[ The leash Aki guides her by is barely discernible from a thread ready to snap at any second. Solely effective because the separate forces on either end are somehow working together to preserve an impossible tightrope. Really, it's like pouring into a water pitcher that's drooling at the opportunity to overflow; all it'd take to reach that tipping point is for one person to tug too hard, another to resist too fast. Two dogs playing a game of chicken. What could go wrong?
Staring ahead at the naked skin in front of her, Denji's teeth stretches and wears at the bottom of her chapped mouth — it's sick how captivating it is, watching each breath rise from Aki in full, the flex of finely honed muscle moving and tensing like some dormant animal waiting to strike. It makes her abdomen clench, her guts knot. This doesn't feel real. It doesn't matter. She should go to bed. She doesn't want to, doesn't want to care or reconsider when she could touch her lips to hot oil and taste the instant her tongue burns instead. ]
Looks just like milk bread… Mmm.
[ Aki's stomach is strong, but it dips under the burden of her hungry mouth, still human and still soft at the end of it all, no matter how much she trains or nurtures her body. How much of herself she disposes to the next devil she contracts with. Hand holding her hip, Denji drags kisses down a smooth and flat midsection that may be empty now, but who can say what the terrain will look like in a year? Two years? Not that it's any of her business what happens — but now that she's here, bruising her lips against her skin, it's got her thinking: If someone were to cut Aki open again, maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing. If it gave her an excuse to do this a second time.
At her bellybutton, Denji pauses. Then, hazarding a look upward, she licks her lips before pressing into the small crevice — she doesn't know much about childbirth, but she knows that all babies used to be connected to their mommies at this place once. So surely there's a scar inside here, too. Just really far in, beyond what the eye can see. Her mouth parts, aligning with the edges to the opening, and she flicks her tongue inside, lapping at the interior lining. ]
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Staring ahead at the naked skin in front of her, Denji's teeth stretches and wears at the bottom of her chapped mouth — it's sick how captivating it is, watching each breath rise from Aki in full, the flex of finely honed muscle moving and tensing like some dormant animal waiting to strike. It makes her abdomen clench, her guts knot. This doesn't feel real. It doesn't matter. She should go to bed. She doesn't want to, doesn't want to care or reconsider when she could touch her lips to hot oil and taste the instant her tongue burns instead. ]
Looks just like milk bread… Mmm.
[ Aki's stomach is strong, but it dips under the burden of her hungry mouth, still human and still soft at the end of it all, no matter how much she trains or nurtures her body. How much of herself she disposes to the next devil she contracts with. Hand holding her hip, Denji drags kisses down a smooth and flat midsection that may be empty now, but who can say what the terrain will look like in a year? Two years? Not that it's any of her business what happens — but now that she's here, bruising her lips against her skin, it's got her thinking: If someone were to cut Aki open again, maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing. If it gave her an excuse to do this a second time.
At her bellybutton, Denji pauses. Then, hazarding a look upward, she licks her lips before pressing into the small crevice — she doesn't know much about childbirth, but she knows that all babies used to be connected to their mommies at this place once. So surely there's a scar inside here, too. Just really far in, beyond what the eye can see. Her mouth parts, aligning with the edges to the opening, and she flicks her tongue inside, lapping at the interior lining. ]