⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ look at me, look at me 날 바라 바라 봐 ! -> carrd. . .
ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀ ꒳ ˉ͈́ ) ✧ writing fanfics despite the fact that im single and have never dated anyone
(ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟotherwise a quick intro to me: i write for kpop groups, anime, genshin and honkai
fluent in: english | 中文
learning: français｜日本語｜한국
｜masterlist (will update from time to time)｜taglist (now open !)
status: cooking up a little something ! ｜requests: on hold ! | TAGLIST FORM !!
can tell you rn i am trying to work through pt 2, i just dont know where to end it (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
im also thinking of making it into a series if that's something that might interest yall (｡· v ·｡) ?
Can we pretty please get a part two on Flins ? Hope you're doing well and 中秋节快乐 if u celebrate !
ahhhh yes !! it's on its way, i'm trying to get my beautiful beta reader to do quality control but she's not replying ( ｡ •`ᴖ´• ｡)
thank you for the wishes, i've got finals coming up soon so i hope to get this out before then !!
and yes i do celebrate, so 中秋节快乐 to you too~ (happy mid-autumn festival/chuseok/good day to those dont celebrate!)
genre: cold duke of the north trope, slight royal! au
summary: how ironic ! you're the eldest daughter of a disgraced household, sold to the rumoured beastly ratnik of nod-krai. but is he really that threatening or just a misunderstood recluse?
word count: 1.5k
a/n: may flins wanters be flins havers !! my brain has been rotting with this trope for so long, i'm sorry for not finishing the prev event requests yet (im getting through them trust trust) !! flins forever proving that chivalry is NOT dead <3333
depending on how well this fic does, i might make a part two :3
rumours are a powerful weapon. they can manipulate easily, transforming a social recluse into a demonic creature of nightfall.
“kryll chudomirovich flins, ratnik who fights the wild hunt.”
just one tiny push and that whisper in the night, passed along from mouth to mouth, hidden by powdered fans amongst idle noblewomen, wavers and warps, becoming besital and monstrous in nature.
“kyrll chudomirovich flins, as monstrous as the wild hunt.”
in a futile attempt to claw back a semble of honour and wealth for your crumbling household, your generous father had offered his eldest daughter to the feared ratnik, living in isolation in the north of nod-krai.
the region’s most sought-after designers worked tirelessly to create your extravagant wedding dress, inspired by the latest fashion trends. throughout the preparation of your wedding, not a peep was heard from the ratkin’s representatives, apart from one elegantly handwritten note: leave everything under my tab.
the day of your wedding, attendants scurried around the mansion, preparing for your departure, maids surrounded you, pulling and tightening strings on your dress, smacking more powdered makeup on your face. meanwhile, your stepmother sat regally in her plush divan, watchful eyes not missing a single detail.
“more rouge on her cheeks.” she drawled, disdain for this alien of a child hidden under a mask of polite smiles and pointed comments. dissatisfied with the tardiness of your maids, she stood up abruptly from her chair, dusting away invisible specks of blemish from her eyecatching red dress, before slinking across the room to circle you, eying you up and down.
“shoulders back.” she tutted, the guard of her fan harshly striking down on your shoulders.
you bit back a wince, the thought that today would be your final moments with this archons-forsaken family forever doing little to ease your anger. nevertheless, you squared back your shoulders, lest this vile witch decides upon a more severe punishment than a singular hit of the fan.
“head up.” the tip of her fan tapped in warning under your chin, tilting your head up at an uncomfortable angle.
“better.” an affirmative word of praise, though not one that let pride bloom in your heart, only a dejected sense of lonely isolation. this was the bare minimum expected of the eldest daughter of your father, the daughter from his first wife.
a pretty portrait, a valuable asset for your father to trade away, to the highest bidder, a bird in a cage, whose only tricks were etiquette, several foreign languages and elegant needlework.
with a warning glare, your stepmother stopped at the doorway, but not departing without a final caution. “do not mess this up for your family.”
the chatter of your maids fills the room after your stepmother leaves, empty praise falling naturally from their lips, desperate to ease the tension in the air. instead, their comments are a constant reminder that you will become a sacrifice to the ratnik of the north, a fatty meal for this monstrous creature.
regardless, you think to yourself, this fate is better than what your stepmother would have in mind had the duke not accepted your father’s proposal.
having completed their work of dressing up the bride to look like a porcelain doll, the final few maids depart from their room, the room falls into a hushed silence, easing your headache, caused by both the neverending conversations right by your ears and the wear on your mind from planning your escape routes once you arrive in the north.
quietly, the door cracks open once again. in the reflection of the mirror, you catch sight of your nanny’s greying hair. your beloved nanny, one of the few who had looked after you so lovingly, gently patching up every injury after being punished by your stepmother, was here to see you off.
“darling [name],” she breathes, eyes glossy at the sight of you in a wedding dress, cheeks reddened with rouge and lips lined with vibrant ink. her rough hands caressed your cheeks, careful not to smudge the makeup on your face. her eyes search around your face, committing every freckle into her memory.
“may your life be an easy path from now on.” unable to bottle up that wave churning inside of you, you throw your arms around your nanny, tears threatening to spill over and ruin the image of that painstakingly painted doll.
“don’t cry,” your nanny soothed, her hands patting your hair, aware of the numerous pins hidden within the hairstyle. she looked around fervently, before pressing a small wrapped handkerchief into your hands.
“for the journey,” she whispered, a twinkle in her eyes, before reaching into her own hair and sliding out her hairpin, silver colour but the best a commoner could ever afford. she tugs hard at both ends of it, revealing a hidden blade within. “this deadly secret is something i hope you'll never come to use”
reaching behind you, your nanny nestles the hairpin amongst the rest of the sparkling jewels adorning your hair, giving your hand one more reassuring pat before leaving the room again.
though the whole household, staff and family included, have gathered out the front to send you off, you barely pay them any mind. that is, until your younger stepsister manages to wiggle out from behind her mother’s exaggerated dress and engulfing you in a hug.
“safe travels, sis!” she whispers in your ear, smiling through her tears. “send me lots of letters!”
you sneak a glance at her mother’s face. something tells you she wouldn’t receive them, no matter how many you write.
behind her powdered fan, your stepmother’s eyes narrow, whether it’s displeasure at her daughter clinging onto the bride in such an unsightly manner, or because she caught sight of that plain hairpin amidst your hair accessories, you’d never know.
with a heavy thud, the carriage door slammed shut, drawing a line between your old life, as the unwanted daughter of the first wife, and your uncertain future, as the to-be wife of a rumoured monstrous duke.
if the nobles had seen your departure, with a skeleton crew of guards and maids, they would have scorned you. although a disgraced household, their eldest daughter was being wedded off, even a lowly baron’s daughter would have been ashamed to be seen with such an entourage.
yet, tonight, you were grateful for lack of company in your carriage. it left you with silence, the rumble of wheels on the road background noise to your racing thoughts. once alone, you felt like you could breathe easier, that your every move wouldn’t be reported back to your father.
unwrapping the package nanny gave you, the warm, spicy scent of cardamom made your stomach grumble. you thought back to the times you stole away to the library, eating lakkaberry krumkakes while studying the maps of nod-krai.
between your family’s estate and the dukedom, there lay a heavily wooded area of forest. rumour had it that every night, a strange fog of purple mist would slither through the trees, poisoning the wildlife, turning them into vicious monsters of the wild hunt.
as the sun slowly sank below the horizons, throwing its dying rays through the trees. the branches of the forest seemed to reach closer, grabbing at the intricate decor of your carriage.
the horses stamped their hooves, tossing their heads and snorting anxiously. your guards exchanged worried glances, their grip on their weapons knuckle-white. they were not getting paid enough for this shit.
from within the purple mist of the forest came that spine-chilling groan. shuffling feet inched closer, dragging across the foliage of dead leaves and snapping tree branches. a grunt, closer than before and seemingly coming from all sides.
one of the guards began to pray to the moon goddess. a maid screamed. another guard dropped his sword. in a moment of frenzied chaos, the entourage fled, swallowed by the hungry purple mist.
left alone, the silence inside your carriage became thicker, almost stifling you in its stillness. you shrank back in your plush seat, hand reaching for that hairpin nanny gifted you. from behind your veil, you could make out the humanoid silhouette of the wild hunt, a blazing purple flame where their head should be.
grunting, they ambled closer, fists pounding against the carriage.
from out of the tendrils of mist, sparks of crackling blue began appearing. with each calculated zap and pop, the wild hunt began to fall. a pair of flaming blue eyes seemed to watch you from the mist.
the wild hunt began to fall back, the light of the blue flame too strong for them to handle. metal sang out as the polearm-wielding saviour came to your aid, fighting off the heavy axes of the larger monsters.
soon, the grumbling and singing of metal died away, until only the occasional crackle of electricity could be heard, radiating from a lantern, hanging from a polearm.
with a soft click, the carriage door opened. your blue haired saviour, with flaming blue eyes, bowed with a flourish.
“my lady, sorry for the unsettling welcome. i am kryll chudomirovich flins. allow me to escort you to my manor.”
summary: childhood friends to lovers, if only phainon's best friend wasn't as dense as a rock !
word count: 1.2k
a/n: i fear i am a yapper so take this like 1.2k words fic ദ്ദി╥ ᴗ ╥) fun fact about this piece is that it was kind of inspired by what my fam friend did for me LMAO- except i think we're just friends ???? (i fear i am as clueless as [name] in this fic LOL
you have the world’s most amazing best friend that you could ask for.
from rolling in the sand pit together, to walking home with you or entertaining your whims of wanting to go to some event he has no interest in, phainon’s always been by your side. so, it’s natural that you would love him, wouldn’t it?
childhood best friends to lovers is arguably one of the best troupes you could ask for, unless you’re like phainon, who has the world’s most dense best friend. in fact, if there was an award for the most oblivious person in the world, [name] would have won it 10 times over by now. honestly, he couldn’t make the signs more obvious, yet either by ignorance or just pure naïvety, you could not read the signs.
phainon’s (failed) guide to courting your best friend
buying her gifts.
“say, [name], hypothetically if i was going to get a girl a gift, what should i get her?”
phainon had asked you this question one warm afternoon, while the both of you sat on the riverbed, feasting on ice cream—your treat.
“hmmm…” you stared up at the clouds thoughtfully. “girls typically like flowers, but they seem too basic…” you start counting on your fingers, before curling your finger back in. “they would also die too quickly, unless you keep a flower from the bouquet, so you know when they wilt.”
“depending on who it is,” you continued, “a cute keychain or plushie would definitely capture her heart.” phainon could practically see that light bulb turn on when you thought of the idea, as you puffed out your chest in pride.
“interesting proposal, i’ll think about it.” phainon tucked this piece of information into his mind file about you:
- thinks flowers are a bit basic, but is weak for keychains and plushies
in your more simple mind, you squint thoughtfully at the side profile of phainon, whose eyes are watching the clouds float by, barely a change in expression.
‘curiouser and curiouser. he likes a girl, but won’t directly tell me who it is. is it someone i know? algalea? unlikely, she doesn’t seem his type. oh! maybe hyacine?’ you chuckle smugly to yourself. he thought he was slick? wrong. you could read him like an open book… or so you thought
in return for your treat of ice cream, the following week, phainon had left a small chimera keychain in your locker, knowing your love for those whimsical and adorable animals.
“awww! look how sweet he is!” march and stelle cooed as you immediately clipped the keychain to your bag.
“not really,” you shrugged easily, “i think he just got this while he got a gift for the girl he actually likes, just so i dont feel left out, you know.”
while you think long and hard what to name your new friend, stelle and march exchange glances of exasperation. you were hopeless.
buy her lunch
as the term neared exam season, phainon knew how hard you worked to do well on your exams. as a treat and a short break from studying, he had tried to invite you to lunch.
ping !
‘wanna go get lunch tmrw?’
ping !
‘no can do 🙅! i just spent all my money on coffee and MAYBE a set of blind boxes…’
ping !
‘it’s my treat.’
ping !
‘if you insist…’
‘who else is coming?’
ping !
‘just the two of us.’
‘was thinking our usual cafe with the gang?’
ping !
‘sure.’
and that’s how the two of you ended up sitting at one table together, almost like it was a date.
phainon had arrived earlier than you and took the initiative of ordering your favourite drink, with your exact preferences, before you had even arrived.
“literally, you’re the best friend anyone could ask for!” you praised, happily sipping away at your drink.
phainon could only try and hide his disappointment at how dense you are.
wait patiently outside her exam hall and walk her home
as the stress of your final exam fell from your shoulders, you cheerfully bounced out the stuffy venue, ready to sleep for days on end, before losing yourself in your awaiting gacha games.
to your surprise, phainon sat on a nearby bench outside, scrolling on his phone while he waited for someone.
‘could he be waiting for hyacine?’ you thought, slightly confuzzled. ‘her exams finished hours ago, why’s he still here?’
from far away, phainon turned his head, as though he felt your intense gaze on him. seeing your face scrunched in intense scrutiny and confusion, he raised an eyebrow, as though saying ‘what gives?’. mature as always, you stick out your tongue in return, before walking up to him, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder.
“took you long enough.” he grumbled, rubbing his hands and breathing warm air into them. “i thought i was going to turn into a phainon popsicle by the time you were out.”
you sassily give him a side eye. without missing a beat, you retort, “no one asked you to stay and walk home.” though the cheerful smile on your face betrayed how you truly felt. afterall, with how busy your schedules had been in the past few days, being able to spend time with your best friend and walk home with him was rare.
“though,” you continue, eyebrows furrowing together, “weren’t you waiting for someone?”
phainon’s equally as confused, tilting his head this way and that way, like a puppy. “well i found the one i was waiting for.”
‘ah, he must’ve just missed hyacine,” you thought, filling in the gaps in your mind, ‘but he’s too embarrassed to tell me, hence why he made this flimsy excuse.’
silence lulled over your conversation, as you continue trying to map out ways you could match make hyacine and your best friend.
a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s got to do to get her best friend a match. so in true [name] fashion, you miraculously manage a group outing with your friends, going to a nearby cafe to discuss battle strategies.
“so,” you declare, putting down your drink, “our plan for today, is to help phainon score the girl he likes. i have a few ideas on who it might be…”
while you ramble, listing out possibilities and proposing date ideas, march and stelle can only stare in incredulous shock and admiration. how could someone be this dense yet smart academically?!
“hold up,” stelle decides to take one for the team, breaking off your endless rant. “what do you feel about phainon? do you like him?”
you pause for a moment, considering what to say.
“he’s sweet, funny, entertaining, knows when i feel down and what cheers me up…” you list out on your fingers, beaming brightly, “he also lets me bully him for the shits and giggles, so of course i love him! we’ve been friends for ages!”
hearing that, stelle has to physically restrain march from reaching across the table and hitting you in the head, while the both of them pray for phainon in their minds.
“hey [name],” march blurts out, as stelle struggles to hold her in her seat. “have you ever thought that the girl phainon might like is… like, i dont know, YOU?!”
“WAIT HUH?!”
dear aeons, may phainon's best friend one day realise what he’s doing for her is not just best friend things.
anaxagoras with coworkers, modern au fluff and romantic with fem reader
hai pookers !! hope youre going well :33 your letter was received ! 💌
it can now be found here, under the title the professor's secrets
ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
hope you enjoy my interpretation of your request ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)
summary: some university professors are oversharers, some share so little that his students had no idea who his elusive wife was.
word count: 1.7k
a/n: well this came out a lot longer than i expected.... (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i promise y'all i haven't died or anything, the ao3/fic writer curse hasn't hit me yet (iykyk) but i'm trying to juggle school and tests/exams with writing so pleek be patient TT
p.s. for those who follow/play genshin, LAWD have yall seen flins?? im so ready to write for him-
university professors are interesting creatures. some are so private about their lives that students often forget that they have their own lives, outside of teaching lectures, marking assignments and failing students.
take anaxagoras, professor of alchemy, for example: first day of university and his only introduction about himself is: “my name is anaxagoras, you may only call me professor anaxagoras.” no mention of a pet, no hobbies. no one dared to probe any further. professor anaxa was notorious among the students for being strict. late? extra work assigned. he sees a student beginning to contemplate passing a note to the cute classmate next to them? lose credits.
the only thing the students know about his private life is that he has a wife. when that bombshell slipped during a lecture about the origins of alchemy, the whole class went still, frozen in shock.
their grumpy, permanent resting bitch faced professor had a wife!?
behind the back of their stoic professor, his students began making quiet bets on who his wife was. someone from the university also? likely. professor aglaea? most likely option, they were the perfect enemies in public, lovers in private trope.
on the other hand, you were the professor of literature. though you often shared moments of your life, you weren’t an oversharing professor.
sometimes, you brought cookies to class, not only as an incentive for students to come to the lectures, but also because you ‘made too many’. other times, you would slip pictures of your pets into the slides for your powerpoints, knowing how dry learning content could be for students.
on the first day of university, your introduction had been much more different to professor anaxagoras’: “my name is [name], i have a few pets and i do have a husband. any questions?”
the mention of such a young looking teacher being married had sent the class into a frenzy. your students shouted to have their voices heard, throwing question after question at you, until all you could do was laugh and sigh exasperatedly.
maybe this wasn’t the best thing to expose on the first day of the school year…
as soon as your students exit the lecture hall, they huddle in groups, whispering amongst each other, trying to decipher who your mystery husband is.
mydei? too fiery. after much debate, phainon is the fan favourite out of all of the possible options. he’s sweet, bubbly and overall the perfect match for you. on the other hand, ‘prof nax’ is dead last.
it began with the small, off hand comments. students who took both professor anaxagoras’ class and your class began to notice small similarities.
the same day you mentioned adopting a small orange kitten over the weekend, professor anaxagoras muttered under his breath how ‘his wife’s new kitten was shedding its ghastly orange fur absolutely everywhere.’ However, from the small smile that involuntarily ghosted across his face, the students knew he was already attached to the small gremlin.
on your birthday, you baked cookies for your class and anaxa’s to bring to the lecture. as the students watched professor anaxagoras fish around in a comically large shopping bag, they were stunned into silence, watching him reveal a box of cookies in a familiar tupperware container, the same choc chip cookies their beloved teacher brought her class.
when students skeptically asked their alchemy professor what the occasion was, he only shrugged, pretending to sigh about how his wife ‘insisted he treat his class to her amazing cookies’.
“be glad she knows her puppy eyes are too effective on me,” their professor grumbled, passing around the box.
the next incident happened on an unassuming tuesday afternoon. after their latest alchemy exam, some students had gathered outside the hall, swapping answers and complaining about the difficulty set by their ‘wonderful’ prof nax.
one student in particular had gotten very wound up, his distaste for the exam, fuelled by his frustration and (slight) guilt in not studying very well, boiled into spiteful words, until he was left red-faced and waving his hands about like a mad-man.
“can you believe that the stupid professor set us such an impossibly difficult question?” he snapped, arms crossed and foot tapping. his rambling kept going, until his friends felt like they were watching an unstoppable snowball of complaints rolling down the hill.
click.
click.
click.
the student’s friends heard the tell-tale sign of professor anaxagoras’ shoes echoing down the hallway, accompanied by a cheery voice chatting to him. anaxagoras’ voice was a quiet murmur as he replied.
rounding the corner with you, anaxa’s sharp ears caught the tail of the unfortunate student’s rants.
“and it’s ridiculous he insists we call him professor anaxagoras. i personally would call him nax.” the student’s brazen rants are brought to a halt when he feels a murderous aura boring into the back of his head, a heavy hand squeezing down on his shoulder.
“would. you. like. to. repeat. that?” anaxagoras challenged, face ashen. beside him, you had stopped your small conversation about some trip that the two of you took a few years back. familiar with the intensity of anaxa’s pet peeve about nicknames, you laughed awkwardly, patting at his shoulder.
“it’s fine,” you tried to intervene, turning to the offending student, “he didn’t mean it, did he?”
the student, sweating and still as a deer in headlights, furiously nodded his head. his friends, faces a similar shade of pasty white, nodded in agreement, mumbling how ‘that’s how he usually is’ and internally thanking and praising you for saving their butts.
anaxa shot you a glare, though there was barely any malicious intent, just some leftover annoyance. you beamed innocently back at him, metaphorical sunbeams glowing from your face. finally, anaxa turned away, exhaling loudly – not satisfied than pissed, just that cold, anaxagoras-styled sigh that told you ‘you’re getting off easy here, buddy.’
before he could reconsider berating the student and threatening to take away marks on his exam, you grabbed anaxa by the hand, forcefully dragging him away with you, unaware of the chaos you’d leave in your wake.
as soon as the student’s legs stopped shaking from fear and he didn’t feel the need to piss his pants, his friends’ brains finally caught up to what they just witnessed as their professors departed.
“holy shit. professor [name] just grabbed professor anaxagoras by the hand and walked away.”
other students who had peeked their heads out of their own classrooms to observe the commotion began to yell over each other.
“no way!”
“we were seeing things right?!”
“i must’ve been so scared i hallucinated that.”
“WHAT.”
“did you hear their conversation before? they went on some trip together.”
whispers filled the corridor as students milled around to share their theories. some even chose to update their bets, choosing to wager their allowance on the less likely couple ships of their professors.
during one weekend online lesson, you’re in the midst of explaining literature concepts when your pesky orange kitten decides to jump onto your desk.
without breaking a sweat, you lift the little fuzzball into your arms.
“and here, is our little miso!” you introduced, waving miso’s paws in the air, as though in greeting. “she’s caused absolute mayhem for my husband due to her shedding, but it’s ok, he secretly loves her.”
the students immediately hop onto their group chat, sans professor.
‘didn’t someone in prof nax’s class say he was complaining about cat fur?’
‘surely that’s just a coincidence, right…?’
‘praying prof phainon has also mentioned having a ginger cat or else that’s my lunch money gone ㅠㅠ’
‘agreed.’
the theories and screenshots of your cat continue to flood into the group chat, even after you’ve let your cat scramble away to ‘go cause trouble for your husband’. in fact, they reach even further, flooding other group chats, some with students of professor anaxagoras’ alchemy students.
anaxa was really regretting leaving his door ajar. well, to be fair, how was he to know that his wife’s new kitten was so enamoured with him that she would squeeze through the door and jump onto his shoulder, tiny claws digging into his sweater.
the same time her furry ginger head through his hair, jaws fell and hit the desk.
students blew up the alchemy group chat and updated the literature kids who were generous enough to give a heads up.
‘holy fkn airball.’
‘i thought prof nax and prof [name] just went on occassional trips together…’
‘????’
‘THEY LIVE TOGETHER?!’
‘thats miso isnt it?’
‘[sent a picture]’
‘NO WAY PROF [NAME] IS MARRIED TO PROF NAX ㅠㅠ’
barely an hour after your cat causes mayhem amongst the students, the news that you and professor anaxagoras were married had spread like wildfire.
when you next see your students at the university lecture hall, the room is abuzz with curiosity. students steal glances at each other, whispering and nudging their friends, daring them to make the first move.
a singular hand shoots up into the air, asking the crucial question.
“prof, is it true that you’re married to professor anaxagoras?”
your signular nod of affirmation sends the class into frenzied chaos, until they’re all yelling to be heard.
“when did you get married?”
“why didn’t you tell us it was him?”
you sighed, “i knew this would happen, so we usually keep it more toned down and plus, naxie hates when his students bombard him with questions about his personal life…”
that night, when anaxagoras returns home, he immediately flops onto the couch, hand laying over his eyes in defeat.
“that stupid cat,” he begins sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, “shall not be allowed in my office during lectures. she’s caused enough trouble as is.”
you only chuckle at his statement, knowing he’d definitely give into the kitten’s big eyes.
“at least now you can drop by whenever at the university.” you suggest, sitting on the floor beside the couch and peering up at him, the offending cat padding up to curl in your lap.
“that’s true,” he affirms, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together, “i’ll be able to bring you your daily coffee at the uni.”
anaxa admires the wedding ring on your finger that glints delightfully in the light, glad to be shown off. he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss right over your wedding band, while fireworks exploded in your stomach and across your face.
"do you have a crush on me or something?" With dan Heng x fem reader no angst please 😭🙏🏻 romantic
dear little anon boba ! your letter has been received ! 💌
after a looooooooooong time, a return letter can be found here, under the name 'yearning whispers' ! ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
please enjoy and hopefully it's everything/majority you envisioned !!
summary: the astral express love you dearly, but they're sick and tired of watching you dance around your feelings, so naturally, they give you the push you need
word count: 1.3k
a/n: HOPEFULLY this translated well into what i had planned out in my head, tysm to my favourite (and only) beta reader @nfekwefdskldm, also for the title idea, love you heaps boo <3
ps beta reader applications are open, just pop by my inbox if you also want to get previews and we can work smth out :3
it was an open and well-known secret on the astral express: [name] had a big, fat crush on the resident archivist. the only problem? they barely talked to each other.
sure, you were friends, but your poor heart could barely last 2 minutes in his presence before your brain was screaming at you to do something, anything. say something stupid, run yourself into a glass door, hell, even eat drywall.
your inability to properly interact with dan heng exasperated march and stressed out himeko, who would drink her coffee slightly more aggressively when you and dan heng were in her vicinity.
even poor welt felt that he was growing more white hairs and wrinkles watching you panicking and reading your book upside down while lounging in the comfy booths of the lounge carriage, while dan heng sat in the one next to you, calmly sorting through his papers.
as your best friends, the poor trailblazer and march bore the brunt of your love-fueled rants, fighting back yawns as you all lay on your stomachs, chip bags rustling and plushies tucked under your arms.
“just tell him,” march suggested, lazing on her back and kicking up her legs. “what’s the worst that could happen?”
a compilation of worst-case scenarios flooded into your mind. dan heng rejecting you, dan heng leaving the astral express for good at the next stop. dan heng telling you he would fall in love with anyone but you.
colour drained from your face before you smothered yourself into the soft belly of your pom pom plush and letting out a frustrated scream.
the trailblazer exchanged glances with march, one that roughly translated to ‘there’s no hope left with this one.’
absolutely sick and tired of how jittery you were around dan heng, the rest of the nameless set up a flawless and perfect plan.
one ordinary afternoon, himeko sent you into the archives to fetch a book she had wanted on a whim. with a sigh you could only obediently follow the orders of your elders, simultaneously internally cursing and praising himeko at the same time. you were terrified, but a little part of your inner self, buried somewhere deep in your heart, hoped that you would.
thus, that’s how you found yourself scouring through the shelves of books in the archives, breathing in dust bunnies and crawling under the groaning shelves to slide out boxes that dan heng had yet to sort through, all in hopes of finding this elusive book himeko desperately wanted.
just as you’re reaching into the suspiciously dark depths of underneath another shelf, you hear the door slide open with a soft whoosh.
“[name]?” dan heng’s voice echoed throughout the room.
you jolted in shock, quickly aborting your mission and shuffling backwards, about as elegantly as you can while taking half the dust with you. it’s just your luck that you manage to choke on a mouthful of dust and bump your head on the shelf as you retreat.
cursing softly under your breath and threatening pom pom for missing so many cleaning spots in your mind, you sheepishly greet dan heng, dust smears across your cheeks and dust bunnies making new homes in your hair.
as predicted, you muddle out some explanation as to why you’re rolling around in the dust of the archives like a chinchilla before you scramble out of the room, shouting an apology for all the dust you’ve left in your wake.
little did you know, in your haste, you had dropped the little raccoon keychain the trailblazer had gifted you from a planet they visited.
noticing the sad little fellow lying on the floor, dan heng picked him up, wondering if he should chase after you and give the keychain to you face to face or leave the raccoon in front of your designated room.
that night dan heng lay in his sad excuse of a bed, the trailblazer’s keychain dangling from his lithe fingers. he knew you were attached to that little trash muncher, so maybe it would be best if he returned it as soon as possible.
gently, dan heng slid open his door, careful not to wake anyone, namely the nosy march who lived next door, and padding to your room. dan heng paused outside your door, hearing things knocking around and pages flying in the air, until his three polite knocks stilled the movement in your room.
“march you little bi-” you hollered, throwing open the door, before being shocked into silence. black hair. teal blue eyes as clear as running water. oh. that wasn’t march.
“are you ok?” dan heng asked gently, tilting his head. peeping behind you, dan heng could’ve sworn a tornado made its way through your room; plushies thrown off your bed, the blankets piled on the plush carpet. papers were scattered across the table and floor, as though you were frantically searching for something.
the words disappeared into thin air, hiding from your brain out of second-hand embarrassment at nearly calling your crush what you would normally call march.
“uh—hi, yeah im peachy— is that even how you use that word? oh, now im rambling.” you winced inwardly, both logic and sense abandoning ship and leaving your brain an empty, lovey-dovey mess. it was going to be so obvious you had a crush on him now.
“i found this and thought i should give it back to its owner.” dan heng reached into his pocket and fished out your prized raccoon keychain, gently placing the runaway into your outstretched palm. his fingers brushed against your skin for a brief second, but this slight touch was enough to send hopeless crush pink blooming across your cheeks like watercolour paint.
“thank you for returning him, i’ll be careful with him next time, assuming march doesn’t try to steal him,” you assured dan heng, your eyes glued to his shoes, which were somehow now much more interesting than his—
“pretty face,” you mumbled mindlessly.
“sorry?” dan heng tilted his head in amusement. “did you say something?”
your eyes snapped up to his face in shock, hands waving wildly, like windshield wipers trying to physically swat the idea away.
“no, no, no!” you protested, trying to politely slide the door shut, but you were too slow. dan heng had planted his foot in the way. there was no way you were winning against a vidyadhara high elder, albeit a reincarnation.
“what,” dan heng teased, voice dancing on the edge of laughing. “do you have a crush on me or something?”
an alarm blared in your mind, sending your thoughts and remaining braincells into panic mode, waving their arms and screaming, bumping into each other or the walls of your brain.
you shook your head so fast the world became a blur.
“nope, definitely not. you wanna hear it in spanish? noh.” you denied, though the tips of your ears were bright hot red, little neon signs that screamed, ‘that’s a big fat lie!’
you wanted to melt into a mortified puddle of human embarrassment, but that wasn’t an option, so you did the next best thing: dive into the comforting blanket on the floor. after all, you followed the wise words of “if i cant see you, you cant see me.”
laughter slipped past dan heng’s lips, a sound so melodious you wanted to declare that your embarrassment could go to hell, maybe everything was all worth it for this moment.
“youre cute.” he had the audacity to drop the ‘c’ bomb on you, before leaving the room and sliding the door shut behind him and letting your lagging brain try to compute what he said.
the next morning, himeko sat in her usual booth, a cup of suspicious coffee sat in front of her, watching as you zombie-shuffled towards her, dramatically flopping down at her feet like a ragdoll.
“so,” she grinned, mock innocence plastered on her face. “how was your late night conversation? enjoy it?”
summary: bound by a childhood pact made by your fathers, you and anaxa grow up as best friends. with the knowledge that you will one day marry, you're left wondering if anaxa feels the same.
word count: 1k
a/n: as per the request, don't worry, there won't be any angst ! :3 apologies that it's taken me so long to get started on the event requests ! i loved writing this rq and hope that it's what you hoped for, although anaxa might be slightly ooc ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)
brotherhood borne from the flaming battlegrounds of war, forged by the fiery flames of battle, comradery and near-death was a bond hard to break. such an experience created an unbreakable relationship between your father and anaxa’s father, so much so they made a pact to each other—if they were to have a son and a daughter, so long as the children were willing, they would get married in the future.
that’s how you ended up growing up alongside anaxa and his elder sister. since youth, you and anaxa had known of the pact between your fathers. it didn’t bother you much, anaxa was your ‘bestest friend in the world’.
he was like the dromasses he liked so much, tacit and kind in nature, while you were like the chimeras, cheerful and bright, though your productivity heavily relied on your fluctuating energy levels.
while others, children and adults alike, got a long, droning lecture about why they were to address anaxa as anaxagoras, he would only sigh dejectedly at your choice of nicknames: ‘nax’, ‘naxie’. ‘ana’ was saved for when you really wanted to press his buttons, which was often. anaxa knew the consequences of correcting you—sad puppy dog eyes and a big pout until he awkwardly apologised with a gift, usually a cake his older sister helped him make.
on the day of your eighth birthday, anaxa and his sister had surprised you with a homemade birthday cake and a chimera plushie, complete with a mini dromas onesie and wonky stitches, a sign that anaxa had tried his best before his exasperated sister took over the needle work. with comedic solemnity, anaxa had placed the chimera in your hands, promising that he would be a good ‘father’ to your shared child.
ironically, for his ninth birthday, you and his sister worked together, hand-sewing a matching dromas plush, fitted with a chimera onesie. gently cradling the dromas to his chest, anaxa beamed as you echoed his own promise from a year ago, vowing to never break up your happy little family.
the exchange of the matching plushies remained a physical manifestation of the promise made by your fathers. your ‘children’ went everywhere together, until the two of you were ‘too old’ to bring the plushies around, and so they stayed tucked under the warm sheets of your respective beds every night.
buried underneath the teasing remarks and jokes made by both families and anaxa’s sweet sister, the innocent childhood friendship aged like fine wine, taking on a more delicate edge. anaxa’s baby fat disappeared, until he was all high cheek bones and sharp jawline, while you grew into your features.
when the both of you began attending the grove of ephiphany, everything changed. they were small and subtle, barely noticeable if the two of you didnt grow up together.
when the girls all flocked around anaxa, batting their long eyelashes and twirling their hair, your stomach twisted in knots, leaving a slight crease carved into your forehead and a sour taste in your mouth. you knew in your heart that anaxa would probably honour his father’s wishes and end up marrying you, but you didn’t want the marriage to be one that kept him shackled to you, especially if there was someone already residing in his heart.
anaxa couldn’t help but frown when he noticed how some guys got too close to you, their hand lingering on your shoulder a second too long to be only friendly.
“he’s not worth talking to.” anaxa had announced, on your walk home together, face passive and voice cold. you tried to stamp out the flicker of hope that danced gleefully in your heart, but no net could contain all the stray butterflies flitting about in your stomach.
one night, when anaxa had come over to help you prepare a dinner for the two families, he glanced towards your two plushies, nestled close together on the kitchen counter, watching as the two of you manouvered around the kitchen like a silent waltz, anaxa stirring pots and sprinkling seasoning while you prepped ingredients.
the air was delicate and fragile, as though one wrong word could shatter the serenity of the environment.
“you think they were serious about it?” you suddenly piped up, thoughts wandering as you set the table.
“about?” anaxa prompted, voice even and his back facing you, though his heart had lept to his throat.
“the promise, the marriage,” you waved your hand dismissively. “it was probably a running joke or something.”
a puff of laughter escaped anaxa’s lips. “you think?” his voice was wistful and gentle, as though the next words that fell from his mouth would break the delicate balance of your friendship.
“what if,” anaxa hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip nervously, rubbing his face, his eyes with his hands. “what if i didn’t mind the promise, that that was what i always hoped for?”
the utensils you were setting stopped clinking, even the boiling pot bubbled more quietly. you blinked at anaxa, who was standing by the stove, mindlessly staring at the depths of the pot as he stirred, as though it suddenly held the secrets of the universe.
“i think,” you hesitated, fiddling nervously with the corner of the tablecloth. “i wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”
with his back still to you and unbeknownst to you, anaxa broke into a relieved smile.
“thank god,” he exhaled, nodding in relief.
you watched the silhouette of anaxa as he raised his hand and wiped at his face. anxiety seized your heart in its jittery hands.
“you crying?” you worried, hurrying towards him.
to your surprise, anaxa turned to you, sniffling as he wiped away at his red and teary eyes.
“worse,” he complained, a teasing frown playing at his lips. “there was spice on my hands when i rubbed my eyes.”
exasperated, you smacked him on his arm, while cheery laughter filled the kitchen. the dromas and chimera plushies snuggled closer to each other, their smiles beaming wider.
Heyyyy I’m the anon who requested the bachelor/dilf! Jing Yuan x fem! reader fic… I just wanna say thx and I LOVED IT!! (And If possible could I be 💸anon?) (if that’s something you do—I’ve seen other accs do this)…
Also question do you have a favorite HSR character? Mine is Jingliu, Black Swan close 2nd and Robin is 3rd.
HI BABES (つ╹₃╹)つ ♡
THANK YOUUUUU !! I HOPE IT WAS WHAT YOU WERE HOPING FOR~
OFC OFC YOU CAN BE 💸anon~ (im ngl, idrk how stuff like this works but THAT'S OK !! #learningcurve)
in terms of fav hsr character, i have MANY LOL
um currently, it would be anaxa (BTW shoutout to those who have anaxa rqs rotting away in my inbox, i love yall sm for that (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧) but it used to be dan heng IL~
(im also a loyal kafka lover hehe !!)
(ps. i WILL get to the inbox requests soon, once i finish up with all my exams and whatnot (ᵕ—ᴗ—))
when i started this blog just 6 days shy from a year ago, i never expected much from a small humble blog, but today, or rather, yesterday, we officially reached 400 followers ! before we get into the major part, i thought i'd reveal that i might start calling my followers little boba!
thank you for your continuous support of my humble little blog, and cheers to more fics to come !
as a way to say thank you for reaching 400 followers, i invite you to participate in this event, hosted to celebrate this milestone ! don't miss out and don't be shy ! but !! please remember to check my rules on my carrd !
ps. all fandoms that i've previously written for are open, if you're not sure, just send me an ask !
merci pour vos messages !
thank you for your messages, as well as all the love and requests, unfortunately this event has now ended!
without further ado, let's get this party started !
TROUPES !
accidental confession
arranged marriage
coworkers
denial
enemies to lovers
fake dating
forbidden love
forced proximity
miscommunication
mutual pinning
oblivious
opposites attract
secret relationship
unrequited love
PROMPTS !
"i need you now"
"can i sleep beside you tonight?"
"holy shit you're burning up"
"i genuinely don't know why my brain just goes blank when i look at you. i think i'm going a little crazy."
"you're in denial." "i'm not in denial."
"i want to believe you, i do"
"when i grow up, i will marry you."
“easy, just buy me a nice ring and leave the lying part to me.”
"maybe, forever was a word meant for memories, not people."
"i had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of you."
"i remember you said that you would always love me."
"wherever you are is my home — my only home."
"kiss me before you go."
"do you have a crush on me or something?"
"of course i love him, we've been friends for ages."
all works relating to this even will have the tag #petitelettre; please show this blog some love ♡
summary: he was the last person you'd expect to fall from the gates of heaven, but even lucifer was a fallen angel, so why would sunday be an exception?
word count: 1.1k
a/n: because i owe @nfekwefdskldm a sunday fic (シ_ _)シ and this has been my brainrot for a couple days alr
when himeko and welt had told you that they had picked up a new nameless to trailblaze with the astral express, he was the last person you would expect to see stepping foot into the train carriage, looking lost, like a stray puppy or cat, not at all the regal head of the oak family that you remembered.
he stood near the entrance, shifting restlessly, as though he was afraid pom pom would try to bite his ankles or throw him out. march was talking animatedly. from your vantage point on the landing that led to the bedrooms, you could practically see her vibrating with energy, arms flailing as she chatted sunday’s ear off.
sunday was nodding politely to whatever march 7th was rambling about, the same thoughtful look you knew plastered his face like a mask. the same golden eyes, flitting around the carriage and drinking in the details. then they found you.
when you looked into his eyes, you were drawn back to the warm, balmy days, dream-like and so far away.
to strangers and the other children, sunday was a doll made of cold porcelain. admire him, idolise him and respect him, but under no circumstances were you to touch him or talk to him.
underneath his carefully crafted mask of obedience, there was a side he showed to only his little sister and their best friend.
sunday was not only a thoughtful and reserved heir of the oak family, he was also a mischievous and daring boy. sunday, who had a heart filled with dreams and warm hopes, would sneak three pudding tarts before his music lesson and eating another when he was sent outside for singing terribly. he would share the remaining tart with his best friend, [name], giving you the larger piece of the two.
he would scale the tallest trees of the yard on a dare, falling and breaking his halo in the process. even through the pain, he would comfort you, who was crying more than him, assuring you that no, he was not going to die, nor was he going to snitch on you.
despite his cold-looking exterior, sunday was a soft hearted baby on the inside, cradling a little charmony dove he had found, nursed it back to health and sending his sister detailed letters, recounting the adventures he had together with the dove and you, his best friend.
since his youth, sunday was destined for more. as the next head of the oak family, responsibilities weighed down upon his shoulders, shackles and chains that got too heavy for him. those expectations anchored him to penacony, while you and robin both fled the nest, flying out of reach of him.
when you followed the footsteps of his little sister and left him desolate and alone, he didn’t have the heart to look back, not even arriving at the dock to bid you a final farewell as you departed.
nevertheless, handwritten letters piled upon his desk, drowned under the flood of paperwork that served as a reminder of his duties. gifts arrived every year on his birthday, sitting unopened in a chest by the foot of his bed. everything reminded him of you, your scent infused in the paper and wrappings of the letters and gifts, your voice echoing in his head when sunday had first read through the letters.
then one day, the letters stopped.
when sunday had heard that the astral express was coming to penacony, he had hope that the stars had heard his silent prayers in the night, that he would see you again. but as his eyes fervently scanned the members who stepped off the train, he didn’t see your bright smile that he knew so well.
he didn’t expect that he would see you at his lowest point, stowed away on the astral express after his descent from heaven.
as the gentle whirl of the train engine and the gramophone hummed throughout the night, the rest of the astral express was enwrapped in the bliss of sleep, save for two members.
the trailblazer had been kind enough to offer their bedroom to share with sunday, but the stifling quiet of the room had driven him to seek refuge in the lobby, under the watchful gaze of the stars outside.
with a soft whir, the parlour door slid open with a gentle click. turning his head, sunday saw your silhouette, illuminated in the soft night light of the lobby. in your hands, you held two steaming mugs, the courtesy of shush.
a spicy smell of hot chocolate wafted from the delicious steam of the mug, reminding sunday of his sunlit childhood days of mischief.
years of friendship had taught you the most miniscule mannerisms of sunday. light and joy flickered across his face like the shadows of a candle, his wings beside his ears fluttered gently in pleasant surprise, he sat straighter, a ghost of a smile lining his lips before it faded as quickly as it came.
what right had he, to talk you? after he broke off all contact when you left?
but nothing could stop the bright beam of hope rearing its eager head, when you sat down next to him, the cushions dipping. sipping from your mug, you offered the other one to sunday, a small smile lighting up your face when he quietly accepted.
wrapping his hands around the warm mug, the gramophone sang gently in the background, nostalgia embracing the two of you.
"I’m not who you remember," sunday murmured quietly to the silent carriage, eyes downcast and staring at his reflection in his cup, unable to meet your eyes.
“no, you’re not.” you affirmed, nursing the warm cup of drink in your hands, “you’re kinder, more free than when we were younger. you carry less of a burden upon your shoulders. your eyes have a brighter light to them.”
the conversation lulled, quiet settling around them like a soft blanket, fluffy and peppered with the scent of hot chocolate, just like the one they used to hide under, along with robin during winter storms.
when the sleepy members of the astral express stumbled their way to the lobby the next morning, they were greeted with a rare sight.
gentle snores filled the air, two now cold hot chocolate mugs sitting on the table. sunday sat fast asleep, posture straight as always, resting his head upon yours, which lay on his shoulder. between you, your fingers lay close on the plush of the couch——nearly brushing, but not quite. so, so close, as though drawn to each other by an unnoticeable magnetic pull.
