🪷Freetimewriter🪷

“You should save it for someone special.” — is the sentence that makes you realize you are being friend-zoned.

Friend-zoned by Gris, who, in your humble opinion, happens to worry too much about being chivalrous sometimes. Friendly rejected in a narrow space of a work truck you dragged him into for privacy, with you and him currently hiding in the underground garage.

Expected in hindsight, unexpected in impact.

You exhale deeply, receiving little relief when the car still stinks like cigarettes of a certain individual. The plea in your eyes is tainted with a speck of annoyance. “I don't care about someone special. I might as well never find them,” you reply with exasperation, rubbing your face. Most are asleep at this hour, yet you are here, almost begging to be ruined by a handsome man.

Gris frowns, as if you are undervaluing yourself. “How come? You are a lovely woman, and…”

You admire him for his reverence, but honestly, his romantics have you cringing when you're on hunt to be fucked…

… For the very first time in your life, if not including the way he’s fucking up with your ambitions.

You think his reasoning is something a teenage girl would love to hear, and while she deserves the best, it’s not something an adult woman who has made up her mind — mind you, with maturity and hours of pondering — would want to now hear.

“Look, I won’t pressure you — it’s all your choice. But I want you to know we don’t have to be in love for this. That’s totally fine by me. No grudges will be held,” you try to bargain with the most cordial tone you can muster, even if your fingers nervously drum against the armrest. You want to respect his wishes no matter how eager and frustrated you may be.

Gris laughs nervously; you for sure are one of an attractive lady in his eyes, yet he’s not sure if he’s willing to complicate the friendship built between you two in exchange for few moments of relief. Being so close to you has him flustered already — your top lingers low on your chest today, as if you’re using a bait on him.

“I appreciate that. I really do. You could say I’m flattered it’s me who you chose to entrust yourself with… Regardless, I don’t want to get any weird ideas about you after the fact.”

He pats your shoulder, and as soon as he escapes you and your alluring perfume, you’re left alone with your own thoughts.

You’re in quite a pickle.

Remaining as a virgin at your grown age has became dull, like a layer you can’t shed off. It’s not that you’re saving yourself for marriage or are necessarily afraid of intimacy… It is instead fate who has funny ways of cockblocking you from gracing some dude’s bed.

You’re desperate to know what sex is like, not to mention, well, you are pent up and horny and agitated with no dick to take the edge off till this day — and your job certainly leaves you stressed out. No boyfriend whatsoever, because how do you handle one, being a Cleaner and living in HQs? It’s too exhausting just at the thought.

It’s not that finding a man to sleep with is difficult — you’re sure there’s many who would have jumped at the opportunity of popping your cherry.

No, you’d have preferred it to be a man you think you can trust, like other Cleaners that would try to protect your life should there be need to. And while maybe the idea of screwing your own teammate doesn’t sound most professional, you assume everyone here has done worse things, even between each other, not exactly always following strict work ethics… As long as you distance yourself emotionally, why would it ruin your relationships? It’s all fun.

With Gris crossed out on the list of candidates, you don’t think there’s really anyone else around to ask. Boss obviously is not an option, you have a bad feeling about Tamsy, Delmon still mourns his deceased wife (and who can take that size anyway…?), Bro Santa feels more paternal to you, August would tell everyone in a feat of excitement, Follo is probably a virgin himself…

Then there’s Enjin. And maybe with him, you could have good time, you’re about ninety-nine percent sure he’s into you, and maybe you do reciprocate that attraction, but it’s just…. no. You’re worried he’d brag about being your first, or even hold it over your head for a while after. Or he would laugh at you for being a virgin despite your age. Besides, hearing about his escapades to town, you don’t want to become just another woman on his to-do-list. He’s your friend you like to drink beer and play games with, not sleep with, unless you want to catch feelings for a man who also happens to not be most open emotionally or capable of handling a woman’s feelings.

Sleep hardly comes to you that night.

“Good mornin’.”

It Enjin’s raspy morning voice that pauses the train of your thoughts, that unfortunately have crossed the side into another day with you. He shuffles into the grayish, slightly worn out communal kitchen of the headquarters, scratching his hip under his long sleeve, all exhausted and with swollen eyelids. The metal chair screeches as he throws himself on it. Yawns. Then coughs up the morning phlegm like an old man, grossing you out.

“Good to who?” you grumble from above the stone counter, fumbling with the dilapidated coffee machine mocking you by providing little cooperation. “Especially when you’re making ruckus at seven in the morning.”

“Huh,” he mumbles to himself, trying to remember if he’s done anything appalling towards you yesterday. It’s difficult to brainstorm with a sleep fog lingering, but he can’t really recall anything too bad in the end... “Your coffee’s brewing, isn’t it? You’ll soon get your caffeine shot,” he says bluntly. “Don’t take it out on me.”

Dangerous move, assuming your emotions are fickle from something as simple as caffeine withdrawal… although he finds you as a bit angry kinda hot. A smidgen of passion never hurt nobody, if only enticed a simple guy like him.

He steals a glance at you right after “insulting” you. The worn out t-shirt you slept in but no bra under is a deadly combination that reveals the outline of your breasts, your shorts are barely peaking under the length of your tee as if you might as well have none on… The intrusive thought comes, as he half a mind considers dropping something just to see you bend down, but he chases it away — you’d probably kill him once you catch up to his scheme anyway, and his murder is not as hot. He burns the image in his head for a later reference instead.

As for you, you don’t say anything in response — you only send him a glare before turning your head around to not let yourself be provoked further. You don’t need more headache. Any other day, you would catch up with him by blabbering about your latest mission and injuries you suffered, complain about your own team, brag about a cool trick with your Jinki — he’d too in return — but nothing hearty is initiated this time.

He’s not deterred by it, standing up and coming closer to you, with the saunter drowsiness brings. Up close, he eyes your face intensely, as if it will give him an answer to your moodiness, as long as he bothers you long enough.

And you hate how observant he can be, quite often at that. Always investigating someone’s personal interests.

He looks ridiculous to you, squinting his bleary eyes. “What?” you bark out, reaching out for your favorite mug you then slam down next to your prepared breakfast, as you can’t handle the suspense he’s creating.

“You’re pissed off about something,” he voices the obvious, like it’s a conspiracy theory.

“Yeah, you,” you mutter, finally pouring your coffee in.

He rolls his eyes and yawns again. “Figures. And besides me?”

You scoff. “Like I’m telling you anything.” He’d probably laugh at you — both for your failure with Gris, and as well the one to be laid for so long. Or even worse — he’d tell you you lacking sex is where your attitude comes for.

“Why not? Come on, don’t you want to give your best buddy Enjin some juicy gossip?” he says with a subtle taunt in his rasp, leaning in closer to you until you feel a bit hotter in your face.

You can’t be that desperate, that just a bit of male attention works on you! Although, with his hair still down in the morning, or his sweatpants hanging low on his hip, it’s reasonable you are be distracted. This is how male birds flaunt their appeal to a female, so you heard somewhere; knowledge on animal species is still being gleaned on the Ground, yet you have a feeling their mating rituals ironically are not so different from the women and men’s one.

“No,” you say eventually, stern, remembering the question still stands. You elbow his stomach to dominate your personal space again.

“Ouch!” he hisses, stepping away from you as if you just burned him. “I’m a victim of violence over an innocent question?”

A bit smugger, you rest your back against the counter. “I don’t need your cigarette breath on me. Who smokes before eating anything?” you mock.

“Fine, have it your way,” he says reluctantly— and dramatically — before leaning against the same surface, almost knocking the cupboards with his head due to his height. Damn him being tall too... The worst men receive the best gifts. “I’ll find out… one way or another anyway.”

“No, you will not!” you say, affronted, and take a loud, aggressive sip. You make an educated guess he’s deliberately inciting your mood to be worse.

“Yes, I will,” he mocks in return, mimicking your appalled tone, then laughs at your unimpressed look. “Okay, I won’t pry, just cause I don’t want your retaliation,” he sighs as if he let go of a good deal, just for you. “But I’ve got a hunch you’ll tell me on your own terms anyway,” is added cockily.

You shake your head, tired of his assertiveness. You’d rather not have a big mouth around him, but Enjin happens to have a talent for opening up people… or sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong in general. You only hope Gris will keep his shut. “Anyway. Are you going to just stand there, or…?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry yet,” he throws nonchalantly. To be expected when he smokes first thing in the morning. Although, he still might be hungry for something else.

“Then why are you even there?” you ask with confusion, wondering if he made his trip here only to annoy you.

“Well…” he drawls, thinking of a quick excuse. Saying he's there to charge his energy for the day by ogling and teasing you isn’t the best clincher. “Coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee,” you point out bluntly. “Thankfully.”

“Maybe I want to try one made by you,” he musters something beguiling, if not straightup flirtatious, smirking.

“Yeah, right.”

Dammit. You don’t believe him and that sucks for Enjin, because lately, he’s been making many useless routes around you just to “run into you.” One too many of the unexplainable events and you’ll know he’s been following you, as a result of something very pesky to him about himself making him want to see you often — and it’s not just your delicious body.

“Yeah, no, I was just…” he shuffles around the cupboards, pulling out a few snacks. “Getting those for Rudo before others can get their hands on those later. But don't tell anyone.” He winks at you, internally believing he made a smooth exit out of before he could be caught in a lie.

Except, you think you can’t be that stupid. You can tell there’s something up, the unnatural nervous energy about him, even if his explanation is plausible; however, you plan to ignore the conundrum until you’re done with your rejection-woes.

“Huh. Yeah. My mouth's sealed. Anyway. I’ve gotta get ready for a mission, so…” you grab your plate and mug, suddenly feeling exposed in your pajama you were too lazy to change from yet.

“Alright.” He doesn’t tell you what a bummer it is you’re leaving so soon.

“And, Enjin…” you stop two steps after. “Sorry for snapping at you for no reason,” you say reluctantly. Looking back at you snapping at him over your personal affairs, maybe you were too rough on him…

He doesn’t gloat at your admission, nodding once, as if appreciating you taking responsibility. “Good call. Thanks,” he acknowledges calmly.

But when you pass him on your way out the kitchen, right as he’s lighting up another cigarette of this morning, he gives your ass a good look.

And you can feel that gaze.

“I saw that!” you scold from behind your shoulder and move faster to scurry away from him. “I’m taking that apology back, you don’t deserve my kindness!”

“Right, my bad,” he replies unabashedly, “Just don’t forget about the upcoming grouping.”

When you’re gone, he cusses under his breath, letting out an exhale so dense it ricochets across the empty room. You’re entering his head like an uninvited, nagging, and pushy guest far too often. One time even, as he was helping you fix cupboard door with loose bolts, he let it fall on his head instead of holding it properly for you because he got distracted by the sight of your top riding up from your arms reaching high.

“She’s a trouble,” he complains aloud to no one.

Most of the Cleaners tend to spend their free time on their own. It’s really Enjin who organizes any outings between you; drags others along to towns with him if he has to.

Tonight, it’s the kind no kids are not allowed to — his own team stays behind, while it’s you, him, Semiu, Gris, as well other willing adults that tag along.

The air in this club is steamy from the heat dancing bodies create, shoving each other at the brick walls covered in old alcohol advertisements, especially that the capacity of this popular space must have been exceeded a long time ago. Youth gathers here the most, looking for escape from shitty jobs; they occasionally bump into your shared black table that’s as rocky as they are. The tiled floors are sticky, and turned gray inadvertently years ago.

But Enjin finds it particularly difficult to concentrate on having fun for once.

He’s not adjusted to seeing you in anything else than your uniform or clothes to lounge around the base. That shorter dress of yours, tight and off shoulders, in your favorite color, is certainly a conspicuous man lure. It might be dark here — even for a glam scene moderate light is supposed to create — as the old bulbs still wait to be replaced, yet he’d recognize the shape of your body everywhere. Then there’s your makeup, lips plumpened with gloss, and whatever magic Riyo did with your hair for her fun.

To his dismay, this outfit works out for you well. You’ve been gaining attention and traction ever since you walked into the place, and to add fuel to the fire, you’ve been sending mutual looks to some of the men around. He can’t tell if you’ve always been the flirty type and you hid it from him, or is it something about today’s weather.

The place is stuffy, smells like vodka and vomit, which only irritates him further. The air is trash inside, the literal trash air is trashy outside too, when do you even catch a break?

It’s only some guys that give up when they see his glare, Enjin’s bull eyes peaking through his smoke like the red dot of his cigarette, a warning road sign hanging next to you. Givers generally don’t have the best reputation among normies, as they’re seen as materialistic and overly attached to their possessions. But it’s also about their gaze that is oftentimes dull and razor in comparison to other people; it’s the cockier ones that remain dauntless in face of Enjin.

“Someone catching your eye?” Semiu teases you, arm draped over the back of your chair. “You've been eying quite many men lately, I noticed.”

Enjin looks at you both with suspicion — smartly seated across you for a better view. It’s clear you and Semiu know something he doesn’t.

“On a hunt today?” he butts in scornfully, and you don’t like his sudden attitude that’s been throwing you off. He's been killing the mood since you stepped inside. No yapping about his team’s achievements today, that Rudo this, Zanka that and all that jazz.

You tense up defensively — no, seriously, what is his problem? “Something like that. I must have fun once in a while, right? It's the least I deserve for putting my life on the line all the time…” you speak with sarcasm.

“Guess so… though you immediately running after some douchebag kinda beats the purpose of coming to the bar with your friends,” he’s really bitter, brows pinched together. “Just don't ditch us too soon.”

You can’t believe his sudden aggressiveness — who does he think it is to dictate your behavior, out of all people too?

“You’ve got plenty of people to talk to. Other tables with our guys to join. And don’t act as if you wouldn’t be doing the same,” you glare at him. You’ve been sipping on a tawdry cocktail as to prevent yourself from getting wasted and ruining your plan to conquer some guy, but in the end, you might need something stronger to be able to deal with Enjin’s brattiness.

“Touche,” he mutters and takes a cigarette drag a bit viciously. “But the difference between you and me is that I at least organized the fun for everyone.”

“Yet it’s not like I’d have any fun with you when you have a stick up your ass today anyway,” you grumble, entertaining the idea of stabbing him with a tiny drink umbrella in your hand. It’s a grueling labor, avoiding his moodiness to shatter your excitement for tonight.

“Oh yeah?” he mocks and points a dramatic finger at you, like it's some kind of accusation brewing. “You sure gonna have a lot of fun looking like that,” he drops a bomb on you.

He realizes what he said when your mouth falls open and the table turns silent; or rather, he realizes what it sounded like. While he was just a projecting and jealous idiot, he ended up sounding like a chauvinistic pig without meaning to.

“Looking like what?” you and Semiu synchronize angrily, daring him to finish his nasty thought. Gris knocks his ankle under the table, scolding.

Enjin raises his hands (and cigarette) in a placating gesture. “Wait, you got it all wrong, silly,” he laughs off, simultaneously getting rid of his stress the idea of losing your approval brings. “I mean to say: looking gorgeous. But yeah. Who am I to stop you? Go ahead and have your fun.” He shrugs.

“Hmph. Thought so,” you say with head high, eyeing his simple pants and t-shirt up and down. He can't say anything on your spotless look when he barely put any effort into his!

And soon, ironically, and very unfortunately for Enjin, the fun does end up coming to you.

The man who approaches your table is immediately stared down by him, but this one doesn't relent, leaning down to whisper something to your ear that almost makes you giggle. A type of guy to wear a polo shirt with a fit too tight to accentuate the muscles he pumped to catch attention of women and all.

Enjin is forced to watch you being stolen from him in front of his very eyes. You and your pretty dress walking off with that beau, heading to the dance floor.

He doesn’t know who is he more mad at. He for sure now knows he regrets taking you here.

“Why you’re giving her a stink eye all evening? She's looking pretty, she should be getting it all out,” Semiu says dryly, disrupting Enjin’s war of thoughts.

“Not that I care,” he scoffs and crushes his cig butt into the ashtray. That’s the thing about Enjin — he can be quite dramatic, and when he does, he looks absolutely childish. “I’m doing just peachy,” he sighs, trying to not sulk over his loss of your presence.

“Easy now with that attitude,” she teases. “You’ve had a long day of doing absolutely nothing. Must be exhausting!”

Gris has been watching the bickering all this time in contemplation. He has a pretty good idea of what you’re attempting to obtain from these men, and he’s unsure how Enjin would react if he were to know — only that it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. He stays silent about that truth, choosing to distract his friend.

“Hey, Enjin, how about we play pool—”

“No,” Enjin shuts his offer immediately.

He huffs in disbelief. “So you’re going to stare at her like a murderer all night?”

“Not staring. Watching. Look at these guys, they’re just… shady,” Enjin says grumpily. He slumps himself in his chair, crossing his tattooed arms before he turns into a guard dog.

Semiu and Gris send each other exasperated looks. Their colleague is not someone they want to nanny tonight.

“Well, it’s not like she can’t help herself in case she needs to. She’s not defenseless, so why won’t you just mind your business?” Semiu scowls and stands up. She’d much rather find a nice girl to talk to than witness Enjin’s whining all night. “I have to get away from this party pooper,” she mumbles to herself.

“Just making sure nothing bad happens,” Enjin replies nonchalantly, not even looking at her, as he locks into monitoring you, playing with his umbrella.

It's hard to locate you amid the flutter of dancing people and kaleidoscope of colorful lights, but when he does… You’re apparently having a lots, lots, and lots of fun.

When he previously thought of you dancing, he didn't expect it to be… this debauchery. You backed up against a male body, it not even belonging to your previous catch anymore, but to a new one as if you are passing men around, his hands all over your body… as you move to the rhythm of music, grinding together. He’s seen you flirt with men occasionally before, yet it has never quite reached this level.

This is perhaps a price Enjin has to pay for not making moves on you much earlier. It is definitely a nightmare played out in reality to him. How do you cope with multiple men touching the woman you’re into, all transpiring in the momentum of one night? There’s adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it’s a miracle he’s still sitting in that chair. His hand flexes its fingers, and some kind of anxiety lingers in his stomach.

He tries to look away. He really does, remembering Semiu’s smart words. He tries to concentrate his gaze on another appealing woman he’d normally love to chat with. Who is he to stipulate what you do and with whom?

Yet there's this ugly feeling brewing in him, a foreign concept to him, and Enjin is incapable to accept the notion you're into someone else and that you’d dare to let them touch you so easily, unused to this vision. Every heart brutality sent his way is on top of you ignoring his flirts for the past months, like he’s lesser than strangers.

He barely hears Gris trying to talk sense into him, busy watching your dress’s skirt ride up your bare thighs with every sway of your hips he thinks he’d treat better than any of those horny leeches. Then buy you a drink (and maybe some other stuff on different occasions if you smile at him like that enough.) The only positive is that you look absolutely gorgeous while you’re at your ritual.

He didn't feel this envious even the day someone else won a ticket lottery for Too Lily’s concert.

Enjin’s not the one to loose his cool easily, nor is he the one to react with aggression on a regular basis — even during fights. But he might as well go to hell for his transgressions tonight, as this much — you being entertained by some other asshole — he can’t let go of.

He stands up straight, hastily inhaling the leftovers of his drink for a confidence boost.

“And where do you think you’re going, Enjin?” Gris asks sternly, having enough of his infantile games. He’d prefer to stop any fight from escalating out.

“That guy over there with her looks like trouble. Don’t trust him one bit. I’ll keep an eye on her from up close,” he makes an excuse, not caring whether it’s believable or not. In a way, he does find many guys here shady, because… well, he’s a guy himself, surrounded by many other guys, and so knows what his kind can be like. There is some protective urge gnawing at him. “Watch after Umbreaker!”

“Enjin!” Gris calls him from behind but has to give up when he notices his friend has already disappeared into the crowd. Going after him would only create more commotion, so he counts on you putting him in his place and Enjin normally straying from whittling down people. He shakes his head with annoyance and chugs down his beer.

Hopefully no teeth will be smashed into smithereens tonight.

You’ve gotten really invested into the process of suitor chasing, alcohol in your bloodstream aiding you. You’re circling yourself between different men, making assessments of their likeability before you can choose the winner of the night. You’re no longer looking at their face, only judging how good you feel in their arms from behind you. The fact you’re doing this around strangers is as marginal, considering they’re busy with their own affairs.

Your favorite song is playing, the smoke machine is filtering through and adding to the sultry atmosphere, and blinking lights turn you dizzy, going with the rhythm of your body that you have to turn up your workout. Nothing can go wrong when you’re having this much fun.

Eventually, the one you end up with has really handsome hands, that stay steady and rhythmic on your hips. Big, calloused, with a strong grip on your hips. Nice.

You lean back against his toned chest, more comfortably, smelling cigarettes through the crowd of different colognes and perfumes. The mysterious stranger has to be tall too, and as his hands don’t wander around too fast — not out of modesty if he moves skillfully and sensually, awaking your nerves — you think that maybe he might be the one. You don’t need to turn around to see his face to know he’s got a nice body on him, or that he’s especially capable of paying attention to your needs rather than solely grabbing curves for himself.

He’s only awfully quiet, which you absolve him of by assuming he wants you to focus on his touch first and foremost.

Him presumably about to grind against you like those men before, you think the least getting-to-know-him thing to do is to look down at his hands over your hips, feasting on the sight; but when you do, different swirls and lines mix into your blurry vision.

Maybe the lighting here isn’t the best, you’re tipsy too, but a bad feeling starts gnawing at you the more you concentrate on his arms, your mind churning a familiar photographic memory. Dark, intricate patches and lines contrasting the lighter skin, condensed the most across the bottom of his hand and forearm. Black nails, except for the pinky fingers. There’s many people here whose skin is adorned by tattoos, but this is too specific.

“Enjin?” you ask, astonished by your realization.

What. The. Fuck.

You're too scared to whip your head around, refusing to confirm this mindfuck-worthy discovery. Your body is rigid.

The suspect tenses up behind you, although, doesn't stop moving you two, and you almost trip over your own feet, moving along only out of shock — and it’s not as if there’s much space to get away within the first place.

Finally, he allows himself to speak and reveal his identity.

“Yes?”

He has shoved himself between other men in order to retrieve you from them — smarter than fighting, astounding in audacity nevertheless.

“What are you—” words barely leave your mouth, as you’re still dumbfounded. What’s gotten into his rotten mind to decide to do this? He’s never come this close to you before.

“So what if it’s me? You’ve been dancing with many men tonight, I shouldn’t be any different?” he speaks with some irritation lingering in his voice, close to your ear, in result teasing it with shivers.

You can't tell if his he’s shaming you for your indulgence, or is making a counterargument, but it’s difficult to deny his body has been feeling nice on yours. You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately yourself, that now, you haven’t acted with rejection yet.

“None of them are my teammates…” you argue weakly. “You fucker…”

“Hm, fair point, but are they this nice?”

His fingers stroke your hips, rubbing faint circles, before squeezing on them and tugging you closer — and your stomach rushes with butterflies, against your good conscience. Are you this sensitive from alcohol, or is he that good with his hands?

“Enjin…” you murmur shakily, sensing that your defenses are falling apart under just a little of dexterous stroking.

“Yes?” he drawls, leaning down to rest his face in your nape, and his hair grazes your nerves even more.

You feel his heart thrumming against your back. He’s not immune to you either… though that much you could predict from his boner starting a formation poking at your ass. “What prompted this?”

His hands tighten on you, previous anger making its presence for one more moment. “You can’t trust these guys,” he abuses that excuse again.

“And I can trust you?” you’re confused about his hypocrisy, as you are offended by it, finally turning your head to face him. You blow air at the sweaty strand of hair coming across your face, frustrated. Enjin is always so keen on staying secretive about his past; he might as well be another stranger to you.

He doesn’t reply immediately, forgetting anything existent when your eyes lock with his; both pairs buzzing with lustful energy, electrifying.

When he remembers to speak, with him amused by a cute puckering of your lips from indignation, suddenly his anger begins to disperse: if it weren’t for these dudes before, he wouldn’t be there with you, so maybe he ought to be grateful. “That’s for you to judge. However…”

His hands wander up to your waist, slow, as he observes the way your lacquered mouth parts open in response, and he rubs at your side.

“You said you wanna have some fun, didn't you? Don’t think I didn't notice the way you look at me sometimes. Even just this morning, for example…”

The fact he has caught you staring fills you with embarrassment; although, the traces of arousal between your thighs make it harder to care about being exposed.

Two can play that game, apparently. He’s pulled to you, you push, until he pulls you close himself. Repeated daily.

“I…”

“It doesn’t matter. Just focus on me,” he assures lowly.

You shouldn’t be doing that, but you end up relenting to his whims, alcohol and feelings winning over.

You close your eyes, letting your ass roll with his crotch, side to side, until you fall to the rhythm of slutty remix playing. It’s still all new for you to feel a man’s bulge pressing into you. You shiver from the sensitivity it brings, and while you might have not done this before, you can tell he’s packing a nice size in his pants.

As for Enjin, he’s losing his mind, having you this close — his dick has never been more painful in its hardness, your perfume taunts his nose, and it’s a heaven you haven’t pushed him away. The weight of your body against him will ghost him for a while. And then goes that dress again…

Soon, you get lost in him and the music. Your body is all hot, your blood pumping everywhere, and it’s not alcohol — even more so when you hear his sighs near your ear. Your tension is growing quickly, especially when at some moment Enjin bends you over a little…

Too quickly — because he brushes against your panty-clad outline after your dress finally reveals it, bringing a foreign sensation to those regions, and you refuse to make a fool of yourself in front of everyone, when a contact this direct almost allowed for a shameful sound to leave. So much for drunk and horny confidence, when you get scared by a bit of petting and actual grinding, having not anticipated it. With other guys before, you’d leave before anything too serious could develop, not finding them that interesting.

You’re suddenly pushing yourself away from him. But he keeps you close, thinking you’ve simply come up with the maddening idea of being a tease.

“Let me go, Enjin,” there's clear fluster in your voice, as there is some forcefulness behind it to assert yourself decision enough.

You yank again and again and it’s only then when he finally lets you go, worried about making a scene that could cause misunderstanding, as well your reaction.

“What’s gotten into you so suddenly?” he asks with confusion.

You don't answer, quickly making your exit without looking back, on chase to separate yourself from an embarrassing encounter.

“Hey, wait, I'm sorry if I get ahead of myself, but you were—” he tries to summon you back, going after you through the tight corridor of other people you butt into and irritate this way. His heart is pounding, as he wonders if he just ruined any chance with you, even if you clearly were into him here for a sec.

He grabs your wrist only after you escaped the crowd, stopping you short before you could get away further.

“You're seriously going to ignore me after this?” his tone turns grave from the thought at your cowardly audacity.

“It was a mistake,” you say roughly, trying to remove his grip.

To your relief, Enjin lets you go, not wanting you to bruise yourself from the struggle; however, he’s on guard, ready to stop you again in case you think of running without some explanation.

Remaining silent for few seconds, he tries to gauge your feelings. You’re moody, appearing a bit troubled and tired by something, all that excitement from before gone.

“Mistake how? I would have thought it’s because of me, but, uh, you looked oddly shy all of a sudden…” he sounds openly suspicious. Oddly, as coming from someone who was ready to conquer the male cluster tonight.

He’s really too smart for his own good. Words get stuck in your throat, and you have to sit down from the alcohol blues coming in, choosing a spot at the empty booth behind you. You only perch yourself on the edge of the leather red seat, ready to flee the hell away from him should the conversation progress in a wrong direction.

“Well?” he prods further. “You're gonna tell me what’s going on, or does the little escapee feel like avoiding me for the rest of the night?”

You pick on your dry cuticle, shuffling your feet from restlessness too. “That’s… none of your business. I really don't want you laughing at me,” you finally reply, words coming out clumsily.

“And how would you know I'd laugh at you, whatever it is about?” he’s affronted, as if you have no faith in him.

Your face deadpans — it’s obvious.

“Fine, maybe I laugh at others sometimes—” you raise your brow, “half of the time,” he corrects himself dramatically, “but what if I promise I won't laugh at you? I can tell whatever this is, that it matters to you,” he grins like a seller, thinking he’s so nice to you.

“I don’t believe you,” you say outright.

Enjin scowls and ruffles his hair, offended you can’t appreciate his kind offer. “You’re being difficult.”

As if he isn’t just nosy. As if you didn’t hug his boner few minutes ago.

“Whatever,” he acquiesces with a heavy sigh. “Let’s make a deal, so you can stop second-guessing me. If I laugh at you, you’re allowed to ask Gris about one very embarrassing for me moment. Eye for an eye. You can have all the giggling fit shit that you want if I ever laugh at you first.”

When you think about it, that’s rather honorable of Enjin. Nonetheless…

“But why do you even care.” You stand up, approaching him more closely again, as if you’re gearing up to squeeze something honest out of him.

He eyes you warily, while his heart picks up a familiar pace of excitement he can’t accept till this day. As for your question, he thinks you don’t need to know the real reason, nor is he good at vocalizing those type of feelings.

“Well…” he scratches the back of his head and looks around — anything to avoid seeing your cleavage and becoming your fool again — everyone seems to have great fun, except for you two huddling this corner of the club. “I'd much rather know why, than stay thinking I came out as a creep to you. Set things straight between us...”

As well know your secrets goes unsaid. It’s some weird type of responsibility sense, watching after other’s troubles. He’s taking on that role with his “kids” all the time, for example. But above all, with you, he needs to know it all with even more urgency.

For you, you suppose that’s fair — not wanting any loose ends. You have to reap what you sow because you didn’t stop the dance on the spot and now you owe him an explanation for the sudden rejection.

Being mature enough by communicating is so much trouble if you’re not even able to at least reward yourself by bringing any man to some motel with you.

“If we must have this conversation, let’s have it tomorrow when we have sobered up. I’m suddenly feeling exhausted,” you say listlessly.

He lights up a bit, as weird as it is to you. “So it’s a deal?”

You hold him in suspense, staring at him with some type of theatrical disdain. “Yeah, it’s a deal.”

You spit at your palms before connecting them for a handshake.

When the next day arrives, you think you don’t remember the last time you were this nervous; not even the usual missions have you this apprehensive like one conversation to have does.

Telling Gris about your sex life, or lack thereof, was quite easy in comparison to telling Enjin, as you find the first rather comforting when he’s not exercising his inhumane strength on trash beats.

Resided in your room and warming your bed for the sake of stability the familiar space brings, your nerves are still wracked when your space is being disturbed by the possible end of your reputation breathing down your neck.

Meanwhile, Enjin has been forced to sit on a tiny stool of your vanity table, as if going through some punishment, picking up every of your possessions he has no clue what they’re for.

However, it’s a tiny discomfort to the reveal you make soon.

“You’re a what?”

His jaw is hanging low in shock, and your powder brush falls on the wooden surface. He could feel it's something big in his bones, but you still being a virgin, that’s unprecedented to the idea of you he has had in his head all this time. He’s known you for quite a while, and yet, somehow something so significant has slipped his way.

You anticipate his laughter, or at least a snicker to make it in character. You’re pretty sure if it was anyone else confessing, he'd be laughing in a robust way you old virgin, before eventually choosing to give some backhanded yet useful and life-changing advice and assurance. But nothing comes to violate your ears.

He himself has no idea what to do with this confession.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you mumble, picking at the threads of your blanket. It’s the worst moment, anticipating what kind of opinion he’ll express.

“But…” he trails off as he stands up, not knowing what to do with himself either. He takes a few steps back and forth across your limited space floor before looking at you with confusion, trying to crack the code like a man who was suddenly deprived of any brain cells.

Math isn’t mathing here. He literally remembers — vividly at that — what you were doing last night.

Unless… it was a ploy to find your first guy. Just a one rather bold and straightforward.

“How is that possible?” he exclaims with frustration, his hands on the hips. “I mean… it’s not that you’re bad-looking,” he gulps at the thought of you when you— “Besides, some men will get their hands on everything. How come you are still one?”

“It was more of my decision…” you admit awkwardly. You’re a tiny bit relieved he’s not turning his lung upside down from laughing at you, although you were not prepared to be bombarded with questions.

“So you’re a prude?” he asks bluntly, sitting down again.

You forgot that lack of laughter still doesn't contradict the existence of foul mouth.

You shut your eyes, exhale deeply as to not let yourself be provoked, and open them with scornfulness etched over your face. “Not necessarily,” you say in a brusque tone.

He weighs your answer, wondering how much he can get away with fooling around before you’d turn too defensive and kick him out; you’ve got to have your blood boiling from embarrassment already, that's why he takes on a route of being a better listener.

“Then what is it?” He sits down again. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward.

He's overly curious to your liking. You could have just finished the conversation here, as soon as you gave him the evidence it wasn’t him but your fears that you underestimated that had you running away last night. However, you’d rather shut this chapter close. And maybe, just maybe, you want him to know. The worst part of this avowal is behind you, right?

“Well… you know how it is,” you start, speaking with more evenness. “Growing up as a Cleaner, I never had a chance to settle down with anyone. And while men in the nearest settlements exist, I was too invested in fighting to even bother with finding anyone… not to mention, I didn’t want it to be a bad experience...”

Well, those arguments personally have never stopped Enjin from pursuing other people — what else can you do between the missions and not go crazy? Nonetheless, yours are still sound. Everything makes more sense now — flaunting yourself to these guys yesterday was about finding one to lose your virginity to.

“Until now,” he finishes the conclusion for you with a hum of annotation, “So you’re finally tired of waiting?”

You nod. Suddenly, your body feels much lighter, cathartic after making all that admission. Now you can move on, and—

“Does that mean I ruined your hunt?” he cups his chin in thought, as he tries to not sound satisfied. That idea shouldn't make him so happy.

Forget it. You grow irked again, your eyelid twitching as you’re brought to remember the failure Enjin enforced on you. “You did, now when I look back at yesterday,” you huff out with anger, crossing your legs and resting your face against your hand in sulk. “Why did you get in my way anyway again?!”

You throw a pillow at him he catches anyway.

Upon your question, he looks to the side to be avoidant, he himself turning fairly grumpy. It’s not as if he could admit he felt unreasonably jealous. “Told you these guys seemed shady.” Same old excuses.

“And I’m not a child. I can take care of myself,” you declare sternly.

“You were also drunk,” he points out stubbornly.

“Not the first time, not the last time. And even if you were to be right, you couldn’t simply pull me away from them?”

You suddenly recall the way he danced with you. It makes your body throb with heat, you have to adjust your position. Wrangling with him is getting tiring, but there’s also something very hot about it, the chemistry you can’t deny.

Then it finally hits you, and you feel so dumb for not realizing that earlier. It’s just that you never imagined Enjin to be the type, and that theory escaped your mind when you were busy stressing out about what you did with him.

“Wait… Were you jealous or something?”

That’s got to be it. The only plausible explanation for him being overprotective out of the blue.

His eyes widen and a lump gets stuck in his throat. “Fuck no,” he replies viscerally, sitting up straight as if he was burned. His thoughts are racing, as you battle each other with eye contact meanwhile. Your steel gaze covers him with cold sweat, and his mouth opens up to form a curse that never leaves from how speechless you’ve rendered him. Accusation like this shouldn't be giving him plethora of heart jumpscares, he shouldn't be so defensive, but you’ve been having funny ways of messing with his brain inadvertently.

In conclusion, you knowing the truth about the extent of his possessiveness would be his pride taking a hit.

“I’m not,” he puts the pressure on his words.

At this point, he’s dragging on the inevitable.

You frown, standing up. “Then what would even be your problem, huh? And no, I don’t believe you for a second it’s about being protective.”

“Tsk. Don’t act like our attraction isn't mutual,” he mutters quietly.

“What was that?”

“I’m telling you, I’m not jealous!” he leans forward and ruffles his hair out of frustration. This is really hitting his ego. His heart. Whatever that is making him so susceptible to you.

You realize the tiny power that gives you. It’s not often you see him like this, stumbling over his words, a telltale of some sort of vulnerability.

You turn this discovery into teasing him, getting back at him spoiling your fun, as you inch closer. “You were jealous, yes, you were!”

He admires you in secret, for your wrong and right, but your jokester move is too much at the moment. Enjin grits his teeth, raising his head up to look at you with almost a plea to stop. Let him have this one. “Stop, I don't know even know what’s jealousy—”

But you’re relentless, smirking as if you won. “It’s okay to admit that you are. Maybe I’ll make it better for you after.”

Until he can’t take it anymore.

He makes a space for you between his legs, then is drawing you close by your waist before tugging down on your hair so your lips can meet his.

He was indeed jealous.

He’s kissing you. He’s actually kissing you. To shut you up, although, if you desperately seek your truth, this is the only way he’ll let you on the window of his heart.

You stand frozen in stupor at first, while his mouth is moving already. Your rationality tells you to push him away, to not make things even more complicated between each other; your body says fuck you. You dig your palms into his thighs and kiss him back with twice fervor, pulling out a gasp from him.

At least this one is something you have experience in.

Your own emotions erupt, catalyzed by the shocking gesture. All that tension that's been hanging over you like a cloud that could never rain until a thunder struck it; your dissatisfaction with him; your attraction for him.

You bite at his lip with anger that he groans, and he pulls on your hair harder, deepening the kiss. His other hand wanders up to your face, tilting your face so he can lick across your lips before pushing tongue in.

You moan at the sensation enhanced by keeping your eyes closed, rolling your tongue with his. Tasting tobacco, smelling tobacco shooting straight through his cologne, experiencing his strong grip on you, you feel yourself getting heated up. There’s nothing on your mind other than him, your hate too, and if someone were to interrupt you two now, you’d probably want to kill them.

Enjin shares your sentiment especially, humming, as he’s having the time of his life. Both of your chests are going at the crazy rate. He’d rather regret some things later than now let you go. Maybe he would never gather enough confidence in any other circumstances, so if it’s possibly his only kiss with you, so be it.

You eventually end up on his lap, drawn down by him, as his hands begin a tantalizing route over your body. Then they go down to your hips and ass that he squeezes handsomely until you whimper, and now it’s you tugging on his hair, his Choker, and brushing his chest with an angry growl, until you both start a game of trying to one up another.

Your results are messy, with teeth clinking, but you can’t stay away as if every brush of lips is not hard enough.

It’s only when your oxygen is sparse that you forcefully pull away from Enjin who would gladly go longer, even at the expense of his breath.

You take a step back and stumble on your feet, breathless and dazed, as you fix your hair. You stare at each other: Enjin’s honey eyes are hooded with desire, while yours are no better. There's even some flush decorating his face.

You plop yourself back on your bed, slowly coming back to reality. “What… what was that…” you ask quietly, trying to shake yourself awake. Your heart goes for your throat, and your nerves are still pretty much awake, as if awaiting more touch.

“You wouldn’t have shut up otherwise,” he scoffs, although his features have softened. It’s not affection, it’s not tiredness, it’s some you-torment taking over he capitulates to.

You linger in silence, none of you winding up to comment on what happened.

You think you should kick him out at this point. You really should. You can’t start something that has no guarantee or even steady foundation. You should be mad he’s meddling with your sex life too. However…

He can tell what kind of troubled thoughts you’re experiencing, and since he’s not done getting to the bottom of your virgin issue, he decides to overstay his welcome.

“… Soooo,” he clears his thought, changing the subject for the sake of you two, as if the kiss didn't happen.

You think that’s maybe for the better, even if a switch up leaves a bitter taste in your mouth — on top of you still feeling him on you. “What is it?” you mutter.

“Do you plan on going back there again?”

“I guess so,” you say nearly bitterly, your mood turning sour after an awkward confrontation. As if he’s messing with you and you’re letting him. Playing push and pull. “Unfortunately, I have exhausted my other safe options?”

“What other options?” he narrows his eyes, jealousy striking again.

Uh oh. You implied that without thinking. “Well… I might have asked… Gris… to help me. He refused,” you say hesitantly, anticipating the worst reaction.

Enjin’s jaw drops for the second time today. He thinks that’s even worse. You fucking his own friend. It’s personal as hell. He clenches his jaw, glaring at you. Seriously, it's betrayal after betrayal.

“Let me get this straight. So you thought of asking my own friend you’re not even that into. Yet you didn’t think of asking me?!” he almost yells, all dramatic.

That’s his problem?

“I mean—” you stutter, not wanting to give him the real reason as to why he was excluded in case he becomes even more offended, even if you’re right to worry he might take you for granted. “Well, would you even do it?” You smooth out your covers, not wanting to look at Enjin.

“No way,” he snickers. He wants you — badly — yet, he doesn’t want the consequences of getting that close with you. Regardless of whether he’s offended you didn’t include him in or not.

Which also makes him a huge hypocrite because how do you refuse to sleep with a woman but also not want her to sleep with other men?

You glance at him, raising your brow. “Why not? Don’t you find me attractive?” now it's you being nosy. And maybe a bit offended yourself.

Seriously. What type of question it is. Of course he does. Just the imagination of having you, taking your virginity especially, as he teaches you to take him and subsequently ruins you for others, makes him insanely hard at the thought.

“Don’t let me make yourself question your looks, silly.” Even he wouldn’t go that far. “I simply don't want to look weirdly at you after the fact,” he says bluntly and stretches his arms above his head, tired of sitting in that tiny chair.

“How so?” you're confused, considering the previous events.

“Well… we work together, don’t we? Don’t wanna start being distracted mid job because I remembered.”

“Yet you danced with me. And now you kissed me?” you point out with exasperation. Your hands flail while you gesticulate, as if you were painting that image.

“Yeah… low effort, low risk. We’d probably not remember it a day after. As for the kiss… well… consider it blowing some steam off,” he says dismissively, hiding behind nonchalance.

That's just cold. You’d wince if you didn’t know he’s playing down the kiss, for some complex reason. He’s been more easy to read lately, whether he realizes that or not. You’re only being disrespected by that.

“It’s not like I would ask you anyway... I guess I’m back to bothering some guy in town. You can leave now,” you say, exhausted by that back and forth.

“… What?” he splutters from disbelief.

He forgot that just because he ruined your plans to lose virginity last night, doesn't entail you have given up on them entirely.

Enjin wants to believe the sudden distraught misplacement he experiences is coming from the raw need to protect you — against men willing to prey on your inexperience only — but he’d be lying if he said he didn't hate the thought of another man touching you just as much.

He used to think you're no virgin, yet finding out he could theoretically be your first, he is now aware of what is there to be taken granted for or never gain another chance for. Or what is out there for you to be hurt in a way different than coming from a nonhuman monster.

There’s many things and people to lose on the Ground in general, in this forsaken trash land, and so he’d like to keep you close to him. For some reason.

“You said you wanted a good experience,” his voice cracks from the slight panic. It’s so comical, you want to laugh a little.

You shrug your shoulders. “I also want to get done with it. I don't expect sparks.”

“No, no, listen—” he hesitates when you lower your brows over your eyes in suspicion. “I… I didn't know it’s that important to you. I can do it.” Those words leave his mouth instinctively. He almost regrets them when he catches up with reality, but he’s set in stone about being your first.

You look at him with surprise, taken aback about his sudden change of mind.

He immediately makes an excuse, logical. “You can’t trust those guys, strangers, yeah? Too rough, not clean enough, boring — and you’ll remember that for a while, if not forever. You don't want to let them hurt you either.” He leans back against your vanity more confidently, trying to sell you that opinion.

You know he’s not wrong about anything that can go wrong; it’s really the matter of sleeping with Enjin out of all people that boggles your mind.

While you like to believe you know better and can at least put effort into finding a right man to hook up with, a guy you’re into and you know suddenly feels safer after his suggestions and persuasions… after the kiss and the dance that both still have you with heads in the clouds also. He at least has proven he's good at those things.

You both must be insane to be entertaining that, but you have been dead set on losing your virginity for a while now. It’s a matter of getting over it, so you can know it’s like, as well start your sex adventure.

You stand up, crossing your arms. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want you chickening out in the middle because you changed your mind, wasting my time,” you're adamant about him being serious with you. No games for once.

“Yes…” he responds shakily, quite in disbelief you’re actually permitting that heaven for him. “As clear as day.” He stands up too.

“Alright then… but we’re doing this based on my rules. And we're still just friends after, right?”

The place you and Enjin end up settling on is his room. Or rather, you insisted that it’s his, refusing to associate the upcoming memories with your own room. You meet him close to midnight next Friday, knowing most people around will be busy in the common hall or out, reducing the likelihood of someone finding out what the duo of you is up to.

You’ve been here in the past, although back then it was only for an inquiry about something. You thought he’s messy, as he is wild, exactly replicated in his room: from the cigarette maker spilling scobs on the tiny TV stand, through the bottles clinking over the collapsing dresser, to the laundry on his chair still waiting to be stored. You noticed some porn magazine you’d tease him about, and then the wallpaper peeling off at some corners. He also needed to clean nasty dust from his dark furniture. The hefty smoke produced repeatedly had jaundiced some things yellow — transparent curtains especially. Under the terrible light of Enjin’s rusting desk lamp barely scratching the gloaming atmosphere, Too Lily’s poster was beamed at. It was only his precious Vital Instrument that received a reverent spot on a special hook specifically mount for it on the wall.

As for today, everything seems clean. The metal bed has fresh black sheets, the floors are swiped, distracting items other than the picture of his team are hidden, and his blond hair is seemingly still damp from showering. Enjin put in some effort into making sure you’re comfortable, or that he doesn’t embarrasses himself.

And coming inside his bedroom, Enjin didn’t immediately push you on bed or whatever you might have imagined about this setup with him. He was only back to his cocky self, eager to impress you.

He’s currently taking it slowly with you, getting you into mood, as well working against your nervous tension. His experience coming in handy.

“Feel me first.”

“H-huh?”

Enjin’s crotch is flush with your ass, taunting you with his bulge. It’s too much already for your untouched body, and your head spins at the friction. It’s like it was back at the club, except you’re now fully sober, taut as a bowstring; not to mention, you barely lasted waiting those few days of awaiting to see him (he was doing no better.)

“See what’s it like. Small steps. Get used to feeling me,” his teasing is tinged with tiny breathlessness on his own.

“I don’t need you to coddle me—”

He presses his hips closer in response, having you whimper. “Not coddling. It’s called foreplay, you stubborn woman,” he chides lowly. “Unless you want it painful.”

“I know what that is!” you exclaim. But when his hands get all over your torso, groping every curve and plush through your clothes, you start craving more of that foreplay. “I’m a virgin, but I’m not clueless…”

“Don’t complain,” he feigns a tut. “I’m being nice to you, you overthinker.”

He cups your breasts, fondling them through your tee — you dressed simply to not be conspicuous to others you pass on your way to this room, but (un)fortunately forgot to put on a bra after showering due to your stress having you all over the place, giving him this advantage by an accident. He is indulging himself with your chest already, like straight out of his wet dreams.

“And I know it feels good. Aren’t I so caring, taking it slow with you?” he taunts additionally.

You give him payback, pushing your hips harder at him that he grunts, even if it drives you mad as well.

“You can’t just—”

“Then don't provoke me, asshole,” you bite.

He snorts, a bit charmed by your spirit. “Even now, you have a spunk in you…

So do I.”

His hands slip under your shirt, roaming across your front. You get goosebumps immediately, your body absorbing a new touch on your skin.

Enjin groans at the weight of your breasts; your nipples are hardened already, forming nicely between his fingers. His cock twitches against your ass.

You're chewing on your lip, biting down any louder noises out of need to preserve your image; though, you can feel aches growing between your legs.

“All nice and sweet… how dare you keep this body covered for so long, huh?” his voice is a never ending reminder of his presence all over you, drawled and intimate.

“S-shut up…” you stammer, getting shamelessly hot amid the fluster his words bring. He’s so damn talkative, uttering things with every fiber of his being.

“I could shut up… but then how else I’ll keep you on your toes? I’m building up the tension,” his hands never stop fondling and you inhale sharply when he tweaks your bud.

You lean more against his chest, glad that you can’t see him just yet, needing something to hold onto. “Can’t you just fuck me already? I can take it…” you whine.

“Trust me, you can’t. Not yet.”

That claim only adds to your anxiety, as well the excitement, heat building up in your belly. Some guys overestimate their size, but you can literally feel that he’s not lying, his bulge growing with every of your noises.

Enjin kisses at your nape, above your Choker, while his hands keep playing with your chest, mostly squeezing gently.

It's all nice. Fuzzy. His hair tickles your skin, his lips spread warmth everywhere, and then he’s rubbing your nipples again.

“E-enjin…” you say shakily. No longer able to maintain composure, a moan slips out of your lips.

His name fallen from your lips is a sinful dessert, and he wonders just how many repetitions he can pull from you. Something tells him you can take more, as you fit in his arms and are succumbing to their magic rather quickly. Perhaps your yesterday affair was a testimony that you are that desperate.

“Shh. I've got you,” is pressed into your neck with another wet kiss, his lower lip dragging it.

Eventually, not many sounds can be kept inside your mouth barrier. They sound better than they did inside his head during imagination hours. There’s plenty of fish in the sea, but he wants a siren like you.

It’s really hard for him to keep his ministrations strictly about you; to abstain from taking more immediate action.

“Ah, whatever, come here.”

He guides you onto his bed, pushing you down so your back lands on it.

You feel more vulnerable than you did before, lying with your chest heaving in anticipation.

He’s soon crawling to be above you, his hair framing his forehead — he didn’t bother to style his hair after washing, capable of looking even more handsome this way.

Your breath hitches when he moves between your legs and presses his hardness into your clothed cunt.

“You’re still doing fine?” he asks intensely, as he allows himself to take in you spread underneath him.

“Yeah…” you nod. Everything is a lot as ever, but you are not ready to give up on making this milestone.

“Good. Arms up.”

When you comply, your shirt is taken off, ensuring your chest is exposed and his for the taking. His goes off too, Enjin feeling hot and needing to feel your skin on his through no barrier. His tattoos come into your vision fully, as your mouth waters at his torso; their unique design form a question too, but you leave that for another time.

One hungry look is served at the sight of your tits and hips — ingraining his belief he’s never been more obsessed with a woman before. Then, without a word, his mouth is all over your neckline, as his hand caresses your waist. Enjin doesn’t bother to explain this process to you when he rolls his hips forward to grind into you, though proper words are knocked out of your mouth too.

His greedy kisses are wet and messy, you find yourself tilting your head for him when he launches an attack on your neck. “Enjin…” you call out quietly with a whimper.

“Mhm. Keep saying my name. It sounds nice when you’re not pissed at me once in a while…” he says with a low murmur, a few words every kiss.

He sucks on your skin around your Choker before lying down a tiny bite, as if to judge just how sensitive you are. He just can’t get enough of you once you let him on top of you, trailing saliva all over you, with his brain forming a disarray of emotions about how much your presence in his life constantly pushes him to be a man reduced to the one resting at your feet.

You yank his forearm from a surprise, feeling him hit a neuralgic spot.

“Gonna make you feel so good… just you wait…” he purrs into your throat, his cock throbbing at the throat of making you cry for him.

His mouth goes lower, giving your breasts proper attention. Grazing his teeth across the top of them before soothing your nerves with a quick kiss.

You can tell you’re getting nasty wet underneath your bottoms, your clit pulsing when he occasionally puts more pressure with his groin there. You're dizzy, overwhelmed from him targeting your body from both sides.

“S-slow down…” you mumble weakly, even if your hand goes to the back of his head to keep him close.

He makes a quiet growling protest, looking up at you from underneath his lashes. “No,” he licks at your nipple, watching you wriggle in reaction, “Don’t act like you don't need me.”

Because he for sure needs you.

Before you could tell him you would never need a man like him, he’s already shutting it down with a suck on your bud. Meanwhile, his hands holds your hips down, using them as a leverage to slowly keep thrusting forward.

You're losing your mind, digging your fingers into his nape. While your anxiety surrounding your first time still rules your mind, you start fantasizing about being fucked by him, spilling tiny moans from the stimulation he’s providing, as your body arches from the pressure of his mouth a little.

Enjin alternates between both sides, groaning every few from the friction on his clothed dick miserably trapped in his pants. He himself wonders just how much he can even afford, being with a woman he’s been dreaming about for months like a sore loser. Just your tits in his face is his undoing.

Tiny beads of tears gather across your lash line, and that motivates him to go further.

“You’re crying already?” he teases, though his eyes soften the tiniest bit from the way your lips tremble, proving you’re untouched.

“I’m not crying… I’m just sensitive…” you say petulantly, shyness tightening your chest.

“Right. It’s still a long way ahead for me to really mess with you,” he grins a little, adding to your fluster.

Just what exactly will he do with you?

He’s soon kissing down your stomach, coming dangerously low towards your abdomen, his hand playing and slightly slapping at the band of your pants as some kind of forewarning.

Your muscles tense up underneath his mouth and messy hair, skin prickling with tingles, as you circulate your breathing with ragged pace increasing itself. Your legs clench around his sides.

He’s growing brisk in his movements, needing to get into your pants asap. He’s about to see the pussy he’s been thinking of, imagining how you’d squeeze him when fisting his cock. Not to mention the few bonds destroyed because he thought of you when fucking another woman.

You can’t even care you’re exposed to your fricking coworker and a friend anymore; every kiss is one more to the excitement and nervousness of what he might do next.

And he doesn't plan on making it easy. Biding his time, counting his blessings to ensure he’s taken every part of you for his mind to rage about later. If you weren’t inexperienced, he’d love to keep you here all night.

“You’re gonna let me eat that pussy, yeah?” It’s not a question, if only the only right outcome for him, spoken deeply. Enjin looks up at you intensely, expectantly.

“You don't have to…” you trail off.

Him fucking you is one thing, him shoving his face into your loins is another, demanding more closeness… In hindsight, you expected a bit of stretching before being filled, in almost unceremonious fashion, sufficient enough to step away from the virgin title; Enjin seems keen on making your first impression much better. Whether it’s care, his kink, or perfectionism.

“But I want to. Be grateful for full service. It doesn't come cheap,” he teases, all arrogant. He could say it's just to get you more ready, but munchies also come to him in different forms.

Your pants are therefore stolen from you, slid down carefully down your trembling legs.

Enjin doesn't immediately get you buck naked, staring at you with a starving gaze, as he sits on his knees for a second. Irresistible is little to call you, for lack of a better word.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he asks lowly, tugging at the apex of your thigh and hip while his finger hooks itself around your panties. If you weren’t a nervous wreck, he’d just bruise your body by fondling it for hours, inspecting every part as enough material to be a content man.

You wriggle your hips, restless under his scrutiny, and he bites his lip with appreciation. Reality truly is much better than daydreamed visions.

“You better don’t hide anything from me tonight, you hear me?” is what he highlights before your panties are made to fly across the room, leaving you with nothing and all vulnerable.

“Just be quick with it…” you demand shakily, your tone anticipatory. It’s odd to let him see this part of your body.

But his mouth slacks at the sight of your untouched cunt, glistening from your wetness. He spreads your folds apart, imagining his cock between those, and you jolt at the foreign touch. “Would you look at that…” he mocks, embarrassing you. “I’m glad at least she’s been agreeing with me.”

“Why won’t you just—” you try to make him shut up, unused to hearing those things, but he's already lying down and spreading your legs to be between them. It happens so fast, you worry if you can even handle his enthusiasm.

He blows hot air onto your pussy, interrupting your talk that tries to arise again. “Yeah?” He rolls your clit with his thumb, up and down, eliciting more for him to eat from; your legs try to clamp on him immediately, taken aback by sudden force of tiny pleasure.

“E-Enjin…!”

“Uh huh. You weren’t lying…” he remarks — too cheerfully at your body state’s confirmation.

The fact he’s about to your first is really something difficult to not be smug about when he’s been eying you for months, and while he’s aware it’s a mean move to brag about that as if that’s all that matters, he believes it’s more elaborate than using you — especially that he strives to make you feel good.

It took him long enough to make a real move on you, after he almost lost you to some dude that who knows if he wouldn’t become your boyfriend after. So he wastes no time gluing his mouth to your slit, manhandling your thighs in effort of keeping his source open. He’s rolling around your clit with the tip of his tongue, licking a stripe upward, before slurping begins. His nose knocks at you as he goes down.

You tug on his hay blond strands with a moan, finding the sensation of his tongue lapping at everything your body produces with no gradual takeoff out of this world — as much as a new experience in this place is weird to come touch with. You wonder if he's been thinking about doing this to you before, for him to have no qualms about making you crazy from his mouth. Maybe he imagines the way he’d do it, only for all plans go to ruin because his only goal is to be voracious.

“So good…” he groans between the smacks of his lips, getting his face wet as he messily spreads ecstasy everywhere across your pussy. “You're gonna have to let me do this more often, hm?”

It feels good for you to, especially when his tongue gives your bud more attention or shallow dives inside, stretching you gently before something else will.

You’re quickly getting greedy, trying to hump his face, moaning higher and higher.

To your delight, he doesn’t stop you, only growing harder at the sight of your enjoyment and you taking what you need. The slight ache on his scalp makes him grind into the mattress, as he leaks pre-cum sopping his boxers.

If he ever decides to be boring and stop smoking, he suspects this is how he’s gonna deal with the mouth tics.

“Enjin… I’m…” you heave, whining from what he’s doing to you, suffocating his sides with your legs too.

“Mhm. That’s right. Make a mess on me. Show me what you crave,” he says hastily into you, spreading vibrations down your legs.

A tension is building up in your hips, needing desperately to be released. Your hole twitches, still waiting to be filled, as your clit throbs madly, pent up and about to snap. The temperature of your body feels as if doubled, sending more shivers into your system.

“Pleasepleasepleasegiveittome—” you sob as you finish, almost ripping his hair off, your feet kicking up.

Even after, Enjin, satisfied by your body indulged, doesn’t stop going, licking you clean. You have to forcefully pull him away.

He gasps, inhaling air as if he just ran marathon, stuck in a pussy-drunk state. All dazed by you staring back at him with teary and heated eyes, he has to shake himself off to remember his ongoing objective.

“Yeah, you’re fine, you’re fine. Come here, pretty girl.”

He maneuvers you to rest against his chest, between his legs, as he props himself against a pillow. You let him handle you, still coming down type of dumb. “Why are you holding me like that?” you gulp, overwhelmed by the warmth and sturdiness against your back.

“You’re asking a lot of questions for an amateur today. Stop stressing out, silly…” he says lazily, brushing the inside of your thigh.

It’s not like he can tell you he wants you close, for some reason.

You exhale irregularly, titling your head towards his shoulder for more steadiness. “But I want to know.”

“Let’s just say it’s more comfortable this way.”

He looks to the side at you, watching you chewing on your lip as you observe his hand getting closer and closer to your wet heat again. You’re no longer as nervous, too lustful to care about complications.

“You’re going to do something or not?” You’re growing impatient, needing yourself one step closer to him fucking you even if you just came.

He finally taps his fingers at your slit, as if scolding you for your hastiness. “You’ve gotta trust the process,” he murmurs into your ear, circling around your hole without pushing in yet. “No attitude.”

His index and middle finger prod at your mouth. “Get them extra wet.”

With a bit of hesitation, you suck on his digits, trying to coat them in much as saliva as possible. To him, the sight stirs his guts, another thing to remember for a while — your glazed over eyes, your mouth working hard on his hand as if it was his cock instead. He imagined you sucking him off many times.

When he finally pushes in one finger into your tight hole, his arms embracing you from the front, even just that feels plenty. Because one is thick and long, pulling apart at your virgin walls, and when his fingertip curls inside your hole, it grazes something good too.

You huff out air, as he slowly thrusts it in and out, slowly building up the depth to the bottom line tattoo on his finger. You’re still wet from previous affair, so the combo of that and saliva has him gliding in enough to push another in soon.

“So much complaining before but look at ya… sucking in my fingers in like your body can't get enough…” he says unabashedly.

You’re almost scared from how easily this type of talk comes to him. But when he speeds up his actions, it’s not like you can give a damn about anything other than the friction and stretch turning your insides even warmer so nicely, sting or not.

“Ugh… it feels so weird…”

“You’ll get used to it.”

You jerk your hips along his movements, and soon, he starts hitting your clit with the ball of his hand.

His other hand cups your chin and turns your head to the side for a kiss. Any distraction from his balls almost turning blue from no attention just yet proves useful as he still pulses against your ass. The kiss is clumsy both from his and your fault, accompanied by hums and greed exchanged.

Enjin pulls out his fingers somewhere half into your another orgasm, concerned you might get too sensitive before he can even make you cream on his cock; he doubts a third finger would fit in anyway. Though your sultry whine almost has him giving in.

“Alright. Time for a real fun.”

Those words are a trigger for your heart to start pounding. You’re also made to ache terribly as he licks his fingers clean, staring you dead in the eye.

He pushes you onto your back again, but before he could get on top of you, he decides to make an offer first.

There's a good reason for why he kept his pants on the entire time — otherwise, you’d have been stressing out about his size, trying to flee before you could even be split apart.

“Wanna take a good look at it first?”

You bit your lip and nod, inviting him to lie down next to you. You already have a vague idea of what it’s like, however…

You’re screwed is what you realize when he pulls his sweatpants and boxers down and his cock springs free against his abdomen, beige tip turned almost red and leaking. Big is a connotation for scary, especially when it’s meant to be weaponized for the first time, and you think you made a worst gamble choosing Enjin out of all people.

And yet… you really want to challenge yourself to take it. Why not go all out if you’re finally getting this stuff done? Make this really remarkable.

“I wanna touch you too,” you demand.

“Yeah?” his eyes light up. It’s rather hot you’re eager to please him too; not that it’s not a daily wish for him anyway.

“Yes,” you admit, squeezing your thighs at the thought. It might be your first time, but after how long you were deprived of good fuck, you don’t want anything taken for granted. Not to mention, you’re obsessed with the idea of controlling Enjin’s reactions, knowing at least a quarter of your effect on him. “Just tell me what to do,” you give him a look under your lashes, your hand coming across his happy trail.

He sighs with a tremor, laughing self deprecatingly at how foolish you’re getting him. He quickly removes his clothes, throwing them on the floor. “Spit on it first. Add some glide.”

You do as he said, letting a globe of saliva fall on top of his head. Enjin shivers as it hits his weakest spot. Then even more as your fingers tentatively envelop him, before they start to spread your spit across his length.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, and you carefully watch for his reaction, while getting used to handling a man.

He moans quietly, looking at you with tiny desperation, and this micropower you carry over him has you even hornier.

You’re stroking him while looking him in the eye, a bit faster than before, your thumb playing with his sensitive tip that only makes him more squirmy. There’s his palm eventually having to hold onto your waist.

It’s almost funny to you, that even clumsy work like yours can rattle him this much; although, it motivates you to do even better, as if you have discovered your favorite new hobby.

Though, when you tug on his skin a little too hard, his hand falls over yours. “Easy there. It’s not going anywhere…” he chuckles.

“Sorry…” you wet your lips, not that sorry.

His hand doesn’t let go of yours. Enjin moves it so you know the right pace — way too close to one he picks when thinking about you — his own flexing from the pleasure you’re giving him.

He’s also way too close in general, thanks to you. Which is crazy, considering he’s usually more durable — as if he’s that addicted to you.

“E-enough. Don’t forget what you’re here for.” He doesn’t want to bust a nut before he's even inside of you.

Eventually, he pulls you away, slowly sitting up. He’s looking for something on his bedside table, while you give yourself prep talk inside.

“Will it hurt?” you ask the most dreaded question.

“Despite what they might be telling ya, it’s not supposed to hurt if done right. Uncomfortable at most. And I plan to do a good job with you…” he throws over his shoulder.

Something about the way he says his last words has you feeling restless. Like he’s implying you really are in for a lot.

You finally get to see what he’s been looking for.

“Are these necessary?” you’re somehow feeling annoyed.

“Huh? You’ll get knocked up,” he points out brusquely, as if he can't believe you’d not know at least that much.

“Enjin, I’m not stupid,” you deadpan. “I’m on a pill. Got ready ahead… just in case.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I… unless you care, I wanna feel it all clearly… no barriers,” you explain with your cheeks turning hot.

Enjin gulps, his Adam’s apple moving, and wipes his face. He's got to he too lucky. You, him, pussy raw as his kryptonite… it’s too good to be true, and he’s already been granted a lot.

“So?” you bring up again.

The box he prepared is thrown back to its place. He’s climbing up the space above you with more vigor, not going to waste such offer. “Do you ask a starving man if he needs to eat too?” he grins.

A pillow is shoved under your hips, elevating them higher for his access. Another goes behind his headboard.

It’s still unbelievable you’re letting him do this to you.

Enjin wordlessly pats his shoulder, and you drape your legs over them.

He takes a one more good look at you, witnessing your needy state, eyes directed at him for help and no one else, as it always should have been. Your body he’d die for. Your vulnerability.

“Dammit…” he mutters under his nose, wondering if he will survive you.

“I need you,” slips out from your lips without a shame, and he questions his sanity when something twists in his stomach from this line.

“Yes, I know. I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t fuck you with his cock immediately. With his hands on your waist, he’s gliding it across your slit instead, holding the tip against your clit for a bit longer, relieved to finally make a more direct contact… If anything, you somehow managed to got him nervous as well, and he doesn’t want to push it in just yet, breathing deeply only from the brushes against you.

You crane your head back on the pillow, taking in the foreign sensation with goosebumps rising on your skin, still so sensitive from the previous joys.

“Just put it in already…” you say impatiently, squirming under him. He didn’t even take you yet but you’re already feeling Enjin-deficient.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself like that—”

“I’m not that weak,” you insist, curling your tone with a whine that does not lie.

And he could wait, and maybe he should… except, none of you can really do that, or you two might end up going on a rampage.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” he acquiesces. It’s funny how often he tries to deny you, only to fail at that by permitting leeway.

He rubs himself twice before he’s pushing in, just a head in at first, followed by his grunt.

Your breath stutters; your hole wants to push him out, unused to any bigger deal inside, but at the same time, he’s rubbing your nerves that were screaming to be pushed against nicely. There is some discomfort, naturally, but you don’t move to reject him away.

“Ah… Enjin…” you wince. You grab to hold onto his forearms before subconsciously tracing his tattoos with your fingers for comfort.

The tense look on your face threatens to make him nut on his spot — you barely able to take his thick size shouldn't excite him, but the fact it’s his you’re struggling with, adjusting to being filled, that fucks up with his brain.

There’s some concern too. “Gentle. Steady. No need to rush,” he comforts quietly. He kisses at your calf, going up to your ankle, teasing the skin to relax you.

You nod, biting your lip as some sweat breaks on your forehead. You think that the stretch cannot be only about your walls unadjusted to penetration, but stemming from Enjin simply being huge.

He thrusts in shallowly, still staying just head inside and grinding to get you more wet and used to him staying inside. Every brush against your entrance prods your muscles to part for him.

He rolls your clit with his index finger, another pleasure aiding you in relaxing, that he can fit it another inch soon.

You gasp, digging your nails into his skin.

“Easy, easy… Nice and slow…” he groans out, feeling tortured by the pressure on his cock. “You’re doing well.”

He commands himself for his restrain — with how hot and tight you are, it’s a challenge to not just push in at once. He’s not that mean, thankfully, rubbing himself inside of you instead.

“N-not fair,” you mumble.

“What again?” he wouldn’t know rationally anything in this state.

“You don’t deserve that size,” you say randomly, glaring at him through the blur of your tears.

He laughs, rather softly. “A way to insult a man. Yet here I am, splitting you.”

Convo is good, distracting you as he pushes in another inch in; in tune with your reactions. And he’s even not halfway through.

What happens next is therefore sudden.

He bottoms out — or rather — you decide to push yourself onto him with the slide of your body down, too keyed up and wanting this stressful moment gone, on a shortcut to the best part.

You both gasp loudly, he from the surprise, and you from the angry sting the stretch brings. Nonetheless, you’re proud of yourself, even as your chest rises quickly from the intense pressure.

“You're ridiculous, I’m trying to be gentle and you—” And you’re smiling at him, cheeky from your “achievement”, regardless of your tears. “You’re insane,” he says with exaggerated disbelief.

With your clear demand to not beat around the bush, he starts moving in your pussy, almost fully in, mesmerized by your eagerness to be used by him enough to take him in one fell swoop.

“Good fucking girl. Taking me so nicely. You would have thought this isn’t her first time—”

He’s moving a bit faster, even if your squeezing barely loosens.

“Or that she’s made for me.”

And faster.

“Might make her run back to me...” he rambles heatedly.

That sounds humiliating — to be wrapped around Enjin’s finger — but it’s not as if he’s any less addicted to you.

He might as well be deemed as barely holding up above you, his hands suffocating your hips, emulating the grip of your virgin pussy on him. Big teary eyes looking up at him will stay in his head for a while. You moan so nicely for him, as if you really were his girl.

And it’s becoming increasingly impossible for you to deny how much you want him on your own. Your body is thankfully adjusting fast enough, whether it’s your stamina from fighting trash beasts or eagerness, but you never stop feeling full and stretched.

“Fuck, don't stop…” you plead, digging your nails into his back when you draw him closer. “I can take it.”

Enjin growls at your words; it’s undeniable he is one hell of a lucky man, and you being this wanton for him barely allows him to maintain any self-restraint.

So much for being gentle with you because it’s your first time.

“Yeah? Want me to make a mess of you? Want me to make you come so hard you won’t be walking after?”

You nod your head fervently. “Y-yes. Need it so badly!” you babble, scratching at him.

You now regret you didn't have him like this earlier. Enjin is many things, but he's also attentive and observant enough to give you the best of the first times; if not also ensure you want no one else after as a side effect.

His dick twitches at your words. Enjin grabs you by the underside of your knees and pushes your legs to your chest before sinking deeper into you, right as he sets on a faster pace, each of the thrusts coming with a harder pressure and depth than before. His tall body pushes and crushes you into the mattress with expertise, handling your with ease the same way he handles his umbrella.

He kisses you madly, accepting your whines like they’re medicine. Your hand brushes his undercut, making him hum. His mouth sucks on the tip of your tongue before biting it gently and kissing you deeper.

Withdrawing, he bends you further as to stay close to your messy face.

“O-oh, you are such a lucky woman…” he laughs breathlessly, squeezing your poor legs. “Getting so spoiled on your first, it’s got to be a relief you picked me for this, huh?”

You mewl. He talks awful much, you can feel the heat in your belly mix with shame and excitement. You don't want to make him too cocky neither, but you’d be lying saying he's not giving you the best time of your life at the moment. Fills you to your limits.

“Say it. Not Gris, not any guy in some town, but Enjin,” he demands roughly.

“Can’t, won’t—” you protest, your guys churning.

“Come on. Don’t be so mean to me, darling,” he drawls. “I’m working reeeaaalll hard for you.”

“E-Enjin—” you’re actually parroting him out of desperation, your horny brain susceptible to his wishes; except, it’s so hard to to form a coherent sentence on your own at this stage of being ruined.

He grins, rewarding you with a deeper thrust. “Just like that. Full sentence: Enjin’s the best first guy to have,” he coos.

“Enjin’s the best…” you moan, clenching around him when he hits that spongy spot inside you and keeps going at it, “first guy to have!”

He’s never forgetting these words.

“Good girl.”

And it also seems that his girl — his, as he cannot comprehend the idea of letting you go after this — needs a little more than tenderness, have been going on without proper lay for so long.

Your face is in the pillows next, while he’s pulling your hips for you to stay on your knees, your ass in the air to never neglect his eyes.

The position makes you feel him even better as he slides in again, grabbing your hips, as you fist the sheets of his bed. You can feel his vein scraping your walls perfectly.

“Oh, please…” you cry out into the plush.

“I didn't even ask you to beg and look at you doing that on your own…” he marvels greedily. He wastes no time, resuming pounding into you with his balls hitting you, and your hole thanks him with more juices.

“So good…” you moan out, your eyes rolling back when he keeps hitting your spot back and forth. Muting any bed sounds was redundant when the skin, wetness and your own screams make enough noise for any theoretical passerby. Nonetheless, the frames of his furniture are jeopardized and screech when they’re getting loosened with every thrust.

His hands take on massaging your ass, spreading it to see how well you’re taking his size, appreciating your curves, with many curses accentuating his satisfaction.

“Throw yourself back on me. I wanna see how badly you need it…”

You whine when he stills his hips in place, but you start doing as you’re told, waving your body to start using his cock to the hilt.

“I can’t…” you warble, yet you can’t stop either. You’re taking slower but deeper than he did, your toes curling against the bed sheets when you point his tip to curve into you. He only helps you by grinding, spilling occasional praise too. You can tell you’re getting closer, your abdomen tightening. “I’m so full…”

All that precaution to be gentle, only for you to be so slutty in a stark contrast. And he does like women who are a little naughty.

Enjin throws his head back a little, getting off to the slow friction forcing him feel to every thrust, your little show, even if he gets a bit impatient to not rut into you again.

“You could kill a man this way, you know…” he groans, slapping your flesh once to see it jiggle.

You’re not any better, no matter how frenzy your shoves are, or the sting of his hand that amplifies your pleasure. Showing your enthusiasm, you still think your work is not as good — not as fast and impactful enough as when he was doing it. “Not enough…” you mumble. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” You’re back at his meat with a hand on your waist shoving you down to his balls.

He’s worse than before, now focused only on making you finish, he not so far behind.

You almost fall down when he begins rubbing your clit, your hole tightening and tightening— until the coil snaps and you come, with the pulsing that begins right after, that his hips stutter. It’s so intense you can’t tell you get loud or nothing is vocalized from how speechless he rendered you. Blinding hot, searing pool, covering any nearly painful soreness that’s been growing.

You’ve had some orgasms before, pleasuring yourself; but it’s different this time, you coming on something real.

And you discover that you absolutely love to cum. Your first on his dick.

The tight space your pussy creates almost pushes Enjin to the edge, that he turns up on his motions, forcing you to ride out your orgasm as you lie under him all useless and fucked dumb. Your head is pushed down by his solid palm.

“Take it… take it deep in…!” he yelps through the constraint of his throat. “You’re gonna remember this…”

Until he finally spurts inside you, filling and hitting you with warm sticky, moreso ecstatic from not having to pull out. His hand threatens to crush your bones, and he bites his tongue as it all ends with a rough call of your name. He collapses on top of you, sweaty and hyperventilating, still sheathed deep in you so nothing spills.

“Geez… you…” he heaves, “You really are insane…”

“You okay?” he eventually asks, lifting his body so he’d stop crushing you, checking for any regrets.

“Yes…. But… more…” you whine into the pillow. He has to make sure he heard you right; you turn your head to the side when he brushes your hair off your face, your expression still delirious.

“Ugh… I have created a devil…” he says dryly, then laughs.

Onto your fours you go. Your hair is grabbed by him to give you even more of pleasure by inducing aches before he shoves you onto his sloppy dick again. The squelch is worse than it was before; sheets stick to your damp body as well.

Your legs, lingering as a jittering mass, have their knees almost give up. Yet Enjin doesn’t let you get away from it, even as you get overwhelmed every few, using your hair like an impromptu leash and keeping your back arched for him. His other hand fondles your moving breast from below, reminding himself of how much he loves them.

The headboard of his bed that walks around is really lucky to have that pillow, otherwise the wall behind would be almost as ruined as you are.

He curses when you are adamant on tightening near your another orgasm. “You’re a trouble… fucking insatiable doll…”

He feeds you with his decent amount of cum again soon enough. Tucks it in right after, making you gush when you peak again.

You can feel it everywhere over your body you’re at the brink of exhaustion, but before you’d let his dick and your sore pussy rest, there’s one more thing you need to consider yourself fulfilled.

Riding him, watching Enjin downplayed to an upmost mess on his own.

“Whoa!” he makes a sound of surprise, finding himself being pushed down onto his bed when trying to get up.

You straddle him, on your way to get what you want as if all these previous orgasms put you in a succubus alike trance — with an objective to suck Enjin dry.

“You’re still not done?” he asks with incredulity. Although, you putting your body on display hardly makes your choice rejectable. Judging by your legs playing their own plea at his sides, catching a break would be smart, however…

“Just once more, please…” you plead with big eyes — deliberate move — and he’s a terrible sucker for that. You’re already grabbing his cock popping hard again, raising yourself to be above it.

Enjin gulps. Then he snorts, astonished by the fact this is what you’ve been hiding in yourself all this time. “Are you sure you’re even a newbie? Maybe this is how you lure men in…”

He can only get himself comfortable, watching you stretch yourself with obsession. Eager to sit on it is a huge compliment. On his.

“No, this is how I lure men in—” you snap your hips down, taking him all in that way. A tiny pain shoots through you when you knock your own cervix, but you soothe that by grabbing his stomach to start chasing another ecstasy, thrusts made to be desperate.

His legs tremble and he gasps. They were already screwed, wrung out by all the magic of your hole, but now he’s entirely about to lose any weight in them.

“You little…!” he holds onto you from surprise, warbling sound escaping his throat.

You have to be natural. You're having too much fun for the first time, crazy and over the moon, making a toy of his cock and moving fast like there’s no tomorrow. If the world was ending, you’d probably want to fuck him, then cry about it not being enough because he’s too tired to go forward.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” your delirious voice jumps as you do. “So relieved to know what it’s like…”

He can't really deny you, even if he’s worried his cock might fall off soon. You're just there, riding him like there’s no tomorrow, whipping previous cum into cream with the thrusts. And yet his body decides there’s still more he should give you, as every slap of skin of skin brings him closer to another load to gift your wet walls with.

Maybe he should become your fuck friend. It's good for a spirit. It’s good for team merits. He empties your balls in you, you get your itches scratched, you two make wonderful fighting duo in result.

Except, then he’d hate the idea of you not being attached, you making his heart terribly unhealthy without ever coming close enough.

Maybe he should become your—

“Seriously, girl, where did all this energy come from…” he whines, clenching his jaw from how impossibly sensitive you’re getting his cock. Still, seeing your own legs shake and fumble your pleasure, he helps you, pulling you up and down with strong hands. You really make a great team — cause you grind onto his blond pubes when he takes you down, pleasing your swollen clit.

He’d think you were training for that stuff with how easily you swallow him.

“Don’t care, I wanna cum—” you cry, fussy on top of him, raking his stomach that his breath hitches from the sting you bring. “I’m so close—”

Enjin obliges, manipulating with your clit sticky with your and his liquids, that annoyingly managed to drip out of you.

He has to fix that.

“That’s right. Come on me again,” he demands, needing to see you unravel for the last time this night, his dark gaze not straying away from any jiggle or facial contortion.

Your feet dig into his mattress as you finish, crying out his name. You collapse on top of him, your breath exhorted to treacherous levels, and you are a sweaty and lightheaded mess.

Still not done, he thrusts clumsily into you from below, letting you cling to him in that oddly intimate position.

A few more chases later, he empties himself into your hole, adding to the blend of fluids staining yours and his thighs in between; some has dried a long time ago. His voice is stuck in his throat, scraped, he can only choke on his moan.

You both take few seconds to catch up with any sense in the cottons of your brains fucked out. For a blink, he thinks you weigh him nicely, as he rubs your back and soothes your whimpers mindlessly.

It’s by miracle that he succeeds in unpeeling your shaky form from him before setting the breathless you next to him comfortably, even if at the expense of some awakening tenderness in his hips. “Careful there…” he mutters gently, straightening your poor limbs.

Your mess spills all over under you as you shiver from the sensitivity, and he watches his dark sheets become clearly stained, mesmerized from how much you took from him. He clean the excess with

The realization of what you did together slowly starts settling in, seeping in quietness from you and him if not to include the labored breathing; albeit, among the aches and hormones, giving fucks brings more thrill than regret.

Enjin’s still dutiful, that despite his exhaustion, he remembers to look clearly at you and make sure you’re not broken. You’re as tired as he is, if not more — nothing above the norm. As he cleans you with the towel he had prepared earlier and drops it to the floor before beginning to massage your tense legs, you stare back at him with a bleary smile.

Something about that tiny curve makes his stomach clench with something plummeting in it. This is why it’s dangerous to stay around after sex… however, he doesn’t have it in himself to make you leave. Besides, that would be a really foul behavior towards someone who was made to lose her v card.

He’s ready to ask if you’re alright to be on the safe side, but you’re already getting back to yourself, making a first complaint:

“You’re just so adamant on yapping your mouth. Your mouth doesn’t shut even as you’re guts deep in me.”

He raises a brow before snickering, even if you somehow manage to make him embarrassed. He stretches his arm to the side of the bed before offering you water.

“All that moonshine? I was saying whatever,” he says nonchalantly.

You desperately chug on the liquid, fed by him. He drinks after you.

“Oddly specific moonshine,” you rebuke bluntly after.

“Yeah. Performance nervousness.” He shakes his head as if you’re dramatic, pretending it’s not a weird feeling to have you naked and spent in his bed. All because of some jealousy and messed up sense of responsibility…

Among other feelings he still finds difficult to voice out openly.

“Anyway. Let’s go take a shower.” He pats your ass, for once not reaching for a cigarette immediately after a fuck.

“Us?” you question through your yawn.

He gives you unimpressed look — didn’t he just take your virginity? “Duh. We've got to save water. Unless you want to take an icy shower after me?”

“You’re saying you’d go first? Ladies first, don’t you know!” you slap his shoulder in offense — barely, not having it in you to actually hurt him.

Enjin scoffs with amusement. “No less. But I doubt you’d be able to walk on your own, so I might as well be done before you even get your ass up.”

He’s got a point.

But as soon as he tries to stand up and carry you to bathroom, enacting some Prince Charming, he is forced to have a painful realization his legs refuse to cooperate, and falls back onto the bed.

You laugh shamelessly at him, watching him turn into a plank. “Wow. That was embarrassing.”

He scowls, pinching your hip. As you squeak in surprise, he draws you close, then pulls covers over you. It’s nice, if he ignores the sticky quality of your bodies.

“Okay. Maybe a nap first…” he mutters tiredly, resting his head on your shoulder — unapologetically claiming it as his pillow.

“… Enjin?” you ask hesitantly.

You’re not immune to the effects this type of closeness brings either. Except, you know how you may feel about him — it’s still a food for thought about why he’s doing that himself, with Enjin not often talking about himself.

Sure, it might as well be him only giving you aftercare after squeezing all the life force out of your body, but if you were consider everything else that happened between you in the last couple of months, or even just that night at the club…

One of his eye open. He speaks quietly, cozy and relaxed; he’s usually calm and nostalgic after sex, now he’s even peaceful.

“You’re just warm,” he brushes off your subtle implication for now. Sappy and clingy is not his style, nor his type, yet here he is, taking care of you like of his vital instrument; he probably fell a victim to this gooey and greasy heart feeling first too, knowing his luck with you. “Go to sleep. Then we’ll talk.” He pushes you closer to his chest.

You suppose it’s alright, for at least tonight.

“Talk about what?” you ask with curiosity, your own eyelids hanging lower and lower as pleasant drowsiness overtakes you.

That’s a good question. The problem is, Enjin is not exactly sure himself yet. He could talk about…

The fact that you’ve got him messed up? That there’s a real crisis of his person, to the point you make him reevaluate himself, stuck as a focal point in his mind? That he wants to both fuck you so hard you think about him and him and him only, but also desires to make you happy and content like this on a daily basis? Or is it about the whole truth that anything nowadays is somehow connected to you, him wondering if you’d like or hate those things? Or is it that he’d like to know what makes you tick? And, can you please keep getting along with the kids he cares about?

All those things said aloud, or even a modicum of them since he’s still afraid, might turn your relationship beyond salvaging. Yet life is all about taking risks — he might die any day anyway. He’s come so far with you tonight, too; he’d be a fool not to attempt an effort to keep you close afterward.

“… You’ll see,” he mutters comfortably before finally falling asleep.

Nevertheless, it’s a promise.

Not to mention the way you beg him. He’s nothing but utterly thrilled each time he has you like this, which isn’t often given your attitude, but it happens— when he takes all his frustrations out on you and goes a little too hard, or maybe when he uses his quirk on you to give you a little scare. Now, that he’s found out he can simply slip a pill into your mouth while fucking with you, he’s overjoyed. You can’t resist his kisses, after all.

He snorts, listening to your whines and cries, but does nothing to slow down. His pelvis smacks harshly against your ass, and he grunts as he doubles over to make sure you feel just every inch of his pierced cock.

You shriek, crying out as you try and fail to escape his grasp. He holds you tightly by your hips, fingers digging into your skin, and he almost fucking growls when you squirm to the point his dick slips out of your abused hole.

That earns you a spank, and him a loud squeal from you, which basically is all you can do in a state of haze.

“Fuckin’ drugged ya and you’re still a dumb bitch— stay- the- fuck- still-! Shit!” He emphasizes on each word with a spank to your ass, the pain spreading all the way down to your thighs and you nearly give out. He holds you tightly, sloppy dick thrusting into you over and over again as slick drips down on both of you.

Dabi licks his lips at the sight, the way each time he pulls back your slick pulls with him, the way there’s a near white ring around your hole, his pre-cum having done the job of getting you wet prior. Your clit is puffy and neglected and he has no intention of touching it until you’re begging like the whore you’re supposed to be, and his fingers glide through your folds to spread you as much as possible.

He’s vile. Cruel. Loves to make you feel vulnerable and weak beneath him.

It’s not long until he realizes your face is tear-stained, and he laughs at that too, bending over so his front comes in contact with your back and his face is near yours.

The flat of his tongue drags all the way up your cheek, licking the salty substance away from your skin— and you huff, furiously craning your neck so you’re turned away from him.

He doesn’t like that.

“What do I have to do to get you to comply, princess? Why can’t you just—“ he groans, burying himself inside of you and completely stopping his cruel abuse to your hole.

That, more than anything, is even worse. You whine as his weight overtakes you, and your thighs finally give out as you collapse flat into the bed, Dabi laying comfortably on you with his dick all the way up your cunt.

You swear you feel his tip poking your cervix.

Reflexively, you clench down on him— (and gosh does it feel good— partly because his girth stimulates you and partly because he moans out, obviously weak for pussy).

Nevertheless, he laughs almost breathlessly, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“Why’re you bein’ a bad girl, hm?”

Because you fucking drugged me.

Because you’re a fucking asshole.

Because you’re a villain and I’m a hero and you’re ravishing in the thought of humiliating me.

Because I keep coming back to you.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl? C’mon, I’ll even eat your pussy afterwards, how’s that sound?”

You’ll do that anyway.

“Fuck you, Dabi.”

He huffs, already having expected that answer. Honestly, it thrills him even more. He enjoys to be mean anyway, in bed and in general.

“Fine. That’s on you, then. Don’t blame me if you have to take a few days off.”

Your greedy cunt— traitor that she is— welcomes his mean thrusts with loud squelches as he sits up, dragging your hips with him and your weak knees plant into the sheets again. He makes sure to still within you each time he bottoms out, moaning and letting pleasure overcome him as he tries to go beyond any limits and bury himself even further into the warmth of your walls. His cock twitches, his piercings barely noticeable with the amount of slick that’s between you and him.

You regain just the right amount of feeling in your fingers to fist them into the sheets, a high shriek erupting from you.

Dabi’s merciless— you’ve known that from the very beginning, from the first time he talked to you because he claimed he was curious about you. You knew back then, too, that he was a crude, cold-blooded villain, one who had no problem with blood on his hands, but somewhere in the very back of your mind curiousity spiked despite yourself, and you found yourself wondering if said villain had a heart big enough to actually feel something.

(And you found out; he could feel, alright.)

He flirted even back then, even when you were supposed to be hero and villain, when there shouldn’t have been any interactions between the two of you except for fighting, for making sure neither would block the others way ever again. And Dabi was quite charming when he truly wanted to be, when he let that lazy smirk curl just right and his voice dip low enough to make you forget what he was.

And you, with your hope long lost in hero society— because recently, all you’d been doing was fighting to save the few people you loved, and hero society had long since collapsed, if it had ever truly existed at all— had seen no real wrong in letting one of the most dangerous villains fuck you from time to time.

With a mean snap of his hips, you’re brought back to the current.

“Stay with me, doll. ‘Boutta fill you up— you want that? W-want me to ruin ya so the next bastard who lays his hands on you only finds me inside of you? Keh—“

He barks out his usual mean laugh, and tears slowly emerge from your eyes. You feel so fucking helpless, so weak and vulnerable and just like he loves it.

And you’re so, so desperate.

You do want him to fill you up. You need it.

His hips stutter as he continues his assault, dick pushing in and out your soft cunt— he thinks it’s beautiful, the way you take him and reject him at the same time. Squirming away like you don’t want his dick to be the only presence up your fucking pussy.

“My sweet little cumdump. Why’re you bein’ so difficult— someone piss you off earlier so now you gotta be a little whore?”

You mewl, shaking your head as you thrust your ass back, earning you his chuckle that easily causes your heart to skip a beat. He pulls out, and you almost, almost thrash out at the loss of contact, but the second his tip pokes at your folds, you calm down, despite it not being inside you like it should be.

He spreads your folds once more, dragging his leaking tip all over your labia before circling your fluttering hole, snickering at the way you’re trying desperately to spread yourself more— to invite him within your snuggly, warm insides.

When his cum is spread perfectly, all over your clit and folds, he goes back to pounding you meanly.

This time, you’re already embarrassingly close, as if your pussy is taking the opportunity to release before he changes his mind and pulls out, edging you for god knows how long.

“Feel ya gettin’ tighter. Gonna cum?”

You nod, because you know it’s always best to answer Dabi.

The consequences if you don’t are something you’re truly not up to deal with today, “Please— D-dabi- w’na cum-!”

He laughs, speeding up his pace until you feel the familiar coil in your abdomen. It heats up similar like the rest of Dabi, and you have a hard time focusing on it when his hands grip into the flesh of your hips and warmth spreads all through your body.

“F-fuck, gonna fill you up s-so good- shit— cum goddamnit— fuckin’ cum-!”

With his demand, you release, thighs and hands and every other part of your body you can practically feel despite the drugs trembles as your pussy gushes all over him, and he buries himself all the way inside of you, grinding in a way to stimulate friction without having to pull out even at the base.

You think it’s cute. Somehow, that he wants to be all inside of you and cuddled into you while unloading his hot, sticky cum and painting your walls white.

He grinds against your ass, riding out his and your orgasm at the same time, though it’s you who gives in first and you feel the hints of your overstimulated pussy begging him to stop.

He doesn’t, though, ‘cause Dabi’s too busy making sure his cum is all the way deep inside of you while his dick is still hard, and he throbs painfully against your velvety walls— to the point, you’re worried he didn’t even soften and he’s up for another round.

Luckily, he does soften eventually, after your cunt milked every bit of him and he’s tired grinding and circling his hips into you to get bits of friction.

He pulls out slightly and you hiss at the emptiness, all the while he dislikes the way his cock feels too bare and lonely without your perfect pussy.

“S-stay- Dabi, inside- please.” You cry, because you physically can’t straddle him and get him riled up to keep his cock inside. You’re still mad at him, for that, for forcing you into a role where you’re only able to beg to get what you want and what you don’t.

Fortunately, and very luckily, Dabi actually listens to you— (and gosh, if you’re not surprised by his tip poking your hole again— he laughs, “Wasn’t that what you wanted, sweetheart?” you quickly nod— “Uh-huh!”)

He pulls out rather quickly again, changing his decision and turning you around so you’re laying on your back. He sheathes himself inside of you just then, his own face coming down to lick and nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

If you didn’t know Dabi, you’d think this was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you.

But you know him, and you know he’s shameless and blunt and sees no deeper meaning in doing this apart from the pleasure he receives one way or another.

Dabi does as he pleases, and never bothers to put a label on any of these things. Not that you mind, he is a villain, and you’re simply here for a good fuck.

Though, you’d be lying if you said the aftercare wasn’t good (which more often than not is just weird, close intimacy where you usually end up cockwarming him or taking a shower together).

Your hand— now finally having fully regained your feelings there— comes to cradle his hair, fingers sinking into his soft black tufts as your other arm embraces him.

You don’t want to know what the two of you look like. Some lovesick fools, probably— him still buried inside of you, grinding faintly against you and sending shocks of pleasure up your body, your hand in his hair as he sucks and nibbles at your neck, his whole weight and— dare you say— affection swallowing you whole.

But you know better by now, that some things should be left alone, that not everything needs a confrontation and a label to keep you somewhat afloat and content.

“Still mad at you, by the way. Don’t drug me again or I promise your dick won’t be able to stand hard for a long time.”

He licks all the way up to your jaw, planting rotten kisses all over you and you feel yourself getting sick with something you don’t want to acknowledge. It’s worse than any nauseating feeling, crushing and yearning and wanting more— but you don’t voice it, even when everything he does makes you feel like a giddy little teenage girl again.

Warm puffs of breath hit your skin as he chuckles, “I’ll hold you to it.”

You wish, somewhere in the heart you claim to be nonchalant and independent, that he’d stay in more ways than just physically inside of you.

He doesnt know when or why he started talking to you about his missions, but other than a misbehaving thug here and there, his life was pretty fucking boring.

He also doesn’t know when your casual hook ups turned into hang outs— but he refuses to address that as much as you refuse to look him in the eye every time he stays.

There’s times you end up cooking for him, telling him about things he‘d personally consider a topic sensitive to most, but you’re not one to back out, he knows that.

“—like I said, I don’t care about any ranks or other heroes, Dabi.”

He scoffs. Everyone cares about their rank— everyone strives to be the best, and you in particular seem to be just that type.

“Bullshit. I don’t tolerate liars, princess.” He rasps, and you know he’s trying to lure you into a trap that ends with him punishing you in bed. His voice is a dead giveaway, and so are the thighs he spreads shamelessly— it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s already half hard, turned on by simply talking— or by imagining the nasty things he wants to do to you.

You sigh, reciting your earlier words because apparently he’s having a hard time hearing (intentionally, you assume), “I never said I don’t want to be strong. I do, but I don’t care about ranks. Or how many villains I’ve caught and left to rot in prison. I care about protecting those close to me—“ the plate in your hands is warm, a freshly made dish that has Dabi’s stomach churning, and you bring it to him, slyly tapping his nose before retreating again, “eat up, I made too much.”

Of course.

You always conveniently make too much.

He doesn’t waste any time digging in, it’s not exactly easy getting food on the streets and he’s pretty fucking tired of eating the same garbage shit. Your cooking’s much better, obviously.

“What about me?”

He’s a messy eater.

You perk up, closing the tap water in order to understand him better.

Much to your surprise, he stands up, long legs allowing him to move quickly and efficiently— and before you know it, he’s behind you, heated hands placed on your hips as his head dips down until his breath hits the back of your neck.

You don’t freeze, in fact— you do the opposite, eagerly leaning into his touch and sighing at the warmth he emits by the second. You can practically feel his smirk etched into his face.

“Do you care about protecting me?”

He clarifies, his chest rumbling against your back and he’s met with reality when you turn around, facing him boldly and tilting your head with a tight grin.

“Do you need protection?”

Slipping under his slender arms, you escape the human cage, only to be met with the sight of a clean plate, realization dawning on you that he’s eaten everything within less than a minute.

Your heart hurts, even if only for a second.

When you look back over your shoulder, Dabi’s still there, grinning at you like you’re not riding an emotional roller coaster— like you’re not struggling and trying to find out what it is you feel about this man. He’s not a kid. He’s not weak— emotionally or physically— but for some reason..

“I care.” You hum, “I care. I’d protect you.”

And just like that, his grin slips off his face and you’re met with silence you know all too well. You don’t dwell on it though, letting Dabi do as he pleases— he reminds you of a stray cat, more often than not, coming and leaving whenever he wants to.

Except this time it’s not him fleeing your apartment.

It’s you.

The next time Dabi spots you, he’s met with a clustering pang to his heart instead of the usual excitement, and his jaw clicks as he drags his tongue over the metal stapled into his skin, because he fucking hates that he even has a reaction like that in the first place.

You’re outside, wearing your torn hero costume, and there’s a rip that exposes just about too much collarbone and your cleavage. And it doesn’t look pretty given the blood and the dirt covering your skin, smeared across you and he thinks it should make you look ruined and ugly— but somehow it just makes you look more tempting and vulnerable and his, and it’s enough to have any man keeling over for you and Dabi‘s very well aware of that.

But it’s not the injury that’s causing his emotions to feel all weird and wired up, it’s the fact that there’s another fucking male next to you, walking just a little too close, and Dabi thinks that alone is a valid reason to kill him. His eyes are glued to your chest, practically eye fucking you without even trying to hide it.

You don’t seem too bothered, probably too idiotically innocent to realize your hero friend might not be too much of a hero himself, too wrapped up in your own bleeding knuckles and the praise he’s feeding you to notice the way his gaze burns into you.

Dabi wants to burn him.

He wants to watch him scream and curl in on himself and beg, wants to see that stupid wannabe pro hero facade melt right off his face until there’s nothing left but the smell of cooked flesh.

Dabi wants to burn you, too, just to teach you a lesson about standing around like that, just to see how you’d look under his flames, writhing and gasping and still looking at him like he’s the only one you’d ever follow, but that’s something he still debates on doing for reasons he refuses to voice.

He shifts uncomfortably, and before he can think too hard about why the sight of you like that makes him feel like he’s choking, he flicks his hand and sends a sharp burst of blue fire slamming into a dumpster at the end of the street.

You both turn, startled, and Dabi doesn’t miss the way the hero beside you immediately stiffens and reaches for you like he’s going to play the protector.

The fire spreads just enough, and Dabi steps back deeper into the alley’s darkness, letting the smoke draw you in like moths, because he knows you’ll follow his flames and he knows that idiot won’t let you go alone.

Sure enough, you rush towards the alley to assess the problem, dragging your little hero friend with you, and the moment you step past the veil of smoke he lets the flames die down— and then, he steps out.

“Well isn’t that cute. A little duo.“ Dabi drawls, eyes raking over you first before sliding lazily to the guy at your side, “You two here to fight me?”

The wannabe’s bravado cracks almost instantly, because everyone knows who Dabi is, everyone knows what he’s done, and the guy wonders just why he followed the blue flames without even thinking who they might’ve belonged to.

A sound escapes your throat that’s more akin to a hurt animal, and you almost seem irritated by the whole thing (good. Dabi hopes he ruined your little date or whatever that was), “No—“

Dabi tilts his head, flames flickering in his palm, and the light kisses your exposed skin. He smirks when he sees the other man flinch (and feels weirdly proud when you don’t).

“I’ll burn you both to ash right here,” he begins, and watches as you roll your eyes because you already know what he wants, “so unless you want to watch her scream while her pretty skin melts off, I suggest you run.”

It’s not even a real threat to you and you both know it, because even as he says it he’s angling his body just slightly so the flames are closer to the other man, but the hero doesn’t catch that, too busy swallowing hard and backing up like the coward he is.

“Y-you’re D- you’re Dabi—,” the guy chokes, already stepping away.

Dabi wants to kill him just for being this pathetic, truly, it’s embarrassing to be here on his behalf, “You- you- you— better fucking leave now or I’ll burn your limbs one after the other.”

As much as Dabi truly wants to kill that guy, he doesn’t need some fucking department tailing after him for that, much less the attention he’d bring now if he’d do so. He doubts the degenerate would be quiet while he made it hurt.

It doesn’t take much more than that for the wannabe to bolt.

His gaze slides back to you, and he clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner.

“Got real friendly with that hero back there,” he speaks as he wanders to you, fingers hooking into the torn edge of your costume, tugging it and it’s enough to remind you how exposed you are, how easy it would be for him to ruin you further, “lettin’ him stare at you like that.”

It isn’t a question, and he doesn’t wait for an answer anyway, because Dabi’s never needed permission from you before— he’s never been gentle or soft or anything like that, and seeing how he’s not scared you off yet, he can only assume you must be just as a sick as he is.

His thumb drags over your collarbone where it lays exposed, smearing a streak of soot across your skin, causing you to cringe at the mess that’s covering your body.

“Can’t have you forgettin’ who you crawl back to,” he murmurs, and before you can roll your eyes or snap something smart back at him, he’s stuffing his dirty fingers into your mouth, twirling your tongue between his thumb and pointer, watching as you shriek in surprise. He snorts, “Dirty girl. Forgot whose cumdump you are?”

The sounds of your gagging is enough for him to pull his fingers out and replace them with his mouth, teeth clashing as his tongue darts out to poison you with his intoxicating presence. His fingers grope harshly all over your body as you mewl and hold into him, enjoying this far more than you should.

He pulls back only when he’s satisfied, eyes hooded and filled with pride.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, though it’s unclear whether he’s talking about you, the degenerate hero, or himself.

And then, he finally does shrug off his coat, but instead of immediately handing it to you, he drapes it over your shoulders slowly.

It’s obvious when you regain yourself, shock melting away as you flash a toothy grin, “What was that all about?”

It’s only then Dabi finds himself in a situation where he can’t possibly think.

What was it about?

“You jealous, Dabi?”

Jealous?

Jealous?

Of fucking course he’s not jealous.

He’s got no reason to be, not when that idiot punk couldn’t even lay a hand on you, not when Dabi’s done that a hundred times before and plans to do it a hundred times more, not when he knows exactly how you sound and how you look when you’re under him instead of standing there smirking like this.

“I don’t get jealous, doll.”

It’s simple— he’s fucked you, kissed you, spent days rotting in your apartment and eating your food— you’ve let him cum in you— him.

You’re his. Just like that.

While he’s already marked you up more than once, while you’ve already got his bite marks fading into yellow and purple beneath your hero costume, while you’ve already carried his seed and fragments and god fucking knows what else inside you without complaint, it’s safe to say that you belong to him and he doesn’t want someone else’s spunk anywhere near you.

You’re his to ruin.

His to hurt and his to poke at whenever he feels like it.

“Then why’d you scare him off? He was supposed to help me to the agency.”

Dabi scoffs. You don’t need any fucking help. And if you do, then you certainly can take care of your own ass. He’s seen you in worse positions and you’ve crawled out of them just fine.

“He assisted me on my mission.”

No the fuck he didn’t. If he had done that, you wouldn’t look like someone let their wolves loose on you.

“He did a really good job back there—“

Again, no he fucking didn’t. And why are you praising him so much? What are you doing?

Are you trying to rile him up on purpose?

“You’re right. We could be a good duo.”

And something in Dabi snaps so fast it makes his vision blur at the edges, because he knows you’re playing with him, knows you’re poking at the ugliest parts of him just to see how he’ll react, and he hates that it works.

What could he do, though? You’re a manipulative little shit and somehow always two steps ahead, and for a split second he genuinely thinks you’ve put some kind of curse on him, wiggled your fingers and shwoops—! suddenly he’s moving before he can stop himself.

His fingers dig into the soft skin of your arms, his stance almost trembling with wide eyes that makes him look like a feral animal. His mouth is twitching, the sharp of his teeth revealing under all the fury.

“You’re mine,” he spits, and it’s enough to make you take him seriously, “only mine, got it? Get that through your thick fucking skull.”

He remembers that day perfectly. It plays in his head over and over again, when he’s sleeping, eating, or doing fuck knows what, looping over and over against his will.

He remembers just how humiliated and— dare he say— vulnerable he felt when you’d spoken, much less frustrated than he’d expected you to be, much less angry than he’d prepared himself for after basically snarling ownership at you.

You laughed at him. And he really wanted to set you on fire right then and there, wanted to watch the alley light up just to drown out the sound, all the while knowing he would rather burn himself a hundred times over than never hear you laugh like that again.

You’d been amused, head tilted slightly— the stance that always makes him just a tiny bit weak for you, and you told him that yes, he’s right, and if that’s how he sees it then fine— you’re his.

You weren’t mocking him, (though, he wished you were. It would make being mad at you easier), and you weren’t acting like a clingy, lovesick idiot either, (fuck, if you were, he’s pretty sure it would’ve made him recoil right away). You seemed entertained, almost like he was a kid and you were indulging into his childish fantasies.

“If I’m yours,” you’d spoke, calm in his hold, “then act like it properly, Dabi.”

You looked too much in control, and it pissed Dabi off to no end.

He remembers the way his throat went dry, how for a split second he genuinely didn’t know what to do with himself.

He’d left after that, because that’s all Dabi knows how to do.

He’s no longer Dabi. He’s Touya now and everyone knows it.

It doesn’t feel good, this tightness under his ribs, this awareness that you’ve seen the worst of him broadcasted to the entire country, and Touya— Dabi either avoids or destroys the things that nearly bother him.

He’s thought about the latter a few times. He’s thought about killing you— because all you are is just a measly hookup he prioritized a bit too much, especially on the days he was assigned to a mission, and once, Compress even ended up having to fight some thugs himself while Dabi fucked the shit out of you in your apartment, not even bothering to answer his comm, and he doesn’t regret it, even if Shigaraki swears he’ll dust his ass one day for it.

He’s tried it, too. The killing.

While you slept beneath him, warm and pliant and trusting (and shit, it made something sour twist in his gut), he’d let his mind wander to darker places, imagining what it would be like to press you down harder, to let his weight crush the air from your lungs, to listen to your choking breaths and broken little cries as you realized too late who you’d let into your bed.

A dead man.

But every time the fantasy shifted wrong.

All he could find pleasure in was imagining you suffocating in him. Just him. Not his weight or hands or whatever would actually bring you pain, just you clinging and gasping because you couldn’t get enough of him, because he was too much and you still wanted more.

It ruined the whole thing.

He blamed his dislike for the idea of your death because it just seemed too pathetic. That suffocating to death was not nearly as painful and exciting as he had died.

You, and he’ll admit as much, deserve enough respect to die in a battle, not naked and tangled in sheets with him hovering over you like some common creep.

That’s just about how he finds himself standing outside of your apartment, hands nestled into his pockets with not a care in the world.

The lock to your door gives in easily, as it’s always done, and Dabi wonders if it’s because all the times he’s snuck into your privacy. It’s ridiculous, all the damn pay you get and you still choose to live in an apartment with lousy neighbors.

The scent that lingers in your apartment— your scent— fills his sense immediately, and the nervousity subdues almost instantly.

It’s late— and just like the thousand other times Dabi’s found you, he finds you in the kitchen, leaned over the counter, scrolling mindlessly on your phone.

And just like always, there’s a half full glass of wine, hinting that you’ve been drinking once again.

The scenery looks like one from a movie as you look over your shoulder, spotting him closing your door abruptly.

“Miss me?” He drawls, stalking towards you. You turn around fully, hands supporting your weight by the counters as you face him.

His hair is white now.

“Dabi,” you say, even though you know that’s not his name.

His eye twitches.

“It’s Touya.” He corrects you, pathetically eager to hear his name in your tongue, “You call me Touya.”

He crowds your space, heat radiating and making you lean into him almost immediately.

He finds it fascinating, that with each time— no matter what he does— you’ll always lean into his warmth. His fingers hook into your waistband as he urges you to say his name.

It comes off easy on your tongue, though you still tense slightly and he feels it, “Touya.”

You try, really, to soften in his grasp, to stay relaxed and purr into him like the cat he wants you to be. You want to, but it’s hard and you barely even know why. He feels like a whole new person.

“Hm?” He hums, tilting his head down at you, tone almost mocking, “nervous now that you know my name?”

He can tell you’re trying to be a comforting presence but you’re failing miserably, and he soothes his thumb along your hip as he snorts, “Or are you trying to see if I’ll go easy on you?”

“Maybe.” You mutter, your hands trailing to cradle his white hair.

But he laughs cruelly, leaning down until his mouth is just shy of your ear, “Too bad, sweetheart.” His tongue travels up the shell of your ear, and you shiver at the ticklish feeling, “I was never planning to.”

Your hands end up around his neck, his hungry mouth assaulting your neck.

And despite his burns, and the fact that he can’t feel anything on them, you leave a trail of kisses along his neck.

“You watch the broadcast?” He asks, and you nod, “Whole thing. Do you.. want to talk about it?”

Gosh.

He does.

He really does.

But he’s not here to tell you about his sob story, he’s not here to hear you validating him and lovingly cradling his head as you always do, he’s not here to feel the comforting sound of your voice.

He’s here to take you, to ruin you to his liking.

He wants to hurt you. So badly. He wants to squeeze you until you moan in pain and beg him to stop, wants to fuck you until you’re crying and speaking of him like he’s the only person to have ever existed.

“No.” He scoffs, thumb dragging under the hem of your shirt, “can’t believe you’re still letting me fuck you after that.”

“Well, you’re lucky I’ve got a high libido, then.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Dabi— Touya growls nonetheless, roughly lifting you to set you on the counter. He pulls your pajama pants down in a swift motion, your panties following, his body slotting between your thighs as his fingers harshly assault your clit. You shiver, moaning his name.

He freezes, blue eyes locking into yours.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, finger dragging down in between your folds and circling your hole, “C’mon. Use it.”

You oblige, “Touya.”

A shudder runs through his body at the mention of his name, and there’s an obvious sign that he won’t be able to wait anymore as he pulls away, tugging his pants low enough until his cock springs out, muttering under his breath just what a good girl you are.

It’s your turn to freeze, and you gasp as you realize what’s wrong.

You’re not prepped enough to take him like this, and while you’ve had tons of times where Touya— no, Dabi fucked you like a cockdesprate slut, or mainly just for his pleasure, he’s never done anything without properly prepping you. After you’d voiced your displeasure about his pierced cock hurting too much without enough arousal to lessen the friction, he’s always made sure to make you cum once or twice before taking you. Not that it takes long with his skilled fingers and tongue— and even the thigh you ride from time to time— hell, as far as you can tell, he even enjoys having you writhing beneath him like that.

“Wait, wait Dabi!”

“Hush. You’ll take it, won’t you?”

Pre-cum is leaking from his tip and you can tell he’s been horny for a long time, unlike you, who hadn’t even expected his visit. He’d been off and gone for a few weeks, and you truly, truly didn’t expect him to visit you a few hours after he’d revealed his identity to the entire world, and amongst all of that, almost massacred his own family.

He spreads his cum over his dick, pumping it a few times to reach a thin sheet of gloss all over his length, and eventually (much to your relief) he even spreads you one more time, wetness coating your folds and your hole as he assesses whether you’re wet enough or not.

It’s truly not all up to his liking, and if it weren’t for the animalistic urge to fuck you almost immediately, he’d spend a few more rounds getting you all wet and bothered.

You whine and there’s not much of a warning when he spreads your legs, sinking his cock into you without much resistance. His piercings graze your walls— a mix of pain and pleasure ringing through your body, but all of it gets overtaken when Touya leans down to lovingly kiss your cheek.

It confuses you. So much.

You don’t know what this man wants. You don’t know what he earns and what his motives are now— why he seems to be in such a rush to fuck you desperately and lovingly through the whole night.

Nevertheless, you’re grateful for the kind gesture, even if the un-kinder gesture is almost ripping you open.

“I told you to call me Touya,” he mumbles, having at least the decency of letting you adjust to his size and girth. You moan, hands gripping into his biceps for some kind of anchor, sighing, “Ah, Touya…”

It makes him calmer, you notice, the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name, his birth name, the one he resented and dropped when he realized he’d been forged into a monster.

It’s still beyond him, that you, sweet girl, are willing to get fucked by someone like him, a man made of patchwork skin and burnt bits.

He works diligently into you, his dick raw against your walls, metal sitting uncomfortably inside of you with the lack of foreplay. He hisses when he bottoms out, and you trap him between your thighs, clenching them as hard as you can around him. It hurts.

But you try so hard to be good for him. You want to. You want to hear his praise and make him feel good as he buries himself inside of you. You want to be the shelter he seeks, even if you’re not the shelter he’ll keep— because Touya— (or Dabi, as you’ve known him) doesn’t settle.

Amongst the pleasure and pain and the ache in your heart from his soft kisses along your neck, you feel an unfamiliar dread brewing in your abdomen.

Having had this much fun with Dabi over the past few months, you’ve forgotten what a bad gut feeling felt like.

That’s why, even as he pounds into you and the pain fades until you’re moaning for him to give you more, more, more! you’re trying hard to keep the nauseating feeling from rising any further.

it’s horrible, the way it sets in your body and waits to come out in overflowing words, building up and up until you’re spewing disgusting shit that’ll guarantee Dabi leaving you right here and now.

Please, don’t leave me.

Stay. Please, Touya.

Instead, you spread yourself even more, giving him more access because you can tell the way you’re clenching your thighs is slowing his movements and he’s already aggravated as it is.

His brows are furrowed and you’re tempted to soothe the folds out with your thumb, just to remind him that you’re here, that you’re not leaving.

In the end, you settle against it, because he’s mouthing harshly at you now, his fingers digging into your hips and thighs until you’re sure you’ll bruise by the end of this. He’s fucking you with such furiousity that you know he’s fucking you not for your pleasure but for something far deeper.

It’s not even about his pleasure, either. You’re sure, because in that case, he’d bend you over and lube you up with his cum or yours until you’re overstimulated, and only then would he give you his dick.

He loves making messes. Loves when both of you are thrashed and disgusting with cum.

“My girl. You’re my girl, fuck— right? Tell me, baby. C’mon use your mouth— shit!”

You don’t know what it is he wants you to sate, you have no clue, because Dabi’s not one for possessiveness over his sluts, and nor did he ever need any kind of affirmation of love during sex, but you can’t exactly debate whether to obey him or not when he’s growling and dragging his finger down your slit, rimming dangerously around the hole he’s stretching so good.

The threat is clear, and you’re very sure you wouldn’t be able to take a fucking finger while he’s got you dumb on his cock already, you panic instantly, whimpering out his name.

“Yours, Touya! I’m yours!”

“Promise me. Go ahead and promise me— you’re my cocksleeve, my cumdump, no one gets to touch this cunt ‘xcept for me!”

The pleasures building up within you, and it’s turning you into the usual cockdrunk bitch as always, the words not quite slipping past your lips. The most you can do is form coherent thoughts when his dick throbs intensively, his tip nudging the same spongy spot over and over again, and his piercings applying pressures all over you.

But he makes sure to remind you with the threatening finger near your hole, slipping the first few bits and it has you crying out, thrashing with your hands as you hit him weakly.

“Touya! Touya— ahh, I promise Touya! I promise!! ‘m yours! All yours!”

Even as the finger leaves your abused hole, and even as he keeps pounding you with his painfully hard cock, you find yourself still sobbing like a mess, tapping more than hitting his biceps as you try to squirm away from his assaulting dick.

When he realizes his strokes aren’t quite as deep as they used to go, he becomes aware of the way you’re attempting to get him off, being petty as you are, and he lets out a sound akin to a growl as he uses an ounce of strength by grasping your thighs and pulling your pelvis’ together until he’s flush against you and your jaw drops at the feeling.

To reassure you won’t pull this bullshit again (and to make this all a bit more pleasurable), he places one large hand on your ass, the other under your thigh as he picks you up.

He drags you all the way to your room, and you can’t help but clench around him with the way his cock sits still inside of you, throbbing, and he winces before grinding you against him.

It’s a pleasure you’ve never felt before. A ticklish kind of feeling, small bits of joy tingling all over you as the familiar warm bubble builds up in your abdomen.

He’s gentle as he sets you on the soft sheets, but rough when he lifts your thighs until you’re folded in half and he’s roughing you up. His heavy balls smack against your rear, a loud slapping noise joining the ongoing squelching and moaning.

His pace increased, and soon he’s panting with the way he’s fucking into you. You’re bucking your hips up desperately, trying to meet him halfway even if you do it every two strokes because you simply don’t have that much fight in you.

He fucks like a man starved, and it’s not long until the throbbing and the heat of his dick intensifies and you’re screaming his name. “Fuck baby, can feel ya cumming, sweet girl. G-go ahead- make a mess-!”

And as if to make matters worse (better), he presses his large, warm hand down on your abdomen, where he can feel his own cock impaling you by the second, and you scream.

The pressure from getting pounded and your abdomen clutched tight is too much, and you cum with a harsh shudder of your body, Touya following a second after.

He doesn’t slow, though, he always makes sure to stuff you full of his cum and man sure it’s deep and engraved within you, even as his flaccid cock barely has any fight left.

He pulls out when you start twitching a bit too much, trying to regain his own breath while prodding at your pussy.

He loves the sight. Loves it so much, he goes all the way down on his stomach, soft dick comfortably against the softness of your mattress (and very much soaking your sheets), and he uses his tongue to scoop whatever’s escaped back into your hole.

It’s nasty, and it makes you whine as you tug on his hair and shove your cunt into his face.

And as always, it’s not long until Touya hardens, not with the way his cum is leaking out of you, the way you’re soft and swollen and fuck— it’s almost like your pussy is begging for him to fuck you again— and who is he to deny you? He’s been grinding his dick against your mattress, speeding up the process of getting all hard again.

He clicks his tongue when he catches your tears, wondering just why it is you’re sobbing.

(And he knows. Fuck, he knows. He knows you’re hurting and holding back, and it’s not because the sex was a tad more painful than usual. You’re a smart thing, after all.)

“Hey,” he calls out, tapping your hip to catch your attention. He does, his own heart clenching when you tilt your head to look at him with those sad, sad eyes.

“Ride me, baby. Let me make you forget.”

Forget that this is the last time.

You both know it, but none of you speaks up on it. Instead, he lifts your body until he can sprawl across the bed with you hovering over his dick.

You’re overstimulated, and you almost beg him to wait, but Touya’s brain barely catches the fact that you look more panicked than aroused. He sinks into you slowly, a shrill cry escaping your lips. He fully sheathes himself inside you, the room filled with your foul sounds.

There’s so much cum.

So much, trailing out of your hole and wetting him, too. So much, that it has its own sound as you shakily raise your hips and attempt to bounce on him.

So much, but not enough.

Touya wants you overflowing with his cum. He’s not leaving until you’ve milked every drop of him and he’s milked every of yours. He wants to ruin you in ways that’ll remain permanent, that’ll carry his scent and soul and everything you can possibly think of.

And so, he makes you bounce on his dick until you’re out of it and he’s forced to pound his shit up to you, all while guiding your hips to take his length.

He fills you like this, too, and after lightly tapping your cheek and waking you up from your haze (“Not done with ya, princess. Wake up.”), he takes you in countless other positions.

You don’t truly know how long he’s been at this, but by the striking pain in your cunt and the non-stopping shudder of your body, you can only assume it’s been hours.

Hours of him fucking you, filling you, you passing out every two to three orgasms, and him waking you to repeat the cycle.

And each time, he tells you that you can take more. That you will take more.

(Though, your body’s numb and so is your mind.)

By the time he’s done with you, his dick has long passed any limits within your cave. He’s panting, and so are you, your recent orgasm having felt more like a force of pleasure you tried to hold down. When you look into Touya’s eyes, you see he’s already looking at you with an unusual grin.

No, not a grin.

It’s a smile. He’s smiling at you, even if it looks strained and inhumane with the way the corners of his mouth split just slightly, and if it weren’t for your body being literally shut down, you would’ve soothed your fingers down his lips.

His smile turns into a toothy grin when he thrusts his flaccid cock into you, more of a nudge than anything you could consider pleasurable, and you cry out. “T-Touya-.. no- no more..”

“Relax, crybaby. Look.”

You follow the line of his gaze, landing straight to where the two of you remain connected.

There’s so much slick and cum all over the two of you, you could consider bathing in it.

But that’s not what he wants you to look at when he slightly pulls out only to bury himself inside again and suddenly—

Fuck.

Your eyes widen as you sputter— a clear outline of his dick right in your abdomen. And you wish you could control your body— but it acts upon its own when your cunt clenches down on him at the sight and you whine loudly.

You’re not quite sure, but you think you came alone from this.

He laughs, rubbing and grinding his pelvis for a bit of friction.

“You cum from this, doll?”

Dignity is something you’ve lost along the way. You nod, using your last bits of strength to wrap your arms around his neck.

He leans down to you, chest to chest, settling on top of you and weighing you down.

You sigh, the feeling comforting after hours of rough fucking and claiming. He lazily grinds into you, and you think, if that’s how he wants to put an end to this, then you’re not against it.

The slightest spread of your legs gives him more access, and he takes it as he breaths heavily against your neck, kissing and biting with pants that get heavier on each thrust.

It’s your lips he goes for when he empties himself inside of you, rubbing out his orgasm before finally, finally going limp.

You don’t question the drops of liquid that slide down his face and into the hollow of your neck, and nor do you particularly care about the dark red stain they leave behind.

Instead, you linger on the last words you heard before the world went black beneath you.

“Watch me when I’m out there, doll. Let me show you just who you let into your life.”

You wanted to, gosh, you wanted to correct him. The words scraped the back of your throat. Maybe somewhere in the haze of your dreams, you whispered them, a soft, trembling sound he couldn’t catch. Maybe he didn’t hear them at all. Or maybe he did, and it didn’t matter.

You wish you could’ve corrected him, that he not only carved himself into your life, but into your heart, too.

And the same heart he destroys when you wake alone, the only thing left from him are the cum stains all over your body.

a/n: this was supposed to be like 3k words. I got lost somewhere along the way.