imagine if you got transmigrated into the star rail world, with all your memories intact. you realize that now that you're here, you will not let anyone suffer anymore deaths in all the worlds yet unexplored and with all the information you have now.
"Next stop, Jarilo VI !"
pompom announced as you seated yourself. march, dan heng and stelle, the new member rescued from herta space station with your very thorough help is now travelling with you all.
you understood that they were kind of... wary of you considering how you knew what will happen the next moment. its just that you remembered each and every moment by your heart since honkai: star rail had been your favourite game.
threat of stellaron handled easily with your precise guidance. your team never met any threat along the way. rivet town anomalies all cleared out. and you made sure that cocolia lives !
"I can't thank you enough for the help the nameless provided to belobog...i was sure my mother would..."
march chirped in "oh come on! its because of [name] right here that we were able to realise what cocolia was up to!"
you heave a sigh of relief after returning to the express car, your mind going a thousand miles about xianzhou because there is phantiliya! a lord ravager. its one thing fighting her with your characters and another physically...
and you stood corrected. your body all beat up as you fought phantiliya as if your life was on the line, making sure she had a wound that would last her centuries.
with rage seeping through your eyes as you clutched your weapon while kneeling on the ground "Our fight is not over lord ravager of hunt! i will find you again!"
as your days in xianzhou went by, the story as you remembered progressed, meeting the zhuming, fei xiao didn't lose her sanity, hoolay defeated and jiao qiu had his eyes. and the best part is that tingyun lived, just that her body went into a state of deep slumber. and dan heng embraced his vidyadhara status after his...'meeting' with old friends...you couldn't and wouldn't have been able to help with that no matter what.
the whole of xianzhou was eternally grateful. jing yuan and fei xiao agreed to provide you assistance no matter when and where. he nameless became a legend and your feats were heard all across the cosmos. 'the fortune teller' and the 'the seer' is what they would hail you as.
during the dinner meeting with the express after your returned...
"you know all our trailblazing expeditions have been even more fruitful with the least loss of companions. before you, we would have many unfortunate incidents" himeko propped her chin on her hand "we couldn't be more grateful for you exceptional abilities [name]"
welt fixed his glasses and crossed his arms "you have relieved a lot of stress for us. we know that in all future expeditions it would continue like so" he gave you a gentle smile
"there's nothing to be worried about when we have our 'lucky charm' with us! hehe" march swung an arm around you beaming brightly
you on the other hand grew more worried with each passing trailblaze, growing unsure of the fact that you will be able to live up to their expectations. it was just by narrow luck that you managed to not have anyone die at your last stop.
"the Family from penacony sent us a letter to attend their charmony festival... you all will be willing to go right?" like fate had ordained, or more specifically the devs had ordained, you all went into penacony.
fast forward, sunday left penacony to become a nameless, after saying a proper farewell to robin. no one got to know about his idealistic 'all day should be sunday' endeavor because of you.
"[name] i'm forever...no the whole oak family and me are grateful for you ensuring that me and brother could meet one last time before he leaves to find what he wants the most. thank you"
in the express car, you were slumped on your cushiony bed, contemplating Amphoreus...an extrapolation similar to a knock off simulated universe which was the cradle of iron-tomb. and also the place where one or basically most of your favourite characters live...
Phainon...
This time, you will not see your friends waste away...
you make a silent promise to whoever is watching over you, be it fuli or nanook, hell it can even be aha for all you care.
"so for our next stop we have a few options like Lushaka, Ampho-"
"...Amphoreus...lets go there"
The whole crew, even pompom was bewildered. you've never suggested places before. Himeko stuttered before replying "We can do that but...any reason as to why?" you hesitate before remembering black swans reason for sending you all, the one she told the crew before speaking privately with the trailblazer. "the express doesn't have enough fuel to stay in one place for too long and Amphoreus is a place where even Akivili had not trailblazed so it can be a new start into the history of the nameless...!" wow your memory came in clutch!
good thing you remembered about the spear falling from the sky so you were able to save both dan heng and stelle before they suffered any serious injuries. however, unfortunately march was unconscious and frozen even here.
you three trek your way into...Januspolis, the first ever place where the setting started. and like it was before, furiae praetors swarm your group, and then comes a flash of gold streaked ocean blue eyes and hair like that of snow, smirking at you as he passed by you in a flash, taking stelle's bat from her and swinging it with a dramatic pose.
ah...there he is...
"Khaslana..."
you let your voice carry into the depths of the abyss...
something that came to me twice when I was taking number 2 and in my dreams. lmk if you guys want a part 2! in that one I'll make sure to include beating lygus's ahh up—
characters: Dan Heng, Aventurine, Herta, Dr.Ratio, Feixiao.
tws: are stated for each character separately, reader is gender-netural, so everyone can enjoy!
Previous part
wordcount: ~5400
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Not proofread. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes.
Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
Dan Heng kisses you like a dragon who has starved for centuries and now finds himself trembling with the terror and bliss of being fed at last.
The Astral Express hums low and steady outside his door, the rhythm of its voyage lulling the train into midnight quiet. Everyone else is asleep: March curled in her blanket, Caelus absorbed in dreams too heavy for waking words, and even Pom-Pom is nowhere to be found, tucked away.
Everyone except you two.
You are tucked against the wall of his archive, seated comfortably on his futon as if it were a casual place to rest and not the nest of a Vidyadhara, layered and softened through instinct older than Xianzhou Luofu. You don't realize the weight of what it means to sit there. You don't recognize that you are in the heart of his den, where no one else has ever been allowed. You don't see his desperate pursuit.
He has been subtle at first: the small offerings left for you, pebbles smoothed to glass by river currents, shards of crystal glimmering faintly when the lamp light catches them. Some from his personal collection, some from the planets that you've visited together. Small, pretty trinkets you found by your bedside or on the edge of your desk. You smiled when you noticed them, touched them curiously, even asked if March had left them there.
Dan Heng had only looked away, ears faintly red.
He tried even harder. He has let his horns show around you, curved bones gleaming golden in the light of the monitors. He has let his tail slip into being, coils of scales patterned like green fire. He has even guided your hand once, wordless, to rest against one curved horn, shuddering when you touched him there. But you only smiled at the strange intimacy, never seeing it for the desperate language it was.
He understood it, truly. After all, Vidyadhara court with rituals humans cannot name. High Elders love as though eternity could collapse, and Dan Heng, reborn countless times, weary with centuries, wants, for the first time in all his lives, to bind himself to another.
And your obliviousness did nothing to soothe the aching need in his chest.
You just sit there, in his nest, glancing up at him with the restrained interest. His tail shifts, flicking once against the floor before stilling. Tonight, his horns caught your gaze again.
“Do you manifest them when you’re tired?” you ask softly, too innocent, too oblivious.
His lips press into the faintest line because no, Dan Heng manifests them for you. Because Vidyadhara don't court in words. They show. They reveal. They bare themselves to the ones they have chosen.
“Not always,” he breaths out, and you don't see the longing in his eyes, paying more attention to the old book that you hold. You hum in response, eyes on the worn-out page.
“...Aeons don’t dream-” you murmur absently, changing the topic and tilting your head as you reread a line aloud, “-do they?”
Dan Heng exhales slowly, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He rises from the chair, each movement deliberate, shadow falling long across the futon as he steps closer.
“Probably not in the way we do,” he answers, voice low, careful, almost too measured.
The futon shifts when he sits beside you. The air changes, pressing in on your lungs with a quiet density. His presence has always been a calming one, but now, with his horns brushing close to your temple, his tail curled faintly against the futon’s edge, the weight of him is unbearable. The book stills under your hand as you gaze curiously. You can feel his heat even without touching him.
“...You shouldn’t stay up too late,” he murmurs after a silence that burns at both ends. His hand shifts, hesitates, then settles gently on yours.
You blink at him. “Why? You don’t sleep early, either.”
“I-” Dan Heng cuts himself off. His throat works, words faltering where they should flow. His hand stays over yours, firm now, anchoring himself on you.
Tonight, that naive blindness of yours gnaws at Dan Heng. He watches you read from his Aeon texts, lips pursed, your gaze drifting over a history of gods while you sit in the nest he has built for you, utterly unknowing that you are his chosen.
Dan Heng finally shifts, and his horns angle low, framing your face like a cage. His tail slides around your waist, dragging against the futon as it coils possessively over your hip. The book slips from your hands. Your breath stutters when he pins you down with nothing but his presence.
“Do you know what you are to me?” His voice is low, rough, pulled taut by restraint.
“Dan Heng?…” You whisper his name as though it could save you from drowning.
His answer is a kiss.
It crashes into you like a tide breaking stone. His mouth claims yours with a force that startles, hunger uncoiled after too many days of silence. His lips are insistent, dragging your lower lip between his fangs. The strange slide of his forked tongue presses into your mouth with an intimate invasion, curling to taste the shape of you. Dan Heng groans, low and guttural, chest vibrating against yours as if the simple touch sears Imbibitor Lunae alive in his veins.
You squirm beneath him, half shocked, half entranced. He stills you, pinning you deeper into the futon, his weight caging you, his tail tightening its hold until you are wrapped under him, unable to move. The kiss is deep, molten, and dragging. His horns brush your forehead when he lowers his head further, pressing closer, caging you between bone and flash. Your trembling fingers rise to grasp his broad shoulders. Dan Heng shudders violently when you answer his desperate hope with your mouth, and his breath tears out ragged, his tongue strokes yours again in a long drag that feels like a vow written in heat.
“Mine,” he growls against your lips, a sound so primal you barely recognize it as his voice.
“You sit in my nest. You take what I give. You touch my horns. And still, you don’t see it.” His forehead presses to yours, breath hot, words spilling over you like flame.
“I’ve courted you as my kind does. Do you accept me?”
You stare up at him, pulse frantic, the realization beginning to dawn.
“Dan Heng… you-”
He cuts you off with another kiss, slower now, more devastating. His tongue coils languidly into your mouth, tasting, coaxing, drawing you in until your lungs burn. His hands cradle your jaw, trembling slightly, as if he fears the fragility of your bones beneath his strength. His tail winds tighter, a loop across your stomach, anchoring you in place as though you might vanish.
When he parts from you, his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, pupils in slits, glinting with a hunger that is more than physical. His voice breaks when he speaks, rough and aching.
“I can’t promise you a life unbroken by cycles of rebirth. But I can give you all that I am now and every fragment of me that survives.” His thumb drags across your swollen lower lip.
“Stay. You are a human, small and fragile, but please, stay… Let me build my eternity around you, and I carry the memory into the deeper space until my bones wither.”
Aventurine
tws: pure fluff and yearning, Aventurine's past mentions, you two are in love hihi
Aventurine kisses you like the final roll of the dice in a game where the prize is everything he has ever wanted, where the stakes are not just wealth or power but the fragile thing that is you.
The night is quiet outside your shared apartment, the soft hum of the IPC offices a distant lull, yet here, in your bed, the universe narrows until nothing exists beyond the press of your skin against his. Naked and tangled together after the fevered abandon of lovemaking, Kakavasha molds his body against yours as if you could become one. He holds you like you are the rarest treasure, the one thing in all the cosmos he cannot gamble away. Between you, silence settles. Every heartbeat is a confession. Every sigh is a vow.
Aventurine threads his fingers through your hair, tugging you just slightly closer, as if the world outside could only exist if you were in his arms. You trace small kisses over his jaw, his temple, his cheek in response, each one whispered and feather-light, as if the fragility of this moment could shatter under too much weight. His lips part with a sigh as your fingers brush the terrible mark on his neck, a scar that tells stories of survival, of tragedy, of a boy who was sold, abandoned, and yet rose to power.
You whisper his real name, "Kakavasha", and the sound of it trembles on your lips. His eyes close, glimmering with something heartbreakingly tender, and he tilts his head to capture your mouth with his.
He wants to answer, but words are useless when the press of your body against his says it all. He folds himself around you, every curve, every line of muscle pressing as if to become one with you, as if breathing is impossible without the warmth of your skin, without your tender heartbeat against his. Your hands roam over the scarred skin of his back, touching, tracing, memorizing, grounding him.
He tears himself from you only to murmur, "I love you," more to himself than to you, a promise that tomorrow is worth waking up for because you exist, because you are here.
After all, you keep chosing him.
Aventurine kisses you again, this time with a fierceness that contradicts the gentleness of before, holding you with a hunger that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with devotion. Each press of his lips carries the weight of every gamble he has ever taken, every life he has lost, every calculated risk that led him here, to you. You feel the faint shiver of vulnerability beneath his strength, the rare glimpse of a man who doesn’t hide behind smiles or charm, who is simply Kakavasha in your arms.
You return his kiss softly, letting him feel your certainty.
When you part, he buries his face in your shoulder like a child, inhaling the faint trace of your shampoo, the soothing scent of your skin. His hands slide down your back, the pads of his fingers brushing the sensitive skin along your spine, mapping every inch of you, committing it to memory. You laugh softly when he nips at your collarbone, a sharp contrast to his previous neediness, a small display that breaks the tension and reminds you that he is human, flawed, and perfect all at once. Aventurine hums against your neck, a sound of contentment and need, and you tilt your head to press your forehead to his.
You trace the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the faint crease between his brows, and he leans into your touch, eyes glazed, sighing as if every worry has dissolved into the simplicity of being held. You whisper his name again, "Kakavasha", and he clutches you tighter, not wanting to let go. He nuzzles his nose against yours in a small display of affection, and a giggle escapes him. You mirror him, pressing back, laughing softly as your noses brush together again and again. His giggle vibrates through you with a mixture of joy, relief, and a pain that only someone who has survived everything alone can carry.
He buries his face in your collarbone after a few seconds, wrapping you impossibly close, murmuring your name like a prayer. His fingers rub small circles over your hipbone as he sighs against your chest. You kiss the top of his head, letting the warmth of your body remind him that home is not a place, but a person.
Just like this, you both drift into sleep, clinging to each other as if the night itself might steal the moment away. Kakavasha is finally calm, knowing that when morning comes, he will wake with your name on his lips, still wholly, achingly in love with you.
The Great Herta
tws: horny scholars (1/2), possessive behaviour, dollification(?) , you are her assistant.
Herta kisses you like the taste of your lips could be cataloged and studied, archived in her mind alongside all the brilliant formulas and theories she cherishes.
The Genius leans in a bit too close in her pristine laboratory, surrounded by the hum of machinery and the faint scent of antiseptic and exotic metals surrounding you both. Her sharp eyes glint as she tilts your chin upward with one demanding finger. Her other hand lingers over the fabric of your clothes as if deciding how best to alter them, how best to dress you in her aesthetic of controlled perfection.
You’ve always been plain, almost painfully ordinary. Just a statistic in a world that seems to value the extraordinary. But to Herta, that ordinariness is a canvas, a vessel she can shape. You shift uneasily under her scrutiny, acutely aware that her mind is racing far ahead, calculating, analyzing something that you couldn't even dream of comprehending.
“Assistant,” she says, stepping back just enough to examine you fully with her head tilted, one hand on her hip in that imperious stance you’ve learned to recognize, “I’ve been thinking… we should make a doll of you. A miniature, perfect replica of you.”
Her eyes spark with a mischievous glint, and you can almost hear the little hum of pride that always accompanies her genius. But those words make your chest tighten with something ugly.
“A doll… of me?” you whisper, uncertain. Her words send the cold brush of reality against your skin, the knowledge that perhaps she sees you as nothing more than an object, a vessel to satisfy her obsessive whims.
“Herta… I- I don’t know if that’s-”
“Shh,” she interrupts, observing you like a predator admiring a prize. Her fingers trace lightly along your jawline, brushing your lips, eliciting a shiver.
“So predictable. You worry you are insufficient for me, don’t you?”
Before you can respond, she closes the distance, pinning you gently yet unrelentingly against the cool, sterile wall. Her lips press to yours, firm and possessive, and you can feel the subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in her body, betraying how deeply her feelings really are. She presses her finger against your chest, right over your heart, and you avert your gaze in shame.
“You underestimate yourself. To me, you are extraordinary. But I want everyone else to know it too, and that is why dolls are necessary. Each of you for each of me.”
You remember the fleeting glimpse of Herta's fury when she saw another staff member leaning too close to you the other day. It was a rare tantrum that left her sharp and glowing with barely restrained possessiveness. And now, pressed against her, you understand fully: the Member #83 of the Genius Society wants you, all of you, and she is not willing to share even a fragment of your attention.
“I only wanted to make puppets of you for… emotional purposes,” she whispers against your lips, and you taste a mixture of steel and honey in her breath. Her hands are on your waist, pressing you closer, claiming the space that is hers by right.
“So that no one- no one- dares to flirt with you again. Do you understand?” Her gaze pierces yours, unapologetic and intensely focused. You nod, and she tugs at your collar, pressing possessive kisses over your neck. They bloom into the purple immediately, and you let out a small moan that makes her smirk.
“I- Miss Herta, someone might walk in,” you murmur nervously, still conscious of the pristine environment and the potential dangers. Her eyes only flash with defiance and amusement.
“Irrelevant. I am more concerned with you than with trivial intrusions-" her tone is unyielding but carries the same intoxicating vulnerability she rarely allows anyone to glimpse, "-and I demand your kisses.” She tilts your head to the side again, waiting, her breath brushing your mouth as she leans her forehead against yours.
“Come on,” she says, a sly smirk playing on her perfect lips, “create some problems with me~”
You can feel the weight of her desire hanging heavy over you. It is intense, concentrated, possessive, a tidal force contained within the curve of her lips and the precise placement of her hands. Your fingers curl against her waist in a desperate need to answer her invitation. Herta lets you lean in, humming contentedly, her plush lips demanding more and more affection. Even if you try to take the lead, in this dance, it's she who puts on the music and adjusts the rhythm.
When you part, smooth hands trail along your arms, thumbs brushing over your skin in patterns that feel both instructional and intimate. Herta adjusts your posture, your shoulders, the tilt of your chin, and each movement is both a study and a possession.
“There,” she murmurs, her voice softening just enough to send shivers down your spine, “much better. You are… my perfect little assistant.”
Your chest tightens with a mix of anxiety and longing. You’ve never felt so simultaneously admired and scrutinized, so observed and yet protected. In her usual brilliance, Herta senses the swirl of your emotions, and a faint smirk curls her lips.
“Ah… there it is. That little hesitation again. That tiny doubt. It is what makes you human… yet to me, it only makes you more desirable.” She presses another kiss to your lips, lingering longer, her tongue tracing the barest outline of your mouth in a possessive way. You gasp softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of her attention.
“I could spend eternity studying you like this,” she murmurs, “Exploring every nuance, every reaction… And I'll always want more-” her fingers tighten slightly around your wrists, “and more,” she repeats firmly, "and more," her voice dropping into a tone that is equal parts commanding and vulnerable.
“I want to show you that you are more than enough. That your existence is extraordinary to me.”
By the time Herta steps back, your cheeks flushed and your lips tingling, she is grinning that brilliant, infuriating grin of hers.
“Tonight,” she murmurs, “I will prove again that you are more than a statistic. That you are enough. More than enough. And you will understand exactly how exquisite it is to be mine.”
Dr. Ratio
tws: horny scholars (2/2), explicit content, anal sex (to keep reader gender-netural), Ratio is kinda autistic but hopelessly in love.
Dr. Ratio kisses you like a theorem being folded into skin, precise and inevitable, each angle tested until the solution holds.
By day Veritas is all about economy and measurement, kissing you while staring at some complex mathematical equations. Those kisses are never loud, never needy; they are the soft gratitude for your visits to his university office with a warm meal, pressed absentmindedly to your cheek, nose, or jaw. It is a tiny algebra of affection that Ratio tucks away and solves later in the privacy of his head.
But when evening folds the hallways into shadow and the outside noises thin to a hush, his restraint dissolves like chalk in rain. The office door clicks; the stacks of papers become a faraway island where his mind is no longer needed. Veritas closes his codex with an audible click, the sound of his focus snapping shut, and the man who has mapped the geometry of everything gives himself over to something he cannot reduce to theorem.
Ratio comes home and he comes to you.
The time before bed is when his mind slows down. The lights dim to the soft halo of a single lamp in the corner of your bedroom. You curl under the sheets with a worn romance novel, pages dog-eared where you favor the sentences. Veritas lays to your side with a slab of a book that folds logic into tight knots. For a while you read in companionable silence, the quiet of evening hours folding around you.
Then his book slides shut. He does not look embarrassed or theatrical about the motion, Veritas makes it decisive because precision is comfort to him. Slowly, he folds himself into the space on your side, until his long limbs tangle with yours. He is ungainly in the gentlest way because all his competence is reserved for equations and experiments, not for the small choreography of tenderness. His head rests heavy on your chest, ear pressed against your sternum, and you feel him breathe as if inhaling the sum of you.
Then, his lips begin their path along the valley of your front. He finds the beat of your heart near your collarbone and linger as if mesmerised by the proof of living. Then upper, along the column of your throat and the line of your jaw.
When his lips finally find yours, the kiss is long and interrogative, searching for a metric that will hold. You wrap your arms around him, books forgotten, and he relaxes like a student who finally understands the theorem. Ratio hums against your mouth, voice soft with the astonishment of not being able to solve the shape of you.
“You are… hard to quantify,” he murmurs, voice bright and brittle against your cheek.
“Let me try again. For science.”
For a moment his tone is cold, like the plaster head that he wears. Then his hands find your hips and the atmosphere changes. Veritas studies your curves again and again as if he can catalog every centimeter and reaction. His touch is expert because he knows your architecture by heart. He has traced these maps in countless moments, memorized the angles where you tremble. Slim fingers that explore between your thighs are warm and insistent.
Ten minutes later, you kneel on the bed, warm and ready for him, your back arched and your lips parted. Ratio positions himself behind you with that same efficiency he applies to everything he learns. His hands hook under your armpits to pull you closer. His chest presses to your back and his mouth finds the patch of skin at your neck, sucking and whispering small nothings.
Veritas pushes in slowly, not because he is tentative but because he is calibrating. The stretch is exquisite and welcomed, and he monitors your face as if checking instruments. His hips angle just how you like it, then snap with a delicious rhythm that surprises him into a mistimed grunt.
“So tight,” he breathes, each word a punctuation mark. “You are exquisite,” he adds, voice breaking on the last syllable. He sucks at the nape of your neck with a muffled praise.
And when he id finally moves, it feels like a fireworks bollm under your eyelids. Its savoury, its achingly desperate, it makes your body tremble and burns in your stomach. It better than any action that you have had before meeting the pompous scholar.
And mind you, he is also affected by the feeling of you. You squeeze him so tight, take him so well and snug that Ratio goes cross-eyed behind you in a best possible way. He dirty talks in the way only he can: factual fragments that turn erotic because of the heat in his voice.
“I am filling you-” he says, absurd in its textbook bluntness, “-and this is optimal. You are calibrated to my geometry.”
Between those clinical confessions Veritas groans and stumbles on metaphors, alternating between ownership and worship. His stare softens into something unguarded, zeroing in on how your face contorts in pleasure.
"I must be violating every protocol," he pants, "but your compliance yields the most efficient results." His voice is rougher when he speaks mid-thrust.
"I like the way you compress, the way you take me. Measure me with your insides again," Ratio commands and then is aghast at his own wantonness. You push back on the trembling legs, meeting his rhythm with an urgency.
Veritas groans your name – he is terrible at pet names, so it comes out simple – then laughs, breathless and thrilled, the sound reverberating against your back as he speeds up, letting you get more addicted to being full of him.
He kisses the back of your neck again and again, mouth hot and wet, while his work in a rhythm that is nothing like the measured beats of his laboratory metronome. His hands are merciless and precise, fingers digging into the softness of your hips, thumbs pressing into the curve where your ribs fold into your waist.
You come apart with a cry that is animal in the best possible way. Ratio follows not long after with a stuttered arch, his body shuddering against yours as he fills you.
The aftercare is your favorite time. Ratio lays you down gently on the sheets, tucking you in like a puzzle piece he refuses to lose. Then he traces the line of your spine with his fingers, murmuring instructions into the air: “Breathe with me for ten counts,” “Stay still,” “Are you warm enough?” “I’ll bring you some water.”
The next morning Veritas is in his office at 8.00 am sharp, as usual, preparing for the long day of curing idiocy. The room hums softly with the sound of his measured steps as he gathers the materials for the lessons he must teach.
Yet everything he touches feels meaningless without you.
His notebook lies open on the desk, and in the corner your name is written with delicate precision, enclosed by countless little hearts that he has traced over and over until the ink began to smudge. A framed photo of you rests on the desk, glass slightly stained with his lip-prints, as though by kissing the glass he might commit every detail of your face deeper into his memory. Even the open page of his notes betrays his usual coldness, for there again your name lingers, ringed by those small desperate hearts, each mark proof of a love so consuming it spills past his control and stains everything he touches.
Feixiao
tws: no honry scholars in this one, only longing foxians, angsty, hurt/comfort
Feixiao kisses you like someone afraid of forgetting what love tastes like, as if every brush of her lips must etch itself into memory before war or fate can steal it away.
The mist over Rainsoar Lake clings to your clothes, to your lashes, to the hollow of your throat when you watch a peaceful landscape in front of you. Yellow heart blossoms drift past, landing on the water's surface like a golden blanket. Fishes leap and clap water against the air, gulls of sound in the hush.
Something shifts behind you.
"You always do this," you say, voice small in the mist. "Sneak up on me and then act like it is my fault for not noticing you."
Feixiao laughs with a sound that scatters the mist into finer beads. Her hand finds your body immediately and her fingers possessively curl around your waist.
"I knew you would be here," she says, stepping in front of you, blocking the peaceful scenery. When you frown at the audacity, she smirks and steals a sly peck from your lips.
Immediately, you relax in her gentle embrace. Your hands crawl under her coat, to the scar on her back that runs like a calligraphy stroke, painting the ail skin with pinkish hue. Now, you can recall its shape from memory. It’s narrow, but crude. But most importantly, you know that this is an old road she refuses to walk now but that still defines the direction of her steps.
In the lamplight of the lake, every scar of hers looks like a constellation. You trace them with your fingertips, and Feixiao lets out a sound that is not entirely a grunt but something closer to a purr.
The blossoms press their perfume into the air, sweet and heavy, and the petals stick to her coat and to your hair. Each time a fish explodes from the lake you see the motion in her jaw and the twitch in her ears: the hunt that is both memory and promise. You know your touch helps to keep her steady, so you keep soothing her aches with your hands.
"Feixiao," you murmur her name, because speech will not be wasted even under water and under mist. She shifts closer and her answer is a softer thing than you expected.
"You say it as if you are making a promise," she says against your lip. Her voice is a low thing, cheeky and dangerous, a soldier's laugh. "Say it again."
So you do.
“Feixiao,” the syllables come out like an offering.
Foxian hums and kisses you properly then, like a beast who has learned the art of gentling her touch. It is soft at first, too measured and almost ethereal. Her mouth fits around yours with the confidence of someone who knows where to press so things will not break.
But of course, there is a hidden wildness there because Feixiao is made of storms. When you part your lips, yearning, inviting, the kiss deepens, teeth and tongue finding one another in a soft insistence. Her hands move, one cupping your face with an intimacy that cracks something open inside you. The other firm hand slides down to your waist, anchoring you to her.
"You are warm-" Feixiao says suddenly, breaking the kiss long enough to press her forehead to yours. Rain threads down the fur on her ear, forehead, cheek, and finally mixes with the tears you didn’t notice you cried, "-and dangerous for me."
You laugh, small and breathless, because you want to soothe her aches so badly, yet you know that it is never enough to calm the beast inside her mind.
"You are supposed to be the dangerous one. You carry the title," the only thing you can say through the bile in your throat.
She snorts with amusement.
"Great General-" Feixiao repeats, using the title everyone uses to make her larger than a simple human, “-is a Lacking one.”
Her confession presses even harder into your heart. It’s not the emotion fully, no. It blooms like a poisoned flower between your ribs. You reach for the sprouting weed there, and Feixiao frames your hand in hers as if to show you a map of your own body.
The rain gathers around the syllables, approving or indifferent, you cannot decide. A fish keeps leaping near the reeds, scattering droplets that sparkle like punctuation. Feixiao smiles, and the fox in her creases into something softer, something younger and girlish at once.
"Will you spend this night with me?" she asks, absurdly direct as always.
You answer honestly, because loving her rewards bluntness.
"I will. And I will not-" you hesitate, because there are vows you cannot make for battles she might have to fight alone, "-I will never ever leave your side," you feel the tears build up again.
"Good," Feixiao says, and then kisses you again, this time slower and more deliberate. Her teeth gently press at the seam of your lower lip as if checking for breakage. The kiss becomes a conversation without words.
At one point she pulls back to look at you again, rainwater beading at the lashes of her teal-ringed eyes. There is the flash of something very old inside them.
"Stay."
You do stay, because you want to be a witness and harbour, because you want to be the calm island in a life seamed with storms.
You rest your hand against the scar at her collarbone, and Feixiao leans into the pressure as if it is the only thing steady in a changing world. Around you the lotuses bob and the turtles blink. A fish makes another impatient splash. The rain continues its soft, tireless hymn.
"Promise me… nothing-" she says after a long moment, voice low and absolute, "-but this: if I ever become the hunter and you will be my pray,“ she stills because this one thought, that she could hurt you of all people, almost makes her gag from fear. Yet, she continues, “-make me remember this moment. Make me remember that you will meet me with a kiss upon returning."
You smile, and the smile is a promise to be cherished.
“I will.”
.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!
I love Feixiao, but she seems to have so little recognition in the fandom that it physically hurts me. Also, did I say that writing for Ratio is a big pain in the ass? Well, now, I definitely did.
P.S. I'll proofread it later, rn I'm just too tired :c
Aaaand I'm open for character suggestions for the next part!
I just like the idea of a woman as prideful as Herta, bending over backwards for only one person in the universe; her wife. She normally does not heed orders from anyone, but when her wife is the one calling all the shots, suddenly Herta is all quiet. Ruan Mei and Screwllum definitely pick up on this change whenever you enter the room, and it isn’t exactly subtle.
I like to imagine Herta firing off at someone at a meeting because they annoyed the hell out of her, and then when you walk in she’s suddenly super polite and apologetic.
“Ah…I am…sorry for raising my voice, but it was horribly incompetent of you—” she sees you in the corner of her eye shaking your head, and she quiets down. “…Never mind. Forget I brought it up, just do better.”
Herta gets significantly nicer when you are around. Her employees love having you around because of it, it seems like Herta doesn’t want to make you angry so she is more calm and compliant than usual. Probably because you scold her at home about being too hard on her workers, so she actually takes your advice and follows them….when you are watching of course 😅
Also, hear me out on Herta letting you do whatever you want in her office. You don’t even have to knock, just walk into her office, clamber into her lap like a cat (it doesn’t even matter if she’s working), and she’d just…let you. She may let out a small grunt of annoyance, but she doesn’t say anything because she lets you walk all over her in the end. Herta doesn’t want to admit it but she is whipped for her wife, and you can actually push your luck with her boundaries by pulling this stunt when she’s in a meeting with others.
Just Herta talking with a subordinate in her office when you suddenly walk in, climb into her lap without a word, and Herta just continues on with her conversation. The worker she is talking to is heavily flustered and awkward, but Herta just gives them a look like “Say something, I dare you.”
Himeko, Feixiao, and Kafka giving hickeys to s/o shorter then them.
I love your content btw, and I ope you have a good evening, day or night.
(H:SR) Himeko, Feixiao, Kafka, Acheron, Herta, Qingque, Serval, and Rappa giving their S/O hickeys
Thanks for the kind words! Hope you enjoy!
Mild NSF-W Implications
Himeko notices the lipstick marks on her S/O's neck the moment she glances their direction.
A small part of her blushes upon realizing it, but didn't bring it up immediately as a small smile forms on her lips.
Right now there was no one in the car with them, so why rush?
(Himeko) "Dear?"
(S/O) "Hm? What's up?"
She points to her own neck, a hint of mischief accompanying her tone as she spoke up.
(Himeko) "I think there's a spot on you right...here."
S/O's face goes bright red at that, immediately scrambling to rub it off much to Himeko's laughter.
(Himeko) "You're lucky I pointed it out. Depending on the mood, I'm not sure I would've.~"
Feixiao smirks at the mark left on S/O, knowing she was the cause of it.
It was a lovely shade of red on their neck, why change it? Hell, why even mention it?
Everyone knew that S/O was with Feixiao, might as well show proof of it!
(S/O) "Ow ow ow...!"
Immediately, their hand went to their hickey, pouting ever so slightly. Looks like there was no need to mention that it was there after all.
(S/O) "Did you have to bite so hard...?!"
Feixiao laughed, hugging S/O closer as their head rested on her chest.
(Feixiao) "Come ooon! Little cutie like you? How could I resist?~"
Of course Kafka would leave hickeys on S/O. That wasn't a question of if, just when.
It didn't even have to be in bed, it could've just been a kiss or two and she would've left multiple anyway.
Regardless, Kafka's eyes drift down to where she left marks, trailing from their shoulder to the side of their neck.
Admiring her work as one hand drifted under her chin, Kafka leaned further into the mattress, the other dragging a finger across their body and making S/O shiver from the sensation.
(Kafka) "Think this will get the message across that you're taken?"
(S/O) "There are better ways to do it, I'd think..."
Their blush betrayed their feelings, S/O unable to look Kafka directly in the eyes.
Something that made her laugh, the sultry tone of it lulling S/O closer.
(Kafka) "I guess having a picture of me on your phone would be just as entertaining...but where's the fun in that when I don't get to hear your cute little moans?"
S/O had nothing to retort her flirting, the tip of their ears flushing red again.
Acheron blinks at the bite marks left all over S/O's body. They were panting heavily while she was relatively still full of stamina.
Unsurprising to the both of them, really. But what was shocking:
(S/O) "I...didn't know you were a biter."
(Acheron) "I read somewhere that 'hickeys' was a sign of affection, so I thought it'd be worth a shot."
A little smile formed on the corner of her lips, staring at S/O.
(Acheron) "...Was it?"
(S/O) "I might be a little sore after, but...I'd say so. Just might need to cover it when we go out to eat later."
...Wait a second-
(S/O) "Acheron, hold on. Where did you read that?"
(Acheron) "Oh, I had found a strange store in the Golden Hour. I got lost trying to find a place for us to eat and found it. Their magazines were a little...graphic, but I managed to flip to the excerpt talking about it."
Well, they didn't really expect any less from Acheron.
...But it felt pretty good, so they didn't mind too much.
Herta is already adjusting her hat back on, seemingly unaffected while S/O was out of breath and borderline on the verge of death.
The amount of hickeys they had was comical, being marked all over their body.
(Herta) "Hm...Short of breath, heartrate is abnormally high, arousal levels are..."
As S/O struggled to get up, Herta continued muttering to herself as she flipped her hair back, not even turning back to her lover.
(S/O) "T-That was just an experiment...?!"
(Herta) "One that you enjoyed greatly, it seems. Though, I did as well."
Nodding to herself and checking something off in a tablet before a Puppet Herta fetched it from her, she clapped her hands as if to get S/O off their feet with the gesture.
(Herta) "Come now, we must move onto phase two. The social ramifications of such markings must be observed with my eyes."
(S/O) "I...have to show everyone your hickeys?!"
(Herta) "Naturally. Why else would I bother to go through the effort of covering you all over myself?
(S/O) ?!
(Herta) "...Oh, don't give me that look! It's not as if I'm sending you out there naked."
Qingque snickers to herself, knowing the kind of present she left on S/O's neck.
But it was thanks to her sinister smile that S/O figured out quickly what she gave them.
(S/O) "Q-Qingque! Come on, I have to go to work! I won't have time to cover this!-"
(Qingque) "Oh, it's not a big deal! It's just a symbol of our love!"
(S/O) "You're only saying this because you can cover yours up with the collar...!"
(Qingque) "Maaaaaybe?~"
With a final kiss to S/O's neck, she waved goodbye.
(Qingque) "I'm off to work as well!"
(S/O) "That's a bold faced lie..."
Serval couldn't help but laugh at the smidge of lipstick smeared on their neck. And that wasn't even mentioning the other clearly visible marks left on it either.
(Serval) "Think I might've gotten a little carried away.~"
(S/O) "O-Ow, you think?!"
Serval rolled her eyes, but there was no hostility to it as she snuggled closer, dragging the sheets over them.
(Serval) "Oh don't be such a baby. It'll fade by tomorrow...Probably."
(S/O) "With how hard you did it, I doubt it."
(Serval) "Ouch, don't want your girlfriend to show much she loves you?"
(S/O) "Serval, I have inspection tomorrow! The first thing every soldier is gonna notice is the fact I have something on my neck!"
(Serval) "Please, you're wearing heavy armor and a fur coat! Who the heck's gonna notice something like that?"
...
(Gepard) "...S/O?-"
(S/O) "Please don't ask, sir..."
Did Rappa leaving love marks on S/O count as graffiti training?
...No, not really. But it was still something she wants to do more now! She could use this as a form of training!-
Is what she thinks of for a response when asked by her S/O why she did that.
Truthfully, she just wanted to show how much she loved them without words or art.
Though this was only a temporary artform, it'd still mean a lot to her and S/O!
...Mostly S/O since they were the one having to display it.
Thankfully for her, any hickey that could've been seen was covered by her clothes.
(Rappa) "Ninja Koibito, do you require assistance?"
Their hand rubbed the spots she had bit, wincing a little in pain.
(S/O) "Ack! I don't think there's anything you can do."
(Rappa) "Nonsense! I can immediately think of something!"
She immediately leans them back into the bed, a mischievous smile forming as she nibbled the tip of their ear, hearing them yelp.
Falling asleep while waiting for them to finish their work
ft. Albedo, Chiori, Dan Heng, Herta
Angsty undertones because of slight negligence, but it's mostly just domestic fluff <3
wc: ~500 each
A/n: No one asked but I started writing this with Herta's part. First time writing for hsr and of course it starts with Herta. I love her so much it's not even a joke 😭😭. Then came Dan Heng, then Chiori because I've been dying for Chiori for ages (have 170+ wishes and her best supports waiting for her), and then Albedo because my 2021 Albedo obsession era apparently never ended.
Albedo
You creak open the door to Albedo's office, watching his back as he moves around the room with measured steps.
Despite having returned from Dragonspine for a few days, your lover seemed as busy as ever, practically being glued to his office in the knight's headquarters.
Thankfully, you were able to put Klee to sleep. The little elf had insisted on wanting to stay awake and wait for her brother, but a few bedtime stories were all it took to have her fall asleep in your lap. After tucking her in, you had decided to visit Albedo to check in on him, hoping to be able to take him with you to slumber.
But seeing how invested he looked in whatever he was currently doing, you debated against it.
The door closes with a soft creak. You lean against the wall next to the door and sigh, unsure of how to approach the alchemist and convince him to take a break.
At this point, this has to be called over-working, you worry.
You slowly slide yourself to rest on the ground, head propped against the wall as drowsiness starts clouding your eyes.
You could try waiting for him. You want to wait for him.
Surely you won’t fall asleep here, right?
You trace the carvings on the wall with your eyes and listen carefully for the soft footsteps of the knights on night duty. The serene atmosphere of the Favonius Headquarters at night only makes your drowsiness worse, like being in a comfortable cot, being lulled to sleep.
Despite how quiet your actions have been, Albedo hears them loud and clear. He heard the soft creak of the door, and he hears the soft thud of you landing on the ground. A frown makes its way onto his face, curious about what you are doing here so late at night.
He wraps his work up as quickly as he can, settling the books on the side of his table and aligning and tucking the papers under weights.
When he steps outside, he finds you with your back against the wall, sound asleep.
Both fondness and guilt crash over him at once, as he realises that you were waiting for him. He kneels down, a hand over his knee and the other caressing your face.
He uses his index to press your cheek, but you don't even stir. He sighs, realising that he would have to carry you back. He has never been the strongest person, always needing an extra hand to carry his boxes around, but Albedo is always willing to make an extra effort for you.
So he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then hooks his arms under your body, lifting you up and letting your head rest against his chest.
He smiles fondly at the sight of you in his arms, and then starts heading out and towards your home, determined to wake up in your arms the next morning.
Chiori
You neatly fold the fabrics and pat out the dresses on the mannequins. It’s almost completely dark and quiet outside now, with only the street-lamps illuminating Fontaine’s streets.
Chiori still seems busy working on a dress, and from the looks of it, she won’t be taking a break any time soon.
“Chio…”
“I know what you’re going to say. And yes, I will come sleep. Just after finishing a few more bits. I want to finish this dress by tomorrow afternoon, so that I can make any adjustments and have it ready for the event by the day after.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard, alright? Let me know if I can help in any way.”
She hums, eyes still fixated on the dress she is working on.
A few minutes turn into multiple. You keep going back and forth between the boutique’s main area and the backrooms, watching your lover engrossed in her work.
With how resolute she looks about finishing the dress tonight, rather than by tomorrow as she earlier mentioned, you doubt that she’s getting any sleep, let alone going back home to rest.
For nights like these, Chiori had already prepared a make-shift bed to sleep in, just so it would be more convenient for her to immediately get back to work in the morning. From what you understand, she often spent her nights in the boutique before you got both together. Having you waiting for her is what helped her control her workaholic nature and return home for respite.
How she maintained her health with the way she over-works herself is beyond you.
The least you could do is support her — by bringing her coffee the way she likes it or by checking in on her and by reaffirming her when she needs it.
And perhaps by adding a few more layers of clothes to make her make-shift bed more comfortable. Instead of heading home alone, you decide you stay with her in the boutique, even if it means spending the entire night there.
Chiori reaches out to the bottle of water on her side desk, expecting it to be half-empty only to find it completely filled. That’s what finally breaks her focus, as she settles her needles down and turns the bottle around in her hand. Did you fill it for her…?
She looks out of the shop’s window and is met with the darkness of the night enveloping Fontaine. When did it get this late?
Chiori quickly puts away the needles and threads, leaving them in a spot comfortable enough for her to immediately pick her work up again in the morning. She heads to the door only to realise that it was locked from the inside.
It could only mean one thing, she thinks to herself, that you haven’t left.
So she heads to the backrooms and finds you there, sleeping comfortably on the make-shift bed, with ample space left for her to fit into. It makes her eyes soften with adoration but chest tighten with the guilt of having ignored you because of work.
Quietly but swiftly, she undoes her hair, letting the intricately made braids fall loosely around her shoulders. Dimming the lights and changing into lighter clothing, she slips onto the mattress, trying not to wake you.
You stir in your sleep, partly aware of your lover’s presence, as you let her crawl into your arms and snuggle against your chest.
“Chio…” you mumble.
“I’m here.”
“Mmm…”
You’re still here. Despite how her workaholic tendencies keep her away. Despite her often sharp-tongue due to her straight-forward nature. Despite the rumours her competitors try to spread to stir the market.
You are still here, and she couldn't be more grateful for that.
Dan Heng
The archives room is quiet, except for the soft buzz of the monitor and the clicking of the keyboard.
It feels colder tonight too. Normally, you would rely on Dan Heng's body heat to beat the cold, but with him still filing archives, all you can do is tug his hoodie closer and watch the back of his chair as he works.
Dan Heng might not be the warmest person you know (in terms of body heat, at least), but to you, his slightly cold skin mixed with his warm embrace is the heavenliest thing in the cosmos.
"Are you done yet..."
"Sorry love, I'll be there soon."
"Mmm."
You don't really mind it. He prefers finishing his work before time, hating backlogs. And in turn, that helps him plan more of his time with you.
But sometimes, you really do wish that he would cut himself a little slack and indulge in more temporary pleasures (such as immediately cuddling with you to sleep, because your cravings are making tonight feel extra cold and you need him beside you pronto).
The sound of inconsistent sighs being replaced by steady breathing catches Dan Heng’s attention. “Love?” He looks in your direction to realise that you have fallen asleep, with your body still facing him.
He glances between the digital clock on his system and your limp body, realising that it’s been longer than he realised.
Oh.
He quickly closes the system, not even bothering to arrange the files neatly as he slips in beside you. “You shouldn’t have let me get away with it…” He mutters, feeling guilty for having left you waiting.
“Mmm…Heng…” you mumble something in your sleep as you snuggle closer to him, subconsciously moving towards his neutral, but comforting scent.
Dan Heng helps you get into a comfortable position, resting his hand on your waist and watching as you bury your head in his chest. You’re clingier when asleep and he adores that.
“Work can wait, but not these moments with you. I’ll try to be more careful next time. I’m sorry.” He’s sure that you couldn’t hear a word he was saying, that he was just talking to the air. But he still mentally notes to himself to keep a closer eye on the time and to not let you fall asleep waiting for him.
And to apologise properly in the morning, probably by spending some quality time together. Maybe a date would be nice? It’s been a while since the two of you spent a tranquil day out together.
He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and rests his head in the crook of your neck.
Work may be never-ending, but he can handle it — no, he will handle it. Anything, to ensure that he isn’t neglecting your needs, his needs.
Anything, to ensure that he isn’t neglecting you.
Herta
You're not sure what caught her eye or suddenly piqued her interest this late at night. One moment, you were pulling the blanket over her as she got into bed with you, the next she was rushing towards her pile of blueprints as she quickly scribbled out whatever came to her mind.
You stare at her, confused and amused, a small smile playing at your lips. You push yourself back and rest against the bed's headboard, watching Herta get in the zone.
"Got new ideas?"
"Yes! You're a genius, my love. Well, of course you have to be at least a quarter as good as me since you're my partner. This just might give me my next big break in the development of the Divergent Universe. Haha Screwy better watch out, because I'm taking this one from him!" She quickly rattles out, her hand not stopping once as she pulls out two new pages and dips her quill in the ink bottle again.
You are not sure what you said for her to credit you like this, but this isn't the first time this has happened. You decide against asking her about it though, lest she ends up getting distracted and takes even longer to return to your shared bed.
"Do you want me to wait for you?"
"Your wish honestly, I'm not sure how long this will take but I promise you that I'll join you as soon as I'm done."
You hum, deciding to stay awake for as long as you can. You grab a book, opting to read it to keep you engaged while you wait.
By the time Herta has finished her work, you are fast asleep, with the book you were reading lying flat on your chest.
She stretches her arms and sighs contently at the sight, though with a small pang of guilt for having kept you waiting for so long.
Carefully, so as to not awake you, she plucks the book away from your chest and replaces it with her head, snuggling closer. "Sorry to keep you waiting, dear." She whispers, before letting slumber claim her for the night.
To others, she seems apathetic and self-centred. And that isn't entirely wrong but when it comes to you? There's a side to her that she wouldn't dare show anyone else. Not because she's ashamed of it, but because she thinks that you are the only one who deserves to know her more domestic sides. <3
Herta, Feixiao, Constance and Kafka with Pregnant!Reader
☣⬅☆✧⭒✧☆⭑★✦⭑✦★➡︎☣ ❀ ☣⬅☆✧⭒✧☆⭑★✦⭑✦★➡︎☣
Herta
° Herta will definitely be surprised when she hears about your pregnancy. She's also not a fan of children because they're loud and require 24/7 care. But don't worry, she won't throw your baby away. She might be a little busy so she won't take care of you, but she'll definitely let her puppets take care of you! So don't be surprised when you wake up and your bed is surrounded by like 10 puppets, waiting for your command. She'll also punish them if they do shity work.
° Sometimes she stays home with you so her puppets don't get attached to you, because she's the original one obviously. So when you're trying to sleep, you can see the light coming from her side bed while she works. But she'll stop if the light bothers you too much. She falls asleep with her hand on your belly, rubbing it gently. But she's not even aware of doing that tho.
° Don't even try to force her to spend time with your child. It makes her feel strange to look at It. Not in a malicious way, of course. She uses her puppets to care for It. But one day, your child somehow ends up in her office, and she's forced to play with it. She curses a little when that thing dares to pull her hair. But strangely enough, she can't stay mad at It...
Feixiao
° She's a mother??? Cool! The first thought that literally popped into her head... She's the first to announce that her beloved has a child, a fact that almost the entire planet knows... She even visits Yukong, just to yapp about her beautiful wife, who's carrying HER child, and to ask for advice, because she has a daughter too. Poor Yukong has to listen to Feixiao's ramblings and tell her what to do and what not to do.
° Feixiao loves cuddling with you with her hand on your belly and feeling your baby kick, It makes her feel so relaxed. I think she loves smelling you too, because you smell just like her! She also makes sure to bring you everything you need in a flash so her wife doesn't have to wait too long!
° She's taking your child with her to watch her train, because one day it will be as strong as her! And then she'll have less to worry about her wife, because she'll have another warrior to protect you. Maybe your child will compete in the tournament someday too?
Constance
° Constance is an interesting character because once she chooses someone, she'll keep you all to herself (even if she doesn't look like it). Her reaction to your pregnancy is somewhere between surprise and joy, which brings a grin to her face. (Now that I think about it, I remember Constance's messages to Traiblazer about her "family." Imagine her talking about you and your child, asking Traiblazer for advice on what kind of mother she should be...)
° You can see how surprised everyone is to see her carrying your baby in a stroller like an innocent little angel. But despite this, everyone knows that she is far from an angel... She'd even take you on walks with her to show off you. Just to tease everyone about having a baby with you.
° But don't worry, Constance truly loves your child. She might teach it one or more of her tricks, but it's for its own good. Building a family with you is something she won't tire of. She wants to create more beautiful memories together, ones she won't burn.
Kafka
° Kafka is somewhere between a good mother and a bad one. Why? Because she's a wanted criminal by the IPC and shouldn't be putting her child in danger. But that doesn't stop her from starting a family with you! She'll do anything to keep her family happy.
° She's often away from home for work, but she always leaves you with someone she trusts (probably someone like Traiblazer, but I don't think they're the best at taking care..). When she's home, she loves to lie on the bed with you, having her hand your belly and feeling your baby kick.
° When your child is older, she tries not to take them on missions with her because she doesn't want her child to follow her example. But as your child grows, they become more curious about her work. So, she might break this rule a little. But she's very careful. But she'll understand your anger when you find out and will try to calm you down....
Tits, Ass or Thighs
Characters: The Herta, Kafka, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Jiaoqiu & Moze
Warning: Small nsfw mention in Dan Heng's part
When you ask The Herta, she loves your tits, they're so perfect to lay down on after an entire night of research and studying. They're comfortable and relaxing, and she can fall asleep anywhere as long as she's lying down on them.
Kafka on the other hand perfers your ass, if its looking at it or even giving it a small squeeze as she approaches from behind. She loves the way you become all flustered from her gaze or when she touches you. It's amusing to her to have you all flustered, and she'll do anything to get you in that state.
Dan Heng would prefer your thighs. He loves it whenever you wear outfits that accent them perfectly. They're beautiful, and he wants to let you know how beautiful they are. I also believe he LOVES thigh jobs and will ask you for them whenever he's pent up. (he also loves finishing on your thighs).
It's no secret that Jing Yuan is also a thigh lover. As lazy as he is, he loves sleeping on your lap whenever he has the chance. If he plans on dozing off mid-day and you're around, he always falls asleep on you before you could even protest. Even if you're in the middle of doing something, he'll gladly rest his head on your gorgeous thighs.
Since Jiaoqiu can't see anymore, he loves both your thighs and chest. With his vision lost, he relies on touch and other senses to make up for it. Whenever you guys are driving or sitting next to each other, he always has one hand on your upper thigh. He also loves lying face-first into your chest when you both are alone at night.
Moze prefers the part of you that's the most visually appealing, which for him is your chest. He loves the way your clothes bring out your chest in every outfit you wear, and whenever you don't notice he will stare at them.
---------
Part 1 Here (Blade, Phainon, Aventurine, Sunday & Mydei)
Part 3 Here (Firefly, Boothill, Aglaea, Anaxa, Castorice)
