#MAKING A WISH COME TRUE SAFELY
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MCF: MADE IN THE PHILIPPINES
RAYNOLD TAN
TOMMY ALEJANDRINO
RABIN JOSH
#From My Main Blog: BL-BAM-BEYOND#My GIFS#MCF MAN CRUSH FANDOM#MADE IN THE PHILIPPINES#MADE IN SINGAPORE#ACTORS#THE DAY I LOVED YOU#REGAL ENTERTAINMENT YOUTUBE CHANNEL#MYGIFSET#MyGIFedit#MAKING A WISH COME TRUE SAFELY#GOOD SERIES#WORTH WATCHING
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combining some endings with a slash as I believe they serve equal narrative purpose. Feel free to elaborate which should go first or be omitted in the tags/comments if you would like :) I omitted the coffin ending as it’s not really an “ending” so much as it is a fail state for the true end
#zero escape#999#9 hours 9 persons 9 doors#999 spoilers#ze 999#this poll was originally gonna be ‘best door order playthru’ but that is WAY too long to put as choices#and it essentially asks what this is asking anyway#my choice is sub->knife->axe->safe->true#I could see an argument to wedge the coffin ending in before the safe ending and returning to true#if only for Santa’s ‘time to make a wish come true’ line be more at the front of the players mind#but that’s meh reasoning at best#I love the axe ending but I also like sub->safe->true and just dismissing the other endings#I think sub is so important to play thru ESPECIALLY get first because I think it sets the tone in its ending so so well#especially if you get the sub ending by choosing door 3 instead of 7/8 and then 2#it very quickly and clearly shows off the protags cleverness and manipulation skills which come back again in the safe end#and then the ending itself being an Everyone Dies ending raises the stakes so much for ur next play thru#yes people die in other endings but this is EVERYONE#I personally think it’s good for tone#I really dislike the idea of people getting the safe ending first too#it reveals its hand SO early if you do - the antagonist of previous endings is just revealed#so if you get the knife or sub ending after the safe ending I think it ruins so much mystery#and I think a lot of scenes with Ace before the Safe ending are better when you don’t suspect him and see him as his Lame Dad persona#when u get Safe first and then keep playing with him after…idk u can still enjoy Lame Dad Ace but I think the betrayal hits harder#when u get Safe later after thinking u know about Ace outside of just the 6 door#but hey these are all my opinions - can’t wait to hear what others say :)#poll
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i do really love how your choices from other da games affect inquisition so much because it turned my warden and alistair’s love story into a horrible tragedy against my will
#alistair didnt want to be king so i made sure he stayed a warden like he wanted > i let him kill loghain > i wanted us both to live#so we could be together so we went through with morrigans ritual and both live > alistair is the warden friend of hawkes > the sacrifice is#between hawke and alistair which to me is an impossible choice that took me like. a good amount of time to decide and i eventually decided#to sacrifice alistair because i spent all of da2 with hawke and shaping him and i didnt want to lose him. so my warden lost alistair instead#and its soooo tragic bc i was abt to ask him about her and he talked abt her w so much love#*able not abt#and you can get a letter from the hero of fereldan and she says to take care of him and shes not going through all this just to lose him to#the inquisition. and its down to me to decide and i make her worst nightmare come true by having him stay behind#when talking abt my warden alistair had a line that was like when im done here we’ll be together forever this time and looking back it makes#me sooooo sick and sad bc they went through w morrigans ritual so they could both live and be together but one of them ends up dying young#anyway. the only comfort i get from that is that instead of the year they wouldve gotten if they didnt go through with morrigans ritual#they got ten so at least they had some time but i wish they had more but i couldnt bring myself to sacrifice hawke bc that felt too personal#and i didnt want to do it in front of varric bc he was in my party and i didnt want him to lose him in general and i couldnt leave anders#alone bc thats my baby and i went through so much to keep him safe and i will continue to do that#anyway its just so interesting how everything plays out depending on how you choose to play the other games#like im doing a full replay and im specifically making alistair king so he survives#and my warden is a human noble so theyll be married#r.txt
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i just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. make my wish come true, all i want for christmas is you.
@jxngwho
Este ano o Natal seria um pouco diferente para o lufano. Após muito insistir com os pais, estes que ficaram pouco felizes com a decisão do filho, conseguiu convencê-los a deixá-lo passar o Natal em Hogwarts. A razão pela qual estava fazendo isso? Bom, ela tinha um nome e sobrenome: Lee Jungwoo. Quando o loiro soube que o amigo estava doente e passaria o Natal sozinho no castelo, não teve como ficar indiferente, na verdade, ficou até bastante animado por ter a oportunidade de passar aquela celebração junto dele. A verdade é que desde aquele dia na enfermaria, onde Jungwoo cuidou de um Minho machucado, a amizade dos dois garotos foi crescendo cada vez mais ao ponto do moreno confiar suficientemente no loiro e não fugir mais. E era em nome dessa amizade e carinho imenso que o lufano tinha subornado um grifano com doces para ajudá-lo a entrar na sala comunal da grifinória. - "Obrigado." - agradeceu ao outro garoto, sorridente e simpático como sempre, seguindo por fim as indicações que lhe foram dadas e caminhando até ao dormitório do Lee. Ainda pensou em entrar sem bater, para a surpresa causar um maior impacto, contudo, preservava bastante a privacidade do amigo e também não o queria assustar ou afugentar com abordagens mais invasivas. Então com um sorriso singelo nos lábios, ansioso por ver o amigo, bateu à porta e esperou o outro responder-lhe.
#minwoo#i will light the path for you i'll do all that i can do to keep you safe - minwoo#i just want you for my own more than you could ever know make my wish come true all i want for christmas is you
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Im feeling the tokophobia really strongly tonight
#like the fact that even if I try my best to avoid males and separate myself from them I could still get raped and impregnated makes me wanna#scream#even if I stop talking and visiting my male family members and decide not to have any sort of relationship with a male platonic romantic or#otherwise I’m still not safe#god I hate them so much#like separating from them has been pretty easy because I never liked being around them In the first place I barely talk to my male relatives#and I’m living my best life rn#but I still wish fully fledged separatist communities existed everywhere#it’d be a dream come true living there with only other womyn and no male in sight for the rest of my life#me my wife and our friends just enjoying life together#yeah I know it won’t be perfect but it still sounds like heaven#radblr#radfems please interact#radfems do touch#radical feminism#radfem
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i might be terrible for feeling like this. but the sheer amount of schadenfreude i have after finding out that freminet is likely going to be a shit unit is through the roof lmao
#⇢₊˚⊹ 🩷∥ruby∥yo,ide yo !!#> from watching the zajef prerelease video on him#so i main chongyun right? that means (despite me trying to minmax even though i know my f2p damage will never measure up to spenders)#i generally don't care if the numbers are bad if a unit feels fun to play#hell even if the character is op i would be 90% less likely to use them if i didn't have fun using them (looking at you kuki)#but his kit looks like i'm not gonna enjoy it too#which leaves me with zero motivation to pull on the childe/zhongli banner now#now to watch zajef's lyney video and see if i get tempted to pull for him or if my primos will be safely stashed away for future banners#yknow. i kinda wish i mained a meta dps. or was inclined to main any of the meta dps's#quite frankly all the meta dps's gameplay bore me to death#i'm not saying this because i'm starting to dislike chongyun#i fully intend to be the most obsessive whale solely to optimize this exorcist boy far beyond the boundaries of reason#(that day is not coming anytime soon but you get the picture right? i'm still very much a ride or die for this lil guy)#i'm just tired of people calling him a shit unit. even on r/popsiclemains ppl call him suboptimal or subpar#i know all of those things are true#but it's not surprising that hearing it basically every single time he's mentioned is going to take its toll eventually either,is it?#this is why i just don't bother trying to be part of any community. with any kind of media,i'm someone whom ppl would say has “bad taste”#i just wish chongyun had a niche but still decent playstyle that he's unarguably the best at#being the best shatter dps is not it since shatter's numbers are basically terrible no matter what you do#if they somehow buff shatter in fontaine (since freminet's kit wants to shatter) then maybe i'll make it my main playstyle. but yeah...#the only times i bring out my shatter team are when fighting against pyro/electro enemies,or farming mushrooms#i guess it'd be nice to have zhongli since layla does disrupt reactions that i want chong to be the one proccing#but i just don't feel like breaking my back for yet another 5 star after how long it took to get kokomi#and he's basically guaranteed a rerun in natlan anyway so yeah...#i'm gonna be honest. now that i have kokomi,my motivation to pull for anyone else is almost nonexistent#maybe nilou so i can use kokomi as a driver. but other than her... unless natlan characters are really fucking cool#besides albedo and venti,i don't think i'll ever pull for a new 5 star ever again#after those three i'd only be pulling for vertical investment#or begrudgingly pulling for utility like zhongli
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you ever think about how kaeya is constantly on guard, scared, & simply -- not okay. that regardless how good he gets at handling all the threats he anticipates, that does not give him the power to make himself feel safe. just prepared. just capable. & it is something alike safe, it really is ----- but absolutely not the thing itself.
anyway all he truly craves is to just feel safe again & he lowkey highkey wishes he’d never felt it. that the ragnvindrs were less kind. it was easier when he didn’t know what he was missing.
#hc ✦ kaeya#which is why galactia's zhongli rocks his whole entire world#& also why he is cripplingly dependent on the idea of a) past with diluc b) present/future with diluc being at least a little bit sometimes#MAYBE that good again....#sad littol boy. it's like damn he could handle almost literally any problem you could throw at him.#oh wouldn't necessarily win but he's your MAN he's the guy you want in your corner if you'r trying to do .. anything difficult#but be okay ? feel okay ? no.#he has always needed a home & never had one he could trust. it's still all he wants; what he wants more than ANYTHING#.........................not sure if 'except independence/control'. like if you'd go into the extreme of making him a puppet would he pick t#his one thing I MEAN... he'll find some other way or let himself think he will.#but yeah i think for survival he wants self-control & as wish to actually LIVE it's a home.#zhongli who is both extremely capable/powerful AND loving/safe:#;DFLKJA;LSDKFJASLDKFJ IT'S REALLY NO WONDER MY BOY FELL ON HIS FACE FOR THIS GUY ok i'm fine i'm ok#becca getting slid in here every time kaeya's true bottom of his heart under the dregs of all his rotting hopes & wishes dreams come up
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mcelroys really not beating the "trying to start a wish-hearing mushroom wizard-based cult" allegations
#aiden's monologuing#it's funny to watch more people get into it#and the repeated refrain that fungalore does not grant wishes. he hears them though#for clarity this is a joke. not trying to make light of actual cults. be safe 👍#just listened to the wish stream vod. chat had a fun energy. i hope people's wishes come true
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Argh, still in pain thinking about how beautiful it is that Ice Fantasy actually entirely dedicates itself to honouring such wonderful and undoing thing known as love.
#love your family. love your friend. love your partner. love your fellow citizen. love your enemy. love your people. love your world.#IT SHOWS ALL OF THIS IN SUCH DETAIL GOD I HATE THAT-#LIKE. BITCH. THE ENTIRE PREMISE IS BASED ON LOVE BETWEEN BROTHERS WHO WANTED TO MAKE EACH OTHER'S WISH COME TRUE.#YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME.#and it's so interesting how character development here mainly comes from loving someone or something#AAAAAAAAAAAAA#yan da's case is especially intriguing because it's so simple yet complicated. she was not even allowed to show love to anyone.#until ying kong shi melted her heart (and it's ironic that she's literally a fire princess) and let her feel safe to express herself.#and she never forgets that. in fact she's constantly reminding him that he's not such a cold and uncaring bitch as he pretends to be.#and it hurts her when he tries to show her otherwise because it's not true.#some people may say that her main flaw is that she loves him unconditionally. and you know what? I disagree.#because that's the entire point. love is excruciating and love is undoing.#but in the world where uncaring hatred devours you it's the only thing that holds you in place and motivates you to move forwards.
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Hey hun I hope your doing okay and you don’t have to apologize for being inactive, you’re human and everyone has bad days. I hope you feel better soon.
Stay safe🫶🏼🫶🏼
Idk who you are, but I adore you, I always tell the people I follow to take care of themselves first and to worry about us later. I hope you are staying safe and remembering to care for yourself too😘
#i love asks#you stay safe#🫶🏻🫶🏻anony#I’d call you pookie but thats reserved for Luna’s asks lol#thank you my sweet#I hope you get your wishes to come true#dont be afraid to slide in my dm’s i like making friends im just hella introverted and a big püśśy
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Wait, Bakudeku is literally considered canon in the Japanese fandom???!!! Like no joke, in Japan Bkdk being canon is actually a widely accepted thing?? Like, let me get this straight.
The manga was meant for Japanese audience mainly, so the romance would also be something that is suited for Japanese audience, not the direct and straight forward approach that non-japanese shows have when it comes to romance. And you guys remember the "Rest of our lives" scene? Well yeah, that's actually a marriage proposal in Japan. In Japan they don't say Will you marry me? Some of the most common proposal lines are literally:
“Let’s spend the rest of our lives together.”
“Having you by my side is what completes me.”
“I can't imagine my life without you in it.”
“I wish I could give you everything, but I hope that this ring is enough.”
"I will protect you forever."
Like bro what?? These are literally Bkdk coded. Like Izuku fr thought once that he can't imagine his world without Kacchan in it. And the “I wish I could give you everything, but I hope that this ring is enough.”?? Replace ring with hero suit and you get the freaking ending of the manga. And I will protect you forever is also so them like I just can't yjxnsjxjnxjdkkxkxkxkxkkdk
I know we were all waiting for Horikoshi to make Bkdk canon in some big way like at the end they're revealed to be together or some confession or some shit but we do forget sometimes that this is set in Japanese culture and in Japan things are very different. Much more subtle and way less straight forward and obvious. Most japanese husbands and wives don't even normally say I love you to each other, because they express love through different ways, like action. And that is very hard for our non-japanese brains to understand cause it's just so different over there and instead of being expressive, love in Japanese culture is more about gratitude expressed through actions and devotion. It's much more symbolic.
So then when we think back on all those Cherry Blossom official arts, well NOW it doesn't seem too far fetched to think it might mean something, does it? For us, all these little hints and symbolism are just that. Hints and symbolism. But for Japanese people? They know how to read it very well and it's common in Japan to express certain things through symbolism. Like "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" Is a full on marriage proposal line. It doesn't seem like it to us, but to them yes. Also let's not forget we literally have a scene with Deku looking out at the moon and Bakugo too 😭
So, if we look at it in a Japanese sense, and that in japaese culture, love is expressed in a more symbolic way, and through actions and devotion, then it isn't so hard to believe anymore that Bakugo and Deku are actually fully implied canon in the manga. I mean talk about devotion..Bakugo literally spent 8 YEARS to help fund that suit for Izuku. He took "actions speak louder than words" fcking seriously.
Like would it be better if Horikoshi actually made them say they were in love or made then kiss or something? Yeah, but realistically speaking that probably wasn't gonna happen either way. And the fact that the Japanese fandom, who the manga is literally meant for, is fr congratulating Bakudeku for being canon!!!! Like y'all if the japanese fandom thinks that they're canon then it's safe to say that they are. Because in a sense, Japanese people can read and understand that "language" behind those hints better than us. And if they say it's canon, then I bet my ass it is.
TOO BAD I AIN'T FCKING JAPANESE
Like seriously why is it so hard being European. We wouldn't believe something was true until the cold hard evidence was literally laid right in front of our freaking eyes.
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Find Me Again
Lando Norris x Reader
Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)
Alexandria, 30 BC
The scorching Egyptian sun beats down on Alexandria as you hurry through the bustling streets, your sandals slapping against the warm stone. The air is thick with tension — whispers of Octavian’s approaching army have the city on edge. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the stolen moments you’ll soon share with Lando.
You slip into a secluded alleyway, heart racing as you spot his familiar silhouette. Lando’s face lights up when he sees you, though worry creases his brow.
“There you are,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
You melt into his embrace, savoring his warmth. “I’m sorry I’m late. The palace has been in chaos with all the rumors flying about.”
Lando’s arms tighten around you. “It’s true then? Octavian draws near?”
You nod against his chest. “I fear so. Cleopatra grows more desperate by the day.”
He pulls back, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His dark eyes search yours intently. “Come away with me,” he pleads. “We can leave the city tonight, find passage on a ship bound for Greece or Cyprus.”
Your heart aches at the longing in his voice. “Lando, you know I can’t abandon my duty to the queen. She needs me now more than ever.”
“And what of my need for you?” Lando’s voice cracks with emotion. “Each day I’m torn between my loyalty to Rome and my love for you. I cannot bear the thought of you in danger when Octavian’s forces arrive.”
You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. “My brave soldier,” you murmur. “Always trying to protect me. But I’ve survived far worse than regime changes. We’ll find a way through this, as we always do.”
Lando leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I wish I had your optimism. Every time I close my eyes, I see visions of you lying lifeless amidst the chaos of battle.”
A chill runs down your spine despite the oppressive heat. “Don’t speak of such things,” you chide gently. “We make our own fate, remember?”
He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. I just ... I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. Promise me you’ll be careful, my love. Promise you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe.”
“I promise,” you whisper, sealing the vow with a tender kiss.
Lando responds eagerly, drawing you closer as the kiss deepens. For a blissful moment, the world fades away and there is only the two of you, lost in each other’s embrace.
A distant shout breaks the spell. You reluctantly pull away, both breathing heavily.
“I should go,” you murmur regretfully. “Cleopatra will be wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”
Lando nods, though he doesn’t release you from his arms. “When can I see you again?”
You bite your lip, considering. “Three days from now, at sunset. Meet me by the lighthouse?”
“I’ll be there,” he vows solemnly. “Be safe, my love.”
With a final lingering kiss, you slip from his embrace and hurry back towards the palace. Your heart feels lighter despite the looming threats, buoyed by Lando’s love and the promise of your next rendezvous.
But fate, it seems, has other plans.
The next few days pass in a blur of mounting tension. Cleopatra grows increasingly erratic, oscillating between grandiose plans to seduce Octavian and talks of ending her own life. You do your best to comfort and counsel her, all while stealing moments to daydream about your upcoming meeting with Lando.
On the fated evening, you’re helping Cleopatra prepare for bed when she suddenly fixates on a basket of figs brought by a servant.
“Ah, how fitting,” she muses, a strange glint in her eye. “Did you know, my dear, that the Egyptians that came before us believed figs to be the fruit of the afterlife?”
A chill runs down your spine. “My queen?”
Cleopatra waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I was simply contemplating the cyclical nature of life and death. Come, help me into bed.”
You obey, tucking the sheets around her with practiced ease. As you turn to leave, her hand darts out to grasp your wrist.
“Stay with me a while longer,” she implores. “I find I cannot bear to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”
Your heart sinks, knowing you’ll miss your rendezvous with Lando. But duty wins out over desire. “Of course, my queen. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
Hours pass as you sit by Cleopatra’s bedside, listening to her reminisce about better days. Just as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, a commotion in the hall startles you both fully awake.
“What’s happening?” Cleopatra demands, sitting up.
Before you can answer, the doors burst open and a breathless messenger stumbles in. “My queen,” he pants, “Octavian’s army has breached the city walls!”
Cleopatra’s face hardens. “So, the end has come at last.” She turns to you, her gaze intense. “Fetch me the asp.”
Your blood runs cold. “My queen, surely there must be another way-”
“Do not argue with me!” She snaps. “I will not be paraded through Rome as Octavian’s prize. Now go, quickly!”
With a heavy heart, you hurry to retrieve the venomous snake from its hidden chamber. Your hands shake as you return, presenting the basket to Cleopatra.
She reaches for it eagerly, but pauses. Her eyes meet yours, softening slightly. “My faithful friend,” she murmurs. “You have served me well. I release you from your duties. Go, find that Roman boy of yours and flee while you still can.”
Your eyes widen in shock. “You knew?”
Cleopatra’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “I’ve always known. Now go, before it’s too late.”
Torn between duty and desire, you hesitate. In that moment of indecision, everything changes.
Cleopatra reaches for the asp, but in her haste, she knocks the basket from your hands. The snake falls to the floor, immediately striking at the nearest target … you.
Pain explodes in your ankle as the asp’s fangs sink into your flesh. You cry out, stumbling backwards.
“No!” Cleopatra wails, lunging to catch you as you fall.
The world begins to spin as the venom courses through your veins. Your last coherent thought is of Lando, waiting faithfully by the lighthouse. As darkness closes in, you pray he’ll forgive you for breaking your promise.
Hours later, Lando fights his way through the chaos of the conquered city. He charges into the palace, heedless of the danger, desperate to find you.
When he bursts into Cleopatra’s chambers, his worst fears are realized. Two bodies lie motionless on the floor — the queen and beside her ...
“No,” he chokes out, falling to his knees beside your lifeless form. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
Lando gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as sobs wrack his body. “You promised,” he whispers brokenly. “You promised you’d stay safe.”
But promises, like empires, are so easily broken. As the sun rises on a new era for Egypt, it sets on this chapter of your shared story. Yet even as this life ends, the seeds of the next are already taking root, waiting to bloom in another time, another place.
For true love, like the mighty Nile, cannot be contained. It flows ever onward, carving new paths through the landscape of eternity.
Pompeii, 79 AD
The ground trembles beneath your feet as you race through the chaotic streets of Pompeii. Ash rains from the sky, coating everything in a ghostly gray shroud. All around, people scream and push, desperately seeking escape from the fury of Mount Vesuvius.
“Lando!” You call out, your voice hoarse from the acrid air. “Lando, where are you?”
A hand suddenly grabs your arm, yanking you into a narrow alleyway. You whirl around, ready to fight, only to find yourself face to face with Lando. His usually immaculate toga is torn and stained with soot, his dark curls matted with ash.
“Thank the gods,” he breathes, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”
You cling to him tightly, savoring his familiar warmth amidst the chaos. “We need to get out of the city,” you say urgently. “The mountain — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Lando nods grimly. “I know. I’ve been trying to make it to the harbor, but the roads are completely blocked. It’s madness out there.”
Another tremor rocks the ground, stronger than before. Pieces of masonry rain down from the surrounding buildings. Lando shields you with his body as you both press against the alley wall.
“We can’t stay here,” you say once the shaking subsides. “It’s not safe.”
“Nowhere is safe,” Lando replies, his eyes haunted. “But you’re right, we need to keep moving. Come on, I know another way to the docks.”
Hand-in-hand, you dash back out into the crowded street. The air grows thicker with each passing moment, making it harder to breathe. You pull the edge of your stola over your mouth and nose, squinting through the haze.
Lando leads you through a maze of side streets and back alleys, avoiding the worst of the panicked crowds. But with each turn, your hope dwindles. The mountain’s fury seems to be growing by the minute, raining down fire and ash with terrifying intensity.
As you round another corner, you come face to face with a wall of rubble blocking the entire street. Lando curses under his breath, pounding his fist against a fallen column.
“It’s no use,” he says, defeat creeping into his voice. “Every path to the harbor is cut off. We’re trapped.”
You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Then we’ll find somewhere to wait it out. The gods won’t abandon us. We just have to have faith.”
He turns to you, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Even in the face of certain doom.”
“One of us has to be,” you reply, managing a weak smile of your own.
Another violent tremor shakes the ground, nearly knocking you both off your feet. In the distance, you hear the ominous rumble of collapsing buildings.
“Quick, in here!” Lando shouts, pulling you towards a sturdy-looking stone building. You duck inside just as a fresh barrage of burning rocks pelts the street where you were standing moments ago.
As your eyes adjust to the dimness, you realize you’re in some kind of workshop. Half-finished statues and blocks of marble are scattered about, coated in a fine layer of ash that has sifted through the cracks.
“A sculptor’s studio,” Lando muses, running his hand along a nearby bust. “Rather fitting, don’t you think? To spend our last moments surrounded by art meant to outlast us all.”
You shoot him a reproachful look. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.”
He sighs, pulling you close. “I admire your spirit, my love. But I fear this time, the Fates have other plans for us.”
As if to punctuate his words, the ground gives another violent lurch. The air grows even thicker, filled with choking dust and sulfurous fumes.
“It’s getting harder to breathe,” you gasp, fighting back a coughing fit.
Lando guides you to a relatively clear corner of the room, helping you sit on the floor before settling beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side.
“Just try to take shallow breaths,” he instructs, his own voice strained. “Like this, see?”
You nod, focusing on matching your breathing to his. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your labored breaths and the distant rumble of the mountain.
“Lando?” You whisper after a while.
“Hmm?”
“I’m scared.”
He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. I am too.”
“Tell me a story?” You ask, your voice small. “Like you used to, when we first met. Remember?”
Lando chuckles softly. “How could I forget? You were the most stubborn student I’ve ever had the misfortune of tutoring.”
“Hey!” You protest weakly, managing a smile despite everything. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh no?” He teases. “Who was it that insisted the Odyssey would be vastly improved if Odysseus had simply asked for directions?”
You laugh, the sound quickly dissolving into a cough. “Well, it’s true! Twenty years to get home? Penelope should have moved on.”
Lando shakes his head in mock dismay. “Such disrespect for the classics. I clearly failed as your tutor.”
“Never,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “You taught me far more important things than dusty old stories.”
“Oh? And what might those be?”
You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You taught me what it means to truly love someone. To find a home not in a place, but in a person.”
Lando’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he leans down to kiss you softly. “And you, my darling, taught me that life is meant to be lived, not just studied. You brought color to my world of scrolls and stone.”
Another tremor shakes the building, sending a fresh wave of dust raining down on you both. The air grows thicker, each breath a struggle.
“Lando,” you wheeze, gripping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to die.”
He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Promise you won’t leave me?” You plead, your vision starting to blur.
“Never,” he vows fiercely. “Not in this life or any other. Wherever our souls go next, we go together. I promise.”
You manage a weak nod, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. As consciousness begins to slip away, you’re struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.
“Lando?” You murmur, your voice barely audible.
“Yes, love?”
“I think ... I think we’ve done this before.”
He lets out a shaky laugh. “What, died in each other’s arms while a volcano erupts? I think I’d remember that.”
You shake your head slightly. “No, not exactly. But this feeling ... like we’ve known each other forever. Like we’ll find each other again, no matter what.”
Lando is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Maybe we have. Maybe we will. I’d like to think so.”
“Me too,” you whisper.
As the world crumbles around you, you cling to each other. Your last thoughts are not of fear or regret, but of the love you share. A love so powerful it transcends time itself.
And as this chapter closes, another waits to begin. For some bonds are too strong to be broken, even by death. Your souls are destined to find each other again and again, weaving an eternal tapestry of love across the ages.
Salem, 1692
The air in the Salem courthouse is thick with tension and the bitter scent of fear. You stand before the assembled judges, your wrists bound tightly with rough rope that chafes your skin. The crowd of onlookers murmurs and shifts restlessly, their faces a sea of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.
Lando sits among them, his face a mask of anguish as he watches the proceedings. He wants nothing more than to rush to your side, to shield you from the madness that has gripped the town. But he knows that any show of support would only damn you further in the eyes of the court.
Judge Hathorne’s voice rings out, silencing the whispers. “The accused will step forward.”
You take a shaky step, raising your chin defiantly despite the terror coursing through your veins.
“You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” Hathorne intones gravely. “How do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” you declare, your voice stronger than you feel. “I am no witch, merely a midwife and herbalist. I have done nothing but help this community.”
A snort of derision comes from the crowd. You turn to see Goodwife Putnam, her face twisted with malice. “Lies!” She shrieks. “I saw her dancing naked in the woods, consorting with dark spirits!”
“That’s not true!” You protest. “I was gathering herbs for my remedies, nothing more!”
Judge Hathorne raises an eyebrow. “And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on the night in question?”
Your heart sinks. You had been alone that night, as you often were when foraging. “I ... I was alone, your honor. But I swear on all that is holy, I am no witch.”
A ripple of whispers sweeps through the crowd. Lando’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort of remaining silent.
“Very convenient,” Hathorne remarks dryly. “Goody Putnam, you may continue with your testimony.”
The woman stands, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills you to the bone. “I’ve seen her speaking to animals as if they could understand her. And just last week, my cow’s milk turned sour the very day after she visited our farm!”
“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Milk spoils, it’s a natural occurrence. And I often speak to animals, as do many others. It does not make me a witch!”
But your protests fall on deaf ears. One by one, your neighbors step forward with increasingly outlandish accusations. Every misfortune, every unexplained event is laid at your feet.
“She cursed my crops!”
“My child fell ill after eating her bread!”
“I saw her flying on a broomstick!”
The claims grow more absurd, but the judges nod solemnly at each one. You feel the noose of suspicion tightening around your neck with each passing moment.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lando leaps to his feet. “This is madness!” He shouts. “You’re condemning an innocent woman based on nothing but gossip and superstition!”
All eyes turn to him. Judge Danforth fixes him with a steely glare. “Master Norris, you will remain silent or be removed from this courtroom.”
“I will not be silent while you murder an innocent woman!” Lando retorts. He turns to the crowd, imploring them. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re tearing our community apart with these baseless accusations!”
A murmur of uncertainty ripples through the onlookers. For a moment, you dare to hope that reason might prevail.
But then Abigail Williams, one of the young girls at the center of the witch hunt, lets out a blood-curdling shriek. She points a trembling finger at you. “Her specter! I see her specter tormenting me even now!”
The other girls quickly join in, writhing and screaming as if in the throes of possession. The courtroom erupts into chaos.
“Order!” Judge Hathorne bellows, pounding his gavel. “Order in the court!”
As the commotion dies down, he turns to you, his expression grave. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. Unless you confess and repent, I have no choice but to find you guilty of witchcraft.”
Your heart pounds in your chest. You know that a confession might spare your life, but it would mean living a lie. And worse, it would lend credence to the madness gripping Salem.
“I will not confess to crimes I did not commit,” you say quietly but firmly. “I am innocent before God and man.”
Judge Hathorne’s face hardens. “Then you leave us no choice. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”
The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. Lando’s anguished cry rises above the din. “No! You can’t do this!”
He rushes towards you, but is quickly restrained by two burly constables. “Let me go!” He shouts, struggling against their grip. “She’s innocent!”
Your eyes meet his across the chaotic courtroom. Despite everything, you manage a small, sad smile. “It’s alright, Lando,” you call out. “Be strong. This isn’t your fault.”
As the guards move to lead you away, Lando breaks free and rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands, his eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll find a way to stop this,” he vows. “I won’t let them take you.”
You lean into his touch, memorizing the feel of his hands on your skin. “There’s nothing you can do, my love. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Don’t let them take you too.”
“I can’t lose you,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.
“You won’t,” you whisper fiercely. “Not really. I don’t know how I know this, but I swear we’ll find each other again. In another life, another time. This isn’t the end for us.”
The guards roughly pull you apart. As they drag you away, you keep your eyes locked on Lando’s, drawing strength from his gaze.
The next few days pass in a blur of fear and desperate prayer. You cling to the strange certainty that had come over you in the courtroom — that somehow, someway, this is not truly the end for you and Lando.
On the day of your execution, you walk to the gallows with your head held high. The crowd that has gathered is subdued, some already beginning to question the justice of what’s happening.
You scan the faces, searching for Lando, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Your heart aches at his absence, but you understand. It would be too painful for him to watch.
As the noose is placed around your neck, you close your eyes and think of Lando. Of his laugh, his gentle touch, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hold onto these memories as the world falls away beneath your feet.
Your last conscious thought is a promise — to find him again, no matter how long it takes.
Miles away, hidden in the woods, Lando feels the exact moment you leave this world. He collapses to his knees, a wordless cry of anguish tearing from his throat. But even in his grief, he feels the echo of your final promise.
“I’ll find you,” he whispers to the uncaring forest. “In this life or the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”
And so another chapter closes, the threads of your shared destiny stretching onward through time. The cycle continues, each life bringing you closer to the moment when you’ll finally break free of this endless dance of death and rebirth.
Yekaterinburg, 1918
The Ipatiev House looms dark and foreboding in the Yekaterinburg night. You pace the confines of your makeshift prison, the once-opulent rooms now a stark reminder of how far the mighty Romanovs have fallen. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps from the floor below sends a chill down your spine.
“They’re coming,” your sister Maria whispers, her eyes wide with fear.
Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A group of armed men file in, their faces grim and purposeful. Your heart nearly stops when you spot a familiar face among them.
“Lando?” You gasp, scarcely able to believe your eyes.
He meets your gaze, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions. “Grand Duchess,” he says stiffly, the formal title at odds with the intimate moments you’ve shared in secret.
“What’s happening?” You demand, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Why are you here?”
Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of the house, steps forward. “The Ural Soviet has decided to execute the Romanov family,” he announces coldly. “You are to be moved to the basement immediately.”
A wave of terror washes over you. “No,” you breathe. “No, this can’t be happening.”
Your eyes lock with Lando’s, silently pleading. For a moment, you see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he looks away.
As the guards begin herding your family towards the stairs, you manage to maneuver closer to Lando. “How could you be part of this?” You hiss under your breath.
His jaw clenches. “The revolution demands sacrifices,” he mutters. “Even from those we ... care about.”
“Care about?” You repeat incredulously. “Is that all I am to you now? After everything we’ve shared?”
A flicker of pain crosses his face. “You know it’s more complicated than that. Your family’s rule has caused immeasurable suffering. This ... this is justice.”
“Murder is not justice,” you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.
Before he can respond, you’re roughly pushed forward. The journey to the basement is a blur of terror and disbelief. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmare.
In the dank cellar, Yurovsky instructs your family to line up against the wall. You find yourself between your younger siblings, instinctively trying to shield them even as your own knees threaten to give out.
“Wait,” you cry out as Yurovsky raises his hand to signal the firing squad. “Please, spare the children at least. They’re innocent in all this!”
Yurovsky’s face remains impassive. “There can be no Romanov heirs left to rally around. The old regime must end here and now.”
You turn to Lando, making one last desperate appeal. “Lando, please. If what we had meant anything to you, don’t let this happen. Help us!”
For a moment, you see the Lando you knew — the passionate young man who spoke of creating a better world, who held you under the stars and whispered promises of a future together. But then the revolutionary mask slips back into place.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “But this is bigger than us.”
As the soldiers raise their weapons, time seems to slow. You think of all the lives you might have lived — the futures now forever lost to you. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, as if you’ve faced death with Lando before.
“Ready!” Yurovsky’s voice cuts through your reverie.
You straighten your spine, determined to face your end with dignity. Your eyes find Lando’s one last time.
“Aim!”
“I forgive you,” you mouth silently, even as tears stream down your face.
You see Lando’s composure crack, anguish flooding his features. He takes a half-step forward, as if to intervene, but it’s too late.
“Fire!”
The basement erupts in a deafening cacophony of gunshots and screams. You feel a searing pain in your chest as bullets tear through you. As you crumple to the ground, your fading vision fixates on Lando’s horrified face.
With your last breath, you whisper, “Find me again.”
Then darkness claims you.
Lando stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from your lifeless form. The smokey smell of gunpowder mixes with the metallic scent of blood, turning his stomach.
“Finish them off,” Yurovsky orders dispassionately. “No survivors.”
As his comrades move forward with bayonets, Lando stumbles back, retching. He staggers up the stairs and out into the cool night air, gulping it down desperately.
What has he done?
He’d believed so fervently in the revolution, in the need to sweep away the old order to build a better world. But staring at his blood-stained hands, Lando feels nothing but horror and soul-crushing guilt.
Your final words haunt him. “Find me again.” But how can he, when he’s destroyed any chance of a future together?
As dawn breaks over Yekaterinburg, Lando makes a decision. He can’t undo what’s been done, but he can ensure the truth isn’t buried along with your body.
Over the coming weeks, as the Bolsheviks spread lies about your family’s fate, Lando works in secret to document what really happened. He gathers evidence, writes detailed accounts, and arranges for the information to be smuggled out of the country.
It’s a dangerous game. If caught, he’ll be branded a traitor to the revolution. But Lando no longer cares about ideology or politics. His only goal is to honor your memory and ensure that history remembers the truth.
Late one night, as he prepares to flee the country with his damning documents, Lando allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He thinks of your smile, your compassion, the way you challenged him to see beyond his rigid beliefs.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the empty room. “I failed you in this life. But I swear, somehow, I’ll make it right. If there’s any justice in the universe, we’ll meet again. And next time, I’ll protect you. I’ll choose you over everything else.”
As he slips out into the night, Lando feels a strange sense of certainty. This isn’t the end of your story. Somehow, someway, you’ll find each other again.
The wheel of fate continues to turn, carrying your intertwined souls towards yet another lifetime. But with each cycle, the bond between you grows stronger. Perhaps next time, you’ll finally break free of this tragic pattern and find the happiness that’s eluded you for so long.
Jonestown, 1978
The humid Guyanese air hangs heavy over Jonestown, thick with tension and the cloying scent of tropical flowers. You stand among the gathered crowd, your heart pounding so hard you fear it might burst from your chest. Beside you, Lando’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.
“This isn’t right,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the droning speech coming from the pavilion. “We need to get out of here.”
You nod imperceptibly, not daring to speak. Jim Jones’ paranoid ravings have reached a fever pitch in recent days, and you both know that even the slightest hint of dissent could be deadly.
“My children,” Jones’ voice booms out over the loudspeakers, “the time has come for us to make our final stand against the oppressors who seek to destroy our paradise.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. You scan the sea of faces, seeing a mix of blind devotion and barely concealed terror.
“Our Congressional visitors have betrayed us,” Jones continues, his words slurring slightly. “They will bring nothing but destruction. We have no choice but to enact our glorious revolutionary suicide.”
Your blood runs cold. You’d heard whispers of this plan, but had desperately hoped it was just another of Jones’ manipulative tactics.
“Lando,” you whisper urgently, “we have to run. Now.”
He nods, his face pale but determined. “Follow my lead. When I give the signal, we make a break for the jungle.”
But before you can move, you feel a vice-like grip on your arm. You turn to see your mother, her eyes wild with fervor.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She hisses. “This is our moment of triumph. You will not ruin it with your lack of faith.”
On Lando’s other side, his father has a similar hold on him. The older man’s face is a mask of grim resignation. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” he says quietly.
You watch in horror as Jones’ lieutenants begin distributing paper cups filled with a sinister purple liquid. The bitter almond smell of cyanide fills the air.
“No,” you breathe, struggling against your mother’s grip. “Mom, please. This is insanity. We don’t have to do this!”
But your pleas fall on deaf ears. Your mother’s grip only tightens as she accepts two cups from a passing aide.
“Drink,” she commands, thrusting one towards you.
You shake your head vehemently, clamping your mouth shut. Beside you, Lando is engaged in a similar struggle with his father.
“You can’t force us to do this!” Lando shouts, drawing the attention of nearby cult members. “This is murder!”
Jones’ voice cuts through the growing commotion. “Those who resist are traitors to our cause. They must be made to comply, for the good of all.”
Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a group of Jones’ most fanatical followers. Rough hands grab you, forcing your head back. You struggle wildly, but it’s no use. You feel the cold rim of the cup pressed against your lips.
“No!” Lando cries out, fighting to reach you. “Leave her alone!”
But he too is overwhelmed, multiple hands restraining him as the poisoned drink is forced upon him.
The sickly-sweet liquid burns your throat as it’s poured into your mouth. You choke and splutter, but can’t prevent some of it from going down. Beside you, Lando’s muffled cries tell you he’s suffering the same fate.
As the hands release you, you collapse to your knees, coughing violently. Your vision swims, the world taking on a surreal, nightmarish quality.
“Lando,” you gasp, reaching out blindly.
His hand finds yours, gripping it weakly. “I’m here,” he manages, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”
You crawl closer, fighting against the growing weakness in your limbs. All around, people are collapsing, some screaming in agony while others slip away in eerie silence.
“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, cupping Lando’s face with a trembling hand. “We never stood a chance against this madness.”
Lando’s eyes, clouded with pain, meet yours. “This can’t be how it ends,” he says desperately. “Not again.”
A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. “Again?” You murmur, confused.
He nods weakly. “I don’t know how, but I feel like we’ve been here before. Facing death together, unable to stop it.”
As the poison works its way through your system, flashes of other lives flicker through your mind. Ancient Egypt, Pompeii, Salem, Russia — each time, finding each other only to be torn apart.
“I remember,” you breathe, wonder mingling with the pain. “We keep finding each other, but we never get our happy ending.”
Lando pulls you closer, both of you shaking with the effort of fighting off the inevitable. “Next time,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Next time we’ll break this cycle. We’ll find a way to be together.”
You manage a small, sad smile. “Promise?”
“I promise,” he murmurs, pressing a weak kiss to your forehead.
As consciousness begins to slip away, you cling to each other. The sounds of screaming and Jones’ maniacal laughter fade into the background. In these final moments, there is only you and Lando, and the love that has somehow endured across lifetimes.
“Find me again,” you whisper, echoing words spoken in another life.
Lando’s grip on your hand tightens fractionally. “Always,” he breathes.
As darkness closes in, you’re filled with a strange sense of hope. This tragic cycle can’t go on forever. Someday, somehow, you’ll find a way to break free and finally have the life together you’ve been denied so many times.
Your last thought, as you slip away, is a prayer to whatever cosmic force keeps bringing you together.
Next time, let it be different.
Next time, let us live.
And as your souls depart this tragic scene, unseen wheels of fate begin to turn once more. The cycle continues, but perhaps this time, with the weight of so many shared lifetimes behind you, you’ll finally find your way to a happier ending.
In the years that follow, as the horror of Jonestown is revealed to the world, two names are lost among the hundreds of victims. But your story — the story of a love that refuses to be extinguished — lives on, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.
Monaco, 2024
The soft glow of computer screens illuminates Lando’s face as he leans into his microphone, his eyes darting between the chat and his game. “No, chat, I’m not going to sing the Baby Shark song,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You lot are absolutely mental, you know that?”
The door to his streaming room creaks open, and he glances over, his face softening into a warm smile as you pad in, wrapped in an oversized hoodie you’ve stolen from his wardrobe.
“Speaking of sharks,” Lando grins, addressing his audience, “look who’s decided to join us. It’s my favorite cuddly shark!”
You roll your eyes fondly at the nickname, a reference to your habit of playfully nipping at his shoulder when you’re feeling particularly affectionate. As you approach, Lando pushes his chair back slightly, making room for you to settle onto his lap.
“Come here, you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist as you curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. To his stream, he explains, “Sorry chat, the missus is feeling a bit clingy tonight. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, making him laugh. “What was that, love? The stream can’t hear you when you’re trying to become one with my neck.”
Lifting your head slightly, you repeat, “I said, don’t let me interrupt your gaming. I just wanted cuddles.”
Lando presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re never an interruption. Besides, I think the chat’s been asking for a cameo from you all night.”
You turn to face the camera, waving sleepily. “Hi, chat. Sorry I’m not more entertaining tonight. Long day at work.”
The chat explodes with greetings and well-wishes, scrolling by almost too fast to read. Lando chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze. “See? They love you. Probably more than they love me, to be honest.”
“That’s fair,” you murmur, nuzzling back into his neck. “No one loves you more than I do.”
Lando’s breath catches for a moment, and you feel his heart rate pick up. Even after all this time together, simple declarations of love still affect him deeply. It’s one of the many things you adore about him.
“Alright, chat,” Lando says, his voice a touch huskier than before. “You’ve gone and made her all sappy. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”
You can’t help but giggle at his attempt to deflect. “Oh please, you love it when I’m sappy.”
“Maybe,” he concedes with a grin. “But if I admit that, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”
You snort inelegantly. “What reputation? Everyone knows you’re a big softie.”
“Oi!” Lando protests, poking you in the side and making you squirm. “I’ll have you know I’m very tough and manly. Right, chat?”
The stream erupts with a mix of agreement and playful disagreement, peppered with emotes and inside jokes. You watch the scrolling text with amusement, marveling at the community Lando has built.
“See?” Lando says triumphantly. “They agree with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure at least half of those messages were sarcastic, babe.”
Lando waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, I’m incredibly macho and not at all a softie.”
“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. “Is that why you cried watching Up last week?”
“Hey!” Lando exclaims, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s classified information, that is. You can’t just go revealing my secrets to the entire internet!”
The chat goes wild at this revelation, demanding to know more about Lando’s movie-watching habits. You can’t help but laugh at his mock-outraged expression.
“Sorry, love,” you say, not sounding sorry at all. “But if I have to put up with your sniffling during Disney movies, the least I can do is share the joy with your fans.”
Lando groans dramatically. “That’s it, I’m filing for divorce. Chat, you’re my witnesses. This is grounds for divorce, right? Revealing a man’s most intimate vulnerabilities?”
You roll your eyes fondly. “We’re not even married yet, you goof.”
The words slip out before you can think better of them, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Lando’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze locking with yours.
“Yet?” He repeats softly, a note of wonder in his voice.
You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away. “Well, yeah. I mean, unless you had other plans?”
For a moment, Lando seems to forget entirely about the stream. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “No other plans,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”
The intimacy of the moment is broken by the chat exploding once again, this time with a flurry of ring emotes and excited keysmashes. Lando blinks, seeming to remember where he is.
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, chat, I think that’s my cue to end the stream for tonight. Got some, uh, important things to discuss with this one.”
You bury your face in his neck again, half embarrassed and half thrilled by the turn of events. As Lando rushes through his usual sign-off, you can feel the barely contained energy thrumming through him.
The moment the stream ends, Lando spins his chair to face you fully, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did you mean that?” He asks eagerly. “About the marriage thing?”
You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Of course I did. Lando, I’ve loved you for lifetimes. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”
Something flashes in his eyes at your words — a fleeting moment of recognition, as if some long-buried memory is struggling to surface. But then it’s gone, replaced by pure joy.
“Lifetimes, huh?” He grins, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better make this one count.”
As his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of rightness. After so many tragic endings, you’ve finally found your happily ever after. And this time, you’re not letting go.
“I love you,” you murmur against his lips. “In this life and every other.”
Lando’s answering smile is radiant. “And I love you. Always have, always will.”
As you lose yourselves in each other’s embrace, the echoes of past lives fade away. This is your time, your chance at happiness. And you plan to make the most of every single moment.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#lando norris#ln4#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#lando norris fanfic#lando norris blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#lando norris x female reader#lando norris x y/n#mclaren#lando norris one shot#lando norris drabble
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Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo
Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶
true colours; luke castellan
wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader
synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.
warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending
notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈
You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky.
This year, there were two.
As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls.
You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.
Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love.
It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day.
It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen.
Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility.
Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him.
Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”
(You came in fifteenth.)
You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?
It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away.
“You alright there, sunshine?”
He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile.
“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.
You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.
The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you.
Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes.
“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls.
Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does.
They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”
He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”
Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him.
So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice.
You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you.
Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”
It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer.
Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.
Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun.
“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt.
You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”
He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh.
“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on.
Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear.
You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.”
If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is.
"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink.
You haven’t talked to him since.
It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too.
“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”
The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale.
“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”
You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”
“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you.
“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”
“Lee!”
“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.
You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”
“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.
The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next.
“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”
There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek.
“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin.
“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?”
“No to the first, yes to the second.”
You wish you said no to both.
The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers.
He will not. Stop. Looking at you.
The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.
Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:
You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there.
It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way.
Luke, calling your name.
At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”
He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”
There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him.
His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear.
“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”
His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.
“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks.
“I’m not—”
“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.”
He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it.
“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!”
His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”
“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”
“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm.
“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”
“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”
There’s a lull.
“What?” You blink stupidly.
“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”
His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”
A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”
His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”
“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."
You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.
“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.”
The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”
“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty.
“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”
The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”
“Not even a little.”
“But you’ve got so many other—”
“I want you.”
“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”
"Your knee is fine!"
"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"
“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”
It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in.
He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.
“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”
Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”
He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”
You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.
“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”
Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth.
In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.
When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.
She's given you two more rainbows.
#perrie’s fics#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan#charlie bushnell#perrie's requests#pjo#pjo x reader#pjo fic#luke castellan fic#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan fluff#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo tv show#heroes of olympus#percy jackson
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Miguel O’hara in Love
Headcanons.
━━━━━━ ✿ 🕷️ ❀ ━━━━━
A/N: I was really looking forward to write this, because I just can’t get this whole idea out of my head.
Warnings: Basically none, a little bit of angst maybe?, some smut references and depictions. Miguel being Miguel. Kinda obsessive (?)
This text is based in that frase of Joe Goldberg: “There’s not a line, in the world, that I wouldn’t cross for you”. So be prepared.
Enjoy, my loves. Every comment or request is welcomed! 🤍
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Miguel was curious of you from the very moment he met you. Such a unique presence among all the others.
You had been bitten just a month ago. And it was hard for you. He saw you struggle, falling over and over again, training till exhaustion, fighting to be on the level of the others.
And the worst part of it all, was the guilt coming to attack him with every side eye Jessica gave to him. “If you weren’t going to help her, you should have let her alone.” The woman had whispered while both of them looked at you fighting to climb another building. Miguel knew she was right. He was the one who insisted in bringing you immediately after they found you (only a couple of days after the bite), even when Jessica insisted to give you time for you to figure it out alone. Miguel wasn’t having it, and now… “She’s been at it for the whole morning.” The woman pursed her lips, shaking her head.
What Jessica didn’t quite know was that Miguel hadn’t left you alone all this time… He wasn’t good at talking, that was true. He wasn’t good at showing his support with words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.
You let out a pained groan when you finally plop on the concrete of the building’s rooftop. Every single muscle of your body aches and you can fell your heart pounding harshly against your ribcage, making it feel like every breath that makes it to your lungs it’s just a mere miracle.
The weight of the presence of someone standing beside you forces you to blink out of your thoughts. Tiredly, you look up, finding Miguel's mask glaring back at you with a deep frown you can make out of the way his eyes curve.
He holds a white little package on his right and he hands it to you before finally sitting down without making a single sound. It had all started like a little game between the two of you: You pretend you don’t see his figure hovering above a building while you train, or his silhouette watching you getting back to The Society place safely. You also pretend you don’t know it’s him who leaves bandages and painkillers over your bed every day with a little chocolate next to it. And he pretends he doesn’t know that you know.
You cross your legs and smile when you open the small box on your hands, smelling the sweet scent of warm and fresh food. You also take notice of how he changed one of the things he brought you last time, you didn’t have the heart to tell him, but you were sure now he definitely noticed you didn’t like it.
“Eat.” He orders and you are too tired to remark his tone of voice with a roll of your eyes. So you nod, bringing a big spoonful of pasta and vegetables to your mouth, thanking him with a big smile. Smile he doesn’t return. He never does anyway. But now it’s not like always. He’s pissed. “When was the last time you ate?”
You look straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. You swallow, slowly, feeling his eyes burning on the side of your head.
“Mhm… Not long ago, no.” You answer, mumbling while you get more food into your mouth. Miguel raises an eyebrow.
“Training this much without any nutriments won’t do anything good for you…”
“Training this much won’t do anything anyway.” You sigh, keeping then the fork between your lips. Miguel wishes to say something but he can’t find the words, he can’t order his thoughts inside his head to place them on his tongue and tell you just how much you have improved since the first day, so he gladly receives your bright eyes turning to him when you seem to remember: “But I finally climbed this building, see? Without using any web, only my spider fingers.”
The man nods at you waving playfully at him. The determination in your eyes even when your whole body wanted to give up, even when you know you’re still not close to go on a mission by yourself (or with anyone else), even when you probably couldn’t even sleep fine because of the sore bruises, the determination in your eyes didn’t flatter.
That made him feel something deep is his hands, a tingle he couldn’t control. And he hated it.
“Tomorrow at seven.” He sentences, standing on his feet again.
You frown, raising big eyes at him. The brightness in them when the weight of his words hit you destabilizes him.
“For real?”
“Yes.” He looks away. “If I don’t train you you’re not getting anywhere.”
His comment goes unnoticed for the excitement running all along your body.
“Ok.” You nod, trying to look professional but failing miserably.
He grunts in response, soon jumping off of the building and losing among all of the city chaos. In some minutes he would be back at the Society lobby. You… An hour. Give or take.
Training with Miguel was nothing but… Hell.
No, it actually wasn’t. You expected you could say that to make people thing you were having it hard, but he insisted on starting with the basics… basics that you already felt like being good at.
Still, climbing had become easier within the first week of training with him. The tips and advices he insisted you to follow helped you thinking of it more like a game than a must do.
Swinging was still a tricky one. You used to lose your balance when the demanded velocity was too much. Panic rushed over you, feeling like you would crash against a window or a fucking person, or another spider doing their own training.
“Trust your senses.” Miguel said to you every time you fell, and every time you death glared at him for that. He didn’t have one of the most important senses for spider people and he still managed to be better than anyone you could have known. You had them all, and they all seemed to be a mess when you tried to use them.
Soon enough, Miguel learned about a way to motivate you: Rewards. Most of the time was food, some others, the promise of letting you rest for more that five minutes was enough. For a week now, it had been a little bit different.
History. You loved it. And you changed any delicious and tasty food for hours listening to Miguel explaining everything about the multiverse and the tangled webs between all of you. He had told you about his first travels to other Earths at least three times, but you couldn’t seem to get tired.
You might not tell him how much his voice soothes you after a long day out, but it wasn’t necessary, he could see it. On the other hand, he definitely would never tell you how he glanced at you, completely asleep after another history session, memorizing every breath, every mole and freckle, counting every single one of your eyelashes like the stars on the sky above you.
No. You would never find out about that.
Today was supposed to be just like any other day: quiet, calm and premeditated. Nothing out of the routine you and Miguel had adopted for the past four weeks.
But with you, things were never that easy. Boredom was a dangerous thing for you, Miguel had learned it by now. The hard way. If something became not enough exciting for your restless self, you would look for that spark of adrenaline at any cost. It was part of your determination. Heart of a lion. He knew that. But it didn’t change the fact he would have to save you from breaking a few bones every once in a while.
“I’m sorry” You would say after he dropped you on the safe floor again. He would turn to look at you, fire running up his veins. Every time he wanted to yell at you, to snap and tell you it was the last time you do something like that. And every time he would sigh, pressing both finger on the bridge of his nose, finally grunting in a low voice:
“Desobedeciste deliberadamente.” A month was enough for you to know exactly what those words meant.
“I know.”
“You could have hurt yourself.”
“I know…” Then the bright eyes. Always the bright eyes. “But I have to try, I can’t depend on you forever. Getting hurt it’s just part of the way.”
He hated you were right. He lost count of how many broken ribs he got on his first years, of how many scars he still hides under his suit. Eventually, you would have to learn to stand up even if you’re bleeding. Even if you’re dying.
He is not mad at you for disobeying, that’s bullshit. He admired that of you, actually. You don’t act by fear, you do not fear him. You follow your heart even when you know you could get in trouble for it. No, he’s mad because every time he catches you before you hit the ground, all he can think about is that there’s going to be a moment where he won’t be there to do it. And the sound of your body crashing against the concrete, of your pain, would follow him till the darkest moments of the night, where he curses the day you’ll scream his name and he will be too far away to hear it.
“I want to change my reward for today.” You smile at him, both of your hands behind your back, making him suspicious of your teasing voice.
“You’re not going anywhere with Hobie.” He responds in a neutral voice, starting to walk in front of you.
You roll your eyes, shaking your head before getting in front of him and starting to walk backwards so you could keep facing him.
“It’s not that.” You insist. He doesn’t answer and you know that’s his way of telling you to go on. You sigh. “I want to see you without your mask.”
That makes him stop dead on his tracks. He tilts his head, questioning you with curious eyes. That’s all you wanted? No, you wanted that? Why?
Were you really that bored?
“I feel like everyone here has seen you at least one time, except for me. And it’s not fair.” You got a point on that. He spends most of his time training you, you share almost every meal together, he’s the last person you usually talk everyday because you’re too tired to do anything other than going to your room and sleep. You have spent entire days with him, you have cried and made a mess of yourself in front of his presence, and you didn’t even know his face.
You can deny the sting of irritation you get every time Hobie or Gwen, or any other come talking about what they said during the meeting before a mission, meetings where, you had learnt, Miguel used to take off his mask. Peter told you it wasn’t that big of a deal. You wanted to punch him.
“If that’s what you want.” Miguel crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “Now go tra-…”
You were gone before he could even finish his sentence. He sees your figure going around the building he chose for this particular session. Your swinging had gotten better over the last weeks and the confidence you had in yourself had also been improving, showing your true strength for him to see.
Jessica insisted on you being ready to train at the top levels with the others inside The Society training center, or at least to try. But Miguel profusely refused. He had designed many of the levels to train there, he knew the damage they could cause to someone not prepared to face them.
He blame it on his sense of responsibility over you the fact that he denied any attempt to put you on an unnecessary risk, but deep down, he knew that from the moment he stepped in front of you while you cried for that death he knew all too well now, and then observed how you wiped your tears and showed him your fists, ready to fight him despite everything… He was fucked.
You were the little thing he decided to protect even if it costed his life. The little thing that trusted his claws to hold at her, that puts its life on the line without a second thought. It is not his fault to have never experienced anything like this, to don’t know what to do, to act like a fool, to refuse to lose it… How they cannot understand?
“Done.” You jump in front of him, getting him out of his thoughts.
He looks up, seeing all of the targets on the building covered by a good layer of web. Your precision could be better, but you’re getting at it.
He sighs. He turns to face you completely before ordering his nanotechnology to uncover his face. Dark wavy hair falls onto his temples, brown skin glimmers under the heavy sun above you, full lips press against each other and two cold brown eyes glare down at you.
When you don’t say anything, he raises an eyebrow at you.
“Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?”
You nod without waiting for another question.
“I just wanted to see your eyes.” You answer confident, smiling softly at him.
It is enough to say he never wore his mask on around you ever again.
Miguel O'Hara isn’t good in what emotion management respects.
He knows it, but he doesn’t have the time or care to try to do something about it.
It wasn’t that big of a deal…
Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal until one specially busy morning where he couldn’t make it to your first training, he went on looking for you… And he couldn’t find you.
He went to your room, your favorite places; he went looking all around the city, praying to find you just jumping above some buildings. But you were nowhere to be found. And it wasn’t until one Peter took mercy on him that pointed the worst place to be pointed: The training center.
With his heart going a thousand miles per hour, he started to look for you inside the complex. And when he caught a glimpse of Jessica looking up with a proud smile, he knew exactly where you were.
“She’s doing even better than I could’ve imagined. You’re a great mentor, Miguel.”
“Why is she here?” He answered immediately. Jess raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the uneasiness on his voice.
“Does that really matter? Look at her, Miguel!” She pointed at you with her extended hand. “Aren’t you proud of her?”
Of course he was. But what he couldn’t stand was someone else messing and taking choices over the one and only thing he has. So instead of answering her question, he sentenced: “Don’t ever get close to her again.”
“Miguel…”
“You can mess around with any other, but there is a fucking line, Jess. You chose yours, and I respect them. Don’t mess with mine.”
When he finally appeared in front of you, you smiled brightly at him. He looked like any other day, completely unfazed and with a calmed expression you were so used to see by now.
“Time to call it a day, don’t you think?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You were sweating, you arms were trembling and you could barely control your breath by now, and still… You shook your head.
“I want to try this level one last time.” He was ready to talk you out of it but your pleading eyes made him look down at Jess, who, with a single movement, made him understand what she was talking about.
“Fine, but I’ll be with you every step of the way, got it?” His frustration made you giggle when you nodded.
You didn’t make it till the end of the level, but you tried, and that was all that mattered to you. To Miguel, having been able to take you to the wall before you crashed against a crystal under you was the main thing that mattered.
It had been a whole experience, but it remained like that. Enough time at least for him to push his way of react behind him. Until something made it snap again.
His eyes fly to all of the cameras in front of him, fixing his pupils in whatever screen he could catch a glimpse of your suit.
The threat they were expecting for your first mission ended up being a lot more aggressive and capable than hoped. You and your partner had already received a few good hits by the time Miguel reached for the Call button.
“How are you?” Is the first thing you hear when you press ‘answer’.
“Never better.” You reply, smiling at the interface of your pretty boss clenching his jaw.
“Need help?”
You immediately shake your head. “Not at all, we’re managing just fine.” Your figure distorts while you swing around. Heavy steps following you up close. “I gotta go, Miguel. See you back at home.”
“No, wai-…” He widens his eyes, trying to reach you before you end the call. His fists tighten and his eyes close, fighting to keep himself calm.
But our man can’t catch a break, because as soon as his breath starts to get back to its normal speed, a camera showing on one of the screens burst out with a big clatter, forcing his eyes open only to see his worst fear take form in front of him.
You were struggling against the anomaly, kicking your feet in the air and trying desperately to get his hands off your neck. Your partner was nowhere to be seen. You appear to lose you patience when you stop fighting and instead shoot webs to the creature’s eyes. The anomaly maddens, and throws you against the next building on the street.
Miguel's eyes follow your body across two cameras, watching in horror the blood dripping from your mouth when you cough after the blow, struggling to get on your feet again.
His hands move quicker than he can process, bringing all the information about the Earth you were on for him to see.
“Miguel.” Jessica calls from behind.
“Where the hell did you send her?” He whispers, reading the screen displayed. “I told you she wasn’t ready to go.”
“Miguel, look.” She insists, this time with a more demanding voice.
But the man can’t think of anything else more than you bleeding. Alone and injured.
“You said it was an easy one.” He growls in a low and dangerous voice.
“I’m…”
“I told you she wasn’t ready!” He snaps, looking back at her. His fangs pinch on his lower lip, so hard he can feel a drop of scarlet liquid running down his chin.
And it’s not until Jess takes a step back and Lyla calls his name that he realizes the way his claws had ripped the metal in front of him.
And then… A call.
He blinks out of his trance, looking up at the screen with your name on it. He hits ‘answer’ and your dirty suit and scratched face make an appearance.
His red eyes relax at the sight, returning to those soft brown irises and dark pleased pupils reserved only for you. He hides his fangs and his claws are no longer nowhere to see. Just you. It was just you again. And you were okay.
“Miguel, look!” You smile at him, pointing the camera on your watch for him to see your partner finishing to tie up the anomaly. “We got it!”
“Yeah, yeah, I see.” He can’t help but let out a small glimpse of a smile over his lips, nodding at your excitement.
“Oh, you’re smiling. Wait for me to come back, I wanna see it in person.” And just like that, his smile is gone.
“Don’t take any longer. Both of you, come back as soon as possible.”
And with that, the call is ended once again, leaving him in a room with heavy air and thick silence. He jumps off of the platform, still glaring at Jessica in silence.
“You know that wasn’t right.” She whispers. “The way you’re acting it isn’t right, Miguel.”
He shakes his head, slowing his movements until he remains still just a few feet away from the entrance.
“You don’t know what it’s like.” He murmurs.
“Oh, now I don’t know?!” She opens her mouth with indignation, but Miguel doesn’t alter.
“It’s not like that and you know it.” He hisses. “I have lost everything in this world. I am utterly alone. And even between us, there a strings that doesn’t tangle. You have a husband and a soon to come baby, a family that awaits for you at home, but what do I have, Jess?”
The woman, for the first time, remains silent.
“I have her. I only have her.” He says. “Not a single thing in this world belongs to me but her. Everything else have been taken away from me, everything I once had has disappeared: my job, my life, my normal life. If she’s ripped from my hands, I have nothing left. And I cannot keep fighting for a life I don’t want to live. This is not only for her, Jess. If I lose her, I will tear the universe apart with my own hands.”
A single shiver ran down her spine, watching Miguel exiting the complex to find you arriving almost at the same moment.
She watched how his threat takes meaning when you wrap your arms around him and his eyes brighten at the sound of your laugh.
She knows that if they ever were to lose that light, the whole multiverse would dim with them.
Miguel wanted to own you.
He wasn’t good at hiding it.
His hands would come to your hips, grabbing your tights or caressing your waist under your clothes.
Your scent would drive him into his animalistic side at every given moment. Until the point he would have to step meters away from you during the meetings in order to keep himself from the smell of your hair and your soft skin.
But when he didn’t keep himself from you, he would come from behind you, embracing you with his whole body. His face would bury in the curve of your neck, sending shivers with his tongue coming out, tracing a single line till reaching your ear, where he would whisper what he wants, where he would ask you to let him touch you.
When you say yes, he would drop his head and sink your fingers on your tender skin, pressing his hips against your body when you throw your head back, allowing him to do as he wished so with you, to mark you as his as many times as he wanted.
“Miguel…” You sigh this time, feeling his hands clinging at your suit, desperate to touch your skin instead.
He had just returned from a mission that had kept him away from you three days. You had imagined he would’ve returned tired and ready to sleep for fifteen hours, but instead he took you straight into his bedroom and pushed you against the wall, where he now holds you still with both of his arms.
“Take it off.” He whispers, tugging again at your suit. He was being nice this time, and you thank him internally for that. You don’t have the strength to ask Lyla for another suit.
You complain with a happy humming, letting your body fully exposed before him except for your panties still covering your ass and pussy.
The man switches off his own suit, letting you see up close the tent under his boxers. His fingers grasp at your thighs, forcing your legs open for him. Two of his digits run along your folds over your panties for around ten seconds before he decides to tore away your undergarment and place his hand back at your sex.
You would have complained about his behavior but his fingers pressing down on your clit rip only a moan out of your throat. He plays with your sensitive bundle until you’re wet and seconds away from an orgasm he pretends to steal away when he stops his movements.
“No, please…” You cry out, your legs threatening to give up.
“Shhh, patience, mi amor, I’m not done yet.” With one hand he pushes you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his neck for support before he starts eating you out like a starved man.
You tighten your tights around his head, almost screaming at your over sensitive pussy being stimulated even more, with his tongue pushing in and out for a while until he takes it to your clit again, sucking in, ripping another hard cry out of you. You are so close. And when he finally joins in two of his fingers to curve inside of you, it’s your end.
You scream his name, clenching around his digits, making him growl enough to feel the vibration running down your skin. He guides you through all of it until you finally seem to catch your breath again.
But then, he takes out his fingers and drops his boxes to the floor. His dick throbbed painfully, making him hiss when he stroke it a few times before pressing against you, chest to chest, and bottoming out all the way with a single thrust.
“Fuck, Miguel!” You throw your head back as he does the contrary, sinking his fangs into your skin, trying not to lose control.
“May I move?” He asks, breathing heavily on your skin.
You nod.
“Yes, yes, please move.” He groan in pleasure at your words, starting to move your hips in and down to match the rhythm of his.
You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against his ear while he pick up the pace. Soon enough, only the sound of skin slapping on skin could be heard around you, with nothing but your moans and gasps indicating him where he had to thrust, and his deep growls showing you how close he was.
“Cum for me.” He says, pushing your back back to the wall with his hand around your neck, squeezing you under his fingers. “I wanna see you cum.” He demands, making of his pace nothing but a mess of thrusts.
He was so close, he just needed…
“Miguel!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out desperate whimpers when your legs tremble around him and your walls clench around his cock, sending him so high he has to bite you again to avoid a throaty moan escape from him.
You could barely begin to feel your toes again when you feel him tightening his grip around you before walking out to the bed.
He was ready for the next round.
…
Thank you so much for coming all this way!
PD: I know Miguel fangs have paralyzing venom but let’s just pretend he can choose when to use it and when don’t.
This might not be good but I had the idea of this thread of story and I just wanted to write it.
I hope you have at least enjoyed some of it.
Love y’all. Sending a lot of love. See ya. <3
PD2: I’m trying to work now on a Sub!Miguel thing. It may be still a couple of days from it, but I want to be good. And I haven’t decided if it would be just porn or porn with plot. So let me know!
PD3: I’ll be doing cleaning and correction between today and tomorrow.
#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o’hara#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel ohara smut#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara smut
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To Serve or Indulge
Summary: Your sensitivity to darkness leads you to a path of vices.
A/n: Saw a tweet that said that Sith should seduce Jedi to the dark side with lust and I thought that was so true. Canon isn’t real to me so reader is a Jedi Sentinel who specializes in being a shadow agent. 🤗
Warnings: Allusion to dubcon smut, freaky foreplay dreams, JediShadow!Reader, a slice of what’s to come… 🤫
Tah’Nuhna. Cold, peaceful, neutral. The order kept a close eye on the Tah’Nuhnans. You were lured there for a reason.
Neutrality meant they never picked sides. It also meant it was a safe haven, for light and dark alike. The darkness was pungent as you wandered the streets of the crystallized city.
The penetrating reflections of the structures shine onto you and make you wince in irritation as you were led to your temporary quarters
The same darkness you’ve tracked has kept you up at night for months. It infiltrates your dreams. It would envelope you every night, making your heart pump, your skin dew in anticipation.
A red flame would catch your eye and before you knew it a heat was upon your neck like a bolt.
You’d wake up with fear and your hands would tremble to your side instinctively. You’d forget that your blade was stored at your bedside.
A shadow can only make itself known with light. Some of your companions would question the existence of your sect. You would question their own devotion to the light.
It was a necessity to act ruthlessly in order to snuff them out. Amulets, talismans, and artifacts of the Sith were still passed and traded throughout the galaxy.
Less so after a millennia of Jedi intervention. But the danger of Sith influence was always a concern to the council.
Despite what they might discuss with others.
Oftentimes, extreme measures were taken to disrupt the spread of Sith knowledge and teachings. Some would die to keep their secrets and you weren’t one to deny them that wish.
Trained to be sensitive to darkness seemed counterintuitive. It threatened to envelope you and shroud the light at times. It was dangerous to be so close.
The exposure of temptations, of power, fear, and anger, some would say, would make you a hazard among your peers.
A spy is what they call you, with their lips pursed and eyes narrowed in slight disdain. You didn't wear the same golden robes they did; you often mimicked the attire of an old Sith.
Dark muted colors served to deter attention, but the saber at your hip was a reminder to those keen enough to look you over that you were part of the order spread over the republic to maintain peace.
A puff of condensation escapes past your lips, the market was full despite the deep chill that morning. Your robes didn't help from the cold shivers passing through your body.
But you had a feeling the discomfort was more than the frigid temperature.
The dark lured you in. Your efficiency in identifying depended on the innate attraction to it. You could feel the air shift.
You stop mid-step, a deep burning dug into your ribs, your cheeks pinched and your skin puckered. It was calling to you. The crowd around you grumbled as you blocked the middle of the path.
Your hand braced against your saber as a hooded figure roughly bumped past you. So rough your shoulders twisted you out of your stoic composition. Their fingers had skimmed right over the clip of your handle tauntingly.
You pause as they look back, revealing the face of a man with a teasing smile, his hair parted along the sides of his face messily. His eyes roamed over your form, analyzing you for a moment before pursing his lips in contemplation.
He turned and rushed away.
It was then that you realized, as he turned the corner. Your heart sunk to your stomach and your lungs stopped mid breath.
He was coated in it, plunged and dripping. But he was looking for something. He was lured by the same darkness you've been sensing the second you landed.
This was a new challenge. You had to find the Sith remnant first.
…
It should start off the same. You wake up inside the temple of Coruscant, soft footsteps litter outside your door. Low whisperings pass by. The room smells of paper, ink and linen.
It was simple, a window, a desk, and a bunk. There was enough space in your drawers to have changes of robes and civilian clothes.
Nothing unnecessary. You reach beside you disoriented, already knowing where the dream was going to lead.
The tips of your fingers barely reach the familiar metal of the handle of your saber. Your relief was cut short.
Your head pounds. In a blink of an eye the room darkens, it was raining, and your window howled as if the water burned its frames.
The tunic and loose pants that you wore plastered against the front of your body, your arm moves to block the stabbing droplets of cold rain from your face.
Then a flash of red blurs your vision, the corner of your eye catching it briefly before you wince heavily from the heat of it.
You feel it at your throat, your eyes are closed in anticipation of the threat of the blade's proximity.
You tremble and stand frozen as firm muscle snakes up your waist and torso, holding your stomach in place against a broad chest.
It has never gotten this far. You always wake up as soon as the heat creeped up your shoulder and to your neck. Another heat creeps up beside your head, it leans against your temple and rests there.
Strands of dark hair fall beside your face and you shiver. It was him.
He smells like fresh wet dirt, green cuttings and a hint of metal. You can feel the exhale of his breaths warm the top of your cheek.
The buzz of the saber taunts you, unmoving.
“Inspiring. Isn’t it?”
You open your eyes to find yourself in a cavern surrounded by stored relics and antiques. All Sith memorabilia. Your mouth is dry as you speak. You were in a daze of confusion and sleep. Even as you dread to admit it, you were struck with fear.
Your mind could barely catch up.
“What?-”
“Show me where this is,” his voice echoed throughout the stone walls, it made you squirm against his chest.
Your eyes widened, your mind was clearing, and you recognized where you stood. A select few knew where shadow agent's findings were kept.
You stiffened and he could feel you prepare yourself to disarm him. He didn’t want that.
His hold on your stomach tightened, the fabric of your tunic twisting in his grip. His temple pushes against yours and his lips skim past the shell of your ear, shushing gently.
Your heart races, something curls in your stomach as he tsks at your weak attempts at escape. You blame it on exhilaration, not…
You close your eyes tightly and shake your head with a thick swallow. He was clouding your mind somehow. All you could feel was the beat of his heart, the strength of his hand rising underneath your shirt and touching the skin of your belly.
You were surrounded by darkness, locked in and trapped like a loth cat sinking in tar. You had to resist and yet you didn't have the strength to.
He puts his weapon away, his other hand glides atop your arm until he reaches your hand, turning it upright until he could cup it in his palm.
You felt… weak. You can feel him smile against you. The same smile he had in the market.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
Your ears ring, his lips graze over the soft skin of your neck.
“Let it win," he mutters as he nuzzles against your skin. Your eyes flutter and you exhale shakily.
His hips press against the small of your back. He sucks, you whimper as you shake your head pitifully. You can feel him smile, a hum making your skin erupt in tingling bumps.
He was enjoying watching you squirm weakly, so wavering, so conflicted.
His mouth continues downwards, lightly pecking over the swell of your breasts, returning to their ferocity along your collarbones.
This was only a dream, you repeated in your own thoughts. The hand creeping down your hips, the dark locks you thread your fingers in with acceptance of the pleasure he was giving you.
It had to be a dream.
Fingers slipped underneath the cotton band of your pants. His palm cupped you and flexed. The deep groan of satisfaction he gave, finding you aroused and wet, rumbled through your chest.
His head lifts, his nose bumps into yours and his eyes flicker to your lips. For a few seconds your eyes connect, he smiles playfully.
“I’ll find you.”
The bed springs creaked loudly as you sat up quickly. Your hand went up to your throat, the area feeling sore.
Your skin was tingling, alight by the visions in your dream. With a wince you stand, feeling an ache on your hips from where you were held.
The door to the quarter's restroom slid open loudly enough to make you jump. As you felt around your chest, you could feel more tender spots.
The memory of the mysterious man’s hands flash through your mind. You could almost feel the heat of his mouth, the intention of his touch again.
Shame fills you, these types of interactions were frowned upon, much less with someone so far gone into a path of chaos.
You splash water over your face, the towel feeling rough on your skin. Refreshing. You take deep breaths in, your mind was finally calming.
You almost chuckle from how absurd your night was, you finally look up above the sink.
The reflection on the mirror made your heart stop. Small splotches of raised red and purple were scattered along your neck, your collarbones and over your breasts.
Succumbing to the floor you place your hands over your mouth, trying and failing to will the image of his grin out of your head.
…
A/n update: Reblogs and comments keep authors going, por si no supieran! Please support fics and authors you want to see more of! 🫶❤️
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Neo beasts x reader head cannons? 🥺
You know what anon? Just for you
Beast Ancients AU - Neo Beasts x Reader Headcanons
Congratulations! Someway somehow you’ve attracted the attention—and affection—of the Neo beasts. How do each treat you?
Saint Vanilla Cookie
This implies that he’s decided not to purify you out of his intense compassion. In fact, he’s settled for something arguably much worse: saving you for last, so you can witness his deliverance.
You’re his lamb, his bluebird, and he never lets you forget how blessed you are to be one of his
He’s gentle in almost every way. Voice, touch, words. He especially likes cupping your cheek and cooing sweet little things. Sometimes they’re laced with dark promises
On his orders, the Lambs of Penance are your personal servants and won’t let any harm befall you. Cream Wafer speaks to you respectfully, but you can hear a little envy in his voice
Saint pays attention to every little detail you have, the things you like, and your wishes. He wants to see you at your happiest because a tainted soul as yourself should never feel sad. He’ll wipe your tears away
But don’t assume he’s perfect; he’s far from. Saint stays true to his personal promise that you will be safe and happy and alive until the day he finally saves you, and that means that any potential threat to you will be dealt with by his lambs. If he thinks something will taint your soul further, he’ll be sure that it’ll never have the chance.
In fact, why don’t you stay with him? In his timeless kingdom, amongst his loyal followers and all the orchids that will watch over you. It’s the closest you’ll be to the light.
Make no mistake, saint is two steps away from being a yandere. He just wouldn’t get his hands dirty, and he would never change to that typical yandere-ish behavior. The oh so benevolent saint just wants to see you safe, and if that safety is under his wings, so be it…
Dragonberry Cookie
As the Beast of Pride, the way she loves is bold and loud. She will make it known to you that she loves you pretty quickly.
While she throws parties pretty frequently already, you’ll be center stage at a lot of them with her as she makes you dance together and drinks herself stupid with a bunch of glasses poured your way as well.
If you’re the shy type, expect to be embarrassed or put in big social situations a lot since she’s a massive extrovert who would bring you along to things. Outside of parties and other events of the sort, she would also love for you to watch her spar with Wildberry and her other soldiers
She’ll also give you lots of gifts
She does have a pretty big ego though, so she expects praise and validation from you. Compliments, acts of service, things that assure her you’re not just mooching off of what she gives you. If she thinks you’re not being grateful, she’ll get bitter and confront you about it, which will or won’t go well depending on how well you can prove your point to her
She’ll kill for you 100%. She might even do it in front of you. If you get messed up from that? It’s okay! You’ll get over it in no time.
Despite all this she does respect your boundaries, she’ll give you space if you’re vocal about it. She disappears on occasions and comes back covered in battle wounds and jam anyway.
You know about Pitaya locked up in her basement but you know not to touch them, let alone try and free them if you’re hero enough. She might just have to punish you for that if she catches you doing something you shouldn’t. Don’t worry though, it’s just this once, because you’ll surely never try anything again, right?
Big hugger, her love language is touch so expect hugs and kisses and mandatory cuddle sessions. Honestly if you’re just as messed as her then she’s a pretty solid lover
Frigid Cacao Cookie
It’s hard to tell he cares for you because he’s so distant, even from you.
You’re allowed into the throne room without summons, but the furthest into it you can go is to the foot of his throne. Like everyone else in the citadel, you’re not allowed to touch him.
Your days in the citadel are quiet. The outside is cold but the hallways and your room are warm, the latter always supplied to the brim with what you need.
Tiny licorice creatures slink in and out of your peripheral vision, watching you curiously. Sometimes they slink up to you, purring and chittering, and some might even be balancing trays of food, warm towels, clothes, or other things on their heads. Little do you know that Cacao has been ordering them to take care of you
While he doesn’t forbid you from leaving the kingdom, he’ll want you to come back to him one way or another. Ideally on your own, but one of the licorice oozes that have been watching you since you left could also bring you back.
You might see him out and about on rare occasions, and he might look at you. On even rarer occasions he might ask about your well being
The only thing he’s strict about is that you absolutely cannot attract attention from the other neobeasts, especially Saint Vanilla. The beast of Penance is already curious about learning what things make Cacao go soft; he does not need to learn about you.
Also don’t bring up Choco, he has a reaction to it
Celestial Cheese Cookie
Pampers you. Pampers you and pampers you and pampers you and pampers you
Thinks you’re the sweetest little thing and pinches your cheeks and everything
She’d be more than happy to show herself off, as well as all of her achievements. She gives you treasures from her conquests regularly
She’s similar to Dragonberry though where she expects praise, but unlike her she doesn’t get as angry. She doesn’t see her gift giving as a transactional thing, she does it because she can. You just gotta tell her how wonderful she is
The oases are a popular spot for her to bring you for food and refreshments, cared for by gold-adorned servants as she gushes over the grand vision for her kingdom. She’s honestly quite excitable and loves talking about herself and her plans.
Pay no mind to the scans that are run on you while you sleep, or the diagnostics of your information that run deep in her servers. She doesn’t think it’ll need to happen soon, but she’s planning to put you in a sarcophagus and hook you into her virtual world to make you live forever. She’s not going to let something else she cares about go.
Midnight Lily Cookie
The tamest one honestly
Unlike the others, she sees you as an equal. She knows your personal space and doesn’t encroach on it too much or too little, makes sure you’re well cared for and healthy, and keeps you safe. She also lets you leave and trusts you to take care of yourself. Being Beast of Sovereignty, she encourages the people under her to do whatever they please within their allegiance to her, and this includes you.
She’ll play the harp for you and ask you how she did
You also get lots of gifts and compliments from the other faeries for being the lover of their queen
She does have preferences though. She likes honesty and expects you to keep promises, she prefers if you do something for her in exchange for her doing something for you, and to not question her motive and means to take down her other half. She will get very defensive with you and shut down the conversation pretty fast
The flora in the silver kingdom bloom to their fullest around you both, but when Lily is upset with you, they curl or bud as you pass by them.
Speaking of chlorokinesis, get used to seeing her show no mercy with her plants. Unlike Dragonberry though, she’ll do her best to help you if the sight of bodies skewered on flower stems is too much. Maybe stick to the heart of the kingdom for your own good, where you’re less likely to see how the rest of Beast Yeast challenge her kingdom.
She has a whole bunch of rules set up when Saint visits. While she’d encourage not being with him at all, if you really want to see him, she made it expressly clear to him that he cannot purify you.
#disclaimer i’m not an x reader blog pls don’t flood my inbox with a ton of these requests#beast ancients au ask#beast ancients au#cjj arts#saint vanilla cookie#dragonberry cookie#frigid cacao cookie#celestial cheese cookie#midnight lily cookie#crk au#crk x reader#cookie run x reader#tw religious themes#tw religious trauma
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