Venus!!!

not a trace of hurt or offense can be found in his tone, rather, the lull of amusement revealed his true intentions.

your skin prickled like the air would when there was a brewing tornado; a confusing wave of opposing temperatures blanketed your body like it couldn’t decide on a color.

hot or cold hot or cold. the dizzying change of temperature lit sparks on your nerve endings. you squirmed uncomfortably at the mischievous lull of jamil’s honeyed voice whispered, oh so closely to your ear- you swore you felt the brush of his plump lips brush delicately against your stinging ears.

an ice pack to a tinder bee sting.

you react accordingly, shuddering away with a strangled gasp, a gasp that strokes his reaction appropriately which earns you his melodious chuckle.

your arms weakly push against his chest. “jamil~” you whined, you attempt at hiding your own adornment was proven futile by jamil’s inquisitive nose and persistent nature; that of which kept his face with nose leading the strike, to continuously nose your neck. his hands wandering dangerously around your body.

his lips were back on your neck.

alright, you decided. “two can play at that game” you mumbled to yourself, half hoping jamil would hear you and take the challenge, while the other half was holing he couldn’t make out you mumbles so you could go down the ‘plausible deniability’ route. the safe route.

‘the cheeky route’ you almost scowled at jamil’s ringing voice and memerable scowl. but you also remembered how jamil didn’t like you wandering off to la la land-

so you wrapped your leg around his toned waist sinfully, toes pointed and dainty as you constricted him in your hold. your arching back pushed your chests together- his arms like his last name’s keep sake, slithered around your waist. his hands gripped at your back.

his lips peppered a fat trail of open mouth kisses that led from your neck, down collarbone and chests and down further towards your nether region.

the fabric of his silky bedding shifting as he himself moved down the bed, following wherever his mouth led him as his hands kept themselves at your back. your heels dug deeply into the mattress, like a sprinter getting ready to run- though you weren’t planning on going anywhere. jamil moved underneath you.

your lips stung in the iron grip your teeth had on it, but somehow the pain was better, a controlled pain you could use to distill the pain of the viper’s deadly, repetitive blows to your body.

it almost reminded you of the times your mother would pinch you while you got your flu shot… it was just like this,

a distraction.

your head pulsed painfully.

jamil viper didn’t appreciate distractions

a sharp nip and tug to the inside of your teeth brought you pain like an abrupt trumpet solo the conductor in put in as a surprise treat. no matter, because the pain had you scrambling up onto your elbows and alert.

steel eyes stopped you dead in your tracks, heart falls down to your pussy as they both pulsed in synch for a moment. jamil’s eyes were already awaiting your gaze, laying behind your legs with an intense aura.

and now that he had your full attention: he could do this!

he strikes.

his hands gripped around your upper waist to yank you down the mattress as he thrusted his entire body up to meet yours. his body slotting itself between your legs easily.

the second his hard, hot, clothed penis smashed roughly into your pulsating, clothed pussy with the aggersion from a man you swore hate you- you thought nothing could feel better.

his hips rolled deliberately into yours as he brought you up and into his thighs, you rested at an angle.

the moan the ripped through your body was long and vulgar as you felt every muscle in your body tense at the satisfying friction of jamil ramming his clothed erection against your pussy.

jamil may have been able to hinder his vocal reaction, but he couldn’t help the twitch in his eye and shudder of his spine.

your legs were thrown up to under his arm pits, your back now nestled snuggly in the divit of where you weight was centered before.

jamil’s smirking down at you, much to your chargin, face inching closer and closer to yours as he fixes your legs to the crux if his elbow. your body is forced into a deep stretch, concentrated in your hips as his lips descend upon your sinking you deeper into a plushy mattress.

his hips shift yours with shallow rolls of his hips. the moans that spill out from your lips, other than the passionate sound of you and jamil making out, serves to guide jamil to grind harsher against you.

his cock stiffens with each languid roll of his hips, each roll becoming more pronounced and finding its place against your clothed clit. his chubby, hardening cock elicits a moan as it lines up perfectly to rub just right at those special nerve endings.

his hands trail up your arms to hold yours, his rolling hips switching to quick spurts so his cockhead can catch your special spot. your legs tremble in midair as you do your best to grind into him.

soft pants punctuate each rub of heated friction of your privates mashing together.

“that’s better” his neck bends down, his tongue licks your bottom lip before diving straight into a dizzying kiss. he detaches momentarily to gaze at your kiss silly face.

you scoffed, trying to retract your chasing lips and focus your blurry gaze and retain some sort of dignity for yourself, being caught being too into it gave you anxiety tingles-

but jamil didn’t care. would’nt allow you to deprive him of one of your delicious reactions.

with both his hand stacked on top yours, he cups your chin with your palm, the others stayed on the bed.

the tutts to himself, the clicks of his tongue gave the impression he was disappointed… but if you knew jamil, and by god did you know jamil, you’d know his tells…

with that twinkle in his eyes and slow carful shake of his head, his beautifully long strand of face framing hair lulled like a curtain from over his shoulder down to kiss the apple of your cheek. the soft ends of his hair tickled you, also cutting off one eye and half of the room from view. if you looked to the other side, it’d be only the wall and the shadows of your dogglegangers recreating your sinful acts for your own enjoyment.

but now, it was just you and him.

the ends of his hair lined up like a pathway, following that pathway like a lost hiker following a trail, you’re met back with the shining pale moon. it’s staring at you, observing you.

with a tilt of his head the moon split to two as he slowly smiled down at you, the smile turned grim and devilish, impish is the right word. the expression and tightening of his grip sending a jolt to your core.

he looks you up and down with that dreadfully sexy grin.

“i’d much rather have my girlfriend’s attention while i fuck her.” your hands shyly wiggle out from his tight grasps, jamil’s readjusting themselves to better support himself in the curled position. your own hands, at their own pace, trailed up his arms with a sweet hum that vibrated your lips. too much simulation on the wrong lips unfortunately. but you pulled him closer while breathing out a chuckle at the ‘flexibility’ comment he makes.

you lean up and pucker your lips. you give your boyfriend a dramatic smacking kiss with an obnoxious sound effect to boot. he can only raise a brow at you

but you bat your lashes cutely at him. “i’m only payong attention to you baby. got me thinking ‘bout what you’re gonna do to me… how you’re good with your mouth…” you trail off biting your lip.

trying and failing not to peak at his mouth. and you’re glad you were weak because the moment you did twin peeks of pink peak through his lush lips as smooth as a sharks fin slices through the waters surface.

your eyes dart back to his eyes.

he watched you watch him.

sweet mother of pearl.

you act fast. yanking his loose hair.

he lets out a combination of a groan and hiss, shocked and slightly offended at the prospect of having his hair tugged. no less by you.

his head getting pulled back and exposing his jugular. you take this moment to attack, arms latching onto him to hang on him. your legs stretched painfully, and to take care of two problems, you wiggled your fat ass over his crouch, getting comfortable and easing the ache of the stretch and teasing your controlling boyfriend!

a win is a win!

well!… girl it’s certainly a win! :D

jamil’s hiss turns to a guttral groan as you’re both at a stand still. his eyes pierced through your at a lethal angle. but he wasn’t angry, the dim lihjt of the lamp illuminating a cynical glint filled with lust and twisted delight at a challenge. or, of course, ir was just the lighting and you were reading too much into it again.

but that didn’t stop you from getting swept into the mix of swirling metals that circulate and consume each other in a hot mixing pot of a wielder.

“really?” his lips curved back into a human friendly smile, his eyebrow quirking. “you want to be a brat? of all days habibi really..” his voice tells you he’s disappointed… yet with jamil you’re learning to trust the glints and flashes of his stormy eyes.

with a dumb giggle you let go, with a cute show of your hands you ‘plop’ back down onto the mattress, looking around coyly at the pillows and bunched up blankets. you bounce a little at the impact, bouncing a few more times and note to jamil the springiness of it. nothing compared to the screeching and creaking of ramshackles beds…

he grabs your agape mouth that was about to start rambling about sevens knows what when he leans you and him in closer. “stop being a brat.”

you lovingly guide his face down to yours, his lithel dancers body, which is also honed with years of servitude allowed him to descend at any speed at your desired.

the kiss was slow, passionate being the only word that could filly encapsulate the kiss. the way his lips slot against yours, the little brushes of his canines against your lower lip were quickly followed by the clashing of tongues.

jamil’s snake tongue twisting, twirling and rubbing against yours in an aggressive attempt to conquer every square inch of your mouth.

jamil’s tongue stole every moan and groan that spilled from you mouth like bear still honey from a cartoonishly dripping honey pot.

his hips never once slowing or stopping their stride, rolling continuously into your clothed pussy lips. the shape of his cock outlined by the darkening of his red sweats, the cocks pre cum spurting from his tip like a broken faucet. each smash of his hips against your ass and pussy had his cock getting crushed and rubbed in a way he’d never be able to replicate.

his own moans start spilling from his lips as he finds a better, more stimulating angle to grind against you.

each angled roll had his tip punching into your clit, the stimulation punching moans with each rock of your body.

his hands gripped the pillows above where you rested your head, sometimes you would hit against his wrists from a particularly harsh thrust.

it was too much to kiss, you were blinded by the bliss of friction and smashed your lips together messily, smothering each other moans as your legs twitched and jerked. a familiar tingle and concentrated point of pleasure had you gasping- chanting his man like a sinner on sunday.

jamil wasn’t doing better.

jerking his head to look up at the banging head board- a silent thought of gratitude for himself as he stares at the makeshift barrier that kept him his vice house warden title. - his teeth bare themselves, canines sharp and enticing, and just the right thing to send you over the edge of ecstasy.

jamil quickly follows, the cock smirk he was wearing getting tugged down with each thrust that brought him closer to tipping over the edge. his moans were bordering on virgin-esque before you start getting rubbed raw, before he started creaming his pants.

you ignored the addicting raw sensitivity and frantic pulsating of your pussy in favor of watching the way his hips rolled into yours. desperate and purposeful, your lean away so he catches a new angle, a friendlier yet stimulating angle you didn’t know you had.

jamil kept grinding into you, the stain in his red sweats pants huge as you scramble your hands up his back and in an overstimulated act of passion, rake your nails down his back, his sweater licking your wrists.

fuck he felt so good.

his hips stuttered harshly against your, like a firework this was his grand finale. he rubbed over your clit harshly, painfully in an overstimulating complex pleasure you’re going to have to unpack later. your pussy practically gasped with pleasure as your whole body twitched and locked up.

whorish moan drawled out from the two of you like drunk teenagers as jamil finally has enough of over stimulating the both of you, and had enough of his ruined clothes and bedsheet.

his head crashes into the pillows yours rests on, your quick to softly knock yours against his and nuzzle him. he’s panting, but receptive, turning to face you as you both catch your breathe and let the ceiling fan cool you.

an aggressive nerve link shoots down your leg, hissing at the returning stretch, you curse to yourself. you thought you’d had moved your leg enough from the other position it’d be okay…

but… hurricane jamil came in with other plans- literally.

“oh right” he licks his lips.

“sorry i forgot you weren’t as flexible as me” you also ignore this murmur of his plans to ‘change that,’ opting to focus on the way he rubs at your aching hips. the pulsing pain in your legs pulsed in time with your pussy in an aggravating stimulating mess, your body’s pain and pleasure receptors broken and you just knew he knew. knew that you were getting stimulated from the stretch and pressure against your pulsing clit.

despite his ‘apology’ (you roll your eyes not even wanting to call it that,) he still has your legs in his grasp, back in his elbows where they first started.

he looks to the bed side table, then back to you, he rubbed your thigh with a thoughtful expression as he kept looking at you… you’d rather call it examining with the way his eyes flitted across you. visage.

you wiggle away from his crotch and legs wiggle free him his elbows to encircle his waist.

watching him lean over you to grab something he was eyeing on his bed side table, his sweater shifting loosely around him revealing some skin…

you bite your lip like a victorian man who just saw some harlots ankle.

you also decide its the perfect time to stretch any kinks out of you.

with a point that could rival a ballerina’s, you stretch your legs with a deeply, soulful satisfying curl while managed to press your pussy juice soaked crotch against his skin. the tiny sliver of toned tanned skin that peeked through the wrinkle of fabric as your target the moment you saw his skin show.

you catch his steely gaze gaze at you through his peripheral, a ice glass of water in his grap.

with a bounce against his abdomen that squeezes a groan from him, you happily accept the water with two hands. sitting up and out of reach from the viper’s reach. you got comfortable to the stressed and soaking fabric of his bed- how messy were you two?

“how long-“ you cringed at the scratchy voice that spoke for you, clearing your throat a few times and gulping down some more water you tried again. “how have we been uh-“ you smacked your lips, looking bashfully to the floor but quickly back towards him as you tripped over your own tongue.

but he understood, reaching back over to check his phone, you took another sip.

you were absolutely parched. this moment bringing you back to the many tones you’d wake up in the middle of the night, dazed and confused- but thirsty. incredibly thirsty, the thirstiest you’ve been in your entire life! and all you’ve got is the old, half filled water to suffice and it happens to be the best drink in your entire life-

“damn- 2 hours” his thick voice clears at the end, he accepts the water you thrusted towards him graciously.

when there’s only skinny chunks of ice left he leans over and puts the glass down with a soft thump.

he eyes your lounging figure, busy with combing your hair and fanning yourself, occasionally swiping at a bead of sweat that roll down your temple or leg. jamil, aching and drained, felt his heart flutter contently.

his body slowly lays over yours, hovering over your momentarily before plopping down onto you- “jamil~” you whined when he kissed away a bead of sweat that was walking from your head to collarbone.

“get off- s’too hot”

you groan against his smothering weight, comparable to a fuzzy blanket or extra layer when already in a sweltering environment.

he hums lazily into your neck, lips against your pulse line as he casually told you he ‘had a solution for that,’ said solution being to drag his hands to your waist and slowly tug tug tug your shirt up.

One of your fellow students seemed to have the same idea, because he squeezed himself beside you, so he could catch his breath for a moment.

"What is going on? Why is everyone running?" you asked him, seizing the opportunity to get answers without needing to possibly get involved in the chaos.

The unknown student took a few heavy breaths before answering. "An attack! Someone is freezing the cafeteria. I think some students even got frozen."

"What?" You were in disbelief that it was really that bad. "Are you sure it's not just a prank from a few mischievous students or ghosts?"

"I know what I saw. That definitely wasn't a prank!" the student said, clearly offended you’d even suggest it.

You turned to the entrance of the cafeteria when you felt the temperature in the hallway drop. You couldn't see anything from your place. But you could feel the pressure of magic in the air. It felt powerful. So it must be true what the student said. But there were only a handful of things that could charge the air with this amount of magic.

"Was it an Overblot?" you asked the student, now sharing his panic.

"I don't know. Do you think I stayed long enough to check?" he snapped at you, before his voice returned to a more civilized tone. "I don't think I saw blot ink or a phantom anywhere... But does it even matter? We should get outta here and let someone else deal with whatever is in the cafeteria."

The student didn't wait for you and instead sprinted off. You wanted to follow, but stopped when you suddenly heard what sounded like the hysterical cry of a child.

Your breath hitched as the temperature dipped again, cold nipping at your cheeks and frosting the edges of the hallway tiles. The crack of ice spreading echoed faintly from the cafeteria doors. And then that cry came again.

Who would bring a child to Night Raven College? And why would they be alone?

The impulse to run warred with your instincts. But something about the sound rooted you in place. A chill that had nothing to do with ice crept up your spine.

So once again, throwing any sense of self-preservation out the window, you decided to investigate the cafeteria.

As you approached the entrance, a thin layer of ice curled and crept across the floor beneath your feet. The temperature was dropping as if the air itself recoiled with sadness.

And then you saw it.

The cafeteria doors were open, hanging slightly ajar, frost spiderwebbing from their hinges. The cafeteria was a frozen winter scene. Tables were rimmed with rime. Plates of forgotten lunches sat frozen mid-bite. Students who hadn’t escaped in time were partially encased in thick magical ice. Thankfully, it didn't seem like they were injured. They are just trapped.

And in the center of it all, curled up and trembling within a growing circle of frost, was a boy.

He couldn’t have been older than five or six. His hands covered his face as sobs wracked his tiny frame. You were struck by the sight of such a young child in this place. A child who seemed so out of place amidst the suffering he unintentionally caused.

The ice creeped outward with each of his hiccupping sobs, the magic surging with raw, unchecked emotion. His hair shared the same color as yours. Small horns peeked out from beneath the tousled locks. They were curved, and unmistakably draconic.

Your breath hitched.

Horns.

The resemblance to Malleus was impossible to ignore. Not just the horns, but also the gentle curve of the boy’s brow, and the elegant bone structure of his tear-stained face. But there was something in his eyes, when he finally looked up at you. They were wide, watery, and impossibly green. But lacking the sharp edge Malleus would have had. The boy's eyes were softer and his nose cute. That hit deeper.

Not like Malleus. Like... you.

You looked at the boy in silence for a few moments, not sure what to say. "Eh... Are you hurt?" you asked eventually your tone of voice awkward, as you tried to smile reassuringly at him.

The boy's big, round eyes were staring at you. He blinked a few times. "M-mother...?"

Huh?

Before you could ask or clarify anything, the boy ran toward you and launched himself into your arms. His tiny frame seemed to hide an impossible strength, because you felt like he would actually snap your spine if he hugged you any tighter. "Mother!!"

You were as frozen in place as the unfortunate students, who didn't get away in time. You didn't know how to handle this situation. You were pretty sure you didn't spawn a child in your time in Twisted Wonderland. The only thing coming close to a child you took care of was your ever-hungry cat-weasel companion. Certainly not a real breathing kid.

Despite your inexperience with children, you could tell that explaining to this traumatized, and very much powerful little boy, that you can't be his mother, wasn't a smart idea. So you just told yourself that he just called every woman 'mother'. That's something children do, right?

You patted the boys back in hopes his crushing grip on you would loosen at least a little. "There, there. Everything is fine."

Well, actually, nothing was fine, but you also needed the reassurance of your own words.

You gently pried his arms away enough to kneel down in front of him. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

"Everything was different and strange. Not like home. I was here, and there were so many people and-" His words were interrupted by a wrenching sob. "I was scared, and I didn’t mean to! I just wanted you, but-b-but you weren’t there, and then everyone started running and they yelled at me, and, and-"

As the coldness in the air heightens again, you rub the boy's shoulders gently, despite feeling slightly panicked that he might freeze the entire school. "It's fine. It's fine. You were just scared. No one will get angry with you," you smiled at him. "Do you maybe know a way to fix this?"

He shook his head. "No. Father always does."

"Well, it's not that important anyway. The Headmage will figure something out... Probably," you say when you saw his face twisting with guilt. Although you could feel the stare of a frozen student nearby, who definitely does not agree with you.

The boy nodded at your words.

You paused. You didn’t even know his name. Just calling him 'boy' is certainly weird. "Say, do you remember your name?"

He looked at you in silence before suddenly beginning to cry again, leaving you very confused. "Why are you acting like you don’t know me? I don’t like this game!"

Someone seemed to be sensitive. While you had no experiments with children, Grim certainly taught you how to deal with sudden mood swings and tantrums. Although using tuna as a distraction probably won't work.

"But how can I be sure you are the real you and not a spy, if you won't tell me the right answer?" you replied playfully, poking his stomach. "So? What's your name?"

He giggled when you poked him and stopped crying. "You are being silly, Mother," he said. "My name is Maledor, of course!"

You nodded, as if you knew that as well. Hoping that he didn't turn the tables on you to test you, and said the wrong name. But certainly a child wouldn't do that, right?

"Aha! Maledor. That’s a perfectly real name. You’re clear. No spy here."

You think about what you should do next. Seeing that no help or rescue had come in all this time, you could assume that none of the students who got away actually told the staff. You shouldn’t be surprised by that. After all, this was a school full of self-centered and mischievous students.

You couldn’t leave Maledor alone. And you had little faith that going to Crowley for help would do anything. He would end up dumping the work on you anyway, so you might as well search for a solution on your own, before Ramshackle gets a new member. 

By Maledor's pointy ears and little horns, it wasn’t hard to tell that he must be a fae. So, going to Diasomnia is probably the best course of action. Maybe someone there knew who this little boy belonged to. And maybe Malleus or Lilia can defreeze the cafeteria. 

You took Maledor by the hand as you led him to the Diasomnia Dorm. Every so often, his grip would tighten, like he was making sure you wouldn’t suddenly disappear. As soon as you went through the mirror and arrived on the bridge that led to the castle, which was the dorm, you could feel Maledor visibly relaxing.

"This is better! I like it here. It looks like home," he said with a cheerful voice. Seemed like you did good by bringing him here. 

Right when you were about to enter the dorm, Sebek suddenly crossed your path. His sharp eyes fell upon Maledor. "Human! Why do you have a fae child with you?!" he demanded. Then somehow jumped to: "Have you kidnapped him?! Hand over the child at once!"

"When do you think I kidnapped a magical fae child, from its magical parents?" you shot back. "Do you think I walked to Briar Valley and back in an afternoon?"

Sebek didn’t listen to your words to hung up on the idea that you kidnapped a child. Like that wasn’t something faes usually did to humans, right?

"I said hand over the child!" he shouted, before trying to grab Maledor.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden protective streak came over you, and you stepped in front of Maledor, blocking Sebeks' hand. "Don’t just grab a child!"

Sebek recoiled, shock flickering across his face at your boldness. "Are you impeding one of Lord Malleus' loyal knights, human?"

Sebek tried to grab Maledor again, not listening to you. Maledor, on the other hand, obviously did not want to be grabbed by Sebek and was hiding further behind you, grabbing your jacket. "Mother, I don’t want to go…!"

When Maledor said that, Sebek paused. "M-Mother..?" he repeated, shocked. For a second, you think Sebek might actually let you explain the situation, but he immediately began shouting again. "How dare you steal away a fae child and then confuse it so much?! What wicked human trickery have you used?!"

You grit your teeth, trying hard not to let Sebek's ear-splitting accusations break your patience or your eardrums. "I didn’t do anything to him! And can you not yell? You’re scaring him."  You glance at Maledor, who is now peeking nervously from behind your leg, clutching your jacket tightly. 

Sebek falters only a split-second before putting himself between you and the entryway. This standoff would be comical if it weren’t so tense. "I will not allow a potential kidnapper entrance to Prince Malleus’s domain!"

"Look, I didn’t kidnap anyone," you said. "He appeared in the cafeteria, scared, and accidentally froze half the room. I thought someone in Diasomnia might recognize him or help fix the mess."

Sebek’s eyes darted from you to Maledor and back. "You expect me to take the word of a human? Of Night Raven’s resident troublemaker?"

Sebek's next rant was kept short when suddenly Lilia appeared swinging between the two of you. You screamed. Then Sebek screamed. And Maledor giggled. 

Lilia landed lightly between you and Sebek, his eyes glinting mischievously as always, although there was a subtle alertness there. "My, my. Such excitement at the gates! Am I crashing a secret meeting?" he laughed.

You tried to catch your breath. How did Lilia always manage to appear exactly when you least expected it? "Lilia! Don’t sneak up like that," you gasped, half-laughing but mostly frazzled.

Sebek, who was embarrassed for also screaming, now tried to act as if he didn’t. "L-Lilia! The Prefect has procured a fae child and refuses to answer for it!"

"Oh? My, what an adorable little visitor we have…" Lilia said, studying Maledor’s face with recognition. He seemed to be delighted by Maledor. 

"Uncle Lilia!" Maledor said, before coming out from behind you. 

"Uncle?" you repeated, flabbergasted as you watched Maledor and Lilia interact as if they were long-lost family. "Do you know Maledor, Lilia?"

Lilia’s smile widened, a spark of mischief glittering in his eyes as he knelt down to Maledor’s level. "Of course I know this one," he said. "It’s been some time since we’ve had such a precious visitor from, shall we say, afar."

Maledor’s worry seemed to melt under Lilia’s reassurance. "Uncle Lilia, where’s Father?" he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. "Everything’s scary and cold."

You blinked, looking between the two of them, feeling very much like you’d accidentally walked into someone else’s family reunion in the middle of things. "Wait, you really do know him?" you asked Lilia, carefully keeping your voice level. 

Meanwhile, Sebek had gone uncharacteristically quiet, torn between his usual outrage and a suspicion that something much bigger than an abduction was happening.

Lilia stood up. His gaze softened as he addressed Maledor. "Don’t worry, Maledor. Your father is very busy today, as are all great kings-in-training. Why don’t you stay with your-" Lilia’s eyes danced over to you, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if privately amused by some secret. "beloved caretaker for now? I’m sure they’ll keep you safe."

Sebek straightened, suspicion not quite dispelled. "Are you certain, Sir, that the Prefect has not enchanted this child into believing-"

"Sebek," Lilia interjected. "Surely you would not accuse our dear Prefect of such underhanded magic?"

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed, before he replied. "I…I would never dare suggest you are incapable of seeing through such tricks, Sir! But this situation is most unusual. We must consider the safety of Prince Malleus. And yet the Prefect is still refusing to offer a proper explanation!"

Sebek puffed out his chest but glanced uneasily at Maledor, who peeked from behind you, still clutching your jacket. Despite his horns and emerald eyes, Maledor looked anything but menacing. Nevertheless, Sebek clung to the role of vigilant sentinel.

You took a deep breath, trying not to get annoyed. "I already told you that I found Maledor in the cafeteria, scared and alone. I don’t know anything else. And anyway, if he were out to get Malleus, freezing the cafeteria wouldn’t exactly be subtle, right? And who would send a child in the first place?"

Sebek seemed ready to continue his barrage of suspicions, but Lilia only chuckled. He bent down, gently patting Maledor’s shoulder while casting a reassuring glance your way. "I think what we all need right now is some warmth and a calm mind. The hallway is no place for important discussions or guests. Why not bring our little visitor and the prefect inside? Come, let’s have tea. We can sort out facts and fancies over something sweet, hm?"

Maledor’s eyes brightened at the mention of sweets. He nodded, tugging lightly at your sleeve as if afraid you’d vanish again. 

All of you headed inside. When Lilia offered to brew the tea and bring some sweets, you immediately volunteered to do it instead. After all, the first rule to surviving a visit to Diasomnia was: Never eat or drink something Lilia made. 

"I’ll handle the tea," you say quickly before Lilia’s hand can get anywhere near the kettle. Your voice is a bit brighter than usual, and you offer a smile to Lilia that’s ninety percent nerves and ten percent sincere gratitude.

"Oh, are you sure? I was hoping to try a new blend…" Lilia said.

"I insist," you reply, perhaps more quickly than you mean to. "It’s the least I can do after all the chaos."

After returning to the lounge room with the tea and sweets, you all sit down. Maledor is quick to take a seat beside you, while Lilia has to urge Sebek to sit down as well instead of standing guard by the windows. 

Steam rose from the cups you carefully poured. Maledor watched you, swinging his little feet under the chair, his misery momentarily forgotten in anticipation of sweets.

As you sit down as well, Maledor asked. "Can I take a cookie, Mother?"

The repeated use of the title 'mother' still caught you off guard every time, as did Maledor asking you if he was allowed to eat a cookie. You nodded eventually. "Yeah, sure."

Maledor’s face lit up as you granted him permission. He snatched a cookie with both hands and promptly stuffed half of it into his mouth, crumbs dotting his cheeks as he beamed triumphantly.

"Say, Maledor," Lilia began, tone filled with curiosity. "it must have been quite an adventure to find yourself here, hm? Do you remember anything? Anything at all about how you arrived at the cafeteria, or where you were before?"

Maledor looked down, chewing his cookie with squirrel-like intensity. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he swung his legs and frowned in concentration. "I… I was in the castle. Not this one… my home. Father was teaching me magic because I wanted to be big! Like him. And then…There was this bright green light, all swirly. It was so pretty, but it got really loud and windy. I called for you." he looked up at you. "But I couldn’t find you or Father, and then I was here. It was scary. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go home."

You picked up a napkin when you saw that Maledor had finished eating. You cleaned his chocolate-covered fingers and mouth. To which Maledor reacted with a 'Thank you, mother,' after you were done. 

Sebek, in the meantime, asked. "Who is your father? Can you say his name?"

Maledor brightened, as if relieved to be asked something simple. "My Father is Malleus! Malleus Draconia."

You barely had time to process Maledor’s answer before the tea caught in your throat, a cough sputtering out of you in disbelief. You blinked hard, as if somehow the world would flicker and correct itself. Instead, the bright-eyed boy just looked up at you, awaiting your response with absolute trust.

Lilia’s eyes sparkled with a private, knowing delight, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the chaos unfold with all the satisfaction of someone who had seen the punchline coming a mile away.

Sebek, on the other hand, was completely stunned. The rigid guard posture dissolved into total shock. His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut in a series of fishlike gasps. He gripped his teacup so tightly it threatened to snap in half. He blinked, then searched Maledor’s face. His gaze darted between the delicate, unmistakable horns and those deep, green eyes. For a second, you wondered if Sebek was about to faint. "Malleus… Draconia?" he finally choked out. "Impossible! The Young Master has no offspring! There must be a mistake. Some… imposter trickery!"

"Wait, wait," you managed, gesturing rapidly between Maledor and Sebek. "Hold on, Maledor. You said your father is Malleus Draconia. You mean, the Malleus? Diasomnia’s Malleus? Tall, horns, kind of brooding, makes storms when he’s in a mood: Malleus?"

Maledor blinked up at you. His head cocked with innocent confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend why you were asking something so obvious. "Of course, Father is Malleus Draconia!" he said, the words sounding so simple, so certain, as if you’d just asked him whether he liked cookies. "You know that, Mother… Why are you pretending?"

You sat, frozen in your seat, Maledor’s certainty striking through you more powerfully than any ice he could have summoned. Your brain scrambled wildly for any logical explanation. Was this a trick? A dream? Did the world flip upside down when you weren’t looking?

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Sebek barked, jumping up so quickly his chair almost fell. "You must be mistaken! The Young Master does not have, could not have, a child without telling his loyal knights!" He pointed a finger at you. "And you, Prefect! What have you done to this child?!"

"I swear, I’m not lying!" you answered, finally finding your voice. "I didn’t do anything to Maledor. He called me mother from the start. Before I even knew his name!"

Sebek, torn between devotion and confusion, snapped. "This cannot be! The Young Master would never keep such secrets. And…" His mind worked frantically. "The time makes no sense! My Liege and the Prefect… you… are not even married!"

You flushed, mortified and indignant. "Excuse you! We’re not anything." You glanced at Maledor, lowering your voice. "Not like that. Just friends, really."

Lilia clapped his hands softly, his voice clear and sure in the commotion. "No need for dramatics. You know, Sebek, sometimes the wind brings secrets from times yet to come. Briar Valley holds many old mysteries, does it not?"

Sebek bristled, trying to regain composure. "Sir Lilia, with all respect, how can we trust-"

Lilia cut him off with a gentle but authoritative voice. "Sebek, look at the child." Lilia turned to Maledor. "You were frightened, weren’t you? Do you remember any enchantments or trickery? Did anyone put strange ideas in your head?"

Maledor shook his head. "No. I just wanted Mother. And Father." He glanced sidewise at you, hope flickering in his green eyes. "I’m not lying. I promise."

Lilia patted his shoulder. "Of course you’re not. Sometimes things happen that even us grown-ups do not immediately understand. Time, magic, fate. I think our little prince here is simply… lost between stories."

"But what does that mean, Lilia?" you asked for clarification, not being able to wrap your head around this situation. "Is Maledor truly Malleus... And my…" You didn't finish your sentence with 'child'. It just sounded too weird. 

"Sometimes, the river of time chooses curious eddies," Lilia mused with a gentle smile. "A leaf from tomorrow might find itself drifting among the branches of today. If it’s not a trick, not a spell, and not a child’s tale, perhaps we must accept that sometimes, the world permits a riddle to live before its answer."

You stared, mouth poised between laughter and a plea for sanity. "Are you saying… he’s from the future?" The words felt ridiculous as they left your lips.

Lilia shrugged lightly. "Magic has never cared much for clocks or calendars. Wouldn’t be the first time something important arrived a little ahead of schedule."

While you were still trying to wrap your head around this, Sebek seemed to accept Lilias' words in a split second.  "My Lieges…" Sebek’s voice faltered, then swelled with fervor. "My Liege's heir! Of course! There can be no other explanation befitting Prince Malleus’s unparalleled greatness! Only Prince Malleus, scion of the glorious Draconia line, could sire such a prodigy! Such strength, such majesty, even at such a young age. Freezing the entire cafeteria! Behold, the testament of our great lord’s power!"

"You are the proof of Prince Malleus’s supremacy. Even time itself cannot contain his legacy!" he gushed. "A scion born of unmatched power and noble heritage! To think, I am in the presence of my Liege's heir -his magnificent progeny!"

"Forgive me, young prince!" He dropped to one knee before Maledor, completely ignoring you now, and offered a bow so deep it was a miracle he didn’t hit his head on the floor. "Forgive me for doubting your identity for even a second. I, Sebek Zigvolt, am at your service, just like I am at your glorious father's service!"

Sebek’s 180-degree turn gave you mental whiplash. Two minutes ago, he was about to lock you up for kidnapping a child. And now he was praising Maledor as if he was the second coming of Jesus. And anyway, where was your praise? After all, if Maledor was yours and Malleus's child, you had also contributed half to this cute little boy.

No, on a second thought, you'd rather not be the subject of Sebek’s loud and lavish praise. You were still in denial about all of this. Honestly, you were just surprised by Sebek’s sudden turn. Like, wasn’t he super concerned that Malleus and you weren’t even married a second ago? As if Sebek thinks children could only be conceived if their parents really love each other and wish for one. He was so innocent. 

"This must be announced at once! The other knights deserve to weep at this glory. Everyone in Diasomnia needs to know. No, the entire College must know. Briar Valley must be informed. And the Young Master!"

Sebek’s words left you even more mortified than the entire situation already did. You are vaguely wishing the frosted cafeteria had swallowed you whole. You couldn’t face Malleus right now. What were you supposed to say? You rather die than face that embarrassment. 

"No! We can’t tell anyone! Especially not Malleus," you interrupted in a voice that could rival Sebeks, before clearing your throat and continuing in a normal voice. "What I mean is, how are we going to explain this? Like, no one is going to believe that a child just showed up from the future, right? They will think Malleus had a secret love child or something."

"I can’t keep the Young Master in the dark about his own flesh and blood. It is my knightly duty to inform him about everything that is happening in his absence!"

Sebek, as always, did not listen, and Lilia was just enjoying the drama for now. In a burst of desperation, you grabbed a cupcake and threw it across the table at Sebek. He stood there, utterly stunned. A thick glob of icing clung to his cheek and crumbs slided down his jacket. He blinked, still processing your audacious cupcake attack. Meanwhile, Maledor, not understanding anything, laughed at that.

"Seems like you can’t go to Malleus now. You wouldn’t stand before your Liege covered in icing, right?" you said, trying to buy time.

"H-How dare you assault one of Prince Malleus’s loyal knights with pastries, human!" he barked. 

The feeling that you brought the situation under control immediately vanished when the door opened. There, calmly and tall, stood the regal figure of Malleus, as if the universe liked seeing your misery. Those sharp green eyes found you immediately and lingered for a breath before shifting to Maledor.

"Father!" Maledor’s cry rang bright and clear. His little legs scrambed down from the chair. He rushed to Malleus with unerring speed, arms stretched wide open.

Malleus knelt smoothly. His regal composure melting enough to open his arms and receive the child -his child- into a gentle embrace. "So it was you I sensed. A presence so like my own, yet unlike any I have felt before."

Heat flooded your face as the initial shock passed. Your first instinct was to bolt from sheer embarrassment. Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "You’re not surprised, Malleus?"

"Surprised?" he repeated "No, not at all. I recognized the resonance of my own magic the moment Maledor appeared." He regarded you calmly. "You seem greatly unsettled. Is it so shocking to you?"

"I mean, yeah! Everyone would be shocked," you replied honestly.

"You truly cannot feel it?" Malleus asekd. "Even now, the air shimmers with our blood intertwined. A melody only you and I could create."

You thought about his words for a moment. Putting it like that, you suppose you did feel something. Although definitely not as clear as Malleus did. "Still, shouldn’t we be more concerned?"

"Concern is natural. But you underestimate the strength of the Draconia blood. And your own as well. Our child would never be so easily lost to time without reason. He will return," Malleus said, voice absolute. "The magic that called him here is already unraveling."

"So the problem will fix itself?" you question. That sounded like better circumstances than most problems you have run into in Twisted Wonderland. "Everything will go back to normal soon?"

Malleus nodded. "Yes. This visit, while precious, is unintended. The magic that summoned him here is unstable and will not last much longer. The world has its ways of correcting itself."

Some of the tension in your chest loosened at his certainty.

Lilia, barely restraining a wide grin, chimed in. "It seems time itself favors your union, hmm?"

Your face went hot again, just as your flustered heart was about to calm down a little. "Y-You can’t just say something like that out of nowhere…!" you stuttered. Your voice sounded more like a nervous squeak. 

"But it's a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Lilia replied. Beneath his light tone, you could sense the sincerity in his eyes. Like a guardian who is relieved to see his forsterling in good hands. 

Malleus regarded Lilia for a moment, then turned back to you, his emerald gaze gentle but searching. "Does it trouble you?" he asked. "If such a future would come to pass would it be so unwelcome?"

Despite your flustered state it didn’t take long for you to shook your head. "No… It wouldn't be unwelcome."

Maledor, oblivious to the tension and simply happy to be near both his parents, studied your face. He shuffled over from Malleus’s embrace and returned to your side, hugging you tightly enough to drive the air from your lungs. "Your face is all red, Mother! When Sebek gets red he gets loud. When Mother gets red she gets quiet," he commented, which made you only more flustered. "I think ice cream makes everything better. Can we eat ice cream?"

You softly pinch Maledor's cheek. "I think someone already had enough sugar for a day with all the cookies and cupcakes."

Maledor’s smile faltered for half a second, his wide eyes shimmering with a betrayed kind of innocence that only a child could muster. Then, with all the cunning of someone who’d clearly inherited far too much of Malleus’s intelligence and dramatic tendencies, he turned slowly toward his father.

Malleus tilted his head. His expression was calm and unreadable. Maledor’s lip trembled just enough to be convincing. "Father..." he began, voice so heart-wrenchingly sweet it could’ve earned him ten free sundaes anywhere in Twisted Wonderland. "Mother said no to ice cream."

The underlying message was clear: Mother rejected me. Only you can right this cruel injustice, Father.

"A most tragic betrayal," Malleus said solemnly. "To be denied joy by one’s own mother. This is indeed a grievous matter."

"Are you siding with him?" you asked, eyes darting from dragon fae to dragon fae. "He’s a little sugar gremlin who just weaponized his cuteness!"

"I am merely acknowledging his diplomatic tact," Malleus replied with a perfectly neutral expression, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. He patted Maledor’s hair, then gently guided him back to your side. "A future prince must know how to plead his case with grace and strategic flair."

"Don’t encourage him," you grumbled, though your lips tugged up in spite of yourself. This entire situation defied logic and physics, maybe even sanity, but somehow... it wasn't as terrifying as it first seemed, not with the way Malleus stood beside you like an unwavering anchor in a storm, and how Maledor leaned against you like he had always belonged there.

"He encourages me," Maledor beamed up at his father.

"I do," Malleus agreed without hesitation.

"I manipulate Mother."

"You do," Malleus affirmed with serene approval.

"You are literally both saying the scheme out loud while I’m right here!" you pointed out. "You’re not supposed to straight-up say it’s manipulation!"

"Don’t worry, Father. Mother always forgives you when you hug her from behind. You do that a lot in the future," Maledor said to comfort Malleus after seeing your grumpy reaction.

Your soul nearly left your body.

Malleus blinked. Then turned to look at you intensely.

You snapped your head toward the child in horror. "Maledor!"

"What?" he asked, blinking up at you with wide, guileless eyes. "It’s true. When you get all ‘grumpy-grumbly’ and tell Father to leave you alone, Father just hugs you from behind, really slow and gentle, and you get all red and mutter something like, 'You know I can’t stay mad at you.'"

"Slow and gentle, you say," Malleus repeated. His expression was thoughtful, as if he was memorizing every word Maledor said. "Hmm. So gentle physical affection dissolves your irritation. I will need to remember that approach."

"That is not the takeaway here!" you interrupted.

"I am merely collecting useful knowledge of what pleases my future consort," Malleus responded smoothly. With almost academic intrigue. "Maledor’s insights are quite enlightening."

Sebek’s complexion was caught somewhere between ghostly pale and tomato red. "Y-Young Prince! This is hardly appropriate information to share in a public setting!"

Maledor blinked at Sebek, completely unbothered. "But Sebek, you said it’s a knight’s duty to speak the truth and uphold honor. I’m just being helpful."

"Yes, but there are degrees of helpfulness...! Some truths are best kept private, especially when discussing the... the subtle... the-" Sebek finally broke eye contact and wheezed, "hugging techniques."

"I agree! We should just stop talking about this," you agreed, hoping the embarrassment would be over now, but then something came to your mind. "No, wait. It is only fair if you also share embarrassing things about Malle- Eh, your Father, Maledor."

Sebek, still recovering from the previous exchange, audibly gasped. "Y-young prince! The Young Master is above embarrassment!"

"No, he’s not," you said flatly.

"Well, Mother says it’s fair," Maledor chirped. "So. When you’re not around, Father gets really weird."

"Weird?" Malleus repeated. His tone remained level, but one graceful brow arched inquisitively.

"Mhmm. Sometimes he just stands in the hallway. Just... standing. Staring out a window. All dramatic and sad," Maledor said before adding brightly. "Oh, and when you come back, even if it’s just from the bathroom, he teleports to your side and says 'Ah, as I suspected, the world only feels whole in your presence again.'"

Malleus remained unshaken, which somehow made it worse. "There is no shame in expressing adoration," he said. "Is it so strange, to long for the presence of the one who stirs your soul?"

Somehow, your idea backfired on you. Not only was Malleus not the least bothered by Maledor's revelations, you are even more flustered now. You didn’t even know what to say, but thankfully Maledor filled the silence again. 

"And one time. Mother kissed Father’s cheek right before a council meeting, and he smiled the whole time. The old scary ministers freaked out and thought Father was about to declare war because he never smiles like that during council."

"Alright, that's enough glimpses into the future!" you interrupted hastily, cutting off any further soul-exposing anecdotes. "Didn’t you say you wanted ice cream, Maledor?"

"Yes, ice cream!" Maledor shouted excitedly. 

"If it pleases the young prince, I shall fetch the finest ice cream the college kitchens offer," Sebek declared utterly serious, though his face was still visibly red from the "inappropriate" things Maledor revealed. 

Lilia, who looked like he was thriving in this chaos, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "This might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in a hundred years. And I fought a manticore while wearing a tutu once."

"...Why?" you couldn’t help asking.

"There was a wager. Long story." He winked.

You just accepted what Lilia said without further questions. In a room together with your future child, that just appeared out of thin air, Lilia might still be the biggest enigma. 

You all find your seats at the table again. It didn’t take long for Sebek to arrive with the ice cream. Maledor’s eyes sparkled as he eyed the huge bowl full of brightly-colored ice cream that you placed in front of him. Despite his eagerness, he still waited quietly until you gave him permission to begin eating. Seated beside him, Malleus also seemed to enjoy his bowl of ice cream with quiet contentment. You had the suspicion that he also wanted one from the beginning. 

As you also began eating your ice cream, you began to really process what was happening. Does this encounter mean that your future was now predestined? Does this mean you will stay in Twisted Wonderland and never find a way back home to your world? Will you become the consort of one of the most powerful mages in the whole world, reigning beside him? They were all worthy, existential questions, but one in particular rose above the rest in your mind. 

"Wait. Isn’t it a thing that dragon faes hatch from eggs? So… does that mean I'm going to lay an egg someday? Or is this a seahorse type of situation, and Malleus will lay the egg?"

The room was silent for a moment, but before anyone could answer that very crucial question, Sebek raised his voice. "Seahorse? How dare you compare the Great Malleus Draconia with an unremarkable creature such as a seahorse?!"

Needless to say, Shin tries to keep you at the register as much as possible.

You used to tell yourself (in your head) that your mental fixation on sex was a natural consequence of your dry spell. After quitting the assassin life, you'd been celibate for the first time in at least a decade, forced to attain sexual gratification with nothing but masterfully written fanfiction and your vast collection of vibrators. (Your favourite one is hot pink, seven inches, rabbit eared. You sometimes have trouble getting it to fit, but it’s worth it for the way you cum when you do, and this knowledge makes Shin want to die.) You were convinced that getting laid would bring you enough relief to stop thinking about sex every hour of the day. You had thought that you'd go back to “normal” after that, though Shin doesn't know what “normal” entails for you. (One free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve? Daydreams strictly featuring humans rather than tentacle monsters? It's hard to say.)

Regardless, Shin had to agree: surely, there would be a limit to your sex-obsessed thoughts. It made a lot of sense that you were simply frustrated and in need of an outlet. Naturally, after sleeping with you, he'd expected your thoughts to quiet down.

(Yes—Shin slept with you. It was an accident, through and through, and he routinely feels bad about it. He'd been meaning to ask you out, treat you to dinner, maybe even get you flowers depending on the vibe. The type of thing that Mr. Sakamoto did for Aoi, when they first started dating. If everything went well, then you two could consider getting intimate. His interest in you has nothing to do with sex, after all—no, not even the fact that you've had explicit fantasies about deepthroating him while he works the cash. He'd die if you ever tried that, actually.

The plan was always to take things slow and maybe even start a relationship if the two of you really hit it off. He'd even asked Mr. Sakamoto for advice on what a civilian romance should look like! But then Shin walked you back to your apartment one night when you were feeling down, and you invited him upstairs, and one thing led to another, and, well… it turns out that you aren't the type of person to take things slow. Or think about relationships. Shin’s never overheard any thoughts from you about actually dating him, come to think of it. And no, before you ask—that doesn't bother him. Not at all. Not one bit.)

To both his surprise and yours, getting laid somehow had the opposite effect on you. Rather than being calmed, you're somehow even hornier—and now all your horny thoughts are about Shin.

It's nonstop. Shin can't believe it. Whereas you used to think about all sorts of people in your sexual fantasies (mostly your fanfiction men, but also some BL characters, occasionally Keanu Reeves, and very often that Nagumo guy), you now think solely of Shin. You're thinking about him right now, pausing as you finish restocking the onigiri.

Shin can hear every single thought from across the room, the way you feel the edges of your sanity fraying with the memory of his touch. The whole day, you've been remembering how it felt to have your pussy stretched around his cock, how it felt to have his hands on your curves, how he seemed to know exactly how to touch your body to make you keen. (Shin admits he cheated; a little ESP goes a long way in bed.) You soaked the sheets when you finally came, and he kissed you relentlessly through your orgasm. It made you so horny that you had to immediately go another round.

No other man’s ever made you cum like that, you keep thinking. You've fucked more people than you can count, but not a single person has ever felt so good inside you. The realisation is driving you crazy, and Shin feels like he's about to go crazy with you. In the absence of a cold shower, he wants to shove himself into the freezer right now. There's no other way to get rid of his raging boner.

How did it feel so fucking good?! you keep thinking, oblivious to his struggles. I need his cock inside me again. I need him to hit it raw this time. I need him to bend me over the counter and cum in my pussy right now—

It makes him want to die, listening to your thoughts. It also confuses him, somewhat: he isn't that experienced, and objectively he’s a little clumsy in bed. His performance is probably mid in the grand scheme of things, which makes him wonder why you feel like his dick is heaven-sent.

But more than anything, Shin wonders if you ever think about anything other than his dick. Sex isn't the only thing the two of you have done together. The first time you hooked up, he'd spent the night at your place. You clung to him in his sleep and you drooled on his chest and he thought it was kinda funny. He was careful not to wake you as he wiped your chin. You’d cooked him breakfast by the time he'd woken up: homemade miso, fresh rice, tamagoyaki. He made you burnt coffee after. You gave him a goodbye kiss, which somehow turned into a goodbye blowjob, which then escalated into wasting the day together in bed. You were really cuddly the whole time, and Shin could hear you think, how weird, I hate it when people hold me, and I hate it when people kiss me, but you liked it from Shin. You liked it so much that your pussy started dripping, and then what else could you do but suck him off again? (He returned the favour, of course.)

There was a lot more than just fucking, but you never think about any of that other stuff. You only ever think about his stroke game.

Not that that bothers Shin. Not at all. Not one bit.

By noon, he reaches his limit.

Shin considers himself a responsible guy and dedicated employee. He'd ordinarily never want to take off in the middle of the day to fool around with you—or anyone else—but it's his lunch break, and he has to get you to stop fantasizing. His dick is so hard that it's painful, and even with the apron it's getting tricky to cover up. As soon as the clock hits 12, he's throwing it off and making a beeline for you.

“We need to talk,” he says, grabbing you by the hand, and the face you make is so giddy that he can't help but sigh. You’re practically beaming as you take off your apron and say bye to Lu. We’ll be back in 30! you tell her in a sing-song voice, because you’re a very conscientious worker even when outrageously horny.

“You heard my thoughts?” you ask as the two of you climb the stairs to his room, and he snorts.

“How couldn't I?” He gives you a miserable look, cheeks flushing. “Were you doing that on purpose the whole morning?”

“No.” He raises a brow. “I'm serious—I wasn't trying to cause any trouble for you! It's just…” You bite your lip, and it takes all of Shin’s self-control to stop himself from staring at its glossy sheen. “I really just need to be touched again.”

“I don't believe you,” he says as he pulls you into his room.

“You're an esper! You should know I'm telling the truth!”

“I also know you like to torture me with your thoughts.”

“Well, yeah…” You smile at him, sheepish. “But I really just need a bit of relief. Want me to prove it to you?”

There's a sudden glint in your eye that makes Shin nervous, out of his depth. Sometimes he gets the feeling that you want to eat him alive, and he never knows how to handle it. He’s never gotten this level of attention before, and never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd get it from someone like you.

(Yeah—you're way out of Shin's league. For all his plans of a civilian romance, he wasn’t sure if he could actually score a date with you. He still isn't sure if he can score one. He's also not sure he’ll survive this encounter.)

He swallows. “Prove it…?”

“Uh huh.” You look so pretty right now, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Let me show you.”

You read too much hentai. Shin knows this firsthand (you read a lot of it on the clock, and all the images get blasted right into his prefrontal cortex), but he can also tell from how you act. It’s just way too fucking outrageous when you spread your legs for him, pulling up your skirt, and he's greeted not by the sight of your panties (you wore a lacy pair to work and kept bending over in hopes of flashing him—you had not been shy at all in this thought), but your bare, glistening cunt.

No fucking way.

“You’ve been working like that?!” he blurts out, mildly horrified even though his dick is jumping at the sight of you. You laugh, and you conjure up your panties from somewhere. They dangle from your fingertips, sheer and drenched.

“Took them off as we came up here. They're useless now anyway, see”—they’ve been soaked through for hours, and my thighs are all sticky—“and besides… I wanted to give you easy access.”

He thinks he's going to pass out.

“Easy access,” he repeats stiffly, bright red.

“Uh huh. Wanted to be efficient—we only have, what, twenty minutes?” Before he can even react, you're already turning around, bending over for him, ass up. From this angle, he can see just how wet you are—and how you're clenching around nothing, your cunt empty and needing to be filled. You glance over your shoulder, give him a teasing smile. “What are you waiting for?”

It’s a wonder that Shin doesn't cum on the spot, really. Like he said—he isn't an experienced guy. He's never slept with anyone so forward, or so—well. Smoking hot, for lack of better word. Half of him has a mind to just stand there and say that he can't believe you, and half of him has a mind to fuck you like you've been hoping all morning. Thankfully, this latter half of him wins out—probably for the better. If he helps you work this out of your system, you'll probably stop assaulting his mind with all your horny thoughts and his dick can exist in peace for the rest of the afternoon. Right?

Right?

(He ends up being extremely wrong.)

By the time he's pulled down his pants, put a condom on, and started pushing inside you, the two of you have seventeen minutes left. He worries briefly that it won't be enough time to get you to cum (nor him, though that isn't his goal currently), but it turns out to be a non-issue. Your pussy swallows his cock easily, stretching around him so perfectly that he nearly chokes. He always hears you talking about how sex with him feels leagues better than with any other person, but he’s not sure if you know that the same is true for him. No one's ever felt as good as you, and it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to cum immediately.

You're already close to the edge, too. Probably pent up from squeezing your thighs together all morning and thinking about his touch. You moan in a way that is obscene, like something out of an AV—but Shin knows that it isn't a performance. He can feel your body and hear your thoughts, all the genuine bliss you get from being filled up. When he starts moving, it's with intent. He fucks you like you’ve been fantasising all day, all week—with a relentless pace, focused on giving you nothing but pleasure. You tighten around him like you were made for him, and—

—apparently you feel like you're being used? Like a hole? The fuck! Shin almost stops mid-stroke to balk at you—he wouldn't do that to you!—but then you moan and he feels you getting wetter at the thought, and then he has no choice but to keep going. He's not about to kill your high.

Nine minutes left. Your clit is throbbing, neglected, and as soon as you think about touching yourself, Shin’s fingers are circling it instead and making you keen. He hits the spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back and your spine arching beautifully, and you can’t speak with your mouth, but he hears you anyway: the begging, the neediness, right there right there you're doing so good Shin you feel so good don't stop don't stop don't, don't—

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, pressing your face into the sheets, and then Shin feels you pulsing around him, drenching him. He gets dragged over the edge with you, gasping sharply as he finds his own release. You collapse as he twitches inside you, spilling himself inside the condom, and he almost snorts when he hears you thinking, wish you were cumming in my pussy instead. Do it raw next time, okay?

“You know we have to use a condom,” he says between pants.

“But I'm on birth control! Read my mind—you know I'm telling the truth!”

“And I also know that birth control is only 93% effective,” he says, rolling his eyes. He glances at the clock. “C'mon—we only have five minutes until our lunch break ends.”

It feels a little weird, rushing you. He’s never had a quickie before, but he understands that you can't exactly take your time with cleaning up afterwards. Still, he thinks about what it was like the last time the two of you did this—how slow and soft it was after, how he stayed inside you for a bit, how he kissed you long and cleaned you up carefully. It just felt like the right thing to do after sleeping with someone, especially given that that someone was you. He'd much prefer to do that right now.

But you are both punctual workers, and anyway Shin’s heard enough of your idle thoughts to know that you’re fairly apathetic to aftercare—you never expect it, and you’re never particularly sad when you don't get it. Sometimes you even fantasize about being used roughly and then discarded (a thought that he finds so unpleasant that it instantly kills his boner every time).

So it's probably fine to rush back downstairs, he figures. He throws you some wipes, lets you clean yourself up. You do it without complaint. You're not upset. He can even hear your mind humming with satisfaction, coming down from the highs of sensory pleasure.

Which is why he's confused when he hears you think, Huh. That didn't feel as good as I thought it would.

It's not like it felt bad.

This is what Shin hears all afternoon: You had a good time. You generally like being treated like a hole. You hadn't thought that Shin would have it in him to do that (neither did he, he admits), but it was kind of thrilling that he did. You want him to do it again for sure. He hit your g-spot with the kind of precision that only an esper can manage, and your vision nearly went white as you found your climax.

And that's what matters, right? You came. You had an orgasm. The little death. The ultimate goal of sex. You used to have a hard time with it, but after so many missions your body started to enjoy sex and now you cum very easily. And you came very easily with Shin, so that means you must enjoy having sex with him too, right?

But it was better the first time you had sex. Objectively better. You came way harder. You even squirted during your second round with him! Your orgasm was so intense that you felt blissed out for the rest of the night, and even the morning after. When you woke up and realised that Shin was not only still there, but also holding you, it made you so horny that you nearly woke him up with a blowjob. It was only with great self-control that you woke him up with breakfast instead.

You don’t feel like that right now, though. You don't feel horny and you don't feel like cooking and the euphoria of your orgasm melted away a while ago. You just feel sort of… empty.

You don't feel bad, though. It's a beautiful day. The char siu bao in your hand is incredibly fragrant. Piisuke is on your shoulder and chirping in your ear. Shin looks really handsome in his apron—did you know that, Shin? you ask him in your mind—and he goes bright red at this thought and looks away. You don't feel bad, you mentally reassure him. You just don't feel as good as you thought you would.

But Shin does feel bad. He feels miserable, actually. He's not a very experienced guy, but even he can tell that you’re the type of person who needs to be held after having sex. It seems like you probably don't realise it, but it's clear as day to Shin, and for the rest of the afternoon he hates himself for not having done it. It wouldn’t have had to be for very long.

Lu could have covered for an extra fifteen minutes, he keeps thinking. Fuck!

Eventually, you ask him to come over in the evening, and he scrambles to agree, desperate for a do-over.

Shin’s not really good at this hook-up business.

Now—he isn't exactly good at relationships either, but he feels exceptionally awkward about coming over to your place with the express purpose of having sex. He isn't familiar with dick appointment etiquette, especially not appointments involving a friend. Was he meant to bring a gift? A Netflix movie recommendation? It would have felt wrong to show up completely empty-handed, so he ends up bringing your favourite snacks and two bottles of Pocari Sweat. If this is anything like the first time he stayed over, you'll probably both need it.

You're delighted by the snacks and amused by the drinks. He wrestles with himself over what kind of small-talk to make—there’s a PS5 out right now, and your TV screen is paused on Leon Kennedy’s face, so maybe he can start a conversation about the horror genre? He watches a lot of films—but you're dragging him into your room before he can overthink it.

“I missed you,” you say, voice all sweet with affection as you straddle his lap.

“It's been two hours,” he points out, somehow managing not to stammer.

“Eight hours since we fucked.”

“That's not very long at all.”

“Felt like forever to me.” Your whisper is so tender in his ear, incongruent with the absolute filth you're thinking about right now. You need his cock so, so bad—you’d have it inside you 24/7 if you could have it your way, though he's also free to help himself to your body at any hour of the day. Sure, he can't smoke on the premises, but there's no rule against hiking up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side so he can—

“I wouldn't do that in the store!” he squawks, and you giggle.

“Then you should start taking me up to your room more often.”

Shin would be more than happy to host you, actually. He’s been thinking lately about having you over for dinner—Aoi’s been teaching him how to cook—and getting to know you better, in a non-Biblical way. But Shin knows that's not what you mean. You want him to carry you upstairs without asking and to throw you onto his bed and to fuck you into the mattress. You want to go back to your shift without your panties, his cum dripping out of your pussy and sliding down your—

“You really want me to finish inside you,” Shin remarks, bewildered at your sheer obsession over it, and you tilt your head.

“Don't you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean—we shouldn't. It's, uh. Risky. I don't want to get you, y'know… pregnant…” His dick twitches in a way that makes him grateful that you don't have ESP. He's realising something about himself that he absolutely cannot think about, and which you would absolutely exploit if you figured out. He clears his throat, hoping he looks normal. “Like. You know. It's better to be on the safe side.”

You study him carefully. “I dunno, Shin.” You smile knowingly. “I don't think I'd mind it if you wanted to breed me.”

Shin is going to die.

The next twenty minutes pass in a horny blur. The two of you spend it all over each other, his cock sliding along your opening—dangerously close to pushing in. You beg him for just the tip, both verbally and mentally—pleaaase Shin please please please it'd be so easy, I'm still stretched out from before, you know it'd feel good—and he's watched enough adult films to know that this is a blatant trap. He somehow pulls away, and immediately feels bad at the crushed expression you make, so he decides he has no choice but to make it up to you by putting his head between your thighs. Within minutes he’s sucking on your clit and making you keen, his fingers curling inside you. He knows your orgasm is intense both from the way you gush all over his face and how your mind goes pleasantly, blissfully quiet for a moment.

It doesn't stay quiet for long.

The most debauched image possible comes to his mind—you, underneath him, your legs folded into a mating press as you take his cock. He’s giving you another load, pumping you full. It's filling up your womb, and you'll definitely get pregna—

“You’re fucking evil,” he groans. “And you read way too much hentai. Those visuals were so goofy.”

You laugh, unbothered. “Sorry, I'll adjust them for realism next time.”

“Please don't,” he begs, even though he knows he's going to spend the next week being mentally assaulted by your breeding kink fantasies. He just hopes they stay relatively normal and don't devolve into the weird omegaverse stuff. Or the monsterfucking stuff. Or the gangbang scenarios. Please, God, anything but the gangbang fantasies. He’ll scream if you imagine another threesome with him and that invisible asshole who kidnapped Lu. He’ll simply resign if you add Nagumo.

To your profound disappointment, Shin ends up using a condom. He doesn't give you much time to feel sad about it, settling quickly between your legs and practically knocking the breath out of you as he thrusts into you. He’s left kind of breathless too. You weren't lying—you are still stretched out from earlier in the day, wet and pliant for him, and there's hardly any resistance as he starts pumping into you. He watches you carefully, laid out underneath him—your eyes squeezing shut as you're made to take his cock. Your mind goes a little quiet again, overwhelmed by pleasure. It's simultaneously a blessing and a curse: Shin’s finally getting a break from your psychic teasing, but the knowledge that he's fucking you dumb is doing something horrible to him.

He changes his angle, and a whimper leaves you. You tighten and gush around him in a way that makes it obvious what he’s hitting; he doesn't need ESP to know to keep doing it. Still, your thoughts are going haywire, a tangle of desire, and it's impossible for him to ignore. I need, he keeps hearing as your thighs starts to twitch, as you start tearing up, I need I need I need I need—

Your eyes land on his lips, and Shin hears you.

His kiss is open-mouthed, clumsy, but you’re hungry for it anyway. You’re panting into each other’s mouths when you start pulsing around Shin’s dick, and you end up cumming so hard on his cock that it's dizzying for you both. He fucks you through your orgasm, and it's only when you're glassy-eyed and limp beneath him that he finally lets himself finish. He pulls back as he does, gasping sharply, but not for long—you draw him back in quickly, clinging to him as you seek out another kiss. The two of you stay like that for a long moment—still connected, breaths heavy with exhaustion, lips slow and lazy against each other.

“Enjoy yourself more this time?” Shin asks, and you hum sweetly against his mouth. You’re still too mindless from your orgasm to form any real thoughts, but Shin can tell that you don't really want to talk. You want to keep kissing him. And you want him to hold you while you do it, which he happily obliges.

Some ten minutes later, you make a small noise of protest when Shin pulls out of you, and it turns into a look of outright betrayal when he gets up. Shin’s heart clenches immediately.

“Just getting stuff to clean up,” he explains, and you relax visibly.

“Oh,” you say. “Right.”

You seem antsy. You feel antsy. You're antsy because you just realised how much you like kissing Shin. Specifically, you've realised that kissing him elevates your orgasms into mind-blowing experiences, and now you're questioning every other orgasm you've had. Maybe I don't actually enjoy sex that much? you wonder. Or maybe I always needed to be kissed to enjoy it more? Wait, no. I hate it when people kiss me. It's gross. Except for when it's Shin. Why Shin? Hm… that apron must really be doing something for me.

Your head hurts. Shin patiently watches you replay your past experiences in your head, comparing all those nights with this one, and he can’t help but frown. Deeply. Your eyes go wide when he gives you an alarmed look at one particular memory.

“Shit, sorry! I forgot you’d see all that.”

“No, I'm sorry,” he says, feeling—not for the first time—guilty about his powers. “If I could turn it off, I would.”

“Don't be sorry. You can't help it. That'd be like if I were sorry for breathing.” But despite your easy words, you’re watching him carefully, and your mind is stirring in an unsettling way. I'm nervous? you realise. Your heart is beating in a way that suggests a flight or fight response. It gets worse the longer you stare at him. Why am I nervous? Tell me, Shin.

“I wouldn't know.” Except he’s got a good guess, and he'd rather die than say it out loud because it would be embarrassing for you both if he were wrong. He'd have to resign. Nevertheless, he tries to guide you in a specific direction: “Have you really never liked it when people kissed you?”

“No,” you reply immediately. “I don't see the point of kissing during sex.”

He gives you a long look. “What if it’s not just sex? What if it's just a regular kiss on a regular day with, like, a partner? Someone you're really serious about.” He blinks at the confused stare you're giving him. “You mean you don't like that either?”

It's suddenly very noisy. Shin can hear your mind buzzing as you stare at the ceiling of your room, not with coherent sentences so much as shapeless confusion. His skin crawls with the echo of your discomfort; it's a wonder you aren't slipping out from the sheets to run away.

“...I don't know,” you finally decide. “I don't have much real dating experience.”

“Huh? You’ve said before that you've dated lots of guys.”

“Um.” You’re careful not to look at him. “Yeah, I guess. They all sucked though. I, like, wanted to kill every single one of my exes.”

“Like they were shitty boyfriends?”

No, like they were assassination targets, you think, and Shin has to keep a straight face as you reply, “Yeah, something like that.”

You rarely lie to Shin. You did it somewhat frequently until you figured out that he was capable of ESP, and then you stopped because you didn't see a point anymore. You only do it now when there's something you really don't want to talk about, so Shin relents. He focuses on cleaning himself up, and he interrupts the tense hum of your thoughts when he turns his attention to you. By the time he's finished and slid back into bed, your more complicated emotions have vanished, and you're back to marveling at the quality of the orgasm you just had. Apparently you like to keep things fairly simple in your inner world.

When Shin puts an arm around you, he can hear your pleasant surprise—and your immediate desire to press into him.

You're so happy just being held by him, it's shocking. And painfully endearing. Shin tries to pretend not to notice the warm glow of your thoughts, as well as your confusion over them: surely the simple act of being close to someone can't feel so good. Maybe the whole kissing thing was just a coincidence and Shin happened to be hitting it just right when your lips met. Or maybe he used his ESP on you to make you cum extra hard and he's still influencing you, and that's why you feel so tenderhearted right now.

“My powers only allow me to read minds,” he tells you. “I can't control other people.”

“Aw,” you say, “that's too bad. I bet forced orgasms with ESP would feel amazing.”

“...”

Shin realises something else about himself that he absolutely cannot let you know. Thankfully for him, you're none the wiser. Your mind’s somewhere else entirely when you climb on top of him, smiling neatly. Mind you, what you're thinking is still making him feel nervous. He's always a little out of his depth with you.

“Shin…”

You lean in, breath sweeping over his lips. His heart jumps.

“Y-yeah?”

“I'm still confused about how that felt so good.”

“I’ve noticed.”

You hold back a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you would have.” Then you give him an apologetic look. “Sorry I'm so stuck on it. I just thought I knew my body, y'know? I felt like I had tried everything worth trying. Sex was starting to feel boring, including the freaky stuff. But this is very new to me.”

This close up, Shin can feel the brush of your lashes when they flutter. See the glossy swell of your lips from all the kissing. Take in the fragrance of your hair. He starts to feel dizzy. “I-is it? I don't think we've been doing anything, uh. Crazy.”

“I didn't think so either.” Your thumb traces his lip. You're thinking about kissing him again, and you're also thinking about riding him as you do it. “I can't help but want to try it a few more times, you know? Just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.”

“A few more times,” he repeats, and you smile.

“You don't have anywhere you need to be tonight, do you?”

The two of you get two hours of sleep that night, and you end up going through both bottles of Pocari Sweat and all the snacks. There's no time for breakfast or burnt coffee the morning after; you make the executive decision to just eat something at the store instead. Shin leaves behind a toothbrush and you tell him he should also bring an extra set of clothes next time. He tries not to get too excited about the fact that there's going to be a next time. He fails.

Mr. Sakamoto sees the two of you as you make it to work just on time together and immediately figures out what's happened. Shin gets a mental reprimand for not marrying you first, and the disappointment from Mr. Sakamoto is so strong that he briefly considers resigning out of disgrace. But he stays on, and the days pass, and your relationship with him remains the same. Sort of.

Because, see. Now that you're regularly getting laid, your horny thoughts have finally (finally!) calmed down. You now have one free-use fantasy a day instead of twelve, and your daydreams only occasionally feature tentacle monsters. You do like to torture Shin with breeding kink scenarios, but that's only once a day, and they never involve any other guys. Shin considers this a victory, respite from the psychic agony that he was previously experiencing.

There's just one problem.

You want to kiss Shin all the time now, and it's making him feel like the horniest person alive.

He can't believe it. He doesn't have a particularly strong sex drive, and he rarely ever has sexual fantasies. But holy shit is he having them a lot now, and he can't say it's strictly your fault.

You spend most of the day now thinking about what it felt like to kiss him in bed, and what it felt like to hold his hand as he moved inside you, and what it felt like to be in his arms afterwards. What it would feel like if you were to do those things that you used to hate—kissing someone, linking fingers, embracing them—with Shin. Not just in bed, but on a regular day, out in the open. In a secluded park somewhere, or maybe at the top of a Ferris wheel, or even on a random street corner if the mood is right. All of these daydreams are usually followed by very explicit fantasies about public, unprotected sex, but the kissing is the most important part of it. The subsequent creampies are pretty significant too, but not nearly as much as the bits where you make out.

And somehow, the thought of cumming in you is not the part of the fantasy that's driving Shin crazy.

You give him a meaningful look. A week ago, this would have been a sign that you wanted him to bend you over the counter and give you backshots. Now it means you want to sneak away to kiss him and hold hands, and this makes him want to do things to you that would get him fired immediately.

Shin sighs, and he contemplates shoving himself into the freezer.

END

I wrote this with one hand and did not proofread it. my apologies if you see any errors. I just needed to be free of these thoughts asap. release me...

"What do you want." Not a question, but a command with the threat of a swift and painful death hanging on the edge of his breath as it warms your face.

You don't seem the least bit perturbed though.

"From you?" You tilt your head as if you don't understand how question when both of you know well enough that you do.

Tamsy shoves a hand into your shoulder with enough force to bruise both the front and the back of it as it slams into the brick wall behind it.

With his other hand, Tamsy grabs you up by the arm, nails digging into the meat of your bicep through the fabric of your top. Despite his soft and often unassuming appearance, Tamsy is strong. Quite strong. He might never beat Delmon in fist fight, but he's strong enough to break bones, strong enough to kill a man, information you flaunted knowing.

Yet you don't react to his attempt at intimidation. Not a wince of pain flashes across your face. Your eyes never narrow. Your breathing stays perfectly even. And you smile, the one he wants to wipe off your face so badly right now, stays curled in amusement, glossy lips parting as you let out a giggle.

"There's a reason why you told me that." In just nine words, you told him that you knew Tamsy killed Rudo's father, and that you know he's been to the sphere and back. Both pieces of information are worth their weight in gold, maybe even more, should you tell either Semiu or Corvus this.

But you chose to reveal to him that you knew his secrets instead of telling those two, people who you are considerably closer to compared to him, the truth.

Why?

Why? Why? Why?

"What. Do. You. Want."

"I've already told you, no?" You make a broad gesture to his face with your hand, nails faintly tracing the edge of his jaw as if falls down to rest at your side. "That I like pretty things."

"And what does your obsession have to- " Tamsy pauses, thinking back on all of the conversations you've had before.

Pretty things. He knows your version of the term has a visual aspect to it. You told him how you thought Semiu would look better, divine was the exact word, if she put on a few more pounds. You said something similar about Riyo and Zanka too. How nothing matches a truly healthy body.

But there's another part to it, the reason why he thought the two of you would get along in the first place.

You had seen past his facade. The fake softness he had been wearing wasn't something you were interested in. You liked his true personality.

And, you didn't just find it pretty. No no. You called it beautiful.

That's the answer, the reason why you showed him your hand.

"You're a freak." Tamsy said the first thing that came to his mind, what he thought of you, spitting out those words like they're some type on insult directly in your face.

What do you do? Do you curl up in embarrassment? Do your eyes shine as tears threaten to fall down your cheeks? No, you shudder. Not shake, but full on shudder in excitement, more than happy to be the subject of his scrutiny.

All you wanted was the true Tamsy. Not the gentle one who acted as a teacher and guide, who hid his intentions behind his pretty lashes and faux smiles. But the Tamsy who's mean, bordering on cruel, the Tamsy who's lovingly sarcastic and a handful too much sadistic.

You sigh wistfully, now somewhat bashful in the face of what you longed for enough to have him debate whether or not he should kill you on the spot (something you relished in, he's sure)

Your eyes dart all over his face. His lips, his eyes, his nose, his brows, his lips again, then back up to his eyes as you raise your shoulders, shrinking into them as you use your hands to push at his chest. The effort isn't really there. You don't add more force when Tamsy leans in close. Actually, you lighten up, hands tensing as if you're holding yourself back from properly feeling him beneath your fingertips.

What catches Tamsy's eyes is your lips, how you're biting them. The action isn't done from nerves or you being uncomfortable. You're trying to stop yourself from smiling even wider than you do now.

He wonders what that smile would look like, how debauched he could get you to act, what it would take to pull an even worse reaction out of you.

The thought brings a grin to Tamsy's face.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" He looks you dead in the eye as he speaks, a single hand reaching up behind your head, deft fingers threading through your hair, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your shoulders fall lax, before clenching into a fist and pulling down hard, forcing your head to drag back against the wall a little, chin up and neck flexed from how you instinctively arch your back from the pain.

What do you do? Do you cry? Do you ask him to stop? Do you scream for someone to come and save you? Of course not. Why would you?

You're exactly where you want to be.

Your feet are rooted into the ground. Your knees bend towards each other. Your hands fist in the fabric of his clothes and pull, not push, but pull him closer.

Then your jaw drops open, lip slightly puffy from being bitten, and you give him one of those pathetic cries, the kind that's more air than it is your own voice.

"You like it." You tug him nice and close, chests now compressed together, breaths mingling as Tamsy keeps you down beneath him, hand still fisted in your hair. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be here in this alley like this. You wouldn't have invited me out in the first place."

And maybe he does. More than he would like to admit anyway. But he's not going to tell you that and give you the satisfaction of being right.

Tamsy glances down at your lips for a half a second. A good way to keep you quiet, to have you stop speaking the truth so plainly, make you give him more of those almost desperate sounds and turn your lips the right shade of irritated pink.

He decides not to in the end, backing off and letting you go with a huff a second later, annoyed more with himself rather than you.

Now isn't the time.

Not when someone's expecting the two of you, at least.

"Done already?" You muse (very much tease, Tamsy can't help but think) leaning back against the wall for support as you regain your composure. "I thought we were having fun."

Tamsy looks you over once.

A mess. Frazzled hair, panting for air, crumpled clothes, flushed face. If anyone saw the two of you walk out of the alleyway now, they'd think Tamsy was some greedy bastard who couldn't wait until the two of you got back home.

"You don't want your precious little Rudo seeing you like this, do you?"

You had sent the boy off on some errand, to go and grab an order you had made with the florist across town to buy some private time between you and Tamsy. He should be back any minute now.

You put on a pout.

"Pretty things can be a little messy... " Your voice trails, following whatever thought you had in your head. "But now isn't the time for a mess. Give me a second."

You fix yourself up quickly, putting your clothes back into place and changing up your hair perfectly without ever seeing your reflection. It feels practiced, like a honed skill, but Tamsy doesn't comment on it.

Instead, he brushes any stray debris from the wall off your back with a swipe of his hand, eyes and ears straining for any indication of Rudo has come back.

Where Tamsy is more of a cautious lookout, you very much do not care, waltzing out of the alleyway with a bit of a swing to your step.

You throw the man a look over your shoulder.

"It'd be more suspicious if he saw us walking out of a dark alley together."

"..." Tamsy puffs and follows you out a second after. You give him a smile, a pleased smile, a hand digging around in your pocket before it reveals a small enclosed tube.

You unscrew the top and it becomes obvious what it is. Your lip gloss. Right, you probably ate it off earlier when you biting your lip. It would look strange for Rudo to come back and find your lips without their usually glossy shine, and Tamsy could do without the teasing he knows he'd get back at HQ for now.

You swipe the applicator across both lips a few times, smacking and rolling them together to ensure an even application.

Strangely, you go and lick your lips afterwards, humming at the taste. 

"Cherry flavored." You answer without ever turning to look at him. "Maybe you'll get a taste one day."

Before he has a chance to respond to what you're implying, Rudo calls out to you, bolting down the street with a bouquet of flowers in cradled in his hands.

"I got the flowers you asked for!"

"Aren't you a reliable little thing?" You ruffle the boy's hair, back to being the dotting sap you were just a little more than half an hour earlier.

Taking the small bouquet from Rudo, you throw a look over your shoulder back at Tamsy, smile all nice and sweet as if the man didn't have you weak in the knees from a few insults a minute ago. 

"Shall we head back?"

Taglist: @iglb12, @princess-poolia, @weponxwrites,

He doesn't notice it right away. You're not a member of Bofurin, but just someone who hangs around. A friend of the second years, really. He knows enough about you to know that you've been friends with Kaji since middle school, and that's about it.

Oh, another thing Sakura knows about you.

Kaji lets you get away with things that would get a lesser man beaten up.

first offense: stealing his candy

Sakura isn't sure why he’s trailing behind Tamon team's second years on patrol, but he’s doing his job diligently. Kaji is leading the group, with Enomoto and Kusumi close by. It's been a relatively slow afternoon, and he's thankful that he doesn't have to worry about chasing down any losers that wander into town.

That's when you appear.

You're in your school uniform, he notices, but what grabs his attention most is how you easily slide up to the second year's grade captain.

"Hey, Ren," You smile the moment Kaji tugs his headphones off of one ear. There's not much emotion on his face, but the fact that he's even acknowledging you shows how much he cares.

"You just get out of club?" Kaji asks, and Kusumi pulls Enomoto and Sakura away to give you a moment of privacy to chat. You offer the boys smiles as they pass, but you're much too entranced by Kaji before you to pay them much mind.

"Yeah," You nod, assuring him. Your smile melts into a pout, and you watch as Kaji's eyes track the change despite his expression staying fixed neutral. "I'm supposed to go to extra tutoring classes now, but I'd rather skip."

"idiot," He huffs before he, most likely, even thinks. You don't blanch at the abrasive comment like most would, though. Instead, the edges of your smile start to come back. "You're too worried about your grades to skip tutoring."

He's right, but you don't feel like admitting it.

"It'll be almost dark by the time I'm out, though." You're pouting again, fingers twisting in the fabric of your uniform skirt. It's not that you're nervous; more so in need of something to occupy your hands while you chat.

"Text me what time and I'll walk you home." Kaji offers casually, though you see the red flush starting to creep up from under the neckline of his sweatshirt. "Don't be stupid and walk home at night alone."

"Okay," You roll your eyes, dragging out the two syllable word, but you're smiling nonetheless. "You have a funny way of showing you care, Ren."

"Shut up." He huffs, the exasperated sound drawing a laugh out of you. It's light and airy, and you don't miss the way Kaji seems to flush brighter at the sound.

You wish you could stay and talk all evening with him, but you really do have places you need to be. With a sigh, you pout once more and check the time on your phone.

"Shit. I've got to run or else I'll be late." You groan, shoving your phone back into your pocket. You take a step forward, towards Kaji, and that's when it happens.

Sakura can only watch—in utter horror—as you shove your hand into the front pocket of Kaji's hoodie. Right where he keeps his candy stash hidden away.

You do it so casually, so naturally, Sakura almost doesn't believe his eyes. It's over in nearly the blink of an eye, too, before you emerge with a stolen lollipop clenched tight between your fingers.

From where he's watching with the others a few paces away, Sakura braces, waiting for Kaji's shouts to back off of him.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, Kaji sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls out a second lollipop—extending it to you silently. You're grinning as you collect it alongside your stolen candy, and Sakura is trying to figure out how you're getting away with extra lollipops and no shouting.

He can only watch, in both confusion and amazement, as you accomplish a task no other would be able to.

You leave with a cheery goodbye, and Sakura is left with ears burning red after witnessing the situation.

verdict: not guilty

second offense: touching his headphones

Sakura thinks it might be a one-off thing. That Kaji might've just been in a rare good mood, or figured it might look bad if he shouted at you in the street on patrol.

They're not very likely, but it's all he has to work with.

Until a few days later, there's an impromptu Bofurin dinner at a local restaurant.

It's Tamon team leadership, mostly. Plus Umemiya, who makes up in energy to fill the space. The dinner is fine, nothing remarkable, until just before orders are placed and you arrive.

He hasn't seen you since he ran into you on patrol, and Sakura can only watch as you take the last open seat next to Kaji.

Kusumi, Sakura realizes later, had vacated his spot to make room for you.

You're smiling at everyone as you join the rowdy group of Bofurin boys. Kaji barely glances up from the menu as you sit down, but you do feel him knock his leg against yours under the table in acknowledgment.

He's wearing his headphones inside the restaurant, so you know something is bothering him. Probably from patrol, or class, and you make a note to ask him later before diving into the conversations happening around the table.

"I didn't know you'd be coming!" Umemiya cheers loudly, just as soon as you're settled. Hiragi hisses for him to quiet down, but the warning falls on deaf ears.

"I wasn't," You admit, toying with the edge of the menu to busy your hands. "But Ren texted and said to meet you guys out."

There's a chorus of 'oh, that makes sense' that rings out from around the table, and the topic swiftly moves on. You're quick to decide what you want from the menu and set it aside, pulling out a pen from your purse instead of joining Umemiya's conversation regarding vegetable plants.

There's a paper napkin on the table sitting between you and Kaji, and you draw a nine-square grid on it without saying a word. In the center, you mark the letter x, playing your first move.

You press your knee sideways into Kaji's thigh, leaving it there even after you get his attention.

With you offering him the pen, he knows what you want and he's quick to acquiesce. He doesn't remove his headphones, though, and you pout at the action.

He marks an o in the top right corner of the grid.

You get through three silent games of tic-tac-toe—moving closer into his space each turn—before the waitress comes back around to take the orders. There's nothing of note happening, until she gets to Kaji, who can't hear her ask what he wants with his headphones still on and blaring music.

You react before anyone can even wave to get his attention, much to Sakura's horror.

One moment there's silence, waiting for Kaji to realize he's being spoken to, and the next—you're pulling his headphones off and holding them close to your body, out of his reach.

"Ren," You call his name gently, headphones still clutched in your hands. You nod your head in the direction of the waitress, catching him up to what's happening around him. "What're you ordering?"

Sakura expects there to be a blowout, right there in the middle of the restaurant. He's never seen anyone touch Kaji's headphones besides Kaji, and you just tugged him right off his head without any preamble.

Instead, Kaji just looks at the waitress and gives his order in a bored tone. He makes a note that he's paying for your meal, too, and no one else at the table seems to bat an eye.

"Put my headphones in your bag," Kaji tells you flatly. He's not ordering you around, but he's earned the stern attention of Hiragi down the table for his response. You don't need the older boy to help rein Kaji in, though, because you don't even flinch before leveling him with a pointed look. Kaji huffs, the tips of his ears suddenly tinged red. "Please."

"That's more like it." You grin, happily stuffing Kaji's precious headphones into your purse for the remainder of dinner. "I'll keep 'em safe, Ren."

"Yeah," Kaji huffs, fiddling with the pen and not looking directly at you. He's entirely too apathetic about headphones he's never seen without, and it doesn't make sense to Sakura. "Whatever. Your turn."

Sakura can only watch as you and Kaji go back to your own little world, heads ducked close together and mumbling about the game you're playing on a napkin.

Sakura flushes. He thinks he's starting to put the pieces together.

verdict: not guilty

third offense: taking his clothes

Sakura doesn't really mean to catch the third time Ren Kaji should blown up on you.

It's just, Pothos Café is his place. It's part of his daily routine, a place of comfort, whether he wants to admit it or not. He doesn't go into the café one weekend morning for breakfast with the intent of observing you and Kaji, but it's just something that happens.

The two of you are already seated in a corner booth by the time he arrives. Papers strewn out across the space, two mugs of coffee and a single plate already emptied of its contents. You wave to Sakura, and he waves back, but then he sits at the counter to order and you go back to work.

It took a lot of work to convince Kaji to go out and study with you on a Saturday morning. Really, you're impressed with yourself that you managed to pull it off.

Though, he has spent the better part of your study time looking at his phone, headphones sat around his shoulders but blasting music so loud you could hear it from across the table.

The spirit is there, at least.

"Are you getting any more coffee?" You ask Kaji, breaking the silence that had fallen over your chosen booth while you worked through a mountain of homework. You've been eyeing your empty mug for the past five minutes, debating about asking Kotoha behind the counter for a refill.

"Why? You want some?" Kaji counters with a question, looking up from his phone for the first time in a while. You guess he more so agreed to go to Pothos with you than to go to Pothos and study.

"Yeah, I think." You decide, setting down your pencil with the intention to get up and ask for a refill. But you don't get to move more than a few inches before Kaji is up, your mug in hand as he walks towards the counter.

You smile as you watch him go, asking Kotoha for a second mug so your studying isn't interrupted. It's silly, really, how such small things make you so happy.

While he's up, you spot his bag sitting on the opposite side of the booth just as the chill of the café suddenly gets to you.

"Ren, I'm taking your sweatshirt!" You call out, more as an announcement than asking for permission. By the time Sakura turns his head to look, you're already digging in his bag to look for the aforementioned article of clothing.

Kaji is leaning against the counter, near enough to Sakura that he's cautious as he waits for his response. If not shouting, Sakura thinks, then at least a stern warning to stay out of his stuff.

Instead, Kaji shrugs, barely looking up from his phone to see what you're doing.

"'Kay," Kaji mumbles, waiting for Kotoha to refill your coffee. "Don't spill shit on it this time."

"I won't," You reply cheerily, tugging the sweatshirt on and getting back to work.

Like it's all normal.

Sakura feels his mind stall, then his face flush. Kaji had said this time. Which means you've taken his clothes more than once. Sakura feels like he might combust if he thinks about it too long, so instead he turns and blushes into his plate of omelette rice.

He tries to pretend he doesn't hear Kotoha snickering.

verdict: not guilty. possibility of repeat offenses.

final offense: letting some no name shishitoren boy get too close to you

Sakura has no idea what occasion Umemiya managed to come up with for Bofurin's latest mixer at the school.

It's not just Furin High in attendance, but Shishitoren and other friends, too. Like you. He doesn't think much of it when he sees you arrive early on in the party, his focus more so on surviving an evening of Suo's public teasing.

It's not until later when Nirei grabs his arm and whisper-shouts your name that Sakura realizes something might be wrong.

"Oh no." Nirei panics, setting Sakura on edge and merely gaining Suo's attention. "Kaji isn't going to be happy about this..."

"What's happening now?" Sakura is on alert, head swiveling around to find the source of Nirei's panic. All he finds are party goers enjoying the drinks and snacks painstakingly set out on tables, mixing and chatting like any normal event.

"Ah, I see." Suo hums, though his smirk doesn't fade, so Sakura thinks it shouldn't be too bad. "Poor boy won't know what'll hit him."

"The hell are you two on about?" Sakura snaps, tired of looking around like an idiot and being the only one not in the know. It's then that Nirei repeats your name and points, picking you out of the crowd.

You're on the outskirts of the mixer, near one of the refreshment tables. You're talking from somebody he doesn't recognize from Shishitoren, and Sakura's face immediately flushes when he takes in the boy's body language.

Clearly, you're being hit on.

From what he can see, you're being a good sport about it. You've always been kind every time he spoke to you, and he doesn't think this time is different.

But even from so far away, Sakura can tell that you're not interested.

"What's the big deal? If he's making her uncomfortable, we can step in." Sakura shrugs, watching your interaction with the Shishitoren boy closely for any signs that you want out of the conversation.

"That is the big deal." Suo croons, point unsubtly to a new figure on the scene. Kaji.

Sakura can only watch as Kaji storms up to you and the Shishitoren boy, frown etched so deeply onto his face it can only scream trouble. Still, you only smile at Kaji, far brighter than what you had given the other boy.

Kaji pulls his lollipop from his mouth like he's going to start yelling. You shove the candy back in to muffle whatever he had to say.

"Uh," Sakura can't look away from the scene. He's ready to interrupt if Kaji starts to blow a fuse, but he knows Enomoto, Kusumi, or Hiragi would be better suited to help. "Should we—"

He interrupts himself, then, when you wrap your hand around Kaji's and drag him in the direction of the school. He watches until the two of you disappear into the building, and it's then that he looks at his two friends.

"What was that?" Sakura asks, but his face is starting to burn a deep crimson and he thinks he knows before anyone can answer his question.

"You didn't know?" Nirei asks, like anyone is as informed as him about members of Bofurin. Sakura just looks at him blankly, trying to avoid Suo's smug look at his blush. "They're dating. Have been, for a while."

And that... makes too much sense.

The one time Sakura sees Kaji get upset with you—and Kaji's not even upset with you. He's not mad. He's jealous.

Sakura's face is burning, now.

verdict: guilty

sentence: dealing with a pouty Ren Kaji

"Were you jealous, Ren?"

"No. Shut up." Your boyfriend fires off two quick to be believable.

Not to mention, he nearly just went off on the poor unsuspecting Shishitoren boy that was hitting on you.

You've snuck away from the mixer and into his empty classroom to take a break from the crowd. You're not sad to be away from the party, especially not when you're with Kaji.

"I can't believe it," You giggle, shaking your head. Perched atop a desk, you're sitting taller than Kaji. It doesn't help that he's slouched in a chair beside the desk you're on, arms crossed and headphones around his neck. "You were totally jealous."

"'M gonna leave if you don't stop." Kaji threatens, but you know it's empty. He's not convincing in the slightest—not when he leans forward to rest his elbow on your desk, chin propped up in the palm of his hand. "So what if I don't like seeing some idiot hit on my girlfriend?"

He's frowning, pouting, up at you. You're weak to the sight, and you know you need to reward him for expressing his feelings on the situation so openly.

"Sorry," You offer to soothe the burn of what had happened. Leaning forward, you press a short kiss to his pout. It's more of a peck than anything, and you know it's not enough to satisfy him. "I won't let it happen again. Cross my heart."

You sign over your chest, but before you could get through half the motion, Kaji grips your hand in his, threading your fingers together.

"Don't apologize for what that moron was doing." He's still frowning, and you know you have a while until you can get him back to normal.

You kiss him again.

It stuck with him for weeks. Someone who looted the trash fields, fought off beasts, and left survivors? Sounded like a story people made up when they didn’t want to face how brutal the Ground really was.

Until he met you.

You were standing knee-deep in an oil puddle, prying parts from a busted machine carcass. Follo didn’t even recognize you as a raider at first— no mask, no bloodthirsty stance. Just calm, deliberate movement. But the way you turned when you heard him coming; slow, predatory, hand hovering over a blade— said everything.

“Cleaner.” Your tone wasn’t hostile. Just observant.

He adjusted his goggles. “Raider.”

A tense silence passed between you, thick enough to touch. Follo’s hammer, Alan, thrummed faintly in his hand like it wanted to hit something. He still couldn’t thank Rudo enough for being the catalyst to him becoming a giver.

You didn’t flinch— just tilted your head, watching him watch you.

“You came for me?” you asked, barely smirking. “Or are you just lost?”

He ignored that jab, but his grip on the hammer loosened. “You took something from one of our sites.”

“Maaaybe,” you said. “If I did, it’s not yours anymore, is it?”

You had this dangerous charm— not in the obvious seductive way, but in the defiant logic of your words. It threw him off balance. You weren’t wrong. The Ground didn’t have clean rules. Trash became treasure depending on who found it first.

Follo tried to reason with himself that this was just curiosity, a Cleaner analyzing a threat. But when you laughed, he knew curiosity was the wrong word.

Over the next few encounters, you never fought him outright. You just appeared.

Once, while he was repairing his gloves.

Another time, while he was dragging a broken Trash Beast carcass.

And every time, you’d say something that stuck with him. Things like:

You Cleaners pretend you’re saving the world, but you’re just rearranging trash piles. Please be honest with yourselves.

I wonder what happens to your ideals when nobody’s watching?

He’d tell you to shut up, but the words would dig in.

You weren’t kind. You weren’t even particularly moral. But you were here. Very much here and real. Raw and grounded in a way that made him question things about the Cleaners’ order.

So when one day, when Corvus mentioned a bounty on a raider matching your description— Follo didn’t report it. He just…didn’t.

That night, he found you again, sitting on a broken pipe, legs dangling, tossing a small, glowing shard between your hands.

“Didn’t think you’d show up again,” you said. “What’s the verdict? Gonna fight me this time?”

He crossed his arms, staring at the shard. “Depends. You stealing from our zones again?”

How the hell do they even do that without catching Semius attention?

“Always,” you said with a grin.

He huffed, leaning against the wall beside you. “You really don’t care what happens to you, do you?”

You shrugged. “I care...just not about the same things you do.”

That line hit him harder than it should’ve. You looked at the Ground and saw nothing— he looked at it and saw something worth fixing. But the longer he stayed near you, the more he wondered if his “fixing” was just rearranging broken glass and calling it progress.

He tried to shake the feeling off. Tried to remind himself you were dangerous, untrustworthy, everything his intuition warned about. But then you reached into your pocket and held out a small, rusty gear.

“Found this,” you said. “Figured you’d want it back.”

It was. Somehow. And you knew it.

He stared at it, unsure whether to thank you or scold you for knowing so much about his equipment. You looked smug either way.

“Why’re you helping me?” he asked finally.

You leaned back, grin widening. “Because it’s fun watching you pretend you don’t like me.”

He froze. “What—”

“I mean you do,” you said simply, turning away. “You just don’t know if you’re supposed to.”

Follo swallowed hard, pulse thudding in his neck. You didn’t wait for a reaction— you just hopped off the pipe, tossed him the gear, and started walking.

“See ya around, Cleaner.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His hammer vibrated faintly in his grip, echoing the tension in his chest.

Weeks later, when Bro Santa asked about the raiders whereabouts and if Follo handled them, Follo just responded with, “Not my jurisdiction.”

Somehow he got off easy by Corvus. Which was weird since he failed his orders. Did Corvus— nevermind.

But he kept the gear. Carried it in his pocket like a reminder that sometimes, the Ground produces things too stubborn, too beautiful, and too chaotic to clean up.

And if anyone asked what was wrong with him, why he was so distracted— he’d just mutter something about “stress buildup” and pretend Alan was the only thing shaking.

He was a merciful person by nature but when it came to a raider, he had every right to be suspicious.

You didn’t go far that night. You stopped a few meters away, while Follo lingered behind, the glow of the street lamps reflecting.

For a while, neither of you said anything. Just the loud clinking of debris shifting in the distance, the slow hum of the Ground breathing.

Then, quietly, you spoke.

“Y’know,” you said, voice low, “Down here, nobody cares if you’re good or bad. You just live long enough to get used to whatever you got. So what’s the point in morality really.”

Follo turned, his silhouette half-lit by the street lamps. You didn’t meet his eyes— just kept talking, fingers tracing the dents in the metal beside you.

“I didn’t join the Raiders for fun,” you said. “Didn’t wake up one morning thinking, ‘hey, let’s be a menace today.’ People here— they don’t choose a messy life just because. It’s just what’s left when surviving’s your only choice.”

You laughed once, dry and sharp. “Guess that makes me a product of my environment, huh?”

Follo frowned. He had to pity you, because you said it like you were already resigned to it.

He stepped closer, hammer slung over his shoulder. He just never knows. “You could still leave your current position,” he said. “The Cleaners aren’t perfect, but at least we’re trying to build something out of this hell. We aren’t better than anyone for trying to make something out of this. We are all trying to have some quality of life.” Enjin taught him that one.

You glanced up at him, eyebrows lifting. “Build something?”

He gave a faint smile, almost rueful. “Something like that. But maybe you’d change your mind if you saw it from the inside.”

You studied him for a long moment; his messy black hair matted from the grime, the goggles resting on his cap, the exhaustion that sat behind his orange eyes but never dimmed them. You realized he wasn’t naive; he just refused to surrender.

“Maybe,” you said finally, exhaling smoke from a small oil fire below. “Maybe I’ll try seeing it your way one day.”

The air settled heavy and quiet again. Then, unexpectedly, you felt a gloved hand brush your shoulder.

Follo hesitated before sitting down beside you, the heat of his body cutting through the chill. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said softly. “Just…don’t write yourself off yet, alright?”

You didn’t answer. Just leaned slightly toward him, more out of exhaustion than intent. Still, his arm shifted in response, and before you realized it, you were half-wrapped in an awkward, unsure hug.

Neither of you moved for a minute. The Ground groaned beneath, and up above, the faint light from the moon flickered through the smog.

Follo wasn’t smiling. You weren’t either. But the tension that always sat between you had faded for once.

Perhaps it was comfort. Maybe it was just two people who’d seen too much finding a place to rest their heads for a minute.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met, and something unspoken lingered there. Not a confession. Not yet. Just the possibility of one.

He stood, tightening his gloves. “Don’t get yourself killed out here, alright?”

You smiled faintly. “You too, Cleaner.”

“Follo,” he said with a bright grin. “That’s my name!”

He then turned around and walked off with a small pep in his step, and you stayed sitting there, staring at his fading outline.

He didn't know it, but you felt seen.

Not saved. Not fixed. Just acknowledged. And you wanted to learn more about this guy.

That was enough to start something.

You intertwined your fingers together, looking down. That’s when you noticed a small folded paper left behind. Follo was long gone, so maybe you could return it whenever you could see him again?

Curiousty— no, just you being nosy.

Whatever. That got the best of you so you opened up the paper to read what it said. Maybe it was just a small schedule for him.

But no. It was a recruitment letter...

By Follo’s boss, Arkha Corvus. Oh, you’ve heard of his name from your own boss. Hm.

Decisions, decisions.

At Cleaners HQ, Follo was stopped by Corvus.

“Did you give them the letter?” He asked calmly.

“Yes sir!” Follo responded. He didn’t know what was in that letter or what Corvus wanted with you but he wasn’t trying to stop whatever he saw in you. Although Follo did wonder why he was told to deal with you if Corvus was just gonna do this.

Corvus nodded, satisfied. “You’re a great giver Follo. You can go to your quarters now. Get a good rest,” Corvus said with a smile. Follo nodded and went off, proud of himself.

Back with you, you put the letter in your pocket. Should you return to your old boss? Should you get to know Follo better? You wanted to return the...kindness, he gave you. If you could.

Or the way he smiles at Rudo when the boy says something stupid—as if he's humoring a joke—and then, seconds later, his expression quiets down the instant anyone else looks. You catch that hardening more than once, a shutter behind the smile, and your brain pens a note: weird.

You’re not worried for Rudo. You don’t do worry; you just collect outcomes. You like situations where you can watch the variable change and guess the end. Rudo’s arc has been fun to watch from your seat, and Tamsy has been deliciously central to the plot.

So here you are, writing your notes down.

There are other things. Little interruptions that feel choreographed, a “mistake” in the mission schedule that means Rudo ends up alone where he’ll have to make a choice. Not choices you’d expect some humane mentor to engineer. Choices that look like tests. You've begun compiling moments in your head like a report, margins full of shorthand.

You decide to treat it like a puzzle, because puzzles are fairer than people.

Night after briefing, you tail Tamsy— not like some weeping rookie with a grudge, but with the casual precision of someone checking a tool. He doesn’t notice you. He does.

He is beautiful and cold in profile; the light picks out the pale line of his jaw and the way his sleeves hang like wing shadows. He always speaks to Rudo low and even, words you can’t quite hear, then leans back and laughs soft enough that only you do hear it.

You shouldn’t have heard it. It was private, and the sound, delighted, shouldn’t belong to anyone who can orchestrate...breaks. But it does. You tape that note next to the other ones.

You begin doing what you do best: small experiments. You drop a comment in the cafeteria about how Rudo “seems fragile lately.” You say it loud enough for Tamsy to hear, watch for the tremor in his expression. It’s not fear. It’s interest—almost fondness with a scalpel blade underneath. He raises his eyebrows and calls you “provincial” in that smooth way that means nothing and everything. You file the reaction away.

Another night you find Amo laying in bed. She’s quieter than usual. You understand. Apparently, she was taken hostage, but she was found, and she’s here, healing. You sit in the chair next to her bed and greet her.

You ask her questions like everyone else has done already. You watch the flash of something in her face; confusion. She tells you she doesn’t know who kidnapped her, but it was definitely a woman. You don’t get accusations; you get hypotheses. The idea that her memories could have been altered is up there on your list. Of course she could just be so traumatized that her brain blocked out her kidnapper but your intuition suspects otherwise. You go back to watching.

You begin to watch the choreography. Tamsy speaks in private to people only when no one else is supposed to see. He knows where Rudo will be before Rudo knows, and he arrives bearing banal items; his spool, a book you never saw him bring before— his hands cover the cover. Then he leaves with a face like a closed flower.

You look for evidence of the thing you suspect— manipulation, pressure, a tournament of wits being run on a boy who doesn’t know the rules. You find not a smoking gun, but a changed schedule, a changed rumor...

Your inner narration gets louder. You catch yourself thinking in bullet points. Tamsy: orchestrates. Tamsy: protective? The protective acts are odd. He’ll shove himself between Rudo and a harrier, hand hovering near his jinki, but his hands do not soothe. They arrange. He pulls Rudo into situations that require decisions no one else would push him to make.

You’re not alarmed. You’re not even exactly empathetic. You think of Rudo as a variable, yes, but also as an interesting outcome. The question at the back of your mind is not “Can I save him?” but “How will this end?” There’s a part of you that admires the artistry of Tamsy’s method: subtle, patient, surgical. That part is selfish and a little thrilled.

You set traps the way a chess player sets bait. You say a thing in earshot; Rudo would never trust anyone who told him to forget, and watch Tamsy’s eyebrows tighten almost imperceptibly. You leave a note on the admin board with a fake schedule change and see who rearranges it before anyone else notices. You get a sense of a pattern: Tamsy moves pieces before they are necessary. He anticipates chaos and sculpts it.

Sometimes when you catch him alone, you imagine two possible endings for this story. In the first, he pushes Rudo so far that the boy breaks and becomes some frightening new thing under Tamsy’s control. In the second, Rudo snaps and bites back, turning Tamsy’s experiment into a public spectacle. Both are satisfying in different ways. You prefer messy finales. They make good stories.

Your private monologue grows introspective. You think about how you view Tamsy when you’re honest with yourself.

You like the danger. You like that he likes passionate people, because you read that as a preference and not a judgement; you imagine yourself boxed neatly into one of his tastes and find you enjoy being admired like an exhibit.

You also realize, with a small, private chuckle, that he has no idea how well you’re watching. Of course he knows people watch him—he thrives on being seen. But you remain deliberately unreadable. You let him believe his masks are unperforated. That’s your plan; you are a professional in the business of not being fully known.

But he knows

All of this comes to a head one evening when Rudo storms out of a planning room after a terse exchange. Tamsy follows—always close enough for a hand on the shoulder. You trail after them at a corner’s distance, heart amused, eyes narrowed.

They stop in a dead corridor of rust and graffiti. Rudo says one thing—too angry, and Tamsy answers with a phrase you’d seen him use before in the mess hall: “Sometimes people need to break to unlock their true potential, Rudo.”

You pause. The phrasing is clinical and intentional. You have one more data point.

You do not run. You do not call alarms. You fold the observation into your file the way you would fold a letter into a pocket. He says he wants Rudo to break. That much you can confirm by pattern. The motive behind it? Unknown. The degree of harm? Unknown. The rightful response? That’s the question you smile at internally.

Wow. It was no wonder you two were together. Opposite sides of the same coin.

On your walk back, you stare up at the chipped paint of the HQ ceiling and talk to yourself like someone composing an overture. “He's got the patience of a saint,” you monologue, and you are not sure whether you admire him or despise him for it. “He knows the strings. He’s not stupid.”

You decide not to interfere—at least, not yet. You are curious and sensible in equal measures.

Somewhere inside you, a thin fold of something warmer presses against the edges: a real, slightly sick excitement. If the story ends ugly, it will be unforgettable. If it ends beautiful, you’ll have front-row tickets. Either way, you will have something to talk about later, and you loooove talking about endings.

So you keep watching. You keep documenting. You keep baiting. You lie to him and he lies to you in this relationship. You keep asking the same impossible question again and again—how will this end?—and you enjoy that the answer is still being written.

That night, it was quiet. Well as quiet as can be at Cleaners HQ. You were half-asleep, hunched over your desk with papers sprawled out, doodles of strings, and half-drawn eyes that always looked suspiciously like Tamsy’s.

Then the door clicked open.

You turned, ready to bite someone’s head off for barging in uninvited, but stopped when you saw who it was.

Tam Tam!

He didn’t look like the calm, polished version everyone saw in daylight. His tie was loosened, coat wrinkled, and something heavy glinted in his hand— a thick book bound in worn leather.

“Well, that’s creepy,” you muttered. “So do you not knock anymore, are we past that phase?”

He smiled, soft and almost kind. “We’re past a lot of phases.”

“Anyways,” you gestured to the mess of papers. “Been connecting dots, babes. You act strange around Rudo. You act like a chessmaster. You seem to know a lot. It's really not hard to see something’s off about you, y’know?” You figured fuck it. You kinda want this to speed up.

Tamsy’s gaze dropped to your notes. His expression didn’t shift much, but the air around him thickened like invisible threads tightening around the room.

“So you cracked the system,” he rolled his eyes. Ah, there’s that sass.

“Not everything,” you admitted. “But enough.”

He tilted his head, his smile sharpening at the edges. “You always were sharp; my most favorite and hatred trait about you. But I did underestimate you a bit, I have to admit.”

You grinned. “Don’t beat yourself up, man. Nobody’s perfect.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. Then, gently, he placed the book on your desk. Its cover seemed to breathe like it was alive, pulsing faintly with thought.

You blinked. “So what is that?” You genuinely did not know what that book did. You theorized maybe it was what he used to...fuck with people? Why would it be a book though...rewriting destiny like a story? Oh...you got it.

“The beginning and the end,” he said. “A safeguard.”

“Ooh, poetic. I thought you were more of a numbers guy.”

He smiled wider, almost pitying. “I prefer guarantees.”

You leaned your chin on your hand. “You’re weird Tamsy, but at least you’re finally being honest. So what now? You tell me your evil master plan or something?”

He looked at you— really looked. There was very slight affection there, buried under calculation. “You want honesty?”

“I just asked for it, didn’t I?”

He stepped closer, resting his palm on the book. “Fine. I intend to break Rudo. Not kill him. Not harm him senselessly, just-” he paused to take his hair down. You shoud’ve just invited him to get his nails done, maybe try on some makeup out of pettiness because the guy can be so feminine and you’re mad that it attracts you.

“—break him open. The way you’d split glass to see what reflects inside.” He gently caressed his hair strands.

You froze. “Break him…?”

“It’s a necessary role. He’s the key to a truth that’s very big, you see.”

“And you’re what— the locksmith?”

He smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Something like that.”

You stared, trying to decide whether to be impressed or horrified. “Oh wow, you’re pretty insane.” I love it.

“Yes.” He tilted his head, amused. “But you’re perceptive. Which makes this… unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” you echoed.

Tamsy’s gaze softened. “I really do like and care for you, my dear. You’ve been entertaining. It is...” he tapped his pierced chin, “—a very great quality in a partner.”

You frowned, leaning back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before you could move, he flipped the book open. The air rippled like reality inhaled. You felt it before you saw it— a sharp pulse behind your eyes, then the world sliding sideways.

You reached up, trying to grab his sleeve, but your hand stopped midair.

“Tamsy—”

“Ah ah.” He stepped forward, lifting his hand above your head as he held the book with his other hand. “You don’t need to remember this, darling. You’ll wake up feeling like you’ve dreamed something important. That’s enough.”

You felt warmth spread through your skull, like your mind was unraveling from the inside out. The desk, the room, his voice— everything dissolved into white.

Then nothing.

—

Morning light. You blinked awake, groggy, sitting upright at your desk. You thought your desk was filled with papers, notes? No? Maybe you’re tripping. You rubbed your temple. Your head ached.

“Ugh…what the hell did I drink last night?”

You stretched, stood, and started tidying your room out of habit. When you pulled open the drawer under your bed, something fluttered out— a folded piece of paper. Your handwriting.

You squinted.

If you’re reading this, you’ve probably lost your memories. Tamsy has a way of making people forget. Don’t know how yet. But watch him closely. I suspect he’s the culprit to whatever happened with Amo, and he’s planning something with Rudo. Hey but I don’t know yet, just don’t say I didn’t warn ya! -sincerely, me from a week ago.

You read it twice, then slowly sat back down.

“…Well,” you muttered, half-laughing. “...that’s terrifying.”

You wrote a letter to yourself a week ago.

You twirled the note between your fingers, thoughtful. “So I wrote this to warn myself, huh? Interestin’…”

For a long time, you just stared at the paper— a faint smile creeping across your lips.

Then you folded it back up, tucked it into your pocket, and murmured, “Alrighty then.”

“You’re really cut from a different cloth…”

Enjin’s voice redirects your focus from rolling the lipstick between your fingers onto him. Lazily draped over the common room’s sofa, legs crossed as if you are ready to conquer more than just the makeup you surely tricked some bastard into getting for you — that stuff isn’t easy to find. You're smart enough to use a few words to have a guy whipping out his wallet. And he likes smart chicks — until they’re annoying like you’re easily earning the title.

In any case, he despises the fact some dude is getting what he can only dream of, no matter how much he’s sweating blood for the cause of earning your favor.

“What could you possibly mean, Enjin?” you answer casually, serving him a disinterested look already. No one should be fooled by it, as he knows it’s just a deceiving calm before the storm. What has begun as him chasing a pretty lady, initially unaware of her viciousness, has been turned — involuntarily to him— into the game of push and pull.

Involuntarily, if he weren’t giving you advantage voluntarily, unable to stay away from the source of excitement you bring. Flaunting yourself when you can, but withdrawing yourself away from him the second he think he’s about to get it. Entertaining his flirting attempts, but never turning them into more. Not to mention, teasing him so relentlessly he could believe you’ve been sent to punish and humiliate him; especially when it’s his honorary job to be a jerk.

Yup, so far you’ve been exceeding anyone else about being a pain in his ass. And Enjin — he is constantly forced to question what he could be possibly lacking, if you’re not falling straight into his arms… or lap. He’s handsome, tall, funny, charming, knows how to make someone feel special, and is definitely capable of appreciating a good woman.

“I see you put your claws on another guy. Is it a nice shade, at least?” Speaking condescendingly, he plops himself next to you and throws a casual arm across the space behind your head. Your eyes narrow, knowing he’s playing it cool as his shoulder brushes yours and there’s no apologies.

Inwardly, he’s already locating a shop that would sell better lipstick he could get for you.

“It’s decent,” you smile, turning your head to be gazing at him with slow blinks. Fluttering your lashes so he’s not able to look away, right before you’d throw him into another spiral of restlessness. He digs in, eyeing your pretty features up and down. Would you notice if he moved his face an inch closer? “Why, you jealous?” you taunt.

He snickers, as if unable to find such notion possible. Jealousy implies some sort of care about a chosen person. It’s not that he likes more than your body… even if he vies for your attention, trying to prove what a better guy he’d be. Not could — would be. Just ridiculous of him, who’s anxious at the though of lying his heart in someone else’s hands, or who thinks he’s stronger than a petty emotion envy is. It must have been that masculine need to compete, not a crush or anything…

He’s literally twenty-eight!

“Sweetheart, I could be many things you want me to be, but jealous ain’t one of them,” he grins, trying to sell you his confidence.

You don’t buy it. “Possessive, then?” It’s you who moves closer first, until he has to press his head really snugly to the furniture’s back. He tries his best to look at your lips, as if reciprocating the flirt and not getting all sweaty with a stressed heart. How does one woman make him fumble this much?

“Nope,” he pops his lips at the p letter to accentuate his conviction. “Though, I could see why some folk would be mad over you…” he says lowly. He winks and draws away.

You relax in your seat too. You’ll have to see if someone can repair the common room’s couch again. It’s nice, if you ignore the holes in the green fabric. Many things around are falling apart in general, and they barely fill any space of the yellow-wallled room as well; but it’s home sweet home. “Glad to know you don’t mind me seeing other men…” here you go, provoking him properly and swiftly.

As suspected, his head yanks up with offense, staring at you with “don’t you dare”, thinking he’d hate the idea; he puts on another nonchalant mask when he realizes he exposed himself a second later. “Wipe that smirk off. I don’t care what you’re doing with other guys. I have plenty of eyes on me too, you know.” He puffs out his chest a little.

“Oh, I know,” you flirt, not meaning it much, even if he gives you a look of interest at your sweet tone. However, you still didn’t expect him to last so long. Most men become aggressive or leave after you’ve kept them hanging in suspense for months. But Enjin? He’s damn hooked, desperate to finally lay his hands on you, he just keeps playing your game like moth drawn to the flame you are. At this point, he might even attempt to kiss you all softly until you’re swooning for him too — gross romanticism, if he must.

One thing is sure in his horny brain: you know how to frustrate the man. He can never tell if you're playing hard to get or are hard to get. You certainly enjoy spilling cruelties on his emotions and ego for your own enjoyment, as if you’re some sort of sadist.

“Good. Keep it mind. Maybe you’ll be the one to be jealous the next time you see me with some hot lady in the nearest settlement,” he says proudly, tapping his fingers behind your head.

“We should get a double date while we’re at that, cause I’d probably be with some hunk myself,” your smirk widens, with you enjoying the way his mouth open in protest too fast to call it nonchalance.

Enjin groans and hits the couch with his head dramatically.

“Must you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” You pop the lipstick open and close it to make him more agitated with the sound of plastic. His eyelid twitches.

“Not letting the man have even a tiny bit of you and all.” He’s the man in question. Talking about himself in the third person makes things less embarrassing. “It makes me wonder, what do I have to do to earn a chance with you?”

What does the mantra go like? Enjin doesn't chase — he attracts. Well, he always chased women, but they also have been coming to him on their own! With you, he does the chase solely himself; probably until his poor body will collapse from exhaustion, apparently. He wants to believe it makes him a virile guy who knows what he wants, who will be this lion king to pull the best woman around and crow about it, but who is he kidding…

You’ve been the one throwing curveballs. And it’s not some longlasting banter, if it’s an entire war on his pride, sanity, and confidence — or even masculinity.

“You were trying to earn a chance with me?” Your obviously feigned innocence pulls an even louder groan out of him, making you laugh.

It’s fun to tease people, see them stress over his words or get shy, but when he’s being subjected to it, especially by you… he just wants to strangle you. He almost pities everyone else he had ever taunted, finding himself in their shoes. Or rather, he has it much worse than they had it with him — you’re this spider crushing a cheap player’s ego. He’s supposed to be the one beguiling the other side, like he used to do so with women.

“Come on. I’ve heard that juicy gossip in the Canvas Town. Apparently, you putting men to their knees is every Friday’s special,” his tone turns more serious, which to you, is rather theatrical when you can’t care much. He hates both you chasing other men — it is jealousy like you said — and being another one on your list to check and abandon.

Demanding some payoff, he finally allows himself to play with your hair, gathering it to the side. When you let him expose your neck (surely a deliberate and well-thought move from your side), seeing your skin has his mouth water at the idea of putting his lips here. Staring intensely, he imagines leaving a nasty hickey on there, one that would deter other men away from approaching you until it healed.

“Being a cleaner is stressful. A girl must relax somehow. You do something about that too, I’ve been told by Semiu,” you reply apathetically to his possessiveness. Men use women all the time — you cannot be much worse. No one gets genuinely hurt, at least.

He snickers dryly, puffing out an air of astonishment. It’s nearly amusement by how ridiculous you sound to him. “You find using men relaxing?”

When you shrug, he’s reminded that he is still there, regardless of your misbehavior towards his gender. He’s just another fool for you to play with, but, fit for a fool, he likes to believe he’s doing better than the rest and there’s something awaiting him at the end of the rainbow. He’s still there, so isn’t that a sign he’s keeping you interested? You didn’t get bored so far, which counts for something — he has to be a worthy opponent.

“I guess it’s fair. Men do that with women all the time,” he comes up with the answer he’d expect to hear from you. Earning some brownie points, right as he drapes some of your hair further down your neck, almost cupping your entire throat with his hand.

Your pulse is steady under his fingertips. He hates that.

“Oh? So you are agreeing with me, not defending your sex? Or are you just trying to flatter me?” your inquiry is uttered with a lilted sound — you would have seen through him. Enjin is a tougher opponent in comparison to other men in your long past with them, yet you know how to disarm him nonetheless.

“Would that even change things for you,” he deflects brusquely. He’s finally acting on those impulsive demands of his body, unnerved — pressing his lips on your nape, spreading a kinder type of kiss first to see some shivers such delicate touch would have caused.

“Mm… eager,” you murmur, tilting your head back. No shivers.

Even though you’re letting him smooch you, he’s not sure if he’s doing you good — you giggle and shit, but it’s more you having fun than arousal. You might as well getting him hopeful for no reason, knowing you.

He looks up at you, still attached to your neck. You’re grinning down at him, not much rattled by his skilled mouth.

He doesn’t even bother to try again and takes some distance; he dramatically slumps his body until his head is hanging off the couch, and rubs his face. Good luck there’s no one in the room to witness his loss. “You’re so cold. Are you really into men?” he speaks more into the air, refusing to face you again. He doesn't need to hear your victory. Or entertaining the paranoia he’s not your type. That would be tragic.

“I am. I just am not sure I should let you get this ahead. You're trying to fuck me,” you say in a clipped voice. “I’m not interested in becoming a bed warmer for you.”

Which is hypocritical, considering you do fuck men for pleasure, often having him willing to do anything for more promised. However, you have a good reason to avoid hitting his bed specifically — sleeping between Cleaners sounds like a terrible idea. Besides, you think Enjin has enough ego without being able to touch you, one you don’t wish to reward. Secretly, or not so secretly, you hate men like him — all suave. You only respect him for who he is as a Cleaner and a friend, recognizing his importance to the symbiosis of everyone around.

He pouts, moving his lower lip to the front, again looking at you with something naughty. “Ah, but how do you know I don't want a date instead?”

“A date that would serve as a foreplay, you mean?” you chuckle.

He grumbles about you being coy under his nose and pulls you close, squeezing you so close to his big chest you feel your bones creaking. You make a sour face at his cologne overwhelming your nostrils. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy! You’ll have plenty of fun with me!” he laughs wolfishly, the sound’s vibrations purring between your huddled bodies.

Struggling to breathe and free yourself from the boa arms, you defend yourself verbally, “I’m pretty sure I’m not being shy.” You finally place enough strength on his shoulders to push yourself away, until you can inhale and fix your tousled hair. “You don’t know what I could do to you,” you tease too, still breathlessly. You smile; in that enticing way where your eyes sparkle, your eyelids lower into the bedroom look, and you’re meeting him from below your lashes. Once again, providing material for his mind to imagine beautiful things, but not being willing to materialize any of his dirty fantasies.

He spreads his legs wider to get more comfortable, needing to adjust himself. He imagines you on your knees between them, licking him up — oh, but you probably wouldn’t go there, and if you would, it’d be to pull out the most mortifying and slutty reactions from him. If anything, it’d be him being used by you. He doesn’t even go down there, being submissive or whatever, and yet…

As embarrassing he finds it, he probably would grant you some space for becoming your toy. Screw it, at this point, he’d take anything that’s equivalent to sexual. “Well, you can always fuck me instead. You probably would call it as that anyway, yeah? Taking charge and all?” He mocks, more self-deprecatingly about that he’s actually acknowledging the possibility. “So I guess this dick is all yours.” He motions his hand over his crotch.

“You mean the one between your legs, or yourself?” you grin slyly.

Not you calling him dick too. “Ugh, smartass woman… I guess both.”

This is what liking women smarter than him costs him.

One of the innumerable issues with you is that you wear work clothes that refuse to pronounce your real body shape. Yeah, your skin catching dust from the polluted zone is definitely yucky, but you’re going to get yourself washed after anyway. He’s seen you with your bust and ass out only once, in a tiny neon-pink dress reserved for going out to the colorful Canvas Town — unfortunately, as hard the sight had gotten him, it was as quickly ruined with you hanging on some man’s shoulder.

Enjin, regardless of his discontentment with your long jeans skirt and trashy-cheetah-print hoodie, is still a horny prick. You covering yourself only gets him excited about there has to be underneath — his mind tries to come up with the idea of what you could look like bare and on your fours, drawing the hottest visions to his mind.

Where he’d like to lay his hands on the most. How your body curves and fills the contours. Where his hands would rest the most comfortably when fucking you. What’s slappable, what’s grippable. Anything x you naked.

Of course, the fate had it that he are to be paired with you for the next cleaning. In fact, you make quite a good duo when you place your tension aside — not that you need to hear that from his lips.

It’s you you walking side by side by him through the trash-desert, whistling to yourself and swinging your vital instrument back and forth, while he tries to not side-ogle your body like a creep. As long as he doesn't angle his head excessively, the gas mask shall expose none… “So, you had a good sleep today?” he asks with a yawn.

You look up at him, already forming a taunting smile. Naturally, your face is covered by the mask, but he can gauge that expression with the expertise that was forced into him for the sake of surviving this one special woman. “Are you trying a new pickup line? It’s quite lame, to be honest.”

He shakes his head with exasperation. He’ll go gray prematurely because of you. Is chasing you even worth it at this point? Maybe he's just stubborn; no, he has to be. He hates annoying women, and yet, here he is. “No, I actually care about you being rested. Insane, I know. A man who’s into you also wants you rested.”

“So I can keep up with him in bed?”

“No!” he raises his voice out of frustration, then curses under his nose at the blunder — he’s ought to alert some beasts if he’s loud. It’s a loss of cool aura in front of you too. You just know how to provoke him, more than the brats around the HQ do. It's straight eight in the morning, too early to be baited by you. “No,” he tries again, quiet this time. “Because he’s being nice.” He forces a smile underneath his mask, barely keeping his sanity.

As your eye wrinkles keep up in mischief, he thinks that maybe you’re not done playing with his nerves. Thankfully, your answer comes out relatively normal. “Oh, then, it was good. Thanks for asking. You slept well too?”

“Yeah,” he throws casually, scratching the back of his head. Yeah, if he were to exclude the vivid dreams about you, or waking up with a boner in the middle of the night, lamenting you’re not there to take care of it. But you definitely shouldn’t know that — that’s giving you a loaded gun for free. “As much as those tiny beds allow. I’m a big guy, vertically and horizontally.” He flexes his arm under his trench coat, hoping to impress you.

You’re better than being bought by muscles, and worse as a human being. “I’ve seen taller,” you just had to drop the bomb, stopping him in tracks amid the sandy storm.

Enjin tries to keep his cool. He tells himself to remain calm, staring at his shoes. He acknowledges the fact there’s always a taller man; obviously, that’s logical. However, you didn’t need to make him sound short, especially when he takes pride in his broadness — playing the role of a peacock flaunting and spreading his feathers for you, his potential mate. He’s been hoping you find him tall enough!

“Excuse me?! If I’m barely fitting a standard bed, I think that’s tall enough!” he throws his hands and Umbreaker into the air dramatically, until the latter opens as dramatically. Forget being nonchalant. He gets efficient enough excuses to be emotional around you.

You stop your stroll, turning around to meet him with innocence. “Oh, but I didn’t say you’re not tall enough. Just stating the fact there are men taller than you, to highlight you still have it light compared to their struggle…” you chide him, smirking sideways.

He realizes how he allowed you to provoke him again. You didn’t even call him short directly; he fell for that because you know where to dig at his ego’s spectrum. “But… that applies to everything…” he says quietly to himself, itching to yell at you until you say sorry.

You’re stealing his job. He’s supposed to be taunting people. He’s supposed to be flirting with you, and you are supposed to be giggling all prettily at him, saying how great Enjin is.

You’re making him lose his mind instead. The worst gamble he took in his entire life is trying to win you over.

He makes a decision in order to save his mental health. “Wait here. I need a cigarette,” he grumbles.

You hit the sand with your instrument. “Huh? You crazy? You can’t take your mask off here.” He won’t kick the bucket if he will be fast enough with smoking, although, ending up with a sick lung isn’t a fun idea to spend your free time with.

“Oh, you’re worrying about me all of a sudden?” he scoffs. “I’ll smoke in the car. Put the filter on.”

“Must you? I just wanna get done with our job!” You give him pleading eyes through the windows of your mask — in the soft way he knows other men would fold under. It gets his knees week also.

Fortunately, he’s still capable of recognizing his own shortcomings. There’s leftover crumbs of this quality, ones he plans to use when he’s being violently abused by your mindgames.

“Well, your fault, darling. You pissed me off again,” he says almost cockily, unable to believe he didn't give in under pressure.

Until you take on revenge, fussy that you were denied for once by him. “Tsk. Then go on, leave me waiting. Though let me tell you — you smoking is funny. Cigarettes already are a poison, but smoking them when you're already being slowly poisoned by trash… it’s just you giving a helping hand to the process of killing yourself.”

His umbrella almost snaps under the grip on the handle.

“No, you’ve got this, Enjin. She’s just showing she’s at you,” he thinks.

“The doll is being worried about my health. I’m charmed,” he exaggerates with a hand on his chest. “Yeah, I guess you need to pick your vice. And some damn cigarette is the least I deserve for risking my life everyday. Or for dealing with annoying kids… or women,” he says the last in a petty way, and turns his back around to walk away back to the car.

“Whatever. I’ll stay here and try to not be eaten by a trash beast,” you bark back at him, grumpily. Your eyes scavenge for any moving things in the dusty, beige-rock horizon.

“You do you!” he calls chirpily from behind his shoulder. Hearing you complain a bit has him feeling smug, tasting the victory on his tongue. Finally, for once in his predicament, you’re not having things go your ways. His walk is full of swagger, with Enjin thinking about how one cigarette might turn into two or three. He’s eager to keep you waiting and all; he’s resting easy at the notion you can defend yourself until he’s back.

Though, he’s worried he might start missing you again, and stuck with his thoughts alone, he’ll think about you bouncing on his dick in the car, the car bumping along the rhythm of you two, and—

He hears your scream, right as he’s about to climb the mound the car was parked on for a better chance to find it later amid the storm. “Enjin, help me!”

One thing about you is that you don’t ever have it bad enough with trash beasts to be screaming so helplessly — it’s only in his head, when he pretends you’re creaming on his cock.

Wielding his umbrella, he quickly turns around, forgetting about the smoke break, as he’s ready to protect his object of desire — a precious Cleaner companion too, he’d dare say. “Girl, what’s wrong?!”

He scans the area, looking for the source of danger. It’s weird, he didn’t hear any rustle of beasts… and now, he sees nothing. No you or the beast. “Huh? What the hell…”

You take advantage of his distraction to sneak into your car and hide the cigarettes, in order to frustrate him some more. You don't plan to spend entire day here because an emotional dude wants his cigs. You open the door, hoping to work in earned time.

In the same moment, he turns around towards the car again with lingering confusion, searching for something in another direction.

With the height the door is placed at, you end up hitting something.

Then you hear a thump, something heavy falling on the sand moving under its weight. Your eyes widen in terror when you see him knocked out.

“Enjin, no!” you jump off the mound, crouching down next to the unconscious man. “Why were you just standing there!”

As he doesn't wake up, you shake on his shoulder. Sure, you hit him pretty hard, you carry some strength, but you would have thought he’s more sturdy. “Enjin, you frog-looking bastard!” You sit down on the sand next to him, all resigned. There’s no bleeding or crack in his skull, so he must have been hit with the force of your swing instead.

The beasts that soon finds you, you have to defeat on your own. Then drag this big inconvenience to the car and drive back to the headquarters on your own.

You didn’t expect Enjin to ever be capable of causing you to feel something like honest guilt. Really, everything that has taken place in the zone was no more than an accident, as even your cigarette thievery wasn’t meant to hurt him. The fuel is added when you think about how he was ready to protect you, with no hesitation to jump in to help you.

You added to poor Eishia’s worries too. She thought you killed the man everyone depends on.

You’ve been out of his space ever since bringing him back, and now are standing in front of the hospital room, trying to cherry-pick any anger in Enjin’s voice after he finally woke up.

“Ouch, ow, can't you be more careful, kiddo…” he’s complaining about something to Rudo already foaming in his mouth.

“I brought you food! I’m adjusting your pillow too! You asked me to! That’s just ungrateful!”

“Hey, I was just saying—”

You knock on the open door, willing to interrupt a possible volcano eruption. “Hey, Enjin. I’m glad you’re awake,” you greet humbly for yourself.

To your surprise, or lack thereof when you know him well, he’s immediately quieter, straightening his body on the bed too, as if no pain was ever bothering him. Wearing on nonchalance to not lose your respect. A head concussion? Nah, he had it worse in the past. It's merely a bit of headache. He might be butthurt about you trying to deprive him of his cigarettes, though. “Yeah, yea. You can go, Rudo. I’ll be fine, kiddo.”

“Hey! You told me you want me to—” Rudo’s mouth is being covered, not letting the boy take away his chance of being with you alone.

“I did. But the new help’s here, exempting you of work,” he nods over at you. Rudo makes a disgruntled noise and leaves, not without spilling few insults. Enjin has wasted his time, but at least he doesn’t have to look after the older guy.

“How are you feeling?” you ask placidly, no tease or hidden intention for the sake of your regret. When he eyes you with suspicion, you move closer and sit on the edge of his bed, conceiving the need for an earnest talk.

His pupils dilate at the sight of you, regardless of him having been a bit mad at you. He tries to express his dissatisfaction at what happened with pursed lips, only to feel more like a child desperate for attention. Eishia filled him on why was his head brutalized by you, but somehow, he’s feeling petty about the idea of being mad at you. Special treatment he’s been brewing from his little crush.

“As good as a man with a head concussion can feel. All of this because you tried to hide my cigarettes. And here I thought you were in genuine danger…” he sounds whiny already. Not without giving you tiny glances about whether his trick works on you. You just look so caring and it gets to his head, and he’ll be lying to say he’s not irritated by being defeated by something as stupid as you hitting him with a car door, enough to need some TLC.

Except, you're not that easy. “What happened to your bravado?”

Right. He’s supposed to be tough in front of you, not a spineless loser. Even if you have made your point a long time ago — usual tactics do nothing to impress you, especially if it’s forced masculinity or platitudes. “It’s right there alright. I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” he shrugs his shoulders too insistently on being chill, only to wince at his headache going down his spine under the movement.

“Oh ho,” you shake your head with pitying smile. You shouldn’t be so soft, in his opinion — he doesn’t like his feelings being touched. “You can tell me if something is wrong, you know. It’s my fault you’re here. I didn’t mean to have you injured, but…” you speak in a tone meant to be comforting. You even place your hand on his bicep, rubbing his instantly tightening muscles.

Only exciting him. Fantasizing about your hands on him is one thing. It’s a minuscule part of the issue, when your rare softness is working its way into his heart.

Oh no. You’re going to be all sentimental — you looking at him with worry and regret of a puppy, as if aware you did something wrong is the manifestation of it — and he won't know how to deal with that.

He quickly opens his mouth, also adjusting his body after it tingled from your touch. “Don’t try to apolo—” “I’m sorry,” you interrupt, solemnly. “Seriously. That was stupid of me.”

“You just had to…” he sighs deeply, rubbing his temple. Now that you two are here, he’ll have to be frank with you just to move on. “I know you didn’t want to hurt me. I'm just a bit pissed at you, but I doubt you’re that cruel to hit me deliberately, despite what you’re doing to me.”

Your tense shoulders relax, relieved he’s not considering killing you for your prank went wrong. “Oh? And what am I doing to you?” you tease, more so to lift his spirits than irritate.

“Don’t get me started,” he laughs off nervously, peeking at your hand on him.

Right as it moves up to his shoulder. You scooch closer to begin massaging him, the least you can do — as if able to tell he needs it. It feels so good on his stressed body, a groan leaves his lips and he wants to close his eyes. “Chin up. At least I won’t find the strength in me to torment you when you’re in this state,” you remark humorously.

He’d disagree. Not with the way your hands skillfully knead his muscles and make him further descend into being your fool. Your attention is on him, you smell nice with whatever perfume you were gifted, and your pretty face is right there for his tired eyes — literally a sight for sore eyes. But he’ll digress — you’re actually being innocent with your touch for once. It’s only the body knows what it wants.

“Yeah? You’ll hand-feed me too?” he mocks with a small grin.

“I just might. Whatever the patient needs,” you mention, digging your fingertips into his muscles until he winces at the knot being undone.

He gets hit with the realization you mean your words, feeling responsible for him. “… Don’t. I need to maintain my reputation.”

“Suit yourself.”

Eventually, he relaxes his heart tremors enough to close his eyes and submit himself to your soothing touch. He even manages to not make it weird, just therapeutic for his body and soul.

Then he suddenly remembers, his eyes snapping open, directed with accusation at you. “You called me a frog looking bastard!”

“Huh?” you play dumb. You didn’t know he was still lingering in consciousness when you said that at the time. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” He sits up straight, stopping your motion. He gives you a stink eye. Your insults was so abysmal, of course he memorized it even through the fog of his mind.

“Enjin, you must have been hallucinating after you hit your head,” you pat his shoulder patronizingly.

There's no way he’ll settle at that version. He has to defend his handsome looks. “Is it my big, tired eyes? Because women love it—”

You laugh, then switch to scolding when he visibly winces from pain. “Calm your tits. Let’s focus on you getting better first. Eishia might have fixed most of your head trouble, but you still need a good day of rest.”

“Great, now you’re being maternal,” he grumbles. He’d like to prove you wrong, but in battle of wits, you’ll dim his enthusiasm anyway — so he turns on his side, away from you, sulky.

Silence follows. Regardless of his mood, you place your hand on his shoulder again. “Seriously, Enjin, is there something I can do to make up for almost cracking your skull?”

He perks up, looking at you over his shoulder with interest. Oh, there’s many things he’d love to receive. Being cracked instead of his skull, for example. But he has enough decorum and decency to refuse to be the nasty man who uses your body by weaponizing your guilt. “Nah. Don’t mention it.” He lies down again, wrapping himself snugly in a blanket.

But you see it; the way he tenses under your touch and it definitely isn’t discomfort. You have always noticed his desperation and thirst for you, you simply didn’t act on that need of his.

Today, feeling guilty and mostly worried, you actually feel like doing something about it… although, it’s not really the sense of being indebted that has you considering doing more. It’s an excuse to have some fun, on another level of tormenting him for your indulgence. You’ve been worried about crossing the lines your job would have drawn; except, they were long tarnished when you didn’t put a clear stop to his chase months ago.

You’ve been craving him for quite a while now. So you ask again, implying your true intention with a lower tone. “Are you sure?”

His head whips up immediately, turning to look at you. “Huh? Yeah.” He nods rapidly, more so to ground himself in his certainty.

“Hm…” your hand wanders up his tattooed neck and he gulps, eyes full of surprise at your unexpected eagerness. Every nerve awakens with your touch, sending pleasure coding to his brain. “But I can make you feel better.”

He’s sitting up fully, glad his blanket pools around his growing need. “WHA— no, no, wait. I don’t want you to forcing yourself for my sake. I’m not that much of a bastard to take advantage of you,” his protest is anxious, coming from the need to protect you. He scratches the back of his head, observing your hand for any more suspicious move, wondering why you don’t seem uncomfortable — are you seriously being into the perks of doing more with him, or are being a good actress? He would have though all that happened for the past months was no more than a game to you.

“Who said you’d be taking advantage of me?” you purr. When he looks at you as if you just have told him cigarettes were banned, unable to comprehend the idea of you finally doing something to him V O L U N T A R I L Y, you roll your eyes with a mocking disappointment. Wanting to light up the bulb in his head, you add, “What if I want you too?”

“You- you do?” he forces out with gaping eyes. Perhaps, you’re leading him on again. Why the change? Although, he doubts you’re gullible enough to offer yourself out of pity — you must want him somewhere. No forgiving type you are.

You click your tongue at his slowness. “Well, of course, I wouldn’t let you sleep with me or anything.” No, that would be allowing him to win a jackpot. “But, hopefully the sight of my body should make you feel better?” You play with a Choker around his neck, slipping your fingers under until you hit the dip between his collarbones. He gulps.

Enjin of course would have preferred if he could outright fuck you, further motivated by your ongoing touch. But at this stage of your game, he’d take anything and it’d still be much more than he ever could have bargained for.

The sole obstacle in his way is his pride. It’s not as if you don’t know how desperate he is, but he still wants to maintain some illusion of control in front of you two. Besides, he remembers how you reacted to him denying you your request in the desert — your frustration was delightful to witness. “I don’t need that. I can ask any woman to do that for me. There’s like ten of them in my phone.”

But you don’t play bullshit, challenging him with suddenly cutting his supply of your touch. You stand up from his bed. “Should we call them now? I can call one for you. Tell her poor Enjin needs to see some nice tits to get better.”

“I—” his face flushes. What you describe sounds on brand for character; he’s simply not used to women putting his lust bluntly. Nor does he want to lose the chance to see you naked FOR ONCE.

Who is he trying to fool, playing coy and unavailable? He’s conscious about the fact he’d regret saying no. “How much?” he mumbles through his lips.

“Hm?” You raise your brow.

“How much would you let me get away with?” he repeats, louder.

“You can look… you can touch… just no trying to shove your dick in me,” you bat your lashes at him.

As expected. He rubs his brow, foggily calculating the consequences of lying in bed with you. There’s many coming to his mind, actually, but he’s thinking with his dick. “Well, the least we can do is move over to my room…” He looks around. The ugly hospital hall’s beds are empty, thought you never know when someone might storm in.

Not to mention, he’d be revolved and angry in case someone sees what’s meant for his eyes only — in his non-humble opinion.

“Go on. I allowed you that much, didn’t I?” you smile coquettishly under him. You’ve been ready to be on top and give him a little show, but he insisted on being above you, promising his head will be fine as long as he’s not too vigorous. Though with the music he decided to blast in another bland and empty bedroom of the headquarters, supposedly to set a good mood, a headache is promised.

His big arms are trapping you by the sides of your head, on his own bed. Your legs rest on the side of his as he’s kneeling between yours, getting him horny at how close your groins are.

Although, staring at you, your body spread for him like a gift and beautifying his plain bedsheets, being allowed to finally have some taste… he’s nervous, not dominating you with his energy or any of such. It’s too good to be true to have you here, nor does he need to fall even more fixated with you. For a man with some buildup experience, he’s not sure where he should begin with ‘unwrapping’ you. Any move could be read as wrong by you.

It’s too hot in this room.

“I know… I’m just… not taking your reward for granted.” His spacious palms hesitantly move to the button of your jeans skirt, unzipping it after — he manages to do it last second before you’d have to help him, shunning the same. You watching out for any slip up definitely didn’t make it easier.

He sees the black lacy panties peeking underneath the zipline and his cock throbs in his pants. To get such nice ones, a small bow to make it pretty and all, he doesn’t doubt your ability you encouraged some man in the town to buy them for you. Just this layer between him and your pussy, he’s already panting like a desperate dog. “Okay, now…”

You’re being nice to him, lifting your hips for him, silently observing his actions. The lower the skirt leaves, the more it opens the view on your thighs and hips. The moment the clothing is gone, he’s immediately gripping them — fuck him, they rest so good in his hands. “You might just be a goddess, sent to torment me…” he remarks quietly, pitying himself. You're soft too, using whatever lotion bottle you found after people from the above dropped it down still half-filled.

He ogles you shamelessly, burning the image of you, as well as the palpable feeling, on his mind. He omits your pussy, wanting to leave the dessert for the end.

“I take it you like it?” you chuckle, wiggling your body a bit on purpose.

“That’s an understatement…” he pinches your thigh a little to see your flesh plumped, until you're serving him a pout from the tiny pain he springs into life.

“Be gentle with me. That body is important,” you tease.

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t I know that...” You and your hunt on men… “Lift your arms for me, darling.”

You obey. The moment your hoodie is paired with the skirt on the floor, he inhales sharply through his teeth.

There was no bra all along, so he’s drooling at the sight of your breasts hitting his vision immediately. His eyes could fall out of his sockets. “Really?”

“I’m comfy.” You just don’t like wearing one around the headquarters, finding it bothersome to cage your breasts for the majority of work already.

He’s on you immediately, fondling the jiggly between his fingers, cupping them entirely. Gawking at them, all starved and willing to pounce on you the millisecond you allow.

You'd love to bully him over that, but his fingers roll your nipples between them, the honey in his eyes darkening when your buds poke back at him. You shiver, annoyed when he grins at your sensitive vulnerability shown. “Finally something else than leading me on, huh?” he taunts smugly.

“I can feel your boner against my leg, Enjin,” you bite back, grinning as he scrunches his nose in irritation — of course, you’re terribly right. You still can't believe you’re letting him this far, so some taunting is due.

Deciding he wants to explore more possibilities of your reaction, and most importantly, needing your pussy for dear life, he grabs the band of your panties. There’s an itch to be a brute and rip off your panties, something he knows other women would find hot, and then… but you’d hate him for that. No waste is allowed and that jazz. “Screw that, you’re right. I’m hopeless with you and you feast on that shit. Satisfied?” he sighs.

So to calm himself, he glides your underwear down your legs, on a slower side to see if you’ll collect some anticipation in you as well.

You both fix your gazes at each other, not willing to break the condensing tension with divided eye-contact. You’re watching him intensely, noting every desperation for your enjoyment. He’s throbbing harder under being scrutinized, and yet, he can still your breath hitch to have some power over you. Good — you’re not immune to his touch.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this…” Of course you do. You made the wait happen. He needs for it to be said for the sake of releasing the intoxication you’ve been inculcating in his mind and loins. It’s invigorating.

“Only you get the pain of it, huh?” you rest your hands over his knees twitching occasionally.

Once your panties are good and your pussy is there for his display, he stops moving to take a deep breath in, shiver spreading down his whole body at this visage finally given to him. You’re the vision to haunt him forever especially down here.

He doesn't miss the way your thighs tremble over his, as if waiting for something or someone to sink their fangs into you properly. He has to oblige.

Your hand trails his knee, brushing over his pants to let him know it’s all very much real.

He prays for himself. “And I really can…?” Getting hurt by you was definitely worth it, considering everything that’s playing out right now. Wet dreams coming true. You’re naked as the way you were born like you’re some nymph, while he’s still fully in his clothes and it doesn’t even feel like having control over you.

“Yeah, Enjin, you can.” He doesn’t waste time after the reminder still keeping him on the Ground. His fingers brush between your folds, zeroing in on the way they part for him. What he’d do to be able to rub his cock here, surely big enough to be taking up all the space here.

You squirm from the inevitable pleasure, angling your hips into a better position.

“Mm, how’s the view?”

Enjin doesn’t look away from your cunt for even a second. He taps his finger on your clit next, watching as it twitches, as if he’s some expert on your body. Sparking small sensitivity in you, you’re suddenly acutely aware of the ache growing in your groin. You whimper, drawing out a satisfied sigh from him. “She’s pretty. You’re pretty…” he comments dreamily.

“Thank you— she?” you ask with both sense of being flattered and amusement.

“Your pussy. I bet she tastes sweet too,” he groans at the thought.

That man. It’s amazing his dirty tongue doesn’t turn off when he’s anxious; though, that’s what the horny does. Now your head is filled with thoughts of what destruction he’d bring with his tongue once you let him between your legs. Perhaps that’s the plan for another day…

“I do. I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to pull you away from me,” you tease.

“And I bet you're right on the money,” he smiles knowingly at you in the peripheral vision.

Your body tremors when he then spits on your hole to see it glisten, before he’s spreading your vulva with two fingers. “Damn…” he could taste how tightly you’d wrap around him. How much you’d soak his cock. “I know you said no fucking… but I can use my finger, right? Just to see what you feel like…” he pleads, eyes darting at you with a need.

You weight your option, staring at his huge hand fitting well between your legs. Those fingers would fill you so nicely, wouldn’t they? It’s no more than your feeding curiosity, you try to tell yourself. You end up nodding, not without your stomach clenching at the thought of him breaching your hole beyond previously highlighted line.

“Bless you,” he says with gratitude. He pushes his index finger inside along with his saliva, feeling the way your walls immediately trap around him in a suffocating fashion. He can tell you’ve been wet already, and he’s right, as his spit fuses with your slick into juices being rushed back and forth. Enjin memorizes the grip of your hole to replay in his head later; your tiny gasp at the stretch as well. “Ugh, so tight too… can’t even hate you properly with a body like this.

Can’t even imagine what it’d be like to have you warming my cock instead.”

He feels it — you instantly clamping on his digit shallowly thrusting. You moan too, unable to repel the dizzying thought of being split by him. His throat tightens, as he’s half-considering asking you for more. You haven’t pushed him away so far, and your pussy cooperates with his strokes.

He feels like a jerk asking for it, yet no guilt hits him when his bulge pulses and demands in his boxers. “Aren’t you curious too…?” he suggest lowly. He curls his finger, wiggling around to find some nice spot that would have you reconsider every limitations you have placed on him.

“E-Enjin…” you whine a little, puffing out air at the small sparks of pleasure he’s stirring. “You know we shouldn’t…”

Oh, he knows it for sure — Cleaners’ conflict of interests and all. But just a small dip inside shouldn’t hurt, right? “We don’t have to fuck. Simply check our compatibility,” he jokes, regardless of staring at you with what he’d consider way outside what his pride would allow. Any traces of nonchalance are entirely wiped. “Just the tip, I promise.”

Your mind conjectures the image in your head, ghosts your hole with it too — you believe just the tip would be a lot with what he’s hiding in his pants. And you find yourself drooling at the fantasy, any inhibitions are being spontaneously thaw out. “But really just the tip?” the hesitation in your voice is just a decoration.

“Really,” he says, biting his lip until it goes white. Now more confident, he moves his hip to the front so he can grind his bulge against you and coax you into agreeing. The friction has you moaning, not to mention the size, with you crumpling his bedsheets under your hands. “You see what you’re doing to me?”

You certainly feel it. You nod.

Then he takes it one step further, moving his red shirt over his head, which soon joins your clothes. Your mouth goes dry at the image of his muscular torso, painted in black and red lines of his tattoo. He has you right there, feeling good about himself in front of you for once.

“Alright, alright…” The sparkle in his eyes at your yes has you bout to regret your choice.

The coil snaps. Wasting no time, he’s shoving his pants and boxers down with nearly an inhuman speed, revealing anything you have ever dreamed of in the man.

He is huge. His clothes often turn his body shapeless, and while he has some nice waist on him, his cock remains big. Standing up and resting against his abdomen, leaking fat beads of pre-cum from the furious red of the tip about to grace your body. He tries not to smile at your stare.

“Scared?”

“You think I can’t take it?” You want to take every inch, no drama or complaining.

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, hoping for a bit of struggle for the ego stroking value.

Back between your legs, he spreads them with those also huge hands, before pushing a finger into you again.

“You said just the tip,” you whine at the repeated stretch, holding onto his thigh. Your long nails scratch him on purpose, watching goosebumps awake.

“I know I did, pretty girl. But I have to stretch you a bit or you might get hurt.” This one is not an excuse served by him; though it does give him a perfect opportunity to fondle you for extended period of time, by other hand over your hips.

Though you foolishly want to challenge yourself and prove him wrong, you still appreciate him being considerate. You’re certainly not complaining, as just his hand on you is wonderful. You let a pretty mewl pass your lips. Those he wanted to kiss forever.

Hoping asking for a kiss is no worse than anything else happening at the moment, he lowers his face until his forehead and nose bump yours. There’s no stopping, but adding another finger inside — you want to cry from how full it has you already. You both gasp at his cock laying itself over your thigh in this angle — you almost from the terror, he from the contact.

He’s pretty in this proximity; he thinks you’re even prettier. He doesn't look away, nor do you, ghosting his face by ventilating breath in an upbeat manner. It’s you who kisses first, softly at the start, then twisting it into heated after the months of denial of your own desire for him.

Both of you bite at each other's lips, shoving your tongues in as far as they can go. He overwhelms you a bit more, pressing your head into the pillow with his lips moving to the sides as if to swallow you entirely, leaving the track of saliva all over your face. He's skillful, having you whimper into his mouth; you’re delicious, you have him groaning for more, especially when he grinds himself into your leg.

But on the other sides of things, he remains mindful with you, not jamming his digit like a brute who thinks it’ll have you screaming in anything else other than pain. It’s hard to stay indifferent, nor do you want to be ungrateful when he’s working hard for your pleasure.

Resurfacing for breath, he keeps his forehead while fucking you on his fingers, with a deep stare. You’re licking your swollen lips and he think he’s the luckiest man alive, as he is the stupidest to be here.

“No complaints for once, vixen?” he laughs lightly, handsomely raspy.

“Well, yeah… you're being tender and that’s already something.” You smile and tilt your head, comfortably dizzy at the tingles between your thighs.

His brows furrow in worry at what you’re implying. “You’re saying other men are being too rough with you?”

You tense up a little. “I mean, some think just pounding a woman away is a way to go. Rough is nice, but not when they lack any sensuality or carefulness.”

He closes his eyes, trying to not let irritation get to him in the best moment of his life. The idea of some douchebag being inconsiderate with you or other ladies is disgusting. He’s not saying he’s a saint and perfect guy — by any chance — and likes being surrounded by hot chicks a whole bunch, while also being emotionally repressed, but he does try to make everyone’s experience worth the attention they give him.

Seeing the dilemma, you soothe it. “Don't worry. This is why I don't let most men do more than buy me a drink. Despite what you think, I don't sleep around that much. And if I do and something goes wrong, most men don’t see my fist coming.”

He raises his brow. A femme fatale and… although, he assumes it's mostly about playing men, not fucking them unless you think they are tasty enough. You enjoy the psychological aspects of things first and foremost, and you don’t lack in intelligence to gain something without having to let some man into your pants’ way.

You’re not totally fair towards these folks, though it’s now evident some for sure deserve it. And in times like this, you have to survive somehow.

Then, among his judgments of you, it’s this selfish relief painting itself. That not many men can touch you in general is great, but especially when this neatly like he does is rare.

“That’s good to know. If you need any man beaten up, you know where to find me.”

You laugh, dispersing any heavy energy, and raising his heart with a cute melody. When he places his thumb on your clit with enough pressure, it’s rewarded with a highest moan so far. You’re gorgeous when you're relaxed like this, it has him warm in a lightness he doesn't like.

“Thanks. Still, I can show you how to please me,” you tease to raise a reaction, rolling your hips under his fingers hastening their thrusts. They're so deep into your guts.

“Huh? But I know how to touch a woman?” he scoffs.

“But do you know how to touch me?”

“Why? You come with some sort of manufacture instructions or som—”

When your knee kicks at his thigh, he winces and shuts up about trying to one up you. “Anything you say. I know, I’m being pathetic, but at this point, I’ll take anything you’re willing to give.” He speaks in that “what’s even my life?” tone. He pulls out his fingers, despite wanting to redo his work at your disappointed noise, looking at the wetness coating it. Without much hesitation, he puts them in his mouth and licks, looking you straight in the eye.

Your stomach twists, enamored with his handsomeness being amplified by that dirty move. You throw in a disgusted look to be yourself.

“I was right.”

“Huh?”

“You’re delicious,” he grins at you and leans away slightly. “You ready for more? I feel like you barely survived my fingers,” he moves his hands down to stroke himself, sighing — he’s grown so neglected, the sensitivity is a bitch.

“As if.”

“Mhm, I guess you do have to stay alive to take my cock...”

“So foul-mouthed for what…”

“No more back talk,” Enjin, holding himself, pushes your legs apart some more with his other hand. None of you is able to hide your anticipation, breathing heavily in the room drowned in fast music beat.

Able to admit it to himself, he’s scared of what he’s about to do — of how good it'll feel, as once he gets the taste of you on him, he might never experience something akin to that bliss again. If you’ll ruin other women for him, he’ll blame you for the rest of his life.

“You better hold tight, sweetheart…” he warns, not knowing what’s about to hit him.

“Hold?” You’re suddenly pushing him onto his back, drawing out a surprised gasp from him.

“So that’s how’re playing. I didn’t expect any less from you,” he smiles wryly, immediately landing his hands on your hips after you straddle his lap, frozen in the air. Another loss for him, but at least the view is out of this world — he’ll jerk off to your body memory for days after.

“Can’t have you thinking you’ll get more than this…” you mock, grabbing his leaking dick; he hisses. Even your hand on him feels phenomenal.

Fixing your form above him, you lower your body until it’s his blunt head at your entrance. You mewl quietly, as it's still pulling you apart no matter how prepped you might be.

And Enjin is losing his mind already. His tip is most sensitive, so just the shallow depth is killing him when you're squeezing him as if begging to push in further. He strangles your hips. “Fuck…!” his curse comes out thickly.

He’s girthy, and now that you experienced it first hand, you can engrave that fact into your mind. “You don't deserve all that…” you whine.

“D-don’t deserve what?” he asks pussy-dumbly. His legs start to shake more than yours are from the strain of hanging above him.

“Being so big. You're too egotistical for that,” your own voice falters too. You should be now removing yourself from his body, but the need to sink down onto him fully keeps you in place.

“Hm, that’s the closest to a compliment from you, so I’ll take it…” he laughs through you squeezing the soul out of him. Before you’d decide to pull away, he navigates his hand to your back, playing with your ass, weighing it in his grip — he loves it too.

You stay like this for a few seconds, before you offer him a communicative look. “We should…” you start quietly, but don’t move.

“Yeah, you should,” he agrees with disappointment, even if he’s staring at you with all the hope he could muster.

As if you could stop now. Too late, and none of you is thinking straight. Knowing what the both of you need, you're shoving your hips down.

When Enjin notices the slight movement at first, he tries to stop in yours and his name. “Wait—”, but he’s already deep in your guts before he could throw you off. His head throws back so hard it sends a spell of pain, quickly forgotten by focusing his senses on you warming his cock entirely. “Holy fuck… that’s a murder attempt…”

You’re barely holding up on top of him, hanging with your mouth open in a silent shock — there’s nasty sting on your hole, after you overestimated taking his size. Right as he think he accidentally broke you, or that you broke yourself on him, you raise your hips and lower them again, too aroused to let some pain stop you. “I really hate you, Enjin,” you finally say, all high-pitched. “You think too highly of yourself to my tastes.”

The words barely translate themselves in his pussy-addled head, but once he remembers to breathe again, he’s helping you to fuck yourself on him, making indents on your ass. He needs that fast and rough desperately. “Yeah? Imagine what I had to go through because of you. All these months of torture…”

You circle your hips, angling his cock in you that he almost bites his tongue off. There’s no way in hell you’d let him do as he pleases, and he begrudgingly has to admit he loves it.

He finishes his thought. “I guess they were worth it, in the end. Though, you better ruin me properly while you're at it…” he mocks, just to provoke you, despite the fact he’s seeing stars and his cock wants to spill inside you already.

You pull out entirely he nearly makes a shameful whine at the loss, then moans like a whore when you take him back entirely in one, sharp thrust. You're no better, crying out as he hits your cervix.

It’s a whole fight at this point — him trying to control the pace, while you're torturing him with different types of tactics. Then you put your hands on your breasts, fondling them and pulling on your nipples with coos of breath at the sensation.

“H-hey, go easy on this guy…” he lets go of your hips to hold at the bars of his bed, basically shaking under you. He should be scared of you and your pussy, in fact.

“You told me to show you all I have,” you laugh breathlessly through the way he’s stretching you, keeping up a faster tempo now that you’ve adjusted to his size. You cry out as you occasionally graze your sweet post, one hand falling down to hold yourself with his thigh.

“I bit more than I could chew, sweetie. Spare me,” he complains at himself, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Has there been something he didn’t know about himself? He’s not fussy about being below you as much as he’d have assumed he would.

For a moment, he lets you do everything on your own. It’s no break just because he’s lying and taking it — the friction is unbearable, you’re sucking him inside with every thrust, and you're so wet it tickles at his sensitivity. He tries to enjoy the view of your tits bouncing, your ass bracketing his hips, and the most beautiful look of your face both having fun and being lost in pleasure with lips gasping for air. Your eye-contact doesn’t falter, pulling him in with obsessive need to make sure those sweet meetings will keep happening, as long as he keeps letting you use him.

The sound of your song itself could make him burst right here.

That would be the course of action if you don’t then throw the line reminding him of his lame position, so in character for you but clearly digging at him, “I expected a little more from you, Enjin,” you pout.

He’s moving despite his legs have been growing limp.

You feel the shift in his energy the moment the groans he leaves is far more aggressive than you have ever heard from him, but then you're made to feel it when he’s shoving you face down into the mattress, knocking your legs apart too.

“You had your fun. Now it’s time to settle a score. And yes, it is very personal.”

You feebly turn your head to the side, watching as he lays his tattooed body over yours entirely, squashing you down and putting faith in your Cleaner’s strength to handle him.

“What the fuck, Enjin…” you flail your legs under him. You try to push him away from you so you can reestablish your prior command, but he’s leashing his arms under you to lock you in place. With his cock nestled between your asscheeks and grazing your sensitive slit, one goes under your tits, the other one under your neck and Choker till you have to lift your head, locking you in his grip entirely.

“You bitch—”

“You’ll take it anyway,” he says cockily, on a sterner note, and shuts you up by thrusting back into you in one, wet glide.

Taking matters into his own hands, everything is made much more intense in this position. His weight is stealing your breath, his dick is reaching everywhere, especially with the gravity shoving him inside; every push is met with his balls grinding and slapping at your clit. Enjin is being brisk from the start, hitting your thighs with his every half-second.

Your throat is turning sore from how loud he’s turning you. “What the…” your lashes catch moisture. “Enjin… you’re gonna kill me…” you say desperately through the loop on your neck restricting your talk. Your Choker is digging into your throat additionally.

“Not gonna kill...” he groans, tortured by the way you're even tighter in this position. He laps at your shoulder, leaving an ugly hickey for another man to see and turn away his head from you. “But I will leave you in pieces for sure.”

The promise goes straight to your pussy, having it squeezing harder at him ruining you from the inside. “Fuck… you’re annoying even when I’m fucking you…” he growls in his throat.

Your legs kick at him again, as your hands scratch ahead of you. Enjin clutches your breast, before rubbing your nipple between his thick fingers. Your head slumps over his forearm, unable to take more of stimulation with this level of fight. His cock and hips are relentless, quickly pushing you into something that will leave your muscles weak for a week straight, regardless of his own legs trembling on yours.

“Just like that… finally being a good girl for me…” he mutters a praise into nape he hides his face into. Still, his fingers pry at your mouth, pushing a finger inside you mindlessly begin sucking at. So hot you are.

Enjin picks up his pace into a merciless one, creating a loud echo in the room and drawing your orgasm closer and closer by hitting your clit with his heavy balls; loosening the screws in his poor bed rattling under you and he hitting a tempo of the lively beat he put on in the background. There’s no space not being stretched back and forth inside of you, and you’re crying into the pillow, staying close to the edge of him turning pounding you into painful. The soreness building up is not wasted, as what he’s doing to you is ecstatic to feel.

His own moans are falling straight into your ear, driving you even more mad. “Mercy, Enjin… I’m gonna…”

“You think you can?” he taunts and lifts his head to bite your ear point, tickling the piercing there. He’s about to fill you up nicely himself, feeling himself twitch inside your heat, but he’d like to upkeep some control he established over you.

Still finding some defiance and will in yourself, you make a threat he knows to not downplay. “Deny me and you’re never touching me again,” you mumble into the pillow, snarlingly.

“Can't win against you…” he clicks his tongue, tightening his arm below your neck until your vision is swimming in lightheadness. It’s not as if he could have handled denying himself by doing that to you in the first place, so he submits to the pleasure you're forcing.

“But you’re still gonna take all that I will give you, won’t you, sweetheart? Be nice to me?” he says softly to your ear, soothing your anger.

You nod, desperately. You’ll think about taking something after — as for now, you can’t end your recompensing session without him creaming your pussy. “Please, Enjin, I need it…” you angle your hand awkwardly to the back to pull on his hair like a leash, drawing out a wince.

“Dammit…” he curses quietly at your wanton utterance of his name, hiding his face in you again. He’s glad you can’t see it — you wouldn't let his promiscuous look live down after. “Come on, cum on me, pretty girl. I’ll give it to you.”

One, two, three thrusts later and you're screaming into the pillow, feeling your muscles tighten and throb around him. “Fuck, fuck, Enjin, Enjin, don't stop—” your entire body shaking.

Music to his ears.

“Shh, I’ve got you, lovely. Just ride it out, I’ll help you…” he whispers into your skin, not letting on his grip over you; he only slows down, aiding you in coming down.

“Just a bit more… just a bit…” he grunts. You’re spent and sweaty under him your bodies almost separate, and he feels like he should hurry — not that he can last much longer, his legs turning jelly. He lifts his head from your shoulder and licks at your tears with weird fascination at your rare vulnerability, before kissing you with your salty taste, chasing his climax until he’s bursting his load into you.

His vessels threaten to pop from how enormously his high hits him, emptying everything from his balls with the meanest of peaks. His moans are barely muffled, but you can’t hear much post-orgasm anyway, lazily following his lips, hazy-eyed.

His head collapses on the side of yours, with him relaxing his grip too, desperately trying to circle some air back into his lungs. Enjin groans inwardly at the thought of letting his load spill out, so keeps crushing you. “I think you did it…”

“Hm…?” you barely make a sound, incoherent.

“Ruined me for other women. Ruined women for me. How will I fuck others after that?”

Your vein pulses in annoyance already. “Get off me, you heavy man,” you mumble, regaining blood back in its rightful place.

Enjin sticks his tongue at you, before he’s rolling to the side and forming a starfish from how fucked out he feels — he, the man who fucks. He wasn’t aware a strong orgasm can leave a man unable to walk too — he can't move. “Man…”

“Man indeed…” you agree, turning your sore body onto your back, shivering when his cum runs down your thigh. “I think you made me overdid the thank you part,” you grumble, as if it was his fault.

“I did?” he takes offense, somehow managing to prop himself on his side. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. You did this all with malice and being insufferable.”

“Oh, I can be much more insufferable. Just wait ten minutes,” you smirk.

His eyes widen. “Really?” He’s getting another round with you? Although, maybe he should be worried…

“Why? Was I that bad?” you prod.

“Nah. Best pussy I ever had. Ten out of ten. Type of pussy that—”

You throw a pillow at him. He ruffles your hair, before pulling you close with a content smile.

It doesn’t last long.

“Oh, fuck me!” he suddenly winces. Both of you totally forgot about his injury, and now its debilitating pain was returning with twice strength. You’re sitting up, worried you might have fucked his brains out literally.

The evening after, he’s found walking into the hospital room with a limp in his legs and exhaustion painted all over his face. If Eishia’s temper was different, she’d be screaming at him instead of panicking for him being that careless with a head concussion.

Gris visits him soon post hearing from Eishia, concerned by the sudden degradation in his state. “Woah! Are you doing good, man? Do you need anything?” he asks with worry shortly into entering the room, unaware of the truth.

“Nah. Don’t save me. I'm where I want to be,” Enjin snickers to himself.

After all, he has a date with you this Friday. For the excruciating presence he tends to be in your life, he earned the chance to prove he could be more than your fuck-and-cuddle buddy. Womanizer and maneater is a duo no one has seen coming.