#Honkai Star rail x reader

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. boothill spending a nice, sunny day on the ranch with his family !

tags. pre-cyborg!boothill x wife!female reader. fluff, one tiny hint of angst. sfw. daughter is adopted. based on boothill’s lore. reader gets called ‘mama/momma’. i shed a tear writing this

“aye, yer getting good, kiddo.” boothill grins as he humors his daughter. he’s sitting on a patch of grass underneath an old tree, with his little girl sitting on his lap. his stetson hat lays low on his head, a piece of straw grass between his teeth.

days like these are the reason why he cherishes life. peaceful days where his wife and kid are the only ones surrounding him. home is where he belongs; with his daughter playing the tiny guitar he made her from scratch.

well—more like she’s beating it up.

“dada! dada!” she squeals as she harshly pats the strings, creating an unsatisfactory sound that would make anyone in the vicinity cringe. though, to boothill the sound is a sign of life. of his beloved child being carefree and happy.

the cowboy runs his fingers through the girl’s locks, admiring the little bundle of joy that’s been bestowed upon him. ever since he took her in, life’s been nothing but joyful. “adorable, ain’t ya?” boothill mumbles to no one in particular.

a warm breeze lifts his bangs ever so slightly, revealing those unique eyes of his. they’re filled with nothing but admiration for his daughter. perhaps also a hint of bittersweet warmth.

she’s growing up so fast.

“honey, dinner’s ready!” your voice makes both boothill and the child look up. boothill’s signature smirk only widens the moment you come out of the main house, wiping your hands off with your apron. you look stunning underneath the orange-ish sky. you’re also a reminder of how good boothill has it.

boothill nods and squeezes his daughter’s cheeks, gaining a small giggle at the touch. the calluses on his hands are a contrast to her smooth skin. the chubbiness in her cheeks is absolutely adorable to the white and black-haired man.

“oh, ya hear that? y’r momma made us some food,” boothill pokes the girl’s sides, which makes her laugh again. his favorite sound. she abandons her guitar and stands up, her legs still somewhat wobbly. she had only recently learnt how to walk on her own after all.

“mama!” the kid repeats, reaching her tiny hands out to your figure in the distance. you smile at the sight and crouch down, spreading your arms as you encourage her to walk towards you.

you nod and let out a small chuckle, “hi, baby! c’mon— come to mama!”

your daughter gasps and tries to find her balance before she sets another step. boothill watches her with a fond smile, his hands ready to catch her if she were to fall. though, there doesn’t seem to be any need for those precautions.

she waddles over to you in no time. her little gasps and pants as she tries to run melt the cowboy’s heart. he gets up and walks behind the tiny girl, a sudden mischievous grin on his face.

“heh,” boothill chuckles before acting like he’s going to run after her and catch her if she doesn’t run away from him, “better run before i catch ya!”

the child takes the light-hearted threat seriously and squeals at the sight of her father figure ‘running’ after her. her legs take her towards you as fast as they can, working overtime to reach the other side of the ranch, “waaaaaah!”

you laugh at the sight of your husband chasing after the little girl. he’s good with children—to your utter surprise. before boothill came home with the abandoned baby, you didn’t know if he’d have the skills to care for children. he is blunt, straightforward and rough in some ways.

however, your worries were soon to be proven wrong. it’s like boothill’s destined to be a girl dad. that’s how well he can get along with your adoptive daughter. it was difficult for him at first, but with some trial and error, he’s turned into a great father figure.

“got’cha!” boothill exclaims as he scoops the small child up in his arms the second she got close to you. he tickles her sides and she squirms—giggling like she’s never done before.

“nooooo!” she tries to protest between laughs, but it seems to be an impossible task. her little legs kick wildly in boothill’s embrace, but he doesn’t let up. he puts her over his shoulder and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“the food smells good, babe,” boothill whispers and kisses the top of your head. the smell of your delicious cooking makes his mouth water. he pinches your cheek and flashes you that charming grin of his not a second later, “bet it tastes fuckin’ amazing too.”

“language, honey,” you roll your eyes playfully and slap boothill’s bicep as a reminder. he simply shrugs and laughs menacingly.

you walk back with him into the house, one hand of his resting on your waist, whilst the other secures your (still squealing) daughter on his shoulder.

the sun setting gives the sky beautiful colors. orange, purple, yellow and a bit of red. it adds to the beauty of this moment—a family of three living happily ever after on their ranch—with nothing or no one to ruin their lives.

or so they thought.

#sttoru writes. #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #hsr fluff #hsr imagines #sorry guys i had to make it angsty somehow

[xurory]

YOUR MAN who punishes you mercilessly whenever you show him your brattiness. he can't having you showing such attitude towards can he? he's living his best life pressing your head against the pillows to muffle your lewd moans as he fucks you from behind with your ass up. "not so bratty now, huh? c'mon baby, show me that attitude of yours." he chuckles, the grip he had on your hips becoming tighter by the minute. his cock drilling into your pussy so deep your legs were failing you. tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

"such a slut f'me." he groans, bending down to whisper filthy words. he secretly loved it when you act all mighty because he knows he'd be fucking your brains out by the end of the night. your moans grew louder with each thrust, the way his cock bullied your tight hole was addicting. "good girl. im gonna fuckin' ruin you." he threatens, his pace getting more intense. oh he'll show you who you belonged to, alright. no need to worry your pretty head about anything and let him use you for as long as he wanted. yeah?

DR RATIO, blade, aventurine, BOOTHILL, sunday / childe, SCARAMOUCHE, wriothesley, KAEYA / TOJI, gojo, GETO

#>ᴗ< — xu writes ´ˎ˗ #dr ratio x reader #blade x reader #aventurine x reader #boothill x reader #sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #childe x reader #scaramouche x reader #wriothesely x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #toji x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader

[seelestia]

✧ i'll show you (if you'll let me).

⎯ there is a certain touch of beauty to witnessing a side of theirs revealed to you so naturally. it becomes as easy as breathing if you just let it happen... so, will you? ( or in other words, a way you enable them to be themselves. )

#STARRING. aventurine, dr. ratio, sunday, dan heng ft. gn!reader. { 4.2k words }

#TAGS. fluff, established relationship. more: minor spoilers for aven's backstory (described mostly abstractly), ratio is referred to by his first name, i called sunday a nerd (sorry), dr. ratio & dan heng are certified workaholics.

#P/S. i think i may have yapped a little considering the word count but i hope it ends up being a good kind of yapping. tysm for reading! ♡

© seelestia on tumblr, may 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

will you let aventurine hold you close when he sleeps? . . . whether it's an arm slung over your hips or his nose buried in your shoulder or fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. he doesn't ask for too much; only that you grant him the permission to cradle you in his arms, somewhere within his reach. it's a habit, he hopes you don't mind.

you have to wonder, though. considering the plenitude of pillows on the bed, why do his hands still seek you out? with all the credits he spent on those cotton-stuffed angels, you thought aventurine would relish them a bit more. but ah-ah, see? that is where you're wrong. sure, the pillows are extremely comfy but he always has a preference for things with much, much more value.

and the truth — well, his truth — is that even the softest cushions from oti mall couldn't compare to the privilege of laying his head on your chest, he'd say. especially when you brush his hair with your fingers - oh, one of the easiest ways to paradise. truly, the best value there is! can you blame a man for being honest and a little lovesick?

(“sappy,” you accuse. he pouts, offended.)

but aventurine has a flair for theatrics, you know that. his witty quips are as feather-light in weight as light-hearted they are in intent. but his touch - in the forms of kind caresses or rhythmic taps to a tune from his forgotten culture - lingers on your skin, with a yearning so heavy. you question whether it could be nostalgia or instead, silent awe at a reality he never imagined could ever be his.

(kakavasha remembers. clinging onto you for warmth like he once did to his sister, falling asleep with her prayers to mama fenge in his ears. the avgins believed gaiathra triclops to be the symbol of humility; so naturally, their prayers to her should also be humble, not too quiet but not too loud. all in moderation. for a frail child like him, those gentle prayers alone were enough to let him drift into a dreamless slumber and to ignore the shackles of reality if not for the briefest moments.

time passed. came a time where the melody he associated with slumber was no longer a soft voice lulling him but pure static, a noise to distract his mind from the chains around his wrists. they burned themselves onto his skin, searing, but he was already too familiar with the sensation to care. the mark on his neck was unwelcome, laughing at him, but he too laughed at his own pitiful reflection so what's the difference, anyway?

time passed again, the call of slumber then turned into clattering noises of chips doused in gold and dice thrown onto a surface. he thought it'd stay that way forever but before long, it morphed into up-and-down waves he couldn't decipher initially. they're gentle, faint like a human's breathing: your breathing as you allowed him to lie beside you for the first time, he realized back then. although he deems himself unworthy, an ugly grime on your pristine existence that still insists on cradling him — but despite it all, he finds this last melody to be his favorite so far.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

ticklish.

the sensation, minor yet still impactful enough, causes you to stir out of sleep. the light of noon greets your eyes and you become vaguely cognizant that the root of it all is the tufts of blond hair brushing against your neck.

there is a solid weight on your torso and a pair of slender arms loosely wrapped around your waist - but they're nothing you haven't grown used to. you comb your fingers through the messy locks licking at your skin, instinctively, and the fragrant scent of what you register as penacony's limited edition perfume kisses your nose.

“...ugh, what system time is it?” you let out a grunt, shifting around slightly to let your limbs breathe. you don't get an answer to your question, instead, aventurine's arms reestablish their hold on you. hooking you closer to him as if to wring out whatever proximity is left, if there is even any. his simple proclamation of “who cares?”, in a sense.

there it is again, that ticklish feeling. you feel soft lips grazing feather-like kisses against your collarbone. oh, he definitely isn't letting go just yet. truly merciless, a dozy morning thought accompanied by your tired sigh. the noise still comes out fond, however, so your feigned act of annoyance is fooling no one.

“it's warm, you know,” you grumble. but the yawn escaping your mouth right after betrays whatever stern image you're trying to adopt. not like you can ever be too stern with him. aventurine knows this, yes, and he gives you an A+ for effort each time.

“mhm,” he finally speaks, snuggling into your chest with no care about anything in the world, “g'morning to you too, lovely.”

his favorite mornings aren't his favorite if not thanks to your innocuous complaints and delightful attempts at pushing his pretty face away, no? a lazy grin graces the stoneheart's lips and eyes like exquisite gems, although sleepy, flutter open to gaze at you languidly. he takes the sight of you in then lets out a sigh - a fond noise just like yours earlier; the both of you really are two peas of a pod.

you must look a terrible mess right now and yet, the sight of you has aventurine smiling dazedly. “ah, what a spectacular sight. i really am the luckiest man in the galaxy,” he hums in approval. you want to roll your eyes but stops as he leans up to pepper (ah, one necessary correction: smother) kisses all over your face, arms dragging you closer to his chest like a cage. your eyes widen comically. what a nefarious trap, he has the advantage!

every remnant of sleepiness clinging to your mind evaporates. you squeal with laughter, shoving at his shoulder using the strength of a baby deer because no, you don't really want him to stop. he knows that too, of course.

“mwah, mwah, mwah—”

“pfft...! kakavasha, i can't breathe!”

(he has half a mind to pinch his skin, as if to remind himself that this is real. he can feel your giggles tickling his skin as if to tell him in return: yes, you are.)

will you let veritas pour his heart out after a long day? . . . well, that could count as too much of an overstatement. others say, “that man is like a brick wall!” some more dare to whisper, “doesn't his temper already exhaust whatever emotional quota he has?!” needless to say, everyone knows that dr. ratio is a man ruled by the mind, not by the heart. alright, that's quite true - but does that imply he has discarded the latter altogether? if so, then you beg to differ.

(not in the literal sense, of course! the heart is a vital organ of the body. saying otherwise would be akin to spitting on his shiny phd in biology... or his seven other phd's at that.)

the pedestal which the public places veritas ratio on reaches still great heights, even if it may not rival an ivory tower a member of the genius society resides in. it is so high up that mundane troubles of those below can't reach a genius like him, surely? well, as tall as he stands - somehow, the universe grants you a front row seat for a particular sight that proves otherwise.

if only they knew the doctor has a habit of mumbling these incomprehensible (more like barely intelligible) grumbles under his breath, striking a resemblance similar to a grumpy old cat. if you strain your ears hard enough, you might catch a “...this has to be it...” or “...i dare not think so...” from time to time as he roams around the room with materials in his hands.

(absurd, people would say. but you think it's extremely cute.)

veritas doesn't say it out loud - but you can tell by the hunch in his stiff shoulders, by the one or two sighs he huffs every six minutes - that he is itching to tell somebody of all the tomfooleries he has encountered today. of course, the topics he laments about vary; it's only when you hear him exhaling the loudest sigh that you get to find out.

mostly though, it's about his students and remarks on how they can further improve their performance — sure, he could phrase it a little gentler — but you still find it sweet that he cares. if not that, then it'd be about indolent colleagues, complicated formulae and more. on some days, he'll even let out an exasperated “truly mind-boggling! could you believe that?” to which you'd reply with an “uh-huh, go on.”

at the end of a ranting session, veritas takes careful note to leave a kiss on your person afterward. no matter where it is - on the lips, the cheek or your hand. no matter where you are - sitting on the couch beside him, behind the kitchen counter or across the room. the warmth that stays on your skin when he pulls away is somewhat tingly. appreciative, you think, especially when he looks at you with such loving eyes that his colleagues would be sure to retch in shock if they were a witness.

looks like you are right on the money; he has never discarded his heart, after all. so yes, to rephrase - will you lend veritas a listening ear when he needs it?

✧ a moment among the stars:

“...yet another headache.”

as unsubtle as ever, the doctor's complaint is barely hidden behind the guise of a mumble. those neatly styled violet bangs of his aren't doing an excellent job at concealing that frown strewn across his forehead either. veritas's posture is tense, a dead giveaway, as he goes over the piles of documents on his desk.

you cock an eyebrow upon seeing the stamp belonging to the intelligentsia guild on one of the papers. definitely work. it has been two system hours since he took a seat at the work desk, you concur, or lifted a finger to do something besides flipping through drafts. a mere glance at the stack of documents is enough to convince you that those researchers at the guild must really value veritas's input.

a perk of being a genius, maybe? the phantom of a weight lands alight on your shoulders. with a mug of black coffee in hand, you make your way to him. your footsteps are without a sound, only the noise of porcelain being placed down onto woodenware is enough to announce your arrival. “rough day at work?” you ask, peering down at his progress.

(a doctor's handwriting really is something. you resist the urge to squint.)

veritas doesn't seem to mind. if the way he smiles at the sight of you, albeit tiredly, is any indication. “hah,” he rests a hand on his temple and scoffs wryly, “so much grievances like you wouldn't believe.”

oh, he is teetering on the precipice of a tangent but stops himself. “...fret not, i'm fine. this is hardly something beyond my expertise,” he shakes his head, the motion causing his reading glasses to slide down a smidgen down the bridge of his nose.

you're too familiar with the self-assured bravado he puts on. you're quite endeared, actually. “okay, mr. i-require-no-rest,” you take the glasses off his face and he breaks into a frown. at the childish tone you're using or for having his reading glasses taken away, you don't know.

“why don't you take a little break?” you suggest. veritas sighs, “need i remind you that dilly-dallying is for fools who wish to waste their time?” and crosses his arms defiantly. he knows your strategy, he has come face-to-face with it several times.

“do you think a break with me is a waste of time?” you present him with a rhetorical question, quite the difficult adversary.

(and he keeps losing to it every single time.)

“well, that's—” the doctor nearly splutters, taken aback. “that's different if you insist on inserting yourself as a variable,” he infers, putting emphasis on the last part accompanied by an incredulous look.

“the answer is up for debate then,” you shrug with a cheeky smile. your hand then deftly lifts the mug you previously set down to your lips, veritas's eyes dilate in bewilderment. “so,” you hum at the rich taste of your handiwork, “wanna tell me about your day? haven't heard about the council in a while.”

“you—” he gasps in defeat, “i thought that was supposed to be my mug of coffee.”

(he has a slight pout on his face, but you dare not point it out lest it disappears in the blink of an eye.)

“our mug of coffee,” you take a few more sips with an innocent decadence. “all is fair in love and war, doctor.”

“i can never win with you,” he buries his face in his palm with a groan. you laugh heartily, a sound that chimes like quaint little bells in his ears - it elicits a reaction from his lips, for them to quirk up at the corners in the smallest of ways.

“regardless. . .” veritas relents and reaches for your free hand. you let him. “it seems a break wouldn't be so amiss, after all,” he then presses a kiss on the side of your wrist, affectionate.

(your heart skips a beat.)

will you let sunday regale you with facts you've never heard of before? . . . a man of eloquent words, no less a man of educated mind. you have no doubt that the books in the dewlight pavilion really aren't just there for show - not that you're allowed to browse through them at your own desire. a servant's voice would stop you in your tracks should your fingers ever brush against something in the family's secret bookshelf.

how mysterious.

but sunday makes it known to the staff that you, in particular, are allowed more access to the shelves - perhaps, not too much - but more than even mr. mccoy, at least. with the way you have to crane your neck far up to pinpoint the tallest height that the shelves reach, you wonder: has sunday gone through everything here personally?

your immediate answer is most likely. you know sunday fairly well; to have something that he hasn't scrutinized from the inside out in his possession will surely gnaw away at his psyche incessantly. not being in the know at all times is a looming fear for him. but of course, you have other ways to confirm the answer for yourself.

pick out a book from a shelf there, either intentional or purely arbitrary, and watch as sunday carefully traces his steps towards you. his curiosity is piqued, which topic has caught your interest this time? but he tucks it under proper cordiality. with a hand behind his back, he'd utter your name in the softest tone and ask the familiar question of “would you like to know more?” — asking for your permission to ramble, essentially — you find this tendency of his to be charming, so you nod each time.

(and he smiles when you do. a smile less refined at the edges, kinder and relaxed.)

the best place to start from is always the beginning. you think sunday agrees because he often starts by telling you the history and its origins before moving on to its impact on the galaxy, then his personal stance on the topic. it's a pattern, you notice, his ramblings have a pattern. and it's consistent every time, you might've believed he was reading off a script. and what's more? sunday is blissfully oblivious of it.

fascinating. you ponder: what kind of things you can do with this information? decisions, decisions, decisions. . . but ultimately, you opt for keeping it a secret like a treasure only you're allowed to see.

(that might be true in a way. you don't doubt that robin, his dear sister, is familiar with this side of him. does that mean he treasures you like he does her? your chest starts to feel a bit lighter.)

if you were to point it out, you fear you might never witness it again - goodness, to know that he has been displaying such foolishness or rather, what he viewed as an embarrassing freudian slip in front of you? his wings might as well resort to covering his face for good until the end of time.

as you listen to him talk (with such elegance at that), you can't help whatever tender look you have on your face. really, who would've thought the head of the oak family could be such. . . a nerd?

(you hope in secret that sunday will be more willing to show sides like these to you in the future. and that they're not a weakness at all, not when they're shared with you.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“it looks like you're fascinated by the dreamscape nursery rhyme this time.”

sunday spares the article in your hold no further inspection. one glance at the cover and walls of memorized information rush to the front of his mind. he looks familiar with it; could it be a part of his childhood too? but then again, everything found here is within his knowledge.

“i am,” you say with intrigue, “it got me ruminating for a while.”

you meet his gaze, stumbling upon yellow irises that glimmer akin to gold under penaconian chandeliers. you think you see a hint of affection in them, swimming around your reflection like a school of fish in a pond. it makes you smile.

he smiles back, oblivious to your thoughts but returns your gesture. he asks, “how so?” and you reply without delay, “i read through it and the morbid undertone took me by surpri—”

or at least, it's supposed to be without delay until you realize sunday has stepped closer in order to peer down at the page you're holding open. and suddenly, you're extremely aware of every minute detail like how his breath brushes against the side of your cheek and how his chest rumbles as he hums in acknowledgement.

(you flush in the neck and he perceives this reaction of yours with mirth.)

“my apologies,” sunday chuckles and pulls away, “i've simply forgotten the rhyme and wished to refresh my memory.”

“somehow, i feel that isn't the case...” you mumble accusingly. that seems to amplify whatever little amusement he gets from flustering you. “oh, my dove. i can assure you that it is,” he caresses your head, a little placatingly.

most times, sunday isn't so laidback about giving affection in public — since he has an image to maintain — so you assume the fact that the servants are out and about, leaving only you and him here, plays a role in his unusual boldness. you accept the gesture with a bashful pout.

“now, where were we?” sunday clears his throat, “ah, yes. some people have noted on the nursery rhyme's strange quality but still, it retains its popularity in penacony. it is also widely assumed that the hound resembles the bloodhound family while—”

you hold back an amused sigh, but it's more out of fondness than anything. he'll start from the history then the effect on the general public, as per usual, but you're not the only predictable one here. you'd listen to him anytime too, won't you?

(you do adore when the head of the oak family would put off his public figure mask around you. if only for just a while.)

will you let dan heng rest his head on your lap when it's just you two? . . . the sense of comfort it provides isn't something he can explain with words. as if he has ever been good with words in the first place. saying a sentence bereft of logical reasoning or witty remarks doesn't come easily to the express’ guard. neither does intimacy. . . but you know that already, don't you?

after all, it isn't a secret that dan heng prefers speaking with his actions. if to show one's intentions is the end goal, then actions are the fastest route to choose. words, although able to sweeten the trip like how a beautiful scenery can, will eventually lead to actions regardless so why take the extra step?

but you're different from him; you articulate what you think and what you mean. you're honest in ways that keep catching dan heng off guard without fail — just like the first time you offered your empty lap to him when his head was swirling in pain — but he supposes that is one of your charms. “words can be useful. we're not all born mind readers,” you told him once and he hummed, accepting of your perspective.

(“look at you two! opposites attract!” march chirped. he recalled shooting her a look of indignation and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly in response.)

dan heng has learnt to grow used to your propensities - but by far, your shameless invitations are still one matter that can't be comprehended even with time. he cannot understand; how you smile as you sit on his futon in the archives (he doesn't mind), how you link gazes with him so effortlessly, how you pat your lap knowingly and say, “why don't you rest your head here?”

(he has to restrain himself from bursting into flames like a heliobus.)

sometimes, he'll accept reluctantly or he'll decline with an underlying tone of longing he doesn't want you to notice. because as much of a good hold dan heng has on nonchalance, he cannot deny that this particular gesture of yours has left a mark on him.

(it remains persistently.)

when he rests his head on your lap, he can't help but take a deep inhale - your fragrance fills his senses and he discards the selfish desire to keep it all to himself. your fingers are soothing as they thread through his hair gently. the feeling that washes over him is serene, almost comparable to submerging himself in the pure waters of scalegorge waterscape.

when overcome by such a tranquil state of mind, dan heng wonders what expression he might be making at that moment? he always keeps his eyes closed, so it's a shame he may never know. but you do, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so at peace before like he does now.

(perhaps, that's why you keep offering him this in the first place.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“someone looks tired,” you state with a pointed stare. the archives isn't a room too spacious and the only ones here are you and him. the target of your sentence is obvious.

but dan heng doesn't take the bait, barely looks away from the entry he is currently authoring. still, he spares you a glance and hums glibly, “are you projecting? if so, feel free to use my bed in the meantime.”

you let out a noise, something gibberish that conveys disappointment but it is effectively drowned out by the typing noises. “you haven't even touched the food i bought you,” your voice becomes mellow, “why don't you rest for a while?”

he isn't convinced, you think, since his fingers are still hard at work. the new info the team brought back must've been a lot if he's that focused.

“dan heng?” you try again, hopeful for the last time. you don't take him for a fool, of course, he'll know when he reaches his limit and have proper rest then. but would that really be ideal? a second passes and that hope flickers like a dimming light. but just an inch before the edge of giving up, the typing slows to a stop.

“. . .alright,” he murmurs. finally, after a good hour spent drawing patterns on his backside with your eyes, dan heng turns around to face you. he look tense, you note with abject concern.

“here,” you usher him to your lap, empty and conveniently so. dan heng shoots you a blank look - this isn't the first time you offered and this isn't the first time he reacted like that. you try to suppress a laugh, failing gloriously at it. “just for a little bit,” you utter through a stifled fit of chuckles.

dan heng shakes his head, not in rejection but in defeat. his eyes slip close, second nature, as he leans to situate his head on your lap. you welcome him with a hum and let your fingers card through his hair. a calm sigh falls from his lips like a water droplet in springtime.

“this. . . is nice,” he admits, sudden and unprompted. you nearly doubt your ears for a moment there. did he— “i don't hate it is, uhm, what i mean to say,” dan heng adds and it dawns on you that your ears are still working. his eyes are still closed, not that you'd expect anything else, he prefers to treat it as a shield from being face-to-face with embarrassment.

(or to avoid your ecstatic gaze. he can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks already.)

“i know,” you smile, brushing away a few messy strands from his forehead. he isn't an open book but you think you've read the pages enough to remember all the little details. “but thanks for telling me. i'm no mind reader but i think i can read yours pretty well.”

“i shall provide no further comment,” he holds back an incredulous exhale, yet his lips still curl slightly at the corner. you feel the teeniest desire to trace the curve of his lips with your fingertip but settle for silently admiring them instead.

“it's fine. i know the answer already,” you say, words dripping with affection. such a shame dan heng never looks up at you during a time like this. because if he did, he wouldn't have missed seeing the sheer fondness in your gaze that rains down on him in light showers. a true shame.

(one day, he'll gather the courage. maybe.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. ♡

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #sunday x reader #sunday x you #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #hsr fluff #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #seelestial.inks

[unabashednightmarepizza]

Somebody fucking sedate me... BOOTHILL HAD AN ADOPTED DAUGHTER?? HE WAS HAPPY WITH HIS LITTLE MUNCHKIN??

I have been legit like this, no joking, since I learnt his lore and... and I... *Sighs and opens boothillxreader angst tag*

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr boothill #hsr spoilers #boothill x reader #boothill #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #boothill imagines #hsr boothill x reader

[rinneverse]

Boothill….ougurrr….fucking you as if he’ll get you pregnant….

hey. when i catch you. this has been plaguing my mind ever since i saw the notif for it. mdni / nsfw content ahead. f!reader. mentions of breeding n’ pregnancy.

Boothill knows better.

He knows that it’s entirely impossible—that he doesn’t even have that capability anymore—but every day spent with you he yearns for it more and more.

The thought of seeing you pregnant with his child plagued his mind every single night.

It’s especially apparent in the way he fucks you: slow, deep strokes, pressing his metallic body right up against the flesh of your heated skin, fucking into you with a purpose, no matter if that purpose would be fruitless in the end.

“Sugar,” Boothill groans into your ear, sharp teeth nipping at your lobe. “You’re killin’ me here—fuck—grippin’ me so tight.. it’s like you don’t wan’ me to ever pull out.”

Your fingers press into metallic shoulders as his synthetic cock hits that spongy spot inside of you, a delighted mewl falling from your lips as he mouths sloppily down the slope of your neck.

“Feels s’good,” you whine back, legs wrapping tight around his waist. “Baby, Boothill, please.”

He nearly snarls with an animalistic heat as his name falls from your lips, an angelic plea that he never wants to stop hearing. His hips snap harder, pace growing more ruthless, and your song grows more and more desperate as he brings you closer to climax.

“Never w’nna stop pounding this sweet pussy—mmh, yeah—I wanna put a baby in ya, w’nna make sure you’re nice n’ full..!”

He can feel his sensory receptors working into overdrive as he fucks into you, icy metallic fingertips gripping your hips so tightly that there’s no chance of you escaping him even as you squeal and flutter around him.

“Wait!” you cry. Pretty silvery tears of pleasure line your lashes, threatening to spill over down your cheeks. “T’much, slow down, g’nna cum, wait..!”

Boothill ignores your pleas, snapping his hips with a new fervor as he angles his cock to hit that perfect little spot inside you. He wants you to cum, and he wants you to cum hard.

“You like that idea, huh?” Boothill goads you. “The idea of bein’ pumped full of my kids? Yeaaah, you’re clenchin’ so tight around me. C’mon sugar, cum, I know you can.”

Boothill has never wished for something more as you cum around his cock with a cry. He’s never longed for his humanity more—the ability to empty his load inside your convulsing heat, to make you a mother, to see you so round and full of his kids.

In another life, perhaps, the two of you start a happy family together. One where this dream of his can come true.

For this one, he’ll just settle for making you cum until you’re seeing stars.

#oakie answers #☆ oakie writes #boothill x reader #boothill smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #are you guys tired of me plaguing the boothill tags yet #dude i don’t even like pregnancy like that but boothill…. he’s changing me #never irl. but in fictional scenarios… mmmm yum. #cw pregnancy #cw breeding #anon <3 #nereids' realm

[jadestone2]

Roses ‘n bullets for her

Pair: Boothill & Argenti x reader

Theme: fluffy stuff 

a/n (edit) since yall like this so much imma write smut for it Link[not here yet :(]

You're not sure how you even met them, the half- metal cowboy and the beauty obsessed man. You just happen to run into them at the same time, the red haired man instantly rambling about your beauty. 

It was confusing, he was talking about how no fully bloomed flower could compare to your beauty. While the metal cowboy was staring into your soul, it made you shiver.

“Hello, dollface” Boothill smirks, sharp canines showing. 

You felt your blood go cold, shaking in terror. Argenti rubs your cheek, providing comfort when he realizes how sacred you were. 

“No need for that, love! I ain’t gonna bite ‘cha, unless you want me to” Boothill chuckles, tint of red on his face.

Who would have known that this little interaction would be the start of a blooming romance between the 2 men.

You were squished in between Boothill and Argenti, watching a corny romance movie. Boothill would scoff at every kissing scene while Argenti would watch it intensely, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he busted out a notebook to write notes. 

“This is so boring, we should have watched a movie. See, even sugar over here it bored” Boothill groans, motioning to you. 

“Quiet now, we’re getting to the good part” Argenti says, bringing you closer to him. 

Boothill was going to say something but Argenti gave him a death stare, on cue a big scene happen. The main character tells her boyfriend that she doesn’t want to date him anymore, going off on him. 

You and Boothill mouths go wide, shocked. You both look at Argenti with a questioning expression, how did he time so well?! 

“Mmh, it’s getting late” Argenti says, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. He picks you up, carrying you bridle style.

“Hey! Don’t you dare steal her from me!” Boothill calls out, chasing Argenti. 

It took a while but eventually they settled down, snuggling close to you. Argenti rests his head in your chest while Boothill’s hot breaths hit your neck. 

“Mmh, goodnight” you mumble tiredly, giggling when you realized they were already asleep. 

Taglist: @ihatelifesm

#female reader #fluff #fem reader #gn reader #tooth rotting fluff #hsr #Honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail x reader #hsr argenti #hsr boothill #honkai star rail boothill #argenti #Boothill #boothill x reader #boothill hsr #argenti x reader #argenti hsr

[harmonysanreads]

sunday with a singer! darling, one who had escaped from him almost seven years ago, and disappeared off the face of the galaxy. imagine his reaction when he gets word of a famous belobogian band on the radio soon after it’s connections to the IPC were restored, comprised of a woman named serval landau, and a *very* familiar young woman, with an even more familiar voice.

- (…could i be ✨ anon?)

Curtain Call

yandere!sunday x reader

cw(s) : yandere, written before 2.2

wc : 2.6k

You have the power of democracy by your side ✨ anon and I have no choice but to adhere to public demand :] Even though you mentioned a female!reader, the direction of the narrative didn't necessitate that specification, so the reader is gender-neutral! But they have been called ‘babygirl’ once.

“How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?”

— William Blake

You've avoided all shades of white and blue since the dawn of this day.

Serval regarded your pertinacity with a voiceless breadth of intrigue, before yielding with little to no resistance. A smidgen of guilt had briefly permeated your consciousness upon the vague shadow of a pout on her face, you recalled her enthusiasm passed through plans of matching outfits on your debutante from days now labeled as the near past. She picked herself up quickly though, her free-spirited ideals would not be compromised by some mere color choice.

It was difficult to not admire her. Lamentably, it is much easier to cradle the preachings of an unrestrained life than to actually act upon them — and by doing so, shouldering the frigid reality that came with such a life. As a child of frozen terrains although, frigidity must be Serval's playground, you eventually conclude. That is hardly the case for you, but you'd rather swallow whole chunks of ice than pin the blame on yourself alone for that apparent incapability.

You aren't at fault for your paranoia in embracing freedom, but you are resolved enough to try breaking away from its clutches. But just as tattoos sink deep beneath skin, that anxiety stubbornly clings to your psyche and the memories of the past nurture and allow it to fester. Which is why, you must avoid any shades of white and blue, at least until the dawn of tomorrow graces Belobog. Be it a superstition with no rational ground or scientific explanation, you decide to believe firmly in your gut.

The walls of the makeshift back-room muffle the chorus of the crowd outside, but it is enough to comfort you that your long held wish did come true. The single light bulb hanging beyond the door of the room serves as the sole source of luminescence, although it is barely helpful, the light bounces off from your back and reflects a scarcely tangible silhouette in the mirror of the dressing table. Glitters of dust floating around are illuminated by that light, abandoned furniture peek beneath their veils from your peripheral — they exclaim what this room's previous purpose had been.

Neither the modest setting nor the small trinkets spread across the dressing table come close to what you had a taste of ; glimmering surfaces, brands of beauty products worth a man's life savings and silks of no contender would mock this shack, if they could. But your heart soaks in solace whenever that irritatingly bright light flickers and mellowed cheers of the crowd permeate the room's thin walls, not because you lack taste in life, but because you recognize the futility of vanity.

“You did amazing there, babygirl!”

Your vision stutters at the impact of firm touch, you feel arms rest atop your decolletage, a shadow cloaks your reflection in the mirror. The cool touch of metal upon your left shoulder and a distinct streak of blue masquerading among blond locks of hair draw out a breath of relief from your lungs. But a faint twist engulfs your gut the very next second, you recall asking for a moment of quietude vividly.

“I don't think my performance was as great as you say, Serval. And whatever I achieved, it wouldn't have been possible without you guys.” your fingers twiddle with your sleeves, your eyes find interest in an abandoned nail polish.

You peek up in time to meet the rockstar's stare through the mirror, with some wrestling with the light, her disapproval shines through to your eyes.

“Nonsense, you were the star of today's show. Give yourself some credit, would ya?” your cheek soaks in the pinch before your brain can decode her words, you muffle a whine in protest.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry.” your hand quickly soothes over the tempered skin when her fingers retreat, that's the extent of ‘retaliation’ you offer Serval, having accustomed yourself to her spontaneity in the interim of your stay under her care.

“I saw you look... pretty unnerved after the performance, so I came to check.” you scratch your cheek, eyes darting upwards to find her face shielded by your hair. You cannot pinpoint why, but for a second it seemed like she struggled to find footing with her phrasing of words. You've never heard her falter, at least in speech, but the waves of conversation swallow that momentary observation just as quickly.

Instead of being candid, you take a different turn, “You know, I wasn't lying about being grateful to you all. To perform on a stage without any rules was a long held dream of mine,” you feel gooseflesh bloom across your arms as tip-toeing touch descends to your sides, something within tempts you to curl in on yourself but you force your breath to finish. “If it hadn't been for your help, I would never succeed in fulfilling it.”

Serval hums in understanding, the timbres of it traverses from your skull and extends to your nerves. Her arms rest snuggly around your waist and you swallow dryly. Serval always wrapped her arms around your shoulders whenever she felt the need to and the fact that it made your head nearly spiral with questions didn't require to be stated. Only now do you reckon the slumbering atmosphere, without the jeer and cheer of the audience, you felt Belobog's cold biting into the tips of your fingers. You told everyone to not disturb you — your mind echoes without clarification.

“Is it because of that husband of yours?”

Your shoulders tense and for a litany of reasons, most obscure enough to be dismissed as misnomers produced by your instincts, none but one potent enough to be addressed. “Well yes… I told you about a man, but I don't remember specifying that it was a ‘husband’ responsible for my situation.”

Your words materialize as half confused and half laden with caution, you'd told Serval a few things about your predicament — nothing groundbreakingly detailed, just enough to earn a portion of her empathy. It kills you to follow tactics that enticed you to your doom, but what is life, if not a series of trial and error? It's best to apply the teachings of a manipulator than to continue being manipulated for eternity. But of course, you'll admit, such carefully taken steps still don't lessen the likelihood of meeting a dead-end to zero. How unfortunate.

It's Serval's turn to tense, but it's so quick you're left questioning whether it really happened. “Ah, but there was a ring on your right ring finger when you first came here! And the ‘man’ in your stories didn't seem to be different persons. So, I took a guess…”

An awkward chuckle leaves the rockstar's lips and you blink. She's right, you were still wearing your wedding ring when you came here ; an amateur mistake, you should've left it at some abstruse corner of the Dewlight Pavilion. You glance up at your reflections on the mirror, Serval was now mimicking your previous antics, a painted nail against her cheek albeit, the opposing light veiled her expression from recognition. One of her arms was still around your waist, loosely this time.

“I didn't say anything offending, did I?” the mechanic mutters tentatively. You take a deep breath and exhale, vacillating between the multitude of scenarios conjured by your lingering paranoia. But if it's Serval, you give it more thought, there was no tangible reason as to why she of all people would bring this up with malicious intent — or at least, none that you could come up with. She was likely merely concerned for your well-being, a big sister's instincts perhaps.

“Not at all,” the three words are uttered with more difficulty than needed but the effort is proved worth it when she relaxes and returns to embrace you with gusto.

This time you can feel her touch vividly across the bare skin of your midriff, a reminder of your present dress up automatically causes blood to rush to your face. The matching crop-top with Serval was hardly the most revealing thing someone had worn in this universe, but it was the boldest you'd been with your attire. You think you saw her gaze tilting at the sight but the only way to affirm it would make things further awkward. As you melt upon recalling that you'd sung your lungs out with this on in front of a crowd, the rockstar chimes in again.

“Ah right, I almost forgot why I actually came here. I have a gift for you!” you blink out of your stupor to hear shuffles, a bottle of hairspray is knocked to the ground due to her movements. The object clamors down and rolls a few feet away but Serval pays it no attention, you quirk a brow at her sudden briskness. “Close your eyes.” she lulls sweetly, you obey despite your state of disorientation.

You feel the faint brushes of her fingers first, then a noticeable weight around your neck, fastened a little too tightly. After she beckons you to open your eyes, you scrutinize the object through your reflection on the mirror and recognize it to be… a choker. It's heavier than what you recall chokers to be, its body is painted in baby blue and when you turn your head the light bounces off its surface to reveal golden outlinings. Three small wings curl around the white tassel hanging from the middle, you find the wings to be unnervingly soft when your fingers brush across them.

The choker looked expensive, despite its somewhat gaudy appearance and it didn't seem like something aligning with Serval's tastes. But most importantly, there's blue and white in it — the two colors you'd been stubbornly avoiding. Your mind spirals, you clearly remember telling Serval that you didn't want to see those two colors today — or, did you? Perhaps it was your mind weaving its own narratives in the flurry of adrenaline? A chill rears its grotesque head, a panic you can't quite push down despite your mind adapting to give her the benefit of the doubt, your breaths lapse unevenly.

“For being such a darling member of Mechanical Fever, a token of our friendship. I didn't know how else to thank you, so I got this instead.” Serval's voice yanks you from the edge of a panic attack, you force yourself to breathe deeply. You turn around when you notice the absence of her shadow, finding her retreating into the shadow of the half ajar door.

You remain seated on the juncture between light and shadow, returning to face the mirror after the rockstar settles on a stool. “I should be the one saying that and… you didn't have to give me this, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” your thumb and index fingers twiddle with the pure white tassel.

Her words seem to make you forget about your earlier paranoia, nostalgia cascades down your soul as you recall the fond memories inherent to Belobog. Destiny's game is truly difficult to comprehend, to think you'd find an actual home so far from your supposed one.

You add without waiting for her reply, “When I first came here, I was so scared and paranoid. I couldn't sleep the first night and I wanted nothing more than to flee the next morning. I really mean it when I say I couldn't make it without your and the others' help.”

Your palm cradles the beat of your existence, the thin fabric of the crop top does little to muffle your heart's clamorous prance.

“Thank you, thank you so much for everything.” your pour as much gratitude from the river coursing through the recesses of your soul in those words. Your chest constricts as you sigh, you remember all the faces that are now known as familiar and random instances buried deep in your memories. Perhaps it's the naturally cold weather of this planet that plays a part, but you furrow your brows as inexplicable sorrow engulfs your heart.

“I, too, hope that you've had a wonderful experience on this planet.”

A much younger you used to judge the victims of stories for choosing to freeze than to flee in the face of candid danger, vowing to not follow in their footsteps should you meet such a predicament one day. Your heart would shatter to incorrigible bits if it hadn't been so viciously twisted, you realize how futile promises are at the thin line separating life and death.

Your body flinches from its hunched position to meet watchful golden eyes, shielded by the door's shadow. You blink a multitude of times, as if that'd make his poised presence disappear, as if that'd affirm that you were simply in the grips of anxiety and Serval would return to reprimand you back to reality.

The warmth drains from your body when he's still there, sitting in front of you with a mocking serenity — you've never hated the vice grip he maintains on his composure more than this moment. Why, how, when and what conjoins his name to frame a myriad of questions, each being answered by none other than you the very next second. Your ears twitch when you catch voices at the end of the hallway, the actual Serval and others must be retreating. You might be a deer inches away from the tiger's jaw, but you'll not go down without a fight, at least.

“If you're planning to scream, I'd advise against that.” Sunday calmly states, your breath catches in your throat. “The choker on your neck has a shock mechanism and it can be activated in various ways. Namely, any time you raise your voice above the coded decibels and the voltage will increase the louder you scream.”

Your hand flies upwards towards the cursed choker and you wrestle a breath in disbelief, you were made a fool of and quite exquisitely. You realize you should've listened to your gut instincts when you still had the choice. Sunday raises a gloved palm when you restlessly tug at the thing, “Don’t bother, it can only be taken off with a password.”

A password only he knows, you conclude. It was not news to you that his sanity is loose from the hinges of his soul, but never would you have expected him to go this far. You glare at your husband, though it looks more like a gazelle's helpless stare as it struggles in the jaws of a predator. The voices from the hallway disappear entirely, you'd told them not to look for you so they'll not return, you feel your eyes moisten as you realize you're stuck alone with Sunday.

“Why—” you choke.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions,” his words are half resignation and half cheap empathy. “But it is not your turn to speak, for there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sunday stands up, brows scrunching at the dust floating around the room. “The matter of your possible unfaithfulness is one thing,” his hand grips the handle of the door and you flinch. “But performing in front of so many people without any consideration of how far it'll spread, or choice of attire,” your body erupts in shudders upon feeling his pointed stare, the expanse of your exposure finally registering.

“Truly unbefitting of my spouse.”

But it's not his judging gaze that has your nerves frayed, it's the hints of genuine disappointment that borders on anger leaking through his words that makes you feel parched, makes you want the earth split in half and take you from this situation. Your experience with Sunday has taught you that he has the patience of a saint, but none of those memories reassure you that it's boundless. You realize that you've never actually seen his face contorted in ire, no matter how defiant you'd been. Aeons, you wish it stayed that way forever.

As the shadow of the closing door engulfs your form and leaves the rest to interpretation, the last thing you see are his darkened golden eyes — you're certain that, that was the instance the last spirited part of you died.

rest in piece i guess

#requests: batch two #answered #yandere #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

[prncessrindou]

how abt riding hsr men .. ! ft. blade and jing yuan

content warning . . . fem! reader, smut, established relationship w both, teasing, creampie, pet names ( blade calls you ‘girl’ ), minors do not interact !

a/n . . . i was going to add two more men but i got lazy lol i haven’t written anything in awhile sooo im a bit rusty 🧍🏾‍♀️ but i do hope you all enjoy this <3 reposts and comments are very appreciated!! and tysm @nxuvillette for reading blade’s part for me 🫶

⌗ blade 𑁤

Blade is always so unapproachable and stoic, only you and a few others are able to deal with his not so friendly demeanor, but when you have him all to yourself . . . he is another person. Another person that only you and you alone gets to witness.

“Fuck—” Blade whispers, his face is as red as a tomato and his breathing is hitched. You can tell that your thighs are bruising from how hard Blade is squeezing them, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. “When are you going to stop doing that?” He questions, throwing his head back against the pillow surrounded in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Hm, doing what?” You replied with a teasing grin plastered across your face. You have your hands on his bare scarred chest and they are trembling from your previous orgasm. Your hips are going up and down then back and forth on his cock with your sensitive bud rubbing against his body. The man beneath you clicks his tongue, “don’t play with me, girl. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Do it again and I’ll end you.” Blade threatens, but you just giggle and lean down to pepper him with kisses.

Blade whimpers unintentionally by your slowed down movements, squeezing your flesh even harder as you slowly bounce on his length. “Told you— d- don’t fuckin’ do that or I’ll end you! Do you know a threat when you hear one?”

You still your movements at his question which made him open his eyes from which they were closed shut previously. His red eyes lingered from your pretty face to your plush breast to which he started teasing and squeezing, making you moan softly to the feeling of his calloused hands. “I’m going to ask you again . . . Do you know a threat when you hear one?” Blade asks, his voice is soft and low this time.

You lean forwards to him and smile softly, though he is confused as to why you have a smile on your face. “Of course, I know a threat when I hear one.” You respond, “but, I also know a bluff when I hear one too.” You say, placing a kiss on his lips and all he could do was smile to your answer. “Shut up. We got to work soon so hurry up.”

⌗ jing yuan 𑁤

Being the General of the Xianzhou Alliance’s Cloud Knights is not an easy job for the weak. There’s meetings, paperwork to fill out and look over, unexpected events and battles so there is barely any time to relax. But, when Jing Yuan does have some downtime, he rather spend that time with you and the best way you can help him relax and unwind is getting him off by riding him.

You’re whimpering as you slowly move your hips back and forth on his cock . . . It feels like it’s going to split you in half from how big it is. The tip touching that spot so deliciously, it’s making your eyes roll to the back of your head. He suddenly snaps you out of trance by grabbing your breast with his large hands, gently squeezing the flesh. “You seem to be enjoying this more than I am, eh, darling..” he has a lazy grin plastered on his handsome features. One of his hands moves down and starts rubbing on your clit.

“Oh, fu— Jing!” You squeal, grabbing his wrist in the process. “Don’t tease me like that!” You pout and he couldn’t help, but laugh. “But, I honestly can’t help it. You’re just so cute.” He responds with his hands now on your hips, drawing soft circles on it. He begins to hum softly, “and you feel so good too..” he says, licking his lips and grinning lazily at you.

“Move, sweetheart.. and take it slow for me” Jing Yuan says, squeezing your hips and moving them slightly. You moaned softly and started moving, your hips going back and forth as they previously did so.

Jing Yuan couldn’t imagine a better sight than the one before him . . . His pretty girlfriend, her breast slightly bouncing from the rhythm and your mouth part open as you moan so se that only make his cock throb. “So damn beautiful..” he mutters, his thumb swiping over your swollen bud. Your body jerked from the sensation and you didn’t try to stop him this time for teasing, it just felt so good like this.

And Jing Yuan could say the same. The way your cunt is clenching around his length is driving him into insanity. So tight and so warm . . . He wishes he could stay like this with you forever — having you in multiple positions and you cuming undone over and over again until you milk him dry.

divider by @benkeibear 🫶

#prncessrindou post #honkai star rail #hsr x female reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr blade #blade smut #blade hsr #blade hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan smut #hsr smut #jing yuan hsr #hsr jing yuan #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr #blade x reader

[dulcesiabits]

vestigial structures.

summary: With a man like Sunday, it's always best to keep a certain distance. Still, what can you do when he tries to bridge the gap?

notes: 2.9k words, author notes, power play, boss/employee dynamic, mentions of injuries, very messy relationship

On the surface, Sunday is the perfect employer.

He’s strict and exacting about the most minute details, but his criticism is never personal. He’s fair with his employees, and the paychecks are never late and always generous. He’s agreeable and amiable, and knows all of his employees by name and occupation, his smile always pleasant when he stops to converse. 

Even if your coworkers grumble about his harsh demands or the late nights, their heads still perk up with the rare praise he throws out, like dogs to a bone. You have to admit that Sunday is smart in that way, knowing just when to push and pull with people. 

Yes, all your coworkers can say that because none of them work as closely with Sunday as you do. You’ve never given him room to complain about your conduct; you’re silent, loyal, and meticulous, all traits that Sunday prizes in his close staff. Maybe it helps that you’ve been here since the beginning, when Sunday was just getting his footing as head of the Family.

He keeps you close, which means you’ve had time to see the way he raises his hand to cover his smile in front of a terrified employee, the barely restrained tension in his lax body posture when he negotiates deals, how he lovingly moves around all the people in Penacony like chess pieces, watching them fall right where he wants them to without their knowing.

Sunday is like a beautiful dream: perfectly constructed and dazzling, but you know too much about what goes under the surface to buy into his sweet words and polite gestures, all the greasy wires and gears. 

Every movement is perfectly calculated. And as long as you play your part and fulfill the role he sets out for you, you can just cash in your paycheck at the end of the month and never have to worry about him beyond that.

It’s how you’ve survived so far with a man like him, after all. The perfect dance, a measured distance and precise footwork you’ve long since memorized: you know just how to skirt around all the little games Sunday likes to play without losing yourself.

“This is the paperwork for today,” Sunday says. You never talk in his office more than you need to; all chatter is whittled down to the necessities. “It’s the architectural plans for our recent expansion of the casino.”

“I’ll have it filled out by the end of the day,” you say, skimming through the file. Color-coded and carefully organized by priority: it’s nothing less than what you expect from him.

“There’s an upcoming meeting with a merchant group in a few days, too, for potential trade deals.”

“I’ll be in charge of that,” you say automatically. “You should focus on managing the projects in the Dreamscape. The expansion will take a majority of your attention.”

Sunday nods, steepling his fingers together, lost in some thought or another. You wait patiently in front of his desk, folders clutched to your chest, face impassive. It’s only another two hours before you can clock out.

His gaze flicks to you, sharp and assessing, but for what, you aren’t sure. You straighten, leveling your shoulders, returning his stare with a cool look of your own. 

“Is your work too much?” Sunday asks, voice even.

His words are unexpected, and your eyebrows furrow, just a fraction. Sunday catches it before you can school your expression, and you curse internally at the curve of his lips. What sort of trick is this? You don’t have any script for this unexpected turn of events.

What answer is he expecting from you? His halo gleams like a liquid sun behind him, and the gold fills your vision.

“It’s nothing that I’m not capable of handling,” you say, phrasing each word delicately, watching his expression. No change. “I’m honored to do this work for the prosperity of Penacony.”

Sunday nods, once. “I see.”

You smile at him, the practiced one you give clients. “Will that be all, sir? I don’t think you need to worry. I have proved myself before, have I not?”

Sunday stands from his seat, reaching his hand out to you. What the hell is he doing? Just when you think he’s going to cup your cheek, his hand drifts down and he brushes something off your shoulder. 

There’s something pinched in his fingers: a piece of gray thread.

“Make sure you’re following the dress code. You know I abhor messes and people who don’t follow the rules,” Sunday says pleasantly, but there’s frost under his tone. 

“I’ll be careful, sir,” you say.

Did something about your answer upset him? Is this an implicit threat? Or is he really just pissed about your supposedly sloppy attire, even though the rest of your uniform is starched and neat, just the way he likes it?

Well, it’s not your job to understand your boss’s mercurial moods. The less you associate or think about Sunday, the better.

Before you head out the door, Sunday calls out to you. “You’re one of my most valued employees. Make sure you keep up the good work. I’d like to work with you for as long as possible.”

The door shuts behind you, leaving you with one last glance of Sunday’s genial smile. But even with a layer of wood between you, you swear you can still feel his eyes on your back. 

Despite the strangeness of your meeting with Sunday, the next few days proceed as smoothly as clockwork. Sunday keeps your exchanges brief and professional, and you’re far too busy with your work to figure out the reasoning behind every action he takes.

At least everything is going well until you find yourself limping down the hallway, mumbling curses under your breath, a wound lacerating your calf. Luckily, there’s no one around to witness your humiliation, and you’ve managed to swap your ruined uniform with a spare you keep on hand. Sunday, as he so loves to remind you, abhors messes, and you can’t imagine what he’ll do if he discovers you’ve dirtied the hotel with your blood.

You lean against the wall, hissing, as pain shoots up your leg. Injuries on the job are inconvenient, more so when they’re caused by meetings gone wildly wrong. You should have expected it, working at Penacony as long as you have, but merchant groups pulling out their weapons when negotiations turn sour isn’t something you’re quite fond of dealing with.

At least you have no other injuries, despite having left the meeting room in shambles. The paperwork you’re going to need to fill out over this incident is going to be a pain in the ass, but as long as you get somewhere safe, you can dress your wounds and put the entire thing behind you.

Sharp steps echo down the hall in front of you, and you straighten instinctively. Out of the shadows steps your boss, the last person you want to see in a moment like this. You grit your teeth and put on a cordial smile, keeping your eyes to the floor, trying to keep your steps even. One foot in front of the other, even if your body protests at the exertion.

Sunday is the one man you can’t show weakness in front of.

The edges of his patent shoes stop right in front of you. “Good afternoon,” Sunday says pleasantly. “How did your meeting go?”

“There was an unexpected occurrence,” you say. “I’ll file a report about it later, but it’s been handled. Suffice to say, we won’t have any dealings with them.”

Sunday still doesn’t move, and you risk tilting your head up to gauge his mood. His hands are folded in front of him. You can’t make out the expression in his eyes. “How unfortunate.”

“If that’s all, sir, I’ll be–” Sunday’s hand shoots out and grabs your elbow the second you try to take a step around him.

“You’re limping,” he says softly, pleasantly, like a trap springing shut. His fingers dig through your suit fabric and into your skin. “What exactly happened?”

“I’ll tell you in the report. It’s nothing major.”

A short laugh escapes Sunday. “I don’t appreciate my employees lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you protest, a thread of annoyance working its way into your tone, a hairline fracture in your composure. “I just judged that something like this wasn’t worth reporting.”

Sunday’s hair tickles your face like feathers as he leans in close to you, his lips almost brushing your ear. He still hasn’t let you go. “You’re not the judge of what’s worth reporting. I am.”

“Sir–”

“You need medical attention,” he says, tugging your arm around his waist. You jerk back, but his grip is iron. “What are you doing? It’ll be easier on you if you can lean on me.”

“It’s inappropriate for me to touch you like this.”

“Proprietary has nothing on your wounds,” he says, and you reluctantly settle your arm around his waist, fingers loosely gripping the turn of his hip. He’s right, but you hate how it feels like you’re playing along with one of his ploys. But not even he could have predicted the outcome of the meeting, right? Sunday’s arm descends along your back, holding you steady as the two of you slowly move along the darkened hallway. 

You end up in a supply room just around the corner, out of sight from anyone and lit by the warm glow of lights above you. Stacks of crates and boxes line the shelves, but there’s a narrow table and a pair of chairs, one of which Sunday helps you settle into.

He moves around the room with practiced familiarity, pulling a medical supply box from one of the shelves. He flicks it open, rummaging through the supplies. And then, Sunday kneels in front of you, his knees hitting the dusty ground, his hands outstretched towards you like a prayer.

But what can a man like him ever want from you? Only something you can never give.

“You don’t have to do this.”

His hands ghost along your leg, the fabric of your gray slacks creasing as Sunday slides them up to reveal the gash on your leg. It’s unthinkable, normally. Your boss is meticulous on the minute details of your uniform, and you’ve seen employees reprimanded for having their collars an inch too low. But here he is now, ruining the symmetry he values himself.

His gloved fingers skate along the skin of your calf, the pressure so light you almost can’t feel it, drawing your attention back to him. He cradles your ankle with one hand as he examines your wound. He’s still kneeling in front of you, his head ducked so low you can’t make out his expression, only the fringe of his eyelashes.

It’s wrong. It’s wrong to see Sunday like this, because even when he’s gentle, reverential and at your feet, you know the second you believe in him, you’ll lose. Submission and honesty from a man like him is never willingly given.

“I don’t have to, but it would only be right when you were hurt due to my carelessness,” Sunday says.

“It was my fault for not being careful. It has nothing to do with you,” you say. “Besides, this is unprofessional, considering our working relationship.”

His hand tightens on your ankle like a vice. “I’m not doing this as your employer.”

Sunday doesn’t look up once as he dabs disinfectant-soaked cotton along your wound. You hiss at the sting, as Sunday presses harder than you expect. The bandages that go around your calf are wrapped neatly, pulled tightly to the edge of pain. It feels like a chastisement, or a punishment, for the unwillingness of your earlier actions.

Your blood flecks Sunday’s gloves as he works, staining his pristine clothes. The two of you share a similar uniform, distinct from most of your other coworkers. The same dark vest, the same dove gray slacks and white suit jacket, the same golden enamels and blue accents. It’s almost like he’s trying to dress you up in his clothes, to mark you in some indelible way. 

You dig your nails into your palms until you think you can cut into your own skin. From the beginning, you’ve never been able to escape the games he’s always playing. 

Sunday still kneels on the floor, holding your ankle in his hand like a delicate bird. He pulls down the leg of your slacks himself, the fabric rustling as it covers the fresh bandages on your calf.

“Be more careful next time,” he says. 

Right now, while he’s still beneath you, you could reach out and tug his hair, grip his chin and make him look level at you, force him to kneel forever and press him into the ground. But even if you do, it’ll still feel like something Sunday has let happen. 

Penacony is a chessboard, and you’re just another piece in his hands.

“You said you’re not doing this as my employer. What are you doing this as?” you say, pushing back your chair, leaping up. Your leg moans in protest, but you ignore the searing pain to stand in front of Sunday.

“What do you think?” he says, his face serene. “You’re clever. I’m sure you know.”

You whirl your head in disgust, heading towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His eyes burn into your back as you go, watching you. Always watching you, because you can never escape his presence, the eyes he has all over this damn place.

When you stride into Sunday’s office the next day, the wound on your calf burns with every step you take. There hasn’t been enough time for it to heal. Your uniform, as always, is pristine, the slacks creased just so, the wrinkles nonexistent. 

Sunday barely looks up from his desk as you slide a folder in front of him. There’s a pen in his hand, poised above a sheaf of papers he thumbs through.

“You finished your report rather early,” he remarks. 

“That’s because it’s not a report. It’s my resignation.”

His grip on his pen tightens, enough so that you wonder if he’s going to break it. The tranquil expression on his face doesn’t change, but there’s a wrinkle in his facade. A twitch of his eyebrow, a slight turn of his mouth. Subtle signs of his unhappiness that only you can see. After all, you’ve known him long enough that he can’t hide from you, not completely.

“Is there something unsatisfactory about your current position?” he says evenly. “The pay, perhaps? The vacation days? The hours?”

“Those are all fine. I’ve just been thinking I need a change of pace,” you say lightly, tapping your fingers on his desk. His eyes track your every movement. 

“I’d hate to lose a valuable employee like yourself. You won’t find a better place to work than Penacony.”

“I know. You value Family above all else. But it makes me wonder what will happen if I’m not a part of yours.” You smile at him. His own smile tightens. You’ve never been so forward with him before, would never have risked it. You have no script for this, but neither does he. “This is a place where everyone’s dreams come true. But what’s your dream, Sunday?”

His jaw twitches at your casual address. “My dream? I wish to see Penacony prosper.”

It’s such a stock answer you could laugh. It’s what Sunday tells everyone, the picture perfect answer he can print in newspapers and feed to interviewers. 

“That’s a good answer.” You lean across his desk. “You know, I’ve always been fond of birds. But the best way to keep one by your side is to make it want to be there, don’t you think? Otherwise, when you open the cage, it’ll fly away. It has to go in the cage willingly.”

“A fascinating observation,” Sunday says. “But you simply shouldn’t open the cage door at all, if you want to keep it by your side. If you provide the bird with everything it wants, then there will be no reason for it to go.”

“Birds are capricious creatures.” You raise your hand, angling it towards the wings that flutter near his head. They tremble at your wandering fingers, but right before you can brush one of his gray feathers, you drop your hand and pick up your resignation file, waving it lazily in the air. “I mean, who knows what they want? Don’t you think maybe the bird tries to fly away because it wants its owner to chase it? It makes you wonder who’s really the one being caged here.”

“I’ve owned birds before. I think I can handle such a thing,” Sunday says sharply.

“I’m sure. You know, maybe my resignation is a little hasty. I think I could stand to stay for a while longer.” Under Sunday’s vigilant eye, you glide towards the door, pulling it open with one hand.

“You shouldn’t do such things in jest,” Sunday calls behind you. You turn to face him. The tension still hasn’t left his shoulders.

“It wasn’t a joke,” you say. “I just changed my mind, that’s all.”

This time, you don’t let your gaze drop away from him, even as the door slams shut between the two of you. The expression on his face, the simmering frustration, the restrained edges of his desire, the way Sunday looks as if he’s the one who’s been trapped— it’s the most beautiful he’s ever been.

You’re starting to understand why Sunday enjoys his little games, but it’s too bad for him. This chess board doesn’t just belong to him anymore.

#liya writes #honkai star rail #sunday #sunday x reader #sunday hsr #x reader #honkai star rail x reader #posting this just before 2.2 hoping it'll hold up LOL #anyways. hes soooo frustrating #i want nothing more than to mess up his smug composure

[sometimesliterate]

library | dr ratio blurb ( 18+ )

exhibitionism, free use, degradation ( whore, bitch, slut, harlot, ect. ) dirty talking, afab anatomy, mean ratio, fuckin in the library, petplay if you squint, ratios really fucking horny, slight mind break but not really

ratio doesn't know how to properly relieve himself when he's overstressed. so it builds up inside of him until it overflows in an explosion. unfortunately, that usually means you get caught in the crossfire.

" is this what you want, you pathetic little bitch ? " ratio snarls into your ear, his voice low and dangerous as he pressed your body up against the back wall of the library, his strong arms holding you up, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he guided your hips, practically fucking your body on his cock like you were just a toy for him to use. " do you get off on being used like this ? is this your idea of pleasure ? "

you threw your head back, your hands clamping down on your mouth as you stifled your own moans, your body bouncing in tandem with his as he fucked you mercilessly. you were trying so hard to be quiet, but with the way that he was pounding into you, you couldn't help the moans that spilled from your lips. " f-fuck..! " you whimpered, your voice muffled by your hand, " i-i'm sorry.. i really am..! bu-but i love being your slut..! " drool slipped past your hands onto your chest, dampening the shirt that you were still wearing. you leaned against the wall you were pushed against, your eyes rolling back slightly from all of the pleasure while he fucked you dumb. " keep your voice down, you insufferable harlot, " ratio punctuated his words with a sharp slap on your ass, causing you to yelp out in pain, your body tensing underneath his touch. " we wouldn't want anyone to see you in this state, now would we ? you're not exactly being discreet. "

despite telling you to be quiet, he continued to thrust into you, his grip on your hips tightening as he scowled at you, " maybe i should take you to the park and let the whole world see what a fucking slut you are. maybe i'll put a collar on you and walk you around with a leash so everyone knows exactly who owns your slutty fucking body. i'll make you beg for my cock in front of everyone. "

your body reacted instinctively to his suggestions, your heart beat racing as his words spurred you on. the idea of crawling on your hands and knees behind him like a stupid dog was too much, your slick dripped down onto the floor below you and coated his thighs, painting a perverted picture inside of the library. you couldn't think of anything other than the pleasure in your tummy as he fucked you, his grip on your hips tightening, driving you against the wall with each stroke.

" you like that idea, huh ? you really are a slut, getting turned on by the thought of being exposed, of being used so publicly. " ratio's thrusts got sloppier, his grip on his own demeanor failing him. for such a composed and stoic man, he really lost himself when overstressed from work, and you were the perfect little fucktoy to get his mind off of his job. " just.. keep being good for me and take my cock like the dirty little whore you are. "

the sound of your bodies slapping together and your pathetic little moans filled the otherwise silent library. you loved being used like this, fucked by ratio like you were only good to take his cock and shut up. " a-ah..! i'm gonna cum, please, please ! just a little more, please make your fucktoy cum ! " you could feel your orgasm fast approaching, the familiar coil in your lower tummy threatening to consume you. you could feel the tip of his cock hit the entrance to your womb with every thrust, his cock stretching your needy little hole out to the max.

ratio let out a low growl in between his grunts, his eyes locked on your desperate face. he can feel your tightness squeezing his cock, your body trembling. " do you want to be filled, to have it spill out of you and onto the floor for anyone who passes by to see ? then beg for it, you insatiable slut. " he commands, his eyebrows knitted together as the pleasure built within him. he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer, but he still wanted to hear your pathetic voice beg for him.

embarrassment flooded through you, but it wasn't strong enough to stop you from complying with his commands, your lips parting as you let out a desperate plea for him. " please- please, i need it so bad. i need to be filled by you, veritas. i'm so close- pl-please cum inside of me and make a mess of my slutty body. "

" such a greedy little slut, aren't you ? " his eyes locked onto your flushed face, your hands still covering your mouth but doing so little to cover your helpless moans. " you want to cum, do you ? then let go. that's it, cum for me. "

with his blessing, the dam inside of you broke free, your orgasm washed over you with an alarming intensity, making your toes curl as your body milked his cock, pushing him closer and closer to his edge until he tipped over it. you could feel his cock throb inside of you, pulsing as he fucked you through his orgasm, his head resting on the wall as he panted.

ratio pulled out of you, his arms feeling pretty weak but he was still managing to hold you up until he could sit you on your own two shaky feet, making sure you didn't step into the wet mess on the floor. " we should probably clean up, " he commanded curtly, his eyes flickering over your spent and used form, a slight smile of satisfaction and relief on his face. " and then unlock the library's front door. "

#honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #dr ratio #veritas ratio #honkai sr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #smut drabble #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio smut #hsr ratio #dr ratio hsr #honkai smut #smut #drabble #imagine #x reader #smut fic #afab reader #exhibition kink #public exhibition

[grimm-writings]

don’t you repeat that!

…ft! boothill x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, but gets kind of sad at the end there, established relationship, inspired by boothill leaks, cursing

…wc! 394

…notes! trying to scavenge back some writing motivation so a tiny lil bootsy drabble while i manifest for him LMAO. speedrunning penacony quests rn i must see the cowboy by any means necessary…

Your boyfriend knows some colourful language.

How he comes up with such a unique string of curses and insults confounds you.  Even now you can hear the unfortunate sound of him stubbing his toe, the loud hiss as he draws in breath and…

“Fucking dumb shit riding on horseback in the middle of the God damn night!”

There it is.

“Language,” you call out.  You look down at the little girl sitting on your lap and shake your head at her, as if to communicate to her how irresponsible her old man is being, especially when she’s nearby.

Finally, your boyfriend’s head peeks out from behind the doorway, as if about to retort that his poor toe has been painfully attacked by the edge of a table.  Instead, he sees you, crossing your little girl’s arms disappointingly at his action.

He sighs and strides forward, dramatically overselling a limp, before crouching into a squat.  He points at the little baby with a pout.  “Don’t you go repeating what I say.  Or else this one here’ll never forgive me.”

A toothy grin is shot your way and you can’t help but scoff.  “She can only babble so far.  Though, under your wing?  I wouldn’t be surprised if her first words happen to be a curse at an Aeon.”

“I’d be quite proud if that was the case,” he returns, picking up the baby from your lap.  You let him.  Despite his foul mouth, your partner has proven himself very capable of handling a newborn child.  From the very day he entered your shared home with her in his arms, you knew she carved something new and special out of the cowboy you lived with.

Almost made you feel like a real family.

“Let’s get you to sleep, eh?”  He speaks to her as if she can understand full length sentences.  “Can’t have you driftin’ off when I’m trying t’ introduce you to our steeds, princess.”

For a second, you really considered asking then and there.  Seeing how the little girl reaches up and tries to brush dark hair away from your boyfriend’s eye makes your heart melt.  This could be your future.  Your forever.  A family with your favourite people.

Though, as you watch him, maybe you’ll wait.

Or, maybe, you won’t even get that opportunity at all.

It’s not like Boothill ever knew anyway.

#✮ grimm's fics! #honkai star rail #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #boothill #boothill x reader #boothill imagines #boothill leaks

[lowkeyren]

fateful encounter!

in which — you decide to stay after the ball has ended, spending the night with the man that you just met… or sunday falls deeper in love with you.

pairing — sunday x gn!reader

༊*·˚✧.* — wc: ~1k, unestablished relationship, actually you're both just downbad for each other lmao, it's finally here ugjghdhs sorry for the delay loves, pls enjoy!! reblogs are appreciated <3

prequel / iridescent engravings (both can be read as a standalone)

as the last strains of music fades, the ball draws to a close and the guests begin to depart. you stood waiting in the ballroom, your heart yearning to meet sunday again, and perhaps get to know him better.

with each passing moment, you scanned the room, searching for any sign of him amidst the shrinking crowd. your pulse quickening with anticipation as you catch a glimpse of his familiar figure. but just as quickly as you blinked, he was nowhere to be found. you wonder if you've mistaken him for someone else… well that's not really possible either because you definitely saw a pair of fluffy wings just now.

just as you were about to turn away in disappointment, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder. your heart skipping a beat as you found yourself face to face with sunday once again. he's just as divine as you last saw him.

you're absolutely ethereal, looking at him with those eyes of yours, oh aeons you really know how to leave him breathless.

"my sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting… would you like to join me for a stroll?"

with a soft smile, sunday extends his hand with a slight bow. without hesitation, you place your hand in his, the coolness of his touch sending a shiver down your spine as you follow him into the night. as you walk side by side, hands intertwined, you can’t help but feel flushed by the whole situation. you're grateful for the darkness that conceals your flushed cheeks, silently thankful that sunday is not looking at you right now—or so you believe.

he can feel your palm sweating through his gloves. cute. you’re trying so hard to focus on the path in front of you, but of course he notices the way your eyes dart to him when you think he’s not looking. yet he himself is not fully unaffected by you, a familiar warmth starts to bubble within him, a telltale sign of his embarrassment. with a subtle shift of his wings, he discreetly covers the redness that is slowly rising up his neck.

after a while, you come to a stop at the balcony. the chill night air caresses your skin, blowing against your face with a cool that makes you shiver. sunday notices your discomfort, he immediately slips off his coat and drapes it around your shoulders, enveloping you in its warmth. the coat carries the faint scent of his cologne, a comforting touch that banishes the chill from your bones.

you smile and thank him, wrapping yourself deeper in his coat. he gently pulls you close; you lean into his side, laying your head on his shoulder, his arms around you, soft and secure.

if someone were to see you together right now— wrapped in his coat, nestled against his side with his arm around your waist, they would definitely be struck by the closeness between you, it's just so intimate. you feel giddy just thinking about it, you wonder if he feels the same too… would he be flustered by the thought or tease you with a playful remark.

he can sense you smiling against his shoulder. how adorable.

just then, dazzling displays of fireworks decorate the scene, painting the sky with streaks of purple, blue, and gold. illuminating the darkness, shimmering sparks cascading down as you stare in awe.

"look! isn't it just so beautiful…" your eyes light up as you marvel at the spectacle before you.

he looks at you from the corner of his eyes. how your hair flows like a river in the cool night breeze, framing your face perfectly. how you gawk at the sky, an innocent smile plastered on your face, blissfully unaware of the loud thumps of his heart.

"—yes, truly beautiful."

his hands reach to find yours and intertwine your fingers together. as his thumb brushes over the ring on your index finger, you subconsciously tighten your hand around his as a response.

he leans down, his breath tickling your ears, "perhaps the next ring will go on a different finger," he murmurs softly, his voice laced with mischief. you could feel your face burning up as you look at him with surprise evident on your face. his words hang in the air, lingering between you like a tantalising aroma.

oh he's sure your heart is racing just as fast as his now…

and he's right. your heart is racing with the implications behind his words, his sweet-honey voice reverberating in your head, and how absolutely charming this man can be.

you look back towards the sky, trying to distract yourself, but it's impossible when you're wrapped up in his coat, in his arms. you can't escape even if you tried —but not like you would want to. as if he heard your thoughts, he tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, until you're sticking by his side.

as you bathe in the glow of the fireworks, a comfortable silence fills the air. you smile against his shoulder, admiring the beauty of the night.

—you, you're the beauty of tonight.

tonight, he wishes to be with you.

tonight, he wishes for nothing more than to hold you close, to savour every moment spent in your presence.

tonight, only you exist in his eyes.

and for every night to come, he wishes that you'll be by his side, he wishes to lose himself in the depth of your eyes, but for now he will bask in the rhythm of your hearts beating together in harmony.

masterlist

#hsr fanfic #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai starrail x reader #hsr fluff #hsr imagines #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #sunday x you #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday fanfic

[rninies]

endless love ⟡ aventurine

synopsis early mornings with aventurine

warnings fluff, gn!reader, you're both so in love </3 me when

NOTES AVENTURINE AVENTURINE AVENTURINE AVENTURINE AVENTURINE AVENTURINE

sunlight creeps in between the curtains, waking you up from your peaceful slumber. squinting, your eyes instinctively searched for the figure next to you. aventurine is still asleep, surprisingly. he’s always the first one wide awake in the morning, so seeing aventurine still asleep is a rare occurrence.

you gently rolled over to your side, laying a hand under your head, supporting it. everything about aventurine is pretty; his face, his eyes, his hands, everything.

not just five minutes after waking up, aventurine’s eyes flutter open. when his eyes meet yours, he gives you a smile. “hey,”

you return the smile. “hey. how was your sleep?” you scoot closer to him, gently caressing his head.

“mm… it was good. better,” he replies.

“better how exactly?” you question.

“better because you’re here.” aventurine says so casually, and you swear your heart is about to burst by the way he’s just looking at you. “did i successfully fluster you at 9am in the morning?”

“you-” you can’t help but stop speaking. “how can you be this flirty early morning?”

aventurine laughs, your favorite sound in the whole world. “well, maybe it’s because you’re the one who’s making this… flirty side of me come out.” he laughs when he sees your face go red. “you bring out the best of me, you know that right?”

you hide your face in your hands. “stop being so cheesy already i can’t stand it.” that was a lie. you love it when aventurine starts expressing his love for you. it’s a rare occurrence, you can say, as aventurine expressing his love happens once in a blue moon. and, he is right about one thing.

you do bring out the best of him.

“do you have any plans for today?” you ask him, silently praying that he doesn’t.

aventurine hums. “mm, i don’t think so. the IPC hasn’t notified me of any new missions.”

your eyes brighten. “really?!” aventurine nods, eyes widening at your sudden outburst. “okay! that’s great! we can finally go on a date today!”

“a date-?” aventurine repeats. “but i didn’t plan-”

you shushed me. “i planned something for us. i mean, you can’t blame me! i’ve been wanting to go on a date with you for so long but you’ve been so busy with missions lately.” you can’t help but pout, remembering all the days you spent home alone in your shared apartment. aventurine only comes home late at night, and if you’re lucky enough, he’ll be home right before 10 pm.

aventurine can’t help but smile at your enthusiasm. “okay. i’ll go get ready and we can go on a date, yeah?” he kisses the top of your forehead affectionately, giving your butterflies in your stomach.

“mhm.” you nod.

you really do love him.

#kylin.writes #aventurine #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine hsr #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine fluff #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x y/n #honkai star rail aventurine #honkai star rail fluff #hsr #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine

[impactedfates]

Memories Resurfacing - BootHill x GN! Reader

★ Notes: In light of BootHills lore coming out. I wrote this quick thing for him hehe, I love him but I also love angst...so-

☆ Characters Included: BootHill

★ Genre/Trope: Angst + Hurt/No Comfort

☆ Warnings: Major Character Death (The Readers)

★ Extra: Not proofread, legit just wrote this as soon as I got my laptop (might fix some mistakes later) // Written with an established relationship in mind but if u can see it as platonic feel free too! // Written Pre-BootHill release so he may be OOC

Thinking about...

How fast BootHill is running, he doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't exactly know where he is, he isn't as familiar to this place as others he has ventured to. But mark his words, he will find someone, someone that can help you.

Thinking about...

How worried he is, how desperate he is. You're in his arms, clinging onto him for dear life, because it is YOUR life on the line. You're slowly bleeding out and he doesn't know what to do. He just knows he has to take you somewhere, anywhere. To anyone who can save you.

Thinking about...

How his movements become even faster, how his words of reassurance that

"You'll be fine, sweetheart"

Turn into

"H-hey now, c-come on. D-don't...please, I'll find someone soon I-I swear"

As your arms slowly lose power in them and become nearly limp as you lose the energy to continue holding on.

Thinking about...

How he's absolutely yelling at you to keep your eyes open. How he just needs to run just a bit longer, that someone will come. But the cloth that he used to wrap around your wound is making no effort to continue holding the blood in

Thinking about...

How defeated he is when he realises he won't make it in time. How he begins crying as he holds you in his arms, sobbing. Your hand caressing his face no longer being able to soothe him as he knows it's the last time he'll ever feel your hands on his face.

Thinking about...

Dying in BootHills arms, he holds onto you as if you're a porcelain doll and one wrong move means he'll lose your forever.

.

.

.

But he can't, he still holds onto the small glimmer of hope that someone will find you two and help him, that they'll be able to save you and you two can continue being happy.

Thinking about...

How BootHills finale words to you before your eternal slumber is

"Please don't leave me too"

WEEEEE ANGST FOR MY FAV CYBORG

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr imagines #BootHill x You #BootHill x Reader #HSR BootHill #BootHill

[yumeboshi]

𝜗𝜚。．． ❛ #HER NEW BOYFRIEND’S NEXT!

𐙚 synopsis。．short hcs/scenarios of jealous yandere aventurine & sunday ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。suggestive themes . general yandere themes, brainwashing, gaslighting in Sunday’s part, mentions of violence, mentions of scide, imprisonment, except for aventurine relationships are not established, WARNING: extremely obsessed and smitten with you, read at risk!

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。honestly why do i think sunday will be literally the most dangerous yandere you could ask for。man has all the resources to brainwash you and lock you up pls

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY．。

。… a classic yandere obsessed over control. 。literally, he will be such a control freak. he has eyes all over penacony. he would have already kept track of what kind of soulglad you drink, when you get home, what your sleep habit is, all under the span of a week, and that’s before meeting you. obviously, as your future spouse, he is just obtaining information he needs for the future! 。will treat you surprisingly equally to his other guests when you meet, he doesn’t want gossip to get around, and he wants to make this “process” as natural as possible. 。after you are successfully within his area of control, he will start to monitor you even more meticulously- who you meet, what you do in your dreams.. he is a bit disappointed you don’t visit him on your own accord, but that will all be arranged soon! 。will casually go up to your room to ask you about “room service satisfaction” when he’s actually just busy breathing in your lovely scent and assessing your room for any “threat.” 。he doesn’t like that you’re affecting his ability to work. he’s impatient, of course, but he knows that he will have to wait for the perfect opportunity to whisk you away like a knight in shining armor. And all he needs is a little pawn to play the act of a villain- oh, your little male acquaintance will do! 。he’s like that- using people around you as puppets to his grand stage. Sunday is well-informed about morals, of course. But he won’t feel much guilt, not when he knows this is all for the ‘greater good.’ “They” will approve of it. 。and so, he starts to crack his charming facade- he will start asking you for private meetings, and he will put you in a vip room so you are isolated. He does this under the mask of ‘danger,’ saying that you have faced too many threats and he needs to ensure his guest’s safety. 。If you call your friends for help? The next day, they are mysteriously gone from penacony. You call them but your phone is out of service. 。but if you are still not charmed over his chivalry.. he’ll have to settle for easier methods.

❝ WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?”

Your demand was choked with such pleasant sobs that SUNDAY couldn’t help but slip out a small victorious smirk that quickly masks itself to a concerned facade when you fix your angry watery eyes at him.

“I know it was you,” you continue, pacing around his office while he remains nonchalantly seated, trailing his eyes to your every step. “You made all my friends vanish from penacony, you had my parents escorted away to aeons know where, you stowed me here like I’m some kind of precious little jewelry for your eyes only. What do you want from me?” The evident snarl in your words merely makes Sunday tip his head a little, staring at you with the same serene look that frustrated you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you got it all wrong.” He shakes his head in disappointment and rose up from his seat, taking silent strides to you at an alarming speed that made you stumble backwards to the door. “‘They’ have done nothing for you during your stay in the Reverie. You are always disappointed with them, but you choose not to speak up. It is such a painful sight, you are just like a bird who lost its voice.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, dangerously neutral, which scares you, and makes you doubt yourself.

Maybe you were just being stupid, Sunday was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. And your friends indeed did not do much for you here, unlike Sunday, who provided you with all this luxury without accepting anything in return. You feel safe here, almost. You blink a little- the heat that had pounded through your ears was gone, and now you feel like a harmless puppy that just barked his best at a wolf.

“It‘s natural to be mad, dear.” His hand delicately entangles itself into your locks, and you stare at him, unable to say anything as he soothingly whispers. “It is hard to understand actions for the greater good. relax, sweetheart. Everything will be better now,” he purrs, staring right into your eyes. They are endless depths of azure. They are very, very mesmerizing, you think.

“Everything will be better now,” you realize, and you sigh into his arms that seemed to suddenly be present around you. But the worry disperses, you are fine with being close with him. His embrace is welcoming and soft. You don’t want to leave it ever again.

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE．。

。this man takes the cake for being the most jealous man in honkai 。he’s a charmer. he wins you over easily, because who could resist his charisma and his wealth, honestly. He flirts his way easily with you— unlike Sunday, he likes an impromptu plan, and rather enjoys surprises- any attempt of you trying to break up with him will not irritate him at all, contrary to the former. 。“Your attempts fascinate me. Too bad you lost all your bargaining chips. You gonna play another round with me, love? I’m more than willing to, you know.” 。he will be pleased, intrigued at how he can break you down again. he likes a little chase and gamble, he doesn’t want his prey served on his plate, he likes the thrill of hunt. 。he’d even be impressed if you escape him. But not for long, because he will bring you back to where you belong. 。this man will barely be angry over you. He won’t force any affection onto you, he satisfies himself by buying you expensive clothes instead, as if you are his little doll. He is content with you being a quiet and submissive trophy. 。what this man does not tolerate, however, is you being with anyone else. He cannot bear the thought that someone is around you more than he is, and that you rely on someone more than you rely on him. Aventurine has pride over his abilities, anyone taking you is like taking his most precious trump card. 。despite the jealousy he feels, he will still regard this as a particularly entertaining game. But he knows he will win this gamble, too.

❝ AH, IT’S SUCH A THRILLING GAME, ISN’T IT, SWEETHEART?”

You watch AVENTURINE toss the coin into the air and roll it around his fingers, his mesmerizing eyes examine the bitter look of defeat on your features.

“This isn’t funny,” you sobbed, despair dawning on you upon realizing that you truly lost everything to him. You had no more moves left in this game he put you in. He was merciful enough to spare your blood relatives, but your friends were gone- including the nice and sweet, innocent guy you shared friendly banter with for barely an hour.

“A gamble is fair and share, love.” He puts his hand on your waist, giving you a short kiss that tasted of wine. You felt nothing but defeat as he tossed the coin on the table where it flopped. “You just picked the wrong set of cards to play with.”

He is close to you all of a sudden, his hot breath tickling your skin, smelling of victory and wealth. His eyes stare right into you as he chuckles, the sadistic glint in his eyes glitter a little more when you feel a tear escape your eye. He leans to your ear, lightly biting your earlobe as he adds,

“Nobody wins with a deck with only clovers, my love. A shame that your cards were so… discardable.”

He laughs at that, watching your stunned face. He loves the look of surprise on you. It is endearing, it shows so well that you do not know how to play his game at all.

#𐙚．。articles #honkai star rail x reader #yandere #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #aventurine x you #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #sunday x reader #sunday x you #honkai star rail yandere #yandere x reader #yandere aventurine #yandere sunday #div by cafekitsune

[valeriele3]

Yandere!Aventurine who gives you little keepsakes from his “trips”

Yandere!Aventurine who loves to gift you gifts

But little do you know..That those “gifts” have a tiny chip in them. Nothing too harmful of course, just something that tracks your location 24/7 oh and maybe a listening device..But, you know, it poses no threat to you

He’d suddenly show up and claim it’s a “coincidence” or maybe even “fate” “destiny”

He’d save you from whatever trouble you got yourself in He paid some ruffians to harass you so he can save you

Whenever he’s feeling anxious he looks at your current location and feels himself calm down

Knowing where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re interacting with..Knowing all of them keeps him at ease

#☆〜valerie's works #hsr #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine #yandere aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #star rail aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you