A/N: Just a short little lemon, because it's the middle of the night and you know the drill.

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Hands pushed him deeper into the pillow, slender fingers gripping his gray locks tight.

A pained gasp escaped his throat as the fingers dug into his scalp, only to lessen once she impaled herself down onto him once more.

Teeth sank into his tender neck, causing him to moan, bucking off of the soft sheets. His heart pounded in his ears, and he was sure that she could feel it from where she was latched.

"(y/n)," he groaned as she pulled his face back to face her, a sadistic grin on her pretty face. Her teeth were faintly stained with blood -- his blood -- sending new sparks of pleasure to his throbbing dick.

(h/c) hair pulled back in a ponytail, (e/c) eyes glittering with lust. Her back heaved with every breath, her body bouncing on and off his groin with the desperate abandon of a dying woman.

He knew she had a certain desire for this, even before the fall. To be honest, it thrilled him to no end.

He was quite familiar with pain. In a nutshell, he loathed it. But (y/n) was always so sweet, so unwilling to hurt him, that he almost wanted her to let go. This was a whole new category of pain, one far more attuned to mindless pleasure than malicious amusement. Every bruise she created, every bit of blood she drew only served to turn her on more.

She had been fairly innocent before; hell, who hadn't been? She was always all smiles, sugar-sweet kindness, and it was the kind that made his inner cynic wonder just who would taint her light first. Would it be him? Or would it be the world?

He hadn't counted on the Despair infecting them, but now as he gazed at her face, contorted in ecstasy, her eyes rolling back into her head, her tongue flopping out of her kiss-swollen lips, he had to admit it wasn't as much of a bad choice as he'd first thought. She had lost a lot of body fat, becoming little more than a human bag of bones and few spots of muscle, but her mind was as sharp as ever, using her talent as the (now former) Ultimate Diplomat to guide them ever closer to toppling the futile forces of hope and to carry on Junko Enoshima's legacy.

Who would have thought that sweet little (y/n), the starry-eyed second-year who wanted nothing more than to bring people together in hope would be here, fucking him senseless, crying out in the wanton lust that one would expect here in the dark?

Now, with despair swirling in her eyes, now she could let go -- after all, who knew whether tonight could be their last? The thought of dying here, entangled in her arms, was strangely arousing -- how much of that was the Despair, and how much was his own feelings? He couldn't even tell either from either at this point, nor did he even want to.

He couldn't ever remember a time when the darkness had looked so undeniably alluring.

Her voice hitched in a breathy moan, holding him against her chest. Her nails dug into his back, raking up and down in tune to his shallow thrusts. "Na- Nagitoooo--"

She whispered his name like a prayer, but they both knew that there was no god with them.

He nearly choked when one of her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard enough to send his mind swimming. His eyes nearly rolled back as it sent his limbs into a frenzy, pushing deeper, deeper, deeper into her tight folds.

That must have been exactly what she was looking for, because she praised him with a bruising kiss, her lips molding to his as if they were made for this sole purpose. Her tongue pressed against his teeth and he let her in, the two muscles wrestling together as she explored every inch of his mouth.

After a few moments of frenching, she pulled away, breathless. Her hand fell away from his throat, instead gripping his shoulder. She admired the marks she'd made on his body with hooded eyes, licking her lips when she came across a dark purple hickey at the base of his neck.

"Nagito," she breathed, looking into his gray-green eyes. Emotions flickered past her (e/c) ones, from want to desperation to -- dare he say it -- possibly remorse? Then the heat kicked in once more, and all at once any sadness faded from her irises.

"Unravel," he commanded, his voice husky in her ear. It made her shiver.

They were locked in a sensual embrace, neither willing to let go. Nagito bore every bite, every yank of his hair. Seeing her so undone was so endlessly bewitching to him.

His grip tightened on her bony hips. They were both close, he could tell. She had resorted to gripping at his shoulder blades, leaving deep crescent-moon cuts in his pale flesh.

With a strangled cry, she tightened around him -- and it sent him spiraling too. He could barely hold on tight enough as they both rode out their orgasms, the girl latching onto his neck to silence her own voice.

His skin was covered in hickeys and small bloody scabs, but as he fell back onto the bed, this beautiful girl gazing at him with those beautiful (e/c) irises, the despair crept back into his mind and soothed him into a dreamless sleep. They were all right. They would live to see another day.

--

A/N: There ya go. I feel kinda bad that I've been putting this book on the backburner, so here you go. Once Christmas is over, I can focus more on this book (and hopefully I'll have new oneshots to share).

For now, please tell me what you thought, feel free to request, and I'll see you guys later!