tags: 18+, suggestive, college setting, reader is mean and a little entitled, gojo is a freak (duh)
you and college rival!satoru cannot stand each other.
your majors are similar so you take a bunch of classes together. satoru thinks you’re insufferable because of how ‘holier than thou’ you are. You’re a perfectionist, as type A as can be. A part of him feels shitty when he hears you scoff in disgust when he flirts with a girl during class, like you were somehow better than him because you didn’t sleep around.
he relishes in your grumbles when you hear he scores just as well as you do on exams. Even making a show of letting everyone know that he didn’t even study and showed up thirty minutes late just to piss you off.
you hate how laid back he is, a textbook rich kid, and that stupid smirk that never leaves his face as he chatters and flirts his way through classes, still answering the professor’s surprise questions perfectly on the fly. It’s pathetic but sometimes you pray he gets it wrong, so the suave smart guy facade can shatter to pieces and every girl in class could stop acting like he was a god. You think he can tell, because sometimes he turns to you with that infuriating smirk and winks.
sometimes you see him in the library while you mull over flashcards, you think he does it on purpose when he sits near you, with a girl on his arm who he makes out with, as loudly as can be. It drives you insane listening to the damn near pornographic noises they make and no one ever seems to mind. Or more the library is practically empty during this time of day.
you want to get up and leave but leaving feels like defeat, feels like another 95.3 to his 97, despite the fact that he was practically dozing off the entire exam. Your cheeks might be heating from embarrassment and none of the words on your flashcards internalized, but you weren’t leaving, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
when you spare him a glance he’s already looking at you, lips latched onto the girl's neck, his eyes a mix of amusement and darkness, daring you to look away. And you can’t, you just stare, your breathing growing heavier as you can slightly hear the girl’s small pleased pants. A part of you feels disgusted, of course, you’re in the fucking library for god’s sake.
but another part, a part you want to ignore so badly, is squeezing your thighs together as you watch him peel those irresistible lips from the girl’s neck and see his pink tongue lick at the bruised skin there. You force yourself to look away, to look down at the flashcards in your shaky hands. You can hear satoru chuckle and you crumple the card in your hand, gathering your things and leaving with a grumble.
you’re not proud of it, but when you go back to your dorm you’re tossing and turning in your bed, struggling to fall asleep. You lay on your back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache between your legs, trying to ignore the fact that rubbing one out is the only way you’ll be able to fall asleep.
and so you do, rubbing fingers against your clit to a quick finish, trying to convince yourself you weren’t seeing satoru’s tempting blue eyes and pink lips in your mind as you allowed yourself a single moan, clutching your sheets.
𖤐
the next day you plan to avoid him, ignore his smug glances and irritating presence. But that quickly proves difficult. Because the professor announces a group project, and you two are in the same group.
“this’ll be fun.” gojo muses to the group, and they all respond with equally enthusiastic responses. Only you know that it was meant to be mocking as he smiled at you all nice-like. What a fucking snake. You didn’t think it was possible for you to hate anyone more.
a few days pass just like that, you’re sick of everything and need a release. So you don’t protest when your friends drag you to a house party on the weekend. You kind of needed this, needed to simultaneously reward yourself and let loose.
you’re two shots in you when you see him, dancing with a girl, a different one of course. You scoffed into your solo cup, shaking your head at his theatrics and attempts at getting into the poor girl’s pants. So fucking pathetic.
satoru could see you, of course he could. You couldn’t make your distaste for him more obvious if you were holding a speakerphone and booing. He hated how gorgeous you were, it wasn’t fair. Hated how he pretended he wasn’t attracted to you. He couldn’t be attracted to someone so snobby. You got on his nerves that’s all, so intent on his downfall, despite the fact that he didn’t think he’d ever done anything to you personally.
maybe he was drunk, he thought, smiling back down at the pretty girl latched around him. He’d had a few drinks after all. He didn’t think of you at all, it was just the alcohol talking. He didn’t get a little hard when you glared at him in disgust whenever your eyes met, didn’t fuck his fist to the thought of you sometimes, didn’t imagine that face when he was balls deep in other girls. Hell no.
he doesn’t even realize he’s walking towards you till he can see that pretty face in detail and watch your relaxed expression quickly harden as you meet his eyes. “What the hell do you want, satoru?”
“i dunno you looked a little lonely standing here.” he muses with a smirk. You don’t even grace him with a response, pushing past him and walking towards the hallway. He follows you eagerly, a little too excited at the idea of annoying you.
you make your way into a room and jump a little when you see satoru behind you, “don’t you have a girl to fuck?”
“yeah, and what are you gonna do, sit here and read?” he took a few steps towards you, “you’re at a party and still manage to act so superior.”
you roll your eyes, “oh please, who followed who? I’m sorry you can’t help but think the world revolves around you.”
he lets out a chuckle, “i could feel your glare across the room. You find me so disgusting, huh?” he relished the scoff that you let out, a sign he had the upper hand, “like you weren’t absolutely creaming your pants that day at the library.” he took another step, smiling down at you.
if looks could kill, he’d be dead and buried. Your eyes were practically aflame and he couldn’t be any fucking harder. “I’d never fuck or fantasize about a loose slut like you.”
he knew he should have been pissed, but he was so turned on that his cock hurt. “You probably went home and fucked yourself like one thinking about me—” his words were cut short by a sharp slap, a hard one as he felt the sting and redness blooming in his wake.
the two of you stare at each other, wide eyed in momentary silence, before you practically concuss one other with the quickness that your lips join together.
one that you can't seem to remember as he rolls his hips against yours harder and harder, like hes purposefully trying to lapse your memory, fuck you so stupid you wonder why you broke up with him in the first place.
he was only supposed to come over to grab some of his things he had left at yours. his toothbrush and a few pairs of clothes were tossed into a box and then discarded in favour of winning you back.
is it working? maybe. the eyes he gave you were so wide and wistful and needy that you couldn’t help but let him carry you to the bedroom and eat you out for an hour before letting him fuck you
“you’ll take me back, won’t you baby?” he asks, fucking you deep into the plush mattress that finally doesn’t dip where he used to sleep at night. “your pretty pussy misses me so much, she’s squeezing me so tight…”
“gojo—”
he thrusts hard, kinda mean. “toru, baby. you call me toru, remember? say it right.”
“toru, you’re so fucking—“
“in love with you. i miss you so much; please take me back, baby! gonna make you cum so hard you forget we ever stopped dating to begin with, hm? actually— we should just skip the whole make-up thing and get married.”
Sylus who starts to beg and whimper underneath you whenever you have him tied up. It all started with him being smug, purring out his words and it end with him being on the brink of cumming dry because of how you drained him. Hips bucking up into you and muscles clenching with every drag of your cunt along his swollen cock, inner thighs drenched and coated with the sticky residue of his sperm. Truly, if it went his way he’d have you in a mating press, have the roles reversed and shower you with kisses afterwards, but hell- he’ll happily take this too. Begging you for mercy and tears starting to brick at his eyes, barely even able to properly see you anymore :((
tags: 18+, toji x fem!reader, oral, semi-public, likely inaccurate representation of the divorce process (my bad), creampies, overstimulation, squirting, toxic themes
It shouldn’t be this difficult to get a divorce. Your relationship had become too strained, too toxic, it had to end.
But what didn’t soon-to-be ex-husband!toji make annoying and tedious??
Your first meeting after filing ends with you sprawled over the table, your legs on his shoulders, stilettos dangling from your toes in time with each thrust Toji made into you, the entire table rattling, paperwork scattered across the floor.
“FFuck, I hate you,” you mewled, but your words sound barely believable, all shaky and jumbled as you stifle your moans.
Toji gave you that annoying little smirk in response, the one you’d found endearing the first few months of your relationship before he became the most insufferable piece of shit you’d ever met.
“You sure?” He hums, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust that you can’t help moaning from, “‘don’t believe it when you’re dripping so much down here.” He brings a beefy hand to your pussy, lightly slapping at your clit and chuckling at your little whimper. “‘Feel how easily you take me?”
…After that you sped up your move out, no interactions meant no tension and an easier, less stressful divorce. Right?
Wrong. Your second meeting was with the attorney, a pretty brunette clad in a ridiculously unprofessional outfit. For fuck’s sake, her tits were practically out in the pathetic excuse for a blazer she had on.
And Toji spent the whole session flirting with her, accepting her light touches to his arm and biceps as she giggled and squirmed. Tossing her winks and smirks like you weren’t sitting right in front of him. Were you wrapping up a marriage or setting up a fucking date??
You didn’t overreact. Why would you? He could flirt with anyone he wanted, you were in the middle of getting divorced it didn’t matter, you didn’t care…
“Should I call her back?” You taunt, bouncing on Toji’s cock with a hand around his throat, “Make her see you all stupid from being inside me?”
“F-fuck you.” Toji groans, glaring up at you despite the way he trembled from overstimulation. His cock was practically numb as it slid in and out of your already cum-filled heat. He could barely move, barely breath, but he still mustered that smirk, “you’re so fucking pathetic—”
“Oh, shut the hell up, Toji.” You demand, grip around his throat tightening in tandem with your pussy, thighs slapping roughly against his. He let out a little growling whimper and you smiled, “You know you can’t fucking get off without me.”
Your third meeting starts fine, the two of you are listening to your consultant chat about shared expenses and whatever other legal crap you needed to worry about—
Then you feel Toji’s big hand on your thigh, and you already know what’s coming as he subtly shoots you that infuriatingly attractive grin.
You glare at him, but shift up your skirt nonetheless, letting your legs fall slightly open. More than enough room for him to slip his hand past the fabric of your skirt and underwear and rub his fingers against your already moistening pussy.
You suck in a shaky breath as his thick fingers fill you up, thumb toying at your clit. The consultant asks you a question and you manage a response, a tight lipped smile on your face as you white knuckle the arm of your chair through the pleasure.
He turns his attention to Toji and of course he gives a vague response, you take advantage of it nonetheless, sucking in deep breaths and grinding slightly on his fingers.
“I‘m fine with that” Toji hums, he turns and looks at you with a sadistic sort of glint in his eye, “but what do you think, hon?”
You can barely even glare at him. You were already close, the fucker knew your body, what places to press to drive you insane. Your thighs felt damp, Toji’s fingers thrusting in and out of you without a shred of remorse. His eyes were daring you to speak, demanding you.
“I think t-that makes sense.” You manage, your vision growing foggy. Your legs are trembling, and you’re convinced Toji was sent to earth to torture you. You allow your eyes to slide shut, hoping you can get away with your vagueness as you slowly rock onto his fingers.
But Toji slides a piece of paperwork in front of you, “Which part?”
Fuck you fuck you fuck you, “U-Um, I…” Fuck, you barely stifle a moan, you spare a glance at the consultant who seems none the wiser, well that’s a relief. You glance down at the paper in front of you, none of the legal bullshit making any sense, at least not now when you were gushing on Toji’s fingers and trying to stop your eyes from rolling into your skull. “I t-think—” Toji’s fingers slide along your sweet spot and you can’t hold back your whimper at the feeling. The consultant’s eyes widen in surprise.
“I-I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well,” You try, your voice practically slurred. It’s useless though, the guy’s already uncomfortable, face flushed and hands folded tightly in front of him.
“W-Would you excuse me for a second?” He musters before bustling out of the room.
The door barely closes before you moan again, shooting a death glare to Toji. “You’re fucking ridiculous—” You barely finish your words before you’re cumming.
“Don’t be shy, finish your sentence.” He responds, pulling your chair closer to his with a leg. His lips ghost along your ear as you tremble and moan, spilling all over his fingers. He looks down at the mess you’ve made with a satisfied grin. “Or not.”
You’re too delirious from your orgasm to feel his fingers leaving yours, or him sitting you down on the table, your thighs all shaky and sticky. But you come too when you feel his tongue along the plush of your inner thigh, lapping up your juices, “C’mon, give me another, let’s give the guy a surprise.” You have no room to protest as his lips fasten around your clit.
By the time the fourth meeting comes around you guys are fucking with no shame. The two of you don’t even show up to the fifth meeting, you made the mistake of thinking you could drive there together…Toji bullshits some excuse while you ride him in the backseat.
The sixth meeting doesn’t even happen before the two of you give up, accepting that you’re really just a pair of horny fucks that like the thrill of fucking apart. And well, who else could satisfy you as well as your husband did?
tags: 18+, toji x fem!reader, oral, semi-public, likely inaccurate representation of the divorce process (my bad), creampies, overstimulation, squirting, toxic themes
It shouldn’t be this difficult to get a divorce. Your relationship had become too strained, too toxic, it had to end.
But what didn’t soon-to-be ex-husband!toji make annoying and tedious??
Your first meeting after filing ends with you sprawled over the table, your legs on his shoulders, stilettos dangling from your toes in time with each thrust Toji made into you, the entire table rattling, paperwork scattered across the floor.
“FFuck, I hate you,” you mewled, but your words sound barely believable, all shaky and jumbled as you stifle your moans.
Toji gave you that annoying little smirk in response, the one you’d found endearing the first few months of your relationship before he became the most insufferable piece of shit you’d ever met.
“You sure?” He hums, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust that you can’t help moaning from, “‘don’t believe it when you’re dripping so much down here.” He brings a beefy hand to your pussy, lightly slapping at your clit and chuckling at your little whimper. “‘Feel how easily you take me?”
…After that you sped up your move out, no interactions meant no tension and an easier, less stressful divorce. Right?
Wrong. Your second meeting was with the attorney, a pretty brunette clad in a ridiculously unprofessional outfit. For fuck’s sake, her tits were practically out in the pathetic excuse for a blazer she had on.
And Toji spent the whole session flirting with her, accepting her light touches to his arm and biceps as she giggled and squirmed. Tossing her winks and smirks like you weren’t sitting right in front of him. Were you wrapping up a marriage or setting up a fucking date??
You didn’t overreact. Why would you? He could flirt with anyone he wanted, you were in the middle of getting divorced it didn’t matter, you didn’t care…
“Should I call her back?” You taunt, bouncing on Toji’s cock with a hand around his throat, “Make her see you all stupid from being inside me?”
“F-fuck you.” Toji groans, glaring up at you despite the way he trembled from overstimulation. His cock was practically numb as it slid in and out of your already cum-filled heat. He could barely move, barely breath, but he still mustered that smirk, “you’re so fucking pathetic—”
“Oh, shut the hell up, Toji.” You demand, grip around his throat tightening in tandem with your pussy, thighs slapping roughly against his. He let out a little growling whimper and you smiled, “You know you can’t fucking get off without me.”
Your third meeting starts fine, the two of you are listening to your consultant chat about shared expenses and whatever other legal crap you needed to worry about—
Then you feel Toji’s big hand on your thigh, and you already know what’s coming as he subtly shoots you that infuriatingly attractive grin.
You glare at him, but shift up your skirt nonetheless, letting your legs fall slightly open. More than enough room for him to slip his hand past the fabric of your skirt and underwear and rub his fingers against your moistening pussy.
You suck in a shaky breath as his thick fingers fill you up, thumb toying at your clit. The consultant asks you a question and you manage a response, a tight lipped smile on your face as you white knuckle the arm of your chair through the pleasure.
He turns his attention to Toji and of course he gives a vague response, you take advantage of it nonetheless, sucking in deep breaths and grinding slightly on his fingers.
“I‘m fine with that” Toji hums, he turns and looks at you with a sadistic sort of glint in his eye, “but what do you think, hon?”
You can barely even glare at him. You were already close, the fucker knew your body, what places to press to drive you insane. Your thighs felt damp, Toji’s fingers thrusting in and out of you without a shred of remorse. His eyes were daring you to speak, demanding you.
“I think t-that makes sense.” You manage, your vision growing foggy. Your legs are trembling, and you’re convinced Toji was sent to earth to torture you. You allow your eyes to slide shut, hoping you can get away with your vagueness as you slowly rock onto his fingers.
But Toji slides a piece of paperwork in front of you, “Which part?”
Fuck you fuck you fuck you, “U-Um, I…” Fuck, you barely stifle a moan, you spare a glance at the consultant who seems none the wiser, well that’s a relief. You glance down at the paper in front of you, none of the legal bullshit making any sense, at least not now when you were gushing on Toji’s fingers and trying to stop your eyes from rolling into your skull. “I t-think—” Toji’s fingers slide along your sweet spot and you can’t hold back your whimper at the feeling. The consultant’s eyes widen in surprise.
“I-I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well,” You try, your voice practically slurred. It’s useless though, the guy’s already uncomfortable, face flushed and hands folded tightly in front of him.
“W-Would you excuse me for a second?” He musters before bustling out of the room.
The door barely closes before you moan again, shooting a death glare to Toji. “You’re fucking ridiculous—” You barely finish your words before you’re cumming.
“Don’t be shy, finish your sentence.” He responds, pulling your chair closer to his with a leg. His lips ghost along your ear as you tremble and moan, spilling all over his fingers. He looks down at the mess you’ve made with a satisfied grin. “Or not.”
You’re too delirious from your orgasm to feel his fingers leaving yours, or him sitting you down on the table, your thighs all shaky and sticky. But you come too when you feel his tongue along the plush of your inner thigh, lapping up your juices, “C’mon, give me another, let’s give the guy a surprise.” You have no room to protest as his lips fasten around your clit.
By the time the fourth meeting comes around you guys are fucking with no shame. The two of you don’t even show up to the fifth meeting, you made the mistake of thinking you could drive there together…Toji bullshits some excuse while you ride him in the backseat.
The sixth meeting doesn’t even happen before the two of you give up, accepting that you’re really just a pair of horny fucks that like the thrill of fucking apart. And well, who else could satisfy you as well as your husband did?
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.
sypnosis: you are not ordinary. no matter how much your blood craves for normalcy, it will never happen— not with what you are. not with what you've done. yet, one summer day, as your being engulfed by the waves once again, someone pulls you out. a boy with golden hair, sunburned cheeks, and a stupid grin. he doesn't know what you are. just that youre the cutest girl he's ever seen and that he saved you.
The sea was always brutal to every fiber of your being. Even now, it cradles you like a mother, rocking your body back and forth, saltwater flowing through your hair, enveloping all of your senses until you forget where the ocean ends and you begin. The waves push and pull, gently at first, then greedy, harsh. Silently pleading for your attention. Dragging you under until the sky is nothing but a blur above you. It's cold, but that doesn't scare you anymore.
You’ve drowned before.
The water instinctively knows how to kill you softly, slipping into your lungs, filling your mouth before your body can scream. It’s touch is almost kind. And yet, the moment your body stills, you know what’s next.
The sea spits you back out. It always does.
You float to the surface like a pearl shucked from its shell, small bits of seafoam clinging onto your arms and legs like lace. A girl from the ocean, born and born and born again, no matter how many times you try to stay beneath the waves. You aren't allowed to.
You don’t notice him watching by the shore. A boy with messy golden hair, an eyepatch over his right eye. His hands shading his face as he squints to get a better look at the figure who looks as if it's gonna disappear underwater. He doesn't think. Doesn't hesitate.
One minute you're weightless in the water— the next, you’re hauled into his arms, cold and coughing, salt water spilling from your lips onto his drenched shirt.
When he gently lowers you on to the ground, his face is so close, his breath warm on your cheek. You should feel embarrassed, but all you feel is tired.
“Why’d you pull me out?” You rasp, your voice broken.
He blinks. His mouth opens, then closes again. His face contorts into one of hesitation before he answers you.
“Cause you were gonna drown?”
You stare at him for a long moment — at his wide eyes, the flicker of worry mixed with confusion. You noticed for the first time he’s wearing an eyepatch. He has shark-like teeth and tattered clothes. You look at his side, a creature. A devil.
As you make eye contact the chainsaw sticking out of his forehead revs its engine. As if taunting, a warning. You don’t say anything at first, the devil seems harmless.
The boy doesn't forget the fact that you're half-naked in front of him. He blatantly stares. A blush creeping up his neck to his face, his fingers twitch against your skin and he doesn't flinch at the feeling everyone else fears— that drowning touch that turns warmth to panic. Your curse sits at bay at what his next move might be.
But he doesn't react.
You almost laugh. Almost cry. You think, for just a second, that maybe this boy doesn't know the first thing about drowning.
But you do.
He's still holding your arm, his own hands trembling just a little, like he's not used to carrying anything fragile. Like he’s afraid you might disappear if he squeezes too hard.
You realize then, he's not scared of you. Not the way the majority of people are.
Most people, when they touch your skin, pull back like they've been burned. That drowning sensation, cold and suffocating, usually works faster than any warning you could give. It crawls up their fingers like water rising in a sinking car, filling their lungs, pressing invisible hands against their throat and chest until they can’t breathe.
Even when you wear gloves, people feel it. They know, deep down, that you're not something they should hold onto.
But this boy, his hands don’t flinch. His grip is firm, like his only goal is to keep you right here, right now, alive and real. He only feels a slight weight on his chest, he's been through much worse. His eyes trail your figure, your face and the water glimmers with the sun hitting it, your boobs, and small swim shorts you're wearing. He’s flustered beyond belief. Like he’s never been around a girl before.
“Uh… are you okay?” His voice cracks halfway through the question, like his brains too overwhelmed to function properly.
You almost want to tease him. Almost.
“I was okay before you pulled me out.”
He frowns, confused. “But– you were underwater. For, like… a long time.”
“And?”
“People can’t breathe underwater?” He replies doubtful of his response.
“I know.”
He blinks again. His brain short-circuits for a beat. “So you— were trying to—?”
You don't answer. It’s obvious enough.
You sit up and yank your hand away from him. The sea is calling you back, you can feel it tugging at your ribs, a tide inside your chest and you reluctantly stand up. Admiring the sea as much as you despised it.
“Uh.. so—” He stops. “I'm Denji. By the way.”
You turn to stare at him.
“And you… you’re like… really pretty.” He blurts out, then immediate regret plagues his face as you raise a brow at him. "Wait, shit— I didn’t mean it like— I mean, I did, but not— aw, crap."
You blink at him, saltwater still burning in your nose. "You’re bad at this," you mumble.
Denji stops and stares at you, eyes wide — then he just laughs, loud and stupid and a little too bright for someone who just yanked a half-drowned girl out of the ocean. It’s an ugly laugh, the kind that makes Pochita bark from his spot on the sand.
"Yeah," Denji grins, all crooked teeth and boyish charm. "I’m real bad at this."
You should’ve left by now. Slip back into the water, let the waves take you somewhere quieter, somewhere safer. But instead you stand here, dripping saltwater into the sand, watching this awkward boy try to figure you out.
Denji squats next to you, arms draped over his knees, his smile settling into something smaller, softer. “So… what's your name?”
You hesitate. It's been a long ass time since anyone asked.
“Y/N.”
“That's a pretty name too.” Then quieter, almost shy. “It fits.”
You lower your gaze towards him. “Fits what?”
He shrugs, fingers digging into the wet sand. You think he’s just trying to impress you. “Dunno. Just fits.”
Silence hangs over the both of you. The sun’s sinking low, painting the sky in bruised purples and bleeding oranges, and Denji doesn't seem in a rush to leave. Neither are you.
For once you decide to start the conversation. “So, that devil– is it your pet?”
Denji looks over at Pochita, who’s busy half-buried in the sand like a weird little chainsaw potato. The devil wags his tail, tongue lolling out like a happy dog.
“Pochita?” Denji says, scratching the back of his neck. “Kinda. He’s my buddy. We fight devils together n’ stuff.” There's a certain softness in the way he says it, like it’s a word he doesn’t get to use often. “But we’re kinda workin’ right now.”
“Working?” You glance between them. A boy and his devil. That’s not a story with a happy ending. You knew from experience.
“Yeah.” Denji pushes a hand through his messy hair, sending water droplets flying. “I was supposed to kill a devil somewhere around here. But then I saw you, and—” He trails off, eyeing you up and down, like he’s still trying to figure out if you’re real or some weird hallucination cooked up by too much sun and not enough food.
Your fingers twitch at your side. The water tugs at your ankles, gentle at first, then a little stronger. Calling you back, like a lover left waiting too long. The ocean’s greedy obsession, manipulating you back in.
“Good luck with that.” You turn on your heel, walking back toward the shoreline. “Hope it works out for you.”
“Wait— wait, what’re you—”
But you’re already stepping into the water, and Denji scrambles to his feet, sand clinging to his knees. “Hey! Hold up—”
The water is right there, kissing your feet. Like a siren luring in its next victim, but you've always been the only one getting drowned. The ocean was never sick of you.
You take a step forward—only for Denji to crash into you from behind, his arms clumsily looping around your waist. The two of you hit the sand hard, a mess of limbs and seaweed and sputtering curses.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you bark, twisting underneath him, but Denji’s grip doesn’t loosen. It’s not exactly strong — he’s more scrawny than solid — but there’s a frantic, stubborn weight behind it.
“What’s wrong with me?!” he fires back, eyes wide and wild. “What’s wrong with you?! You were about to drown yourself again!”
“Oh, you just wander around saving suicidal girls for fun? Is that your new hobby!?”
“I guess so!” he shouts, still pinning you down. “I already saved you, so now you’re my freakin’ problem!”
You’re breathless, heart slamming against your ribs as you wrestle the boy on top of you. "I didn’t ask you to save me!"
"Yeah, well, tough shit!" Denji shouts back, his grip stubborn even as you thrash. It's starting to suffocate you.
"Let me go," you hiss, voice shaking harder than you mean to.
He had to. He had to let you go or things would go south.
But Denji doesn’t. His grip tightens — not hurting, just there, stubborn and warm and human in a way you almost forgot people could be.The closeness is something you haven't experienced in a long time, it's unfamiliar and threatening.
And that’s the problem.
Pochita stands beside you both, watching, his little saw whirring once — scared for his friend. You wished your devil were like that.
The second his fingers dig into your wrist again, you feel it — the shift, the pull, the curse awakening under your skin like a tide drawn to the moon. Your heartbeat stumbles, and the air around you both grows damp, heavy, like the beach itself just took a breath.
The sand beneath your body darkens, water welling up through the grains as if the earth itself is crying with you. You feel it harder than ever before.
The mark of the Ocean Devil, carved into your soul, now punishing anyone foolish enough to care about you— anyone who's dumb enough to get close to you. And today it was Denji.
"Shit," you whisper, trying to yank your arm back, but it’s too late — Denji’s already soaked to the skin, droplets running down his arms, clinging to his hair. Not water. Not sweat.
You.
The water is coming from you, leaking through your skin like your body forgot how to stay solid. And Denji, oblivious to what’s happening, just stares at you — confusion flickering into concern.
“Why are you—” His voice dissipates when his breath catches, lungs hitching like he just inhaled a gallon of seawater. His grip slips for just a second, his eyes going wide. “W-What the–?”
“Let go!” You shout, panic lacing into your tone. “I’m serious—”
But Denji’s too stubborn, too confused. You didn't know the boy you just met would be so desperate in keeping you alive. His next words come out slurred, like he's talking through waterlogged lungs. “What– why does it feel like—”
Drowning.
Pochita growls sharply — high-pitched and urgent — and you realize he knows. The little devil, wise beyond his size, recognizes the curse for what it is. "Denji, you have to let go," you beg, voice cracking. “Please.”
But Denji just shakes his head, coughing, still holding on even as his breathing stutters. "Not—leaving—you—" His words break apart like waves on rocks.
‘I ain't lettin’ some pretty girl die when I just met her’ He thinks to himself.
Denji’s grip slips — not because he wants to let go, but because his body is failing him. His lungs are screaming for air, his hands trembling, but he still tries to reach for you again.
And that thought alone makes fat tears escape your eyes. You cry frantically, desperately trying to get away from the one person who isn't scared of you. Kicking and screaming for something to happen.
And then you feel it.
The sand around you both turns slick, water pooling under your bodies until you’re half-sunken, as if the ocean itself is trying to reclaim you. Your fingers dig into the sand, trembling, trying to hold yourself here, in this moment, instead of being dragged back into the dark.
Because this was the one time you didn't want to drown.
And still after all you've caused— Denji is still fighting for his life,
"Shit—why does it feel like my lungs are gonna explode? She’s just—she’s just there, she ain’t drowning—so why the hell am I?!"
"Why?" you choke out, tears mixing with seawater on your face. "Why are you like this?"
Denji, still phantom drowning as the water level rises, he’s lost the ability to speak and yet he holds a crooked grin.
As his eyes roll into the back of his head and his body weakens, you take this chance to harshly push his body off you. Getting rid of any physical contact with his body.
The curse calms down, only the heaving thumping of your chest is heard. The ocean watches almost mockingly, it could've drowned both of you but it didn't. And you can't piece together a valid reason as to why it didn't.
The tide lowers once again and Denji’s unconsciously body lays on the wet sand. Pochita jogs up to him, gently prodding Denji with his chainsaw. He barks once. Then again. And then the devil turns his attention towards you. Growling and revving his chainsaw in your direction.
You calmly walk over to Denji, slowly lowering your ear up to his chest.
He's still breathing.
“He’s alive…” You reach up , almost caress his cheek, and pull back instinctively. “I’m sorry.” You didn't want things to go this way. You never wanted to hurt people, it just happens.
Your hands shake from the previous events and you still feel the saltwater on your tongue. It's miniscule. A small reminder.
The thought of saving him never crossed your mind. You could've left him for dead right there in the wet sand, where you almost killed him. But you didn't.
That weird orange devil— Pochita—, waddled along beside you, occasionally growling like he was about to chew your ankle off. Pochita paws nervously patter on the sand, your gloved hands dragging Denji’s limp body across the sand, his wet hair sticking onto his forehead. His skin was cold, but his heart was still beating. That was the important thing.
You had to drag him all the way back to your boat, muscles burning. Pochita didn't stop pestering you, but he didn't bite you either. You weren’t an enemy but you weren't exactly trusted.
“Not gonna hurt him.” You muttered, out of breath. “Relax.”’
The boat rocks gently against the dock, it's not huge but comfortable.
And it means something to you.
You haul Denji onboard and spend the last of your energies trying to get him through into your room. His clothes are soaked and you take his shirt off to hang it to dry. He’s sleeping peacefully on your bed, covered by your patchwork thing that you call a blanket, made by scraps of cloth you managed to find by the city.
You sit at the tiny stove, water heating slowly for tea. The whole boat creaks like it’s breathing around you, familiar and alive. You know every sound it makes. The sigh of the hull. The hush of water brushing against its side. And now—the quiet snore from the boy in your bed.
Denji stares awake. A groan. A stretch. The confused, open-mouthed look of someone who expected to be somewhere much worse. His stomach growls— loud and he looks embarrassed. But even more so about waking up in your bed, his face turns a deep shade of red.
“Wait—this—this is your room?! I’m—I’m in your bed?!” He realizes he’s shirtless and his brain short circuits. Your room’s walls are beige, old art plagues them. It looks cozy, more than anything he’s ever owned. A large bookcase that he can’t read. He mentally curses himself for being illiterate.
“A real girl?!”
“Real enough.” You don’t look over to him. Just cutting a few pieces of bread and fruit. It wasn't much but it might satiate his hunger for now.
“D-Does that mean…we—” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking, but it makes you turn to glance at him.
“I almost killed you. I didn't want to leave you outside.” You hate to admit. Walking over to him, and handing him the plate. And that when his memories refresh his mind. Denji takes the plate from your hands, fingers brushing yours for half a second. You pull back without thinking, retreating to the opposite side of the room. Even though you’re gloved, you are still scared.
He scarfs down the bread first, barely chewing. “This is, like, the best bread I ever had.”He completely ignores your statement from before. Like he doesn't care about that at all.
“It’s stale.”
“Still counts,” he says, crumbs already sticking to his face. It’s endearing. You bite back a smile.
“Uh…” Denji pauses between the big bites he takes. As if he hasn't eaten in days. His body is pretty lanky. “What exactly are you? When I went after you I felt like I was drowning, that's definitely not normal.” He says with his mouth full of food.
You freeze at the question because you didn't even know yourself. Did your curse make you less human?
“Are you a devil?” He asks, but then his face contorts into thought. “I doubt it… you're too hot to be one…”
“No– I–” You get cut off mid sentence when you hear Denji cough roughly. You go over to him contemplating if you should pat him on the back. When his hand uncovers his mouth it's full of blood and you can't help but feel guilty. You exhale shakily,scrambling to find a wet rag.
Denji mutters a few curses. “It’s so embarrassing to bleed out in front of a girl…”
Once you find it you take his hand in yours, softly wiping at the red substance, staining your cloth. It's the first time you don't hesitate to touch him. The silence between you two is thick, and you can’t help but look at him more closely now that you’ve let yourself. His face is flushed—embarrassed, maybe, but you can’t help but notice it. You remember the eyepatch he's wearing, it's black and looks cheaply made.
“So, did you lose your eye?” you ask softly, your voice almost drowned by the low hum of the boat. “Or do you wear that for fun?”
It's awkward for you to ask it. The question hangs in the air for a bit. “I sold it.” He says it so casually, but you notice the bitterness too. “It's better than starving, y’know.”
You don’t say anything, your fingers still gripping the rag, now stained with blood. An awkward weight invades your chest—a heaviness that wasn’t there before. You decide not to ask further. But the worry in your eyes is present. You feel bad for this boy.
You look up to stare at him. His eyes are a warm shade of brown. Your hand comes up to the corners of his mouth, wiping the blood that remained. You try to ignore how close you are—how close you’ve gotten in the past few minutes.
He watches you intently, like this is the first time feeling cared for. Feeling something over than pain and suffering.
You pull your hand back, just a little too quickly, and turn away, almost as if to escape the sudden vulnerability of the moment. Your heart’s beating a little faster now. You don’t like how exposed you feel.
“You should go home, I'll walk you.”
He looks confused and before he can protest you walk out towards the deck of your boat to find his shirt. Touching it. It's dry enough, you think. And when you walk back in, Denji stands at your room window, looking outside.
“Here.” You shuck it towards him and he pulls the shirt over his head.
There’s an awkward pause before he finally speaks up.
"Hey," he mutters, clearing his throat. "Thanks... for all this.”
You glance at him, your heart in your throat. “It’s fine. I didn’t want you to die out there,” you say, it comes out softer than you intended to .
He shrugs, looking away. "Yeah... Well, you don't have to worry about me. I'm used to... not having it easy."
As he walks out the door, his attitude shifts a bit. Realizing a girl is gonna walk him home, into his home. You reach for a jacket, and follow him outside.
“I never had a girl come over before! It’s kinda gross, though, so like, don’t freak out if there’s… stuff.” He warns, shoving his hands in his pockets. Pochita trails behind him happily.
Denji walks in front of you, his posture stiff, trying to hide the nervousness creeping in. He glances over his shoulder with a sheepish grin.
“Don’t judge, okay?” He says, his voice almost defensive. His hands dig deeper into his pockets, his tone light but strained, like he wants to make this sound like no big deal.
You stay quiet for a beat, thinking about a response. It shows how lonely he is, he doesn't look at you when mentioning these things to you.
“Don’t worry, I've probably seen worse.” You say lightly, trying to ease the moment.
When you got there, you looked around to find where he exactly lived. But when you saw him enter a shed, Denji opened the door with a grand gesture, it was filled with crap. Tools, tires, a thin dirty stained mattress at the center. A wooden table that has seen better days. It's dark and barely has any space for one.
“Ta-daaa”
Denji’s voice is a little too bright, as if trying to make the whole situation seem more lighthearted than it actually is. You grimace a bit at the smell, it's humid and moldy. Denji throws himself on the mattress and Pochita cuddles up against him.
Denji’s smiles contentedly, like a wish has just come true. Little did you know one did. “Pochita, I finally have a girl over…” He whispers towards the orange devil and it just sticks out his tongue in response.
“So, this is your… place?” You ask quietly. You’re not sure if you want to hear the answer, but you can’t help but make sure.
Denji kicks aside a few cans and old newspapers, moving toward the corner with a slight, almost embarrassed shuffle. “It’s not much, but… it works.”
That tugs at your heartstrings and Denji pats the spot on the mattress next to him, and you move over cautiously, not wanting to get too close. His attempts at making light of everything only make it more evident how much this place—this life—bothers him. Pochita seems less wary of you, finally accepting your presence although he knows you reek of the Ocean devil.
You sit down, the mattress creaking beneath you. It’s not a real bed, not really. But it’s his, and it’s the only thing he has.
Before you can say something a rough knock on the door startles you both. A dark figure visible by the tiny window near the door. A tall man with a hat, glasses and white beard, in a long trench coat looking like he belongs to the yakuza.
Denji groans, pulling the skin on his face with irritation. “I got another job for you, Denji. Meet me in five minutes. You still owe me 38 million yen!” The man carried a gruff voice, demanding.
“You should go…” Denji laments, putting on his own jacket, grabbing Pochita by his handle. Ready to risk his life once again. The mattress shifts under you when Denji stands up, and for some reason, that emptiness—the weight of him leaving—feels heavier than it should.
You sit there, not expecting him to owe so much. He’s already halfway out the door before you realize you don’t want him to go. Not like this, not to whatever job they keep throwing him into.
“Wait,” You blurt out. It sounds strange coming from your mouth, foreign to your own ears. You never tell people to stay, there was never anyone worth asking.
Denji turns towards you, hand on the back of his neck, his fingers catching in his hair like he doesn’t know how to respond to someone actually giving a shit.
“Uh, I can’t,” he says, with that crooked, apologetic smile. “If I don’t go, they’ll—”
You know what comes next. You know the kind of debts that can never really be paid off. The kind that steals everything. Right down to the air in your lungs is something you pay.
“I know.” You stand up too, brushing dust off your knees, even though there’s no point. You fidget with your nails, “Um–” You start again, immediately regret it. Anxiety coursing through your body. But it was too late now. “I’m– uh, gonna be at the beach tomorrow…”
Denji blinks at you, like you just said something in a language he doesn’t speak. “Okay…?”
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, swallowing hard. Why is it so hard to say? It’s just words, just air leaving your throat — but it feels like cracking your ribs open and showing him the soft, bleeding part inside.
“You could… come by again. If you want.” You sound like you’re trying to pass it off as casual, but your voice trips over itself, and your hands awkwardly knot into the hem of your shirt. “You don’t have to.”
Denji’s mouth hangs open slightly, like his brain is buffering. He finds the way to trip over your words cute, like he actually has an effect on you.
You can see the gears turning in real time — nobody invites him to things. Nobody asks him to show up. Nobody wants him, in general. He’s a stray dog, a burden to others.
But in your own awkward, socially inept way, you do want him. And that makes his heart beat a bit faster.
“Yeah!” he says, way too loud, his face going pink almost instantly. “Totally! I mean, yeah, I’ll come.”
It’s so painfully awkward, you almost wish the ocean wasn't so far away so it could swallow you like it has countless times before. But at the same time, you can’t help but feel a little relieved that he also wants to see you again.
“Cool.” You mumble, backing up a step like you might bolt if you stay any longer. “See you, then.”
Denji gives you a thumbs-up, the same sloppy, too-big grin plastered on his face. “See ya, beach girl.”
The nickname makes you cringe a little — but you don’t hate it. Not completely.
credits to @kiyaedits for the very very cute dividers! :)
You tell Sukuna you have severe "vitamin D" deficiency, and he calls you a weak human with your pathetic human diseases. It took you ten minutes to explain that you meant his dicks and how annoying he is for not understanding your horny figures of speech.
Thirty minutes later Sukuna gave you what you wanted, watching you deep-throat his cocks one by one. He presses your face to his stomach, not letting you move and feeling how your nose rubs against his pink happy trail.
"Damn brat… If that’s what you wanted, you could have just said it…" He moans and releases your head, and you’re pulling back with a loud gasp, filling your lungs with air.
"Shut up… I said it… I just always have to explain everything to you…", you murmur, covering the tips of his cocks in wet kisses. "You’re so ancient…"
"Tsk"
For that you got a slap across the cheek with his upper cock and a couple of more throat fillings.
***
Later that night Sukuna ordered his servant to get you a pack of ice cream to soothe your throat and a bottle of vitamin D. At the end of the day, you were a human. His human.
Sukuna sucking my toes and licking my feet or I’m kms
no, don’t kill yourself you’re too sexy, haha
.✦
“Hold still.” Sukuna demands roughly, his sharp nails digging into the arch of your foot as he licked a stripe across your already trembling toes.
You couldn’t help squirming again as his tongue lapped at your foot, sharp nails grazing the already sensitive skin. You held back your giggles, Sukuna’s reprimanding gaze on you causing the laughter to quickly die in your throat.
You didn’t understand why he insisted on doing this, taking his mouth to your toes. He’d said it was because he found you strange, that he wanted to scrutinize your body. But the more this seemed to occur, the less convincing his reasoning seemed.
You slapped a hand over your mouth as Sukuna’s tongue brushed wetly over your tiny toes before sucking them into his mouth hungrily. You barely miss the gruff little noise that he makes as he sucks on your toes. It makes your skin heat.
It always seemed to be at the most inconvenient times that he’d do this, when you were eating or had your nose in a particularly interesting book. He’d come barging in, swiveling your chair in his direction and kneeling before you, grabbing your foot like you were nothing more than a doll.
You’d be lying if you said you hated it, that you didn’t secretly look forward to the random moments Sukuna snuck up you, always when you were relaxing, like he wanted to ruin your tranquility.
Or make it better.
You picked another piece of fruit from the bowl abandoned in your lap, watching your boyfriend with hooded eyes. Each press of his hot wet tongue along the skin of your foot sent shocks jolting through your body, you’d squirm and press your thighs together if you could, but Sukuna’s grip on you was firm, absolute.
When he finishes—usually after he’d licked both your feet squeaky clean—he always gets up and leaves, with a complain in his wake, of course, as if you were the one disturbing his peace with semi-erotic foot licking. You usually watch him go in delirious silence, confused and slightly shaken up.
But this time you speak, “Thank you, ‘kuna.” You smile down at him and his gaze burns red hot for the smallest of seconds standing to his full height before you. His eyes are dark with warning, but you had him figured out.
And perhaps he knew that too because he sank back down to his knees, letting you circle your arms around him and sift a hand through his hair, “Good job.” You murmur into his skin and you feel a slight vibration, a hum from Sukuna’s body, almost resembling a purr.
Can you write reader eating sukuna’s booty like groceries🥰/srs
It was one of those few lazy days. Sukuna was lying on the bed, sound asleep with his face buried in the pillows. He was sprawled on his stomach, topless, wearing just comfortable light pink sweatpants you bought for him the other day. The sounds of raindrops and low rumble of thunder were heard from the outside.
After a moment you entered the bedroom and smirked at the sight of your husband taking his little nap in the middle of the rainy day. So cute. Your gaze went from his messy pink hair to his broad tattooed back and landed on his juicy ass. Sukuna definitely knew what he was doing lying like this with his taut ass on full display. You climbed up onto the bed and straddled the back of his thick thighs. You put both of your palms on his ass cheeks and gave them a squeeze. Perfect stress balls with perfect size for your hands. Sukuna let out a sleepy groan, but you ignored him and slapped his right ass cheek, making it jiggle.
"Brat, quit it…" he mumbled into the pillow. Sukuna was familiar with your shenanigans, so he wasn’t really surprised. You didn’t answer and just pressed your cheek to his ass, lying on it like on a cushion. You were smiling and caressing his flesh with your palm, giving it occasional pinches.
"Woman, you’re ridiculous," Sukuna huffed and raised his head to look at you over his shoulder. His face was covered in pillow lines, messy pink hair was making him look like a hedgehog.
"No, Kuna, you’re ridiculous," you murmured and straightened up again.
"You’re talking to the-!"
"Yes, yes, the King, I know," you giggled and slapped his ass one more time, harder than before. Sukuna just huffed again and hided his face back into the pillow, hugging it and mumbling something about insufferable brats he has to deal with. It didn’t go unnoticed by you how he arched his lower back slightly.
"That’s better," you patted his ass and pulled his pink pants down, revealing his juicy cheeks. You leaned closer, placing a kiss on his right cheek, giving it a bite, before doing the same to his other cheek. As you were covering his ass in kisses and bites, Sukuna continued to act nonchalant. But it was just a matter of time before you spread his cheeks and made him moan in the pillow when you touched his hole with your tongue.
"W-woman…"
"Man," you slapped his ass yet another time and finally buried your face fully between his cheeks while Sukuna was trying to suppress his pathetic moans. You were eating his hole like it was the last meal on Earth, squeezing his ass in your palms at the same time. You sucked his tight rim, your tongue drawing small slow, circular motions over it.
Sweet whimpering could be heard above you. As much as Sukuna loved acting like a damn brat, he also loved that you were nasty just like him, always keeping up with his twisted mind. You pulled back from his ass for a moment to spit on it and dive back in. After a few more minutes of feasting, you straightened up and softly caressed his plump ass.
"Do you want to come, baby?" you murmured and squeezed his flesh. Sukuna ignored you, hiding his red face away.
Slap!
"I said, do you want to come, rude boy?"
Silence.
"Yes…" Sukuna let out a bratty hiss.
"Everything for you," you leaned down to kiss his ass before you stood up from your spot to get a giant pink strap and scented lube from the drawer.
Squid Game AU with Toji makes perfect sense. Toji was a gambling addict with an itch for more money to burn on races, why wouldn’t he join some stupid contest to win easy cash?
The first game left him more apathetic than shocked. So these were death games? Even better. He couldn’t care less about people dying and now his chances of winning were sky high. Among all the old folks, teenagers, and other weaklings, he reigned supreme. Fit, fast, cunning, ruthless. The other players had no chance, this wasn’t even fair.
But Toji’s plans for victory were cut short the moment he saw you. He thought he was hallucinating when he first caught sight of you. That couldn’t be — no, it was definitely you. Just as beautiful as the last time he saw you. Even now with your face covered in someone else’s blood and your eyes filled with panic. What the fuck were you doing here?
Toji was your ex-boyfriend and his pathetic addiction sent all of his savings out the door and you along with it. After you broke up with him, he silently hoped that it wasn’t the end, that you’d find your way back to him. Once he dealt with his debt and all his other shit, he would find you again. But who knew fate had other plans for you? Who knew that shortly after your breakup, one of your parents got sick, leaving you with a mountain of hospital bills you couldn’t pay? Who knew that no matter how many jobs you worked it was never enough to pay back that debt? Who knew that some weird guy in a suit would approach you in the subway and not even a week later, you found yourself here, unaware that you’d put yourself in grave danger?
Toji didn’t know that. That’s why his face was now filled with a mix of anger and regret.
When he approached you, your heart dropped. It took you a minute to realize he was standing in front of you, yelling and shaking your shoulders, trying to get an answer as to why the hell you were here. Why you weren’t at home, why your ass was always somewhere it shouldn’t be.
It was all too much. You’d just witnessed hundreds of people heartlessly murdered during a game of fucking Red Light Green Light, and now your ex-boyfriend, who caused you so much of both pain and pleasure, was standing before you more upset than you’d ever seen him.
"Shut up! What do you know?! Worry about yourself and fuck off, Toji!" You snapped, pushing him away and darting off in the other direction. Toji closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to cool his temper. This was not the reunion he was hoping for. You were supposed to be living peacefully, smiling, taking stupid pictures, doing all the other things he’d come to love about you. Not fighting for your life for the sake of money. Just like him. Toji knew you were vigorous, he knew you were clever and quick-witted, but this place wasn’t for you, goddammit. This place was for him. For a loser. An outcast. A lowlife.
Toji glanced at you as you were sitting on one of the bunk beds, staring ahead with an empty gaze. This was all his fault. And he knew he had to make it right as he made his way towards you.
All of his plans went to hell. Now only one thing mattered: getting you out of here alive.
But… Just one more game. He’ll help you through it and right after, when more people die and the prize money grows larger for everyone, he’ll make all the other players vote to stop the games. He’ll fight them, threaten them, strangle them, do whatever needs to be done to convince everyone to end this. Just one more game… That would be easy, right?
dededos
ellievsbear
andulkaphoto
discoholicmusic
theartofmadeline
yousharknotpass
