jonah0

[jonah0]

Ever so often I go back to play some DoL and in my new run I got a bit more interested in our lovely school bully, so I looked them up and spoilered myself found some things out that inspired me to write about them ♥

Isn't it so cute when the bully starts to care a bit more about their victims than they should?

Characters: Male!Whitney (Degrees of Lewdity) x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con, Public Sex, Derogatory Nicknames, Creampie, Fear of Pregnancy, Humiliation, Non-Consensual Picture Taking) Bullying, Posessiveness, Mental Struggles, Threats

Sobbing, you clung to him as his cock pounded into you. Merciless and without much thought to your obvious state of distress, Whitney abused your hole, grunting as he caved it out even though you had pleaded with him not to. Not like he had ever listened to you before, but you wondered if there was ever a "too much" in his books, your hopes silently shattering as you bit back a moan from escaping.

Giggles and mean comments rained down on you from the sidelines, phone shutters going off, the sound deliberately turned on so you would hear it. The embarrassment was like a cloud of heat, cooking you from the inside out and blurring your judgment. You wanted to struggle, but every bit of movement would make your body more visible, even though you wanted to hide it away more than anything. Your legs were held apart by the ankles, giving you very little support as Whitney pushed into you recklessly, but they kept you in place enough that his cock wouldn't slip out.

All while the onlookers took videos from below.

You knew better than to make more of a fool out of yourself than you already were to these bullies. They wouldn't listen to your pleas, and your screams fell on deaf ears around the almost empty school. Although you could try fighting, who were you kidding? Whitney wasn't known to be a weakling. It wasn't the first time you had to deal with him and the humiliation, but no amount of repetition made the crime less severe.

Letting out a loud sniffle, you buried your face in his chest, his grunts breaking for one push, and you felt one of his arms snake around your back as he grew even more eager. It was no embrace that could comfort you, but at least he didn't force you to face the cameras and make your expression a public amusement and the next best blackmail material.

"Hey, Whitney! Stop hoggin' them! We all want some of the fun!" some student called out, gripping your bully by the shoulder. With surprising ferocity, Whitney twisted his body around, slapping the hand away while pulling you tighter against his body.

"Fuck off!" he hissed as the student tumbled and crashed into the tables. "Y'all can get lost, you're not getting your dicks wet today!"

His movements halted while he was occupied with the groans and shouts of his peers, needing to keep them in check as they crowded close, calling him 'unfair' and a killjoy. He bit back just as aggressively, and more embarrassment flared up inside you as people got closer.

Scared, you clung to him, fingers buried in the shirt on his back, and with your legs being released, you clasped them tightly around his hips. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and Whitney hissed, the voices of the other students briefly stopping before they rose up in laughter.

"Seems like our good pal got hitched!"

"Pussy-drunk bastard!"

"Man, this is no fun. Let's go somewhere else."

Sighs turned into small talk, into discussions about where to have dinner, until all your bullies had crowded out of the room, leaving only you and Whitney behind. It was fascinating how quickly they could change their interest, how little all of this truly meant to them while the trauma clung heavily to you.

"Urgh," Whitney groaned, leaning forward until your back hit the top of the table. "Why are you sticking so close to me? Stop being a fucking leech."

"S-Sorry..."

Within seconds, Whitney had snapped his hips back against yours, burying his cock deep inside, and you grunted in response, covering your mouth to hold back the moans.

"You're really getting on my nerves—stop that!"

Tearing your hand away, Whitney pinned it to the table, leaving you defenseless. His other hand gripped the edge of the wood, giving him the leverage to pound into you, spreading your walls far apart while messing with your insides.

"Why..." you mumbled, breathless. "Why did you stop them?"

"The fuck kinda question is that? You want them to fuck you? I can call them back if that's—"

"N-No! Please don't..."

His lips curled into a mean grin as he stared down at you, eyes moving from yours to your lips, to your breasts jiggling beneath. "You owe me now, big time," he grinned, and you felt a knot form in your stomach.

Reaching down, Whitney gripped one of your thighs, lifting it higher for better access before his pace quickened. "You're so fucking done," he grunted. "I'll make your life hell, and you'll love every second of it. That'll teach you not to question me."

"S-Sorry! I just wanted to know!"

Months of bullying had worn down your defenses, and you should have known better. But Whitney had never been one to show you any mercy before, so curiosity had gotten the better of you. And like an idiot, you had fallen into his trap again.

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt another knot form in your stomach, this one much more frightening than the one before. You didn't want to come from this, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of making you come. Still, every time he pushed into you, you felt closer to that edge, toes curling. At the same time, you listened to the embarrassing sound of your pussy squelching. Whitney, too, sounded close, not afraid to let out his voice as he dug inside, fulfilling his desires primarily.

In the truest sense of the word, you two crashed hard as Whitney leaned down, lips smashing into yours as both moans collided pitifully. His hips still jerked a few times, and you gasped as you felt the hot mess he spilled inside you, fearing the worst. You absolutely couldn't get pregnant by him—what kind of sick nightmare would that have been?—but even as you tried to push him away, ramming your knees into his chest, he wouldn't budge. Usually, things ended after humiliating you, but with no one around, apparently, Whitney didn't think it was necessary to sully your face or body, leaving his cum inside you without a second thought.

"N-No!" you mewled into his savage kiss, but Whitney only grinned, rocking the table until it tilted back, forcing you to wrap your legs around his and your arms around his neck to not slip off the surface and hurt yourself. Though with this, escaping was pretty much impossible, and despite your panic, your body filled up nicely with his cum, taking every spurt he gave.

"Fuckin' hell," Whitney complained when he finally released you from the kiss, setting down the table and wiping his mouth. He looked down at you with the same condescending gaze as usual, and you wondered how pitiful you must have looked in those dark eyes of his. "You need to take classes on how to kiss, you fucking suck."

"S-Sorry," you sobbed, feeling the deliberate slow pull of Whitney as he freed his cock from your pussy, popping it out after wiping it thoroughly against your walls. Giving your left thigh a slap, he let them both drop uncaringly as he stepped back, moving his cock back into his pants and underwear and zipping it up.

"Get dressed, slut," he ordered, nodding his head in the direction of your discarded panties and skirt, and you slowly got up from your position, waddling over to your clothes with shaking knees. It didn't take a moment longer than you had pulled them up when you felt Whitney's warmth at your back, his hands snaking around your body and towards the zipper of your skirt. You held your breath as you listened to the sound of him zipping you up, giving you back some line of defense now with your clothes on.

"Just so we're clear, you're not just anyone's little plaything. Those buffoons don't get to enjoy you unless I give them permission. And today..."

You looked up at him as his hand fell to your throat, squeezing it in an attention-demanding grip. Whitney's dilated pupils searched for your gaze, locking onto it with a ferocity that made your legs quiver, a small whimper escaping you as he tightened his grip around your throat threateningly.

"Today, I really didn't feel like sharing."

Lowering his mouth to yours, Whitney nipped your lower lip with his teeth, prompting yours to part so he could stick his tongue inside. For someone who claimed he didn't enjoy your amateur kissing, you two stayed like this for a while, breaths heating up between you as the intensity rose. His eyes never strayed from you, capturing them, forcing you to look at him, and making sure your thoughts wouldn't stray from what he was doing. Whitney wanted these moments to be burned into your soul, the utmost cruelty he could muster, always making you remember the things he did to you.

With his hand positioned as it was, you didn't dare challenge him to squeeze harder, allowing him to ravage your mouth, his other hand falling on top of your skirt, cramming it up to grab your asscheek hard. The sudden pain of his palm hitting your skin made you jolt, and you whimpered into the kiss, Whitney finally pulling away. You felt your underwear damping as fluids leaked from your pussy, wetness coating your inner thighs as you were reminded of Whitney's claim on you.

"Seriously, get good," he mumbled as he pushed you aside, wiping his mouth from the excess drool you two had produced. "Next time, you'll need that sucky mouth of yours."

Passing you by, he smacked your rear once more, laughing as you jumped and hit another desk's edge, more pain flashing through you. However, when you finally got a grip on yourself, you looked up to catch him still watching you from the doorframe, almost as if he was waiting to see if you were okay.

More cum mixed with your juices ran down your legs as you squatted down, picking up your bag and books the bullies had thrown around. "I don't get it," you mumbled quietly, still feeling his gaze at your back.

"Speak up if you got something to say, clown."

Shaking your head, you walked after Whitney, who only huffed at your refusal, walking five steps ahead of you as you two made your way out of school. Something about his behavior was strange, and you had difficulty pinpointing it. But where he usually didn't seem to care about you, he stuck unnecessarily close to you that day.

"Ugh! Finally!" you heard a girl yell once you two reached the school gate. You looked up to see Whitney's clique waiting for him. He split from you and walked to them while you hurriedly marched in the other direction, as far away as possible.

"What is it with them?! Do you like that slut?!" the girl asked, the insults hurled directly at you even though her question was as ridiculous as the whole bullying.

"No," Whitney firmly denied, and for some reason, it made the knot in your stomach twist. You knew that, but it made the situation almost worse.

"But they're mine, so fuck off."

"What!" the girl screeched, and you halted in your tracks, slowly turning around to look at Whitney's back. He kept walking, unbothered by his friend's reaction. The others started to cheer and mock him, but he simply kept walking, his head slowly turning around after a few more steps.

Your eyes met.

You couldn't read his lips well from the side, but his smirk and the gleam in your eyes made you assume a thousand words he could have mimed at that moment.

Only one stuck.

Mine.

[jonah0]

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

[jonah0]

cw: slutty little drabble, dead dove do not eat (?), f!masturbation, somnophilia/somno, noncon, stalking, mentions of slasher shit, murder, fingers, sex but just the tip ;), nonconsented insemination, breeding, cummy fingers, tasting cum, semi hate fuck? oh yeah afab

a/n: sorry for writing heinous shit. this is the only thing that gets me writing these days ;( not proofread

Slasher!stalker who really did want to kill you, instead fantasizes about spearing you against his fat, girthy cock every hour of the day. Baby, you're a sick and twisted addiction scented like sweet, powdery perfumes and dewy lotion.

He was supposed to hate you, and if he was being honest, he did hate you. Once or twice when he followed you home. You're such a dumb little creature, the classic opening scene in every horror movie. Don't you watch the news, baby? There's a murderer on the loose. You're just a dumb cliche, walking home alone after a late night out with your friends.

God, your friends. They were even worse than you. So he killed them, with the intention of you being his next victim. But of course, he didn't, he couldnt, because at least you intrigued him. Intrigued him with the cute little performances you'd put on every night, your fingers reaching between your thighs every night, whining on your own fantasies of a few little touches to help you sleep through the night. He'd watch your pussy puff up from all your rubbing, huffs and mewls you didn't bother to stifle—like you wanted him to catch you, to man handle you face down and ass up so he could fuck tears out of those pretty eyes.

A shame really. You're so hard to self pleasure. You get so frustrated that you sit up in bed with your blanket fallen to your lap while you needily hump your fingers, rocking your hips and pinching your nipples swollen just to cum, barely able to make yourself orgasm, he'd be in heaven if he got to watch you cream or squirt all over the bed sheets. He'd be liar if he said he didn't record those rare instances you gasped and trembled out of a semi satisfactory finish. A little visual for his own nightly routine, something to fist his cock to after a gorey day of "work". He'd be so much better you, baby. He'd actually make you cum.

A concept he practices every now and then. Proved by those strange mornings you'd wake up with your panties missing, which, honestly wasn't even his fault, you were the one who fell asleep with that damp spot showing off just above your pussy. Could you blame him for wanting to sneak over and taste the product? You were such a deep sleeper too, pratically pleading for him to dip his fingers into your sticky cunt. Your syrupy juices clinging in a neat shine across his long fingers. He'd bring it to his face, sniffing it with a low groan. His cock painfully erect against his jeans, he'd give himself a little rub, suckling his fingers clean as a little reward.

A real treat for a hard days work. Even if you'd probably wake up one day and scream at him for violating you, at least your pussy knew how to appreciate him. It would take just the tip of his cock without much fight, pratically sucking him off the moment he popped in. He'd cum embarrassingly fast, pulling out just to finger his milky expense back in, no reason to let it go to waste.

You'd wake up the later that night, sore in places that felt good, "wet", some dry residue splattered down your inner thighs. Maybe even a chocolate or three left on you night stand. Compensation, anyone?

[jonah0]

while I've got mixed feelings about Eden, I love the concept. so here <3

Pairing: M!Eden the hunter x F!pc/reader

Content warnings. MDNI: dark fic. heavy noncon. fingering. p in v. liddol bit of pussy slaps. mean and gross Eden. pc is teetering on the edge of madness. mentions of self-loathing/worthlessness. a sprinkle of dissociation. manhandling. at some point, it's mentioned that 'pc weighs nothing to him', but it simply means that Eden is so strong (he's a hunter after all). pc is called 'bird' sometimes but that doesn't imply she has a bird transformation; it simply is a nickname (although you're free to imagine pc as you like). Stockholm (kinda). yandere. if there are any tags you believe I've missed let me know!

a/n: this was a labor of love lol. squeezed this out by writing a few lines/paragraph a day because I've got exams still. I hope you enjoy!

Eden did not expect the pretty bird he had been watching to come to him on her own accord.

Sure, it's a little different from what he had imagined. Waking up to the door getting rattled so harshly he swore he'd put a bullet between the eyes of whoever that is, only to be met with a barrel lifted to his head once he opened the door. He recognized you at once– how could he not? What with you being the sole thing occupying his mind, haunting it, more like, with images he had only the chance of glimpsing from afar. And now–

You're looking up at him with dilated, bloodshot eyes veiled in a fierce glare, but if he gazes a little closer, a little longer, he'd pluck out a sliver of terror behind it. A terrified thing at his doorstep pretending to be all-that, not sure of what she's doing. The gun in your hand is shaking as you point it at him, teeth grinding in rage as you croak out a brave order to let you inside.

Eden had stared. Your clothes torn, skin sun-starved, an ugly gash that's caked in dried blood and dirt at your exposed torso. Feet bare and dirty. Hair matted. And he's been wondering why the pretty thing who bounds into the forest and digs up questionable items, hoards them into the little nest she creates with her arms and skedaddles away hasn't shown up in a month. After all, it's been precisely a month since he decided that idle birdwatching wasn't gonna do it for him; he wanted to hunt his bird and cage it; protect it, more like. He doesn't like to think himself this cruel. The world is so full of predators, after all, and the way you look right now is solid evidence.

He doesn't realize how bewitched he is by your sudden appearance until you bark another order at him, drenched with more aggressiveness than the first time, and he doesn't fail to notice the nervous glimpse you throw over your shoulder even when you try to hide it.

He steps aside, and you bound in with a slight limp.

It's more clear than ever that you didn't think your plan through, now that you're standing before him. The gun you had snatched off the person who had grappled you to the forest ground earlier feels foreign in your hand, yet you never lower it as you go by the table, hunger stricken, wild red-rimmed eyes hunting for something you could use to squander the ache in your belly. He doesn't take his eyes off of you either. Closes the door with his body facing you.

“I–” your throat contracts when you attempt to speak, and you cough. Parched. To speak means to pour tremendous effort; energy that you so desperately lack, but you manage it only for a few words. “–will leave shortly. W.. worry not.”

And it feels silly assuring this beast of a man. Perhaps thinking the gun in your hand an object that instills trepidation– which is precisely what you intend, but a buried layer of your conscience tells you of a need to reassure him you mean no harm, for the gun seems to you an instrument that wields power. A talisman of control in a mind that's spiraling into madness; a promise of safety in the guise of steel and fire. Some divine power that would carve a world where you're allowed a chance to command respect, to assert your will upon a world that had often left you staggeringly powerless.

Between the table (that you use as a barrier between the two of you) and the door (where he stands ominously) is a good few feet, yet not only his stature makes the space seem small, but also the air surrounding him shrinks the sense of safety you had initially prompted. He stares you down while your eyes widely flit between him and the interior of his cabin, arm cramping due to your refusal of lowering your weapon.

He moves, and you flinch. Pauses, gives you a weird look (perhaps to question why you were so wary of him, completely abandoning the notion that while he's seen you before, familiarized himself with you, you haven't), then walks over to the side. Your hand trembles as it follows him with the barrel, but then he merely produces a plate. Leftovers. Your eyes zeroes in on them.

You resist lunging at the sight of food. Animalistic. Primal; somewhere in the back of your mind had been readied to reduce yourself to the act of cannibalism were you to not find a bite. But he thuds the plate down in front of you, and something in his chest expands at the sight; perhaps pride, or giddiness at the thought of being a saviour of some sort. For, after all, you looked everything a wild, wounded animal; someone stripped off humanity and forced to keep living; to survive. A stray that he so willingly took in.

Eden watches you snap. Watches as you scramble forward, taking handful after handful of food and shoving it into your mouth with no care for decorum. It's amusing, however, how the gun resides still in your hand. Like an extension of yourself. At some point you don't notice, he'd filled you a bowl of water, which you greedily chug without so much looking at him. It is then he realizes this is his chance; Eden is invisible to you as of now, even without putting any effort in concealing his movement. You're simply there in body, not in mind, acting upon pure instinct.

The only thing that convulses your brain back to alertness is the sound of a click, and something heavy and cold around your neck. You shriek, whip around savagely, point the gun up at him and pull the trigger.

Nothing comes. Your eyes widen, your body shakes, a strangled whimper resonates from your throat as you pull the trigger again and again and again, thinking that somehow it would change. That it would refill on its own. That a bullet would materialize inside the muzzle by some divine intervention. Alas, the gun's empty, and there's no changing that.

In that moment, the gun was truly an extension of yourself; helpless, powerless, a hollow vessel concealed by an imposing presence. Eden slowly traces his hand up to wrap around the gun that you still absentmindedly fire, eyes wide and frozen in shock and panic. It slips from your fingers and into his without tussle, despite it being basically inseparable from you seconds ago. In his other hand a leash that he attaches to the collar he clicked around your neck.

Your stance shifts, blinking yourself back to reality, and Eden notices, quick to adapt to your unpredictability, because you lunge at him, thrashing and clawing and screeching. It only takes a harsh tug of the leash downwards and a rumble of his grave voice to render you put. “Down, girl.”

You tumble down, knees hitting the floor hard, and he goes down with you. Crouching before you to grab your wrist with his free hand, feeling up to your elbow before he lifts it. You wince, the gaping wound on your torso stretching, flesh stinging as he inspects it. He's close enough for you to smell the scent of pine and earth that clings to him, like he's the embodiment of the forest and not just a hunter that it took in.

You have to ground yourself when he speaks, his voice rich and rumbling, threatening to plunge you into full panic. “Were you chased?”

You mewl quietly.

“By the wolves?”

You manage to raise your head and meet his eyes. “..no.”

Eden reaches for your tattered shirt, and tears it right off. Your muscles go taut, hysteria seizing your mind once again and your limbs launch to action, flailing about ferally to desperately push him away. He pushes you back on the floor, pinning your legs with his knees and seizing both your wrists in one hand. “I'm helping you, goddammit,” he hovers above and glares, then his gaze goes down, lingers on your bare breasts for a beat, then down to your side where the wound your blood cells worked so hard to plug has opened and started bleeding again.

For a moment, he ponders how to get up to fetch his medkit without you jerking away and scrambling out the door. He could tie the leash to something, certainly, but in your unstable state he worries you might actively try to choke yourself with it, and although he's nearby and wouldn't let that happen, that would be inconvenient to deal with. He just doesn't want you to hurt yourself further.

But then he looks down again, and realizes he needs not to do a thing. The pain had rendered you inert. Completely still; limp prey bleeding impotently on his floors, agonized soft whimpers leaving your lips occasionally while tears stream quietly down your face. Eden watches as you stare right up at the ceiling, something shifting in your gaze; a film coating your eyes.

You sink, brain morphing to wet cotton that expands till it fills every nook and cranny in your skull. It's like you're swaying in the lake, water seeping through your ears and muffling your surroundings. You keep coming in and out of your haze, everything a blur, and when you finally blink yourself to consciousness (as much consciousness as there might be) you find yourself next to the now blazing fire, leaning back against a sturdy chest. Torso bandaged. Body naked.

Eden holds a wet cloth that he sweeps down your skin, perhaps trying his best to be gentle, but for a man of his nature it's inevitable for it to feel a little rough. He runs the cloth from your neck, to your shoulder, down to your breasts. You're still out of it, no reaction as you absently watch his hand clean you up. He picks up on your growing awareness, though, because his arm suddenly tightens around your middle right beneath your chest just before you start stirring about. Your lips part to speak but your mind fails to catch up with you, so you end up babbling incoherently, pitch gradually rising in distress.

For that, he adjusts you on his lap, shuffling a thigh between your legs and pulling you back further towards himself. You whimper as your clit drags on his clothed thigh. “Easy there,” he says, hot breath hitting the back of your neck, “you're hurt enough.”

“I-” you choke out, swallowing back tears; his hand that splays on your stomach to still you makes your mind reel with memories, “I want to leave.”

“Leave? But where will you ever go?” He speaks, for once picking his words carefully, “doesn't look like you were wanted wherever you were.”

Your throat tightens, and your mind goes to Robin. “I am needed.”

“Whoever needed you has clearly abandoned you.”

You stiffen up. “That is not true. I– I am both–..they want and need me.”

“Someone who truly wants you would never let this happen to you.” Eden says, gravely voice reverberating almost like a baritone would, “tell me: does anyone truly want you, dove?”

You jerk, elbow digging back into him with as much force as you can manage, and he tightens his hold. Folds his body over yours to curl you into yourself. “Tell me,” he growls in your ear, “is the person who abandoned you worth everything you've been through?”

“You don't know anything– y- you know nothing!” you shrill, but he doesn't give you a chance to proceed, doubling down.

“Is it worth all of this exertion? Haven't you been running for too long?” He dips his words into the knowledge he's gathered from watching you months ago, and his hand starts moving south when he sees you've gone rigid at his words, “don't you want someone who'll take charge for a change? Someone who wants you, protects you, takes care of you for once?”

Something about his voice, about the way he utters his words rather than the words themselves, penetrates your skull, shoving past all tissue and blood and presses directly on your brain. His middle finger ventures down, runs above the hood of your clit. “I want you.” Eden says, gently drags his finger along your seam now, coaxing the lips open by stroking the pad of his finger up and down, and he continues, “I'll take care of you, provide for you.”

You turn into mush. Words you've been craving to hear but have not dared to entertain the thought of actually hearing them. The slow circles he traces on your clit might be another reason you're melting, but you're too lost in the fantasy of being cared for to register that. His hold on you tightens further, as if he knows what he says next will break you out of the trance he's managed to tuck you under this far. “You only have to stay.”

Your eyes snap into focus.

“Stay here. Keep me company. Never leave.”

Many things force their way into your mind. Self-loathing deems you unworthy of affection and care, of being provided for and not the one providing; another part of your mind refuses comfort, having adapted itself to pain and misery, having acquainted itself with it and, therefore, finds comfort in anguish. There are also memories that stream forth, overflooding your head until it pounds with pain, forcing you to realize you've merely escaped a den to jump into another, whether deliberately or not.

And when you process that, you bristle and try to kick your feet, but he folds you in, chest morphing into your back with how much he squishes you to him. “I don't think you realize, but you don't have a say in this.” He says, prodding at your hole and gradually pushing a thick finger inside, relishing in the way your jaw slacks despite yourself. “You are to stay. This is meant to be. We are meant to be.”

He glides his finger further in, coaxing out fluids that squelch with every drag. “You came to me on your own accord. And while I am not a believer, I do believe fate guided your legs to me, right where you belong.”

He ignores your high cries and squawks, your thrashing and squirming (as much as his hold allows, at least), your nails digging into the muscle of his arm and scratching with fervor until it draws blood. Eden adds another finger, listening to your cries mingling with forfeited moans, and thrusts them faster until your heels dig to the floor and you drench his fingers with your cum.

Your orgasm is still crashing through you when he tucks his arm beneath your knees and adjusts you until they meet your chest, seated on the cradle of his thighs. His fingers withdraw promptly just to return as four, and he wedges the tips of them between the split of your lips and shakes them, tearing strangled moans from your throat that turn into squeals when he follows with a few slaps to your cunt.

He doesn't give you enough time to process nor to react before you're on your back, next to the fire, lifting your ankles onto his shoulders. “Eden,” he says, and the head of something hot and hard nudges your hole, “my name. Use it.”

Then he's bullying his cock past your folds, pushing past the tight ring of muscle and groaning loud and long. He stretches your walls to the hilt, and shoves his dick in until it's buried to the base in one long thrust. It strips your lungs of breath, knocking it out of you as he pulls you further into him, lifting your hips so they perch on his lap. Your eyes are blown, jaw slack with a silent moan, still trying to adjust to his impalement.

But he moves before you do. His hands latch onto your hips, digging his fingers into your flesh and indenting his mark there with mad bruises. Eden drags his hips back until only the head is notched in you, before he slams back in. He settles a brutal pace soon, thighs smacking your ass as he fucks you with short and hard thrusts, pulling only halfway out as if it pains him to separate from your squelching cunt any further.

Your whole body jostles with every ram. Doesn't leave you enough room to breathe in and steals what little air you manage out in pathetic whimpers. You reach out with your hands, gasping and blubbing, so he leans down until you can reach him. You latch your nails to his skin, clawing up until they hook at the front of his neck. Eden hisses, and the force of his thrusts amplifies. When you expect him to retreat in pain, he smiles dangerously down at you, gaze darkening and bottom lip catching beneath his teeth.

He leans down further, allowing you to scrape more at his skin, watching as you leave angry red lines down his throat and around his collarbones. “Is it too much for you?” Eden heaves, hitting deep and hard and smirking when the fattest part of his cock seems to ram into your g-spot, judging by your reaction. “Too big for you, bird?”

When you gasp and nod, he grips your hips harder and stops moving his hips altogether. Instead, he starts moving you, bouncing you onto his cock as if you weigh nothing to him, as if you were a fleshlight; a toy he can maneuver and use however he wishes. “Use my name.” He groans, starting to get breathless, “say it. Tell me it's too much.”

But he's mean as he bullies the spot he's found earlier over and over, knocking the words out of you and rendering you into a blubbering mess while still demanding you to speak. Eden hisses. “Say it.”

“‘s t-too mu..ch..!”

“My name, bird.”

And you have to grapple around your mind and fetch the moment he made his name known to you. He makes it particularly hard as he bumps your hips up onto his searing rock-hard cock, but you succeed at remembering, and finally cry out. “E-Eden! sl-ow down–!”

The only thing his name coming out of your lips does is wrench a growl from his throat, and your legs are suddenly up on one shoulder of his. He perches your hips up and pistons into you, somehow harder and faster than before. You thrash and squeal, but no matter what you do, he moves with you, predicting every direction you blindly throw yourself in to get away. And he's made it clear that your scramble for some sort of power means nothing to him the moment he had lowered himself to you earlier so you could hit and scrape his flesh. Taunting you to hit him as hard as you could, for he can never get hurt.

It takes no more than a few particularly hard thrusts to send you over the edge. You spasm against him, convulsing with a cry that makes his dick throb inside you before he sends his seed deep into your cunt. Hot and thick and fills you up until you're overflowing with it, which finally makes him unplug you, slipping his softening cock out and watching his cum plop right out, trickling down to your asshole.

The sight bewitches him, and he stares in awe for a while as it dribbles, before he reaches with a finger to scoop some of it up, only to smear it on your swollen folds like it's some sort of lotion. He's so entranced it takes him a moment to realize you're passed out; exhausted, and still heaving.

That's when he learns he simply needs to keep wearing you out until you're trained. And over the course of the following week(s), Eden sprouts a set of bruises and harsh scratches, some of them deep enough to urge his blood to clot around them. And he wears them proudly, knowing that it only takes a good, rough fucking to get you soft and pliant again, to wear you out until you sit and eat in silence. Like a stray cat, he says, hissing and seething her claws until she gets a big, hefty cock in her wet cunt. It might take some time for you to stop trying to claw his eyes out, but he's willing to train you until you finally realize this is the life you were meant for.

With him. For him.

[jonah0]

Surveillance -

f!Kylar/f!PC

18+, content warnings & tags: stalking, degradation, humiliation, public sex, oral sex, dom/sub 1292 words

Kylar wasn’t charming. That was something you’d noticed about her from the very start. It’s what made her constant pining all the more irritating. It wasn’t cute or endearing, just flat out unsettling. The missing clothing, the quiet camera clicks while out on the street, the neverending feeling of surveillance - You’d started feeling like you were going mad. 

Last Saturday started like any other. Your stiff legs rolled over the side of your disheveled bed, a loud creak emanating from the weathered floor boards. As your tired hands opened the wardrobe, idly shuffling through the drawers - you noticed your dwindling supply of underwear and sighed. It was a routine you’d gotten used to. You practically had to replenish your panty supply on a bi-weekly basis now. After some lazy shuffling into a clean outfit, you began your trek to the shopping center.

Your teal rain boots trudged through muddy puddles, and the drizzle coming down on your head made you wish you’d bought an umbrella. Overcast clouds loomed on the horizon. The peculiar sound of following footsteps sliced through the rain, unnoticed by you as you crossed the intersection onto Wolf Street. Emerald eyes observed you from a distance, analyzing and cataloguing your every movement. Maybe out of naivety, or maybe in an act of subconscious defiance - you didn’t notice her, continuing your journey to the store in blissful ignorance. 

You reached the entrance of the building and knocked the mud off your boots before walking inside. The footsteps following you trailed a block behind, careful not to enter your line of sight. As you made your way up the escalator, you glanced around at the familiar storefronts. The gentle hum of chatter from fellow shoppers dulled your senses further, quieting the shuttering of Kylar's distant camera lens. 

You sifted through racks of clothing, selecting a new outfit for school. As you approached the bins of women's underwear, you picked up a pair of pink lace panties, examining them before grabbing several more pairs. Kylar's petite frame heaved with excitement as she hid behind a rack of coats. Your attention was drawn away from your transaction as your ears finally focused in on the consistent clicking. You quickly whipped your head around, searching for the source of the sound. The boutique appeared relatively empty, except for the occasional patron. Ignoring your quickening pulse, you purchased the clothes and hastened out of the shopping center.  

As you hurried down High Street, the unsettling sensation of being watched hung over you. The gloomy overcast clouds loomed above, casting a twilight blue hue onto the road. Each step you took in your rubber boots squeaked as your feet rushed forward. While you passed by dark alleyways and flickering streetlights, the ominous clicking sound surrounding you never ceased. Your gaze darted around nervously, heart racing. Trying to escape the crushing anxiety, you dipped into an alleyway next to the orphanage. 

 A quiet rustling behind the nearby dumpster alerted you to her presence. Your breath caught in your throat as you tiptoed over, kicking aside a dingy cardboard box to the side to reveal her trembling form. Her camera was wrapped securely around her neck, undoubtedly filled with photos of your recent shopping excursion. With your brows furrowing and fists clenching, and your feet planted firmly on the wet cement - you choked out a scoff.

“What… What the hell are you doing? Are you watching me?” your words cut harshly through the quiet alley. Kylar recoiled so aggressively it looked like she’d been electrocuted. Her dark, messy hair draped over her eyes, shielding you from her desperate gaze. You lurched forward, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her up to pin her against the brick wall. She trembled under your hands.

“I-I’m sorry… I…I didn’t mean to upset you…” Kylar whispered, choking back tears. Your cold laugh reverberated through the tight space. Grabbing the strap around her neck, you snatched her camera - letting her loose. She collapsed onto her knees in front of you, shaking as you went through her camera roll. It was exactly what you imagined, picture after picture of you shopping. Scrolling further, you saw photos of you sleeping, eating, dressing. Your stomach lurched. She’s clearly unwell.

You dropped the camera onto the damp cement, the lens cracking. Kylar winced, but said nothing in opposition. She remained planted on her knees, staring up at you with her pleading eyes. Shaking your head, you furrowed your brows and surveyed her pathetic state. She quivered timidly, her pale bare legs scraping against the cold, hard ground. Lifting your foot, you pushed her down onto her ass. Her skirt flared up and she quickly brushed it back down, blushing.

“You’re a fucking sick freak, you know that?” You spit, glaring down at her. She nods apprehensively, brushing the hair from her eyes to wistfully ogle up at you. Staring down at her disheveled, pitiful state - you feel a heat brewing inside you. She bites her lip, whimpering softly as your boot presses into her stomach. Her soft noises almost sound lewd. Retracting your foot, you planted your hands on your hips and smiled down at her with a predatory grin.

“You’re gonna make it up to me, aren’t you, Kylar? You’re gonna show me how sorry you are.” Kylar nodded eagerly, then crawled towards you on all fours like a dog in heat. A loud scoff brought a blush to her cheeks as you laughed at her.  Grabbing a fistful of her knotted hair, you roughly tugged her towards you, pushing her head underneath your school skirt. She whined, desperately gripping onto your thighs as she dove in - inhaling your scent. She stayed like that for at least a minute, face shoved against your panties as she took you in. Pleasant whimpers escaped your mouth, echoing through the brick walls. 

“I-I’m so… so sorry, my love…” She cried into you, mouth pressed firmly against your clothed core. You trembled, basking in her remorse. Feeling the wetness spreading through your thin lace underwear, you tugged on her hair hard.

“Put your mouth to use already, you freak!” You exclaimed, frustration welling inside you as you reach down to tug the undies to the side. She whined longingly, her tongue lapping up your juices eagerly. You brace yourself against the wall, thighs wrapping tightly around her head as you push her further into your core. She eagerly obeyed, tongue swirling around your clit like you’re the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. Your head lulled back as your thighs shook around her, her slender fingers probing at your entrance. 

“F-fuck, you’re so obsessed with me, huh?” You taunted, tugging on her hair once more. She nodded against your pussy, fingers buried deep inside you as your walls clenched her. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing through the alleyway. Her knees were turning red as they pressed into the damp concrete. She didn’t care, her mouth greedily slurping up every ounce of fluid from your tender quim. Back arching against the brick wall, your thighs quaked as you reached your peak - letting out a loud cry. Kylar pulled back, gazing up at you with pure adoration. Her chin was slick with your juices. Aggressively, you stumbled forward and pulled her up by her sweatshirt collar, kissing her. Your tongues intertwined as you tasted yourself. Pushing her away harshly, she staggered backward. “Don’t go thinking this meant anything, got it?” You spat, straightening out your outfit. Kylar nodded, but you suspected she wouldn't be listening. Grabbing your bags, you traipsed out of the alley, leaving Kylar behind to process what just happened. You were still unsettled by her, but at least she knew how to make it up to you.  

[jonah0]

Can't speak for other anons, but I'm ok, thanks for asking <3

fluff? hmmm

How do the love interests react to actually falling in love with PC?

Like not in the "holy shit i love having sex with them", but more in the "holy shit i need them to be as happy and comfortable with me as they can" way.

If something like that has been asked, i apologise

I just found out about the DOL fandom xd

No need to apologize and welcome to the fandom!

(Tad bit of angst, relationships typically of the DoL universe, yandere)

Avery

They realize it while driving around looking for you one Saturday. They’re starting to get upset and they don’t understand why. You’re just supposed to be eye candy, just hang on Avery’s arm at parties and look cute. That’s all! Yet here Avery is, fuming because they can’t find you.

When they realize that they’re upset that they won’t get to see you because they love you, Avery almost crashes their car.

A bit annoyed because they didn’t want to fall in love. Especially with their sugar baby! It’s too much like something out of a romance novel, they hate it.

Are they going to confess their feelings? Probably not. They can’t really act on their feelings. If Avery took you out for a normal date, people think Avery is your parent and you guys would get some weird looks. Can you imagine the rumors that might start? Avery can. No, they’re fine with keeping their feelings to themselves.

Avery will be more affectionate while on dates, more likely to give you soft touches and praise. Otherwise, you wouldn’t know anything was different with Avery.

If you help their image, Avery is more inclined to confess. Won’t actually say ‘I love you,’ though. Avery will take you on a date and ask you about ending your current arrangement to try being a normal couple.

If you say no, Avery tries to take it in stride. Tries, anyway. Any future dates will involve Avery being a bit colder to you. Sex now involves Avery commenting about how you’re a whore who would lay on their back for a milkshake and they should treat you like one.

If you say yes, Avery is incredibly pleased. It’s a little bit of an ego boost for them due to the age difference. Starts to take you out on more normal couple-type dates and spoils the hell out of you. You might not be getting paid for dates anymore but you’re not hurting for money either.

Will eventually tell you they love you. You’re not surprised, you kind of assumed they did at that point. Don’t let Avery know you already knew though. They like to think they’re a master at concealing their feelings.

Eden

Eden is going to realize they love you one morning while you’re cooking breakfast and it's going to throw them so hard. Sure, they wanted company, they wanted a companion, but they didn’t think they’d fall in love. They don’t even believe in love, that’s just something for books to make things more interesting.

You’re not even doing anything particularly special, just humming while you make breakfast using vegetables from the garden.

They will want to tell you immediately, coming up behind you while you’re cooking to press against you and pull your head back to kiss you.

As one might assume when it comes to Eden, this leads to sex. This is how they confess their feelings for you, by telling you how much they love you while having sex on the kitchen counter.

Will tell you that they love you multiple times throughout the day and at random. Sometimes, the two of you will just be sitting by the fire with Eden reading and you working on sewing, and Eden will look up, say 'I love you,' then go right back to reading.

Kylar

Has been fixated on you since day one but obsession isn't always the same as love, now is it?

Knows they love you when you first hold their hand. They're shaking and sweating and they think they've screwed up because how could you still want to hang out with them when they're like this? You're so perfect and Kylar can't even hold your hand without getting you dirty. Surely you'll let go of their hand because they're so gross and then you won't ever talk to them again. They're already an outcast at school, it was only a fluke that you guys ended up in the park together, that you wanted to go on a walk and you invited Kylar to go with you so as not to be rude. You're only taking pity on them and - oh, you guys have made it to the fountain. And you're still holding their hand? You've walked around the whole park? Holding hands? And you didn't stop? When Kylar's hands were sweaty and shaking? You didn't stop? Oh.

The first time you guys have sex, Kylar tells you they love you. They can't bring themselves to say it beforehand because they're afraid to run you off. If you're willing to have sex with them, that must mean you love them too! There's no fear of being turned down when you already know the other person's answer!

Makes up for all the times they wanted to say they loved you but were afraid to. Mutters in their sleep how much they love you. Every conversation from here on out will have at least one 'I love you' in it.

Robin

Robin is going to realize they’re in love with you while hanging out in the garden. They’ve known for a while that they have a crush on you, but it's sitting in the garden, talking about nothing in particular while making flower crowns with the sun starting to set behind you, that Robin realizes “Oh shit, I’m in love.”

Doesn’t know how to confess for the life of them. Eventually, they write that note asking you to date them and they labor over that thing for days.

They'll end up telling you in their room, by accident. You beat a particularly hard level in a game for Robin and it just slips out.

Immediately freezes, which brings your attention to them because otherwise, you might have actually missed what they had said.

When you ask them to repeat themselves, Robin isn't sure what to do. Their dilemma is solved for them when you say "I love you, too."

Now that their feelings are out in the open, Robin is more confident in declaring their love for you. Whenever the feeling strikes, Robin will tell you they love you. They’re not yelling it down the halls at school, but they are rushing from one end of the school to the other so they can tell you.

Whitney

This is happening a good bit of time after Whitney has demanded you to be their partner. It's weird because Whitney has been going around town this whole time claiming you as theirs, then they get snippy if you do anything similar.

Will avoid you for a while as they try to figure out what the hell they're feeling whenever it comes to you.

It's a lot of really cliché stuff too. Their chest feels tight when they see you. They find themselves smiling when you laugh at one of their jokes. They see something at the shops and their first thought is how you would like it. If they had ever consumed one (1) piece of romantic media, they might realize that what they're experiencing is love. As it is, they're just frustrated at themselves and will take it out on you.

Won't admit it for the longest fucking time. They're denying it, even to themselves.

You might actually realize that Whitney is in love with you before they do. If that is the case, don't tell Whitney. They gotta figure it out on their own.

Is more aggressive with their confession than anyone else. Ironic because they're not even telling you that they love you, they're just pushing you against a wall and demanding that you refer to them as your partner. It's one thing for Whitney to claim you as their partner, it's another thing entirely for Whitney to let you say they're your partner. They’re letting you lay claim to them, be grateful.

Not much changes in how they treat you. They're still going to shove you into lockers to make out and they still expect you to go down on them in the halls. They're just now also making sure they don't bruise you too badly and that no one else is harassing you, without their permission, anyway.

[jonah0]

For the dol prompts, can you feed me some Eden and Sydney gangrape content <3 Just imagining the pc and Sydney getting harassed together is soooo good

omg omg omg

I got excited…

It is your idea to go out to the woods.

It takes a little convincing to get Sydney to come with you, but you tell them you’re looking for flower seeds to grow in the temple garden, and eventually they yield, believing the eager light in your eyes.

+Sydney’s Purity | +Love

They of course come with you, trusting your knowledge of the woods (+History). They have no idea that your eagerness is actually because you think you can convince them to kiss you when you’re alone

— and maybe more.

+Arousal

You lead Sydney down the secret pass you read about that quickly leads you deep into the woods. Occasionally they pause, protesting at the rapid distance you’re putting between you both and the temple, but you reassure them time and time again.

“Just a little bit further. Just past the lake. I saw some rose bushes there.”

You see bootprints on the ground.

There’s no reason to bring it up. Plenty of people come through the woods. You’ll feel better when you’re in that little clearing you found, sitting together. You can give Sydney the cookie 🍪 you made. And then you’ll be back in no time.

“Did you hear that?” Sydney asks. “Was that a—“

You see bullet casings on the ground.

You stop in the middle of the trail, and Sydney almost runs into you; their eyes are obviously on the woods around you, and not the trail ahead. +Stress

“It’s nothing,” you say. Sydney does not look convinced. You try your best to sound casual. “But let’s head back.”

Something is hunting you.

Your pulse quickens, and with it your step. Sydney latches onto your arm with sweaty palms. +Pain

Something is hunting you.

You stumble on an upturned root. +Pain Sydney starts to try and help you up, but their hands are trembling.

You hear footsteps on the path.

“Sydney,” you say, hushed and quick, holding their damp hand fervently in your scratched ones. “I’m so sorry—“

The man bursts out of the woods like a bear, shoulders nearly as big, his eyes nearly as cold. And definitely as terrifying. He isn’t surprised to see you both. In fact, you think you see the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly upwards.

And then he reaches for you.

You Scream and he doesn’t even flinch, yanking Sydney close to him, where they sprawl across his wide chest. They squirm against him, but he easily keeps them close with a single muscled arm.

You try to scramble to standing, but a large, muddy boot falls on your chest, keeping you pinned. +Pain. He leans over his knee, staring down at you. Appraising you.

“Stay,” he says. +Arousal

“Please let us go,” Sydney begs, tears in their eyes, even as they struggle.

He squeezes Sydney closer to him, until their face is buried in his chest. “Keep moving against me like that, and it’ll be over too soon,” he says with a chuckle. -Sydney’s Purity

He lets up a bit of pressure on you. You rest your legs and rest your arms. You watch as he affixes a lead around Sydney’s neck. The knot is complicated, and after tugging a few times Sydney gives in with a sad noise.

Holding Sydney’s new leash, he leans down and yanks you up by your arm. +Pain You get the same lead, and he doesn’t say anything else as he starts guiding you both stumbling through the forest, beyond even your knowledge of the woods.

Sydney is sobbing quietly. You read out and hold their hand, and you exchange watery smiles. This is the first time you’ve held hands with someone. You’re sorry it had to be during such a scary moment, but you’re happy that it’s Sydney.

You walk for a long time. +Fatigue Finally, you stumble into a small clearing, with a study looking cabin, a clouded spring, and a string of rabbit pelts drying in the sun. +Stress

The man ties your leashes to a pillar of the cabin porch, and looks you over with lecherous eyes. “I’m going to have fun with this,” he says.

He physically rips off Sydney’s clothes while Sydney pleads for him not to. You cant help but drag your eyes over their exposed chest and legs. They really are so attractive. -Sydney’s Purity

When he sees the chastity belt and shield Sydney has, silver, shining, and unblemished, the man huffs angrily and tries to loosen it. He’s barely able to get his wide fingers around the edges, and Sydney helplessly shakes as he yanks them about. Sydney lets out a sigh of relief that it holds. Their virginities are safe. They sink to the ground with the man lets them go and turns to you.

He rips off your clothes just as savagely. +Trauma When he sees your own belt and shield, he frowns — but it slowly turns to a grin when he tests the edges of it.

Your cracked chastity belt gives you no comfort. +Trauma

You were going to get it replaced at the temple when you got back from the forest, fresh with your first kiss and holding a blushing Sydney behind. (You even thought you could convince them to watch you get it replaced, to see you inspected by Jordan and fitted anew, watch Sydney’s face when you’re bare beneath them…)

But now you’re here, and your belt and shield have been tugged at and battered by a dozen hands at least, so the lock is beginning to give way. The man drops you and you fall into the dirt as he stalks over to a small workshop near the line of pelts, several hunting rifles visible through the door. You shudder and clutch at Sydney, both of you crying and promising each other that it will be all right.

Sydney tries to tell you that the belt will hold, that the Powers That Be will protect you, but you don’t believe him. -Acceptance -Grace

When the man returns with a wicked looking pair of garden shears and tears you away from Sydney, you try and make yourself as unassuming as possible, blinking up at him in an attempt to soothe.

He’s not paying attention to you, though, as he wiggles the sharp tooth of the shears between your skin and the belt. ++Pain He grunts as he closes them, twisting a bit like you’re a stubborn woody root.

Your cracked chastity belt breaks and falls away, leaving you completely exposed. +Trauma

He drops the shears and just…holds you for a moment. His warm hands nearly eclipse your hips, and his mouth looks suddenly soft and tender. “You’re like an angel,” he says. He traces calloused fingertips across your sensitive waistline, and then twists them through your untrimmed bush. +Arousal

“Leave them alone!” Sydney says, beating useless fists against the broad shoulder of your captor. He snarls and easily pins Sydney next to you on the ground. Sydney grabs your hand and squeezes.

“You’re adorable,” the man says. “But I can only breed one of you.”

He picks you up and puts you on top of Sydney, your hands on either side of their head, straddling their waist. You grind against their chastity belt without thinking, flush with all the attention. +Arousal -Sydney’s Purity

You look into Sydney’s wide eyes as the man presses his thick cock against your entrance, one thrust away from penetrating.

You envelope his cock, and he steals your virginity so you will never be pure again.

“That’s right,” the man pants. “Your virginity belongs to me.”

He begins to thrust, hard and unforgiving, and the front of you slides back and forth against Sydney, further stimulating you. The man holds your hips in a bruising grasp, and the noise of your bodies smacking together echoes through the woods. You try to reassure a mute Sydney, but all you can do is moan. “I’m all yours.” You’re unsure who you’re talking to.

The man pulls your head back by your hair with one hand; you hear him uncap a permanent marker with his mouth. He writes on your shoulder. The marker scratches and stings. +Pain When he reaches over to write on Sydney, you see it’s because it’s almost out of ink.

“Property of Eden.”

“Eden,” you say in a pleasure-drenched voice. Eden chuckles. +Love His grip on your hips gets even tighter. +Pain He fucks into you even harder. ++Arousal

You think he is approaching orgasm.

His cock is splitting you open, bouncing you back and forcing himself deeper, and you’re still glancing against Sydney’s belt, and you keep saying Eden’s name because it tastes so sweet. +Arousal

Suddenly you are overwhelmed by sensation. You can’t help but shake and tremor. Fluids leak out of you and onto Sydney’s belt and stomach.

Sydney yearns forward and kisses your jaw as they cum too, undone at the sight of you. -Sydney’s Purity +Love +Lust

You can’t control your body, and they can’t reach your lips because of the grip Eden still has on your hair. You orgasm again.

“That’s it,” Eden grunts. His voice is rough and his words barely enunciated between clenched teeth. Ejaculation imminent. “Let it all out.”

You feel him empty deep inside of you. He spreads you open to watch some drip out. You collapse against Sydney, panting into their neck. They’re still crying but you’re too awash in your orgasm to do the same. Still, you want to try em him. You drag your head up and start to give them your first kiss—

Those rough hands grab and lift you to shaky feet, and crush you against Eden’s body, heady with musk and woodsmoke scent. He grabs your jaw hard. +Pain

Eden kisses you. He takes your first kiss in front of Sydney, but his mouth is so deft and warm that you just sigh and kiss him deeper, let his tongue explore your mouth. +Love

He has to hold you up when he’s done; your knees are still shaking. He guides Sydney up too, and undoes your ties to lead you into his cabin. There he removes your leash completely, but ties Sydney’s to the headboard.

“Now, let’s figure out how to get rid of that other belt, yeah?” he says with a smile.

[jonah0]

Warnings

NSFW, afab reader, dub-con, prostitution

Masterlist | Div!Credits | ~0,4k

Rich!Yandere with a reader who is working at the brothel...

When he first came in, he just merely picked the prettiest slut there. He didn't expect that you were an unpolished diamond, a shining jewel among the trash that he could show luxury and mold you into his pet, all cute and pliable for him to use.

You were just so obedient, allowing him to use you until you broke from the pleasures he could offer you. In reality, he couldn't care less about your pleasure; he was merely asserting his superiority and attempting to tempt you into his hands.

Gradually, he purchased every moment of your time, as he was your sole customer. You couldn't resist entertaining a naive delusion that he was your knight in shining armor who would rescue you from the sufferings, lead you to a blissful life, and live happily ever after. So when he bought you from the brothel owner, you simply fell dreamily into his waiting arms...

"Who is my obedient cute slut, hmm~?

He could only wait for a response since you were so fucked out, your dumb little brain could only comprehend so much...all tied up in expensive silks, and lingerie adorning your soft, plump body; Rich!Yandere simply couldn't withstand fucking you mindless on his thick cock...

Oh, poor little you, eyes rolling back in your skull, hole getting no rest, orgasm after orgasm. Who could even blame you for not being there to answer?

The sheer extent of the sensations you have been experiencing has taken its toll on you, leaving you in a state of blissful exhaustion.

Now that Rich!Yandere had all of you to himself he didn't hold back anymore one bit, allowing his instincts to take over and just fuck into your more fragile body, your long eyelashes ornamented by tears only turning him more on than he already was.

But you'll be good and take it. After all, that's what a good little whore like you does.

Isn't that right?

REBLOG!!! ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ��˚୨୧

[jonah0]

꩜ Room Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Male! Sub! Sydney the Faithful, no gendered terms for reader, jerking Sydney off in a cinema, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: This has been on my mind for so long, ugh the grip Sydney has on my mind is maddening. Might also do a corrupted Sydney version after this who knows teehee :3c

It was meant to be something relaxing. At least that's what Sydney had in mind when he agreed to a movie date with you at the cinema.

It's been a while since he's seen one so he thought that it'd be fun to watch one together. (He was even the one who suggested watching the newest romance movie after hearing about it from Robin.)

So how did it ever end up like this?

Maybe he should've paid more attention to Robin talking about the movie because when the beginning of a sex scene starts to play on the screen, he flushes instantly, hands shooting up and shielding his face to prevent him from seeing the lewdness on display.

His sudden actions catch your eye and you turn to take in the delicious view of your lover trying to tune out the raunchy moans from the actors, eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed so cutely that you just want to eat him up ♡

Your hand finds its way over to the edge of his pants, pulling the band before letting it go, snapping against his skin. A squeak escapes him as his eyes fly open, surprised by your actions.

"W-what are you doing?" Sydney's voice is shaky, volume slightly above a whisper.

"I'm just helping distract you from the movie, angel. Now quieten down, you wouldn't want the people to realise, would you?"

Worried, he surveys the other cinemagoers around the both of you and breaths a sigh of relief when no one else heard the squeak he let out. Turning back to face you, he notices the hunger in your eyes and the blush on his cheeks deepen.

His hands are still held up in front of him so you take the opportunity to slip your fingers past his waistband, teasing at the rim of his boxers. The sensation of your fingers on the skin of his hips has him quivering but he makes no move to stop you from taking this even further. You press on, dipping into his boxers and when you come into contact with his already half-hard cock, he jolts in his seat, biting down on his lip to muffle any noises from him.

Leaning closer, you take his cock into your hand, gradually stroking him until he's hard and dripping. His self-restraint wavers when your nails glide across his slit, hips bucking up with a sharp gasp. Alarmed, his eyes dart around the surroundings, heart jackrabbiting in his chest at the prospect at getting caught. Working him up to his orgasm, he's squirming in his seat, moving one of his hands down to bite down on to stifle his moans as he loses himself in the pleasure you're showing him.

A harsh tug and a scratch along the underside of his dick is what tips him over the edge, he doubles over and his hands immediately shoot to grasp at your wrist so that he can rut into your hand as pure euphoria overtakes him. There's a wet patch growing on the fabric of his pants but he's too caught up in the bliss to notice.

After he rides out his high, he slumps back against the backrest, boneless and panting as he tries to process everything that just happened. Retracting your hand covered in his spend, you hold it before him, expectant. Hesitant, he slowly licks away his cum. He's slightly put off by the taste of his own cum at the start but determined, he carries on until your hand is completely cleaned. Giving your fingers one last suck, he pulls away, face still hot from arousal. As thanks, you grab his face and pull him in for a heated kiss that leaves him melting in his seat, his brain mushy. The only thing he can think of is you, you, you. + + Love

Well, he can't lie, he supposes the movie was relaxing in a way! - - Sydney's Purity

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[jonah0]

tw: female reader, non - con, manhandling, religious subtext (it's sydney)

Sydney has never felt this way before. He doesn't know the name of that feeling, the warmth that fills his chest and tightens his throat and reddens his cheeks as you sit before him at the library counter. He can't explain the pulse in his loins and the sweat that sticks to his back when you lean in to ask him something and your shirt opens up slightly, revealing such soft, mesmerizing skin. His hands start to itch and his mouth waters and he feels almost thirsty - but water never seems to quench whatever it is he's deprived of.

He wants to ask someone - maybe brother Jordan or his father, but something deep within him, some basic instinct, rings a bell, a reminder that there is nothing pure or holy about the feelings he harbors towards you. He knows love. He's read about it - he knows he loves God, he loves his church, his friends, his books. He knows love is gentle. Love is caring and tender and quiet, love is giving.

But when it comes to you, he only wants to take. He wants to bite your cheeks when you smile, to squeeze you in his arms until he hears your fragile bones crack. He wants to rip off your skin and crawl in your shell - to see your insides, to admire every inch of your flesh for his own sick satisfaction. He even keeps a box of everything you've ever lost - small trinkets, cheap bracelets, ripped socks, locks of hair... Anything to feel closer to you.

And yet Sydney tries to fight his urges - he averts eyes when you bend to pick something and pretends not to notice your bare legs in those mini skirts, the way the school swimsuit hugs your curves perfectly, or how your lips part when you bite down on a pencil. Or the marks of you teeth on the yellow wood, your smugded lipstick as you leave the bathroom, your hands on his shoulder with your nails digging in—

Sydney is a man of God, but you make him question his faith. In the sunlight everything is brighter, but when night comes, so do the nightmares. His pillow becomes softer, warmer - it lingers with the scent of your hair and he can't help imagining you laying next to him with an adoring smile on those luscious lips of yours. And as fatigue spreads over his tired body, his prayers long forgotten, the same dream haunts him - the one he's had since the day he first saw you.

You're no longer laying next to him - you're under him instead. Your hair isn't spread out angelically, but twisted and disheveled, wrapped around his fist. He's towering over you, tilting your chin up - holding you so tightly against his body you can't move an inch. Your eyes are red and swollen, lips bruised and bitten bloody - and you're trembling like an injured animal. You look so small, so pathetically adorable, so very naked and afraid, and splayed out like a feast in front of him, and he just devours you like the predator he knows he is.

You whine something incomprehensible along the lines of a plea, begging to be let go - but all your words become white noise to Sydney. His hands circle your throat painfully and only a few broken moans escape before you shut up completely. The man keeps thrusting into you without a sense of shame, egged on by the deep, inaudible sobs that shake your body to its core. The voice inside his head chants "mine, mine, mine" like a spell, like a curse that binds you both for all eternity.

Sydney always wakes up in cold sweat, unable to catch his breath. It's terrifying, seeing his darkest desires play out over and over each night. And as he tries to catch his breath and forget the taste of your neck on his tongue, there is one thought he never seems to fully rid himself of. How long until dreams are not enough to feed the monster inside of him?

How long until it all becomes reality?

[jonah0]

Male Kylar x Fem! Reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, Dub-con, BDSM, Anal, Pegging

Much to your annoyance, Kylar constantly begged you to fuck him. He'd hump against your leg like a dog in heat, with tears in his eyes he'd plead you for just a touch. For a taste of your body. He only wanted you just once he said, knowing that he was lying, but the painful ache in his pants couldn't be sated by his hands any longer. He promise he'd be good if you just let him put it inside you.

The day you finally decide to give him what he wants, he's over the moon. Kylar lays on your bed, naked with his dick twitching and hard. He's never leaked this much precum before, the entire tip of his cock looking wet and slick with the liquid. He's just waiting for you. You who said that you needed to step into the bathroom to freshen up.

He tries to hold back the shock he's feeling when you finally step into your bedroom. Your bare tits sitting beautifully has him panting, your waist, your stomach, but then his eyes fall on something else. The large pink strap-on cock that's on your body.

"Spread your legs,"

Out of fear, he'll do so immediately, knees pulling apart while trembling. You'll position yourself between them, grabbing his thighs to keep him spread open. A bottle of lube will be pulled from your bedside table, something he was certain was going to be used on you, but instead the slimy liquid drenches his asshole.

The fake, plastic cock pushes into his ass, making him see stars for a moment. His first time ever doing something like this is with you, which makes him happy, but the way you're mercilessly pounding into him is uncomfortable. He begs you to stop or slow down. Instead you grab his cock, using all that precum he had as lube as you stroke it at the same pace that you're fucking him.

He sobs that it's painful. That he doesn't want it. He starts those pathetic moans for a while, but after a few moments of you hitting his prostate with the tip of your cock, his sobs of pain turn to moans of pleasure.

"M-mo...more!" He manages to stutter out, causing you to smirk down at him.

And you give him more. Spreading his legs wider to give yourself access to that tight hole. He mewls while grabbing at your hips, trying to keep you as deep inside his ass as possible. He's drooling all over himself while taking it, little toes curling at each thrust.

He can't even announce that he's about to cum, all that leaves his lips is mumbled gibberish. But you feel it. The way his ass is squeezing your cock tells you enough.

He shivers a bit, green eyes clenched shut. His dick twitching in your hand, his balls tensing. His cum shoots from his cock. Shot after shot of the white liquid, as be practically screams out in pleasure. His face and chest are covered in his cum, a beautiful sight to behold.

You pull out from his ass and his body goes limp. He lays there on your bed, covered in his own semen, body shaking every so often. He falls asleep like this, without your permission. But as he snuggles into your bed, you find yourself unable to wake him.

He'll definitely ask you to fuck him again.

[jonah0]

i dont think you've discussed kylar using just the tip to it's fullest potential... he'd be whining and begging, tears streaming down his face while he barely moves at all... IMAGINE IT!!!

hehehe m!kylar x gn!pc

“Don’t move.”

Kylar let out a feral-sounding whine, but nonetheless heeded your words.

“P-please, my love,” he whimpered, his fingers strengthening their clutch on your hips. It would probably hurt, if you weren’t enjoying the situation so much. “Why?”

You pretended to think about it for a few seconds, delighting in the way tears were welling up in Kylar’s eyes as you made him wait. “Mm. I dunno, actually. It’s just fun.”

He tried to glare at you, but tears started spilling at that moment and the impact was lost. “You’re—you’re mean,” his fingernails were nearly piercing the flesh on your hips and you couldn’t have felt more gleeful at that moment.

“Please, my love,” Kylar was begging now. If his cock wasn’t (barely) inside you, you imagined he might literally be prostrating himself in front of you. “Let me move. Let me love you. I—I need to feel inside of you, completely, so, so badly.”

Truth be told, you wanted that, too. But the joy of making Kylar suffer was almost as good as being fucked by him. And if your theory was right, it would end up being even better because of it. “Ah ah,” you smirked. “You can only move when I decide to let you.”

You could tell Kylar was desperate, the way his teeth were gritted and sweat dripped down his forehead, intermingling with his tears. “And when will that be?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Kylar practically howled at that, his face flushed beet red.

“Oh, fine,” you said with a huff, trying to act like it wasn’t affecting you as well. “Go on, then.”

The words had barely finished leaving your mouth before Kylar’s hips slammed against yours, leaving you breathless.

“So mean,” Kylar muttered under his breath as he repeatedly jackhammered into you. You were unable to form a response. “So, so mean.”

“Ky—” you managed to squeak out before you were cut off by your own, loud moan. His eyes flashed before he slipped a hand between your legs and began to stroke you. Clearly, your meanness hadn't damaged his dedication.

“F-fuck, I...” you yourself whimpered as your climax hit. A manic grin grew on Kylar's face as he felt your walls clench around him.

He didn't stop his rubbing nor his thrusting as you rode out your orgasm, his free hand still digging into your skin. The pain and pleasure mixed, and you could tell by the look on Kylar's face that it was exactly what he had wanted.

“So-hah-good!” Kylar panted as his hips slammed so hard into you that you felt yourself move several inches. “I love you!” He cried out as he thrust as deeply as possible, gripping your hips for leverage as he came inside of you. He didn't move, just stared at you possessively for a moment, his entire body slick with sweat. Then, with a huff, he dropped his full body weight on top of you, burying his head in the crook of your neck with a sniffle.

“You're so mean,” he whined for what felt like the millionth time. You giggled in response.

“You did a good job,” you told him, running your fingers through his hair. He pulled back to give you a pleased smile, humming happily. A twitch inside you reminded you that Kylar still hadn't pulled out.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyeing him. “Seriously? Again? Already?”

He pressed feather-light kisses to your neck, eliciting a soft moan from you. Then, he flashed you a devious smile.

“My turn to be mean.”

[jonah0]

M!Kylar x F!Reader - Puppy Love (SMUT)

Basically you go to a party looking for a hookup and Kylar catches your attention. Being the first person who doesn't treat him like shit, he instantly falls in love and agrees, especially with your earlier flirting.

2.350 words.

“Isn't he kind of cute...?” you mused to yourself, eyeing up your prey. Around your height, dark hair, green eyes. Nervous. He looks at the floor and holds his cup, shoulders tense, back leaning against the wall. You moved towards him with a glint in your eye. Everyone seemed to avoid him. You weren’t really sure why, but you won’t complain. It just meant less competition for you.  

With confident steps, you neared the young man. He still didn’t notice you. But that’s fine. You would get him soon enough and all his attention would be on you. Soon, you were only a few steps away from him. You leaned against the wall next to him, before putting your head on his shoulder and giving him the cutest, innocent smile, you could muster. He seemed like the type to enjoy it.  

A shy blush rose to his cheeks as he gripped the cup tighter, the plastic in his hand denting slightly from how hard he was gripping it. He made no attempts to move away, which you took as a quiet yes. Pretty, vibrant green eyes stared back into yours. He gulped as you took in his expression, his adam’s apple moving. Your gaze followed subtly lower, noticing his exposed collarbone, before flicking back up again. His face reddened as you leaned closer to him, your warm breath brushing against his neck.  

“How about we leave this party... And get to know each other better, hmm? Would you like that?” keeping up the innocent facade, your hand trailed up his arm, before locking your arms together. As soon as he gave the smallest of nods at you, you started to lead him away from the bustling gathering, opting to move away from the bar at the beach and going to the park instead.  

Sitting down on the fountain, you immediately closed the distance between the two of you, your thigh touching his. A squeak escaped him as you kissed him. His lips were slightly chapped, but soft and pleasant anyways.  

His palms gripped at his jeans, clutching the material tightly as he was breathing loudly, unsure of what to do. You continued to kiss him, leading him slowly as you put your hand on his cheek and tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Your other hand traveled to one of his hands, hoping to calm him down as you trailed soft patterns consisting of stars and hearts on his hand.  

You could hear his heartbeat. His breathing got heavier. 

Opening your eyes, you saw a gaze so intense that it made you feel hot in your lower stomach. Was he observing you all this time? It made you a little self-conscious. You pulled back from the kiss, both of your cheeks flushed a pale shade as he continued to stare at you, anxious as ever. Smiling at him, you gave him another kiss, this time on his hot cheek, before whispering. “Is this what love at first sight feels like? I think I like it. It would be nice to know the name of my love, though.” 

Pulling back again, you have him an innocent expression yet again. He was wrapped all around your finger, now. You could tell by his gaze. Lovestruck, shy, but most importantly, so, so eager. Poor boy couldn’t hold in his excitement so much that he pulled you into another kiss, this time sloppy and wet. All hesitation seemed to escape his reasoning as he tried to recreate what you did earlier, trying his best to deepen the kiss. His hands, compared to how they were before, impatiently twitched as he placed them on your hips and brought you closer. Towering over you as you were forced to lean back because of the close proximity  

Like a switch, he turned into a whimpering, pathetic mess as you refused to grant him access as he probed at your lips with his tongue. “Noona... P-please, m-more...” 

With a shaking breath, he was basically begging you while you smiled at him teasingly. “I don’t know, Puppy... Maybe if you tell me your name? I’ll give you mine as well, hmm?” 

It was all it took for him to tell you about his name with a stutter, before latching onto your neck and placing wet kisses all over it. His eagerness was really endearing. It almost made you reconsider sleeping with him. Such a cute and innocent dude, so flustered and eager for you. “Good boy...” you moaned out, before roughly tugging at the back of his head, exposing his neck as was forced to pull away. A whiny moan left him as he looked at you, eyes full of desperation. It soon changed to surprise as you pulled him in towards you, lips meeting, giving him what he begged for earlier.  

The moan he let out was shameless as he wrapped his arm around your waist, letting you take back full control of the situation once more. Kylar wanted nothing more than to make you happy in this moment. “I... I want to be with you... P-Please, Noona!” a rush of excitement filled him as he took in your appearance, completely mesmerized as he admired your beauty. You didn’t even notice when he took his hands into yours, tumbling and playing with them in a similar way you did earlier. 

He didn’t need to say more as you dragged him back to your house after he begged you so nicely. As soon as you stepped inside your room Kylar didn’t hesitate to drag you to the bed, him falling first and you following shortly after, falling on top of him and straddling his hips. The sheer size of his manhood surprised you at how big it was, even under your body and under the layer of his clothes. 

“Noona...” his hips buckled upwards, meeting yours and dry humping you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he tries to encourage you to move with him as well, desperate for your touch.  

Seeing him under you was almost magical. Big, bright blush, reaching past his ears and his neck. His shirt rose up slightly upwards from all the moving and dry humping, exposing his stomach. Eyes soaking up your every curve on your body, slightly teary from how sensitive he was being, his expression erotic. 

It made you want to tease him more, but you were already pretty eager to get it going. You made sure to give him a nice view as you look off your shirt, exposing your lace bra. You bended your body forward, almost pushing up your breasts up his face, before you got rid of the bra as well, throwing it somewhere on the ground.  

Kylar’s hands twitched as he licked his lips, eyeing up your body hungrily. He could feel his self-preservation slip the more he looked at you and your body, his heart beating so fast he was sure you could hear it. Your expression was cute as well. He loved seeing the way you got all worked up for him. He hoped only he saw that naughty part of you.  

“Come on, Kylar~” you gave a teasing roll of your hips. “Let’s get you naked as well, huh?” 

You didn’t need to tell him twice as you got off of him, giving him the chance to take off his shirt and the rest of his clothes as well. Giving him a show, you made sure to arch your back as you took off your pants and panties at once, exposing your sex. Although you couldn’t see his expression, you did hear a gasp and a belt unbuckling, before being dragged back into the bed and being thrown on your back.  

Kylar didn’t waste any time as he eagerly positioned himself between your legs, running the tip up and down between your folds. He moaned at the way his tip glistened with your arousal. One of his arms was above your head, pinning you. Poor Kylar was begging for you to let him enter you, a soft whine escaping him as he continued to move his cock up and down impatiently.  

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his eagerness. This time you were the one leaning on your elbows as you looked down, curious on what his cock looked like. It was easily described as large, with a pretty, swollen tip. He was already leaking lots of precum.  

The thought of having something so big inside you made you shudder. You couldn’t help but notice how it’s his first time, and suddenly, you felt much more self-conscious than before. You were confident, but you didn’t really want to disappoint him. Everything felt so intimate, now. It wouldn’t hurt to make it a bit more special for him, right...? 

“Come here, Puppy.” 

You reached out your arm and wrapped it around his neck, before bringing him closer and kissing him, using as much passion as you could. You opened your mouth and gently probed at him with your tongue, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. He followed your lead eagerly, leaning into you some more, almost laying on top of you.  

Your chests were touching, and Kylar couldn’t help but let go of his cock to grab one of your tits instead, giving it a curious squeeze as he panted into the kiss, enjoying the close proximity and the feel of your body. You muttered a soft “Good job.” under your breath at how he tried his best to please you. As a reward you flipped him on his back and positioned his cock at your entrance, but not before spitting on your hand and giving his cock some extra lubrication.  

Watching his reaction, you lowered yourself gently on his length. His eyes widened in surprise as your velvety walls enveloped and welcomed his cock. A loud whine followed by a high-pitched wheeze as he grabbed at the sheets, his hips moving upwards automatically, trying to reach as deep as possible. When you gave your hips an experimental roll, he swore he could see heaven. A moan of your own leaves you at the feeling, it’s been a while since you’ve had a cock this good.  

“Oh, Puppy...” you said in a scolding tone as his chest heaved up and down, struggling to catch his breath. You think you saw him almost biting his tongue, trying his best to hold in the noises as he already spilled inside you from the stimulation. As much as you wanted to find it annoying, it was... Endearing in a way.  

“Look at the mess you made, so eager...” you moved your hips, with Kylar still being sensitive in his post-orgasmic bliss, not minding the cum that leaked out of your hole and dripped down onto your sheets. It’s obvious cumming once won’t do it for him and you were more than happy to accommodate that.  

His expression looked almost like he was in pain from the over-stimulation. His hand moved from the sheets and to your thighs, to your stomach and your waist, anywhere he could reach in the state he was in. He was basically shaking, drool leaking as he looked at you through teary eyes, his voice trembling as he apologized to you, “S-Sorry, I-I'll be good, I p-promise...” 

You took the initiative and brought his hand to your cheek as you rode him and moaned his name, leaning into his touch. Poor baby was in heaven, drinking up the sight of you riding him, his cum oozing out of your cunt. It’s okay, he calmed himself, gulping down the air. He’ll just make sure to fill you up some more. Everything for his love.  

You muttered another “Good Boy...” against his ear, putting your back into riding him to another orgasm, this time eager to reach your own as well. Kylar wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you as close as possible, his own hips moving, chasing his sweet release. He choked on air when you started to kiss and bite down on his neck, moaning more praises all the while, encouraging him to move as well and to touch you.  

He knew you didn’t cum yet, which prevented him from cumming to early again.  

He guessed you were close by the way you were clenching down, milking and squeezing him each time your hips moved, and the way your breathing was uneven, hitching each time he hit your cervix. His own pace was relentless, not giving you any time to stop even when you were gasping for air. He continued to rut into you even after you came, refusing to leave you unsatisfied and empty.  

“Noona... N-gah! Noona... I l-love you!”  

His hips stuttered as he reached his second peak, a content sight and grunt leaving him as he spilled inside of you, coating your walls once more. You were all spent, not bothering to remove yourself from him, instead still straddling his hips, his cock deep inside you as you tried to catch your breath, your sweat glistening in the dimly lit room. Kylar didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy it very much, going as far as to bring you closer to him, encouraging you to lay your head down in the crook of his neck.  

He didn’t hesitate to inhale the scent of your shampoo as you guys cuddled. His arms were wrapped around you protectively, refusing to let you go. His vibrant eyes were filled with so much love it made you feel a certain type of way, your own heartbeat quickening. You were sure he could hear it as well.  

Eventually, with some light giggles, you finally could lay beside Kylar normally. You were no longer straddling his hips, and he took the chance to cuddle into you instead, his head on your chest as he pressed soft kisses wherever he could reach, one of his hands on your hips as he traced patterns with his thumb. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep like this. You’ll talk things with him tomorrow instead.  

[jonah0]

welcome home, slut

whitney the bully x fem!afab!reader

contents: semi-public, whitney is a bully, hair pulling, mention of cigarette burning, masochism (f!receiving), piv, spanking, degradation (slut, whore), spit, inspection (f!receiving), ask to tag

w/c: ~2.2k

from the cottage: hey hun, you've been out here at the farm for some time now, did you even tell anyone you were out here? i have a feeling someone's lookin' for you...

++Lust ++Jealousy

three months.

it had been three months since the last time you had come to classes. 

prior to this rebellious stint of yours, your only other absences were when you had disappeared because of bailey, and disappeared during one of the blood moons and needed to see that creepy doctor in the hospital to feel better.

but this… this was different.

that friday, whitney had clearly remembered the lewd look on your face when he yanked you off of the sidewalk to put a cigarette out on your arm. your eyes had crossed and you had even moaned a little before he shoved you to the floor and laughed at your pathetic nature.

it was normal. an almost comically average interaction. nothing you weren’t used to.

and yet, you had disappeared. 

it had rained that sunday after, he remembered. and you didn’t come to annoy him at the park like you always did. 

he should’ve known something was possibly wrong, but he didn’t think of it.

every day you weren’t in math class felt like he was the guilty party in your absence, the one who drove you away.

he wasn’t, it was almost definitely a problem that you had gotten yourself into, but still… something was eating at him.

it was about to be three months and one day until the door to river’s classroom swung open five minutes late, and in you walked, calm and steady as ever.

what the fuck?

you looked… cleaner. stronger, somehow. you looked as though you had been successfully roughing it for the past three months, like you had spent a majority of your time outdoors. you skin was practically glowing, your arms bulkier, your thighs plush. you even looked well-fed.

where had you been?

whitney was blinded by his anger, his body moving on his own as he got up and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you right back up out of your chair. you yelped, kicking and squirming and trying to push him off of you, but his grip just tightened as he tugged you right out of the classroom and into the now empty hallway.

river protested, shouting something down the hall at him as he dragged you along, but whitney ignored him in favor of tossing you into the nearest empty classroom and slamming the door shut.

“welcome back, slut,” he snarled at your cowering form, standing over where you were on the floor, sniffling and wiping at your eyes. mascara was trailing down them you could barely afford anything before, let alone makeup.

“where the fuck have you been, huh? probably showing yourself off at some strip club far away to make a buck. is that it? left to be a camgirl?”

he kicked one of your legs to shove them apart, standing in the space between your knees that he had created for himself as he towered over you.

you shook your head, still trying to gather yourself from being tugged down the hallway by your hair. “i-i got a job, on the farm-”

“a job on a farm? really now?”

“y-yes! i’m h-helping rebuild the farm, get it in working order- alex needs a lot of help, i didn’t realize-”

“i bet he’s fuckin’ you, whoever this alex is.” whitney growled as he stomped his foot down next to your left arm, making you jolt. “i bet you just spread your legs so he could fuck you like an animal while you forget about the rest of us back here in the city. how fuckin’ dare you run off like that.”

you stammered as you looked up at him, sitting up on your elbows as your lip wobbled. “i- i’m sorry, i didn’t realize how long i was away for, i’d work and work and be too tired to walk home, i can’t ride horses yet-”

“‘m sure you know how to ride cock just fine, though, am i right?”

“whitney!” you blurted out, trying to get him to stop talking so you could finish a sentence, “i didn’t have sex with him! i got caught up, i-i missed you!”

now that, whitney hadn’t been expecting. he was maybe expecting your normal demeanor, your normal protests and cries of pain and i’m sorry’s, but not i missed you.

something sickening crawled up his spine as he stood over you and crouched down, bringing his face up close to yours. his fringe hung down; you could see both of his eyes, dark and looming, so clearly. 

“say that again, slut.”

“i said i missed you, i’m sorry, i missed you while i was gone, i didn’t have sex with him, please believe me…” you were starting to really cry now, lifting yourself up as much as you could before wrapping your arms around his neck to try and hug him.

and, well, he allowed that, not reciprocating, for all of maybe thirty seconds. he caught the scent of a foreign shampoo in your hair; you’d been staying somewhere other than the orphanage. probably on that farm. probably with him, whoever he was.

he grabbed your shoulders tight and shoved you back down onto the floor, away from him, listening to you gasp with surprise at the action. he grunted as he shifted positions oh so easily, backing off of you only to throw you onto your stomach and hoist your hips up with his hands on your waist. 

you yelped in reply, your cheek hitting the cold tile floor a little hard, pain blossoming under your eye. you braced yourself on your hands as your hips were dragged up into the air. “wait, whitney, i-”

“say it again, slut. tell me you missed me. say it again, ‘cause i still don’t believe you.” he grunted down at you, grabbing the hem of your skirt roughly and flipping it up to reveal that you weren’t even wearing panties, something he had demanded you do months ago. you were still obedient to him, it seems. “whore like you still not wearing panties? do you want to get fucked like this?”

“whitney, please,” you simpered, squirming under him and trying to find grip on the tile floor as his calloused fingers danced over your folds. you could feel the heat between your thighs, how your body instinctively unfurled for him; it was a pavlovian response to being underneath him as he barked and bit at you like a dog. your folds started to glisten with your juices as his thumbs hooked around your pussy lips to spread them apart. he glared down at your clenching hole as if studying the way you were getting soaked from his inspection before pooling a thick glob of spit between his lips and letting it drip down onto your cunt.

you gasped at the feeling and shuddered; you’d barely been touched outside of being thrown to the floor and manhandled, but you were already so receptive to him.

“fucking whore, already fucking wet f’ me. say it again, tell me who you missed and maybe i’ll give you this cock.” as he spoke, he let go of one of your hips to undo his belt buckle, letting the cold metal hit your thigh as he worked on freeing his cock from the confines of his pants.

“you!” you immediately started to warble, like a bird in a cage, “i missed you! missed you s’ much, i didn’t let him touch me, i promise-”

“you just let him buy stuff for you huh? your makeup’s running, you never wear makeup.” he leaned his body over your back, his chest hot to the touch as he brushed his chapped lips over your ear. “did you let him make you into a little farmer’s wife, huh?”

“i didn’t! whitney, please, i didn’t! i got it for you!” you were bleating at him like a lamb, and the confession made his cheeks grow hot. he was suddenly glad he had you face down rather than on your back. “bought it for me? wow, what an attention seeker,” he snarled against your ear, and yet the fat head of his cock was slipping through your folds with a shlick, shlick sound. 

you felt yourself thrusting back against it, trying to get him inside. “please, missed you s’ much, whit, please- inside-”

“i guess you proved it. maybe i should give you a reminder of what you were missin’ out on while you were away.” he growled a little, unable to hide how he really felt about your absence as he sat up from your back and guided the wet, leaky tip of his cock into your spit-soaked hole. he hissed from the tightness; you cried out from the sudden sting. it wasn’t like he ever really prepped you to take his fat cock, but after being away from him for so long, it felt like the first time all over again.

tears ran down your cheeks as you bit down on your lip and whimpered, feeling him push himself in deeper despite your tight cunt clenching around him and almost forcing him out. he groaned as he watched the way you struggled to take him. “feels like you’re a virgin again, fuck, guess you didn’t get fucked, unless he was real small.” 

you moaned when you felt his hips connect with yours, your hands curling into fists. his hand found your hair again, winding it up to get a good grip as he yanked your head up off the floor and made you arch your back.

“now you’re gonna stay right here and fuckin’ take this cock like the whore you are. you need to be retrained.”

you sucked in a breath as he pulled his hips back, the veins of his cock dragging along your gummy walls, before he started to piston into you, his hand gripping your hip with a bruising pressure as he fucked you like you were an object.

the feeling made you see stars, crying out with a slack jaw. for a moment, you were in another world instead of on the classroom floor. your scalp ached but the pain sent fizzles of pleasure flying down your spine; the way his heavy balls slapped against your clit with each thrust had you clenching down around him.

whitney had the gall to breathe out a laugh as you gurgled on your own drool and tears, sobbing on his cock and drooling for more. “i know you fuckin’ missed being treated like a cocksleeve, huh? missed having this cock shoved down your throat? missed it in this tight little pussy? yeah? bet you couldn’t even cum on your own without me to help you, so fuckin’ needy and pathetic.”

he let out his own little moans as he tugged on your hair to get a better look at your fucked out expression, and the look on your dazed face made his cock jump inside of you. it spurred him on to fuck you harder as you moaned for him, your juices making a mess of the front of his slacks.

“whit- please, missed you- missed your cock, need to cum, wanna cum, please-”

“oh, you need to cum? poor thing.” he laughed down at you as his free hand came down hard on your ass, making you cry out from the sudden pain. you shook; you felt like you were teetering on the edge as his leaky tip pounded that spongy spot inside of you.

“gonna cum? gonna cream all on this dick that you missed so much? say it. say it again.”

“yes! yes, wanna cum on your cock, missed you, missed it, please let me cum-”

“fine, slut. make a mess of this fuckin’ cock, then.” he growled as he spanked you again and gripped the flesh of your ass.

you felt like you ascended into heaven for a brief moment, flashes of white sparking behind your eyes as your body jerked and pulled taut. you came, hard, your body spasming and jerking underneath where he was keeping you pressed to the floor.

he moaned against your back as he felt you tighten and spasm around his cock, a frothy ring of white forming at the base as he continued to bully his way deeper into your cunt. 

“that’s it, your pussy just missed me so much, bet nothin’ satisfied her like this.” he grumbled through his teeth before huffing out little ah, ah, ah’s until finally he jerked his hips a bit sloppier, and then he was cumming deep inside your cunt, barely moving so he could fuck it deeper into you. 

his forehead dropped against your shoulder blades as you both recovered, his hot breaths fanning out over your neck. you whimpered when he finally lifted away from you and pulled out, his cum dripping down your thighs. 

he grunted as he got to his feet and tucked himself away, brushing his sweaty fringe away from his forehead as he looked down at your trembling form.

“don’t you ever leave like that again, understood?”

you nodded vaguely, lip trembling before curling up into a smile. “i missed you.”whitney squinted down at you before turning his head away and tossing you some tissues from his back pocket. i missed you too, slut.

[jonah0]

Ever so often I go back to play some DoL and in my new run I got a bit more interested in our lovely school bully, so I looked them up and spoilered myself found some things out that inspired me to write about them ♥

Isn't it so cute when the bully starts to care a bit more about their victims than they should?

Characters: Male!Whitney (Degrees of Lewdity) x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con, Public Sex, Derogatory Nicknames, Creampie, Fear of Pregnancy, Humiliation, Non-Consensual Picture Taking) Bullying, Posessiveness, Mental Struggles, Threats

Sobbing, you clung to him as his cock pounded into you. Merciless and without much thought to your obvious state of distress, Whitney abused your hole, grunting as he caved it out even though you had pleaded with him not to. Not like he had ever listened to you before, but you wondered if there was ever a "too much" in his books, your hopes silently shattering as you bit back a moan from escaping.

Giggles and mean comments rained down on you from the sidelines, phone shutters going off, the sound deliberately turned on so you would hear it. The embarrassment was like a cloud of heat, cooking you from the inside out and blurring your judgment. You wanted to struggle, but every bit of movement would make your body more visible, even though you wanted to hide it away more than anything. Your legs were held apart by the ankles, giving you very little support as Whitney pushed into you recklessly, but they kept you in place enough that his cock wouldn't slip out.

All while the onlookers took videos from below.

You knew better than to make more of a fool out of yourself than you already were to these bullies. They wouldn't listen to your pleas, and your screams fell on deaf ears around the almost empty school. Although you could try fighting, who were you kidding? Whitney wasn't known to be a weakling. It wasn't the first time you had to deal with him and the humiliation, but no amount of repetition made the crime less severe.

Letting out a loud sniffle, you buried your face in his chest, his grunts breaking for one push, and you felt one of his arms snake around your back as he grew even more eager. It was no embrace that could comfort you, but at least he didn't force you to face the cameras and make your expression a public amusement and the next best blackmail material.

"Hey, Whitney! Stop hoggin' them! We all want some of the fun!" some student called out, gripping your bully by the shoulder. With surprising ferocity, Whitney twisted his body around, slapping the hand away while pulling you tighter against his body.

"Fuck off!" he hissed as the student tumbled and crashed into the tables. "Y'all can get lost, you're not getting your dicks wet today!"

His movements halted while he was occupied with the groans and shouts of his peers, needing to keep them in check as they crowded close, calling him 'unfair' and a killjoy. He bit back just as aggressively, and more embarrassment flared up inside you as people got closer.

Scared, you clung to him, fingers buried in the shirt on his back, and with your legs being released, you clasped them tightly around his hips. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and Whitney hissed, the voices of the other students briefly stopping before they rose up in laughter.

"Seems like our good pal got hitched!"

"Pussy-drunk bastard!"

"Man, this is no fun. Let's go somewhere else."

Sighs turned into small talk, into discussions about where to have dinner, until all your bullies had crowded out of the room, leaving only you and Whitney behind. It was fascinating how quickly they could change their interest, how little all of this truly meant to them while the trauma clung heavily to you.

"Urgh," Whitney groaned, leaning forward until your back hit the top of the table. "Why are you sticking so close to me? Stop being a fucking leech."

"S-Sorry..."

Within seconds, Whitney had snapped his hips back against yours, burying his cock deep inside, and you grunted in response, covering your mouth to hold back the moans.

"You're really getting on my nerves—stop that!"

Tearing your hand away, Whitney pinned it to the table, leaving you defenseless. His other hand gripped the edge of the wood, giving him the leverage to pound into you, spreading your walls far apart while messing with your insides.

"Why..." you mumbled, breathless. "Why did you stop them?"

"The fuck kinda question is that? You want them to fuck you? I can call them back if that's—"

"N-No! Please don't..."

His lips curled into a mean grin as he stared down at you, eyes moving from yours to your lips, to your breasts jiggling beneath. "You owe me now, big time," he grinned, and you felt a knot form in your stomach.

Reaching down, Whitney gripped one of your thighs, lifting it higher for better access before his pace quickened. "You're so fucking done," he grunted. "I'll make your life hell, and you'll love every second of it. That'll teach you not to question me."

"S-Sorry! I just wanted to know!"

Months of bullying had worn down your defenses, and you should have known better. But Whitney had never been one to show you any mercy before, so curiosity had gotten the better of you. And like an idiot, you had fallen into his trap again.

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt another knot form in your stomach, this one much more frightening than the one before. You didn't want to come from this, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of making you come. Still, every time he pushed into you, you felt closer to that edge, toes curling. At the same time, you listened to the embarrassing sound of your pussy squelching. Whitney, too, sounded close, not afraid to let out his voice as he dug inside, fulfilling his desires primarily.

In the truest sense of the word, you two crashed hard as Whitney leaned down, lips smashing into yours as both moans collided pitifully. His hips still jerked a few times, and you gasped as you felt the hot mess he spilled inside you, fearing the worst. You absolutely couldn't get pregnant by him—what kind of sick nightmare would that have been?—but even as you tried to push him away, ramming your knees into his chest, he wouldn't budge. Usually, things ended after humiliating you, but with no one around, apparently, Whitney didn't think it was necessary to sully your face or body, leaving his cum inside you without a second thought.

"N-No!" you mewled into his savage kiss, but Whitney only grinned, rocking the table until it tilted back, forcing you to wrap your legs around his and your arms around his neck to not slip off the surface and hurt yourself. Though with this, escaping was pretty much impossible, and despite your panic, your body filled up nicely with his cum, taking every spurt he gave.

"Fuckin' hell," Whitney complained when he finally released you from the kiss, setting down the table and wiping his mouth. He looked down at you with the same condescending gaze as usual, and you wondered how pitiful you must have looked in those dark eyes of his. "You need to take classes on how to kiss, you fucking suck."

"S-Sorry," you sobbed, feeling the deliberate slow pull of Whitney as he freed his cock from your pussy, popping it out after wiping it thoroughly against your walls. Giving your left thigh a slap, he let them both drop uncaringly as he stepped back, moving his cock back into his pants and underwear and zipping it up.

"Get dressed, slut," he ordered, nodding his head in the direction of your discarded panties and skirt, and you slowly got up from your position, waddling over to your clothes with shaking knees. It didn't take a moment longer than you had pulled them up when you felt Whitney's warmth at your back, his hands snaking around your body and towards the zipper of your skirt. You held your breath as you listened to the sound of him zipping you up, giving you back some line of defense now with your clothes on.

"Just so we're clear, you're not just anyone's little plaything. Those buffoons don't get to enjoy you unless I give them permission. And today..."

You looked up at him as his hand fell to your throat, squeezing it in an attention-demanding grip. Whitney's dilated pupils searched for your gaze, locking onto it with a ferocity that made your legs quiver, a small whimper escaping you as he tightened his grip around your throat threateningly.

"Today, I really didn't feel like sharing."

Lowering his mouth to yours, Whitney nipped your lower lip with his teeth, prompting yours to part so he could stick his tongue inside. For someone who claimed he didn't enjoy your amateur kissing, you two stayed like this for a while, breaths heating up between you as the intensity rose. His eyes never strayed from you, capturing them, forcing you to look at him, and making sure your thoughts wouldn't stray from what he was doing. Whitney wanted these moments to be burned into your soul, the utmost cruelty he could muster, always making you remember the things he did to you.

With his hand positioned as it was, you didn't dare challenge him to squeeze harder, allowing him to ravage your mouth, his other hand falling on top of your skirt, cramming it up to grab your asscheek hard. The sudden pain of his palm hitting your skin made you jolt, and you whimpered into the kiss, Whitney finally pulling away. You felt your underwear damping as fluids leaked from your pussy, wetness coating your inner thighs as you were reminded of Whitney's claim on you.

"Seriously, get good," he mumbled as he pushed you aside, wiping his mouth from the excess drool you two had produced. "Next time, you'll need that sucky mouth of yours."

Passing you by, he smacked your rear once more, laughing as you jumped and hit another desk's edge, more pain flashing through you. However, when you finally got a grip on yourself, you looked up to catch him still watching you from the doorframe, almost as if he was waiting to see if you were okay.

More cum mixed with your juices ran down your legs as you squatted down, picking up your bag and books the bullies had thrown around. "I don't get it," you mumbled quietly, still feeling his gaze at your back.

"Speak up if you got something to say, clown."

Shaking your head, you walked after Whitney, who only huffed at your refusal, walking five steps ahead of you as you two made your way out of school. Something about his behavior was strange, and you had difficulty pinpointing it. But where he usually didn't seem to care about you, he stuck unnecessarily close to you that day.

"Ugh! Finally!" you heard a girl yell once you two reached the school gate. You looked up to see Whitney's clique waiting for him. He split from you and walked to them while you hurriedly marched in the other direction, as far away as possible.

"What is it with them?! Do you like that slut?!" the girl asked, the insults hurled directly at you even though her question was as ridiculous as the whole bullying.

"No," Whitney firmly denied, and for some reason, it made the knot in your stomach twist. You knew that, but it made the situation almost worse.

"But they're mine, so fuck off."

"What!" the girl screeched, and you halted in your tracks, slowly turning around to look at Whitney's back. He kept walking, unbothered by his friend's reaction. The others started to cheer and mock him, but he simply kept walking, his head slowly turning around after a few more steps.

Your eyes met.

You couldn't read his lips well from the side, but his smirk and the gleam in your eyes made you assume a thousand words he could have mimed at that moment.

Only one stuck.

Mine.

[jonah0]

冬に死ぬの方がいい (I'd rather die in the winter) / denji x reader

genre(s): strangers to friends to lovers??? not fully lovers yet because it’s at the end so it's like kinda ambiguously romantic ig, angst with a not too angst ending!! hurt/comfort SO heavy on the hurt/comfort omg... also despite the tldr there is no death here like for the most part

warning(s): spoilers up to the end of public safety saga, canon divergent and timeline inaccurate at points because i haven't read csm in AGES, explicit depictions of SA and like near-death poverty because denji actually cannot catch a break um????? no explicit nsfw tho also not fully and completely proofread i will be editing as i go when i spot mistakes

wc: ~6.6k

tldr; dying in the winter doesn't seem so bad after all

Do you know what it feels like to die?

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he thinks he does, as the planks of termite-infested wood and sheets of metal collapse into his shed without warning in the dead of night, the blizzard of winter snow unrelenting in its advances. He dreams of the coldest winter he’s survived, a splinter of decayed, rotting wood knocking him awake from his half-slumber, before crumpled rubbish attacks him from all directions. His arms scramble around Pochita to hunch over his motionless, sleeping body as boulders of wood and rusted metal hammer at his back. Purpled, blistered fingers swat and claw at the rough patterns etched into the planks, skin ripping as Denji crawls into a foot of snow. 

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he curls up against his temporary home- the glass window of a convenience store, too afraid to enter. People come and go, crinkling bags of plastic shrugging into protective arms, parents tugging a little harsher at their children, who point and slobber at his ghastly figure, partners who hold each other’s waists a little closer as they pass.

“What a poor guy.”

“Fuck, that scared me.”

“Is that guy dying or something?”

Dying. Do they know what it feels like to die? 

Denji’s head is hung low when plastic wrap lands on the back of his skull. His fingers, frozen stiff, swipe at the glossy packaging, before a fleeting moment of warmth graces his frozen fingertips. He doesn’t look up to the sound of plastic ripping, or to the hand that slips a heat pack into his arms. He doesn’t look up when someone kneels to his level, and his vision trains further into the ground when they offer him half of a steaming red bean bun in a paper packet beside his body, their eyes peeking through the gap between his knees. 

“Sorry, that’s all I have.” 

He doesn’t make a sound when a bottle is twisted open, doesn’t move when they grab his hands and begin trickling water from their thermos onto his fingers. He only winces as the blisters begin to thaw, steaming as the remnants of wet snow melt beneath his feet. 

“I hope we never meet again.”

Denji only looks up as you turn to depart the store, etching into his mind the person that moves further from him with each step, and the eyes that meet his own, but only between his knees, and the fleeting touch that may have just saved him that night, in the seventeenth winter of his life. The person who had to see his shrivelled, curled up figure, and had to feed his dried, crusted mouth with half a red bean bun that still sits on the ground beside him, and had to touch his bleeding, puss-filled, blistering fingers to thaw them.  

He too thinks he would rather die in the cold of this winter than meet you again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Die, Denji does, but only in the eighteenth spring of his life, when the blisters on his fingers have scarred into hardened skin, and he has found himself a new shed to spend his nights in. He dies with a chainsaw cord through his chest, and it’s a million times less painful than he once believed, at least until the dying pump of Pochita in his heart almost begs for mercy. Suddenly, his chest feels just a little too heavy, and he realises he’s never known how warm blood was until it drowns him in pools of sticky, metallic red. When two strong arms reach out to hold his collapsing body, he’s sure that he knows what it feels like to die. Denji’s limp figure hangs motionless in your grasp, and you frown at the mess of dried blood that paints his toothed head in specks of brown. This is not somewhere safe for him.

Denji opens his eyes with his head in someone’s lap, bumpy roads jolting him awake from his unconsciousness. He stares into the back of the front passenger seat, warm fabric beneath his cheeks as he inhales the air freshener of the car and raises his hands to his eyes. The hardened skin of his fingers seems to have scabbed and fallen off, leaving him with hands more akin to that of a teenager. A normal teenager. He senses something else, something toying with his matted strands of golden hair. Fluttering touches stir and spread on his scalp, a whole palm nuzzling into the top of his head and eliciting a satisfied sigh from his lips. 

“We’ve got another hour to go. Sleep more if you need to.”

There it is, the voice that haunts him in his sleep and chases him in his waking hours. The voice that tells him he did a good job after every hunting gig, snickers with him when he cheats the yakuza out of a sleazy hundred yen coin, lulls him to sleep at night with the promise of bread, and butter, and honey, even some jam. The voice that he remembers all too well, and can’t seem to run from, no matter how hard his mind races. 

His mind freezes, but his body betrays him as his head turns in your direction, vision meeting the full face that hid behind the cover of his knees on that winter day, when he swore he knew how it felt like to die. He once envisioned his death to be silent, frozen in his final breaths into the winter sky. Then, he thought of it as a mess of red, putrid blood flooding his orifices as he drowns in a dumpster of sliced up human remains. Now, by some miracle, he lies in the lap of a familiar stranger, staring back at their gaze that remains unchanged from the one they shot at him between his reddened, shrivelled legs, exactly one hundred and fifty four days ago.  

Denji isn’t completely sure if he knows what dying feels like anymore.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

There is vomit in Denji’s mouth. There are mouthfuls of grainy, soured bile that barge through Denji’s lips as he sits on the ground of a restaurant, arms pulled into his chest. Himeno’s grip on his jaw is unshakeable, no matter how hard he thrashes and gargles, doing anything he can to separate himself from her. She pulls him closer to her as she continues spewing all the food she’s consumed throughout the day into his throat, and his eyes dart toward you, who grimace in disgust at the horrific scene that ensues before your very eyes. 

Do you know what it feels like to die while still breathing?

Denji wants to die. He wants nothing more, than to really die here on the ground, somebody else’s vomit spilling from the corners of his mouth. Yet the way your eye twitches at his pathetic attempts to free himself, and the wandering of your gaze between Himeno, who just refuses to let go, and Denji, who can’t seem to force her off, sends him to the depths of hell before he’s even lost consciousness. There is no empathy in your gaze, only disgust. Denji once thought that having to touch his frostbitten, rotting body in the winter was the most shameful thing that he could put you through. He thinks this is tenfold worse. He glues his eyes shut, praying for this all to be over, and just misses the slam of your soda can into the wooden table, and the shuffling of your feet towards the combined bodies of himself and Himeno. The weight of Himeno’s suffocating grip lightens, and Denji is just able to wriggle out of her grasp, before he’s falling again and his head hits the ground. 

You watch the pool of puke that spreads beneath Denji’s cheek, seeping into his hair and sticky with bile and spit. Himeno babbles on, half a jug of beer in hand, and eight empty ones in front of her. You wince, tugging at Denji’s sleeve. He is motionless, blacked out, and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. How did he, of all people, end up here? You look around at the people that surround the table, all of which bear lines of jagged scar tissue beneath the rolled up cuffs of their shirt sleeves, across the skin of their faces, along their huffing chests. You touch the scar on your shoulder through your shirt, scratching at it through the fabric. The itch does not fade, gradually becoming more and more intangible, yet so obviously present. This is not a place for people like Denji, or you, or anybody with half a will to live. If eighteen years of training and living under the public safety sector has taught you anything, it is that you never want to be near this place. You did not save Denji’s life last winter for him to let something as wretched as this line of work ruin it once again. You did not reminisce about him on the way home, half a red bean bun in hand, praying that he might find solace in this perverted world, only to have him return to the root of all things depraved. You did not scream for three days straight, the speech devil clawing open the skin of your esophagus at every breath you took, just to watch him jump into the stomach of another devil, giving up whatever little shred of sanity he had left. 

Your hands come up to form shapes, fingers twisting and jabbing at each other in sentences of sign. 

Makima, should I take him home with me to Aki’s?

“I’ll taaaaaaaake him…!” 

For somebody who is clearly far gone, Himeno is quite perceptive of what others around her are planning. Makima smiles, waving you off, and you frown. Grabbing your soda, you leave the restaurant without a word. Nobody else follows.

In the eighteenth spring of Denji’s life, he wakes up in a bed for the first time. His body sinks into the soft, linen sheets that cover the plush mattress, and there’s a weight that sits comfortably above his chest. He isn’t sure what it is, yet it wraps around his sweaty body like a cloud, threatening to lull him into slumber against the midnight that settles in a blanket of blue and ribbons of silver through lidded blinds. He does not want to die here. For once, Denji decides that he will bask in the rare warmth of a quilt on his chest, and the smoothness of silky fabric beneath his arms, his body finally relaxing after eighteen years of endless running, reluctant hunting, cold slumber on planks of wood and chewed up, moulding mattresses. That is, until, a familiar body crawls onto him from where his feet lie.

“Hey… Denji.” He freezes, the bed transforming into a bed of nails and pinning him down like needles that stab through fragile, fluttering wings of butterflies on framed planks of wood.

“Wanna sleep with me?” Himeno’s hand comes up to hold Denji’s cheek, creeping impossibly close to his flushed chest. 

This is what he wanted, right? Every night, as Pochita drifted to sleep on Denji’s shrivelled chest, he would tell him that getting laid would be the greatest honour of his life, wouldn't he?

But Denji wants to scream and cry, until his throat goes hoarse and his ribs crack under the pressure from the sheer exertion of his lungs. Himeno comes even closer now, and he can smell the bitter beer and putrid puke that laces her mouth. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. He can’t speak either, as her lips begin to pepper across his face, and along the shaft of his neck. Her kisses send his throat in a frenzy, panicked wheezes and groans vibrating into her mouth as she takes his Adam's apple in an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t breathe, and his legs won’t move to save him as her saliva dribbles down his neck, into his frantically heaving chest. Denji is frozen in place as Himeno peels off her sheer shirt, and he almost chuckles dryly, the concussion from before throbbing at the side of his skull. Safety? Comfort? A roof over his head, a house that won’t collapse even from the strongest of winds, a place to sleep in that won’t end up twisting his back? How audacious. Who is he kidding?

Denji thinks he should have just chosen to die when he woke up in this bed. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The day that Makima catches wind of Denji’s incident with Himeno is the day that he is moved to Aki’s residency. At the click of a key turning in a lock, you walk out of your room groggily to see a figure in the dark, who drops a half-empty duffel bag onto the ground at the doorway. Denji shrugs backwards as you flick the lights on, arms coming up to cover his eyes. The flat is warm, smells that he doesn’t know wafting into his twitching nose as he removes his hands from his vision to look around. You stare at Denji, who wanders around the kitchen counter, eyes searching every surface for something, anything. 

“We have leftover curry, if you want it.”

There’s that familiar voice again, calling out to him, offering him food, and safety, and a roof over his head. He turns to you, and you nudge your head towards the fridge, hands in the pocket of your hoodie. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t make a sound, or say a word. He simply glides towards the fridge, pulling it open and rummaging the racks for a plate of leftover curry rice. The clanks and clinks of glass dishes on plastic stirs the Hayakawa residence awake, Power swinging the door to your shared room wide open as the handle slams into the wall with a thud. Aki’s room remains closed, but you hear an abrupt hiccup from the other side of the door.

“What is this thing doing here! Why is it taking my food!”

“He needs food, Power. Plus, it’s not even yours. Go back to sleep.”

“No!”

Power huffs, and you forcefully shove her into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking the lights back off. Denji unwraps cling wrap from the dish, balling it in his fist and tossing it aside as he searches for a spoon, metal utensils clashing against each other in wooden cabinets as his impatient fingers sift through forks, and knives, and chopsticks. Upon finding one, he travels to the couch, where you are sitting with your legs manspread lazily. The black screen of the television reflects the two of you on the couch; Denji’s tired arms reeling spoonfuls of cold curry and meat into his mouth, and you watching him eat, hands clasped and elbows propped up on your thighs. He lets each bite linger on his tongue for a little longer than it has to, savouring this new sensation of proper food in his mouth. Then, he wipes his mouth on his rolled-up sleeve, and sniffles at the realisation that his stomach is no longer throbbing and growling dully.

“Do you want to sleep?”

Denji doesn’t respond. He thinks you have hidden away the last two words to that question. He would rather die than hear confirmation of it.

“You can take my bed if you want. I can take the sofa for now.”

He doesn’t get up from the couch. Instead, he drops the spoon onto the empty plate, and feels his body tip sideways. His head lands in your lap again, the same way it did in the company car, on the day that he died for the first time. Your arms shoot up to accommodate him, body tensing as his hair hits your leg. He sighs, small snores eliciting from his nose as he passes out on you, still clad in his work suit. You tug the windsor knot of his tie loose, before running your fingers through his blonde locks, and rolling your head back over the edge of the couch. You can only take a guess at what happened with Himeno the night before that rendered him so unresponsive. So unlike the brash, boisterous version of him that beamed at Himeno’s offer of a french kiss, before having puke forced into his mouth. You cringe at even the thought of it, taking note of Denji’s little hums in his slumber, limp arms hanging off the couch and feet dangling off the edge. Swiping a thumb across his lip, you collect the curry that remains around his mouth, and he jolts unconsciously in his sleep, before relaxing against you again. Wind whistles past the glass windows of the living room, and it’s almost as if Denji shivers at the sound of coldness, even if it is blocked by the four walls that surround him. Your hand on his head moves to cradle his jaw, which shifts periodically as he breathes in, and breathes out. You hope that he can stay like this forever.

Another hiccup sounds from Aki’s room, Power kicks and flails at blankets in muffled thumps.

You bring your other hand to your mouth, parting your lips against your thumb to take a first taste of the untouched plate of curry that was supposed to be your dinner.  

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“She even touched my shoulder! My shoulder, guys!”

On a windy night of Denji’s eighteenth autumn, he beams at the dinner table, grains of rice spewing from his stuffed mouth as his chopsticks wave and swing in the air. He hits you in the face, a piece of limp spinach slapping onto your cheek from his utensils, and Power screeches, jagged teeth bared in her maniacal laughter. You side eye him, picking the vegetable off your face and silently shoving more rice into your mouth. You’ve noticed the skip in Denji’s step upon his return to the Hayakawa residence, the dusty blush that lines his cheeks as he grabs at the fabric of his shirt around the shoulders, and sniffs it, the bashful giggles he gives himself when he waves you off for asking him what’s got him in such a good mood. Knowing your line of work, that won’t last, no matter how hard you try to speak it into existence. 

“Yeah, she touched your shoulder. We get it.”

“No no no, you don’t. I think she likes me! Like, really likes me!”

Denji slams his hands onto the coffee table now, shooting up to defend his proclamation of love on behalf of some random girl. You sigh, opting for a piece of beef from the plate in front of you. On your tongue is soft meat, savoury sauce, sour, putrid dread. Aki shoots you a glance from across the table. He watches your eyes widen for just a glimpse of a second, and nods, a mutual understanding clearly reached between you two. You take a fistful of Denji’s shirt, yanking him back down to ground level, and he pouts as you shove bundles of spinach and ladles of sauce into his bowl. He bites his thumb, gnawing and nibbling as his chopsticks pick aimlessly at his meal.

“Stop biting your finger, Denji. That’s gross.” You grab his wrist and pull his thumb out of his mouth.

“Nah, I made a promise to Makima.”

“Makima?”

Aki chews on his rice silently at your question. Denji stares at his nail, jagged and peeling from biting on it constantly. 

“She’s the one for me. That’s why she told me to remember how it feels when she bites my thumb.”

At that, your palm makes contact with the back of his head, knocking it forward. Denji wheezes, the wind knocked out of his windpipe at your sudden attack. Aki shovels individual grains of rice into his mouth, clearing his bowl. Power joins in your antics, hands chopping at his body even after you’ve stopped to glare at him. She gets bored of your inaction quickly, scratching her ass as she leaves the table for the shared room. Denji’s eyes are trained onto his bowl, the food looking less and less appetising by the second. 

“She did what?”

Denji stretches his palm in front of his face, inspecting it as if it was some antique object. His chest sinks, feeling your eyes burn holes into the side of his head. Makima promised him love, and sex, and everything he has ever wanted. He isn’t sure why it seems so wrong to you. You once told him you wanted him to find someplace safe, no? Where do you think he would be, if not for Makima bringing him in on that fateful spring day?

“Well, she let me cop a feel because she cares about what I want. Even said she’d grant me any wish if I got the gun devil.”

“She does not care about you, Denji!”

Denji scowls, hands waving erratically as he searches for his words. Aki leaves for the kitchen sink silently, the sound of running water serving as a backdrop to your wordless fury. You slam your hands onto his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. His eyes meet yours, and he sees something that Makima, that other girl from today, Himeno, Power, Aki, none of them have shown him before. Desperation. Fear. Worry. 

“You know what? Go back to that girl you met in the phone booth. Do what you want, just don’t get me roped into your shit. And remember, I told you so.”

You shove him away, retreating into the shared room. That night, Denji sleeps on the couch instead of you. He doesn’t think about the girl from the phone booth, or Makima. He dreams about the day that you thawed his frostbitten fingers outside a convenience store, the day that had him thinking he knew what it meant to die, but really had no grasp on it. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Denji learns the taste of flowers in the eighteenth autumn of his life, when he shoves an entire bouquet of them into his mouth in a cafe. The petals turn into mush on his tongue as he chews and swallows them. He waits for some girl that tried to bite his tongue off and murder him two days ago, sitting alone on a bar seat in a bustling coffee shop. Stares and murmurs ensue behind his back, couples and friends alike glancing at his pathetic figure that waits for a fabricated promise, flowers stuffed in his mouth. He tastes the bitterness of the flowerbuds, the type of bitterness that seeped through his veins when she kissed him, and ripped his tongue from his mouth. The type of bitterness that he can’t seem to fully carry, even after she tried to blow him up. The type of bitterness that is covered by the sweetness of flora, which somehow still makes its way through to his sinuses. Like recollections of how she showed him how to swim, laughed at his awful jokes, taught him to read and write, and turned all shades of red and pink at his flirtations. Rose-tinted recollections of a military trained spy, whose very purpose was to blush on command, laugh on command, lure him into emotional investment, before biting his tongue off, slashing his wrists open, and ripping his heart out of his chest. 

He doesn’t like the way these flowers taste. He throws the half-eaten bouquet onto the ground of the cafe, and pushes his way out of the shop. 

When Denji returns home, you are squeezing whole bottles of throat medicine into your mouth on the living room sofa. He points at his throat, and pretends to pull a pin from his neck. You nod, clawing at the air around your throat. He shoots you a thumbs up, unsure what to say as he faces the consequences of his fortunate victory against the bomb hybrid from the night before. You wave him off, eyes never meeting him as you mouth, it’s fine, I’ll be good. From across the living room, he catches the blood that coats your entire bed of teeth, the dark, deadly shade of crimson splattered across your lips. He hears your screams again, and again, and again, as he stands in the doorway. Blood curdling commands coming one after the other, he can almost feel his throat rip open with every word, taste the blood that you cough up after finishing the bottle of throat medicine. 

Walking towards the couch, he plops down beside you, his weight creating a dip in the soft fabric. You pretend to pull a pin at your throat, and point at Denji, who sighs hopelessly. You falter, brows furrowing at his disappointment. For the weeks leading up to today, Denji had not removed himself from Reze- some unknown girl he met in a telephone booth. He had beamed about his advances to you- namely regurgitating a saliva coated flower from his mouth magically, and you had listened patiently, fists gripped by your sides. He told you he wanted to run away with her, after all this mess and carnage was over, only for her to become the root of another senseless massacre. Your hands move to form shapes, sign language that Denji has picked up on throughout the past months of living and working alongside you. His skills are scarce, yet he just makes out what you are asking.

Beach, girl, run?

He shakes his head, back hunching in defeat. She didn’t care about his heart, only the Chainsaw devil’s. Even her blushes and laughs were rehearsed to perfection. 

“She didn’t show up to the cafe anyways.”

You frown, hitting Denji’s chest with the back of your palm, eyes still not meeting his own. He bites his thumb, and you slap his hand away from his mouth without even looking. Signing furiously, your fingers contort into a flurry of shapes. Shapes that Denji can barely decipher, but understand just enough to feel your disdain. 

No biting… unbelievable. Makima, Reze. Gross... 

Denji smiles weakly, wiping his thumb on his blood-stained uniform. Your teeth are bared until the tips of your canines just peek through the opening of your lips, before you retract them and gnaw your bottom lip meekly. He takes in the corners of your worried eyes and irked brows, and he thinks that even Pochita feels a little guilty in the way that his chest seems to beat agonisingly with every pang, like a nail burying itself into his heart at each pump. You punch his shoulder, finally taking a good look at his haggard figure, before reaching for another bottle of medicine and twisting the cap open with a click. You gargle and cough at each swallow, splatters of blood spitting into a white tissue from your throat at each sound you make. Suddenly, Denji wishes he didn’t throw the flowers away at the coffee shop. Maybe a few petals could ease the pain too, because he’s sure it’s the petals he ate that are making him feel a blooming warmth in his chest right now.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Plus, you saved my life out there yesterday. So, thanks.”

You smile at him with your lips pursed, and Denji hopes that he doesn’t die before you find your voice again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the beginning of Denji’s eighteenth winter, he slashes a chainsaw through Makima’s body. He watches her cut up, mutilated organs fall to the ground, throwing the chainsaw next to them. There is no pity, or rage, or overwhelming sadness. All he can do is stare, coated head to toe in her blood. He takes her skin, and bones, and organs in a plastic bag, inhales blood that smells akin to rat shit and bile. He walks into a new apartment, devoid of the Hayakawa name that was once engraved into the tin mailbox of his old home. It is empty, no one greets him on the couch as he walks in. 

He throws the bag of remains onto the counter of his new kitchen, bought with the money left in Aki’s will. He’s sorry, he thinks, because he doesn’t feel anything right now. Not anger, not worry, not fear. Aki is dead. Power is dead too. He should feel something, at the very least for you, who was wheeled onto an ambulance as he picked up the remains of Makima with his bare hands. 

Denji eats dinner alone at his new coffee table, also bought with the money from Aki’s will. He shuts his eyes, and pretends that Power is bickering with him. He can almost hear her frenzied shouts, feel her hands slap his back, and his head, and his chest. Aki should be sitting across the table, sipping his tea mindlessly, or lighting a cigarette and filling the room with nicotine. He shoves Makima’s flesh into his mouth, swallowing without so much as chewing on it. The idea that he is shovelling human flesh into his stomach while fully human makes his skin crawl and stomach flip. He wants to throw up. His eyes water at the grooves and fibres in the meat that etch themselves into his tongue. 

He squeezes shut his eyes even harder now, instead envisioning you beside him. You, who force strings of vegetables into his meals at dinner. You, who speak only when needed, and rarely in sentences that drag on for more than you deem the need to, and showed him how to live on with half a red bean bun and a thermos. He has never known the curves of your body like the rest of his prospects, never thought to try and learn them either. He doesn’t know of your past, or your present either, really. 

Despite that, you know the shrivelled figure of his past, his habit of thumb biting, his fear of sharing a bed, his disdain for spinach over any other vegetable. And when you spat at him, I told you so, you were right. Himeno wanted him to fuel some petty, one-sided feud. Reze ripped his tongue out of his mouth, only to apologise, before snapping his neck and leaving him in the dust. Makima, the one who swore to give him sex, and love, and safety, and purpose, everything he could have ever wanted, binded him in a dog’s collar so he could watch as she tore Power in half from the torso. All Power wanted was to give him a cake. 

You confuse him to no end, but something sits between the two of you for certain. Something that shrouds his heart in a warm glow, one that almost calls out at him to keep it there. A glow that creeps up to his mouth when you can’t speak, threatening to spill out of his lips and into yours so he can heal you, for once. But the glow always seems to turn into poison that leaks back down his throat. He swallows his words, bites his lip, bites his own fingers. He doesn’t know how it feels to die, only because you’ve shielded him from it all along.

The remains of Makima have been consumed. Denji throws the plates and bowls into the sink carelessly, his chopsticks following suit. When he swings open his cabinet to two new boxes of throat medicine, he can’t help but stare at his purchase. He really only had you in mind when he filled the cabinets of his new apartment with the only familiar thing a grocery store could offer. Maybe he should give you a visit soon.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the eighteenth winter of Denji’s life, you learn that he is afraid of living. Your backs against the sheets of your hospital bed, the two of you stare at the ceiling light that blinks periodically, just as it has for the past week that you’ve been here for. Its flickers have gradually become more erratic than the days before. You stare at the familiar cracks that spread from beneath the light bracket towards the rest of the ceiling, arms behind your head. 

“Does it still hurt to talk?”

“Just a bit.”

He hums in understanding, continuing his aimless staring. The hospital television whirs in static and vague sounds of people speaking behind the two of you, and you shift in place, the bed sheets wrinkling and shuffling beneath your body. 

“Can I tell you something?”

You nod wordlessly.

“I’m starting to think I can’t live anymore. Like this whole devil thing has made me less…human, I guess.”

“Why?”

Denji clicks his tongue, hissing a sharp inhale through his teeth. 

“I don’t really see the point in touching tits, or having sex anymore, you know? Like, all those things that I thought I wanted so badly, they didn’t make me feel how I wanted to. But then, I’m not sure how to live. Shouldn’t I live so someone can love me? Is that not what everyone lives for?”

You glance at him, the messy blonde hair that presses into the mattress, lousily tucked white shirt that creases around the waist, eyes that once were zealous turned tired, unfeeling. You pull one hand out from beneath your head, the one that doesn’t have an IV drip attached to your index finger. It travels to Denji’s crossed arms, untangling them from each other so you can grab at his hand. His fingers are unresponsive until you give him a squeeze, then another, then a third, and they finally relax against your own. He turns, meeting the eyes that peeked through his knees in his seventeenth winter. Eyes that look at him with worry, whether he is sitting at a dinner table, beaming about some girl whose flirtations have blinded his rationality, or if he is curled up against the glass door of some convenience store at midnight, breath stagnant and frozen in the winter air. 

“Do you think they loved you, Denji?”

His vision travels to the mattress beneath him. He thinks they did, or maybe they didn’t, or it was somewhat in between love and indifference, or whatever that’s supposed to feel like.

“I don’t know. They all wanted chainsaw man’s heart. But nobody wanted mine, you know? Nobody ever wanted Denji’s.”

You give his hand another squeeze, and he feels another pang in his chest. This is what it feels like to die, Denji thinks. Not blood gushing from his chest, or being frozen solid as people walk past his crouched body, but knowing that his efforts to become worthy of appreciation have only amounted to being used for his power. This is what it feels like to die, a hollow boy with nothing left in his chest but a devil that pumps blood for him. Even his heart is a contract that he has to follow. 

“I didn’t save you a year ago today for you to think that, Denji.”

Your weak elbows try to prop your body up to look at him from above, before they collapse back into the mattress and elicit a hiss of pain from your mouth. It’s by some miracle that you’re even alive right now, and that your throat has healed enough to make out short sentences. Short proclamations like this, that you’ve waited so long to make. Denji catches your fall, a palm cushioning your elbow. His hand is still in yours as he shifts to look at you properly. 

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to know?”

He opens his mouth, and his scrambled words get caught in his throat. So, he nods, the bags beneath his eyes relaxing. You let go of his hand, instead running your fingers along his chest and laying your palm flat on his heart. It beats in rhythmic thumps, steadily pulsing on the lines of your hand. 

“What are you feeling right now?”

Denji’s mind is a jumbled mess, yet he can clearly tell what he is feeling. “Warm.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Your hands move to the back of his head, scratching and rubbing at his scalp with the pads of your fingers. Denji leans into your touch, eyes still trained onto your own. His heart continues to beat steadily, and he feels something building up around it. Something that has his breaths getting heavier, and his vision of you becoming even clearer than it already is. 

“What does this feel like?”

“Nice.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Your hand makes its advance to his cheek, cradling it gently. Dusty pink scatters across his face, and Denji has to remember to breathe. In, out, in, out. Your thumb swipes across the dark bag beneath his eye. He thinks this is bliss, so unlike the drooling, panting mess he used to be for Makima, or the bumbling, fake persona he played up for Reze. He is more sober than ever, and his hand hovers over your body. He doesn’t want to just cop a feel. He wants to touch every inch of skin that you inhibit, trace over whatever scars you might have accumulated from the trials of time, plant kisses wherever you want him to, whenever you want him to. 

“What does this feel like?”

“Can you stay like that?”

“Sure.”

He reaches for your wrist, holding onto it like a lost boy in a crowd. His fingers feel for smoothed scar tissue in your palm, around your knuckles, on your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his face to take a look at the lines that etch themselves into your skin, lips hovering just above your fingers.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod. He starts on the scar of your palm, one that you earned during a fight in the early days of your work. He kisses the fleshy scar that slashes across your hand, peppering along its length. 

“Can I keep going?”

“Yeah, keep going Denji.”

His head dips to the faint white lines that decorate your arm, from your wrist to the connection between your forearm and bicep. His hair tickles the sides of your arm as fluttering kisses plant themselves into each poisoned, torn open line of your skin. You squirm, hospital gown coming loose on one shoulder as the cool air of the room hits the scar that reaches from your shoulder to the dip between your collarbones. Denji notices, and pulls your arm away from him.

“Can I?”

You wince, the scar beginning to itch and throb.

“Please, do it.”

His fingers trace along the jagged scar, before he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, and moves along to the centre of the dip just above your chest. You roll your head back to give him space, and he kisses up your neck and onto your jaw. He’s inexperienced, nose bumping into your flesh when he comes up to look at you again. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you answer his question for him as you pull him into you. The glow in his heart rushes from his chest to his mouth, but his teeth bump into yours, and you pull away. It tastes like your blood, the blood that has saved his life more times than he can count as you rip your throat open for him. He wants to taste it again as much as you want him to.

“What does that feel like?”

Denji knows what it means to die now, but he thinks he’s starting to understand how to live too. If this day, in the eighteenth winter of his life, is what dying and being reborn feels like, he would rather die in the winter when his time comes.

“I think it feels like love.”

author's note:

guys this took SO LONG i really do not have what it takes to do a longfic in 2 days anymore after that tsukishima one... but im so proud of this tho like i had so much fun writing it and i love my baby boy denji so much omg also wishi i am so sorry it took this long to come out but i hope you like it sososoosososososos much

anyways tags!!

@wishi-selfships @staraxiaa @kuroppiii @akaakeis @iiwaijime @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @catsoupki @wyrcan

[jonah0]

omg you should definitely talk more about marking daisuke and the other way around 🙂‍↕️ i would love to mark him up

Pairings: Daisuke x F!reader

Warnings: BITING; marking, hickeys, SUGGESTIVE (nsfw but not fully, so I guess mdni??), praising kink, small mention of dirty talking, small mention of bottom, submissive and soft dom Daisuke, cringe, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

(A/N): I was so embarrassed to write this but like UGH I'm obsessed with Daisuke so badly rn it's insane😣 Also I'm so sorry this is kinda short and rushed😢 -> m.list

★MARKING HIM

You have to hold a hand over his mouth, he won't shut up. He's whining and making so many noises❗

He's not really that much into you marking him, but he surely won't mind one bit

Leave a trail of hickeys and watch him PANIC.

He's so scared that somebody (Swansea) is gonna notice, and then scold him and also possibly you too😔

Imagine the look on his face while he realizes you left marks

IMAGINE PRAISING HIM WHILE YOU'RE NIPPING AT HIS SKIN THOOO

"You're doing so good for me," "Shit, mm, uh-huh..."

Sitting on top of him in one of your rooms and kissing him, leaving dark red marks trailing from his neck to his chest

He doesn't know how to cover them up, you gotta help him🥲

Like, he's gonna have something around his neck and when Swansea asks about it he's like

"Oh, you know, fashion."

He asks you not to mark him too high up because he's scared😔

Overall he enjoys it, not too into receiving from you but if you like it then he's all for it🙌

★MARKING YOU

Boy oh boy😍

When I tell you to get ready, to prepare yourself fully, then do it. Take a break, stare at the invisible camera for a second and then go back to reading.

UGH Daisuke is so fucking IN FOR IT

He loves loves LOVES giving them to you, he's so into it, it boosts his ego to see you all marked up by him🙏

Will gently kiss your skin before completely BITING into you, leaving so many dark purple marks over your neck and shoulders

Thinking about sitting on top of the desk in the utility room while Swansea is having his lunch break, making out with Daisuke, his lips all over your skin, leaving hickeys everywhere (might write a fic about this)

If you let even the slightest noise escape your mouth, he's gonna take it as a "go on"

Bottom Daisuke this, Submissive Daisuke that, WHAT ABOUT SOFT DOM DAISUKE??

Imagine just cuddling with him at night and he just buries his face in your shoulder. You think it's a cute gesture until you feel a slight sting and realize he's nipping at your skin (also might write a fic about this)

He's gonna gently kiss the hickeys he left on you to soothe you, he's just sweet like that😋

If you like it, TELL HIM.

"Am I doing good?" "Yes, very good-"

You can barely even talk because he's digging his teeth into you so much

He's gonna ask if he's doing good in between kisses just because🫶

Did I mention he's not big on dirty talking? I mean, he does it accidentally sometimes, but he just cringes whenever he tries.

BUT HE'S BIG ON PRAISING SO😝

CALL HIM A GOOD BOY WHILE AT IT

Will also leave full on teeth marks, just a heads-up, he's a vampire❗

Overall he likes giving marks more than receiving

"It's not accurate, that's not how Daisuke would be!!" idc these are MY headcanons so shoo😠

★yoyomiko ★miko