Rax Writes

“Ooh, beautiful face with a hot, inked up body – and she’s bossy? Shit, must be my lucky day.”

That was all… what, about an hour ago? Maybe two. You couldn’t be sure anymore.

Not because of the alcohol in your system, though. No, you’d had a couple of drinks, and so had he, but both of you were at the threshold of tipsy, nothing more.

You had lost track of time once you drug him by his collar to an empty room upstairs, on the very top floor of the building – one where you’d crashed a few times, too exhausted after a Cleaner job, and the owner let you make use of the vacant space.

Now, you were in Jabber’s lap, his back resting against the headboard of a worn bed of questionable but acceptable cleanliness, most of everyone’s clothes cast aside long ago. You’d been making out for a while already, and you were down to just your panties, tank top, and bra. He was down to his boxers and an old, holey tank. And his rings – those chunky silver rings adorning each of his fingers, that felt so good on your warm skin when his fingers creeped up under your tank top.

This was the longest duration of time he’d been silent for, since first striking up a conversation with you down in the bar – save the occasional grunts and moans from the two of you lazily dry humping.

Jabber’s fingers slithered lower and lower, before finally moving your panties to the side – slowly, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

His middle finger played with your throbbing clit, and the cold metal of his rings brushing your wet, hot sex was making you twitch a bit, making you crave more.

“More,” you whispered against his lips, without even realizing you’d voiced your thoughts.

“Demanding lil thing, ain’t ya?” Jabber purred. The half-lidded eyes and wicked grin, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in through the window. Fuck, he looked good.

When he sunk his middle finger into you – followed quickly by the ring finger, once he’d felt how wet you already were – the sensation of that cold silver at your entrance gave you exactly what you’d been craving. You gasped involuntarily, arching in a way that pressed your chest against his, and the way your long, pointy nails dug into his shoulders wrenched a gasp from him as well.

“Your rings – fuck,” you managed to choke out, forehead dropping to rest against his. Long fingers pumped in and out of you at a languid pace, and you felt his laugh reverberate through your own chest, still pressed against him.

“You like?” Jabber teased, free hand rising to cradle your jaw. His thumb traced your bottom lip, and you inclined your head to take the digit into your mouth, sucking it and swirling your tongue around his ring. “Mmm, I’ll take that as a yes. Best part is: they ain’t just for show. Wanna see?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, holding his palm an inch or two in front of your face. A familiar glow emitted from his palm, pink anima threading through the rings and morphing into a partial glove with a set of five, razor-sharp blades extending from his fingers.

“This here’s my baby: Mankira.”

Honestly, Jabber wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting. It’s not like he’d ever shown off his Vital Instrument in the middle of gettin’ nasty with someone. But he damn sure didn’t expect you to lean forward to run your tongue along the side of the blade on his pointer finger. It pulled a groan from deep in his chest that he didn’t even realize was from him at first.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, toothy grin returning. Absentmindedly, he trailed the same blade you’d licked along your jaw, and down the column of your throat. His focus was entirely devoted to you: on the way your tits rose and fell as you breathed raggedly, and the way your wet, gummy walls felt around the fingers he pumped in and out of you.

So instead, Jabber let the tip of it press into your skin juuust enough that you’d feel it, but not enough to pierce.

Once again, he wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. He suspected any normal chick would probably smack his hand away and tell him to quit, or get scared. So when your cunt clenched around his still-thrusting fingers so tightly that he thought you were tryin’ to break ‘em – his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“You into that, dollface?” Jabber asked, head tilting to the side like an intrigued animal, a faint pink glow in his eyes. When you nodded and bit your lip, starting to buck your hips against his fingers as he did it again – he giggled with sheer joy.

“Oh, you’re gonna be fuuun,” he whispered, surging forward to kiss you – hard, feverish, desperate. His fingers began to fuck you faster, curling to brush against your sweet spot in a way that made your brain fog over more than it already had. With trembling hands, you moved his free hand to wrap around your throat, too horny to care about potential consequences of the blades piercing your skin. (Jabber did, though. It was his left hand, after all.) But he didn’t need to be told twice, squeezing the sides of your throat to cut off some of your airflow.

“C’mon, sweet thing – soak my fuckin’ fingers,” Jabber demanded, pulling you into another kiss by the hand around your throat. He bit your bottom lip in the midst of the kiss, cock twitching against your thigh when you whispered “harder.” He gave you what you asked for, biting hard enough to draw blood this time. And by the grace of god, it was in time with another brush of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you, and another squeeze of your throat – sending you hurtling over the edge of release with an obscenely loud moan, prettier than anything he’d ever heard.

“Fuuuck, baby. I know that’s right,” he praised with that excited lilt to his voice, bucking his hips up to grind against your thigh, his boxers now sopping wet from your release. He pulled you into a kiss by your throat again, tasting blood as you made out sloppily.

Fuzzy-headed and panting, you reached for Jabber’s boxers, yanking them down and throwing them across the room. Still lounged against the headboard, Jabber sucked his fingers clean of you, moaning at the taste. He smiled around his fingers at the mewl you let out when he cut your panties off with Mankira. After he deactivated the Instrument to remove your top and bra, your shaky hands yanked his tank top off. Once all clothes were discarded, you reached for his long, thick dick – hard and leaking against his stomach. He sighed contentedly and let his head loll back against the headboard, relishing in the way you stroked him.

This stranger had cracked open something dangerous inside of you. The catalyst had undoubtedly been the feeling of Mankira against your throat. Now, you felt some sort of feral, horny adrenaline flowing through your veins, telling you to unleash every sick thought you’d ever had – the ones you kept to yourself, only fantasizing when touching yourself alone, because you knew it’d scare partners off – on this motherfucker. And something about the brainless grin he gave you, your blood smeared across his lips, told you he would be more than happy to take it all.

Wanting to see more of your blood on him, you kissed him again, wondering if he’d bite your lip again if you squeezed his dick just right – and he did, biting down hard as he gripped your hips, flesh spilling between his fingers. You tasted even more copper than before, and immediately began trailing kisses down his throat and chest, stopping occasionally to mark him up with bite marks and bloody kisses. Although faint, you could tell that Jabber was trembling with anticipation by the time your mouth actually reached his twitching, glossy tip.

A guttural, punched-out groan escaped him when the barbell on your tongue flicked across his slit. As you set to work – taking him down your throat, one hand squeezing the base and the other cradling his balls – one ringed hand twisted into your hair, pulling it into a ponytail for you, and the other gripped the sheets like his life truly depended on it.

“Fuuuck, baby,” Jabber stuttered out, gasping in a way that sounded pained when you pulled off just enough to suckle the tip, running the ball of your tongue piercing over the frenulum. Without thinking, he pushed your head down, forcing you to take his full length down your throat. It caught you off guard, and caused you to choke on it.

You pulled off, still holding it at the base, and slapped his cock.

Jabber cried out like he’d been wounded, but it faded into a pretty little whimper as his hips bucked up, trying to fuck into the hand that still held his cock.

“Godddd, do that again,” he pleaded pathetically, moaning at the mere thought of it.

“I’ll do it when I damn well please,” you countered, and he nodded obediently.

“Shiiit, yes, ma’am,” he replied, all whiny and breathy. He jerked violently when you trailed your sharply manicured nails up and down both sides of his cock as you sucked the tip again, moaning profusely now. “I’ll do whatever you want, baby. Promise. Just keep makin’ it hurt so damn goooood!”

“Make yourself useful and hold my hair again.”

Jabber did so before you’d even finished the sentence, pulling on it from his need to grip something, and the sensation went straight to your already-throbbing cunt.

You went back to sucking him off, alternating between digging your nails into his hips, stroking the few inches you couldn’t take without gagging, and cradling his balls.

“Close – fuuuuuck, I’m close, baby. I’m so close for you, dollface. So good– makin’ me feel so goddamn good,” Jabber rambled, scratched up hips twitching, careful to not thrust too deeply into your mouth. He wanted to be good so you’d give him what he wanted, just as much as he wanted you to punish him again.

That feral adrenaline bubbled up inside you again, so you pulled away, letting your teeth ever-so-gently scrape his mushroomed tip as you went, slapped his cock again, swallowed him whole, and gave his balls a squeeze – all in the span of what felt like half a second to Jabber.

“Oh – oh goddamn, girl – fuuuck!”

He came down your throat almost instantly, shaking so violently you faintly wondered if he was having a seizure. The string of curses, your name, and gibberish that fell from his lips ensured that he was still conscious, though.

Well… until he went limp, the ghost of a smile on his lips despite the ragged breathing.

Your eyes widened slightly, and once you swallowed all of him up, you moved to sit in his lap to wake him – trying to ignore the distracting feeling of his still-pulsing dick trapped between you, twitching against your pussy.

“Jabber,” you said sternly, slapping him gently. That didn’t work, so you slapped him a bit harder. He grumbled something nonsensical, then giggled, but still didn’t wake. So you slapped him again – hard. He woke with a jolt and a gasp, hands flying to your waist and bucking his hips up to grind his cock between your pussy lips before even realizing where he was or what’s going on.

Slowly, that deranged, toothy grin split his face, and he let out a manic laugh.

“Holy fucking shit,” Jabber said, laughing still. “You – you made me cum so hard I passed out.”

His hot hands massaged your hips, thumbs tracing the lines and swirls of the tattoos that adorned the soft flesh there.

“Kudos to you, girl. Like, for real. But, problem is: preeeetty sure I’m obsessed with you now. And when I’m obsessed – I’m real obsessed,” Jabber admitted in a tone befitting a giddy schoolboy with a crush – smiling with just enough insanity in his eyes that you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Aw, you got a crush on me now, sweetheart?” you teased, despite the fact that a less horned out brain would find it concerning that some stranger is now admittedly obsessed with you. Jabber’s pretty pink eyes darkened, and he nodded slowly – in a way that would probably concern someone in their right mind. But right then, it just looked hot to you.

“Yeeeaaahhh. I do,” Jabber replied, with a predatory slowness to his tone. “What about you? You got a crush on me, sugar?”

You nodded in the same way he had, only partially aware that you had the same psychotic look in your eyes as him. You might be a little obsessed with him too – or at least, with this deranged desire he was bringing out of you. And the way he took everything you had to give so, so well.

Both of your hands wrapped around his throat applying just the slightest pressure, and you kissed him again. Jabber smiled into the kiss, then whispered against your lips, “On your knees for me. I’ve been dreaming about the way your tats will look in an arch since I first laid eyes on you.”

He moved behind you while you did as he bade you, dropping into a nasty arch as his hands came to rest on your hips. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, running his hands all over your back, hips, and ass to trace the swirls of dark ink decorating your body. He paid extra attention to the spots where traces of ink were missing, from old wounds.

“Hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen,” Jabber whispered. You could hear the smile in his voice, but you turned your head just enough to see it for yourself, swaying your hips and pushing back against him.

“Do somethin’ about it then.”

Jabber grabbed the base of his cock, and slowly pushed into your syrupy, dripping pussy. Both of you moaned, and he pulled your hips back til they were flush against his, landing a harsh slap against your ass before beginning to drill into you. The pace became frenzied almost immediately, a mix of him thrusting into you in deep, powerful strokes that had you feeling him in your throat, and you fucking back against him, keeping pace as well as you could.

After he lifted your hips and changed his angle a little, it didn’t take long before you were nearly screaming into the sheets, praying the music from the bar downstairs would drown you out for the sake of the poor patrons – but also not giving much of a shit if it didn’t.

“Hit me.”

Jabber groaned, enthralled by the request itself. He slapped your ass – hard – leaving a distinct, welted handprint there, but he knew it had the desired effect when you clenched around him so hard he choked. So he did it again, and again, and again, until you were screaming.

“Ughh, that’s right, baby. Scream for me,” Jabber encouraged, smirking. He reached down to grab you by the throat and lift you until your back was flush to his chest, the sound of your screaming and obscene, wet skin slapping echoing throughout the room. “C’mon, pretty, say my name while you’re at it.”

“Jabber! Fuck!”

“Aaaaatta girl, keep goin’. Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, oh my god!”

“Whose, huh? Answer right, sweet thing. Say my name all pretty for me again.”

“Jabber’s! Fuck, it’s yours, Jabber!” you wailed, voice going hoarse and eyes rolling back as you came.

“Yeeaahhh it is,” he laughed, fucking you through your orgasm, groaning at the feeling of you milking his cock so perfectly. The second your spasming pussy began to calm down, he threw you back onto the bed, rolled you over, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and folded you in half before pounding into you again. He took the new position as an opportunity to wrap a hand around the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair at the base of your neck with his left hand, and squeezing your throat with the right hand again. “You’re mine, ain’t you, babes? C’mon, say you’re mine.”

“I will,” you panted, then smiled with bloodied teeth as he applied pressure to your throat. “If you bring out Mankira again.”

Jabber giggled madly, and held your gaze as his eyes and hand glowed pink in the dim room, and blades extended from the fingers on his right hand.

“How ‘bout this? You say what I wanna hear, and I’ll mark you up just a lil,” he propositioned, and his hips stuttered when you clenched around him at the thought. He already knew your answer from your body’s reaction, but you nodded in secondary confirmation. “These claws will make you feel a little floaty, but it’ll feel good, alright?”

“You gonna let me mark you up, too?”

Jabber laughed maniacally, “Be my guest, pretty girl.”

He ran a blade across the tops of both your breasts, as well as a line down the center of your bottom lip, and down the middle of your sternum. The pain was nothing more than a sting, but the way the head of his cock kept bullying your sweet spot made the combination of sensations exquisite. You moaned, loud and broken, as slivers of blood bloomed the wake of the blade – small but effective cuts, like deep paper cuts.

Jabber let your hand reach out and turn the blade on him, slicing a horizontal line above his collarbone and another across his pectoral, before drawing your initials in the center of his chest. He moaned at the feeling as well, overwhelmed from it, slamming his hand down beside your head and leaning down to kiss you.

When he pulled away a bit, you found that he’d slashed through the mattress, and your blood had mixed together on your chests. He ducked his head down to lap at the cuts on your tits like a thirsty dog, moaning at the taste of your blood as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. You arched off the bed, pressing your chest further into his mouth, and he rolled the bud between his teeth, earning another scream from you.

“Easy, girl, I got ya. But we made a deal, baby. Tell me what I wanna hear,” he whispered, kissing up your chest, up your neck, and mouthing at your jawline, smearing blood all over you in the process. The smell filled your nostrils – along with the heady scent of sex filling the room – and you wrapped your arms around his torso, digging your nails into his back and scratching down. He hissed through his teeth, hips bucking into you wildly, then with lightning speed, grabbed you by the jaw – the blades just scarcely avoiding your face. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours, Jabber,” you gasped, and he grinned lazily, glowing pink eyes half-lidded and content. He leaned down again to kiss you, sharing the taste of your blood from his reddened teeth and tongue. “Are you mine too, sweetheart? Hm?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely I’m yours,” Jabber replied instantly, groaning and diving in for another messy kiss.

Faint traces of the anesthesia from Mankira fully set in then, and it made the edges of your minds fuzzy. Jabber let his weight press you into the mattress more as he kept fucking you with harsh, powerful strokes. He deactivated the Mankira on his right hand to wrap it around your throat again, moaning more when your nails dug into his back again.

“Hit me,” he begged, desperate and broken. “I’m so close for you, baby, please – hit me.”

A loud, stinging slap landed on his cheek, and he whimpered as his hips stuttered.

“So good, sweet thing, soooo good. You close too, pretty? Wanna feel you cream all over my cock. Want it so bad.”

“Bite me.”

Jabber ducked his head down to bite your neck, hard. Blood bloomed there too, his sharp canines breaking the skin with relative ease. The scream that tore from your throat burned a little, and you felt yourself falling into an orgasm headlong – legs shaking around his neck, tears spilling from your eyes, cunt beginning to milk an orgasm out of him. But what really did him in – aside from how beautiful you looked with fresh tears and running mascara – was another slap across his cheek. A pitchy, whiny sound fell from his lips as his cum flooded your insides, hips grinding against you to fuck it deeper into you – wanting to mark you on the inside, just like he had all over the outside.

He let his entire body fall on top of you, not minding the little “oof” you let out. He was heavy, but it felt nice, especially with his slowly-softening cock still nestled inside of you. Although he hesitated, as though a bit of his bravado had subsided, Jabber pressed slow, sleepy kisses all across your throat and collarbone, admiring the bite marks, cuts, and slowly drying blood littering your pretty skin.

You traced your nails all over his back in mindless circles, causing a random twitch or shiver from his overly-sensitive body. Your other hand rested comfortingly on the back of his neck, cradling his head against you. It was obvious that you both needed a clean-up – a full-body shower, honestly – but both of you could feel fatigue seeping into your bones.

“So… did ya mean it?”

Jabber’s quiet voice broke the silence, his head stilling against your chest.

“Mean what?”

“That you’re mine…. And that I’m yours…. Or was that just some bullshit pillow talk?”

You laughed softly, but it didn’t sound teasing, and Jabber found that he loved the sound.

“Well, we don’t know a thing about each other, ya know. Might be a bit fast to belong to one another, don’tcha think?”

“Might be a bit fast for us to have our initials carved into each other’s tits. So, I ain’t keepin’ score if you ain’t.”

You laughed again, and Jabber smiled against your skin.

“Fair point.”

“Soooo?”

“….Yeah, alright. You gotta take me on an actual date, though.”

“Deal.”

a few weeks later

Jabber made good on his promise. A total of seven dates and just as many more nasty, filthy, raunchy-ass hookups later, was when it all changed.

“There you are.”

You didn’t know a voice so familiar could send such chills down your spine.

Kinda hot.

Jabber perched above the glowing green exit sign like a viper ready to strike, eyeing Rudo with manic glee in his magenta eyes.

Also kinda hot.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, primarily due to the fact that you still had your full-coverage Cleaner mask on, rather than just the standard partial mask part. He remained locked in on his primary prey. Part of you was grateful, because this gave you a second to process the realization that –

“He’s a Raider!” Gris announced, just as Jabber’s iron grip on the wall caused the cement to explode.

Sure, the two of you had discussed occupations. But it seems the truth of your occupation as a Cleaner had been met with a lie: that he was a simple wanderer and aspiring scientist, spending his free time experimenting with toxins. You’d even outright asked if his occasionally purple attire meant he was secretly a Raider, but he’d simply tucked some hair behind your ear, kissed your nose, and gave a convincing, “Don’t be silly, babycakes! Of course not!”

When the dust settled and Jabber began a tense exchange with Gris and Rudo, you kept quiet, unsure of whether your presence would be an asset or a catalyst.

However, the moment he mentioned having hurt Zanka, all bets were off.

“But if you come quietly,” Jabber said to Rudo, “I’ll make sure it won’t hurt a bit.”

“And what about me, sweetheart?” you interjected sweetly, stepping in front of Rudo and shoulder-checking him a bit, trying to urge the poor kid outta the way. Jabber’s eyes darted to you, face softening as he finally took notice of you – especially once you removed the entirety of your mark. His eyes outright lit up then, and he broke into a smile. “You gonna hurt me a little?”

“Baby!” Jabber exclaimed, bouncing from one foot to the other excitedly. You felt Rudo tense behind you, but he kept quiet. “I was so hopin’ I’d run into you here!”

“Can’t say the same to you. I distinctly remember you tellin’ me you’re not a Raider.”

Jabber was certain the venom in your voice was far more deadly than anything he had encountered before. It’d have been hot, if it hadn’t been for the underlying tone of disappointment, and the frown on your pretty face.

“Aha, yeah, so…. Funny story about that,” Jabber began awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with a nervous smile. “I sorta… lied?”

“I can see that.”

“Ain’t notin’ a lil head can’t fix, right??”

The audible cringes from a grand total of five Supporters, and a soft gag from Rudo, would forever haunt you.

“Sweet offer, but no. I don’t fuck with Raiders,” you seethed, and Jabber frowned.

“No, no, baby – wait, okay? It’s like, forbidden love or some shit. We can work this out,” Jabber protested, then scratched his neck again. “Well, ya know… after I take the lil Sphereite to the boss man. Gotta job to do. You understand, don’tcha, pretty?”

“Look, I couldn’t care less about whatever lover’s quarrel you two’ve got goin’ on, but you’re dealing with me now,” Gris interjected, stepping forward to stand beside you and push Rudo back further. Jabber’s attempt at a sweet expression faded into irritation as he turned to Gris, clearly pissed about being interrupted, and his Mankira-covered hand raised towards Gris. Your hand moved to rest upon your Vital Instrument. “You need to understand one thing: I protect my team no matter what.”

“Ohhh, you’re one of them Supporters or whatever. The chumps Cleaners like to keep around for some reason…. So, chump, what can you do?”

In the blink of an eye, Jabber used the back of his forearm to push you to the side – hard. You managed to stay on your feet as you slid backwards a few yards, finding enough traction to stop in a cloud of dirt just a moment later. But it was too late.

“Oh, little Sphereite, and my pretty girl…. Promise y’all ain’t gonna crash out on me, a’ight?” Jabber said, feigned concern dripping from every word. Your eyes darted to Gris, and it felt like every nerve in your body became a live wire when you saw it.

Mankira, stabbed a few inches deep into his torso.

“I think he’s already dead. But don’t worry. It’s all good….” The air was collectively stolen from the lungs of everyone in the room, and before anyone could move a muscle – the remainder of the blades were pushed entirely through Gris and clean out the other side. “The weak are worth less than the stain they leave behind!”

You were the first to react, lunging at Jabber with a nauseating mix of hurt, disappointment, and rage pouring out of your very soul, Vital Instrument drawn and ready to strike. Rudo followed closely behind, shock and rage of his own fueling him.

Unfortunately for you, Jabber pinned you to a pillar after a few minutes, and tilted his head at you with a frown, just a couple inches from your face.

“C’mon now, baby. I’m used to you tryna hurt me, but not like this,” he pouted. “Not how you’re supposed to treat your boyfriend, ya know.”

“You’re not my fucking boyfriend,” you spat, and Jabber’s frown deepened, looking genuinely upset. It was quickly replaced with a wicked smile, and he grabbed your jaw with his left hand.

“I’ll always be yours, and you’ll always be mine. Ain’t no changin’ that, gorgeous,” he said in an even, earnest tone. “No matter what you say or do, we will always belong to each other.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“You’re so hot when you’re pissed. But how ‘bout you worry about your own dreams for a while. Okay, baby?” Jabber said, his tone sickeningly sweet and condescending.

Only then did you feel it: the right-hand claws of Mankira puncturing your abdomen, just enough that the neurotoxins were beginning to haze your mind.

“No,” you gasped, shoving him away by the shoulders. As Rudo began to approach from behind him, calling out your name frantically, your knees buckled and you slid down the pillar behind you until you reached the ground.

Jabber crouched down to look you in the eyes, that same wicked smile on his lips. He leaned forward to kiss you quickly, and your limbs were already too heavy to protest. As your eyes fluttered closed and you slumped down to the ground, he whispered, “Night night, gorgeous. Dream of me.”

But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over. 

All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring. 

Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.  

Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.

You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.

Keh, interesting. 

With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…

Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.

Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him. 

Fuck, you have a mean right hand. 

Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there. 

“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out. 

Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city. 

The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.

Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.

Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.

When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.

“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips. 

You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!

“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”

Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.

“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.” 

Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.

Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.

However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.

Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance. 

Yeah, not your fault.  Enjin thinks and cuts you a break. 

For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.

Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them. 

At least—not yet.

But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem: 

You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.  

Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.

Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.

Not after he saved you.

Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.

And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.

“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”

“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.

Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.

The fuck?! 

Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.

But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat. 

While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.

Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.

It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.

Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.

He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.

A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?

Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.

Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.

Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected. 

However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.

But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.

You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.

It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.

And yet?

Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you. 

Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him. 

Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.

Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.” 

He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.

“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!” 

You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.

“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.” 

“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”

You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.

It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him. 

There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.

Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.

Doesn’t mean anything.

Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.

It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.

All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”  

So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.

You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.

Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.

“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.

Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.

You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.

You think you actually recognize it. 

Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.

You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness. 

“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.

“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”

You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.

“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”

“HAH?!”  

Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.

He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.

When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.

“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”

You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.

You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.

Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.

“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”

From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.

Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.

You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.

His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.

“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.” 

Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.

“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”

Ouch.

Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.

However…

You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.

…that doesn’t make it worthless.

Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is. 

Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.

Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.

Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.

“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”

Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.

“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”

Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.

“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”

Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.

Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.

“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.

Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.

“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”

Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.

“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.

Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon. 

“Ugh! Fine!”

You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.

“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”

Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.

“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”

Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”

While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.

Heh, time to pull out the big guns.

“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”

You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.

“You’re not serious.”

But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later.  You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.

Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:

“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”

Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.

“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”

Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.

“Open.” 

Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.

“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.

Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.

The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.

“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”

The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell. 

Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.

“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”

You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.

“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”

Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle. 

Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.

Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.

“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”

You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for. 

Whoops.

Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state. 

It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.

Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.

The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue. 

You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one. 

But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.

And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.

Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.

Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.

Is it hotter in here, or—?

Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.

Not that he’s jealous or nothing.

Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.

However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.

Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.

Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—

“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”  

Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.

“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”

For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.

You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp. 

“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”

Huh? What does he mean that isn’t— 

You freeze. 

Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.

“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”

Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.

Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak. 

You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.

“Heh.”

The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.

There’s no way that’s his dick!

Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’

“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”

Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.

“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”

Your eyes meet his dead-on. 

“I do.”

“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”

Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.

“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.

You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it. 

Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.

“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”

Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.

But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly. 

“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”

You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.

There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock! 

He had to be the one fucking with you here.

Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.

But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else. 

Yeah. Science.

Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real. 

“C’mon now…”

Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.

“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”

Shit. You knew it was intentional?

“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”

The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.

“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”

Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.

Christ.

With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath. 

Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small? 

Or is your pussy print just that fat?

Enjin gulps, mouth dry. 

His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.

After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your  knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs. 

All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.

“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”

“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.” 

Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.

“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”

Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway. 

However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.

For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.  

Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.

Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.

Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.

You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life. 

Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.

“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.

“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”

Bullshit! 

Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.

“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”

Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.

“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”

Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth. 

Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.

Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger. 

There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.

Truly, though—you are in awe.

Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.

Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.

But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now. 

It was never you.

The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric. 

Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him. 

Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.

“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”

You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs. 

“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses. 

His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.

“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”

Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.

How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?

Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.

Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.

“Heh… fuck… you really tryna kill me, huh, Princess? Fuckin’ tease…”

You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat. 

“May I?”

Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut. 

“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy.  And best of all?

Meant just for him.

Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.

“Keh. Do you, boo.”

Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy. 

Good God, he’s a big boy! 

Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.

Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like. 

You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.

Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material. 

You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip.  Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.

“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”

Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.

You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.

“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”

Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw. 

“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”

Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away.  But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.

If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.  

Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined. 

And he’d imagined it plenty. 

Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you. 

You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak? 

Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.

“Hate it?” 

Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick. 

“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”

If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.

You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.

“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”

Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.

“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”

If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions. 

Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy. 

On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.

Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.

“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”

Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it. 

Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch. 

Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.

Oh fuck, even his fingers are big! 

A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.

Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time. 

To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late. 

He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.

“HAHH—FUHH!”

Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you.  Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.

Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop. 

“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”

Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.

“Oh fuck me… you’re a nasty lil’ Trash Princess, aren’t you?”

You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.  

“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.

All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.

You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.

You need him to get hard again—immediately!

Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute.  His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.

But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.

You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top.  Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.

Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up. 

Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”

You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.

Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying. 

“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”

You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.

“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”

The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.

Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?

But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.

“Too s-slow!” You groan.

Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.

Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now. 

Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles. 

“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”

Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.

You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.

But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.

Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair! 

Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.

The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.

Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.

“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”

The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.    

Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.

“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”

Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.

The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him. 

“Run that back.”

Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.

The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck. 

You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs. 

“I…I did it.”

Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.

Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.

Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.

Because honestly?

Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect. 

For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you. 

How could he even look at another woman after this?

One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.

Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.

Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him. 

Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.

“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up. 

But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully. 

“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?” 

Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.

“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”

Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.

Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.

Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.

“Shiiiiit!”

Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.

“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.” 

SMACK!

Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.

“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”

SMACK!

“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him. 

Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.

Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward. 

“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.

The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.

“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.

The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.

“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”

Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you. 

“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”

Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.

“Bet.”

Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.

Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get. 

Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.

All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram. 

The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.

“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!” 

Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.

Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you. 

If you never—

Enjin cuts the thought off cold. 

Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back. 

Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.

Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’. 

“Enjin?”

Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.

“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”

Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.

But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.

His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—

If you never fell.

But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:

If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself. 

Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?

If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you.  He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.

But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.

“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.

“....right, here.” 

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.

“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.

Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.

You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication. 

“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”

As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.

Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude

“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…” 

You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head. 

“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”

It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral. 

“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”

Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck. 

“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”

Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.

“FUHHHH—take it!”

Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.

In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms. 

Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit. 

“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”

Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.

“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”

Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.

“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”

Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.

“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”

Cumbringer!?

Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners. 

Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.

Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.

“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”

When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.

“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”

You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.

⛓

Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.

Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.

Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.

Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?

Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.

Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.

A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.

“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.

Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.

“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked. 

The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.

Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.

“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket. 

Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.

“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”

Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.

“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly. 

Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.

“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”

Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now. 

“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.” 

Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.

She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”

Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life. 

Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.

“One more thing.”

Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.

“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”

Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.” 

Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.

“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”

Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.

Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.

“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”

Call? Oh, heh.

“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily. 

It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.

“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”

Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.

“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh!  She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”

Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.

Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats. 

The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.

“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”

𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡

Toshinori heard the shower and the faint sound of your favorite music coming from the bathroom as he shut the front door behind him. He smiled softly to himself – even just the thought of you always had that effect on him. When he made his way into the kitchen, following the scent of something delicious, he found that you’d saved him a plate of the dinner you’d made. And – as always, whenever he had to stay late at UA – a little note, encouraging him to go ahead and eat, and telling him that you love him. 

Despite the flavor of the food, it was hurriedly and haphazardly eaten. The ache in the older man’s bones was a more pressing matter than savoring the food, and he wasted no further time in heading to the bedroom, stripping down to a t-shirt and boxers, and climbing into bed to wait on you. 

An “everything shower.” That’s what you’d called it one day, when the task took considerably longer than a normal shower. Toshinori suspected that’s what was going on, so he allowed himself a moment to begin looking over emails and some papers he needed to grade. 

When the water shut off, he called out to you to let you know he was home, and you greeted him cheerfully in response. But he knew to not expect you for a bit – especially after he once watched your post-shower routine. 

Toshinori was focused on reading the last student essay when he heard you enter the bedroom. Determined to finish it and put that behind him, he called out “Hi, honey” with his eyes glued to the messy handwriting on the page. 

“Hi. Grading papers?” you replied sweetly, and your husband nodded. 

“This is the last one. I’ll be done in a moment, I promise,” he assured you, and you hummed in response. From his peripheral vision, Toshinori saw you move to your vanity, and a slight jolt went through him when he realized what you were about to do. 

Lotion. That jasmine-scented lotion someone had gifted you, that he adored. And, most importantly, he couldn’t get enough of watching the way you applied it. Toshinori felt like a bit of a weirdo for it, but something about the way you rubbed it into your soft, sweet legs made his chest warm up every time. 

Opting to steal a glance before returning to the essay, Toshinori granted himself a peek at you – only to find himself doing a genuine, honest-to-God double-take. 

Light blue lace cupped your breasts, a bit of the supple flesh threatening to spill out over the top of the cups with the way you were bent at the hips to lather the lotion into your legs. Thin, gauzy material of the same color cascaded around your torso. As he followed it down, down to where it stopped at your hips, he caught a glimpse of the matching thong panties you had on underneath. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I went shopping today. Saw this cute nightgown in the mall. What do you think?” you asked, as nonchalant as could be, as though you had no idea what you were doing to him.

Toshinori was only vaguely aware that he scribbled an A onto the top of the essay before setting it on the stack of papers on his nightstand. Slowly, as though he thought he was dreaming and any sudden movement would wake himself up, he rose from the bed and came over to you, his boxers seeming to grow tighter with every step.

He stood dumbly beside you, fingers twitching at his sides, for several moments. You fought back a giggle as you asked, “You alright, honey?”

“It’s beautiful. You – you’re beautiful,” Toshinori managed to choke out, his voice a mere whisper. You murmured your thanks, but he hadn’t snapped quite enough for you to want to drop the nonchalant act yet. However, when a hand rose to hover near your waist, and he nearly whimpered, “Can… can I touch you? Please, sweetheart, I – I need to touch you.”

You stood up straight then – done with the lotion, and done with pretending you didn’t know what you were doing. The smirk on your lips told Toshinori that much. 

“Of course, baby.”

Toshinori dove in to kiss you with all the ardor and adoration of a man who’s been lost at sea for a year. His arms circled your waist, massive hands splayed across your back at first, before they allowed themselves to wander. It seemed as though they were in a mindless frenzy – your hips, your ass, your breasts – but never too frenzied to focus on kissing you with such passion that your knees grew weak.

“Go lay on the bed, Toshi. You’ve had a long day – let me take care of you,” you purred into the shell of his ear. He groaned, but you felt him shake his head. 

“N-No, honey, you… you dressed up so pretty for me. I want to thank you for it,” Toshinori argued, then began kissing down your neck. “Besides… I haven’t had any dessert yet.”

Everything between him saying that and how you currently found yourself was a blur. The thong had disappeared the moment your back hit the bed, but the babydoll top remained. You were vaguely aware that you’d cum once already – or was it twice? – but your husband showed no signs of stopping. 

His thick blonde hair was as messed up as it could possibly be, from your fingers raking through and pulling on it, and you could faintly see a flush across his cheeks. But the way his brows pinched together, the way he was moaning into your soaked pussy, the way he was rutting his hips into the mattress – all showed how engrossed in his work he was. 

Toshinori never ate you out merely as preparation for sex – he ate you out because it was his favorite goddamn thing on the planet. And it showed. 

“Toshi – oh my god, Toshi, baby –” you whimpered, attempting to warn him that you were about to cum again. But the way he groaned with his lips wrapped around your clit when you said his name, caused all every word you’ve ever known to vacate your mind. 

“I’ve got you, I’m here,” your husband murmured, and you scarcely heard him over your own sounds. Toshinori’s fingers maintained their perfect pace as they thrust in and out of your slick cunt, and he was practically making out with your clit, alternating between sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it. When he spoke again, the pitiful, desperate lilt of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Please – please cum for me, honey. I want it – I need it,” the former number one hero begged and pleaded, right against his beloved wife’s throbbing clit. 

If you had a little extra sense left, you’d have noticed the way his hips were bucking more wildly into the mattress now.

Then again, he didn’t have enough sense left to notice it either – entirely pussydrunk for his wife.

Voice hoarse, you cried out his name once more, hips bucking wildly against Toshinori’s face as you came. Only this time, you squirted – soaking his pretty face with your juices, and the pitiful, whiny moan he let out was the most incredible sound you’d ever heard. His fingers dug deeper into the soft flesh of your thigh, from the arm he kept wrapped around a leg to hold you somewhat still, and he breathed out your name before his hips stilled.

Toshinori went limp, resting his cheek against your thigh and breathing heavily. The feeling of his warm breath on your bare pussy nearly made you clamp your legs around his head, but the realization of what just happened kept you still.

Slowly, a smile spread across your face. “Baby, did you –?”

“Yes. Hush,” he grumbled, not sure he could bear any potential teasing from you. You felt his face heat up against your thigh, burning with embarrassment. 

Opting to take pity on the retiree, your smile remained but you said nothing else. You carefully removed yourself out from under him, and he let you – under the pretense that you were both done. And when you silently turned him over onto his back – subsequently revealing the dark, wet patch on the front of his boxers – his eyes shot open. 

“Wha– what are you doing, my love?” Toshinori questioned, but didn’t stop you as you pulled his ruined boxers down and off of him. He sucked in a breath through his teeth when the cold air of the bedroom hit his still-twitching cock, and found his fists balling into the comforter as he watched you climb onto the bed to straddle him. 

The way your warm cunt rested atop his leaking, oversensitive length. The way your manicured nails gently scraped down his chest as you smiled down at him like a predator who’d caught her prey. The way everything was too hot, too cold, too much, and not enough – all at once. Fuck, it was all nearly more than Toshinori could handle – and you hadn’t even done anything to him yet.

But above all, what sent him spiraling the most? Every single goddamn time?

It was the way you made him feel wholly and truly desired – in a way he had once feared he’d never experience again, after his injury. 

“You’re thinking too much again,” you murmured, and the low tone of your voice had Toshinori’s breathing growing heavier. Before he could form another thought, you reached between your bodies to grasp his still-hard cock then sunk down on it. 

The groans that fell from both of you were absolutely sinful. Toshinori’s hands flew to your hips on reflex, fingertips digging in as you set a steady, rhythmic pace. He had half a mind to be embarrassed by the way his thighs were already trembling after just a few minutes of you riding him, but you didn’t give him a chance to dwell on it. Your hips picked up speed, and Toshinori thought he was going to die on the spot when your soft hand gripped his jaw and turned his head to face you.

“Look at me, Toshi.”

Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed that the overwhelming pleasure was causing him to turn his head away, into the pillow. It was as though half of him were trying to get away from the delicious burn of overstimulation, while the other half – the large hands squeezing your hips like it was the only thing keeping him on Earth, the hips weakly bucking up to meet your thrusts – was absolutely thriving in it. 

But he did as you bade him – as always. But God, the pretty blue lace and mesh still adorning your body, the way your brow furrowed in pleasure, the fucked-out look on your face despite riding him within an inch of his life – it was about to send him over the edge.

“S-Shit honey, I-I’m gonna – I can’t – I need you,” Toshinori rambled senselessly, barely even aware that he was speaking. The warble in his voice prompted you to take a better look at him, and you noticed tears brimming in his eyes – though, he didn't seem to be aware. Or he just didn't care.

The love you have for that man knows no bounds – but God, did something nasty and feral inside of you want to see him cry.

Careful to maintain the rhythm you'd set with your hips, you leaned down and began kissing along his throat. His fingertips dug into your skin harder, and he whimpered quietly, but it wasn't quite as much of a reaction as you'd been hoping for. But you knew what would get him there.

"You're so strong, baby," you murmured against the sweat-slick skin of his neck, just below his ear. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, although you weren't sure if that was because of the praise or because of the way you intentionally squeezed his twitching cock. "You feel so damn good – always do. You – ngh, fuck – you're perfect. My handsome husband."

A pitiful whimper tore itself from his throat, and the rhythm of his hips meeting yours faltered. You couldn't resist leaning up to look at him, and saw tears flowing more freely from his eyes now – enough that you finally felt sated.

Through the daze of being overwhelmed by your praise, Toshinori realized he barely stood a snowball's chance in hell for holding back his second orgasm. A second realization soon followed: he needed to get you off before that happened.

Albeit slightly frantically, Toshinori still possessed enough sense to reach down and begin rubbing your clit. Despite it being a blatantly desperate attempt to make you cum, doing it juuust how you liked it was muscle memory for your loving, attentive partner.

A choked out gasp of “Fuck, Toshi” fell from your lips as your thighs began to shake, and he felt your syrupy, sopping cunt grip his cock in a chokehold as you came undone around him. Over the ringing in his ears, Toshinori heard himself groan – low, deep, guttural – as he spilled inside you. 

Both sets of hips weakly chased that high before slowing to a stop, and two warm arms wrapped around you as you let yourself shakily lay down on his chest. Toshinori stroked your hair and rubbed absentminded circles on your back as both of you caught your breath. Ever reverent, he was the first to speak – pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple as he murmured, “Thank you, my love. You’re perfect.”

The next day, your dear, sweet husband didn’t have the heart to correct his grading choices to Kaminari, who loudly cheered about getting his first ever A on a report.

A little update from me :) My most beloved original character, Vermis, for the BG3 Hallozine "Trick" section.

I completed this one in August this year, and it was released among other awesome BG3 horror art and writing in the zine. I had so much fun with this one and love how it turned out! I hope to be able to do more like this one soon.