Joy Riding . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ ❯❯❯
content: ≈615 words, sfw + fluff + a tiny bit suggestive (and a little bullying, reader guilty). canon-compliant, short fiction ^ω^
Enjin and you always like to plot these sort of escapades. Heaven knows the man needs to take his mind off things every once in a while. That cigarette pack he likes to carry around with him? Basically an extension of his body at this point. He's a damn smokestack if you've ever seen one. It's like his whole being is wired to be Trash Beast-ready at any given moment, and even the thought of empty hands and a little good conduct makes him shake. You still love him, annoying antics and all.
Days at HQ are rarely uneventful, but the few times when there's nothing more to do than skim over paperwork, you guys like to venture elsewhere. Sometimes that means wandering around polluted areas that two people definitely shouldn't be in by themselves. So much for saving your sanity. Enjin gets a real kick out of burning rubber, though. It's weirdly therapeutic for him, especially on days when his teammates are driving him crazy. He'll knock on your door, no warning whatsoever, and jingle his car keys on the way in—that's your cue to hop in the Jeep with him and brace yourself for possible heart attack once he starts making U-turns.
He hates having you sit in the backseat if he's behind the wheel. When it's finally just the two of you, he'll carry you bridal style, throw you over his shoulder, run to the end of the abyss and back if he can, just to make sure you sit up front. If you purposefully avoid the passenger seat, oh, he knows he's in big trouble. And he may be a stubborn, exasperating bastard, but he sure knows how to use that mouth of his to sweet-talk you into forgiving him. All it takes from Enjin is a "baby" or "sweetheart"—and one of his corny, flirtatious quips—and you're next to him in a moment's time. You promise you'll give him an earful once you make it back to base.
His right hand always finds your body in some way. He'll creep his fingers up your knee, tickle and stroke your skin for a while, and squeeze your thigh for the rest of the ride as if it were his personal stress ball. He loves hearing you giggle until your cheeks are exhausted—and he still doesn't know if your legs are just really ticklish or if you're too shy to admit that a measly gesture like that makes your belly flutter. Maybe it's something about the way his hand practically engulfs your upper leg, or seeing his tattoos slightly contort with every flex of his fingers. Maybe it reminds you of when you're clumsily making out in hidden alleyways whilst he lifts you against the wall with the entirety of his palms splayed under your thighs.
It took some time for him to learn to drive left-handed—without ending up in an emergency repair shop—but it's not every day that he has you all to himself and the car isn't filled with young, nosey Cleaners. Your schedules never seem to match, and even on the few missions where you're both teamed up, it's like he drifts miles away from you. Says he gets distracted too easily when you're close.
Some missions really do a number on Enjin. He'll turn out looking like death on two legs, tired out of his mind. On days like that, he has to compromise by settling both hands on the steering wheel, but every few minutes he'll make sure to reach for your wrist and gently kiss your knuckles. You can tell when he's feeling particularly stiff and achy; he inadvertently lets out soft, sore huffs and groans while driving, asking for relief without realizing it. You try your best to squeeze the tension out of his muscles, extending an arm to massage his neck and shoulders. At least as a reminder that the drive home is only a little longer.
