anri-2

[anri-2]

first meeting - first impression

Denji × reader

The sun was already beginning to set, as if hurrying to complete its strange daily routine. You quickened your pace. Just a couple of hours ago, you’d been strolling the streets with a friend, unconcerned about getting lost—after all, she could easily ask for directions back. But not you. By nature, you were introverted and quiet, often perceived as odd because of it. Still, you rarely cared what others thought.

Your friend had left half an hour earlier, joining a livelier, noisier group after apologizing in advance and asking you not to be upset. You didn’t blame her—maybe the problem was you. Who knew? But you decided not to cut your walk short and, against your better judgment, ventured out alone… which turned out to be a mistake, because now you were lost.

Your steps grew faster. You didn’t strain your ears or overanalyze the sounds around you—you just wanted to find your way back to the main street as soon as possible. There was no one in sight. Maybe this wasn’t a residential area? After a while, you gave up, wandering the deserted streets in search of *anyone*, but everything remained eerily quiet.

- Is this place abandoned? - you wondered, glancing up at the sky to gauge how much daylight remained. - Did I really wander this far? That’s impossible. The city’s never been this silent, this… insane. This is ridiculous.

The only sign of life you found was a half-dead cat. Its meows had long since faded, the animal resigned to its fate. The sight stirred a mix of nausea and a lump in your throat—something horrifying. You forced yourself to walk past, not wanting to vomit right there on the street. But the further you went, the stranger the place seemed, until suddenly—a blond guy stumbled into your path.

Disheveled, wild-eyed, and slightly unsettling, he looked like a vagrant—albeit a particularly unkempt one.

- Hey, you! - he barked, falling into a defensive stance like he was ready to throw a punch.

- "Acting like some kind of savage," - flashed through your mind, though you kept your expression neutral.

His body was covered in scars and bruises, as if he’d been beaten more than once. The sight made you frown.

- The hell you doin’ here?! - His voice was loud, rough, his finger jabbing toward your forehead.

A wave of disgust hit you at the sight of his hands. Uncomfortable with his posture, you took a few steps back.

- Look, I’m just lost… that’s all, - you gestured, trying to convey you weren’t a threat.

One of his pale eyebrows arched, like he didn’t believe you—like he thought you were spewing nonsense. His head tilted, assessing you. Even if he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew when someone was lying.

- Lost? Yeah, right. Think I’m buyin’ that?

- It’s the truth! I must’ve taken a wrong turn… Can you just tell me how to get to the main street? - You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, hesitant but pushing through.

He paused, then rolled his eyes for show, as if your request was some monumental hassle. His hand finally lowered.

- Well… I’m a pretty busy guy, y’know…- He was clearly angling for something in return.

You stayed silent, ignoring his attempt to haggle. His motives were easier to understand than your own presence in this bizarre part of town.

Finally, he relented, realizing he wasn’t getting anything out of you. With a grunt, he shoved his hands behind his back and straightened up.

- Tch… not even gonna cough up some cash? Fine, whatever. C’mon, I’ll lead ya out. Wouldn’t want ya droppin’ dead here. - He turned, trudging off in a specific direction. His yellowish-brown eyes flicked toward you occasionally, but whenever you noticed, he’d look away just as fast.

This guy was weird. Who in their right mind would be out like this, let alone so… energetic?

- Don’t go wanderin’ these streets again. Dangerous ‘round here—in case ya didn’t notice. - His voice had the cadence of a former delinquent who’d bare ly left crime behind. It sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

- Um… what’s your name? - Despite your usual reserve, you pushed through your discomfort—for safety’s sake, if nothing else.

- Hah? What, ya into me or somethin’? A smug grin spread across his face, his eyes meeting yours before he abruptly scratched his head, awkward. Name’s Denji. And this— He tapped a small cord on his chest, something resembling a chainsaw pull. —this here’s Pochita. Got it?

You nodded, even if you didn’t fully grasp the "Pochita" part. Arguing wasn’t an option—he was your only way out.

A few minutes later, you finally reached the main road. Relief washed over you as you exhaled, offering Denji a small, grateful smile.

- Since I’m such a stand-up guy, how ‘bout we meet up again? Not great with women, so take this invite as it is.

- Meet up? Wait, you want to see me again?

- Why not? Pochita likes ya, and you’re not bad yourself.

- Uh… well—

- Tomorrow. Same spot. - Without waiting for an answer, he vanished.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he just stupidly confident, or was there something dangerous about him? But one thing was certain—he’d piqued your curiosity. And that meant you’d be seeing him again, no matter what.

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please NOT translate, copy, or pass it off as your own

[anri-2]

go to the crossroads, my clumsy hands

June rains are the warmest.

That’s what the woman on the screen said, tracing a line across the map with her pointer. Warm rains are salvation in Japan, where summer suffocates with heat, draining every last ounce of strength from people. Even the locals, used to everything, hide in the shade on days like these, fanning themselves, while tourists buy up ice and fans, desperately trying to survive the oppressive heat.

You were running through the rain.

Dawn had only just begun to blur the horizon, but the sun was already piercing through the clouds, making the puddles look like mirrors—ones that could reflect your ugly, misshapen soul. The asphalt slid beneath your feet, forcing you to slow down.

"If only I make it in time..." the thought flashed through your mind as you rushed home—to him, to your world, to Suguru.

You had fought yesterday.

The dumbest argument imaginable. But it spiraled into something far more serious. Words flew first. Then cutlery. Then dishes. And then... then you made a mistake.

A huge one, born out of impulse and heat.

The red, body-hugging dress was soaked, clinging to your skin like a second layer. Your mascara was smeared, hair disheveled... You reeked of someone else's perfume. Someone else’s touch.

Your heart clenched with shame. But it was too late—too late to undo anything or take it back.

The key clicked softly in the lock.

You stepped in, holding your breath, listening to every sound.

"Please, let him not see..."

And you silently prayed for everything to be okay.

But he was already waiting. Waiting just for you.

Suguru stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze pierced with a coldness that sent shivers down your spine.

Emotional detachment had become his default ever since Riko's death. He had changed, as if something inside him had snapped overnight.

— I thought you weren’t coming back. Where were you?

His voice was flat. Emotionless.

That made it even more terrifying. Your eyes darted around, breath caught in your throat.

— l think you already know...

The lump in your throat barely let you speak.

— l do. But I want to hear it from you.

His brown eyes burned through you. You looked down, eyes filling with tears—tears of guilt and self-disgust.

— It... it was a mistake. I was emotional. I didn’t mean to...

Your voice trembled. Nose clogged.

Your heart pounded as if it was trying to escape your chest.

You couldn’t string two words together through the storm in your head.

The guilt gnawed at you like a demon, feeding off your torment.

— And how am I supposed to take that?

He didn’t yell. Didn’t raise his voice.

But the silence carried something terrifying. Something unrecognizable.

— I love only you! I swear! It was a mistake!

Your pupils dilated. You raised your voice, desperate to make him understand.

— Don’t justify yourself.

He stepped closer.

— Let’s just say... you were at a friend’s.

His fingers touched your chin, lifting it.

His breath scorched your skin, disrupting every thought.

— Now come here.

You threw yourself into his arms.

But he didn’t return the embrace.

His hands rested on your shoulders—neither gentle, nor rejecting.

Just... contact.

As if he felt nothing for you but revulsion and fading memories.

"Is this really the end? Is he going to leave me? Why isn’t he doing anything?"

The thoughts tore through you, spreading chaos.

After a moment, he stepped back.

His finger slid across your lip, tracing an imaginary pattern.

The early morning chill had painted your lips bluish, corpse-like.

You were shivering, hair on end. He needed warmth.

— You’re trembling.

And before you could respond, his mouth crashed onto yours.

This wasn’t a kiss.

It was a claim.

His lips burned. His tongue forced its way in, as if to declare ownership.

You tried to breathe, but he wouldn’t let you.

His palm gripped your neck, tilting your head back.

You were gasping, heart racing wildly.

And when he bit your lip, pain tangled with something sweet. Forbidden.

Geto left the taste of metal on your lips—blood.

— You're mine. Don’t forget that, - he whispered.

His fingers traced your neck, sending a wave of goosebumps.

Then—a bite. Sharp. Painful.

You were ready to scream, but seconds later his lips were on the wound, as if apologizing.

But it wasn’t an apology.

It was a mark.

His lips traveled downward, leaving a trail on your skin.

Kisses turned into bites.

His hands stripped the dress off in seconds, and it fell silently to the floor.

You wanted to protest. To say something.

To apologize in a way that didn’t involve your body, didn’t spiral into this.

But your legs shook.

And your body, betraying you, responded to the familiar touch of hands that once felt like home—warming you and unraveling you at once.

When his fingers gripped your thighs slowly, every word lost its meaning.

Your body leaned into him. Your hips moved forward...

But Geto stopped.

Something snapped in him.

He looked into your clouded eyes—and something like disgust flickered across his face.

You were smeared, soaked, filthy.

No. He couldn’t continue. He had to wait.

He needed the right moment to satisfy his ego completely.

He couldn’t fuck you like this.

With visible effort, Suguru pulled his hands away from your skin.

His gaze shifted to the front door.

He wanted to look at anything but you.

— Shit. Go clean yourself up. You look awful.

Suguru ran a hand through his hair, turned, and walked out.

Left the house.

Left you standing there—in silence.

Naked. Dirty. And aching.

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please NOT translate, copy, or pass it off as your own

[anri-2]

A wonderful husband

He was the kind of beautiful young man who might no longer exist in this world—tolerant, strong, full of passion. Your beloved. You could proudly say this to any stranger, though most would dismiss such a man as fictional and you as delusional. But it didn’t matter. Even after four years of marriage, Nanami still made your heart race as fiercely as it had in your first month together.

The sun cast its golden rays upon the earth, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. The wind blew against you, tousling your hair and ruining what had once been a neat style. The scent of nearby flowers filled the air—lined up like twins, swaying in an unseen dance. The rustling of leaves was barely audible beneath the wind’s whisper.

Lost in the joy of your long walk and his company, you hadn’t noticed the blisters forming on your feet. Laughter and lighthearted teasing had dulled the discomfort, and playful jabs at your husband kept you smiling, eager to fluster him. But the pain soon grew undeniable—sharp stings with each step, then a slight limp. At first, you ignored it, determined to savor the moment. Until it became impossible.

– Darling, you’re limping. - His voice, though rough with concern, was unmistakably tender.

- Ah... seems I’ve rubbed my feet raw. - You ran a hand through your wind-tangled hair, suddenly self-conscious.

You tried rising onto your toes to ease the pressure, but it was futile. Biting your lip, you gripped Kento’s shoulder like a lifeline.

- Worse than I thought, - you admitted with a wry smile.

Your eyes darted around for an empty bench, but luck wasn’t on your side. The nearest ones were occupied—either by chattering elders or boisterous teens. No one’s giving up their seat. You glanced at your husband, who was already scanning the area with that sharp gaze of his.

The wind played with his blond hair, disheveling it into something resembling a plague doctor’s hood. A laugh bubbled in your chest, and you pressed your lips together to stifle it. You were ready to hobble halfway across the park if needed—until the world tilted abruptly. Before you could process it, strong arms lifted you off the ground.

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you could manage—but one stern look from him silenced you.

- Don’t even think about walking. I’m your husband. Let me take care of you.

Your cheeks burned. In that moment, you felt like you’d won the lottery—no, something far greater. This was the man who’d melted your heart years ago, still doing it with just a few words. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you let him carry you, his steps steady despite the whispers and odd glances from passersby.

You didn’t care. Kento Nanami wasn’t just beautiful—he was yours.

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please NOT translate, copy, or pass it off as your own

[anri-2]

They're like cats

Krawling:

He’s the kind of kitten who observes his owner first—studying their actions, their appearance—before deciding whether to trust them or not. If someone raises their voice or scolds him, he’ll immediately bolt for the farthest hiding spot. Krawling can’t stand arguments or conflict; even a slightly raised tone sends him fleeing. Yet despite his skittishness, he’s endlessly curious and gentle. He’s always on the lookout for new safe spots to avoid human attention, and he’d never scratch anyone unprovoked, let alone pick fights with other cats.

Scarletella:

This is the kitten who would cling to his owner with unwavering devotion. Once a stray, dirty and alone, now a pampered, affectionate house cat. To him, life has no meaning without his savior. Separation is agony—if left without a proper goodbye, he’ll act out in protest. His world revolves around two things: chasing after his owner or purring in their arms. There is no in-between. He scorns strangers, hissing and swatting at anyone who isn’t his person. He avoids fights with other cats, but if cornered, he’ll strike first.

Hood:

The living embodiment of calm. While other kittens are busy being playful, fearful, or angry, Hood remains unshaken. He’s never been hyperactive, rarely loses his temper, and has zero fear of other cats. He’d be his owner’s steadfast guardian, always ready to stand between them and any perceived threat. Loyal to a fault, he’d follow his human anywhere, convinced that as long as he’s there, no harm will come to them. He fights only when necessary, but if pushed, his claws come out—quiet doesn’t mean passive.

Chopped:

A walking ball of sunshine and chaos. Chomped is endlessly curious, overly dramatic, and magnetically drawn to trouble—only to flee the moment things go south. His mission in life? To entertain his owner. He’ll sleep in the most absurd poses (upside-down, legs in the air, like a derailed train) just to make them laugh. If he senses sadness, he’ll meow relentlessly, demanding attention. Emotionally attuned, he can read his owner’s moods with eerie accuracy. Physically outmatched by most cats, he avoids fights entirely—unless escape is impossible, in which case he’ll yeet himself out of danger.

Silver:

A cat of quiet intensity. Silver dislikes noise but tolerates it when necessary. He’ll spend hours staring out the window, analyzing the world like a feline philosopher. Affectionate with his owner yet wary of strangers, he’s a paradox—sweet yet unsettling. At night, he watches his human sleep, tracking their breath and heartbeat with unnerving focus. It’s as if he understands far more than a cat should. He rarely fights, but when he does, he wins.

Machete:

A certified menace. The kind of cat people describe as "batshit crazy." Zero worries, zero regrets. Hyperactive and fearless, he’ll knock over vases, shatter dishes, or upend entire rooms—just because he’s bored. In his mind, he rules the household, and if his owner escapes unscathed (no scratches, no bites), it’s only because he’s feeling generous. Picking fights? Routine. He’ll dive into other cats’ squabbles uninvited and emerge victorious.

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please NOT translate, copy, or pass it off as your own

[anri-2]

A wonderful husband •

The sun bathed the room in golden light, its playful rays dancing across the potted plants on the windowsills, their dry soil silently begging for water. Outside, the streets burned under the relentless +34°C heat. No one dared step out, choosing instead to wait out the scorching afternoon. Only the occasional voice or the distant hum of a car radio broke the stillness. There was no wind—not that it would have offered any relief from the sweltering air. The scent of ozone lingered, the sole companion of the deserted streets. Animals sought refuge wherever they could—some huddled in the shadows of buildings, others dug shallow holes and buried their snouts in the cool earth. Everyone had their own way of escaping the heat.

Inside the house, an unusual silence reigned—a rare occurrence, especially since the children had arrived. Those little bundles of energy were relentless, filling every moment with games, shouts, and laughter—a routine that could wear down even the most patient parents. As much as you loved them, any attempt to steal even a moment of quiet usually ended in chaos. But today, for once, luck was on your side.

The children slept like two tiny kittens, curled up under the blanket, pressed close to one another. Soft, rhythmic breathing drifted from their room. You carefully closed the door, holding your breath, afraid the slightest sound might wake them—the last thing you needed. Megumi looked just as exhausted, leaning against the doorframe of the opposite room, his gaze fixed on you.

- Looks like we could use a nap too, - you whispered, a lighthearted comment to ease the quiet tension.

Fushiguro smirked, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Moving almost soundlessly, he made his way to the couch and sank into it, the cushions dipping under his weight. His hand patted the spot beside him—a silent invitation. The house was nearly as hot as outside; the air conditioner struggled to keep up.

- Come here. Let’s rest together.

Slowly, as if drawn in by the quiet magnetism of his gaze, you walked over and sat beside him, letting your hands rest over his. When he gave a satisfied nod, you shifted, lying down with your head pillowed on his lap—warm and soft, like a second cushion. His fingers gently carded through your hair, slow and soothing, his touch lulling you deeper into comfort. He murmured something, but the words didn’t matter—only the quiet intimacy of the moment did. The warmth, the peace, the faint sounds of the children’s breathing and the distant hum of the outside world all faded into the background. Right now, the universe had shrunk to just the two of you.

Your eyelids grew heavy, your breathing steadying. Bit by bit, you slipped into sleep, reality gently releasing its hold.

Fushiguro looked down at you, already lost to dreams. A small smile touched his lips. He continued stroking your hair, pausing now and then to twirl a strand between his fingers. Without realizing it, drowsiness crept over him too. His thoughts blurred, his eyelids weighing down.

- Maybe… you were right about that nap, - he admitted quietly, his own eyes fluttering shut. - Sweet dreams, love…

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please not translate, copy, or pass it off as your own