good boy | denmaki

i

"I want to become your dog."

A hand gently petting his hair. A soft hum coming from her beautiful lips. Every thought swept away by the warmth of her touch on his worthless skin.

It was all Denji wanted.

Makima was just as pleased. Everything had worked in her favor, and she even got a new pet, and a rather cute one at that. Denji would look up at her with his puppy eyes and she would sigh with content, scratching his head and watching him lean into the touch.

She was so excited to finally rip all of it away from him. But first, a little bit of fun with her dog.

"Stay here for a moment," Makima commanded, gently moving Denji's head off of her lap and standing up to walk to the kitchen. Her voice was still so soft and sweet despite all she had done that Denji couldn't help but listen.

"Woof," he responded.

"Good boy," Makima smiled before disappearing into the kitchen. Denji dreaded her departure, regardless of the length, and thus whined happily when she returned with a hot cup of tea in her hands. How pathetic.

Makima resumed her position on the couch, Denji eagerly lifting his head simply to lie it back down on Makima's lap. He hummed as her hand met his head, her fingers gently dancing through his hair as she sipped her tea.

The peace Denji so longed for and had finally achieved would not last for long.

"Hello, Custard!" Makima smiled at the newly approached dog, whose tail wagged with delight. Denji's eyes opened and were met with the eyes of his now equal, a dog just as content to be owned by Makima as he was. He reached out his hand and Custard sniffed it.

"Saying hello to Denji?" Makima asked sweetly. The dog continued sniffing down the length of Denji's arm, and the human-dog gently rubbed the sides of his fingers into the soft fur.

All was well, until Custard buried his nose into Denji's stomach.

A shaky huff slipped past Denji’s lips, his skin twitching where the innocent dog’s nose made contact. His body backed away on instinct, pushing further into the couch - and into Makima. A gentle, crooked smile formed on his face as his cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

In the moment that followed, Denji thought that Makima might not have noticed. Custard meandered away while the warmth of her hand remained on his head. He let himself relax after several seconds, content in his assumption that Makima’s lack of a reaction in response to his own indicated obliviousness.

The thing about Makima that Denji failed to remember, however, was that she noticed everything.

“Denji, are you ticklish?”

A moment of silence. The question had effectively blue-screened his brain. He wasn’t even sure if he was ticklish in the first place, and he definitely didn’t want Makima to be the one to find out if he was. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have a choice.

“You are,” Makima decided. Before Denji’s mind even had time to process what she said, the gentle feeling of wiggling fingers met his side. A gasp escaped his lips, and before he knew it, he was giggling like a child. His body moved away from the sensation on instinct, but Makima pulled him back towards her with her other hand, effectively trapping him on her lap.

“M-Mahakima-sahahan!” Denji cried through his soft yet uncontrollable laughter. He squirmed in place, his legs kicking gently, his face flushed.

“Ah ah, what did I tell you?” Makima glared down at her dog, the smile on her face more intimidating than any devil Denji had ever fought. “You will only respond with ‘yes’ or ‘woof’.”

Makima moved to straddle Denji’s hips, and the young devil hybrid did nothing to stop her, simultaneously mortified and transfixed by what was occurring. She grabbed his wrists, and Denji let her pin them to the couch, all of the fight having left him despite an incredible feeling of embarrassment he wasn’t even sure why he was feeling.

“Do you understand?” Her eyes sparkled.

“Woof.”

“Good boy.”

Without warning, Makima dug her hands into Denji’s sides, her hands squeezing and fingers wiggling into his skin. Denji let out an incredibly humiliating high-pitched screech before descending into loud laughter. The feeling was so foreign to him, so strange - and it was unbearable. He couldn’t control the movements of his body in a futile attempt to escape the sensation; his eyes crinkled at the edges as his smile stretched painfully wide. And Makima just looked down on him, smirking, relishing the power she had over him.

“What an adorable puppy,” Makima’s voice took on a teasing tone Denji hadn’t heard before, and somehow, it made things even worse. Her hands moved rapidly, digging into his stomach and squeezing his hips, the dexterity of her fingers drawing out peals of laughter from poor Denji. No matter how he tried to guard himself, to push Makima’s hands away, it was useless.

“You’re so sensitive. It’s pathetic,” Makima’s voice cut through Denji’s laughter to make him flush even more. He couldn’t respond, as if he had anything to say while his mind was occupied with how much it fucking tickled and how goddamn embarrassed he was.

“I can’t believe you’re so ticklish. I wonder why a devil so strong would choose a human with such a weakness?” She mused, her hands jumping to dig into Denji’s underarms. The boy lost it at the sensation, his laughter mixing with shrieks as his arms pinned themselves to his sides. Makima chuckled softly to herself, watching as Denji’s eyes pricked with tears. This was humiliating.

Through his cackling, he managed to beg for the tickling to end, starting to become desperate. Makima simply glared at him, a silent reminder of his place beneath her. The tickling would stop when Makima decided it would stop.

Denji's back arched, his hands attempting to grab Makima's wrists, his feet kicking in mirth, all while he was screaming with laughter at the unending assault on his nerves. Makima only ceased when Denji's laughter became silent wheezes, his face glistening with tears.

She took his weak, limp form and repositioned his head on top of her lap, her hand petting his head as if nothing happened. Denji, meanwhile, was heaving, giggles streaming out of his mouth as the ghost sensations kept his nerves alight. He wiggled on Makima's lap, trying to twist away the feeling.

"Have fun, boy?" Makima looked down at Denji, her tone losing her teasing edge and returning to its calm cadence. He looked back at her, cheeks still flushed. He didn't want to reply; she'd probably noticed the fact that he didn't genuinely fight back at all, but could she really blame him? He discovered pretty quickly that it was helpful at distracting his mind, even at its most unbearable.

"Woof."

"Good boy."