Work Text:
Don’t open the door.
…Huh?
Denji glances around the apartment, chopsticks hovering in the air between his plate and his mouth.
He looks up at Power who’s shoveling the reheated curry Aki left them in the fridge with her hands directly into her face.
“Power…did you say something?”
Don’t.
Power stops long enough to look up at him with a quizzical expression on her face before she goes white as a sheet. He’s never seen her look so terrified.
Open .
“S-s-something’s coming. It smells wrong. It smells like Aki b-but it’s not Aki.”
The .
Denji gets a sickening feeling that sinks from his gut to his feet. He hears something. Someone. Outside the door. Power is trembling. She clutches Meowy to her chest as she backs as far away from the door as she can.
Door.
It’s Aki but it’s not Aki? That doesn’t make sense. Maybe Power hit her head. Maybe she’s been watching too many scary movies about aliens or body snatchers or something else absolutely bonkers.
“Don’t open the door,” Power whispers. Denji looks between Power and the door. There’s clearly something he’s not getting.
“Aki? Did you forget your keys or something?”
“Open,” Aki’s voice comes from outside. It sounds like he’s been gurgling broken glass in his spare time.
“Don’t open the door!” Power screams as his hand lands on the doorknob.
“A-Aki?”
It doesn’t look like Aki.
It’s a grotesque amalgamation of Aki and Gun Devil and Denji hates it. It’s not real, he tries to tell himself. It’s a joke. It’s a dream. It’s…not real.
“Den…ji…” Not-Aki gurgles at him like he’s speaking through torn vocal cords. Maybe he is. What the actual fuck is happening? What fucking horrorshow has he woken up in?
“No,” He shakes his head, even as he steps backward. “Aki, no.”
A very small part of him wonders what happened and how, the rest of him is in full panic-denial mode. There’s no way Aki is the Gun Devil. You can’t have contracts with devils if you are a devil, right? Fuck, Denji should have paid better attention to this shit.
His back hits the wall and he freezes, staring hopelessly at where Aki’s beautiful blue eyes used to be. Staring down the dark barrel, down into a sinking black abyss that’s swallowing everything he’s ever wanted: a home, friends, food, family. Aki.
He’s distracted momentarily by a sob and he remembers Power. Shit, Power! He turns to see her trembling and shouts “Power RUN!”
Maybe the scream startled the thing- not Aki -in front of him because a moment later the long nozzle of whatever gun replaced Not-Aki’s arm was lodged through his stomach, impaling him to the wall and Denji was reacquainted with the all-too-familiar feeling of choking on his own blood.
“Den…ji…” The thing- not Aki, it’s not Aki, it’s fucking NOT Aki -groans at him.
The human hand comes up and Denji watches in thinly veiled revulsion as it cups his cheek, too clumsy, too harshly. The grip is too tight and it’s more uncomfortable than anything, like the thing isn’t used to the body it has and that’s something Denji can relate to.
But not Aki.
Aki had total control over his body. Every move was purposeful, every step intentional. Graceful. Strong.
The thing in front of him, gripping the flesh on his face like it’s trying to actively wriggle out from under its fingers, is none of those things. Its thumb digs into the top of Denji’s cheekbone and he finds himself wondering if it’s going to gouge out his eye. Just keep pressing harder and harder until it pops out. But it’s swiping it back and forth like it’s…rubbing something on his face? What the fuck?
He’s lying on his side in bed next to Aki, facing each other, still catching their breath from their most recent bout of sex. Aki’s hand finds his face, like it always does these days.
Ever since that time in the hospital, he’s taken to caressing Denji’s cheek with his thumb. Denji would be lying if he said he doesn’t like the feeling. The feeling of being cherished. He takes Aki’s hand and softly bites the pad of his thumb. Like always. Keeping his eyes on the deep blue ones that crinkle with warmth and amusement.
The pressure on his face brings him back to the moment at hand. His torso has thankfully gone numb from shock and he doesn’t feel much besides wet but a very wrong kind of wet. The simultaneous warm and cold wet you get when your insides are spilling onto your outsides.
Then it registers.
This fucking thing is trying to caress his cheek as Aki does.
A wave of nausea hits him so intensely, he practically doubles over. He feels sick. He’s gonna throw up. His throat burns and his tonsils water and he convulses as he spews blood and curry all down the front of his shirt.
Shakily, he looks up. Into the horrid empty barrel. He’s gotten some blood splattered across the thing’s face which gives him petty satisfaction. The thing is smiling at him.
He hates it.
It lurches forward and kisses him. Well, smashes its face into his in what he assumes is supposed to be a kiss. The gun protruding from the front extends much further than a normal face and therefore ends up jamming into Denji’s other eye. The pressure is so excruciating he feels like he’s going to pass out. He whines into the teeth of the thing and pushes against it.
Trying desperately to get some space between them.
He’s frantic, limbs flailing. His knee brushes against the thing’s groin and he feels an erection growing beneath its trousers. The thing jolts and fires a round from its face, seemingly on accident. More out of reaction than anything. It rips through Denji’s left eye, part of his ear, and a good chunk of his face.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, it doesn’t get enough of his skull to kill him. It does cause him to fade in and out of consciousness which is, again, 50/50.
His head lulls forward onto the thing’s shoulder and apparently, it loves that because it basically purrs at him. If ya know, putting a spoon in a sink disposal sounded like a purr.
The Gun Devil steps away from him, pulling its gun/arm thingy out from Denji’s side and he practically crumbles. The thing chuckles at him and he almost doesn’t even have the energy left to be offended. He just wants the nightmare to be over. He wants to wake up in Aki's arms, sweating and breathless from his bad dream, and have Aki kiss his face until they fall back asleep together.
“Eagerrr,” it gurgles. Denji hates the sound of its voice. Close enough to be Aki’s voice. Wrong enough to not be Aki’s voice.
It spins him and slams him up against the wall with a sickening squelch as his body redecorates their living space in crimson. The gun/arm pushes into the back of his neck to keep him in place and Denji sags against the wall, hoping that he’ll just fucking die already and get it over with.
Before Denji can really register what’s happening, his pants and boxers are ripped open. He makes a sound of protest but that’s quickly drowned out by the blood running into his mouth from his blown-out eye socket. His body apparently thinks it’s different blood because it’s trying valiantly to regenerate. Nothing crazy like regrowing his eye or the side of his torso but at least staunching the bleeding. Keeping him conscious. Fuck. There go his hopes of at the very least, falling unconscious.
The thing unceremoniously jams two fingers up his hole and Denji screams. Luckily, its hand was covered in Denji’s blood so that served to at least lube the way a bit. He feels his face heat and his one good eye burn and it’s confusing because it smells like Aki, like cedar and cigarettes. But it also smells like rot and gunpowder.
Denji squirms in the thing’s hold but to no avail. The pressure at the back of his neck is immovable. It adds a third finger and Denji yelps and desperately tries to shift the angle.
“I…know…” the motor rumble of its voice is hot on the back of Denji’s neck. Sticky. It makes his skin prickle and crawl in revulsion.
“H-hurts!” He hates how his voice trembles, his throat is raw and hoarse. Hates that he can feel hot tears diluting the blood on his cheeks.
“N’gotcha,” it- it’s not Aki, it can’t be Aki -slurs as the barrel of its face nuzzles the gory bits of Denji’s head and leaves behind a trail of blinding pain. He blacks out for a moment.
"I gotcha," Aki croons into his ear. His hands slide up and down Denji's flanks as he kisses his jaw. He presses them against the wall. "It's okay, trust me." He does. He leans back and lets his full weight rest on Aki's arms as Aki hauls him up, wrapping Denji's legs around his waist and seating him completely on Aki's cock. "There ya go," Aki murmurs into his mouth. "Knew you could be good for me."
Denji comes to as the sound he’d been dreading echoes through the room, unfairly loud. The zipper sliding down. The trousers being shuffled.
Then Denji is split in half as the thing behind him shoves its cock into him without any hesitation, punching the very air from his lungs. He gasps and screams as the thing works its cock into him without mercy, uncaring for his comfort. The pain and pressure grow until Denji is taking tiny, stuttering breaths of mostly blood as he tries to calm himself enough to unclench. It’ll only make it hurt more if he can’t get his muscles to relax.
The thing feels bigger than Aki somehow. Maybe it’s just the terror that has a death grip on every cell in his body. Maybe it’s the disgust that’s twisting his stomach into knots. Maybe it’s the actual hole in his side that he’s bleeding out from.
He doesn’t have enough of his head about him, literally and figuratively, to relax so he tries to push the thing’s thighs back enough to give him some reprieve.
The thing laughs wetly in his ear and pushes further into him until Denji is sure he’s going to black out again.
"Plea-please-!” he chokes out. He wants it all to stop. Even dying is better than this.
There’s a bit of shifting behind him as the thing picks up the pace, ramming into him and sending jolts of agony searing up his spine with each thrust. If he weren’t being held up by his neck, he would have buckled. It presses closer and Denji can smell the gunpowder and the cedar over the tang of iron and vomit.
Much to his utter despair, his body isn’t getting what his brain is refusing to believe. It’s not Aki!
He’s getting hard, his stupid conditioned cock dripping down the inside of his torn pants. It can't seem to tell the difference.
Not-Aki groans, thrusting even deeper, bottoming out with every slam of his hips. Denji’s hole feels too stretched. Feels like it's going to tear apart at this rate. His tears start freely falling as the animalistic pounding knocks his head against the wall and pushes out more and more blood from his wounds.
He’d been railed to tears before by Aki. Not from pain, never from pain. From how overwhelmingly good it is. How thoroughly Aki took everything and gave everything in equal measures. Not like this. Never like this.
This was torture.
This was hell.
Denji threw up again but this time it was only more blood.
The thing’s breathing became heavier, more labored and Denji had a sinking feeling he knew what that meant. His struggles reinvigorated as he thrashed and screamed “No, Aki don’t! Don’t please don’t!”
It laughed its gross guttural laugh as it released spurt after spurt in Denji’s battered hole, pressing him harder into the wall. Suffocating him as it ground its hips into his until every last drop had been deposited inside Denji’s unwilling body.
He was still crying but the worst part was, despite everything, his dick was still hard and aching. The Gun Devil spun him around, replacing the gun against his throat and cutting off his airways once more as it brought its human hand down to his previously neglected erection.
“Aki…don’t,” he rasps, siphoning his air in tiny inhales and exhales. He’s still crying or maybe he had always been crying? The thing tugs on his cock harshly and it’s rough and it hurts but he’s still hurdling towards an orgasm embarrassingly fast.
It pushes its tongue into Denji’s mouth and it tastes like Aki’s cigarettes. He sobs as his orgasm washes over him along with the taste and smell of Aki.
Aki.
He's trembling from the aftershocks. His spend tacky and cooling.
“Denji…” It says between kisses. Or what kisses would pass for if they only involved teeth and tongue and no lips.
“Aki,” he’s losing consciousness. The darkness of his vision is growing more and more with each passing moment. I’m sorry, he wants to say. Sorry he wasn’t there to stop this. If he even could have stopped it. He could have tried. He wasn’t there. He’s so fucking sorry. He had so many things he wanted to tell him still. Is Aki still in there somewhere? Can he tell this new thing the things he wanted to tell Aki? Would it even matter?
He’s getting cold, he’s fading. Finally, he’ll fucking die and be free of this nightmare. Colder, darker. One last breath and he's free.
“Den…ji,” it whispers into his mouth. “I…lov-”
Everything fades to black as the darkness takes him.