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rosekeu · 2 days ago

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FROM THE SEAFOAM [denji x reader]

Chapter Two: A Gift From Mars [ Masterlist! ]

sypnosis: denji. that was his name and you invited him over to the beach last night. you're not fully sure why. hell, you're not even sure if he'll show up.

tw: violence. gore. death.

The sun shines brightly. Today a bit more than usual. You drift along the waves, floating. Its routine, its home again. But this time you’re not in a hurry to drown yourself. This time you're not trying to escape reality, your loneliness, the gnawing emptiness that lives under your skin.

The ocean is much quieter today, like the event from yesterday had made a mark even the tide couldn't wash away. You don’t know if you should feel grateful or afraid.

It's quiet inside your ears— your mind. Almost too quiet.

Quiet isn't something you're used to.

You listen anyway, half-expecting the sea to hum its usual tune— the one that sounds like your own heartbeat, stretched thin. The one you have heard since childhood. But all you hear is the wind, the gentle slap of water against your skin, and your own breathing.

A part of you believes you should feel comfort. Being gifted with silence instead of the normal torment. But you aren't.

Eventually, you drift back to shore. Sand sticks to your calves, clinging like second skin. As the sun beats down on you. A deep breath escapes you and your mind wanders elsewhere.

Denji.

You don’t expect him to show up.

You think he's too stupid, a boy built out of bad luck and stitched-together dreams. The kind of boy who promises things without thinking, just to have something to hope for.

But you were proven wrong— there he is.

Looking down at you laying down in the sand. Pieces of seaweed stuck to your thighs, your sunburned cheeks staring right back at him, and squinted eyes holding confusion as he stood over you. Pochita nudging your body slightly, his tongue sticking out, and a high-pitched bark like he’s happy to see you.

“Beach girl!” Denji’s voice is weaker than yesterday, hoarse and wobbly at the edges. He blatantly stares, hair clinging to your face, the waves glimmering behind you like a halo, and his brain officially malfunctions.

You’re still in that damn bikini.

It's like the universe has blessed him twice.

He doesn’t even try to pretend not to stare. “Damn, you look even hotter than I remembered,” he blurts out, completely shameless, his cheeks burning but not caring.

There’s a certain twinkle in his eyes, like he's seeing you for the first time all over again. But he’s a mess— bruises blooming down his arms like rotting fruit, scratches criss-crossing his skin, dried blood painting his shins. His shirt is barely hanging on, stained and ripped.

He looks as if life chewed him up and spat him back out. But the fact that he’s here at all — that he remembered — makes something flicker in your ribcage. You don’t know if it’s hope or stupidity.

You think to yourself you’ll regret what you're feeling later.

You sit up slowly, brushing sand off your thighs. “And you look like shit.”

Denji collapses in the sand beside you. “Yeah, but I’m alive, so I’m countin’ it as a win!” He lays down and Pochita pounces on him almost immediately and his laugh invades your ears.

“I’ll be back.” You scramble to your feet and head towards your boat before Denji can react to your words.

The ocean is still keeping to itself. And a worrying feeling pools at the base of your stomach.

The boat feels familiar as you step inside, the smell of saltwater and old wood wrapping around you. You rush to find the first aid kit you assembled with supplies you’ve read about, putting on your gloves as you leave. When you return, Denji’s still there, waiting.

Jogging up to the chaotic pair, you kneel in front of him, the first aid kit clutched in your hands, fingers trembling slightly. You can feel the weight of his stare, but you keep your focus on the kit, fumbling with it in an attempt to hide the strange fluttering inside your chest.

You’re not sure what it is.

But you sit beside him anyway, pulling his leg into your lap. He’s warm—too warm— and for a second, you hesitate. Even through the gloves, the touch feels too close. Too risky.

Your curse has nowhere to go, watching silently through your own eyes, restricted by the cloth on your hands.

Denji doesn’t seem to notice. “Y’know,” he starts, voice unusually soft. “Nobody’s ever patched me up before.”

You pause, hands hovering over a particularly nasty cut on his shin. “What about Pochita?” You both glance at the orange little devil, who sat wagging his string like tail with a tiny triangle adoring the end.

“Pochita’s a doctor in spirit, but he’s got a chainsaw for a face. Kinda hard to do that kinda stuff.”

You huff, shaking your head as you wipe blood away with seawater. Denji hisses, but doesn’t pull away.

“Are you always this reckless?” You ask, frowning as you catch a glimpse at a fresh scrape cutting across his knuckles.

“Only when I wanna impress a girl,” he says, and the wink he throws your way at the end is so painfully, stupidly sincere you almost feel embarrassed for him which leads you to press slightly harder at his wound.

Denji yelps. “You’re mean…”

You meet his eyes and are met with a puppy-like pout. You bite back a grin and tend to his wounds once again.

The silence between you and Denji stretches out as you finish patching up his wounds, the soft hum of the ocean and the occasional rustle of Pochita moving around the sand filling the void.

You are the one avoiding Denji’s gaze, you feel the tension.

You’re almost done wrapping his leg when Denji speaks again, quieter this time, like he doesn't want to startle your focus. “You’re different, you know that?”

You pause, your fingers frozen in place over the gauze. You can feel the heat rising on the back of your neck. You lock eyes momentarily and Denji’s gaze is gentle, almost curious, but there’s something else there too—a hint of something deeper that makes you uneasy. And although your mind begs for you to keep to yourself, your curiosity wins.

“Different how?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, not daring to look at him again.

He shrugs, then winces slightly at the movement. “I dunno. You actually care, I guess. You don’t find me weird.”

You bite your lip, the words lodged in your throat.

Care. It’s so hard to let someone in. Everyone flinches at your touch. When you carry death on your mere fingertips it's a challenge to find someone who’ll stay.

Your hand trembles slightly, and you finish the bandaging quickly, more out of a desire to fill the space with action than because you’re in any real hurry.

‘You’re all good. Now let's go.” You stand abruptly, picking up the first aid kit. Denji looks puzzled but stands with you nonetheless.

“Go where?’

“Fish for dinner.”

Denji’s face lights up at the mention of food, his usual enthusiasm flooding back. "Fish? Hell yeah, let’s do it!" He flashes you a smile before stretching out, trying to shake off the dizzyness from the earlier injuries.

You exhale, knowing this is gonna be a long day. Looking over at the sun, it's still shining brightly. You still have a couple of hours before its sundown.

You lead him down to the beach, the boat rocking gently at the shore as you both move toward it.

Climbing aboard, you look for your fishing supplies. Extending your hand, Denji takes the fishing rod from you, like he’s holding a weapon in a battle he’s convinced he'll win. “I’ll catch so many fish, you won’t even know what hit you!”

“Just don’t get us tangled up,” You say, shaking your head. “Fishing’s not about showing off, Denji. It's patience.” You look at him, your tone quiet, but there’s an edge of playfulness in it. “Something I’m guessing you don’t have much of.”

Denji, completely unfazed, grins again. “Hey, I can be patient if it means getting good food.”

You glance at him skeptically, but he’s already casting the line into the water with a dramatic swoosh, the reel whining and it's a sound that your ears learned to despise.

A second later, there’s a loud snag—and you barely have time to blink before the fishing rod jerks out of Denji’s hand, splashing into the water.

You stare at the empty air where the rod used to be, your jaw dropped. "I—what did you?"

"Uh, I think I made a little mistake," Denji mumbles, watching the rod disappear into the sea. "It’s fine, though! I got it!"

Without missing a beat, Denji dives straight into the water, fully clothed. Pochita hopped after him like a hyperactive puppy. The two of them thrash around, splashing water in every direction.

“Denji!” you shout, trying to maintain some semblance of composure as you watch him dive after the line, flailing wildly, his limbs tangled in seaweed.

“I got this, I got this!” Denji’s voice comes from beneath the water, muffled but determined.

Denji surfaces just in time to get smacked in the face with the green tangle, sputtering as he spits it out.

“Why is there seaweed everywhere?!” he exclaims, brushing it off, his face dripping with seawater. “I thought we were fishing, not... fighting sea monsters!”

You shake your head. “I think you’re the sea monster.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a damn good one,” Denji grins, then suddenly dives under the water again, his body a blur of motion. You let out a frustrated sigh, but you can’t quite bring yourself to be mad—he’s so ridiculous it’s impossible to stay angry.

You look up, realizing just how far out he’s swum already. “Denji, get back here! I swear to God—"

But before you can finish, Denji emerges from the water, holding up the fishing rod with a triumphant grin. “Told ya I could do it!” he says, beaming, even though his clothes are all wet and his hair is full of seaweed.

You blink, stunned. “How the hell did you—?”

Denji waves the rod around dramatically. “Easy. Just had to, uh, wrestle with it a little.”

You didn't let Denji fish after that.

Keeping him close by sat on a beach chair on the deck. Watching intently with an old pair of binoculars he had found buried in a pile of messy stuff. You managed by yourself, scoring a handful of fish in differing sizes. You kept a pile of wood around and stuck it in a small spot where you usually cooked food.

"So, what exactly are you doing with those?" You asked, pointing at the binoculars. “The stars?” You focus on cooking the fish, watching the flames flicker beneath the crispy fish.

He squints through the lenses for a second, then drops them with a grin, eyes turning toward you. “Nah, they’re for spying on mermaids. Not for looking at stars. Stars are overrated.”

You glance at him, as you try to suppress the muscles trying to quirk your lips upwards. “Mermaids? You sure about that?”

"What, don’t tell me you’re not one." He looks you over, like he's piecing together some crazy theory that somehow makes sense in his head. “You’re all ocean and seaweed, like some kinda... uh, sea princess or whatever. Bet you’ve got fins under that bikini."

You try to hold back the laugh threatening to escape, but it's no use. It bubbles out of you, light and genuine.

Denji freezes, eyes wide. He stares at you, blinking as if he’s trying to process what just happened. For a second, the world seems to pause, his gaze softening in a way you don’t quite understand.

‘I just made a cute girl laugh!’ He thinks.

You suddenly feel a blush creep up your neck, out of embarrassment. You rapidly look away, averting any eyes that might follow your movement. The heat on your cheeks only seems to make things worse, and you focus on the fish in front of you as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

Denji’s wandering eyes make their way over to you, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “So, you do have fins under there, huh?” He teases, clearly pleased with himself for causing such a reaction.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitch. “You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone steady.

Denji's eyes widen for a split second, grabbing Pochita and cuddling him up against his chest.

‘Is this what it feels to be normal?’ His heart thumping a little too fast in his chest. It’s a weird feeling, this soft kind of happiness, like maybe he’s actually doing something right for once. It feels unfamiliar, but it’s... not bad. It’s what he’s yearned for all along. A bit of sunshine, peeking through his darkness.

You finally pull the crispy tender fish off the makeshift grill, placing it on a ceramic plate that looks handmade, covered in weird doodles. You pass it to Denji and he starts devouring his food almost instantaneously, like it's the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“You’re gonna choke if you eat that fast.” You tell him, and you can’t hide your smile like you used to before. Denji tries to reply with a mouth full of food and it just comes out like a muffled groan.

The evening stretches on, and the two of you finish your meal in a comfortable silence. The crackling fire and the waves crashing in the distance are the only sounds.

Then you realize your curse has been silent this whole time, not begging for your attention.

You shake the thought away, and are surprised when Denji becomes awfully quiet, you didn't think he was the type for a quiet moment, but somehow, with you, it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as it usually does.

When the fire finally dies down, you notice how starry the sky truly is. You can hear Denji shift next to you, standing up and stretching.

“Well, guess I should head back,” he says, his voice a little less confident than usual. “My boss is probably looking for me…”

“Yeah, I guess I should get some rest too,” you reply, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Denji blinks at you, surprised. “Really? You sure?”

You give him a look, the one that says everything without needing to. “What, you think I’d leave you wandering around in the dark?”

Denji only flashes his smile in your direction.

The walk back to the shed is mostly silent. Denji’s footsteps sync in with your own, but there’s an unspoken distance between you that neither of you address. The feeling that both of you experience is foreign.

When you reach his shed, Denji stops, his hand reaching for the door handle but hesitating before he touches it. He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel his presence, the way it presses against the distance between you.

“Y’know, this is the nicest day I’ve had in... probably ever.” he says, a certain softness lingering in his tone. “I dunno if you think I’m annoying or whatever, but... I kinda like hanging out with you.”

You blink at him, the words catching you off guard. For a moment, everything around you stills. Your chest tightens, and you can feel the weight of everything you’ve been trying to push down.

The walls you’ve built for years crumbling, just because of nobody like Denji.

Someone you met a day ago.

You nod, but the gesture feels too small for everything that’s swirling inside of you. “Guess you’re not the worst company in the world.” And there it is again, that bite that never leaves you. A reminder that this isn’t your environment. The push and pull of the ocean is.

Denji chuckles, but it’s quieter, almost as if the weight of your words has settled in him too. “I’ll take what I can get.”

He turns toward the door, but before he steps inside, he pauses again. For a moment, it’s just the two of you—standing there, in the silence, under the stars.

The world feels like it’s pulling apart, and yet, this moment, this quiet, seems to stretch between you both, a thin thread you don’t want to break.

“Goodnight, Denji,” you say, your voice a little more fragile than you meant it to be.

He looks back, his smile softer now, more distant. “Night, beach girl.”

You turn on your heel slowly, eyes glued to the ground beneath you in an attempt to calm the emotions inside you.

But you didn’t make it far.

The path back to your boat was quiet, the sound of waves crashing against the shore like a lullaby.

But halfway there, your lungs seized. A sudden, choking grip, like fingers made of saltwater closing around your throat.

For the first time today, the ocean called for you.

Tugging on you like a doll, invisible strings laced through bone and skin.

You spun around, dizzy, heart hammering. The shed was just a dark smudge in the distance, Denji somewhere inside—or so you thought. But the tug didn’t stop. It pulls you harder.

Back. Back toward him.

Your stomach curls with a sick kind of fear, the kind you only felt when the water was too dark and you couldn’t see the bottom. Something was wrong. You could feel it in your ribs, that ache that always came before tragedy.

So you ran.

By the time you stumbled up the dirt path, his door was hanging open. Denji wasn’t there.

And Pochita was gone too.

Your hands shook as you stepped outside, scanning the empty road until—there. In the distance, a car rattled down the path, its rusty frame rocking with each bump. Through the dirty back window, you caught a flash of blonde hair, a slouching boy pressed against the glass.

He wasn't hurt, just sitting at the back of the car.

Barefoot, skin stinging from sharp rocks and gravel beneath your feet, but none of it mattered. You chase the car on foot, barely keeping it in sight as it drives through the dark, every breath coming out like seawater in your lungs. The Ocean Devil’s grip didn’t ease. If anything, it grew sharper the closer you got, until the car rolled to a stop outside a rusty warehouse near the edge of town.It looks abandoned, like something out of a horror film.

You saw him, Denji. With Pochita in hand, walking inside the worn down warehouse. With the same man from last night. The long trench coat and glasses were enough to recognize him. You hid behind old wooden pallets, trying to eavesdrop into their conversation.

Something about debt.

His devil.

And obedience.

Denji didn't even say anything back. Just listened.

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to call out to him. Just once. Just his name. You didn't get the chance.

Because before Denji could take another step, a figure lunged from the shadows. A shape like a man, but wrong—skin stretched too tight, mouth too wide, lifeless eyes. Its hand plunges through Denji’s back like putty, a rusted knife in his grip.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stop the scream. Denji staggered forward, choking, Pochita yelping in his arms. The creature yanks the weapon free with a sickening schlunk, and Denji crumples to his knees. Then a huge devil, finally showing itself from the dark shadows. It was huge, grimy, rotten in all possible ways. Its body full of foreign faces, of people you’ll never meet. People foolish enough to fall for the devil’s tricks.

The Zombie Devil, it introduced itself.

You bolt from your hiding spot, crashing into the open like an idiot, arms reaching for him.

“Denji!”

The sound of your voice made him twist around, eyes glassy with shock. “What are you—”

But you were already there, hands on his shoulders, trying to drag him back, trying to do something, even though there was nothing you could do. Your gloves begin to soak in his blood. Your whole body shook trying to think of a way for you both to get out of here alive.

“We have to go,” you begged, voice cracking. “Denji, get up.”

But more figures were crawling out of the dark, their bodies slack-jawed and drooling, hands dragging rusted weapons. Dozens of them, swarming like wasps, their wet breath filling the air. You shoved Denji behind you before taking off your gloves, arms out wide, trembling fingers sparking with that cursed feeling, the Drowning Touch lurking just beneath your skin.

Suddenly, your head throbbed. And for the first time since you were little, the Ocean Devil whispered from nowhere and seemingly everywhere all at once.

He’s going to die. You both are.

The Ocean always had to appear when you least wanted it to. “Shut up,” you hissed under your breath. “Shut up.”

A zombie lunged. You grab its wrist. And it froze, body locking up, lips twitching as the drowning set in—the faux water flooding its throat, lungs filling until its chest caved inward. It dropped to the floor, convulsing violently.

But there were too many. As you both tried to run toward the exit another grabbed you from behind, nails scraping down your arms, and your Drowning Touch couldn’t save you this time. You hit the floor hard, the rough concrete biting into your knees, Denji reaching for you—only for a boot to slam down on his wrist, pinning him like an insect.

You screamed his name again. His blood smeared across the floor, mixing with yours, the two of you dragged apart by hungry hands. Pochita barked and thrashed, trying to bite anyone close enough, but they kicked him away, hard enough that you heard the yelp echo in your skull.

Denji’s thoughts spiraled—he wasn’t even scared for himself, not really. Just you.

The only good thing to ever happen to him.

The only person who ever talked to him like he was human, not a tool.

He didn’t even know what you were to him yet—a friend? A girl he liked? —but none of that mattered because you were here, and now you were going to die because of him.

‘It’s not like I was asking to be freaking king of the world! Just dreaming of a normal life was enough to keep me going. But I don't even get to have that much?!”

He wanted to be normal. He wanted a normal life.

He wanted to eat fish with you again, to sit beside you on the sand until the sun went down.

He wanted to hear you laugh again — that laugh he’d only heard once, small and shy, like it had been buried for years.

He didn’t want this to be the last time.

The first blade caught your leg, slicing muscle, your scream barely human. Denji fought, elbows and knees and teeth, until someone slammed a pipe across his face, teeth snapping like glass. One after the other, blows fell, until the both of you were limp. Not dead yet—no, they wanted to make you suffer first.

Blood ran from your mouth, staining your lips like the seafoam that used to adorn your body. The seafoam you used to despise when it was time to get out of the water.

The creatures dragged you both like garbage. Threw you into the dumpster like rotting meat.

Lid slamming shut.

—

“Pochita!”

Denji’s body jerks awake, reaching out for his buddy. His hand shoots out instinctively, searching for his devil friend. Taking heavy breaths as his heart thumps like crazy in his chest, his beats are erratic and burning against his ribcage. For a split second, Denji feels Pochita’s familiar warmth course through his whole body. The warmth emitted when they used to huddle up together in that moldy shed, just to escape the sting of the freezing air.

“I’m in one piece…”

When he looks down, his hand meets only the smooth skin of his chest, and his eyes are met by something foreign—a black cord, pulsating faintly with the rhythm of his heart. It’s thick, almost alive, and it leads straight into his chest.

The memory hits him like a wave—Pochita’s tail, still embedded in him, now a permanent part of him. Engraved into the center of his chest.

“You did it, huh? Took my body like I asked?”

“Just so you know, I’ve always loved listening to you talk about your dreams, Denji. Here’s a new contract for you! This time you're getting my heart, in exchange show me your dreams and learn more about the ocean… That’s all I ask of you.”

The conversation is fleeting in Denji’s mind, like a dream that slips through his fingers as soon as he blinks again. The gifted heart squeezes at the thought, a tightening sensation beneath the skin, blood and bones, which Pochita took the care to heal again.

Nothing in his body hurt.

At least not physically.

But… What about you?

The last image his mind projected was a gruesome one, the zombie-like creatures cutting, biting and beating your body until the little light in your eyes disappeared. Blood oozed from your broken skull and your face twisted in pain.

When he looks beside him he expects to find a sight that would surely traumatize him —a lifeless body, mangled beyond recognition, your skin bruised and cold, still drenched in the blood of your final moments together.

But instead, his eyes fall on the soft, familiar seafoam, shimmering in the pale light of the moon.

For a moment, Denji just stares at it, breath caught in his throat.

The seafoam is calm, gentle and fading. Not what he wanted to see. But at least you don't look to be dead either. He reaches out, fingers brushing against the foam, and it disappears with a soft whisper, as though it was never there in the first place.

“Y/N?” he calls, voice rough and uncertain, hoping his words would summon you from the depths. His breath catches in the cold air. “You there?”

The silence answers, stretching too long, too heavy.

Denji’s fingers curl into his own fist, grinding his teeth and furrowing his brows. The atmosphere is quiet around him, it was normal for your presence to be like a fleeting whisper. But now, the silence plants a seed in his stomach, one of uncertainty.

“Y/N,” he tries again, softer this time, like a prayer. His throat aches when he says your name, like something lodged deep in his chest doesn’t want to let it out.

The seafoam is gone now — melted back into the earth like it never existed at all. But Denji’s not that stupid. He saw it. Touched it.

And somehow, he knows.

It’s not logic, not something he can explain — it’s that new heart of his, the one Pochita gave him. It pulses steady under his ribs, but it doesn’t feel like it only belongs to him anymore. There’s something else stitched into it, some invisible thread pulling at the edges, tugging him toward the sea.

Towards you.

“You’re okay,” he mutters to himself. “You gotta be okay.”

It’s stupid, right? After what he saw—your body ripped apart, blood everywhere, bones bent wrong—no one could live through that. But Denji knows better than anyone that death doesn’t always stick. Not when devils are involved.

Not when the ocean itself seems to breathe for you.

He takes a shaky step forward, and he suddenly hears the eerie creak of something still inside. The sound scrapes against his ears, too loud in the heavy quiet, like chalk grinding against a board.

Denji freezes, breath hitching, eyes darting toward the shadows. The air tastes wrong, thick and sour, like rot left too long in the sun.

And then, from the dark, a wet, ragged breath rattles out.

The Zombie Devil.

Appearing again like a thorn at his side, its bulk shifts into view, a twisted mold of flesh and teeth and pulsing veins, stitched together from the bodies its consumed. “Hm? What’s goin’ on here? You’re still alive after you and your friend got cut to ribbons.”

“Repulsive freak!” The multiple voices inside the creature yell at the same time.

“I hate devil hunters because of how persistent you are! Go ahead and eat him! Let’s see him bounce back from being devoured!”

The horde lunges.

Denji doesn’t think. Doesn’t scream. His hand flies to his chest, fingers curling around that thick cord, still warm against his skin. Like it’s waiting for him.

He pulls.

Skin splits. Flesh tears.

There’s no time to register pain — only the roar of chainsaws exploding from his body, metal screaming louder than any devil could. Blood sprays out in messy arcs, splattering the horde as they stumble back.

He laughs.

It’s not a normal laugh — it’s raw, choking on blood, twisted through the mechanical shriek of his chainsaws. The teeth of the blades catch the dim light, glinting like shark fins cutting through water .The Zombie Devil screeches from somewhere behind the carnage, but Denji doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is cutting through. Once the big boss got defeated the rest of his minions stood by without any motive.

“You guys went full devil… Right down to your twisted greedy little hearts. And I'm out here tonight cus’ you said you had a job for me. I’m on the clock!” Denji revs his engine.

“So I should kill you devils DEAD!”

He wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left to kill.

credits to @kiyaedits for the cute dividers!