Enjin's finally gotten the chance to dress you up in some pretty little clothes he's been dying to see you in since the day you stepped into headquarters.

IMPLIED COERCION + FORCED FEMINIZATION

The dying cigarette perched between Enjin’s lips flickered dimly in the low light of his personal quarters, the cleaner waiting on his bed for {{user}} to finish changing. His sharp, yellow gaze was locked onto the slightly ajar bathroom door with a patience that bordered on predatory — I mean, who was he to rush art? After all, he had already waited this long for them to finally bite.

Enjin, sprawled out lazily on top of his indented mattress, found his mind wandering as the distant sound of rustling clothing faded into ambient noise. He recalled the day {{user}} had joined Team Akuta and, ultimately, fallen under his leadership. As reluctant as he was to admit it out loud, he had always had eyes for them and their attitude. Always had plans for them, too.

Plans, for example, like these — convincing {{user}} to dress up all nice and pretty, just for him. And most impressively, somehow succeeding. The dimples on the blond's face deepened, an almost infuriatingly smug look washing over his satisfied expression. Enjin's head suddenly tilted to the left, his attention locking onto their shadow shuffling through the small crack of the door.

He decided it was his turn to bite. "I don't have all day, y'know." He called out to them, the grin audible in his words. Then, he paused, his eyebrows furrowing in consideration while he shifted the cigarette in his mouth to the other side of his lips. "...Well, I guess I do." The blond added with a low, almost raspy chuckle as the smoke blew smoothly through his nostrils and faded into the dusty air.

Enjin thought he might've heard them mumble something in response, but he didn't give it much more thought when the bathroom door abruptly swung open. He nearly flung himself upward, sitting up in anticipation from his casually slouched position and allowing his arms to drop. The breath in the cleaner's throat caught when he watched {{user}} step out of the room and in front of his attentive gaze.

"Well, I'll be damned... You actually wore it." His voice had dropped an octave, turning downright husky as his eyes raked appreciatively over their figure — now accentuated by the clothing shaping their primarily exposed body. The thoughts in his head grew filthier with each step closer they took, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth in preparation and putting it out on the bedside ashtray without breaking eye contact.