#csm ​fluff

[tojirin]

★ denji headcanons

WC: 1.6k one short (n)sfw headcanon but the rest fluff 🎀 proofread - nahh LOL

you first met denji at a local gas station, you could see he was struggling paying for food so you offered to pay for him out of kindness. "Oh! thank you miss..um how can i repay you?" "um! no need don't worry!" "No! no!.. um..can i take you out? to repay you of course!" you could tell the boy was nervous by the way he was speaking, but you accepted his offer. "Really?..yeah i'd love to!" "do you have a number?"! "O-oh! yeah, here."

★ when you and denji first started dating you almost automatically noticed that he seemed very worried that he was messing things up for both of you, but you assured him that he wasn't the problem.

★ later into the relationship you found out denji is very clingy, almost like a puppy wanting to always be with its owner. he will always want to be hip to hip with you and will complain if you don't wanna.

★ something about denji is that he is a very passionate kisser, he doesn't really know what he's doing but tries his best, kisses will be random >_<.

★ denji is always confessing his love to you so you always know he is there and won't leave you. he knows how it feels to be abandoned and never wants you to go through that.

★ going back to denji acting like a doggy he loves to be treated like one when y'all are having sex, def has a mommy kink, luvs to be with his master ^_^ !!

★ but!! everytime denji sees you he feels a wave of love and compassion falling over himself he doesn't know what to do!! but he thinks it feels right so it's okay!! :3

★ denji gives the best hugs ever!! a bit too tight since he thinks you might run away, but you wont!!

overall he just loves you soso much :((

★ © tojirin ʚɞ 2023

[lordsukunas]

men who dk what to do w their gorgeous gf...

like, genuinely. all hours of the day he contemplates how he managed to get you to speak to him and then date him.

when you two go out on a date? 90% of it is spent with him just staring at your face, admiring every twitch in your expression. that smile, the way your nose wrinkles when you don’t like something, that little crease in your brow when you concentrate or think...

don’t get him started on how flawless your makeup is (if you wear it)! bro will be admiring how glossy your lips are or the length of your lashes or how the color of your eyeshadow perfectly compliments your complexion and outfit.

it’s even worse when you spend the night. he’ll stay up later (or even go as far as to try and sleep with his eyes open) to look at you. he’ll get up earlier, just to watch you sleep, that gentle and consistent rise and fall of your chest.

the compliments are neverending btw. he’s afraid of being too repetitive (in case you think he’s being insincere), so he gets a bit... creative. most of the time it results in you laughing at him — truthfully, that’s way more satisfying than his original goal. other times, you simply don’t get it, which is fine too — your confused expression is adorable.

oh, and when people ask how he somehow made you his?

“man, i don’t even know.”

it’s safe to say he’s absolutely whipped for you <3

isagi, tokimitsu, yuuji, yuuta, gojo (hear me out), higuruma, choso + denji

[ninibeingdelulu]

Cute things he do as your boyfriend

He's a total sweetheart behind that brooding exterior, always finding little ways to shower you with affection even amongst his buddies.

Like how his large, calloused palm will drift up to tenderly ruffle your hair whenever you sidle up beside him. You adore nuzzling into that comforting touch while he tries fighting off the edges of a dopey grin.

Or when you're all piled together chatting and he senses your skirt riding dangerously high. Rather than making a big fuss, he simply angles his body to block any view before smoothly tugging the fabric back into place with the barest ghosting of knuckles skimming along your thigh.

The second you mention feeling even the tiniest pang of hunger, he's springing into action - damn near hauling you bodily out the door if needed.

Next thing you know, you're cozied up in a comfy booth at your favorite low-key diner or parked in front of the glow of some charmingly hole-in-the-wall mom-and-pop joint's neon sign as he patiently waits to order whatever crazy pregnancy craving crosses your mind that day.

Every Friday without fail, he returns home from his deliveries with a fresh, beautifully arranged bouquet clutched behind his back. You squeal in delight as he shyly presents them, ducking his head in that bashful way whenever you pepper his flushed cheeks with grateful kisses.

He'll then sprawl across the sofa, pulling you down to nestle between his spread thighs as you gush about all the latest office gossip making the rounds.

Despite his feigned clueless guy act, he proves he was hanging on every breathless ramble by reciting back the tawdry details word-for-word with a mischievous smirk when you tease about his wandering attention.

And at the end of those idyllic evenings spent tucked up close simply basking in one another's presence, he always envelops you fully in that heavenly warm embrace you crave.

Those broad arms locked snugly around your waist from behind as he nuzzles against your nape, inhaling deep - like somehow your very scent provides the balm allowing his soul to finally unwind completely.

Only then does that last lingering muscle tension bleed out with a contented sigh rumbling past his lips.

"Just keep doing whatever magic this is, love..." His rasping whisper fans over your sensitized skin in the dim glow. "You, here, in my arms each night...that's the closest thing to real peace I've ever known."

cloud strife, megumi fushiguro, rin itoshi, sae itoshi, sasuke uchiwa, aki hayawaka, katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki

[mynotetrash]

not even fanfics helping everything is smut nowadays like DAMN IM NOT IN THE DAMN MOOD

[dadsbongos]

denji is so unused to being in a healthy relationship, he'd be the one asking you stupid questions all the time.

babe, would you love me if i was a worm?

babe, do you actually have a crush on me?

babe, why did you cheat on me in my dream last night?

babe, you made sure to tell that barista you had a boyfriend, right?

he doesn't really realize where all those questions come from nor does he understand why it kinda sorta really stings when you don't answer them straight up. he just gets curious, and that curiosity is so strong it makes his chest pound so hard it clogs his throat.

when you're sleeping or eating or otherwise distracted he just stares and wonders-

"babe, do you- like- like me?"

since the very beginning of your relationship, you slowly learned that laughing off his questions or answering with jokes didn't exactly please him. despite his unserious nature, he was so strangely solemn about these ridiculous questions.

and answers like of course, honey didn't make him happy either. it seemed impossible to answer him, then. until you realized-

"how couldn't i, den'?" you just have to preen him, stroke his hair and kiss his cheek and compliment him, "so funny and handsome. you're the best person i know to talk to."

that makes him smile and nod, pecking your lips, "cool! just checking!"

[bunnykissses]

Hello tumblr, i opened this account because i need your help.

Right now my city Valencia has been flooded with more than 200 people dead and 1900 missing person.

Im going to open commission for fanfics, i will donate 100% of the money to the victims of my city.

These are my rules:

- Scenarios, reactions, headcanons: up to 3 characters > 1€

- Fanfics x reader or both characters: 1€ each 1k words.

- Any genre is okay

- Fandoms i write for: jjk, twst, haikyuu, saiki, aot, tokyo revengers, obey me, chainsaw man, more! (just ask)

- you can pay through paypal or i will send you the link to donate!!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I BEG YOU TO REPOST THIS

[rizsu]

unfortunate situations aki, denji, yoshida | megumi, itadori, toji.

[luv4fushi]

aki has sent you a message!

csm aki hayakawa x fem!reader

some random text messages between you and your boyfriend aki!

content: fluff, established relationship, silly little messages!

who the fuck is abby?

on your period (who has been teaching him this?)

far away work trips make him soft

for my friend @riaki ! sorry this took so long! i hope this isn’t too ooc :)

[mncxbe]

WAKING UP NEXT TO...

Denji. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

is feeling the warm rays of sunshine seeping through the half closed blinds of his bedroom window. Denji's laying on his back, his features melted into a mask of pure content as he snores lightly. the traffic outside doesn't seem to bother him, nor does the light falling right on his face.

still, his fingers sometimes twitch as he holds your hand, a sign he's about to wake up soon. he looks so soft and pretty, completely relaxed among warm sheets and your hastly discarded clothes from last night. slowly rolling to your side as not to wake him, you place your hand on his bare chest.

the cord feels warm against your palm and you twirl it around your fingers as you did so many morning before, waiting for him to wake up. relishing his warmth and closeness.

but nothing compares to the moment when he slowly opens his eyes. his gaze falls on you and you're met with the biggest smile in the world. there's a flash of surprise in his golden-brown eyes before his gaze softens again; it's like he realizes you're actually his every morning he wakes up.

"hey, you" he mumbles sleepily, gently rubbing your shoulder and you smile, propping yourself up on your elbow as you peer down at him. "hey. how'd you sleep"

Denji groans, though it sounds more like a whine and shakes his head "'m never staying up so late" you giggle at his words, unconsciously leaning closer to him. the tips of your hair tickle the sensitive skin of his collarbones and he smiles warmly "guess it's my fault for keeping you up so late"

he hums, nodding in agreement as he closes his eyes but you gently shake him awake, your lips pursing into a pout "we gotta go to work soon, baby" Denji lets out another groan, attempting to steal the blanket and turn to the other side but you manage to hook a finger around the cord in his chest. your boyfriend's eyes shoot open when you give the cord a gentle tug and he yelps, slapping your hand away.

"god, woman, you crazy? stop playing around with that you could get hurt."

despite his words, there's no real threat in his voice, but his grip on your wrist doesn't falter. you giggle, pushing yourself up onto his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. only when your lips meet his does Denji let go of your arm, his hand moving into your tousled hair as he deepens the kiss.

when you pull away you can tell he's wide awake. ruffling his hair, you slowly slide out of bed "come on, get dressed up. i'll make us something to eat" his features visibly relax when you mention the food and he sighs contently. "sounds good, pretty. i'll make the coffee"

Yoshida 𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ

is waking up with his strong arm draped over your ribcage, his hot breath fanning over the back of your neck. it's comforting, safe and you allow yourself to indulge in his warm embrace for a moment before taking your phone from the nightstand to check the time. he's a light sleeper, so he stirs when you move, groaning lightly as he sees you answering some texts.

"what did i say about staying on your phone first thing in the morning?" he mumbles sleepily, languidly reaching for your phone. his fingertips trace down your arm, making goosebumps raise on your skin before he takes the device from your hands and throws it on the other side of the bed.

your pouts and whines fall on deaf ears as he wraps an arm around your waist, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. "Hiro, I was answering an important message"

"your friend and her boy talk can wait" he mumbles, placing slow kisses along the nape of your neck "however, i can't. the sun's not even up, i want my girl to stay with me"

you'd complain, but his deep morning voice has you under a spell. you turn to face him, taking in the view of his pretty face; he truly looks handsome in the soft blue light before sunrise. a hum rumbles in his throat when you toy with his piercings, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "what?" he asks, giving your hip a light squeeze and he can see you shaking your head through half lidded eyes.

"you look handsome when you're sleepy" you blurt out, causing him to chuckle lightly. "nah, you're the beautiful one, pretty girl."

he plays with your hair, letting the silky strands slip between his digits before tucking them behind your ear and closing his eyes. fair enough, you still had at least forty minutes of cuddles and sleep. pulling the duvet over your shoulder, you nuzzle yourself against his chest. Yoshida's scent soothes your soul and you swear you can make out an undertone of your perfume on his skin. you were pretty sure you smelled like him too after spending the whole night in his arms.

[mytheoristavenue]

Aki, Denji, & Power Period Comfort!

Summary: Having four roommates in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment is complicated enough, but it's even worse when you discover you're the only one to have a period.

Warnings: All platonic, fem!reader, period comfort, fluff, takes place just after season one, just three idiots trying their best

🌸 None of you were very enthralled when Makima ordered you to move into Aki's apartment, seeing as it was already overcrowded. He had half a mind to pile you in with Denji and Power, or make you sleep in the living room but Makima convinced him to accommodate you properly. To his dismay, that meant sharing his room with Denji and letting you share with Power.

🌸 As much as you hated the arrangement, you adjusted. Luckily, Power tended to end up sleeping on the floor in a nest of blankets and dirty clothes, cuddled up with her cat, which gave you the bed to yourself most of the time.

🌸 That came especially in handy in times like these. This was the first period you'd had since moving in and it was especially bad. You'd been in terrible pain all morning, curled up with a hot water bottle like it was your lifeline. Luckily, Meowy had sensed your discomfort and came to cuddle with you for a change.

🌸 "Cat thief!" You heard from your roommate as she stirred awake to find her beloved companion's betrayal. "Unhand my darling Meowy!" Yeah, you definitely weren't in the mood for her crap today, lifting the cat, much to it's dismay and setting it on the floor.

🌸 "It came to me, jeez," You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. "Not trying to steal your cat, you psycho."

🌸 Before you knew it, the feral girl was pressing her nose into Meowy's fur in pursuit of something, turning her face to the air, sniffing it as well. "The scent of blood is in the air, did you hurt my cat?" She asked accusingly before giving a smug grin. "I see, you tried to take him and he scratched you, is that it?"

🌸 "No, dipshit, I'm on my period." You groaned, patience already thinner than trace paper. Power gave you the most condescending look she was capable of, explaining that a period was a grammatical symbol of punctuation, not a physical thing you could lay on. You paled, staring at her blankly. "Power, do you not have a menstrual cycle?"

🌸 "Of course not!" She huffed. "Fiends are incapable of organic reproduction! Such is a human weakness!" Great, the only other girl in the house had no clue about girl problems. You went on to explain a few things to her, such as what a period is and why it had you so disgruntled. "Ahh, so that explains your paler complexion, you're suffering from blood loss!"

🌸 If there is only one thing Power understood, its blood and how a lack there of can affect the performance of the body. She thought to herself before getting an idea. "Iron, you need iron!" She decided, scrambling to her feet, darting to the kitchen.

🌸 You couldn't help but laugh. She wasnt not the brightest, especially when it comes to human affairs, but it warmed your heart to see her so eager to help solve your probelm, even if she didn't fully understand it. Just as you were about to get out of bed and see what she was up to, you heard a voice that makes you cringe.

🌸 "Yo, stop pullin' everything outta the fridge, dumbass!" Your shoulders slumped, knowing Power would surely explain her antics to Denji, who you were certain would be disgusted.

🌸 "Unhand that contianer, I'm on the hunt for red meat!" Your roommate shouted, sparking an altercation. "(Y/N)'s life hangs in the balance! She's bleeding out, she needs iron!" Her words seemed to quell his irritation and before you knew it, he'd barged into your room, panic written all over his face.

🌸 "Holy shit, are you dying?!" You couldn't hide your annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose as his eyes scanned you worriedly.

🌸 "I'm not dying, I'm not bleeding out, and my life does not hang in the balance." You grumbled, brow twitching. "I'm just on my period."

🌸 "Oh, gross," The look on your face told Denji he'd made a mistake with that comment and he was quick to backtrack. "I-I mean, uh, it's cool, it's totally natural! I-I think..."

🌸 "You're an idiot." You deadpanned, pointing out the door to usher him out. To your dismay, he came right back with a stale pillow and blanket. He nervously fluffed the naked pillow and shoved it behind your back, spreading the blanket out on top of you. You couldn't stay mad at him, he was trying.

🌸 "Oh shit, periods like- hurt, right?" He thought aloud, leaving again and returning with a bottle of generic painkillers. "Oh wait, you need a drink, uh, hold on." He tossed the bottle at you and scrambled back to the kitchen, before bringing you a soda.

🌸 "Can I have some water instead?" You asked politely, trying to hide your amused smile. He looked between you and the soda can, puzzled.

🌸 "I mean, I guess," He accepted suspiciously. "What, you don't like soda anymore?" Before you can explain to him the link between the pain and the caffeine in the drink, Power bursted into the room, shoving him to the side and pushinng a plate of raw red meat into your lap.

🌸 "You dumbass, humans can't eat raw meat, it's bad for us!" Denji scolded, grabbing the plate and handing it back to her. "You have to cook this shit!"

🌸 "I don't know how to cook!" Power argued back childishly. "Besides, the bloodier the meat, the more iron it will restore to her bloodstream! It has to be raw!"

🌸 "Listen, humans can't digest raw shit like that! If (Y/N) eats that she'll probably die of salmonella or somethin'!" You didn't have the heart to explain that that's not how such a bacteria was passed on, but you did agree that, knowing Power's hygiene habits, she could give you salmonella.

🌸 You groaned, letting them bicker until the front door opened, slamming shut. "Why the hell is my kitchen in shambles right now?" Aki bellowed prompting both of your 'care takers' to scurry away.

🌸 "(Y/N) is dying of blood loss!" Power informed him, urging how dire the situation is.

🌸 "Nuh-uh, dipshit, she's just on the rag." Denji rolled his eyes at her concern.

🌸 "And that means you destroyed my kitchen and piled all the raw beef we had on one plate, why?" Aki narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Mind explaining further?"

🌸 "She has to build up her iron levels!" She growled, irritated that nobody is listening to her expertise. Denji continued to argue, thinking surely, she's full of crap.

🌸 "No, that's actually true," Aki admitted with a heavy sigh, already beginning to clean up her mess. "Red meat contains iron and when you lose a lot of blood, you develope an iron deficiency. Eating iron rich foods help replenish your iron levels faster." He explains, finally putting Power's words in a way the boy would understand.

🌸 "But she just can't eat a fuck ton raw meat!" Denji huffed, more irritated that he was wrong than anything else.

🌸 "Also true," Aki sighed, taking out a skillet and setting it on top of the stove, pulling the plate closer. "Look, I'll take care of this. Denji, go run a hot bath, Power, you go see what kind of products she uses and what snacks she likes."

🌸 Power came back and asks you what you prefered for this time of the month. After both of their tasks are completed, Aki sent them both to the nearest corner store with a specific list of what to buy.

🌸 After they left, he peered into the room calmly. "Denji ran you a bath, go ahead while I make you some food." He suggested kindly tilting his head towards the bathroom. You thanked him, relieved to have someone who sort of understands.

🌸 By the time you got out if the bath, you were much more relaxed, muscles no longer as sore. To your suprise, your fuzziest pajamas were sitting on the sink along with a warm towel. Exiting the bathroom, you realized Denji and Power were back, bags still in hand.

🌸 Aki waved you over to the table, inviting you to sit down with them all. When you did, he served you a portion of broccoli and beef. After lunch, he took the dishes, giving the other pair a chance to pass off what they bought you.

🌸 You didn't miss the pink in Denji's cheeks when he handed you a specific bag, tied off at the top. You correctly guessed that it was the one containing the products you'd asked for. Aki walked back over and sits back down as Power starts to hand you snacks.

🌸 She piles your arms with junk food, decaffeinated drinks, and dark chocolate. "Aki forbade us from buying anything with caffine!" She explained, annoyed, as if the idea was inconvenient for her specifically.

🌸 "Caffine will make you feel worse than your already do." He explained, passing over a still packaged electrical heat pad and a small stuffed bear. "These are just for comfort."

🌸 After spending a bit of time them, thanking them for their help, you decided to curl up in bed and test out the heating pad. You most definitely didn't expect to find your bed with many more blankets and pillows than you'd left it with. It had effectively become a nest of comfort and Meowy was already waiting to do its part in helping you recover. The sight made your eyes water a bit.

🌸 Power had tried to cuddle with you as well, reasoning that her body heat would also help, but Aki quickly shut her down, banishing both her and Denji to the living room. To ensure they left you alone, he sat on the balcony, watching them while blowing through a pack of cigarettes. Though he'd tried not to let on, he was a bit worried about you, texting you frequently as the day drug on. He'd seen you take bullets with less trouble so it was hard to imagine what kind of pain had you doubled over in bed.

🌸 'You okay?' 'Need anything?' 'Idiots being too loud?' He'd silently check up on your throughout the day, never going to physically check unless you'd left him unanswered for longer than an hour. He wanted to let you sleep if you could.

🌸 When you felt better, you were sure to wear your mood outwardly to show them how well their caretaking had worked. You thanked them endlessly in the next few days, always willing to spend time with them to show your gratitude. Power was happy to have you at full strength again, and to once again be the center of her cat's attention. Denji was glad he would no longer be subjected to your mood swings, at least for a while. (also that Power would sneak him some of your snacks after she deemed them unnecessary due to your period ending.) Aki was just relieved to see you felt better, being the 'dad friend' of the house.

🌸 Ranking of how they handled it:

🌸 Power: 7/10

Very willing to help, just clueless of where start. She feels a kinship with you, being the only other girl in the apartment. Blood is her area of expertise, so she knows a surprising amount about what will help on a logical level, she just doesn't really get how to safely put that knowledge to practice.

🌸 Denji: 5/10

Doesn't really care as much as the others, but they're freaking out about it so it must be important! He's mainly concerned with your pain. Knowing he's seen you take some serious blows that left you with little change in demeanor, it makes him a little nervous to see you so pale and dizzy. He doesn't really know how to help, but he's not opposed to learning. He secretly does think it's pretty gross, but when Aki explains he'll have to know this stuff if he ever wants to get a girlfriend, he's a over it.

🌸 Aki: 10/10

Knows exactly what you need, thanks to his experience with the women around him, especially Himeno. She definitely overshares with him enough for him to understand what to do. He knows the fundamentals and is able to steer the other two in the right direction. Very knowledgeable and level headed, but a bit of a worrier. Will text you if you are in the bathroom too long and will remind you to pack products before you leave for work.

Let's face it, me writing for Chainsaw Man was only a matter of time, I've been cooked since the first episode.

[hatsukeii]

冬に死ぬの方がいい (I'd rather die in the winter) / denji x reader

genre(s): strangers to friends to lovers??? not fully lovers yet because it’s at the end so it's like kinda ambiguously romantic ig, angst with a not too angst ending!! hurt/comfort SO heavy on the hurt/comfort omg... also despite the tldr there is no death here like for the most part

warning(s): spoilers up to the end of public safety saga, canon divergent and timeline inaccurate at points because i haven't read csm in AGES, explicit depictions of SA and like near-death poverty because denji actually cannot catch a break um????? no explicit nsfw tho also not fully and completely proofread i will be editing as i go when i spot mistakes

wc: ~6.6k

tldr; dying in the winter doesn't seem so bad after all

Do you know what it feels like to die?

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he thinks he does, as the planks of termite-infested wood and sheets of metal collapse into his shed without warning in the dead of night, the blizzard of winter snow unrelenting in its advances. He dreams of the coldest winter he’s survived, a splinter of decayed, rotting wood knocking him awake from his half-slumber, before crumpled rubbish attacks him from all directions. His arms scramble around Pochita to hunch over his motionless, sleeping body as boulders of wood and rusted metal hammer at his back. Purpled, blistered fingers swat and claw at the rough patterns etched into the planks, skin ripping as Denji crawls into a foot of snow. 

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he curls up against his temporary home- the glass window of a convenience store, too afraid to enter. People come and go, crinkling bags of plastic shrugging into protective arms, parents tugging a little harsher at their children, who point and slobber at his ghastly figure, partners who hold each other’s waists a little closer as they pass.

“What a poor guy.”

“Fuck, that scared me.”

“Is that guy dying or something?”

Dying. Do they know what it feels like to die? 

Denji’s head is hung low when plastic wrap lands on the back of his skull. His fingers, frozen stiff, swipe at the glossy packaging, before a fleeting moment of warmth graces his frozen fingertips. He doesn’t look up to the sound of plastic ripping, or to the hand that slips a heat pack into his arms. He doesn’t look up when someone kneels to his level, and his vision trains further into the ground when they offer him half of a steaming red bean bun in a paper packet beside his body, their eyes peeking through the gap between his knees. 

“Sorry, that’s all I have.” 

He doesn’t make a sound when a bottle is twisted open, doesn’t move when they grab his hands and begin trickling water from their thermos onto his fingers. He only winces as the blisters begin to thaw, steaming as the remnants of wet snow melt beneath his feet. 

“I hope we never meet again.”

Denji only looks up as you turn to depart the store, etching into his mind the person that moves further from him with each step, and the eyes that meet his own, but only between his knees, and the fleeting touch that may have just saved him that night, in the seventeenth winter of his life. The person who had to see his shrivelled, curled up figure, and had to feed his dried, crusted mouth with half a red bean bun that still sits on the ground beside him, and had to touch his bleeding, puss-filled, blistering fingers to thaw them.  

He too thinks he would rather die in the cold of this winter than meet you again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Die, Denji does, but only in the eighteenth spring of his life, when the blisters on his fingers have scarred into hardened skin, and he has found himself a new shed to spend his nights in. He dies with a chainsaw cord through his chest, and it’s a million times less painful than he once believed, at least until the dying pump of Pochita in his heart almost begs for mercy. Suddenly, his chest feels just a little too heavy, and he realises he’s never known how warm blood was until it drowns him in pools of sticky, metallic red. When two strong arms reach out to hold his collapsing body, he’s sure that he knows what it feels like to die. Denji’s limp figure hangs motionless in your grasp, and you frown at the mess of dried blood that paints his toothed head in specks of brown. This is not somewhere safe for him.

Denji opens his eyes with his head in someone’s lap, bumpy roads jolting him awake from his unconsciousness. He stares into the back of the front passenger seat, warm fabric beneath his cheeks as he inhales the air freshener of the car and raises his hands to his eyes. The hardened skin of his fingers seems to have scabbed and fallen off, leaving him with hands more akin to that of a teenager. A normal teenager. He senses something else, something toying with his matted strands of golden hair. Fluttering touches stir and spread on his scalp, a whole palm nuzzling into the top of his head and eliciting a satisfied sigh from his lips. 

“We’ve got another hour to go. Sleep more if you need to.”

There it is, the voice that haunts him in his sleep and chases him in his waking hours. The voice that tells him he did a good job after every hunting gig, snickers with him when he cheats the yakuza out of a sleazy hundred yen coin, lulls him to sleep at night with the promise of bread, and butter, and honey, even some jam. The voice that he remembers all too well, and can’t seem to run from, no matter how hard his mind races. 

His mind freezes, but his body betrays him as his head turns in your direction, vision meeting the full face that hid behind the cover of his knees on that winter day, when he swore he knew how it felt like to die. He once envisioned his death to be silent, frozen in his final breaths into the winter sky. Then, he thought of it as a mess of red, putrid blood flooding his orifices as he drowns in a dumpster of sliced up human remains. Now, by some miracle, he lies in the lap of a familiar stranger, staring back at their gaze that remains unchanged from the one they shot at him between his reddened, shrivelled legs, exactly one hundred and fifty four days ago.  

Denji isn’t completely sure if he knows what dying feels like anymore.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

There is vomit in Denji’s mouth. There are mouthfuls of grainy, soured bile that barge through Denji’s lips as he sits on the ground of a restaurant, arms pulled into his chest. Himeno’s grip on his jaw is unshakeable, no matter how hard he thrashes and gargles, doing anything he can to separate himself from her. She pulls him closer to her as she continues spewing all the food she’s consumed throughout the day into his throat, and his eyes dart toward you, who grimace in disgust at the horrific scene that ensues before your very eyes. 

Do you know what it feels like to die while still breathing?

Denji wants to die. He wants nothing more, than to really die here on the ground, somebody else’s vomit spilling from the corners of his mouth. Yet the way your eye twitches at his pathetic attempts to free himself, and the wandering of your gaze between Himeno, who just refuses to let go, and Denji, who can’t seem to force her off, sends him to the depths of hell before he’s even lost consciousness. There is no empathy in your gaze, only disgust. Denji once thought that having to touch his frostbitten, rotting body in the winter was the most shameful thing that he could put you through. He thinks this is tenfold worse. He glues his eyes shut, praying for this all to be over, and just misses the slam of your soda can into the wooden table, and the shuffling of your feet towards the combined bodies of himself and Himeno. The weight of Himeno’s suffocating grip lightens, and Denji is just able to wriggle out of her grasp, before he’s falling again and his head hits the ground. 

You watch the pool of puke that spreads beneath Denji’s cheek, seeping into his hair and sticky with bile and spit. Himeno babbles on, half a jug of beer in hand, and eight empty ones in front of her. You wince, tugging at Denji’s sleeve. He is motionless, blacked out, and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. How did he, of all people, end up here? You look around at the people that surround the table, all of which bear lines of jagged scar tissue beneath the rolled up cuffs of their shirt sleeves, across the skin of their faces, along their huffing chests. You touch the scar on your shoulder through your shirt, scratching at it through the fabric. The itch does not fade, gradually becoming more and more intangible, yet so obviously present. This is not a place for people like Denji, or you, or anybody with half a will to live. If eighteen years of training and living under the public safety sector has taught you anything, it is that you never want to be near this place. You did not save Denji’s life last winter for him to let something as wretched as this line of work ruin it once again. You did not reminisce about him on the way home, half a red bean bun in hand, praying that he might find solace in this perverted world, only to have him return to the root of all things depraved. You did not scream for three days straight, the speech devil clawing open the skin of your esophagus at every breath you took, just to watch him jump into the stomach of another devil, giving up whatever little shred of sanity he had left. 

Your hands come up to form shapes, fingers twisting and jabbing at each other in sentences of sign. 

Makima, should I take him home with me to Aki’s?

“I’ll taaaaaaaake him…!” 

For somebody who is clearly far gone, Himeno is quite perceptive of what others around her are planning. Makima smiles, waving you off, and you frown. Grabbing your soda, you leave the restaurant without a word. Nobody else follows.

In the eighteenth spring of Denji’s life, he wakes up in a bed for the first time. His body sinks into the soft, linen sheets that cover the plush mattress, and there’s a weight that sits comfortably above his chest. He isn’t sure what it is, yet it wraps around his sweaty body like a cloud, threatening to lull him into slumber against the midnight that settles in a blanket of blue and ribbons of silver through lidded blinds. He does not want to die here. For once, Denji decides that he will bask in the rare warmth of a quilt on his chest, and the smoothness of silky fabric beneath his arms, his body finally relaxing after eighteen years of endless running, reluctant hunting, cold slumber on planks of wood and chewed up, moulding mattresses. That is, until, a familiar body crawls onto him from where his feet lie.

“Hey… Denji.” He freezes, the bed transforming into a bed of nails and pinning him down like needles that stab through fragile, fluttering wings of butterflies on framed planks of wood.

“Wanna sleep with me?” Himeno’s hand comes up to hold Denji’s cheek, creeping impossibly close to his flushed chest. 

This is what he wanted, right? Every night, as Pochita drifted to sleep on Denji’s shrivelled chest, he would tell him that getting laid would be the greatest honour of his life, wouldn't he?

But Denji wants to scream and cry, until his throat goes hoarse and his ribs crack under the pressure from the sheer exertion of his lungs. Himeno comes even closer now, and he can smell the bitter beer and putrid puke that laces her mouth. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. He can’t speak either, as her lips begin to pepper across his face, and along the shaft of his neck. Her kisses send his throat in a frenzy, panicked wheezes and groans vibrating into her mouth as she takes his Adam's apple in an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t breathe, and his legs won’t move to save him as her saliva dribbles down his neck, into his frantically heaving chest. Denji is frozen in place as Himeno peels off her sheer shirt, and he almost chuckles dryly, the concussion from before throbbing at the side of his skull. Safety? Comfort? A roof over his head, a house that won’t collapse even from the strongest of winds, a place to sleep in that won’t end up twisting his back? How audacious. Who is he kidding?

Denji thinks he should have just chosen to die when he woke up in this bed. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The day that Makima catches wind of Denji’s incident with Himeno is the day that he is moved to Aki’s residency. At the click of a key turning in a lock, you walk out of your room groggily to see a figure in the dark, who drops a half-empty duffel bag onto the ground at the doorway. Denji shrugs backwards as you flick the lights on, arms coming up to cover his eyes. The flat is warm, smells that he doesn’t know wafting into his twitching nose as he removes his hands from his vision to look around. You stare at Denji, who wanders around the kitchen counter, eyes searching every surface for something, anything. 

“We have leftover curry, if you want it.”

There’s that familiar voice again, calling out to him, offering him food, and safety, and a roof over his head. He turns to you, and you nudge your head towards the fridge, hands in the pocket of your hoodie. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t make a sound, or say a word. He simply glides towards the fridge, pulling it open and rummaging the racks for a plate of leftover curry rice. The clanks and clinks of glass dishes on plastic stirs the Hayakawa residence awake, Power swinging the door to your shared room wide open as the handle slams into the wall with a thud. Aki’s room remains closed, but you hear an abrupt hiccup from the other side of the door.

“What is this thing doing here! Why is it taking my food!”

“He needs food, Power. Plus, it’s not even yours. Go back to sleep.”

“No!”

Power huffs, and you forcefully shove her into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking the lights back off. Denji unwraps cling wrap from the dish, balling it in his fist and tossing it aside as he searches for a spoon, metal utensils clashing against each other in wooden cabinets as his impatient fingers sift through forks, and knives, and chopsticks. Upon finding one, he travels to the couch, where you are sitting with your legs manspread lazily. The black screen of the television reflects the two of you on the couch; Denji’s tired arms reeling spoonfuls of cold curry and meat into his mouth, and you watching him eat, hands clasped and elbows propped up on your thighs. He lets each bite linger on his tongue for a little longer than it has to, savouring this new sensation of proper food in his mouth. Then, he wipes his mouth on his rolled-up sleeve, and sniffles at the realisation that his stomach is no longer throbbing and growling dully.

“Do you want to sleep?”

Denji doesn’t respond. He thinks you have hidden away the last two words to that question. He would rather die than hear confirmation of it.

“You can take my bed if you want. I can take the sofa for now.”

He doesn’t get up from the couch. Instead, he drops the spoon onto the empty plate, and feels his body tip sideways. His head lands in your lap again, the same way it did in the company car, on the day that he died for the first time. Your arms shoot up to accommodate him, body tensing as his hair hits your leg. He sighs, small snores eliciting from his nose as he passes out on you, still clad in his work suit. You tug the windsor knot of his tie loose, before running your fingers through his blonde locks, and rolling your head back over the edge of the couch. You can only take a guess at what happened with Himeno the night before that rendered him so unresponsive. So unlike the brash, boisterous version of him that beamed at Himeno’s offer of a french kiss, before having puke forced into his mouth. You cringe at even the thought of it, taking note of Denji’s little hums in his slumber, limp arms hanging off the couch and feet dangling off the edge. Swiping a thumb across his lip, you collect the curry that remains around his mouth, and he jolts unconsciously in his sleep, before relaxing against you again. Wind whistles past the glass windows of the living room, and it’s almost as if Denji shivers at the sound of coldness, even if it is blocked by the four walls that surround him. Your hand on his head moves to cradle his jaw, which shifts periodically as he breathes in, and breathes out. You hope that he can stay like this forever.

Another hiccup sounds from Aki’s room, Power kicks and flails at blankets in muffled thumps.

You bring your other hand to your mouth, parting your lips against your thumb to take a first taste of the untouched plate of curry that was supposed to be your dinner.  

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“She even touched my shoulder! My shoulder, guys!”

On a windy night of Denji’s eighteenth autumn, he beams at the dinner table, grains of rice spewing from his stuffed mouth as his chopsticks wave and swing in the air. He hits you in the face, a piece of limp spinach slapping onto your cheek from his utensils, and Power screeches, jagged teeth bared in her maniacal laughter. You side eye him, picking the vegetable off your face and silently shoving more rice into your mouth. You’ve noticed the skip in Denji’s step upon his return to the Hayakawa residence, the dusty blush that lines his cheeks as he grabs at the fabric of his shirt around the shoulders, and sniffs it, the bashful giggles he gives himself when he waves you off for asking him what’s got him in such a good mood. Knowing your line of work, that won’t last, no matter how hard you try to speak it into existence. 

“Yeah, she touched your shoulder. We get it.”

“No no no, you don’t. I think she likes me! Like, really likes me!”

Denji slams his hands onto the coffee table now, shooting up to defend his proclamation of love on behalf of some random girl. You sigh, opting for a piece of beef from the plate in front of you. On your tongue is soft meat, savoury sauce, sour, putrid dread. Aki shoots you a glance from across the table. He watches your eyes widen for just a glimpse of a second, and nods, a mutual understanding clearly reached between you two. You take a fistful of Denji’s shirt, yanking him back down to ground level, and he pouts as you shove bundles of spinach and ladles of sauce into his bowl. He bites his thumb, gnawing and nibbling as his chopsticks pick aimlessly at his meal.

“Stop biting your finger, Denji. That’s gross.” You grab his wrist and pull his thumb out of his mouth.

“Nah, I made a promise to Makima.”

“Makima?”

Aki chews on his rice silently at your question. Denji stares at his nail, jagged and peeling from biting on it constantly. 

“She’s the one for me. That’s why she told me to remember how it feels when she bites my thumb.”

At that, your palm makes contact with the back of his head, knocking it forward. Denji wheezes, the wind knocked out of his windpipe at your sudden attack. Aki shovels individual grains of rice into his mouth, clearing his bowl. Power joins in your antics, hands chopping at his body even after you’ve stopped to glare at him. She gets bored of your inaction quickly, scratching her ass as she leaves the table for the shared room. Denji’s eyes are trained onto his bowl, the food looking less and less appetising by the second. 

“She did what?”

Denji stretches his palm in front of his face, inspecting it as if it was some antique object. His chest sinks, feeling your eyes burn holes into the side of his head. Makima promised him love, and sex, and everything he has ever wanted. He isn’t sure why it seems so wrong to you. You once told him you wanted him to find someplace safe, no? Where do you think he would be, if not for Makima bringing him in on that fateful spring day?

“Well, she let me cop a feel because she cares about what I want. Even said she’d grant me any wish if I got the gun devil.”

“She does not care about you, Denji!”

Denji scowls, hands waving erratically as he searches for his words. Aki leaves for the kitchen sink silently, the sound of running water serving as a backdrop to your wordless fury. You slam your hands onto his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. His eyes meet yours, and he sees something that Makima, that other girl from today, Himeno, Power, Aki, none of them have shown him before. Desperation. Fear. Worry. 

“You know what? Go back to that girl you met in the phone booth. Do what you want, just don’t get me roped into your shit. And remember, I told you so.”

You shove him away, retreating into the shared room. That night, Denji sleeps on the couch instead of you. He doesn’t think about the girl from the phone booth, or Makima. He dreams about the day that you thawed his frostbitten fingers outside a convenience store, the day that had him thinking he knew what it meant to die, but really had no grasp on it. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Denji learns the taste of flowers in the eighteenth autumn of his life, when he shoves an entire bouquet of them into his mouth in a cafe. The petals turn into mush on his tongue as he chews and swallows them. He waits for some girl that tried to bite his tongue off and murder him two days ago, sitting alone on a bar seat in a bustling coffee shop. Stares and murmurs ensue behind his back, couples and friends alike glancing at his pathetic figure that waits for a fabricated promise, flowers stuffed in his mouth. He tastes the bitterness of the flowerbuds, the type of bitterness that seeped through his veins when she kissed him, and ripped his tongue from his mouth. The type of bitterness that he can’t seem to fully carry, even after she tried to blow him up. The type of bitterness that is covered by the sweetness of flora, which somehow still makes its way through to his sinuses. Like recollections of how she showed him how to swim, laughed at his awful jokes, taught him to read and write, and turned all shades of red and pink at his flirtations. Rose-tinted recollections of a military trained spy, whose very purpose was to blush on command, laugh on command, lure him into emotional investment, before biting his tongue off, slashing his wrists open, and ripping his heart out of his chest. 

He doesn’t like the way these flowers taste. He throws the half-eaten bouquet onto the ground of the cafe, and pushes his way out of the shop. 

When Denji returns home, you are squeezing whole bottles of throat medicine into your mouth on the living room sofa. He points at his throat, and pretends to pull a pin from his neck. You nod, clawing at the air around your throat. He shoots you a thumbs up, unsure what to say as he faces the consequences of his fortunate victory against the bomb hybrid from the night before. You wave him off, eyes never meeting him as you mouth, it’s fine, I’ll be good. From across the living room, he catches the blood that coats your entire bed of teeth, the dark, deadly shade of crimson splattered across your lips. He hears your screams again, and again, and again, as he stands in the doorway. Blood curdling commands coming one after the other, he can almost feel his throat rip open with every word, taste the blood that you cough up after finishing the bottle of throat medicine. 

Walking towards the couch, he plops down beside you, his weight creating a dip in the soft fabric. You pretend to pull a pin at your throat, and point at Denji, who sighs hopelessly. You falter, brows furrowing at his disappointment. For the weeks leading up to today, Denji had not removed himself from Reze- some unknown girl he met in a telephone booth. He had beamed about his advances to you- namely regurgitating a saliva coated flower from his mouth magically, and you had listened patiently, fists gripped by your sides. He told you he wanted to run away with her, after all this mess and carnage was over, only for her to become the root of another senseless massacre. Your hands move to form shapes, sign language that Denji has picked up on throughout the past months of living and working alongside you. His skills are scarce, yet he just makes out what you are asking.

Beach, girl, run?

He shakes his head, back hunching in defeat. She didn’t care about his heart, only the Chainsaw devil’s. Even her blushes and laughs were rehearsed to perfection. 

“She didn’t show up to the cafe anyways.”

You frown, hitting Denji’s chest with the back of your palm, eyes still not meeting his own. He bites his thumb, and you slap his hand away from his mouth without even looking. Signing furiously, your fingers contort into a flurry of shapes. Shapes that Denji can barely decipher, but understand just enough to feel your disdain. 

No biting… unbelievable. Makima, Reze. Gross... 

Denji smiles weakly, wiping his thumb on his blood-stained uniform. Your teeth are bared until the tips of your canines just peek through the opening of your lips, before you retract them and gnaw your bottom lip meekly. He takes in the corners of your worried eyes and irked brows, and he thinks that even Pochita feels a little guilty in the way that his chest seems to beat agonisingly with every pang, like a nail burying itself into his heart at each pump. You punch his shoulder, finally taking a good look at his haggard figure, before reaching for another bottle of medicine and twisting the cap open with a click. You gargle and cough at each swallow, splatters of blood spitting into a white tissue from your throat at each sound you make. Suddenly, Denji wishes he didn’t throw the flowers away at the coffee shop. Maybe a few petals could ease the pain too, because he’s sure it’s the petals he ate that are making him feel a blooming warmth in his chest right now.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Plus, you saved my life out there yesterday. So, thanks.”

You smile at him with your lips pursed, and Denji hopes that he doesn’t die before you find your voice again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the beginning of Denji’s eighteenth winter, he slashes a chainsaw through Makima’s body. He watches her cut up, mutilated organs fall to the ground, throwing the chainsaw next to them. There is no pity, or rage, or overwhelming sadness. All he can do is stare, coated head to toe in her blood. He takes her skin, and bones, and organs in a plastic bag, inhales blood that smells akin to rat shit and bile. He walks into a new apartment, devoid of the Hayakawa name that was once engraved into the tin mailbox of his old home. It is empty, no one greets him on the couch as he walks in. 

He throws the bag of remains onto the counter of his new kitchen, bought with the money left in Aki’s will. He’s sorry, he thinks, because he doesn’t feel anything right now. Not anger, not worry, not fear. Aki is dead. Power is dead too. He should feel something, at the very least for you, who was wheeled onto an ambulance as he picked up the remains of Makima with his bare hands. 

Denji eats dinner alone at his new coffee table, also bought with the money from Aki’s will. He shuts his eyes, and pretends that Power is bickering with him. He can almost hear her frenzied shouts, feel her hands slap his back, and his head, and his chest. Aki should be sitting across the table, sipping his tea mindlessly, or lighting a cigarette and filling the room with nicotine. He shoves Makima’s flesh into his mouth, swallowing without so much as chewing on it. The idea that he is shovelling human flesh into his stomach while fully human makes his skin crawl and stomach flip. He wants to throw up. His eyes water at the grooves and fibres in the meat that etch themselves into his tongue. 

He squeezes shut his eyes even harder now, instead envisioning you beside him. You, who force strings of vegetables into his meals at dinner. You, who speak only when needed, and rarely in sentences that drag on for more than you deem the need to, and showed him how to live on with half a red bean bun and a thermos. He has never known the curves of your body like the rest of his prospects, never thought to try and learn them either. He doesn’t know of your past, or your present either, really. 

Despite that, you know the shrivelled figure of his past, his habit of thumb biting, his fear of sharing a bed, his disdain for spinach over any other vegetable. And when you spat at him, I told you so, you were right. Himeno wanted him to fuel some petty, one-sided feud. Reze ripped his tongue out of his mouth, only to apologise, before snapping his neck and leaving him in the dust. Makima, the one who swore to give him sex, and love, and safety, and purpose, everything he could have ever wanted, binded him in a dog’s collar so he could watch as she tore Power in half from the torso. All Power wanted was to give him a cake. 

You confuse him to no end, but something sits between the two of you for certain. Something that shrouds his heart in a warm glow, one that almost calls out at him to keep it there. A glow that creeps up to his mouth when you can’t speak, threatening to spill out of his lips and into yours so he can heal you, for once. But the glow always seems to turn into poison that leaks back down his throat. He swallows his words, bites his lip, bites his own fingers. He doesn’t know how it feels to die, only because you’ve shielded him from it all along.

The remains of Makima have been consumed. Denji throws the plates and bowls into the sink carelessly, his chopsticks following suit. When he swings open his cabinet to two new boxes of throat medicine, he can’t help but stare at his purchase. He really only had you in mind when he filled the cabinets of his new apartment with the only familiar thing a grocery store could offer. Maybe he should give you a visit soon.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the eighteenth winter of Denji’s life, you learn that he is afraid of living. Your backs against the sheets of your hospital bed, the two of you stare at the ceiling light that blinks periodically, just as it has for the past week that you’ve been here for. Its flickers have gradually become more erratic than the days before. You stare at the familiar cracks that spread from beneath the light bracket towards the rest of the ceiling, arms behind your head. 

“Does it still hurt to talk?”

“Just a bit.”

He hums in understanding, continuing his aimless staring. The hospital television whirs in static and vague sounds of people speaking behind the two of you, and you shift in place, the bed sheets wrinkling and shuffling beneath your body. 

“Can I tell you something?”

You nod wordlessly.

“I’m starting to think I can’t live anymore. Like this whole devil thing has made me less…human, I guess.”

“Why?”

Denji clicks his tongue, hissing a sharp inhale through his teeth. 

“I don’t really see the point in touching tits, or having sex anymore, you know? Like, all those things that I thought I wanted so badly, they didn’t make me feel how I wanted to. But then, I’m not sure how to live. Shouldn’t I live so someone can love me? Is that not what everyone lives for?”

You glance at him, the messy blonde hair that presses into the mattress, lousily tucked white shirt that creases around the waist, eyes that once were zealous turned tired, unfeeling. You pull one hand out from beneath your head, the one that doesn’t have an IV drip attached to your index finger. It travels to Denji’s crossed arms, untangling them from each other so you can grab at his hand. His fingers are unresponsive until you give him a squeeze, then another, then a third, and they finally relax against your own. He turns, meeting the eyes that peeked through his knees in his seventeenth winter. Eyes that look at him with worry, whether he is sitting at a dinner table, beaming about some girl whose flirtations have blinded his rationality, or if he is curled up against the glass door of some convenience store at midnight, breath stagnant and frozen in the winter air. 

“Do you think they loved you, Denji?”

His vision travels to the mattress beneath him. He thinks they did, or maybe they didn’t, or it was somewhat in between love and indifference, or whatever that’s supposed to feel like.

“I don’t know. They all wanted chainsaw man’s heart. But nobody wanted mine, you know? Nobody ever wanted Denji’s.”

You give his hand another squeeze, and he feels another pang in his chest. This is what it feels like to die, Denji thinks. Not blood gushing from his chest, or being frozen solid as people walk past his crouched body, but knowing that his efforts to become worthy of appreciation have only amounted to being used for his power. This is what it feels like to die, a hollow boy with nothing left in his chest but a devil that pumps blood for him. Even his heart is a contract that he has to follow. 

“I didn’t save you a year ago today for you to think that, Denji.”

Your weak elbows try to prop your body up to look at him from above, before they collapse back into the mattress and elicit a hiss of pain from your mouth. It’s by some miracle that you’re even alive right now, and that your throat has healed enough to make out short sentences. Short proclamations like this, that you’ve waited so long to make. Denji catches your fall, a palm cushioning your elbow. His hand is still in yours as he shifts to look at you properly. 

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to know?”

He opens his mouth, and his scrambled words get caught in his throat. So, he nods, the bags beneath his eyes relaxing. You let go of his hand, instead running your fingers along his chest and laying your palm flat on his heart. It beats in rhythmic thumps, steadily pulsing on the lines of your hand. 

“What are you feeling right now?”

Denji’s mind is a jumbled mess, yet he can clearly tell what he is feeling. “Warm.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Your hands move to the back of his head, scratching and rubbing at his scalp with the pads of your fingers. Denji leans into your touch, eyes still trained onto your own. His heart continues to beat steadily, and he feels something building up around it. Something that has his breaths getting heavier, and his vision of you becoming even clearer than it already is. 

“What does this feel like?”

“Nice.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Your hand makes its advance to his cheek, cradling it gently. Dusty pink scatters across his face, and Denji has to remember to breathe. In, out, in, out. Your thumb swipes across the dark bag beneath his eye. He thinks this is bliss, so unlike the drooling, panting mess he used to be for Makima, or the bumbling, fake persona he played up for Reze. He is more sober than ever, and his hand hovers over your body. He doesn’t want to just cop a feel. He wants to touch every inch of skin that you inhibit, trace over whatever scars you might have accumulated from the trials of time, plant kisses wherever you want him to, whenever you want him to. 

“What does this feel like?”

“Can you stay like that?”

“Sure.”

He reaches for your wrist, holding onto it like a lost boy in a crowd. His fingers feel for smoothed scar tissue in your palm, around your knuckles, on your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his face to take a look at the lines that etch themselves into your skin, lips hovering just above your fingers.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod. He starts on the scar of your palm, one that you earned during a fight in the early days of your work. He kisses the fleshy scar that slashes across your hand, peppering along its length. 

“Can I keep going?”

“Yeah, keep going Denji.”

His head dips to the faint white lines that decorate your arm, from your wrist to the connection between your forearm and bicep. His hair tickles the sides of your arm as fluttering kisses plant themselves into each poisoned, torn open line of your skin. You squirm, hospital gown coming loose on one shoulder as the cool air of the room hits the scar that reaches from your shoulder to the dip between your collarbones. Denji notices, and pulls your arm away from him.

“Can I?”

You wince, the scar beginning to itch and throb.

“Please, do it.”

His fingers trace along the jagged scar, before he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, and moves along to the centre of the dip just above your chest. You roll your head back to give him space, and he kisses up your neck and onto your jaw. He’s inexperienced, nose bumping into your flesh when he comes up to look at you again. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you answer his question for him as you pull him into you. The glow in his heart rushes from his chest to his mouth, but his teeth bump into yours, and you pull away. It tastes like your blood, the blood that has saved his life more times than he can count as you rip your throat open for him. He wants to taste it again as much as you want him to.

“What does that feel like?”

Denji knows what it means to die now, but he thinks he’s starting to understand how to live too. If this day, in the eighteenth winter of his life, is what dying and being reborn feels like, he would rather die in the winter when his time comes.

“I think it feels like love.”

author's note:

guys this took SO LONG i really do not have what it takes to do a longfic in 2 days anymore after that tsukishima one... but im so proud of this tho like i had so much fun writing it and i love my baby boy denji so much omg also wishi i am so sorry it took this long to come out but i hope you like it sososoosososososos much

anyways tags!!

@wishi-selfships @staraxiaa @kuroppiii @akaakeis @iiwaijime @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @catsoupki @wyrcan

[jumexju]

MOTHER I SOBER

Pairings !! : Denji / GN Reader

Fic Type !! : Reverse Comfort, Comfort, Angst, Fluff

CW !! : Mentions of SA, Reader is implied to be a survivor of SA, Description of disassociation (denji) in the beginning, SPOILERS FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN'T READ THE MANGA

Summary !! : You comfort Denji after he breaks down.

Note !! : I just wanna give that boy a hug, do not read if you're sensitive to any of the aforementioned content warnings.

✦ MASTERLIST

His vision blurred.

He was there, but not there. 

He saw, but he wasn’t seeing.

His vision blurred.

His ears were hearing, but he wasn’t listening. 

He could feel, but he wasn’t feeling. 

His. Vision. Blurred. 

Soft cooes of, ‘you’ll be okay’ streamed into his non-listening ears. Soft fingers were felt on his scalp as they lightly caressed through his yellow tresses. Soft eyes set on him as he cried through his blurry vision. “..It hurts.” His words came out meekly. No matter how desperately he wanted to move, to go away and hide in a hole forever — He simply had no energy to do so. He was paralyzed. 

Paralyzed in his confusion. 

“I’m here for you,” These words, he did hear.

“Are you?” He bitterly asked. ‘How could you possibly be here for him if you knew nothing of the way he felt?’ That’s what he thought, despite feeling your touch become softer — If that was even possible. “You don’t even know what I feel, hell- I barely know how I feel..”  His words dripped with self-doubt. They dripped with the bone-crushing confusion that he felt.

“I know,” You began, your fingers still in his hair, “-because I’ve been there too.” 

His vision cleared, he was here. “You were..?” 

“Assaulted? Yes, I was.” you confessed to him, hoping he didn’t feel as alone as he clearly did feel. “You’re not alone in what you’re feeling and you’re valid, too.” You gazed down at him with eyes of understanding. 

“Assaulted..? But i’m a guy- I asked her to-” 

“It can happen to anyone.” You cut him off, shutting down his stigmatized beliefs. “Guys too. -And if you had wanted it, you wouldn’t be feeling confused about whether or not you liked it.” 

His head lifted off of your thighs, he wanted to face you this time. “.. I came in her hand- isn’t that proof that I liked it?” 

“No, it’s a bodily reaction.” You gazed into his honey eyes, hoping to help him process it. You knew what to do because you wished someone had been there for you the way you were now here for him. “If you had liked it, you wouldn’t be feeling this torn up about it Denji,” Your words were soft. As if you had all the answers. “What happened to you was assault because she did it even when you told her you didn’t consent to it anymore.. You were violated.” 

“But I..” He looked down at his feet, his back propped up against the wall as he sat next to you. Sorrowful tears spilled down his cheeks, he didn’t want to accept it. But he knew you were right. He knew that deep down he didn’t want Asa to do that. He knew deep in his being that it hurt just like when Makima had done it first. 

You rubbed his back as you watched him process the event before leaning over to envelope him in a hug. A hug that spoke all the feelings you couldn’t put into words. “It's okay Denji, you’re not alone..” You reminded him while you felt his hands slowly come up to return your hug. 

“Why does this keep happening to me..?” He cried quietly into your shoulder, his wobbly voice asking a desperate question. But for this one, you didn’t have an answer.. Because you wondered why it had happened to you as well. So you gave him the best answer you could muster up. 

“Sometimes.. There are just people out there who want to do harm to others without a reason..” You spoke quietly, “There are bad people out there- just like how there are good people.” 

“Every girl I've ever liked — they pulled shit like this.. I just don’t know what to do anymore..” He sounded so hopeless and it broke you to see him like this. It hurt even more because you had been there too. “I don’t know who to trust..” 

You pulled apart from him just slightly, looking at him with a determined expression. “You don’t have to trust anyone.” You held his cheeks in your hands, “Trust is earned, it’s not automatically given to everyone just because they claim to be on your side.” 

He blinked a bit and wiped his tears, the skin under his eyes was red and irritated. “Can I trust you?” 

“That’s up to you,” you smiled warmly.

For so long, Denji thought that what he wanted most in life was sex. He thought that he could die happy if he had a girlfriend that loved him. The only problem was that he thought love meant sex — and that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Because love was you.

Love was someone that didn’t hurt him like Makima, Himeno or Asa. Love was understanding. Love was patient. 

Just like you. 

[toji-bunny-girl]

Can u pls make a fic about roommate!reader (preferably fem) seeing denji come home a mess and offering to bathe him??🙏🙏🙏 can be fluff or smut but i just think the idea of denji getting taken care of after sm bad experiences would be so wholesome!!! Maybe he cries too idk

bestie I gotchu 🤩

His shoulders dropped with an exhale when he saw you, dirt and dried blood flecked across his face when your eyes fell upon him. The signs of weariness dragged down his features as he threw his bag aside and flopped onto the couch. 

“Take a bath with me?”

You had offered it out of the blue, and Denji was too exhausted to register your words—nodding in a daze before you guided him to the bathroom, taking off his mud-stained clothes for him. 

His senses were blurred when you led him into the bathtub, the warm water still running as he sat, back facing you. He doesn’t look like he’s ready to speak, nor react to fuzzy flashes of time; you didn’t bother to question his thoughts. 

Your fingers teasingly danced from his arm down to his abdomen, his skin tensing from your fluttering touches. His energy doesn’t quite meet yours when you lightly chuckle at his reaction, almost as if his mind has drifted far from the current of time. Your bodily warmth mingled, but there was no connection underneath your flesh. 

You mused over his uncharacteristic silence, the dorky boy you were used to would be battling an angry boner by now, stammering over his sentences with a crimson face. There was a limit to how much succour you could provide, the worldly ones to the seemingly vacant body of his.

His form jolted in surprise when your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, your touch running the sides of his shaft as blood raced through his vessels, pumping his half-hardened size.

“Just relax,” your voice drifted into his ears like mist, hazy and soft, blending into the splashing of the water. And he slipped back into your body in the wake of your words. “Good boy,” a shade of red lightly dusted his cheeks when your other hand pushed his golden hair back, guiding his head against your shoulder. 

You watched his lips part as his breaths got choppier from the way your fingertips teased his slit, his nerves gradually tingling violently before your fist fell to the base of his shaft. He let out a groan when you continued to pump his cock hard, your wrist twisting as your fingers tightened around his length. 

Your finger loosely swiped over his tip while you stroke his cock, the weight of his head pushing into your chest as his face tensed from the butterflies that fluttered in his belly. He was getting closer to his release, his face flushed red from the arousal-filled blood that pumped beneath his flesh and his hips jaggedly thrust into your fist.

A whimper left his lips as you lazily jerked him off, and you pasted a kiss onto his hot cheek, enjoying the scene as he slowly fell apart in your hands. “Cum for me. Hm, pretty?” your silky whisper lured a heavy wave of pleasure from the depths of his core, his breath shuddered and his back arched as a rope of semen shot from his twitching cock.

Both of your eyes remained closed as he sloppily sucked your lips, craning his neck to reach the inside of your cavern. You let his tongue idly dance with yours, your nails softly scraping against the sensitive skin of his thighs. 

[ninibeingdelulu]

Kiss, kiss, kiss me !

Your brilliant smile stretched wide enough to crinkle the corners of your eyes as the two of you walked side-by-side.

A light, cheerful giggle bubbled up from your chest while you glanced sidelong at his trademark stormy scowl knitting his brows together.

You playfully bumped his shoulder with yours.

"Aww, what's got my grumpy boyfriend looking so serious this fine afternoon?"

He merely responded with one of his customary indecipherable grunts, cutting those intense irises across your beaming expression.

His lips pressed into a flat line, wordlessly daring you to try dispelling the pensive furrow etched deeper between his brows.

Well, if that's how he wanted to play this game...

Pivoting abruptly on your heel, you leaned in and aimed a fleeting peck directly onto the sharp cut of his cheekbone before he realized your intent.

Rocking back with a fresh peal of laughter, you clasped both hands behind your back and met his suddenly wide-eyed stare with teasing, half-lidded bedroom eyes.

"Here, if that can help you smile" you crooned cheekily.

"Now how 'bout returning the favor, hm?"

The muscle in his jawline flexed almost imperceptibly as he watched you with that carefully neutral mask in place.

Then, exhaling a soft huff through his nose, he leaned in slightly while lifting one calloused fingertip beneath your chin to redirect your face towards his.

The very barest whisper of warm breath caressed over your neck as he abruptly ducked closer to ghost the fleetest imprint of kiss against the sensitive hollow of your pulse point.

Your entire body's reaction was instantaneous - knees quivering dangerously while delighted tingles erupted outward from that single scorching point of contact.

As quickly as he'd closed the charged distance, he instantly stepped back.

Only the slightest telltale tinge high on his sculpted cheekbones indicated he registered the awestruck, breathless expression you shot his way.

"There," he replied flatly without missing a beat, already resuming that unhurried stride down the compound pathway. "Happy now ?"

Your squeal of unbridled delight and excitement rang out across the entire courtyard as you scurried along in his wake like an over-eager pup.

He released the softest scoff under his breath, fighting to maintain any hint of severity across his features despite the tiny upwards twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"Tch...wipe that stupid grin off your face when you’re around the others, understand ?" he muttered without any real venom.

Naturally, this only made you double over howling with fresh peals of laughter all over again.

levi ackerman, megumi fushiguro, ryomen sukuna, rin itoshi, sae itoshi, sasuke uchiwa, aki hayawaka, katsuki bakugo

[totorolaughs]

could you write a drabble/ fic abt baking with denji? ty and have a good morning/night!

BAKING WITH DENJI warnings: fluff, gender-neutral reader,suggestive(?), reader gets called 'handsome' (1), no beta read, spelling/grammar mistakes will be fixed, ooc denji(? I tried my best) REQUESTS : OPENED - CLOSED

Denji used to not be a big fan of baking or even cooking for that matter until he met you, you were always cooking and baking for him. He remembered when you made him a cake and a batch of cookies for his birthday which almost made him start crying since no one had ever done that for him. . It was when Denji was watching TV when he began to smell the yummy scent of your baking. He went to investigate what you were doing in the kitchen. You stood in the kitchen with an apron wrapped around your waist as you grabbed a bowl that had the cake batter already as you began to pour it into a round cake pan. You didn't notice him until you felt his arms wrap around you as he rested his chin on your head.

Your body jolted when you realized it was just Denji.

“Don't scare me like that, Denji!” he ignored your small complaint by asking you a question “Whatcha doin’?” He asked.

“I’m just baking a cake” you smiled softly as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his eyes sparked as he looked at you with a smile, if he had a tail it would definitely be wagging side to side.

“Can I help decorate it, pleaseee?!” Denji begged, Denji wasn't very good at decorating cakes, they were decent ugly whenever he would decorate but you couldn't bring yourself to say no to the boy, you sighed and nodded.

You put the round cake pan into the oven, you set the oven to 180 degrees so it could get baked.

You cleaned the counters that you were baking on while you waited as Denji sat on the floor watching the cake bake inside the oven. after 25 minutes, the ocean dinged signaling that the cake was ready. you carefully took the cake out the oven as Denji grabbed a big enough plate to fit the cake on, you carefully dumped the cake onto the plate. "Can we decorate it now?" Denji pouted as he looked at the cake that was fresh out the oven, you should tell him no so the cake could cool down so you could decorate the cake properly but once again you had a hard time saying no to denji. "Be a doll and go grab the icing you want to use" you smiled softly as Denji quickly went to get the icing, "can we put sprinkles pleasee!" Denji asked. "Of course!" Denji quickly came back as his arms were filled with different color frostings which were white,orange,blue,pink and black. "Wait here while I go get something, okay?" You said and Denji nodded, You were going to use piping bag but when you came back, Denji had already started decorating the cake (poorly) with a butter-knife. You set the piping bag down and grabbed a butter-knife like denji and began decorating, it was messy and sticky. Denji kept getting frosting on his arms and hands. You notice that Denji got white frosting on his fingers which gave you a small idea. "Denji" your tone was soft "Yes?"Denji turned his head to look at you, you grabbed his hand which was sticky with frosting. you gently licked on his white frosted covered fingers, you gently suckled on them some of the frosting getting on your lips. Denji felt his breath hitch as his face began to heat up as he watched you lick his fingers in a less innocent manner, he looked like he was to faint at any moment now. as you pulled Denjis finger out of your mouth, now clean. his fingers coated in your saliva. "I..I could have just washed m..my hands" Denjis voice hoarse, you laughed as you looked at Denji with a teasing smile "I know, but you prefer my mouth, no?" Denjis heart-felt like it was going to exploded. His cheeks red and flushed. "you're so handsome..fuck" Denji mumbled as he eye-ed you up and down with a flustered face. And after all of the messing around and teasing, the cake was finally finished! it was ugly, yes. but that didn't matter to you or Denji as long as you spend time with one-another, the cake was a mix of colors and had dumb doodles on it like tiny pochita made from orange icing and a poorly drawn stick figure of aki and power and the words 'I <3 COCK' and some silly cat doodles made by you (any of the ugly doodles or writing was made/written by Denji) and by the send of the night, Denji's face and hands were covered in frosting and cake.

[dadsbongos]

YOOOO awesome denji obsessed girl is back. ok so i was rewatching csm and during the scene of them trapped in the hotel and was like, "ohoho how about denji x (fem) reader with them sleeping in the bed and maybee like how denji acts like loopy after the bloodloss back at the apartment after a blood transfusion or wtvr"

anyway just a thought u dont have to 👍👍 something nice and fluffy

super quick super quick drabble less than 300 words

written w/ fem reader in mind + not proofread

~~~~

Denji’s laid back in bed, still due for a blood transfusion following a drawn out battle in chainsaw form. And you’re on duty to watch him until Aki gets home.

“You’re really pretty…”

“Thank you.”

“And smart. And nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Like… so nice you’re an angel…” he scrunches his brows up at you, eyes narrow, “Are you an angel? You gotta tell me if you are…”

“Nope, not an angel. Just a boring human.”

“I think you’re…” he giggles, poking your cheek, “awesome.”

“Thanks,” you brush his tangled bangs from his face, resting your palm against his warm forehead to keep the frays away, “I think you’re awesome, too.”

“No way,” he grins, folding his hands politely over his chest and stretching his legs out with a throaty groan.

“Are you comfy, Denji?”

“So comfy.”

“Good,” you lay out beside him and pull the soft blanket up to your chins, nestling your cheek on Denji’s shoulder, “Because I’m tired, too.”

Denji stills completely, even his breathing ceased in his paranoia to not rouse you. At least until,

“Denji, you can breathe.”

“Thank God,” he wheezes, “Feel free to pinch me if my breathing gets annoying.”

You shake your head against his shoulder, curling both arms around his and slinging a leg over his, “I like you when you’re breathing.”

“You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Turning his head to lay it against yours, soft peachy skin smooth against yours. Hair entwining and lashes fluttering over you. Denji knows just by the thundering in his chest, he’s in love with you.

“I love you,” he slurs, exhausted.

You reach up with a quiet yawn, petting through Denji’s silky hair, “You’re adorable, Denji.”

Denji gets so overwhelmed with excitement that his heart gives out completely -- he finally passes out.