves it."

"Miss," the mother spoke again, tears welling in her eyes. "Who are you? Are you the Messiah?"

In another lifetime, you would have given your name. Would have given your profession. Would have carried yourself with pride in front of strangers whom you would operate on.

"I'm no Messiah," You replied instead. "I'm just your average janitor."

You walked to the small boy to prep him for the impromptu surgery. Zanka craned his body into the sofa, his arm lounging over the backrest.

"Messiah? Like in the ancient scriptures?"

"Yes," the woman replied, shaking her head frantically. "We were promised a savior! A savior that would cure our hunger and our thirst and give us the true, divine blessing."

You lifted the boy's shirt to inspect his body. A fresh stitch adorned the lumbar area of his spine.

"True blessing?" Zanka repeated, muscles tensing on instinct. "Who promised you this true blessing?"

"We didn't see the face behind the words. But a masked person appeared in our district some nights ago and instructed us to prepare ourselves for the holy journey. The holy journey that connects our lives to salvation—"

"Kayle," You interrupted the woman with a sense of urgency. Something was not right; you could feel it in the rattle of your bones. "Have you ever had surgery before?"

The child shook his head. You focused your sight on the scar, frostbitten-bright irises aimed at a tiny device that was not supposed to be there. A beeping device.

"Honey," Mrs. Gates approached you with a pot of boiling water. "Where do you want this—"

"Everyone out of the house. Now!"

The last thing you heard before the deafening ringing collapsed in your ears was the devastating discharge of a bomb.

"If you surrender yourself to the Public Safety Bureau and become an Enforcer, your husband will be free to go."

You were not cornered, could not be cornered with useless threats and empty promises, because your crime coefficient had been at a constant and staggering 0 ever since you killed Japan's prime minister in your hospital office.

The same man who kicked you in the stomach and raped you. The man responsible for your miscarriage.

Kougami's eyes were cemented on your as Inspector Tsunemori informed you of the terms of their bargain. Dead silent. "He is currently in our custody. He is safe."

"On what grounds did you take him in?" You asked, crystal-pale orbs darting back and forth between Inspector Tsunemori and Inspector Ginoza, who were both pointing their useless Dominators at you. Kougami was keeping silent, albeit the doubt in his eyes was blaring.

"My husband's crime coefficient never passed 100."

"His hue darkened, and we had to take him into a rehabilitation facility to keep him stable," Ginoza intervened when Akane hesitated to reply. "He's in good hands—"

You laughed, pearl-white irises trembling in their sockets. "That's a fucking lie. You arrested him to get to me. I'm not giving you shit. Kougami, you have to be honest with me here."

Kougami dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his foot. "They're going to kill him if you don't surrender. That's the truth."

Ginoza couldn't believe his ears. "Kougami—"

"You're more valuable to the System alive than dead," Kougami continued. "Do all of us a favor and come in quietly. Do Gris a favor."

"What the fuck happened here?!" Enjin's voice roared through the air, all but jumping from the helicopter transport to reach Delmon's house, or what was left of it, faster. The orchard in the back caught on fire, and the greenhouse melted in a puddle of fossil oil, polymers, and burning coals. A large hose dropped from the helicopter to start a water line on the fire.

Riyo soared through the air and landed on top of the Reaper. No human sounds could be heard, only the acute sound of crackling wood and the sizzling heat. No signs of the other half of the Akuta team. "Enjin, can't you blow it away? Shred the ruins so we can search for the others?"

"I can't risk shredding them away in the process," Enjin replied helplessly. "Come on, people, we need water here! We have victims in the rubble."

"He's ready to see you now."

You didn't wait for the door of Gris's cell to be opened entirely; you burst inside to throw yourself into his arms. Gris enveloped your body in his embrace, burying his face into the blackcurrant scent of your wild strands.

"You're well," he murmured, arms locking tighter around your frame. "God, my love, you're well."

"I'm well, my love," You pulled back to caress his face. Gris looked so tired, so mistreated. You hadn't seen him in more than two weeks. "I missed you so much, fuck, I'm so sorry."

"What are you sorry about?" Gris chuckled and snaked one arm around to rest over your belly. No one had told him anything; they simply lifted him up from their home the night you killed the prime minister. And he only assumed it was because he beat one guy too hard in what was about to become the last boxing match of his career.

"How's our child? Is your pregnancy going well—"

Blood splattered over your face. The world fell silent. You never heard the gunshot, never heard Kougami's howls, never heard Akane's muffled whimpers. You never heard the fading gasps of the 15 guards you assassinated when the pair of chakrams sliced their necks. You only ever heard your husband's life as it extinguished from his body.

Gris died utterly oblivious, murdered in cold blood by the Sybil System.

"Enjin, I got Zanka!" Riyo yelled from across the field, dragging Zanka's unconscious body from under the rubble. "He's breathing!"

Enjin had started to become agitated. The last one to be rescued was you.

The Akuta leader pointed his activated Umbreaker to search through the debris with the ferrule. He pushed an entire wall out of the way before he found your body. Enjin knelt beside you.

"I need Eishia here, right the fuck now!"

You were not breathing.

Enjin tossed his coat aside and tangled his hands together to perform chest compressions on you. What if your ribs were broken? Maybe your lungs were full of liquid from the trauma you suffered? Fuck, what was that procedure called, the one that you did on the kid in the City Hall? What if you needed that instead?

"Come on, come on," Enjin gasped, counting the rhythm of the compressions in his mind. "Wake up, come on! Don't you dare die on me now! Where is Eishia?!"

"Baby, can you come in the kitchen real quick?"

Gris closed the front door of your shared apartment and set his gym bag on the floor. He kicked off his sneakers and put them neatly by the doormat. "Is there anything wrong, sweetheart?"

You were seated on the barstool by the kitchen counter, an ultrasound scan laid out on the surface. "I had my OBGYN appointment today."

"How did it go? Everything good? Why is your period late?" Gris asked and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before he seated himself across.

"I can walk you through this black-and-white sheet that probably doesn't mean shit to you now," You giggled, pushing the scan closer to Gris's hands. "But I promise it will."

"It doesn't," He admitted with a chuckle. "But I'm a fast learner!"

You bit your lip to steady your voice. Your index finger traced distinct shapes on the ultrasound that Gris would have never been able to decipher on his own. "This here is the gestational sack. If you squint a bit closer, we also have a yolk sack inside of it."

Gris squinted. He would never say it out loud, but he couldn't outline any of what his wife said. "Okay, gestational sack and yolk sack."

"Mhm," you jumped purposely to the last image. "You also have to squint here, but we have a tiny little flicker."

"Do we?"

"Yup, and thank God we do," You giggled again, more emotional. "Having a heartbeat on the ultrasound this early is a very good sign. It means that it stuck."

Gris's fingers glitched over the images. Blue eyes bounced upon yours.

"My love," Gris said as it all came together. "Are you pregnant?"

You nodded, a tear bubbling out. "6 weeks along. My period didn't come because, well, I'm growing our baby—"

The barstool shrieked and fell with how fast Gris tossed it aside to scoop his wife in his arms. You circled your arms around his neck as he spun your around, chortles filling the house with joy. Gris stopped mid-twirl to kiss you, and you encompassed your legs around his waist.

"You're making me a father," Gris spoke against your lips. He couldn't believe he deserved such a blessing.

"You're making me the father of our child. Our child, sugar. I don't...fuck, baby. You chose me to be the father of your child."

"Our child," You repeated, cutting him off. "They will be the most loved and most cherished child in the world, I'm sure. You're going to be a great father."

"Wake the fuck up!"

Enjin's arms contracted and pulsated in pain. He had been doing CPR for almost 100 seconds, or so he counted. No change in your lifeless body.

"I know you didn't mean it," Enjin gasped, a shred of desperation riding on the tone of his voice. "You didn't mean it when you said you won't see me again."

Why was Enjin desperate to see you open your eyes?

A potent weapon and a criminal you. A life-saver surgeon, you. A member of team Akuta, you. A woman who lost everything. You.

You, who'd been looking forward to someone ending your life.

"Fight, goddamit!" Enjin yelled as he pressed one last compression into your chest. "You don't get to die in my arms."

A relation of causality between the Akuta leader and what should have been a potent weapon and a criminal. And, as mathematics dictated, there should have been a logical why behind Enjin's desperation to bring you back to him.

You didn't smell like blackcurrant and sandalwood. You smelled like dust and death. Like the aftermath of heartbreak. The void that came with it.

"I want us to buy a house on a hill above the ocean."

You looked up at Gris. You snuggled closer to him in your bed, basking in the warmth of his arms around your tummy. Gris didn't let your go ever since you'd given him the great news; his hand was permanently resting over your belly. Protecting their unborn child from any misfortune.

"Where did that come from?" You laughed, peeking at his blue eyes. "A house is a great deal to take care of."

"I'll do it all," Gris murmured against your silky locks. "You won't have to lift a finger, love. I'll do it all."

"You know I can't let you do that."

Yet Gris's eyes promised otherwise. "I want you to enjoy pregnancy, motherhood, everything in between. You and I will never be the same again, and I want your journey to be an exciting one."

A heavy sigh. Of promise, of a better tomorrow. "Why the ocean?"

"I had a vision last night. I don't know who you'll take after, but this new, fragile life you're carrying would come from the ocean. I hope she takes after you."

"She?" You giggled, fingertips tracing the outline of Gris's chest. "How do you know it will be a girl?"

Gris kissed the crown of your hair. "You are the best of both of us, love. Only our daughter will be able to carry your legacy." A chuckle. "But you'll need a brother or two to take care of her."

You drew a sharp breath. Coughed up a mixture of blood clots and other liquids Enjin couldn't identify. He dropped to his knees by your side, overworked muscles clamping around bones.

"My pancreas...and my left lung..." Another raspy cough. Blood splattered over your dirty locks. "Fucking shambles."

You came back to him.

A cumbersome sigh evaded Enjin's lungs at once. A new emergency transport landed by the ruins of Delmon's house, and Eishia rushed out of the helicopter.

"You are unbelievable," Enjin snickered. In worry, in fear, in disbelief. In absolute relief. "You're coming back from the dead, and you're giving out instructions on your fucking organs?"

You hoped you could laugh in response. Coarse wheezing was all that came out instead. The nerves on your right arm must have been severed. You couldn't lift your hand to gesture for a cigarette. "I'm gonna pass out. Light one up for me?"

chapter 1

[write-it-good-imagines]

Back to the Future - Enjin x Gris Centered

In the dystopian year of 2350, 200 years after the fall of the Sybil System, Japan's capital was split into two regions: Sphere and Ground. The Public Safety Bureau was transformed into the Cleaners' Headquarters, wardens of Sphereites and Groundlings alike. Their responsibility is to keep the peace between the two factions, clearly separated by their status, in the newly established System.

A woman is awakened from her cryogenic prison to do the bidding of the Cleaners against a murderous, lawless band that tries to bring down the System to return freedom to the true people. A potent weapon and criminal, you are awakened 200 years into the future, and all you want is to take the system down with you.

tags>> villain!reader, enemies with benefits, mentions of abuse, reader displays signs of depression and/or deranged behavior, angst, gore, explicit speech, explicit blood violence, mdni, akuta team, major character death(s), tragic romance ±7.5k words gachiakuta x psycho pass cross universe

chapter 1 coming soon... chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 alternative ending

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"I advise you to be careful around her."

Heavy steps banged upon the murky corridor leading underground. Neon lights flickered, rust creaked under the metal floor, and a light bulb shattered from the moisture of the subterranean. The group of 4 people had been walking for fifteen minutes through the secret tunnels under the Sphereite capital, called upon by the leader of their faction.

"Why?" A weighty cloud of nicotine dissolved in the mould smell of the corridor. "'s just a woman. Your words, boss."

A low chuckle followed. One man stopped in front of a tightly secured tungsten door that required 3 layers of biometric authentication.

"I did say she was, after all, just a woman. But she's also a potent weapon and a criminal."

The tungsten door opened with a screeching creak, as if it had been eons since it had been opened last.

"By whose standards?" A woman's voice echoed through the advanced laboratory that was revealed behind the metal barrier. Multiple life-sustaining equipment were beeping next to what seemed to be a cryo container, the size of a normal human being. "You said her pass was 0."

"Doesn't matter by whose standards," another voice, a younger man's, countered the sounds of the electronic devices. "A criminal's a criminal."

"Oh, yeah? So that's why you gave her to us, to dip the balance of our own team? Being a reputed criminal is tough for me to carry on my own."

The faction's leader stepped closer to the cryo container. Despite the permanent smile on his face, his voice was icy and authoritative. "That's enough, Riyo, Zanka. I didn't bring you here to debate the definition of a criminal. I brought you here to groom one into helping our cause."

The boss pressed the button to open the container, and a frosty steam engulfed the laboratory. Robotic arms carried the unconscious body of the woman through the air and placed you in the center of the room. Two chains fell from the tall ceiling to imprison both your wrists and tug you upwards. One last chain collared around your neck. Your feet were dangling briefly above the floor.

"This necessary?" The last voice, that of a blonde man, spoke with evident displeasure. He crushed the butt of his cigarette with the heel of his foot. "A frozen body is not capable of doing that much after awakening."

Another robotic arm descended to inject the unconscious body in the neck with a yellow substance. "Didn't I just tell you to be careful around her, Enjin?"

Enjin was about to laugh a reply when a rush of vital energy consumed the laboratory. Riyo and Zanka were about to be yanked away from the overwhelming outburst, and Enjin had to strengthen his stance. What Enjin dubbed the frozen body now grabbed at the chains with brutal force.

The boss chuckled, folding his arms over his torso. "Meet y/n, the newest addition to team Akuta."

Both chains around your wrists fissured, and another pair collapsed from the ceiling to pull at your arms and jerk your body straight. Enjin felt a bestial intensity oozing from the detained woman, akin to unadulterated hate. Your eyelids were closed, and Enjin saw that your eye sockets were hollow behind thin skin.

"What...year... is this?" You spoke, vocal cords coarse.

"Welcome to 2350, Miss Y/n," the boss replied, tending to an adjacent cryo container.

A depraved laughter resounded through the metal walls of the laboratory; it started out low and rough, like a rumble in the chest, until you grew accustomed to the sound of your own voice, and it evolved into the vile fit of laughter that sent shivers through the skin.

"Oi," Zanka said, tone of his voice choking with a gulp, "She's insane."

"Try to sleep for 200 years, kid," You replied, tilting your head to Zanka's direction even though you couldn't see him. He flinched. "And nothing has fucking changed in two centuries."

Riyo licked her lips. She felt her blood freezing in her veins. "Boss Corvus, you said she has a jinki. What is it?"

Corvus lifted a small chest piece from the additional cryo container and approached you. He lifted the lid to reveal two crystal-pale eyeballs. "Her eyes are her jinki."

Enjin watched Corvus forcefully open your eyelids to reveal your barren sockets, staring back at the group with a basic instinctive memory. A sadistic grin was imprinted on your face, which only grew bigger when Corvus shoved your eyeballs back where they belonged. Another whirlwind of energy swallowed up the entire laboratory, glass shattering and machinery breaking from the pressure.

You broke both chains incarcerating your wrists, and you almost jumped Corvus if it weren't for the chain around your neck. The needle in your neck burned straight into your spine, and you felt it twitch in your bone marrow when you got within touching distance of Corvus's throat.

Your irises were pale and frigid, so light in color that they almost vanished, in a kind of phantom-grey that made Enjin look twice to confirm you were real. "Same bullshit, different faces," You spat at the man with a smirk. "I should just kill you all and go back to sleep."

"Where's the fun in that?" Corvus turned his back on you and walked to Enjin. "I'll leave you all to the pleasantries."

Needless to say, the entire Criminal Investigation Department eyed you with either fear or disgust. Scratch that; the building you knew all too well was now referred to as the Cleaners Headquarters. Enjin remarked firsthand that you moved with ease through the halls, knowing where to go without being told. You were a ghost of a past that should never have been brought back.

Before being paraded in front of the entire Akuta division, you were allowed to shower and given a clean suit. The meeting room was the only area in the building that remained essentially unchanged from what you remembered, and that was where the Akuta division was assembled to brief about the reason you were awakened.

"What do you call your hound dogs these days?" You laughed and plopped down on a chair, hair bouncing freely. "Back in my day, we were called Enforcers. Care to give me one?"

Enjin extracted a cigarette from his pack to put between his lips before giving one to you. You held his gaze. "Not offering to light it up for me?"

"I have no intention to make you my bitch," Enjin chuckled and deliberately dropped the lighter to the floor. "Do it yourself. You are a cleaner now. That enforcer and inspector shit don't exist anymore."

"Fuckin' pathetic," you laughed and snapped your fingers to create a spark and ignite the tobacco roll. "For assholes who reside in the same ol' building, you sure are weaklings. What are you cleaning, your asses when you shit?"

A sharp cut from across the room was intended to trap you by the neck. You leaned back into your chair when Zanka shoved some sort of an evolved form of his staff around your throat, navy blue eyes flickering in annoyance. "For a fucking hound dog, you sure have a big fat mouth."

You arched your eyebrow, saturating your lungs with Enjin's cigarette. Good as hell, better than the ones in your age. "Oh? Little pipsqueak has a voice?"

"I'll fucking kill you—"

"Zanka, that's enough."

Zanka clicked his tongue and stepped back at Enjin's words. You laughed. "Calling me a hound dog, but you're very talented at taking orders."

Enjin sighed, lungs deflating with a grey cloud of nicotine. He glanced at Riyo, who was just about to comment on something that would have escalated the conflict, then at Semiu, whose vanilla eyes would have killed you if they could.

"Look," Enjin said, golden irises scrutinizing you, "Like it or not, you're part of the Akuta team now. You'll eat at the same table with us, you'll shit in the same building we shit in, and you'll do missions with us. So I suggest you start being a bit more likable."

You crossed your legs. "No thanks, I don't think I will."

Semiu pushed her glasses upwards on the bridge of her nose. "You know what will happen if you don't behave, don't you?" Then, she seized the Dominator from its holster to push it into the back of your head. The computerized voice of the weapon spoke clearly: Target not subject to enforcement. Crime coefficient: 0. I will lock the trigger.

"I suggest you use a real gun for the job," you chuckled, puffing on your cigarette. "You'd do me a favor."

Riyo's eyes widened in anticipation. "We read your file, but it still feels surreal to meet someone criminally asymptomatic in person."

"Did you now?" You squashed the cigarette butt into a pile of files on the table. "Why don't you walk me through it? I am dying to see how much of the real deal they put in there."

"We don't have time for this shit," Enjin cut the fun off and turned on the projector. "There's a bomb rescue mission we have to go to."

"Suit yourselves," you rose from your seat, heels clicking as you began walking away from the meeting room. "I am not interested in your boring ass cases—"

Your body quivered from the sudden surge of electricity that Enjin released through your body. He increased the intensity from 0.5 amp to 0.7 in the chip planted in your nape, which was barely enough for you to grab at the nearby wall to steady yourself. "You son of a—"

"Y/n L/n, 28 years old, star pediatric surgeon in Tokyo National Hospital," Enjin began, touching the choker device around his neck to discharge another 0.8 amps through your body. "Graduated top of the medical class and was on track to become the youngest Chief of Surgery. Killed the prime minister of Japan at the time with a clean cut of the scalpel at the carotid. Then, killed his wife and two children that she had previously operated on in cold blood inside their home."

Your irises colored into frostbitten-bright, yet the heat in your stare was enough to put the Akuta team on guard. Enjin levelled his gaze upon yours, golden eyes glowing right back at you with relaxed confidence. Enjin increased the current intensity to 0.9 amps, and blobs of sweat formed on your hairline.

"Couldn't be judged by the Sybil System because of the flaws of the system, and committed 15 more crimes before she was captured by Inspector Tsunemori. Thought to have had connections with Kougami Shinya. Has an autoimmune disease that can only be treated with plasma injections made from AB- blood type, most commonly harvested in kids, and she used to harvest it illegally during her surgeries. Y/n L/n, 28 years old, believed to be the first giver on the Ground premises."

"I didn't harvest any innocent ki—" A value of 1 amp was the threshold for you to fall to your knees, which was more than any normal human could withstand. It became clear to Enjin that you were as deadly as you were deceiving. Enjin knelt right beside you, keeping your siren stare with every inch he lowered his body. And yet, something told him that there was something human, something broken, faint and fleeting in the winter of your eyes. "How's that for accurate? Now, if you've had your fun, get back in your chair."

The bombed site was surrounded by cop and ambulance cars, firefighters doing their best to keep the fire that started at bay. Rubble was still falling from the sky when the Akuta team arrived, screams and aching of the rescued victims painting an apocalyptic tableau in downtown Sphere.

Ever since the political separation into the two regions, Sphere and Ground, all such events had previously happened in the Ground area only. Perhaps that was why the authorities were taken by surprise by the unusual incident. You quickly assessed the situation: over 40 gurneys stretched at the scene, with many of those people missing various parts of their bodies, many others in urgent need of blood transplants, and a good number of dying or deceased patients.

And among the suffering and the pungent smell of blood, the strain of vital energy was imprinted on the collapsed building.

"Enjin!" A police officer took the Akuta leader aside to bring him up to speed on the situation. You walked closer to the ruins, cigarette dangling from your lips, and you knelt near what used to be the entrance. Slender digits traced the dust, and you pinched a powder of it to rub between fingertips.

"Yeah, okay," Enjin said, spinning his umbrella on his wrist. "We'll focus on getting the survivors first, and then—"

Boom.

The entire Akuta team craned their heads towards the deafening explosion sound; You slammed your fist into the ground, sending concrete wreckage flying through the air. Enjin opened his umbrella and dashed to protect the victims, Riyo evolved her scissors to cover the authorities, and Zanka sprinted to look after the civilians; but the debris never came down.

A pair of pure white chakrams spun around, the pearly blades chopping down the cement chunks and debris into tiny particles that fell like ash over the earth. The chakrams returned obediently to your hands, only to shatter into snowy grains, the same shade of your gleaming eyes. When the grumble died down, you jumped into the newly formed hole in the ground.

"What the fuck..." Zanka breathed and pulled his staff to the side. Riyo burst in excited laughter and jumped down the rabbit hole almost instantly after you. "That's the kind of woman I like!"

"Enjin! What the fuck are we supposed to do now?!"

Enjin sighed, disarming the Umbreaker. "Well, no turning back."

Much to Enjin's surprise, the Akuta team landed in what seemed to be an abandoned sewer network, right at a 4-way crossroads. Extinguished torches adorned the walls with mathematical precision, the sturdiness of the stone walls maintaining a neutral temperature.

An abandoned sewer network from an ancient timeline.

"What is this place?" Riyo asked, twisting the pair of scissors on her index finger. "Comms are jammed down here."

Enjin confirmed Riyo's words with a brief touch on the choker. Semiu couldn't coordinate with them; they were isolated from the outside world. "There's a long way up, so the only way forward is through."

"Fucking poetic, are we?" you taunted and snapped your fingers. Chakrams reappeared and bolted in a circular trajectory, generating sparks and flaring up the torches in their immediate vicinity. You kept your chakrams twirling around your frame. "Mister Leader, pick the direction you want to go in."

"You busted us down'ere," Enjin replied and lit up a cigarette against the torch. Bad mistake to inhale from it; it tasted like ancient filth instead of good nicotine. "You pick."

You curtsied mockingly in front of him. "Yes, my lord—"

A faint wailing echoed from the left side of the sewer. You sprinted in that direction, irises focusing on an innate sight that penetrated the thickness of the walls. The Akuta team raced behind you to keep up the pace until they reached the innermost layer of the sewers. You paused in the dark before lighting up the torches.

"Something is wrong," you said, "It smells like incense in here. Like these torches have been lit up recently."

Zanka and Riyo armed their weapons.

"Only one way to find out," Enjin replied and pressed his cigarette into the fuse of the torch by the door. Once it caught, the fire spread in an even circle all over the room, revealing a morbid spectacle in its wake. Everyone's breathing came to a standstill in scripted unison.

A morbid spectacle that was waiting just for them.

The system has to die. Stop fighting for the Sphereites, or we're coming for you.

Four wooden crosses holding four impaled people, all Sphereites, and all bleeding out painfully slow from under each of their ribs, their bellies, and from their feet. The blood was directed in a carefully crafted message on the floor, and the fluid only coagulated around two of the people who had passed out from the shock of their injuries. The other two, a young woman and a child, were weeping in agony and terror.

"Some of them are still alive, let's take them down—"

You let a scalpel slide from under the sleeve and threw it at one of the alive victims; the ground collapsed, and a spike trap burst from under the cross. Part of the blood message was lost due to the damage.

You laughed and revealed a set of four new scalpels. "I couldn't care less if you're minced to pieces, but the kid can be salvaged."

"I won't let you milk the kid dry," Enjin stated, using a gadget to take a wide shot of the message on the ground. "We'll disarm the traps, and we'll take them to safety."

"...please..."

The bickering stopped when the young woman begged under her breath. "...please, put an...end to...this misery."

"Don't worry," Enjin hollered back, "You're safe now."

You laughed louder that time around, the iron smell growing increasingly pungent. "You're either a fool or a liar because there's no way you're saving either of them."

Zanka grabbed you by the lapels of your jacket. "Says you? The technology that we have up there will heal them."

"Oh, yeah?" You grabbed Zanka's face and forcefully angled his head so he could watch the smaller kid's guts collapsing to the ground. Zanka felt sick to the stomach and wanted to look away, but you didn't let him. You forced him to watch when the ground opened up, and his small liver, stomach, and intestines got diced up. And the kid still did not die right away.

Zanka threw up on the spot.

"Trust the fucking pediatric surgeon when she speaks."

You aimed one scalpel and punctured straight through his carotid artery. With the insufficient blood flow and how small the artery was in a child, he died instantly.

"Stop!" Enjin yelled, body jerking to glare at you. "Who the hell do you think you are to kill these children?"

You rolled your eyes and shoved Zanka away. You threw another scalpel at the young woman, and she died with a smile on her face and two last words: Thank you.

"I hate repeating myself. Mercy is kindness—"

Enjin pushed you into the wall. "Who the hell do you think you are to decide who deserves mercy and who doesn't?"

"Open your fucking eyes, Enjin," You chuckled, settling into the shape Enjin put you through the wall. "Act as righteous as you want. Those two children would have died the moment you untied them from those crosses. And reviving them would have skyrocketed their criminal coefficient," you poked his chest aggressively with your index, "The same system you're defending."

"I'm not defending this fucking system. I am defending the right choices we should make. To protect these people."

You laughed as if Enjin told the funniest joke in his arsenal. "Yeah? Then why didn't you stop me? You could've paralyzed me. So, tell me, morally right Akuta leader, why didn't you stop me?"

Enjin hesitated for an infinitesimal split of a second, yet you caught it. You saw it in the sliver of a tremor in his golden eyes, in the way his upper lip twitched imperceptibly. You leaned in closer to him, eyes chilling and raw, to make it feel like a dare he would lose on purpose.

"How much of my file was classified, I wonder. You have no idea what's a good or bad choice to make when you're backed against a fucking wall."

Noisy steps of soldiers reflected through the tunnels, and soon after, the room was flooded with military and rescuers. Enjin let go of you with one last frown to reconvene with the rest of the authorities. "We're not done."

"I should hope so," You retorted. "I need a good fuck to wrap up my first day. Kougami packed a good dick, do you?"

Enjin smirked, albeit mockingly. He craned his head backwards to glance at you. "I'll make you watch when I fuck 'em dumb, so you can see for yourself."

"Wow, kinky," You whistled. "So you're a manwhore, huh?"

Enjin waved his hand in dismissal. "Don't thirst for what you can't get."

"If you don't know any good fuck around these parts, I need you to let me out for the night."

After negotiating for more than 45 minutes on the fact that you were not supposed to leave the premises of the Cleaners HQ alone, you convinced Enjin to accompany you to a location that would allow you to blow off some steam. Of course, you didn't tell him where exactly you were going, because it would become evident once you'd reached it. Just that Enjin needed to leave his fancy pants and choker at home.

You couldn't believe that the underground boxing ring was still up and running after 200 years, in the same obscure place, with the same foul-smelling aroma and the same thirst for blood of the participants. After the splitting of the two regions, the boxing ring fell under the jurisdiction of the Ground, fitting for such an illegal and rotten place.

"Remind me, what are we doing here, again?" Enjin trailed behind her, and he was just about to burn some asshole with his cigarette. Waste of tobacco.

"Hope you have good cash on you, commander," you replied and stood in line to sign yourself up. "I'm here to blow off steam."

Enjin snorted his lungs off. "You? Boxing to the death?"

"Did I stutter?"

The cashier inspected you from head to toe. Not too bulky, not too skinny, just the right kind of fit. Tall enough to throw a punch but too beautiful for their regular competitors. A woman who had no business being there.

"Tattooed boy, the locker rooms are behind the ring," the cashier said, eyes gawking at Enjin. "Matches start in 15."

"Not me," Enjin said, gesturing to his partner. "She's the fighter."

The cashier laughed in their faces. "We don't do pussy slapping here."

You slammed your palms to the cashier's counter, cracking it in the process. "The Rubion name wouldn't describe this as pussy slapping either."

Enjin cocked an eyebrow. The cashier gulped in terror. "2 matches max, sweetheart. We're packed tonight."

You grinned, all teeth. "Don't need more."

15 minutes later, you had your knuckles and forearms wrapped and the mouthguard in place. Your first opponent was a relatively okay-ish buffed man, just mere centimeters taller than you, but of course, he had to belittle you in front of the full-house public. The bookmaker looked sideways at Enjin, who bet all the 50 bucks he had in his pocket, with a return on investment of over 100, given that you won.

"That's 50 bucks lost," the bookmaker laughed and gave Enjin his losing ticket.

"Nah," Enjin replied and skimmed through the packed audience for some place to sit. Right by the ring. "That's 5000 bucks won."

You took advantage of your opponent's useless taunt and hit an opening uppercut so hard it sent his head flying at 180. If not for his strong neck muscles, you would have practically torn his head off. Enjin whistled, devouring his cigarette. The guy fell flat on his butt, and the public roared. Enjin had to admit, he didn't believe wholeheartedly in the quip he'd said to the bookmaker. Sure as hell he started to now.

"Come on, you pussy," you jeered, cracking your fingers one by one. "The girl hit you too hard?"

Maybe Enjin could overlook the death of one more asshole. After all, he didn't need his Dominator to see that more than 85% of the jerks in that fight club were sworn criminals. A momentary question ran through his mind: if you knew how to get there, it meant that the place had been up and running for at least two centuries. So how come no one shut it down?

Don't get him wrong, Enjin was not the most upright tool in the shed, and he was no stranger to violence and death, especially for someone who grew up in the slums of the Ground. It all looked like a perpetuum mobile of cockroaches left to die in their own vomit, rather than helping them grow into caterpillars. Terrible analogy, but he was no fucking poet.

You have no idea what's a good or bad choice to make when you're backed against a fucking wall.

The guy reluctantly got up to his feet, trying to crack his neck back into place. "I'm gonna kill you, you fuckin' bitch."

You laughed, frenzied, orbs shimmering in shades of porcelain. "I'd love to see you try."

Try he did, to become your toy. You didn't dodge his punches and kicks with the sophistication of a textbook fighter, no. You dodged his punches with the crude movements of a boxer who'd lived his whole life in the ring, and dodged his kicks with the concentration of a seasoned street fighter. All of your motions were stitched in memory, like the bones and the muscles were the puppets of a long-forgotten Geppetto. For a fading moment, you looked like she was existing through remembrance.

Throughout the entirety of the first match, the guy was too weak to land a single hit on you. Consequently, when you decided you'd had enough of a warmup and got bored, you reduced him to silence, with a Thai kick in the liver and a Superman punch. You didn't murder him, but you put him straight in a coma. Therefore, Enjin became richer by 5000 bucks.

"See, buddy?" Enjin smirked at the bookmaker and doubled down on his money for your second match. "These assholes will think that it was a coincidence. But you and I both know the truth. And you're gonna give me 15 grand by the end of the night."

Except when your second opponent all but jumped in the ring, a shiver traversed Enjin's spine. A bouncy man with a dreaded ponytail who wore silver rings over his bandages with a deranged beam on his face showed a more sinister promise than the previous dude.

"Ay, lil' mama, ye fight like you know yer shit," He said, approaching you excitedly. "Ya look like ya can do me in, heh? Only the strong are worthy of sharing their names with one another."

You met him in the middle and accepted his invitation to bump your fists. He was giddy as hell, for all the wrong reasons.

"Name's Jabber," he said, voice ascending an octave. Upon closer inspection, Jabber was hard in his baggy pants.

You gave your name, and put your guard up. You couldn't contain a smirk for that boy who was about to make you work for it. "I'll do you one better. I'll break your ribs and make you scream."

Jabber laughed like a maniac, and his dick spasmed in his pants. "Ya said it like ya meant it! I'm gonna cum so hard—"

You opened your moveset with the same Thai kick you used to send the other guy out cold, but Jabber simply blocked it with his forearm at the behest of it being broken. His whole body shivered with the newly discovered adrenaline, and he punched back with the exact same arm that you had just shattered. You bent your body to the side, the sheer force of Jabber's punch hissing through the air had your eyes widen.

Taking that hit face-on would have been a big problem.

"You really need to fuck with me, lil' mama," Jabber giggled and abruptly pivoted on his back foot to kick with the other. "I just know I'll have the greatest time of my life."

You put your forearms together to block, and the aftershock sent you flying to the edge of the ring. Jabber didn't give you time to breathe and launched another punch. Purple eyes lusted for the natural epinephrine the fight was bestowing upon him. You clutched his fist with your palm, the strain of the blow carving Jabber's rings into your flesh.

"You know what," You chuckled, squeezing Jabber's fist until both your knuckles fissured. "I really wanted to fuck some good dick tonight. Yours looks like a good place to start."

"Yes, please," Jabber moaned and kicked you in the stomach. You coughed up blood at the brutal contact. Jabber leaned closer to your ear, bouncing impatiently from one foot to the other. "I have no problem doing it here, ma'. And look! We're already doing all that foreplay shit."

Enjin darted to his feet. You coughed again, adding to the puddle of blood on the mattress of the rink.

Still, you laughed. Blood dripping from your parted lips and pain jolting through your stomach, and yet you laughed with such pleasure that the public died down at once. And Jabber? Jabber burst into hearty laughter, syncing his roaring with yours.

"Get on your knees," you barked, feasting your eyes upon Jabber's.

Lo and behold, he did. "Good boy."

You kicked him in the side of the head and sent him flying across the ring. Jabber felt the exact moment his eardrum was crushed. You rode the momentum to launch yourself on top of him and took a jab at his damaged ear to make sure he wouldn't regain balance.

All throughout, Jabber never stopped laughing. If anything, he laughed harder and harder with each blow you landed on his face. You were frenetic with your hits. Didn't matter that your knuckles bruised and split open; you almost punched Jabber's face in—

"Y/n!"

Enjin's voice cut through your trance, with your fist millimeters away from Jabber's crazed face. "Come on, ma'!" Jabber said in a sing-song voice, "We're just getting started!"

You let your arms fall to your sides. You were staring back at yourself in the mirror of Jabber's eyes, all brutish, and you realized you had lost control for dangerously more than a moment.

Gris never fought like that.

You detached yourself from Jabber's twitching body. The referee declared you the victor, and you dragged yourself away from the ring that once was the epitome of honorable fighting. You drenched Gris's memory in your blind hatred. You tainted Gris's memory in your stupid anger. You looked down at your bandaged hands, and all you could see was his blood, splashing through your fingers.

"Let's get out of here."

Enjin seized you by the elbow to drag you through the cheers of the crowd, through the back door where their car was parked in the alley. You only recognized the car's interior and the moving world outside the window when Enjin spoke to you again.

"You in pain?"

Pain?

"No," you replied mechanically, too fast and too convenient.

The pain you were feeling was not physical.

"You sure?" Enjin peeked at you, one hand gripping the wheel, the other flapping out the window frame. "That was a nasty hit you took from that fucking masochist."

"A surgeon would know," you stated, and felt the bones in your hands. Enjin was surprised to see that you didn't wince, didn't gasp. Like you accepted the pain and mourned through it. "Typically, I would need a cast, but we don't got time for that shit."

"We have a good healer at HQ. She'll patch you up just fine," Enjin pointed to a bag in the back of the car. "There's a plasm shot there if you need it."

"Came prepared, didn't you?" you reached out for the bag to rummage through it. "Why do you care, anyway? It would have been mutually convenient for me to die back there. One less problem to worry about."

"Why are you so keen on dying?" Enjin countered. "'s all you been talking about since you woke up."

You assembled the syringe with deft movements and lifted your sweat-soaked shirt to feel for a proper spot between your vertebrae. "A Boy Scout like you wouldn't understand."

"Who's Rubion?"

You missed your injection. You flinched in acute pain; you must have touched a nerve with the needle. "My husband."

Enjin scanned you as you properly inserted the needle into your spine that time around. Judging by your reaction, a dead husband. A regrettable husband, perhaps.

"Shocker, she had a heart," you laughed and threw the empty syringe through the open window. Enjin didn't comment on the possibility that that could've become a trash beast; he wasn't that inhuman. "Any other questions your majesty wants to know about?"

Enjin put a cigarette between his lips. "What's his first name?"

"None of your business."

Enjin chuckled with a soft shake of his head. The cigarette painted a wave of nicotine in the night sky. "I love it when you edge me like that."

"Changed your mind about fucking me?" you knitted your eyebrows together. "That Jabber guy is first in line, just so you know—"

"Did he teach you how to box?"

You scoffed. You propped your elbow against the door pane to look at the transient buildings chasing down the highway. "What part of none of your business don't you fucking understand?"

Enjin shrugged. "You owe me one 'cause I brought you out here."

"I made you a rich guy. I don't owe you shit."

"For a girl who likes to play the villain, you're pretty easy to read."

You abruptly pulled on the wheel, and their car crashed into a light pole. The airbags jumped out, and you cut the material with the scalpel in your sleeve to make some space in the cramped car. You then turned in the passenger seat to poke it at Enjin's throat at the same time that he pushed the cold barrel of a Glock against your forehead.

"Not so easy to read now, are we?"

A stream of blood ran down Enjin's face. He pulled the safety of his gun. "Let's see who kills the other first, shall we?"

"See, commander," You whispered, dragging the tip of the scalpel across his sensitive neck to unstitch the skin open. Enjin held your gaze with the same relaxed confidence he electrocuted you with. Like he was in complete control of the situation. "I don't think you have it in you to pull the trigger and splatter my brain right on this fucking street."

"Yeah?" Enjin cocked the gun, pushing your head back with it. "Because I'm such a good, righteous guy?"

He leaned in closer to grab at your throat with the other hand, in a position that deliberately drove the scalpel into the flesh under his chin. Enjin didn't fist your throat with tremendous pressure, just enough to keep you in place. "You don't know jackshit about me."

You smiled in his face. A smile bordered on the hope of liberation that you would be finally free from the humiliation of being passed around like someone's pet. Disciplined to suffer and trained to be a weapon.

All you wanted was to be reunited with Gris in whatever afterlife he was waiting in.

"You don't have it in you, Enjin." A shallow breath. "KILL ME!"

Your scream echoed on the empty highway. It bounced against the parapets until it dissolved in the hollow breeze of the night. Enjin saw how sharp your gaze was, akin to blizzard winters, but something warm flickered in it. Like a thaw you pretended you didn't want.

A lifeline.

Enjin lowered his gun and threw it in the backseat. "I'm not giving you the easy way out. You are going to live and work for it."

He unfastened his seatbelt and wiggled himself out of the driver's seat to get outside the car. Enjin dialed the emergency number of the Cleaners HQ to request a private transfer and pick them up from the highway. You gawked at Enjin's empty seat, and you erupted in a fit of hysterical laughter that didn't die down even when the transport arrived. The supporters were outright terrified by your behavior, and one of them pointed his Dominator at your head.

Target not subject to enforcement. Crime coefficient: 0. I will lock the trigger.

During the course of the following days, you kept away from the Akuta division. You refused all of Enjin's invitations to eat with them (not even in the same room), refused to sleep in the dorms with the others (if you ever slept at all), and most of the evenings you spent in the training room, punching and kicking the training dummies. You only interacted with the Akuta members during mission briefings and when Enjin shamelessly stared at you while boxing like he owned (and he did) the place. Never exchanging any words, just observing.

The report on the catacombs episode was finalized after a couple of days. Semiu presented it during one of the touchbase meetings: a network of underground tunnels dating back to the late 1800s, which were walled up when the upper city was built on top of them. Used for quick escapes and evacuation of the royals to safety from the big wars, and now, the tunnels linked the key areas of the Sphere with the ones in the Ground district. According to their databases, there were prior clues about those sewers, but they were never made public.

Which meant that the assailants, now commonly referred to as Raiders, either had access to their inner systems or had a man on the inside.

"It's also possible that they could listen in on these chokers you're using. Technology is never absolute, no matter how advanced."

You lit up a cigarette. All eyes fell on you at the outrageous possibility you outlined. The more Enjin thought about it, the more he inclined to agree with you. The Akuta team had started their campaign to search for the Raiders, and somehow, they always managed to be one step ahead of them. The crime rate increased beyond the normal rates in the Sphere district, which was otherwise close to 0, with the same written-in-blood messages MO, all calling the Cleaners out.

Only, the ingenuity of each crime evolved with every new report, and so did the messages.

A puzzle of dismantled body pieces: We warned you to stop fighting for the Sphereites. You brought true justice upon yourselves.

People skinned alive: Such a waste of jinkis. Instead of defending the true people, you're defending the masters.

Shell games with raw brain pieces: Cleaners or Inspectors, you're all the same. Not worthy of the true paradise.

The leitmotif was the same in all messages. The true people, true justice, true paradise. Whatever being true meant for the Raiders.

A blaring alarm ruptured through the Akuta meeting room. Semiu put up the projector, fingers clicking against the keyboard.

"We've got a live transmission from downtown Sphere. There's been an explosion just now at the City Hall. I'll get the live feed in a sec."

The large screen was illuminated by the transmission from the country's biggest news station. A collective gasp stilled the oxygen in the room; civilians were desperately running away from an avalanche of trash beasts streaming from the crater in the City Hall building. Your eyes widened upon noticing the familiar silhouette standing on top of the concrete rubble.

"Semiu," You grinned, cold sweat dampening your palms. "Zoom in on that asshole on top of the pile."

Jabber. Waving at the drone cameras.

He grabbed one from mid air, shoving it into his face. His purple eyes were just as deranged as when she smashed his skull in.

"Ma—maaa," Jabber chirped. "Come out, lil' mama. I owe you a rematch! Stop wasting time with those fucking cleaning crybabies."

"A rematch?" Semiu jerked her head to look at you. "Why are you acquainted with a Raider?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but Enjin cut in. You didn't expect him to cover for you. "We didn't know he was a Raider. She kicked his ass in a boxing match when we went out the other night."

"Seems like you also advertised that you both are cleaners, given that you also failed to mention this to me."

"What does it matter?" Riyo spoke, twirling the Reaper on her finger in cold anticipation. "She beat him once; we'll beat him twice."

Semiu ignored both comments and simply stared Enjin down. "You're not careless. So, why were you careless?"

Enjin didn't have time to respond; a brand-new message, carved in the central plaza and patiently waiting to be colored crimson, appeared on the screen. And yet, the message did not provoke the Cleaners into a call to action. The Raiders called out only one person.

Y/n L/n, are you not ashamed to play the puppet of those who murdered your husband? The true people deserve to know the truth.

"Boss wanted to say hi to you, ma'," Jabber laughed. Then, one last sentence before he crashed the drone with what looked to be claws around his knuckles. And a brown folder dangling from side to side. "Let's play tag!"

The transmission cut off. Silence fell in the room.

You squashed the burning cigarette in your hand, skin sizzling at the contact with the heat. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips, irises burning pale like you'd lived through storms never revealed. And perhaps, you should have let the Raiders reveal the storms if they had the power to do it. Put a dent in the flawless coverage of the system.

Being a martyr never bothered you anyway. What was another nasty rumor to add to the collection?

You chuckled. "These people are better informed than you lot are."

The truth didn't exist for the Sybil System 200 years before, and it didn't exist for the Sphereites and Groundlings then, no matter the people who fought for it. All of them were met with destructive fates: Kougami, Akane, and Gin. Faux etiquette was all that humans were ever good at. Two centuries and their sacrifices for a better future were for nothing—

"We protect our own," Enjin said, as if he could read your awry mind. He grabbed the Umbreaker from his desk. "You're free to nag at me however you want, Semiu. Later. Time to do some cleaning now."

a/n: there is a lot more where this came from, i just need to proofread and post it! i have some heavy angst in the bag and i am very conflicted hence the alternative ending lmao. this is the first full angst full gore almost-redemption ark that i'm writing, so let me know how you feel about my little universe! thank you for reading!

chapter 2

[write-it-good-imagines]

Can you promise we won't let go?

☆ Enjin piece based on this lyric from this song: I can fix all those lies. You're someone else every day in the personas that you play, and Enjin seems to be the only man you ever allowed to see the real you when the lights die out in the theatre.

☆ musicalActress!reader, angst, yearning, implied intimacy, unconfessed feelings, happy ending, reader is a bit of a maneater, enjin is avoidant, both are crazy tbh ±3k words

Songs that fit the aesthetic: Unethical, Emily, Sauvignon Blanc

"Go fuck yourself."

Enjin thought he didn't hear it correctly. No, you were on your knees on the floor, just about to take him into your mouth, so maybe he didn't hear you well—

You jumped to your feet, and suddenly, your words seemed more like a threat than the flirty, on-the-edge bantering that usually happened between the two of you.

"Come on, doll, it's not that deep—"

"It's not that deep, doll?" You repeated, a tinge of disgust in your voice. And perhaps you needed to feel disgust rather than betrayal.

"Take a good look at these tits because it's your last time seeing them," You spat instead, reaching for your abandoned blouse in that motel room. Downstairs, the party was still in full bloom.

You didn't want to fall apart in front of him.

"It is that deep when you crawl back to me to have me suck you off and then be all righteous to claim we should keep this professional."

Enjin was a man of words. A sweet talker, if you would. That was how he captured your attention, after all. Sitting front row at one of your sold-out spectacles, where people traded tickets and oftentimes fought to get inside just to get a glimpse of you. Of the fairytale you created with each of your representations.

Enjin was flabbergasted, truly. He almost didn’t register that you dressed yourself in a fit of rage that was merely a mask for whatever it was you were feeling. You couldn’t name it either, but you sure as hell felt it.

“I guess we were both playing the game, huh?” You laughed bitterly at your own words. “Hope you enjoyed fucking the popular girl.”

Popular girl could have been a slight misinterpretation of the image you created for yourself on the Ground. A close friend of Too Lilly’s, she was the one who introduced you to the world of spectacle, of performing for others. And you quickly took a liking to it, to the personas you could create for yourself, to evade through each of them and become someone else, and escape the crude reality of the Ground.

Wigs, make-up, expensive dresses, stage decorations, and oh, men. Plenty of men who wanted to get a taste of you. Too Lilly had warned you about them, the stalkers and the predators, the masters who’d only want to take advantage of you. For the most part, you listened. You toyed with them to get their money, to get a free drink, to get an expensive suit that you liked.

You were never the same person with any of them. The makeup was too good to look through, the wigs were too good a veil, the persona was always anew. For all of those bastards, you were a different woman. Not to Enjin.

“You’re acting like you’re not using your guys for gain,” Enjin said, pulling up his trousers. He watched you reach for your perfectly blonde wig, with bold long curls, watched you slip back into your character. “You keep me at arm’s length and now you get upset that I ask you to keep it simple and professional between us?”

You were always the same to Enjin. Perhaps the only person apart from Too Lilly that got to see the real you. In appearance, at least, but Enjin had something about himself that made you discard all the masks when you were with him. In those sweet nothings he called you when he took of your dresses, in the grunted exclamations he’d let out when he’d fuck you.

In the ease with which he said your name before he disappeared in the middle of the night.

“Yeah?” You snorted. “Why’d you bring me here if this is all a charade?”

A private club the Cleaners usually went to whenever they found reason to celebrate. Enjin had reached out to you a couple of days before for the booty call that usually happened in more secluded places, where people wouldn’t risk seeing the two of you together. For both your convenience.

“Why did you come?”

“Oh, please,” You laughed again at his words. “Don’t pretend you have any dignity when you practically begged me to come and blow you off.”

“So, again,” Enjin continued, an irking smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You could have refused me.”

You smirked right back at him, despite the thumping in your chest. You knew a pretty boy wasn’t any good, especially a pretty boy who knew all about being attractive. Someone like Enjin, who had more responsibility on his shoulders than he cared to admit. Someone like you who found someone like him to be just a convenience.

Until he stopped being one.

“I should have,” You ultimately said, fixing you faux hair. “You can now go downstairs and continue your conversation with that pretty redhead. Although I suppose she won’t suck you as good as I do. Certainly not when you’re an asshole.”

You thought that night meant something. That it could have meant more than the first night you lay together, and Enjin traced the outline of your face to tell you you were beautiful under all the pretense.

That it could have meant more than the other night you had sex, looking one another in the eye. Or the night you popped a bottle of your finest champagne when you impersonated your character from the musical you were supposed to play the next day, and Enjin watched you in pure awe and admiration while savoring on a blunt.

That it meant something when Enjin approached you after your very first representation, buying you a glass of wine and a good time. When he started to linger around before darting off into his reality.

You didn’t realize when you slipped through the open door in the silence that Enjin left behind. You dashed away, giving foxy smiles and dips of the head to the bystanders, keeping your porcelain face intact until you left the Cleaners and the party altogether.

A lonely tear ran down your cheek when you mounted your Harley-Davidson bike to drive away to your place. You knew the world was shallow and people never meant anything. Survival of the fittest, or so they called it, in a world where every person became a lowly criminal to prey on others, connections were hard to come by.

Some could say you were a hypocrite. After all, you were doing the things you had to do to survive. You allowed yourself to color between lines that were never there, to make a castle in the sand with a man who never promised he would be yours.

So why did it hurt to see Enjin chase another, the same way he was chasing you?

You didn’t see each other for a whole month after that night. A whole month in which you were supposed to direct and play the female lead in a spectacle that was bigger than anything you’d done before. You were supposed to sing and dance and learn to become someone else entirely.

You didn’t contact Enjin, and neither did he.

You also couldn’t look your male counterpart in the eye during rehearsals.

The play was about an ancient myth of two lovers, for whom love was but a doomed dream. The lady was married off by her father to another, while her lover went away to work and make enough money to be worthy of her family. Some time after, the lady received a false letter that her beloved settled down with someone else and, out of grief, she drowned her children and then herself. When the man came back to ask for her hand, he found out she was dead and took his own life.

You blamed your tears during rehearsals on the tragedy you were supposed to sing to. You also blame the repulsion you felt toward your male lead on the injustice of the story.

In truth, you saw parts of yourself in your character and couldn’t, wouldn’t bear to face the truth. A truth where Enjin had used you for your body, or for your intelligence, or for your wit. Just to have a good time. A good time Enjin had actually taken you out for, but you refused to call it for what it was.

One night before the show, you decided you needed a drink to drown your feelings out, so you went to the most popular bar in town. No wigs, no makeup, no costumes, just pure, bare you.

No one paid attention to you. Perhaps the crowd was thick with people who hoped to find the same things you did: solace for something. For what, though? What did you need solace for? For falling in love with a man who couldn't be what you needed him to be? A man who knew about your identity, about the deepest secrets of your body, about the way your voice cracked when you came undone?

"Is this seat taken?"

A feminine voice echoed through the buzz, and you didn't pay attention to it initially. Only when a strand of fiery red hair fell into your vision did you look up at her: Enjin's redheaded partner from weeks before.

Ah, what the hell? She probably found herself in the same predicament you did, judging by the gloomy trail on her face. And she probably wouldn't recognize you anyway.

"No," You replied, circling the rim of your glass with your index. "Rough night?"

"I got stood up," she said, slipping on the stool. Typical Enjin—

"I swear to God, ever since that tattooed blonde made fun of me in my fucking face, everything went downhill."

You cocked an eyebrow. Not out of sympathy for her, but out of curiosity for yourself. "A tattooed blonde made fun of you?" You dared and took a sip of your drink. "A catch like you?"

"I know, right?" The woman whined and ordered something strong. "We were chatting at this party, and it seemed to be going pretty well, right? So I asked what his type was."

"Yeah?" You asked with mock interest. "What did he say? Hope he said you, sweetie."

"You wouldn't believe it! He smirked at me with this relaxed confidence and then pointed at someone over my shoulder, at this blonde woman or whatever, I think she was wearing a wig, expensive clothes, all that dollface behavior—"

Was she describing you? The you at the party?

"—said my type's whatever she's wearing, whatever she smells like, and whatever her smile looks like. Like she could actually change who she was or what the fuck—"

You almost dropped the glass. And you went home that night with slurred words and too much alcohol in your system that was still too little to put out the newly ignited fire in your heart. You didn't sleep a wink, which was a terribly bad idea before the biggest show of your life.

You left out your heart on the stage anyway.

The opera hall came to a standstill when the highlight of the spectacle came; your soprano segment culminated in a crescendo of emotions that released silent tears down your cheeks and muted gasps across the audience with every ascending note you sang.

Heaven, which kept us apart in life, will unite us in the tomb— You are a continual hope, consolation, and example,For where there is an Isabel, there will always be a Diego.

You fell to your knees, hand reaching for the skies, tears streaming down your face in the softest of whimpers. As the curtain fell over you, under the roaring applause of the hall, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable and let yourself go of the overwhelming emotions swirling in your chest. There was no one backstage when you crawled back, in your peasant costume still, natural hair tied under a ragged bandana, and your face shining with natural make-up.

Your audience would never know it, but your representation that night was as close to your raw persona as it could have been.

"That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life."

Your head jerked to the side. That voice you knew all too well clouded your senses, and you thought it was an illusion your brain played off the adrenaline.

And yet there he was. Enjin, standing in the doorframe of your backstage room, arms folded over his chest, and golden eyes softened impossibly much.

"I never thought I would see you again," You said, a weary smile tugging at your lips. "Much less at any of my shows."

"Semiu stood me up," Enjin chuckled and took it as a sign to step into the room. "But I deserved it. She told me as much."

Enjin watched you in silence from afar for a while. You unwrapped the bandana from your head, hair bouncing free. Some tiny part of you prevented you from looking at Enjin. Perhaps that tiny piece knew that you would concede to him if you did. But the silence was too loud to bear.

"Enjin, I—"

"I'm sorry—"

You both began and stopped at the same time. Enjin's features softened more if that was even possible. You craned your body in the chair; it was the only sliver of movement you could do, to unpeel yourself completely from the wood was too much of an ask.

"You first," Enjin chuckled and pulled an abandoned chair for himself, to position himself sideways and opposite you at a careful distance. Fearful, somewhat hesitant. Uncharacteristic of him. "The star of the show should take it all."

"I don't, apparently," You admitted, fingers twiddling in your lap. "My Lover of Teruel is here no longer."

You thought you saw a shred of melancholy cross Enjin's face.

"Would you like him to be?"

You blinked. All you could do was blink, as if you didn't understand the question. You did, but refused to.

"Look, I..." Enjin cleared his throat, gazing away. The first time you witness Enjin search for the proper words to speak. "Fuck, I suck at words."

You wanted to make a joke. You couldn't. Not with that unfamiliar quiver in his golden irises, you desperately hoped to get lost in. Not with your hammering heart that you were convinced Enjin was holding in his hands.

"I didn't—you know, with that girl—"

"I know," you cut him off.

Enjin's surprise was evident. "Okay, tarot master, how would you know that?"

"I ran into her at the bar yesterday. She thinks all the misfortune in her love life is because of you making fun of her—"

"Now, I didn't make fun of her," Enjin snickered, bringing one tattooed hand to scratch at his nape. "I just told her the truth straight to her face. Isn't that what women want?"

"Then tell me," You captured his eyes. "Tell me the truth."

You surrendered your heart to him, to do as he would with it. You held your breath while the wait for Enjin to say something stretched into infinity. And throughout it all, he held your gaze, steadier by the moment, yet tenser all the same. With the Raiders, with all the dangers, and risking to disclose your identity every time he gave in to the intrinsic craving to see you, Enjin thought that keeping you away would keep you safe. But safe should never have been a you without him, or a you that he could possibly never see again.

When Enjin broke the silence, his voice was coarse and firm. "The truth is that I was a coward. I shouldn't have let you go, and it took me a while to come to terms with it."

"Embarrassingly long while." you corrected, and that elicited a smile from him.

"Fine, embarrassingly long while. I thought of that for a long time, and I got shit for it. A lot of shit. From Semiu and me. And I have this love-hate relationship with her because she's right, most of the time...what the hell am I sayin'?"

You laughed, and you felt a knot stitched in your throat. "Get to the fucking point, Enjin."

He laughed right back, and you swore you could feel the uncertainty in the sound of his laughter. "Point is, I miss you in my life. And I pushed you away because shit that I do, it's dangerous. But, oh man. If there were a picture in the dictionary with the word freedom, that would be you. People at HQ would think that all those nights I excused myself away were for whoring, but in truth, I couldn't wait to be with you and evade in this beautiful little free world of yours."

Enjin reached out to take your hands in his and, for the first time since you'd known him, touched him, felt him. Enjin paused for your permission.

"I would never dare to hinder your freedom. I know I haven't shown it enough. I just...let me know if my train has left the station."

You gave him permission, and his inked digits intertwined with yours.

"What if it didn't?"

Enjin dared glance at you.

"You never hindered my freedom, Enjin. If anything, you added to my wings. You're the only man in my life who met me where I was. Under all this glam and all this pretense, just me."

You paused, and Enjin died a little on the inside. Braced for the worst possible outcome—

"You'll have to work on being less of an asshole. And I'll work on getting to know you in all this danger if it means we work through it together."

You smiled. Under the glimmer of moonlight falling on your visage, Enjin sighted one last tear twinkle and shatter away that made way for the dazzling smile Enjin remembered. The smile that made his heart skip a beat every damn time.

"I'll try," Enjin promised and leaned over the backrest of the chair to seek your lips into a commitment that he willingly made.

"But I'll lose my charm."

A/N: I swear this man sjdqiuedwkdxn. Anyway. The myth in the play is based on the Spanish myth of Lovers of Teruel. One of my favorite tragedies in Spanish history. Hope you enjoyed this little piece! Thank you @cookieskiki for trusting me with this idea!

[write-it-good-imagines]

can i request one with august stilza x reader where they met at his grandmas clinic because reader was injured from some type of incident and they start to hit it off like friends to lover type of thing.

My deepest apologies, it's been forever but there you go! Friends To Lovers that honestly might have healed me inside a little bit.

Thank you for trusting me with your idea! ❤️ 🎀

[write-it-good-imagines]

Friends To Lovers - August Stilza

☆ headcanons with August Stilza, inspired by this ask: august stilza x reader where they met at his grandma's clinic because reader was injured from some type of incident and they start to hit it off like friends to lover type of thing.

tags>> strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, fluff, romance, slice of life, gn!reader ±2k words

Stage 1: Getting to know August

August Stilza is a Leo through and through. Bold, loud, passionate, creative. He thrives when he's around people, and he doesn't really slow down for anyone. It's the first thing you notice about him as soon as August enters his grandmother's clinic, yapping noisily and leisurely, as if he owns the entire place (spoiler: he does).

August is used to his grandmother having shady patients at her clinic more often than not, so seeing you there, a normal yet very muse-prone figure, getting treatment from Alice has him excitedly intrigued.

Depending on your personality, you're either amused or intimidated by August. You're either laughing along to whatever shit he was saying, and your pain is eased in an instant. Or, you might be put off by his behavior and might side-eye him for polluting the air with noise.

August will undoubtedly jump you with questions, regardless of your initial impression of him. How did you get that nasty wound on your arm? Where did you come from? What's your name? Do you come by the clinic often? Would you like to? In the end, he only means well, so you decide to give him a chance and answer his questions. You discover that August is not that bad of a company, and he's a pleasant soul to have around.

Acquaintance!August will persuade you to join the Cleaners from Day 1, one way or another. There's just something about you and the way you carry yourself that triggers his creative inspiration, so he'll put up a fight to keep you in his field of vision. You're reluctant at first, but you were in need of a job to survive on the Ground, what with that bastard jumping you in an alley for mere scrapes. You could do with protection and someone to lean on.

Acquaintance!August will parade you in the HQ, screaming to anyone who cares to hear that he'd found his muse and he's reached the divine blessings of creativity. Enjin knows that August wouldn't vouch for someone with bad intentions, and he's always down to have new members join the crew. Regardless of whether you're a Giver or not, it's a given that you would join Team Akuta.

Acquaintance!August will chase you down the HQ until you agree to model for him. Isn't that the main reason he brought you in? Well, not exactly. You're smart, you're sharp, you're witty, and most of all, you take him with a grain of salt, so you're a candidate for a perfect companion. When you finally agree to model for him, he hollers and grins from ear-to-ear. Of course, he would never show you what he plans on making for you before it's ready.

Acquaintance!August hates people pressing him when he's working, but with you, it's different. You ask questions about his work while he takes your measurements, and you're genuinely interested in what he has to say. If you compliment him straight off the bat? Safe to say he's never working without having you around anymore.

You begin to warm up to Acquaintance!August, because you see the inhuman amount of care and passion that he puts into his craft when most people you have met were shallow. You appreciate his work ethic and his funny jokes and discover that joining the Cleaners was not such a bad idea after all.

Stage 2: Being friends with August

Friend!August comes too naturally. You two started discussing his craft and what motivates him to create, and August would ask thousands of questions about you in return. What's your favorite color? What food do you like? If you're a Giver, he'll know the entire history of your vital instrument better than you know it. If you're a Supporter, he'll know all about your skills and how your awesome contributions help the team. Knowing his muse helps him create better, right?

Friend!August will have you get into the arts better than you can say August. You'll know all about various materials, how rare they are to get, color palettes, stitches, everything that has to do with fashion and clothing, you can write a manual about. And you know what? You never would have thought fashion could be fun when it was done from the heart.

Friend!August, with whom you share a lot of late nights. Speaking about anything and everything, from nightmares to dreams to hopes for the future, you confess that you think the world can be a better place. You're not sure when, but August goes quiet, simply standing in the common room that only houses the two of you now, just to listen to you. Listens to your laughter, the inflexions of your voice when you're happy, the tiny cracks when you're sad, he consumes all those beautiful sounds and, for once in his life, he treasures being the listener instead of the speaker.

In those quiet, little moments that you share, Friend!August admits to himself that you're the best muse he could have asked for. You're a blessing in disguise, and you unconsciously make him better just by being. So, he shows it in his typical fashion: speaks louder when around you, makes funnier jokes, trails along after you, and lets you sit with him. You have a place in his routine now that would never make sense without you.

Friend!August will let you play with his hair! You might have a trick or two up your sleeve that Riyo taught you, so when you bring the topic up for the first time, he simply laughs and says that you can have a taste of his glorious hair. You laugh right back at him. When you comb your fingers through his hair, you get a little jealous, but ultimately it is another intimate thing that you're sharing which makes you unconsciously happy.

Friend!August cannot stand to see you sad. In his perception, his muse can never be sad. Why, you might ask? Well, because it doesn't fit you. He is starting to learn about your sensitive ticks, likes, and dislikes, as well as the kinds of jokes you like, so he'll make a conscious effort to abide by them. Being Eishia's older brother has helped him understand those things over the years.

Speaking of Eishia, Friend!Augustwill be overjoyed if you get along with his little sister. If you put in genuine effort to get to know her, be patient with her, and help her, August will rest assured that his sister has a good girlfriend to turn to if she wants. And you like Eishia. You also like August when he's around her, so it might be the turning point where you discover that, beyond his bubbly and loud facade, sits a caring, dedicated person who would let the world burn for the people he cares about.

Friend!August will always be the first to greet you when you come back from a mission. It's his face you see when you come back to HQ, his happy, boisterous voice you hear, and you can finally give in to the fatigue, knowing that you have a safe space to do so. Are you in trouble because you think of August as your safe space? Well...

Stage 3: Falling in love with August

Crush!August is a line that you don't know when you crossed. Between his laughter that started to fill more than your ears and his warm-hearted personality, you started to see August in a different light. You began looking for him through HQ, you make sure he's well fed and drinks water whenever he locks himself down to work, and you always keep a hamburger for him.

Crush!August comes like a hurricane. Even though you both started opening up to each other gradually, the realization that you like love him hits you like a tidal wave. You're watching his fingers glide over the material of a uniform he's making, and you wonder how carefully he would hold your hand with those elegant fingers of his.

Because everyone gravitates toward him due to his magnetic demeanour, Crush!August makes you long for him without having any idea that he does. You're not absurd, you know that he's bubbly and lively and very attractive, so you shake it off because deep inside, you know he's not doing it on purpose. And lo and behold, you're friends. But damned the friendship if you didn't want to feel his lips on yours for a change.

Little do you know, Crush!August has been converted to your religion in a way that he cannot and will not escape.

He first realizes his feelings for you run deeper than for a friend when you return to HQ from a mission, a few days after you see him talking with those girls, and you have an ugly cut on your thigh. August had just finished his hidden present for you, and he'd hoped he would have you try it on in an instant upon your return, when he saw you limping in the reception area.

August drops the beautiful box and rushes over to you. He grabs your shoulders with both passion and tenderness, and it's the first time in a while Enjin sees him pushing his glasses off his face to look at you.

"You're hurt," August says, and you feel his fingers quivering under the thick material of his gloves. "Hella hurt."

"I'm fine, Auggie," you reply, and you muster a smile despite the stinging in your thigh. August sees right through it. "Just a scar—"

August is already calling for Eishia to come to the infirmary.

Crush!August watches Eishia heal you, knee bouncing and arms folded over his chest in evident displeasure. When Eishia patches you back up, he lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding and rushes over to your infirmary bed, shoving himself in your personal space.

You stutter, eyes widening at the sudden warmth of his body emanating so closely to you. "Auggie, what—"

"Are you okay?"

You're surprised by the sudden softness in his voice, no longer yelling, no longer joking. A new side of August that you had never seen before, especially not directed at you. His eyes are dead serious, gazing at you with raw intent, worried and relieved all the same.

"I'm okay," You manage, nodding your head. "I was okay before—"

"I was scared something bad happened to you," He says, and he realizes just how close he is to you. To your face, to your lips. To his only muse. The only muse he's ever wanted. "I don't want something bad to happen to you."

The air hitches in your throat, and August notices. And he swears he meant to pull away, but your eyes fall on his lips, and now the air hitches in his throat as well.

"Nothing bad happened to me," You whisper, and for some reason, you cannot peel your eyes off his mouth. "I begged Enjin to bring us back straight to HQ."

August tries to draw back from you, but you're so addicting and so close that it's impossible to draw back. And honestly? He doesn't want to pull back. August only wants to get closer.

"Why?"

When you giggle, eyes curling in happy crescents, August loses it. Or perhaps, he just gives in to what he's known for a while that he wants: you, his muse, take the reins of his heart.

"I missed you!" You say, cheerfully, and August's whole world turns upside down. Yet somehow, his world has never been more organized. more colorful, wilder. Better.

So, when he pulls you into a kiss where you both laugh into each other's mouths, you know that you're happy you gave a chance to the loud boy that you met at the clinic with the moody granny, to be your half from then on.

"Oi, Auggie, you dropped this in the hallway—"

It's safe to say Enjin almost drops the present box but smirks at the sight of Lover!August sharing his joy with his beloved. Long overdue, if you asked Enjin.

A/N: first time writing for August but I sure as hell know he'd be the best friend to have around! Apologies if I went OOC at any point.

[write-it-good-imagines]

Lord of the...heart?

in which you and Enjin have been pinning over one another ever since you could remember. you teach him to be cool, you color in between his lines, and it's high time you showed him why lotr is a masterpiece...so much that he realizes you're the masterpiece of his life. ±2.5k words

tags>> teeth-rotting fluff, romance, yearning, pinning, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, lord of the ring spoilers, some explicit speech

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In his defence, Enjin was not familiar with your game.

Yes, yes, over the many years Enjin had known you, he had grown accustomed to the fact that you had some (most) routines which were undoubtedly better than his. Yes, yes, he would die before he acknowledged it to your face, his longest and oldest best friend, but Enjin knew, as did everyone, that you made his life better.

That was precisely why, in his unfamiliarity with your game, Enjin blinded himself to the obvious fact that he could never, would never survive without you. Hence, Enjin preferred to kill himself before he confessed any such thing to you.

Risking losing you? Enjin ain't doing that shit.

"Man, you seriously cannot tell me you've never seen Lord of the Rings, Enjin. What kinda dumbass doesn't watch the all-time fantasy masterpiece?"

As with every other cool thing you'd taught him, Enjin was in desperate need to also grow accustomed to your movie game. Not that Enjin did not know how often you'd ramble and criticise movies or series, he felt like a true, quote, dumbass, that he couldn't keep up with you on the topic, so he avoided it altogether.

He plopped himself down on the living room couch to wait for you to be done with whatever it was you were doing in the kitchen. Too late to avoid that now.

"'m too busy to watch movies, sugar," Enjin retorted, lighting up a cigarette. "Got a lot of shit to do to become a connoisseur. Have you for that."

You snorted on your way from the kitchen, holding 4 bowls in your hands. Two of them were filled with salty sunflower seeds, and the other two were empty for the hulls. "You can't have me for that if you don't know what I'm talking about."

Enjin almost choked on the nicotine in his lungs when you sprang down next to him; your pomerganate scent filled the room with the bounce of your hair, with the tattered old shirt he'd given you ages ago that you kept on patching instead of throwing it away, and those teddybear sweatpants.

Fucking demon in his chest, always toying with his heart whenever you let him into the intimacy of your comfort.

"How are seeds better than chips?" Enjin flailed his cigarette instead, over the bowls you placed in his lap. "Munching on them like a damn squirrel—"

Enjin stopped talking when you side-eyed him. He put one palm up in defense. "Shut up and eat," You chuckled, folding your legs under yourself in a cozy lotus. You grabbed the remote to play the movie. "I guarantee you're not stopping until the tip of your tongue hurts and you still want more."

"Like, you're not breaking them with your fingers?" Enjin craned his head to look at you, only to be given a masterclass on how to break the seeds with the quick work of your front teeth.

"That's absolutely disgusting—"

You laughed loudly as soon as the words died on Enjin's lips. What was it that they said? First time was the hardest?

First times. Always the hardest.

The first time you met Enjin, you were both young, unripe, and he'd just moved in next door. You didn't know any better than to play hide-and-seek in the mud of your backyard. You didn't know any better when you went to primary school, and you rivaled one another to get the best grades. You didn't know any better when you poked fun at each other throughout middle school for the thrill of making up creative insults.

You also didn't know any better when you first looked at him in a different light. One afternoon back in highschool when you both were washing his car, when he took the hose and sprinkled water all over the cute clothes you'd picked for a date with another guy. When Enjin leaned over the car hood and let you wash him back like the fucking golden retriever that he was to make up for ruining your clothes.

The first time Enjin smiled at you with that boyish, innate charm of his, it took your breath away. All the other times after that, you'd have a churn in your stomach that you'd always mistake for friendship. Or rather, fool yourself into believing it was friendship. It was easier that way.

"'kay, fine, I can fuck around with this shit—" Enjin muttered, right in the middle of devouring his share of seeds. He noticed you went silent as soon as the movie started. You didn't go silent whenever anything started. You always yapped and filled the room with your energy, so much that it physically hurt him when you went silent.

So, why would you go batshit silent when you were making him watch the all-time fantasy masterpiece?

Enjin nudged your knee with his, and it almost made you jump.

"What?" You said, eyes focused on Bilbo's boisterous birthday party. "Watch it! This setting is very important for the story."

"Right," Enjin replied, not at all convinced of your answer. "Why's it that important?"

You rolled your eyes. You were distracted, and you could bet serious money that he noticed. "Watch and see for yourself. It's not that hard to comprehend."

"It's your job to explain that to me," Enjin insisted and nudged your knee again. Lounged one arm on the backrest of the couch at the proper distance to encompass your shoulders from afar. "Like you always do?"

You were Enjin's first for almost everything in his life. You were the first person he'd told he smoked. You were the only one who never judged him for it. You were the first person he'd told that he planned to get crazy tattoos as soon as he graduated high school. You were there when he took out his wisdom tooth. You were there when his childhood dog died. You were the only one to witness him cry and the only one to hug him through the tears.

You were imprinted in almost all of Enjin's memories. Almost.

Enjin beat himself over the fact that he wasn't your first kiss. He beat himself over not being your first man. He beat himself for letting you find solace in other men who could never know you as well as he did. For letting you have your heart broken by all the assholes that only proved him right.

What if he broke your heart? Would you leave him like you did the others? Enjin couldn't have you just pack your bags and walk out of his life, could he? So, Enjin, everyone's leader and everyone's protector, could only be that for you. Your protector, your childhood friend, your best friend if he were honest with himself. You, the only one who knew him better than he knew himself. Fucking coward.

Almost was never enough.

"Just..." You sighed helplessly, tending to your snacks. You weren't feeling yourself; you shouldn't have let your thoughts take over. Now, you were bothered and distraught by Enjin's warmth. Frodo began his journey out of the Shire. "Watch and ask me if you want to know something, okay?"

Enjin laughed, shoving himself into your proximity. "C'mon, sugar, don't be coy now! I should have known at least half of the lore by now."

Sugar. Enjin had always called you that, and yet, it had never gotten on your nerves as much as it did that time around. You tilted your body to the side and away from him, and Enjin was shocked by the gesture. You never trailed away from him. If anything, you always shoved yourself into his chest whenever he'd do that.

The air grew heavy with unspoken emotions.

Enjin retreated silently when you kept your eyes glued to the screen, a faint crease in your eyebrow. You always had that crease on your face whenever something bothered you. He decided to drop whatever he'd been wanting to bug you about and returned to his sunflower seeds.

Neither of you spoke after that.

The first uncomfortable shift in Enjin's stance came when Arwen reunited with Aragorn in Rivendell and shared their bed. He glanced at you, trying, hoping to find any reaction on your face: nothing. Cold-hearted stoicism. Enjin huffed loudly; that didn't work either. He started bouncing his knee.

"What the hell, Enjin?" You wheezed, although your fingers were freezing cold on the rim of your bowl. "What are you puffing all about, acting like you've never seen a kiss before?"

Enjin scoffed. He could have said many things to your snarky comment, and by all the Gods, he wanted to. But that crease in your forehead only deepened. It wasn't like he was scared of you (he totally was). The air dampened with strained tension.

You were surprised Enjin didn't bite back with any nasty comeback, like he usually did. Back to the oppressive silence neither of you was used to.

But then, Arwen gave up her immortality for her lover.

Enjin's fingers malfunctioned mid-air when that scene hit the screen.

Aragorn: "You said you'd bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people."

Arwen: "And to that I hold. I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.

Enjin's eyes darted to you. And you, beautiful, oblivious, precious, glued to the TV screen like it was your religion.

"Fuck this."

You couldn't keep up with Enjin's movements when he crowded you against the edge of your couch, one arm still lounging over the backrest, and the other caging you so you couldn't look anywhere else but into his golden irises. You instinctively tug your knees to your chest to keep any distance between his burning orbs and your heart that picked up the pace.

"Enjin, the movie's still playing—"

"Fuck the movie."

You blinked at him. He was serious. Your throat suddenly dried up like the summer dessert.

"You can watch this with a straight face?" Enjin questioned, the necklace you gifted him ages ago dangling from his neck. "Tell me you're absolutely seriously watching this shit with a straight face."

"What's wrong with it?" You countered, gaze quivering at the steadiness of his. "It's a beautiful love story, amazing writing—"

"Who do you think of when you're watching this?"

You wanted to angle yourself away, and Enjin only got closer. His angry breathing over your lips clouded your senses, and you couldn't have your senses clouded.

"Answer the question."

"What the fuck, Enjin?" You retorted. "You know I don't have anyone, so there's no one I am thinking about when watching this."

That sweet voice of yours, trembling with uncertainty, gave you away.

"You're lying," Enjin smirked in response, but it wasn't one of his usual, carefree smirks. It was a fearful smirk, a smirk on the edge of madness that Enjin could be wrong, and he was just too greedy for his own good. "Since when are you hiding your cute little boyfriends from me?"

You pushed his chest with your pulsating digits, and the bastard you knew him to be, he only pushed himself back into your existence.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Enjin. I've been single for months because I cannot—"

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from spilling any words that could cross a line already drawn in the sand. You were too sober for that shit.

So was Enjin.

"Cannot what?"

Your lips parted on instinct when Enjin's overconfident voice dropped into an uncertain whisper, rough around the edges and broken in essence. You took a closer look at his face, and only then did you notice the slight wrinkle of his nose, the jitters in his golden eyes, the way his eyelashes fluttered whenever he was anxious about something but didn't want to give it away.

"Because let me tell you what I cannot do anymore," Enjin continued when you remained silent, fighting with his inner spirits to stay sane. "I cannot look at you and pretend I don't care about you. And you show me this shit to what? To torture me?"

You scoffed in disbelief because what else were you supposed to do?

"You care about me, you asshole," You muttered, and you could hear yourself panting. "You don't tell me nearly as often as you should, but I know you care ab—"

You needed a second to realise Enjin's lips came crashing upon yours. The air you already didn't have in your lungs hitched down your throat, eyes wide open, and hands frozen at your sides under the weight of your best friend stealing, claiming your kiss.

Enjin drew back with a sliver of an inch to soak into the glory of shock, of the hue of pink brushed over your nose.

"This," he said, and you could feel the corners of his mouth lift in a smile over your own mouth. "Is how I care about you."

"Enj—"

You choked. What a pathetic reaction to give to the man you fantasized about.

"You okay?" Enjin panicked and engulfed your cheek in the warmth of his palm. He permitted himself a caress of his thumb over your cheekbone when you leaned into his touch.

"Of course I'm not okay," You laughed, eyes curling into crescents and head dropping abashed. "You pull out this fucking move on me and expect me to be okay?"

"I ain't done nothing wrong," Enjin snickered and gently guided you back to him. Relief washed over his features that you didn't reject him. "Just showing you I want you to be my Argweng."

You leaned in, circling your arms around his neck. "Arwen, you asshole. Don't disrespect one of my favorite movies."

"Yeah, well," Enjin shrugged and wrapped his own arms around your midsection in a protective embrace. Cocky but sentimental all the same. He sealed your lips with his, and you giggled into his mouth.

"I got a lot of time to make up for, so tell me all about it, yeah?"

Time to educate Enjin on your favorite movies, more of your favorite snacks, and all your favorite mushy cuddles!

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a/n: shoutout to all my balkan people lol, we know sunflower seeds are the superior movie snack! a little fluff for y'all while i work on the darkest angst i've ever written. a girl needs to breathe sometimes :(

perm tags: @cookieskiki

[write-it-good-imagines]

Gachiakuta has been CONSUMING my conscious thoughts…

So we’re cooking up another one-shot probably 30k+ words, in a dystopian AU setting based on Psycho Pass because why not.

But this one mates… this one’s nasty and angsty as hell. RIP to me.

[write-it-good-imagines]

Captain Star II

Nepo baby Enjin loves his college life for three main reasons: unlimited girls to screw, plenty of partying, and great basketball to play. Enjin is the star captain of the basketball team and an undercover bright, lazy attorney student. A career he doesn't want for himself.

Enjin's college life takes a sharp turn when he meets a girl he cannot charm. You teach him that not everyone lives with their head up their ass. You'll have to put him in his place.

tags>> gachiakuta!collegeau, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, college!life, slice!of!life, fluff, romance, angst, mutual pining, slow burn, porn with plot, filth smut, d/s, soft!dom enjin, reader is lowkey a freak, oral sex(m/f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, praise kink, dirty talk, explicit speech, spyxfamily inspo, mentions of jjk sukuna.

wc: ±42k, reading time approx. 3.5 hours. the only reason this fic is posted in two parts is because tumblr caps 1000 paragraphs max. story begins in pt1.

part 1 part 2

“I have another present for you.”

Your head fell to the side. You untangled the blanket, throwing it around his shoulders to envelop him and share the warmth. A love burrito. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Enjin snickered in return, getting comfortable within your cocoon. He rested his hands on your hips, drawing lazy circles over your clothed hipbones. “We’re going to Damiano David’s concert tomorrow night.”

Your eyes widened out of their orbits. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. The tickets are in my bedroom. With the other half of the present.”

The dazzling smile on your face betrayed the tone of your voice. “Enjin…I don’t know what to say.”

Your happiness was so beautiful and so contagious.

“Merry Christmas, princess. That's all you have to say.”

And truly, there were no words left to speak when you looped your arms around his neck, lips crashing with his, and the blanket falling desolate. Enjin seized your body as you surrendered yourself to him, hands in a frantic search for a suitable spot to hold you. Your nose bumped against his in the heat of the moment, chest pressed flat against his.

The kiss wasn't patient by any means; it was desperate and hungry, releasing the longing and the wanting overwhelming you both. Enjin didn't kiss you with hunger; he kissed you with memory, like he was recalling how your lips felt against his own from another lifetime together. In the mess of your teeth clashing, tongues colliding, and strained panting, every fear and every uncertainty came together, the way they were supposed to.

Enjin held you when you gasped for air, your silhouette trembling with emotion. He could not withhold a smirk. "You're a good kisser."

"I said I was a virgin, not a nun," you countered, fingers tangling in the material of the shirt at his nape.

"We don't have to do this," he said softly, lifting your chin up with the back of his hand, "I need you to be absolutely sure that you want this, and that you're comfortable enough to do it."

You looked at him, revelling in the way his expression darkened when you rubbed your thigh against his painfully hard cock. "I want this. I want you," then, almost fearful, "Do you not want me?"

A singular scoff was the only reaction Enjin could give. "My dick has been living in a tent ever since I met you, beautiful. It's not that."

"Then?"

Maybe Enjin was trying to pep-talk himself that he was the one who needed to be ready.

"Your first time is supposed to be special and stuff. I've never... no one has ever wanted me to be their lucky bastard—"

You gripped his shoulders tighter, fingers quivering, but from adrenaline or the December cold, you couldn't say.

"That's okay. I want you to be my lucky bastard."

All of Enjin's secrets branched out from their confinement, and you could feel his shoulders relaxing under your touch. Enjin lowered his body ever so slightly. “Come here.” Low. Quiet. Not a command, not a request, something in between, something that made your toes curl.

And you did. You jumped into his arms, and he glided one arm under your thighs in an effortless motion to sustain your weight in his embrace. You locked your ankles around Enjin's waist, clinging to him as he opened the sliding door of the balcony to bring you both back inside.

Enjin's steps echoed in the stillness of his penthouse, engulfed by the happiness that came with dirty dishes, half-empty bottles of juice and alcohol, and a glorious pine tree. The happiness of belonging with people who made the soul happy.

"Enjin," you mumbled under your breath, pulling back just enough to catch a glimpse of his honey eyes. They were as beautiful as that day in the gymnasium when you were granted the privilege of standing face to face with the gate to his soul. "I'm glad I met you."

Enjin pushed the door of his bedroom with his foot and reached for the remote control of his warm lighting garland. Then, you saw firsthand the moment Enjin opened the gate to invite you in. Enjin cupped the back of your head with his free hand to lay you down on his bed with a fragility that did not make sense.

The warm light inundating the room made your irises float between mischief and mystery, sparking into gold when you smiled at him. You edged Enjin's jaw in a gentle passage, his body hovering over yours protectively. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

Your confession came naturally. It should have scared Enjin, and it should have frightened you.

"You're a bit late to the party, love," Enjin teased. All that your confession did was strengthen your bond.

"I've loved you longer than I needed you."

"Sappy, huh?" You nudged his chest with a butterfly shove, which only drew Enjin closer on top of you. Your hands lingered on the material of his T-shirt, now bothersome. Your heart was running a marathon in your ribcage. "Never took you for being a romantic."

Enjin's eyes were cemented on your face, despite your muted pleas. "You never really took me for being anything, baby," He lowered his head, breath fanning on your parted lips. His self-control hung by a thread, reflected in the tremble of his orbs.

"Use words, y/n. I need you to guide me tonight. Fuck, you need to teach me how to please you."

A silent gasp bubbled out of your lungs, and your legs tried to press together instinctively, only to stumble into Enjin's rock-solid thigh in between your knees. Enjin discarded his T-shirt in a swift snap of his wrist. "You like this? Talkin' through it?"

"I do," You breathed, tracing his chest tattoos with the pads of your fingers. "I like me a yapper. Makes it boring otherwise."

"Yeah?" Enjin smiled, truly smiled, unguarded and candid. "Lucky you, then."

He dove straight into the unprotected skin of your neck to pepper slow kisses. He found a cute little spot to swirl his tongue on a pulsating vein. Enjin used one hand to prop himself up on the bed at just the proper distance to enjoy your painting into his skin. He navigated the other hand to waver over your hip, sliding his digits under the hem of your blouse. Your back arched off the mattress almost obediently at his ministrations.

"Is this okay?" Enjin asked, eyes observing every thin line in your characteristics.

"Touch me properly, Enjin," you replied, desperation tugging at your tone. "God, just touch me."

He needn't be told twice.

Inked fingers clasped your flesh, and an urgent wave of goosebumps colored your skin. Enjin left a trail of kisses, from the lobe of your ear to your jaw, until he intentionally left a trace of a peck on the corner of your mouth. Enjin pushed his knee deeper in between your legs, the newly added friction eliciting another gasp on the edge of a moan. "Fuck princess, you're so needy for me."

You yanked him by his blonde hair, one hand flying through the thick strands to pull him flush against your mouth. Enjin smirked into the heated kiss, tongue darting past the plush of your lower lip in tandem with his hand reaching for your left breast. He used his knee to rub your clothed sex, and Enjin craned his head to deepen the kiss when you moaned into his mouth. The lace of your bra set his fingertips on fire, and your hardened nipple begged for some attention.

You stretched your arm to grope Enjin's confined bulge, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. His dick twitched into your palm, and the sensation sent a jolt through your belly. The fabric of his sweats was not nearly enough to camouflage how hard he was. "Undress me, Enjin."

"And here I wanted to take my time, be patient," Enjin snickered and pulled away just enough to behold the tint of pink splashed over the bridge of your nose, and the fiery anticipation incinerating your irises. "You're a mess already, princess."

"So what?" you pouted, a victim of your own desires. It was getting harder and harder to control the carnal appetite Enjin awoke in you. "Is it bad that I want you this much?"

"God, no," Enjin shook his head softly, and he guided your upper body upward on the bed. Only then, facing him fully, did you realize how dark his gaze was. How desperate he was to devour your body. "Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful. No one has ever looked at me like this, y/n. I really don't want to fuck this up."

A hasty movement was all it took to rid you of your blouse. The royal blue of the seethrough bra had Enjin hiss through his teeth. There was something addicting in the vulnerable way he was looking at you. At your very exposed breasts, at your very painful buds, at your very perfect abdomen. "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. What have you done to me, love?"

Enjin's hands went through one final phase of hesitation at the hook of your bra. "May I?"

You anchored your forehead to his, body flinching in pleasure at the mere touch of Enjin's fingers on your back when he unclasped the bra. Enjin slipped the fabric off your arms, and your pretty tits bounced with freedom.

"You may have all of me, Enjin. Claim me. I'm yours."

He kissed you with such force that they flopped on the mattress; the significant difference was that Enjin was no longer restraining himself. One tattooed hand fondled one breast, while the other clawed under your winter skirt and at your clothed pussy. Enjin grunted; you were drenched so much so that your tights were pooling wet. He flicked his thumb over your sensitive nipple, virtually digging into tender flesh.

You could only whimper at the change of pace. Enjin distanced himself imperceptibly from your mouth to admire the fluttering of your lashes at the ocean of bliss washing over you, yet close enough to absorb all those erotic sounds you were making.

"Do you still need these tights, or can I tear them apart?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tear them apart—" you panted, thighs squeezing Enjin's hand to your core. Breathing caught when he rubbed his middle finger into the tiny bundle of nerves, getting swollen with each stroke. "Mhm, baby," you moaned, eyes shooting to his. And you moaned again, from the intensity of his gaze alone. "I like it."

"Yeah?" He exhaled, then added his index to increase the pressure. "Like this?"

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. All the stimuli Enjin was applying to your body were overwhelming; he adjusted the position of his hand to cup under your breast at the perfect pressure point, and the digits tormenting your clit were mind-boggling. He moved his body with yours as you squirmed. "Enjin—fuck, yes—just like that."

"Let's ease into your first one, m'kay? I promise I'll wash your clothes in the morning. Cum for me, princess."

And cum you did. Your first orgasm hit you like a truck; you had touched yourself before, played with yourself, but never with the intensity that Enjin did. You seized his wrist on your breast to steady yourself, fisting the sheets until your knuckles turned white. "Enji—mmmh, fuck—'

Enjin didn't slow down when you tried to stop the hand ravaging your covered clit; he steered you into your climax, mouth pressed against yours to talk her through it. "Fuck baby, you're driving me crazy. Look at you, so fucking beautiful when you can't even moan my name right."

He lowered your curved back into the comfort of the bed and straightened his torso to marvel at your flushed physique. Untamed hair sprawled on wrinkled sheets, your naked chest aching for air, and your glossy eyes conceding to him. Enjin smirked, despite the painful jerk of his cock. "God, you must be so tight."

You lowered your gaze to the wet stain in Enjin's sweatpants and bit your lip. Your fingers danced along the zipper of the skirt and pushed your undergarments to the floor. You responded with a smirk of your own when the Adam's apple in Enjin's throat bobbed with borderline animalistic lust. You spread your pussy open with two fingers, lounging your legs at a lascivious angle.

"Why don't you find out?"

It was unreal how fast Enjin sank to his knees to bury his face in your dripping cunt. He used his hands to hold your thighs wide while absolutely drowning in your pussy like a parched desert man blessed with an oasis. Sloppy, messy, needy. Greedy, even. All while Enjin's cocked screamed for release in his sweatpants, and he found an outrageous pleasure in edging himself, pretending he wasn't desperate to dunk his cock to the hilt.

Your spine curved into a sharp arch, hands fisting at Enjin's blonde strands. You whimpered when the tip of his tongue pushed inside your clamped hole.

Enjin grunted at the surplus of slick coating his mouth, and he had to mentally restrain himself from dipping two fingers inside your pussy. "There are some rules we need to establish in our relationship, princess," he said, the vibrations of his speech sending shocks through your clit.

"Yeah?" Your voice collapsed in a rough mewl, fingers anchored at Enjin's scalp. You ground your hips, and the pressure of your drenched folds suffocated Enjin. "Rules to what? Boss me around?"

Like any man actually fighting suffocation, Enjin submerged himself into your already sensitive pussy to nibble at your clit. You cried out.

"I'm gonna"—lick—"spoil"—bite—"you"—suck—"rotten." Fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs to hold you in place. Probably leaving bruises in their wake, but you didn't seem to care. "Cum for me again, love."

You were on the outskirts of useless blabber. "Enji—fuck—I can't—"

Your fingers shoving his head into your cunt to asphyxiate him, told otherwise. Enjin mumbled into your cunt with a decisive statement. "You can. Right on my fucking tongue, baby."

You came so hard your body convulsed upwards on the mattress, under the paralyzing ecstasy Enjin sent through your veins. While he was staring at you from between your legs. The force he pinned you down with was outrageous, like he was thriving on your quivering frame.

"En—jin—stop—fuck, please—"

Enjin didn't stop. Not until his mouth was coated in your milky release, not until the obscene sounds you were making turned into helpless screams, not until you miserably gasped for breath. You fell backwards on the bed with a soft thump, breasts heaving with your ragged breath, and your legs trembling from the aftershock of your orgasm.

Ruined already, and he didn't even put his cock inside you.

"You're a fucking goddess," Enjin growled and kicked away his sweatpants. Your tongue lolled over your lips at the sight of his dick, long and hard, mushroom tip curled upwards on top of a fat vein flowing from below. Enjin's dick, in all its marvel, was bigger than in your imagination.

"What's going through that pretty head of yours, princess?"

You propped yourself weakly on your elbows, canines biting into plush lips. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Enjin climbed into bed with ease, then slid one hand under your thigh to nudge it to your chest into a half-mating press. He aligned himself to caress your clit with the tip, his free thumb pressing his cock into the warmth of your creamy folds. "Try me."

He swore your glossy eyes and obsessed gaze were enough to make him cum, right then and there. But then, you moaned. Pure blasphemy.

"I want to suck your cock."

Enjin's dick spasmed at your affirmation, and you saw Enjin stutter, in all his arrogant glory. "Fuuc—do you—want—to kill me, y/n?"

You had the audacity to shrug your shoulders with faux innocence, mouth drooling in a puddle. "You're so handsome when you can't even moan my name right."

That was the last straw.

From that point forward, Enjin lost all his self-restraint. He fisted at the base of his cock to slap it against your sore clit, once, twice, until your throat released whimper after whimper. Enjin dry humped you in sluggish motions, alternating between dragging his length over your folds, to your clit, to ultimately poke it at your entrance. Your vagina clenched around nothing at the intrusive sensation, and your breathing fractured in pathetic whines.

"You'll suck it," Enjin nudged the tip of his cock inside you, weak muscles trying to suck him in. The unfamiliar stretch, albeit too little, ignited your cunt. Longing for more. "I'll fill your pretty mouth full," he pulled out in a swift motion that made you cry and cream out, "After I'll stuff your pretty pussy with it, so you'll taste yourself on my cock. If that's what you want."

You circled your other leg around Enjin's waist, nearly forcing him to thrust inside your virgin cunt. You gripped the base of his neck, blown irises hypnotic. You were long gone, gave up your coherence and your sanity to gift yourself to him. You could no longer speak in a stable tone; all the air that came out of your lungs was moans and sobs. "I'd like that very much, Enjin."

"It's gonna hurt a bit," Enjin took advantage of your flexibility to push your thigh further up until your knee touched your breast.

You bit your lip in anticipation as the familiar sting flushed over your core once again. Enjin lined himself up at your vagina and poked the tip of his cock at the entrance, sliding himself inside inch by overwhelming inch. Your face contorted in a mixture of euphoria and pain.

"God—fuck—you're so beautiful," Enjin cooed, lips kissing a trail of loving pecks into your collarbone to soothe your discomfort. A vulgar rumble roared in Enjin's chest with every inch he shoved inside you. "You're—hah, fuck, princess—you're perfect. So tight f'me, so fucking tight."

Your nails scraped the skin of his deltoids, barely keeping conscious as Enjin bottomed out. Your poor pussy split open, contracting urgently around him. "'jin—" A broken sob. "—can't—you're so—"

"Shh, you're taking it all so well," Enjin assaulted your lips and ate your splendid chokes right as they formed. To mask his own groans at the destructive way your cunt clamped around him. Enjin had to do something to distract himself from cumming prematurely into your very tempting pussy. "You want me to move?"

A nod was all you could muster; as soon as Enjin's dick dragged through sensitive muscles, only to stuff you to the hilt again, you couldn't even form sounds anymore. All that remained were silent gasps at the pleasure that rapidly formed in place of the tingling pain.

"Yes, princess, just like that," Enjin sighed, feeling himself abuse the depths of your cunt. He easily maneuvered both your legs over his shoulders, chest pressing into the muscles of your thighs. That new angle slammed every thrust into your cervix, and you could feel Enjin penetrate your lower belly. "Fuck me—you're sucking me in—do you feel yourself? Fluttering around my cock?"

You didn't know what you felt beyond the carnal pleasure whirling through every fiber of your being. You wanted to speak, but you couldn't, your mouth curling in muted exclamations with every brutal thrust filling your cunt. And then, the accelerated build-up of your orgasm ruptured your sanity altogether.

"Is this the spot, love?" Enjin asked, despite already knowing the answer; it was almost cruel how your pussy throbbed around his cock, pushing him to the edge. "Give it to me, baby. Say my name when you cum."

You tried. "—jin—".

Enjin picked up the pace. "Say it."

Your eyelids filled with stars, and an intense ringing in your ears messed with your senses. Still, with one last thrust, you somehow managed to scream his name, wicked, raw, voice cracking at the vowels and drowning with the consonants. "Enjin!"

Nirvana hit you so hard that you thought you would lose consciousness. Tears prickled at your eyes, spine curved impossibly high, and Enjin fucked you through the spasms, through the wave of electricity that hit your body, until your arms flailed helplessly on the mattress. Enjin had to pull out, and he did, abandoning your distressed pussy to clench around nothing, as if she still lusted for more.

"Good girl," Enjin lay your legs gently on either side of his hips and watched your soaked cunt leave a trail of your milky juices on the tip of his cock. Begging to fuck every last drop of your syrup back where it belonged. "Look at you. You're wrecked like this and still want me to stuff you full, princess?"

Enjin grasped his cock with a grumble, hoping to fist himself with your juices. Anna's sharp clutch at his wrist dictated otherwise. "Don't you dare."

"Don't I dare what?"

"You said you were going to put it in my mouth."

Enjin moaned. And his cock implored for it.

You feasted your eyes upon him. "Do I have to ask again?"

When you grabbed a pillow to make yourself comfortable on the mattress, sprawled and fucked out in a puddle of your own release, Enjin realized that you were truly needy to have him in your mouth. Golden eyes instantly leered at your puffy clit and at your pleading hole, clenching and unclenching around thin air.

"You're a freak."

You chuckled and pinched one of your hard nipples with blatant impatience. "I mean, you promised you'll fill my mouth."

Enjin advanced on the bed to seat himself where you wanted him; on his knees by your head, with an arm close enough to tend to your aching pussy. If he were self-conscious, Enjin would have scrutinized himself for moaning again at the sight of your doe eyes looking up at him, half of your pretty face shadowed by the length of his dick.

"Use me."

A mystery, really, why Enjin didn't cum right there. You poked your tongue out, blinking at him with a sheepish expression, notwithstanding your trembling body. Perhaps he was too shocked to hear those words coming out of that filthy mouth of yours, and suddenly Enjin remembered the day he met you; his mistake, forgetting how mouthy you were.

Except now, Enjin guided the tip of his cock flat onto your tongue to shut you up. You whimpered at the sweet and salty taste and swirled your tongue around the tip to make sure no drop was wasted. Enjin threw his head back at the kitten licks, his hand rushing to your soggy folds.

"Fuck—fuck, princess," Enjin slid his cock back and forth on your tongue, and you took every inch of it with a smirk on your face. You mewled when Enjin shoved two fingers inside you, replicating the sensation of his cock buried in your cunt. "You like this?"

"Yeah," you whined, hands grabbing at your breasts. You were ethereal, mumbling weakly with his dick squeezing your tongue. "More."

"Do you want to suck it?" His eyes darkened, and his fingers quickened their pace until smutty sounds of squelch—squelch—squelch filled the air. You whined louder, nodding in a frenzy and craning your head on the pillow to prepare yourself for him.

"Yes, put it in my mouth."

He did. When he slid himself past the plush of your lips, Enjin moaned noisily. You took him obediently, swallowing every inch of his cock into the cavern of your mouth. He stopped halfway, and you cried deplorably against his cock. Your pussy suctioned his fingers, violently clenching around them. You were chasing another orgasm, with Enjin's dick digging for treasure down your throat.

"Don't tell me," Enjin groaned, slowly unclenching the hand at the base of his shaft. "You want it all?"

"Nngh—yes."

Enjin fucked your mouth without even realizing he did. You said use me and meant it; you waited for him to dictate the pace, waited for him to touch you, waited for him to do whatever he wished. Enjin enveloped your cheek, thumb rubbing against your strained bottom lip as you struggled to take him whole. "Fuck—fuck, baby girl—fuck, you're such a good girl. Do you want me to—ahhh, yes, choke on it—edge you?"

He didn't wait for an answer when he pulled himself out of your mouth, leaving a stream of saliva and pre down your cheek. You cried out when Enjin slapped the tip over your lips, whilst looking at you like there was nothing more precious in the world. "Yes! Yesyesyes, edge me and fuck my face, God, fuck my face."

"You're not real, princess." Enjin took hold of the curly hair at the base of your skull and fed you the whole dick you were begging for. "You can't be real when you're this beautiful. You should see yourself, blabbering over my dick."

You let out a low mmhmm and let Enjin manhandle you however he pleased. He was so gentle yet so mean with it, with every dragging thrust in your mouth, and every lazy rub of his thumb on your clit, stimulating you to shatter you completely when he let go all at once.

"How can you even let me ruin you?" Enjin asked, but plunged himself into your mouth, knowing you would lose yourself more than you already did. "Fuck—how can you—oh, yes, just like that—trust me with this? With you?"

You pressed your palms into his thighs to support your head. A loving smile played on your visage. Your voice was coarse, but woven with sincerity. "If there's someone in this world that gets the right to destroy me, it should be you."

Enjin didn't say anything right away. He basked in the sight of you, quietly amazed at how you could offer your heart like that, no fear, no pressure. And he wondered how anyone could listen to you say those words, in the tremble of your voice when it steadied again, and not fall for you a little more with every syllable.

"I love you."

You blinked. And he repeated it, louder, bolder. "I love you, do you hear me?"

Enjin scooped you in his arms, eyes fixated on your quivering ones. He was real, flesh and blood, repeating those sacred words like a mantra that kept him alive. Like a man terrified that the Earth would end, and the Universe would collapse if he didn't say them enough. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Both your hands plunged to each other's sex; your orbs never left one another's, with every little stroke and every little rub of your digits. Both were a panting mess as you worked on pleasuring each other, discovering missing parts of yourselves in the tapestry of each other's irises. Your orgasms hit you at the same time. Massive ropes of cum shot from Enjin's cock to flood your hand, some landing on your stomach, and some painting your breasts. Enjin's knuckles coated in your creamy release, your body collapsing into his chest from the strain you'd gone through.

Enjin caught you, and he was bound to catch you from then onwards, whenever you needed to fall to safety.

"That was the best sex of my life," Enjin planted a kiss on your forehead. "You were so great, you did great."

"I had you to guide me. Thank you for making love to me," you whispered breathlessly, trying and failing to move your body. Not that Enjin would allow you to get out of bed anyway.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I need to go shower, I'll probably bleed—"

"We can wash the sheets tomorrow."

"But—"

Enjin shut you up with a peck on your lips. "No buts. You're probably sore, and you need to rest. You almost passed out in the middle of it."

And sore you were; you tried to shift your position and whined miserably at the discomfort between your thighs. Enjin kissed your temple with a chuckle and helped you lean down.

"I'll go grab some tissues real quick."

After he cleaned you up, Enjin fixed the army of pillows in his bed and tugged you under the blanket, the fallout of their passion still lingering in your muscles. You shivered under his touch.

"You still up to open your presents?" Enjin chanted and threw his boxers back on.

The enthusiasm on his face drew a soft smile from you. "How can I refuse my captain when he fucked my guts out?"

Enjin smirked nonchalantly. "You asked for it, doll. I merely executed the divine duty bestowed upon me."

"Wow, poetic much?" You snorted and turned in bed to follow Enjin's silhouette as it disappeared, quite literally, into the wardrobe. "Next thing I know, you're an underground writer or something."

"Remains to be seen," Enjin commented from the hidden room within his bedroom, voice fading under the unidentified cluttering or whatever he was doing in there. "Fuck man, I'll have to clean in here someday."

You giggled, and you swore you meant to bully him for the disaster in his closet. The intention faded altogether when Enjin revealed himself, a bouquet of burgundy calla lilies stacked atop an ivory envelope, perched on a carefully wrapped box with a fat ribbon the same color as the flowers.

"I mean, you already know about the tickets for the concert, not a huge surprise there," Enjin grinned, all teeth, and slightly more emotional than he let on. “Tickets were my idea. All of the present was my idea, but, like, I had some help from the others.”

He was yapping, he knew. But Enjin had to yap because he couldn’t read your perplexed expression, and because you were silent, with the only movement you were making was with your eyes following him when he paced around the room.

“So like, I wanted to get you flowers, but not those roses 'n shit everyone is doing ‘cause it’s basic as hell, so I asked Tomme for help on what you'd like.”

Enjin approached the bed, holding onto the present for dear life. “So yeah, you should, uhm, open this thing,” Tapping on the box, “And you know, just accept it, I guess—“

“Enjin.”

Enjin stiffened at your whisper of his name. “Yes?”

“Do you know about the meaning of this flower?”

He cleared his throat. “Not really, no. But these guys were the most beautiful out of all of Tomme’s proposals.”

“Good,” you said, carefully taking the bouquet and cuddling it to your chest. You hoped you could laugh, but it came out as a choked sniffle. “You suck at giving presents.”

The outright panic on Enjin’s face was palpable. “Fuck, did I mess up? I’m so sorry—“

“I love it, Enjin. No matter what it is.”

He put the box on the nightstand to wipe the sole tear that ran down your cheek. You nestled into the warmth of his hand, and Enjin’s lungs deflated at once. “I would know it since I suck at receiving presents. Happy tears, by the way.”

Enjin chuckled. “One of these days, you’re going to kill me.” He leaned in to kiss another tear away. “And I know I wouldn’t complain.”

You put the bouquet on the bed with utmost care, so you could collect the wrapped box. Enjin seated himself on the mattress next to you, a cheerful smirk on his lips. You pulled on one end of the red ribbon, and it dropped onto the decorated box lid. A hushed sigh came out of your mouth when you lifted it to reveal a pair of new Air Jordan 37 Low "Lift Up" Wmns.

"Enjin..."

"Do you like them?" He asked, eyes softening at the unsullied joy on your face. "You don't seem to me like the type to wear pink and that shit."

Your fingers ghosted over the pair of basketball sneakers. "I love them. But why...?"

Enjin angled his body on the bed to support his weight with the palm of his hand in the sheets. "A great player isn't great without the proper weapons."

You smiled. He continued. "I just know Mildretta would love to have you on her team. I don't actually know if you want to play, but you looked so happy doing it, I just knew I had to get 'em."

Enjin extended his other hand to lace his fingers through yours. "There's some 2v2 tournaments in streetball, and I hoped you'd want to play with me."

Your head jerked upwards to look at him. Enjin already was. "But you have the boys, you have so many other choices—"

Enjin squeezed your hand. "You're not a choice, y/n. The boys are my boys on court; they're with me to win nationals. It's you I want to share my passions with. Basketball is one of them."

He laughed. Openly and confidently. Utterly himself. "And kick ass in the process."

You burst out laughing, albeit with a tremor in your tone. "What are the others? Your passions."

Enjin hissed through his teeth, scratching at his nape. Still holding tightly onto you. "For better or for worse, it's starting to be this attorneying bullshit. You're making arguing fun."

You slapped his knee, and Enjin lounged himself chest-down in between your covered legs. He guided your hand to the side of his neck, fingers resting atop your concealed flesh.

"I'm serious. I used to hate it because my parents are big shots in this world. I never once considered myself to be worthy of it simply because it runs in the family. Most of it I did so ma would stop nagging at me. Pops gives one or two fucks, he just acts all sleek about it."

"What changed?" You asked, slender digits stroking his neck. Enjin all but purred at your ministrations.

"Law is dirty. People tend to forget that defense is not meant to prove innocence; it's to create the doubt of guilt. You know it, I know it."

Enjin settled into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "Once that happens, just enough that we can't absolutely be sure of guilt, that's when an attorney wins. I've been in my father's courtrooms, winning against these doubts. And I've been in my mother's courtrooms, winning through these doubts.

Impeccable track record on both sides. At some point, it just looked to me that they weren't fighting for any real meaning. Sure, pops is prosecuting serial killers, and mom is fighting tax evasion and money laundering, but I don't know."

"You know, all the mentors I've had used to tell me that an attorney cannot, under any circumstance, get involved with their cases," you said, and embraced Enjin's visage into your lap. He draped one arm over your thighs to settle in. "But if you don't believe, truly believe in what you do, then what's the point of fighting?"

Enjin snickered. "You got your answer, doll."

"What answer?"

"What changed. You showed me that this fucking cold ass profession has some passion behind it."

You smirked, even though Enjin couldn't see it. He felt it, still, in the way your fingers cupped his skull. "I fuck with people who fight with all their might, y'know? And you, y/n, goddamn it if you're not the epitome of that."

"Just because I carry it well, doesn't mean it's not heavy."

Enjin adjusted his position to look up at you. The blanket clinging to your breasts, the moonlight veiling your face with melancholy and sadness, your fingers in his hair, cuddling him to your core, everything made you appear like a dream.

"I dream of never being called strong or resilient ever again in my life. I long for softness, and I want ease. God, I'm not complaining because I don't dare to, anymore. I know I've become a better person for it, but I just want it to stop. I wish it did, for just a little, so I can catch my breath."

"I'll do that for you."

Your fingers in his scalp halted. Enjin spoke so unconcerned and so casually, like it was second nature for him to do so. "I did say the number one rule in our relationship will be to spoil my girl rotten." Enjin pointed to a spot just under your belly. "Remember, down here, between your legs?"

Enjin pressed his entire palm into your belly, protectively and possessively. Knowing you would feel his words through your womb. Ironically, the same place you felt fear in. "I know I'll piss you off, anger you, hell, maybe I'll make you want to leave me."

Laughter, yet insecure, "I don't know because I've never had someone to care for, and I'm quite a difficult guy. I'll break promises, and I'll be selfish. But one thing I know I won't break will be standing as a man next to you, never above you. You won't have to get pats on the back for how well you took a hit when you're with me. I won't allow you to feel that."

Warm tears toppled over Enjin's cheekbones from above. Silent, relieved tears. Grateful, emotional tears. And still, you smiled, grinned even. More dazzling than before. Ravishing that made Enjin's stomach tumble.

"Your father should be proud to have such a son."

Enjin lifted his arm to wipe away his lover's tears. "Hah, maybe he wouldn't be. I'm making my girl cry."

"Happy tears," you corrected him, "You know, there are some rules we need to establish in this relationship, indeed."

"Yeah?" Enjin laughed, intrigued. "Let's hear it."

"I want to learn how to cook your favorite meal. When I plan my school meals, I'll cook yours too. If you buy ingredients, I'll make your favorites. I hope you're comfortable with teeth-rotting love letters because I'll write you plenty. I want to take pictures of us at every chance I get, and I want to hold your hand everywhere we go."

Enjin's own orbs thorned with the tears whirling behind eyelids.

"I know it's not much—"

"It's all I need," Enjin breathed out, brushing his thumb over your parted lips, voice cracking. "It's enough."

You knew, or instead intuited, that the expectations and pressures of being a man were heavy for Enjin. You dreamed that you would make him feel seen for who he'd shown you that he was, not just for what he could provide. And he was plenty; you wanted him to find comfort and acceptance in your arms, in your little world, away from the real one that only kept on demanding. You knew, because you were out there every day, fighting and trashing in it.

Enjin closed his eyes, muscles relaxing in the safety of his lover's embrace. "I can't wait to see you in the dress August gifted you."

You giggled in response. "Wherever would I wear that?"

"I can think of many places," Keeping his eyes closed, Enjin used his fingers to count the occasions, "Opera, theatre, dinner with my parents, the Christmas masquerade ball next week—"

"Enjin, what did you say—"

"There's also this fancy ass restaurant I want to take you out to, they cook a mean fucking steak, alright—"

"Enjin."

Enjin opened one eye. "What?"

You cocked an eyebrow at his nonchalant demeanor. "Dinner with your parents?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Dinner with parents is something you do when things get serious."

Enjin had to open his other eye to paint the complete picture of confusion on his face. Like you'd told him every attorney who said just briefly didn't actually parade the longest, most boring argument to man.

"Because," Enjin flailed his hands in the air, "we're not serious? Fine, I'm willing to negotiate dinner with your parents first if you think you'd be better with it."

"Enjin!" you yelled, embarrassment showing on her face.

"What the hell, woman?" Enjin yelled back with a snicker. "Objection, bullshit."

"It's not bullshit," you said, pinching his cheek and pulling at it. "Whatever would I talk about with your parents? Your mom's my role model!"

"Yuh can star' with that—" Enjin replied indifferently, a funny lisp showing at the way you were pinching his cheek. You let go. "She's prolly gonna think you're tryin' to sweet talk her, but she'll quickly realize you're the real deal."

You let out an annoyed tsk and looked away. Fuelling the amusement on Enjin's face. "You know you're gonna meet them both regardless, right? When we win the National Trail Competition. Part of the prize is a gala dinner with—guess who— the CEO of the firm who's giving out the internship."

"You don't know that we're gonna win that."

"Oh, but I do," Enjin twisted his stance to tickle your sides. You immediately squirmed, the blanket falling off your torso. Great moment for Enjin's dick to harden again. "I guess that's the perfect occasion for that dress. I hope August sewed a high slit so I can eat you out in the bathroom in between boring meet-ups."

THREE MONTHS LATER, MID-MARCH, FINAL STAGE OF THE NATIONAL TRIAL COMPETITION

Enjin fidgeted. He never fidgeted, but he did that day, making it increasingly difficult for you to make a knot out of his necktie.

"Captain, stop."

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything—"

You pulled on Enjin's tie, and that seemed to still his movements, along with planting a cocky smirk on his face. Your height increased considerably by 8 centimeters, thanks to the red, shiny stilettos Semiu let you borrow from Fantasia's prop outfits. Which brought you almost face-to-face with the Akuta captain.

"What are you so nervous about?"

"You look sexy and fierce, and I hope you'll step on my neck with those stilettos, princess."

You rolled your eyes. Semiu also let you borrow a black satin suit that hugged your curves in all the right places, an outfit completed by a Ralph Lauren tie-neck blouse the same color as your heels. Add your natural hair styled to look even wilder than it usually was, plus red lipstick, and Enjin became absolutely feral.

"Good, not nervous anymore," you scoffed, nimble fingers finishing up the tie that Enjin absolutely didn't insist should be of a matching color to your blouse.

"I'm not nervous," Enjin emphasized, as if you would somehow fall for it. "I'm just trying to keep my dick in check, y'know?"

"Objection, calls for speculation. If you weren't nervous, as you claim you aren't, you would actually have your dick hard. Not just half-hard."

Enjin laughed and cleared his throat. "I see you're in character. Alright, I might be marginally nervous. I just know pops is gonna laugh his fucking ass watching me out there."

"Huh. So that's why you're fidgeting," you chuckled, walking away from him to fix your makeup one last time. Enjin's eyes fell shamelessly on the sway of your hips, and he actually contemplated how fast he could make both of you cum in that cramped court backroom that smelled like old books and nicotine—

"It's not gonna happen, stop fantasizing about it," you said, peeking at him in the mirror.

Enjin sighed so hard he could start an earthquake. "Sad reactions only." He approached you, and, instead of slapping your ass or grabbing your tits like you expected him to do, Enjin adjusted the lapels of his tux coat.

You were a tad disappointed, to say the least.

"How do I look?"

You grabbed his lapels, levelling your gaze upon his. "Your jersey is showing under the shirt, captain. But otherwise, looking sharp, might I add."

And then Enjin slapped your ass. Your gasp echoed in the room.

"You really thought I'd miss the opportunity to slap this outrageous ass and risk the good luck that comes with it?"

"You're insufferable."

"I bet your pussy did the thing and tingled. Should I do it again, babe?"

Needless to say, Enjin did it again, a couple of times, before both of you were called into the courtroom to start the trial competition. His smug smile stilled the bitter glares of their competitors, notably those of one dark-haired boy who presented himself with the dignity of a nobleman.

The judge slammed his gavel against the polished wood, and the courtroom quieted in an instant. There was an unusual number of spectators in the trial, and all of the seats in the courtroom filled to the brim, even on the sidelines of the area. It was your very own version of courtside scouts.

"Okay, we'll take attendance of the two teams and then officially start the competition," the judge said, inviting the two teams to take their respective seats.

"Eden College, representing the defendant, Snow White."

You and Enjin responded to the call.

"Atlanta College, representing the prosecution."

Enjin leaned in close to whisper in your ear. "Just so you know, my parents are seated right behind us."

You felt a shiver traverse your spine. "Are they now?"

The premise of the case trial was simple: Snow White was accused by the State of turning the seven dwarves into criminals who killed her mother, the Queen. To win, the prosecution had to put Snow White behind bars, or the defense team had to refute the allegations. The teams were given an hour that morning to brief on the case and ask any additional questions, and the trial began with the prosecution's opening remarks.

"Prosecutor Zanka Nijiku, with the opening remarks."

Enjin had to stifle his laughter. "Poor guy looks like he has a stick up his ass."

The judge raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, defense attorney Enjin?"

Enjin's father had the exact same reaction that his son had when the jury scrutinized the Akuta captain. "None, your honor." Some younger female jurors all but giggled at his relaxed poise. Pretty privilege was strong in any given circumstance. "I was merely worrying about prosecutor Nijiku's capability to see this trial to its end."

"And why would that be?"

Enjin smirked, forearms leaning over the massive table. "I suppose he looks unwell, given the scowl on his face."

You almost turned your chair at the abrupt snort coming from behind their seats. Then, another sigh came from the same area, and if you had a wild guess to make, you would say Enjin's parents were the protagonists of the sounds.

“It’s just like looking in a fucking mirror,” A female voice whispered, and her statement only fueled the other person’s response. “Like father, like son.”

“Nah,” the man replied, albeit with another crack of laughter in his tone, “I have better comebacks, sweetie.”

Another bang of the gavel. The judge eyed Enjin’s father from across the courtroom, and the latter shrugged, given that they were close friends who played golf in their spare time. The judge should have known the apple didn't fall far from the tree. “Silence in the courtroom. Please, proceed.”

Enjin couldn’t be prouder of himself. A sentiment that fueled his confidence when he pushed away his chair to follow with the opening remarks of the defense. Dangerous, but ultimately good for their team. Except, when he opened his mouth to speak, Enjin was not saying any of the words you’d rehearsed in the prep.

"Esteemed members of the jury, your honor, our case today is about an interest group that wants to overthrow the sovereign State."

Enjin's father whistled. You briefly glanced at him with the corner of your eye before Enjin resumed his story, which, quite frankly, captivated the entire audience. A spitting image of your lover, wearing the same cocky smile and the same carefree confidence. Enjin's father was intimidating in real life, and so was his mother. What a time to be alive and defend a murder case in front of the best attorneys in the country.

"And you may wonder why," Enjin continued, one hand pausing in the air. "The reasons are pretty simple. But the most important one lies in the intrinsic understanding that this interest group seeks to explore the possibility of dissolving a government free of foreign control."

Enjin angled his body towards the audience, pausing for a moment. "What better way to claim such control than by accusing my client, Snow White, the rightful heir of this state, of orchestrating an alleged crime? I'll give you one better than that." Then, turning to the jury, "What better way to claim such control than by turning its distinguished citizens into instruments of murder?"

Enjin shrugged his shoulders with faux concern that only you and his parents could see through. To the court, he was the illustrious storyteller. "I'm not a gambler. But in this case, I'll make an exception, and I'll bet on you to make the best decision, esteemed jury."

You rolled your eyes. What was he doing quoting Harvey Specter?

Enjin let the courtroom catch its breath before he returned to his seat. His father acknowledged him with a nod and a smirk. Color him impressed.

"Our son is full of bullshit," Enjin's mother turned to her husband. "I wonder where he gets that from."

"Our son is also extremely charming," he retorted and got another glance from the judge. "I wonder where he gets that from."

The trial erupted after that. Back-and-forth arguments, objections sustained and overruled on both sides, and two witnesses called to the stand, both teams milking them dry with their questions. The Atlanta college had a spectacular hearing with the second witness, and if you hadn't raised two very well-placed objections, the Eden team would have been sure to lose face in front of the jury.

That Zanka guy and his colleague, a girl named Ryo, were spot on with their interactions, even though Enjin stepped on their toes at the beginning of the competition. It worked, for a short period of time, until Zanka almost peeled the wood off their table to dissipate their nerves. A couple of hours passed, and the trial reached its turning point with the hearing of the last witness, called by the prosecution: Snow White's chambermaid.

Your nerves almost reached the better of you. You were aware that, if you couldn't squash the prosecution's advantage, you would lose the trial. The burden was placed on your shoulders, and you felt like you were relieving the same stress and anxiety as the moment your father was seconds away from losing his case because of their unqualified attorney.

Enjin patted your knee under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He knew, he always did, how to read your mind and chase away the demons under the bed. Enjin never lost his confidence, especially not in you. He let you feel it, bask in it. Your eyes widened in full awareness of the fact.

Defense is meant to create doubt about guilt.

"You got this, princess."

"Defense attorney [last name], witness is all yours."

Enjin watched you straighten your back to stand tall in the courtroom. Your heels clicked decisively against the floor, and an assertive smile colored your lips. Enjin smirked and leaned back into his chair; you were in complete control of the situation.

"Thank you, your honor. I have to say, the prosecution plants a lot of words in my witness's mouth. Figuratively, your honor."

An entertained murmur engulfed the courtroom.

Prosecutor Ryo slammed her hands on the table. "Objection, badgering."

"How do you answer that, miss?" The judge asked, notwithstanding a sliver of a smile.

"I won't, your honor."

"On what grounds?"

You spared the prosecution a glance as you walked past them and straight to the witness stand. "On the grounds that I don't want to."

Another whistle floated in the courtroom, and you could feel the stare of Enjin's parents in the back of your head. Fuelling your posture. Enjin felt a tap at his shoulder, and his father slipped him a scribbled post-it note.

That your lady up there?

Enjin gave it back momentarily.

"Objection overruled," the judge said, gesturing for Anna to continue. "Please proceed."

She's great, I know.

The last reply surprised Enjin; it was written in his mother's handwriting. Y/n is going to fit just right in the firm.

"Miss Greta, you said you were my client's chambermaid for what, fifteen years?"

"That's correct."

"Could you tell us a bit more about Snow White's personality?"

And Greta did, describing your client as soft-spoken, kind, always attentive to the palace staff. All in all, a flawless persona.

"Have you ever heard or seen my client speaking ill of her mother, the queen?"

"Not in particular, no."

"So you can't be sure that my client had any ill intention towards her mother, the queen."

Zanka's voice echoed in the courtroom. "Objection, argumentative."

"Sustained. Miss [last name], try to focus on asking relevant questions."

You accepted the judge's words with a nod, keeping your gaze levelled upon the witness. You caught Greta fidgeting at your intentional argument. Bingo.

"You told the prosecution earlier that you saw the exact moment my client allegedly pushed the queen off the cliff, where the castle is located. You also mentioned that the queen, and I quote, died in a stormy, rather dark night." You turned to the jury. "Alleged death." Back to the cross-examination, "Can you walk me through the episode again?"

"Certainly. It was, indeed, an angry storm that night. A complete downpour. I was worried, you see, because I had just brought dinner to the princess's room and she wasn't there. I went down the stairs, to the foyer, to the main dining room, but she was nowhere to be found. I tried reaching the queen, but I would soon discover that she wasn't in the palace either."

"So, what did you do next?"

"I went out through the garden, which spreads out to the back of the estate. That area does not have many lanterns, so I fumbled my way to the beaten trail that leads to the edge of the cliff. I was terrified, and the night was thick, and my eyes are not what they used to be, so I was scared to fall and injure myself. Suddenly, something quivered in a bush nearby. A small shadow that I thought fit the perfect profile of one of the dwarves."

"You thought, or you saw?"

Greta's breath caught in her throat. Your presence turned oppressive for your witness.

"Atta girl," Enjin mouthed, rolling the sleeves of his light blue shirt. "Get 'em."

"Are you well, Miss Greta? Can you not answer my question?"

The witness mumbled. "Y-yes, I can."

"If I were you, I'd make sure to answer it truthfully," Your voice ran cold and low. Authoritative enough that it made Enjin's dick twitch in his pants. You turned to the prosecution desk, a light smirk toying with the corner of your mouth. "After all, we have to understand here who is badgering whom. Yourself, or the prosecution."

Zanka bolted from his chair. "Objection, calls for speculation—"

"Overruled. Mister Nijiku, sit down."

"I'll ask again," You resumed your previous stance in front of the witness, "You thought you saw one of the seven dwarves, or you saw one of the seven dwarves?"

Greta's voice shattered. "I thought I saw one of the seven dwarves."

You gestured to the stenographer. "Let it be noted that the witness cannot assess with certainty that she saw one of the seven dwarves the night of the alleged crime." Back to the witness, "What did you do after thinking you saw one of the seven dwarves in the garden?"

"As I told the prosecution earlier, I fell to my knees. I was afraid. Then I looked in the distance and saw two silhouettes fighting on the edge of the cliff. I recognized the princess and the queen mother by the dresses they were wearing."

"Fighting, you said. Were they physically fighting?"

"No, not physically."

"Then how were they fighting?"

Greta was fiddling with her fingers. "The queen was gesturing a lot with her hands. So I assumed they were fighting."

"You assumed they were fighting, but you are not sure."

"Objection, argumentative—"

"Overruled."

You cruised on the momentum. "Can you say for sure that they were fighting? After all, didn't you say that your eyes are not what they used to be? In a downpour of a storm?"

"Objection, compound question—"

"Overruled."

You made Greta tremble in her chair. Her voice broke piece by piece until it turned into stammering. "I...I don't...I'm not sure they were fighting."

Enjin had to shift in his chair to try to do something, anything about his cock because he was convinced you, or anyone for that matter, could hear it crying against the confinement of the material. There was a primal mixture of adoration and lust in his golden eyes; Enjin wasn't one for exhibitionism in particular, but all he could think about in the moment was spreading your legs on the judge's table, heels and all dangling over his shoulders as he feasted on your pussy—

"Did you see the queen's cadaver, Miss Greta?"

That was the exact moment the prosecution's case was over, and the Eden team's victory was almost guaranteed. All that you had to do was seal the deal. You did more than that. You stomped the fucking deal.

"N-no...I didn't..."

"But you said that the queen died in a stormy, rather dark night. So did you, or did you not explicitly see the queen die that night?"

Some moments later, when both the prosecution and the defense rested their cases, and the jury was invited into an adjacent room to do the ruling, you fell into your chair to let out an inhale you didn't know you held. The court was given a break while the verdict was being discussed. Enjin devoured you with blazing golden eyes, cheek engulfed in the palm of his hand.

"Fuck me, baby, I'm so hard right now. Do you think you can help me with my problem?"

"Oh shut up," you let your head hang backwards, "I thought I would choke on my words up there, and all you did was fantasize about dicking me down?"

"Quite an accurate summary, yes."

You squinted at him. "You can't be serious right now."

"Very serious, actually," Enjin leaned closer to shove himself shamelessly in your personal space. "Those heels would look great over my shoulders—"

"Enjin," You tried to shove him by the chest, but he was cemented in place, "Were you seriously not worried one bit that I would fuck it up?"

"Nope."

"Enjin—!"

Enjin took your hand to his lips to press a chaste kiss on your knuckles. Your cheeks were coated in a hue of pink right away. "You outclassed everyone in this trial, including me. Especially me. I had absolutely no doubt that you would kick ass. I trust you. So what was left for me to do was sit back and get hard at how fucking extraordinary my girlfriend is."

Enjin's smartwatch buzzed with an alarm. It was time for Enjin to leave so he could make it in time for the warm-up of his basketball semi-finals.

"I gotta run, love," He chuckled, hand cupping the side of your face. "I wish I could say good luck or sum' shit, but you don't need it. This victory is all you."

You clutched the collar of his loosened shirt, just above the spot where his jersey peeked out. You smiled bashfully and gently shook his frame. Enjin adored you like that, raw and so fucking beautiful. "Go get 'em, captain. I'll be there in time to watch you win."

Screw your red lipstick and the flawless appearance he wanted to ruin. Enjin had to settle for a kiss on your cheek, which was against all the sacred good luck rituals. But Enjin respected you immensely, protecting your image and dignity. In public, anyway.

"You'd better, princess," Enjin smirked, hot breath fanning over painted lips. "It goes against all principles for the hottest girlfriend in the world to not be in the stands."

You laughed, masking the need for a moan. Try as you might, you couldn't deny that you were getting wet in your panties. "I'm the only girlfriend in the stands, captain. I am hottest by default."

"Nu-uh. You're hottest because your mama made you like that. I have to call her and thank her personally for birthing such a goddess."

"You're disgusting."

"I just know your pussy did the thing and tingled again."

You pulled on his collar, and Enjin noticed the exact infinitesimal split of a second when your eyes fogged in thoughts that were not made for public ears. "If you win tonight," you said, sultry and commanding, "I'll let you film us when we make love in that mirror in your hotel room. You'll just have to kick Gris out for a couple hours."

Enjin groaned, a groan that rumbled in his chest when his alarm started buzzing again. "I hope you know I respect you, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"Great. Because it might not feel like it tonight."

BONUS SCENE

"You're limping."

Enjin's amused voice irked you to no end. You accepted his gesture to pull your chair into the elegant yet cosy restaurant where they were going to have breakfast.

"And whose fault is that?"

Breakfast with Enjin's parents.

"Not that cocky now, are we?" Enjin teased, claiming his seat by your side. "You know, princess, you should start learning to accept the consequences of your own actions when you provoke me."

You gave the waiter a polite smile and quickly returned to your sour expression when he left. Enjin was having the time of his life, and it showed in the way he leaned his face into the palm of his hand, with the laziest grin on his face. "That wasn't even a provocation. I wanted to give you an incentive to win."

Enjin waved his free hand through the air. "Details, details," He leaned closer to you, planting a sneaky kiss on that stubborn vein in your neck. "I can't wait to see what prize I'm getting when we're winning the finals day after tomorrow."

"There they are!"

A familiar masculine voice danced through the air, and one would have thought Enjin would be in a hurry to detach himself from your neck. He did eventually, only when his parents reached their table, and the young couple stood up to greet them properly. "Oi, Enjin, the hell do you think you're doing in your mother's favorite restaurant?"

"You have no right to talk shit when you're the most disgusting PDA guy to exist."

"I'm sorry, dear," you accepted Enjin's mother's invitation and shook her hand firmly. "You can see quite clearly who Enjin takes after."

You smiled, offering a gentle smile. She looked less scary now, with the wrinkle in her forehead that Enjin's father put there. From one woman who understood the challenges to another. You tested the waters.

"Good thing they both have great women to keep them in check, do they not?"

Enjin made an approving gesture with his head, all cocky and brazen because you had barely opened your mouth, and you had already won over his parents. To think that Enjin had tried to shake you up with his shameless antics mere moments before, and you still held your own. How could he not love you more because of it?

"So," Enjin said, giving you the breakfast menu to browse through. "How are you guys doing? Quite unexpected that you'd stay a couple of days longer here."

"We were supposed to leave yesterday, after the trial ended," Enjin's mother said, grabbing a slim cigarette from her pack, "I have 2 open court cases on-going to go back to."

"What my wife meant to say," Enjin's father chuckled and called for the waiter, "Was that she was thrilled to know you qualified for finals and she wanted to see your match."

"No shit," Enjin smirked and gave a tender tap to your hand. "You need more time to decide, babe?"

You shook your head and closed the menu with a slight flap. Enjin ordered for you both, and so did his father for their own side of the table. Your eyes lingered for a moment on Enjin's parents; despite the outright respect they carried themselves with and the bickering between them, it was as clear as day that they loved and cared for each other deeply. It was also evident in the way Enjin was so relaxed around his father and so respectful towards his mother.

You couldn't contain a smile.

"And because I wanted to talk to y/n. There's something she can help me with."

Then your smile faded into evident surprise.

"I'm flattered, but I'm not sure there is anything I could help you with, sir."

Enjin's father laughed, a boisterous laugh. Enjin was watching the show unfold with great interest. "C'mon, drop the sir. What am I, a dinosaur?"

Enjin whistled. "Old fart."

"No, sir," you kicked Enjin under the table, and he chuckled, "I'll drop the sir when I earn it. I know I haven't yet."

"Yeah?"

Enjin's father clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the knuckles. You were right to assume it was a test; you'd seen many of his trials before to know the difference. "And how will you know you earned it?"

So you permitted yourself a smirk. "Something tells me it will become evident eventually, sir."

Enjin could have suffocated you with a kiss right there. He refrained from doing so because he was scared of his lover's possible reaction. Enjin's father reached for his briefcase to retrieve a file. "And this is exactly why you'll be able to help me."

The waiter came back with their drinks. You took a sip from your lemonade and accepted the brown dossier. Your characteristics dropped ever so slightly upon opening it. "My father's case."

"Precisely," Enjin's father said and lit up a cigarette of his own. "I hate praising my own son for obvious reasons, but he found it."

You didn't dare hope. Couldn't. "What did he find?"

Father looked at his son, paused for an unusual moment, as if asking for permission to continue. Enjin granted it, with a more sober aura about himself; after all, it was about you, not himself, and you appreciated that greatly. So you granted it, too.

"I'll have to take credit for Enjin's strategies, but only because neither of you has a legal license. What we can do is I can list you both as legal aides so you can take some credit for the upcoming trial."

"Upcoming trial?" You had to mentally restrain yourself from leaping over the table. "Are you saying we can reopen the case?"

An exquisite cloud of nicotine tangoed in the air when Enjin's mother spoke. "A client of mine has a long history with this man, who won the case against your family. I've only ever defended my client from his attacks, but I recently put together a solid file to prove he's doing tax evasion." She laughed, a chilly, terrifying laugh. "And you won't mind if I piggyback on my husband's upcoming prosecution, will you?"

"That's not going to help," you sighed. The air changed in the restaurant. "It's not relevant for my case."

Enjin helped himself with his father's tobacco pack. "It is if you know he has a history with a drug kingpin. My theory is that one of those assholes jumped your father."

Enjin's father called for the waiter once more. You were perplexed by the family's power. And even more so, because they knew that they held that power.

"Excuse me," Enjin's father said, eyes leveled upon yours as he spoke. The state attorney general, measuring you from head to toe, dared you to take the most formidable challenge of your life. Do or die.

Your fist clenched on the table. Enjin glanced at you and smirked knowingly. You wouldn't die again.

"Bring me a round of bourbon. We have reason to celebrate early!"

part 1

[write-it-good-imagines]

Captain Star

Nepo baby Enjin loves his college life for three main reasons: unlimited girls to screw, plenty of partying, and great basketball to play. Enjin is the star captain of the basketball team and an undercover bright, lazy attorney student. A career he doesn't want for himself.

Enjin's college life takes a sharp turn when he meets a girl he cannot charm. You teach him that not everyone lives with their head up their ass. You'll have to put him in his place.

tags>> gachiakuta!collegeau, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, college!life, slice!of!life, fluff, romance, angst, mutual pining, slow burn, porn with plot, filth smut, d/s, soft!dom enjin, reader is lowkey a freak, oral sex(m/f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, praise kink, dirty talk, explicit speech, spyxfamily inspo, mentions of jjk sukuna.

wc: ±42k, reading time approx. 3.5 hours. the only reason this fic is posted in two parts is because tumblr caps 1000 paragraphs max. smut was unfortunately moved to pt2.

part 1 part 2

Blinding lights. Full stadium. Scouters courtside, scrutinizing every play. Squeaking Jordans against tattered vinyl. Ball being passed around frantically in an attempt to break through the other team's defense.

Buzzer was almost out; 30 seconds left, and the match would be done. The crowd was chanting the home team's name in tandem with the beat of the gallery drums. Tension filled the air, eyes drifting between the players and the scoreboard: 97-97. An even score would not send either team to the qualifiers.

"A-ku-ta! A-ku-ta! A-ku-ta!"

A large, tattooed hand dribbled the ball, buying as much time as possible for a quick strategy. Golden eyes peeked at the coffee dreads dashing around, putting the opposite team out of balance just barely to create an opening. A set of blue eyes peeked at the speedy positioning of the small forward and assumed a blocking stance in front of the basket. The twin players—shooting guard and power forward—blocked what was left of the opposition.

"Enjin, it's all you!"

The court vibrated in slow motion; Enjin took a deep breath to reset his focus. The inked hand of the point guard guided the ball in a deft feint on one leg, then used the other to rebound. He seized the ball in mid-air and aimed for a 3-point shot.

A collective gasp stilled all sound in the arena. The angry siren of the buzzer broke out just as the ball glided through the air. It bounced off the rim and circled around it. One, two, three times. Then fell straight through the net.

The crowd roared in hysteria.

"THAT'S THE CAPTAIN FOR YA!" The small forward spread his arms open in a victory stance to savor the hard-fought win. "WE'RE ON FOR QUALLIES!"

"Jabber, we gotta go salute the players." The fair-haired center threw his arm around Jabber, then turned to high-five the man of the hour. "Man, Enjin, you're a mad dog."

Enjin wiped the sweat off his forehead with the wristband. "Shut up, Gris, I thought I'd shit my pants." Then, after gathering everyone to pay their respects to their opponents. "We all know Otto is the better shooter. Just randomly decided that he and Epalte would make me take one for the team!"

The twins were the first to bow to their fans. More like fangirls. Loud little creatures. "You needed that for character development, Jin."

Gris chuckled, and Enjin could swear he saw fat hearts oozing out of all the girls' eyes at Gris's waves and greetings. Probably the most sought-after bachelor of their college. "We weren't warmed up at all today. Played like shit."

And Gris was partly right. With the season starting earlier that year, the team barely got time to practice together as a unit. If one didn't count the trio, Enjin-Gris-Jabber, humiliating the local streetball competition, which wasn't exactly an official one. The twins, Otto and Epalte, were recent transfers from another private college, but thanks to their exceptional skills, they fit in with the team right away.

"We can worry about that tomorrow," Jabber said, fanning himself with the grey jersey. "We got all the good reasons to party hard tonight!" ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ Another evening, another full house at the Fantasia hostess club. Rush hour was yet to come, but all the girls were pacing around the club, travelling from one table to another to entertain the guests. For one girl in particular, the time to leave was nigh, so she could finish her shift earlier that night. When she wrapped up her session with one of her regular clients, the girl excused herself and walked to the upper floor, reserved for staff only.

You closed the door behind you and were met by the matron of the club. "How was today, Y/n?"

You reached into her silver purse to hand an ivory envelope to the matron. The latter inspected it and welcomed it with a tacit smile.

"As great as usual, Semiu," you replied, reaching for the zipper of your red, slitted dress. "My regulars were sad to hear I'm off early today, but that didn't stop them from tipping me as usual."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from my best performer," the matron, Semiu, laughed and walked over to you to help unclasp your dress. "Of course, your time would be valuable. The girls left an outfit for you, it's on your counter. You have to be smoking hot for your first real college party!"

You inspected the clothing pieces, and a grin bloomed on your face. A sparkly, see-through, long-sleeved top to pair with a Victoria's Secret red-lace bralette and baggy low-waist jeans that would for sure hug the curves of your ass.

"You guys didn't have to—"

Semiu offered the ivory envelope with almost the full sum you brought back. "And a little extra from me to celebrate your first day at Eden. Your uniform just arrived in the afternoon, it's gorgeous. Try it on before you leave, in case we need to adjust the fitting."

You accepted the envelope, irises trembling in emotion. "Semiu, I... I don't know what to say. I'll pay you back—"

The matron chuckled and adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. "There's nothing to say. You deserve every piece of it. So take it. That's what you're supposed to do with gifts, honey."

In an impulsive fit of gratitude, you threw your arms around Semiu's neck. "I believe you're also supposed to say thank you."

Semiu chuckled and returned the hug. "I would hug you more, but your naked tits pressing into me are not something I'd hoped to see today. Go dress."

You quickly put on the gifted clothes, then gathered your red lipstick from the counter and your phone to throw into the sparkling purse. Your makeup did not need additional touch-ups, and you were delighted with the overall result.

"You have condoms, right?"

"Semiu, I'm not fuckin' anyone tonight," you replied, rolling your eyes. "Not the plan."

But Semiu slipped two condoms into your purse regardless. "Plans change, honey. Better safe than sorry. Have a lot of fun, and make sure to tell me all about it tomorrow!" ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ "Party?" Gris raked through his hair and reached for his water bottle. "Oh yeah, it's the opening party for the year. It's a Throwback 2000s theme, so I heard."

Jabber's dreadlocks waltzed from their ponytail as he spun around excitedly at the prospect. "Listen, listen, guys." He waved his fingers to bring the boys together. Jabber's voice dropped into a whisper. "I met this lil' mama last night, a total fucking freak. Ah man, she made me drool for ten minutes straight. Said she's coming out tonight, so you better drag your asses to this party. I need my man Gris to wing me up, y'know?"

Enjin dapped Jabber, deeply impressed with his attitude. "If the ladies call on us for a divine intervention, who the hell are we to refuse? Bonus points 'cause I heard that Tamsy dude is mixing, and he's hella good."

Clapping sounds interrupted the buzzing excitement of the basketball team. "Well done, boys. You just had to keep me on the edge there with the last shoot."

"You know us, coach," Enjin smirked, propping both hands on his hips. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Very nice job to the twins. Welcome to your very first regional qualifiers."

Both Otto and Epalte bowed in unison. "Thank you, Coach Corvus."

Corvus turned to Jabber. "Go out and have fun, but I don't want you fighting the worst hangover of the year tomorrow. We have to start practicing for the match next week. You all want to return to nationals, don'tcha?"

Jabber whistled nonchalantly. "I play better under pressure."

The Akuta basketball team returned to their respective dorm rooms in the frat house to freshen up for the upcoming party. Although Enjin and Gris shared a two-bedroom apartment, Enjin was rarely there for longer than one night. Gris always joked that he would have to cash in rent for all the shower gel and toothpaste Enjin borrowed.

By the time the boys were done and dusted, the ground floor of the frat house was already alive with colorful lights and music, the party area almost at full capacity. Eden College hosted almost 800 students each year, ranging from freshmen to seniors, and the Eden Frat House was famous for its exclusive parties that could accommodate only 200 people at a time.

Those 200 people had to pay a ticket fee for the parties, because the newly promoted frat president, an eccentric guy named August Stillza, insisted that all the decorations they made and all the catering services they employed wouldn't be paid for out of their own pockets.

Since August was best friends with the entire basketball team, some people might have been exempt from paying the tax. They repaid the favor by helping with the cleaning the following day.

"August!" Jabber hollered from across the room, rushing over to dap the long-haired president in their secret-coded handshake. "Man, these baggy ass trousers you made for me are going hard as hell!"

"I told you you'd love 'em! Works great with your hippie style and those rings on your fingers!"

Enjin and Gris approached the other two to share a beer. Both men were already grooving to the music; Let's Get It Started by Black Eyed Peas was blasting through the speakers. "Oi, Auggie, you outdid yourself this year."

"Shit, Enjin," August replied, chugging half of the glass of beer Enjin had brought for him. "We're sophomores only once in our lives. You didn't hear it from me, but the last president sucked ass."

Gris chuckled, opening one more button from his white shirt, leaving a generous trail open down to his torso. "You didn't hear it from us, but we absolutely agree."

Jabber was too impatient for beer; he ran off to chug two shots of rum, which Gris noted were 50% alcohol. When Jabber shrieked at the aftertaste, the crowd rumbled with excitement. Once the party booster, always the party booster.

"LET'S ROCK THIS HOUSE MY DUDES!"

Enjin and Gris followed Jabber to mingle with the crowd, slowly but surely easing into the rhythm of the music. For Enjin, college life meant everything that life at home was not. Running from the responsibilities everyone put on him, to mold him into something he'd never wished to become, had become Enjin's favorite marathon. Between the basketball matches, the parties, and the girls queuing up to enjoy a night with him, Enjin hoped he would postpone the real, cold life as much as possible.

So, taking August's advice to heart, Enjin decided to start his sophomore year with a blast. He would not allow the first class he had the following morning to scare him off: Advanced Criminal Law was not nearly as terrifying as the monsters under the bed.

The basketball team's appearance was noticed almost instantly by the general public. Since all of them held certain degrees of desirable bachelor's reputation and were people the other students wanted to hang out with for all sorts of reasons, the Akuta team had to navigate the unwanted attention more often than not. Jabber did not give one flying fuck about that, as he'd personally stated before; he disappeared halfway through the night, when his lil' mama appeared at the party. Gris was too much of a gentleman to lead the girls on for something he did not want, and it was precisely where Enjin came in handy. Not as the second-hand choice, but the more accessible one.

With Shakira's Hips Don't Lie booming through the speakers as DJ Tamsy personally saw to, two girls were already wrapped all over him. The first one, a blonde girl Enjin had never seen before, was grinding her ass against his own, one arm locked around his neck, while the other, a short-haired woman whom Enjin had briefly remarked on in the volleyball team, all but groped his dick. Gris cocked an eyebrow, looking at his best friend, and wondered if he needed to find a new place to sleep for the night.

In the frenzy of the moment, Enjin tilted his head to the side, eyes wandering to the adjacent corner of the dance floor, to fixate upon a mysterious figure who most definitely never passed the premises of the frat house before. He would have remembered it, surely; an outrageous ass smirking at him through tight-fit jeans, hips swaying from side to side under that see-through net or whatever the hell she was wearing, completed by curly-styled hair. She turned around, and the spotlight fell over her face in a moment too short.

What a fucking vixen, with that cat eyeliner, the bold red lipstick, and that gem of a smile. So Enjin's dick did whatever an honorable soldier's would have done; it praised that ethereal spectacle by getting hard.

And maybe Enjin would have untangled the women wrapped all over him, who suddenly became too boring. The alcohol spiraling through his veins from one beer too many, plus a couple of vodka shots, made up for more than enough courage to introduce himself to the vixen. But his short-haired companion decided to assume full responsibility for his awoken dick, and all Enjin saw before heading upstairs to spoil himself with the threesome on a silver platter was that the vixen was accompanied by two girls whom he knew in his business class.

"That was absolutely disgusting," you scoffed, glaring at the image of the tattooed man bringing two girls to the upper floors where the bedrooms were located. "How can you have your cock gripped like that in the middle of the fucking dance floor?"

"You know, Enjin is actually not that bad a guy. He's in my business class, and we did one or two projects together," a red-haired girl, who was your welcoming Eden tutor, chucked, grooving to the music. "He just likes having sex."

"Sure, nothing wrong with that, Riyo. But it doesn't make it any less disgusting. Am I trippin', Tomme?"

The other girl—Tomme—shrugged and ran a hand through her dark ponytail. "Maybe it's just the MO of basketball players. Their whole team is very popular in Eden. Although that other guy, Gris, doesn't usually cross the line."

"Yeah, it doesn't matter," you settled, going back to dancing with your two friends, "I hope I'll see him around as little as possible."

Chapter 1: Anger.

Imagine your surprise the following morning, in your Advanced Criminal Law class, nevertheless, when you saw Enjin rush through the classroom door, 25 minutes late and with dark canyons under his eyes that could droop at any moment.

"Well, well, look who decided to finally show up," the professor put down the case file he had started presenting to the class to welcome Enjin with a sarcastic smile. "Rough night, Enjin?"

"No, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary," Enjin replied with a chuckle, adjusting the loosened tie of his uniform. "My deepest apologies for being late."

The class murmured in laughter at Enjin's situation. You rolled your eyes; pretty privilege was real and in full bloom.

"You're already crossing out the one-time misconduct I've given to the people in my class. Do that again, and I'll give you a Tonitrus."

"Won't happen again, sir."

The teacher picked up the list of teams for the project assignment he had given out to the class. Your eyes widened in horror.

Oh no.

"Let's see. Since you're the last one to join us and Miss y/n was left without a partner, you two can pick it up. She's right there next to Gris, get to know each other and tell me the topic of your choice by tomorrow."

Enjin's eyes drifted to Gris, who was sitting in their usual seats in the third row. The latter shrugged and mouthed with an apologetic look on his face: didn't have a choice. To Gris's left, there was the Y/n girl he did not recognize, but Enjin could swear she was so familiar that he had definitely seen her somewhere before.

"Carry on, Enjin, and let's resume. D.B. Cooper hijacking."

So Enjin installed himself to Gris's right and squinted his eyes at Gris for the betrayal he put him through. Enjin leaned closer to his best friend and whispered into his ear. "You did me dirty here, son."

Gris scribbled something hurriedly on his iPad. Sorry brother, he had us choose teams from the people who were present.

The first period flew by pretty fast, or at least for Enjin, who fell asleep halfway through the lecture. He was woken up by the sound of retractable seats and by Gris's hand shaking his shoulder.

"I'll go talk to my partner about the project before we go to the second period. Let's switch seats so you can talk to Y/n about yours."

You gave Gris a smile when he walked by, and Enjin figured it would easily be one more case of chicks to seduce 101.

"Hey doll, nice to—"

But your expression soured instantly as Enjin opened his mouth, a look of blatant disgust decorating your features. "I'm going to explain the project requirements one time. Understood?"

Enjin definitely did not understand, because he could not focus on a single word you were saying. Sure, he looked like shit because he only slept for two hours, but Enjin made sure to shower and brush his teeth before coming to class. He didn't remember if he used perfume in his rush to get to class, so he smelled the open collar of his uniform shirt. Enjin couldn't be that repulsive.

"Okay, what the hell are you doing?"

Damn. She's got a mouth on her as well.

"Jus' checking I don't stink or somethin'. I'm Enjin, by the way, in case you wanted to know your partner's name."

"So the teacher said."

Your index finger brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Maybe the eyes were similar, but the hair wasn't quite right; that vixen's hair was curly and wild, and your hair was definitely straight. Was it the same color, though?

"Did you hear any word I've said so far?"

"Not really. Don't stress too much, we'll wing it—"

You scoffed in disbelief. "Look, Enjin, I'll be honest with you."

You shifted your position to face Enjin directly. Your swift gesture only added to his general confusion. Enjin was pissed off about the fact that he didn't get to talk to the mysterious girl at the party. He would have remembered her voice for sure.

"I don't have any intention to drag your ass around so you'll get all the merits for my work. We have to do a mock trial, and that involves two people, unfortunately, so could you try to be useful?"

It was Enjin's turn to scoff. "Useful? Sweetie, I have two Stellas in this subject. I'd say I know my way around better than you do."

You crossed your arms over your chest, a mocking smile stretching your lips. "You have to work your ass off to get to call me sweetie. My name is Y/n, and right now you don't even get to say it." You leaned closer to him, eyebrows cocking. "I also have two Stellas in this subject. Better learn your place before you judge others."

"How can you even have two Stellas? You're a transfer. Unless—"

You leaned back into your chair, satisfied with Enjin's surprised expression. He learnt the hard way that people who transferred to Eden with a 5.0 GPA were very real and very mouthy. Gris was staring at his best friend, absolutely enjoying the way you put Enjin in his place.

"Are you free after school to meet for the project?" you asked, scribbling a quick table with her pencil.

"Can't. Basketball practice. I can do tomorrow afternoon."

"I'm working. We can do Wednesday."

"Can't. I have...something."

You closed your notebook and turned to him. "Something? Unless you're saving the world, this is not a valid excuse."

Enjin scratched at his nape. "Well, you're working tomorrow, so not my fault either."

"Yeah, I'm working," you gathered your things and sat up to change seats, as far away from the blonde menace as possible. You spared no glance to Enjin as you walked away, "Because some of us don't have our heads up our asses."

Jabber laughed for ten minutes straight when Gris snitched on his best friend later during their lunch break. Good thing the small forward never got to take a bite from his sandwich; he would have choked to death through the laughter and the tears in his eyes.

"Some of us don't have our heads up our asses. Man, she executed you publicly! I would have loved to enjoy the pain that came out of that."

"Thanks, Jabs, rub salt onto the wound."

Otto sat at the table with a cream soup. "That's not an easy woman to charm, Jin. Not for an asshole like you."

Enjin looked playfully offended. "My own team is dragging me down. Do you know what this does to my mental?"

Gris gave his best friend a pat on the back. "Did you think about me and my mental when you had those two girls scream your name in our shared apartment?"

"That just means he did a good job."

"Thanks, Epalte. Finally, someone who understands."

"Oh, no, I still think you're an asshole."

Gris unwrapped the cutlery for his meal and passed Enjin an orange juice bottle. "You could have told her what the something was, you know. It did make you sound like an asshole."

"Yeah, sure," Enjin rolled the sleeves of his shirt before diving into his beef quesadilla. "And tell her my mother has me attend the autumn banquet of the most famous law firm in the country, the same firm that she's the CEO of? Watch her spit me in the face."

Gris snickered. "That's progress. You usually say you're not telling people that because they'd want to take advantage."

"Why didn't you tell me half the basketball team is in my Advanced Criminal course?"

You finished warming up your homemade meal and sat down at the girls' table, where Riyo, Tomme, and August's younger sister, Eishia, were prepared to dive into their lunch.

"To be fair," Tomme giggled, spinning her fork in the air, "You never asked."

You pouted. "You just let me simmer in my own juice." Briefly glancing toward the basketball team's table, where Jabber's laughter punctured all sound in the hall. "I swear to God, that boy with the dreadlocks is so fucking loud."

"Auggie tells me they're good people." Eishia fiddled with her fingers, "People you can count on."

Riyo leaned over the table, her green eyes curling into stars at the sight of your home-baked bread. "Give it some time. At least Gris is there to mitigate the damage. Did you make these?"

You pushed the bread basket to the girls, a soft smile brightening your face. "In the morning! Please, they're still fresh."

Tomme hesitated. "But you won't have any left for yourself."

"That's okay! I can always bake more if I want to."

"Don't mind if I do!" Riyo cheered and indulged in one of the bread buns. Her cheeks filled at once, resembling the image of a cute squirrel hard at work. "Wow~ this is the best bread I've had in my life."

Tomme covered her mouth with the back of her hand, taken aback by the richness of the taste. "You should participate in Saturday's pastry workshop! I'd love to learn all about your secrets."

"Do you always cook for yourself, Y/n?" Eishia asked, her tiny hands busy with the last bun.

"I do! It's less expensive than eating out all the time."

"Jabber," Enjin pointed out at the small forward, "You're drooling."

"Damn right I am," Jabber slammed his fist to the table. "Look at the flowers and rainbows blooming at the girls' table. That bread smells fucking amazing."

All five boys collectively turned to look at the source of Jabber's culinary desires. Enjin remarked on the empty bread basket on the table and the way the three girls munched on the goodies. All but you, who were watching them with a gentle smile.

"Do you think they have more?" Jabber asked, but was halfway through standing up before he finished his question. Gris couldn't just let Jabber barge into the girls' lunch time all by himself, especially knowing how rude he sometimes came off. So, Gris reluctantly followed Jabber in his bread quest that effectively shut down all sound at the foreign table.

Enjin and the twins were watching the interaction with great interest. Jabber was, by all means, the final boss of social anxiety.

"Hello girls!" Jabber chimed in, hands clasped together in anticipation. His rings clicked as metal struck metal. "That delicious smell got me higher than any blunt I've ever had—"

Gris cleared his throat. "What Jabber meant to say was that he was intrigued by the aroma of fresh bread, and he meant to ask if you ladies have leftovers to spare."

All girls glanced at one another, blinking dumbfoundedly for a moment. You were the one to break the awkward silence with a lively giggle and a joyful grin at the two basketball players.

"Thank you so much! If I'd known, I would've baked plenty."

A storm cloud settled over Jabber's figure, head falling and dreads dangling in apparent sorrow.

"But Tomme tells me there's a pastry workshop this Saturday," you continued, craning your body to face Jabber's misery with an even bigger grin. "Let me know if you both can make it, so I know how many ingredients to order! There's a mean apple tart I have up my sleeve."

Jabber's mood made a complete 180 at the sultry words leaving your mouth, and he grabbed both your hands into his. Silver rings felt cold against your skin, a completely different sensation from the passion raging in his violet eyes. You were taken aback by his sudden change of attitude, so you just shook his hands in response, as best you could; Jabber's giant palms did engulf yours completely. Made sense for a basketball player.

Enjin's lips parted in shock. What did Jabber have that he didn't?

"Will you really do this for me?" Jabber said in a sing-song tone. "You heard that, Gris? Maybe this year you'll put some marijuana in the cookies—"

Gris grabbed Jabber by his nape to pull him back like you would do a stray cat. "Stop touching Y/n, you're making her uncomfortable."

"Marijuana?" Riyo chuckled, her long twisted pigtails bouncing when she turned to look at the blond-haired man. "So this is why everyone gushed over your chocolate chip cookies last year. You got some dirty secrets."

"That's just Jabber's mouth running," Gris smiled, although the grip of his fingers started to hurt Jabber's skin. Much to his friend's liking. "I promise you I'm not doing things that will put me in jail. I'm studying Criminal Law after all."

You folded your arms over your chest, eyebrows wiggling at Gris. "All the more reason to learn how to successfully break the law."

When the two basketball players returned to Enjin (whose mouth you could sweep off the ground with a broom) and the twins, Jabber was posturing a stern attitude. "Enjin, you're just a son of a bitch. Y/n is absolutely the greatest girl in the world. And so are Riyo, Tomme, and August's little sister."

Enjin's golden eyes threatened to run away from their designated orbits. "She just hates me! Who the hell smiles while looking at you?"

"Huh?" Jabber sneered at his captain. "I'm funnier than you are, asshole."

"Anyway," Gris chuckled and returned to his Caesar salad. "We're joining the pastry workshop on Saturday. I'd say it's the perfect opportunity for you to apologize, Enjin."

"Apologize? I didn't do shit to her."

"Doesn't matter what you think you didn't do," Otto sighed, pushing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Gris is something else, but if Y/n finds Jabber likeable, then the problem is you."

When Enjin got home to his apartment in the city, he threw his gym bag somewhere in the hall, discarded his jacket, kicked his boots off, and dove straight into his bed. The supplementary basketball practice Corvus set up for the team was intense, leaving him with sore muscles he hadn't felt in a long while.

The penthouse Enjin's parents rented for him was all but a 15-minute walk from the Eden Campus, and sometimes he just felt the need to disconnect from everyone and everything around him to be by his lonesome. Yet every time Enjin tried to go to the balcony and look at the breathtaking night sky or the restless night lights of the city, he was reminded of why he chose to spend his nights accompanied by Gris or a girl whose face he would forget in the morning.

Enjin could call himself a hypocrite; he did not want to inherit the luxurious life, but he cradled himself to it whenever it was convenient. The posh emerald green tuxedo dropped in the apartment was a painful reminder that Enjin's night was a long way off from ending. The black turtleneck that they'd left, instead of a regular shirt, irritated Enjin. His father was just as respectable an attorney, with two full sleeves of tattoos for that matter, which he showcased more often than not during trials. Why should he be treated any differently?

He lazily dragged his body out of bed to clatter through his gym bag for the shower gel he borrowed from Gris. His hand brushed over a glossy material that felt like paper, only to confirm the existence of the Advanced Criminal Law guidebook the professor had given them on their first day. Enjin's head angled to the side. The project was overdue to be signed up by two days.

"Fuck."

Enjin threw the sweaty T-shirt over his head and plopped down on an armchair in the living room. A half-smoked cigarette lay in the tray on the coffee table, and he picked it up to inundate his lungs with it. He seized the phone from his pocket and looked you up on Instagram first. He didn't find any such profile.

Dead end. How was Enjin supposed to contact you now?

An idea popped into his head: August could ask Eishia for your number. Problems always come with solutions, right?

[9:17PM Enjin] oi man, need your help with smth [9:17PM Auggie] ??? sup [9:18PM Enjin] can u ask Eishia for y/n's number pls [9:18PM Enjin] i forgot to check in for the project [9:18PM Enjin] she doesn't have ig i think

How could someone not have an Instagram profile in that age and era?

[9:19 PM Auggie] cool, brb

Enjin started bouncing his knee and almost dropped his phone when it vibrated some moments later.

[9:22 PM Auggie] sry bro [9:22 PM Auggie] sis said she asked the girls if that was cool to do [9:23 PM Auggie] said she didn't wanna disturb y/n's privacy

Oh fuck his already fucked life. As if the problem wasn't complicated enough—

Riyo's text lit up Enjin's screen.

[9:26 PM Riyo] hope ya know its a royal fuck up

Yeah, no shit, Riyo.

[9:26 PM Enjin] help your brother in distress? [9:26 PM Enjin] i had a lot of stuff going on and i forgot [9:27 PM Enjin] you know i always get my shit together [9:28 PM Riyo] i'll give ya her number but bet your ass i'll tell her you come crawling

Whatever. As long as Enjin got it over with.

[9:29 PM Enjin] i owe ya one big time [9:29 PM Riyo] debt is stacking cap'

Enjin's fingers hovered over the screen; so, he got her number, but what could he text her? Could he call? Never in a million years. The humiliation would be too great to carry.

"Get your shit together. It's not the first girl you're texting, you fuckin' teenager."

Certainly, you were the first girl who called him out on his bullshit. Maybe that was the truly scary prospect. A person to unravel all the bullshit out of him.

[9:41 PM Enjin] hey, how's it going?

How's it going? Enjin facepalmed himself, knowing he couldn't stoop any lower than that. He threw the smartphone on the armchair, rubbed the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray, and sprinted to the bathroom. Enjin had precisely 19 minutes left to get ready for the high-class event his mother's firm was hosting, 19 minutes before the lady, as mentioned earlier, would flood his phone with calls he would rather avoid.

With one minute left to spare, Enjin fastened his coat and plucked his phone. No unread messages.

"Oh, break time already, Y/n?"

You closed the door of the dressing room, massaging a lump in your neck. "Yeah, it's been exhausting today. And it's only Wednesday."

The other girl sat herself on the recliner in front of the mirror for touch-ups to her makeup. "One of my clients told me there's this big event tonight, hosted by the biggest law firm in the country. He joked that he needed some warm-up for all the fucking politics."

You occupied your designated seat in the room and leaned your body into the plush material of the recliner. Doing one night shift after another was a challenging endeavor, but you had to take the night so you could request Saturday off. Semiu was more than happy to accept the shift exchange, especially since that night was allegedly more important than a regular one.

You were happy the stylists had you wear a high ponytail for the night, along with an emerald green suit that hugged your body almost perfectly. The job was always easier when you did not have to be mindful of showing too much skin. You grabbed the pack of slim cigarettes from the makeup counter and lit one up.

"Maybe it's a good exercise for you to listen in," Your companion giggled, turning to the other. "When you finally become an attorney, it's gonna have to be your bread and butter!"

"Thanks, Emily. Still a long way to go."

You collected her phone from the adjacent make-up counter, where three law books rested, stacked one on top of the other, for when you had the slightest bit of time to study through them. You were surprised to see a lot of messages popping up on the tiny screen. You were relieved to see that no bad news had come from your family, then you switched to the girls' group chat.

[9:20 PM Eishia] girls, I need your help with something >_< [9:20 PM Eishia] Enjin asked Auggie to ask me to give him y/n's number [9:21 PM Eishia] but I don't want to do that... [9:21 PM Eishia] I feel like it's not right to do [9:21 PM Tomme] lol what for? [9:22 PM Eishia] For the project in Criminal Law that he never helped her with [9:22 PM Eishia] Please don't tell Auggie I told you, but he looked y/n up on Instagram and couldn't find her, and he didn't know where else he could reach her [9:23 PM Riyo] yo Enjin's such a loser lmao [9:23 PM Riyo] sucker deserves it 🗡️ [9:25 PM Tomme] that's actually hilarious hahaha [9:25 PM Tomme] you'd expect he'd be better at communicating stuff as the captain of the team and all 🙄 [9:26 PM Riyo] @y/n just so y'know, i gave it to him [9:26 PM Riyo] ik you're working but let us know how it goes when you can [9:27 PM Riyo] xoxo [9:28 PM Tomme] grill him girl lolol 🫕🥩🔥

The last unread message was sent from an unknown number. The most stupid message someone could ever use to initiate a conversation.

[9:41 PM unknown] hey, how's it going?

You snorted, the nicotine releasing from your lungs at once. "How's it fucking going?" You decided you would ragebait Enjin and pay him back for being absent.

[11:02 PM y/n] who's this?

The reply came a tad faster than you expected it to.

[11:04 PM unknown] funny, but ill play the game [11:04 PM unknown] it's Enjin, the most amazing teammate in the world [11:04 PM unknown] how's the project?

"Can you believe this guy, Emily?" you showed your phone to the other girl so she could assess the situation. "Ghosts me for two days—no wrong—he didn't ghost me because there was nothing there to ghost—and now he has the nerve to message me and ask how the project is going?"

Emily squinted her eyes at the texts and waved her hand through the air dismissively. "Is this the guy you told us about, the one who left you to do the project on your own? He doesn't deserve anything, darling. How did you even get to team up with him?"

The Universe likes playing pranks on me. It's the way it's been my entire life.

[11:06 PM y/n] Apologies, old y/n can't come to the phone right now [11:06 PM y/n] She doesn't recognize any teammate but herself

Enjin almost laughed in the face of a foreign embassy emissary when he peeked at your latest messages. The man couldn't tell about the abrupt change in his demeanour, but Enjin's mother caught wind of his brewing shenanigans right away.

"It was nice meeting you, sir," Enjin offered his hand to shake the emissary's. "A professor from Eden texted me. He needs my help with a task."

The foreign envoy was charmed instantly by Enjin's words. He accepted Enjin's salutation firmly. "What a competent attorney you are going to become, Enjin! Eden only accepts prodigies."

Enjin's attention had already shifted to the ongoing war he had started with you long before the other guy, whatever his name was, finished speaking. He glided through the thick crowd in the ballroom area until he reached the main lobby and seized an empty chair to sit down on.

[11:09 PM unknown] okay, i deserved that [11:09 PM unknown] i'm here to be formally recognized by my teammate [11:10 PM unknown] preferably by the new you if possible

"What if I just let him get that Tonitrus?"

You clicked your tongue; your mother had taught you that wishing ill upon others would return tenfold upon yourself. No matter how tempting the prospect seemed, you did not want to anger whatever deities were up there in the sky. There was too much misfortune you had to endure over the years.

That did not mean you would allow yourself to be trampled over by the manwhore of Eden.

[11:12 PM y/n] I'll send you the case study, the research I've done, and the case file that I've chosen for the debate [11:12 PM y/n] If you don't have the structure done as per the instructions by tomorrow afternoon, I will talk to Professor Smith to change the teams

Enjin's first reaction to your choice of case file was to sigh. Then he remembered he had direct access to the source attorney.

"Son? What are you doing out here?"

Enjin straightened his body from the chair, buttoning up his tuxedo jacket. "Hey ma', can you talk me through the Atlas vs. the State case you prosecuted?"

The next time you saw the basketball players was Saturday morning, the day of the pastry and baking workshop Eden held seasonally. Not many people had signed up on the Saturday list, and you heard various stories around campus behind the reasoning: butlers would have their sweets made, money could buy this and that, or the hassle was too little a reward. People had started losing sight of the little things in life, you thought.

When you arrived at the bakery, situated behind the closed doors of the broader kitchen area, you were surprised to find Gris had already arrived. He had a Nike bandana to secure his blonde hair and a simple black apron tied around his waist. The oversized shirt he was wearing, along with the #34 shorts of his basketball equipment, made him appear extraordinarily relaxed.

"Good morning, y/n!" Gris greeted and put down the large bowls he was arranging on the cooking counter. "You're here early!"

You stepped inside the immense room, eyes barely encompassing the size of the laboratory and all the professional baking tools.

"Good morning, Gris!" you giggled and put your backpack on a nearby stool. "You're the one to talk! It's just 8:30 in the morning and you're already hard at work."

"I like being early," he chuckled and offered to take your coat, which you gave in a heartbeat. "Coach Corvus has us run 20 laps around the gym for each minute we're late."

"Now I find it hard to believe you've ever done any laps in your life."

You unzipped your tattered backpack to retrieve the necessities you had brought from home. Gris observed various patches embroidered into the fabric of the backpack, many of which were made of different materials but stitched with colorful threads, indicating a great deal of care and attention to detail in the craft. A ladybug knitted keychain dangled joyously from the oversized zipper.

"We all make mistakes."

You tied your apron around your waist; a dense, orange cotton adorned with hand-sewn flowers and smiley faces in a spectacle of colors.

"Why did that sound like it was not about you?"

Gris could only chuckle in response. "It's still applicable to all of us humans."

"Come on," you teased, rolling the sleeves of your red sweater to wash your hands. "Might as well go ahead and say it, if he asked you to. I'm an open book."

The basketball center seated himself on the opposite side of the counter, a small smile resting on his lips. "He didn't ask me to do anything. I was genuinely curious how your first week at Eden was. I know that when I was a freshman, my first week was morbid. And perhaps the episode with Enjin was not the best way to start your week."

You busied yourself with the available ingredients, doing mental checks against the list in your mind of what you planned to bake. "It wasn't that bad. I have common classes with both Riyo and Tomme, so it makes it easier to navigate the nerves."

You pointed to the top of a storage cabinet that you couldn't reach on your own. "Could you help me with that round detachable tray?"

"Certainly," Gris sprang from his seat to fetch all the trays on top of that cabinet. "Easier, you said. But?"

"No buts," you giggled and thanked the other. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't have anything against Enjin."

Despite his better attempts, Gris could not hold back a snicker. "It's not really a popular belief. We don't think that about you. If anything, we're thrilled about the fact that you're calling him out on his bullshit."

You propped both hands against your hips, satisfied with the layout of the tools and ingredients. All that was left were the others to join in on the fun. You adjusted your stance to look Gris in the eye.

"I'm here on a scholarship," you sighed, taking Gris by surprise with your honesty. "Whether I keep this scholarship or not largely depends on my grades, and I don't have a lot of room for mistakes. So you can imagine I was pissed off because he treated the assignment like a joke. It's not a joke to me."

"But you're also working? Can you juggle all of it at the same time?" Gris responded, a hint of amazement in his tone. Then he could swear he witnessed a trace of sadness traversing your face; a fleeting moment, really, before the radiance of your features returned in bloom, perhaps more vivid than before. "Bills aren't paid on their own, are they?"

The doors of the bakery blasted open to reveal Enjin's silhouette, holding a motorcycle helmet under his arm, and fully dressed in a black and yellow leather suit. His boots clanged against the floor in lazy motions, and the gym bag hung over his shoulder dangled heavily on his side.

"'Sup Gris? Mornin', y/n."

You craned your head to greet him, a serene smile plastered on your lips. "Good morning, Enjin."

That was the exact moment Enjin took a good look at you; only then did he notice the jolly aura you exuded, in your cheerful little apron and the sole strand of hair suspended over your cheekbone. Gris must have been hilarious with his jokes to make you beam like that.

But you smiled at him. Not scornfully, not out of shameless desire to get into his sheets, not because you wanted something from him; you smiled. Because that's what you felt like doing.

Enjin almost forgot everything he was supposed to say to you. The whole reason he'd woken up earlier that morning. His one entire chance to redeem himself in front of you.

Enjin dapped his best friend, then approached you with a lopsided grin. "You won't believe what I did."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Humor me."

The captain dropped his bag to the ground and unzipped the leather jacket to discard it on a nearby stool. Enjin was only wearing his #23 jersey under the motorcycle attire, which left his muscular arms and intricate tattoos bare. Give the man his due, he was equipped with all the right reasons the girls would salivate over him, yet it was the exact cue that made you sick to your stomach.

"Don't be all surprised," Enjin mused, a hand draped dramatically over his chest. You felt a premature headache kicking in. "I went and did the whole ass template for the project. All of it, laid out professionally, like those posh judges have you make it. I lost like 3 or 4 hours of sleep over it, but I'm all done with it. You just have to read and see for yourself."

Your silence was the complete opposite of what Enjin expected to see after his triumphant monologue. Jumping into his arms to praise him for his inhumane efforts was a tad far-fetched, but a sliver of gratitude or something of the sorts should have been there.

"Congratulations, but I am not responsible for how you manage your time, am I?"

Gris was scratching at his nape with that look on his face he always wore when his best friend fucked up. You continued, your lashes dropping in blatant annoyance. "All of us have our personal lives and responsibilities to deal with. It doesn't make you any special that you lose some sleep over it, Enjin."

Enjin's mouth opened and closed in a couple of failed attempts to say something in response. There was nothing.

"Anyway, did you mail it to me? I want to review it before we upload it to the professor's platform."

"Oh, don't worry about the formatting and stuff. I have this premium subscription for a scholar app, and we can use two accounts on it. You just have to install the app on your laptop, view it there."

You glanced to the side before capturing his eyes. A muted sigh blocked Enjin's airways at the void of your eyes. They were stern but carrying an inexplicable hopelessness at the same time.

"I don't have a laptop. Could you make sure to use something that I can open on the library PCs next time, please?"

And the smile you'd gifted him earlier was gone. Vanished. Taking the metaphorical olive branch with it in the process.

Jabber's deafening voice echoed from outside the bakery, seconds before he kicked the door open with his foot. The girls took advantage of him and made him carry all their girly luggage. Lucky for them, Jabber enjoyed the anguish of being used like that.

Enjin's back was turned to the entrance, so the newcomers could not see the confused expression on his face. Regretful, almost. Not that it would have made any difference.

"Good morning, suckers!!" Jabber hollered and put the bags down. His voice ascended an octave, just barely to greet the girl. "And Y/n!"

"Wow, you guys prepared everything!" Tomme's giggle cut through the tension in the room. You unpeeled yourself from where you were standing, and the last thing Enjin noticed on your visage was a new smile appearing at the sight of your friends. As you rushed to greet them, your happy apron floating in the air, Gris grabbed Enjin by the shoulder.

"Good intention, horrendous execution."

"Fuck me, man," Enjin sighed, "What the hell am I doing wrong?"

Gris nodded his head, trying to lift his best friend's mood. "What you're doing wrong is that you're not trying to see where she's coming from. You're just assuming stuff, like you're talking to your hookups."

Enjin tilted his head to peek at the way Jabber talked to you; he had asked her what music she liked and played some song from Maneskin. Then Jabber confessed it was one of his favorite bands, sparking a whole debate about what your favorite song of theirs was.

"See that?" Gris pointed out. "Jabber's just being Jabber. You might argue he kicks it off with people because he's just being himself, but he's listening to her. To Riyo, to Tomme, to Eishia. He's basically turned into their favorite plushie."

Enjin cracked his neck.

"You're listening to reply, not to understand. I know that because I'm your best man, but how is she supposed to know it?"

For the first half of the workshop, Enjin was cemented to the stool in the very back of the room, arms crossed over his chest, and the meanest look anyone had ever seen in his eye. It was easy for Gris to speak; he'd always had that warmth about himself that drew people to him, and you were no exception. Jabber was crazy to a pulp, so much so that he didn't care for appearances, and to make matters even worse, he shared his music taste with you.

Then the girls: Tomme's unwavering support for her friends kept you fired up at all times. Riyo's whole MO was about being the #1 fan. How could you not bake to her best ability when you had a fucking cheerleader on your back? And Eishia, the cherry on top, the sweet little sister one would give an arm for.

Why did everyone have something in common with you, but Enjin didn't?

"Jabber, you cannot knead the dough with the rings on your fingers!" you chuckled and rushed to get the bowl of bread dough from him.

"Why?!" the small forward cried out, pouting like a child who'd lost their favorite toy.

Riyo appeared behind Jabber to whisper in his ear. "You'll have them tangled in the bread, and you'll eat them. You're gonna die."

Somehow, Riyo's taunt turned into bliss. "No shit, now I hafta try it—"

Gris pulled him by his #6 jersey, then turned to Riyo. "Never say words like that to him. You'll only rile him up."

In the midst of the chaos, you sprinkled flour on the kitchen counter and placed the dough ball on top of it. Slim fingers worked against it tirelessly, tossing and turning, like a memory long put to practice. Baking was your fairytale door to escape reality; it reminded you of younger, simpler times.

Times when your mother would prepare fresh bread, the morning dew still on the leaves in their backyard. Your younger brother would knock on your bedroom door with his wee hands to steal a hug or two before breakfast. Her father would tidy up the mess he made of his necktie in his rush to wake his kids for school, only to discover them giggling and cuddling together.

Times when money was never a problem.

Enjin contemplated the way your fingers moved with natural precision to soften the dough under the scrutiny of your eyes. Albeit your face mimicked calm, Enjin saw the debris of melancholy dancing in your irises.

You kneaded the dough until it was puffy and ready to go into the oven. Eishia tugged at your apron, a terrified sentiment in her orbs.

"Y/n, why is Enjin staring at us like that?"

You turned your body toward Enjin and almost burst out laughing. He looked constipated in his chair, glaring at everything and everyone. But the grief in your eyes was no longer there.

"He's cranky, Eishia," Gris chuckled and smiled at the more petite girl. "Leave him be."

"Gris, can you put this in the oven for me?" you asked, and Gris took the wooden board with the dough before you could finish your question. You walked over to Enjin, wiping the flour off your hands onto your apron.

"Smoke break?"

Somehow, Enjin's distressed expression shattered, to take him out of his own mind. "Smoke break? How did you know?"

You chuckled. "Remember the other day in class, you smelled your shirt to see if you were stinky? The scent of cigarettes was stronger than your perfume." You twirled on your heels to take your coat from the rack. "And your leather suit is drenched in nicotine."

Enjin snatched his jacket and followed you outside with a rekindled hope that he might, finally, find some common ground with you.

"Man the fuck up," Jabber snorted, licking the dough clean off the metallic bowl on the table.

You dug your hand in the pocket of your coat for the pack of cigarettes and put one in between your lips. You patted all your pockets for a lighter that you didn't bring, until Enjin silently used his to light up your slim roll of tobacco.

"Thanks," you said, the crisp air of early autumn painted in grey narcotic clouds.

Enjin puffed a deep inhale from his own cigarette. "Surprised you were so chill about it."

"What, about you smoking?"

He nodded, lungs deflating.

"Please," you rolled her eyes, "Basketball star, tattoos, piercings, a fucking motorcycle. You wouldn't fit the profile if you didn't smoke."

Enjin leaned in closer to you, words dropping into a mocking, secretive innuendo. "I also do weed, but don't tell anyone."

You turned to him. Enjin looked at you, you looked at him, and you both burst into a hearty avalanche of laughter. Albeit Enjin's golden eyes lingered, if briefly, on your characteristics; the fine lines around the eyes as they curled into crescents, the way your nose scrunched up just slightly when you laughed, and that dazzling, rich smile on full display. The sound of your laughter was pure joy in disguise.

"So you don't hate me," Enjin stated, half laughing, half serious.

The bastard that he was, he wanted to hear it coming out of your mouth. Even if he listened in to your conversation with Gris in the lull of the morning, he wanted to hear you say that you didn't hate him. Enjin couldn't quite tell why, but he did.

"Hate you?" you replied through bubbly giggles as you settled down. "I am not wired like that. You piss me off, yeah, but hate is a word neither of us truly understands."

Enjin inclined his body against the wall. "How so?"

You followed his example. You disposed of the ash in the wind before bringing the cigarette to your mouth.

"People are not born to hate. We're born to love and be loved."

Under that autumnal sunlight, Enjin was hooked on your eyes, blazing gold, like sunlight trapped inside a crystal. For a flicker of a moment, the image of the mystical girl at the party appeared and collided perfectly over your features.

"Say, y/n?"

"Mm?"

"Were you at the opening party last Sunday?"

You rubbed the butt of your cigarette against the thin metal of the trash bin. "Yeah, why?"

It wasn't fair for that girl to be you; it couldn't be fair. How could Enjin look you in the eye, knowing that he lusted over your body and, for the better part of the first ten minutes of his threesome, he had imagined how that mysterious girl would look under him?

No, it wasn't you. Enjin never thought of you like his next hookup.

"August is throwing another one tomorrow," Enjin said, his nonchalant facade never fading, yet his fingers grew cold over the last of his cigarette. "Just checkin' if you liked it enough to come again."

"Riyo told me about it, but I'm working tomorrow," you sighed, hugging your body. Autumn's chills crept down your spine. "Please tell August I had a lot of fun at the last one. He's a good organizer."

You glanced at him, at his composed stature, and something pushed you to let him off the hook for once.

"I appreciate that you jumped in for the project. It took a lot of weight off my shoulders. Thank you."

Enjin squashed the filter of his nicotine roll with the heel of his foot, a smirk creeping on the plush of his lips out of instinct. "I get my shit together, y/n. I show up when it matters."

"Tooting your own horn?" you teased, and you stopped fleetingly in front of him. "That's low."

Enjin's smirk grew wider. Yanking out one of your own. "You'll get to know me and see I'm right. Maybe starting with our qualifying match tonight."

"Maaan, my stomach hurts," Jabber grunted in pain as he shot his warm-up 3-pointer. Made it clean. "Do you think I have enough time to shit and come back in 5 minutes?"

"I told you not to hog that entire apple tart." Gris retorted, following with a 3-pointer himself. "After you ate 5 bread buns all on your own."

"But it was so fucking good. I could die on that cinnamon aftertaste. Man, this cinnamon pain gets me hard."

Enjin's head jerked at his small forward's comment. The only reason his free throw made it into the basket was out of sheer spite. Otto and Epalte wrapped up the warm-up session with one successful corner-shot each. The buzzer had the teams round up, and so did the spectators. The girl group, plus August, had barely managed to make their way through the dense mass of people and reclaim their seats in the first row of the gymnasium.

You sighed. "Is it always this crowded?"

"Always," Riyo confirmed and took a fat sip out of her Coke. "It's even worse tonight. Gris said they're playing the toughest team during the first round. Took them to overtime last year. So it's a full house."

You leaned your body slightly over the wooden balustrade of the gymnasium. The Eden College boasted a gymnasium that was more stadium than anything else, with galleries spread on both sides of the basketball court. According to August's mention, he had monopolized some seats where scouters would usually sit.

The boys gathered around Coach Corvus, and you saw them in a different light that time around. Composed, collected, focused. Like a well-oiled machine.

Enjin struck you as the most radical switch-up; he exuded unquestioned authority within the team, and everyone listened intently when he spoke. When the referee threw the ball in the air to kick off the game, Enjin was sent to battle it out, and he dispersed the Akuta team on the field as he successfully seized control.

Roars flooded the gymnasium.

August howled, his fist in the air. "That's my Enjin!"

Your eyes could barely keep up with the level of their basketball. Jordans screeched against the floor with every pass, every feint. Enjin found a swift pass to Otto, who elegantly opened the score with a textbook 3-pointer from the left wing. The opposite team rode the impulse to score a 3-pointer of their own from the right wing.

It was a back-and-forth game; if Jabber would dunk, the other team would feint their way to the post. If Gris scored a rebound, the other team would respond with a quick attack. Epalte obtained a foul and two free throws when the score was tied, 37-37.

"Shit, they're good," Jabber laughed into his wristband, blood going ablaze through his veins. "We're gonna have to trail ahead to shift momentum."

"We need these two throws like air," Gris wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist. Enjin stepped up, taking the responsibility off his team's shoulders. He knew they were tense, with five minutes left of the first half, so he shot them a smirk, and Epalte passed the ball to him.

"Then we'd better make it count, yeah?"

"Oh, Enjin's gonna do it!" Tomme cheered, and you unconsciously rose to your feet, bringing your hands together.

Enjin positioned himself at the free-throw line to dribble the ball. Golden eyes fixated on the basket, and he took a small breath for the first throw to steady his hand. A success.

"Come on, come on, come on," you muttered. "You can make it."

The referee passed the ball back to Enjin, who strengthened his stance. One, two, three, four dribbles before he grabbed the ball and shot it clean through the air. The net did not even flinch when the ball fell through it with a clean arch.

"Yes!" you and Riyo high-fived each other, grinning at Enjin's success. He skimmed through the thundering crowd and remarked on your excitement, your irises pinpointed on him. Enjin sent you a wink, and he knew you got it when your lips parted ever so slightly at the gesture. Despite the entitled audience who thought it was for them.

"Oi, don't be a showoff now," Gris snickered, fixing the bandana on his head. "We're not out of the woods yet."

"Leave him be," Jabber whistled as he settled into his defense position. "Girlfriend's watching. Whoops! Still-to-be-girlfriend."

Enjin wasn't sure you were even friends. Besides, he didn't do girlfriends. Girlfriends were messy, needy, and attention-hungry. Love was even worse, feelings too complicated. And you, man.

You weren't easy. Independent, smart, fierce. Kind, talented. Beautiful. A carbon copy of Enjin's ideal type if he were honest with himself.

He wasn't honest with himself.

Nonetheless, Enjin never corrected Jabber's statement.

Otto chuckled. "You'll have to shoot at least 5 3-pointers now to make up for the uproar you caused in the stadium."

The siren blasted through the arena, putting an end to the first half of the game. Akuta sat in the lead with the help of the two points Enjin scored: 43-41.

"That was so intense!" Tomme stretched, and the group followed suit. "We'll go grab some refreshers. Do you want anything, y/n?"

"No, thank you. I'll wait for you here."

You shoved one of Gris's cookies in your mouth with an angry tremble in your forehead. What a cocky fucker.

You plopped down into your seat, legs crossing over one another. You got too excited. But how could you not get excited? With Otto's masterclass in shooting, with Epalte's flawless positioning, with Gris's ironclad rebounds, with Jabber's sneaky feints.

With Enjin's leadership that brought it all together.

He was sitting there on the courtside bench, with a towel perched on top of his spiky blonde hair, not enough to wipe the sweat collapsing from the side of his temple. Enjin was debating something with their coach, and once again, all eyes were on him and on the sharp gestures he made with his fingers.

You would regard that over the course of the entire match. He felt so different on court than off of it. He tread every movement with extreme analysis and concentration, yet his motions were fluid, effortless even. All of his passes were calculated with stone-cold precision. His team followed him blindly. Because they knew they could count on him to lead them.

And what did Enjin do, amidst the high stakes laid in front of him?

He fucking winked at you. And you knew it was aimed at you, by the way his lips curled into that fucking smirk he wore like second nature.

You put a palm over your chest. Why did it flutter?

That foreign feeling idled right there in your chest when the second half began. It vibrated whenever Enjin scored, it shrank when Enjin was fouled, it thudded when Enjin's face got soaked in sweat. Your lungs were saturated with the heavy smell of the gymnasium, the passion, and the heat of the basketball match reverberating through every person in the crowd.

Some higher, divine force granted you the intimacy of looking at Enjin's eyes while his golden irises focused on his love of the game. A mantra that would surface every time they found themselves on the basketball court.

Jabber's speedy combination with Gris sealed the deal for Otto to close the match with a shot from the right wing. The sound of the buzzer pounded in the stadium, and the Akuta gallery erupted in cheers and applause.

Final score: 88-85, and the Akuta team took the lead of their preliminary group.

Jabber collapsed on the court, dreadlocks sprayed over the vinyl, and his chest rose and fell in desperate breaths. Despite that, he laughed like a maniac on the verge of dying. "I'm beat. I need that apple tart to come back to life. I love basketball to death, man!"

Gris knelt next to Jabber, blobs of sweat spilling on the court. "Otto, you're a beast. I don't know how you do it; my arms are falling."

The twins looked like they could take 10 more minutes of full adrenaline. "To be fair, we don't run around as much as you and Jabber."

Enjin clutched his jersey to wipe off the perspiration from his face, and his head instinctively turned to the gallery when the girls started squealing at the sight of his inked abs.

Amongst all the ruckus and the unimportant faces that faded in the audience, you were there. Watching him, lips parted in a sentiment that he was incapable of describing.

Your eyes met, and the fuss of the surrounding world deafened. For you, because whatever deity allowed you the courtesy of looking at Enjin's eyes didn't warn you that it would be too much to look back at him directly. For Enjin, because he was a free man before your gaze touched him, proud in his bitterness and arrogant in his loneliness.

Only one look, you would later realize, undid you both entirely.

You broke the unintended intimacy when you grabbed your bag and followed the girls out into the world. Where whatever the hell that you two shared would no longer exist.

Enjin sprinted to salute the defeated team and then to the courtside bench to grab a random sweatshirt.

"Enjin?" Gris asked, but was met with his best friend's silence as he rushed to the back door of the locker rooms. Enjin all but kicked the metal door open, legs moving on autopilot to search you through the outside crowd. His head jolted from one side to another in his frantic quest, until it didn't.

"Y/n!"

Your boots sank into the damp ground as a short-lived drizzle saturated the earth, turning it into mud. You turned your body to him, to realise he was only a couple of paces away from you. You were alone.

"Congratulations, captain," you said, an uncomfortable smile tugging at your lower lip. "Good game."

Enjin poked his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. "Thanks. Thanks for coming. Cheering for us was cute."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. It won't happen again too soon."

You had to say those words out loud; perhaps if you did, you would convince yourself of the fact. Enjin felt it, but smirked anyway.

"Goin' so soon?"

"I have some assignments to finish."

Enjin took a measured step, closer to you. You didn't react, and he took it as a sign to continue. "Let me take you home. It's late."

You rolled your eyes at his words. You'd been through that before; let me take you home, let me fuck you, let me have you.

"No need," you said, hugging the coat closer against your body. "I live close by."

Enjin stopped his body, maintaining a safe distance from you. He noticed it, the slight jerk of the body, the insecurity in your eyes. How could he tell you he didn't want any of what you must have been thinking about?

"Let me walk you, anyway," Enjin insisted, his voice lower, no hint of hidden agendas. Just trying to convey sincerity, as much as he was able to. He had to know, had to feel it. Relive it. "I can brief you on what I did for the project so you'll save some time on it."

And what a tempting prospect that was. To give in to the rhythm of Enjin's voice, which suddenly wasn't as playful, nor as teasing. To give in to the weird, tingling sensation that had washed over you just moments before.

"Enjiiin~" A short-haired girl lunged into his arms out of nowhere, attracting all the attention of the courtyard upon themselves. Her voice was lacy, noisy. Annoying. She angled her body just enough for her breasts to press into Enjin's biceps, and her face to ogle at you. "What a great match tonight! I can give you a greater one in your bed."

You were reliving your heartbreak all over again. Another cocky, popular boy, good with his words, and even better with his lies, laying his well-crafted traps.

That's what I get for crossing my own lines.

Your face contorted into a mix of a thousand different emotions. And you knew, hell, you knew it, that you would still have to see Enjin every day, would have to work with him on their stupid assignment, eat together with your friends, and you would have to be civil. It was clear to you that you were right to listen to your brain from the moment it told you to keep him at arm's length.

Enjin was no good.

"Y/n—"

You just had to cement the cracks in your fortress better that time around. Your eyes darted hastily at the happy couple, and Enjin saw all there was to see: the disappointment hidden behind a mastercrafted sarcastic look.

"Good night, Enjin."

Chapter 2: Denial.

You never spoke about that incident.

You and Enjin resumed your usual routine, burying whatever it was somewhere in the depths of the unconscious mind. Enjin made good on the promise he'd made to you after the baking workshop; he helped you plan and coordinate your Criminal Law assignment, and he actively worked to not leave your texts on seen for hours on end.

And they seemed okay with it. Enjin's morning jokes, your raised eyebrow at his shenanigans. Enjin would steal your freshly baked bread from your lunch, and you would steal his cigarettes when you'd run out. Days passed, and the two students started gravitating towards an everyday routine, without even realizing it: Enjin would piss you off, you would call him out on his bullshit, you would laugh, rinse and repeat.

The basketball team changed its designated table during lunch to accommodate the girls and their bigger group, and somehow Enjin always ended up right across from you. Sure, Enjin knew about Jabber's yapping when it came to music that only you could understand. Sure, Enjin knew about the course notes Gris exchanged with you. Enjin also knew about the fitness tips the twins would give to you.

Because that was what acquaintances did.

To some extent, you had started talking to Enjin beyond the project assignment. Gris offered to exchange seats with you in Criminal Law because he noticed Enjin starting to peek at your notes. You went to their basketball matches because you saw how hard he tried to get better at the game.

Because that was what acquaintances did.

But the line was drawn at Enjin's hookups and sex life.

You had heard the fresh rumors; it was otherwise impossible not to do so. I heard he fucks them rough now, what a lucky bastard, the boys would retort in envy. Enjin fucked two girls in the bathroom at the party last week. I hope I'll be next! Other girls would whisper in the hallways.

And the most recent one: He left a girl fucked out on the mattress, and then told her to get out because she couldn't make him cum. Found her crying in the frat house!

Enjin's hookups and sex life were a taboo topic between you. One particular topic you had never wished to hear any more about. Enjin neither denied nor accepted the rumors.

"Guys, did you choose the contests you want to participate in at the end of the semester?" Gris said, diving into the sushi pieces he'd bought.

"I did!" Tomme beamed, indulging in her fruit salad. "The history one is just a lot of material to go through. By the time I finish studying, I'll find Cleopatra's tomb!"

Otto fixed the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "If there's someone who can do it, it's you, Tomme."

"Fuck the contest," Jabber grunted, licking his fingers clean of the leftover spicy sauce. "What good is there for me to go to the anesthesiology contest if they don't let me test it on myself?"

"Oh?" Your eyes lifted from your home-made lasagna. "You want to become an anesthesiologist, Jabber?"

"Doubt he'll survive long in the field," Enjin joked, "Probably will overdose those people on the table."

Jabber whistled at the allegations. "The whole fun of being under is the hallucinations! How do you think they discovered you can temporarily drug yourself out of your senses, then return fresh back to life?"

He made a compelling argument.

"Y/n! Today the results will be posted for yours!"

Riyo's enthusiastic voice drew all eyes to you.

"What did you sign up for?" Eishia timidly asked.

The only contest that Enjin knew of, starting that early in the semester, was the—

"National Trial Competition," you locked your fingers together under her chin. "`It's crazy competition to enter this year, so I've heard."

The same one Enjin was forced to attend for the second year in a row. Of course, you wouldn't miss it for the world. Both your phones vibrated with new notifications at the same time. And the grin on your face told Enjin, as well as all the others, all he needed to know.

"I passed the preliminary exam!" you squealed, and all the girls crowded around you to engulf you in a hug. Gris and the twins clapped, with Jabber releasing a celebratory holler in the cafeteria.

Enjin engulfed his cheek in the palm of his hand, saffron irises softening at the virgin bliss on your visage. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile betrayed the calm he tried to parade. Gris nudged his ribs.

"In case you needed a new excuse to spend time with her."

"I didn't need an excuse," Enjin replied, stuffing his mouth with a sesame bread bun. "Just because I passed too doesn't mean—"

Jabber, as usual, had other plans. Bless his heart. "Hey Enjin, isn't this the shit you were supposed to do last year, at nationals? The one you ditched for our game?"

Girl eyes fell on the captain in almost scripted synchronization.

"You qualified for the national stage in this fancy shmansy attorney stuff?" Riyo asked, baffled that Enjin had achieved such a feat.

Enijn chuckled in response. "What, like I'm stupid?"

"Technically," Tomme cleared her throat with a cough. "You ditched it for basketball."

Jabber tutted. "We got third place last year because of that! The thrill of it had me on my knees."

Later that day, when you and Enjin retreated to the library to work on your Advanced Criminal Law assignment, you were about to discover the real abilities behind Enjin's two Stellas in the subject and his notable appearance in the esteemed competition. You decided to do a dry run of the trial you had built, with Enjin acting as the defense attorney and you as the prosecution.

The exchange started off slowly but gradually picked up, becoming heated, and whoever passed their table in the library could feel the growing excitement the couple shared for their assignment.

"Objection, speculation," you highlighted at a particular part of your scripted trial, which had Enjin click his tongue. He crossed out that paragraph of his defence. "That was a low blow to do."

"Trials are nasty," he quipped, twirling the pen with ease between his fingers. "Ain't such thing as fair fighting."

As if you didn't know.

Enjin paused the movements of his pen to point the tip at your paper copy. "If you try to play this card here, I'll just call for argumentative."

You scoffed, "It's not argumentative. O.J. Simpson case says so."

"Overwritten last month. Vanderbilt vs. The State."

Your eyes shot to Enjin's figure. "How do you know that? The transcript must have barely been uploaded to the national register."

Perhaps Enjin's father had prosecuted the case. And perhaps he was in court when the verdict was given.

"I checked it in the morning," Enjin opted to say instead, and watched you confirm it with your own eyes on the screen of the library computer. And he really did check it that morning, just to prove he wasn't dealing himself a losing hand.

"Wow, okay," you crossed out your losing paragraph. "I'll have to work on this part then. You're really good at this, Enjin."

Your honesty took him by surprise. You were too focused on skimming through the transcript to notice; with the sleeves of your shirt already rolled to the elbows, the ribbon bow around your neck loosened, and a strand of hair threatening to evade the messy bun held together by a weak pen.

A group of fangirls passed by their table and broke through the lull of the moment when your focus had just gotten to enjoy a breather. It followed a pattern; each time you would pause for all but a moment to change strategies and discuss best approaches, Enjin's goddamned fangirls would make a mess of themselves at the sight of the basketball captain doing the holy act of studying.

"This is fucking annoying," you snickered, a border between a sigh and a groan.

"Do you want me to do something about it?"

"Preferably, yes."

You didn't really believe Enjin would do anything about it. Except, he did.

"Oi, you girls over there," Enjin made an abrupt gesture with his fingers, which teleported the group of girls right by his chair. "Get lost, would you? Silence in the library."

Not what they hoped they would hear.

"But Enjin, you're so hot when you're outsmarting this little—"

Enjin's eyes darkened into a dangerous burnt gold. The three girls stiffened under his threatening gaze. "Go on. This little what?"

You watched the spectacle with a look of mild amusement.

"This little woman is one of the smartest people I've ever spoken to. So, unless you can prove me wrong, you should leave us alone to our big people stuff."

The shock on their faces was palpable.

"Did I stutter?"

You had never witnessed a faster evacuation.

"You didn't have to be so drastic, you know," you chuckled, eyes drifting to the monitor. "I'm gonna be bullied for this."

"You asked me to do something, so I did," Enjin stated matter-of-factly. "No one's gonna bully you."

"Yes, captain. They will."

Enjin's mouth twitched into a smirk at the term of endearment chosen deliberately by you. "For what? I did pretty good advertisement."

"For monopolizing you. Maybe for saying shit like I'm your girlfriend."

"Does that bother you?"

That certainly captured your attention. The carefree smirk on Enjin's face hit a nerve.

"It does, actually," you folded your arms over your chest. "I'm not your girlfriend, and it's the last thing I want to associate myself with."

Enjin laughed, elbows leaning against the table. "No wonder you want to become an attorney. You're good at arguing."

You craned your neck to refocus your gaze on the monitor, where the newly added transcript was displayed. Your voice dropped a note when you spoke. "I want to become an attorney because my father's paralyzed in a wheelchair and our attorney at the time was too incompetent to charge the perpetrator."

You did not want to look at him; all of them had the same expression on their face when they heard: pity, mercy, shame, even. You stopped telling the tale when you understood that no one would ever look at you any other way. You busied yourself with the legal paragraphs, middle finger toying with the scroll wheel of the mouse.

"Stabbed in plain day by some rich douchebag who had beef with someone else and mistook my father for the other guy. You don't have any idea how much money we had to pay for his surgeries because we got nothing from the trial. Not one penny. So please, tell me how I'm good at arguing again."

A slight pause that felt like it carried on forever. And then...

"I'm sure he is proud of you."

Your eyes raced on their own to meet Enjin's. The air hitched in your throat imperceptibly at how unbothered he looked. More content, if anything. Like you were not a freak for having a disabled father. Like you did not require condolences for something that was not a crime. Like you could give a fuck about anyone's pity. Enjin looked at you the same way since day one: a hint of mischief mixed with a whiff of endearment.

And there it was, that foreign feeling from the basketball match, swirling in your chest again.

Enjin's phone started buzzing in a frenzy of messages. He picked it from the table, with the screen glued to the wood, and he clicked his tongue at the deluge of texts.

"Fuck, sorry, I'm late for, uh..."

"Hook up?"

You engulfed your cheek in the palm of your hand. Your tone was satirical to break yourself out of the mirage you had fallen into. You could hear Enjin's chuckles.

"Dinner with dad, actually."

You might have felt a bit bad for assuming the worst out of him. "I'm sorry."

"Nah," Enjin replied in what appeared to be a relaxed manner. He couldn't fully understand why your words hurt, even though they were the truth. In most cases, anyway. Was that all you thought of him? A loathsome fuckboy? "I get it why you'd say that. Second nature by now."

He scooped his belongings to throw them into his sports bag, then pushed his chair away from the library desk. Your orbs caught his silhouette as he straightened. "Have to go."

You nodded your head slightly, irises lingering on his broad back when he turned to walk away. You bit your lower lip.

"Enjin?"

He stopped in his tracks, angling his body to look at you. His face was impassive. "Mm?"

You beamed at him. Pure, joyful. Owning what you would say. "Have a good evening with your father."

The corners of Enjin's mouth drew upward in a smile. "Thanks. I will." Then, winking playfully, "I'll see you tomorrow."

You rolled your eyes at his teasing gesture. You shifted your attention back to the monitor, albeit with a cheerful pout, a pop of your lips, and an exaggerated shake of your head.

"I hope you won't."

He did. Just not in the usual condition he expected to find you.

"Bruh, 'm faster than you are," Jabber mumbled on his popsicle. The way he sucked on it was disturbing. "It takes ya 54 years to drag those rats of yours across the court."

Enjin leered at Jabber, perplexed by the fucking popsicle. He opened his locker to take out his training jersey. "I'll take you one-on-one any day of the week to beat yer stinky ass."

The small forward released the popsicle with a loud pop and pointed it at his captain. Some mysterious drops fell from it, be it saliva or the melting peachy ice. Enjin didn't want to know. "You're saying shit because I'm black."

Gris snorted, kicking off his jeans. "You're the biggest ragebaiter in the universe."

"And it's not even working," Otto coughed, masking his embarrassment at his teammate's behavior.

"Whatever, fuckers," Jabber circled what was left of his popsicle in the air before turning to walk away. He was already dressed in his training clothes. "I'll be in the stands to warm up."

"What's he doing in the stands?" Epalte asked and took out his Jordans from his sports bag. "Aren't there like people already doing stuff in the gymnasium?"

Gris checked his watch before putting it in his locker. "Oh, we're half an hour early. I think coach Corvus said some sports classes moved to today because the third year has an orientation event tomorrow during their usual time."

And true to his word, the Akuta team did find Jabber in the stands. Except that he was not warming up; he was squatted to the ground, elbows propped on either knee, and his popsicle dripping on the floor. The boys were too busy being fascinated by Jabber's jaw, which was almost collapsing to the floor, to notice the reason they found him in that predicament.

"If you had a brain," Enjin snickered and attached his basketball to his hip. "I would've asked you if it froze or somethin'."

"Yo...why's y/n ballin' like that?"

Who was ballin'?

An acute cheering sound hauled the Akuta team to where Jabber knelt, near the balsutrade of the lower stands. A good number of people were seated courtside, with a portable speaker blasting 2Pac's California Love. Two teams on court; a 5-vs-5 was full-on, refereed by the sports teacher himself.

"That's Mildretta," Gris remarked, "The captain of the basketball girls' team. She's the power forward."

And in Mildretta's team, there was you. The point guard, you. Assembling your team on court, you.

"What the..." Enjin breathed, eyes poring over you.

Mildretta was dribbling to the right wing of the court, blocked by two adversaries, a guy and a girl. As soon as she craned her torso to the outer line, you dashed from your position toward your right, with your opponent, some dude, still blocking you one-on-one. Mildretta threw a powerful pass to you regardless, and you flashed your right hand upward, body still in the air.

What followed next left the Akuta boys bewildered, and Jabber's popsicle cracked in half, splashing onto the ground.

You didn't look at the ball when you caught it. Not only did you not look, but you also used your right foot as a pivot to abruptly stop your movements. You maintained eye contact with the guy in charge of blocking you when you dribbled the ball through the opening of your calves. When he jumped helplessly to your right, you simply retrieved the ball with your other hand to steady your aim and shot it clean.

Even the Akuta team applauded from the stands, in tune with the courtside public.

Except Enjin. Enjin was frozen in admiration that you had pulled off his signature move better than he had. And that was absolutely magnetic.

A couple others followed; a calculated feint to engage another tall girl who, by the looks of it, played volleyball for a living, but had a knack for putting the ball through the hoop. Defending against the same dude who was beefier than you and a bit taller, and looked at your ass, and Enjin saw the fucking audacity—

Jabber yelled from the stands. "OI!! WHAT THE FUCK BITCH?"

The son of a bitch pushed you to fault, and you sprained your ankle as you fell from mid-air.

"Why the hell did he do that?" Gris questioned, a frown residing on his forehead. "There was no way he could have blocked her anyway."

Mildretta helped you stand. Despite initially trying to shake off the pain, Mildretta witnessed you limping firsthand, and you decided to stop the friendly match.

Enjin saw red.

Jabber parkoured over the rail. He was too fast for the human eye to comprehend when he sprinted from the stands to the center of the court and grabbed the culprit by his T-shirt. Jabber's smile was dangerous, evil.

"Couldn't you just suck it up and admit she outclassed you?"

You tried to approach Jabber to calm the spirits before something ugly broke out. And you tried to put your hands on his flexed forearm. "Jabber, it's okay, he apologized already—"

Jabber wriggled with no effort out of your tentative touch and lifted his fist in the air. He almost bumped you when he punched it through to hit that guy. You closed your eyes, bracing for impact—

An impact that never came. Jabber's drill landed in Enjin's palm, the captain's body positioned so that, in any impossible aftermath that he couldn't have stopped, his unleashed force would not harm you.

"Jabber, that's enough."

Jabber insisted in a macabre pitch, "Enjin, let me teach this asshole some manners—"

Enjin's tone was stern. Definitive. "I said that's enough. You almost hurt her, too."

Jabber reluctantly dropped his arm, rings clanking against his fingers. He turned his back and walked to their teammates, who had joined them on court. That motherfucker patted Enjin on the shoulder. His second mistake.

"Hey, man, thanks for jumping in. I swear, that Jabber dude's such a—"

His first mistake was injuring you.

You had never seen such a noxious glint in Enjin's golden irises. His orbs were always frisky, always light-hearted, always emanating warmth. When Enjin turned his body to the other, towering menacingly over him, a shiver ran down your spine.

"Make no mistake. I stopped Jabber because I don't want him to be suspended from the team. Pull this stunt again, and I'll punch your face in the first chance I get. I'm not as forgiving as I look."

Gris and the twins scattered to talk to the others and diffuse the tension, while Jabber grabbed a basketball to warm up on his own. Enjin never bothered to notice when the other guy moved away from him. He was infinitely more interested in checking in on you.

"You got her, cap'? I'll go speak with the teacher about the little stunt your guy did."

"Yeah. Thanks, Mildretta."

Enjin rotated his body to you, and the bestial ire in his eyes was replaced entirely by evident worry. "Can you walk?"

You barely got the time to salvage your consciousness. Never in a million years did you think that Jabber would sacrifice getting a Tonitrus to confront someone who made a typical mistake in the heat of the match. Never in a gazillion years did you expect Enjin to kneel down to the tattered vinyl to inspect your ankle. Not with a tender aura surrounding him when he was just about to kill a man mere moments before.

"You're not even wearing suitable shoes," Enjin sighed, guiding his fingertips to examine the tendons. You winced at his touch, and he retracted his hand. "These are for running." Battered, worn out. Footwear that wouldn't protect your movements in those exact scenarios.

"We weren't supposed to play," you replied and pulled your injured foot backwards from his reach. Enjin reluctantly straightened his body and thank God he did. People were watching with curious eyes. "We were just shooting randomly and said why not."

Enjin was not impressed with your explanation. "The way you play, you should've known better."

You looked away. You were rarely concerned about your appearance or about your overused belongings. Still, the way Enjin's eyes sparkled with concern, and a hint of irritation for what proved to be a rash decision, had you feel embarrassed.

"Let's ice spray it. I have some tape in my bag."

"Come on, I'll just ice it at home, and it's gonna be as good as new—"

A raised daffodil eyebrow dared you to say those words again. You didn't.

"If you don't want me to sweep you off your feet and carry you to the bench, you'd better not fight with me on this."

You shook your head softly. "I'd rather not," you accepted Enjin's arm around your middle to reduce the pressure on your foot and allowed him to lead you to the courtside bench. You meant to untie your shoes, but Enjin's adamant glare made you reconsider your choices.

"Where did you learn to ball like that anyway?" Enjin chuckled, shaking the ice spray can. "That between-the-legs move was better than mine."

You observed how careful Enjin's gestures were, and you found yourself missing the heat of his fingertips when he sprayed the cold liquid on your ankle. You giggled before answering, and his orbs skimmed to your face.

"I used to play in high school. My ex was a player. Both literally and—hmph—figuratively."

You burst out laughing at your own joke; Enjin's shoulders lost all the tension they harbored. The Akuta captain took the tape to start wrapping it around your foot. He couldn't contain a snicker at your unexpected confession. Who spoke about their exes like that?

"That much of an asshole, huh?"

Enjin lifted his head to level his gaze upon yours. You were in splitting distance to him to intoxicate his senses, with just the opportune dose to insert the doubt of your kiss in his mind. Enjin would never know any other bergamont and vanilla scent that would be imprinted on the bane of his existence as much as yours was.

"As all of you basketball players, captain. I guess you all have a knack for swinging your dicks into every breathing woman."

Nimble, tattooed digits finished wrapping the tape around your ankle with ease, golden orbs piercing through your lively ones. "Not all of us fit the profile, doll."

"No?" you tapped your index against your chin. The line you both silently pledged not to cross was about to be swallowed by the sand. Even though you did not correct him and his little endearment.

"I see...maybe all those people who keep gossiping about you are all jealous of your success with women, huh? I suppose it's true that Gris is not like that."

Enjin rubbed his thumb into your tendons, insufficiently harsh to inflict pain, but harsh enough to make you flinch. On closer inspection, the whimsical tint on Enjin's face vanished behind a wall of stoicism, which he showed only when he was faulted during his matches.

Gris is not like that, huh?

"Objection, calls for speculation."

You breathed through your nose in amusement. "Overruled—"

"You of all people should know better than to take something at face value, y/n."

Maybe you'd be better off with Gris anyway. Gris was kinder than he was, more empathic; Gris made you laugh, and above all, he was a born gentleman. Gris was perfect for you.

"He's not on his knees for you now, is he?"

And yet, Enjin carefully put your sock back on, then tied the laces of your shoe with a tenderness that had you swallow your jests. The captain of the Akuta basketball team truly was on his knees for you, tending to your sprained ankle, in front of half the third-year students and his teammates, as if he thrived on it.

He stood up abruptly after, reassembling the signature smirk that his emotions hid behind. "You won't be able to wear heels at the party tonight, but sneakers should do just fine. Try to keep it on as much as you can before showering. Hope your Halloween costume doesn't need you to add some inches to it."

You mirrored his actions, astonished that no pain pulsated from your ankle anymore. "Thank you, Enjin. I'm not coming to the party tonight."

"Why? You workin'?"

You sighed. Maybe Enjin deserved a sliver of honesty for his troubles.

"The entry fee for tonight covers my groceries for two days. I need the money. And I don't even have a costume."

Enjin gave a nod. "I don't have a costume either. And you don't have to worry about the ticket."

You rolled your eyes. "I don't even want to hear it. If you intend to pay it for me, all the more reason—"

"The basketball team doesn't pay the fee because we're the ones who clean up the mess in the morning. I can talk to August to boost our cleaning forces."

You blinked, confusion visible on your face. Enjin's irises softened like he’d been weathered by something he refused to name.

"If anything, do it for a friend."

Your orbs held a hint of benevolence that you never showed anyone in the light of day. The oxygen caught in the back of your throat, and Enjin found himself wondering what you looked like when you stopped pretending you were fine. He saw Gris approaching with the corner of his eye.

"I promise I won't name you president of my fangirl club. Everyone wants you to be there, y/n. We all like having you around." Enjin chuckled and stepped aside to grab his wristbands. Then, he gestured with his head toward Gris. "And who knows, maybe you'll see someone who won't be swinging his dick in every breathing female."

"Enjin, I don't—"

"Don't worry, I'll talk to August after practice."

If only you knew the rumours swirling around him were not at all true; the last girl he had touched was, indeed, the one he allegedly told she wouldn't be able to make him come, over one week before, after she'd assaulted him and you outside the gymnasium.

Enjin had not even undressed that girl halfway through because his brain had been taking revenge on him for having left you to go home alone in the dark. He didn't kiss that girl, didn't touch her even, left her to do whatever she did on her own. Replaying that disgusted expression on your face over and over again made Enjin feel disgusted with himself.

"Y/n," Gris's voice echoed in your ears, one hand hovering over the side of her shoulder. "That one must have hurt. I saw Enjin tape your ankle; are you okay now?"

Anna's orbs smoldered from one shade to another, burning on Enjin's back like the inside of a collapsing star when he walked away to the centre of the court. So close to bask in, yet so far away to grasp.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Enjin did wonders for me."

Chapter 3: Bargaining.

Later that evening, when you got home from university, your head fogged with thoughts of Enjin, and your heart clouded with illusions about Enjin and the underlying nature of his soul. Some higher, divine force prevented you from unwrapping the tape Enjin had carefully done. You were standing in the small bathroom of your cramped two-bedroom rental, clothes still on, staring at the piece of material cloaking your ankle.

Semiu's words run through your mind: maybe you should give yourself the slack to distinguish between a person's pity and their innate desire to help you.

Did you really, consciously, judge the book by the cover? Were you really that much of a hypocrite to judge Enjin based on gossip, when you yourself despised being judged for the circumstances you found yourself in? Did you muddle your own perceptions about him because Enjin was the epitome of his rumors, or because you were scared he would turn out to be exactly that?

You seated yourself on the tiny stool by the bathtub and took your phone from the sink.

[8:18 PM y/n] you said you didn't have a costume [8:18 PM y/n] so...what are you cosplaying as?

You became a victim of your own tragedy.

Everyone you had met at Eden was a good person. All the girls, Riyo, Tomme, and Eishia, weren't the typical rich, take-for-granted girls who took life to be a superficial joke. The twins, Otto and Epalte, despite their lineage of status, were goofy boys.

Jabber, despite his family of surgeons and his violent and frankly deranged tendencies, risked his reputation to protect you in the gymnasium. Gris, despite being the son of the esteemed police commissioner, was nothing short of an honorable man who helped you fit in with the larger group.

So, truly, why would Enjin be any different when he seemingly tried his best to prove otherwise? Especially because you knew nothing about him, and you never bothered to find out?

[8:22 PM Enjin] idk really [8:22 PM Enjin] Auggie painted my face in some Jujitsu Kaiser character? Sukuna or smth [8:22 PM Enjin] hell if i know who that is [8:23 PM Enjin] even gave me a pink wig which smells like shit btw [8:23 PM Enjin] if i get lice pls bury me alive [8:23 PM Enjin] 💀

You giggled. Kind of fitting to transform Enjin into the King of Curses. His tattoos were very in-character.

[8:24 PM y/n] rip 💀 it's Jujutsu Kaisen fyi. kaiser is a cheese [8:24 PM y/n] your character is the king of curses [8:24 PM y/n] you need to stay away from me then ✋🏻 [8:25 PM y/n] don't wanna be bald [8:25 PM y/n] i'll jujitsu your ass if you pass them down to me 🙄

[8:26 PM Enjin] and here i thought you'd want to share something intimate with yer friend 😔 [8:26 PM Enjin] way to break the king of curses

"So dramatic," you laughed, unconsciously touching your still taped ankle.

[8:27 PM y/n] we can share something if you want but not lice 🥶

Then, before getting the chance to type your other message:

[8:27 PM Enjin] dress as my queen and share my kingdom 😎

You rolled your eyes but smirked. "This asshole, I swear to God. I'm not puttin' on Yorozu make-up for you."

[8:28 PM y/n] sukuna's whole MO is to kill and to conquer [8:28 PM y/n] he ain't got time for love [8:29 PM Enjin] how do you even know that [8:29 PM Enjin] bet he was just misunderstood [8:30 PM y/n] enjin you dont even know who the character is [8:30 PM Enjin] lets not concern ourselves with foolish matters woman [8:31 PM y/n] wow hes getting in character [8:31 PM y/n] who's whispering in your ear [8:32 PM Enjin] what like im stupid 🙍🏼

You snorted at his text message. Enjin's favorite line to use on all of their friends, including you. Give him a finger (hah, quite literally), and he'd take your whole hand to ragebait.

[8:32 PM y/n] ??? [8:32 PM Enjin] kk i asked auggie to tell me something this sukena dude would say [8:33 PM Enjin] was it good 😎 [8:33 PM Enjin] sukukuna aint got time for love but i do so get your ass in here faster woman 😡

You did not even want to consider the prospect that Enjin was, by all means, sweating his best flirting game on the other end of the line, so you acknowledged it as friendly banter.

"Yo, d'you think I'm rusty?"

Enjin put the beer bottle down on the table he shared with his group. Riyo, who chose a somewhat obscene yakuza assassin costume, shot Enjin a confused look.

"Rusty at what?"

"Y'know," Enjin flailed his hand through the air, leaving his sentence hanging.

Riyo's fishbone hair bounced with the shake of her head. "I don't know, Enjin."

The Akuta captain virtually begged Gris with his eyes to intervene, but the latter was having too much fun seeing Enjin struggle. Shame on the knight costume he was wearing because he sure as hell was not righteous.

"At women," he ultimately said, and chugged the last of his beer. Luckily, Jabber was bringing along a tray of shots, and everyone hoped his Hannibal Lecter persona hadn't poisoned the alcohol.

"How can you suck at women, when you have an entire group of girls ogling at you?"

Tomme's comment was beside the point. Enjin downed his shot, feeling the alcohol burn through his chest. "No, I mean, at women."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jabber jumped on the couch next to Enjin. "Stop speaking in fucking riddles. You're not the character."

"That was an apotheotic nerd joke."

Jabber leaned over the table, pointing his index at Tomme with a wicked smile. "What does that make you, Cleopatra?"

August burst out laughing, and his Don Quijote costume along with it. He was, by far, the best-dressed at the party, and he wouldn't have it any other way. "ENJIN!! It's pretty easy. STOP SUCKING AND LEVEL UP YOUR GAME!!"

"Why the sudden self-awareness?" Riyo pondered, pointing her toy gun at Enjin. "Is your dick flaccid or somethin'?"

Gris almost choked on his shot, laughing. "Given the situation, it would have been to his advantage if it had been flaccid."

"My dick works just fine, thanks."

Otto pushed the Mario glasses further up his nose. "Why are we talking about Enjin's dick?"

"Didn't you hear the man?" Riyo shrugged. "He's suddenly concerned he's losing face with girls. I can't think of any other reason he would hallucinate like this when he has a queue right there, hunting the moment we stand up to dance."

"You know what?" Enjin sighed, picking up his phone. "God forbid I ever ask my friends for heartfelt advice again."

And yet, the sudden smirk thriving on his face was urging otherwise.

[8:49 PM y/n] i shall bid my arrival in 30 minutes [8:49 PM y/n] to cure the insatiable boredom of the king of curses [8:49 PM y/n] could you find the strength to endure the endless sadness until then my lord? 🥺

"Ohhhh, wow, okay," Tomme giggled, spreading her Egyptian fan open, "See, Riyo? We were not asking the right questions."

[8:50 PM Enjin] perhaps i could find it in my heart to endure 😤 [8:50 PM Enjin] but do keep in mind [8:50 PM Enjin] the faster your arrival, the more content your lord shall be

Of course, Enjin did not register Jabber's question. "Are you in love, you fucking asshole?"

[8:49 PM y/n] objection, argumentative

"Pfft, no?" Enjin said and put the phone back in his pocket. When he lifted his eyes from the screen, he felt the heavy pressure of everyone feasting their gaze on him.

"I never thought this day would come."

Both Riyo and Tomme endorsed Jabber's claim.

"You're getting this wrong," Enjin waved his hand to dismiss the allegations. "Can't an honest man have an honest chat with someone else and enjoy it?"

"Wow, he's down bad."

August nodded at Epalte's words. "Down bad."

Riyo changed targets to point her gun at Gris, who was sitting just a tad bit too inconspicuously. "And Gris knows who's the source of Enjin's self-doubts."

Gris drew an imaginary zipper over his mouth, then threw away the key. "My lips are sealed."

"Can you imagine that someone will finally, finally, put a leash around Enjin's neck?"

"Oi," Enjin chuckled, taking the liberty to steal another shot from the tray before standing. "There's no leash involved because I'm not doing what y'all think I'm doing. I'm not into bondage. Less blabbering, more dancing."

Sure. As if anyone was going to believe a word coming out of Enjin's mouth. And truth was, he didn't believe it either.

It didn't take too long for Enjin to admit to Gris, in his own evasive style, that he tried to push you to his true best friend, thinking he would do both of you a favor.

"Y/n is undoubtedly amazing, but I'm not stealing my best friend's crush from under his nose. And that's exactly why you gotta start owning your mistakes and overcome them before someone does steal her form you."

Which was ultimately easier said than done. How could Enjin stop the rumors from spreading? How could he outlive the reputation he built for himself? How could he prove himself to you? Those were questions Enjin did not have answers for.

No matter how much Enjin gawked at the entrance of the frat party, you would not appear with the resolutions to his problems. He kept on refusing and rejecting the army of girls trying to win him over, eyes cemented on the goddamned door.

The half-hour had long passed, turned into an hour, turned into an hour and a half, and you were still not there. No unread messages, no missed calls. Enjin was getting worried. Did something happen? Did you trip and fall somewhere? Were you hurt?

Gris's words reverberated through his brain. Were you out with someone else?

"Hey, Riyo," Enjin traversed the dance floor to his red-haired friend. "Have you guys seen y/n?"

Riyo tiptoed to reach his face so she could hear him better, and she felt the wild scoffs of Enjin's admirers burning her nape. "Y/n? No, I don't think she arrived."

"Do you know why?"

"Dunno. Let me text her—"

Just as Riyo collected her phone from her purse, the screen lit up with new messages in the girl's group chat.

[10:36 PM y/n] i'm so sorry ladies 😞 [10:36 PM y/n] i can't make it to the party anymore...i got called in at work [10:36 PM y/n] please have lots of fun and send me pictures with your costumes!!! 🧸 [10:36 PM y/n] sad huggies 😭💖

A few seconds later, Enjin's phone vibrated in his pocket.

[10:37 PM y/n] i must apologize to my lord [10:37 PM y/n] i am thus unable to join you in our kingdom 🙇🏻‍♀️ [10:37 PM y/n] work has sucked me in [10:37 PM Enjin] i dont know if i can forgive this impertinence 🫤 [10:37 PM Enjin] tell your boss to have a word with me for these cowardly actions [10:37 PM Enjin] you would've loved it here, doll [10:38 PM y/n] i'll make it up to you with some sesame buns on monday 🥖 [10:38 PM y/n] i'm sure i would've loved to be there with you [10:38 PM y/n] and the others [10:38 PM y/n] thank you for speaking to August [10:39 PM y/n] and for sticking up for me

Enjin smiled, albeit with sadness. He would've loved to be with her, too.

[10:39 PM Enjin] i'll hold u to that promise [10:39 PM Enjin] hey, text me when u get home okay? [10:39 PM Enjin] just to make sure you're safe 🤞🏻

You smiled, though it was bittersweet; the first time in a tremendously long time that you wanted to be selfish and throw all the big girl responsibilities away.

[10:40 PM y/n] dont stay up for me, captain. i'll be home late 🤞🏻 [10:40 PM Enjin] there's partying to be done here. i guarantee you'll be back earlier than me 🤞🏻

It was a miracle that you held it together for the entire night at the Fantasia. You detached yourself entirely from the girl who had almost broken down in tears in front of your reflection in the bathroom mirror, dissociating into your stage persona, which kept entertaining men and women alike with your sharp humor and brilliant mind.

When your younger brother called, in a bashful voice that you knew all too well, you had finished doing your eyeliner for the party. He only ever used that feeble tone when something was wrong at home, but he did not muster the courage to say it aloud. That heartbreaking tone your brother cried behind when he got tired of asking his older sister for too much. But he needed to ask, because his tuition had gotten more expensive, and because your parents tried to cover it on their own, at the behest of your father's physical treatments.

Your ankle quivered with pain from the strain of your high heels, yet you endured until the pain melted into conscious suffering, pulling you through the night. Client, after drink, after client, after generous tips, for a girl whose mellow voice and bewitching words made them forget, if only for the night, about the skeletons in their closets. And each time, you wondered what the price was to erase your own skeletons from existence.

As promised, at the end of the night, Semiu gave you the wire transfer you desperately needed to pay for your younger brother's studies. Semiu called you in her office, a wrinkle evident behind her glasses.

"You need to rest," Semiu said, vanilla eyes contemplating your swollen ankle. "If you keep on punishing yourself like this, I'll just refuse to take you in."

Your fists clenched, nails digging into the plush of your palms.

"Please, don't," Your voice cracked, hanging only by the thinnest of threads. "It will all be for nothing if you do."

Semiu let out a heavy sigh. She disagreed with martyrdom, something you knew all too well. But the girl had grown too precious to her heart to leave her high and dry. "Eden called me today."

"Oh? Did I get a bad grade? I promise I'm not slacking off—"

"You should be slacking off," Semiu highlighted and handed you a piece of paper. The report of your first month at Eden was crystal clear with top grades. "Go home. Rest. I'll see you tomorrow, and maybe we can talk about this, if you're ready to."

The sound of your sneakers colliding with the floorboard of your apartment was the last thing you clearly heard. The key chain screeching against the round coffee table, the ruffling of your coat into the hanger, the backpack crashing against your narrow bed, all sounds faded into the ringing in your ears. You glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:14 AM.

You grabbed your phone and collapsed on the sheets. The only source of light was the dim flicker of the screen as your fingers hovered over your friends' unread messages.

[10:38 PM Riyo] oh no hun 😭 [10:38 PM Eishia] that's so sad 💔 [10:38 PM Riyo] hope everything is well. we'll drink one for you!! [10:42 PM Eishia] i told Auggie you didn't have a costume and he made one for you [10:43 PM Eishia] it was supposed to be a surprise but he made a cape and some fairy wings 🧚🏻‍♀️🦋

You put a hand over your mouth. Lower lip trembled with emotion. August really went all the way, just so you could feel comfortable with everyone?

[10:50 PM Tomme] shucks, you would've been the most beautiful fairy 🤗 [10:50 PM Tomme] i'll take pictures of everyone for you 💪🏻 [11:27 PM Tomme] Attachment x4

You opened the photographs Tomme had taken, and a broken laugh escaped you. The first picture immortalised Jabber and Gris, elbows locked, chugging one beer each. In the second, Riyo was pointing her toy gun at the camera, with a cheeky wink. The third saw Tomme, the mighty queen of Egypt, protected by her faithful Mario and Luigi.

Tears pooled in your eyes and whirled violently when you opened the last picture. The all-mighty Sukuna, wearing the fairy cape that was painfully small for his frame, and the pink glittery wings that Enjin pretended could make him fly. His smile in that picture was so dazzling that you could reach out your fingertips and feel it through the phone.

You broke down crying for the better part of the next 30 minutes. Ugly, pent-up crying that shook the walls with its violence. The kind of sobbing that suffocates the throat with maybes and could-haves, the messy weeping that made one feel bad for ever doubting faith and its grotesque humor. The mourning of not being selfish enough when the heart screamed for it.

Your fingers tremored uncontrollably over the screen.

[3:49 AM y/n] awwww y'all were adorable 🩷 [3:49 AM y/n] thank you for the pics! i'm sure you had hella fun 📷 [3:50 AM y/n] i'm home finally, talk to you girls tomorrow

When your tears stopped,you searched for Enjin's name on your phone. You contemplated sending that text, if it ever mattered. Nights had a funny way of twisting thoughts and releasing inhibitions. Thumb lingered on the send button.

[3:54 AM y/n] my lord, i hereby announce my return upon the premises of my residence 👑 [3:54 AM y/n] i hope my absence had not hindered your well-being 🙇🏻‍♀️

You did not expect Enjin to reply, and certainly not instantly.

[3:55 AM Enjin] it hindered most of my well-being but what could this humble mortal do about it [3:55 AM Enjin] it's too tiring to speak in ancient so pls stop 🙏🏻 [3:55 AM Enjin] glad you got home safe doll [3:56 AM y/n] party still going strong? [3:56 AM Enjin] nah im home [3:56 AM Enjin] been for a while, i'm studying some case

You shifted onto your side in an attempt to settle down your irregular breathing. Gasping for oxygen hurt your chest.

[3:57 AM y/n] that's kinda sus. you? studying? at this ungodly hour? [3:57 AM y/n] no one to help entertain the lord?

Enjin smiled. "No one to help entertain the lord, huh?"

He put your father's case file on the nightstand. Enjin's father came through for the request he made during their dinner a couple of nights before. To say your attorney at the time was unprepared was a complete understatement; hell, Enjin was convinced he could have done a far better job. He was fired up to find the opening that would allow you and your family to reopen the case.

Enjin dialed your number and put the call on speaker. Nights had a funny way to make time feel endless in its cradle.

"Hey," Enjin spoke softly, bending an arm under his head. "Easier to speak than text."

You didn't know why you picked up. The way in which you always held yourself, the faith and the courage that you always thought would fall short, but fit just right instead, the morals you carried with you through any storm, all of it should have kept you from picking up.

It was against everything you believed in to hope Enjin would play the savior. Not when you knew he would notice the rupture in your voice right away.

"Hey," you managed, stifling the aftershock of a sob. "If you're feeling particularly talkative, then yes."

A pause on the other end of the line. "Are you crying?"

"No," you lied, despite the coarseness in your throat. "I'm tired."

You heard Enjin sigh, as if he were conducting a duel with himself.

"I'm coming over."

You squeezed your eyes shut, the stinging in your larynx threatening to fall apart. A lonely tear escaped imprisonment. "That won't be necessary, Enjin. I just wanted you to know I'm home, like I promised."

"I apologize if that came out as a question."

You choked your mouth to strangle the sob before it formed. Enjin shouldn't have been the one to challenge her self-control. And it was embarrassing when the wanting showed. You always did it alone; you'd learned how to carry her groceries, her pain, her solitude, and sometimes it spiraled all at once. You fought your own doubts and cheered yourself when the silence gnawed at you too loudly.

Yet in those rare, almost impossible moments when the wanting showed, you wished you didn't have to carry it all alone.

"Do you want me to wake Riyo or Tomme up for your address, or will you send it to me?"

"Don't come, Enjin. I won't open the door."

Enjin simply laughed. "I've slept on doormats before."

Against your better conscience, you shared your location with Enjin. Nothing was logical. Enjin had nothing to do with you. He wasn't yours, not logically, not publicly, not theoretically. He was the heartthrob of Eden. Were you delusional? Was he real?

"Okay," he said after a pause. "I'll be there in 10-15 tops."

You submerged yourself under the blanket, not believing for a moment that Enjin would show up at your door. Mascara smeared on the pillow, lip gloss rubbed into the sheets, and face puffed from crying, you were a wreck. Sleep crept through your eyelashes, and you dozed off until the sound of the doorbell snapped you out of your daze.

"You can't be serious."

You checked your phone. It was 4:20 in the morning, about right for Enjin's estimations. You reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed when the doorbell rang a second time. Your ankle was a puddle of pain and bruising.

"Come on, doll, open up."

You leaned your cheek against the door, palms pushing into the cold metal. Voice quivering. "Go home, Enjin. Please."

"After I came all the way here? No chance."

"I'm a disaster right now, Enjin. I'm not looking like the person you see every day. I'm ugly crying, and I can't breathe, and I just..."

You bumped your fist against the door with the bit of strength you had left. "I am begging you, go home."

"If there's no part of you that wants me to be here, not even the tiniest piece, tell me to go home again and I will."

Enjin didn't realize he held his breath until the knob turned and the door cracked open. Then all opened at once, and reality hit Enjin like a high-speed train on the rails. He let his gym bag drop to the floor, shoved the door open with his elbow, and engulfed you in his arms.

He smelled like leather, alcohol, and cigarettes. Like a vice that poisoned the core. You grabbed the hem of his motorcycle suit, fighting the tears and the wails from jerking out of your ribcage.

"Did you...drink and drive?"

Enjin laid one hand to rest at the nest of your lower back, pulling your head into his chest with the other. "Running would have taken me 35 minutes. You're pretty far. Besides, I gotta get to practice tomorrow morning."

You couldn't look up at him. If you did, you would lose the fight with yourself. "That was reckless and dangerous."

"I didn't drink that much at the party. You needed me."

Enjin felt you tug at his jacket tighter. His words hit harder than you expected them to. "I didn't need y—"

A hiccup.

"Breathe. Breathe with me."

Enjin caressed your hair, holding your head flush against his chest to absorb your wimpers through his ribcage. He swayed gently from side to side, enveloping your sadness in his arms, and you surrendered yourself to him with every stable rise of his chest.

"That's it, atta girl," Enjin whispered into the crown of your hair. "I promise I'm not gonna drink and drive again, okay?"

You nodded, snuggling your face through the opening of the zipper of his jacket, until you took shelter in the crook of Enjin's clothed collarbone. You both stood like that, tangled in one another, until your sobs died down and your lungs were not gasping for air.

"You wanna go to bed?" Enjin cooed, slightly pulling away to lay his eyes on you. Your eyes were bloodshot and glossy from crying, a coral tint splashed over your nose and cheekbones, tears and makeup tainting the raw beauty of your face. Enjin brought both hands to cup your cheeks and tilt your face so you could look at him. Timid irises devoured his golden ones with unspoken pleas and bashful wants.

You took his breath away.

"Come on, let's tug you to bed, princess."

Enjin bent his body to scoop one arm under your knees and lift you in his arms with ease, as if you weighed nothing. And you didn't, not when you fit so naturally in his embrace to drive him insane that he didn't hug you as soon as he'd met you. Enjin almost complained out loud when he laid you down in your bed, devoid of your presence in his grasp.

"There we go," he said instead, tugging the blanket over you. "I'll go get the ice spray from my bag to do something about your ankle. How did you even get it in this state—"

"Stay," you whispered, orbs pointed at your lap.

Enjin sighed and almost neglected your request. He noticed you must have trampled over your principles to let him into your house, into your bedroom, into your intimacy, so he plopped down on the floor instead, forearms resting on the end of the mattress. He admired you for a while as you struggled to meet his eyes, and Enjin realized that his wish to meet you where you really were had become a reality.

"Is it safe? Where you work?"

You nodded imperceptibly. Your voice fissured as you spoke, struggling to regain coherence. "Yes. It is."

“Can you work sitting down?”

What was that? A game of hot and cold?

“Most of the time I do,” you stated, withholding the part about walking in Louboutins for a living. “I guess I just underestimated it.”

You couldn’t figure out whether Enjin was satisfied with your answers through the stone-cold facade. He wasn’t, that much was certain, when he sighed so hard the room felt like an earthquake. Enjin brushed his index over the swollen flesh, and the mere sensation of his fingertip sent a jolt of pain. He clicked his tongue.

“This could damage your tendons if you don’t stay put.”

After a long battle of back-and-forth negotiations, Enjin wrapped some ice-cubes in a kitchen towel to put on top of your ankle. You winced at the chilly contact but welcomed the relief of pressure it brought to your flesh.

"Well? Isn't it better?" Enjin asked, a soft smile sketched on his lips.

"It is," you agreed, raising your eyes to look at Enjin. He was sprawled on your mattress, forearms resting on the wrinkled sheets, watching you with a gentle gaze. You couldn't quite understand why, yet you could feel your body dozing off into the unadulterated comfort his presence brought into the room. Your voice lowered into a quiet whisper. "Thank you. For being here."

Enjin dropped his head to rest his cheek against his bare arms. He'd left his motorcycle jacket abandoned in the living room somewhere. "It might sound weird, but when I heard you crying, I knew I wouldn't forgive myself for leaving you like that. I'm glad I called."

He extended one hand to laze on her exposed calf. You lowered your frame in bed to snuggle into the warmth of his hand and pulled the blanket over your chest. Enjin's thumb brushed your skin, and he barely fought the demonic urge to plant a kiss in place of his finger.

"You want to sleep, princess?"

You let out a breathy giggle. "Do you call all your girls princess?"

Enjin laughed, and he accepted the invitation to draw absentminded patterns into your skin. "Why? Jealous?"

"No, captain," you replied, clashing with the overwhelming wave of sleep webbing your orbs. "I was curious how creative you get with your side chicks."

You closed your eyes. Enjin's touch did something magical, soothing the pain in your muscles and the torment in your thoughts. Your soul was aware that Enjin's touches and caresses had you subdued, long before your mind would come to terms with it.

For now, the way Enjin permitted his hand to rest on your leg said more than both of you could. The first time your body realized it had been waiting for Enjin's hands for centuries overdue.

"You're the only one I've ever called that, princess."

Enjin craned his head to admire the unhurried rise and fall of your chest. Your eyelashes fluttered once, twice, until they settled in the trance of sleep, lips lightly parted, and the crinkle in your forehead replaced by peace. Enjin detached himself from your bed and pulled the blanket higher on your frame. He swiftly lifted the ice towel before walking away and closing the bedroom door behind him.

He leaned against the wooden surface. In the quiet of your cozy apartment, tidy and coated in home-made essences and handmade little crochets, Enjin felt an intruder in your sanctuary. He plopped his body on the tattered leather couch in the living room, arms crossed at his nape and eyes fixated on the ceiling. For the first time in his existence, Enjin was afraid that time would punish him for finding you too soon. The thought alone had him grab at his chest to still his racing heart.

Chapter 4: Depression.

Enjin’s nocturnal visit served as the trigger of your bond, deeper than the surface of your pleasantries. By allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him, you gave Enjin the courage he needed to talk to you more and the reason to text and call in the middle of the night, under the pretext that you were both too busy during the day. You allowed him into your personal space more often than not.

Because that was what friends did.

During the course of the weeks that followed, you found yourself in the stands of every Akuta basketball match. Enjin found himself lingering around the library in return. You both found yourselves gravitating toward one another, justifying the inside jokes, the lingering glances across the basketball court, and the brushing of shoulders in a hallway too large to be a coincidence as normality between two friends.

The ruse didn’t hold up for much, not in the eyes of your friends anyway. One particular afternoon, when the larger group hogged the biggest table in the library, Riyo and Tomme plainly refused to let themselves be fooled any longer by that stupid pretense.

Your gaze fixated on the monitor of one of the PCs, scrolling through the attorney register and struggling to find the case you were looking for. Everyone was focused on their individual tasks, each preparing the study materials needed for their obligatory contests trials scheduled for mid-December.

"Hey, Gris," you whispered, craning your head toward the adjacent chair where Gris was seated. "Do you know how to find this case? I'm doing something wrong, but I don't know what."

"Ah, beats me unfortunately," Gris whispered back, inspecting the monitor. "There's a combination of filters you have to use to bypass the typical search. Enjin knows for sure."

So your voice, calling for Enjin, who was just returning with refreshments for the entire group, inevitably drew the larger group's attention to you.

"I cannot find this case, Enjin," you said, pointing to the screen. 

"Where?" Enjin put the refreshments at the edge of the table and then approached your chair from behind.

"Isn’t this the filter you’re supposed to use?" you asked, tapping your finger on the display. Enjin leaned his frame over yours, arms with rolled sleeves propped on either side of your torso, chest skimming over your back, and his chin rested on your shoulder.

"Let me see."

Eishia almost dropped her drink at the definitely-not-romantic tableau in front of her. Jabber made the most disgusting puking sounds in existence at the sight. Riyo rolled her eyes so hard they could fly out of their respective orbits, and Tomme sighed to acknowledge defeat.

Gris was the only one completely unbothered by the scene, like he was waiting for that to happen sooner rather than later.

“I’m done with this shit,” Riyo groaned, flipping a pen in between her fingers. “You cannot seriously tell me you’re not dating.”

“We’re not,” Both Enjin and you replied in virtually scripted unison, both focusing naturally on the goddamned case in the registry instead of the allegations. Completely far-fetched.

“The fuck you ain’t,” Jabber almost barked, and out of everyone else, he looked to be the one most fed up with the situation. “Do this shit again with that blonde chick over there who just had her heart broken watching you.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“My point exactly.”

Despite the complete and almost oblivious denial of a potential relationship, the taunts remained vivid in your mind.

Up until that point, you never allowed the doubt to spurt in your heart. For her, Enjin was simply Enjin; the goofy, funny, considerate, sometimes asshole, and most of the time infuriating Enjin. The popular basketball captain. The smart aspiring attorney. Never had you shone the spotlight of anything beyond that on his persona.

By all means, the following day served as proof that they were, ultimately, from different worlds that shouldn’t have ever collided.

“Do you think we’re acting too much like a couple, Enjin?”

Your phone was propped against the washing machine, which you had been trying to start for the past 15 minutes while on facetime with the Akuta captain.

The world stopped for Enjin. And he was a hella lucky son of a bitch that you were too preoccupied with your laundry instead of watching the earth crumble under his feet.

Because Enjin was absolutely dying to ask you out, yet, ironically, for a guy who fucked girls for sport, he was afraid he would ruin whatever connection he had with you by pushing his luck. The truth was, you never pushed it either, and you never really responded to his subtleties that later became blatant advances. Perhaps you tolerated them? Or maybe you thought that was a casual thing to do between friends? 

Enjin felt that, no matter the effort he put in, you never gave him more than she had to. 

“No?” He snorted, albeit with a controlled crack in his voice. Enjin should have stuffed his gym back with practice stuff, but he put an orange in there out of all fucking things.

“What makes you say that?”

“I mean, I’ve been thinking about what Jabber, Riyo, and Tomme said. Yesterday in the library.”

Enjin gulped. “What about it?”

You shrugged, yet avoided looking at the screen, avoided looking Enjin in his golden eyes. “It looks like the girls at school keep away from you, and I wouldn’t want to hinder your popularity.”

Enjin wanted to put his fist through the wall, to do something that would show you he hadn’t touched a girl in weeks. He laughed instead, bleak, superficial. A lie. “You’re not the one keeping them away. Don’t worry, they still hog courtside.”

“I must be overthinking, then.”

“Don’t worry, princess. I would’ve asked you out, but I don’t want you to cut my neck open for the audacity.”

You dropped the opened bottle of detergent that you meant to put back down, spreading a pink puddle on the floor. “Fuck.”

“You okay?” Enjin asked, alarmed by the cluttering sound.

That was a joke. Of course it was a joke, that was what Enjin did for a living. Joked about everything and anything. Definitely a coincidence that he'd make that joke whilst talking about the possibility of you acting like a couple.

If only you stopped sabotaging yourself.

“Yeah, I’m okay. This shit ain’t working,” You sighed, still avoiding looking at Enjin. “Can I use the washing machine you guys have at the frat? I really need to do this today.”

“Oh yeah, Gris is still there. I have to leave early to pick up something, but give him a call to let him know you're coming.”

"Thanks."

"Hey, y/n?"

Did Enjin's voice calling your name always sound like it was only meant for him to do so? You went utterly still; his voice just snapped some invisible thread in you. Your stomach did that funny thing it hadn't done in a while, where it twisted in a ball of yarn to give birth to a colony of butterflies.

"Yes, Enjin?"

You weren't sure your voice was as reliable as you'd needed it to be, not with that scandal of a heart picking up the beat in your chest. For all but an infinitesimal chunk of a second, Enjin looked like he wanted to say something else.

"I need to go. Talk to you later, princess?"

"Yeah, sure. Catch you later."

You reached the frat house on autopilot, a true miracle that you even made it there in the first place. It took Gris repeating his question three or four times to snap you out of the thoughts plaguing your mind, thoughts of an impossible scenario on the brink of pushing reality.

"Y/n, are you sure you're okay?" Gris leaned down gently to unclasp your hand and take the backpack full of laundry from your tight grasp. "Are you feeling well?"

Were you?

"Yeah, absolutely," you replied absentmindedly, a shudder travelling down your spine. "I'm sorry, can you say that again?"

Gris turned on the washing machine. "I was wondering if you want me to set this up so that it also dries your clothes."

"Oh, if possible, yes."

"It's going to take a while. The wash-and-dry program takes 4 hours. You can stay in Enjin's room if you'd like to wait here. I have to leave for practice soon."

Enjin's room. The infamous frat room where he fucked and broke hearts. What could possibly go wrong in his taboo room?

"We don't want you to run supplementary laps, we know," you chuckled and helped herself to Enjin's room. "If it's okay with you, I'll stay."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Gris gave a chuckle of his own, "You're part of the family now."

Your eyes darted to the stack of papers resting on Enjin's nightstand. His frat room was clean, and it looked like a hotel room someone casually checked into when convenient rather than a sex nest. "That's an exaggeration."

You felt an inexplicable pull to the mountain of paperwork, and your index trailed the MOTION TO REOPEN bolded words on the folder on top of the stack. You took the folder and flipped it open.

"Oh, please, y/n. Enjin would not let—"

Your lips fell ajar at the sight of your father's name, the plaintiff, versus the guy they brought to court for damages, the defendant. The failed case of your father was, for some unknown reason, sitting in Enjin's room, a case that should have been otherwise classified due to the defendant's requests. It was scribbled in Enjin's handwriting, sticky notes scattered through the pages, and a yellow highlighter crossing out key paragraphs. In the top right corner of the folder, a paperclip held a business card attached to the paper.

The name of one of, if not the most notorious, attorneys in the country. You yanked the phone from the pocket of your jeans and looked up the name, despite your already knowing who he was. You dropped the folder to the ground, and it fell with a soft flap on the carpet.

Dark blonde hair slicked back, with a full sleeve of familiar tattoos, the same smirk on a visage marked by the passing years in slender wrinkles. The resemblance was too painful to be a mirage.

Gris's voice did not even reach her. "Y/n?"

Enjin was the son and heir of the most powerful attorney couple in the country.

You picked up the folder from the ground and put it back without giving away any clue that it had been tampered with. You were a fool for ever thinking you could even match the students at Eden. A fool to believe you were on the same level as Enjin, to even compare with him, and who he was.

"I think I'll just return when it's done."

You turned to face Gris in the doorframe. "Why? Is it not to your liking? Or is there anything you need?"

You mustered your best smile as you looked at the other, barely keeping the mask together. "No, it's not that. I have some things to finish up at home. I'll just set a timer and come back when it's done."

"But—"

"Gris, it's okay," You grabbed your backpack in a rush, aching to get out of that room. "Tell the guys I said hi! Thanks for helping out."

You couldn't even begin to tell what hurt her more. The fact that Enjin was snooping around your family's case, without ever bothering to share the news, the fact that your father was the state attorney general, and his mother was the CEO of the top law firm in the country, and he kept it a secret, or the fact that Enjin went and asked his father for help to file a motion to reopen the case when he didn't have to.

Enjin was the heir to an influential and tight-knit circle of people, where your wildest dreams dared not reach. The same influential circle of people that bankrupted your family and had the apparent power to make requests about others at the snap of the fingers.

You collapsed on the couch as soon as you returned to your apartment. A fit of hysterical laughter filled the room. Of course Enjin would be interested in you; that was what high-caliber attorneys would do to their prey. They would observe their subjects to extract as much information as they could before tearing them apart like insignificant playthings to throw away when they'd served their purpose.

You were a fool to believe Enjin would be interested in you beyond entertainment. He needed to prepare a case for the upcoming preliminary contest, and your father's was easy money. A pioneer of the vulnerability in the judicial system. Enjin could get a whole point in the argumentative essay topic in that case alone. But betrayal hurt, and it cut deep.

[7:24 PM Enjin] hey doll, we're done for today [7:24 PM Enjin] coach corvus milked our asses 🪦 [7:24 PM Enjin] im dead tired :( and i still need to meet mom tonight for this event [7:25 PM Enjin] id rather argue cases with you tbh than do this shit [7:25 PM Enjin] anyway, how are ya? gris told me ya didnt want to wait in my room for the laundry [7:26 PM Enjin] i could swear i cleaned

You threw your phone, and it bounced off the couch onto the floor. It was pathetic, how disappointed you were with yourself, with your dreams, with your hopes that Enjin would be different from the posh elites. You were disappointed that your heart cramped with stabbing pain, that you'd let him pick up pieces of your soul like it was the natural course of your destinies to be intertwined.

And your apartment was inundated by the cedar smell of his perfume in the tattered leather of her couch, by the latent aroma of his cigarettes in the pillow you didn't wash after he'd rushed to your comfort in the middle of that one faithful night. Your sanctuary was not your own to enjoy, and neither were the chambers of your heart, with Enjin's ghost residing in every narrow opening.

[9:31 PM Enjin] ok i can assume you're working or you're busy [9:31 PM Enjin] you'd better have a good reason to ignore me woman 😡

You checked your figure in the reflection of the mirror, the Fantasia club bustling with another busy night. You adjusted the straps of your backless golden dress and sprayed perfume on your pulse points. That was what you knew to do best in her life, anyway; convert pain and hurt into disguises that would push you to eventually hold on. To forgive yourself for what she had to do to survive. The phone was dumped with your belongings, to buzz with Enjin's messages.

[10:55 PM Enjin] hello missy i see that you're getting my messages 🙄 [10:55 PM Enjin] at least tell me wth i've done this time [10:56 PM Enjin] i have a habit of playing the asshole but i dont think i've been one today 😩 [11:28 PM Enjin] now im getting worried [11:28 PM Enjin] text me something so i know you're safe [11:28 PM Enjin] i'll come looking for you if you don't [12:01 AM Enjin] missed call [12:02 AM Enjin] missed call [12:04 AM Enjin] i'm on my way to your apt [12:04 AM Enjin] if you don't text me back i'll call the police

You sighed. You had to give it to him; he was persistent.

[12:04 AM y/n] i'm sleeping [12:04 AM y/n] what is there so urgent?

Your screen lit up with an incoming call from Enjin. You waited it out.

[12:05 AM Enjin] sleeping from 7 pm? [12:05 AM Enjin] you didnt even come pick up the laundry [12:05 AM Enjin] you could've at least told me you're alive y'know. i was worried [12:05 AM Enjin] what's going on? why aren't you picking up? [12:06 AM y/n] nothing's going on [12:06 AM y/n] i told you i'm resting [12:06 AM y/n] i've had a lot going on. i'll pick the laundry tomorrow [12:07 AM Enjin] do you want me to come over?

"I want you to stay away," you bit into your inner cheek, fingers fumbling with the keyboard. Your brain was dragging you in one direction, while your heart stood at the crossroads, ready to pick you up.

[12:07 AM y/n] no [12:07 AM y/n] if that's all, i'm going back to sleep [12:08 AM Enjin] wow ok [12:08 AM Enjin] that was unnecessarily cold [12:08 AM Enjin] maybe you'll tell me tomorrow at school why you're talking to me like i'm the enemy [12:08 AM Enjin] sleep well, good night

You did not make it your life mission to avoid Enjin the following morning in the Eden hallways, but you managed to successfully elude his searing gaze for the first part of the day. The group of friends enjoyed their lunch together, and you appreciated that Enjin refrained from airing your shared dirty laundry in public.

They planned the Secret Santa night at Enjin's penthouse after Enjin and you finished your National Trial Competition preliminary test at the end of that week. Did their Secret Santa draws, argued if they actually wanted to spend the night at Enjin's, and decided what color the pine tree should be decorated with, all the while the Akuta captain was intrinsically focused on scrutinizing your every expression, every gesture, and every fluttering of your eyelashes.

So, when the group finished their meals and spread out to their respective assignments, Enjin grabbed you by the wrist through a mild gesture. He was surprised you didn't bounce away from his grip immediately. "Can we talk?"

Straight to the point. You would appreciate it, eventually.

"Talk about what, Enjin?" You freed your hand from his, then turned your body to face him. You were wearing an impassive smile, as if to dare Enjin to push your buttons. Little did you know, you pushed his buttons, instead.

"Hmm, let's see," Enjin crossed his arms over his chest, an eyebrow cocked in blatant annoyance. "For ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you, captain."

Under different circumstances, Enjin would have allowed himself to let loose at what used to be your term of endearment for him. Now, it felt like a desolate detachment. "No? I texted you in the morning and actually asked if you wanted me to pick you up by bike. Y'know, to go to classes together. All you said was—right, what did you say—nothing."

It was getting harder to keep up your little act. Not with Enjin's words tugging at every string in your chest, nonetheless. "Silence is also an answer."

"Alright," Enjin chuckled, irritation threatening to take over the tone of his voice. "As much as I love playing games with you, princess, why don't you tell me what the fuck I did to piss you off and call it a day?"

"Alright," you repeated and took a measured step closer to Enjin, looking up at him with a frigid resolution in your irises that had him gulp prematurely. "Maybe the words Motion to Reopen might be familiar to you?"

Shit.

Your words brought an outright shift in Enjin's characteristics. Enjin had left the case file in his frat room to keep on examining it after practice. A minor occurrence that he forgot about when he sent you with your laundry to the frat house.

"Cat got your tongue?" you laughed, a bleak sound that scraped deep within his lungs.

"It's not what you think—"

"No?" you laughed again, a more high-pitched sound on the edge of an angry howl. You took another step until your eyes pierced through his golden ones. "Enlighten me, then. What do I think this is?"

Breathing the air you were breathing was supposed to come with a seal against your lips, a seal that Enjin should have broken with a kiss, a seal that he should have unwrapped with his arms around your waist to devour the oxygen in your lungs. You shouldn't have looked at him like that, like he was a fucking liar.

And beyond the rage in your eyes, there was a glint of betrayal and disappointment that knocked the oxygen out of his lungs instead.

"I was just trying to help," Enjin said finally. Pathetic.

"I never asked for your help."

Your orbs were trembling, with fury, with sadness, with sentiments Enjin couldn't name. Or was afraid to.

"I told you about my dad in confidence," Your voice quivered. "I trusted you with it. I never wanted you to do anything about it. I never needed you to flex your connections or your influence."

"That's not—"

Your words came out as the softest of tremors. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Enjin desperately wanted to reach out and take your hands, to bring you to him. You raised your palms in defence, taking a defensive step back. Something broke inside Enjin's ribcage. He was losing control of his composure fast.

"I wanted to, I intended to tell you when I'd found a solution."

"When? When your father, the fucking state attorney general, would send a citation to my parents' mailbox?"

Enjin fell silent. No sound vibrated in the cafeteria, where the only two souls to reside were your own.

"And I was so close to letting you in, Enjin," your fissured voice shattered the silence. "I wanted to let you in. I hoped I could let you in. How do I let you in now, knowing you're doing things behind my back?"

Enjin shook his head, trying to reach out to you to no avail. A canyon was erupting between the two of you with every step you took backwards, to distance yourself from him.

"Y/n—"

He surprised himself. Surprised himself with the broken sound of his voice, with the heartache in the sound of your name. Enjin's words died on his tongue, and he just stared at your dejected figure. When your name came out of his lips, broken and fractured, Enjin could swear he saw you flinch, like you were hurting all the same.

"Y/n, please," Enjin allowed his arms to drop, along with his shoulders. Despite all the conflicting feelings you were battling, you found Enjin ethereal, and you hated yourself for that.

"You can still let me in."

“Maybe,” you whispered, clasping your hands together, thumbnail prickling at sensitive skin. “But right now, I need you to give me space.”

Enjin’s knuckles twitched instantly. “Space?” A wrecked breath. “Y/n, please.”

The second time he begged you, if he were saner in the moment, Enjin would have realized he was begging you not to break his heart. Not when you'd given him all the hope in the world that maybe, just maybe, you were yearning for him the same way he yearned for you.

You shook your head with the remainder of your strength. Enjin's coarse tone and the stripped version of him hurt you. Wickedly enough, it gave you a sense of righteousness that maybe he truly regretted his actions. "I don't want to say things I don't mean, Enjin. Not when my brain is screaming at me to let it all out."

In a world of constant maybes, all you longed for was for Enjin to be your constant. The only constant that mattered.

"And above everything, everything else that's going on in my life right now," a final drop of your voice that cut deeper than the depth of the ocean, "I need to come to terms with the fact that my heart wants, hopes that we can build something together."

Enjin's mouth hung open. Like some boxer punched him in the liver, and he needed to scoop himself off the floor. Did he even hear you correctly, beyond the fantasies his own heart kept on making up? "Y/n—I don't—what did you say?"

"Exactly," you shielded your gaze from his. As if looking at his disheveled expression any longer would force you to surrender every sliver of dignity you hoped to keep for yourself. "Unfathomable, right? We're from two different worlds that shouldn't even dare to interfere with one another."

"You're wrong," Enjin choked on the air, or rather lack thereof, in his lungs. "There's so much space in my life for you, it hurts—"

Your blazing hand on his cheek stifled Enjin. You suddenly felt so real, so raw, and that was the exact moment he realized he knew nothing about the way love was supposed to feel. Not before he met you, anyway. Because why was his core hurting when you were hurting?

"Please, stop," You pleaded with him, halting the outpour of words Enjin truly meant to release from the prison of his chest. "I need time to come to terms with all these emotions I'm feeling. You hurt me, and you made me feel small, and I can't have you telling me these things now. It will make it all look like a fat lie."

God, how much Enjin wanted to hold you in his arms and kiss those tears pooling in your eyes away.

"I understand," Enjin shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform, eyes glazed in a hollow veil that still allowed him the greedy desire to hope. Despite the selfish demons in his heart, Enjin appreciated you for remaining true to your beliefs. True in the honesty you carried about yourself. "I'll give you time. But I won't give you up if you don't want me to."

You didn't expect Enjin to make good on his promise, but he did, effective immediately after your chat in the cafeteria. He gave the impression that he detached himself from you entirely, at least for the rest of that day; stiff back, hands in his pockets, cold, sarcastic jokes when he spoke with others. All in all, the usual Enjin. What you didn't know was how distracted he was during the basketball practice that same afternoon, during their friendly match with another college.

And it wasn't particularly evident, no. Not even to the majority of his team when Enjin made them work for their game, snapping them around with rough passes and sharp feints, or when he was close to dropping the ball in the most beginner mistakes. Gris noticed it and how agonizing his misplaced focus was for the entire team. Jabber poked fun at him for missing some free shots he otherwise never missed, and Enjin simply sneered at him.

When Enjin left home for the night, he gave the most basic greetings to the team and walked away without saying a word. That was when Gris realized you weren't among the numerous fans in the stands to cheer for them. The first match you missed in two months.

For you, it felt liberating until it didn't. The silence of your world was welcomed with open arms, until your mind grew too oppressive in it. Your phone didn't buzz with dozens of messages at once, nor did it ring with FaceTime calls; complete stillness. The calm of quiet before a raging storm, and you faced one such storm when you clutched your chest and slammed upon it to muzzle the clamor.

In the deafening silence, you missed the untamed chaos Enjin brought to your life.

By the third day, your pride was lost in the face of the heart that screamed, trashed, begged you to look past the ego and hear Enjin's side of the story. That morning was a blur for you, who were trying to decide how in the hell you would reach out to the Akuta captain after going radio silent for three days. On the day of their National Trial Competition test and the Secret Santa gathering, no less.

So you scribbled a note for Enjin and sneaked it through the crack of his locker. You knew he kept all the essentials for the exam in there (one lonely pen) that he would need to pick up before heading to the examination hall. After leaving the note, you walked on ahead to the hall to claim your seat, the tail of your crocheted black cat pencil case dangling with your steps.

"I don't even know why I'm taking this exam," Gris laughed, holding two law course books under his arm. "It's gonna be you and y/n who'll qualify, anyway. It's a loss of time."

Enjin snickered. He and you, huh?

"You never know," Enjin replied and put the code to his locker. Gris tended to his own locker to leave the books. "Maybe I'll just suck ass today and leave room for—"

A pink note virtually glowed in the monotone grey of his locker. Enjin choked on saliva; could it be...?

"We both know you won't suck ass," Gris laughed, oblivious of his captain's shenanigans. "Stop playing so humble, you dickhead."

The handwriting was borderline incomparable. Enjin could recognize it in a million others.

Good luck today, captain. I look forward to arguing with you.

An instant smirk. "I won't suck ass," Enjin agreed and folded the note to carefully put it in his wallet. "You still coming over to my place to buy the pine tree and snacks before the others arrive, yeah?"

Later that afternoon, Enjin and Gris carried on an intense battle of decision in the pine tree market because how in the hell were two dudes supposed to know which tree was the most appropriate for the occasion? Gris set his foot down when he spotted a pine tree with abundant branches, which they tied to Enjin's bike to take home, and luckily, not too much damage was done during transport. Good thing the girls assumed the responsibility of buying all the decorations because it would have been too much of a strain to take care of that; not to forget that they'd almost cut his balls off for having the audacity to say that it didn't matter how you put the globes in the tree.

"We'll order takeout anyway," Enjin said as he placed the three bags of chips, salty and sweet treats, from Pringles to popcorn to chocolates, on the kitchen counter. "'m in the mood for that nasty burger they sell at Vivo."

Gris was busy installing the pine tree in its stand. "But you can't have a party without chips. You know that Jabber's gonna hog half of it anyway."

"Guess so," Enjin chuckled and threw his T-shirt over his head. "I'll go take a shower. You need a change of clothes?"

"Yeah, thanks. I'll finish setting this lil' guy up, and then I'll go back to the mart to buy some drinks."

Enjin heard the front door clicking open by the time he turned off the faucet in the bathroom. There was still plenty of time left before the group was supposed to arrive, but some unidentified higher, more powerful force urged Enjin to put on his boxers and his sweatpants after having finished with his shower. Good thing he did, for the intercom buzzed loudly, and Enjin figured Gris must have left something behind.

Enjin ruffled his hair with a towel that he abandoned over his shoulder, walking to the front door to answer. "Gris, did you forget your wallet—"

Except the open door did not reveal Gris returning for his wallet.

"Hi, Enjin, I'm a bit early—"

Your sentence hitched in the back of your throat; Enjin was half-naked, bare torso boasting the intricacy of his tattoos, a lonesome towel thrown over one shoulder, and his blonde hair damp over his forehead. Curiosity killed the cat when your eyes lowered to Enjin's waist on autopilot, but satisfaction brought it back with the obscene outline of his pelvis through the sweatpants he was wearing.

Yet, if your sentence hitched in the back of your throat, Enjin's whole sanity was tethered to be doomed as soon as his eyes fell on your visage. An all-familiar soft eyeliner, an all-familiar shade of rouge on your lips, crowned by a primordial familiarity of rich hair. Enjin's vixen, exposed in all her glory.

You witnessed the twitch of his dick in his pants, and instead of being utterly offended and disgusted by an action you would come to learn that Enjin otherwise couldn't help, you got hit by a pulsating fever pooling between your thighs. Good thing you did not drop the two cakes you were holding.

"Princess," Enjin virtually choked on thin air, pushing the door open with one leg and immediately reaching over to retrieve the two boxes. He smelled like a primal sin, of clean skin and cedar, that only aggravated the predicament you found yourself in. "Sorry, Gris just left to buy some drinks. I wasn't expecting you to be here so soon. Come on in."

You followed Enjin inside, eyes naturally wandering to the bar island at the end of the foyer, where the floor-to-ceiling ensemble of glass guarded an open-ended balcony. The pungent smell of pine saturated the lungs, a steadfast tree on a square, red carpet waiting to be decorated for Christmas. Enjin disappeared toward the right side of the room, where a generous living room spread into the open-space section of the penthouse, melting into a black, matte kitchen worktop.

Enjin put both boxes on the worktop. "So, you drew Jabber, huh?"

You pursued his voice into the living room, where a wine-red coffee table neatly awaited its guests to pick up one of the Christmas mugs on top. You caught a glimpse of Enjin's deltoids contracting and relaxing as he made space in the side-by-side fridge hidden in a cabinet the same color as the coffee table. Nasty view. Then chuckled, sliding onto a barstool at the worktop. Despite the outright luxury of Enjin's penthouse, it had an indescribable warmth. Enjin's little universe. "How did you know?"

He snorted. "Like this apple tart ain't filling the house with cinnamon. Jabber didn't stop talking about it for three days after the pastry workshop. What's in this other container?"

"It's a salted-caramel chocolate cake with cream cheese filling."

"Wow," Enjin whistled, turning to her. He threw the towel around his neck to hold onto it. "Lucky bastard, Jabber."

A velvety smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "That one's for you, actually. I remembered you liked it a lot when I had it at school the other day, and I couldn't think of a better way to say thank you for having us here."

Just as Enjin managed to calm down his raging dick, you revived it back again. Outright profane were the words you were speaking, and the unspoken meaning behind them. To be loved is to be seen, Enjin remembered one of your doodles during one of their many study sessions in the library. And you were showing him, teaching him, the true meaning of those words.

"The brats will love it," Enjin said, craning his torso over the worktop, forearms crossed over the matte surface. "I know I do already."

"You didn't even taste it."

"Because I know you'll yell at me if I dig a spoon in the middle."

Enjin was close now, closer, looking exquisite with his wild, blonde hair down and his golden eyes softening in an intimate saffron gaze as he looked at you. Enjin's intimacy, all directed at you.

"Why don't you wear your hair more often like this?" he asked, voice lower, softer. Sending a jolt through your veins.

You found yourself unconsciously touching your curls. "It's my natural hair. I always straighten it when I come to uni."

A mellow chuckle. "That didn't exactly answer my question, princess."

"I don't really like it, I guess," you replied, an innate hue of pink painting your cheeks a rosy shade.

"I'd like to know why, if you want to tell me. I have no problem being the first to love it before you ease into it."

Enjin's fingers traversed the wooden countertop, pausing millimeters away from your own. He waited, patient and hopeful, for you to adapt to his warmth. And you did, eventually, after seconds that stretched into eternity, when you brushed your digits against Enjin's calloused ones. His hand fit just right, intertwined with yours. "I loved it since the first time I saw it anyway."

When did Enjin see it? The only other time you wore your hair in its enhanced natural glory was the opening party at the beginning of the semester, when you saw him for the very first time, hogged by those two girls—

Enjin laughed at the blatant realization on your face. "Can't blame you for thinking I'm a born jerk when our first meeting was two women thirsting for my dick. Even when I took them both in my frat room."

He gave your hand a tender yet firm squeeze when you attempted to slide away. "I haven't touched anyone since the basketball match when you looked at me like I put the stars in your sky. I can't touch anyone else now because I'll be sick with myself."

"Enjin—"

His other hand reached over the counter to twirl your hair on his index. The mere feel of your silky hair on the pads of his fingers was enough to mess with his breathing. And Enjin allowed you to hear it, to see it, in the coarse tone and in the crude glint of his orbs.

"God, y/n, I'm fighting all my demons to give you the space you need, and I want to be the man you deserve, but these three days without your texts, without your voice, without your presence... living on just that little note you left me before the exam, it's been tough."

You lifted your palm to fondle the inside of Enjin's wrist, then pressed it over his hand and had it rest at the base of your jaw. He was close, too close, to keep pretending the distance wasn't affecting you as much as it affected him.

As painful as those three long, unbearable days were to keep away from each other, you needed the time to come to terms with your feelings. Obviously, a lifetime of suppressed feelings was not something one could accomplish at the snap of their fingers. But taking the leap of faith to trust in someone else, to offer your heart on a silver platter to someone you could only dream of, your life would eventually end with or without those risks. Why live the rest of it regretting choices you could have made?

"You're consuming my thoughts, y/n. You're all I'm thinking about."

Why deny the heart its fairytale?

"Objection, captain," you whispered, your eyes melting into the exact stain of color when something inside a soul gives up fighting. "Argumentative."

"Overruled, princess," Enjin's eyes dropped to your cherry lips, and he had to force them back up to wrestle his primal desires into the latest resort to submission. "You are completely conscious of the power you're holding over me, and you like it."

"I should think so," you breathed, the weak whiff collapsing over Enjin's mouth like a hurricane. "I am afraid of the moment I'll no longer be conscious of my body if you're the one to undo me."

The groan that broke out of Enjin's lungs was on the border of human sanity. You felt his fingers twitch against your skin, drawing you into the last restraint of closeness Enjin had left to offer. "Fuck, doll. You can't keep on saying stuff like this."

Your submissive irises, basking in the glory of a siren who'd conquered the last sailor of the ocean, fixated on his carnal ones. "Why?"

"Because I won't be responsible for my actions."

Just then, on the brink of catastrophe, the loud screeching of the intercom destroyed the erotic ecstasy that engulfed the open-kitchen area. You lowered your head with an amused giggle, while Enjin shot his eyes up to the sky, cursing any God that interrupted his fantasy. He caressed your neck as he drove his hand to the table and slammed his fist into it to release the unbelievable frustration he was feeling. You laughed at his gesture, and so did Enjin.

"The Universe really likes to test me, it seems."

"Come on, captain, it's not that deep."

"Not that deep?" A golden eyebrow cocked in annoyance. "Maybe you don't mind picking that up because I have to adjust this fucking bulge in my pants."

You skipped from your seat to the entrance door, a boisterous giggle dancing in your wake. "Maaaybe we can do something about it later when the kids leave."

"And I'm the King of Spain," Enjin retorted, walking past you to grab whatever T-shirt was big enough to cover beyond his waist from his bedroom. "Wicked sense of humor, doll."

"How do you know I was joking?"

"Even if you weren't, I don't have condoms here. So yes, I'd rather it was a joke."

Enjin reappeared by your side, and you bit back a chuckle. It must have been painful, walking around with a hard cock in his pants. But your canines lingered in the plush of your lower lip, a maniacal curiosity whirling in your stomach and in your vagina. It surely looked big to say the least.

"If I didn't know you any better," Enjin smirked, arms folded over his now clothed chest, "I'd say you were enjoying the view."

Fuck it. It wasn't like you weren't fantasizing about Enjin's dick seconds before, worrying for a split moment if you could even take it all. The thought alone was enough to soak your lingerie.

"I want my first time to be raw. I want to feel it like that."

The way Enjin's expression sank from the cocky smirk to the outright surprise was a spectacle you relished in. Could he be blamed, though? He almost had to steady himself against the wall upon hearing the news.

"Your first—" A strained cough. "What do you—mean—your first time?"

"Yes, Enjin," you emphasized, rolling your eyes with a smirk of her own. "I want you to be my first time."

When you opened the door, with a cheerful grin nonetheless, Enjin had to distance himself for a moment to collect his decency and respectability from the depths where you kicked and shoved it with those angelic lips of yours. You were in complete control, and a woman who knew that was precisely what Enjin wished for himself. Not a great time to fuck around and find out, though.

"Wooow, what a big ass place you have here, Enjin!" Riyo's voice chanted in a sing-song tone, and she waltzed inside with the ease of an animal that made no sound when it strutted. "And look at you guys, you actually bought a fine ass pine tree!"

"Have to say," Tomme unbuttoned her coat to put it in the hanger. "I had absolutely zero faith you'd be able to do it!"

"Come on, girls," Gris laughed sheepishly, walking by both of them to kick off his boots and unpack the drinks. He then helped take their presents to put them under the tree. "Enjin might be a sucker, but you should have at least trusted me."

In the next 30 minutes, the Stilza siblings, along with Jabber and the Adderoy twins, arrived at what would later be known as the Akuta residence. The house instantly filled with laughter, and a Christmas playlist reverberated throughout; much to your surprise, everyone gave a helping hand with decorating the tree, even if the boys were practically used as supports for the countless decorations, which they offered submissively to the real designers.

Then, it was unanimously decided that Gris should play Santa Claus because he was the beefiest out of them all. Enjin sulked about it for the better part of the next hour, even though he never admitted it out loud. You had to poke him in between his scrunched eyebrows to relieve the unfathomable betrayal he was feeling, and, in return, Enjin clung to you like a koala for the entire night. At a moderate distance, of course, but never leaving your proximity. Not when Gris gave out the gifts (and Jabber almost fell into a coma from how fast he inhaled his apple tart). Not when you were left speechless that August made you an entire handmade gala dress (and almost killed August, because you didn't want to put it on just to prove a point that the dress fit you like a glove). Not when they played Cards Against Humanity, not when the group drowned in their nasty burgers.

Enjin stood by your side throughout the night with an almost religious devotion. When the group finally left, deep in the night, you and Enjin remained alone in an apartment that suddenly lost all its glory. You rummaged through your backpack for the pack of cigarettes and evaded for a little while on the open balcony of Enjin's penthouse.

The silver smoke curled from your cigarette into the night sky, dimming with every scant movement into the burning of the stars. A clear and cold mid-December night, when the city bustled with flashy decorations and celebratory sounds. From Enjin's balcony on top of the world, the city spread small and vast under your feet. Remnants of snow creaked under your boots as you shifted your weight to lean over the frozen balustrade, the lit narcotic dangling over metal.

You were in deep thought when Enjin's protective hands cloaked a fluffy blanket around your shoulders. To his surprise, you didn't flinch under his touch, and you allowed yourself the luxury of leaning into his chest.

“You cold?”

“A bit. But it’s nice, this feeling.”

Enjin secured his arms around your midsection, chin comfortably resting into the nook of your shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked and embraced you tightly when you snuggled into him. You lifted your cigarette to hold it for Enjin; his lips brushed against your fingers when he puffed the tobacco roll. The red stains of your lips carved the filter of the cigarette.

"This city is so beautiful," You replied, chest rising with a sigh. "It has given me in two months more than I've had in my entire life. And ironically, I think this city is going to break my heart."

You put the cigarette against your lips, lingering in the warmth of Enjin's mouth. What did they say, that the truth was liberating? "I work at the most popular hostess club in this city, Enjin. I do night shifts almost all the time. I have regular clients who pay me good money to speak to me. And the guardian recorded in my Eden documents is the matron of the hostess club."

Enjin nodded, hugging you with the ends of the blanket. "Did you really think so little of me?"

Your lungs deflated at once to release the narcotic in the atmosphere. "What are you talking about, Enjin?"

"Is this why you assumed I was seeing you as some experiment? Because you think you don't or can't measure up to me?"

You were glad he couldn't see your face. Not that it mattered; Enjin had the intrinsic ability to unravel you bit by bit anyway.

"You should forgive yourself for the things you needed to do to survive. I know I wouldn't do anything in my right mind to belittle you. You're too great for that."

"Enjin..."

"Hey, look at me."

Enjin twirled your frame with feathery motions to face him. He clasped his hands around your lower back and greeted you with an earnest look you'd only seen him wear on court. Perhaps more fervent than that, even.

"I swear to you, I only wanted to help. Not because you're some experiment, but because I truly, honestly, wanted to prove to you that some of us privileged bastards want to leave the world a better place."

His voice was steady, calm, nuancing every word with just the right amount of gravity. Enough to make your heart skip a beat. “Go out with me.”

Before you had the chance to interrupt him, “Just one date. If you don’t like it, if you don’t like my company, or if you aren’t feeling happy, or enjoying it, I won’t bother you again. I’ll let you go.”

Something told you that Enjin was not entirely truthful. How was one supposed to let go of a soul they felt so deeply about?

part 2

[write-it-good-imagines]

Pretty boy with tattoos XI

꒰ঌ Gachiakuta piece, where Enjin meets his star-crossed lover, deadly and his type. Pieces can be read independently of one another, though the context is spread across chapters. ±7k words

First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth Tenth ໒꒱

tags >> 3rd pov, ocs, angst, men who yearn, starcrosed lovers, battle scenarios, explicit violence, explicit speech, explicit scenarios, akuta team, blood, romance, soft!enjin, romantic!enjin, yearning!enjin, angsty confessions

The silver smoke of Enjin's cigarette curled into imperfect circles, impatient and bitter, to dissipate into the morning air. Large hands dangled over the rusty balustrade of the HQ rooftop, where the Akuta leader was supervising the woman he had fallen in love with.

Sparring with her ex-lover in battle rhythms only they understood.

A ferocious build-up was nestled in Enjin's chest, growing constantly over the past three days. To understand Enjin's conflicted nature, one first had to understand that the sole reason he found himself in that predicament was a love confession he was unable to respond to.

Or maybe one had to realize Enjin was a coward in the face of commitment.

THREE DAYS PRIOR...

"Oh, I know, you big guy! How do you like the scar I left on your face?"

Hatsuharu pointed the tip of his royal sword toward Isarr's direction, tracing the outline of the wound. His voice could have been labeled as mellow had it not been for the atrocious undertone it was hiding. Behind the crescents of Hatsuharu's eyes, a flicker of wicked azure triumphed.

"I should have pressed my blade harder into your face back then."

Isarr chuckled, hand hovering over Hatsuharu's parting gift. "I'll make sure to pay you back in full this time. I'll take primadonna with me as the prize."

"Fuck this!" Rudo hollered, slamming his fists against Daichi's kinetic wall that separated the black fog from the Cleaners crowded at the broken window of the courtyard. "We need to help them!"

Enjin clicked his tongue. It was the first time in a very long time that the feeling of helplessness dawned on him. "Don't you think I know that? Daichi, can you break this?"

The white-haired man clenched his fist, knuckles turning white. "I don't know. But I need to try."

Daichi plunged his spear through the floor of the common area, gravity slowly loosening its grip on the room. The sheer energy that emanated from that black fog was unlike any he had ever subjugated before, and Daichi did not have to think like a genius to realize that Samara and Hatsuharu's opponent was well beyond his current abilities. And still...

"Daichi has begun preparations," Samara stated, body angled to their two enemies. "He cannot protect them all while trying to tame this entire energy. We need to buy some time."

Hatsuharu glanced at the upper floor, where Kaito's silhouette had started trembling. "Time we don't have. Kaito has been summoning me for some time now. The more attacks I do, the faster I'll evaporate."

"Then we'll just have to kill them fast enough—"

Isarr's master clicked his fingers, and a vortex of energy whirled through the courtyard. It reverberated harshly through the building where all the Cleaners were, even with Daichi's kinetic barrier.

"Maybe you remember him?" The ominous voice of Isarr's master echoed through the silence as a heartbreakingly familiar figure materialized from thin air. "After all, he killed you, Hatsuharu-kun."

An all-familiar silhouette, for both Samara and Hatsuharu, stared at them with hollow, celtic blue eyes. Once, a mighty samurai warrior, dressed in imperial ultramarine vestments, was now reduced to a puppet.

"Asahi," Hatsuharu whispered, almost in disbelief. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword at the sight of his anima, confidante, friend. Hatsuharu could recall the pain he saw in Asahi's eyes when his anima punctured his own blade through his chest. All that remained was a crumbling memory.

"I regretted terribly that I was unable to absorb your soul," the mysterious man said gravely, a twisted irritation reflected on his visage. "I thought your soul was lost forever. But I am here to have it. Bring it back where it belongs."

"You fucking asshole."

Samara released both her swords in their evolved forms, Enzo's scimitar oozing a bloodlust greater than what Enjin had seen when they battled the Raiders inside the trash beast. Shingen's saber scattered into a rain of senbon, swirling in tornadoes. A flare of purple consumed her irises like a bottomed-out cosmos.

"Who do you think you are to enslave these souls?"

She directed the deluge of needles toward the mysterious man. He did not need to lift a finger to protect himself from the attack; Asahi deflected them all with the carbon copy of Hatsuharu's sword. Soft sounds of steel against steel reverberated through the skin. Asahi's sword cut through the breeze left by falling senbon with a diagonal slash of his arm.

Asahi was nothing like Samara remembered; his eyes were devoid of the ocean glint whenever he'd braid her hair, and his movements were bereft of the gentleness his hands would carry whenever he'd bring the siblings' meals into the Tokugawa dining room. From the serene, cheerful soul Asahi used to be, he was forced to become a lifeless marionette.

"I don't remember you, woman." The man spoke calmly and manipulated the black fog to envelop Samara's body. "Be quiet. This is a sacred ritual."

"Samara!"

Enjin's roar resounded through the courtyard at the sight of the woman cloaked by the fog. Hatsuharu dashed from his spot, blue orbs focused on Asahi. He caught Isarr's movements with the corner of his eye, a relaxed chuckle bubbling out of his lips when his blade snared Isarr's two katanas.

"Enjin, you're insulting my sister."

Samara's silhouette bolted from the faux confinement, her scimitar tearing through the air. The needle shield she surrounded herself with fell apart, controlled with psychic precision, to form a conglomerate that howled with Samara's every step. Senbon broke from their formation to thread around Asahi's arms, imprisoning his movements.

"Asahi, you are missed."

Hatsuharu beamed as he parried one of Isarr's katanas with his bare hand, thoroughly enjoying the fact that his immortal body would not feel the prickling pain.

"Sis, I'll take it from here!"

He kicked the side of Isarr's abdomen to send him flying. In the brief opening, Hatsuharu sprinted to Asahi just as the anima was about to rip through the silk fibers holding him in place. When his Azure eyes locked with the faded hue of aquamarine in Asahi's gaze, Hatsuharu felt a tug at his heart. Swords clashed and screeched, and Hatsuharu realized how fleeting a human life truly was. He was now in the shoes Asahi once wore, and a tiny, yet obstinate part of himself was terrified he would fail to protect Kaito.

Elsewhere, Samara thrust her scimitar with a forward blow that her opponent dodged in an effortless motion. She curbed the inertia of her movements by halting her foot on the ground. The abrupt movement left dust in its wake, transforming into a hurricane as it changed stance and slashed backward with the scimitar. The man cocked an eyebrow at the well-timed steps, and his crimson eyes met Samara's violet eyes.

"Now that I think about it, I recognize you."

The man aimed a punch at Samara, and she drifted the scimitar blade just in time to block the attempt. The undiluted strength generated a jolt that climbed through her arm and bit through the muscles.

"Your wailing as you tried to bring Hatsuharu-kun back to life was exquisite."

Samara absorbed the other's blows, sword overcharging with infernal strength. She grabbed at the hilt with both hands and timed the momentum of the man's last punch to pivot on her dominant leg and push him backwards with a cut of the blade. Samara noticed a vicious smile spreading on the other man's features.

"I want you to show me what this beautiful, devilish power of yours can do, Samara-chan. But first, manners are important."

The man pushed his palm against Samara's blade to propel himself in the air; the charcoal cloak he was wearing flapped with frantic beats.

"My name is Enma."

Hatsuharu peeked at Enma's body drifting in midair. He maneuvered his sword to his left hand to deflect Asahi's heavy strike from above and repelled Isarr's attack with his right forearm. When Asahi's physique backed away for a beat of a movement, Hatsuharu's longsword swiveled in his hand, charging up with electricity.

"I'm sorry, Kaito. This will hurt a bit."

Kaito's fingers clutched at his chest, the fabric of his caramel shirt wrinkling under the palm of his hand. His mouth shot open in a noiseless scream. The youngest Tokugawa fell to his knees, and his muscles contracted in pain.

A collective gasp carried the chilling shock of the Cleaners. Then, no more than a millisecond after, a surge of blue light had them shield their eyes. By the time the Cleaners could open their eyes again, strands of cobalt electricity quivered through the courtyard.

"What just happened?" Zanka blinked, eyes still adjusting to the outpour of artificial light.

"Nii...sama..." Kaito groaned, swallowing back the blood threatening to come out of his throat. "It was him."

Enjin all but glued himself to the infinitesimal barrier Daichi had installed between the Cleaners and the black fog. The latter didn't bat an eye at the action, his body remaining in full meditation stance, and sweat blobbing on his forehead. The static electricity cleared off from the atmosphere, and Enjin's golden eyes widened at the aftermath: an entire adjacent building of the HQ was cut in half, concrete burning with voltage on either side.

Enma veiled himself with the fog, and Enjin deduced that he needed to deflect Hatsuharu's attack to avoid taking damage. Isarr tried using a wall of ice for protection, but he was projected into the left half of the destroyed building, and all that remained of Asahi was his carcass.

"You can't be serious..." Rudo's eyes threatened to escape their respective orbits at the outcome. Then, his gaze trailed upon Kaito, who was writhing in pain. "That's monstrous power."

Rudo was right. Watching Kaito, fighting his better conscience to sustain the effort of not only manifesting Hatsuharu but also fueling his power.

"I missed," Hatsuharu laughed, straightening his legs. He sliced his longsword through the air, azure veins shimmering electricity into the steel. His whole being was shrouded in a static field that spread into the dull earth. "I'm rusty with my aiming."

Kaito's was only a glimmer of Samara's fully released abilities, who was constantly manifesting not one, but two animas.

Hatsuharu craned his body toward the common area where the Cleaners were confined. Although the tone of his voice appeared casual and reassuring, Hatsuharu was scared that he was putting too big a strain on his master's body. "Kaito, can you take one more?"

Kaito tried to prop himself up against his knees and stand, only to fall back into place. The answer was evident when Hatsuharu's silhouette began to fade.

Samara took a deep breath to still the adrenaline coursing through her arteries.

"I'm sorry, sis. All I seem to be doing today is apologizing."

Hatsuharu's body shattered into pieces, to reappear in his sword form and clatter against the floor of the HQ common area. Enma's clapping halted all other sounds in the vicinity.

"What a spectacle," he said, brushing off the current from his coat. "You humans think that death is absolute, final. That's a terrible mistake."

Samara collected all her senbon and rearranged them around her body. Enma had the kind of look that made people flinch, the color of fresh blood under moonlight.

"Humans glorify death with tombs and lavish ceremonies to honor the souls in their passing. There's no such thing. When they get on the other side, these souls are angry, lonely. Terrified. They ache to be useful once again. Have you ever wondered where all your anima come from, Samara-chan? Why they claim they have these duties?"

"Don't listen to him, Samara," Shingen's voice rang in her mind. "It must be the same strategy he used on Asahi and Hatsuharu-dono."

Enma smiled, almost fondly, at Samara. "Has Shingen ever told you why he chose you?"

"It doesn't matter why he chose me," Samara spat at the other man, needles twirling in the air to point at Enma. "We're just vessels for their power. As long as I can carry his essence, I will. No strings attached. What would you know about it, anyway?"

"His wife wouldn't be of the same opinion."

Senbon jittered in the air, ceasing their march toward Enma. Samara's eyebrows knitted together. "Shingen?"

Shingen had gone quiet.

"Wake up, you fucking samurai!" Enzo's alarming voice resounded in her mind.

Before Samara had a chance to retaliate, Enma materialized himself in her proximity and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. His smile blazed through her, dangerous, warm. Samara felt her body stiffen, wrists imprisoned by black vines oozing from Enma's arms.

The Umbreaker instantly broke through Daichi's barrier, golden sparks drilling into the thick fog. Enjin put his weight into the Octa-Shredder. "Get your fucking hands off of her!"

"I decided. You'll make a splendid mother for our heir, Samara-chan," Enma chuckled, lips ghosting over her forehead. "You just need to tap into that grief again. You'll love that outpour of power it will give you. Let's not waste any more time."

Enma snapped the fingers off his free hand, and a barrage of energy engulfed the perimeter of the HQ. Enjin was almost thrown off balance, having to open the Umbreaker and shield the group from the pouring current. Daichi managed to fend off the thorns born of the black mist until a diluted stream of blood started flowing from his closed eyes.

Enma briefly glanced at Daichi. "That man's abilities could prove useful. I'll take his soul after I'm done with these impatient ones."

Enma's voice dropped an octave, the criminal intentions blasting through Samara's skin. Three arms formed out of the fog that Daichi could not hold back, to lift Kaito off the ground, to swoop Enjin from his place, and to suffocate around Tomme's neck.

"You..." Samara's bones rattled with adrenaline, one hand soaring as to seize Enma's wrist.

"Yes, sweetheart? I couldn't hear you."

Samara opened her eyes, the violet color of her irises darkening into an infinite indigo that swallowed all distance and all silence whole.

"You take your fucking hands off of my brother and my friends."

Her fingers clenched around the hilt of the scimitar with convulsing force. Samara swung the sword and took Enma by surprise, who let go of her face; the blow knocked him off balance, creating an opening enough to safeguard Enjin, Kaito, and Tomme with her shield of senbon. After making sure all three were free from harm, Samara returned both swords to their sabre and claymore patterns.

Enjin supported Tomme's body to help her stand, then turned to Kaito. "You alright, guys?"

"That was scary," Tomme said, a hint of fear fracturing her voice. "But I'm okay. I'll take care of Kaito-kun. Go help her, Enjin."

Enjin's head angled to look at Samara's back. Her body was no longer stiff; it carried an aura reminiscent of her posture when she was about to end Isarr's life. Yet it didn't feel as threatening. It exuded authority.

"Shingen," Samara said, and both her swords glowed with red and purple shades. "I have more faith in you than I have in myself."

"I lied to you, Samara. I failed you as a guardian."

Samara slammed both swords together, their pommels melting into one another. Enjin could pinpoint the exact moment the knot in her shoulder blades disappeared; he hung his Umbreaker on his wrist and walked to her. The air sizzled, heating the atmosphere in scorching waves as her swords gradually merged into an unfamiliar form.

"Shingen, stop whining. It's time to use grand papa's power."

Hatsuharu watched through Kaito's eyes as the double-bladed scythe emerged in Samara's hand. One blade was swift and thin, cut in dark purple hues, while the other blade was rough and thick, a bundle of crimson knives attached to the shorter end. The searing flames radiating through the Damascus steel handle crept up Samara's arm, leaving burning marks in their wake. She was channeling the power once held by their great-grandfather, known only in stories.

And through it all, Samara smiled, as if it were the most normal thing in nature.

Kaito grabbed Tomme's shoulder to straighten his posture, and the woman helped him steady himself. "Nee-sama..."

Shingen's voice echoed in her mind, accompanied by a chuckle. "I won't insult you by being weak again."

"Damn right you won't!" Enzo countered, his end of the scythe decorated with an undetermined number of skulls. "This asshole doesn't know shit about the Underworld. It's time to make him eat his words."

Samara stuck her scythe into the ground, and a purple flare engulfed her other hand. All of a sudden, the earth throbbed with energy, and twelve dead soldiers pouredfrom the cracks. Enjin simply watched as the glowing ghosts assembled themselves behind Samara's silhouette, then his eyes darted to her charred hands.

"Are you scared of me, Enjin?"

For all the spectators, the sparks felt like flames to the touch, the heat growing unbearable by the second. For Enjin, who was standing in Samara's close proximity, the oxygen couldn't have felt any clearer. Was it because she was protecting him? Highly likely. Was it because there was nothing in the world that could make Enjin frightened of her, despite burning skin and the menace of a scythe she was wielding? Also highly likely.

Enjin twirled the Umbreaker on his wrist to equip his object with power. He understood that his only objective was to keep her safe from her demons, no matter what it took. Although the poised look on her face never betrayed any insecurities. "Would I be here if I were, princess?"

She laughed at Enjin's comment, swivelling the scythe in the air. The glint in her indigo eyes basked in gratitude words would otherwise not be able to express. "There's still time to change your mind."

The group of undead scattered from their posts and disappeared. Daichi's aura absorbed all of the spectrals, and a silver outburst of energy looped around his body. His spear channeled the newly found vigor to expand it around the black fog.

Enma applauded the trivial performance they were playing out, albeit increasingly intrigued by Samara's unleashed aptitudes. The ramp-up in the white-haired man's power made Enma wary of the pressure Samara suddenly brought to the table. He decided that he could not disappoint her invitation to dance.

"Now that's the strength I want to see from you, sweetheart."

Enma's hand hovered over the V-neck line in his shirt, and he shoved it into his chest to pull out a raven rapier into existence. "I know it in my heart you'll become even more beautiful when I cut your friends open."

"Sam."

She tilted her head to listen to Enjin's words.

"A humble janitor like me can admit there's not much cleaning to be done here," he said, opening the Umbreaker. "But you won't have to worry about protecting your brother, or Tomme."

"A humble janitor would not throw himself in the way of certain death, pretty boy," Samara replied and lowered her body to charge her scythe. "I promise that he's not gonna touch one single hair on your body."

As she bolted from her idle state, magenta wildfire spread in the wake of her steps. When her scythe clashed with Enma's rapier, a surge of power vibrated in the courtyard. Enjin positioned himself in front of Tomme and Kaito, then used the Umbreaker to fend off the energy residuals. His mission was far from over, as he was constantly attacked by the black fog, which grew more oppressive. Every time Enjin felt like he was even remotely close to being hit by a projectile, Samara's flames would engulf them to put him back in the driver's seat.

"Just drop it already, sweetheart," Enma dared, manipulating his rapier with natural ease to deflect Samara's scythe attacks. "If you focused all your attention on me, you would be able to show me what you're capable of."

Samara maneuvered the scythe around her waist and used it as a propeller to paddle in the air. The scythe cracked perfectly in half and transformed into twin blades to give Samara the edge in close-hand combat. She drilled one blade toward Enma's left shoulder, which he thought he dodged; the flames expanded from Samara's grip to Enma's body to leave a caustic bruise in the muscle. The man ripped the coat off himself and disposed of it, seeing as the flames couldn't be extinguished.

"You're blind, Enma," Samara said, launching herself from mid-air to him in a flurry of slashes. "Can't you see? These people are giving me all the power I need to protect them."

Flashes of steel against steel matched the fire burning on Samara's forearms; the built-up energy transferred through her blades into piercing slices that had Enma switch to defense mode. He covered his arms in the black fog to ward off the inhuman heat emanating from Samara's weapons. She threw her blades in the air, sank her body to the ground; the scythe reassembled, and she used her feet to gyrate it in a hit that almost cost Enma his head.

He dashed backwards, and Samara kicked the scythe in the air. The carmine flames veiling her arms extended to the cutting spiral to control and sling it at Enma. The dark steel of the rapier lit up with the parries of the deadly spinner. One final block saw the gyroscope break apart in a deft strategy of Samara's; the twin blades rode off the momentum to spin from both sides at Enma.

"Got you!"

Daichi opened his eyes simultaneously with his spear sinking into Enma's fog barrier and breaking it apart. It glowed dimly at first, then grew increasingly bold as Daichi's spiritual energy submerged the enemy's and destabilized Enma's perception of the battle. The shift in control thwarted Enma's plans and the advantage brewing in Samara's favor; the man managed to dodge her dual attack just barely, thanks to the disturbance of Daichi's kinetic abilities.

"I underestimated you humans," Enma laughed, raising a pitch black tornado that consumed his and Isarr's existence. "I learnt valuable lessons today. Thank you for dancing with me, Samara-chan."

The entirety of the Akuta team lost no time in spawning on the battlefield, forming a protective circle around Samara. She did not get a chance to confine Enma in her wildfire before he vanished out of sight. Samara tried to run after him, but her scythe plunged and shattered, and her legs gave out.

Enjin caught her in his arms, lowering their bodies slowly to the ground, and he needed to tighten his grip around her waist to stop her from racing out.

"Enjin, let me go!"

The inflexions in Samara's voice revealed the desperation she was feeling. She drummed her charred hands into his clothed back, and Enjin hugged tighter.

"Where do you think I'd let you go with these injuries?"

Samara's last scream left a laceration in his heart. "Enjin!!"

"I won't let you cross a line you can't come back from."

Blood spilled from both her eyes, and her body started to go numb under an inexplicable strain rushing through her arteries. Her arms slumped to her sides.

"Samara?" Enjin called out when her head dropped to the side, the light in her irises fading away. One hand darted to support her head, the other tightly secured around her waist. She lost consciousness before Shingen got to summon and warn the group of the aftereffects Samara had to endure.

There were not many things Daichi did not have a stomach for. He hated hot summer days and was disgusted by the taste of octopus, but that was about it. Little did he know that he would add a third entry to the index when he tended to Samara's cauterized arms in the aftermath of the unpremeditated fight. A fight where she unleashed a power thought not to surface for generations, leaving Samara hallucinating in the infirmary bed, with wounds Eishia did not know whether she could heal.

Daichi used the antiseptic mixture Eishia left and sterile cloths to clean the burns in Samara's skin, eyes darting between the emptiness of her half-opened onyx eyes and the sizzling injuries. Every couple of seconds, her voice would crack in words unknown to him, in pain that belonged to the ghosts she summoned from the dead to offer to him on a silver platter. If only he'd been stronger, to suppress Enma's abilities on his own, perhaps Samara would not have gambled her sanity to save the weaklings that they were.

He didn't hear Riyo coming in the doorframe; she was watching him in complete silence. The rings in his grey hair crowded in a messy bun, ivory eyelashes fluttering with every touch he pressed into Samara's skin. Riyo observed Daichi for a while before making her presence known. It was not her style in particular to feel bad about someone else, yet she did, and Riyo quickly put on a mask to not meet Daichi in his misery.

"How's she?"

Daichi did not flinch at the breach of silence, but he felt a tad startled by Riyo's presence. There was much more to her than she let on.

"I don't know," Daichi replied, and put the tweezers with the cloth on an adjacent tray. "Worse than when we brought her in. The hallucinations are bad."

Riyo's green eyes fell on Samara's arms. Daichi took the set of fresh bandages to wrap her skin. "I've seen death and suffering before, but this makes me sick to my stomach."

Riyo pulled a chair by the bed to keep her fingers and her attention busy with braiding Samara's hair. She had inflicted death and suffering before, and she could agree with Daichi that it twisted something apprehensive in her chest to see her friend like that. Riyo couldn't even fathom how Enjin must have felt, regardless of how composed he looked in the emergency meeting with the Cleaners. There was something jittery in his expressions.

"Tell me a good memory about Sam."

Daichi chuckled and gently tied the first bandage with a tiny ribbon around her hand.

"A good memory? Which one?"

Riyo instinctively looked up at Daichi, to notice a lingering melancholy in his eyes. A small smile curled at her lips. "Surprise me."

"Let's see..."

He unraveled the second set of bandages and moved to the other side of the bed to take Samara's hand with a tender touch. "I don't know if she's ever told you this, but she used to write poetry."

Riyo chuckled, finishing up one coal braid. "Never said."

Daichi glanced at Samara's wincing face, devoid of emotion. That memory of her was so full of life, playful with her gestures and enchanting with her irises, a heartbreaking contrast with the present.

"I think it was the summer she turned 20. There's a big ceremony in our village for girls celebrating their growth into maturity, and it's usually organized for everyone who has a birthday in the same year. Most of the time, the girls get married in the same year as this celebration. Because Samara is the daughter of the leading clan, she got to be in the spotlight with a service of her own."

Daichi carefully placed her arm in the safety of the sheets, fingertips dawdling on her warmth. "She hated these kinds of things."

"I can imagine," Riyo giggled, peeking up at Daichi. If she focused hard enough, Riyo could watch the entire scenery through his eyes. "Even though she always commands the room."

"Don't I know it," Daichi laughed. In the old times, he would have leaned down to press a kiss onto her forehead.

"She kept everyone waiting that morning because she'd just decided to disappear away from prying eyes. Of course, Hatsu knew where she was but would never snitch on his beloved little sister, so I went to look for her on my own.

The Tokugawa estate is a massive land. Dozens of acres of unspoiled land that their ancestors hoped would remain unspoiled. And there is this short hill at the very border of the estate, where a centuries-old weeping tree sits guardian of nature. Hatsu had snuck a low chair and some blankets from the house to set up in its shadow, and make the perfect intimate paradise for Samara."

Late summer was, perhaps, Daichi's favorite period of the year. The ruthless heat would drown in the autumn breeze, summer fruit would meet the harvest, and the gods in the sky would paint nature in their majestic autumnal palettes.

And late summer was Daichi's favorite time of year because it brought about Samara's birthday.

Hatsuharu's stubbornness left him to fend for himself in the search for the main protagonist of the maturity celebrations. Daichi remembered he had come across Samara's scribbles in a disorganized diary, and he sprinted straight to the weeping willow she had mentioned in passing.

True to his instincts, Daichi found her there: a white summer dress hugging her silhouette, with its laced sleeves veiling her arms, and knees buckled to her chest in intimate comfort. She was barefoot.

Samara's raven hair fell over her shoulder in a wild, single plait, and the gust of wind toyed with the lonely strands spilling over her cheekbones. She was holding the same diary against her knees, writing verses with a blunt pen. The peaceful expression of her characteristics was of such fragility that no one deserved to disturb with their insolence.

Yet Daichi was the one to do it; reluctant, timidly almost, watching her from afar in fear she would turn him away if he stepped any closer.

"Sit with me, Dai," she would whisper, eyes lifting leisurely from the pages to smile at him.

Enjin could easily picture her like that, alive in Daichi's memory without the burdens of the world pressing on her shoulders.

When the meeting ended, the Akuta team hurried to the infirmary to visit their colleague, mentor, and friend. Lover. Enjin had to block Rudo with his arm from entering the room just as Daichi started reminiscing about Samara in a past no longer there. He was glad he did. Zanka crossed his arms over his chest to lean into the doorframe, and Rudo followed his example, albeit with a pout on his face.

How many of her younger characteristics did she lose over the years? Did she look any different now than she did then? Was her smile brighter, happier in Daichi's memory? Did she look at Daichi with the same longing in her eyes that Enjin did her? What did he gift her for her birthday? Was it something she liked, something she wished for? Did she want anything for her birthday?

Who was Samara before her whole world came crumbling down?

"Come on, don't be shy! I thought you were the one to make women nervous."

Daichi cracked a smile and laid his spear to rest against the wooden trunk, next to her sheathed sabre. He approached her with an unknown skip in his step. She was admittedly right; saying that Daichi viewed women like a sport was an exaggeration taken too far. He was used to sharing the desired bachelor's name with Hatsuharu, but the main difference between them was that Hatsu did not want to commit to anyone. In contrast, he was reluctant to let his heart commit to anyone.

That was until Samara called for him to sit by her side, inviting his head to rest in the sanctuary of her lap.

"There we go," she giggled, her fingers dancing through his silky hair. "You're creepy if you just stare like that."

Daichi leaned into her touch, eyelashes fluttering closed. "I didn't want to disturb you, dove."

"Dove? Is that what you call your sidekicks to make them feel good?"

He chuckled, angling his head to look up at her. Despite her taunts, there was a whimsical sparkle in her irises. "This is the first time I called someone that. You look so ethereal sitting here like this."

Daichi loved that Samara was not the woman to blush at compliments and act all abashed for the sake of it. She laughed, and he laughed too, enjoying the intimacy blooming between them.

"You've known me your whole life, Dai. I am not a very gullible girl."

"I was merely speaking the truth."

A gentle breeze waltzed through the air, messing with the angelic tableau of Samara's untamed strands of hair. She was exquisite like that, with that serene grin and crescent eyes, all directed at him.

It was the moment when Daichi irrevocably fell in love with Samara, in the late summer of their youth, when her sandalwood-and-gardenia aroma was prevalent over the ripened scent of peaches and figs. When her smile was infinitely more beautiful than any painting the gods would brush in the sunset skies. When she was so wild and so free, all the same.

"I don't want to go back there," Samara murmured, almost in a trance. "Trying to put a tag on maturity is stupid. Society can't decide when we stop being kids and when we miraculously become adults."

"We don't have to go," Daichi whispered back, squirming in better comfort against her lap. "If that's not what you want."

"What I want," Samara giggled and lowered one hand to caress a grey lock behind Daichi's ear. "Is to stay a child in my heart, forever."

When her hand lingered there, Daichi took it as a challenge, a dare to do something about it. Frankly, Samara bet on the fact that Daichi would not cross that line; for all their shared life, she had always been Hatsuharu's younger sister. A prize to claim by anyone fit to do so. But an off-limits princess for most men. The child Daichi grew up with watched her stumble and watched her cry when she scraped her knees. He watched that child grow into a great woman over the years.

He knew she would become even greater than that. For a woman like Samara, who feared none and lived her life to the tune of her heart, he knew she was destined for great things. And Daichi knew that not him, not Hatsuharu, not anyone would be able to stop the force she would become. One just had to give in to it.

So he did, when he planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist. A promise of his devotion.

"I'll protect the child in your heart, dove. For as many breaths as I have left."

Samara chuckled at the unexpected gesture and craned her torso until her face hovered over his. Daichi welcomed her with a smirk and lifted one hand to cup her cheek.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Daichi."

"I couldn't keep it. The only promise I didn't keep, and the only one that truly mattered."

Riyo finished braiding Samara's hair, doing her best to focus on the happiness in Daichi's story rather than the wails and mumbles her mouth formed. For a person who claimed they had good self-control, Zanka had become sentimental, and Rudo felt a wave of regret for saying bad things about Daichi.

In the end, Daichi and Enjin were not so different from one another.

"You can come in," Daichi said, wiping his hands on a sterile towel Eishia left in the infirmary. "It's not like you can wake her from this trance she's under."

Zanka put a hand on Rudo's shoulder to halt his movements, and Riyo picked up the cue in his blue eyes to leave the room. She glanced succinctly at Daichi before walking away, "For what it's worth, she doesn't hate you."

Enjin noticed the change in Daichi's expression, a brief relief followed by mortified regret. Daichi seated himself back in the chair by the window of the infirmary, rubbing at his temples.

"Long day?" The Akuta leader quipped, assuming Riyo's former chair and settling into it, both arms propped on the backrest.

Daichi almost chuckled. "Go figure. If not for Samara's support, I wouldn't have been able to do what I did on my own. And I am depleted of energy."

Golden eyes settled on Samara's frame. Enjin wished he could snatch her agony with his hands and inflict it upon himself to spare her the suffering. "How long does this take? Whatever this is."

"I don't know," Daichi replied, a trace of exhaustion evident in his tone. "I've only ever heard about this ability to summon the souls of the dead. The last person to wield it and keep his sanity was Samara's great-grandfather, only because he had the spiritual energy to support the toll. Ashina says what we can do best is wait for the visions to pass."

Despite his better attempts to appear composed, Daichi spotted the uneasiness in his honey eyes shining like a lion in sunlight. Fierce, regal, protective. 

"If Shingen decided she could withstand it, then we should trust him. The Tokugawas have been the leaders of our community partly because of their oppressive spiritual powers and partly because their animas possess unique abilities passed down every few generations. Their unique bonds with their animas allow them to surpass their potential."

"So Shingen was that old man's anima, too?"

"Yes. He died a few months before Samara was born."

Enjin thought of Remlin and the Pen jinki. Unlike their predecessors, who chose to grant the inheritance, the jinkis chose whom they granted themselves to. Enjin was admittedly intrigued by Shingen's reasons, especially in light of Enma's claims.

"I'm thankful for everything you've done. You saved us out there, and I'm not a hypocrite to pretend otherwise," the Akuta leader breathed. "You're good with the spear. Zanka has a thing or two to learn from you."

Daichi stood up from his chair and took his discarded coat from a neighboring bed. "If he wants my help, he can ask for it. I'm not going to give it unsolicited again. Last time I did, it cost me the woman I love."

Enjin didn't look at the other as he walked past him. He knew they were not friends and they never would be, not while both of them were chasing the same woman, and that was a line Enjin's gratitude would not cross. Even from the apparent winning position.

The white-haired man stopped in his tracks to scan the portrait of Enjin's back, "Will you stay here, take care of her?"

Daichi demonstrated a great deal of emotional maturity in his words.

"Yeah, I will. We'll take turns to guard Samara and the HQ tonight. Boss's orders."

Daichi chuckled under his breath. "I'm not a fool to know my train has long left the station, Enjin. But maybe a word of advice, man to man, Samara is not the type to wait for you to fuck around."

Sure, tell him something he didn't already know.

"I'll go check on Kaito, then retreat for the night. I'll hold you accountable if anything happens to her."

When the door of the infirmary finally closed, the tension Enjin did not realize he had been suppressing in his jaw let up. There were so many things he wished he could do to relieve her of the visions and regrets belonging to the dead, of the anguish her subconscious fought. He wanted the damn infirmary beds to be bigger, so he could crawl under the sheets and hold her trembling frame; Enjin was ultimately worthless.

"Hey, princess, you're stuck with me now."

Some upper force convinced him that Samara couldn't hear him, but he tried his best anyway.

"Kaito is safe. He bowed himself to the ground to apologize to us for being weak and for bringing, quote, this calamity upon us. You'd be happy to hear that Zanka took him under his wing, literally and figuratively, even though he acted like an asshole and told Kaito to become better. The kid seemed to enjoy it anyway, so all's well that ends well."

A sharp cry evaded Samara's chest, and Enjin bit hard into the plush of his inner cheek to stop the remorse from overflowing through his voice.

"Tomme said she would cook this dish for you, what's it called?" Enjin scratched his head. "Some fish thing with some green, long veggie, hell if I remember what it's called. She said she didn't want you to be hungry when you wake up. You should've told me you like fish, I know this diner with good food. I'll take you there when you wake up. Oh, Zanka, Riyo, Rudo, they plan to bring you flowers, real flowers, soon. But you didn't hear it from me, yeah? Gris won't let me live if he hears I snitched on his trust."

Samara abruptly closed her eyes, and Enjin jumped to check her pulse.

"You scared me there, princess. Stop doing stuff like this. Please."

The ache in Enjin's chest tightened and convulsed, hammering against his ribcage over and over and over again with every quivering inspiration Samara inhaled. He gripped the wooden backrest of the chair with such force that it cracked; it was either the chair or his bones to crack, and Enjin figured he would keep his hands intact to hold Samara's own when she woke up.

He hated that it took a disaster for him to realize life was but a fleeting moment. That time was not a real measure, and waiting for the right moment was a concept that did not truly exist. Not when Enjin had been forgiven with too many chances to speak up, and he didn't. Not when Enjin was blessed with her smiles one too many times, and he didn't cherish it. And the worst part?

Enjin didn't know when his heart had started to move toward her. Maybe if he did, he would have known that everything that happened, good or bad, made him think of her. The anticipatory grief of knowing that losing her would tear him apart.

"It's quiet now without you around, Samara. Too quiet. I never told you, fuck I've thought it so many times, but your voice is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. Fuck, do I miss it now. I miss you. I know, I know, you would've said, Oh, Enjin, you're a fucking coward, and fuck do I know it. I don't deserve many of the things I'm given, and I don't deserve to have you in my life. And you've given me you, you've given me so many pieces of yourself that it took you to fucking be in this state, so I could put them together. Fuck, I'm not giving you shit, princess, and I know I should. And now I'm blabbering all of this like the fucking coward I am."

Enjin caged his forehead with his clasped hands. He was frustrated, truly frustrated, by his shortcomings, by his incompetence.

"I...you..."

Enjin's hands dropped to suspend over the backrest. Silence followed, and he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. Until Samara's head angled on the pillow, hollow eyes piercing through him, giving the impression that she could see him. Truly see him.

"What was that, princess?"

"I...love...you...Enjin."

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

[write-it-good-imagines]

Pretty boy with tattoos

꒰ঌ Gachiakuta piece where Enjin meets a fem! reader who is as deadly as she is his type. ໒꒱

second part here

third part here

author's note: hi everyone!! i just caught up with the Gachiakuta manga, and let me tell y'all... you'll see. time-wise, action happens before the Amo arc.

tags>> one shot (maybe?), 3rd pov, ocs, mentions of violence, blood, explicit speech, akuta team

Enjin was not a man who got easily surprised. Imagine his dumbfounded realization that his everyday life had turned into a surprise.

And it all started with a woman holding a knife to his throat.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

The resonant sound of polished steel against the rusty metal of whatever the hell those enormous creatures were kept the woman on edge at all times. It was not particularly tough to cut them into pieces, no. It was the acid poison dancing through her lungs that heavily messed with her movements.

"Was Granny's poison training all that weak?" the woman spoke in her mind as if addressing one particular person. The saber-shaped sword she was swinging with her right arm pierced through what seemed to be the core of the beast. She twirled deftly off of its back, her ankles almost drowning in the pile of trash serving as ground.

"There are many words you can use to describe that fuckin' baba's training, but weak is not one of them."

The woman chuckled at the snorty, masculine response in her brain, and she drew her other sword out. A claymore-type weapon used for heavier, decisive blows; it was needed to parry the claw of another animal that had just swung at her. Had she been any slower, she would have lost her head.

"We need to find shelter. Your senses are worsening with each moment."

An acute click of the tongue indicated her dismay; if one voice was the epitome of fighting to the death, the other was the impersonation of reasoning. The woman pierced her saber through a smaller-sized creature to put it down.

"If you have a good idea, I'm all ears--"

Through the rumbling sound of the desert wind, the woman's ears perked up at the faint sound of a revving engine in the distance. At some point, the unidentified vehicle stopped. With alleged ill intent.

"They drew their weapons," the second masculine voice in her brain spoke.

"I felt that. Let's see if they approach further."

She focused her sane perception to dismantle the rest of her present enemies in swift motions. Shortly after, the unknown silhouettes sketched through the veil of poison in the desert. The woman dropped her weapons to give them permission to dissipate.

Four people in total. It should have made for an easy ambush.

A collective gasp echoed in the putrefied air; one of the taller figures was carrying what seemed to be an intricate staff, accompanied by a pink-haired woman with a big pair of scissors. Suddenly, an obscure man held them at gunpoint, smirking at the sight of his silver pistols.

Then the child; despite his being of a younger anatomy, another unfamiliar figure held the same saber at his throat.

The last silhouette was imposing enough to pass as the leader of the group. A rather naive one at that, the woman thought as she held a knife to his throat.

"Quite bold for a leader to approach me like this, pretty boy with tattoos."

Her voice sounded coarse through the improvised cloth mask she was wearing, albeit not betraying the menacing undertone in her words.

Yes, he might have miscalculated a tiny portion of their plan. Several miscalculations. For example, one obscene miscalculation was represented by siren eyes, coated in a tantalizing darkness of a color, staring right through the material of his mask. The two pairs of eyes that trained on each other, defying any inconvenient covering materials.

The carved, beguiling features of the woman's face were partly hidden behind the handcrafted cloth mask she wore, giving a false sense of protection from the toxins in the air. And he felt a peculiar sensation to break the suspense; the longer he kept the silence, the more deceptive her features would become.

"Your mask is shit," the blonde man spoke, attempting to poke his head to the side. He stopped when he felt the tip of her knife tickling his skin. Perhaps he should have said thank you for the former compliment? He was always shit at starting conversations with women.

Especially because he'd never had any woman stick a blade to his carotid before.

"Enjin!" the taller man hollered, and his fingers tightened around the length of his staff as the pistol was further pressed into the back of his head.

"You're an idiot, Zanka," the woman sighed.

"You just said my name out loud."

"What the hell does it matter now?!"

"Spectacular! We don't have to do shit for them to throw info."

The mysterious woman could not decipher the blonde man's eyes because of the elaborate design of his mask, but it was easy to perceive that his orbs tightened when Enzo cocked the hammer of his pistol.

"Can you tell the masochist to put his weapons down? We didn't come here to harm you."

"Masochist?" Enzo chuckled. "I'm just livin' life on the edge, y'know?"

"You didn't? All your drawn weapons are telling me otherwise."

The woman coughed in her mouth to feel the eroding taste of iron on her tongue. Enjin's head tilted down against the knife as blood flooded from her eye in a thin stream. Color him impressed that her stance never broke. For all one knew, he was definitely intrigued by why the two men (the masochist and the silent samurai) were not affected by the poison. Illusions, maybe?

Enjin did not get to enjoy the luxury of a gamble.

"Tell you what," he began, moving his umbrella-looking weapon to the side, "Let my people go, and I'll give you my mask."

She laughed through another cough. The dirty cloth changed color to a maroon shade.

"Sure. How about I shoot myself in the head and call it a day?"

Enjin sighed. Admitting the sound had a charm to it, her laughter drew in multiple trash beasts to the surface. Then, he whistled.

"Oh no, Mighty Goddess of trash! Save your poor hostages from certain death."

The knife at his neck disappeared in a nimble movement. In another sliver of a second, the samurai disappeared into thin air.

"Show of faith," she declared, and Enjin caught wind of a sword handle appearing in her hand instead. Not an illusion. A manifestation of sorts, he concluded. She turned her body to the newly formed enemies.

When her body changed stances, Enjin observed the sword handle stretch into the thinnest of blades. Had it not been for the old car headlight shining on one of the beast's heads, he would have never noticed it. "Maybe you'll channel the Mighty Goddess yourself. Just stay out of my way."

A sharp dart was used to launch her to the first trash beast, and she chopped it to pieces faster than the two hostages could turn their heads from the cold steel barrels. As she dodged another incoming hit, an extension of a claw cut the ribbon that was holding her long, ebony hair in a ponytail.

Enjin watched her overflowing hair with unusual interest. The woman's skillful movements painted her into an image of an elegant crescent, shining in the night sky.

"Impressive, right? I didn't give two shits on that toothpick either when I first saw it!"

"I'll slit your throat, Enzo," the samurai's voice echoed through both their minds. The woman would've laughed at their antics had it not been for the abrupt, searing sensation in her ribcage that made her recoil from another beast's arm.

"It's going to hit!"

She couldn't straighten her knees to get up. "Fuck that," she groaned, and raised her sword to prepare for a parry.

Her conscience echoed, anticipating Enzo might betray his post. "Don't you dare move from your place, Enzo."

But Enzo had already dropped his weapons to dash over to her to defend. "Samara!"

"Samara, huh?"

Enjin repeated, holding his Umbreaker to protect them both from the falling debris. He was faster to reach her, to cut the trash beast in half in effortless motions. She was unsure if she caught all of his motions at all. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot here."

Enjin held out his hand, but Samara pushed her sword into the ground to compose herself. Enjin grabbed his chin between his fingers.

"Am I stinky or somethin'?"

"The world does not revolve around you, pretty boy."

The pink-haired woman spanned across the horizon to pair up with Zanka and clear the rest of the beasts. Samara's saber sword disappeared again to make way for the samurai to appear; he helped her stand as a coughing fit threatened to make her lose balance.

"You might want it to revolve around me. Our car is just around the little hill over there."

Enjin's words did not conclude with a what-if, but it was pretty self-explanatory that she would die sooner rather than later in the poison storm.

"I held a knife to your throat and your crew at gunpoint."

"Look, I'm not judging people for their kinks," replied Enjin, and his casual shrugging caused the shorter adolescent to stiffen in awkward movements. "You would've killed us if you intended to."

"Kinks, huh? We're discovering things about you every day, Enjin."

The blonde man started whistling once more. "Not a good topic for minors, Riyo."

Zanka approached the newly formed group, and his staff pointed at the woman. Enzo cocked his gun right back at him. "You're delusional if you think we're going to take her back to HQ."

Enjin was already on his way to turn the car around.

"Don't worry, kid, I'd rather put a bullet in your pretty head than share the fucking backseat with you."

Zanka motioned retreat. "Pretty head? Do all geniuses have pretty heads?"

The samurai took advantage of the commotion to rip another piece of her white robe and reinforce Samara's apparently useless mask.

"Do you think it is wise to go with them?"

"We've got no choice. I cannot heal myself from this poison, and I do not sense any suitable shelter area nearby." Another violent cough. "At least until we get out of this toxin cloud."

The woman named Riyo stepped closer to Samara. As opposed to Enjin's attempt, Samara accepted her help to stand. If she didn't know any better, she would say Riyo even offered a smile behind the mask.

"We haven't had a girl join us in a long time! Your hair is crazy nice, by the way. Loved the ponytail, will you let me braid it in the car?"

How could Riyo behave so casually? Invite hospitality even? Enzo's silver gun had gotten comfortable with her just moments before, and now she was offering girl time with a dangerous stranger?

Who were these people in their grey-styled uniforms? Equipped enough to travel through the storm, strong enough to defeat the trash beasts, but human enough to forgive a person who endangered their lives.

A group led by the most carefree person she had ever met. Back in her universe, her master would have called such people the nuisance of society.

One had to give something to get something.

"Sure," spoke Samara ultimately. "It might be too dirty for you to run your hands through it, though."

Enjin's car drifted through the sand to reach the group. He parked it laterally, an arm dangling out the window, if that even existed. The blonde man noticed their youngest companion was uncomfortable with his decision to bring Samara along.

"Rudo, come to the front seat," Enjin motioned for Rudo to come over and, much to his surprise, the latter obeyed faster than usual. He then turned to the injured woman, loosening his mask. "Can you walk?"

Samara's voice broke through the discomfort pooling in her chest. "Yeah. Enzo, Shingen, wrap up. There's not enough space in there for all of us."

Shingen hesitated to transform back into his saber form. Samara untied the fabric around her face and bid the polished samurai a smile.

Enjin's eyes lingered on her gorgeous visage. He lit up his cigarette a brief moment too late.

"I'll be fine," she insisted, and the glint of resolve in her irises convinced Shingen to draw back. "I give you permission to summon yourselves if I'm in danger."

What kind of a Giver manifests their instruments into real people?

Samara latched onto the backseat, holding her chest to cough into the textile of her robe. The least she could do was not drench the leather of their car in her blood.

"Might be a bit too big for your face, but try to breathe into that. It'll help."

The woman followed Enjin's instructions. He felt the heavy pressure of the toxins in his lungs for the short seconds he breathed without his mask; how long did she stay out there? More importantly, where did she come from? Who trained her?

And for God's sake, why did she check all the categories for his ideal type?

...what if she were not of age?

"I'm sorry, Enjin, I coughed blood into your mask."

Enjin looked back at her in the rearview mirror. Riyo was doing her best to distract Samara from the obvious pain she was feeling by braiding her hair in a pull-through style. Zanka was pressing his elbow against the door, refusing to take part in whatever Riyo was trying to do, keeping a safe distance from Samara's two swords.

Each sword was shielded by scabbards in different styles, and Enjin assumed they reflected Enzo and Shingen's personalities; Enzo's was boasting an audacious red, enveloped by Gothic little sculptures, which gave the subtle impression that his origin was woven in a distant past. Shingen's was embroidered in a dark purple, a simple yet sharp design that seemed to match Samara's clothing under the white robe.

"Didn't take you for the type who apologizes." Enjin huffed the nicotine out of his lungs.

"Didn't take you for the type who likes to hear fuck you's."

Riyo and Enjin laughed at her comment. Zanka did his best to keep the corners of his mouth in a thin line. Rudo was fumbling with his clothed hands.

"Cool, you're healthy enough then! Speedy recovery and good riddance."

"Enjin, you could tone down the smoking, you know. It's heavy on the air," Riyo commented, which came out more as an ask than a question.

"It's fine. I can barely breathe anymore. It doesn't make any difference."

Enjin tapped the cigarette butt against the outer metal of the car and floored it to reach the Cleaner's headquarters faster. He figured keeping Samara talking would also keep her conscious.

"So, what's a lady like you do in the midst of no man's land?"

Samara chuckled, beads of blood lingering at the plush of her lips. "Oh, sexist. Just what I love to hear from a man."

Her voice was low, uneven. Shingen's scabbard emitted a faint glow. Enjin jumped the car over a sand dune; HQ was not that far off. The last thing Samara murmured before falling unconscious had Rudo shift in his seat.

"I fell from the sky."

══════════════════════════════════════════

Samara woke up gasping for air. Her hands grabbed instinctively at her chest, only to discover she was in the comfort of a bed in what appeared to be a healing room. A reserved, blonde girl was watching over her from an adjacent chair, and she stormed to her feet when the patient finally woke up.

"I need to call Enjin-san over. Could you wait for a bit here, Samara-san?"

Like she could move her body to do otherwise. Samara tried to reciprocate the girl's polite bow, but an intense stinging sent her flat on her back. She was dressed in hospital attire that reeked of disinfectant.

Samara tilted her head against the pillow and located her two swords placed on a nearby stand. She felt relieved that both Enzo and Shingen decided to keep low and not cause a rucus.

"Someone decided to grace us with her presence!"

Enjin's familiar tone echoed through the room. He was alone, dressed in the same grey uniform. A noteworthy change about him was his umbrella, which looked like a normal one that time around.

"Enjin," Samara stated simply, but otherwise relieved she was alive, "Was I passed out long?"

"Not really," he replied casually while pulling a chair to sit. Enjin leaned his forearms against the backrest, then his chin against clothed arms. "It's just past midnight. Eishia said you fared unexpectedly well for the amount of poison in your system."

Eishia. Her heavenly healer. Samara made a mental note to thank her properly for saving her life. She managed to push her palms against the mattress and prop her body upwards. Enjin observed the wince on her visage; some higher force almost manipulated Enjin to act against his body and rush headfirst into helping her.

Almost.

Samara's voice broke through the shamanic trance he was under.

"You should be sleeping. I was not planning to run away." A chuckle. "Not that I actually could."

Enjin's yellow eyes wandered to her sheathed swords. He must have had a thousand different questions. As did she.

"That's okay. I am in charge of watching over you, in case, y'know, you pull another knife to our throats."

Samara angled her head to freely look him in the eyes for the first time since they met. A lopsided smile was sketched on his face to make him look awfully calm, all things considered.

"Why did you bring me back here? You had no reason to."

The man dug into the pocket of his coat for his pack of tobacco. He hit the carton against the wood of the chair to extract a cigarette. Samara raised an eyebrow.

"Ah shit," he muttered just as the filter of the cigarette dampened. "Not supposed to smoke in the infirmary."

He put it back and captured her eyes instantly. Samara thought he carried a different air about himself. That felt like a conversation long enough to carry over a smoke, and perhaps something stronger than water particles.

"I had all the reason to, actually. We need all the help we can get around here."

A leader for good reason, perhaps.

"A favor for a favor, huh?" she acknowledged and felt Shingen's impatient breathing in the back of her mind. He did not agree with where the conversation was going. "What do you want from me?"

"Straightforward woman, huh? I like that."

Shit.

Enzo started laughing so fiercely that his sword started to vibrate. Deafening her lucid thoughts.

"You know, if you're not fucking me, might as well fuck this dude, baby. He's got no shame, this one."

"It's the second time you're saying audacious shit to my face, Enjin," commented the woman, even though the defiant smirk on her face provoked him to keep up his act. Dared him, even.

Was she testing the waters?

"Didn't know you kept track. I should try harder to be innovative." Enjin pointed his index at Enzo's quivering sword. "Do they hear us? When we talk?"

"They do, alright," Samara laughed. And there it was again, the laughter that blessed the trash and made it come alive. The same enchanting sound that ripped Enjin's coherent thoughts apart, for whatever reason. "Enzo's doing pretty good commentary."

"Oh? What is he sayin'?"

"You don't have the balls to tell him, baby."

"I don't want to tell him, Enzo," Samara shuddered at the thought. "You don't want to know."

"Boo-hoo~ you might have gotten away with it."

Enjin eased into the chair. Something told him he might have wanted to know. Enzo's sword died down immediately. Samara resumed their previous conversation. "So, what can I help you with?"

"You are in the infirmary of the Cleaners. And our organization deals with cleaning those big guys you fought in the desert. It's our job to keep track of them and take them out."

Samara noticed the involuntary pause in Enjin's speech. A wild guess? He was pondering how much he could share. And probably to decide whether to build or burn a bridge.

"We're clashing with a band of killers that are hunting Rudo. Zanka and Rudo experienced an unfortunate episode with some of their members, and it made us put our guard up."

The woman could now make an educated guess about Enjin's ask. Building a bridge, so it seemed.

"I want you to join us."

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

[write-it-good-imagines]

Cooking a Gachiakuta College!AU

A vixen visited me in a dream and said YOU SHALL WRITE A GACHIAKUTA!AU and my fingers started acting up. So I've been MIA because I'm cooking this oneshot au inspired by a sign of affection, a sprinkle of spyxfamily and kuroko no basket.

Probably will be a whole ass novel. So help me God.

[write-it-good-imagines]

Pretty boy with tattoos X

꒰ঌ Gachiakuta piece, where the Cleaners do what they like the most: party and have a good time (Enjin centered)

Pieces can be read independently of one another, though the context is spread across chapters. ±9k words

First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth ໒꒱

Author's note: to celebrate the tenth chapter coming out, here's a Cleaners party poker night, where Enjin sneaks out to care for his lover and enjoys a heated session in between the sheets.

tags>> poker!night, party night!Cleaners, yearning!enjin, idiots in love, romance, unspoken confessions, porn with some plot, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, men who yearn, 3rd pov, ocs, explicit speech, akuta team, team child, HQ characters

If there was something the Cleaners were exceptionally good at, it was throwing parties. The Cleaners advertised themselves as a serious organization; sure, they cleaned trash beasts for a living, occasionally collected strays for fun, and often brought in new recruits. And what better way to celebrate all that success than by throwing a party?

For Enjin, that particular party felt more like a horrible prank than anything else.

"Where is Samara~" Riyo whined, spinning the Reaper from one finger to the other. "I missed her more than I missed seeing your face."

"Seriously, you never let us see her," Zanka sighed, the disappointment evident in the way his expression soured. "Can't keep her all t'yourself."

Enjin released the silver cloud of nicotine from his lungs and clicked his tongue at Riyo's statement. That was what it'd come to, being taunted by his own children.

Don't get him wrong, Enjin was absolutely thrilled the Akuta gang (and all the other Cleaners in general) had grown fond of her. Although he'd never admit it, the Akuta leader had become rather selfish about Samara's time, his mind drafting all sorts of dirty schemes to do precisely what Zanka pointed out. Especially in light of the arrival of their new guests.

"Samara is resting in my room so that you brats wouldn't bother her."

Both Riyo and Zanka gave up on trying to convince Enjin to bring Samara to the dining area. No one was otherwise allowed to go to his room; being the leader came with its perks.

"So, who's that white-haired dude that Gris is talking to?" Rudo asked, pointing his gloved finger toward Gris's companion. "The way he speaks looks fake as fuck to me."

Damned be Enjin if he didn't agree to that.

"Samara's fiancé."

Zanka choked on his drink. The Reaper almost launched itself from Riyo's finger, and if Rudo didn't have the instincts of a cat, he would've had his eye gouged out.

"No, 's just the music is too loud." Zanka slapped his chest repeatedly to redirect the water to its rightful avenues. "Who's he?"

Enjin had no intention to utter those filthy words ever again. He shrugged, the cigarette hanging comfortably out of his lips. "Fell from the sky, the same way Samara did. I bet you're gonna like her brothers, though. Kaito is like your long-lost twin, Zanka."

The youngest brother, Kaito, had just appeared through the doors of the cafeteria, with Eishia timidly trailing at his side. A serene smile was sketched over his features, and his body was slightly angled toward the blonde healer, out of his innate politeness rather than anything else, yet that gesture brought the entire palette of pink hues over Eishia's cheekbones.

"It's an exaggeration," Zanka declared, despite the playful glint tumbling in his navy blue irises. "We're nothin' alike."

"Yeah," Riyo giggled, green eyes examining the newcomer. "He's prettier."

Kaito was taller than Zanka by a couple of centimeters and a bit leaner, and his hair was several shades lighter than the Cleaner's: a fluffy, fawn overcoat with a caramel undercut. The most notable feature of Kaito was his eyes: honey caught in shadow, glowing when the light touched them. It did not take August long to jump Kaito with thousands of questions about why he would make his sister blush.

Throughout the impromptu interrogation, Kaito's peaceful grin never faded.

Riyo nudged Zanka with her elbow, and the latter tutted at her gesture. "And look, he smiles. How's that feel?"

Kaito's head angled forward to where the Akuta team was seated, and he waved a hand at them. Maybe Riyo was right, and Zanka felt a sting of jealousy over the other.

"Enjin-san!"

Samara's younger brother excused himself from the conversation with the Stilza siblings and rushed over to Enjin's table. August's eyes dotted metaphorical hearts as he studied the material of Kaito's three-piece, imagination running wild at the uniform he was going to craft from it.

The Akuta leader patted the empty seat next to himself and gestured for the youngest Tokugawa to make his way through the thick crowd to join his team. "Oi, Kaito! Let's introduce you to my rascals!"

"Aww," Riyo cooed, "Enjin loves us!"

Kaito straightened his body as he reached the edge of the Akuta table, head slightly tilted to the side and eyes bowed into gleaming half-moons. Riyo was the first to spring from her seat, giving the other a warm welcome.

"Name's Riyo! Can't wait to play around, I mean, style your hair!"

Kaito unconsciously raked through his hair and chuckled. "I thought this hairstyle looked quite cool! But I am absolutely down to have a refresher from you, Riyo-san. I am Kaito, please take good care of me!"

The Reaper started bouncing around her index finger again. "Just Riyo. Thanks for putting your faith in my skills!"

Zanka pushed his chair back, measuring his counterpart with what he hoped would be a stern look. To Enjin, Riyo, and Rudo, it just looked like he was constipated.

Zanka extended his arm, which Kaito accepted in a firm shake. "Zanka. Nice to meet you."

Kaito's lively smile took the other teenager by surprise. "Nee-sama really spoiled me when she said we look alike. You look like a great person, Zanka-san!"

Enjin noticed a flush of color overrunning the bitter aspect of Zanka's face and laughed to himself at the genuine interaction between the two boys. Golden eyes fell on Rudo; he was not the most outgoing person, but neither was he particularly bashful.

"Rudo? Is there something wrong?"

Rudo crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly in deep thought. "So, that white-haired bastard is Samara's fiancé. But how can he be her fiancé when you and Samara—"

Enjin's eyes widened in surprise. Zanka shoved his gloved hand over Rudo's mouth, forcing the teenager to chew on his fingers. Riyo rubbed her knuckles on top of Rudo's strawberry blond hair. One could see the blatant question mark popping over Kaito's head.

"You and Samara are very precious members of the Cleaners. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha."

Perhaps Riyo's absurd comment fooled Kaito into thinking nothing was going on.

It didn't fool Hatsuharu.

Kaito felt the vibrations of his sword attached to his waist. "Feeling better, Kaito?"

Kaito's body stiffened for a quick moment. "Yes, quite better, nii-sama. Eishia is a very talented healer."

"Great! Do you mind introducing me to these lovely people here?"

Kaito detached the sword from its sash and took a sharp inhale. All pairs of eyes turned to the youngest Tokugawa, and mouths fell agape when another jade-haired man materialized out of thin air by Kaito's side.

"Sorry, nii-sama," said Kaito with a shy snicker. "I'm not used to speaking with someone in my mind."

Hatsuharu grinned and threw his arm over Kaito's shoulders. "Phew, what a lovely bunch you all are!"

Zanka's eyebrows furrowed tightly at the blasting similarities between that man and his mentor's. Quite frankly, he thought he was seeing double. "Samara?"

"Not entirely," Hatsuharu pointed his thumb at himself. "I'm the older brother. Hatsuharu!"

Hatsuharu? As in, the natural-talent-born-genius Hatsuharu? As in Samara's older brother, who could cut her head clean with a flick of the wrist?

"But you just got summoned," Rudo mumbled against Zanka's fingers, chomping on them.

"Spot on, Rudo-kun! I'm Kaito's anima."

Goosebumps swelled over Zanka's skin. The teenager assumed a ceremonial stance, hands glued flat to his sides, to offer an over ritualistic bow. Hatsuharu's head fell to the side, wondering what he may or may not have done to deserve Zanka's unwavering respect.

"I will become stronger."

Enjin lit up a cigarette anew; the teenager group's confusion was something he'd barely gotten accustomed to himself. The fact that the master-anima connection was a permanent and vividly transparent one was proof of why Hatsuharu summoned himself just at the right time. Enjin smirked, delighted to see that Hatsuharu was already inspecting him, sparkles of royal blue duelling with Enjin's yellow ones.

Fucking smartass.

"Food, anyone?"

The dining room quickly filled with Cleaners, each occupying any seat they could find in anticipation of the various dishes being served. In the midst of everything, Tomme somehow shackled both Shingen and Enzo like dogs on a leash to follow her around and help with the preparations. Enjin thought that when she woke up, Samara would be proud of the way Tomme manhandled both of them.

The Akuta leader and his group, together with Team Child and the Tokugawa brothers, plus Daichi, occupied the largest table in the room. As with any of their feasts, everyone greedily chugged the portions they snatched for themselves, and Daichi watched the spectacle with somewhat of an amused expression. Hatsuharu adopted his signature pose, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand, and filled Kaito's glass with water from time to time.

Riyo noticed that Daichi had secured two plates of food, one of which was filled with a variety of salty treats and healthier options, but he was only eating from one of them.

"Don't be shy. We're all starved beasts around here!"

The white-haired man tilted his head in the direction of Riyo's voice, who was sitting a couple of paces away. Daichi offered a small smile.

"Oh, no, that's fine. I put something together in case Samara is hungry when she wakes up."

Enjin briefly stopped his munching upon hearing the other's words. The truth was, he never once considered the kinds of foods Samara would enjoy. Even when trying to apologize to her for being an asshole, he only bought something he thought would be tasty, instead of paying more attention to her preferences when they shared meals. Extrapolating it to everything else that Samara represented as a person, from drinks to clothes to dreams and plans for the future, the Akuta leader could count on the fingers of one hand how little he knew about her.

Suddenly, Enjin felt like the biggest idiot in the world.

Hatsuharu observed the subtle changes in the fine lines of Enjin's visage, beyond the carefree energy he displayed to everyone at the table. In the many years that Samara's older brother witnessed his best friend, Daichi, court his younger sister, he never once recognized the caged passion or the longing in their bond. A grin spread over Hatsuharu's face.

"Is there something wrong, nii-sama?"

And Hatsuharu ruffled Kaito's fawn hair with a light skip in his fingers. Making Enjin's life a living hell for yearning over Samara was not something he was interested in anymore. "On the contrary. I am feeling awfully happy tonight!"

When everyone was done with their meals, Bro Santa and Gris helped clean the wooden table's surface in preparation for their monthly poker championship. Semiu brought a round of whiskey bottles and seated herself in what looked to be her designated seat at the tournament table. Rio and Zanka rose from their seats to make way for Enjin and Gris to plop down.

"I should move too, then," Kaito intended to push his chair away, but Semiu made a measured gesture with her hand.

"That one's free. You can play if you want."

Kaito's lower lip jutted in a pout. A couple of female supporters were wooed as a result. "But I don't know the rules."

"I'll play for you, Kaito~"

Hatsuharu surged from his chair to exchange seats with Kaito, in a convenient setting to face the Akuta leader directly over the table. Enjin shot the other a smirk as he lit up his cigarette. One could cut the tension between the two men with a halebard, but it wasn't the kind of tension born of resentment, no. It was the kind of tension where both were testing limits and probing restrictions.

"Then I'll play lady luck for Kaito," Riyo cheered and pulled a chair for herself to sit sideways on. "I can't wait to see you losers suck ass."

"Taunting much?" Gris laughed and grabbed the set of poker chips. "Anyone else wanna join?"

"Oi, oi, oi!!" Enzo screamed from across the room and sprinted to the casino. "How dare you play poker without the devil on your shoulders?"

Zanka looked at the gunman with disgust and positioned himself to Hatsuharu's left. A mere spectator of how the greats would play the game. "You ain't got no money, asshole."

A paradoxical heavenly tableau washed over Enzo's face. "Doll has! If her posh brother plays for kiddo, I'll play for her!"

Shingen was wiping his hands with a kitchen towel when he approached the spirited group, his thick coal hair dangling from its ponytail down to his lower back with each step he took. The world's #1 okayish chef apron, which he borrowed from Tomme, fit him like a glove. The black-haired woman nudged his side. "Don't you want to play, Shingen-san?"

"It seems like one needs money to pay the tab. I don't have any."

Tomme clapped her hands together, a metaphorical rainbow shining over her figure. "I have! I hope that you're not the unluckiest person to ever exist!"

So Shingen accepted Tomme's donation, his eyes burning with a newly kindled fire, not to disappoint his benefactor.

Daichi couldn't make sense of anything that was going on. Samara's both summons acting like kitchen aides, Kaito laughing his head off at the bickering between the two cleaners, Zanka and Rudo, the intolerable blonde man hitting it off with his best friend—nothing was supposed to be like that.

All people in the HQ felt like a warm, cozy home.

"Last chance!" Bro Santa shuffled the cards, assuming the first role as dealer for the night. "Anyone else wanna trade in?"

Hatsuharu's irises shifted to Daichi, gifting him with a lazy nod of his head and a daring sneer. The entire group followed suit.

"I'm okay," Daichi muttered, bringing both hands up in defense. "I also don't—"

Enjin threw a stack of bills over the table. Hatsuharu's sneer evolved into a pleasant grin. "Bro Santa, put the first flop up."

"So you're just an egotistical son of a bitch, not a poor citizen." Semiu provoked the Akuta leader as she paid the big blind fee.

Riyo betrayed her assignment as Lady Luck for Kaito as soon as Shingen perched himself among the contestants. The samurai did not seem to mind her nimble fingers combing through his hair, and Tomme, who'd grown a tad closer to him, would dare say Shingen enjoyed the pampering.

"You betrayed me, Riyo!" Kaito accused the red-haired woman mockingly. "Who's gonna be my Lady Luck now?"

Daichi was put on the spot when Bro Santa dealt him the first hand, Gris helping him exchange Enjin's money for chips. Grey irises tried to read Enjin's golden ones, but the latter went back to his smoking and to tending to his own cards. The Akuta leader was as hard to read as he was insufferable, and perhaps that was exactly why everyone else gravitated around him. The white-haired man examined the cards and clicked his tongue; he couldn't lose to that self-sufficient blonde bastard.

The first three rounds were carried out in absolute silence and concentration; Hatsuharu and Semiu split the first pot to give them a decent advantage at the start. Gris played his second hand better, bluffing his way out of securing the round. In the third, Shingen outclassed everyone at the table with a fashionable four-of-a-kind and gathered the pile of chips for himself.

"Old fox habits die hard, eh, Shingen?" Hatsuharu tutted, assuming the dealer's responsibility of shuffling the cards for everyone at the table. "You were always the bastard to look out for."

Shingen's lips carved a smirk. "Just play better, Hatsuharu-dono."

"Enjin, what are we doing?" Bro Santa chuckled and inspected his cards. "We're losing to the newcomers."

Ash burned bright in between Enjin's fingers, silver clouds snaking from the cigarette over his cards. He nudged a green chip to the middle of the table. "What's that sayin', don't count your eggs or somethin'?"

"Losers don't get to count their chickens, Enjin," Semiu laughed and called Enjin's bet. "You just watch them die."

Gris folded. "Nah, I'm not playing with Semiu this round."

Hatsuharu called, too, and extracted the next card from the deck. A jack of clubs to complete the king, queen, and nine of the same suit. "Sheesh, whoever's got that ace and ten could go for the royal."

Enzo threw a black chip into the pile. "Let's see."

Enjin checked his turn, patiently waiting for Hatsuharu to pull up the last card of the flop. By all means, Hatsuharu dealt him a rich hand, and all they had to do was play straight into his trap.

"Y'know, sometimes destiny might surprise you—"

An abrupt tingling assaulted Enjin's senses, charred ash detaching from his roll of nicotine. He thrust out of his chair, shedding his cards in the folded assortment with a snap of his wrist. Enjin did not pay too much attention to the gesture, and he abandoned his cigarette in the tray.

"I need to take a shit," Enjin said hurriedly and rushed out of the dining area. Unbeknownst to him, his cards landed face-up on the surface of the table, eliciting a common gasp from the participants.

"I would've shit my pants for that hand. What a waste."

Enzo's statement echoed: an ace and a ten of clubs. Enjin surrendered his royal flush.

Tomme grabbed at her chin. "Maybe that spicy sauce was too spicy?"

In the midst of the debate related to Enjin's unforeseen withdrawal, Hatsuharu jerked his head to the door that was left ajar behind the Akuta leader. He carefully discarded his hand and put on a composed mask.

"You know what, I actually think the sauce was too spicy," Hatsuharu snickered and straightened his body. "I'll need a break too, count me out for the next round, 'kay?"

Kaito's eyes followed his older brother's figure. "Nii-sama...?"

Hatsuharu's silhouette disappeared through the open door panel.

"Did he even eat anything?" Riyo questioned, having just finished one fishtail braid in Shingen's hair.

Poor Rudo was confused once more, looking at the samurai. "Do you guys even need to shit?"

It was easy for Enjin to reach the upper floor where his room was, what with his hurried, large steps. His tattooed hand lingered on the doorknob, turning it ever so slightly in the event that his intuition was wrong. He shoved the door open instead as soon as he noticed Samara shaking on his bed, ragged breaths damaging her lungs.

Enjin slid both hands under her jaw, thumbs caressing her cheeks with the most tender brushes he could muster. He planted himself in the open space on the mattress and gently drew Samara toward him.

"Eyes on me, princess. It's just you and me."

Samara seized his wrists in a futile attempt to steady her trembling body, mouth gasping for oxygen that refused to come. Enjin plastered his forehead against hers in a butterfly nuzzle, absorbing the aftershock of her nightmares through his skin. Samara felt Enjin's breath fanning against her lips, the sheer familiarity of cigarettes and of him calming her thumping heart. Enjin's voice was barely higher than a whisper, just enough to manifest him into her existence.

"You and me."

Hatsuharu's mouth hung unlatched, part of him regretting that he was intruding with his mere presence. If it were anyone else, Hatsuharu would have shoved them aside and dashed to envelop his sister in his arms.

Not today. Not when Enjin gave up on himself to hold her to his heart.

"Enjin..." Samara murmured, knuckles glowing white through her skin from the desperation with which she was holding on to his wrists. "I can't..."

"You don't have to say anything," Enjin cooed, and Samara surrendered herself to his caring touch. "Let me take it all away."

Hatsuharu made sure to close the door in a muted motion, not to disturb their intimacy. Not him, not anyone. He leaned against the outer wall, one hand wavering over half his face. Maybe something good had come out of his death, to triumph over the misery and the sadness he had caused with his passing. Hatsuharu smiled, and he discovered for himself that anima could shed tears.

Against all odds, his little sister had found one man who held her heart in the palms of his hands and cared for it as if it were beating in his own chest. Hatsuharu unpeeled himself from the wall, hands shoved in the pockets of his blue coat, and an unprecedented joy outpouring in his ribcage.

He almost did not see Daichi when he wandered in the corridor. Hatsuharu's presence, visibly shaken and somewhat sentimental, was enough to let Daichi know that something was indeed going on with Samara. If the burning red tips of Kaito's ears were not enough of an indicator that he was snooping on things that he was not supposed to.

"I can't let you through, Daichi."

"Come on, Hatsu. You can't keep on doing this."

Daichi intended to walk past Hatsuharu, but the latter grabbed his elbow. Hatsuharu sighed through a smile. "They're having a moment."

"Hatsu, who is having a moment?"

When the oldest Tokugawa did not answer, Daichi tore his arm from the agonizing grip. Hatsuharu did not have to articulate the answer out loud.

Daichi blinked in disbelief, like thunder held back from breaking open. "I can't believe you're doing this to me. She's my fiancée!"

A shade of azure, sharpened in promises that no mortal was capable of breaking, glassed over Hatsuharu's irises. And through it, remorse bloomed.

"I am begging you, Daichi, don't put me in the position to choose between my sister's happiness and my best friend's."

Daichi put his fist through the wall. "It used to be one and the same to you."

"You knew this when you came here, we both did, that you wouldn't find the same woman you love, and I wouldn't find the same sister I left behind." Hatsuharu's voice was flat, sharp-edged even. "This is something for you two to figure out, but don't be that guy. Even if you want to be, I can't let you. For your sake, too."

Hatsuharu's hand on his shoulder pierced him through and through. And Daichi could see that his best friend was sorry, but his pity hurt even more than admitting that Samara was slipping away through his fingers. The faint cracks that Daichi punched in the wall dropped crumbs of paint to the floor.

"Even in death, you're still a nuisance." Daichi turned on his heels to walk away from the excruciating pain of Enjin's closed door, taking away a piece of his heart with it.

Enjin's presence was not real. It did not feel real; it never did with him. A man who had the whole world at his feet, a man who played it cool, whether danger was lurking or mischief was brooding. A leader people looked up to, ran to for advice, Enjin was nothing short of the epitome of freedom.

Samara hated that her whole freedom was Enjin. She hated the way his hands cradled her face like he was afraid to break her. She hated the way his voice softened when he spoke with her. She hated how he was there every damn time she needed him to be.

And Samara hated that she kept lying to herself, telling herself she hated Enjin instead of loving him.

Under the fleeting moonlight, when nightmares crept under her skin, deeper than pain ever could, Enjin's eyes twinkled golden, as if they were the North Star of her life.

"Atta girl," Enjin breathed, the aroma of his mouth intoxicating her senses. "A nightmare ain't got nothin' on you."

When Enjin pulled away and his hands abandoned her cheeks, a heartbreaking whimper evaded Samara's chest. In his rush to save her from her own demons, the Akuta leader failed to observe that her body was only safeguarded by one of his ragged shirts.

In the radiance of the moon, Enjin was bewitched by the way his shirt hung low on her shoulder, by her bare legs wrestling the blanket, by her braided hair tickling naked skin. Completely and irreversibly enchanted by the sensitivity of her eyes, tidal and restless, sweeping everything else in the world away.

Enjin draped his arms around Samara's fragile frame under the pretext that she was soaking in sweat. His fingers stopped with uncertainty at the hem of the old shirt. How many excuses did he have left?

"Let's change you, princess. Don't want you catching a cold."

Samara's hands clutched at the hem, head tilting away in an uncharacteristic embarrassment. Enjin watched how the bridge of her nose colored in a cherry hue, eyelashes fluttering timidly. He'd never seen her so abashed, and yet so alluring in her femininity.

Enjin's heart skipped a beat.

"Nothing either of us hasn't seen before, baby," he chuckled and navigated his thumb to her hairline. He swore she could feel his racing pulse through his fingertips. "And I can assure you, it's still as beautiful."

Samara's head lowered with laughter. When she gazed back up at him, Enjin's eyes were already pinned upon her features. They looked at each other, and time stood still. If possible, Samara wanted to frame the expression on Enjin's face: a mixture of lust and adoration. She couldn't tell if her voice came through as anything but a silent sigh.

"I just can't seem to exist without you."

But boy, did Enjin hear it. And she realized he heard it when his lips parted in outright disbelief. Samara leaned into him, her ear guarding the sanctuary of his heart; it was drumming against his muscles.

"The only good sleep I've had lately was with you holding me through the night."

Enjin rested his hand on the nest of her lower back, ring finger, and pinky snaking under the battered material. That patched shirt had never looked better than when she was wearing it. He hated that his dick was already half-hard, as if he were the biggest manwhore in the world.

"My door is always open f'ya. You don't need to ask."

And yet, there was nothing he could do about it. Enjin was just so hypnotized by everything that Samara represented. He had been infatuated with women before, and the sensation would always disappear after fucking them dumb into the mattress. Call it post-nut clarity or whatever, yet he never, not once, woke up the next morning simply craving for more.

Samara drew her silhouette back, dragged the damp shirt over her head, and held it to cover her chest. Enjin couldn't find the courage to look at her naked skin, and he jolted away from the bed to busy himself with the mess in his wardrobe.

Enjin was one thousand percent convinced that once he'd shared his bed with Samara, all those pent-up feelings would go away. Like the release of the body would release the frustration of her being so far away from his reach. Like the natural sway of her hips would stop riling him 24/7. Like her dazzling smile would stop tugging at his heart. Like the song of her voice would stop enslaving him.

Hell, saying that he fucked her was too blasphemous a description. To claim he had sex with her was just as stupid. He scoffed. Not when he was convinced he would stroke himself again at the thoughts of her. No, what Enjin felt during those moments was that he was making love to her—

Enjin bumped his head against the wooden door of the cabinet and silently laughed to himself. "Oh, man, I'm whipped."

Samara scanned his behavior. "Enjin?"

The Akuta leader snatched one of his red shirts from the wardrobe and returned to her. The sheer reality of the fact that if she looked at his pelvis, Samara would scrutinize the bulge in his pants. She would never let him outlive that. And the worst part? Enjin was okay with it.

"Arms up, princess."

Samara dismissed the material she was holding and obeyed his words to lift her arms. Enjin tugged the clean shirt over her body, eyes idling on the curves of her breasts and perky nipples. If he managed to fight the carnal desires washing through his veins till the end, Enjin deserved a pat on the back.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Scratch that. Enjin ain't no fucking fighter and sure as hell he ain't got that kind of self control. And damned be the stars if Samara would ever let that escape her sight.

"What do you want me to say?" Enjin chuckled, and the way he lounged his body sideways on the bed left his toned, tattooed abdomen candy to the eye. So did his overstrained pants. "I'm attracted to you and I'm not plannin' to hide that."

He watched her hesitate before answering. Samara propped her knees against the mattress, keeping her torso upright to scan him. Even that red T-shirt of his fit like a mini dress onto her body, and Enjin vowed to himself that one day Samara would never have to undress herself of his clothes ever again.

"Am I selfish, Enjin?"

The Akuta leader reached out to take her hand in his to guide her on top of his body. The warmth of Samara's thighs on either side of his hips felt so comfortable, and she must have felt it too when she pressed her hands into his clothed chest to support her silhouette.

And the air was suffocating with unspoken truths and white-lies, and everything that stood in between a love that triumphed so vividly it was blinding.

"I was the first one to be selfish," Enjin whispered, throat strained from an inhumane effort to articulate the right words. "Fuck Sam, I suck at words."

A ravishing smile donned on her features. "I'm sure you'll manage."

Enjin wrapped his arms around her waist and clasped both hands at the safety of her lower back. A smirk toyed with his lips. "Pretty little vixen, aren't you?"

"You wouldn't have it any other way, baby."

Even if Samara's pelvis was not pressed into Enjin's crotch but rather on his abdomen, she could still feel the helpless twitch of his dick in the band of his boxers. So he wasn't immune to pet names. Enjin's lungs inflated with an extreme inhale.

"I'm sorry for being an asshole to you." The smug look on his visage gave way to a stern one. "I never once considered you to be a whore. I was... jealous. And I know I had no right to be."

Enjin flexed his abdomen into a crunch to stand up straight on the mattress and capture her eyes. "I don't wanna make promises to you that I can't keep. But I can promise you I'm gonna try."

Samara remained silent for a while, merely staring into the depths of his daffodil irises. Enjin arched an eyebrow at her silence, even though the featherlight quiet of her features betrayed her.

"That good enough?" He challenged, playfully tugging at her waist.

"Might make a poet out of you yet," she breathed and enveloped Enjin's face with her hands. Samara's lips hovered over his parted ones. "You're forgiven. Don't do it again."

"Yes, ma'am."

Samara eased into the kiss, a kiss unlike any that they'd ever shared. A kiss so slow, so careful, with Enjin taking his sweet time to savor all particles of her mouth. He nudged his tongue against the plush of her lower lip for permission, and she granted it immediately, arms circling around Enjin's neck to melt into his embrace. Calloused hands travelled under the fabric of her shirt, or rather his shirt, to stretch out over the entirety of her scarred back.

Enjin's lips cruised to her jaw, plump and wet, to leave butterfly pecks along the side of her face. Samara tilted her head back to cede herself to him, fingers curling into his blonde hair to pull him closer if that was even possible. The annoying ringing of Enjin's choker forced a groan out of his lungs, just as he was about to nibble on a pulsating vein in Samara's neck.

"Yes, Gris?" Enjin answered, and no matter how much he tried to busy his mouth with Samara's taste, she was convinced Gris would pick up the irritation in his tone.

"Not meaning to plug your pipes or anything, but we're resuming soon. We took a small break. If you don't come, we'll deal without you."

"Yeah, it's a heavy shit to take," Enjin replied mindlessly, hands acting on their own to grope Samara's breasts. A heated sigh bubbled past her lips, but she still eyed him and his antics.

"Deal one or two hands without me."

"Are you in pain, brother? Do you need any medicine?"

"All good, man, nothing to worry about."

Enjin spared a rushed movement to end the call and was met by Samara's squinted eyes. "What?" he said, disposing of his shirt in an abandoned corner of the room.

"You told them you went to take a shit?"

"I folded a royal flush to be with you, princess. I'm entitled to one bad excuse."

Enjin's fingers fondled the fitness of her thighs, relishing the way her skin crawled into goosebumps under his touch. "Besides, I don't really care what they think."

"I care," Samara mewled, guiding his hands to her hip dips. "I don't want to make a scene in front of everyone."

"Make a s—oh fuck me baby, you're wearing a thong?"

Samara giggled at the guttural groan he exhaled, thumbs tangling with the joke of a string biting into her flesh. Enjin suddenly forgot what coherence meant, along with anything he wanted to say. "You like it? Riyo picked them for me. Speaking of which..."

The woman traversed her digits over his inked abdomen to tug at the band of his trousers and boxers to pull them at once. His thick cock sprang out of its confinement to bump against her ass. "...we'd better go downstairs fast enough for you to claim the pot."

Samara aligned her core on Enjin's dick, the string of the thong clamped shut between her drenched folds, now threading against the entirety of his length. A rough grunt vibrated through the air when she pushed his chest backwards into bed.

"You're so fucking wet, princess," Enjin bent both arms to sustain his head, at the perfect viewpoint to admire the goddess on top of him. "If you wanna ride me, take that shirt off. I want to see the twins bouncing in my face."

"You helped me dress, so you can get rid of it now?" Samara chuckled, her laughter gradually evolving into moans as she started grinding her clit against him. She could feel every striation in his cock, circling her hips in teasing motions to help her milky fluids overflow. Samara threw the T-shirt over her head, putting her breasts on full display for Enjin to marvel at.

"If I had it my way, you'd never be dressed again." Enjin dove his hips to push himself further into her soaked clit. His voice dropped one too many octaves, yet still laced with carnal desire to have her. "Dunk on it, princess. I want to watch those pretty eyes of yours flutter closed when you take me."

Samara sank one hand to sway the tip of his cock and rub it against her swollen clit. "Yeah? How bad?"

Enjin smirked, biceps flexing in an extremely rude tableau. Play around as she might, he was irresistible, and he had her wrapped around his little finger. Little did Samara know that he had her just as much as she had him.

"I know you like playin' with fire princess, but if you let me flip you on your back, we ain't going nowhere tonight until your perfect pussy drowns in my cum."

Samara's teeth dug into her lower lip, briefly raising her hips to angle the entrance of her core with the tip of Enjin's dick. No matter how relaxed he wanted to appear, he was leaking pre and his golden eyes darkened with an animalistic appetite. Hands flew to grip her ass.

Then she pulled the see-through material of her thong to the side and lowered her pussy to swallow him whole in one swift movement. Enjin felt so devastated that he could cum right away. Especially when her eyes rolled to the back of her skull in the tidal wave of pleasure showering her guts.

"Fuck, Enjin," Samara cupped her breasts to steady the tremor Enjin's cock sent through her body. Her walls clenched around his length, begging her to devour him to the hilt. "You're so big~"

Enjin easily maneuvered her pelvis to relieve Samara of the torment of moving her body, fervid fingers kneading every fiber of her ass cheeks. That fucking string of Samara's panties trailing with every oscillation only aggravated the dire situation he found himself in. "I know, babe, taking me so well. I'll put a goddamned mirror on the wall so you can watch yourself."

The mere thought of that made Enjin's cock tingle. And Samara felt it, the way his girth pulsated into the moisture of her cunt. She caught her nipples between her thumb and index into feathery pinches, succumbing to Enjin's abhorrent pace. She was too stretched out too soon to even protest how slowly he had her move.

"I love it when you touch yourself like that," Enjin growled, perfectly obsessed with the show she was putting on for him. "Teach me how to spoil you until you forget how to walk."

Samara glanced down at him, a mixture of laughter and whines chanting from her lips. "Not even the tip of the iceberg, pretty boy. I can take much more than this."

"Can you?"

Enjin stilled her little squirms to slam his pelvis into hers, filling her cunt with a succulent thrust. Samara's back curved into an erotic arch under the sudden pressure. Oh, boy, that fucking smirk on his face.

"Princess, you're already fucked out, and I barely moved."

Samara rode the momentum to plant her palms against Enjin's knees and squeezed her thighs to make him feel the tension of her walls. The plan was a success, seeing how a harsh groan ripped through his lungs. "Yeah? I'll milk you dry, and you don't even know what hit you."

And maybe he didn't. When Samara started bobbing against his dick, in a frantic and mean rhythm nonetheless, Enjin slapped her ass so hard that it echoed through the room. That was sure to leave a mark.

The arc of her body, all with that obscene scar bridging the valley of her chest and the mesmerizing bounce of her tits, was a delight. "Then milk me—shit, you're tight—milk me dry so I have—fuck baby you're stretching out so good—all the reason to repay the favor."

A symphony of sounds reflected between those poor walls; Samara's broken cries, bound with Enjin's coarse grunts, and the filthy squelch—squelch—squelch of her throbbing cunt made the perfect melody. Samara's purple nails sculpted crescents into Enjin's flesh, rooted with each plunge.

Her pussy started contracting around his cock, and Enjin read all the signals. It wasn't enough that the tip of his length buried each thrust into her cervix; Samara lusted to go beyond that if possible. She just knew Enjin could fuck her deeper than he ever did. He was a goddamned fast learner, picking up every crumb, every clue of how her body reacted to him.

"Come here, princess," he commanded in a sinful tone, and Samara leaped into his chest to hold onto his shoulders. Enjin picked up the pace. "You're gonna cum f'me, yeah?"

"Shut up and fuck me, pretty boy," Samara all but wailed at the newly found edge where Enjin's cock threatened to burst through her stomach. "I need you to—nngh, shit—I need you to fuck me harder."

Enjin almost laughed at her demands, but not out of spite, and somewhat out of admiration and reverence. He couldn't lie; Samara's vulgar reactions to him inflated his ego to the sky and beyond.

Who was he not to honor the sacred responsibilities bestowed upon him?

"Yeah? Why's that?"

Despite his taunts, Enjin picked up his pace, his hips drumming into Samara's. Her eyelashes quivered at the change of tempo, eyes glossy and piercing through Enjin's saffron ones. Forming lucid sentences became a hard task.

"Nngh—fuck you're so deep...because I'm mad at...fuck Enjin."

Tatted fingers clawed into the muscles of her ass, and Samara opened her legs wider to make space for the wicked thrusts Enjin shoved into her dripping cunt. The Akuta leader gazed at the lewd mess she was making all over his lower body. "Go on. Mad at me, you said? Look at your beautiful pussy, she's suffocating my dick."

Of course, Enjin would be a fucking yapper, by all means, fueled by her creamy juices coating his length. He was driving her insane with those perfectly-timed thrusts. Samara installed both hands at the base of his neck to sync with his rhythm and bounce her body in greedy slaps against Enjin's full length. Cooing to her vagina in third person was a problem for later.

"You're never getting off that high horse—" in that state-of-the-art position, Samara's cunt had to be completely depleted of his cock before being filled to the brim, over and over again. Her soggy walls all but grappled Enjin. "Enji—fuck, can't see straight."

Enjin could make an educated guess about why she would be mad at him, and, perhaps, if they weren't in such a predicament, he would have pestered her for actually being jealous.

One step at a time. All that mattered to Enjin for the moment was that his girl needed to cum, fast and all messy, just the way she liked it.

The Akuta leader released one hand from its mission on her ass cheeks to press four fingers into Samara's lower belly. He could feel himself swelling into the depths of her guts. Enjin moaned loudly. "Focus on me, babe, fuck, cum all over me—shit, you're perfect."

It didn't take that much longer for the couple to reach their high. Samara's body collapsed into Enjin's chest as soon as she felt that ruthless sensation at the bottom of her vagina, clinging to his body to ride the violent orgasm that washed over her senses. She was unaware that she could produce such euphoric screams.

And Enjin wasn't that far off either; as soon as her pussy strangled his cock to release the milky nectar all over his pelvis, and her sanity along with it, one final thrust depleted his balls of one mean release. Thick creams clogged Samara's cunt, and she had to hold onto his shoulders to cruise the fulfilling sensation his cum left in her cunt. Enjin's grunts and desperate moans were quickly becoming her favorite song to listen to.

Samara hoped to say something, but the words shattered into a cry. Her vagina was throbbing, struggling to adapt to how jammed Enjin's sap left her. His chest rose with sharp breaths, inked skin sweaty from their carnal session.

"You were jealous after all."

Enjin's words slapped her like a bucket of ice water.

"It was for the mission."

Samara reluctantly straightened her torso to stand straight, and fuck it if her bubblegum cheeks and her raw voice from crying out were not sufficient for Enjin to go straight into another round. He knew his wish wouldn't be granted when Samara emptied herself of his cock, leaving a sultry moan in the air at the feeling of his cum dripping on her inner thighs.

"Mhm, mission this, mission that," Enjin taunted in a half-groan, half-chuckle. He fisted his cock to rub the creamy circles of her release all over his length, and Enjin caught Samara staring with the corner of his eye. Not that she was hiding it, that was for sure; it was as prideful a sight for her, too. "But you let that son-of-a-bitch touch your thigh."

Samara collected Enjin's red shirt from the backrest of one wooden chair, where it had landed, and let it slide over her frame. "Who knows what was going on through your head with those two courtesans drooling all over you."

She gathered the shirt's loose material into a knot on the side of her abdomen, then slipped comfortably into the black, slitted skirt of her uniform. Samara deliberately left the wreckage between her legs untouched, a wreckage that, if mishandled, would dampen the satin material. All just to prove Enjin a point.

Said point was beyond proven when Enjin ran his tongue over his teeth at her shameless behavior. And that, gentlemen, is Samara being possessive, Enjin fantasized to himself.

"Does it matter? I only ever thought of you."

Samara's back was turned to him when he spoke, in a tone that was equally as calm as it was serious. Her fingers missed a hoop through the fish braid she had started doing.

Enjin lazily dragged himself out of his bed, the metal belt clinking in strident sounds. "Don't tell me. Are you blushing?"

"You wish," Samara scoffed and tilted her head backward to look at him. Although the thirst in her onyx eyes was so dark and so bright that it couldn't be tamed. Enjin was, admittedly, the most attractive man she'd ever touched. "You'll have to work hard for that, pretty boy."

Enjin approached her, a clean shirt thrown over his shoulder. He ran the back of his fingers over her silky skin, and he couldn't be happier that the color in her cheeks bloomed again. She looked ethereal like that, with smudged tears at the corners of her eyes, rosy lips glowing with life, and most importantly, the scarlet fire in her irises that he fell in love with: unblinking and unyielding once again.

He smiled, and perhaps the prospect of making her blush wasn't as difficult to achieve. "We have all the time in the world."

Even if they didn't, Samara was excited to share whatever her present and her future had in store with Enjin.

"There she is!"

Riyo's excited voice drew the attention toward the latest newcomers. Samara walked into the dining area, where the party was still in full swing, with Enjin trailing right behind her. The Akuta leader lit up a long-overdue roll of tobacco, and whoever said that nothing compared to a cigarette after sex, they were definitely onto something.

Hatsuharu lifted his head from the mind games duel he was fighting with the poker professionals at the table. A silent gasp choked in his throat. He could not remember the last time he'd seen his sister so content. Happy.

"Nee-sama!" Kaito called out for her in a rush to cede his seat for her. "Come play with us!"

"You crazy kid?" Enzo felt the hairs on his back come alive at Kaito's enthusiasm. "She's gonna make all of us poor."

"You're betting her money," Shingen intervened, securing that round's generous pot.

Gris chuckled, shuffling the cards anew. "That's true, Samara is a generally lucky person."

"Gris!" Enjin shouted from the other side of the room. "Deal me in!"

Bro Santa slainted his glass to the Akuta leader. "Good shit, brother. You're leaner now, just fit to play."

Daichi was the only one saddened by Samara's appearance. Only the gods knew how much he'd missed seeing her bubbly expressions, how much he'd craved to hear the effervescent inflexions in her voice, but not like that. He didn't need his psychic abilities to notice that Samara and Enjin had shared more than a moment. She reeked of his spiritual energy.

It grew worse once Enjin reclaimed his seat at the poker table. Samara's scent was imprinted all over his body.

"Hey, you two! What are you doing?"

Samara sprinted to Rudo and Dear Santa, who were glaring at one another over the last cupcake on a plateau, a homicide brewing at any moment. She knelt in between them and gently tapped both their foreheads with her index fingers.

"This asshole came here after I did—"

"Rudo, what did I tell you about bad words? You're older and should be more responsible." Samara scolded the Akuta Cleaner, then turned her attention to Dear Santa, whose forehead was popping all the existing veins in his skull. "Dear honey, you'll stop growing if you keep scowling like that."

She took the cupcake from the plate and used the knife on the table to make a precise cut, splitting it in two. "What's the use of enjoying all the riches in the world if we're doing it alone?"

The two children reluctantly accepted their share of the cupcake, and Samara gave them an affectionate smile. Both were regretful over their actions. "All we have in this world is one another, yeah? We need to take care of each other."

"Man, Samara is so good with kids," Bro Santa remarked, almost missing his turn as he watched the minor commotion. "I couldn't do that in a million years."

Hatsuharu chuckled, raising the bet. "Comes with experience. She was a teacher for elementary grade kids back at home."

Enjin's eyes gawked at Samara's older brother for a brief second.

"Teacher?" Zanka repeated, his top-secret (absolutely blatant) admiration for Samara skyrocketed. No teacher at his academy could measure up to half the mentor she was. "No wonder she's so good at training us."

Hatsuharu looked at Kaito, whose feet were joyfully dangling over the floor. Looking back, Samara had educated and trained Kaito all by herself. "She used to steal Father's books, paper, and sometimes all the ink he had to sneak them out of the house and teach the orphans in our village to read and write when no one else would."

"I remember that! Father played it cool, but he knew about it all along," Kaito laughed, propping both cheeks against his hands. "It was the Christmas I turned 10 when Father absolutely couldn't hold the secret in anymore and bought her the paper and ink reserve for an entire year."

Hatsuharu put his cards on the table and was matched by Enjin's strong return with a fullhouse. They split the pot for that round, but the blonde man's focal point remained upon Samara's figure as she walked over to sit with the girls at their table. Hatsuharu observed a tenderness dancing in Enjin's golden eyes that was impossible to describe, unless one knew what being utterly in love meant.

"More and more kids preferred to join Sam's classes instead of going to the official classroom," Daichi smiled to himself, rapidly understanding that the same woman Enjin was in love with now lived only in his memory. Twisted the knife deeper into the wound.

"Shingen and I built that little wooden cottage in the plains of the Tokugawa estate so the children wouldn't have to sit on the grass."

"Shakra-sama was furious when Samara started teaching," Shingen offered a tiny smile to Daichi, fingertips busy with mixing up the cards. "She had to wake up so much earlier to train Samara in the morning. But she gave in when Samara promised to tell her a new fact about each of the children, every single day."

For all but a fleeting moment, Enjin imagined how Samara would look with 2 or 3 kids of their own, two boys and a girl, battling for her attention. Gris had never seen Enjin drown and refill three glasses of whisky faster down his throat.

He must have been pussy drunk. That's all.

"Hey, Sam," Semiu interrupted the rather filthy conversation the ladies were having at their table. "Shikage is telling me there are two people at HQ to see you?"

"Me?" Samara blinked in confusion. "Oh, please tell me it's not the matron of the Ochaya. Enzo promised he did the job clean."

"No, it's uh...a white-haired guy with braids and some wolf-pelt over his shoulders."

Isarr? What was Isarr doing in the Cleaner's courtyard?

Hatsuharu's ears perked up at their conversation.

"And the other guy is dressed in all-black leather attire, looking like some sort of cult leader, preacher—"

Shingen and Enzo vanished instantaneously to reappear in their sword forms in Samara's hands. Poker cards were scattered over the table, and they didn't get to fall all the way before Samara dashed through the glass of the closed window facing the courtyard.

All hell broke loose.

Samara's swift soar was met by Isarr's two katanas, steel clashing against steel to screech louder than the shards of broken glass in the dining area of HQ. Perhaps she would have paid better attention to the explosive vibrations surging through her bones if it weren't for the oppressive presence Isarr was guarding.

"Good evening, primadona. This is not a very good welcome, don't you think?"

Samara drifted on the inertia to launch herself through the air and make way for the quick slash of Hatsuharu's sword. Samara landed briefly on his shoulders, then twirled to his side. She swiftly planted herself right outside the tornado left in the wake of Hatsuharu's sliced attack that split the terrain open.

The cult leader, as Semiu described him, never moved an inch from his position. The canyon Hatsuharu made grumbled under the edge of his foot.

"Kinda missed this, sis," Hatsuharu laughed, spinning the royal azure hilt of his sword in timed motions. "I might be a bit rusty, so you'll have to bear with me."

The Akuta team was already prepared to jump into battle. Riyo's reaper sparkled into emerald shimmers, Zanka's Lovely Assistaf was armed and aching to put his new skills to the test, and Enjin's Umbreaker flapped open in a metallic rumble.

"These motherfuckers have a lot of nerve to come knock on our door," Zanka's eyes flickered blue. "We need to teach them a lesson."

The cult leader had other plans for the spectators. He snapped his fingers, and a black fog barrier isolated the courtyard from the HQ building. Try as they might, none of the Cleaners could break through it with any of their instruments.

Rudo wanted to slam his fists through the fog, and he was almost butchered by thorns forming in the smoke.

"Don't touch it!" Daichi yelled and put a kinetic invisible wall between Rudo's body and the dark cloud. "Stop hitting it with your weapons, and with anything else for that matter. That man can steal your powers."

"How do you know that?" Riyo turned to Daichi, whose spear emanated ashes. Daichi bit into his lower lip, moving closer to Kaito.

"Because that man stole Hatsu's anima and made it kill him."

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟BONUS SCENE: Girl gossip and what their filthy conversation was all about᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

“Samara, has Hatsuharu-kun always been like this?”

Tomme’s sudden giggle surprised Samara. She glided her eyes to where Hatsuharu was playing poker. Nothing too unusual to note about his behavior: the same mischievous smirk toying with his lips, the same playful glint in his orbs when talking to others. The cool, ol’ Hatsuharu.

“Like what?”

“Come on, Sam,” Riyo breathed out, the Reaper whirling in circles around her fingers. “Don’t you see all the fangirls crowding to talk to him?”

Oh.

“Yeah, I’m too used to this,” Samara laughed, barely noticing the lively crowd that was rather bothering him as far as she could tell. Not that anyone else could tell, with that charming facade he was wearing. “I can assure you, he ain’t listening to one single word coming out of their mouths. First in, first out.”

Semiu pulled a chair for herself, eager to join the gossip session. “Must be tough to have such a popular older brother,” she wiggled her eyebrows at Samara. “Were your rooms close to one another when you were teenagers?”

“Don’t even get me started on that,” a heavy sigh depleted Samara’s lungs. “He brought some girls over, two or three times, and no one in the house could get a fucking wink of sleep. Father straight out said to him: Hatsuharu, go get that cunt wherever else because I cannot bring my emissaries over in the morning.

I never asked him where he did it afterwards ‘cause I was so happy I wouldn’t have to go through that kind of torture again.”

Amo clasped her hands together, a hearty giggle bouncing out of her mouth. “He must be such a passionate lover!”

Samara simply shuddered at the thought.

Tomme grabbed her chin between her fingers. “So, what happens now?”

“What happens now, what?”

“I mean…” Tomme had to bite back her laughter. “Can he get hard now?”

Eishia’s face caught on fire.

“Tomme!” Samara burst out laughing, and so did Semiu.

“No, she’s got a valid point,” Riyo pointed the pair of scissors at the protagonist of the gossip. “I guess he’s dead now, and I don’t quite get it if he’s a spirit or not. So maybe he doesn’t get horny anymore.”

God bless Riyo’s blatant sincerity. Why overcomplicate matters unnecessarily?

“Ask him.”

All ladies turned to Semiu. She crossed her legs on the chair, lighting up a slim cigarette.

“Never in a million years will I ask my brother if he gets hard.”

Riyo slammed her hands against the table. “Why not? We need to know now. Ask Shingen then.”

A wave of discomfort washed over Samara’s entire nervous system.

“This is a conversation I don’t want to have either.”

Tomme followed Semiu’s example and eased into her chair. “That’s a shame. You know, for science. Their bodies are cold and whatnot, maybe it’s uncomfortable.”

Samara’s irises stumbled upon Tomme’s shameless expression. “Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Tomme whistled at the accusations.

“Oh my God,” Riyo smirked at the black-haired supporter. “Now that’s actually extremely smart. I am disappointed I didn’t come up with that myself.”

Amo propped her elbows against the wooden table, impossibly excited by the sheer filth.

“At least, test it with Shingen if you must,” Samara said, accepting the inevitable defeat. “I don’t think Kaito can compartmentalize the things that he sees through Haru-nii’s eyes yet.”

“That must be painful as fuck,” Semiu clicked her tongue. “To watch two people getting frisky without participating yourself.”

At that point, Samara did not try to keep up with the conversation. Perhaps if there were other anima involved in the girls’ experiment, she would have been infinitely more open to putting it to the test.

“Say Sam,” Tomme leaned closer to Samara’s ear, nudging the other with her elbow. “You promise you won’t peek?”

Both Hatsuharu and Shingen sneezed. Hatsuharu shifted his position at the poker table to look at the very inconspicuous table where all the ladies were seated.

“Ladies, let us in on your secrets?”

All the girls laughed in his face. Except Tomme, who glanced at Shingen and sent him a wink. The samurai blinked, dumbfounded and somewhat fearful of whatever the women were planning. Then he wrestled a sensation in his hips that he never thought he would get ever again.

“Yup.” A shiver crawled down Samara’s spine. “It's fully functional.”

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

[write-it-good-imagines]

I love pretty boys with tattoos. My god ❤️❤️❤️

Thaaaaaaaaank you 🎀🎉🫶🏻 gosh you made my morning, appreciate you for taking the time to read through it!

not ready for what’s coming next shshshsh

Hope you have a stellar day👑