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[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything! art by: @/hong_nock
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.
Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.
It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.
"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."
"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.
This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?
But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.
Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.
You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.
It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.
Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.
You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.
And Megumi knew.
He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.
Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.
The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.
It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.
Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.
The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.
"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.
The dust settled, heavy and silent.
Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.
The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.
But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.
The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.
You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.
"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."
Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.
"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."
The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.
Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."
The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.
By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.
"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.
The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.
Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.
You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.
A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.
Click.
You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.
The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.
But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.
The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.
"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.
"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"
"Stop."
The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.
He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.
"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"
Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"
"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.
You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.
Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.
He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.
"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"
"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."
"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.
"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"
You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.
"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."
The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.
You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.
But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.
The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.
Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.
"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."
You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.
"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."
You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.
"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."
He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.
"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."
You broke down.
You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.
You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.
Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.
Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.
You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.
"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."
The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.
You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.
"Okay."
Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.
Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.
The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.
Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.
When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.
The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.
When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.
Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.
But he didn't lie down on his side.
Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.
You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"
"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."
You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.
You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.
The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.
He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.
"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.
"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.
You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.
It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.
You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.
"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.
Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.
He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.
"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."
He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"
It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.
The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.
You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.
But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.
You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.
"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"
The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.
Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.
He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.
"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.
"And [Name]?"
You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"
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Warm streaks of sunlight warm your skin, filtering in through the windows of your dorm. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, curled up on the bed with your cheek smushed against a pillow. You hate to admit it – but you miss Megumi already.
It had only been a day. You could probably go longer than him without breaking first, right? You weren’t that pathetic, or so you thought.
But maybe it wouldn’t even be that big of a deal, to just suck it up and apologise.
It was a stupid fight anyway, built on a flimsy premise yet turning into something pressing enough to argue about. You forgot to text Megumi that you were out late, he got pissed off and worried about you – and what started out as a lecture ended with you storming out and him refusing to say another word.
It happened late last night, snowballing into today. Neither of you even glanced at each other: through training, meals, even during a mission. You knew he was stubborn, and you were more than capable of reciprocating. You just didn’t expect aching sadness to accompany the anger.
Something blue twisted beneath your ribs at the thought of Megumi. It was almost embarrassing, the way you missed everything about him: his bratty glare, gentle kisses, how his soft hair flopped back down after you ran your hands through it. You’d do anything to feel him again.
You were kind of sorry for making him worry, all that was left was to go up to him and say it. You hated having to cave first, especially because you earnestly felt that you deserved an apology too – but somebody had to do it, you supposed. Sucking up your pride might be better than this relentless need.
Willing yourself out of bed, you slip on a hoodie and sneakers, haphazardly tying the laces as you hop to the door. You try to imagine how it would go: you go over to his dorm, apologise profusely, and then he begs for forgiveness too and laments about how much he missed you, right?
Wrong.
You open the door only to be met face-to-face with none other than Megumi – hair slightly ruffled, like he’d just been pulling at it. Downturned eyes more tired than usual when they finally lock onto yours.
You blink, surprised. He’d come over here to do the exact same thing, you realise, just with a little bit more thought put into it. A bouquet of your favourite flowers, clumsily wrapped, is clutched tightly in his hand. You feel your heart stir a little.
Megumi exhales, looking you over. He’s stoic as ever, but you swear you see a flicker of something else in his eyes. His gaze trails back up to yours.
“Are you gonna say anything?” He murmurs quietly.
You scrunch up your nose. “Me? Nope,” you huff, turning your face away and pretending like you weren’t about to go over and beg for his mercy. “You’re the one who came over here, you say something.”
“I don’t really want to.”
“Fine then, just leave.”
He says nothing.
Moments later, you hear his soft sigh – relenting and affectionate and all you needed to hear.
Megumi reaches out to take your chin, firm but gentle as he tries to tilt your face towards him. Brat, you think, refusing to budge.
He tuts. “Don’t be difficult. Look at me.”
“You haven’t even apologised yet,” you grumble, deciding to toy with him just a little bit more.
“I was going to apologise with a kiss,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “But if you don’t want it…”
You turn to face him with breakneck speed, body tingling with anticipation. Hours of no affection were driving you insane, and Megumi knew that. You look up at him with wide eyes, and his lips twitch with amusement. “Is that all you need?”
“Just shut up and kiss me,” you mutter, trying to sound casual.
He’s evil, but not that evil. Megumi obliges, leaning in to kiss you.
It’s exactly how you remembered, exactly how it was yesterday and all the days before it. Sweet, soothing, with a hint of urgency in the way his hand curls around your neck. There’s a quiet desperation in how he’s holding you too, regretful and guilty and sorry, though he’d never say it out loud.
Apology accepted, you think, as you melt into him.
You finally pull away for air, and Megumi can’t resist an extra peck to the side of your lips before straightening up. You giggle, lax in his arms as you idly play with the petals of the flowers.
Your contentment is disrupted when he opens his mouth to speak, lips slightly upturned.
“You were going to come over to apologise, weren’t you?”
You tilt your chin up defiantly, eyes blazing again. “Of course not, why would you even think that? I would never.”
“Liar.”
“No, you —“ you’re shut up with a press of his lips on yours again, teasing and knowing. He tilts your head back and you follow easily. Honestly, you don’t mind at all.
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you’ve been in love with your best friend from high school, but buried all of your feelings to keep your friendship safe. enjin doesn’t realize his own until someone else starts looking your way, and he’ll do anything to be the only one in your heart.
tags ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ modern/college au, frat!jin, fem!reader, best friends to lovers, she fell first he fell harder, jealous and possessive enjin, barely there zodyl and reader (two scenes at the start to push the story forward), mentions of recreational drug use and drinking, swearing, plot with porn, virgin!reader, first time p in v sex, oral (f receiving), implied size difference, mating presses, whole lotta praising, talking you through it, enjin’s a down bad softie!! he's also a biter, and uses a lot of pet names, possible dacryphilia if you squint, kind of proof read but i blacked out halfway through, not beta read
wc ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ 10.3k
a/n ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ did i hear someone say more frat!jin…? I AM HERE TO PROVIDE! i’m not the most comfortable with writing smut, but i wanted to give it a shot. i hope it turned out alright, and i do wanna try writing it more, so be patient with me since it’s a bit rough :,) ya girl needs practice lol. not the happiest with this one but i must feed you all with more of my agenda… xx
It’s the most picture perfect Saturday morning in August—the sun coming in all warm and golden through the kitchen windows, the air still cool before it turns gross and sticky later, and birds singing like they’re only there to romanticize the start of the semester. The first week of classes is over, no assignments due and no responsibilities pulling at you yet. Everything is so quiet and calm. So peaceful.
You should be in bed. Still asleep. Rotting peacefully all warm n’ cozy under your comforter.
But no.
You’re in Enjin’s kitchen at the ass crack of dawn making this dumbass hangover remedies.
The blender kicks on and he groans from the table behind you like he’s on life support. “Does that thing know how to be quiet?”
“Enjin.” Could he be any more dramatic? “It's a blender.”
“Okay? They need to invent quieter ones.”
He went too hard at his frat’s opening party last night. Gris had to physically drag his barely functioning body home earlier this morning, and not even twenty minutes later he was calling you whining and all pathetic, “Please come help me, ma'…”
Were you shocked by the condition he was in? Not even a little. If anything, this is tame for an early-semester hangover. You’ve seen him way worse, like, foaming at the mouth and nonverbal. You’re surprised he hadn’t died from alcohol poisoning along the way.
Did you start bitching at him the second you walked through the door? Obviously. And did he have the nerve to squint at you and go, “Baby, can you not? My head is literally splitting,” like you’re the villain here? Yes. Which only made you double down, because the audacity of catching an attitude while you’re voluntarily providing emergency services before your internal alarm clock went off is, quite frankly, insane.
But you still got to work anyway.
You set the smoothie down in front of him, then slide over the plate of eggs and toast you made. It looks wholesome sitting next to the half-drunk Gatorade he’s been nursing since he woke up.
He stares at the plate, poking at the eggs and breaking the yolk. “I kinda thought you’d bring McDonald’s or something…”
You smack him upside the head and point at the food. Enjin glares at you, yet takes a bite anyway. He can whine all he wants, but he’s the one who begged you to come over—not to mention your breakfast clears a McGriddle by a mile.
Sitting across from him with your arms crossed, you yawn. You were up late too—just not stumbling around his frat house. You stayed in, binge-watching shows to reset your brain after getting handed all your new classes this week.
Enjin had something to say about that too, complaining about how your attendance at his frat was so important to him. But that’s when all the crazies come out, and there was no way you were dealing with blackout freshmen puking on your shoes.
It was bad enough you’re stuck taking care of an almost-puking Enjin as it is.
He's talking, nearly spitting pieces of egg at you.
“Ew, gross—don’t talk with your mouth full. I know your mom taught you better than that.”
He ignores the jab and picks up a piece of toast, holding it out toward you. “You’re going to make a good wife someday, you’ve already had plenty of practice with me.”
You snort. “I don’t play wife with you, I’m basically your maid.”
“Maid, wife. Same difference.”
“You’re such a dick, you know that?”
Your eyes drift past him to the wall behind the kitchen table. The photos are still taped up unevenly with peeling corners—pictures of his frat brothers, old high school friends, random blurry party shots. Then there are the ones of you two.
Prom. Graduation. One from the first time you ever hung out outside of school—both of you younger, awkward, not quite this version of yourselves yet.
You’ve been best friends since high school. He was new, and you were assigned to show him around. He wasn’t all that different back then—still sassy and observant—but he was quieter, less sure of himself, and you were the first person who made the place feel less foreign for him.
Sometimes you think it was fate that shoved you into each other’s lives that day, because without it, you probably would’ve stayed in completely separate circles. You don’t think you would’ve chosen each other on purpose.
As much as you can’t stand him some days, you’re inseparable. He’s—corny as it sounds—your person. And if anyone asked him, he’d say you’re his too. Zero hesitation.
And if things weren’t already stereotypical enough as is, you’d definitely had feelings for him at one point—because who wouldn’t have? Enjin’s always been a hot shot. Even as a teenager he's had that thing about him. It wasn’t exactly earth shattering and shocking that you developed a crush.
You had a boyfriend when the two of you first met (sadly your first and only one, actually), which ended a bit after you and Enjin became inseparable. He said it was because of how close you were. At the time it felt crazy dramatic, but looking back, you get it. When you’re young, any attractive guy with that kind of presence feels like competition.
Especially one who seems to understand you better than your own boyfriend does.
And once that fell apart, you fell. Head over your damn heels. He’s cute and funny, makes you feel important and treats you like you're his girl—just not officially. Princess treatment before it was even a joke between you two—to this day you’re spoiled absolutely rotten. It wasn’t exactly hard to grow heart eyes.
But first and foremost, you were his best friend. That was the foundation, and always had been. And over time, that really did become enough.
It took a little while to settle into that reality, sure. But as you both grew up and matured, you realized something important—you didn’t want to risk losing your person over feelings that might complicate everything. Being his homegirl, his ride or die, the one he calls first—that meant more than anything ever could.
~
One month later…
“Excuse me.”
You turn at the voice behind you.
It’s some guy you’re pretty sure you haven’t noticed in this lecture before—and you feel like you would’ve remembered him. He’s got this blank, almost drained expression—like he hasn’t slept in weeks, which is pretty impressive considering it’s only the second week of the semester. There are faint streaks of grey in his hair too. Damn, how old is this guy?
Okay, he doesn’t look old. Just like he’s lived three lives already and none of them went smoothly. Here’s to a fourth?
“Do you have this week’s notes?” he asks. His voice is nice, low and deep. Pretty, even. It just sounds like he’s running on a dead battery.
“Yeah,” you tap your laptop. “They’re all on here though.” He nods once. “That’s fine.”
There’s a pause. He’s still looking at you.
“So… Do you want me to email them to you, or…?”
He nods again and gestures toward your laptop.
You hesitate for half a second—because, hello, stranger—but hand it over anyway.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in class before,” you say, attempting small talk while he types in his email. He doesn’t look up. “I’m always in the back. I moved up a few seats because someone kept taking mine.”
“This late in?” You let out a small laugh. “Swear some people don’t understand seating rules.”
“There are seating rules?”
“Um… yeah. Like, once you pick your seat the first week, everyone just collectively agrees that’s your spot.”
He finishes typing and hands the laptop back to you. You’re still not sure what to make of him. You glance at the email he sent it to. “Zodyl… cool name.”
“Thank you.”
You try to introduce yourself in return, but he cuts you off, “I know.”
You’re spent thinking about that interaction for the rest of the day. You’ve met some interesting people before, but he’s definitely up there.
Later that evening, sprawled out on your floor and staring at the ceiling while Enjin lounges on your bed—you’re rambling, replaying every second of it while he half listens, tossing in comments whenever he feels like it.
“He kind of looks like a bug,” you say, sitting up suddenly. “Wait. What if he is a bug and just hasn’t figured out human interaction yet?”
Enjin hums. “Sounds like you’re bug-phobic.”
“I am not! I can be accepting of bug people. He seems nice enough. Just… super weird.”
“Maybe he thought you were pretty. Made him nervous.”
“He did not seem into me—”
“Nah, he wanted a piece of that and short-circuited.”
You smack his leg. “Shut up. Quit being an ass.”
“I’m serious!” He kicks that same hand, “Guys get weird when they’re into someone.”
He’s not overly concerned about this Zodyl guy, but you forming connections with random men has always made him cautious.
Enjin knows how guys are. He is one—and you’re his girl to look out for.
“Zodyl…” He finally looks up from his phone to glance at you on the floor. “Isn’t he the one who hangs out with that super wacked-out group?”
You scoff. “Aren’t you one to talk.”
“I think he’s a narc. Actually—no. Maybe not. Pretty sure one of his friends is on drugs.”
“Can you be nice for, like, two seconds?”
“Says the girl who just called him a bug. Guess we’re both hypocrites.”
~
When you walk into class again, Zodyl is sitting in the seat next to yours. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you drop your bag down and pull your chair out, just sits there facing forward like a creepy NPC in a horror game.
You've started unpacking your things when he speaks. “Thank you for your help.”
“With…?”
“Lending me your notes.”
“Oh.” You remember. “Yeah, no worries. I’m glad I’m not taking them for nothing.”
“I didn’t steal anyone’s seat.” Zodyl looks at your confused expression for a brief second before facing forward again. “The seating rules.” He adds, a strand of hair falling near his nose in a way that feels cinematic. “No one had been sitting here. I didn’t take a seat.”
You can’t help but laugh. “I mean, I wasn’t filing a complaint.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was inconsiderate.”
The professor starts shuffling papers at the front, and students are settling in. “Do you care if I stay here?” he asks.
You look at him properly this time. Okay, maybe he doesn’t seem as strange up close. “Not at all,” you say, smiling. “Mi casa es su casa.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” You wave it off. “You’re welcome to sit there, Zodyl.”
After class, he hands you a piece of paper. You take it, looking confused as you glance down at it and back up at him.
He gestures toward sheet in your hand. “Your number.”
You blink. “My phone number?”
Passing you a pen as confirmation, you think he could’ve passed you his phone instead—but sure. This works too.
“If I need more help. You do well with this subject.”
“Yeah, of course!” You beam at the compliment. “Always happy to be of assistance.” You think, just for the faintest moment, there may be the slight chance of the smallest smile on his face. Or you’re crazy.
As he’s going to leave, “I like your sweater. Purple is a nice color on you.”
Later that afternoon, you burst into Enjin’s apartment without knocking. “Zodyl asked for my phone number. Well, sort of. He didn’t really ask—”
Enjin barely reacts to the intrusion—you do this all the time—mid-sip of his beer.
“Bug-man?” He asks, eyeing you as you pace around his kitchen.
“Yes, bug-man,” you’re practically doing laps around the room. “But he’s not actually that scary up close.”
“He was up close?”
“He moved to the seat next to mine. And then asked if it was okay that he stayed there.” Pause. “It was kind of cute.”
“So now bugs are cute?”
You grab an apple off his counter and throw it at him. “Shut up, Jin’. I’m trying to tell you what happened.”
Enjin holds his free hand up in mock surrender. “My bad, mama. Continue.”
Your pacing begins again, along with the rambling. “He kept staring at me. Like, a lot. At first it was uncomfortable. Full eye contact, no blinking. I thought he was glitching.”
“Some people pay extra for that kind of attention.”
“What did I tell you about shutting up? Anyway, he asked for my number. Said it was for ‘help with class,’ but then he complimented my sweater.”
Putting your hands on your hips, you grin at Enjin, all teeth and bright eyes. “So now I’m kind of flattered by the staring. Maybe you were right. Maybe he does think I’m cute.”
Enjin tilts his head, “Of course he thinks you’re cute,” a beer is tossed to you. “I’ve been saying that. Took someone long enough to catch up.”
He gestures his can towards you. “Just don’t let him steal my spotlight.”
Which, unfortunately, after a few weeks, kind of started happening.
You were talking to Zodyl more. In class, obviously—but outside of it too. Sure, sometimes it was about lecture stuff—he did need help here and there. But he’d also start talking about projects he was working on, random ideas, or things he was building.
You still made time for Enjin, it would’ve been crazy not to. The routine included being at his place constantly, or he was at yours, or you were out somewhere with the group, or at one of his parties. You saw him pretty much every day.
But now, sometimes your phone would buzz and you’d glance down mid-conversation. Or you’d cut yourself off to respond to a text. Or you’d casually bring up bug-man (the nickname stuck).
It wasn’t that you had a new guy friend. You’ve always had them. You and Enjin share a huge friend group—you’re close with Gris, with Follo, with August and Corvus—even the dweeb kids Zanka and Rudo that Enjin somehow adopted during his fraternity service hours at the high school. You being friends with other guys has never been new, never been weird, and never been a problem.
What was new was that this guy was clearly into you.
And, again, Enjin knows how guys are. Enjin is guys. Mr. Easy. Mr. I-know-exactly-what-they’re-thinking-because-I’m-thinking-it-too. So yeah, it made him stressed. Not because he thought you couldn’t handle yourself—but because he knew how quickly things could flip. He didn’t like the idea of you getting played, used, or fed some bullshit.
You were his to look out for.
At first he didn’t pay much attention to Zodyl. But now? His guard was fully up, because if anyone was going to rescue you from a bad situation, it was him.
He crashed out a little when you skipped your weekly fast-food movie night to study with that… thing. You hadn’t missed one since you started them as teenagers. Sick? He’d just show up at yours. Busy? You’d make it work.
But no. Here comes the cockroach, interrupting tradition.
It didn’t help that Zodyl knew who he was, too. Which, okay—fair. Enjin was known campus-wide for more than a few reasons. That wasn’t the shocking part. What was shocking was how much he knew.
“Okay, so he’s a narc who hangs out with a druggie and now he’s a stalker,” Enjin said at one point, throwing his hands up after you casually mention something Zodyl knew about him that felt way too specific. “How the hell does he know about my lucky umbrella?”
You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “First of all, he’s not a druggie and his name is Jabber—”
“The fuck kind of name is Jabber? That’s not helping his case.”
“—Second of all,” you continue over him, “you carry that umbrella everywhere. Even when it’s sunny. Zodyl is just observant.”
“Why am I being observed?” Enjin demands. “And how does he know it’s lucky!”
He didn’t like Zodyl. Not at all. And technically, he didn’t even know him. Even if Zodyl somehow knew too much about him.
One time, Enjin spotted him in passing on the way to class. Decided to be mature about it for you. If this guy was going to be in your life, the least he could do was be polite.
He waved. Gave him his best smile, pearly white canines flashing in greeting. “Hey, man!”
Zodyl didn’t even look at him.
But Enjin had always been your number one complication when it came to men. Either he scared them off—because being best friends with a hot, confident guy is intimidating (see: your last boyfriend)—or he attracted the wrong ones. The kind who only got close to you because they wanted proximity to him.
Zodyl was neither. He didn’t seem repelled by Enjin, and he didn’t seem particularly interested in knowing him personally either. No weird fan behavior. Outside of, okay, maybe some mildly stalker-ish observational habits.
It was a nice change of pace—having someone who seems interested in you and not because of who you’re friends with. Even if Zodyl was kind of weird, and you could never fully get a read on what was going on in his head.
Enjin stayed cordial. For the most part. He’d toss in a comment here and there when you brought Zodyl up—nothing too serious, just enough to let you know he had opinions—but he never outright fought you on it. Unless it was something justified, like ditching movie night. That was so different.
Even with all his side-eyes and sarcastic remarks, he knows you’re an adult. He knows you’re not naïve. If anything, he knows you too well to think you’d let yourself get played without noticing.
That doesn’t mean he stops thinking about it.
Or worrying about it.
~
Follo squints at you, Semiu, and Tomme as you push your way into the kitchen. “What are you three supposed to be?”
It’s Halloween, aka the biggest party of the semester. The house is so packed you can barely see the floor, just a blur of shoes and spilled drinks and strobe lights.
“We’re kiss, marry, kill,” Semiu says, lifting the plastic knife she’s been carrying around all night.
“That’s basic.”
Her eyes narrow at him. “And what are you?”
Follo taps the crooked paper plumbob taped to a headband on his head. “I’m a Sim.”
You laugh. “Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
Semiu turns to Gris, who’s leaning against the counter with fake blood smeared across his shirt. “And you’re… bloody Adam Sandler?”
“I didn’t have time to get a costume, and the blood is from Corvus fighting for his life with Party City vampire gel. At least I’m not dressed as a prisoner.” Gris nods toward Enjin, who’s standing there in an orange jumpsuit. He just smirks. “It was either Ghostface or this, and I wanted to get handcuffed.”
Semiu clicks her tongue. “Of course you do.”
Tomme glances over her shoulder. “Tamsy’s somewhere in the living room as an angel.” You’re still laughing at everyone, all the shots in your system from the pre-game making things way funnier than they are. “So we’re all just Pinterest stereotypes tonight, let’s call it even.”
You make your way over to Enjin’s side—like you always do—and hold your hand out for his drink. He passes it without question. Your first instinct is to chug, then just as quickly you gag. “Ew, what the hell is in this?”
“A lot,” he takes the cup back. “We all brought different alcohol and just mixed it together. August added grenadine though, so it’s pretty much a cocktail.”
“That’s not a cocktail. I feel like I just drank water straight from Chernobyl.”
He laughs and throws his arm around you, pulling you into his side. In a house this packed, being next to him is the best place. He’s your designated safe spot.
“Are you supposed to be ‘kiss’?” he asks, poking one of the lipstick marks Semiu left on your cheek.
“Well I’m not wearing a veil or holding a knife, am I?”
“Do I get one?” Enjin puckers his lips dramatically, and you slap your hand over his mouth. “Go find someone to put you in handcuffs so I don’t have to deal with you.”
“I tried, there are no cop girls here. Very disappointing.”
“Should’ve gone with Ghostface. You would’ve gotten laid faster.”
Gris leans over Enjin’s shoulder, eyeing you. “So. Where’s your boyfriend?” Heat flushes your face. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Enjin feels something hot twist in his chest. He couldn’t even get thirty minutes of standing next to you without that thing getting brought up. “He doesn’t seem like the party type anyway,” Enjin’s jaw clenches, voice tight.
“Yeah, but I asked if he wanted to come anyway. He wasn’t interested.”
Thank fucking God, he thinks.
And then, like clockwork, your phone lights up.
Every ounce of relief he had evaporates the second he sees the name on your screen.
“He can’t get enough of you, huh?” Follo throws in.
Enjin is actually going to punch someone.
You look down at your phone, and your lips curve softly. Your face lights up in a way that makes something in him snap. Before he even thinks about it, he snatches the phone out of your hand and lifts it above your head.
“Enjin!” you shout, jumping for it. “Give it back!”
“Get off your phone,” he holds it higher as you try to climb him. “Live in the moment.” The messages are still open. He sees the photos you sent earlier—your costume and a selfie of your trio.
zodyl !!
You look pretty.
Have fun tonight.
His grip tightens around your phone. For a split second he considers smashing it. Instead, he locks the screen and shoves it into his pocket. “No more phone tonight.”
“Whatever,” you shrug him off, visibly annoyed. “What is your problem?”
He doesn’t answer.
“C’mon,” you grab Semiu and Tomme’s hands. “I wanna dance.”
You drag them away to the group of people that are dancing in the living room, but never leaving Enjin’s line of sight. He never let you at parties.
Listen, you haven’t had a boyfriend since high school. You’ve never really shown much interest in dating either. So the idea of you actually having something with this guy?
The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Leaning back and watching you dance, Enjin decides to actually look at you. Like, really look at you. Figure out what it is that’s suddenly pulling Zodyl’s attention your way.
He starts with your face. Glitter highlight catching the lights, eyeshadow sparkling every time you turn your head. That loose, drunk smile painted in lipstick that matches the kiss prints on your cheeks and collarbones. Your hair falling in messy pieces around your face, swaying as you move.
Then lower.
The lace bra strap peeking out from under your little red dress, the fabric hugging you just right to leave very little to the imagination. His eyes trace the dip of your back. Your eyes. Your hair. Your neck. Your lips.
Your tits and ass.
You.
Oh.
Oh shit.
When did you get this hot?
He suddenly becomes hyper-aware of how you stand out from everyone else in the room.
You’re the most attractive girl at this party. And not in a “she’s my best friend so I’m obligated to think that” kind of way.
It’s a “I’ve suddenly opened my eyes and realized my best friend would be more than capable of getting my dick hard” kind of way.
He’s never thought you were ugly, of course he’s always known you’re pretty.
It’s just—back in high school, you were so dorky. In his head, that’s kind of where you stayed. His silly best bud.
When you’ve known someone that long, they sort of freeze in your mind. You stop updating the image. So he’s always seen you as that teenage girl he met freshman year.
He realizes you’re not that girl anymore. You’re grown. You’ve been grown.
Fuck, when did that happen?
Had you always gotten this kind of attention looking like this, and he just never clocked it? How did he, of all slutty men, miss your glaring sex appeal?
Is that why all of his past lovers got so angered by you? Because you—who’s objectively funny, smart, and clearly very attractive—were his girl best friend?
He always brushed it off as jealousy over the attention. And yeah, sure, he gave you a lot of it. Now he’s starting to think that wasn’t it. They weren’t just annoyed, they were threatened. Just as bad as the guys who saw him with you.
You were competition.
And if he were in their shoes? He’d feel insecure standing next to you too.
Now, knowing there are guys looking at you like that, something fires up under his skin. It doesn’t feel protective anymore, not like it usually does.
It feels territorial.
You’re his girl. You’ve always been his girl—and now there are other men looking at you?
Absolutely not.
That doesn’t work for him. That’s never been how this goes.
~
It becomes Enjin’s number one mission to steer Zodyl away from you. Or better yet, steal you back. Not that you’d actually been taken from him, but his ego took a hit that night, and something in him shifted. There’s this new awareness when he looks at you—and he doesn’t know what to do with it except act.
Operation: Kill The Roach.
After the party, he’s insufferable. Groaning every time your phone lights up. Rolling his eyes when you answer a call. Going dead silent the second Zodyl’s name gets mentioned. Any hint of him in your sentence and Enjin’s already bitching.
“I dunno babe, I just get bad vibes. Like, he ate birds as a kid or somethin’…”
“Birds?!”
You’re over it. Completely.
What used to be light teasing turns into actual arguments. Every time you say you’re going to hang out with Zodyl, it’s a fight. Every. Single. Time. He argues like it’s his job. You can see the jealousy plain as day—it’s written all over him—but what you don’t understand is why it showed up out of nowhere. He was fine before!
You try reassuring him. Tell him he’ll always be your best friend. Which, apparently, is the worst possible thing you could say. Nothing lands right anymore. You don’t even know what he wants from you at this point.
You and Enjin argue sometimes. That’s normal. But it’s never been like this between the two of you.
After one particularly nasty fight, you’re sitting on his bed, laptop open, trying to focus on a paper. He’s right beside you, silent. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him—the tension is suffocating.
You’re too tired to deal with it anymore.
“Hey.”
You don’t even look at him. “Don’t start again.”
“Do you think I’m hot?”
That makes you turn. “Come again?”
He’s staring at you like he’s dead serious. “I asked if you think I’m hot. Sexy. Attractive. Whatever.”
“I mean, yeah. Who doesn’t?” You squint at him. “Isn’t that what gets you pussy?” Snorting a little. “Definitely not your personality.”
“Okay…” His jaw tightens. “Do you think I’m hotter than Zodyl?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Pretty straightforward question, ma.”
“It’s not though?” He was being insane.
“Who’s more attractive? Me or him?”
“Dude, where is all of this coming from?”
“I’m not dude.”
“Okay, Enjin. Get your panties out of a twist.” You roll your eyes and scoff at his attitude, turning back to your laptop.
He shuts it mid-citation.
You barely have time to react before he moves in, bracing his arms on either side of you and popping your personal space bubble. You fall back slightly onto the pillow behind you, catching yourself on your elbows.
“Stop avoiding the question.” His eyes are locked on yours, and this doesn’t feel like your usual play-fighting.
“I—”
“Swear to God, if you dodge it again.”
“I don’t know!” You’re flustered now, fully. He’s not backing off. You swallow. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it?”
“Then think about it.”
You hesitate.
Sure, Zodyl is attractive. In his weird, bug-adjacent way. Handsome. Broody. That whole mysterious thing that works on people if you ignore the super off-putting energy.
But Enjin is… Enjin.
He has a reputation for a reason—anyone with functioning eyesight would say he’s sexy. You’ve also seen the parts no one else gets to. The real personality under the persona. You watched him grow into the man he is today.
And he’s one hell of a man.
“Um… you?” It comes out sounding like a question.
He’s way too close. “Why’d you say it like that? You lyin’ to me?”
“No.” You push at his forehead with one finger, trying to create space. “I just had to think about it.”
“Do you need to be convinced?”
A squeak slips out, “Convinced…?”
Your face is burning. He doesn’t even fully know what he meant by that, but you’re flushed and breathing shallow and looking at him like that, and his mouth is running ahead of his brain.
One of his hands lands on the headboard behind you—leaning in to where you can feel his breath on your cheek. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I can convince you.”
You don’t know what to do with your hands, folding your arms awkwardly across your chest. “Jin’… be honest, are you jealous?”
He jerks back like you slapped him. “Jealous?” The idea is preposterous. What he’s feeling is far deeper than that. “No. I’m not jealous.”
You give a small, unimpressed laugh. “It’s been kind of sounding like it.”
He sits back with a huff, and you’re still half-reclined, heart racing, trying to process whatever the fuck just happened.
“Awh, c’mon. You’ll always be number one in my heart.” There you go, trying to reassure him again. You’re teasing, but the way you phrase it makes something twist in his chest.
Number one. Like there’s a ranking. Like there could be a number two. A number three. Like you could still choose someone else, and he’d just—
No. It doesn’t matter if he’s first or hundredth. There’s no room in your heart for any other man.
He doesn’t even know what he wants out of that. A relationship with you?
A relationship?
With you?
The two of you already have one. Just not the romantic kind—and the ideas never really crossed his mind before.
But now that it has, it won’t leave.
And the more he sits there, the more one thing becomes very clear to him. He wants—no, needs you to be his.
Enjin only ramps it up from there.
He’s working overtime with you now. Picking you up from every single class, whether you ask him to or not. And when you walk out of the one you share with Zodyl, he makes a whole production out of it—grabbing your arm, tugging you into his chest, telling you how much he missed you. Even if he literally saw you twelve hours ago.
Zodyl doesn’t react. No expression. Just a quiet “goodbye,” and he walks off.
Then texts you anyway.
So Enjin starts getting more physical. Not that physical affection was ever weird between you two—it’s always been a thing—but this is different. It’s doubled and bolder. A hand sliding onto your thigh with a squeeze while he drives. Pulling you tighter against him during movie night and pressing kisses to the top of your head. Fingers threading through your hair while you’re trying to focus on homework.
At parties, where he used to just rest a steady hand on your lower back to keep you grounded and near him, is now both hands planted on your hips. Your back flush against his chest, chin resting on your shoulder.
He even starts stripping down when he knows you’re coming over. Shirt gone. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Hair loose instead of slicked back—the way he knows you like it. He corners you in the kitchen once while you’re cooking, pressing in close under the excuse of “just grabbing a cup.” Tattooed biceps right by your head as he reaches above you.
Once, knowing you were coming over, he walked out into the living room straight from the shower—still dripping. Water tracked down his chest, droplets falling from the ends of his hair.
He stretched slowly, arms lifting over his head so his muscles flexed and shifted on purpose, towel falling enough to make you nervous he was about to flash you. Then he looked at you like he’d just noticed you were there. “Hey, pretty girl,” cue a very fake yawn, “when’d you get here?”
It’s way more intimate than it’s ever been. Friendly affection got left behind a mile ago.
He’s pulling out every trick he has. And Enjin has magic. He knows exactly how to use his charm, his presence. He’s slutting himself out more than ever before, and he’s laying it on thick.
Maybe too thick. More than he needed to.
Because there’s one thing he doesn’t know.
You used to have feelings for him.
You were still frustrated with him. Still violently annoyed. He was overbearing, dramatic, and utterly impossible lately.
But after that night—after he had you pinned between pillows and freedom, barely any space between you—you couldn’t ignore the feelings that slowly started to resurface.
The energy between you felt different. The way he looked at you wasn’t the same anymore. The way he touched you for sure wasn’t.
You started feeling like that same teenage girl who had the fattest crush on her best friend. The one who read too much into every lingering touch and every half-smile. He was getting you all hot n’ bothered—it was embarrassing. You thought you’d grown out of that.
You’re adults now. You don’t get to have dramatic, delusional fantasies about your best friend suddenly realizing he wants you. That’s middle school shit.
Even if, lately, he’s been acting like he’s fighting for his own damn life every time you’re around.
~
“I wanna go bowling,” Follo announces, taking a drag from the blunt as he lays practically horizontal across the back of the couch. Enjin and Gris have shoved him off at least three times already just to mess with him, but he keeps climbing back up like it’s his assigned seat.
Everyone’s at Enjin’s place for the night. There’s a movie playing in the background that no one’s actually watching, drinks scattered across the coffee table, his favorite cracked ashtray sitting in the middle as a decorative piece.
Follo pushes himself upright—immediately losing balance and sliding off the couch again. “Ow,” he grunts. “Who wants to go bowling?”
“Right now?” Gris looks at him like he’s insane.
“Yeah. Right now.”
“We are not going bowling right now,” Enjin snatches the blunt from his hand. “Maybe this weekend.”
“Can’t this weekend!” August calls out from the floor. “I have a project due!” You sink back further into the armchair. “I can’t either.”
Follo groans dramatically. “You of all people should be able to go. Please?”
“I already have plans. I’m sorry though.” You give him a sympathetic look and he whines at it. Tomme shifts on the floor, propping her chin on your leg as she looks up at you. “What’s got you busy?”
You hesitate for half a second. “Uh… I have a date.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
Gris lets out a low whistle, and Semiu nods approvingly. “You go girl. Your years of celibacy are finally over.” You flip her off playfully. “Shut the fuck up, it’s not like that.”
“Fine,” Follo sighs, still pouting. “You’re excused from bowling, I guess. Congrats that he finally grew a pair.”
“Thank you for approving my time off, Follo.”
Enjin goes completely still where he’s standing. Lips pressed into a thin line. Teeth grinding so hard it looks painful.
“You look mad,” Follo’s still beneath him on the floor. “Be happy for her!”
Enjin shoots him a look that could kill. “You’re too high,” he mutters, planting his foot against Follo’s chest and nudging him back. “Green out. Right now.”
Follo starts dramatically thrashing like Enjin’s actually crushing him, even though he’s barely applying pressure.
He can’t even look at you. He knows if he does, he’s going to say or do something he can’t take back. And he has no idea what that something would even be.
But you’re looking at him.
And Follo’s right. Why can’t he just be happy for you? He’s your best friend. He’s always been your loudest supporter, and your biggest cheerleader. Every win, every milestone, every dumb little achievement—you’ve never had to question whether he’d show up for you.
So why is this so different?
You can’t deny that when Zodyl first asked you out, your instinct was to hesitate. With the way Enjin’s been acting lately, and old feelings creeping back in at the worst possible time—not to mention the possibility that actually dating someone could put space between you and him—you were torn.
Enjin doesn’t look at you for the rest of the night.
He stays mostly silent, tossing in a response here and there so he doesn’t completely kill the vibe. But he won’t meet your eyes. Won’t laugh at your jokes. Won’t even brush past you the way he usually does.
Even after everyone leaves and you stay behind to help him clean up—like you do—he acts like you’re not there.
When you’re done, you grab your things and head toward the door. “I’m leaving!” you call out. Your hand is already on the handle when you hear footsteps, quick and uneven.
“Wait.”
He can’t let you walk out like this. You turn. “Yeah?”
Enjin closes the distance in two strides and pins you against the door. One hand on either side of your face, holding you there.
“Are you…” he starts, then stops, thoughts racing faster than he can control. “Are you going to go on that date?”
He’s so close that you can feel his breath. It pulls you straight back to every moment lately where he’s been inches away, touching you like he does. Your heart is pounding so hard you think he can hear it.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I don’t want you to.”
You should be furious. You should call him controlling. Tell him to get over himself. But instead, you’re just hurt. “Why can’t you be happy for me?”
The question hits him harder than anything else tonight. It loops in his head until only one answer presents itself.
“There’s only room for me.”
“I’ve already told you—”
“No.” His voice is stern. “There’s only room for me.”
“Listen to me,” you plead. “You'll always be my best friend, and that’s never going to change. It’s okay for me to try out a relationship. I won’t leave you behind. I promise.” Your hand lifts to give him a pinky promise, and he pushes it away. “Then try it out with me.”
You freeze. “What?”
“A relationship. Have one with me.”
“Jin’, hey. Like I said, you’re my best friend—”
Those words land wrong just like the others.
Enjin steps back, retreating. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, ma’. I overstepped.” As much as he hates to do it, he’ll throw in the towel if you weren’t willing. “Be safe getting home, okay? Have fun this weekend.”
“Stop.”
“It’s late, and I know you like your Saturdays quiet and—”
“Enjin.” Your voice snaps, sharp. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What are you saying to me? What have you been saying to me?” You step toward him. Every step feels loud. “Do you like me?” You’re right in front of him now, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down so he has to look at you again. He lets out a half-laugh, half-breath. “Understatement.”
“Since when?”
“I’ve always liked you, baby.”
“When?”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Think it started when you came in talking about that bug—” You tighten your grip. “Sorry. Zodyl. When you told me he was texting you n’ shit.”
“And then it was thing after thing, and I realized you’re my girl. Nobody else’s. You’re my girl in every way, whether you feel the same or not.”
“I don’t—” Your voice wavers. “I don’t understand.”
He sighs, disgruntled. “Well I’ve been trying to show you—”
“Then show me now.” The words make Enjin's heart stop. “I’ll be receptive. Help me understand.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do,” you push. “Help me understand what you’re feeling.” The way he hesitates makes you frustrated. “Please?”
He surges forward and bites down on your neck—hard. Aggressive enough that you know it’s going to leave a mark. He pulls back just enough to drag his tongue over the indents of his teeth, like he’s making sure it sets.
Your hands fly from his collar to his shoulders with a sharp gasp. It hurts—really fucking bad—but the way he’s kissing over it now makes your stomach twist and heat pool.
“My girl,” he mutters against your skin, words rough between messy kisses and lingering nips. “All mine.” His hand slides up your waist to your collar, tugging it aside so he can press another bite into your shoulder.
“Ngh—Jin’, wait—” you whimper as he does it again.
“Showing you,” he’s completely lost in it. In you. In the act of marking you up. “Showing them.” His hands are gripping you like he thinks you’re about to disappear. Like if he loosens his hold for even a second, you’ll slip through his fingers.
When he finally pulls back, his pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling too fast. He looks utterly wrecked. “I’ll do anything for you, ma’,” he breathes, voice rough, almost breaking. “So quit lookin’ at other guys and just belong to me. Shit—do I gotta get on my knees and beg?”
This is Enjin. The cocky, arrogant, campus-famous flirt whose ego usually fills the room before he does. And right now he’s undone.
For you.
You rub his shoulders, trying to soothe him, thumb brushing over his cheek, under his eye. “You’re so stupid, you know that?”
He frowns slightly.
“Stupid and blind.” A laugh escapes you as you recall how obvious you were about your feelings when you were younger. “I had the biggest crush on you in high school, I was so down bad.”
“Was?” he hones in on the word.
“Well, yeah,” you tap his cheek. “I had to get over myself if I wanted to stay your friend. And I did. I learned to be okay with that because I knew the chances of you feeling the same were slim to none. I figured I wasn’t your type.”
“My… my type?”
Thinking back now—late nights next to someone else, wondering if you got home safe, if you’d eaten, if you were laughing somewhere without him—he realizes you’ve always been the woman that mattered the most to him. Checking all of his boxes.
“You always teased me. Called me a dork or weird like I was just your annoying little sidekick—” His fingers hook into your belt loops and he yanks you forward before you can finish, lips crashing against yours.
It’s desperate, rough and messy. Nothing like the soft, perfect first kiss with him you imagined when you were sixteen.
Your hands paw at his chest as he kisses you like it’s life or death, like this is the only way he knows how to prove himself worthy for you. With those fresh bite marks burning against your skin, a declaration of his claim on you, you’re living out your childish wet dream of your best friend.
With Enjin.
He pushes you backward and you stumble, falling onto the couch with a breathless laugh that dies the second he follows.
Enjin doesn’t hesitate. He’s on you immediately, bracketing you in, one hand planted by your head while the other grips your waist. He wedges his leg between yours to keep you right where he wants you. “Should’ve realized sooner,” frustration and want tangled together in him. “Could’ve saved us so much time.”
He rolls his hips down just enough to make you gasp, a soft sound slipping out before you can stop it.
“Fuck,” he growls into your mouth. “You’re so hot.”
The compliment goes straight between your legs. The idea of Enjin looking at you like this—wanting you like this—used to feel delusional, so far fetched. And now you’re pinned beneath him while he kisses you stupid.
This is different from anything you’ve ever had. Your kisses with your ex-boyfriend don’t even compare. Those were childish polite pecks.
The way he makes out with you is art. He nips at your bottom lip, drags his tongue along the seam of your mouth until you part for him. His hands slide under your shirt, palms warm against bare skin, fingers splaying like he’s mapping you out because he never got to before.
He’s going to make up for lost time.
Enjin knows you’ve never done anything like this before. Semiu wasn’t joking about your years of celibacy, and the fact that he’s the one you’re here with right now does something reckless to his ego.
He wants to be the one you remember, the one your body responds to without thinking. The one who teaches you what this is supposed to feel like. He wants it burned into you so deep that no one else even registers—in a way where when you close your eyes, it’s him. When you think about being touched, it’s him. When you imagine wanting someone, it’s him.
He’s not just trying to win—he’s trying to make sure there’s no competition ever again.
A hand slides up your stomach to the underwire of your bra, teasing the edge and making you shiver. His thumb brushes over your nipple, leaving you gasping for air—a silent plea for more. All while his other hand finds the waistband of your pants, tugging impatiently as he kneads your breast. Every touch of his ignites your skin.
Enjin pulls back just enough to look at you, hand still hooked at your waistband, thumb brushing the skin there while his lips trail back down to your neck—slower this time, less frantic.
“Is this okay?” He’s bracing himself for rejection. “If you don’t want this, I’ll stop. We can pretend it never happened.”
“You can go on your date,” he adds, voice rough but steadier than before. “And I’ll stay in my place.”
As much as Enjin doesn’t want you to deny him, he meant it when he said he’ll do anything you ask of him—even though the erection in his pants hurts so bad right now.
“No,” fingers fisting into his hair as you try to pull his lips back onto yours, you thrust your hips up to meet his—desperate for any friction to satiate the pooling between your thighs. “I don’t wanna stop, don’t wanna go—”
In one smooth motion, he’s lifting you up and carrying you straight toward his bedroom. The door barely makes it open before he’s tossing you onto the bed—hands everywhere, guiding you, pressing you down.
He goes for your shirt first, tugging it up and over your head with impatient hands, barely giving you time to catch your breath before he’s working at your pants too.
Enjin sits back to look at you, nearly bare in nothing but your undergarments. Your chest is rising and falling, cheeks pink with swollen, glossy lips—his eyes trace your form, staring at the marks on your neck and shoulder. The expanse of your skin to leave more.
He feels his dick twitch and drool.
Shrugging his shirt off and tossing it aside, the tattoo along his stomach makes his abs stand out every time he moves. That mixed with the view of an imprint of his ever so hard cock beneath his sweats? You’re salivating.
Enjin catches you looking and grins. “Like what you see?”
“I could say the same for you.”
“Is that even a question?” He laughs under his breath. “Fuck yeah I do.”
He leans down, mouth trailing lower, lower, lower—kissing along your stomach, over your hip, until he’s hovering right where you need him the most. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh.
It’s soft, almost sweet. And then he bites again.
You jolt, and he looks up at you with that dangerous half-smirk as a faint red mark begins to bloom. “And this,” he traces his finger in a circle around the mark, “is for only me to see.”
His breath ghosts over your soaked panties, hot and teasing. Your hand presses against his forehead to stop him, and he groans at your touch. “Wait,” your hips twitching up despite yourself. “You don’t have to… I know some guys don’t like—”
Enjin makes a show of pulling the lace down with his teeth. He flicks his tongue along your slit just once, slow enough for you to feel every damn nerve ending scream for more before pulling back with a shit eating grin. “Nah, that ain’t me, mama.”
The second those words leave his mouth has you clenching around nothing.
His tongue drags a filthy stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the second he tastes how wet and sweet you are has him grinding into the bed. “Fuck," he rasps, “look at that. All for me?” His thumb replaces his mouth just long enough to circle slow, maddening patterns while his other hand pins your hips down.
You choke on air when he finally sucks hard on that swollen bud—the vibration of his groan shooting straight through you as one finger sinks inside without warning. “Mine,” Enjin repeats like a prayer between licks, teeth grazing where it makes stars explode behind your closed eyelids.
Your fingers fly to weave through his golden strands of hair—letting out a louder moan than you intended to—before slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds.
No, he can’t have that.
With his free hand, he pulls yours away to lace your fingers together. “Awh, don’t do that. Let me hear you.”
Rough tongue sending sparks coursing through you, he slips in another finger—curving them just right to hit that spot inside of you and drive you mad. His fingers tighten around yours, holding your hand like a lifeline—and you can see him shaking, straining as he fights the need to just get closer to you.
You’re practically crying from just his mouth and fingers alone—you can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to have him inside of you. “Agh—fuck! Oh, Enjin—”
“That's it,” he’s purring against your clit, “keep sayin’ my name just like that.”
It’s too much—too good. When you unconsciously try to wiggle away from his hold, Enjin tsk’s—grabbing your thigh by his head and pulling you back, pushing your hips down again to keep you in place. “Where are you runnin’ off to?” His eyes are locked on you. “You're stayin’ right here, princess.”
“Please, please—Jin’, please—” You haven’t got the slightest clue what you’re begging for, but you just know you need more.
The obscene sound of you soaking his fingers punches an embarrassing moan from Enjin’s throat. Your back arches off the bed because of it—lips parted around his name—while he watches with pupils blown black.
Enjin’s hips continue to jerk mindlessly, and he swears he’s going to bust his load in his pants from just the taste and sight of you.
“Ngh—Enjin, I think I’m—” Attempting to warn him of your increasing climax, you’re cut off by him pulling away, coming up to kiss you. It’s softer this time—at least compared to his rough, desperate lips earlier. “Not yet.”
Taking off his pants, he finally releases his cock from its hold. You can’t help but gape at it—tip red and angry, drops of precum leaking down. It’s unfairly pretty.
And it’s big.
He reads the slightly fearful look on your face, rubbing soft circles into your hips. “Hey, we’ll take it slow, okay?” Every touch is a silent promise to you—this is Enjin, you’re safe. He’ll always take care of you.
Lining himself up at your entrance, he looks at you for confirmation. This okay?
You swallow, nodding. He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as he pushes just the tip in.
“Shit—” You wince in pain with a sharp inhale. Enjin’s lips brush over your temple as he pushes in inch by inch. “Relax, baby. Just breathe, I’ve got you.”
Bottoming out has him moaning, head dropping to the crook of your neck. “You feel so good.”
Every muscle in his body contracts, trying not to move—this is your call, and he’ll wait however long he needs to. Eventually, the pain subsides into a dull ache—but underneath it is something better. When you feel his dick twitch inside of you, it makes your breath hitch.
You tap his shoulder.
“You can move.”
Enjin pulls back ever so slightly, before rocking back into you. “You're shaking,” He nuzzles the curve of your shoulder, inhaling the scent of sweat and your perfume. “You okay?”
The feeling of that first thrust catches you off guard, and you gasp—running your hands down the ink on his chest. “Perfect.” You nod profusely. “Please don’t stop.”
Slowly but surely, his hips start rolling in more shallow movements as he watches your face twist with newfound pleasure. You’re clenching around him so hard it’s taking everything in him to last, which was no easy feat right now. “You’re so tight—”
“You sound like that’s a bad thing…”
That makes him laugh, even though half-way through it he chokes on a groan when you tighten up on him again. “No, baby. Far from a bad thing.”
“You’re so wet,” a kiss, “and grippin’ me like this,” a thrust. “Fuck, ma’—it’s makin’ me lose my damn mind.” He picks up speed, and it feels so good that you are crying now. Big, fat tears beading at your lashes and running down your face.
“Shh, don’t cry baby,” Enjin cooes, catching the drops of salty tears with his tongue—lapping them up as they fall. Your nails claw down his back—so hard he thinks he may be bleeding—but that only turns him on more.
It’s kind of wild—seeing you laying beneath him, eyes glazed over and glossy with tears, moaning his name and crying, all fucked out on his dick. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d be balls deep inside of you—but now he’s cursing himself for not doing this so much sooner.
His cock is hitting nerves that your fingers or toys could never reach, and your back arches into him every time it kisses your cervix. You also couldn’t believe you were having sex with Enjin—silently thanking whatever higher power is up there for finally granting your wish.
“You’re so beautiful.” His hips roll in mind blowing circles. “And you’re so smart, funny, and kind.” Every praise is accompanied with a thrust that knocks sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of from your lips.
“You’re all mine, right?” You babble, nod, whatever. But that’s not what he wants. He takes one hand and grabs your jaw, the other reaching down to circle your clit. The added stimulation along with him hitting all of the right spots in your gummy walls makes your vision blur. “Ngh—yes! Right there—feels so good…”
“Wrong answer, try again.” His thrusts are brutal now, all softness out the window. “Let me hear you say it.” He grips your jaw harder, forcing you to look him in the eye, “I know you can. C’monnn—just use your words, princess.”
“Yours!” You cry out, “M’ yours—all yours, oh!” One particular snap of his hips has you practically screaming—you make a mental note to write an apology letter to his neighbors. “Only wanna be yours, Enjin—”
“Always have been—” You take his face in your hands, “Never loved anyone else—”
Your nails raking down the sweat-slick nape of his neck has him moaning and moving like a damn dog in heat, hips jerking like a live wire’s been shoved up his spine. “I never ever will!”
Your voice is like cupid’s arrow right in his heart. No pussy’s ever had him this drunk on it before—losing all of his self control—but that was just the spell you had on him. Constantly pulling at his heart strings, and shit, he wished he'd always loved you this way.
Maybe he had. Maybe you were right that he was stupid—he never really was very good with feelings. He’ll never make a mistake like that again.
“That’s my good girl, always sayin’ exactly what I want to hear…” He’s trying so hard to hold on. “God—M’ sorry, mama—” Enjin’s hands lock around your thighs, hiking them up until they’re flush with your chest and he’s wearing them like a necklace. “Didn’t mean to make you wait this long.”
You didn’t think it was possible for him to get any deeper—but fuck, he was—the stretch burning so good, and you can practically feel him in your stomach. His thick cock bullies into your tight cunt with little to no mercy, forehead pressed against yours, and your walls flutter around him as the coil in your stomach tightens.
“You gonna cum for me?” He goes faster, harder—he could win an Olympic medal at this point. “Please, baby. Need you to—” The pace of his thumb circling around your clit speeds up, giving you about 30 seconds until you fall apart. “Need you to cum all around my cock—”
Your vision goes white as you snap, orgasm rushing over you in mind blowing waves. You fall forward, this time biting down on his neck—hard enough to bleed and bruise.
“Mine—mine, mine, mine—” If you’re going to be his, then he’s going to be yours. No more Mr. Playboy. You’re not about to let him claim you without claiming him right back. If he wants you locked down, then he’s locking the fuck down too.
“Fuck—yeah baby, just like that…” Enjin’s cumming harder than he thinks he ever has in his life—the feeling of your walls spasming and clenching as you experience your own release, your teeth sinking into his skin, the sound of your cries and chanting right by his ear—it leaves him fucking you rough and filthy through both of your highs.
You think this must be what heaven feels like. If you died right now, you’d be at complete and utter peace with the life you’d lived.
His hips slow, easing your legs gently back down around his sides. You’re utterly wrecked beneath him—flushed and panting, skin glowing with sweat, shimmering almost like the glitter you always dust across your collarbones at parties.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
The way your hair fans out on his sheets. The way your lips are swollen and bruised from kissing him. The way your eyes are looking at him right now. He wants to burn the picture of you into his brain forever.
Enjin slowly pulls out and you mewl at the overstimulation, then at the loss of him inside of you. “Was that okay?” His eyes search your face like he’s looking for any sign he messed up.
“More than okay,” you reach up to trace the mark you left on him. It’s dark and gnarly. You wince. “Sorry about that… But was it okay for you, too?”
“Best sex I’ve ever had, baby.”
Enjin drops back onto the bed and pulls you into his chest where you belong. “And don’t apologize. I liked it, was hot as fuck. I feel branded now—might go get it tattooed.”
“You’re gonna get so much shit from the guys.”
“Do I look like I care?”
You run your fingers over the lines of his tattoos, tracing them absentmindedly while he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We should probably get you cleaned up.”
He’s right, your thighs are sticky from your combined juices now leaking out—but you whine and cling tighter to him. “Nooo. Not yet. In a bit.”
“You’re such a spoiled brat.”
“Your spoiled brat, if I remember correctly.”
“Yeah, my pain in the ass.”
His heartbeat thuds beneath your palm, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back like he’s trying to lull you to sleep. “Got a question for ya’.”
You lift your chin to look at him. “What’s up?”
“You still going on that date this weekend?”
You roll your eyes and pinch his cheeks lightly. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
He grins. “Second question.”
“God, what now?”
“Girlfriend?”
Your heart flutters—the best word that could’ve come out of his mouth. You smile softly and nod.
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꒰ ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅɪᴇ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ enjin is your best friend… until one day you’ve a date.
enjin had once punched a man for you before he even knew your name - that was the kind of friendship the two of you had.
despite you being a woman there was nothing sweet about. he didn’t treat you like some delicate flower, or some damsel in distress.
you were his best friend, and the two of you were loud wherever you went. violent sometimes too.
the kind of best friends that shoved each other into walls while laughing. the kind that stole food off each other’s plates with zero hesitation. the kind that survived the pit together and came out of it meaner, rougher, inseparable.
everyone in the cleaners knew it too.
“those two are freaks,” riyo once muttered after watching you and enjin wrestle over the last fried dumpling until both of you ended up crashing through a chair.
you had your arm around enjin’s neck, trying to choke him out while he barked laughter loud enough to shake the room.
“tap out then,” you grunted.
“eat shit.”
“you first.”
“you literally bite people when you lose,” he accused and… yeah.
“only you.”
enjin looked the fucking happiest when he was with you. a bit like a golden retriever getting snacks.
freer too, like the weight on his shoulders stopped crushing him for a little while, and the umbrella didn’t feel so heavy.
the thing was that you two spent almost every second together once the missions were over. if one disappeared, everyone automatically assumed the other one was nearby.
even when you fought (you did that a lot), and you were mad at each other you still were attached by the hip. back to back, spitting insults over the shoulders like some damn five years olds.
you sat on rooftops together drinking cheap liquor straight from the bottle. you patched each other’s wounds without gentleness. you stole cigarettes from each other’s mouths. shared meals. shared blankets. shared silence.
one night, after a mission nearly went wrong, enjin showed up at your room bleeding through his side. you opened the door, took one look at him, and sighed.
“you’re getting blood on my floor again.”
“missed you too.”
then he nearly collapsed forward. you caught him with a curse, dragging his heavy body inside while he laughed weakly into your shoulder.
“you’re huge,” you complained.
“you love it.”
“i’m about to leave you outside for garbage collection, fatass.”
“wouldn’t be your first crime.”
you stitched him up sitting on the bathroom sink while he hissed through clenched teeth. that old drama queen.
“hold still.”
“you’re sewing me like an ugly sweater.”
“that’s because you move like an ugly sweater.”
“mean.”
“you’ll live.”
“that’s all you got to say after i almost died?”
you snorted. “if you died, i’d kill you myself.”
enjin smiled, because that sentence meant more coming from you than anyone else.
you stayed awake with him afterward, both of you sitting on the floor with your backs against the bed. his shoulder pressed against yours while rain hammered outside.
rain was bad anyway. rain also meant sleepless nights
at some point he handed you the bottle.
at some point his head dropped onto your lap.
at some point you fell asleep too.
that was normal. everything with you was normal, even the disgusting parts.
… especially the disgusting parts.
“you drool like a damn animal,” enjin groaned one morning.
you blinked awake against his chest. “huh?”
“my shirt’s soaked.”
“you snore into my ear like a dying engine.”
“you elbowed me in your sleep.”
“you deserved it somehow.”
“see? evil.”
“still sleeping here tonight?”
“obviously.”
you were tangled together on his mattress like survivors after war. your leg thrown over his waist. his arm numb underneath your body. neither of you moved away.
nobody from the cleaners understood it.
semiu once stared at the two of you sharing a cigarette outside headquarters and finally asked, “so are you together or what?”
you and enjin looked at each other, then burst into laughter. the one where tears appeared in your eyes and you grunted so cutely.
“you hear this shit?” he wheezed.
“she thinks we’re romantic,” you gasped.
“that’s insulting.”
“actually offensive.”
semiu looked irritated. “you sleep in the same bed.”
“yeah.”
“you hold hands sometimes.”
“that’s tactical.”
“you literally kissed his forehead yesterday.”
you blinked and enjin blinked too. alright, that creeped semiu out.
“had a fever.”
“thank you,” you added immediately.
semiu walked away muttering curses under her breath. then went straight to gossip it what she witnessed to gris. he was just as confused as the rest.
meanwhile neither of you thought about it again, because this thing between you had become its own creature years ago.
it was too wild to label and too familiar to question.
enjin knew how many scars you had without looking. you knew every single expression hidden underneath his mask.
he knew when your smile was fake. you knew when his anger came from fear instead.
there were nights he couldn’t sleep unless he heard you breathing nearby. there were missions where you only survived because his voice screamed your name fast enough.
you trusted each other with the real ugly things. the nightmares of his past and your rage that you couldn’t protect him back then.
one particularly horrible night, after losing people during cleanup, enjin came back drunk enough to stumble. you found him sitting outside headquarters alone in the rain.
in the fucking rain. enjin, your best friend, the man who hated rain more than anything, sat in the rain. his umbreaker unopened.
that scared you shitless.
but you sat next to him and if you’d sit here the whole night you wouldn’t mind. he looked so exhausted and everything hurt in you.
“hey.” you nudged your shoulder against his.
nothing.
“enjin.”
his voice came rough. “you ever get tired?”
“all the time,” you whispered.
“no.” he swallowed. “tired of surviving.”
the rain soaked both of you. you could’ve answered honestly and said yes. because sometimes you did, even when you’d never leave him behind.
“well,” you muttered, “kinda hard to die when i still owe you money.”
a laugh broke out of him suddenly. it sounded so ugly, so raw and real. you hated it as much as you loved it.
“you’re so stupid.”
“ride or die, remember?”
that made him finally look at you and there was that dangerous quietness in his eyes again. he loved you in a language neither of you had learned yet.
before any of you could dwell on it he reached over and shoved your face. in return you smacked the strand of hair that somehow stuck out at the top of his head.
“you’re still buying me food tomorrow.”
okay. now you had to shove him. all bets are off. “go to hell.”
“only if you come too.”
“hah! you thought i’d let you go alone? nope. we’re in this together.”
and maybe that was the problem, because shit was about to hit the fan.
let’s start from the beginning, alright?
two weeks after that rainy night you met someone. wasn’t love at first sight, you weren’t silly like that. but despite you wearing one of enjin’s old shirts and haven’t washed your hair in three days this man flirted with you.
so yeah. enjin was about to become a hater, because he fucking hated to hear your date’s name.
… okay, that was dramatic. it mildly annoyed him. irritated. yes. he was deeply, irrationally irritated.
“his name’s haru,” you corrected while pulling boots on near the headquarters entrance. “not hiro.”
“whatever.”
“you’ve called him four different names.”
“because i don’t care enough to remember.”
you snorted. “you’re acting like he murdered your family.”
enjin leaned against the wall with crossed arms. “i just think anyone who slicks their hair back that much is hiding something.”
“he’s literally a mechanic.”
“exactly. suspicious profession.”
“that makes no sense.”
“it makes perfect sense.”
the truth was: enjin had known about the date for three days and had been in a terrible mood ever since.
the others didn’t notice a change or they did. who the fuck knows. important was that enjin became a mopey motherfucker.
he got rougher during sparring. smoked more cigarettes. snapped faster at people. slept less. didn’t sleep in your bed anymore.
apparently you also weren’t the brightest candle on the cake, because you kept mentioning the date’s name. and every time you mentioned the date, something ugly twisted in his chest. something real ugly roared in there and wanted out.
it made him feel insane, because this was you - his best friend and ride or die.
of course you’d date eventually. of course you’d meet people. hell, he whored around like he got paid for it and you never complained.
why did you never complain? except when he smelled like cheap perfume and pussy juices. huh????
anyway.
why did it suddenly feel like standing at the edge of something collapsing?
why did he keep imagining another man in your room?
another man making you laugh. another man touching you.
enjin hated it so much his jaw hurt from grinding his teeth. he might actually threw up on you anytime soon. would be only fair since you liked to throw up on his boots when you had a drink too much.
even steven.
“you think this shirt works?” you asked suddenly.
he looked up and immediately regretted it. you wore one of those tighter tops that showed the shape of your body without trying too hard. casual. pretty. effortless in a way that punched the air out of him unexpectedly.
his stomach dropped. fuck you.
“why’re you staring?” you asked.
“i’m not.”
“you absolutely are.”
“ugly shirt.”
“you’re jealous because i look good.”
“you look like you’re about to scam someone.”
you laughed so hard you snorted like a pig. fuck, that laugh. he loved that laugh.
then he looked away. enjin didn’t look away. never. that wasn’t his thing. you narrowed your eyes suspiciously.
“you sick or something?”
“sick of you,” he replied.
“ooooha,” you gasped. “you’ve been weird all week.”
“i’m always weird.”
“not like this.”
you stepped closer, squinting at him while grabbing his jaw roughly between your fingers. normally enjin would’ve shoved you away instantly and then you’d roughhouse on the floor until some clothing tore. or someone bled.
instead he froze weirdly and since you found him so weird you put your hand on his forehead.
“you got a fever?”
there it was again - that awful tight feeling in his chest. enjin slapped your hand away harder than intended.
“i’m fine.”
okay. nothing was fine and you hated these moments where you couldn’t read him.
“you sure?”
the concern in your voice nearly killed him. so he did what he always did when emotions got too close - he grinned.
rewind. REWIND.
you actually hated this mean, ugly, crooked grin he showed now. it was fake, but you knew pushing him now would only lead to bad things.
it happened once and you hadn’t talked to him for a week.
“worried about me, sweetheart?”
you hid the cringe. you weren’t sweetheart or any other dumb nickname. he called you mostly by your name or a shortened version of it. but no. nope.
“there he is,” you sighed dramatically. “thought someone kidnapped you.”
“please. i’d escape.”
“your personality alone would make them return you.”
“true.”
the weirdness passed or pretended to, until later that night. because apparently you still didn’t understand. you dumb little thing.
enjin sat in your room sprawled across your bed while you dug through clothes, muttering angrily to yourself.
“you own too much garbage,” he commented.
“says the man wearing the same coat for six years.”
“it’s sentimental.”
“it smells like smoke and bad decisions.”
“which is sentimental.”
you threw a shirt at his face and he caught it lazily. he was about to throw it at your head when you suddenly sat next to him.
“enjin.”
“hm?”
“i need a favor.”
“depends.”
you looked strangely serious now and that immediately made him nervous. sure, you had your serious moments, but that was a strange one. what the hell?
“what favor?”
you hesitated. your mouth opened, then closed, then opened. you might had a stroke.
“teach me how to kiss,” you blurted out suddenly.
silence.
enjin stared at you like you had lost the plot completely. then he full on belly laughed. “ain’t no way.”
“i’m serious.”
“you’re asking me?”
“yes.”
“why?”
“because i trust you.”
the laughter died instantly. you looked genuinely embarrassed now, rubbing the back of your neck.
“i just…” you muttered. “i don’t wanna look stupid tomorrow.”
tomorrow. the date. something hot and ugly flared in enjin’s chest again.
“you’ve never kissed anyone?” he asked.
“not properly.”
“huh.”
the manwhore and the virgin - a match made in heaven. or hell.
you shoved his shoulder. “don’t make it weird.”
“i’m trying not to.”
“please?”
enjin rubbed a hand down his face. “this is a terrible idea.”
“why?”
see? the lights were on, but nobody was home.
and because he already felt like tearing apart a man he’d never met. your lips was all he’d been thinking about for three days straight and if… if he kissed you once he wasn’t sure he’d stop.
instead he groaned, “you’re unbelievable.”
he grabbed your chin suddenly and you gasped softly. the sound alone almost was his undoing.
“relax,” he murmured automatically.
you looked at him with wide eyes, trusting. you trusted him so much. fuck fuck fuck.
he leaned forward slowly, giving you the chance to pull back. a part of him begged you’d do so.
now it was supposed to be quick. a stupid little peck to show how to angle the face and that your noses should never bump.
that was okay for friends helping each other, right?
oh boy.
his lips brushed yours softly, warm. then he pulled back already and it should be over.
the room went dead silent.
enjin could hear your breathing. could you hear his heart in return?
“that’s it?” you whispered.
his eyes flicked down to your mouth again as he swallowed hard. “yeah.”
“oh.”
something about your disappointed little sound snapped the last thread of his self-control. you were about to learn.
enjin kissed you harder this time. your startled inhale went straight into his mouth.
suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore.
his hand tightened against your jaw while your fingers grabbed his shirt instantly. you kissed him back without hesitation.
fuck, you were so messy and clumsy kissing him. went straight to his groin too.
years of affection buried underneath bruises and laughter and late nights came crashing out all at once.
enjin pushed you backward onto the mattress without even thinking. you made a soft noise against his mouth that nearly ruined him. his body pressed over yours automatically, one hand beside your head while the other gripped your waist tight enough to leave marks.
the kiss deepened and became so fucking hungry as he devoured your mouth. licked and bit and spit and everything in between.
he lost it all together when your fingers slid into his hair and enjin actually groaned roughly.
he’d been starving for your lips.
when he finally pulled away both of you were breathing hard. your lips swollen and his forehead pressed against yours.
he was so goddamn hard that one more kiss and he’d come untouched. and shit. is that your pussy he smelled? fuck. it was, wasn’t it?
then you whispered weakly, “i think you’re a really good teacher.”
enjin stared at you for one long second before he laughed breathlessly against your mouth. then his lips found yours again.
oh fucking hell.
it was over before it really started and you both could talk about it. or at least sort out your feelings for yourselves.
remember the date? yeah, it was still happening.
enjin actually hated it even more now.
look at you wearing perfume, making you smell all womanly and sweetly. and that you were nervous and stared like a lost puppy.
he hated the fact you spent twenty whole minutes asking him which earrings looked better like he was some kind of relationship expert. oh, and he especially hated the fact another man was about to touch you after that kiss.
that fucking kiss.
enjin had barely slept that night. every time he closed his eyes, he felt your mouth against his again. your hands in his hair. the tiny sound you made when he pinned you against the mattress. it replayed over and over until he thought he might genuinely lose his mind.
he actually had cummed so often that night that his dick was raw now. thank you very fucking much.
and you still went on the damn date, like you hadn’t shattered his entire universe the night before.
“relax your face,” you complained before leaving. “you look homicidal.”
“i’m homicidal.”
“you’re being dramatic.”
“you kissed me and now you’re leaving with another man.”
the sentence slipped out before he could stop it. you stopped in the doorway and enjin hated having a tongue. or vocal cords.
at least you had the dignity to blush. “i’ll be back later.”
the door shut. you really had left. holy shit.
enjin stared at the door for five whole seconds, then immediately punched the wall.
“fuck.”
gris found him thirty minutes later outside headquarters smoking aggressively enough to probably shorten his lifespan. if a heart attack wouldn’t get him first.
“you look horrible,” gris observed. chill as ever. fuck him too.
“go away.”
“ouch.”
enjin glared at nothing, because his thoughts were unbearable.
were you holding hands with that guy right now?
were you laughing?
was he touching your waist?
was he kissing you?
enjin’s stomach twisted violently. the cigarette snapped between his fingers.
“damn,” gris said. “you’re gone gone.”
“shut up.”
“you finally realized you’re in love with her?”
enjin shot him a murderous look. how dare he to speak that out loud.
gris raised both hands immediately. “okay. touchy subject.”
love. the word echoed unpleasantly in his head, because maybe that was the problem.
maybe this thing had stopped being friendship a long time ago and neither of you noticed because it had always been too messy to define.
enjin had loved you every single time he chose your side without hesitation. every time he slept easier hearing your breathing nearby. every time he thought: if she dies, i’ll burn this world down with her.
he’d been doomed for years.
“you know,” gris continued, “if she kissed you and still went on the date, she’s probably freaking out too.”
“not helping.”
“you look like you wanna hit someone.”
“i do.”
“her date?”
“yes.”
“see? love.”
enjin flipped him off. he actually considered lunging at him for shits and giggles. you know getting it out of the system, but then—
BANG.
the headquarters door slammed open so hard both men jumped. you stormed inside looking absolutely wrecked. your eyes were swollen red and your mascara was smeared.
for a split second enjin thought that man had done something to him and today he’d soak his entire soul in blood. and he’d laugh doing it.
at least until you marched straight toward him and started hitting him. you actually beat the ever loving shit out of his chest and shoulders.
“ow! hey!”
“you absolute asshole!” you screamed.
“what the hell happened?!”
“you ruined me!”
enjin grabbed your wrists before you could swing at his nose. he liked that one. still, you were crying so hard you could barely breathe.
gris wisely disappeared immediately.
“what happened?” enjin asked again, completely baffled.
“you!”
“me?”
“yes, you!”
your face crumpled even harder and then you shoved against his chest with a broken sound.
“you made me fall in love with my best friend!”
enjin stared at you, blinking. his entire brain genuinely stopped working. shut down. shut down.
“what?”
you looked furious that he didn’t immediately understand. you kicked his shin.
“with you, idiot!” you sobbed. “i’m in love with you!”
enjin’s mouth opened, but nothing to hear. you kept crying.
“i went there and he was nice and sweet and normal and then he tried to hold my hand and all i could think was that it wasn’t yours—”
his heart nearly exploded. it was happening. it was really happening. this wasn’t a drill.
“and then he kissed me and i hated it because he wasn’t you and now everything’s ruined—”
something hysterical bubbled up in enjin’s chest suddenly - a laugh.
he tried to stop it and failed horribly. you stared at him in betrayal while tears streamed down your face.
“are you laughing?!”
enjin bent forward wheezing. no, he wasn’t laughing about you. it was the relief that hit him so hard he thought he might collapse.
“you’re unbelievable,” he gasped.
“i’m having a crisis!”
“you’re in love with me?”
“stop sounding so happy about it!”
that only made him laugh harder. everything broke inside you and your expression fell completely.
“oh my—,” you whispered miserably. “you don’t feel the same.”
that wiped the laughter off his face instantly. no, no, no. you misunderstood and he needed to make you understand.
he grabbed your cheeks so fast you startled.
“hey,” he said firmly and your wet eyes lifted to his. “i’ve been in love with you so long i forgot there was supposed to be a before.”
your breath caught and enjin smiled. it was such a soft smile that you pouted, because it was so cute.
“i just didn’t realize you were too.”
you made the most wounded little noise he’d ever heard before crashing into him. enjin caught you automatically. your arms wrapped around his neck while you cried into his shoulder, still hiccuping angry tears.
“you’re so stupid,” you mumbled.
“you punched me.”
“you deserved it.”
“probably.”
he held you tighter, because he’d been waiting to do it properly for years. slowly he tilted your face up and you were so fucking wrecked. eyes swollen and mascara was even at your forehead.
the most beautiful disaster he had ever seen.
“you done crying?” he murmured.
“no.”
“good enough.”
his lips crashed to yours and you sobbed into his mouth. only made him smile like some idiot.
but the hesitation was gone and replaced by certainty as your fingers curled into his coat. and you kissed him back through shaky breaths and leftover tears.
enjin smiled wider against your mouth. when you accidentally laughed mid-kiss because you were still crying too hard, he kissed you again anyway.
your real first kiss. so fucking messy and tender and perfect. enjin won’t forget it until his last breath.
2087
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