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sepherinaspoppies · 2 months

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Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible.

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico.

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?”

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful.

“The bus–”

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude.

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her.

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her.

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear.

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting.

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin.

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it”

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid.

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.”

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news)

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?”

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away.

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist.

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance.

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision.

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection.

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together.

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile.

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies.

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run.

She ignored it, again.

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit.

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze.

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen.

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore.

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family.

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood.

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have.

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys)

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair.

Silver.

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?”

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth.

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight.

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.”

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.”

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever.

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye.

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist.

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.”

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down.

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.”

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her.

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp.

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic.

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully.

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic.

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out.

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative.

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe.

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic.

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand.

Blood. Her blood.

Run!

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face.

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor.

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…”

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there.

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.”

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.”

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned.

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

Fuck.

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?”

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one.

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass)

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.”

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @folksriddle @ficsandsin @nyx-daughterofchaos98 @qweencrimson @slytherized @qyburnsghost @tofujiji @saturnssrings @janeety @thought--bubble @theunburt @mandiiblanche

series taglist: @castellomargot @toodlesxcuddles @itsabby15 @diannnnsss @fan-goddess @zenka69 @a-beaverhausen @gabee-arts @bluebirdbts @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @absurduty @delulumhaggy @liannafae @aaaaaamond @ilikechocolatemilkh @bellaisasleep @ammo23 @alphard-hydraes-blog

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#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

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anincompletelist · 3 months

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[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | vol iv | vol v ]

firstprince fic recs: hurt/comfort edition! :D

some of these have more angst than others before the comfort, so please be sure to check the tags! but I tried to choose some of my personal favorites that I always return to when I need something comforting to read <3

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

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“Alex, slow down.” Henry pulls away softly from Alex’s taut grasp. “Are you feeling alright now?” “Y-yeah, I think I’m okay.” Alex smiles back meekly at Henry’s heedful gaze. Alex feels like he has gotten way ahead of himself. “I'm just a huge astraphobic, ever since I was little. I guess I never grew out of it.” [or, Alex has a fear of thunder so Henry comforts him]

fell apart (in the usual way) | @hypnostheory | E | 12k

By the time they’ve reached the landing, Henry is shaking his arm out of Alex’s grip. “The picture of grace under fire,” he says, the words snapping from his mouth. Alex blinks at him, before his face smooths into its professional mask. “You can’t pick a fight with the Queen’s equerry, no matter how averse you are to the concept of the monarchy.” Alex looks Henry up at down, his mouth forming a tight line. “I don’t pick fights, Your Majesty,” he says, adjusting his grip on Henry’s suitcase. Henry can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Shaan called me a few weeks ago to go over every single thing that made you miserable about the holidays. It was a very long phone call.” Henry doesn’t doubt that. “I’m going to help you avoid as many of those items as possible.” [Henry is a mess around the holidays, and he's expecting to have a tremendously horrid time without Shaan. Fortunately, Alex has plans to make his Christmas both merry and bright.]

ocean waves | seafloor | E | 10k

Henry Fox wakes up with a toothache one morning, and has a lot of feelings about certain things for days afterwards.

I'd hold you as the water rushes in | @saintlynomenclature | M | 11k

“—lex. Alex.” Fuck. Where had his mind gone? Alex snaps his eyes to Henry’s, forcing his attention back from where it had drifted. “I’m listening, I’m listening. What were you saying?” Anyone else would probably be offended, or would just laugh at the clearly conflicting statements that had flown thoughtlessly out of his mouth. Instead, Henry’s brow crinkles, lips downturning as he scans Alex’s face. “Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange all night.” Those blue eyes are much easier to deal with through FaceTime. Alex has to look away from them, less he caves and spills everything to Henry. He pastes a smile on, “Fantastic, Your Highness. All this bubbly is going to my head, the sugar’ll get me in the morning.” [Or, Alex drops on New Year's Eve]

never be so polite (you forget your power) | Standinginmoonlight | M | 6k

The one where Arthur Fox leaves letters for his children.

while you were sleeping (I fell in love) | @kill8a | M | 3k

As their relationship progresses, Alex notices that Henry’s sleeping habits start to progress as well. Notably, more naps, less insomnia, and a knack for falling asleep at any hour of the day.

that's all for now!

hurt/comfort is one of my all time favorite tropes, so feel free to rec me some if they aren't on this list, or to reach out with ideas for other rec lists in the future! <3

-- sarah / anincompletelist xx

#fic recs #my fic recs #rwrb #firstprince #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic recs #red white and royal blue fanfic #Alex x Henry

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redfurrycat · 10 months

Text

🏆📖✈️TOP GUN Fic Recs Masterlist✈️📖🏆

⬇️⬇️Below the Cut⬇️⬇️

Pairings

—🤠🐓—

Recs List 1

Recs List 2

Recs List 3

Recs List 4 (Last update - 24-09-23)

Recs List 5 (Last update - 30-09-23)

—☃️🏍️—

Recs List 1 (Last update - 18-02-24)

Recs List 2

—🍬🐩—

Recs List 1 > TO COME

—🤠🏍️—

Recs List 1 > TO COME

—🐺🤠—

Recs List 1 > TO COME

—🤩💸—

Recs List 1 > TO COME

—😇🐦‍🔥—

Recs List 1 > TO COME

—🥸🐦‍🔥 & 🥸🐺 & 🐺🐦‍🔥 & 🥸🐺🐦‍🔥—

Recs List 1 > TO COME

Characters

Beau "Cyclone" Simpson (Last update - 11-02-24)

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw (Last update - 17-02-24)

Ron "Slider" Kerner > TO COME

Themed

—Special Formats—

5+1 {🤠🐓} (Last update - 25-04-24) > 5+1 {☃️🏍️} (Last update - 28-12-23)

Chat fics & Epistolary {🤠🐓} (Last update - 11-02-24)

—Special Events—

Christmassy "Ho-Ho-Ho" Fics {🤠🐓} (Last update - 03-02-24) > Valentine's Day {🤠🐓} (Last update - 22-02-24)

—Relationship Status—

Fake/Pretend Relationship {🤠🐓} (Last update - 09-05-24) > Marriage Fic Recs {🤠🐓} (Last update - 10-05-24) > Childhood Friends-Sweethearts {🤠🐓} (Last update - 03-02-24) > Getting Back Together (Part One & Part Two) {🤠🐓}

Kid Fic - Single Dad & Parents {🤠🐓} (Last update - 02-03-24) > Big Brother Bradley Bradshaw (Last update - 30-04-24)

—Proud to Be—

Trans Characters {🤠🐓} (Last update - 10-05-24) > Ace Characters {🤠🐓}

—Forbidden, Spicy and Citrus Fruit—

I'm a babygirl in a daddy's world {🤠🐓} > Daddy Klnk (Last update - 14-01-24) > Sugar Daddy (Last update - 07-05-24)

PWP {🤠🐓} > TO COME > Bosom!Hangman {🤠🐓} (Last update - 25-01-24) > The Chicken Peach & the Zenithal Cowboy {🤠🐓} (Last update - 10-05-24) > The Perched Rooster & the Brooded Texan {🤠🐓} > TO COME > Everywhere. Every-Fucking-Where. {🤠🐓} > TO COME

> Beautiful, Handsome, Pretty {🤠🐓} (Last update - 30-04-24)

—Top Gayn Canon-ish—

Post-Mission (Update Notice - 07-09-23 - I'm halfway done with the collecting of PM fics.. Wait for it, 'cause it's probably going to be several posts xD) > Post-Mission Aftermath > TO COME > Post-Mission Daggers Shenanigans > TO COME > Retelling, Backstory & cie {🤠🐓}

Navy - Not A Pilot!Bradley Bradshaw (Last update - 13-02-24) > Navy - Not A Pilot!Jake Seresin (Last update - 13-02-24) > Not Navy - Still A Flyboy At Heart {🤠🐓} (Last update - 21-04-24) > Top Gun Instructors > TO COME

The Daggers Discover Rooster's Navy Parentage, a.k.a Baby Goose and his Mavdad & Icepops > TO COME

—To Fly or Not to Fly?—

Daily Heroes {🤠🐓} (Last update - 02-03-24) > Organised Crime {🤠🐓} (Last update - 04-11-23) > Vigilantes, Superheroes & Supervillains {🤠🐓}

Educational Occupations {🤠🐓} (Last update - 18-02-24) > High School & College/University {🤠🐓} (Last update - 07-05-24)

Flower & Tattoo Shops AU {🤠🐓} > Bakery & Coffee Shop AU {🤠🐓} (Last update - 02-03-24) > Mechanic AU {🤠🐓} (Last update - 07-02-24)

Musicians, Singers & Dancers {🤠🐓} > Music & Dancing within the Top Gun Verse {🤠🐓} > Actors & Celebrities {🤠🐓}

Royalty {🤠🐓} (Last update - 23-12-23) > Navy Prince, aka THE Nepo Baby > TO COME

Sports AU {🤠🐓} (Last update - 09-05-24)

—Sci-Fi, Fantasy & Fanfiction Tropes—

Hanahaki Disease {🤠🐓} (Last update - 17-04-24)

Mythological Creatures & Shapeshifters {🤠🐓} (Last update - 07-05-24) > Ghoost & Ethereal Beings (Last update - 04-02-24)

Omegaverse {🤠🐓} (Last update - 17-04-24)

Soulmates {🤠🐓} (Last update - 21-04-24)

Space AU {🤠🐓} (Last update - 23-12-23) > Time Travel/Loop & Reincarnation {🤠🐓/☃️🏍️} (Last update - 26-04-24)

—Special Tropes—

Amnesia & Memory Loss {🤠🐓} (Last update - 13-02-24)

A Rooster in Texas & Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin (Vol.I) {🤠🐓} (Last update - 21-04-24) > Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin (Vol. II) {🤠🐓} (Last update - 08-02-24)

Animal Companions {🤠🐓/☃️🏍️}

And They Were Roommates & Only One Bed {🤠🐓} (Last update - 17-02-24) > And They Were Neighbours {🤠🐓} > TO COME

Bodyswap & Mental Bond {🤠🐓}

—Media-based—

TV-Show & Movie-Based Fics (Last update - 25-04-24)

Pacific Rim Fusion (Last update - 14-01-24)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Requested

Iceman is Hangman's father (Last update - 13-02-24)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Special Lists

Tumblr Writers {🤠🐓} (Draft) (Last update - 07-01-24)

Reccing the Reccers' Recced Fics Lists > TO COME

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

PssPss...

Drop an ask if you want me to find you a lost Hangster fic! 💕

If you want a specific Hangster recs list, I'm up to the challenge as well, although I ask for patience (it takes time to search & compile). 🤗

#Top Gun Fic Recs Masterlist #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈

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charliesinfern0 · 1 year

Video

HAPPY 4/13 EVERYBODY!!! :D this is my second 4/13 ever, so to celebrate I am debuting the first [S] page for my MSPFA, Homestuck=‘Citrus’! I’ve been working on this for a few months now, and I am super excited to show you all!! :) (if yall are interested about Citrus, my inbox is always open for questions! :3)

(Song: Before the Beginning and After the End from Homestuck Vol. 9)

#homestuck #4/13 #413 #homestuck 413 #mspfa #john egbert #rose lalonde #dave strider #jade harley #homestuck oc #homestuck fankid

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blacktacmopsi · 1 month

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Kick HeadCanons: NSFW Edition Vol. 1

Aww shit, where to begin with Kick...

Like Keegan, Kick is kind of a middle of the road guy. He's not vanilla but not necessarily kinky either. But... with certain things he can become a total freak in the sheets though.

Kick is kind of quiet in bed on average. However, if you can get him VERY horny for you or can pull that rough side out of him, he'll get FILTHY. "You like taking my cock in your pussy? I bet you'd like it in your mouth too, huh?" "You better be a good girl and swallow all of that. If you do, I'll give you more." "Look at you, moaning with my cock up your ass."

This man LOVES touching. He'll come up behind you and grab your boobs or just grope you. Your ass, tummy, crotch...all fair game.

Kick manscapes. He's not a hairy beast like Keegan and the other Ghosts, but he does keep things nice and trimmed. He once shaved a heart shape into his pubes. He thought it was hilarious.

Sex with him can be deeply sensual at times. But often than not, it's more silly. He'll make you chuckle your way to an orgasm with his quirks and wit. It can also be rough if you can get him to be like that.

Kick's cock is veiny with a slight curve. With a dark pink head, it weeps a lot when he's turned on. He's cut and it's a pretty average dick. It's not too big, not too small, but just right. His cum is a bit off-white in color and thick. His loads can vary in volume and his taste is more on the salty side like saline solution.

Speaking of his cum, Kick is absolutely feral about oral sex. Get ready to have your throat fucked and his hot load hitting the back of your throat. He loves seeing you swallow so open that mouth of yours, show him you got every last drop, then push it down. He'll be yours forever.

Kick doesn't own any toys and will just use his hands to rub one out when he needs to. He did, however, try the grapefruit technique once. He hated it but enjoyed smelling sweet for a whole day. He got compliments on smelling like a fresh summer citrus.

Caress this amber eyed man's abs! He loves it and it will defo get his motor running.

Mr. Perpetually Annoying Morning Wood.

For how odd Kick can be in the other areas of his life, he is a pretty caring lover and overall a great sex partner. He'll make sure you also get in on the fun and hates if sex is one sided. It bums him out. Don't bum him out.

He's open to a lot of things when it comes to role play... Especially if he gets to dress up for it. He'll give it his all and he's really REALLY good at getting into character. Hell, he'll totally fuck you in his tactical if you wanted (and he secretly hopes you want it).

#call of duty #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #call of duty kick #BlackTacMopsi Writes Garbage #and then there's kick

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ianitos · 8 months

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low energy devotion

for low spoons, energy, money

vol. apollo

listen to music that inspires you/reminds you of him (ive found he enjoys florence + the machine, coldplay, ricky montgomery)

write some poetry (or write in general!)

do small doodles on sheets of scrap paper

eat something citrus or cinnamony (i love eating apple chips for him)

take a moment to enjoy some sunlight/outdoors

wear crystals that remind you of him

explore your queer identity

enjoy the outdoors (walks, picnics, etc!)

take your medicine(s)

🍊🖋️🏺🏥

#apollo 🌻#devotion :: 📿#pagan #paganism #roman pagan #paganblr #pagan community #spiritual #pagans of tumblr #spirituality #religion #deity worship #apollo

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maandarinee · 1 year

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which movies do i need to have watched before gotg 3? I'm not really up to date with Marvel movies anymore, idk what might be connected

#guardians of the galaxy #gotg vol 3 #Guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #Idk what the tag is #Marvel #Guardians of the galaxy 3 #citrus talk.txt

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ghostlykeyes · 2 years

Text

TANTALUS, PT. 2

As a mysterious devil claims victims across Tokyo, you struggle to come to terms with your love for your best friend, roommate, and fuckbuddy, Denji.

AO3 Link: Here! Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of corpses, casual sex, scenes with food/eating, no happy ending. Notes: No-Nayuta AU. Denji stays in Public Safety after the events of CSM. Set a few years after the end of vol. 11. Gender Neutral.

The morning you’re back at work, Ichika approaches your desk. She’s wearing a nice skirt, a perfume that smells distinctly like peony, and the sort of gentle, genuine smile you’d see on a kindergarten teacher that loves their job. She’s cute, she’s sweet, and despite your best efforts to remain neutral, you think you might hate her a little bit.

“Good morning!” She greets cheerfully, stopping a respectful distance from your desk. There’s a glass tupperware tucked in her hands, filled with something bright yellow, and you eye it suspiciously. Ichika either doesn’t notice you glaring or she doesn’t care, and offers you a short bow. “I’m so glad to see you’re back at work!”

You plaster on a smile and give her a stiff nod, but she’s already scanning the area next to your desk—where Denji usually sits. Her bright smile falters almost imperceptibly, like when the clouds flick over the sun for just a moment.

“Um,” she starts nervously, giving you a hesitant look. “Is Denji okay? He didn’t say anything about missing work today, but…”

White swims over your knuckles as your hands clench tight fists around the grip of your crutches.

“He’s okay,” you say, silently willing your voice to stay bland, neutral. Like plain, unbuttered toast. “He’s on a trip.”

He does this trip every year at about the same time. He won’t go into specifics. Just says that he’s visiting a family grave. But your eyes don’t miss the way that his gaze hangs over the photo of Aki that’s framed up in the living room, and it tells you what Denji won’t say out loud.

You won’t push him. You never do.

It’s comforting, sometimes, knowing you’re not the only one that’s bad at talking about your feelings.

“...caring for some old relatives that got sick,” you finish, swallowing the lump in your throat. You don’t feel guilty lying to her. If he didn’t say anything to her about his trip, you’ll protect his secret.

“Oooooooh,” Ichika nods, a pinkish glow clouding her cheeks. “That does sound like Denji—so selfless!”

You actually have to physically restrain yourself from laughing out loud. Denji, selfless. He literally stole your leftovers like, two days ago.

“Naaaah,” you say, “he pushes me out of the way to get to the shower constantly. He’s only selfless maybe, ten percent of the time.”

Anyone else might think it’s a light joke at Denji’s expense, but there’s a challenge hidden underneath. A statement. You might be flirting with him, but I live with him, bitch.

Ichika doesn’t notice. Or she does, and doesn’t take the bait. Instead she covers her mouth with a thin-fingered, perfectly-manicured hand and lets out a delicate, sweet laugh that’s nothing like yours. Your jaw tightens.

Once Ichika’s bell-like laugh ceases tinkling, she bows to you again. This time, she presents the Tupperware to you. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose at it.

“Well, hopefully he’ll at least be selfless enough to share these with you. I know you’re still healing and your body needs rest and good food, but you need a treat every now and again too, you know? Otherwise life gets so bland.”

You don’t move to take it, leaning on your crutches as an excuse. She watches awkwardly for a moment, eyes darting between you and the baked goods, before she finally clears her throat semi-nervously and sets the container on the corner of your desk. “They’re lemon bars,” she fills the silence. “I thought Denji might like citrus. I hope you do as well!”

Something petty coiled up deep inside you wants to let her know that actually, lemon is one of the only things Denji turns his nose up at.

Be an adult, you tell yourself. Resist!

You plaster a smile over the twisting disdain in your gut and regard Ichika with a look that you hope is work-appropriate, and not mildly threatening.

“Thank you,” you manage, although your voice comes out a little choked around the edges. Ichika beams at you, and bows again, and you’re reminded of a puppy.

Not the cute kind. The clingy, over-eager kind that yaps a lot.

“I have to get back to work,” she apologizes, and a knot of tension instantly unwinds from your shoulders. “But again, I hope you heal quickly and I’m glad to have you back with us.” She begins to twirl a piece of hair around her finger. “Will…will you ask Denji to call me? Either when he gets back, or—“

“Sure.”

She smiles thankfully and bows—that’s four, now, in a three minute conversation, she’s at an average of over one bow a minute—and the tap of her short but tastefully work-appropriate kitten heels recedes as she takes her leave. She waves shyly at you, over her shoulder, before she rounds the corner and disappears down a hallway. You offer a half-hearted wiggle of your fingers back.

You will not be asking Denji to call her.

The interaction sticks on your mind like glue for the rest of the day. When you get home, Denji isn’t back from his trip yet, so you sit down with the glass tupperware and delicately pull a perfectly square lemon bar from the container. Gently, you take a bite from the corner. The flavor of citrus floods your mouth, and the powdered sugar dusted on top sticks softly to your fingertips.

It’s delicious, you think bitterly. Of course it is .

You finish the lemon bar and throw the rest, tupperware and all, into the garbage can.

It wasn’t always this complicated. It used to be pretty simple, actually; Denji was your decently-attractive best friend, and you fucked every so often to take the edge off of a bad day. (And neither of you mentioned how often these bad days had become.) You’d be stupid to ruin your friendship with romance, so you didn’t even consider it. Until, well…

It wasn’t a slow fall, thick and sweet like maple syrup, in the way that some people describe the realization they’re in love. It was a stupidly normal night and you were standing on the sidewalk under the dull red glow of a cheap izakaya’s sign. Above you, the dark midnight clouds promised rain. You ignored them. You’d focused instead on a pay phone, telling Denji about the absolute disaster of a date you’d just endured.

“So, yeah,” you drawl into the receiver, “turns out Asahi from downstairs actually has a girlfriend…”

“What the shit!?” Denji yells, and you have to pull the phone away from your ear before his outrage blows out your eardrum. “That scumbag!”

“Yeah…” you sigh. Truthfully, you couldn’t force yourself to be as disappointed as you probably should be. Asahi was nice. He always offered to help carry your groceries up the stairs. He was handsome, too, in a very plain, inoffensive way, like a bland Ken doll paired with an astronaut Barbie. And the way he laid you down in the backseat of his car felt…not bad. If one of your friends wiggled her eyebrows at you salaciously and asked y’know, how is he? you’d probably laugh shyly behind your hand and say he was good at sex.

But he didn’t do it like Denji did it.

You couldn’t figure out why that bothered you.

But it did. It caught in your brain like a song stuck in your head, and it was definitely just as annoying, and you felt it every time Asahi’s hands started traveling up your thighs.

Not Denji. Not Denji. Not Denji.

So, truth be told you probably wouldn’t be crying over Asahi later, once you got home. Still. Two months was a long time to waste on someone else’s lies. That’s what stung, really; your wasted time.

“D’ya want me to say somethin’ to him?” Denji offers, sounding a little too excited. Knowing Denji, their ‘talk’ would end with Asahi holding a bag of frozen peas over a black eye. Which doesn’t sound too bad, honestly, except for the fact that he still lives one floor down and going around beating the shit out of the neighbors is probably not the best idea.

“It’s fine, Denj,” you assure, getting ready to call a cab. “Not worth getting in trouble. I already threw my drink on him, that’ll have to be good enough.”

“Naaawwwwww,” he drawls, and you can tell from the way his voice drags along that he’s thinking hard (which is never good). “He cheated on you.We gotta teach him a lesson he’s never gonna forget.”

You run a hand through your hair and blow a hard sigh out of your mouth.

“Denji,” you whine, “I really just want to go home right now. We can brainstorm another night if you’re still that invested—“

Denji cuts you off with a short bark of laughter, loud enough to make you jerk the phone away from your ear and wince. You’re about to cuss him out for the damage he’s just done to your hearing, but he’s already chattering at you again.

“Just stay there,” he instructs. “I’m gonna come pick you up.”

You snort, at that.

“You and what car, dipshit?” He doesn’t have a license, either. Or spare change for a cab.

“ Ten minutes! Don’t move!” He purposefully dodges your question, but before you can keep needling him his voice is replaced by a mechanical beeping. That man just hung up on you. Rude.

So you sigh, again. You push your hair back out of your face, and you plop down on the curb, completely ignoring the grumbling of passers-by whose paths you’ve interrupted. They’ll get over it.

Ten minutes melts into eleven, into twelve, into thirteen. Here and there, you can feel the light flcik of a raindrop on your cheek, your nose, your forehead. Seldom enough to convince you that maybe you’re imagining it, often enough to convince you that maybe it’s time to call Denji and say whatever he’s thinking, just forget it , the only thing you want to get soaked by tonight is a hot fucking shower.

You’ve made up your mind to bail when it weaves its reckless way through traffic, rolling to a chaotic stop in front of you. You’d recognize the blacked out windows and crack in the bumper anywhere. Asahi’s car.

Three things happen, then, that shock you equally, but all in different ways.

First, the window rolls down, and it’s Denji sitting in the driver’s seat, not Asahi. He’s wearing a shark-tooth-shit-eating grin (the one you usually see after he beats the shit out of a devil and there’s a pretty girl in a skirt crying ‘thank you’), and his pajamas.

Second, he tries to put the thing in park, but he accidentally pushes when he should’ve pulled and Asahi’s car slams into the parked car ahead of him. An alarm instantly screams and his eyes go wide and yes, this is probably a sufficient explanation why he can’t pass a driver’s training test.

“Goddamnit!” He bursts, and at this point pedestrians are starting to crowd around the minor accident, necks craning to get a better view of the chaos. You know that you should probably be scrambling off the curb and getting the hell away from the crumpled back-end of this Honda, but you can’t move.

Because of the third shock.

Which has you absolutely frozen to the sidewalk.

And it’s that your heart did a flip in your chest when you saw that window sliding down, and it was Denji’s messy hair and sparking eyes on the other side. Something young and carefree, but relieved. Like it had just figured out the trick behind an optical illusion it had been staring at for embarrassingly long.

Something unmistakably romantic.

“Yer ride’s here!” His laugh shakes out of the rolled-down window, pushing through the crowd. It’s enough to thaw you out of the trance. Pedestrian voices crowd your ears as you stumble to your feet.

“ Holy shit, did he just hit that guy on purpose?”

“Why isn’t he getting out of the car?”

“I think maybe somebody should call the authorities…”

“ Jesus Christ, Denji,” you hiss, under your breath. You’re throwing elbows and shoving through people and tasting panic as you realize there’s a police station nearby. Thankfully Denji’s had the bright idea to fling open the passenger door for you, in service of a hasty getaway. The leather seats squeak against your thighs as you scramble in. You yank the door shut behind you, hard enough that the slam seems to shake and ripple through the watchers outside.

“What the fuck,” you wheeze. “How did you even—“

“Dumbass leaves his spare key in his potted plant, just like we do,” Denji cackles.

“Wouldn’t that make us dumbasses, too?”

But Denji doesn’t answer. He gives you a quick shrug, and then his hand splays out over the back of your seat. A whiff of the generic “man” scented soap he uses just barely tickles your nose. Heat explodes across your cheeks—here it is again. That romantic feeling. Your eyes catch on the slope of his nose; how his lip is pulled between his dagger teeth in concentration. He’s craning his neck, trying to back up. Denji’s rough hands spin the wheel gentle but firm. The air is too warm and the inside of the car is too small and all you have to do to kiss him is lean in, just a little bit, it could happen so quick—

But then Denji’s heavy foot is a little too eager on the gas, and the crunch of metal shatters the moment like glass. Both of you lurch forward. Your hand shoots out to steady yourself on the dash.

“Fuck!” Denji yells from the driver’s seat.

Of course he reversed into the goddamn car behind you.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan, head falling into your hands. This is probably how you die. Not in a blaze of glory ripping down a devil, but in your douchebag ex’s stolen car. Beside you, Denji is just overflowing with laughter.

“Oh, this shit is not gonna be driveable by the time we’re done with it.” He grabs your leg, right above your knee, and he jostles you. Like he’s trying to shake the uneasiness right out. And somehow, it works a little. His eyes lock on yours, and they glow brighter than all the neon signs up and down this strip of bars, combined. Your heart stumbles again.

Why is it doing that? What is going on with you?

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re laughing. He’s vibrating with laughter and excitement and the unmistakable thrill of grand theft auto, so you are, too. Denji’s infectious. He floods you completely and all of your concerns and inhibitions wash away. Just like that; in one open-mouth grin. His hands grip the wheel again and he steps on the gas.

Fuck it. Stealing your ex’s car suddenly sounds like a great idea. Who cares if a hundred people just saw you barrel into two other cars? The police don’t do shit to devil hunters, anyway. You’ll probably be fine. (Unless this night somehow devolves from petty car theft to murder, or something, and in that case, well. Did anyone ever really like Asahi, anyway?)

Denji’s more careful with you in the passenger seat. Both of his hands wrap firmly around the steering wheel, and he’s cautious not to pound the brakes at red lights. He always checks his blind spot before smoothly merging lanes; your eyes always stumble on the smooth slope of his adam’s apple as his neck stretches. You’ve had your mouth on that neck maybe a hundred times, but something about it feels brand-new inside the bubble of this moment. It tickles something in your core. Something camping out between hunger and want. Something delicious, and entirely too much to handle.

You close your eyes. Denji lit a cigarette maybe three miles back, and the smoke mixes with his soap and threads through your nostrils. Guitar notes from Denji’s favorite song rip out of the car radio, volume cranked as far as the knob would budge. The highway air stings your skin. The night is warm, just beyond your rolled-down window, and the rain has backed off but left a humid taste and smell lingering behind. The atmosphere hums kindly and warmly like the Friday night of a weekend trip. Inside the car, work doesn’t exist, and you never have to worry about what to make for dinner, and shitty cheating ex-boyfriends mean absolutely nothing.

There’s only Denji.

And when you open your eyes again, you know.

You are in love.

Denji abruptly cuts the ribbon of highway off when you’re a handful of miles outside the city, when the streetlights have melted into tall, swaying trees. The car glides to a comfortable stop on the side of the road, facing a steep, jagged drop-off. Denji twists the key in the ignition, and the engine mutters into silence

“Should we shove the car down there?” He asks.

“I think it would be a shame to leave it up here where anyone could just, take it or something,” you reason.

Both of you scramble out of the car, squeaking against the leather seats and bubbling over with giggles. Denji spreads his hands against the car's back end. His lean back muscles stretch under his fog-grey pajama shirt in a way that makes sweat bead up on the palms of your hands. You throw your shoulder into the car, bowing your head; half to help push, half to hide the heat consuming your cheeks.

“Think it’ll explode?”

“Oh,” you laugh, “I really hope so.”

Denji’s packed with muscle and so the wheels turn obediently. He gives a grunt and swears once or twice and the front tires are already at the edge, sending loose gravel skittering down the cliff face. It takes one good, hard shove and then the car is tipping dangerously for a moment. Denji snatches your hand and scrambles backwards. For a very slow-moving second, Asahi’s car trembles and leans, like it’s trying to decide if it really wants to tumble down or not. Despite the fact that there’s a literal car about to to roll down a cliff to its death, you’re distracted. Asahi’s car is nothing compared to the gentle pink of Denji’s lips. Inside this moment, they are everything. Your world is neatly packed into the warm comfort of the way his mouth stretches to fit his smile. You want to kiss him, hard. So that he knows without any words that you love him.

Wholly, passionately, forever.

And then the car makes up its mind to fall. It tips over the edge and performs a dramatic somersault, and the crumpling metal is probably the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. The glass shatters into a fine glittering stardust and the stench of gasoline stings your senses. Beside you, Denji yells holy shit! and leans over the edge to watch the car come apart. The shark-tooth grin on his face is so wide and so sharp you think it might be permanent. Your heart squeezes, and you don’t ask why.

It’s weird, considering you found out you’d been cheated on maybe two hours ago, but this might be the best night of your life.

The car doesn’t explode, unfortunately, but it was a good show and you can’t complain. After it screeches to a deafening stop at the bottom of the ravine, you flee. At first, you break into a jog—probably don’t want to get caught near the smoking wreck of a stolen car, after all—but Denji shrugs at you, stuffs his hands into his pajama pockets, and smiles lazily.

“C’mon, man,” he calls, footsteps easy and slow. “Nice night. Why not enjoy the walk back?”

The stars stretch out in a thick bright blanket, and the cool night air blows across you so kindly, like it knows you’re in love. He’s right. You make a big show of rolling your eyes, and heaving a big sigh, but you jog back to his side anyway. He shakes a hand out of his pocket, and snakes a warm arm over your shoulders. You sigh, happy. Life has never tasted so sweet.

It’s a long walk back to Tokyo, but Denji’s skinny arm is slung around your shoulders the entire way, so you don’t mind a single step.

#Chainsaw Man #chainsaw man/reader #chainsaw man x reader #denji x reader #denji/reader #denji x you #Denji/you #chainsaw man #SHE IS HERE #thank you all for the patience I'm the slowest writer and a full time student which is not a great combo when it comes to productivity #Originally this was gonna be lumped in with what is now part 3 #But I wanted to end on a happy note for at least one part so have a flashback of when Things Were Nice :)

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