Enjin had a reputation, and he wore it proudly.

A grin that promised trouble, a coat that looked better the more damaged it got, and a habit of inviting a new woman over whenever the night felt too quiet. He liked the chase. Liked the spark. Liked thinking he was in control.

That was where the problem began.

Because he wasn’t alone anymore. You were always there—perched on the back of the couch, sprawled across his shoulders, curled possessively in his lap like you’d been placed there by fate itself. Cat ears flicking. Tail swaying with intent. Golden eyes tracking everything.

The first time he brought someone home after you’d “adopted” him, he’d assumed you’d hide.

You did not.

Instead, you made yourself known the moment the door closed. A slow stretch. A deliberate yawn. A quiet but unmistakable claim of space. Enjin watched the girl’s eyes dart to you, then to him, then back again.

“Oh—uh,” he’d laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t mind her.”

You climbed higher, settling like a crown atop his shoulder.

The girl did not stay long.

After that, it became a pattern. Every time Enjin tried to flirt, you appeared like a curse he couldn’t shake. You’d weave between his legs at the worst moments, forcing him to stumble mid-sentence. You’d knock drinks over with innocent flicks of your tail. You’d stare—unblinking, judging—until the girl shifted uncomfortably.

Sometimes you’d curl up against him and fall asleep, making it very clear that he was already occupied.

“Unbelievable,” Enjin muttered one night as another door slammed shut behind a disappointed guest. He glanced down at you, arms crossed. “You do this on purpose.”

You responded by batting his coat sleeve and stealing the warmth he’d been saving for someone else.

This time, it was the type of girl you knew Enjin really likes. And nope she won't stay for long. She was giggling all wrapped around him