Your stories are sooo scrumptious that if i could eat stories i would eat yours, its soo good and lovely.
I wonder if i can request, (if you haven't made one) where male characters (Gallagher, Welt, Jing yuan, Jiaoqiu and Phainon) finds *reader* reading a smut book. I read this scenario from a twst x reader one but I'm curious what hsr males would react of *reader* reading smut
Heat Between the Lines
Tags: Gallagher x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Welt x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Fluff, Teasing, Romantic Tension, Lighthearted Comedy, Emotional Undertones, Comfort.
The Sweet Dream Special had become a kind of sanctuary for you. The warm glow of the bar, the quiet hum of glasses being polished, and Gallagher’s steady presence behind the counter all created a space where time seemed to slow. Tonight, though, you weren’t here for drinks. You’d tucked yourself into the farthest booth with a book you’d been meaning to finish for weeks.
A very particular book.
You were so absorbed in the page—where the dashing mercenary was pressing the heroine against the wall, whispering scandalous things into her ear—that you didn’t notice Gallagher’s heavy steps approaching.
“Not ordering tonight?” His voice, deep and even, startled you.
You slammed the book shut so quickly it nearly bent the cover. “I, uh… no. Just reading.”
Gallagher raised a brow, the faint scar on his face catching the lamplight. He didn’t sit—he rarely did when on duty—but his red eyes flickered downward to the book on the table. His lips tugged into something almost like a smile.
“Seems like you were reading pretty intently.”
You tried to angle the book away, but he was too sharp. “It’s… literature.”
“Literature?” His voice carried the faintest hint of amusement. “That’s what they’re calling it now?”
Heat rushed to your face. “It’s… a story about relationships. Complex relationships.”
Gallagher leaned an elbow on the booth, his rugged frame casting a shadow over you. “Right. The kind where shirts are torn off every other page.”
You gawked at him. “You’ve read it?!”
He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “No. I’ve just lived long enough to recognize the look on someone’s face when they’re lost in… let’s say, vivid imagination.”
For a moment, you were too flustered to speak. He seemed perfectly content to let the silence linger, his eyes soft yet heavy, like he was watching something play out far beyond the present moment. Finally, he straightened, sighing.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
“…Tell who?” you muttered.
“The Family. The guests. Anyone. A secret like that belongs with a good drink.” He patted the flask at his hip, his expression unreadable. “Besides, everyone’s entitled to a little fantasy.”
There was something in his tone—a sadness, perhaps—that made your chest tighten. Before you could ask, he added, with the faintest ghost of a smirk:
“Though I have to admit, if you’re looking for practice, I mix better drinks than whatever rogue in that book could ever dream of.”
Your jaw dropped. “Gallagher!”
His low laugh rumbled through the bar, but as he walked away, you caught the way his shoulders slumped just slightly, as if your laughter had lifted something heavy from him.
And later, when he poured you a drink without you asking, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—his quiet melancholy wasn’t as impenetrable as it seemed.
The Express was unusually quiet. Most of the crew had gone off to explore the train, leaving you alone in the lounge with your book. Welt had left earlier with Himeko, so you assumed you had hours before anyone found you indulging in… well, this.
You turned the page quickly, eyes darting over the words as the dignified professor in the story dropped his scholarly pretense and—
“Interesting choice of reading material.”
The book nearly flew out of your hands. Welt Yang stood at the doorway, arms folded, cane in one hand, glasses catching the ambient light. His tone was even, but there was a dry edge of amusement that made your stomach twist.
“It’s not what it looks like!” you blurted.
He arched an eyebrow. “It looks like erotic literature.”
Your face burned. “It’s… character-driven!”
Welt chuckled under his breath, walking into the room with calm, measured steps. “Character-driven. Of course. Every groan and every half-buttoned shirt, full of character development.”
You wanted to sink into the couch and never return. But instead, you crossed your arms and tried to muster some courage. “Don’t you have better things to do than tease me?”
He sat across from you, leaning his cane against the side of the seat. His expression softened, though his brown eyes still glimmered with mischief. “Teasing? No. Just… observing. It’s rare to see you so absorbed.”
You muttered, “Absorbed in fictional relationships, thank you very much.”
Welt tilted his head, considering. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Stories help us reflect, even the scandalous ones. Perhaps especially those.”
You blinked, thrown off by his seriousness. “…You’re not embarrassed?”
“Embarrassed? No. I’ve seen and lived through far stranger things.” He gave a small, wry smile. “Though, I admit… it’s flattering.”
Your eyes widened. “Flattering?!”
“To think,” he continued smoothly, “that you could read about such passionate professors and still choose to spend your time here. With me.”
Your jaw dropped. “You—!”
He chuckled again, low and warm, leaning back comfortably. “Relax. I’m only teasing… mostly.”
The room felt too warm now, your pulse quick in your ears. Welt, as always, seemed entirely in control, leaving you to stew in your flustered mess. And yet, the faint curve of his smile suggested he found your reaction far more entertaining than the book itself.
The General’s office was quiet, save for the soft rustle of paper as you turned the page. You had been left waiting—again—as Jing Yuan handled official duties elsewhere. To pass the time, you’d pulled out a book, fully confident no one would disturb you.
Which was why your heart stopped when a lazy, amused voice floated from the doorway:
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
You froze. Slowly, you looked up. Jing Yuan leaned against the doorframe, golden eyes glinting with amusement, his arms crossed casually.
“General—!” You slammed the book shut.
“Ah, don’t stop on my account.” His lips curved into that infuriating, knowing smile. “I’ve seen that cover before. Not exactly the analects, is it?”
Your face flamed. “It’s… it’s just a story!”
“Mm. A very descriptive story, from what I hear.” He sauntered into the room, his long hair brushing against his armor as he circled your desk. You tried to hide the book under your sleeve, but his sharp eyes caught everything.
“You know,” he drawled, “if you wanted to read about passionate warriors and their conquests, you could have just asked me for my memoirs.”
You gawked. “You don’t have memoirs!”
“Not written down. Yet.” He leaned over, his face close enough that you could see the playful gleam beneath his lashes. “But I could dictate a few chapters, if you like.”
“Jing Yuan!”
His laughter was rich and unhurried, filling the room like warm sunlight. He finally eased back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist. You looked so… guilty.”
You covered your face with your hands. “I am guilty! You weren’t supposed to see that!”
He tilted his head, studying you with a rare, softened expression. “There’s no harm in it. Fantasy is part of what keeps us human, even those of us burdened by duty.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. He smiled gently this time, less teasing, more tender.
“Still,” he added, tone dropping lower, “if you’re going to dream of such things, I’d prefer to be the one you dream of.”
Your heart skipped. You were speechless, caught between indignation and something dangerously close to hope.
Jing Yuan only chuckled again, settling beside you as if nothing had happened, leaving you to simmer in your own thoughts while he pretended to nap.
The wind in Okhema carried the faint scent of smoke, though peace reigned for now. You sat on the steps of an abandoned staircase, book in hand, the golden light of sunset casting long shadows across the page.
Phainon had gone to patrol. You hadn’t expected him back so soon.
“Reading again?” His voice carried warmth and familiarity.
You looked up, startled, as his tall figure approached, his white hair catching firelight hues. Quickly, you tried to close the book—but his sharp eyes had already caught the cover.
“…Ah,” he said simply, stopping before you. “That kind of story.”
Your heart lurched. “It’s not what you think!”
Phainon tilted his head, curiosity and amusement mingling in his cyan eyes. “Really? Because it looks like the kind where the hero saves the world… in a very different way.”
You sputtered. “It’s—okay, yes, but—it’s not—!”
He chuckled, sitting beside you with the easy grace of someone long accustomed to making others feel at ease. “Don’t be embarrassed. Heroes in stories are always exaggerated. Larger than life. Fierce in battle, tender in private. It’s natural to want to believe in both sides.”
You blinked at him, taken aback by his sincerity. “…You’re not judging me?”
“Judging? No.” He gazed out at the horizon, expression bittersweet. “I’ve been called a hero, a deliverer, a savior. But those words… they don’t tell the whole story. People forget that a man can be flawed, uncertain, even afraid. That he might long for simple touches as much as grand victories.”
Your chest tightened. His words felt like they carried centuries of weight. You clutched the book closer, voice quiet. “…So you understand?”
Phainon smiled gently, eyes returning to you. “More than you know.”
You swallowed, your embarrassment mingling with something deeper, heavier. “Still… it’s embarrassing that you saw.”
He laughed softly, the sound rich with kindness. “Embarrassing? Perhaps. But not shameful. If anything, I’m glad you trust yourself enough to dream.”
“…Dream?”
“Yes.” His gaze softened, almost wistful. “Dreams of love, of closeness… even if they’re written in fire and ink. Without dreams, we’d have nothing to fight for.”
The silence that followed was charged, his words lingering like embers in your chest. Finally, he leaned a little closer, voice lower.
“Though, if you ever wish to test whether the heroes in those books are exaggerated… I wouldn’t mind being your proof.”
You froze, heat flooding your face. “Phainon—!”
But he only smiled that gentle, unshakable smile, the kind that made you believe dawn might truly come.
Crispin had never been a big fan of parties. He preferred quiet nights with a few friends, maybe a movie, maybe some board games. But tonight was different — it was Percival’s birthday, and everyone in their circle had insisted he come out.
The house was packed, the music loud, and Crispin did his best to blend into the background, nursing a soda while others danced, laughed, and shouted over each other.
Then came the game.
“Truth or Dare!” someone yelled, and suddenly Crispin found himself pulled into a circle of cheering, slightly tipsy friends. He thought he could get away with harmless truths — favorite color, biggest crush, most embarrassing middle school moment.
But then someone grinned at him. “Dare.”
Crispin froze. “What?”
“You’ve only been doing truths,” they teased. “C’mon, man. Live a little.”
The dare was simple — too simple, in fact — and that was what made it terrible. “Strip to your underwear and stay that way for five minutes.”
The room erupted in laughter and chants, and before Crispin knew it, he was standing in the middle of the living room, stripped down to his plaid boxers, hands on his head in disbelief.
The cheers got louder. Phones came out. Someone howled with laughter.
Crispin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He felt his face burning, his heart racing — half from embarrassment, half from adrenaline. Five minutes felt like forever.
But as the seconds ticked by, something strange happened. The laughter wasn’t cruel — it was oddly supportive. People clapped, shouted encouragement, even joined him in silly dances. By the end of it, Crispin couldn’t help but laugh along, his earlier humiliation melting into something unexpectedly liberating.
When the timer buzzed, he grabbed his jeans with a dramatic bow. “Never again!” he shouted, but he was smiling.
And deep down, he knew he’d never forget this night.
Reader who normally doesn’t wear makeup (they just don’t like feeling substances on their skin, which is unfortunately most products) but they come across a brand that they can actually tolerate and they take full advantage of it, looking nice in addition to dressing up a little for a casual outing on the Luofu with their beau Dan Heng—
—before dragging him away to a secluded corner for a heavy makeout session with no explanation for it whatsoever, kissing him silly and all over the face before deciding it’s enough and they leave to resume their activities.
And when Dan Heng steps out, he gets funny looks, snickering and winks from random passersby, even a few catcalls. Even one of the Cloud Knights in the area gives him a thumbs-up.
It’s not until he passes by a mirror or a window (something with a reflective surface) that he finally sees all the lipstick marks Reader left all over his face.
It’s fine if you don’t wanna write this, I just felt like sharing this silly idea. I think Dan Heng would have a cute reaction. 🤭
Mine to Claim
Summary: You decide to dress up a bit for a casual outing on the Xianzhou Luofu with Dan Heng, taking full advantage of a new makeup brand you can tolerate. Midway through your date, you drag him into a secluded corner for a spontaneous, passion-filled makeout session, leaving him dazed and covered in lipstick marks. Unbeknownst to him, you also leave a cheeky "MINE" written on his collarbone in lipstick. The aftermath? A flustered Dan Heng getting attention from amused passersby and realizing your handiwork only after catching his reflection.
Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Fluff, Established Relationship, Lighthearted Comedy, Playful Reader, Flustered Dan Heng, Lipstick Marks, Possessive Reader.
A/N: 🤭💕🫣I LOVE LIPSTICK KISSES!! (I hate lipstick in general because it's such a weird sensation on me just like how you described it🧍♀️)
The bustling streets of the Xianzhou Luofu were alive with activity, the air rich with the scent of spices and blooming flowers. You adjusted your outfit—a casual but elevated look you'd put together for your rare outing with Dan Heng. Normally, you wouldn’t bother with makeup, but the new brand you’d discovered had been a game-changer. The light, breathable formulas didn’t bother your skin, so you’d gone all out. A subtle shimmer on your eyelids, a touch of blush, and the pièce de résistance—a bold, rich lipstick shade that you’d been dying to try.
Dan Heng, ever reserved, didn’t comment much when you met up with him, but the subtle way his sharp gaze lingered a fraction longer than usual was all the validation you needed. The two of you strolled through the Luofu, sampling street food and admiring the intricate architecture. Despite the casual nature of your outing, Dan Heng looked as composed as ever, his dark attire and serene expression drawing a few admiring glances from passersby.
But you had a plan.
Spotting a secluded corner down an alley, you tugged at his sleeve. “Come with me for a second.”
Dan Heng raised a brow but followed without question. The moment you were out of view, you turned to him with a mischievous grin.
“What’s this about?” he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.
“Shh,” you said, placing your hands on his shoulders. Without warning, you pulled him down into a searing kiss. His body tensed for a brief moment before he melted into it, his hands finding your waist. You kissed him deeply, letting the world around you fade away.
But you weren’t done. You pressed soft kisses across his cheeks, his jawline, and his nose, leaving a trail of lipstick marks in your wake. Dan Heng, caught off guard by the sudden affection, could only stand there, dazed and bewildered, as you reached into your bag and grabbed your lipstick. Before he could react, you tilted the collar of his shirt slightly and wrote, in bold letters, “MINE” on his collarbone.
“Alright,” you said cheerfully, capping the lipstick and stepping back to admire your handiwork. “Let’s go.”
Dan Heng blinked, his brain still catching up. “…Go? That’s it?”
“That’s it.” You smiled innocently and took his hand, leading him back into the streets.
He followed, bemused but compliant. It wasn’t until he noticed the odd reactions—a Cloud Knight giving him a thumbs-up, a group of merchants chuckling as he passed, and one particularly brazen individual catcalling him—that he began to suspect something was amiss.
Finally, a reflective shop window revealed the truth. His normally pristine face was covered in lipstick marks, each one vivid and impossible to miss. His collarbone, barely visible above his shirt, bore the word “MINE” in bold, unmistakable letters.
Dan Heng froze, his cheeks burning with a rare flush of color. He turned to you, still holding his hand, as you tried and failed to suppress your laughter.
“You…” His voice was calm, but his narrowed eyes betrayed his exasperation.
“You’re welcome,” you teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek—this time leaving no mark.
He sighed, shaking his head, but the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it,” you replied smugly, dragging him forward before he could protest.
As mortifying as the situation was, Dan Heng couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest, even as he resigned himself to being the center of attention for the rest of the day.
