allis !!

If you'd ask most people, they would describe Denji as repulsive, dense and maybe a little too desperate. With how he grew up, he's so unaware and naive around every topic life has to offer that it's almost endearing. That statement becomes especially true whenever it comes to the opposite sex.

Girls never interacted much with him and after receiving a bunch of panicked screams for help and a handful of police calls whenever he tried to approach one, Denji has learned to solely rely on his absolute filthy imagination when it comes to women.

That is until you stepped into his life. He really wanted to touch and grope at Power’s big tits and he couldn't help the twitch of his cock and the whimper spilling past his lips every time Makima gave him that stern look, but you…with you it was different. The first thing he noticed about you were the soft features of your face and how hard it was to not stare into your beautiful eyes. He found himself wanting to tug the strands of hair behind your ears, hold your hand in his and whenever he thought of you, it was your bright laughter ringing in his head instead of the curves of your body.

He doesn't know how he did it or what a girl like you sees in someone like him, but Denji can proudly say that you're his first ever girlfriend. There is nothing he wouldn't do for you, always trying his best to figure out how things are supposed to work in normal relationships and going onto Aki’s very last nerve with the barrage of questions he has every day, only to still fuck something up in the end.

Despite, Denji really tries hard to be affectionate with you, to stop being such a pervert and give you all the attention you need—which means he obeys and listens blindly to everything you have to say. But it's not like you don't find it cute.

An inexperienced boy like him sweats buckets just by kissing your lips and he's sure he wouldn't survive anything more than that. Just the mental image of seeing you like the pin-up models from those magazines he hides underneath his bed or the thought of touching what lies beneath your clothes is enough to make his cheeks comically crimson and his heart feel like it's going to explode.

But here he is; in his dirty ass room, on his messy sheets and panting like a dog. What started out with an innocent movie marathon while the apartment emptied out—something about Power being a nuisance downtown and Aki having to go over to pick up the pieces—quickly escalated into some sweet little kisses and ended up with you on top of him, straddling his waist as you press him into the mattress with your weight.

A full blown make out session, Denji's first, and he has no idea how he ended up here or what to do next. His lips hang agape as he stares up at you with wide eyes, flushed and sweaty as your hands start to explore his body over the thin shirt he's wearing and his hands grip and flex into the sheets when he doesn't know where else to put them.

It's kinda disgusting, really. Sloppy kisses with too much tongue and saliva—teeth constantly clashing, both your chins glistening in a mix of spit and faces red from the lack of oxygen. Denji came into his pants twice already. He wanted you badly, but he was afraid of doing something wrong, panicking about you laughing at him before running away as soon as you see what a pathetic loser he really is and why girls usually keep their distance.

"Wait..." Denji whispers against your eager lips, his voice trembling as he reluctantly pulls back. But your lips only leave Denji's in favor of sucking marks and bruises along his neckline and he shivers when your hands move under his shirt, feeling completely flustered now as a whimper escapes his trembling, kiss bitten lips.

Your hands are still making their way up over his lean abs, resting against his skin just underneath his ribcage when you make contact with the chainsaw cord. “Want you…today…no more waiting, okay?” You breathe between kisses along his jawline, placing a last little peck against his spit slicked lips before pulling back completely to look down at him.

He looks so cute that you can't help but smile as Denji keeps shaking underneath you with sheer want and desperation, a flush to his cheeks and glossy eyes. He sounds so beautiful as well, all breathless and high pitched whines. You will never make him understand how much you actually love him. His clumsy attempts to handle daily life, the charming smiles over the smallest things, how strong he is during fights and how he looks out for others without even realizing… He will never get the deeply rooted feelings you hold towards him and how you adore him exactly like he is—boyish charm mixed with a peanut sized brain that only belongs to you.

You remove your hands from underneath his shirt to slowly pry his fingers out of the sheets, guiding them to your hips. The reaction is instant; a sharp inhale from Denji before his hips buck up into the air and his fingers dig into your flesh with more pressure than he wanted to.

“Want you to touch me, Denji.” Your eyes meet his with vulnerability, one hand steadying yourself on his waist and with the other you carefully trace over the scars on his torso—old, ugly marks from fights he picked when he was desperate for money.

He swallows hard as your hand keeps sliding up, up, up until your fingers brush the soft underside of his pecs and Denji nearly chokes. His knuckles whitening as he fights not to squirm under your touch and a whimper slips out before he can stop it. A high, broken little sound and he squeezes his eyes shut like that’ll hide how wrecked he already is.

Again his hips jerk up instinctively at the feeling of your small hands finding his nipples, and oh god… there's no hiding the wet stain spreading in his sweatpants anymore. Denji's brain short-circuits. He wants to cry and he wants to beg you not to change your mind once you see how bad he’ll be at this.

“I-I…” He has to swallow hard, throat bobbing nervously. “Y-You want me? Y-you really mean it? N-not just messin’ around?” His voice cracks on the last word. He can’t believe this is happening—can’t believe you’re still here with him, someone who stammers like an idiot, sweats too much and cums in his pants like a middle schooler. “B-But I don’t know how! W-What if I hurt you?! Or, or worse, I just pass out or somethin’! What if my stupid dick doesn't even work right?!” Denji chokes out, voice breaking like a kid about to cry. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm: love so deep it scares him, a desire so hot it burns and the fear that one wrong move will ruin everything between you forever.

Your thumb brushes over his nipples again and a raw, embarrassingly high-pitched moan rips through his chest once again and his head falls back against the pillows. You can feel his dick twitching for release underneath you where it is pressed right into your core and you have to chuckle at his stupid insecurities showing again.

"Your dick works just fine, Denji. Maybe a little too well, don't you think?" You ask with that smile still playing around your lips, teasingly lifting an eyebrow as you stare at the wet patch of cum oozing from his sweatpants. "And you won't hurt me... We'll take this slow. I don't expect or want you to do perfect with this... I want you. Just you. Denji, the idiot who talks about motorboating my boobs every chance he gets but never follows through and who whimpers so prettily when I place kisses all over his sensitive spots..."

Just to tease him even further, you lean down to breathe the hint of a kiss against his neck just beneath his earlobe. “P-please don’t laugh… I’ll try my best! I swear I will!” Denji whisper shouts desperately, eyes still squeezed shut as the first tears slip down over his cheeks. He nods his head frantically. “I-I wanna be good for ya… please tell me what t’do…”

He feels pathetic for not knowing what to do—after everything he’s seen in porn, he thought he would at least be able to satisfy you without making a complete fool of himself. But this isn't just sex anymore, it never would have been just sex with you, this feels more real than he ever could have imagined. It feels like giving himself completely to someone who actually loves him back after years of loneliness, being ridiculed and taken advantage of.

To finally take things further, your fingers are retreating from under his shirt to take off your own and Denji's breath comes in ragged, wet gasps as his eyes lock onto your chest. It wasn't sexy lingerie or anything fancy. It wasn't lace or silk with straps meant for seduction. It was simple cotton with little pearl buttons down the front. Innocent-looking, yet somehow more intimate than anything else ever worn by any girl in these magazines or movies he secretly peeked at online when you weren't around.

Denji feels dizzy. His mouth goes dry and he doesn’t even think—just acts—palms sliding up your bare sides with desperate reverence before clumsily groping at the soft cotton of your bra as he stares without blinking, completely mesmerized. His fingers twitch where they hover over the fabric, trembling like he’s touching something sacred. And maybe it is. To him at least, this is holy ground. You’re holy. Especially your fucking perfect tits that fit perfectly in his palms like they were made for him.

He squeezes gently at first, then bolder when no scolding comes from you. Thumbs brushing over the sensitive mounts through fabric until one accidentally grazes a stiff nipple and another whimper escapes him when you arch into his touch.

“F-Fuck…” He croaks into his throat, voice cracking when another wave of arousal hits hard enough that precum leaks more visibly now. "Y-You're...so pretty..." He chokes out on a broken whisper, pupils blown wide as saucers despite how red-faced and teary-eyed he still is.

His fingers fumble over the clasp. What is this thing?! Why won’t it open?! Panic flares in his eyes when he realizes how dumb he must look trying to unhook something so simple. “C-Can I…” His throat locks tight around words stuck somewhere between fear and hope as he stares up at you still seated over his middle. “C-can I take it off?”

"Hmm..." You murmur absent-mindedly, too busy looking down at him lying beneath you.

His hands are shaking when he finally undoes your bra and all he can think about is how badly he wants to touch you. How he wants to bury his face between your tits, lick and suck until you’re gasping like the girls do in porn, he wants to feel your skin under his palms—every inch—and wants to learn how to make you feel good. So good. Because that's what you deserve. But Denji is terrified of disappointing you. He feels unworthy of the sight in front of him.

You help him slide the cotton down your body when you notice him lock up and just stare, not even breathing at the first peek of skin he's never got to witness before, and when the second strap falls down your arm, you carefully leave the fabric to fall down somewhere on the ground beside the bed. You are completely exposed, but with Denji you don't feel vulnerable in this position at all.

Denji meanwhile feels like he just got knocked right in the head—no, right down to his very soul. This is like seeing a god for the first time, like walking right into the gates of heaven when you’ve spent your entire life in hell. Is this what absolution feels like? He can't believe all of this perfection is real. You're... you're…

"Oh God, you're beautiful." He manages in a shaky whisper and his tongue instinctively darts out to wet his dry lips, gaze fixed on how much softer your skin looks there and how the fat jiggles slightly when you chuckle at his compliment. "Can I… can I touch you?”

He almost chokes on his own spit when you guide his palm over your skin, bare this time around with no fabric separating the sensation. His fingers flex instinctively, gentle at first before squeezing just a little tighter in awe. He’s fantasized about this exact moment a thousand times (okay, maybe ten thousand) but nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for how overwhelming it actually is. They’re so…soft. Like clouds, like warm dough fresh from the oven, and he can’t stop staring, can’t stop his thumb from rubbing slow circles around the peak just to watch it stiffen further under his touch.

Denji is pretty used to losing control. There are lots of things he loses control over. His temper. His hormones. His stupid mouth that just says whatever he thinks without any filter. Hell, he can’t even control his own heart when it comes to you, and his body? Is clearly not an exception. It’s too much. Way too much. The warmth of your skin, the way you arch just slightly into his touch, the faint scent of your perfume mixed with sweat and that barely audible gasp falling from your kiss swollen lips—it overwhelms him completely.

His mouth falls open in a silent scream before a pathetic, high-pitched and choked-off whimper finally escapes him. "Ngh—!!!" His vision whites out completely as heat surges through him, burning white and hot from his stomach down to his thighs, before—Oh. Oh no.

One hand stays to hold himself steady against your breast, the other falls down to grip your hips, fingers digging in desperately and nails biting skin while his back arches off the bed. “Oh, f-fuck—!” His hips stutter upward violently, pressing into you with helpless desperation as his cock throbs and spills right then and there—another hot, sticky load soaking through his sweatpants before he even got to do anything for you.

His sweatpants are absolutely ruined, soaked through with wet heat and his entire body trembles like a leaf in a storm when he's melting back onto the mattress with a weak, shuddering exhale. His chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as his hips jerk through the aftershocks, his cock pulsing pathetically against his thigh. He looks destroyed. His lips are swollen, neck littered with marks, eyes glazed and wet—staring up at you wide and devastated.

Denji's cheeks burn hot and he buries his face with his elbow, desperate to hide his embarrassment. He hiccups wetly, tears welling up despite himself. His cock twitches weakly in his ruined pants, still half-hard from how painfully turned on he is, even after cumming like some fucking middle schooler who couldn’t last two seconds and he tries to keep his legs together instinctively as if that’ll hide the sticky mess.

“I-I didn’t—!” His voice cracks pathetically. "I-I'm... sorry… m’so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to! It—it just happened. I—” He whimpers softly, voice muffled by his own skin and gasping for air like he’s drowning.

It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. He actually came just from touching you. No thrusting, no grinding, just—just skin under his palms. He wants to curl up and die.

“P-Please don’t hate me…” He whispers, voice small and shaky. “I-I’ll do better next time… I promise! I-I'll clean it up and, and—” He sounds so hopeful it’s pitiful. It really is, with his throat tight as he sniffles pathetically, half-expecting laughter or rejection. But when he peeks at you from under his elbow, all he sees is the soft look you are giving him right now, your own cheeks dusted pink and that little glint in your eyes.

His hands fly up to wipe frantically at his teary face with trembling fingers. “C-Can we pretend that didn’t happen…?” He whimpers—cheeks puffed out in a pout—before burying his face against your chest with a miserable groan. “Y’feel so good… s’not fair…” His voice is muffled against your skin, breath hot and wet against your chest as his lips brush over the soft flesh and he nuzzles into you like a puppy seeking comfort.

"Y-You didn't even—! I-I didn't even got to do anything yet!" He wailed miserably. “…Y-You’re just too pretty.” His arms wrap around your waist anyway, clinging like you might vanish if he lets go and when you gently cradle his face—bring it out of the warm space between your tits to make him look up at you—Denji can feel his cock stir to live again, twitching against your thigh. That look that you're giving him…you really deserve the world.

“…C-Can I… t-touch them again?” He asks meekly. “J-Just gimme a sec and I—I’ll make sure this time…you feel good too, yeah? I'll last. I know I'll do…”

He won't. He absolutely will not do any better next time and he will certainly won't last longer. Denji is, and forever will be, a drooling, overeager mess when it comes to you. And honestly? You wouldn't have him any other way.

@missyonmission

If you'd ask most people, they would describe Denji as repulsive, dense and maybe a little too desperate. With how he grew up, he's so unaware and naive around every topic life has to offer that it's almost endearing. That statement becomes especially true whenever it comes to the opposite sex.

Girls never interacted much with him and after receiving a bunch of panicked screams for help and a handful of police calls whenever he tried to approach one, Denji has learned to solely rely on his absolute filthy imagination when it comes to women.

That is until you stepped into his life. He really wanted to touch and grope at Power’s big tits and he couldn't help the twitch of his cock and the whimper spilling past his lips every time Makima gave him that stern look, but you…with you it was different. The first thing he noticed about you were the soft features of your face and how hard it was to not stare into your beautiful eyes. He found himself wanting to tug the strands of hair behind your ears, hold your hand in his and whenever he thought of you, it was your bright laughter ringing in his head instead of the curves of your body.

He doesn't know how he did it or what a girl like you sees in someone like him, but Denji can proudly say that you're his first ever girlfriend. There is nothing he wouldn't do for you, always trying his best to figure out how things are supposed to work in normal relationships and going onto Aki’s very last nerve with the barrage of questions he has every day, only to still fuck something up in the end.

Despite, Denji really tries hard to be affectionate with you, to stop being such a pervert and give you all the attention you need—which means he obeys and listens blindly to everything you have to say. But it's not like you don't find it cute.

An inexperienced boy like him sweats buckets just by kissing your lips and he's sure he wouldn't survive anything more than that. Just the mental image of seeing you like the pin-up models from those magazines he hides underneath his bed or the thought of touching what lies beneath your clothes is enough to make his cheeks comically crimson and his heart feel like it's going to explode.

But here he is; in his dirty ass room, on his messy sheets and panting like a dog. What started out with an innocent movie marathon while the apartment emptied out—something about Power being a nuisance downtown and Aki having to go over to pick up the pieces—quickly escalated into some sweet little kisses and ended up with you on top of him, straddling his waist as you press him into the mattress with your weight.

A full blown make out session, Denji's first, and he has no idea how he ended up here or what to do next. His lips hang agape as he stares up at you with wide eyes, flushed and sweaty as your hands start to explore his body over the thin shirt he's wearing and his hands grip and flex into the sheets when he doesn't know where else to put them.

It's kinda disgusting, really. Sloppy kisses with too much tongue and saliva—teeth constantly clashing, both your chins glistening in a mix of spit and faces red from the lack of oxygen. Denji came into his pants twice already. He wanted you badly, but he was afraid of doing something wrong, panicking about you laughing at him before running away as soon as you see what a pathetic loser he really is and why girls usually keep their distance.

"Wait..." Denji whispers against your eager lips, his voice trembling as he reluctantly pulls back. But your lips only leave Denji's in favor of sucking marks and bruises along his neckline and he shivers when your hands move under his shirt, feeling completely flustered now as a whimper escapes his trembling, kiss bitten lips.

Your hands are still making their way up over his lean abs, resting against his skin just underneath his ribcage when you make contact with the chainsaw cord. “Want you…today…no more waiting, okay?” You breathe between kisses along his jawline, placing a last little peck against his spit slicked lips before pulling back completely to look down at him.

He looks so cute that you can't help but smile as Denji keeps shaking underneath you with sheer want and desperation, a flush to his cheeks and glossy eyes. He sounds so beautiful as well, all breathless and high pitched whines. You will never make him understand how much you actually love him. His clumsy attempts to handle daily life, the charming smiles over the smallest things, how strong he is during fights and how he looks out for others without even realizing… He will never get the deeply rooted feelings you hold towards him and how you adore him exactly like he is—boyish charm mixed with a peanut sized brain that only belongs to you.

You remove your hands from underneath his shirt to slowly pry his fingers out of the sheets, guiding them to your hips. The reaction is instant; a sharp inhale from Denji before his hips buck up into the air and his fingers dig into your flesh with more pressure than he wanted to.

“Want you to touch me, Denji.” Your eyes meet his with vulnerability, one hand steadying yourself on his waist and with the other you carefully trace over the scars on his torso—old, ugly marks from fights he picked when he was desperate for money.

He swallows hard as your hand keeps sliding up, up, up until your fingers brush the soft underside of his pecs and Denji nearly chokes. His knuckles whitening as he fights not to squirm under your touch and a whimper slips out before he can stop it. A high, broken little sound and he squeezes his eyes shut like that’ll hide how wrecked he already is.

Again his hips jerk up instinctively at the feeling of your small hands finding his nipples, and oh god… there's no hiding the wet stain spreading in his sweatpants anymore. Denji's brain short-circuits. He wants to cry and he wants to beg you not to change your mind once you see how bad he’ll be at this.

“I-I…” He has to swallow hard, throat bobbing nervously. “Y-You want me? Y-you really mean it? N-not just messin’ around?” His voice cracks on the last word. He can’t believe this is happening—can’t believe you’re still here with him, someone who stammers like an idiot, sweats too much and cums in his pants like a middle schooler. “B-But I don’t know how! W-What if I hurt you?! Or, or worse, I just pass out or somethin’! What if my stupid dick doesn't even work right?!” Denji chokes out, voice breaking like a kid about to cry. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm: love so deep it scares him, a desire so hot it burns and the fear that one wrong move will ruin everything between you forever.

Your thumb brushes over his nipples again and a raw, embarrassingly high-pitched moan rips through his chest once again and his head falls back against the pillows. You can feel his dick twitching for release underneath you where it is pressed right into your core and you have to chuckle at his stupid insecurities showing again.

"Your dick works just fine, Denji. Maybe a little too well, don't you think?" You ask with that smile still playing around your lips, teasingly lifting an eyebrow as you stare at the wet patch of cum oozing from his sweatpants. "And you won't hurt me... We'll take this slow. I don't expect or want you to do perfect with this... I want you. Just you. Denji, the idiot who talks about motorboating my boobs every chance he gets but never follows through and who whimpers so prettily when I place kisses all over his sensitive spots..."

Just to tease him even further, you lean down to breathe the hint of a kiss against his neck just beneath his earlobe. “P-please don’t laugh… I’ll try my best! I swear I will!” Denji whisper shouts desperately, eyes still squeezed shut as the first tears slip down over his cheeks. He nods his head frantically. “I-I wanna be good for ya… please tell me what t’do…”

He feels pathetic for not knowing what to do—after everything he’s seen in porn, he thought he would at least be able to satisfy you without making a complete fool of himself. But this isn't just sex anymore, it never would have been just sex with you, this feels more real than he ever could have imagined. It feels like giving himself completely to someone who actually loves him back after years of loneliness, being ridiculed and taken advantage of.

To finally take things further, your fingers are retreating from under his shirt to take off your own and Denji's breath comes in ragged, wet gasps as his eyes lock onto your chest. It wasn't sexy lingerie or anything fancy. It wasn't lace or silk with straps meant for seduction. It was simple cotton with little pearl buttons down the front. Innocent-looking, yet somehow more intimate than anything else ever worn by any girl in these magazines or movies he secretly peeked at online when you weren't around.

Denji feels dizzy. His mouth goes dry and he doesn’t even think—just acts—palms sliding up your bare sides with desperate reverence before clumsily groping at the soft cotton of your bra as he stares without blinking, completely mesmerized. His fingers twitch where they hover over the fabric, trembling like he’s touching something sacred. And maybe it is. To him at least, this is holy ground. You’re holy. Especially your fucking perfect tits that fit perfectly in his palms like they were made for him.

He squeezes gently at first, then bolder when no scolding comes from you. Thumbs brushing over the sensitive mounts through fabric until one accidentally grazes a stiff nipple and another whimper escapes him when you arch into his touch.

“F-Fuck…” He croaks into his throat, voice cracking when another wave of arousal hits hard enough that precum leaks more visibly now. "Y-You're...so pretty..." He chokes out on a broken whisper, pupils blown wide as saucers despite how red-faced and teary-eyed he still is.

His fingers fumble over the clasp. What is this thing?! Why won’t it open?! Panic flares in his eyes when he realizes how dumb he must look trying to unhook something so simple. “C-Can I…” His throat locks tight around words stuck somewhere between fear and hope as he stares up at you still seated over his middle. “C-can I take it off?”

"Hmm..." You murmur absent-mindedly, too busy looking down at him lying beneath you.

His hands are shaking when he finally undoes your bra and all he can think about is how badly he wants to touch you. How he wants to bury his face between your tits, lick and suck until you’re gasping like the girls do in porn, he wants to feel your skin under his palms—every inch—and wants to learn how to make you feel good. So good. Because that's what you deserve. But Denji is terrified of disappointing you. He feels unworthy of the sight in front of him.

You help him slide the cotton down your body when you notice him lock up and just stare, not even breathing at the first peek of skin he's never got to witness before, and when the second strap falls down your arm, you carefully leave the fabric to fall down somewhere on the ground beside the bed. You are completely exposed, but with Denji you don't feel vulnerable in this position at all.

Denji meanwhile feels like he just got knocked right in the head—no, right down to his very soul. This is like seeing a god for the first time, like walking right into the gates of heaven when you’ve spent your entire life in hell. Is this what absolution feels like? He can't believe all of this perfection is real. You're... you're…

"Oh God, you're beautiful." He manages in a shaky whisper and his tongue instinctively darts out to wet his dry lips, gaze fixed on how much softer your skin looks there and how the fat jiggles slightly when you chuckle at his compliment. "Can I… can I touch you?”

He almost chokes on his own spit when you guide his palm over your skin, bare this time around with no fabric separating the sensation. His fingers flex instinctively, gentle at first before squeezing just a little tighter in awe. He’s fantasized about this exact moment a thousand times (okay, maybe ten thousand) but nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for how overwhelming it actually is. They’re so…soft. Like clouds, like warm dough fresh from the oven, and he can’t stop staring, can’t stop his thumb from rubbing slow circles around the peak just to watch it stiffen further under his touch.

Denji is pretty used to losing control. There are lots of things he loses control over. His temper. His hormones. His stupid mouth that just says whatever he thinks without any filter. Hell, he can’t even control his own heart when it comes to you, and his body? Is clearly not an exception. It’s too much. Way too much. The warmth of your skin, the way you arch just slightly into his touch, the faint scent of your perfume mixed with sweat and that barely audible gasp falling from your kiss swollen lips—it overwhelms him completely.

His mouth falls open in a silent scream before a pathetic, high-pitched and choked-off whimper finally escapes him. "Ngh—!!!" His vision whites out completely as heat surges through him, burning white and hot from his stomach down to his thighs, before—Oh. Oh no.

One hand stays to hold himself steady against your breast, the other falls down to grip your hips, fingers digging in desperately and nails biting skin while his back arches off the bed. “Oh, f-fuck—!” His hips stutter upward violently, pressing into you with helpless desperation as his cock throbs and spills right then and there—another hot, sticky load soaking through his sweatpants before he even got to do anything for you.

His sweatpants are absolutely ruined, soaked through with wet heat and his entire body trembles like a leaf in a storm when he's melting back onto the mattress with a weak, shuddering exhale. His chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as his hips jerk through the aftershocks, his cock pulsing pathetically against his thigh. He looks destroyed. His lips are swollen, neck littered with marks, eyes glazed and wet—staring up at you wide and devastated.

Denji's cheeks burn hot and he buries his face with his elbow, desperate to hide his embarrassment. He hiccups wetly, tears welling up despite himself. His cock twitches weakly in his ruined pants, still half-hard from how painfully turned on he is, even after cumming like some fucking middle schooler who couldn’t last two seconds and he tries to keep his legs together instinctively as if that’ll hide the sticky mess.

“I-I didn’t—!” His voice cracks pathetically. "I-I'm... sorry… m’so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to! It—it just happened. I—” He whimpers softly, voice muffled by his own skin and gasping for air like he’s drowning.

It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. He actually came just from touching you. No thrusting, no grinding, just—just skin under his palms. He wants to curl up and die.

“P-Please don’t hate me…” He whispers, voice small and shaky. “I-I’ll do better next time… I promise! I-I'll clean it up and, and—” He sounds so hopeful it’s pitiful. It really is, with his throat tight as he sniffles pathetically, half-expecting laughter or rejection. But when he peeks at you from under his elbow, all he sees is the soft look you are giving him right now, your own cheeks dusted pink and that little glint in your eyes.

His hands fly up to wipe frantically at his teary face with trembling fingers. “C-Can we pretend that didn’t happen…?” He whimpers—cheeks puffed out in a pout—before burying his face against your chest with a miserable groan. “Y’feel so good… s’not fair…” His voice is muffled against your skin, breath hot and wet against your chest as his lips brush over the soft flesh and he nuzzles into you like a puppy seeking comfort.

"Y-You didn't even—! I-I didn't even got to do anything yet!" He wailed miserably. “…Y-You’re just too pretty.” His arms wrap around your waist anyway, clinging like you might vanish if he lets go and when you gently cradle his face—bring it out of the warm space between your tits to make him look up at you—Denji can feel his cock stir to live again, twitching against your thigh. That look that you're giving him…you really deserve the world.

“…C-Can I… t-touch them again?” He asks meekly. “J-Just gimme a sec and I—I’ll make sure this time…you feel good too, yeah? I'll last. I know I'll do…”

He won't. He absolutely will not do any better next time and he will certainly won't last longer. Denji is, and forever will be, a drooling, overeager mess when it comes to you. And honestly? You wouldn't have him any other way.

@missyonmission