tiramisuper

To be fair, Ran was the one who pursued you first. Around Roppongi, he and his younger brother, Rindo, are known as the most stylish delinquents you could ever encounter. ​You still remember the afternoon he showed up outside the school gates, leaning against a polished motorcycle. He had these ridiculous, heavy earrings that caught the sun every time he tilted his head, looking completely out of place against the drab brick of the building.

Amidst a sea of a hundred identical school uniforms, Ran stood out entirely. When he walked straight through the crowd and stopped in front of you, you actually looked behind yourself to make sure, as the bewildered stares of your peers prickled against your back. 

You have been making questionable decisions ever since.

It's not as though dating him is miserable.

Ran remembers your favorite snacks. He waits outside after class when it rains. He complains whenever you refuse to let him carry your bag, then carries it anyway. But he is far from an ideal, textbook boyfriend. He is still a reckless teenager with a life full of secrets. He completely forgot your three-month anniversary, showing up three days late without a single clue until you brought it up. Sometimes he just vanishes entirely for days at a time, leaving your texts on read. When he finally resurfaces, he acts like no time has passed at all, casually returning with a random little trinket that he completely refuses to explain,

Dangerous people, you've learned, don't have to be cruel to be dangerous.

There are rumors, too—darker ones that don't quite fit the glossy magazine image of him. You know he spent time in juvenile detention when he was younger. Though you don't know the reason why—you just assume he got into a bad street fight. Rebellious teenagers do things like that all the time, right?

_

During attempts at sneaking out, your hands shake so badly that you nearly drop your phone while trying to text him. You ease your bedroom window open and discover, to your horror, that Ran has somehow already climbed halfway up the tree beside your house.

"Are you insane?" you whisper.

"A little," he winks, entirely unbothered by the height.

The latch on your window has been loose for years. Your father keeps saying he'll fix it whenever he has time. Apparently, Ran has noticed, he pushes it open the rest of the way and motions for you to climb through.

"There is no way that this is safe," you hiss.

Ran lets out a low chuckle. "Look on the bright side. It’ll be funny if you fall."

"You are the worst boyfriend imaginable," you glare at him, swinging one leg over the windowsill anyway.

The moment you look down, the dark ground suddenly looks miles further away than it did from the safety of your room. The cold night air bites at your bare ankles. You hesitate, your fingers locking onto the window frame in a sudden wave of panic.

Ran tilts his head, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he looks up at you. "Don't tell me you're backing out now? You trust me, don't you?"

"...Yeah."

The answer leaves your mouth before your brain can even voice a protest.

You let go. For one terrifying second, as the wind rushes past your ears, you are certain you've made the worst decision of your life.

Then a pair of arms catches you around the waist before your feet ever reach the ground. Ran steadies you, waits until you're balanced.

"Told you," he flashes a wicked grin and taps his fingers against your hip. 

Your heart is pounding hard enough to qualify as a medical emergency.

He parked his motorcycle a few blocks away, fully aware of how loud the engine is and determined not to wake your parents. He takes your hand, pulling you along the quiet sidewalk.

​When you reach the bike, you notice he already has your helmet resting on the seat. He bought it weeks ago after deciding that borrowing one from Rindo was "gross." You meet Rindo from time to time when they hang out, and even the younger brother is nice to you, occasionally tossing a playful, teasing comment your way.

You scoop the helmet up, then notice he isn't moving to grab his own.

"Aren't you wearing one?" you ask, crossing your arms and planting your feet.

Ran just chuckles, tossing his long braids over his shoulder as he swings a leg over the motorcycle. "Don't have one."

"You absolutely have one."

"I absolutely left it somewhere," he says, flashing an innocent smile that convinces exactly nobody.

"So I'm not getting on until you wear one."

He sighs dramatically, slouching over the handlebars. "You've become really bossy lately. You know it messes up my hair—"

"Ran."

You don't budge, holding his gaze until he groans. Reaching into the side compartment, he pulls out the hidden second helmet and straps it on over his braids.

"So you did bring one," you say.

"I was hoping you'd forget."

"You've known me for six months."

Ran clicks his visor down, his eyes curving into a crinkle. "I keep hoping." 

Once you climb on behind him, the quiet night shatters. Ran guns the engine and races through the empty streets, the city opens around the two of you in streaks of red brake lights and glowing convenience stores, late-night restaurants spilling laughter onto the sidewalks, apartment windows shining like stars stacked on top of one another. He purposely drives a little too fast, taking the sharp turns that force you to squeeze your arms tightly around his waist, burying your face into his back. 

​"Ran! Slow down!" you yell over the wind. 

"I am!" Ran laughs, the vibration of his chest rumbling right against your hands as he speeds up just a fraction more to tease you.

"You absolutely are not!"

​The wild ride ends when he pulls up to a massive arcade in a bustling, sleepless district of Tokyo. Inside, the atmosphere is loud and entirely washed in brilliant, flashing neon lights.

​Ran is an incredibly attentive date. Before you can even suggest a game, he buys a ridiculous, heavy cup full of tokens and hands it over to you. He says if you both don't use them all then you’ll lose trying.

You spend the next hour doing exactly that.

You lose spectacularly at basketball.

You somehow finish last against a group of twelve-year-olds in a racing simulator.

​Later, you challenge him to a racing game, sitting side-by-side in the plastic arcade seats. You end up losing terribly, your virtual car crashing into a wall on the final lap. Ran throws his head back and laughs, completely delighted by your frustration, before dropping another token into your slot to let you try again when you glares at him.

Then he wanders over to a claw machine.

"Pick one," he says, tilting his head toward the colorful prizes inside.

You glance at the tangled heap of plushies. "Don't bother. They're rigged."

"So?" Ran scoffs softly, already dropping a token into the slot. On his very first try, the claw grabs a ridiculously oversized lavender rabbit and drop it into the chute. 

"There you go." He retrieves it and places it into your arms like a trophy. "That was almost too easy." 

"You cheated," you say. 

"I didn't, some of us just have actual talent," he says, nudging your shoulder as the arcade lights dance across his grin. 

You hug the rabbit a little tighter and decide not to answer. ​Of course, you aren’t entirely stupid. You know this little arrangement carries a certain degree of risk. Your family would harbor a collective stroke if they ever saw him, and your noisier relatives would spend the next three major holidays dissecting the disaster of you associating with someone so clearly tied to gang affiliations. 

Even your cousins, who think getting a tattoo behind your ear counts as rebellion, would suddenly discover the value of family tradition.

Gang members don't settle down.

Gang members don't have futures.

Gang members bring trouble to your doorstep.

Perhaps that's why you've never told them.

You will keep him around until graduation. Let him serve as the thrilling backdrop to your final year of youth, and then you'll thank Ran for the memories, wish him well, and quietly disappear into a future with internships and office jobs and respectable people. After all, a notorious delinquent doesn’t exactly belong on your resume forever.

Around midnight, the heavy crowd inside the arcade finally starts thinning out. You and Ran step back out into the cool night air and head toward the parking lot. You yawn as you follow Ran toward the rows of metal bicycles, the lavender rabbit tucked beneath one arm. Your throat feels completely parched from the heat of the machines and talking over the loud music.

"I'm freezing," you mention, shifting the plush prize in your arms, "and I'm getting so thirsty."

He glances sideways at you. "Want a drink?"

"If they have melon soda."

"They better," he says, already scanning the aisle for the vending machines. 

The vending machines inside the arcade greet the two of you with rows of empty shelves. Everything worthwhile has already been bought by students and couples lingering long after curfew.

​"Wait by the bike," Ran says, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "There's another set of machines just around the corner. I'll be right back."

​You nod and keep walking toward his motorcycle. He doesn't seem worried. Why would he be? 

You're standing under bright lights in a public parking lot attached to a busy entertainment district. Security cameras and people are wandering in and out, nothing bad happens in places like this.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

You lean against a railing and absentmindedly squeeze the stuffed rabbit's oversized ears.

The lot empties little by little, leaving vast stretches of dark asphalt between the flickering streetlamps. That's when you notice a group of three or four guys has been loitering near the edge of the lot. They wear mismatched streetwear and look thoroughly disheveled. 

​Sensing an easy target, they move in. 

​"Hey there," the guy in the front says, a nasty grin spreading across his face. "You're out pretty late."

"I'm waiting for someone," you say, offering a polite smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

"Yeah?"

The tallest one glances around the parking lot.

"Looks like you're alone."

Hearing that, you take a cautious step backward, your stomach does a sharp, ugly flip.

Almost instantly, the shadows shift. Another guy steps sideways, his laughter cutting through the quiet air. They quickly fan out, blocking your path to the motorcycle and cutting off your route back to the bright entrance of the arcade.

"Come on, we're just talking," another say. "That's a pretty nice bike you're leaning on. Your boyfriend leave you behind?"

Your fingers tighten around the plush rabbit. You tell yourself to stay calm, they're probably just trying to scare you.

A force suddenly hits one of them from behind.

​There is a loud—hollow crack of metal meeting a skull. The guy doesn't even have time to scream; his eyes roll back, and his body collapses instantly onto the asphalt, completely unconscious and limp.

​The remaining three guys gasp, spinning around in panic. Standing in the dim light of the streetlamp is Ran.

His eyes are half-lidded, yet his expression completely blank as he looks at the group. In his right hand, he holds a silver telescoping baton that glints under the neon light.

His gaze drifts from the unconscious boy to the others, then to you. "You okay?"

Your voice refuses to cooperate, but you nod anyway.

Only then does he look back at the remaining boys. Recognition spreads across the leader, his face goes entirely pale. 

​"M-Haitani..." the leader stammers, his confidence evaporating into pure terror. "We didn't know—"

​"They’re with me," Ran interrupts, tossing the drink bottle lightly in the air and catching it. 

​The guys start backing up, raising their hands in frantic apology, desperately trying to defuse the situation. ​But it is already too late. 

​Before the leader can even turn to run, Ran moves with terrifying speed. The heavy metal baton strikes the man's collarbone with a horrific, splintering sound. The man drops to the asphalt, screaming, but Ran doesn't stop. He swings again, the metal cracking against ribs and jaws. 

The other two try to run, but Ran already catches one by the collar, dragging him backward and slamming his head repeatedly into the brick wall of the arcade until the man slides down, leaving a smeared trail on the masonry. The final thug falls to his knees, sobbing and covering his face, but Ran simply stands over him, methodically bringing the baton down again, and again, and again.

​You stand frozen by the motorcycle, while Ran keeps striking long after the man stops moving, long after the whimpering dies down. The brutal reality of the violence knocks the breath straight out of you. 

As the groans of the barely conscious men echo across the empty parking lot, you stare at blood and teeth spray across the concrete, utterly terrified of the person you've been dating.

The sound of metal striking bone finally stops.

​Ran stands over the bodies, breathing easily as if he had just finished a light workout. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he collapses the bloody baton back into its compact size and slips it away. When he turns around to look at you, his eyes instantly soften, the terrifying vacancy disappearing as he spots the plush prize lying in the dirt.

​He steps toward you, lifting a plastic convenience store bag. "Hey. I got your drink, and—"

​You take a violent step backward, your entire body shaking. Your breath hitches, your chest heaving as you stare at his fingers—fingers that are dusted with a light spray of someone else's blood.

​Ran freezes. His hand hovers in the empty air between you as he registers the horror in your expression. For a split second, a flash of something unreadable cuts through his usual calm, but he forces his face back into a reassuring expression. He takes a slow step back, giving you space.

​"Woah, easy. Look at me," he says, his voice incredibly soft, dropping down to that low, soothing tone he uses when he's teasing you. "It's just me. It's Ran. I'm not going to hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?"

You can barely nod. Your jaw is locked tight, your knees shaking so violently you feel like you might collapse into the dirt alongside the discarded plush prize. Ran notices the terror locking up your joints. He doesn't push it. Instead, he carefully picks up the fallen stuffed animal, dusts it off with a clean corner of his jacket, and gently sets it on the seat of the bike.

​It takes a long time for your breathing to slow down. You let him guide you back onto the motorcycle, though you hold onto his jacket with stiff, trembling fingers this time, keeping your eyes strictly averted from the dark stains on the pavement.

The ride away from the arcade is a total blur. He drives slowly this time—painfully so—and neither of you says a word. You don't even realize you're trembling until you notice the vibration in your own hands.

Ran notices first. At the next red light, he reaches back as though to squeeze your arm.

You flinch.

His hand stops dead in midair. Then, he withdraws it without a sound, his fingers slipping back onto the handlebars just as the traffic light changes to green. 

Eventually, the motorcycle pulls into a tiny neighborhood park squeezed between apartment buildings. Ran leads you to a wooden bench, silently handing you the cold bottle of your favorite drink along with a small plastic cup of ice cream. It's ridiculous. He's treating you like a kid who just fell off a bicycle, completely ignoring the fact that he just fractured three men's skulls a block away. 

​You don't drink it. You just stare at the melting ice cream, the plastic spoon heavy in your hand, entirely unable to swallow a single bite. Neither of you talks for a long time, until Ran suddenly reaches toward you again. This time, slowly. Giving you every opportunity to pull away.

When you don't, he wraps both arms around you and draws you against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck, holding you as if you might vanish if he lets go.

​"Ran?" you whisper against his shoulder, your voice small.

​"I'm sorry..." he murmurs, his grip tightening.

​You blink against the dark fabric of his jacket, confused by the sudden vulnerability.

​"I'm sorry for leaving you all alone. For letting those idiots get close to you..." His voice cracks slightly, filled with a terrifyingly genuine guilt. "I'm sorry."

​He holds you tighter, his chest rising and falling against yours. "Next time, call my name out loud. I promise I'll come to you right away."

Looking at him now, the monster from the parking lot feels like a distant, bad dream. You want to believe this version of him. You want to believe that the danger is something he can just switch off when he’s with you.

Slowly, you reach your hands up, cradling the back of Ran's head, letting your fingers slide through his neat braids as you lean heavily against him.

​"I'm sorry, too," you whisper.

​Ran pulls back just an inch, looking down at you with a curious expression. "For what?"

​You consider the question.

For dragging him into your life. For making him worry. For being afraid of him. For wishing you had never seen what happened in that parking lot. For knowing that nothing feels quite the same anymore—

Instead, you mumble, "I don't know."

​Ran blinks, the gravity of the moment instantly evaporating. His lips twitch into an annoyed pout. He even makes a ridiculous, exasperated face, entirely ruining the tragic romance of the mood.

"...Seriously?"

"It sounded better in my head," you shrug.

Ran scoffs, rolling his eyes as he lets go of you just enough to lean back against the bench. "Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you're making jokes? You are completely heartless."

​"You're the one who made it weird," you tease back weakly.

​Ran huffs, but the easy, lazy smile quickly slides back onto his face. He reaches over, playfully flicking your forehead. "Yeah, yeah. Eat your ice cream before it turns into soup, brat."

​For the next ten minutes, the terrifying edge of the night completely melts away. You tease him about his dramatic apology, and he shoots back with his usual mocking banter. It works, too. Ran is so effortlessly charming when he wants to be that you actually find yourself laughing until the knot in your stomach completely unties itself. To anyone passing by, they’d just see a couple of normal, stupid teenagers flirting in the middle of the night.

It’s an incredibly nice illusion; you almost convince yourself that you can just ride this out. But then you look at his eyes. Even while he's laughing at you, the violet is completely cold. You know that if those guys walked into this park right now, Ran would do it all over again without blinking. 

You really need to break up with him. 

_

You pace back and forth across your bedroom floor, staring down at your phone until the screen blurs. Your heart thumps against your ribs. You have been fighting with yourself for the past hour, rewriting the same text message a dozen times before you finally find the courage to hit send.

The message is painfully short. 

Are you busy?

You stare at the screen afterward, immediately regretting it.

Maybe this is a terrible idea, asking him to hang out one last time before ending things is unnecessarily cruel, instead of just ripping the bandage straight off.

Your thumb hovers over the message, wondering if deleting it would somehow erase the fact that you sent it.

Your phone vibrates.

No. Want to go somewhere?

You blink, the reply came so quickly that it feels automated.

You type back before you can overthink it.

Sure.

You figure you have at least an hour to prepare yourself while you wait for a reply mentally. But less than ten minutes later, the distinct rumble of a motorcycle engine vibrates right outside your house.

You scramble down the stairs, and when you open the front door, Ran is already idling at the curb. He's in his gang uniform, leaning back against the seat with one hand on the handlebar.

"Ran? Wow, you got here fast." You jog over to him, nervously adjusting the strap of your bag. "I didn't mean to drag you out so abruptly. You weren't busy, right?"

Ran shifts his head, giving you a lazy smile through the open visor of his helmet. "For you? Never. I have all the time in the world."

Right on cue, his phone starts buzzing furiously inside his jacket.

Ran sighs, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he pulls the device out. Instead of putting it to his ear, he hits the speaker button. Instantly, Rindo’s voice completely explodes through the line, so loud and angry it cuts right through the rumble of the motorcycle engine.

"Ran, you absolute idiot! Where the hell did you go?!" Rindo yells, sounding completely out of breath and incredibly stressed.

"I'm outside," Ran says, calmly moving the phone an inch farther from his ear.

"I know you're outside! We're in the middle of a meeting, you can't just leave!"

You open your mouth to tell Ran he needs to go back to Roppongi, but Ran doesn't look remotely guilty.

He stares straight ahead at the road, presses the power button on the side of the phone, and holds it down until the screen goes completely black. He slides the dead phone back into his pocket, turns his head back to look at you, and gives you a reassuring nod.

"...Anyway, what do you want to do today?" he says.

"...That's it?" You stare at him. "You just hung up on your brother."

"He'll get over it," Ran waves a hand dismissively.

He swings one leg over the motorcycle and offers you the spare helmet. "So? Where are we going?"

"I haven't decided." You take the helmet, forcing an awkward laugh as you climb onto the back of the bike. 

"Good, we've got all day."

As you wrap your arms around his waist, you squeeze your eyes shut. You need to make this afternoon completely perfect. If you can just keep him in a great mood, keep things fun, and let him down easy, everything will go smoothly. It has to.

You do not notice the way Ran glances back over his shoulder, studying your expression for a heartbeat longer than usual.

He doesn't say anything.

You pull him toward the high-end streetwear district, a bustling maze of sleek glass storefronts and trendy boutiques. Since your ultimate goal is to soften him up before the final blow, you throw yourself into the role of the attentive girlfriend.

Ran is entirely in his element—he loves fashion, and it shows. You spend the next hour steering him from one window display to another, nodding eagerly as he critiques the latest seasonal drops and points out pieces he thinks would look good on you.

"You'd look cute in that knit," he muses, leaning his shoulder against a pristine glass pane, his violet eyes tracking your reflection. "Maybe we should go inside and buy it."

"No, no, just looking today!" you say quickly, forcing a bright, airy laugh that feels a little too loud in your own ears.

You are working hard to keep this mood flawless. Normally, you’d roll your eyes at his arrogance, but today you find yourself smiling until your cheeks literally ache, hold his hand whenever he offers it, and make sure to laugh at every single one of his comments, even the ones that aren't funny. 

But underneath the performance, your nerves are completely frayed. Your stomach is knotted in a tight, agonizing ball, and your skin feels hyper-sensitive. Every time your fingers brush against his, they are trembling slightly. Whenever he looks away, your smile instantly drops, your eyes darting nervously to your phone to check the time.

Finally, you decide you can't stretch the afternoon out any longer. The designated hour has arrived.

You stop on the sidewalk, smoothing down your clothes and looking up at him with the most casual expression you can muster.

"Hey, I'm kind of hungry," you suggest, gesturing down the street. "There's a really cute, crowded bakery just around the block. Let's get a coffee."

"A bakery?" Ran repeats, his eyes narrowing just a fraction in an unreadable expression before his easygoing grin slips back into place. He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle it makes your heart stop. "Sounds perfect. Lead the way."

​The air smells warmly of sweet vanilla and fresh pastry, a sharp contrast to the cold knot of dread tying itself in your stomach. The space is completely packed with chattering couples, students studying, and families buying bread. You picked this spot on purpose. It is public, and it is crowded—a built-in safety net. There is a zero percent chance Ran would ever try to do anything reckless with fifty witnesses staring directly at him.

You rehearse the speech in your head over and over until the words lose all meaning. I'm grateful for everything, let's end things while both still happy.

You discard every version. They all sound fake.

​Ran sits across from you in the booth, casually swirling an iced coffee with his straw. He reaches across the table and steals half your pastry.

"That was mine."

Somehow, despite everything, you still glare at him.

"I know," he shrugs, popping the piece into his mouth without a shred of regret.

You almost laugh. But then you remember exactly why you are sitting here, and the laughter dies completely before it can even reach your mouth.

"Graduation is next week," you started, your voice slightly tight as you tried to ease into the conversation. "Have you actually thought about what comes next? You’ll eventually have to get a real job, you know. Settle down after high school. You can't just run around the streets forever and blowing off your brother's gang meetings."

Ran didn't look annoyed by the suggestion. Instead, he looked genuinely, deeply amused by the entire concept.

"A real job?" he murmured, wiping the sugar from his fingers and tilting his head. "And miss out on all the thrill? Please. The straight and narrow is far too boring for me."

Hearing those words, the final thread of your hope snapped. It was the ultimate confirmation that it wasn't a rebellious trend he was going to outgrow or leave behind for university. 

The knot in your stomach tightened until it physically hurt. You couldn't stretch this out for another minute. 

"I think..."

Taking a deep breath, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of your seat, you finally say the words. 

"I think we should break up."

The noise of the bakery continues around you.

​Ran doesn’t look angry at that. Instead, that smile just stretches across his lips, completely calm. He sets his coffee down with a soft click against the wood.

​"A breakup?" Ran repeats. He glances around the loud bakery, taking in the close proximity of the families at the next table, before fixing his eyes back on you. "Well, it’s a bit too noisy to talk about something that serious here, don't you think? Let’s go somewhere a little more private. There’s a quiet alley right around the corner. It's just a small walk."

​Panic floods your chest like ice water. Your breath hitches. You chose this place precisely to avoid being alone with him.

"Ran, no, let's just—we can talk right here," you say, your voice cracking slightly as you try to force a casual laugh. "It's fine, we don't need to go anywhere—"

"You’ve been acting weird the entire day, you know?" Ran cuts you off softly.

​As you look at him, you catch a look in his eyes that you have never seen before. The playful warmth he always reserves for you is utterly gone. His violet eyes are completely flat, dead, and freezing cold—the exact same dead expression he had right before he shattered a man's jaw with his baton.

"Did you really think I didn't notice that?" he asks, his chuckle quiet and entirely devoid of warmth. "Get up, we're taking that walk."

He slides his chair back, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor. He stands up, his tall frame instantly blocking out the warm bakery lights, casting a long shadow over your table.

Before you can even protest, he tosses a few bills onto the table to cover the drinks and waits for you. ​Your legs feel like lead as you stand up and follow him out the door.

​The walk down the sidewalk is excruciating. Ran steps at a leisurely pace, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets, looking for all the world like a boyfriend enjoying an afternoon stroll. 

​"Ran, wait," you stammer, scrambling to keep up with his long strides, your voice rising in a panicked rush. "I-I was just kidding, okay? It was a joke. I just wanted to see your reaction! You know how I am. I didn't mean it, I swear. Let's just go back inside and get some cake, alright? Ran?"

​You keep rambling, throwing out every excuse you can think of. Ran doesn't interrupt you. He just keeps walking, occasionally humming in mock understanding, letting you dig yourself deeper and deeper into your own terror.

​Finally, he turns a sharp corner, guiding you out of the afternoon sun and into the dim, narrow shadows of a brick alleyway. 

​Ran stops walking and you nearly walk into him. For several seconds, neither of you moves.

Then he turns around, looking down at you. "Tell me something... why did you think my brother and I went to juvenile detention?"

The question catches you off guard, you nod uncertainly.

"I... I heard you got into a bad street fight. With a rival gang."

​Ran lets out a chuckle that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He looks upward for a moment, studying the slice of gray sky between the buildings.

Then he speaks again.

"I killed someone."

The sentence lands so softly that your brain refuses to process it.

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the grin and him to say he got you. But none comes.

"When we were younger," he continues, closing the distance between you, "there was a fight between gangs, my brother and I caught the leader of the rival faction."

He reaches out, his thumb gently, almost tenderly, tracing the line of your jaw.

"It got out of hand. And I beat him so badly his skull fractured under my hands."

​The alleyway goes completely silent. 

Your breath hitches as you instinctively try to twist your face out of his hand, your palms coming up to push at his chest.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," he sighs quietly. His voice is so calm that it almost tricks you into forgetting what he just admitted.

Your thoughts become tangled. You don't know whether to apologize, to cry, or to run. To pretend none of this happened.

Instead, you whisper, "I think I should go home." 

Ran’s gentle demeanor drops in a second. His grip on your jaw instantly tightens, squeezing your jawline hard enough to bruise, completely locking your head in place. 

With his other hand, he reaches into his pocket. There is a sharp clack, and the silver telescoping baton extends. He slowly presses the cold, heavy metal cylinder directly against your collarbone, right over the racing pulse at the base of your neck. 

"Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, then," Ran murmurs, his violet eyes wide and unblinking. "I love this pretty face of yours too much. It would be a terrible shame to see it bruised up... or worse. Do you understand me?"

He leans in closer, the suffocating scent of his cologne filling your nose as his gaze locks onto your trembling lips. The cold tip of the metal baton presses deeper into your collarbone.

​"Oh, you have no idea how much I adore you," he continues, his voice dropping into a soft, reverent whisper that makes your skin crawl. "I think about you constantly. I look at you and I just want to keep you safe in my pockets forever. I would destroy anything—or anyone—that tries to take you away from me. Even you."

​He pulls back just enough to look into your panicked, tear-stained face, his thumb softly wiping away a stray tear. "So, let's try this again. You love me, right? And we're going to stay together for a very, very long time."

Your eyes sting. You don't know whether you're about to cry or simply stop breathing.

Finally, barely above a whisper, you answer. 

"...I love you." 

Slowly, the crushing pressure on your jaw eases. You hadn't even realized how tightly your own fingers had closed around his until now. Ran collapses the baton with a smooth flick of his wrist and tucks it away. 

Before you can pull away, he cups your face once more. He leans down and presses his lips to yours in a deep kiss.

When he pulls back, his fingers return to being uncannily gentle, smoothing over the red marks his grip just left on your skin, entirely uncaring of the pain he caused. He even reaches down to fix the collar of your shirt, patting it flat.

"There you go," he says, his voice returning to that lazy, cheerful purr. "You shouldn't make up silly jokes like that anymore. It makes me think I'm not taking good enough care of you." 

He steps back, clearing your path out of the shadows, and extends his hand to you. "Now, let's go finish our date."

Your entire body is trembling. Your jaw throbs, and the phantom sensation of cold metal still lingers against your throat. 

Swallowing down the bitter taste of tears, you slowly raise your shaking hand and place it in his.

Ran’s fingers immediately close around yours, locking your hand in a tight grip. He pulls you along as he casually strolls back out into the daylight.

In an instant, you are back on the bustling main street. The sun is shining warmly, the cheerful bell of the bakery is ringing in the distance, and normal high school students are laughing on the sidewalks.

Ran looks down at you, swinging your joined hands playfully between you as you walk. "So, what do you want to do next?"

You force your lips to curve upward. You swallow the terror in your throat and force a small, compliant smile, nodding along to his words. 

That night, you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the soft carpet of your bedroom. You’ve just closed the window, letting the cool night air drift away. Suddenly, your phone vibrates on the wooden nightstand, breaking the stillness and pulling your attention to the screen.

A single message from Ran appears.:

꩜ Corvus — 27 DAYS ᝰ.ᐟ

"Ohhh, sugar,"

He should be ashamed.

He was so close to proving himself to be the strong, composed leader he's supposed to be, but you're just—

"You're just my needy baby."

Yeeep, just that.

And Twenty-seven days.

That's how long Corvus held the line in this ridiculous No Nut November pact, his iron will tested every. single. goddamn. second.

You've been plotting his downfall from day one, with those seducting touches when passing by his office to 'drop something off', or the way you'd bend over just a little too long when 'accidentally' dropping something, your plump ass outlined perfectly in coincidentally tight jeans.

And he tried his best to get his shit together, gritting his teeth, adjusting himself not-so-discreetly in his office chair, burying the sinful ache deep, telling himself it 'built character', and 'made him stronger'.

So tonight, after nearly a full damn month of restraint, that facade of his shattered like glass falling to the ground. And what made him finally give in, you ask?

Your tears did it.

Those big, pleading eyes locked on his as you straddled his lap on the bed, grinding down with needy ruts, your soaked panties rubbing against the thick, twitching girth resting heavy right under your dripping cunt.

"P-please, Corvus," you'd whispered with those honeyed lips of yours, getting his hungry hues right on yours once your voice cracked, lips trembling in a cute pout, "Need you inside me, been way too long. J-just fuck the challenge— fuck me."

He should be ashamed, yeah. But he just can't stand seeing his sweet girl all pouty.

So, here you are.

Now, you're pressed flush against his muscled chest, your face hanging low and mouth agape, the sharp scent of his cologne forcing it's way into your nostrils.

He holds you steady, one arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close while his free hand's burried between your spread thighs, collecting your gushing juices on his meaty fingers.

"M' sorry, baby," he cooes, staring at your weeping pussy in awe, his hand on your waist now traveling up to softly pat the top of your head, musing at your wobbling lips, "Been neglecting my darlin' for wayyy too long. Gonna make it up to ya'."

Two thick fingers dare to slide inside your gasping hole in one smooth push, a wet squelch! echoing in pair with your relieved mewl. You're dripping like crazy, letting his fingers slide in and out with ridiculous ease, padd stroking that sweet spot inside you that have you bucking your hips right against his hefty cock.

And you're dripping, walls hugging those vicious fingers of his as he's curling them up, stroking your gushing spot over and over again, cooing at your mewls and wiggling squirms.

You writhe and arch, burying your face into his skin, neck straining as far back as it could go, hips bucking up to chase the delicious friction. His thumb finds your puffy clit, firmly circling while his fingers continuously pump in and out.

Your juices coat his hand and trickle down to his wrist with every harsh slam his palm lands against your cunt, all while his other hand strokes your hair soothingly, plastering kisses to your cheek and temple.

"That's it, baby. Let it all out," he says, fingers ramming in harder, even adding a third to strech you out better, prepearing you for what else he's having in store for you.

"Ya' begged so pretty, couldn't leave my girl achin' like that."

Even if it means he lost this little challenge and will have to endure some playful teasing from you later, it's—

"Soooo worth it, darlin'."

His cock throbs right under your gushing cunt, hanging heavy and swollen just beneath you, massive and veins bulging, the tip leaking pre in fat beads that smear against your inner thigh.

Those twenty-seven days of denial have left his tip an angry-red, now so close to your snug walls, jumping in joy each time your pussy drools onto him.

Your orgasm builds quick from the pent-up frustration of the month, thighs beginning to wobble, earning an amused chuckle from him.

"Gonna make you cum on my fingers first," he grunts, stroking your head again, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your face up, eyes digging into yours, "Then I'll give my princess what she really wants."

Soon, the tight knot in your belly snaps and your pussy gushes all over his hand, and squirting your juices onto his excited girth juming below you.

He works you through it, thumb flicking your clit like he's trying to grind it down until your cheeks dampen with fresh tears.

"T-thank you! Thank you, Corvus!—"

"Mhmm, Hold that thought for later, baby."

And with that, he hoists you up by your trembling thighs, arms hooking under your knees, quickly folding you in half. Your back arches as he locks you into a mean full nelson, your arms pinned behind your head, his throbbing cock already nudging your entrance.

RAM!

His wicked hips are sudden, slamming all of his chubby inches right into you, his heavy loaded balls managing to fly and hit your clit with a harsh smack!

"Hnghhh! Fuck! You're sooo deep!"

With one crazed grunt he starts pounding, burning stretch shooting not only to your legs but also your pussy as he splits you open, his fat tip knock knock knocking at your g-spot. And he damn near cums right into you as he steals a glance to your stuffed pussy, cock hitting deep enough to bruise your cervix.

"T-take it, sugar," he grunts, eyes wide and crazed, his unsteady breath hot against your nape, "Allll of it. Been waitin' to fill this pretty pussy up for so long."

Bounce bounce bouncing you on his dick over and over again, your tits jiggle wildly with each ram, the wet and sticky sounds of skin on skin filling the humid air.

When the sound of your soft sniffles reach him over your messy and lewd whines, his gaze snaps to your face, rhythm faltering as he gawks in awe, taking you in.

"Fuckkkk, look at my pretty princess."

You're a beautiful mess with drool shining on your chin, soft sniffles spilling out, your hot tears streaking down your cheeks, and a tiny hiccup escapes when he presses a tender but nontheless teasing kiss to your temple.

"I know, I knowww— you can let go f' me, baby. C'mon."

Right on cue, your pussy clamps down like a vice, another orgasm ripping through you, your walls hugging his thick cock thight in needy pulses.

And he doesn't stop those brutal thrusts of his, continuously slamming into you, each deep dive dragging a filthy, wet squelch from your overstuffed cunt as his girth stretches you wiiiide.

Fwap! Fwap! Fwap!

The lewd rhythm echoes off the walls, your creamy cum gushing out around his pounding inches, trickling down to soak your ass crack and glaze his taut abdomen and heavy, swinging balls, his ragged groans vibrating against your neck where his mouth latches on.

He's no better off than you, sweat beading on his brows and trickling down his temple, self control completely falling apart, cursing under his breath, regretting every second of that stupid No Nut November bullshit that left him this feral.

"Fuck, pretty, gonna fill this greedy cunt up," he growls, frantic twitches of his fat cock buried deep, hooking your legs higher behind your head, "Breed this pretty pussy— yeahhh, gonna give it ta' ya'."

With one final, squelching thrust, his balls tighten against your ass, and with a breathy moan, he buries himself to your womb one last time before his cock pulses white buckets of cum inside you.

"Mhmmm," he muses, balls tightening one last time to squeeze out the last bits of cum right into you, holding you firm against his beefy chest, nipping your jaw as he resumes the light buck of his hips,

"No wastin' a single drop, darlin'."

꩜ Follo — 3 DAYS ᝰ.ᐟ

He tried. He really did.

Pushing through the first two days with clenched teeth and restraint, even though he calls your pussy a second home. And not being inside said second home, not feeling the warm, gripping heaven he became so addicted to made him feel like he's in exile.

And on day three, he couldn't take it anymore.

The painful pressure in his poor cock built to an unbearably miserable peak, cock straining against his boxers at the slightest thought of you.

The sound of the shower running in the bathroom has been pure torture, imagining the droplets of water rolling down your naked curves, tracing paths down he ached to follow with his own fingers cock instead, already sitting at the edge of the couch in only his boxers.

So much for self-control.

By the time the water finally shuts off, his hands are trembling where they grip the back of the couch, leg bouncing restlessly, and eyes fixed on the bathroom door.

And when it creaks open, steam spilling out around you, your skin glowing, the scent of your delicious body lotion already rushing up his nostrils, he already accepts his loss before he even has a chance to receive it.

Fuck holding out. He needs to touch you right now, lose himself in the only spot that truly feels right.

The moment your gaze meets his, he already feels a spurt of pre shooting out of his angry, red crown, dirtying his already damp boxers.

"Hmm? What'cha thinkin' about, Follo?"

You close the distance with swaying hips, droplets still clinging to your skin, his pulse quickening with every soft pad of your bare feet on the floor until he sinks back into the couch, legs spreading instinctively for you.

"You don't wanna know, baby."

A soft giggle escapes you at the sight of that ridiculously massive bulge straining against his pants, climbing right into his lap, your greedy pussy pressing right against his cock through the thin fabric. And you gasp in amusement as it twitches almost comically at your touch, your curious eyes shooting up to meet his when you hear his lewd whine.

"I think I already do."

A pathetic whimper escapes him at the heat of you seeping through the fabric, his hands flying to your waist in a silent plea.

"P-please move f' me," he mutters breathlessly, and your needy whimper seems to be music to his ears when the hood of your puffy clit hooks right over his twitching tip.

Rocking your hips slightly, your slick folds slide over him, and you can basically feel how it makes his head spin.

He just needs to feel you. Nothing more. There's no way he can lose the challenge with just a little touching, right?

Oh, if only he knew.

Fingers quickly fumbling with the hem of his boxers, he's lazily yanking them down with frantic urgency, shoving it right under his heavy balls, cock springing free, thick beads of pre drooling down his fat head, veins clearly standing out.

You shift just enough to let his weeping tip almost plant a kiss to your clit, only a hair's breath away from the thing he's longing for the most at the moment.

"T-thank the heavens," he hisses when your nails dig into his shoulders, drip drip dripping your honeyed slick riiiight on his pulsing girth.

He grips your hips hard, guiding you down desperatly with frustrating huffs, watching with hooded eyes as your moist folds part around his girth, your hot heat already causing another set of pre to leak from his tip.

"O-oh."

His head falls back against the couch, head spinning in dizzying circles as you start to grind down onto him, pushing his painfully hard cock right to his toned stomach, up up up, until your clit gives his drooling cock a heavy kiss.

"Fuh-fuck, yes!"

The raw whine tears from his throat, and you can only coo at how utterly pussydrunk he already is, all of his build up self control shattering under the slick pool of your pussy.

And he'd be embarrassed if not for the delicious feeling of your silken folds rutting against his cock so needily, each slick and hot slide of your greedy pussy along his pulsating cock bitter-sweet, his hips bucking upwards in a desperate attempt to slip past your gasping hole he can feel teasing the head of his cock.

You circle your hips so cruely slow, maddening grind focusing right on his swollen, sensitive tip. You're smearing his leaking pre over your clit, eyes locked on his frustratingly knitted brows and cute pouts.

"Quit teasin', baby, p-pleaseee,"

The plea disolves into a broken whine, his hands digging into your curves and his knuckles damn near turn white at his effort of not just to yank you right down onto his aching cock.

There's a teasing smile on your lips when you lean close to his face and he has to fight tears when your fingers play with his raven hair, clicking your tongue teasingly.

"But Follo, it's only been three days," you purr, voice dripping with false sympathy as you rock your hips harder, his tip now hooking into your hole before slipping right past and onto your clit again, much to his displeasure, "You're sooo needy."

Eyes glazed and clouded in lust fixate on the sight of your cunt, drooling your slick all over him, and he feels like he might explode if he has to wait a moment longer to finally sink into his favourite desire, quick to ignore your last tease.

"Yeah, three days too much," he mutters, words rushed and almost incoherent babble, head hanging low, "Never again, I swear. Never goin' that long without my pretty girl ever again. Please, just— please."

Right after those pleasing, glassed eyes oggle up at yours, you grip his hefty girth and guide the swollen tip to your spurting hole, easing down to swallow him inch by torturous inch.

"F-fuckin' finally."

Your walls clench and part around his thick length, gripping every ridge and vein as you smoothly slide down. Another loud whine shamelessly flies past his lips, hips frantically jerking up while your pussy stretches wiiiide to take him whole, until your ass wetly slaps against his soaked thighs.

"Need ya' ta' move, pretty. P-please— h-hahh!"

Words cut off and cock pulsing excitingly at your wrenching walls, his fat tip swells even more, prying you open deep inside and leaking his sticky pre to smear your cervix.

"L-like thaaaat?"

And when you finally lift your hips and drop them with a mean slam, pulling up until only his meaty head stays lodged in you before crashing back down, letting his cock knock 'hello' at your cervix.

"Fuck yes! Yesyesyes— don't stop, don'tcha eveeeer stop, baby."

And yes, he might've gone a little crazy. But he wouldn't want to change a single thing.

Leftover shower water beads on your skin, turning your tits shiny as they jiggle with each hard slam, his hands shooting up to grab your heaving breasts in a greedy squeeze, thumbs scraping over your stiff nipples before latching onto them, suckling as if he could pull milk out of them.

Well, at the end of this, he might aswell.

"Yer' sooo— nghhh!— damn addictive, angel."

And right when you feel another spurt of pre flooding your stuffed pussy, and his lewd whines vibrating against your stiff buds, you hug his cock tight, already greedily anticipating his heavy load of cum shooting into—

"O-ohhh, think m'— mhmm, gonna cum, angel."

So what if he barely lasted three days in the challenge?

If this sweet pussy of yours is the consolation he gets for losing, he'd fail again in a heartbeat.

꩜ Enjin — 10 DAYS ᝰ.ᐟ

"O-oh fuck!"

Enjin damn near sees the Sphere crack open and a choir of angels clawing for his soul the second he slams his aching cock balls-deep into your gooey pussy.

Your walls clamp around him like glue, sucking him in with those greedy wrenches that pulse like a heartbeat, wringing every inch of him for his life, because if you're being honest, you've been starving these past ten days just as bad as he had.

Sweat drips from his temple and light brow, mixing with the grime of the trash beasts he'd just turned to dust outside of HQ, muscles still twitching from the fight, worn out but still fired up to lift your leg to hook around his slutty waist, your other leg wobbling on tiptoes.

You barely dragged him into the restroom right after he stumbled inside for a quick break— ten minutes, tops, before he'd eventually have to go back outside for a mission.

And it seems that he'd make sure to make every goddamn second count, pounding into you to shoot out the load he's been building for ten days— over a full week, mind you— into your greedy cunt.

Hell.

That's what that ten-day torture of no touching and blue-balling felt.

So just imagine the hunger washing over him and blood directly shooting to his trembling cock once he spotted you tip-toeing into the restroom after he just stumbled inside.

You bet your sweet ass he stalked those swaying hips of yours, trailing right after you, chest heaving from his heavy breathing, either from his previous fight or his painfully hard cock, he can't tell.

"J-juuuust like that, baby. Milking me so good, got one heavy load for ya'."

His free hand grips your hip hard enough to make you hiss, pinning you flush against the cranky door, hinges rattling in sync with his lewdly wet pounds.

Tongue swiping at your lips, he's quick to slide past sloppily, growling against your mouth once your silky walls lock his cock tight. His hard grip on your hip and leg grows more intense as he fights the urge to already empty his hot cum into you after what? Four thrusts?

He can't even remember anything but the feeling of your addicting pussy anymore.

Saliva slicks your jaw as he nips at your lips, hips snapping forward with forceful rams, rutting his tip harshly against your womb, balls smack smack smacking against your sweat-slick ass.

"Needed this sweet pussy wrapped around me again— shiiit! Can't work— can't think straight no more without it."

"You need to rest, Enjin, j-just came back from— hnghh!"

Hushing you with his mouth, high-pitched moans spill out of you anyway as his cock fucks you dumb, the veined length scraping along your slick walls with every menacing dive.

Thumb, thumb thumb.

Your head knocks against the rattling door, and if you were in any sane state of mind, you'd probably wonder how the damn thing is still standing.

"F-fuck resting. Fuck this damn challenge. Been dreamin' of this pussy clenchin' 'round me while fightin'—," he cuts himself of with a breathy moan as he resorts to grinding right into your sweet spot now, " Distractin' me and makin' me sloppy out there. Need ta' give this greedy pussy what she's been missin'."

"Ouuhhh! We gotta stay quiet, Enjin!"

The words tumble out as half a plea and half a warning, but you already know it's useless. He doesn't even look at you. His crazed eyes are blown wide as a crazed grin twitches up his lips, oggling at the buldge appearing on your tummy with each deep thrust of his.

The smirk on his face says he's hearing you, sure, but he's not listening, cock driving deeper, the head bruising your cervix with every mind-numbing thrust that sends your head knocking against the creaking door again.

"Hushhhh, pretty", he warns, bright eyes oggling at your spasming cunt, puffy lips stretched taut around him, your juices dripping down your thighs, "She's talkin' now."

Leaning in closer, his breath's hot against your lips before he places a wet smooch to them. And you can feel that same smirk against your lips as he carelessly moans and groans as if you two were the only people in the world, "And I'm listenin' reallll close."

Oh, he's so gone.

"Mhmmm, yeahhh, missed ya' too, baby," he growls, confession directed strictly to your spurting cunt. And your brows furrow in confusion, but that melts away with another harsh ram against your womb, his fat tip rubbing against your gushing spot, forcing a choked moan from your lips as you bite down hard trying to muffle it.

Then his crazed eyes snap up, one hand leaving your hip to snatch your chin, removing your lip from your teeths grip.

"Nonono— don'tcha hide those pretty moans from me, baby."

"B-but someone might!—"

"Nuh uhhh," he tsks, placing another wet kiss to your lips before frantically searching for your gaze all while hammering his cock into your stuffed cunt, "Focus on this dick s-splittin' yer' pretty pussy open, yeahhhh?"

"Oh-ohkay! Shit, so d-deep, Enjin! Fuckin' me sooo good!"

Now you've done it.

Enjin's out of his damn mind now, brain buzzing everytime your squelching pussy robs another set of pre from him. He can feel it, feel his heavy load bubble up, threatening to shoot his all into you.

Thwack, thwack thwack!

Three more lewdly wet squelches, and he's—

"F-fuckkkk! Fuckfuckfuck!"

His blonde trail of hair tickles your clit lightly as he bottoms out, his cock swelling impossibly thicker as ropes of hot cum spew from his drooling head, flooding your gummy walls.

Shuddering violently, he's grinding deep, push push pushing to pump it all into your womb, but you just look up at him, eyes glazed and a weak but smug grin, and he exactly knows what you're thinking.

"Y-you serious?"

Yeah, actually. He can't be serious, can he? Cumming already?

God, he's feeling like some premature teen.

"Ahhh, f-fuckin' hell."

He'll never hear the end of it from you after this.

Wiping that look right off your face with one feral snarl, he's hammering harder, his spent cock still twitching as he shoves his seed to the very far back of your spasming pussy, cum gushing out around his girth, trickling down your thigh in sticky clumbs, the nasty mess only further egging him on.

Nah, he just can't let this slide.

Not when his balls are still heavy, and definitely not when your greedy pussy still didn't cum around him.

He's hooking both arms under your thighs now, hoisting you off the floor with ease, your legs snaking around his waist and wobbling at his sides as your back slammed against the door with a deafening bam!, your arms locking around his neck.

And yeah, it's fucking loud, loud enough to wake the dead. And even though you're pretty sure no one's around except for Semiu, she's bound to check in on the noise sooner or later.

But not you, neither him give a fuck right now.

You're too far gone, floating airborne while a brutal orgasm claws its way up your spine, your ankles lock vise-tight behind his back as he bounces you up and down, your body like jelly, fucking into your sopping pussy and stretching your gushing walls wide.

Your mouth falls slack, drool drippling down your chin and your sweaty forehead glued to his, your ragged breaths are crashing together in frantic huffs.

He stares at you with so much awe, hooded eyes gawking, feral fire buring in them as your pussy clamps down in a mean grip, squeaking around his pounding length while your moans fall silent, gushing slick all over him in a messy squirt.

"Nghhh! M' cuh-cumming!"

"Yeahhh, give it ta' me, baby," he whines, so utterly pussydrunk, voice cracking into desperate pleas, "Not done cummin' yet, huh? Keep on squirtin' over yer' dick reallll good, yeah? It's all yers', pretty."

Voice turning raw as your moans scratch your throat, your head's lolling back, digging into the door, your hands tangling into his golden locs, desperatly tugging at them as you ride out your orgasm, cutely rutting into his harsh thrusts.

His mouth latched onto your breast through your shirt, sucking hard in frantic search of your cute nipples, soaking the fabric in his drool like a madman, teeth nipping at your nipple.

"One more," he pants, golden eyes gobbling you whole if they could, "Got another one for ya, gonna breed this pussy till yer' leakin' for days."

Well, he's a man of his word.

꩜ Jabber — 5 HOURS ᝰ.ᐟ

It's what you expected, to be honest.

You sweet Jabber's just like that, greedy for every damn thing he craves, especially when it comes to you.

It's common sense, really.

You dangle something he wants right in front of him all day— well, only five hours, to be exact— teasing him with every gorgeous god-given-gift you got on you, and of course he hangs on like a vice.

And you best believe he'll snatch it right back, No nut november deal made or not.

Rules be damned.

And damned be you for bending over in those tiny shorts that hug your round cheeks so devilishly perfect, arching that slutty back of yours just enough to flash him a peek of your panties.

What were you even thinking suggesting a challenge like this to a sex addict like him?

He's just not built for denial. He's a raider, certified rule- and back-breaker, and now, he's done pretending.

"Breakin' the rules 's just my thing, ya know that, ma'."

"You're just a fuckin' addict— nghhh!"

"Oh? So ya' don't need this, sweets?," rough palm cracks against your cheek with a rough slap, stinging your skin in a deliciously hot red.

With his other hand, he slaps his heavy, meaty cockhead against your glistening folds, the wet smack! echoing obscenely, his amused chuckle ringing in your ear while those lilac eyes fixate on your gasping cunt, watching it spread each time he teases his tip against it.

"Don't want me to fuck ya' stupid, stretch this sloppy lil' hole out js' how ya' like it?"

You damn near hate the fact that he's right about every single filthy word slipping past his lips.

You're nodding frantically now, head wobbling like jelly, needy mewl muffled against the sheets as you grow more impatient with every slight nudge of his tip against your weeping pussy, because you really need him to fuck you right now, clit pulsating just thinking about it.

"That's what I fuckin' thought. Actin' like yer' greedy cunt ain't beggin' to be stuffed full of this dick," he muses with a mocking click of his tongue, circling your sobbing entrance with his leaking tip again, smearing your juices along his veiny girth before shoving past your puffy folds.

Nailing the bullseye on the first thrust, his cock slides straight into your tummy, teasing your swollen g-spot with maddening precision, your back arching off the bed like the bed's on fire, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.

And his eyes flutter shut once you're instantly trying to pull him in deeper with that vicious grip of yours, wring wring wringing his cock into the depths of your gummy walls.

He doesn't give you a second to breathe, just bottoms out with a breathy moan, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your swollen clit, sending an electric spark right up your spine.

"Aaaaand? Feelin' aight'?"

Pounding away, his hips snap forward with crazy force, each vicious plunge driving his cock deeper into your gooey walls, bed frame groaning and creaking under his mean thrusts, your tits bouncing wildly, nipples scraping against the sheets with every jolt.

"M-mhmm! Real good!"

You're a moaning mess now, the sounds tearing their way out, the wet and filthy squelch squelch squelches of your creamy slick gushing out to coat his cock and trickle down your wobbly thighs.

He's gone feral, hips switching between ramming and grinding, chasing the feeling of your gushy walls trembling around him, balls drawing up tight with every deep ram against your cervix.

"I bet it do, baby."

Grunting and huffing, one slender hand fists your hair in a tight yank that snaps your head back, bending your spine right into the matress, ass high on display for him to give it a quick smack!

"Thaaaat's it, ma'. Reallllll deep arch."

His other hand clamps down on your hip, fingers digging into your soft skin to haul you back onto his punishing thrusts, loud smacks of his balls against your puffy clit leaving you dizzy, choking on your own spit.

Hand snaking from around your waist to your pulsating clit, he's rubbing it in firm circles that make your pussy clamp down harder around his hefty girth.

You buck back wildly against him, grinding your ass into his pelvis to meet every thrust, whole body wobbling as that tight coil winds tighter and tighter in your gut, threatening to snap in two.

"Baby's gonna cum, huh? Holon', I'll help."

With a sudden but fluid thrust he shoves you forward with one exact ram to your g-spot, flattening your chest to the mattress, your legs splaying wide beneath him, ass still hiked up invitingly as he drapes his full weight over your back, pinning you down firmly against the bed now.

"O-oh! S' too much, toooo much!"

The new angle lets him grind even deeper, his thick cock dragging torturously along your walls, battering that gummy spot inside you until white bursts behind your eyelids and your vision blurs with tears.

"Yeah, takin' every fuckin' inch, good girlllll."

He's huffing and puffing against the back of your neck, a slim trail of drool drip drip dripping down onto your back as his eyes roll to the back of his head, completely lost in your warm, gummy cunt.

Slender arms lock around you, one snaking under your pelvis to yank your ass up higher, while the other fists your hair, yanking your head back to keep you arched for him, pounding your dripping cunt toward that building orgasm brewing deep in your belly.

"Fuckin' wicked, tryna' steal this feisty pussy from me," he's growling through brutal thrusts, and you feel his heavy tip poking your tummy, bullying against your cervix— once, twice—

"Cuh-cumming!"

You plunge straight into your orgasm, your pussy gasping and drooling of cum around him, squeezing him even deeper into you. Your voice cracks under his weight, whining from the harsh grip in your hair as your quivering pussy's locking him in tight.

You whimper and writhe, ass jiggling with every savage slap of his hips, your nails scraping the sheets as aftershocks continue to rip through you.

"Told ya, ma'. Can't keep a good man down—," his grip tightens in your hair, pulling until your back arches painfully, forcing you to take every devilish inch of him, veins pulsing against your sensitive folds,

"—or his dick, anyway."

꩜ Tamsy — COMPLETED ᝰ.ᐟ

It's been a rough month.

Well, for you, at least.

Tamsy, on the other hand, seemed to have the time of his life watching you squirm. He took a little too much pleasure in seeing you frustrated and begging for even a sliver of his attention.

And he held his ground the whole month, never once slipping into any of your pathetic little traps. Sure, there were moments he got a boner here and there, maybe even contemplated on edging himself a bit by playing with your cute pussy. Actually, more than he'd ever admit, but patience has always been his thing.

Because he knew the end of the month would come soon enough. And when it did, he'd finally get his bratty girl in check again.

Now, with the clock ticking down to the first of December, his skillfull hands are burried between your legs, fingers parting your slick folds and rubbing your clit in slow circles while your mouth works overtime on his girthy cock.

"Congratu-fucking-lations, doll."

Your nails dig into the matress as your head bobs comically, cheeks hollowed as you whine around him every time he pinches your clit and twists it cruelly.

"Lasted the whooole month without creaming yourself. Didn't think my needy girl could make it," His eyes scan your bent back, oggling at your ass that wiggles against his mean hand in the air, "Atta girl."

The praise rushes right to your cunt and you're drooling out another set of juices, soaking his fingers whole, and you mewl around his cock as he's circling your entrance with a single digit, dipping just the tip inside before pulling away.

You pull off to flick your tongue out to lap at the veiny underside before gifting his tip kitten licks to savor the salty tang, mindlessly grinning as his free hand shoots to tangle into your hair, cursing under his breath.

"Wan' your cock inside, Tamsy. P-pleaseee, been so good all month, no?"

You try to reason with him, giving him those puppy eyes even as you lick every drooling spurt of pre from his slit, shaky hands wrenching at his base to get more out.

And he thinks about it for a second, tip twitching into your awaiting mouth again, hand pushing your head down until your nose brushes his faint trail of pubes.

Nah, this is way more entertaining to him.

"Not yetttt, princess. Been— f-fuckkk— teasing me for weeks, so fair's fair."

He groans, gorgeous long hair of his falling over his shoulders as his head falls back, hips jerking as you gag around him, tip trapped in your throat. Your hands grip his thighs, nails digging in harshly as you bob vigorously, slurping messily around his girth as spit dribbles down your chin.

"Nouh fauir!"

And he laughs at your weak attempt of speaking, gazing adoringly at your stuffed cheeks while his fingers sink in, quick to rub at your gushing spot inside.

"What's that?," he taunts, continously tickling your g-spot with his slender fingers, thumb twisting down to give your puffy clit teasing circles, "Can't understand you, silly."

You whine around his cock in embarrasment, the vibration making him hiss, but he keeps on rubbing your clit firmly, and scraping your walls with his digits, then stopping right when your thighs begin to twitch excitingly.

He thrust shallowly into your mouth, fucking your face with controlled snaps of his hips, your throat bulging around him as tears pricle your eyes from the stretch.

Fingers relentlessly toying with your pussy, he's pulling his fingers out entirely to pinch your clit again, then spreading your lips to expose you to the chilling air.

"M' sorry, doll. You'll have ta' take it a littleeee longer."

Obviously, a lie.

Oh, he could do this all year if it means he gets you this cockdrunk and slutty every time.

And you're cockdrunk right now, alright.

Eyes glazed over, thick ropes of saliva drip from your chin and soak your tits, you force his meaty cock into your throat with a gurgling choke before shooting up, his tip poking the inside of your cheek as you give him a side glance with your ass wiggling against his fingers.

"Looooube it, Tamshy. Shoooo tasty."

Grabing a fistful of your hair, he's yanking your head still, shoving the swollen head of his cock right against the back of your throat until you feel it bulge your neck.

"Quit talkin' with yer' mouth full. Do I gotta ram some manners back into that greedy little skull?"

Your response is a pathetically needy whimper that buzzes straight through his jumping length, making him answer with a vicious thrust upward, slamming his cock right into the vise-like grip of your esophagus.

"Mhmphhhf!"

You gag hard, tears streaming down your cheeks as his digits rub your spasming spot inside raw, body jerking as drool and tears stream down your face, his iron grip on your head keeping you pinned, nose smashed against his faint trail of pubes.

Spit bubbles at the corners of your lips, spraying his thighs as he uses your face like some fleshlight all while pluding his fingers deep into your already spasming hole, your orgasm threatening to tear you apart any second now.

"That's it," he growls with his hips beginning to thrust up into your protesting throat slowly but deeply, tip twitching each time you gag around him, "No talkin', js' take it. This what you been dreamin' about all month, huh? My cock ruinin' that pretty throat?"

You nod frantically, or try to, but his hand won't let you move more than an inch, so it's just a pathetic bob that milks his cock further. And he dares to laugh, grinding his hips in a circle, stirring his cock inside your ravaged throat, while you spray his fingers in your juices, thighs threatening to give up on you as they jiggle like jelly.

He pulls back just enough to let you gasp a ragged breath, air whistling through your raw throat, your vision blurring from the lack of oxygen, and the sudden orgasm that he rips out of you with his slender fingers plasters your cheek against his thigh as you whine and mewl, body falling slack on his lap.

You think that's your chance to breathe, but you already catch his weeping cock pulse in your peripheral vision while your lungs burn and your shaky fingers claw up his toned abs, reaching toward his chest to—

SMACK!

Fuck.

"Chop chop, angel. Get your squirtin' in check, " he drawls, palm rubbing the welt blooming on your ass cheek, while his other pats your head like you're a moody puppy.

"Now sit that pretty pussy on my lap and let me pound you riiight into the next month."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 2025.

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! ♡

“You know,” you murmured, voice soft with sleep but edged with playfulness, “we should think about spicing things up sometime.”

Baji hummed, his hand absently stroking over your side. “Spicing things up, huh? What, like toys? Costumes?” He smirked, sharp even half-asleep, “Don’t tell me you’ve been holdin’ out on me, babe.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. The kind of hesitation that made him open his eyes and tilt his head down at you.

“Well…” you started carefully, “I’ve thought about something. A fantasy, really. Promise you won’t freak?”

Baji raised a brow, grinning crookedly, “Babe, you’ve already let me do shit to you I didn’t think I’d ever get away with. Try me.”

Your stomach fluttered, nerves tangling with mischief. You leaned closer, your lips brushing his jaw as you whispered:

“I’ve thought about your friends gangbanging me. Like… all four of you.”

The silence hit like a slap. His whole body went rigid.

“…What?” His voice was sharp, incredulous, though his arm didn’t leave your waist, “Which friends?”

You laughed nervously, cheeks hot, “Chifuyu. Kazutora. Ryusei. And you, obviously.”

Baji pushed up onto an elbow, staring down at you like you’d just admitted to plotting treason. His hair fell wild around his face, dark eyes flickering between anger and something else—something darker, hungrier.

“You’re telling me you sit there and daydream about my boys railing you?” he growled, disbelief heavy in his tone.

“It’s just a fantasy,” you rushed, your fingers brushing his chest in reassurance, “It doesn’t mean I don’t want you. You’re my everything, Keisuke. It’s just… the idea of being overwhelmed like that— by you and them— I don’t know, babe, it’s hot in my head.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, dragging a hand down his face, “Fuckin’ hell…”

His mind was at war— you could see it plain as day. Jealousy gnawed at him, sharp and vicious. He didn’t share. You were his. But the mental image slipped in anyway: you, wrecked and begging, surrounded by the people he trusted most. His jaw tightened.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, voice low, gravelly. “’Cause that shit? It makes me wanna snap— and makes my dick twitch at the same fuckin’ time.”

You giggled, relief loosening your chest, “So… not a hard no?”

Baji gave you a flat look, then leaned down to bite your shoulder hard enough to make you squeak, “It’s a hard fantasy,” he said against your skin, lips curling into a smirk, “You’re mine. Don’t forget that. But maybe… maybe I’ll make you beg like you’ve got all four of us here.”

His hand slid down your stomach, reminding you that for now, it was still only him— and that was more than enough.

-

The apartment smelled like beer and take-out, the living room crowded with laughter and bodies. Baji had dragged Chifuyu, Kazutora and Ryusei over for a “low-key” hangout, but the second you walked out of the kitchen with a handful of bottles, the low-key part evaporated for him.

Kazutora had always looked at you too long; Baji knew it, and had known it for years — but now, after what you’d confessed in bed, it was impossible to ignore. His oldest friend’s yellow eyes followed you as you crossed the room, lingering on the sway of your hips.

He clenched his jaw, shifting where he sat on the floor.

You leaned over to set the beers down and he caught Ryusei’s eyes flick down the curve of your back to the curve of your ass, quick but unmistakable. Then Chifuyu, moving behind you in the cramped living space, placed a hand at your waist to squeeze past. It was gentle, thoughtless even, but Baji’s stomach knotted still yet.

All of it, every glance, every touch— suddenly fed that image you’d whispered against his jaw a week ago: all four of them.

Baji’s fingers tightened around his beer. He tried to focus on the noise of the TV, on Chifuyu’s laugh, on Kazutora’s off-hand story about a fight downtown, but his mind kept going back to the way you’d looked at him when you said it. The heat in your voice. The way your thighs pressed together as you told him.

Now he was seeing it everywhere. Kazutora’s smirk, Ryusei’s stare, Chifuyu’s hand… each one a spark against his already frayed patience. His pulse thudded hard in his throat.

From across the room you caught his eyes and smiled, completely oblivious to the storm in his head.

Baji looked away first, dragging a hand through his hair, a low curse caught under his breath. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag you back into the bedroom right then and there just to prove a point… or pull his friends aside and break their jaws for looking at you like that.

Instead, he took a slow swig of beer, eyes narrowed, and tried to swallow down the heat in his chest.

-

The bell over the pet shop door jingled lazily as another customer left, and the hum of the fish tanks filled the lull. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, striping the floor in pale gold. Baji leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Chifuyu fuss with a bag of kibble while Ryusei and Kazutora argued over which tank needed cleaning first.

On the surface, it was just another shift. But his mind wasn’t on the shop. It hadn’t been since that night you whispered your fantasy into his ear.

He hadn’t stopped replaying it. Every glance his friends had given you, every accidental brush of a hand or wandering look, had been seared into his memory. He hated it and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what it would look like if he let it happen.

His jaw worked as he tried to keep his voice casual, “Yo,” he said suddenly, pushing off the counter, “serious question. What’s the wildest shit you guys ever thought about doing with a girl?”

Ryusei perked up immediately, smirking as he tossed his rag over his shoulder, “Ohhh, we’re talkin’ fantasies? You sure you wanna open that can, Baji?”

Chifuyu shot him a skeptical look, “Keep it PG, dumbasses. We’re at work.”

Baji waved a hand, pretending he didn’t care, though his heart was pounding, “Nah, I’m serious. Like… threesome? Or, I dunno, gang stuff.”

That made Kazutora pause mid-motion, his golden eyes narrowing. He turned slowly, rag in hand, gaze sharp, “Gang stuff?”

Baji shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You know. Like… more than one guy, one girl. People do it all the time, right?” He leaned back against the counter again, forcing a smirk even as his stomach twisted, “Kinda hot if you think about it.”

Ryusei let out a low whistle, eyebrows up. “Didn’t think you’d be the one bringing this up. You, of all people.” He grinned wolfishly, “Guess everyone’s got their kinks.”

Chifuyu laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, I dunno. Sounds messy. But, like… I get it, I guess. If everyone’s into it.” His voice trailed off, clearly unsure how honest he should be with Baji staring him down like that.

Kazutora, though, didn’t look away. He tilted his head, suspicion sharp in the line of his mouth, “This is a test, isn’t it?” he asked slowly. “I answer this wrong, and I get punched in the face. Right here. Right now.”

Baji clicked his tongue, hiding his surprise with a grin, “What, you think I’m setting a trap?”

“Yes,” Kazutora said flatly, eyes narrowing further. “Because there’s no way you’re bringing this up outta nowhere. Not you.”

Chifuyu glanced between them, brows knitting. “Wait… are we actually talking about this? Or is this like… some weird thought experiment?”

Baji felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, but he doubled down, “Just wondering. Hypothetically. Don’t gotta read into it.” He busied his hands with the register, pretending not to notice the way Ryusei was still smirking like he’d figured something out.

“Hypothetically, huh?” Ryusei echoed, his grin widening. “Then yeah. Could be fun. Especially if the girl wanted it bad enough.”

Kazutora let out a short laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, “Yeah, see? That right there is what gets a guy’s teeth knocked out.”

Chifuyu coughed into his fist, shifting awkwardly. “So… we’re not actually talking about someone specific… right?”

Baji said nothing, his eyes fixed firmly on the receipt tape he was pretending to organize. His chest felt tight, every muscle coiled with the effort of not giving himself away. But the seed was planted, and judging by the tension in the room, his friends weren’t gonna forget this conversation anytime soon.

-

The pet shop was quiet a couple days later, the hum of the aquariums the only sound as the lull of the afternoon settled over the boys. Chifuyu crouched to restock bags of feed, Ryusei leaned lazily on a broom he hadn’t used in ten minutes, and Kazutora fiddled with a collar by the counter.

Baji had been watching them all, the weight of your fantasy gnawing at the back of his skull, making every little look and gesture suspicious. And then after that conversation on Tuesday?

He slammed the cash drawer closed, the clang making all three heads snap toward him.

“Oi,” he started, voice sharper than he intended, “be honest with me.”

Ryusei raised a brow, “What’s with the tone, man?”

Baji’s eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous, “Do you guys think about my girl like that?”

The silence was instant, heavy enough to make the fish tanks seem loud. Chifuyu froze halfway upright, blinking. Ryusei’s smirk faltered. Kazutora didn’t even pretend to laugh.

“…What?” Chifuyu said carefully.

“You heard me.” Baji’s hand twitched at his side, like he was trying not to make a fist, “Do you think about her? When she’s here. When she bends over in front of you. When she puts drinks down on the table. Do you picture shit you shouldn’t?”

Ryusei leaned back against the broom handle, eyes darting between the others, “… Now this feels like a trap.”

Kazutora was the first to recover, but his suspicion was razor-sharp. He tilted his head, black hair falling into his eyes, “This is a test. I answer honestly and you deck me across the jaw. Right?”

“Depends on the answer,” Baji shot back, unblinking.

Chifuyu groaned, rubbing his face. “Keisuke, what the hell are you even asking us that for? She’s your girl. We all know that.”

“Yeah, and she’s fucking gorgeous,” Ryusei muttered under his breath, then froze when Baji’s gaze snapped to him like a whip, “I— I didn’t say I think about her. Just saying it wouldn’t be weird if someone did.”

Kazutora gave a low laugh, dry and humorless,“Man, you’re out of your damn mind for asking this.” He crossed his arms, meeting Baji’s glare head-on, “Even if we did, no one’s stupid enough to admit it to your face.”

Baji’s chest heaved, his jaw tight. He wanted to punch something, but underneath all the rage, that fantasy replayed itself again— your voice whispering about all four of them. About being overwhelmed.

And now he couldn’t unsee the way his friends shifted uncomfortably under his question, how none of them had outright denied it.

He turned away abruptly, raking both hands through his hair, “Tch. Forget it. Dumb question.”

But judging by the silence that lingered long after, none of them were going to forget

-

The door to the apartment slammed hard enough to rattle the frame. Baji kicked his shoes off with more force than necessary, muttering curses under his breath as he dragged a hand through his wild hair. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

The shop shift had been torture. Every time he looked at his friends, he’d seen it — the hesitation, the guilt in their eyes, the fact that none of them had outright said “no.” And that silence? It was louder than any confession could have been.

He stalked into the living room, flopped down on the couch, and stared at the ceiling. His chest heaved with every breath, frustration simmering beneath his skin.

You. His girl. His everything.

And yet…

‘Do you guys think about my girl like that?’ His own voice echoed back at him, raw, accusing.

The idea of Kazutora’s dark eyes lingering on you, of Ryusei’s hungry smirk, of Chifuyu’s hesitant, gentle hands— it all made his blood boil. He wanted to break their noses, one by one. But the worst part? The very worst part?

His cock twitched every time he thought about it. About how fucked out your face would looked with both of your holes filled and hands busied. About those gorgeous eyes staring up at him while you sucked his cock and one of his friends fucked you from behind.

He groaned, dragging both hands down his face, half-angry, half-desperate. “Fuckin’ hell, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

The image replayed, relentless: you on your knees, lips parted, their hands in your hair. You spread across the bed, wrists pinned, voices overlapping as you cried out his name. Baji’s stomach twisted, heat surging low and sharp.

He hated it. He hated loving it.

His hands fisted in his jeans, teeth sinking into his lip as he forced the image away— and failed spectacularly. All he could picture was the way you’d whispered it in the dark, your voice trembling with both nerves and want. ‘I’ve thought about your friends gangbanging me. All four of you.’

A growl ripped from his throat, low and frustrated. He shoved himself up from the couch, pacing like a caged animal.

“Mine,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re mine. Not theirs. Fuck them.”

But even as he repeated it, even as he swore he’d never share you, his imagination betrayed him. Because deep down, some part of him wanted to watch you come apart like that. Wanted to see you overwhelmed, ruined, adored, until you couldn’t speak anything but his name—and maybe, just maybe, theirs too.

Baji slammed his fist against the wall, forehead dropping against the plaster. His breath came heavy, fogging the air.

He was frustrated. Aggravated. And so fucking hard he thought he might lose his mind.

And he knew the second you walked through that door, he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself anymore.

-

The door clicked open, your arms full with a takeout bag and a carton of drinks. “Keisuke, honey? I brought food—”

You didn’t even get a chance to set the bags down before you were met with the sight of him leaning against the couch, hair wild, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His eyes were dark, sharp, locked on you like you were prey.

“Sit,” he ordered.

You blinked, frozen in the doorway, “…What?”

“The food. Table. Now.” His voice was gravel, and when you obeyed, setting the bags down carefully— he stalked toward you, crowding you back against the counter.

“Keisuke, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, though your heart sped up at the heat in his stare.

“What’s wrong?” He barked a humorless laugh, one hand braced beside your head, the other tugging at his hair, “Ever since you told me that shit— about wanting me and my friends— about getting gangbanged by them— I can’t fuckin’ think about anything else.”

Your breath caught, “I told you, it’s just a fantasy—”

“I know it’s a fantasy,” he cut you off, voice rough. “But now I can’t stop seeing the way they look at you. Kazutora’s always had his fuckin’ eyes on you. Ryusei? Couldn’t peel his stare off your ass if his life depended on it. And Chifuyu—he’s always touching you, sliding by you, patting your hip and shit like it’s nothing. And I’m sittin’ there thinking, ‘they’re imagining it too, aren’t they?’ My friends. Thinking about my girl like that.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. He was too close, too intense.

“And the worst part?” he hissed, dragging his hand down his face, then back to grip your chin, “I’m mad because it makes me jealous, but I’m even more fuckin’ mad that it makes me hard.”

Heat pooled low in your belly at the raw frustration in his voice, the way his body trembled with it.

“I should beat their asses for even lookin’ at you like that,” he growled, eyes burning into yours, “But instead, I come home and I’m thinkin’ about you on your knees for them. For us. Cryin’ and beggin’ for more.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb swept across your lower lip, his tone dropping to a dangerous rumble.

“Tell me, baby,” he said, leaning in until his lips brushed your ear. “You still want it that bad? You want me to make it real?”

-

The air in the room was thick, almost electric. You sat quietly on the edge of the mattress, knees pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap the way Keisuke had taught you. It wasn’t a game anymore. Not a whispered fantasy in the dark.

Kazutora, Ryusei, and Chifuyu were scattered around the room, eyes fixed anywhere but directly on you. They looked different now— not just his friends, but something heavier, the weight of what was about to happen hanging between all of you.

Keisuke stood in front of them, hair wild, eyes sharp. He wasn’t smiling.

“You’re all here because she asked for this,” he said, voice low but carrying. “But don’t think for one second that means she’s yours.” His gaze cut through each of them in turn. “She’s mine. You breathe wrong around her, you’re out. You touch her wrong, you’re out. You make her uncomfortable, you’re out.”

The men nodded, some more quickly than others. Kazutora’s jaw was tight, Ryusei’s smirk was gone, and Chifuyu kept his eyes on the floor like he was in church.

Keisuke turned back to you then, and your stomach flipped. “You,” he said, voice softening just slightly. “Eyes on me.”

You lifted your gaze obediently, the nervous energy coiling in your belly. You’d always been good for him— he’d tamed the brat out of you a long time ago, replaced it with calm obedience and trust. Still, your breath came faster as the reality of the moment pressed in on you.

“Color?” he asked quietly, a signal you both knew well.

“Green,” you whispered, voice steady despite the tremor in your hands.

A flicker of pride passed through his eyes. He reached out, thumb brushing your cheek before he turned back to the others. “She’s good,” he said. “She knows the rules. You will follow them too. If anyone steps out of line — even once — it’s over. Understood?”

All three answered at once: “Understood.”

“Good.” Keisuke’s tone was final, commanding. “You don’t speak unless I tell you. You don’t touch unless I tell you. You don’t finish unless I tell you. You’re here to give her what she wants — and only how I say she gets it. Got it?”

Another round of nods.

The room went still again. You could feel their eyes on you now, but no one moved until Keisuke did. Your pulse thundered in your ears, not fear, but that trembling anticipation you always felt when he pushed you to the edge of something new.

He looked at you once more, gaze soft but unyielding, “Breathe, baby,” he murmured just for you. “You’re safe. You’re mine. I’m in control.”

You inhaled, your world narrowing to the sound of his voice. The nervous energy melted into obedience, into trust. You’d been good for him before — but this was new territory.

And Keisuke was making it very, very clear: this would happen exactly the way he decided.

-

Chifuyu’s hands hovered in the air like he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to touch you. His blue-green eyes darted to Baji again, seeking permission with every breath.

“Relax,” Baji said flatly, standing a half-step behind your shoulder, “She’s not glass. But remember what I said— gentle. She’s not big into getting face fucked.”

“Yes, Baji,” Chifuyu murmured, his voice low, reverent even.

His fingers finally brushed your cheek, feather-light, and you shivered. He smiled faintly at the reaction, soft and almost shy, like he was grateful you’d let him close.

Baji’s jaw flexed. He could feel his pulse in his teeth, in his fists. His best friend was standing in front of his girl, touching her face like she was some kind of holy thing. He hated it. He loved it.

“Open your mouth,” Keisuke said suddenly, his tone sharp enough to make you look up at him instantly.

You obeyed, lips parting, tongue flicking nervously against your teeth as your eyes locked onto Keisuke’s.

“That’s it,” he muttered, running his thumb across your jaw before nodding at Chifuyu. “Go on. She’s waiting.”

Chifuyu’s breath caught, but he moved. Slowly, carefully, he freed himself and guided himself to your lips. He paused again, hesitating— until you leaned forward and took him into your mouth, warm and obedient.

A soft groan broke from Chifuyu’s chest, his hand brushing over your hair but not gripping, not controlling. Just touching, gentle, coaxing. “God… you’re perfect,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Baji’s hands curled into fists at his sides, heat rushing through his veins. The way Chifuyu said it— like you were fragile and precious— ignited something primal in him. you were his, but at the same time, the sight of you kneeling there, lips stretched around his best friend, your eyes glassy and shining as you did exactly what you were told—

Fuck. It was driving him insane.

“That’s enough talking,” Baji growled, his voice sharp, cutting through Chifuyu’s reverence, “You don’t need to tell her what she is. She knows who she belongs to.”

Chifuyu flushed, nodding quickly, though his hand still stroked lightly over your temple as you worked. Pretty lips wrapped around him, moving at a good pace. He was sweet, maddeningly sweet, his every movement careful, almost cherishing.

And Keisuke watched, every nerve in his body screaming with jealousy and pride, with anger and arousal all tangled into one. He was in control, he reminded himself. He was allowing this.

Baji’s fingers dug into his thighs as he watched you work Chifuyu with that slow, wet rhythm, eyes shining up at him like you always did. Every time you took Chifuyu deeper, a muscle jumped in Keisuke’s jaw. He was seconds away from stepping in and ending it himself when you moved.

Your free hand slid off your lap and found his thigh. Slowly, deliberately, you traced a line up his jeans until your palm pressed over the bulge straining against the fabric. You squeezed, gentle but firm, rubbing in slow circles as you kept your mouth around his friend.

Baji’s breath hitched. His head tipped back for half a second, eyes closing as a guttural sound escaped his throat. When he looked down again, the rage in his eyes had softened into something dark and hungry.

“That’s it…” he rasped, his big hand covering yours on his crotch, pressing you harder against him.

Chifuyu groaned softly, trying not to buck into your mouth. “Baji…” he muttered under his breath, but Keisuke’s stare shut him up immediately.

From the side of the room, Ryusei shifted. He’d been leaning on the dresser, jaw tight, eyes locked on you the whole time. Now he pushed off the wood and started to inch closer, one slow step at a time, like a wolf circling prey. His pupils were blown, lips parted.

Baji didn’t even glance at him; his voice cracked across the room like a whip. “Stay. Right. There.”

Ryusei froze, caught mid-step, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides. “C’mon, Baji…” he drawled, but there was a tremor of need in his voice, “You’re killing me.”

“I told you,” Keisuke snapped, eyes never leaving yours as your hand kneaded him through his jeans, “you move when I say you move. You don’t touch until I tell you. You don’t even breathe on her until I decide.”

Ryusei swallowed, shifting from foot to foot, but didn’t dare take another step.

Keisuke’s gaze dropped back to you. His fingers slid into your hair, tugging just enough to pull you off Chifuyu’s cock, “You’re a good girl,” he muttered, thumb brushing your slick lower lip. “Even with your mouth full, you remember who owns you.”

The look in his eyes was molten; his control over the room absolute.

“Ryusei.” Keisuke called, letting him finally stalk over and Kazutora huffed, forced to wait until last.

The pink haired man stood before you, Carefully undoing his belt to free himself, grinning down at you with a look that made your stomach flip, your hand running over Keisuke’s buldge in his pants.

“Open your mouth for him, kitten.” He instructs you once more, your body shifting from Chifuyu towards Ryusei, mouth dropping open, pretty eyes looking up at him and Ryusei groans, gently guiding himself around your open lips before thrusting himself in gently.

“Fuck.” Ryusei’s curse is quiet, watching as you take his length fully into your mouth, Chifuyus voice warring over you but you don’t pay it any mind. Listening only to Keisuke’s go ahead when you feel Chifuyus guide your hand to his cock, still wet from your saliva and you immediately move to stroke him, feeling Keisuke’s grip in your hair as he pushes you further down Ryusei until you gag, gripping a bit tighter around Chifuyu and Keisuke, making everyone moan.

The sound sending heat already to your soaked core, making your clit throb.

You work chifuyu’s length in one hand while sucking on Ryusei, your eyes looking up to the side where Keisuke is, your hand on him moving up to try and get his pants undone single-handedly.

“Here kitten, you want Daddy’s cock too?” Keisuke says, gentle in the way he only ever way with you, and something about you wanting him eased whatever tension he was still feeling about this entire situation, about sharing you.

Cause as soon as the familiar feeling of his cock was in your hand you moaned around Ryusei, someone’s hand still in your hair, guiding you further down his length, both your hands working your boyfriend and his best friend.

Kazutora shifted where he was, watching the group, his eyes settling over your body, and he could see how wet you were, thighs damp from your slick as you tried to give appropriate attention to each of the men surrounding you.

“Tora. Focus on her.” Baji commands and Kazutora moves in quick like if he doesn’t seize the opportunity immediately it would be taken away.

-

Your mouth is wrapped around Keisuke’s cock now, the slight roll of his hips and the taste of him all familiar, grounding you back in the overwhelming situation. Kazutora had slid himself underneath you, moaning happily into your wet cunt, gladly stroking himself while he dined on your pussy.

“Feels good, huh? Shit—“ Keisuke moans, feeling your throat constrict around him as you moan and gag, his hand tangled in your hair, pushing you in until your nose is buried in his dark pubes, holding you there a moment before pulling you back to let you breath.

That only lasts a moment though, until Keisuke moving to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing you with him, chest to chest and giving you that relief you’d been searching for as he splits you open with his cock, making you gasp out.

And bodies are just moving now. Keisuke might have been giving out orders, you’re far too cock drunk to catch it if he is, all you know is one of your hands is purchased on your boyfriends shoulder, someone’s guiding your hand to their cock, someone else is working your ass open with their fingers and there’s a cock in your face that you gladly open your mouth open for to suck on, all while sitting pretty on your boyfriends cock.

“She’s so tight.” Chifuyu grunts, spitting on your ass to lube your puckered hole up more as he gently fucks his finger in and out before gently adding a second one.

Someone’s hand is massaging your tit and you moan around whoever’s cock your sucking on.

“Shit, s’not fair you’ve been hogging this pretty thing all to yourself, Keisuke.” Kazutora says, his fingers tangling into your hair to hold you still while he gently fucked your mouth.

Ryusei guided your hand along his length with his own, rolling his hips into your hand, focused on how pretty and lewd your face looked, totally fucked out and still craving more.

“She should be good ‘Fuyu.” Keisuke mutters, shifting below you, fucking up into you a few times until Chifuyu is lining himself up and pressing into your ass, making all three of you moan from the pressure, curses falling off everyone lips as the two set a rhythm into fucking you.

You get manhandled in so many different directions over the evening you’re not sure which way is up. They’d all made you cum a handful of times and you’re exhausted by the time the four of them are surrounding you, jerking off to splatter their hot loads all over you overworked body.

🏍️TokyoRev Masterlist🏍️ 🦇Return to the Batcave🦇

If you like my work and want to support me, consider buying me a coffee?☕️

✨Join The Taglist✨

Taglist: @qardasngan @jellibean420 @dia111lavillant @sugacor3 @Imagineadream @zeena-the-fandom-fiend @kaiii-ii @catiwinky @beetusbritt @Bloomfaery @yannn1 @alphabetically-deranged @hitchihikerr @Nikibunny23 @prongspower @lulu @sephyhateu @janeisnotonline @Astrei-a @caspersarkive

  ̮͡.

Ken "Draken" Ryūguji

Draken’s big everywhere—shoulders, hands, cock. You’re on his lap, thighs spread wide, impaled full by him. The stretch alone has you whining, clinging to his inked chest. He keeps bouncing you, massive palms lifting and dropping you like you weigh nothing. “C’mon, sweetheart. Take it for me.” When you suddenly gush, soaking his abs, his eyes go wide. Then his grin splits, teeth sharp with pride. “Fuck, you squirted? For me? Look at that.” He keeps you bouncing, greedy now, voice rough in your ear. “Thought you said you couldn’t. Thought you said it was impossible. I’ll keep pushin’ til you flood me again.” His dick drags deeper, harder, your slick dripping down his thighs. He groans, possessive, chest heaving. “Mine. My girl, my mess. Gonna make you do it over and over.”

#need that

  ̮͡.

Ran Haitani

Ran’s lounging back, hair falling loose, one knee hooked over your shoulder while his dick grinds deep from below. His pace is slow, cruel, teasing you with the stretch. You’re begging, trembling, and then it happens—you gush over him, thighs shaking. He stills, smirking like a devil. “Ohhh, look at that. Didn’t know you had that in you, princess.” He rubs his thumb over your swollen clit, coaxing another spurt while you cry that it’s too much. “Nah, baby, this is perfect.” He laughs softly, eyes dark with mockery. “You makin’ a puddle for me. Pretty little thing, all wet and ruined.” He slides back in, hips rolling lazy. “I’m not stoppin’ ‘til this bed’s soaked.”

  ̮͡.

Shuji Hanma

Hanma lives for chaos—so when your body jerks and you spray across his stomach mid-thrust, he howls with laughter. “Holy fuck, baby girl—look at you! Didn’t know you had a sprinkler system.” He pins your wrists, hips slamming hard, chasing it again. You whimper that you can’t, but he only grins sharper, tattoos flexing as he drives deeper. “Oh, you can. You will. I’ll beat it out of you if I gotta.” He taunts you with every gush, tilting your hips to angle his dick just right. The bed’s soaked, your thighs sticky, and he’s relentless, eyes glittering with obsession. “Yeah, that’s it. Squirt for me. Again. Again.” He doesn’t stop ‘til you’re sobbing, drenched, chest heaving. Then he paints your face with his cum, laughing breathless. “My dirty little fountain.”

  ̮͡.

Kazutora Hanemiya

Kazutora’s wild-eyed when it happens—your pussy fluttering around him, wet spraying down his thighs. He gasps, then lets out a shaky laugh, manic with glee. “You just—fuck—you just squirted for me?” His pace turns frantic, bruising, hands locking around your waist to keep you still. “Do it again. Do it again or I’ll lose my mind.” He kisses your jaw, your throat, tender even as he ruts harder. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby. So good for me.” You’re crying from the overstimulation, but he won’t stop—obsession driving him. “I’ll keep you here all night ‘til you’re soaked through. Don’t care if you scream. Don’t care if you beg.” His teeth sink into your shoulder, marking you as his while he groans against your skin.

  ̮͡.

Chifuyu Matsuno

Chifuyu looks stunned when your slick gushes down his dick, his thrust faltering. He pulls back to stare, chest heaving. “Did you—shit, you did.” Then his face lights up, awe softening his sharp features. “God, baby, you’re amazing.” He cups your face, kissing you sloppy while his hips keep moving. “So beautiful when you lose it for me.” His praise makes your body quake, another gush spilling between you. He groans, forehead pressed to yours. “That’s it. Don’t hold back. I’ll take it all.” His rhythm is steady, loving but relentless, fucking you through the overstimulation with devotion. “I’ll make you do it again. Every night. Until this pussy knows it belongs to me.”

  ̮͡.

Rindou Haitani

Rindou’s meaner, sharper. When you gush over his cock, he freezes, then barks a cruel laugh. “The fuck? Did you just piss on me, girl?” You cry, embarrassed, but he tilts your chin up, forces you to see his grin. “Relax. I like it. Means I fucked you stupid.” He pulls out, slaps his dick against your clit until another gush sprays out, making you squeal. “Ohhh, she’s messy now. My nasty little thing.” He pushes back in, fucking rough, keeping you squirming. “Don’t ever hide that. I want it all. Gonna milk it out of you every time I spread these thighs.” When he finally pulls out to cum, he paints your tits, groaning, smearing it in with his hand. “Look at you. Ruined and mine.”

  ̮͡.

Takashi Mitsuya

Mitsuya’s eyes go wide, soft shock flickering when you gush on his cock mid-thrust. “...Baby,” he whispers, slowing to steady you. You’re panting, embarrassed, but he strokes your hip, grounding. “Don’t you dare hide from me. That was gorgeous.” Then his pace builds again, strong and rhythmic, every stroke angled to drag it out. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.” His voice is tender, but his thrusts keep you trembling, squirting again against his stomach. He kisses your neck, your shoulder, murmuring praise with every gush. “So good. So wet. All mine.” By the end, the sheets are soaked, your body limp in his arms. He kisses your temple, cock still buried deep. “We’re doing that again tomorrow.”

I♡Mitsuya

  ̮͡. 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈  ̮͡.

Squirtle divider by @huraxy-dividers