#qingque x reader

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?~"

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆​​notes | kissing and spooks, what more could a girl ask for...? SWF- wc: 5.4k

★​​DJINX

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Kafka

The night’s alive with Halloween chaos—fog machines, flashing lights, someone in a zombie mask chasing a pack of screaming kids. You and Kafka walk hand in hand toward the haunted house at the edge of the fairgrounds, where fake screams leak out between the fog like steam. She looks criminally good in black—long coat, tall boots, a touch of dark lipstick that could probably get her arrested for intent to kill. You’re the lighter contrast beside her, glitter-dusted, halo headband just slightly crooked.

She gives you a sidelong grin. “You sure you wanna do this, sweetheart? You jump every time the popcorn pops.”

You scoff. “That was one time.”

Kafka chuckles, low and lazy, the kind of laugh that curls under your skin. “Alright. Lead the way, brave girl.”

Inside, the air is cold and smells like fog juice and cheap latex. Something shrieks up ahead, and your heart does a gymnastics routine in your chest. Kafka’s arm slides around your waist like she’s done this a thousand times, pulling you against her side.

“See?” she says, amusement in her voice. “Totally safe. No one’s gonna eat you. Except maybe me.”

You elbow her gently, trying not to smile. “You’re such a menace.”

“Yeah,” she says, smirking. “But I’m your menace.”

You turn a corner and nearly collide with a man in a bloody clown mask. You let out a sound that is definitely not dignified. Kafka bites back a laugh but doesn’t quite manage it—she’s shaking from trying to hold it in.

“Don’t even,” you warn, glaring up at her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, clearly lying.

By the time you reach the final hallway, you’re both laughing more than screaming. Kafka’s fingers are laced through yours again, warm and solid in the dark. You can feel her heartbeat against your shoulder when she leans in and murmurs, “You actually did it. I’m impressed.”

“You doubted me?”

“Constantly,” she says, lips quirking. “But you proved me wrong. Guess I owe you something for surviving.”

“Like what?” you ask, breathless, half teasing.

She pauses just long enough for the exit door to swing open behind you, flooding the space with night air and the smell of kettle corn. Then she kisses you—quick, confident, a spark that short-circuits your brain.

When she pulls back, her grin is smug. “Like that.”

You blink, trying to recover. “That’s all I get?”

Kafka slides her arm over your shoulders, steering you toward the lights of the fair again. “Finish your candy first,” she says. “Then we’ll negotiate.”

You laugh, leaning into her warmth as fireworks crackle in the distance. The haunted house fades into the background noise of the night—because really, nothing in there scared you half as much as how much you love her.

★

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.March 7th

The fairground looks like a sugar-fueled dream—pumpkins lit from within, fake cobwebs strung between lampposts, caramel and popcorn thick in the air. March 7th practically bounces beside you, her pink hair tied in twin braids with tiny plastic bats clipped in. She’s wearing a ridiculous ghost hoodie that glows faintly in the dark, and she’s been humming the Monster Mash for the last ten minutes straight.

“C’mon!” she says, tugging your hand toward the haunted house. “It says ‘not recommended for children under thirteen,’ which means it’s perfect for us!”

You raise a brow. “You realize that’s a warning, not an invitation, right?”

March grins, eyes sparkling under the neon. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Inside, the haunted house smells like fog and floor polish. Animatronic skeletons twitch in the corners. March gasps, delighted, pointing out every cheap scare like it’s a masterpiece. “Look! The zombie’s got motion sensors! That’s so cool!” she whispers loudly, right before the zombie lunges.

You yelp. She bursts out laughing so hard she almost drops her candy bag. “You’re worse than me!”

“I was caught off guard!” you protest.

“You were caught by design!” she teases, clinging to your arm as you move deeper into the maze. “You should see your face—adorable and terrified.”

She’s fearless, really—half the time she jumps toward the monsters just to see how they move. You’re not sure if she’s brave or just missing a self-preservation gene. Every time something pops out, she giggles instead of screams. At one point, she even high-fives a guy in a werewolf costume.

By the time you reach the last room—a fake graveyard with flickering lights and a cheap fog machine—March is glowing with excitement. “That was amazing!” she says, spinning in a circle. “We should go again!”

You groan. “Let’s not push our luck. I think my soul left my body back at the clown corridor.”

She snorts, looping her arm through yours. “I’ll take care of you, scaredy-cat.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” she says without missing a beat. Her tone is teasing, but there’s a faint blush warming her cheeks under the lantern glow.

Outside, the night feels soft again—music drifting from the rides, lights reflecting in her eyes. She digs into her candy bag and holds up a wrapped chocolate skull. “Peace offering?”

You take it, biting back a smile. “You’re forgiven. Mostly.”

March beams and bumps her shoulder against yours. “Good. ‘Cause I was gonna make you share your caramel corn as penance.”

The two of you wander back toward the carnival, candy swinging, laughter spilling into the chill October air. The haunted house fades behind you, but March’s joy lingers—bright, loud, and golden as the lanterns overhead.

“Next year,” she says, eyes shining, “we’re doing matching costumes. You and me—unstoppable duo of cute chaos!”

You don’t even argue. With March, somehow, chaos feels like home.

★

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Stelle

The fairground is pure chaos—fog spilling over the pavement, strings of orange lights flickering like dying stars, the smell of fried sugar thick in the air. It’s loud, messy, a little unhinged. Naturally, Stelle’s thriving.

She saunters up beside you wearing a raccoon hoodie—gray fur, black mask, tail clipped to her belt—and an expression that says she’s about to commit at least three misdemeanors for fun. You, meanwhile, are in your cardboard trash-can costume, painstakingly painted silver, complete with fake recycling stickers.

Stelle stops, looks you over slowly, and grins. “You look deliciously dumpster chic.”

You sigh. “I cannot believe I agreed to be your matching costume.”

“Believe it,” she says, snatching a piece of candy from your bucket. “You’re the can. I’m the creature. We’re a symbiotic masterpiece.”

“Symbiotic?” you ask. “You mean parasitic.”

She grins wider. “Semantics, sweetheart.”

The haunted house looms ahead, all fake cobwebs and green light. Stelle eyes it like prey. “Alright, trash princess. You ready to wreak havoc?”

You squint at her. “We’re supposed to walk through it—not become the final boss.”

“Relax,” she says. “I’m just here for the vibes.”

You know she’s lying the moment she disappears into the fog. Two minutes later, you hear screaming. Then—laughter. Her laughter. You turn the corner just as a group of teenagers bolt past, shrieking, and there she is—perched on top of a coffin prop, wielding a rubber severed hand like a trophy.

“Stelle!” you hiss. “You can’t do that!”

She hops down, looking criminally pleased. “Correction: I did do that. And it was art.”

“Security’s going to throw us out!”

“Good,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “Then we can get funnel cake sooner.”

You’re trying to stay mad, but her grin is too contagious. You’re halfway out of the haunted house when she nudges you. “Admit it,” she says. “You had fun.”

“You terrify me.”

“That’s basically the same thing.”

Outside, the night air feels almost too bright after all that chaos. Stelle stretches, her tail swaying behind her as she eyes your costume again. “You know, I think I might actually love you.”

You raise a brow. “Because I put up with your nonsense?”

“No,” she says, smirking. “Because you’re shiny and full of snacks.”

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your candy bucket. She beams like she just won a prize.

Then she clinks her pilfered soda can against your cardboard rim. “To us,” she says. “The trashiest couple alive.”

You grin, bumping her back. “Happy Halloween, you chaotic little raccoon.”

She pops a stolen caramel into her mouth and winks. “Right back at you, my beautiful bin.”

And then she’s off again—darting into the crowd, tail bouncing, leaving you trailing behind her, laughing into the night like maybe being her trash can isn’t such a bad gig after all.

★

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Sparkle

You should’ve known better than to let Sparkle plan Halloween.

The invitation arrived days before, wrapped in crimson ribbon and dusted with fine gold glitter. The looping script promised A night of terror and delight. No address, no time—just a summons that smelled faintly of smoke and something almost sweet enough to make your teeth ache. You knew exactly what “delight” meant when it came from her.

She appeared at your door like chaos incarnate. Her kabuki-inspired stage robe clung and swirled, red and black fabric layered over gold trim. Detached sleeves trailed behind her like flickering shadows, her oni mask perched at a rakish angle on her head, charms jingling softly with each step. She moved like a predator, radiant, theatrical, and dangerous, every gesture deliberate. Her grin alone could make hearts race and knees weak.

You shifted awkwardly in your white-and-pink bunny costume, ears twitching nervously. “Sparkle… really? You made me do this?”

She leaned in, close enough that her perfume—spice and smoke—hit you like a spark. One eyebrow lifted. “Oh, darling… don’t pretend you hate it. Nothing suits you better than soft ears and innocent fluff.” Her fingers trailed lightly down the back of your neck, teasing along your shoulder.

“And,” she murmured, voice dropping low, velvet-thick, “I’ve been thinking about bunnies all day. So soft, so delicate… so easy to rile up..."

You swallowed hard, heat crawling up your neck. “Rile up ...?"

Her grin widened, wicked and gleaming. The bells on her sleeves jingled faintly as she tilted her head. “Mmm… the kind of fun that makes your heart race and your little ears stand at attention. And trust me, darling…” She pressed a finger gently under your chin, lifting your gaze. “…I plan to find out exactly how reactive you can be.”

You tried to protest, but her hand slid over yours, fingers curling around yours with a possessive insistence. “Shh,” she said, pressing her lips briefly to the shell of your ear. “We’re going into my little stage now. The haunted house. And bunny…” She tugged you a step closer, eyes sparkling with that maddening mix of danger and desire. “…I play my roles very seriously.”

The haunted house loomed ahead, crooked and imposing, fog spilling from its cracked windows like smoke from a kiln. Its sign read House of Illusions, flickering ominously under the orange light. Sparkle’s hand tightened around yours as she led you through the entrance.

Inside, the lights were low, strobe flashes punctuating fog and the occasional scream. You stiffened as a zombie lunged from the shadows. Sparkle, though, only laughed, all teeth and thrill.

“Ah! Perfect!” she whispered, pressing herself lightly against your side. Her robe swirled, bells jingling softly. “Your little squeak completes the scene. Ten points for adorable terror.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, trying to keep your composure as your heart hammered.

“Insane?” she said, voice low and sultry, tracing a finger along your arm. “No, darling. Committed. Passionate. I’ve been rehearsing for this moment… imagining your reactions. Every twitch, every gasp… every shiver.”

Her hand slid up to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your lip. “Mmm…bunnies taste so sweet. Especially when they’re nervous. And… pliable. Perfect for a little… practice,” she murmured, voice dropping an octave, teasing, dark.

Your ears burned, but you couldn’t look away. She thrived on this—the game of fear, desire, and mischief. Another actor jumped out in a bloody clown mask. You yelped, jumping into her chest, and she laughed, low and amused, pressing her body closer.

“Ah! That’s it!” she said, spinning you gently around in the fog. “The flinch! The gasp! So… deliciously distracting. I should write a guidebook: How to Keep Your Bunny Forever on Their Toes.” She brushed a thumb along the curve of your cheek, a touch both intimate and teasing. “Or… maybe I’ll just keep you all to myself.”

You swallowed hard, words failing.

She leaned in, lips brushing your ear again, breath warm and teasing. “And don’t think I won’t play with you here. These corridors… these shadows… every corner is perfect for a little… extra fun. You might find yourself screaming in ways that aren’t entirely from the actors.”

Your pulse surged. You could feel her heat pressing against you, her charms jingling softly, the scent of her perfume—smoke, amber, something dangerous—enveloping you. You were helpless, and she knew it. That was the beauty of Sparkle: the way she made chaos intoxicating, dangerous, and irresistible all at once.

Finally, the hallway opened into the main chamber. Candles flickered in fog, mirrors multiplied her image into a thousand red-and-black sparks of chaos. She stopped, brushing your hair from your face with one delicate, teasing hand. “Now, bunny,” she murmured, lips close to your ear, “for the grand finale.”

Before you could react, her mouth was on yours.

The kiss started slow, exploratory, almost teasing, letting you catch your breath, savoring your taste. Then it deepened, teeth grazing your lower lip, tongue sliding against yours with deliberate heat. Her hands tangled in your hair, fingers curling around the fur of your bunny ears, pulling you impossibly close. Every inch of her was fire, danger, and desire, swirling together in a way that made the haunted house, the screams, the fog… all fade into irrelevance.

She pulled back briefly, forehead resting against yours, eyes glinting with triumph. “Mmm… you taste like fear, sugar, and delight all at once. Distracting,” she whispered, voice thick with amusement.

You shivered.

Her lips returned to yours, slow and deliberate, claiming and teasing, hands roaming, tugging, exploring. She pressed her body flush against yours, the sound of her laughter soft and dark at the back of her throat. “Yes… just like that,” she murmured, her breath hitching slightly. “React, squeak, tremble… I adore it all. My little bunny.”

You gasped against her mouth, heart hammering. Sparkle laughed softly, a sound that made your knees weak and mind dizzy, then nipped your lower lip gently before pulling back enough to look at you.

Her mask was still tilted atop her head, her robe falling in perfect chaos around her, bells jingling softly. She brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering on your cheek. “See?” she whispered. “Fear, desire, delight… it’s all the same heartbeat. And you, my darling… you make it worth listening to.”

You were trembling, breathless, lost in the swirl of her energy, intoxicated by her chaos.

“Come on, bunny,” she said, looping her arm through yours, tugging you gently as if the night itself belonged to her. “The house isn’t done yet, and I’ve only begun my performance. There’s so much more fun to have… and so many more ways to keep you on your toes.”

Her bells jingled as she twirled, robe flaring, mask tilted, grin wicked and triumphant. And as you stumbled to keep up, heart still racing from both the scares and the kisses, you realized something terrifyingly wonderful: Sparkle didn’t just create chaos. She owned it. And somehow, impossibly, deliciously, she’d made you a willing part of her performance—helpless to resist, eager for every twist, every teasing word, every heated glance.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

★

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Acheron

The line for the haunted house was long, winding around the corner like a restless ghost, but Acheron walked beside you with her usual composed calm, hands tucked neatly into her coat pockets. You tugged at her sleeve, grinning.

“Come on, Acheron, it’s Halloween! You’re supposed to be scared,” you teased, bouncing on your heels.

She turned her head slightly, one eyebrow arching ever so subtly, the faintest trace of amusement in her eyes. “I don’t think fear suits me. But… guiding you through it might be interesting.”

That was her way of saying yes without actually saying it. You grabbed her hand anyway, and she didn’t pull away.

The haunted house doors creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway thick with fog. Cackles and whispers seemed to rise from nowhere. You jumped at a sudden skeleton that flopped onto the floor, letting out a high-pitched squeal. Acheron’s hand tightened around yours, steadying you, her calm presence like a lighthouse in the storm of fake terror.

“You’re… not scared?” you asked breathlessly, still clutching her arm.

“Scared wouldn’t help anyone in here,” she replied softly. “But I can see the appeal in the chaos.”

A trap door slammed open, sending a cloud of fog across your feet. You shrieked and stumbled backward into her arms. She caught you effortlessly, her arms solid and steady. For a moment, your eyes met, and the faintest smile touched her lips—almost imperceptible, but it made your heart flutter.

As you wandered deeper into the haunted maze, a phantom moaned, echoing off the walls. You squealed again, and Acheron let out a rare, low chuckle.

★

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Robin

Penacony was drenched in a dreamlike glow that night—holographic jack-o’-lanterns flickering between laughter and menace, star-shaped lights floating above candy-colored streets. The air tasted of caramel and the faint fizz of sweet soda mist that drifted through the amusement district. You tugged at the sleeve of your own costume—a vampire cloak that was definitely too dramatic—and glanced at the woman beside you.

Robin. Penacony’s angelic idol, dressed down for once. Well, trying to be.

She’d gone for a simple witch disguise: a black hat, sheer veil, and a cloak that did a poor job of hiding the shimmer in her eyes or the recognizable curve of her smile. “Do you think anyone will notice?” she asked, voice soft, melodic—like she couldn’t help but sing even when she whispered.

You grinned. “Only if they’re not blind.”

She laughed quietly, swatting your arm. “You’re terrible. Come on—the haunted house is starting.”

The two of you joined the crowd funneling into a massive gothic mansion made of candy-glass and projected shadows. A giant digital moon hung above, turning everyone silver and spectral. Robin clung to your arm as holographic ghosts swooped past, and you couldn’t tell if the slight tremor in her hand was from fear or play-acting.

Halfway through, as a mechanical ghoul popped out of a coffin, she shrieked—a perfectly pitched note that ricocheted down the hall like a live performance. The group ahead turned, wide-eyed. One girl gasped. “Wait… is that Robin?”

You froze. Robin blinked, wide-eyed, then whispered, “Nope, not me!” before practically grabbing your hand and sprinting down a side corridor lined with cracked mirrors. Behind you came the sound of shouts—fans realizing their idol was not only here, but on a date with someone in a cape.

You both burst through an emergency exit and stumbled into an alley behind the haunted mansion, laughing breathlessly. Her hat had fallen off, her veil askew, and her braid had slipped loose from its pins, haloing her in curls.

“Smooth escape,” you panted.

She leaned against the wall, eyes bright with adrenaline. “I was doing so well until the ghoul!”

“Pretty sure the ghoul’s career peaked right there,” you teased.

She gave you that look—the one halfway between mischief and affection—and brushed her fingers against yours. “You didn’t have to run with me, you know.”

“Of course I did,” you said. “I can’t leave my partner in crime to face a mob of adoring fans alone. That’s just bad manners.”

She laughed again, softer this time, and for a moment the chaos outside dimmed. The neon light flickered across her face—violet, gold, then rose—and you felt your heartbeat stumble in the prettiest way possible.

A click shattered the quiet. You both turned. A tabloid drone hovered nearby, lens gleaming like an unblinking eye. Before you could react, it snapped three quick shots—Robin’s hand still tangled with yours, her face flushed and smiling.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” you said grimly. “Tomorrow’s headline: ‘Starlet Robin’s Mystery Date: Who Is the Vampire Cloaked Cutie?’”

Robin covered her face, laughing helplessly. “I can already hear the PR team screaming.”

You nudged her shoulder. “Could be worse. They’ll call it a publicity stunt.”

She peeked at you through her fingers. “And if they don’t?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Then I guess we’ll just have to make it true.”

Her expression softened—music written in light—and she reached up, brushing your cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re trouble,” she murmured.

“Only for you.”

The distant hum of Penacony’s nightlife rolled back in, sweet and electric. Somewhere, music was playing—a remix of one of her songs—and she smiled at the irony. “Let’s go before they find us again.”

So you ran, laughing, through a city of endless dreams, hand in hand—two silhouettes stitched together by mischief and starlight, chased by fans, headlines, and the dizzy kind of feeling that no disguise could hide.

★

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Qingque

You were halfway through your shift when a hand shot out from the corner and yanked you into the hallway.

“Shh, shh—no questions!” Qingque hissed, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she dragged you past the offices of the Divination Commission. Her jade hairpins jingled like chimes, and her wide sleeves fluttered as she tugged you toward the exit. “You’ve been working way too hard. Time for something fun!”

“Qingque, I have reports to—”

“Reports are eternal. Fun is fleeting.” She winked. “Besides, I already told Fu Xuan you’re on ‘official business.’”

Before you could protest, she had already whisked you out into the neon-drenched streets of the Xianzhou Luofu. Lanterns glowed crimson against the mist, and paper talismans fluttered in the air. A banner ahead read: ‘House of a Hundred Spirits – Haunted Attraction!’

You groaned. “A haunted house? Really?”

Qingque’s grin only widened. “What? You think fortune-tellers can’t handle a few fake ghosts?”

Inside, the air was cool and faintly metallic. Candles flickered. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, and eerie whispers seemed to drift from nowhere. Qingque clutched your sleeve—only for a holographic ghoul to drop from the ceiling with a shriek.

Her scream nearly deafened you.

“Not scared, huh?” you teased.

“I—That was just a… test of reflexes!” she stammered, cheeks pink. “A strategist must always—AH!” Another ghost popped out, and she practically climbed onto your arm.

By the time you reached the next corridor, Qingque was walking behind you, using you as a human shield. You had to bite back a laugh. “You sure you don’t want to go first, Miss Bold and Fearless?”

She sniffed, trying to regain dignity. “I’m observing the terrain. Tactical advantage, you see.”

Halfway through the maze, the walls began to move—an illusion of collapsing corridors and drifting paper souls. Qingque pressed close, her hand slipping into yours. Her pulse was racing, and her voice dropped low. “You know… maybe this was a bad idea.”

You squeezed her hand. “Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to hold mine.”

That earned you a scandalized glare—followed by a sheepish smile. “Maybe.”

The final jump scare was a massive holographic demon lunging from the mist. Qingque yelped and threw herself into your arms, eyes squeezed shut. When she realized she was still alive, she peeked up at you, lips trembling in a mix of fear and laughter.

“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”

“Just a little.”

She huffed, crossing her arms—but didn’t pull away from your side as you stepped out into the streetlights again. The haunted house faded behind you, replaced by the gentle hum of the Luofu’s cityscape.

“You owe me hot tea,” she muttered.

“And you owe me a report explaining how this was ‘official business.’”

Qingque smirked, slipping her arm around your waist. “Easy. It was morale-boosting research.”

You laughed, and under the glowing lanterns, she leaned in—her voice soft as starlight. “Next time, though… no ghosts. Just you.”

★

₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Cyrene

The light in Okhema’s Marmoreal Market always had a holy kind of glow—soft, gilded, eternal. Tonight, it gilded Cyrene like she was carved right out of it. She stood in the center of the square, surrounded by a half-circle of wide-eyed children, her voice a melody that drifted through the air like incense.

You lingered at the edge of the square, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t smiling like a fool. It was impossible not to. Cyrene told stories like they were sacred relics—old myths about the first dawn, the Titans who shaped the ground and sky, and the song that kept the city from falling asleep. The kids leaned forward, hanging on every word. She used her hands when she spoke, graceful and animated, like she was painting pictures in the air.

You’d seen her fight, study, debate—but this? This was the Cyrene that got under your skin. Soft, patient, burning quietly from the inside out.

When she finally ended her tale—“and so the light never left Okhema, not even when the gods did”—the children erupted in applause. Cyrene bowed dramatically, earning giggles and cheers. You clapped too, quietly.

She turned, spotting you immediately. A smile bloomed across her face like it had been waiting for you. “How long were you standing there, you stalker?”

“Long enough to know you’ve got some serious competition with the city’s bards,” you said, walking toward her. “I might have to book tickets next time.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “They begged me to tell a story. You can’t say no to that many tiny faces.”

“Yeah, you’re a real martyr,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against hers. “Anyway, your public duties are over for tonight. I’m kidnapping you.”

“Kidnapping?” she echoed, mock-offended. “From what noble cause?”

“From being too good,” you said. “You’ve earned a break, and I’ve got the perfect way to spend it.”

Cyrene tilted her head, intrigued. “You’re scheming again. What is it this time?”

You grinned. “Haunted house date.”

Her lips parted, then she laughed—a low, musical sound that made your chest ache. “You’re serious.”

“Completely. It’s in the old quarter. Some merchants set it up for the festival. Fake ghosts, real screams, overpriced tickets—everything you could want in a terrible idea.”

Cyrene folded her arms, pretending to think. “You’re aware I hate jump scares, right?”

“You’ll survive. I’ll protect you.”

That earned you a smirk. “Oh, will you now?”

She let you take her hand, the warmth of her fingers grounding you against the cool marble underfoot. Together you walked through Okhema’s narrow lanes, past shuttered shops and fading banners. The eternal dawn above had dimmed into its dusky gold phase—the closest thing the city had to night. The world glowed, like someone had draped it in candlelight.

The “haunted house” was waiting at the edge of the district, a converted warehouse decked out with cheap fabric ghosts, faint mist, and an absolutely unconvincing sign that read: SPECTRAL BAZAAR – BEWARE THE UNSEEN.

Cyrene stopped and gave you a look. “That’s the name? Spectral Bazaar? Sounds like a scam..."

You laughed. “Hey, commit to the theme.”

You both stepped inside, and the temperature seemed to drop instantly. The first corridor was lined with cracked mirrors reflecting twisted versions of the two of you. Every reflection shimmered slightly out of sync, like they existed half a second in another time.

Cyrene let out a slow whistle. “Okay… that’s actually creepy.”

“I told you. High-quality terror.”

A low groan echoed through the corridor. You jumped. Cyrene snorted, failing to hide her grin. “You’re supposed to be the brave one, remember?”

“I am! That was just… ambiance appreciation.”

She reached over, lacing her fingers through yours. “Come on, ambiance appreciator. Lead the way.”

You did, heart hammering with a mix of nerves and something warmer. The deeper you went, the more surreal it got—ghostly figures projected against the walls, whispering fragments of stories in a language you didn’t know. Cyrene, fearless now, would stop to mimic them dramatically until you doubled over laughing.

By the time you reached the final room—a mock “tomb” draped in gold cloth and candles—your cheeks hurt from smiling. Cyrene turned to you, her face soft in the glow. “Okay,” she said, “you win. This was actually… fun.”

“Ha!” you declared triumphantly. “Knew I’d convert you to the cult of haunted houses.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t convert me. You distracted me. And that’s dangerous, because now I might start liking you too much.”

That shut you up. She smiled, stepping closer. “What? The brave one’s speechless?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but she kissed you instead—quick, certain, tasting faintly of laughter and sugar from the sweets she’d given the children earlier.

When she pulled back, her eyes were full of mischief. “You’re lucky I finished my story first,” she said. “Otherwise, the ending might’ve been less romantic.”

“Would’ve been worth it,” you murmured.

You both left the haunted house hand in hand, the eternal light of Okhema spilling over the streets once more. The ghosts faded behind you, leaving only your shared laughter echoing through the marble corridors.

In a city that never truly slept, you’d found something even rarer than light—a moment that felt alive.

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DAYS LIKE THESE┊HEADCANONS

VARIOUS — when you fall into a depressive episode, how does your girlfriend take care of you? ft. topaz, feixiao, qingque, and robin.

[wc: 3.5k] gn!reader, comfort, possibly ooc/lore inaccurate, caretaking and depression, some of the hcs are left up to interpretation and can veer into unhealthy relationship territory, but this is overall very sweet and hypothetical, disguised character study, jelena/saran used, details of depressive episodes kept somewhat vague to be more inclusive

you will care about women!! YOU WILL. anyhow, here’s some appreciation for four of my fave characters ^^ heavier subject matter, but maybe this will help someone? hope so. special thanks to @angeliteeyes for format inspo. photo cred to @/mra044444 on pinterest. take care of yourselves <3 ily

TOPAZ

As much as she hates it, Topaz already can’t afford to stay with you for extended periods of time. If you’re down and it’s particularly bad, she’ll make time by delegating some of her responsibilities to her team so she can weather the storm with you. But if it’s a routine slump, then you’ll have to go without her presence while she’s off facilitating asset seizures and reaching reluctant agreements with intergalactic debtors. 

I had a blast with this. Also, a special thanks to @tragedy-of-commons for reading these over.

Now! Your Wish Is My Command! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Natasha: You need to stop drinking so many energy drinks. Seele: You're one to talk. Natahsha: The last patient who refused to stop drinking energy supplements after I suggested it died. Seele: Oh no. Natasha: In a car crash. You: That sounds unrelated. Natasha: I’m the one who crashed it. Do not disobey me.

You: Why do you two like being out in the rain so much? Screwllum: I like splashing in the puddles and rain is just fun! Ruan Mei: I'm trying to get hit by lightning for my research.

Sparkle: I’ve been here in jail so long I think I’ve lost my mind. Sparkle: The days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. Sparkle: How long have I been in here now? Almost a year? You: …This is Monopoly.

You and Asta: Madam Herta, help! We did a bad thing! Herta: Does it affect me? You and Asta: Not technically— Herta: Then suffer in silence.

You: Do you know a turtle's greatest weakness? Ruan Mei: How slow they are? You: No, their only weakness is that they can get stuck on their back. Ruan Mei: What if you taped two turtles together? They'd be unstoppable, correct? You: … Ruan Mei: … Ruan Mei: …I will be back shortly You: Ruan Mei, NO—

You: Died and came back as a cowboy, I call that reintarnation. Archeon: Laughs -Elsewhere- Boothill: I suddenly feel like strangling someone.

You: I need some help dealing with a problem, do you have any suggestions? Jingliu: Sword. You: Do you have any other suggestions? Jingliu: …Two swords.

You: Do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking on a daily basis? Silver Wolf: One? You: No. Silver Wolf: Two? You: No. Silver Wolf: …Is it one?

You: why are you following me? Kafka: because we’re dating now You: okay… what about the rest of you? Kafka: we’re a package deal Silver Wolf, walking next to the rest of the Stellaron hunters while burying her face in a game and Blade maneuvering her to avoid hazards like light poles: buy one idiot, get several free

You: Do you want to play 20 Questions? Firefly: Sure! You: What's your favorite color? Firefly, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Will you go out on a date with me?

Kafka: I love making short jokes about Wolfie. You: They go right over her head. Silver Wolf, standing on a step stool: Fuck you.

Blade, reading the note in the lunch packed for him by you and Kafka: the path to inner peace starts with four words Blade: not my fucking problem Blade: Narrows Eyes I think this one is for Firefly

Firefly, reading the note in the lunch packed for her by you and Kafka: Please, for the love of the Aeons, be good. We know your love language is acts of service. We also know your only skill is stabbing people. Firefly: Tilts Head To The Side I… believe this is for blade…

You: I love my personal space You point to the Silver Wolf latched onto your back You: this is Wolfie. Wolfie also loves my personal space.

You: Why are you smiling Blade? Blade: Am I not allowed to be happy? Kafka: Of course you are Bladie… It’s just that you being happy, usually means someone’s lost their life… or a limb.

Pom Pom: I typed "bitch" into my GPS and guess what? I'm in your driveway. The Express Crew, desperately trying to avoid spring cleaning after the last "Incident": … Pom Pom: Choo Choo motherfuckers, come out already.

Stelle, waving at the crew as she steps onto the express after being splattered by a small army of stings: hello. Himeko: i- Welt: we literally saw you die. Dan Heng: you died. March 7th: you're dead. Stelle, shrugging: death is a social construct.

You and Stelle: some fools be like “I play games to escape my responsibilities” then pick tank or healer Welt: In my greatest fantasies I am able to help people Dan Heng: In my fantasies I can prevent people from being hurt, even if it means I get hurt in their stead Himeko: In my fantasies I don’t have to know how to aim March 7th: In my fantasies I control who lives and who dies

You standing at the top of the stairs: What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase? Ruan Mei: I accidentally fell down. Herta: RUAN MEI PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HER part of our rent! Screwllum: Ruan Mei bet me fifty Credits that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than she did falling down it, so I slid down the banister to get my money. Dr. Ratio: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and several galaxies away and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Screwllum.

You: Do you think different paints have different tastes? Ruan Mei: They do. Herta: …Why did you say that with such certainty?

Dr. Ratio, talking to You and Topaz: Well, whenever I’m about to do something, I think ‘would Aventurine do that?’ and if they would, I do not do that thing. You and Topaz: … Aventurine: I know I should be offended, but he's not wrong.

Silver Wolf talking about you: How do you feel about Them, Firefly? Firefly, vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter a glass: I love Them a normal amount.

You and the Stellaron Hunters sitting in jail together You: So who should we call? Silver Wolf: I’d call Blade, but I feel safer in jail

You: When do you usually go to sleep? Blade: Whenever I collapse is entirely up to the Aeons. Kafka: My body will pass out when it's ready Kafka and Blade: high five You: angry staring (edited)

Firefly: Good News! The store had blueberry bagels! Bad news, the cream cheese died… or became more alive… It is the wrong amount of alive.

Tingyun, after being caught lying in bed with your shirt on: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt. You: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

Yukong: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? You: Peonies, why? Yukong: … You: Were you going to get me flowers? Yukong: … You: … Yukong, under her breath: It's a possibility…

Quingque: I owe you one. You: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

Blade: walks in to see you and Firefly sitting on the couch facing away from each other. Blade: I know I will more than likely regret asking, but what's going on there? Firefly, gaming: They're having a fight. Blade, confused: Then why are they holding hands? Kafka, playing with her Cat: Fighting makes them sad.

Natasha: Why are there little handprints all over the wall? You, whispering to The Moles: Why are there little handprints all over the wall? The Moles: Because we have little hands. You: *Nods Sagely Before Turning To Natasha* You, with a smile: Its because The Moles have little hands

You, when Wildfire was just starting: Natasha, sweetie, the love of my life, all you have is a handful of impoverished shantytowns paying us protection money. We're basically slum lords.

Just imagine…someone daring to take a bite—

And then straight keeling over dead to the world. ☠️

“When Love Cooks... but the Kitchen Revolts” | Part 2

Tags: Sushang x Reader, Feixiao x Reader, Qingque x Reader, Crack Fic, Humor/Comedy, Food Gone Wrong, Culinary Disaster, Over-the-Top Reactions, Slight Angst (if you squint), Unintentional Poisoning, Bad Cooking.

Warnings: Food Horror, Exaggerated Reactions, Implied Food Poisoning.

A/N: MY GIRLS ARE GETTING RECOGNITION‼️🗣️🔥✨

[Part 1] | [Part 3]

[Header credits]

Sushang was eager. Very eager. Her wide grin could almost be mistaken for excitement—or was it fear? Either way, she was excited to try what you had prepared for your meal. After all, she was always willing to test her strength against challenges, even culinary ones.

★ Summary: Your lover loves to show that they love you, however some of their methods to do so, aren't something you'd expect - i.e HSR Girls and their love languages (but it's not your typical love language)

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Jingliu, Topaz, Serval, Qingque, Asta, Tingyun, Kafka

★ Genre/Trope: Romantic + Crack (?)

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Just had random thoughts about HSR characters love language and decided to write about what theirs is in my opinion - just not your typical ones. // Not proof read - we die like Himeko // There's a HSR Boy version as well! Right here.

Y'know those cats who come to your doorstep and drop a dead bird in front of your door? That's her...but it's an actual person.

As Jingliu is well...dead herself (I think) and I believe currently in the Shackling Prison which probably means very small times where she can see you if she can convince Jing Yuan, the fastest gift she can give you...is well...y e a h.

If you do ask her to stop, she will...not getting rid of people, just bringing you the bleeding results. She'd probably steal something from them as I doubt many people would want business from a criminal/dead person.

characters: Fu Xuan / Herta / Himeko / Kafka / March 7th / Natasha / Pela / Qingque / Serval / Tingyun x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: none

a/n: The urge to write a lot more than 1 or 2 paragraphs for some characters was really strong, but I managed it because I am a man of dedication, focus and sheer will… 

that and because I knew this would take far too long if I didn’t contain myself.

Also, there are some characters I still don’t know too much about, so if I got something wrong about their personalities, then I’m sorry

Anyway, hope you enjoy!