𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗖 | chainsaw man x reader

𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 ּ ˖ ࣪ surrender

"Are you joking?"

"I assure you, y/n, this offer is the farthest thing possible from a joke."

𓆩𖤐𓆪

You are seriously getting sick of being cooped up in this hospital room.

The first few days hadn't been too awful, as you had spent most of your time lazing around—waiting for Denji to wake up. But he didn't. Not even days later.

You had asked some nurse about it and she told you that he was stable, just recovering, and that he 'should be awake soon'. You moped at the news, watching over Denji's bedside like some sort of shitty guardian.

You missed him.

You had to learn ways to distract yourself, and you spent most of your time poking at Denji and surfing through the TV channels that were available. You used to watch TV at the library (before the squirrel incident), so having a TV to yourself wasn't anything particularly life changing. Maybe if there was cable...

You sigh from your place on the bed, your hands entangling as you fall into thought. You really do miss Denji. You also miss being able to go wherever you wanted whenever you wanted—although... this bed was super comfortable. Wins and losses, you suppose.

You face Denji again, and you pout internally when you notice that he's still sleeping away, his face completely relaxed and peaceful. It almost looks like he's dead.

You quickly wipe the thought from your mind.

You didn't have to worry about that, anymore.

Makima hadn't given specifics. She did tell you that as a part of the Akuma-kai, you would have to get used to following orders. You had kept quiet until then, staring down at your bitten fingernails and calloused hands.

She gave you a choice.

𓆩𖤐𓆪

"Stay with me. You are strong, I can tell as much." She leans forwards, resting the palm of her hand on yours. You feel heat swim up to your face. "I need people like you by my side."

"Makima-san... I can't just leave everything I know like this—"

"But you can."

𓆩𖤐𓆪

Nothing feels real. Even as you dig at your cuticles in some vain attempt to feel something, it only presents itself as a dull ache.

Its crazy, how quickly everything in your life changed.

You're sitting by the window of your hospital room, picking at dried paint, when you hear the door to your room open. You turn quickly, and you're surprised when your eyes meet those of a woman who is decidedly not your nurse.

She studies you, eyes—eye watching you as if you were clothes on a mannequin. You hold her gaze, studying her in turn. She's a pretty woman, with her immaculately cropped hair and piercing green eye.