Death Grips Dating Sim Novels & Stories

I become a ghost, unseen by the living, able to move through solid objects. I drift through the wall and witness Ryan, Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, embracing Vivian tenderly. He kisses her forehead with such gentleness it makes my nonexistent heart ache. Though I no longer have a physical form, the pain of betrayal cuts through me like silver. He was my mate, my Alpha, my destined other half. I want to scream, to ask if he spared even a moment to worry about me while I fought for my life mere steps away. The answer is obvious in his every action.

At a party hosted at our house, my husband sang a soul-stirring rendition of “Missing You Tonight". He poured his heart into it, his eyes misty and his voice raspy with emotion. I secretly recorded a video and posted it online. To my surprise, the video blew up. Hundreds of thousands of likes poured in, with the comment section overflowing with sympathy. Laughing, I handed my phone to my husband. “Jacob, you went viral.” The top-voted comment read: [Girl, I’m not one to stir up drama, but your husband looks like he’s nursing a broken heart.] I thought he’d just laugh it off with a half-hearted smile. Instead, he took the phone and looked me straight in the eye with dead seriousness. “Yo

Semion and Adeline stood apart as if they hadn’t joined their genitals multiple times. Even though the comments weren’t digging into them, some media personnel had already started to dig into their relationship. Of course, the high society was tight-lipped, they wouldn't want to offend the Miles family by leaking their open secret. It was 7pm, the memorial was starting and as the dark sky sank in, I became restless. For the first time, in days, I wanted to see what they were like. I wanted to see my supposedly dead body which they would be praying for that night.

The blood had nearly stopped flowing. The position of his right hand was strange; his fingers curled as if trying to grasp something. I crouched down. In his open left hand, written crookedly in blood, was a single word: "Run". 02:14. One minute left. 02:15 came. Nothing happened. I was still alive. "Substitute death successful. Eric Dawson was killed at 2:14 in Parking Lot C. Remaining loop time: 48 hours. "Go to Parking Lot C. There’s something for you."

Archibald hasn’t so much as touched her, but she’s so hard it hurts, leaking onto her thighs and the fabric of the chaise with every desperate thrust. Isabella stifles a sob—an actual sob—when Archibald works a second finger in next to the first, leisurely working them into her like he’s got all the time in the world, and Isabella’s just something to play with. “I’m dying,” she mumbles, “You do realize that I’m dying, right? Won’t you be embarrassed if they run that story in tomorrow’s paper? Death by—fuck!—tantric fingering?” Archibald chuckles at her, fond and indulgent, making absolutely no effort to hurry up or do anything other than bring about Isabella’s early and untimely demise via v

“Ground rules?” He nodded, his eyes glinting. “First of all, no one can know this is fake. If anyone suspects that we’re not actually dating, the whole thing falls apart. So, we need to be convincing—like, really convincing.” She wasn’t sure whether to be intimidated or intrigued by the way he spoke, but she swallowed and nodded. “Okay. What else?”

“I’m never going to marry you.” Truce stares at me with a neutral expression, not seeming bothered by my strong rejection. He looks immaculately handsome in a well-tailored, crisp black suit. His hair is left to fall his back in a neat, silk wave, and his deadly handsome face is cold as ever. To be honest I’ve never seen a man hotter. Truce shruggles. “You stole my words.” His voice is deep and emotionless and his green eyes are as fiery as ever. I spot the dimples on both of his cheeks as he speaks. I remember very vividly when I could die to see those dimples.