Saccharin『 yandere o.shots』(Requests: OPEN)

Danny Johnson | Ghostface Ⓜ️,☣️

reader can be read as either a surv or a killer. but they know ghostboi. mc does take off their top but there's nothing described.

---

even after your (debatable) successful trial, you'd think the entity would at least reward you by healing your wounds (although it felt more like she was stitching it back with the thread of your nerves)-- or at least numb the pain until it felt paralyzed as it usually did whenever you got roughed up after looping.

but no, you were left battered and bruised, thrown into the woods to wander and lick your wounds like a demented version of hansel & gretel. away from... your allies and too close to your thoughts.

but then again... she did feed on suffering so maybe it was more of a calculating action than it actually being mad at your incompetence. though the only way to actually know would be to... fail again. but who's going to find out what she'll do? not you.

so you instead wander the dark forest, trees sprouted from the ground like fangs from a fleshy gum, it's wooden claws digging into open wounds and tearing your clothes further along the road, like it was slowly trying to gnaw on your body until you eventually become a meal.

your eyes glance at the rotted stump you've passed by multiple times despite walking strictly straight, it was the only tree that didn't seem to breathe or twitch. your tired legs dragged towards it, taking your uneven seat among it's brethren.

you pulled at the rags that sticked to your bloodied torso like a leech, it felt like you were slowly peeling skin from your body, you held it under your chin as you slowly tested the state of your bruises with a shaky finger.

"shit." you don't have any way to stitch it, the best bet is to probably dress it until you find some. the top you're wearing is the least salvageable and the easiest to make strips of, better shirtless than dead(?).

and, before you could even tell you weren't alone, gloved hands grabbed your shoulders as a mask pressed against the side of your face, his grip tightening until you could feel him press against bone and the feeling of rough plastic making a new cut on your cheek.

"how'd you know i liked seeing you covered in blood?" a voice spoke from behind, body squeezing against you.

"most of its not even mine." 

he whistled "it makes you sound all kinds of cold-blooded, that makes it better."

the hand over your shoulder moves down to poke the wound on your sternum, the one that needed bandaging, making you hiss.

"that looks painful."

"because you keep touching it."

"and when i kiss it better?"

not if, when. you opened your mouth to question his choice of words but you were silenced as he pressed on the wound, the other hand pushing you off your seat to lay on the dead grass.

he climbed over you, not unlike he'd do whenever going off script and ending the survivors in his own terms, his hand--- the one covered with your blood--- going under his screaming mask, hitched up slightly to show you visibly what he was doing.

he dragged his head along the motions, doing straight lines up his fingers, then making a show of him taking them to the knuckle before pulling back and licking between them, making a loud sucking sound as he finished.

"i promise it will make all your pain go away." he whispered, licking his lips.

you felt him loom closer, his exposed mouth twisted to a cheshire grin, one of blunt, rectangular teeth, but still promising pain, like a dull knife being more excruciating than a sharp one.

you try to hit chest or push against it--- you don't know but all you know is that you're scrambling to get him away. his hands made no move to restrain your own, settling to rest on the grass alongside your head.

you grab him by the throat, but he just wheezes out giggles. one of his own hands moving onto your tense grip but not trying to pry it open, like he was trying to cup it.

he murmurs something, the sentence is unintelligible, you slightly loosen your grip. his smile widens.

"... still didn't get to k-kiss it better."

you pulled him down by the neck, biting his bottom lip harshly as he moved to grab your shoulders, pressing your tongue on the bruise before actually moving your lips against his, teeth to bruises, blood to tongue.

the leather of his gloves creaked, sanding the exposed skin of your body as the lack of air made itself desperate in his mind, finally pulling away, leaving you gasping and him coughing.

the burn in your chest made way for the warmth of adrenaline, "you were right, it did go away," you moved your leg from beneath him, he groaned, "but now i think we have a new problem because of it."

"you wanna get even?" his voice lowered, making it huskier and breathier than it needed to be, a product of his desperation to convince you to give him what he needs.

you gently pressed your lips against his, chaste and short, with a soft sound of suction.

"done, i kissed it better." you spoke even softer, as if you were in a fluffy love story, though your intentions couldn't be any close to wholesome.

"c-c'mon don't tease me like this." 

"what do you mean, isn't it enough?" you batted your eyelashes at him, "do you want more?"

you kissed him again, just a softly, then the corner of his mouth, to his cheek, his jaw, mirroring the other side of his face before pressing another to his lips.

"better?"

he made a frustrated sound, "what's all this for? don't do this to me, you know what i mean, don't make me beg for it now--" he began to ramble his pleas, but he was begging for the wrong kind of mercy.

"i don't know, i want you to say it, even if it means you have to beg for it--- or do you want me to stop?"

"please," he started, "please kiss me like that again."

---

whew, been kinda going through writers block so i wrote a little... lime(?) to help me slowly get back on track. btw, what ghosty is asking for is up to interpretation, does he want it soft? rough? up to you.