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aurumalatus · 3 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year.

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face.

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect.

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue.

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer.

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places.

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks.

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops.

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly.

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him.

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side.

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now.

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure.

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing.

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his.

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #kinich #kinich x you #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #adeptus ink

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lindawrites · 1 month ago

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Claggor Imagine ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Description: fluff, friends to lovers, au!Claggor

A/n: hi!! First time writing a fic so pls don’t expect too much ty <3 decided to give it a try because Claggor just needs more love (divider by cafekitsune)

“I swear Mylo, if this is one of your tricks again,” I muttered as I tend to the customers at the last drop. "No, I swear this time! Claggor told me that he really needs your help with his new invention,” he crossed his heart and smiled. Powder chuckled and nudged your shoulder “I’ll take over your shift, now go and don’t let your boyfriend wait for too long." "He’s not my boyfriend?” I muttered as red started to appear on my cheeks. "Not yet,” she winked. I groaned as I gathered my things and left the bar. “You were messing with her, weren't you?" She looked towards Mylo who just shrugged, “All they need is a push, they’ll thank me later.”

I quickly fixed my appearance before knocking on the door of his workshop. “Come in” a voice behind the door grumbled as I slowly entered. “It’s me” I smiled entering the place and seeing him hunched over his desk. “Oh y/n, I didn’t expect you to visit. Is there something you need?” He looked towards me and shyly smiled. “Mylo told me that you needed my help for something?” He rolled his eyes and looked away. “Not again” I approached him and touched his shoulder, “anything wrong?” He straightened his back, blush evident on his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it. Since you’re here anyways, I’d like feedback on something that I’ve been working on” He guided me towards a room with his hand on my back, “Sure, is it one of those hybrids you’ve been working on?" "I guess but not the one for Zaun, it’s another thing I’ve been working on” I entered a room and noticed a flower in a secured jar. “is it that one?” I pointed towards it, and he nodded. “Claggor….It’s beautiful” I stared at the hybrid flower, mesmerized as it was shining in my favorite color. “You think so? I’ve been trying to perfect it for a while” he leaned towards the doorframe, lovingly staring at you while you were busy staring at his work. “It looks good to me, any reason why you made this?” He started coughing and I approached him out of concern “Its uh…I made it for you actually,” he muttered as he tried to look at anything but me. My eyes widened as I tried to take in what he said. “Wait, you created a flower for me? Why?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He finally looked at me and hesitantly held my hands, “Can’t you tell y/n? All the longing stares I gave you, the teasing I get from my siblings about you. When you complained about how you had trouble focusing, I spent weeks building a music box for you to listen to. How I try to get to know you more by constantly annoying you with questions—“ he was rambling while I just stared at him in awe “—I’m sorry if you see it as me being weird but” He stopped when I removed my hands from his and slowly put them on his face “no no, claggor I…I’d be dumb enough to not like you back” I mumbled as he held my waist and looked deeply into my eyes, “I’d be a fool not to like you, climbing to your bedroom window when we were young to get away from my siblings and to feel comfort from you. Always trying to defend me from those who made fun of me. I’d be a fool to not like someone who’d always seen me as something more than what I thought I was, someone who’s as perfect as you” Eventually, his face was close to mine, noses touching, waiting for the other to make the next move. “What happens next?” I whispered, heart beating rapidly at the close proximity. “Whatever you want, we could even get married for all I care” I giggled as he leaned in closer, lips almost touching. “Let’s first go through the dating stage, loverboy” I jokingly rolled my eyes as he smiled “Finally,” he muttered as he finally kissed me. My hands moved towards his neck while his tightened around my waist. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt for this to happen.”

Bonus:

I walked back to the bar, with Claggor by my side, displaying a proud grin on his face. “There you are! And it looks like you’re not alone” Powder smirked as she noticed her brother stuck by her friend’s side. Claggor rolled his eyes as Mylo approached us and patted our backs. “You see Powder, I told you I'd get them together no matter what, no need to thank me” “You know what? Since you helped us, how about I help you by bringing Gert here? Hey gert!” “HEY WAIT CLAGGOR STOP!”

#arcane claggor #claggor x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane season 2

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notherpuppet · 6 months ago

Note

What is your opinion of AI? Personally, I think that like any technology, it depends on the user and their intentions, but that is just me.

What about you?

1. Theft

The most central issues with AI as it is now is that the programs were trained/are trained with STOLEN art. Stolen visual art, music, writing, etc.

The vast majority of what it has been fed is stolen. As in, the artists behind the work were not ever given the chance to consent nor be compensated for their works being used to feed the machine.

This reason alone is straight up copyright infringement and the optimist in me does believe the long arm of the law is gonna shut these programs down for that. But the long arm of the law is looooooong, and the technology is disrupting people’s livelihoods now. Unlike robots or machinery that was invented and built to expedite assembly line/factory work, this technology is only functional by using other people’s labor. If we didn’t live in a society where you have to “earn” your right to live in it, then this would still be wrong, but it probably wouldn’t be such an existential problem.

There are active class action lawsuits for infringement of copyright. And the private sector has begun filing suits and I’m quite certain they’ll win because again—it’s simply theft. These companies did not make licensing contracts, they’re not paying royalties to the artists they stole from.

So if you consider using ai that generates “art” (whether it is visual, music, writing, etc.) please consider stopping immediately, as you would actively be benefiting from theft (which is wrong imo!!!!)

2. AI in its present form dishonors the human spirit

In my personal relationship with AI technology, I do not use it to generate ideas or ‘art’. I detest the notion to use technology in that way tbh. AI is a form of technology, so it’s difficult to break it down into every specific use it actually has. But here’s an attempt; no to generative AI, okay to certain AI.

There are kinds of AI programming in the programs I use (such as features that help you color in a shape quickly or make a perfect circle). This is useful tech (that requires zero IP theft) and I like it because it helps me by taking care of tedious tasks so that I have more time to spend in the creative and drawing processes. But I still choose the colors, I still draw the images, I still write the stories.

I think the way AI is used right now with a focus on “creative thinking” (where it’s not actually creating anything it’s just churning out other people’s *stolen* ideas and practice) is a total waste. AI being used as an assistant to help humans find information easily can be/has been swell. And requires no theft :D

But for whatever reason (greed, capitalism are my guesses), tech companies are leaning into a direction to replace creativity with AI?? I imagine the people behind this view the practice of art as tedious work because it is challenging??

But the beauty of art and the practice of it is that it allows humans to experience and overcome challenges with little to no stakes.

When society determines that is not a valuable use of human time, then I think we’ll all be significantly more miserable. If we allow a machine to be “creative” and leave us to only experience challenges with stakes—like survival (rent, putting food on the table).

So here are some examples of how I feel about AI uses;

AI to translate languages, find resources, discern malicious malware/spam from harmless messages > 👍🏽

AI to generate ideas/art for you > 🤢 Why??????? Why would you want that…that’s the most exceptional part of the human experience and you relinquish it to a bot trained on stolen ideas? 😭

#didn’t think my opinion on ai would ever be relevant on this blog #but since people have taken my shit and put it in ai #and I’ve seen more ai images of HAZBIN characters #I guess it has become relevant #this blog is anti-ai ‘art’#so if you’re into ai ‘art’#PLEASE GTFO

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 8 months ago

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In Time

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble - 2K WC

Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: none really this is very fluffy because I'm a slut for Feyd being soft with you and nobody else

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You wandered the dark halls of the palace. Geidi Prime was dark, cold, and lonely. You missed Ix, your home world. You had been sent to Geidi Prime as an offering of sorts. The Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha was of age and needed a wife. Several options from the Great Houses had been sent and you were there to represent Ix as its only princess. You truly did not care for this polluted planet and knew someone as plain as you considered yourself to be would not catch the Na-Baron’s eye. So, you wandered the halls in search of nothing in particular. A grand palace was very different from the labs of Ix. Everything on Ix was below the surface of the planet, the only reason to go to the surface was to travel. So here you wandered, the glow from your levitating lamp was all that accompanied you. You heard your steps echo before you stopped. You activated your shield, a bluish blur settling over you. You stood still, listening for something as you felt the air around you shift. You softly pressed a button on your wrist control pad, the light from your lamp going out. You sat in complete darkness, yet you knew you weren’t alone. Pressing another button your eyes shone like an animal in the dark, searching for prey through the night vision.

“I can see you.” you said to the man ducking low behind a pillar a few feet from you. You walked over to him as he rose to his full height; he towered over you and he was most definitely a Harkonnen. You tried to walk past him but he followed you.

“You’re not allowed in this wing.” he said gruffly, trailing behind you closely.

“And what wing would this be?” you sighed out, not wanting to deal with anyone right now.

“The engineering wing,” he said, now walking next to you.

You let out a laugh, “This is exactly where I should be. Feels like home.” you said.

“Home?” the stranger asked.

“Ix - aka the high tech planet. We make everything useful and somehow we are still forgotten.” you sighed, shrugging off the sadness in your statement. You turned into a room that was exuding light in the hallway, the only light in this dreary place. It looked like one of the basic mechanic labs on Ix but for the Harkonnens this must have been impressive. You went to one of the tables before grabbing specific tools. The stranger watched you from the doorway, leaning against it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Fixing a glitch.” you said nonchalantly as you pulled out your right eye.

Feyd walked closer, watching your nimble fingers work to fix something so small. “You made your own eye?”

“Eyes,” you corrected. “I was born without eyes, a strange mutation but Ix has such advanced technology I have always been able to see.” you said as you snapped the final piece into place. You put your eye back in, blinking a few times to get it recalibrated and working. You clicked a few buttons on your wrist control pad, watching as it ran diagnostics through your right eye while refocusing the left.

“Do you invent things like the others from Ix?” he asked, watching your pupils dilate repeatedly.

“I’m not that talented,” you chuckled, “I am excellent at repairs though, I enjoy fixing or upgrading random things in the palace. Mother hates it, says it's for the servants to do.” You rolled your eyes.

“Can you fix this?” Said the man, handing you his shield device. “It turns on but falters.”

You took it from his pale hand, fingers connecting, sending a chill up your hand in the most pleasant way. You inspected it before unlatching the cover and began prodding the wires. You used different tools from all over the room, the man’s eyes never left you.

“Why are you on Geidi Prime if you’re the princess of Ix?” He asked, sitting slightly closer as he watched you melt wires together.

You faltered for a moment, setting your tools down before letting out a sigh. “I’m a prospective bride for the Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha.” You said with a grimace.

The stranger chuckled, “Not a fan of his?” He asked.

“I’m not a fan of being a prize for some stranger to win.” you corrected him.

“You’re not afraid of him?” he asked, sounding like he was in slight disbelief.

“I fear no one. Fear is the mind killer.” you replied.

“You’re Bene Gesserit?” he asked with slight disdain.

“No, but it is a good mantra to hold. Once you know the horrors of the universe and fear nothing, the universe is yours.” you said, clicking the receptor into place.

“And what will you do if he picks you?” he asked.

“That depends. If he is a brute, I will endure and bring both our houses honor. If he is gentle, I will grow to love him, and hope he loves me in return. Either way I will do my duty. My happiness is all that hangs in the balance. But that has never mattered much to men.” you finished before fastening his shield to his torso armor. You turned it on, the blue blur covering him. You grabbed a screwdriver, flipping it over before attempting to stab him. The shield caught the sharp, not allowing it to pass.

You put the screwdriver back on the table, “There, all fixed.” you smiled sweetly at him.

“You could have stabbed me.” he smiled back.

“But I didn’t.” you pointed at him before walking towards the door. “Come on.” you motioned for him to follow you.

“Where to next?” he asked.

“I should probably return to my chambers; I could be engaged tomorrow. Best to get some sleep.” you sighed once again.

“If he asked, gave you a choice, what would you say?” the man asked, walking beside you down the corridor.

“Feyd Rautha? Well… if he were like you I’d be inclined to say yes.” you smiled softly, glancing at him.

“Like me?” he asked with a bit of shock in his voice.

“Kind, curious. You are the only Harkonnen who has been either to me. Everyone else is… cold. People on Ix are quite similar, mother always said I was too emotional. Said it was a weakness that ‘inhibited one's ability to see reason’. But I think it can be a strength. It allows for one to truly feel, to truly connect with others.”

“Did you connect with others on Ix?” he asked.

“No, not much. It has always been a lonely existence, my plants and trinkets were company enough.” you replied, looking down with slight shame.

The man gently grabbed you hand in his cold pale one, “You won’t always be alone.” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “The princess with the magic eyes.”

Your lips tipped up at the affectionate name, “Y/N.” you said, realizing you never told him your name. “Princess Y/N of Ix.” you said giving a curtsey while he still held your hand.

He chuckled before kissing your knuckles again, “Goodnight Princess Y/N of Ix.” he said before letting you go.

You watched him walk down the hall into the darkness, wondering if your family would accept a Harkonnen on Ix as the mystery man made you feel something inside. Your eyes widened, realizing you never got his name, you looked up quickly to ask him but he was already gone. You turned in for the night, drifting off to thoughts of the man you met that night.

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

The maids that traveled with you finished adorning you in your house colors, gold and black. You looked at yourself in your mirror, sighing.

“You look beautiful my lady, the Na-Baron would be lucky to have you.” your maid said.

You smiled sadly at her, nodding in agreement. Your chamber door slid open, multiple guards filled in. “Time to go princess.” he said, leading you down the hallways before entering the Great Hall. You saw 10 other women from the various Great Houses standing in a line before the Baron.

“Fine specimens for my nephew, he will enjoy whomever he chooses.” the Baron said to Rabban with a sick laugh.

You rolled your eyes, clasping your hands together in front of you. You prayed that you were overlooked and could leave Geidi Prime as soon as possible. You heard the Grand Hall doors open once more and watched the man from last night round all of you to stand next to the Baron.

“Nephew!” he said.

Your stomach hit the floor, your eyes bulging. You felt faint as you started to tremble slightly. The man from last night was Feyd Rautha Harkonnen himself. “Fuck. Me.” you damned yourself.

“Choose your bride.” the Baron said, motioning to you all.

Feyd started at the opposite end of women, slowly walking past each one. The tension was agonizing. Now that you knew who the man from last night was, you regret everything you said to him. You tried to stab him for fucks sake. Who knew what sick plans he had for you. You stared at the ground until you saw two black boots standing before you.

“This one.” you heard his gruff voice say before you felt his cool fingers tilt your chin up. Your eyes held nervous tears, afraid of your now set future.

“Princess Y/N of Ix, a fine choice.” the Baron said. “See that the others leave Geidi Prime safely. Clear the room, give my nephew time to converse with his new bride.” the Baron said before leaving the Grand Hall with everyone else.

“I - I’m so sorry Lord Na-Baron, please forgive me for everything last night. If I had known it was you I would not have been so… so…” you stumbled.

“Normal?” he said, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “I picked the princess with the magic eyes for a reason.” he said, hand falling to gently graze yours, yet giving you plenty of space to pull away from his touch.

“I should have acted in a manner befitting my station.” you whispered.

“I didn’t pick you because I wanted a princess.” he said.

“Why then?” you asked cautiously.

“I picked you because you act with humanity, with emotion. Something lacking on Geidi Prime. Something lacking within myself.” he said with a tinge of sorrow.

“That’s not true.” you said, softly grasping his hand. You heard him suck in a sharp breath as you looked up to him. “Your eyes are blue.” you said with a small smile.

“Your eyes are magic.” he responded, not quite sure how small talk goes between people who were not Harkonnens always discussing war or bloodshed or greed.

You smiled at his words, nobody else had ever been impressed by your one invention, your eyes had always been deemed mid level impressive to those on Ix.

“I’m not a brute,” he said, holding both your hands. “I wish to see you happy on Geidi Prime. I must act with a hardened disposition but… not with you. Never with you.” he spoke.

You dropped one of his hands to cradle his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and getting lost in it. The sight saddened your heart, he had not known a gentle touch. “We can bring each other happiness, in time.” you said as you thumbed over his cheek bone.

“And… perhaps love. In time.” he said, opening his eyes. His hand grasped yours from his face before kissing your palm.

You leaned up, briefly connecting your lips in a soft kiss. His hands fell to your waist, pulling you closer to him. “All in good time, Na-Baron, my husband.” you smiled.

“Feyd,” he said. “Just Feyd to you, my Na-Baroness, my wife.” you could just see his black teeth with the slight smile he gave you.

“Na-Baron Feyd Rautha and Na-Baroness Y/N.” you said your formal titles, well, what would be your formal titles by the end of the week. Harkonnens wasted little time with wedding ceremonies, only wanting an heir as soon as possible.

His name sounded like a prayer on your tongue as he leaned his forehead against yours, holding you close to him. Your hands rested on his chest, breathing him in. He wasn’t a brute, your happiness didn’t hang in the balance. You wanted to nurture each other, what more could you have asked for?

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! To all my new and old fans out there, thank you for reading my stuff! Still madly in love with this little psycho but I tend to write him as a soft boy because I love the "hates everyone but you" trope. Next Feyd fic will be a smut piece so be on the look out for that. I would love some Feyd requests so don't be shy, please send them my way! Thanks again, <3!!!! XOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXO

#feyd x you #feyd imagine #feyd x reader #feyd smut #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #house harkonnen #dune part two #writing #dune part 2 #harkonnen #rabban harkonnen #baron harkonnen #austin butler

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heliads · 1 year ago

Text

You and Me (A Whole Lot of History)

Based on this request: "y/n is a historian with access to old schematics so kaz hires her for a job. he keeps inventing reasons to find her afterwards until he’s forced to admit his feelings"

masterlist

You only get to study about half a chapter of your textbook before you’re interrupted by a criminal. It’s not like you mind having to put down the heavy tome you’ve been leafing through; estate law of centuries past is not your idea of some fun light reading, but you’ve been helping to piece together some fragments of an old mansion from pre-Unsea Kerch, and you’d really like to be able to decide if the master of the house your tattered documents keep referring to is the eldest son or the second eldest.

It all depends on very specific details that refuse to make themselves known to you. So no, having an excuse to stop all this isn’t terrible, you’re just a little distracted by the fact that you’re in a private study room in the historical library of Ketterdam, and you know for certain that you locked the door that has just been opened.

You know who’s just broken into your study space. Not personally, that is, but just as well as any resident of the Barrel knows the one they call Dirtyhands– through bated breath, in stolen whispers of expensive heists and bodies left behind, no traitors tolerated and none allowed to live. The fact that Kaz Brekker has taken it upon himself to enter your study room of all the empty ones still available in the library is not promising, to say the least, although you have absolutely no idea what you’ve done to appear on his radar.

You are, in fact, quite possibly the last person Kaz would even be aware of. You’re a historian, specializing in a few select centuries and powerful families in the Kerch area. This means that you spend most of your time in old and crumbling buildings, not out in shady dealings or shootouts or any of the other places Brekker tends to frequent.

This doesn’t seem to stop Kaz from closing the door behind him and taking a seat opposite your desk. He folds his hands in front of him, idly contemplating the textbook you’re still supposed to be perusing, but remains frustratingly silent.

It falls to you, then, to pick up a conversation, which is unfair considering the fact that he’s the one who’s barged in on your space. “That door was locked for a reason, you know,” you point out.

Kaz arches a dour brow. “Yes. I opened it.”

He’s not making this easy for you. “Why?” You ask.

Instead of answering you, Brekker jerks his chin towards the book in front of you. “What’s that about?”

There is no earthly reason one of the most notorious gang leaders in the Barrel should be asking about the homework you’re doing for your job. Still, he has, so you must answer, no matter how confused you are about it. “Inheritance disputes of the fourteenth century Kerch nobles. Why, are you interested in checking it out after me?”

Kaz scoffs. “No. I just want your information, not that book.”

You feel yourself leaning back slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Trust me, whatever information you’re after won’t be found from me.”

Kaz shakes his head once. “No, actually, I think it will be.”

He reaches for something under his coat, and you’re hit with the brief terror that he’ll get a gun or something and you’ll die here and now, but then his gloved hand comes back out into the light carefully holding a rolled up piece of paper, which he smooths out onto the desk before you. You tuck your textbook away so you can get a better look at the thing, more curious now than afraid.

It turns out to be a copy of house blueprints. As you study it, you realize that you recognize the place. You were there recently for a project for your employer, checking up on the preservation of a few rooms. “Is this the old van Haarst mansion?”

Brekker’s eyes flash, reminding you of the slick of oil on water. “You know about it?”

“Yeah,” you say, peering further at the blueprints. “I’ve worked there before.”

Kaz nods, looking pleased. “I’d like to buy your services. I need information on this building and your silence on the matter. Are you interested?”

Your brow furrows. “What information do you need?”

To answer you, Brekker tosses a stack of kruge onto the table. You can see the numbers on the edges, and know even without counting that this payment will be far more than what you’d earn even for a year at your job. This is the deal, then. He’ll only tell you more if you accept his money, and if you accept his money, you agree to whatever he wants.

Honestly, not the worst bargain. Ghezen knows you’ve had worse supervisors on other jobs. At least you can trust Brekker to be honest so long as you are too.

You put the stack of bills into your bag, and turn back to the blueprints with renewed interest. “Are you trying to get in or get out?”

“Both,” Kaz tells you. “I’m assuming you’ve heard rumors of Marysa’s Diamond?”

You choke out a laugh. “Have I ever.”

Marysa’s Diamond is like the Saints in flesh for historians. The van Haarst family was exceedingly rich, and one of their matriarchs, Marysa van Haarst, was said to be in possession of an incredible gemstone, the diamond named after her. It disappeared when the family abandoned Kerch for Ravka following the death of three of Marysa’s sons, and no one has seen it since.

You blow out a low breath. “You think it’s in the old house somewhere? Historians have been all over the place, we would have found it if it was there.”

“It wasn’t always,” Kaz tells you. “It’s been moved there. I have good information that the van Haarst house will act as a safe house for the stone while it’s being moved from hand to hand. They’ll keep it there overnight. I will be entering the estate with a team and taking it.”

He goes silent, as if waiting for any objections. You don’t really care about the morals of the affair, though. You have your money and you get to be the foremost expert on a historical favorite of yours. Robberies happen every day, not something to get teary eyed over.

When you don’t speak up, Kaz continues on. “They’ll be keeping the stone in a place no one can find. There will be a window of exactly one bell in which the old owner leaves the house and is replaced by the new owner, carefully staggered so the stadwatch aren’t alerted by too many people in the estate after hours. That means it would have to be a damn good hiding spot. If you were hiding a gemstone in this house, where would you put it?”

You consider the blueprints before you again. There are a thousand and one places you could hide something in there– tucked inside the grand piano, in a safe, under one of a hundred carpets– and there’s no way Brekker’s men could find it in time.

However, that means the person meant to be picking up the diamond wouldn’t be able to find it as well. They would have to find somewhere in the estate hidden to everyone else but the recipient of the gemstone.

The answer occurs to you in a flash. “Oh,” you say, “Secret room.”

Brekker blinks at you. “What?”

You point at the map. “It’s totally going in the secret room. I mean, they don’t want it to be found by anyone else, right? That’s, like, the whole point of a secret room.”

Were it not for the fact that he’s, well, Dirtyhands, you’d swear his voice turns sarcastic. “That was my understanding of a secret room, yes. Where is it?”

Were it not for the fact that he is in fact Dirtyhands, you would roll your eyes. “There’s an entrance off of the secondary hallway leading off of the dining room. Unlock the door using a little latch under the bottom of the ugly painting of the old duchess of Belendt.”

He stares at you. “How do you know that? It’s not on any map.”

You lift a shoulder. “I wanted to know why they’d keep such a foul portrait around. The elites of that time period were huge on perfectionism, every one of their paintings had to be absolutely glorious or it would get removed from their sight. That’s why there are so many old paintings in the surrounding villages, actually, the nobles would just leave these expensive oil paintings outside the castle because they couldn’t take the sight of them anymore. There was no reason they’d let such a dreadful portrait stay unless it was hiding something.”

You had been focused on the map in your hands during the majority of this little speech, fondly recalling little anecdotes from your history classes, but you remember yourself soon enough. You look up and Kaz is staring at you, almost fascinated.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Got distracted.”

He shakes his head brusquely, although there’s a hint of pink on the tops of his cheekbones that wasn’t there before. “No, no. It’s important information. So we should be aware of any suspicious paintings?”

“Yeah,” you muse, “just look for the bad ones. Pretend you’re an art critic or something.”

The edges of Kaz’s dour glare turn themselves up into something of a humored smirk. “Will do. Thank you for the advice, L/N.”

You nod. “Have fun with the heist. Hey, if you see any older books on the history of the family, would you mind grabbing one or two for me? I’ve been trying to do some research for ages, but the library keeps stalling on getting resources to me, no matter how many requests I send.”

Kaz’s brows draw close together. “That would be unbelievably risky. We can’t take more things than we need or we could be caught.”

You grin. “I know, I’m kidding. Just a joke.”

Kaz’s expression lightens microscopically. “Yes, a joke.”

He leaves soon enough, pushing his chair away from the desk and rolling up the blueprints with a crisp snap of the paper. He warns you to keep your mouth shut about the plans, but you’re not sure that he does it with the fire you expected of a notorious gang leader. Instead, the words are soft, like he’s cautioning a friend.

You don’t hear from him again, not for a while. You’re not sure when this mysterious diamond deal is going down, and you doubt the unlucky men Kaz will grift can go to the stadwatch about this. In fact, you have no idea if it’s happened at all until about a week later. You had gone about your day like normal, not suspecting a thing until the moment you unlocked your door.

And there, centered perfectly on your desk when you get back home despite the fact that you never gave keys to your apartment to anyone, are three books. Aged, cracked covers, gilded writing. You hesitantly pick up one and read the title under your breath: A History of the Bendtsen Family, 1200-1500. Another: The van Almelos of the Belendt Region: Two Centuries of Political and Economic Legacy.

Kaz. He actually got the books. Never mind that you were joking, never mind that he knew that, Kaz Brekker went out of his way to risk a heist just so he could help you out with a research project. Saints. And they say chivalry is dead.

You don’t expect to get the chance to thank him for it until he randomly crosses your path not two weeks later. He’s alone again, miraculously turning up outside your company door just as you leave to walk home. Kaz informs you that he’ll need your services again, exchanging some kruge for more words. This time, he wants details on an office building down the street, one that used to be a city hall. You’re able to take him in yourself thanks to access granted to all historians for historic places, and turn a blind eye when he grabs a few documents regarding interport commerce.

He walked you to your door that night, lingering over the threshold like a teenager not wanting to leave a first date. He shows up again after a month, using an excuse that’s less polished and more finicky. The next time, he doesn’t have an excuse at all. It’s just him, standing in front of you. No money, no plan. He just wanted to see you.

Kaz calls it ‘checking up on an investment,’ but you get the feeling that it’s not something he usually does. He walks with you by the water, he buys you drinks at a bar not even in his own pocket. It’s unusually sweet, so you can’t bite back your questions anymore and confront him about it when he hovers in front of your door for the dozenth time.

“What is this about, Kaz?”

He blinks at you in surprise. “What?”

You gesture between the two of you. “All of this. This isn’t for a job anymore. Why?”

Kaz looks away. It’s rare for him to not have a perfect poker face. Perhaps it’s yet another sign that this means something more, something that you can’t help but wish for. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. I’ve called on you for several jobs that can risk the players involved in the game.”

You shake your head. “You’ve gone out of your way to make sure no one knows about me. It’s just us, Kaz. You did that on purpose.”

“Yes,” he admits at last, “I did. I wanted something for myself. Something that wasn’t as bad as the rest.”

He risks a glance over at you, and his shoulders square slightly when he realizes you aren’t trying to fight him on this, or worse, leave. “You’re good, Y/N. Good things don’t last long around here. I want to make sure you do. I want you to stay forever.”

With me, he means. He wants to keep you in his life. His eyes flicker to your hands, and although you know he won’t take them, not yet, he wants to. That’s why you finally put together the pieces. Kaz Brekker is not good at verbalizing his feelings. Perhaps he never will be. This is the best shot he can give you, and he could not even say the word ‘love’ if it ripped his heart out with bleeding fingertips.

You've had so much over the years, and it has never been enough. Not once, not ever. A thousand coffers could empty themselves, a hundred men die and be reborn. It has never once stopped you. This, by contrast, is nothing. A canal rat's promise, most likely broken before the night is through. You know it, Kaz knows it. This is nothing.

Yet it is the most true thing you have ever had, the one solid stone in a wall about to come crumbling down. It is small, barely there at all, but still worth it. Maybe that is why you stay, for the hope. For him. It is enough.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @deadreaderssociety, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @eclliipsed, @mayfieldss, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker imagines #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker oneshot #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone oneshot #kaz #kaz imagines #kaz x reader #kaz oneshot

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svltzmans · 5 months ago

Text

bet - h.m.

hope mikaelson x fem! reader

warnings: smut 18+! wrote most of this late at night (sorry if there are nonsense sentences) reader and hope drink a teeny bit (but are both of legal drinking age) <3

"truth or dare?"

hope erupts into laughter. she's sure y/n wasn't actually asking her to play a sleepover game invented by twelve year olds.

then again, y/n had suggested crazier things after a drink or two.

playing a party game on the floor of hope's bedroom was tame.

"i'm serious," y/n insists, before inadvertently starting to giggle alongside hope. "which one?"

"truth, i guess, i don't trust you to give me a dare," hope had to get on y/n's nerves a bit, considering she was the reason they were playing this immature game in the first place.

y/n feigns offense, bringing her hand to her chest in exaggerated shock. "you don't trust me?"

"not with this. now, what do you wanna hear the truth about?" hope quips, taking a sip of her beverage.

"how can i make this as scandalous as possible?"

"so i can't trust you with truths either?"

y/n can't help but laugh at hope once again, and before they know it, they're both laughing until they're out of breath.

"so, have you ever faked an orgasm?"

hope practically chokes on air, taken aback by the forward nature of y/n's question.

y/n continues to laugh. "sorry, too forward?"

"i mean, it's truth or dare. might as well make it interesting. yeah, i have."

"no way." y/n stares at hope with a doubtful look in her face.

"i honestly don't think i've ever... not faked one."

"what? you've never...?"

"i mean, i have by myself. never with anyone else."

y/n couldn't believe the conversation she was having with hope. they had always been close, but not quite this close.

hope hides her face behind her hands. "don't look at me like that!"

"that's just... pathetic," y/n laughs before finishing her sentence. "people still can't make a girl cum."

hope's breath hitches at the vulgarity of the conversation. she'd be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the tension.

"well, they otherwise were winners i suppose."

hope's attempt to defend her taste in partners fails miserably, with y/n stifling a laugh.

"what, like you could do better?" hope interjects smugly, crossing her arms dramatically across her chest.

"i bet i could."

hope is sure y/n is joking. they had shared many laughs throughout the night.

but y/n is looking at her in a way that tells her she's dead serious.

and before she knows it, she's leaning into y/n, pulling her lips into her own.

y/n is swift at lifting hope off the floor and into her lap, hands firm on her thighs.

hope's hips inadvertently rock back and forth, gasps escaping under her breath.

y/n flips them over, hovering over hope laying on her back.

"strip," she mutters, with a sudden confidence.

hope is quick to oblige, shuffling out of her outfit in record time.

"you're perfect," y/n lowly mumbles. "spread your legs."

hope almost whines at her command before following it.

y/n rests her head between hope's legs, lightly kissing her thighs.

hope had never experienced so much care in this type of situation - or been so filled with need.

"my god y/n just hurry up- oh,"

hope's complaint is interrupted by y/n's tongue on her aching clit, her hands pushing her thighs further apart.

she whines when y/n pulls away, a smirk plastered on her face.

"already fucking you better than the others, huh?" she taunts, inches away from hope's pussy.

hope pulls her back in by the hair. "keep doing that. we have a goal here, don't we?"

"touché," y/n mutters before sucking hope's clit into her mouth.

"fuck, y/n. just like that."

motivated by hope's praise, y/n is unrelenting. she didn't intend to go easy on her.

"you're so good at that," hope mewls, running her fingers through y/n's hair.

hope presses her legs together, the sight of y/n between them making her moan.

she rocks her hips back and forth, letting y/n's tongue roll over her in a way that nearly sends her over the edge.

"i'm, i'm close, so close," she manages to growl, her back arching into y/n. "please don't stop, you're gonna make me cum."

hope is blabbering the words out, her brain only able to focus on the feeling.

y/n makes eye contact with hope, looking deeply at her with an expression of pure desire, throwing her over the edge.

hope lets out a raspy moan, her vision briefly going black. she swears she's on another planet by the time her body finally relaxes.

y/n smirks up at hope. "i won the bet."

"that you did," she responds, still out of breath.

#hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson fic #hope mikaelson x fem! reader #hope mikaelson x reader #hope mikaelson smut #hope mikaelson x fem reader #hope mikaelson imagine #hope mikaelson headcanons #legacies x fem reader #legacies x reader #legacies fic #legacies #the originals x reader #the originals fic #the originals #wlw

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rsanchezslut · 7 months ago

Text

I just have this crazy image of like. Being DISASTROUSLY tired for whatever reason, maybe work was shit or Rick put you up to something that ended up going badly, and you’re just dragging your tired, achey feet back to your house so you collapse into bed…

And when you finally make it home, pushing open the door expecting dead silence and darkness, Rick is there on your couch waiting for you, a plate of dinner Beth made wrapped in cellophane, a sweaty beer he’s been saving for you next to it on the coffee table, watching TV of sorts or fiddling with an invention and whatnot.

And it used to be you’d get home from days like this to nothing, nobody. And maybe you’d give Rick a call for sex or attention or even just to tell him you miss him… but suddenly he’s waiting up for you, looking at you standing in the doorway to the living room as if he doesn’t know, is ignoring why you’re shocked.

N you don’t want to scare him off, so you sorta just float down next to him, not saying anything, sitting down and waiting for him to acknowledge you except it’s just…

“Well?” Rick says, giving you somewhat of bland look from out of the corner of his eye, “gonna say hi or what, baby?”

You’re not sure if it’s shock or exhaustion causing your silence to fester, the surprise of his presence or the unexpected joy that’s starting to simmer at the realization he had the idea to come see you.

“Hi, Rick,” you coo softly, tiredly, nudging into him as you sink next to him on the couch, and then when he doesn’t respond immediately, “What are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I knew you didn’t want me around, I wouldn’t have come. I’m happy to leave.”

There’s no malice in his voice, none of the usual heat and tease, so it’s obvious there’s no intention behind the threat. Still, you reach out for him anyway, grabbing the hand closest to you as if to stop him from pulling out his portal gun suddenly.

“No,” you say, almost too quickly, too needy, causing his pinched face to melt somewhat. “No. I mean… I just wasn’t expecting you, is all.”

You lean in hesitantly to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek, a kiss he tilts to return when you pull away slowly, as if in fear that he wouldn’t be receptive. His lips are surprisingly gentle against yours, it’s more of a peck than his usual excited kiss, wet with passion and ferocity at the thought of what will happen next, but the tenderness isn’t unwanted, and in fact, fills you with a sudden warmth that quickly seems to overpower your fatigue from the day.

(And you find that it’s not lust or longing but rather a feeling of affection which seems to buzz under your skin, as if aching to be let out.)

Reaching a hand up to his jaw, you pull back to stare into Rick’s own eyes, suddenly going shy as he gestures to the plate of food he brought you.

“Thanks for coming,” you peck him again, this time fully pulling him away from the TV, “I’m really happy to see you, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says, shutting his eyes as he leans in closer to you. “Me too.”

#rick sanchez x reader #sorry if this is crappy I’m in a hotel bed and my mom is snoring next to me #if this is ooc be quiet #will edit later maybe #mine

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l0vesecretsociety · 22 days ago

Text

KEEPING TABS

“For some stupid reason, I keep on believing.”

tags: ekko x fem! reader, angst. oneshot. warnings: none. art, not mine.

Ekko should’ve seen this coming. For all the ways he has been treating you, how he’d wrong you, he knew you’d eventually drift away and the both of you would soon break. But the thing was, he’d still be pacing back and forth over at his worksop, thinking about all the ways he could’ve done something. Something to prevent this, instead of tinkering with a new invention to prosper his home. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he bangs his head lightly on the bark of the tree. He tells himself to move on, that it’s your loss, not his. He tries so hard to go back to work but his brain just automatically malfunctions because it's flooded with your image. He’s angry at every little mistake he makes and throws it away to make up for it.

Then a bulb pops up above his head. No. He shakes his head, let’s not do that.

But he does anyway. Ekko flies over in the middle of the night while everyone is fast asleep, the sound of his engine clunks as he zooms through Zaun. He had to know what you were up to these days. Logically, you would’ve been asleep now, but knowing you, you’re probably buried your nose deep into a book. And he just had to know you were doing what his mind imagines, maybe then he’ll work better. Seeing you was close enough. And when he does arrive at his destination—aka your small apartment, he sees you and as he guessed, sleeping on top of your book, a pen still in your hand. Ekko purses his lip at the sight, he wants to place a blanket over you to make you feel warm, but he knows he’s already crossed the line. He swallowed hard, at truth—at the reality of it all, that you were no longer his. He sighs, taking one more look back at your figure before leaving to go back home.

Funny is that word, home. Where is that now, when there is only a cold room he traps himself in and nothing of you. He could no longer feel your warmth, he desperately yearned. He clenched his jaw and ran back to work. Work. That’s all he ever does even as you were there beside him, and you’ve been there for him, always, and he appreciated so much—but then you slipped away from his grasp. Took him long enough to realize that. He really needs to get over you, but the ghost of your warmth hovers over him in a constant cycle.

Everyone could tell he was out of it. Scar tries to leave him alone for a while, letting him cope on his own. Scar has been through that kind of heartbreak before and he knows what’s best. Even the kids are bothered, and kids can see through lies, you know. They’re more honest than the law, and they’re not shy to point out what's happening with Ekko right now. Ekko just brushes them off with a smile and a good excuse (not really), but the more he lies to them, the more they ask.

“You’ve been distracted lately.” Scar says, arms crossed, leaning on to the door frame.

“I’m fine.” Scar thinks, no, knows it was bs. What started as one night thing, something for closure, now became a nightly thing. Mission after mission, he’s been disappearing into the fog. If he wasn’t out on the mission, he took the night when everyone else was asleep. Scar knows where he was going, where he was running back to. It’s truly spine chilling what you’ve done to him, a guy whose painfully and awfully focused on his work—on his goal of building a wonderful community, now going around town looking for you causing bits of mishaps here and there. He thought it was just one of your quarrels, a small trouble in paradise, not a full on separation. Scar felt guilty of not being able to help out Ekko and convince you to stay. Why should he? It was not his to begin with, but it was driving him to the edge the way Ekko was acting right now.

“I’m serious, Ekko.”

“Well, I am too.” That he was, he’d become humourless the past few months. “Could you just… leave me alone,” he says, calling back his focus on his new ‘invention,’ and knowing him, it was just another crap idea he pulled out of his ass. It was true, there was no lie to that. Ekko, despite his circumstances, was smart. He was a bright engineer who embedded all sorts of science and math into his work, but now- at this point, he’s just glueing cogs together. Everything he created reminded him of you. Your favourite flowers, your little book idea, and your nerdy phrases on the books he reads. It frustrated him because deep inside, he kept on believing that you felt the same too. That you pretend you were there with him on the bed, snuggled together, sharing each other’s warmth the same way he did. That your ear perks up too, every time you hear his name like he does.

He really needs to get over you. He tries, he does, really. But he can’t help but want to see you all time, when wearing your Academy uniform and the cute bow completing your look or in your own outfits. You were glowing, flourishing, without him. He wants to talk to you, and get this over and done with. He wants his heart to stop clenching every time you talk to another guy or smile at them, he wants his head to think straight, he wants to rid himself of you. The troubling thing was, he can’t and a part of him doesn’t want to. Ekko knows he should move on, he knows that he’s hurt you, he knows he shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you—that he should let go of you. He could only wish you back, will you to walk the same path towards the firelight tree as him because he knows, you’ll never do anymore.

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annab-nana · 6 months ago

Note

being teased about their weird cravings during pregnancy with Eddie🥺 he would give you so much shit for some of the things you wanted

he so would and he'd do it while getting you exactly what you wanted too

warnings: not proofread, pregnant!reader, use of pet names (sweetcheeks, sweetheart)

❀ masterlist ❀

"you're a weirdo, you know that, right?" eddie told you as he pulled the brownies out of the oven.

you scoffed, tossing another dorito in your mouth. "i know you of all people are not calling me a weirdo right now."

from where you sat on the counter, you could see the side of his face including his jaw dropping in faux shock. "i think wanting to eat doritos and brownies together trumps d and d nerd by at least fifty percent."

"eh,” you muttered with a shrug.

"eh?" he echoed, baffled by your nonchalance.

"yeah, eh, and anyway, you're the reason we're in this mess," you teased, swinging your feet back and forth as he discarded the oven mitts he wore and turned off the oven.

"i just love how it's always 'i got you into this mess' when you're complaining, but it's 'you creating life' and all this other great stuff when you're in a good mood," eddie spoke in a playful tone, his wide grin making you remember all the reasons you fell in love with him.

"just think about it, okay? it will be cheesy and chocolatey. the best of both worlds. the doritos will bring a crunchy aspect while the brownies will be softer and will add warmth. dare i say it, i've created something wonderful," you shared your ideas in excitement and awe while eddie came over to stand between your thighs, his hands resting on the counter on either side of you.

"oh, so now you created it? you may be the brains, sweetcheeks, but i just slaved over these brownies. i want my cut when this goes big," eddie said with an affirmative hum. he raised his eyebrows at you, playing along as if you two were really cutting a deal for a wonderous new invention.

your brows dropped into a furrow. "you were just calling me a weirdo and now you want in?"

"first off, sweetheart, i would never call you a weirdo. it's just not my style." you stared blankly at him as he spoke, trying to fight off the growing grin at his antics. "secondly, let's talk percentages. seventy-thirty seems reasonable enough to me, me getting the seventy of course, but based on the look on your face, i can settle for fifty-fifty, even split."

"let me get this straight," you play along, leaning in close as well. "you want half of the cut for my idea that you were just dogging?"

the corner of eddie's lips curled into a smirk while he crept ever so slightly closer to you. his face was inches from yours. "you're getting the idea."

you moved even closer, your lips lingering a centimeter or two away from his. "you're crazy, munson."

he closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours. he stepped closer, supporting his weight on the counter by leaning his hips between your legs. his hands moved to grip your waist and pulled you to the edge of the countertop. he whispered into the kiss, "you adore it, sweetheart."

remember to support writers & reblog :)

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurbs #blurbs #rebelemilu #❀ emily ❀#winter wonderland sleepover ✧*:･ﾟ

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hydrngea · 2 years ago

Text

𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇

a/n : ahhh i've been so busy lately but i finally got the chance to write this last night! rafe’s kinda ooc so I apologize in advance lol hope you enjoy <3

notes/summary : early mornings are for appreciating you | rafe cameron x f!reader, fluff, established relationship (you’ve been together for years)

word count : 804

masterlist / latest rafe fic

daylight unwraps the hues of the room while the sun shines through the window you had neglected to cover up last night. rafe rouses with the light, eyes straining open.

it’s early; early enough for him to get up and close the curtains over the arbiture and fall back asleep with ease. but for some reason he finds himself too comfortable in the position he in right now-can’t get himself to abandon his spot on the bed and the warmth that radiates from you.

he stretches closer beside you, turning to lay with his back towards the window and facing you. he leans himself against his palm while creating a barrier between you and the light. he’s glad you sleep on your stomach, means the sun won’t get into your eyes and you can stay asleep.

mindlessly, his free digits find the curve of your back and trace over your skin; the imprints of the wrinkled sheets left on your preassure points. the faded strech marks on the flip side of your arms. the freckles on your shoulder.

he thinks his new favorite activity is finger painting over your features;t here’s just something about the way his calloused finger pads feel against the softness of your untouched complexion which could keep him occupied and content for hours.

rafe was never the inventive type, never good with shapes like an artist or spoken phrases like a poet. even with no knowledge of creative subjects he knew without having to study you for long that you were a work of art.

he thinks- even though he doesn’t know much about his existence- that god must of carved you just for him to admire.

minutes pass. the tangerine mountains of the sunrise fade to the comforting yellow the of the day and the sky returning to its familiar morning blue.

his exhales synchronize with yours, the room filled with a comfortable silence which feels so underrated.

you’re the one to break it, limbs shifting under the comforter you’ve mostly stolen off of him and lips smacking together as you awake.

you lift your head from your pillow and look at rafe with unfocused eyes which are just beginning to regulate to the abnormal amount of light that blankets the surface of the bedroom.

“shouldve closed the blinds last night,” you say as press your palms onto your eye sockets, and rafe can’t help but laugh. he pulls you on-top of him and you comply, letting out your own breathy chuckle because of how clingy he’s acting so early in the morning. your nose grazes the side of his before you slump down over him, cheek resting on his bare chest and ear right over his heart.

gentle lips brush on your hair and you melt on top of him, wrapping you own arms around his waist. he can feel your lips curving into a smile against his skin. “how long you’ve been staring at me?” you ask, head lifting from his chest to look at him.

“dunno.” he responds, voice still gruff. a hum exerts from you as you relax back into him.

again the two of you fall into a warm silence, content with being within each others space. no words are said and he returns to stenciling you; drawing shapes and patterns while trying to memorize you shape and every minuscule detail about your body as if you’d disappear any moment.

rafe thinks about all he didn’t do to deserve such a heaven sent gift like you. even after years together, there’s still a part of him who believes you deserve more, better. someone as pure as you. he thinks maybe he should express his gratitude towards you more often.

he’s the one to cease the quiet this time, softly at first. “i feel like..” he fingers begin to drag over the same spot while he tries to come up with the right words to say.

“like what?”

“like you were made for me. like i was made for you.”

his words make you sit up, locking your eyes with his. “what has gotten into you today, mr. whipped cameron.” you whisper as you lower your mouth onto his and press a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips.

he chuckles into you, lightly squeezing your waist. “nothing.”

“nothing?” he lets out a sigh as you pull away with your brow furrowed.

“just promise me you’ll never leave.”

“well if u keep saying stuff like that then why would i ever want to?” you say, dimples on display as your lips curve into a smile.

he scoffs, and you let out a screech when rafe flips the two of you over so he hovers over you. your hands find his cheeks, and you lift yourself up just enough to meet him halfway.

“i would never leave this.” you murmur against him, right before his lips spark over yours.

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

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earthlybeam · 27 days ago

Text

Elves how would they react to their human s/o being so…human with their ‘odd quirks’ by elven standards

how would the elves react to this?

↓

Celeborn, haldir, cirdan, adar Versions are below.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Celeborn, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𖣂 Celeborn’s reaction to being handcuffed to you as a “friendship bracelet” would initially be one of silent disbelief. His silver brows would arch gracefully as he regards the cuffs with the calm yet calculating gaze of an elf who has faced centuries of surprises, none quite like this. He’d gently test the metal restraint, his fingers brushing against yours in the process, but his expression remains composed.

𖣂 “My lady (or lord), it seems your creativity knows no bounds,” he’d say, his voice tinged with dry amusement. “Though I fail to see how binding oneself to another constitutes a bracelet, I commend the boldness of your invention.”

𖣂 He would likely humor you for a time, maintaining his graceful demeanor as you drag him along, explaining your reasoning. The elves nearby might stifle laughter or exchange glances of mild shock, unaccustomed to such “human eccentricities.” Celeborn, however, would not remove the cuffs immediately. Instead, he’d study you with a growing smile, finding your spontaneity both baffling and endearing.

𖣂 “I have lived millennia and faced foes from Angband to Dol Guldur, yet none have restrained me quite so… creatively. Shall we parade through Lothlórien thus bound, or is this to remain our little secret?” His tone carries an air of teasing elegance, though his eyes soften with clear affection.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

𖣂 Celeborn would observe the entire sequence of events with a mixture of disbelief and quiet amusement. His silver-gray eyes would follow as you blew on the spoonful of steaming stew, muttering, “This is too hot,” only to proceed to pop it into your mouth anyway. The sharp intake of breath and pained expression that followed would cause him to blink once, slowly, before exhaling a soft, knowing sigh.

𖣂 Setting aside whatever task he’d been engaged in, he’d step closer, his voice calm and steady, yet carrying a faint trace of exasperation. “You knew it was too hot,” he’d remark, his tone betraying a rare flicker of humor beneath the surface. “And yet, you chose to test the limits of your own wisdom.”

𖣂 Kneeling gracefully beside you, he’d take your hand in his, examining you with the same attentiveness he reserved for the well-being of his people. “Here,” he’d say, handing you a goblet of cool water. “Drink. Though I wonder if even this lesson will temper your impulsiveness.”

𖣂 Despite the reserved delivery of his words, the corners of his lips would quirk slightly, betraying a quiet fondness. As you winced and fanned your mouth, he’d lean back and watch with an expression both paternal and affectionate, shaking his head faintly. “I have walked through millennia of battles and council chambers, but I doubt I will ever understand your kind’s eagerness to suffer for the sake of haste.”

𖣂 Later, as the pain subsided and you regained your composure, he’d add with a wry smile, “Perhaps next time you will heed your own words—or, at least, let me taste it first.” His tone was light, but his gaze was warm, his endless patience shining through despite your occasional recklessness.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

𖣂 Celeborn would initially watch your outburst with a slight tilt of his head, his silver hair catching the light as his serene expression faltered into something closer to bemused curiosity. Your laughter—starting as a cheerful chuckle—soon escalated into uncontrollable hiccups and snorts that echoed through the tranquil halls of Lothlórien, shattering the elven silence.

𖣂 At first, he would blink, his composure intact, though the faintest lift of his brow betrayed his inner surprise. When the snorting began, however, a soft huff of breath escaped him—perhaps the closest thing to a chuckle you’d ever hear from the dignified Lord of Lothlórien.

𖣂 “Are you… unwell?” he’d ask, his voice calm but touched with concern, as though unsure if this strange noise signaled some form of mortal ailment. Stepping closer, he’d place a hand on your shoulder, his touch light yet grounding, his observant gaze scanning your face for signs of distress. When it became clear this was not a malady but simply you being overtaken by mirth, his expression would soften into something warmer, his lips curving into a small but genuine smile.

𖣂 The sound of your snorts, however, would eventually prove too much for even his legendary self-control. A quiet laugh—low and melodic, almost as if it surprised him—would slip from his lips, a rare and precious thing. He would shake his head slowly, his long fingers brushing a strand of hair from his face as he regarded you with deep affection.

𖣂 “Your joy is… infectious,” he’d murmur, though his words were tinged with a teasing tone. “But I must admit, I have never before heard such sounds come from a living creature. Are you attempting to mimic a wild boar? Or is this simply your unique interpretation of merriment?”

𖣂 When your laughter only intensified at his playful jab, hiccups punctuating your snorts, Celeborn would let out a soft sigh, though his eyes shone with genuine warmth. “You are unlike anyone I have ever known,” he’d say, his voice touched with amusement and quiet wonder. “May your spirit never change, even if it leaves me questioning whether I have wandered into a pasture rather than my own hall.”

𖣂 Later, when you’d finally calmed, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes, he’d gently hand you a goblet of water. “Here, drink,” he’d say, his tone affectionate yet practical. “Though I fear the snorting will haunt my dreams tonight.” His wry humor would glimmer beneath his measured demeanor, revealing just how deeply he cherished your humanity, quirks and all.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𖣂 Celeborn would notice your sudden pause in the doorway with his usual quiet attentiveness, his keen eyes watching as you glanced around the room, your brow furrowed in confusion. He’d set aside the book he was reading or the map he was studying, his composed demeanor remaining intact, though the faintest trace of curiosity would cross his face.

𖣂 “Have you misplaced something?” he’d ask gently, his melodic voice breaking the silence. Rising with the effortless grace of an ancient elf, he would step toward you, his long robes whispering against the floor. When you simply stood there, blinking in befuddlement, he’d tilt his head slightly, his expression a mixture of patience and mild amusement.

𖣂 “I… can’t remember why I came in here,” you’d admit, the frustration in your voice tinged with embarrassment. At this, his lips would quirk ever so slightly, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

𖣂 “Ah,” he’d say, his tone laced with quiet humor, “the mysterious ways of the human mind. So fleeting, so unpredictable.” He’d place his hands behind his back, his gaze soft and warm as he regarded you. “Perhaps you sought counsel or came to tell me of something important… or perhaps it was merely a passing whim.”

𖣂 You’d laugh nervously, shrugging as you glanced around the room again, hoping for a clue that refused to present itself. Celeborn would step closer, his gaze observant yet kind, and after a moment of silence, he’d offer, “Mayhap retracing your steps will awaken the memory. Or… we could simply wait. I have found that the answers we seek often come when we are not looking for them.”

𖣂 He’d gesture toward a nearby chair, his composed demeanor radiating a calm that seemed to make the moment less awkward. “Sit, if you like. Let your mind wander. Though I must admit,” he’d add with a faintly teasing glint in his eyes, “I am intrigued to see how long it will take before your purpose is revealed.”

𖣂 If the memory eventually returned to you, he’d nod with quiet approval. “There it is,” he’d say simply, as though nothing had been out of the ordinary. But if it didn’t, and you gave up with a sheepish shrug, Celeborn would chuckle softly—a rare sound, low and melodic.

𖣂 “Fear not,” he’d say, his voice carrying a warm reassurance. “Even the wisest of us lose our way on occasion. Perhaps this is a reminder to simply enjoy the journey, even if the destination eludes you.” His words, like always, would feel like a gentle balm, turning your fleeting human forgetfulness into something almost endearing.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

𖣂 Celeborn would watch you with an air of quiet curiosity as you flipped the pillow with a practiced motion, seeking the cooler side before settling in for rest. His eyes, ever observant, would narrow ever so slightly as if contemplating the simple, yet curious habit of mortals. A faint smile would tug at the corners of his lips, the gesture subtle but filled with warmth.

𖣂 “Ah,” he would murmur, his voice calm and even, “such a small act, yet one I have never seen in all my years. To think of the need for coolness in sleep… How different the experience of time is for your kind.”

𖣂 He would step closer, his movements graceful and deliberate as he examined the pillow, almost as if pondering its purpose in a way that only an elf with millennia of life experience could. “We elves,” he would continue, “do not often need such concerns for comfort. The cool side of the pillow… a mortal tradition, I suppose?”

𖣂 As you settled in, his thoughtful gaze would soften, and he would chuckle quietly to himself, a rare sound from the typically composed lord of Lothlórien. “Perhaps it is a reflection of the fleeting nature of your kind, always seeking a moment’s relief, always aware of the changing seasons in your lives. I wonder if we elves, with our timeless existence, would understand such little comforts.”

𖣂 His voice would soften with a tender affection. “Still, I find it… charming. That in such small things, you find comfort. Perhaps I, too, should try it one day, to see what it is that brings you such peace in this simple act.” His tone would be teasing, but beneath it was an unmistakable fondness.

𖣂 Celeborn would watch as you lay back, content with your small ritual, and after a moment, he would say, his tone quiet but sincere, “Sleep well, my friend. May the cool side of the pillow bring you comfort, as your presence does to those around you.”

𖣂 In his heart, Celeborn would find a quiet, reflective appreciation for these human quirks. Though they were foreign to him, they spoke to the warmth and fleeting beauty of mortal life, something he had come to cherish through his companionship with you.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

Haldir, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

➳ Haldir’s first reaction would be one of cautious surprise. His sharp Elven eyes narrow slightly as you hold up the handcuffs, the cold metal glinting in the soft light of Lothlórien. A deep sense of confusion stirs within him. Elves are creatures of grace, tradition, and subtlety, and this—this device—feels so very out of place. His instinct is to recoil, to question why such a thing is even necessary. His mind races, considering the implications of being physically tethered to someone, even if only by metal cuffs. Elves are proud of their independence and autonomy, and Haldir, with his disciplined nature, values his personal space.

➳ “Mellon,” he begins, his voice hesitant but still calm, “What… are these?” His eyes flicker to the cuffs, then back to you, unsure whether to be annoyed or intrigued. The connection between you both is new, fragile in its beginnings, and the physical closeness this suggests makes him feel exposed in a way he isn’t accustomed to.

➳ As the cuffs click into place, he freezes for a moment, his posture stiffening. He doesn’t pull away, but the discomfort is evident in the way his jaw tightens. The concept of being tied to another, especially in such a direct way, clashes with his deeply ingrained Elven sense of pride and order. But he is not cruel. He doesn’t demand you take them off immediately. Instead, his thoughts turn inward as he tries to process the action.

➳ “I… I do not understand,” he says softly, his usual composure wavering just a little. There’s a brief flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, though he quickly masks it with the usual calm, pragmatic exterior. He stands tall, trying to hold on to his usual sense of control, though the sensation of being tethered to you, a human he barely knows, feels strange.

➳ However, seeing the earnestness in your eyes—the warmth, the hope, the connection—slowly changes his perspective. His lips twitch upward, not quite a smile but the closest he will come for now. There’s something in your gesture, something unspoken, that makes his guarded heart soften. “Strange, but… not entirely unwelcome.” His voice, though still guarded, betrays a hint of reluctant affection.

➳ He will stand by your side, perhaps a little stiff, but in the silence between you both, the handcuffs would serve as an unspoken bond, a symbol of trust—strange, yet meaningful. Haldir might not yet fully understand the gesture, but for the first time in a long while, he feels a small, unexpected pull toward you, tethered not just by metal but by something deeper, something more human.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

➳ Haldir’s sharp eyes are trained on you as you take a bite of the food, knowing full well that it is too hot, yet watching you do so with an almost fascinated intensity. He had warned you, the heat was obvious even to him—yet you insisted. As soon as you burn your tongue, a flash of concern flickers in Haldir’s usually composed gaze. His mind races for the proper course of action. Should he offer aid? Should he speak? But before he can act, he watches you flinch and hear the muffled exclamation of discomfort, clearly regretting your choice.

➳ His natural instinct is to respond immediately, stepping forward, but the elf within him, ever so poised and composed, hesitates. He stands still for a heartbeat, his gaze flicking down to your face, registering your discomfort. His stoic demeanor cracks for just a second, a faint line of concern forming between his brows. His tone, always measured and calm, carries a touch of disapproval, though it’s not harsh. “I told you it was too hot, meleth nín,” he says softly, his voice tinged with both reprimand and care. There’s a quiet gentleness behind the sternness, a reflection of how deeply he cares.

➳ He moves swiftly then, his Elven grace ensuring he doesn’t come off as rushed, but his eyes remain focused on you with an intensity that betrays his concern. “Here,” he says, his voice shifting into a soothing tone as he offers you a drink, likely something cool to help ease the burn. His actions are deliberate, his usual reserve slipping slightly as he ensures you’re taken care of, though his brow remains furrowed, still mildly frustrated at your stubbornness.

➳ The whole scene would be an odd mix of sternness and affection. He’s not used to such impetuousness—Elves are so controlled in their ways, and the impulsiveness of humans confounds him. Yet, there’s an undeniable softness in the way he checks on you, despite the small reproach.

➳ He would likely shake his head, an amused yet bemused look crossing his face as he waits for you to recover. “Next time, heed my words, Y/N. I would not want to see you hurt.” His tone is quiet, earnest, but there’s also the faintest trace of a smile hidden beneath his careful expression. Haldir may be overly cautious, but it’s all driven by a deep desire to protect and care for those he holds dear.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

➳ Haldir stands in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you laugh. Your laughter, initially light and joyful, grows louder and more erratic until it erupts into hiccupping and snorting—a sound completely foreign to him. His normally composed and serious demeanor falters, his sharp Elven features momentarily betraying a flicker of surprise. His gaze flicks to your face, a mix of confusion and slight discomfort flashing across his expression.

➳ The snorts, in particular, catch him off guard. What manner of sound is this? He thought humans were graceful, full of poise, but in this moment, your laughter seems almost… animalistic. He takes a step back, almost instinctively, as if unsure of how to react. Was this normal for you? The thought lingers, and his mind races, trying to reconcile this display with the orderly, composed nature of Elves.

➳ Yet, despite his initial shock, a deeper part of him can’t help but find the sight… endearing. There’s something raw and genuine in your laughter, a vulnerability in the way you are so unguarded. It stirs something unfamiliar within him—a softness, a flicker of affection that he doesn’t often allow himself to acknowledge. His lips twitch slightly, struggling to maintain his usual stern composure.

➳ “You…” he begins, his voice strained, but he trails off, unsure how to address the unexpected nature of your outburst. His serious aura falters, though he does not fully crack into a smile. “You are… quite loud when you find something amusing,” he says, his tone attempting to remain dignified but betraying an edge of bemusement.

➳ Still, Haldir cannot suppress the quiet chuckle that slips past his lips, much to his own surprise. The sound is brief, and he quickly schools his expression back to seriousness, as if to pretend it never happened. But beneath the veneer of discipline, there is a flicker of warmth—a rare glimpse of the Haldir who is capable of finding humor in the most unexpected places.

➳ “You are… certainly unique, Y/N,” he adds softly, his words carrying a mixture of intrigue and affection. There is a certain fondness in his eyes as he watches you continue, though his demeanor is still largely reserved, wary of letting his emotions fully surface. He finds this human trait of yours perplexing, but also… oddly charming.

➳ “Try not to disturb the peace of Lothlórien with such sounds,” he teases lightly, though his tone remains gentle, the edges of his usual stoicism softened by the affection he feels for you in this moment.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

➳ Haldir watches you enter the room with purpose, only to stand still for a moment, a look of confusion spreading across your face. His keen Elven eyes observe as you glance around, your expression betraying the realization that you’ve forgotten why you came in. There’s a fleeting pause, and he feels a flicker of concern—then, a slight shift in his posture as he silently assesses the situation.

➳ You pause, almost lost in thought, and he cannot help but feel a slight pang of curiosity. What has distracted you so thoroughly, Y/N? His mind races briefly, his sense of duty making him wonder if you are unwell or if something has happened to cause this lapse in memory. His gaze softens, though he keeps his distance, watching you as though trying to decipher the cause.

➳ There’s a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh from him, but it’s not one of frustration. Rather, it’s a sigh of understanding mixed with the faintest hint of amusement. Haldir, who has lived for millennia, has seen and experienced the meticulous planning of Elven minds, the careful attention to detail, and the control of Elven lives. But this? This is uniquely human—a fleeting moment of forgetfulness that is, perhaps, a reflection of your imperfection, your beautiful unpredictability.

➳ He steps forward with slow, deliberate grace, his voice carrying a quiet warmth as he addresses you. “Is everything well, meleth nín?” he asks, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of genuine concern. He doesn’t push, but he offers you the chance to gather your thoughts, his expression softening with an empathy that only someone as observant as him would offer.

➳ There’s a momentary silence before he adds with a subtle smile, “If it is of any help, I often find that the mind is not quite as sharp when one is distracted by matters of the heart.” His comment is gentle, offering both an explanation and a way for you to laugh off the slip. Haldir’s stoic nature remains, but there’s an unmistakable glint of affection in his eyes. He’s not mocking you, not at all. He’s merely acknowledging the small, human imperfections that make you who you are—precisely the qualities that draw him closer.

➳ He doesn’t ask for explanations or dwell on the forgetfulness. Instead, he merely waits, his quiet presence offering a comforting reassurance. If you don’t remember why you walked into the room, it’s of little importance to him. His thoughts are focused on you, not the trivialities of such human quirks. “Perhaps it will come to you in time,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “Or we may simply walk out and start anew, as Elves are wont to do with most things.”

➳ With that, he offers you a kind smile, his usual sternness softened, and gives you a moment to gather your bearings. He doesn’t press further. Instead, he offers his arm or a steady presence, eager to ensure that the moment doesn’t feel embarrassing for you. His love for you, grounded in his devotion to Lothlórien, allows him to view these small, human slips not with judgment but with affection.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

➳ Haldir watches, silently observing as you reach over to flip your pillow to the “cool side” before settling in. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, an eyebrow subtly arching in quiet curiosity. In Lothlórien, the rhythms of nature and the stillness of the forest are far more predictable than the small, human quirks that you exhibit. Elves, who have long learned to sleep soundly under the gentle embrace of starlight, never felt the need to worry about the warmth of their pillows. But here you are, flipping the pillow with a small, decisive motion, as if performing some ancient ritual.

➳ Haldir remains still, but his mind is already processing the moment. Why would one flip the pillow? he wonders, though he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. His gaze softens, intrigued by the simple, human need for comfort. He is not unfamiliar with the concept of rest, but he cannot recall ever experiencing such an impulse himself. Elves, after all, are known for their grace and ease, even in sleep. But you, you are different—a creature of fleeting moments and small habits that make you uniquely human.

➳ It’s a strange thing for him to observe: this small, almost childlike act of adjusting the pillow for comfort, a simple gesture of vulnerability that seems so out of place in the ever-stern, ever-vigilant world of the Elves. Yet, there’s something endearing in it. He feels a strange sense of warmth tug at his chest, a flicker of affection for your little quirks, the small moments that make you feel more… human.

➳ When you settle in and lie down, Haldir glances at you, his lips twitching, almost as if he’s trying to suppress the curiosity and affection that suddenly floods him. He’s seen warriors prepare for battle, skilled in every aspect of combat, yet here you are, preparing for rest in such a human, innocent way. It’s humbling in a way. You’re not bound by tradition, not enslaved to the rigid order of his people. You are free toexperience the world in ways that make you you.

➳ “I… did not know that one could adjust the pillow like this,” he says quietly, almost to himself. He doesn’t mock you; instead, there’s a quiet, contemplative tone to his voice, as if he’s genuinely trying to understand. There’s a brief pause before Haldir adds, with the faintest smile tugging at his lips, “In Lothlórien, we find our peace in the embrace of the trees. But I suppose the cool side of a pillow might do as well.”

➳ His words carry no judgment, only a curious understanding of how something so simple could mean so much to you. He watches you for a long moment, feeling an unexpected tenderness that only deepens with each passing second. The night seems quieter now, the distance between his Elven ways and your human ones feeling just a little less vast.

➳ If you catch his eye, you’ll see that there’s a glint of amusement—an acknowledgment that he’s starting to see how your small, human habits are endearing, a reflection of the simple joys you find in life. For him, it is a new lesson in understanding the beauty of imperfection. And just for a moment, Haldir allows himself to lean back, to let the gentle tranquility of the moment wash over him, accepting that not all things are to be understood or controlled. Some things, like flipping a pillow, are just meant to be experienced.

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🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

Cirdan, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𓇼 Círdan would pause for a moment, his ancient eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and mild surprise as he looked down at the handcuffs now linking him to you. Elves, with their preference for elegance and freedom, would rarely consider such practical, yet confining, gestures. A gentle smile would tug at the corners of his lips, his voice warm and kind, though tinged with amusement.

𓇼 “Ah, I see you’ve found a new way to bind us together,” he might say softly, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of affection and a hint of playfulness. The thought of being physically restrained, even in such a mild manner, was something far from the Elven way, yet Círdan would not scold you. Instead, he would appreciate the sentiment, understanding it as a sign of your bond.

𓇼 “You’ve chosen a curious form of closeness,” he would continue, his tone light but sincere. “But perhaps next time, a less…metallic approach might suit us better.” There would be no judgment, only the calm, patient wisdom of one who had seen many ages pass, and who knew that human gestures, however odd by Elven standards, were often full of heart. Círdan would likely gently tug at the cuff, raising an eyebrow, before offering a small laugh, letting the moment pass without further comment.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

𓇼 Círdan would watch with a patient, knowing look as you burned your tongue on the food despite his warning. Having lived through countless ages, he’d seen such simple mistakes many times, yet still, there would be a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. His voice, though warm and gentle, would carry a hint of quiet humor.

𓇼 “I did try to warn you, my friend,” he might say with a soft chuckle, his tone not mocking but more of a fond acknowledgment of your human nature. Elves, with their heightened senses and careful precision, could never make such a mistake, but Círdan understood that humans often had a different approach to things—one that embraced the moment, perhaps without fully considering the consequences.

𓇼 He would likely offer you a soft, understanding smile, a hand reaching for a nearby cool drink or cloth to help soothe your discomfort. “The heat can be fierce to the unprepared,” he would murmur, his voice soothing, the wisdom of the ages in his words. “But you learn quickly, don’t you?” His demeanor would remain calm, his concern for you evident, but never in a way that felt overbearing. He knew that in moments like these, a gentle word and quiet support were all that was needed.

𓇼 Círdan would not be frustrated or annoyed; instead, he would find joy in your innocence, in the way humans experience life in ways Elves no longer could. The bond between you, however small the mistake, would only deepen.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

𓇼 Círdan would watch you with an amused yet serene expression, his ancient eyes softening with affection as your laughter erupts into uncontrollable hiccups and snorts. Elves, so often graceful and composed, rarely let their mirth take such an unruly form, yet Círdan’s patience and understanding would make him savor this moment. He would recognize in your laughter the genuine joy and innocence of humanity, a trait that, despite its occasional awkwardness, he found utterly endearing.

𓇼 “Ah, I did not expect such a display,” he would say with a quiet chuckle, the faintest twinkle in his wise eyes. His voice would be calm and warm, not mocking, but filled with a kind appreciation for the simple, human way you expressed yourself. “It is a rare thing indeed, to see such… vivid merriment among us.”

𓇼 Círdan might pause, his gaze soft as he took in the moment. He would allow your laughter to wash over him, undisturbed by any sense of judgment or discomfort. To him, your laughter—hiccupping and snorting as it was—was a reminder of the liveliness that humans brought to the world, something Elves, despite their long lives and wisdom, could not fully replicate.

𓇼 He would likely smile and offer a gentle hand to steady you, his voice carrying a quiet amusement as he said, “No need to be embarrassed. In fact, I think I prefer this. It is… refreshing.” With a rare, deep chuckle, he would allow the moment to pass, enjoying the lightness you brought into his ancient world, a world often marked by gravitas.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𓇼 Círdan would observe with a soft, understanding smile as you stand there, momentarily lost in thought, a slight frown tugging at your brow as you try to recall the purpose for entering the room. In his long years, he had seen countless instances of forgetfulness, but he would never be impatient with it, particularly in humans, whose minds, unlike those of Elves, often flitted from one thing to another with such ease.

𓇼 “Ah, a fleeting thought,” he might say gently, his voice rich with calm wisdom. He would never find such moments frustrating; instead, he would appreciate how human minds sometimes wander, unable to grasp hold of every fleeting thought. His gaze would soften, and his smile would remain kind. “You are not alone in this. Even the sharpest minds falter at times.”

𓇼 Círdan would likely take a step closer, his presence steady and reassuring. He would not rush you or offer forced answers but would simply allow the moment to settle, trusting that your thoughts would soon return to you. “Sometimes, it is the small distractions that pull us from our tasks,” he would add, his tone not condescending, but understanding. “And perhaps, it is not so important after all.”

𓇼 His eyes would gleam with quiet amusement, and he might offer a comforting gesture—placing a hand lightly on your shoulder or offering a knowing smile. For him, moments like these were reminders of the beauty in human nature imperfect, but full of wonder. And Círdan, ever wise and patient, would let you take your time, knowing the answers would come when the time was right.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

�� Círdan would watch you with quiet amusement as you flipped the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in. Though Elves, with their long lives and heightened senses, did not often concern themselves with such mundane comforts, Círdan would understand that such simple acts were part of the human experience. In his many years of watching the world, he had come to appreciate the small ways in which humans sought comfort and solace, often in ways that Elves had long since moved beyond.

𓇼 A soft smile would appear on his face as he observed you, perhaps with a slight tilt of his head. His voice would be gentle, laced with a warm curiosity: “Ah, a small ritual of comfort, I see.” There would be no judgment in his tone, only an understanding that your way of seeking peace in the world was different from his own. Elves did not need to flip their pillows; they had an ageless tranquility, a stillness that came with their nature. But Círdan would respect your small act, seeing it as a sign of your connection to the physical world, something that the long-lived Elves, with their more ethereal existence, could not fully grasp.

𓇼 He might chuckle softly, though it would be a laugh of warmth, not mockery. “I suppose I am too accustomed to eternal calm to know such fleeting discomforts. But it is… a simple joy.” There would be an affectionate tone in his voice, a recognition of the human need for such small comforts, and how they anchored you to the world in a way that the Elves, with their distance from mortality, often did not need.

𓇼 With that, Círdan would settle beside you, his presence quiet but reassuring. There was no need for grand words or gestures. The quiet understanding between you both was enough. And in that moment, he would realize that the little human habits—like flipping the pillow—were just another way your lives intertwined.

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🔥𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓻

Adar, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

☬ Adar’s expression softens briefly as he looks at the handcuffs, his sharp, calculating eyes assessing the situation. For a moment, he remains silent, his usual cold demeanor flickering with confusion. His fingers brush lightly over the metal cuffs, feeling their weight, but there’s no sign of amusement or warmth. Instead, a deep, calculating thought crosses his mind.

☬ “You think… this is a gesture of closeness?” His voice is low, measured, tinged with a hint of skepticism. The thought of being tethered to someone else, even in a seemingly innocent gesture, doesn’t sit well with him. Despite his occasional tenderness toward the Orcs, he’s not accustomed to bonds that he can’t control. His eyes narrow as he considers how best to respond, his hand instinctively tightening on the cuff, pulling slightly.

☬ “It’s a chain,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “A reminder of where we all belong.” His words carry an undercurrent of bitterness, as though the cuffs represent a deeper truth about power and control—something he knows all too well.

☬ He doesn’t yank at the cuffs, but there’s an unspoken weight in his stance, his mind already shifting to how to turn this unspoken connection to his advantage. It’s clear that, despite the apparent softness in your gesture, Adar’s mind always operates with a darker, strategic intent.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

☬ Adar watches you, his sharp gaze never leaving you as you burn your tongue on the food. His eyes flicker with a mix of irritation and something darker, an unreadable emotion that flashes briefly before he masks it again. When you wince in pain, he doesn’t immediately offer comfort, his mind calculating the moment like a strategist sizing up the consequences of every action.

☬ He sighs, a low, almost imperceptible sound, as if you’ve broken some unspoken rule, but there’s a bitter edge to it. “Did I not warn you?” he asks coldly, his voice carrying an unmistakable tone of frustration. He leans forward slightly, his dark, intense eyes studying you for any sign of weakness or regret.

☬ “Foolishness,” he mutters, shaking his head. Despite the apparent reprimand, there’s a strange sense of detachment in his words—like a father disappointed in his child’s disobedience, but unable to fully express the concern buried beneath his stern demeanor. “You could have avoided it, yet you chose to ignore the warning.”

☬ He watches you struggle with the pain, a hint of something softer flashing across his face. It’s not pity, but a rare, fleeting concern for you as someone he is reluctantly tethered to. His hand twitches slightly, almost as if to reach out, but it stops short, the chains of his own emotions pulling him back.

☬ “If you’re going to endure, at least do so with some sense,” he adds, his voice quieter, though still sharp with the remnants of command. “I won’t have you hurt yourself because of ignorance. Next time, listen to the warning.” There’s an edge of finality in his words, but also something darker—a reminder that even small actions have consequences, and with him, the lesson might be more painful than expected.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

☬ Adar watches you closely, his sharp, calculating gaze fixed on you as you laugh uncontrollably, hiccupping and snorting in a way that echoes through the air. At first, he remains still, eyes narrowing slightly as the strange, unrefined sounds fill the space between you. His expression remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something—discomfort or maybe even irritation—beneath his composed exterior.

☬ He stands motionless for a moment, his mind dissecting the situation. “Is this supposed to amuse me?” he asks, his voice low and laced with a hint of disdain. It’s not the kind of laughter that he’s accustomed to, certainly not the kind he can control or twist to his advantage. The sound of your snorting, your unrestrained display, grates against the cold, calculated environment that Adar has so carefully built around himself.

☬ A muscle in his jaw tightens, and his lips curl slightly in distaste. “I never took you for… this,” he mutters, his eyes flicking to the side in something between surprise and irritation. For a brief moment, he considers whether to simply walk away, but instead, he stays, watching you as you continue.

☬ “Enough,” he commands sharply, voice cutting through the air with cold authority. “Cease this… display.” His words aren’t accompanied by any warmth, only a deep, almost contemptuous need for order. To him, such unrefined behavior is beneath him, something chaotic that doesn’t belong in his calculated world.

☬ He watches you, but there’s something beneath his harsh exterior—an unusual flicker of curiosity. He doesn’t understand your outburst, doesn’t know what makes you laugh like this. It’s a vulnerability he’s not used to seeing in others. There’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks again, his tone softened just slightly, though it’s still sharp. “You must learn control, just as I have. Or your foolishness will undo you.”

☬ But his gaze lingers a fraction too long. The strange vulnerability in your behavior leaves a slight, nearly imperceptible shift in his demeanor, a reminder that even someone like him can be caught off guard by the unexpected.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

☬ Adar watches you as you stand there, clearly distracted, your mind seemingly adrift. He observes the moment with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as you fumble with the empty space around you, trying to recall why you walked into the room. A brief flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or mild irritation—passes across his face, though it’s quickly masked by the cold detachment he so often wears.

☬ “Do you… find your mind wandering often?” His voice is low, but the edge of his tone is unmistakable, as though he expects more from you than simple forgetfulness. There’s a sharpness to the question, like he’s probing for weakness, testing how much control you truly have over your own thoughts and actions.

☬ He doesn’t move, instead choosing to stand with arms crossed, an imposing figure in the doorway. “You forget, and yet you stand here, unable to recall what you came for,” he observes, his voice laced with a mix of disappointment and quiet condescension. “Such disorganization would not be tolerated in my presence. Focus. Purpose. It is how the strong survive.”

☬ He takes a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving you, as if assessing whether this lapse in memory is a sign of deeper vulnerability or just a passing moment. “Perhaps this is a failure of your will,” he muses, his tone now colder, with a touch of disdain. “You should train yourself to be sharper, more disciplined.”

☬ For a moment, he remains silent, studying you with the intensity of someone who is used to being in complete control. There’s no warmth in his words, only the weight of his expectations. “Remember why you came here,” he commands, his voice firm. “And if you cannot, then I suggest you leave this place. Your mind is a tool. It should not be left to falter.”

☬ As he speaks, there’s a flicker of something more profound in his eyes, a brief understanding of the frustration that accompanies losing focus, though it’s quickly swallowed by his usual icy demeanor. Yet, in that small moment, there’s a rare glimmer of the complexity within Adar—a leader who, despite his harshness, understands the fine balance of control, even over one’s own mind.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

☬ Adar watches you with an intensity that never seems to waver, even in the most mundane moments. As you flip the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in, he stands still for a moment, observing the small, almost subconscious action with a certain level of curiosity. His eyes narrow slightly, analyzing the way you handle the simplest of tasks, his mind already making note of your behavior.

☬ For a brief second, there’s an odd flicker of something in his gaze—almost as if he’s trying to understand why such an action, so trivial in his mind, seems to bring you a sense of comfort. He has no such need for warmth or coolness in his rest, his body long having adapted to conditions harsher than the soft comforts of a pillow. To him, rest is something far more utilitarian, a necessary pause in the midst of his endless plans and leadership.

☬ “You are… particular,” he mutters, his tone almost disdainful but tinged with a hint of bemusement. The subtlety of your behavior doesn’t escape his notice, and he finds it… strange. To him, the act of sleep is an impersonal thing—something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

☬ His lips curl into a barely perceptible frown. “Comfort,” he continues, his voice softer now but still cutting through the air, “is a weakness. It makes you soft, distracted.” His words hang in the air, heavy with the same cold authority he commands. “In the world I know, comfort is fleeting, and even the smallest indulgences can lead to your downfall.”

☬ He doesn’t move to intervene, but his gaze lingers, almost studying you as if he’s waiting for something. As if this small act of self-care might tell him something deeper about you. Despite his harsh words, there’s a quiet complexity in his eyes—a mix of distant understanding and the distant remnants of his lost Elven nature, a memory of the small comforts that once meant something to him.

☬ “You may rest,” he says, his voice quiet, but with an undercurrent of something like… permission. It’s a strange thing for him to offer, yet, it comes naturally, almost instinctively. There’s no sense of kindness in it, but there’s something almost compassionate, as if he understands the need for small, personal rituals. “But know this,” he adds, his voice hardening once again, “comfort will not protect you from the harsh truths that lie ahead.” And with that, he turns away, leaving you to your rest, though his presence still looms in the space, heavy and ever-watchful, as though guarding you even in your most vulnerable state.

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