Ass, tits or thighs? (Ft nod krai cast) (Typical warnings of NSFW, fem!reader, mentions of a lactation kink in Albedo's, possible OOC for all of them. Fight me all you want in the comments if you want. English is not my first language)
(this plot is so overused. Does that mean I care? No, I'll do whatever I want so just enjoy my analysis or whatever)
Varka: Ass
He'd be super embarrassed about this question and probably blurt out "personality" or something like that. A knight shouldn't be so improper with his lover! But sometimes you see him staring a little too long on your behind for it to be a "friendly" look when you bend over to pick something up. If he's ever holding you close to him, his hands are always on the hips or waist, just close enough to your ass but never doing anything until you ask. Basically cock blocking himself lmao
Flins: Thighs
Also the type to say "personality" but more of an endearing way than anything else. Probably be like "you are so enchanting, how could I pick just one?" So he says personality instead. Though, he's never one to complain if he gets a nice shot of your thighs, doesn't care if they're small or big. He seems like the type of guy to enjoy giving oral, so having your thighs around his head is probably a fantasy of his.
Nefer: tits
Not ashamed of her answer, and it was quite obvious. She doesn't care about your body type either. If you're flat, she likes pinching and playing with your nipples from underneath your shirt, perhaps dragging her fingers along your areola. If you're well endowed she prefers to squish your tits between her fingers to relieve stress. One thing's for certain, with those claws on her fingers your skin will hurt and look red. Good thing she has her mouth to help.
Lauma: tits
Unlike Nefer, she prefers to admire your body from afar more than anything, and she is most importantly not crude. She likes laying her head on your chest regardless if your tits are big or not. If you're ever sore she likes massaging them within her fingers, but she'll never go past your boundaries. Though, if you ask her to take a step further she wouldn't mind, after all she does have a few fantasies and needs of her own.
Nicole: thighs
If you ever asked her this question, she'd at first go on a tangent about how human evolution evolved and why we find such body parts appealing despite them being storehouses of fat for the most part. If you ask her to give a straight answer she'd say thighs. She likes it when you wear shorts, maybe when you sit down and they seem to look bigger. Regardless of their size she likes to lay her head down there and stare up at you whilst yapping about another topic. If she feels cheeky she might bite.
Alice: ass
Practically has an obsession with slapping your ass, with how red it gets from her fondling sometimes. Especially likes it if you wear a tight dress or shorts, she just loveees admiring your figure. She may be busy but that won't exactly stop her from meeting you often enough to eye-fuck you. If you have a tattoo on your lower back best believe she's kissing that senseless. Other than that, she prefers to bend you over with her strap and take you from behind.
Arlecchino: thighs
You're often the one straddling her waist while she does her paperwork, and her hands always find themselves digging into your thighs. She'll stop if it hurts, but gods does she love looking at your legs when they're properly marked by her fingers. If she's eating you out expect plenty of teeth marks around your inner thigh. When she's holding you by your waist, she finds her fingers drawing circles on your hip, to outer thigh. Also likes the feeling of control when her hands spread your thighs open.
Columbina: tits
She takes a long time to think about it, especially since she likes all parts of you and never bothered to think about these sexual questions. She eventually says tits because they're the closest to your heart. She spends the time with you mostly listening to your heartbeat, so she finds it fair to prefer your tits. If anything else, you'll sometimes find her either squeezing or pinching your nipples since she's interested on your reactions and how they feel in her palm.
Illuga: tits
He'll freak out at first if you ever ask and refuse to answer. Though, he stares at your chest a lot more than what is necessary. If you have a gap between your tits, he likes fixating on that for whatever reason, especially when he can see that gap from your top. If you don't have a gap, that's fine too because he'll still be staring at how much space your breasts take. If you allow him to touch he'd probably do it once before chickening out. If you offer a titjob he's practically jello in your arms.
Sandrone: no preference
It's either she doesn't care or she cares for all parts of you equally. There's no real problem for her anyway, she takes what's most convenient. If you're cuddling with her her hands will rest on your tits. If you're standing beside her (with no one around) she'll place a hand on her ass. She likes observing how your thighs enlarge when you sit. You can please her with almost anything.
Dottore: different per segment.
Webtorre likes your tits, Omega your ass and prime your thighs. Though, if you attempt to seduce the different versions of him with any one, it will work. Webtorre will be the more eager of the three to grab a hold of your tits. Omega usually just takes whatever chance he gets and places a hand on your ass whenever he gets the opportunity of your bending over. Prime prefers it when you're cockwarming him and your thighs wrap around his waist. He gets hard just from the feeling of your thighs.
Wanderer: no preference
Also another one that doesn't care. If he's carrying you while he's flying, his hand will subtly palm your thighs. Time to time he listens to your heartbeat, so the cushioning on your chest is appreciated. If you don't have any, that's fine too. His hands are (for the most part) on your ass when you're walking together with no one around. He's not overtly dirty too, if you don't like it then he'll immediately stop.
Albedo: tits
I know that for most of the characters you've seen me saying tits but it's more true for him than ever. He feels like the type of guy to have a lactation kink to be honest. Like, he'd research it for normal purposes and be completely normal about it but it will eventually grow on him. If you're ever pregnant with his kid he will suck your tits at least once for a taste. He's very gentle otherwise, compared to a certain Nefer.
Some randomized relationship headcanons for the wife rotation:
Characters: (in this order –>) Flins, Wanderer, Kabukimono, Albedo, Venti & Dahlia, Kazuha, Xiao, Columbina, Layla, Kokomi, Arlecchino, Freminet, Durin x GN!Reader
Warnings: crack (cause I can't take writing headcanons seriously), meowing/purring, nothing explicit but there's mentions of sexual intercourse (Kunikuzushi, Albedo, Venti & Dahlia), polyamorous relationships (Venti & Dahlia), Freminet's & Durin's parts can be interpreted as platonic or romantic.
Flins:
You guys are already married. You're just not aware of it yet.
Does some weird fae courting shit that you don't understand the meaning of. (He knows damn well that you don't btw, but you need to understand that he has to have that cookie.)
Gives you a lot jewelry that you naively accept without thinking much of it, which is an incredibly dumb move when dealing with someone of his kind; You don't take nor give anything to a fae, as everything can be used to steal your soul, even your name.
Of course, he won't do that (unless...) but just pointing out how stupid this is.
If you have horns he will definitly hang a few necklaces/bracelets on them.
He's not claiming you or anything! (Liar) but other men will see the everchanging set of jewelry on your head and decide you're too expensive for them.
Can't purr, but the sound of flickering flames is close enough I guess.
Wanderer:
Doesn't. Just not.
Relationships, I mean.
You two live in the same house, share the same bed, and every single soul who knows you swears that you have something going on but you deny it everytime.
Wanderer mostly cause he hates everyone, including himself.
He is convinced he doesn't deserve you, but as long as your relationship doesn't have a label he technically doesn't have you. (He's so delulu lmao)
You never asked any questions because you're just glad this soping wet cat of a man is letting you exist in his vicinity.
Also because you're afraid if you do as much as mention it he will go back to the hissing at you the moment you look his way faze.
I just know Nahida was the one playing matchmaker during your early days. Y'know, giving you joint assignments, and sending you to long "research trips" where you end up having to share too much personal space.
Also, he purrs. How you ask? He just does. Teyvat has its own rules. I do not make them.
Kabukimono:
Yes, he and Wanderer are two different people to me.
Kabukimono always liked you, he just didn't realize what where his feelings at first.
That is, until you addmitted to seeing him as an adorable little brother figure, and he suddenly felt dead inside.
Which doesn't make sense! You called him adorable, didn't you? He should be happy!
He sulks about it for so long that Niwa takes pity on him and gives him... tips on how to woe you.
He may or may not have teached him some stuff that he shouldn't have (💀)
I think you know how things go from here on...
No, I will not elaborate.
Actually, I'll give you something: Sex with him is so wholesome because he wasn't raised with human standards and doesn't see it the way most people do. Body parts are body parts, they're all the same to him and he doesn't understand why you feel so embarrassing about some of them.
Since Kabu's a puppet I like to headcanon that he doesn't really feel or get anything out of sex which is another reason why it's so wholesome. He helps you get off because it makes you happy and if you're happy then he's happy.
Just like Wanderer, Kabukimono can purr, he just hasn't discovered how to do it. Yet.
Albedo:
Another fucker who doesn't put a label on your relationship.
Except, he genuinely thought you already knew you are dating.
You had sex together once and he was like "that means we're together, right?" (Vro does not touch enough grass to know hooking up is a thing
It didn't help that you kept coming back for more lmao.
Listen, he cleaned you up and made you food and kept asking you "Are you alright?" over and over again during the whole process. Your ex didn't take care of you that way. You can't just not come back.
It's not until that time he introduced you as his partner to Sucrose that you realized the miscommunication.
You wait until she leaves and then you're like "??? I thought we were fuck buddies."
He's low-key hurt, but when you tell him that you don't go for someone else for these stuff even when he's busy because other people don't make you feel as good he jumps at the opportunity to make shit official.
"A date."
"A date?"
"Going out on dates is an essential part of a relationship, yes? How about tomorrow?"
Cannot purr. Gold had the opportunity to do something great for the world and she refused
Venti & Dahlia:
DRINKING BUDDIES.
I think I'll go with deity!reader for this one because I really like the idea of Dahlia being this little guy who somehow got sandwiched by two very revered/feared divine entities only to find out they are actually some silly goofs.
Also the yummy yummy angst potential of religious guilt.
I just know he sits a lot in the cuck chair LMAO.
Something something not wanting to taint you with his mortal hands something something it's already scarligious enough that he gets to watch.
It takes you too long to actually coax him into actually joining instead of just sitting in the corner looking constipated.
Cries literal tears from the guilt, but it feels too good for him to deny it <3
Pillow princess FRFR.
Not that he doesn't like to top or anything, but his stamina is quiet... lacking compared to you and Venti.
He gets so embarrassed about it too (😭)
And speaking of Venti.
He adores it when you guys help trim his feathers. Or just touch them in general.
Pats, rubs, brushes; he doesn't discriminate!
Also you and Venti were probably already dating before adding Lia into the mix. The conversation goes something like this:
"So, a pink haired twink. Barbatos, are we for real right now?"
"He's your type...?"
"... Fair."
Remember; he is the wind itself, which means he probably can mimic any noise, so technically he can purr too. On comand even!
I don't think Dahlia can purr. You probably can tho!
Kazuha:
HEAR ME OUT GUYS! Inazuman noble reader who ran away from their abusive household and their faithful samurai Kazuha who swore himself a blade to them.
Basically the japanese version of the prince/princess x knight trope.
It starts as a two sided admiration; you for his kindness and strength in battle, and him for your wits and ability to manipulate people easily to your whims.
He could've been very well swayed by your honeyed words to serve you, and yet he wouldn't mind if that was the case— (fucking simp.)
That's how he realizes he's in love with you.
He starts writing poetry for you, but here's the thing, he always did write words of admiration and respect for you, but this time you couldn't shake the feeling that the tone of these newer pieces is bit... different.
Despite realizing that he has not so platonic feelings for you, he still treats you the same, if only out of respect and admiration.
Which only makes it harder to decipher what those verses mean.
Essentially, you're just verbally edging each other for like four to five seasons before the long awaited kissing scene.
Never mind, actually Kazuha's the only one getting edged here. You're busy playing detective.
Sadly cannot purr, but will definitly meow if you ask.
Xiao:
Another sad wet cat of a man that you probably had to wait centuries for him to finally open up to you.
You mastered the art of cooking almond tofu just to bribe this mofo into hanging out with you too.
But it's worth it, I swear!
Because now, you get to watch him napping, His cheek cutely squeeshed against the pillows (or your titties, no matter how small or big) and his adorably flustered face when he wakes up and first thing he sees is you staring at him <3
Adepti don't sleep my ass.
Very weird about physical contact. He doesn't know what he's supposed to touch and what he's not allowed to. Can he hold your hand? You did that multiple times before, but is he allowed to initiate it?
You literally sleep on the same bed, but domestic abuse/marital rape is thing, y'know. He can never too careful.
Loves, loves when you scratch his wings. It will take him another century to show them to you, let alone letting you lay your grabby little fingers on them but with some convincing...
They're high-key sensitive af, so he always burries his face in a pillow when you're having your fun.
If you heard anything. No, you didn't, or else you're never seeing them again.
No purring for this one, sadly. Do you think chirping can make up for it?
Columbina:
Hand holding!!!
She seems so dainty, but when she grabbed your hand for the first time, she almost crushed your hand in her grip.
The kuuhenki adore you and like to shower you with small little trinkets every now and then. (Most of which are stuff they took to Columbina and she decided that you might like to have them.)
All kinds of animals flock to you. A bird literally flow straight to your palm once and it was the best feeling ever!
Your dates consist of you bringing a new dish every week or so to try coaxing her out of her man(woman?)cave and take walk out with you.
Basically, you're making her touch grass. (💀)
She tells you that she will take you to the moon with her. Your clueless ass thinks that's just her way of flirting.
You asked her to meow once. She decided that she likes it and started randomly doing it when speaking with other people. (You have created a monster)
Is this what they call facing the consequences of one's actions?
Layla:
Eepi elf girlfriend go brrr.
Stay at home comfy couche dates are the go to way of spending time together!
Since she sleeps mid writing a lot, some sentences ends up being barely legible. You always rewrite those papers for her.
Physical contact!
Doesn't matter what type; holding hands, linking pinkis, hugs of any form, whatever you give she will return.
She especially likes it when you cuddle on the couche <3 and you feel so loving and warm and safe and and....
....She fell asleep.
This position is bad for her back. Maybe you should carry her to bed?
Before you could reach a conclusion, she's suddenly up again!
...It's other Layla on her way to continue, well Layla's work.
No, you don't flirt with other Layla. It feels like cheating, even if they're technically the same person.
You do have cute cooking "dates" from time to time tho!
Can she purr? I'm afraid I do not have enough lore of her yet, so this question will stay unanswered for the unforeseeable future.
Is she willing to meow? Yes. But it's like, the most dead inside meow you've ever heard in your life. So, not as cute as you thought it would be.
Kokomi:
Fish lady!
She has a very specific scent to her, most people can't smell it but if you have a particularly strong nose; I'm praying for you cause that fish stank is strong.
Kokomi baths regularly tho! I guess it's just something that has to do with her bloodline...
Also she tops. Trust me on this one chat, I know what I'm saying.
Something about her being a responsible leader raking care of her subject...
She's married to her work as much as she is married to you, so your "dates" mostly consist of you visiting her workplace with a cup of tea and a few sweets to have a chat while she works.
If she's in a good enough mood she'll let you sit on her lap!
But only if there's no one else around. She has a picture to uphold.
I think you and Gorou team up on Kokomi every once in a while to make her take a rest.
...No, I... I don't think fish can purr.
Arlecchino:
DADDY—
Low-key one of the healthiest relationships on this list (💀)
She seems so intimidating at first but is actually such a gentle lover <3
Her favorite activity is dressing you up like a doll!
I just know your closet is filled with sets of outfits like Ciel's from Black Butler.
She also invites you to Sandrone's tea parties just to have The Marionette's and The Fair Lady's opinion on your slay fit. (She's not dead, shut—)
Everyone on that table creeps you the fuck out, except for maybe the captain and la signora cause they're the only semi-normal people there.
You don't do dates and are usually introduced as an ally of hers to her less pleasent colleagues.
It's for your own safety. Which you know and understand; you don't want to fall in dottore's grasp.
What you do, however, is shopping sprees that are disguised as acts of diplomacy from her end.
The children at the House of the Hearth love you. They always wait for your next visit! (Mostly because you bring gifts to them lmfao)
At some point, they started calling you mother— I don't care what gender you are. To them you will always be mother.
No, just no. She cannot purr and definitely won't meow. Don't try asking her, don't even think of asking her. The consequences are not worth it.
NEVER MIND SHE WOULD, meow I mean— put on a cute pair of cat ears even (You can match!)
Freminet:
Shy diver boy!
I think he'll be so fun to tease <3 like he's so reactive to the smallest of compliments, let alone touches.
I think if you are patient enough, he will eventually open up and start rambling non-stop about his hyperfixations.
Will definitly teach you a thing or two if you ask! But I don't think you'll even need to because he'll probably grab your hands and try to show you how to do this or that mid-rumble without realizing what he's doing.
Gets so flustered when you point it out and has to go cool down a bit. (😭)
Will teach you how to swim if you can't, but fifty percent of your future hang outs/dates will consist of him taking you diving to show you this cool place he found.
I mean, you can always opt out but he's so excited it'll eat at you for the rest of your life if you accidentally crushed that smile by doing so
Definitely can't purr. Will meow if you ask him, but he'll be too embarrassed you won't see him for a whole week after. (😔)
Durin:
DURIN DURIN DURIN—
Sorry ma bad.
Can't take a compliment. (This is cannon, you cannot fight me)
Can take headpats tho!
Just... try to not injure your hand with the pointy pointy horns on his head.
Seriously, he'll feel so bad if you do, and the headpat won't feel as fulfilling anymore :(
Very good boy <3 Always eager to please! So make sure to show your appreciation for him to get him used to those compliments and keep that spark in his eyes!
Can and will purr.
He gives weird kid who likes to meow vibes, so there's that too I guess.
This is just for fun! So feel free to add your bits and pieces<3
݁(except maybe— if they were dying. Or worse, you.)݁
— Just a small note: this post was written with a gn!reader in mind. The “girlhood” line in Signora’s part is metaphorical—symbolic of vulnerability, seen through her lens—not meant to imply or specify anything about the reader! My apologies for not clarifying sooner. Take care, and thank you sm for reading ‹𝟹
✦Pierro
''You remind me of the human I buried to survive.''
You remind him of something sun-warmed and pure. If the gods had been kinder, you were someone he could drink tea with in a sunlit herbarium. If he had met you before he lost everything, he might've asked you to become a part of it.
He watches you with the same bitterness of a man who once begged the stars and got nothing back
✦Capitano
''....''
Honor is everything to a man like him but you've smiled and for the first time, he wondered losing an army for a flicker of light was such a tragedy. No one will know. He will take that silence to grave, strapped in armor.
✦Dottore
"I’ve recreated your nervous system in glass and broken it seventy-two times. Still not enough."
He dissected every kindness you gave him and labeled it ‘contamination.’ He’ll never say it, but he studies you like an unexpected variable.
He has your laugh recorded. Reversed. Slowed. Studied. He plays it at midnight. You sounded like a child, once.
✦Columbina
''I am alone but not with you''
She wants to take you and put it in her pocket; folded and touched shut like a charm before a massacre.
From the places she's usually perched on, everyone below looks like insects. So she wants to keep you forever—in case the war forgets to.
✦Arlecchino
''I don't think I know how to keep people without owning them''
She's scared to treat you different than others, even if you'll never hear her say it. Because admitting means guilt, and guilt means you're not just another dog she picked off the street. Because domestication is just another kind of leash.
She still hides small bottles of poison between your perfumes. Maybe that's love, in her language.
✦Pulcinella
''I like how you're too old to be this naive. Foolish child''
He wants to scare you. Because if you're afraid, it means you’re wise.
If you’re smart, you’ll stay close. And if you’re close… Well… You’ll learn that sometimes, monsters teach you how to survive—by making you survive them.
✦Scaramouche
''If I had a heart, I'd rip it out and serve it on your plate. Or press your ear against my chest so you can listen to it beat for you.''
His tongue is venom and he speaks in curses and snarled comments. No one likes him for it. But his greatest wish is for you to come back; still smiling, hair wet and your hands cupping his after the storm passes. As if there is something human in him to hold.
✦Sandrone
''I envy the dolls. They get to be held by you''
She speaks your name with the same mouth that bit your wrist red. She watches you laugh and wonders if she could peel your joy off your skin and wear it like a coat—just for a moment. Just to see if it fits.
Every time you speak without being asked, she pictures tuning your vocal cords out of existence but leaving your hands untouched. If she sighs around you, don't mistake it for exhaustion— it’s restraint.
✦La Signora
“You remind me of myself before I realized softness is a liability.”
Rosalyne would never say it aloud, but she sees her younger self in the way you linger in doorways, one foot in girlhood, waiting for approval. She almost warns you to run. But saints and women die first. And you're too good at lingering in doorways.
✦Pantalone
“I was afraid you’d look at me like everyone else does. So I made sure you looked up to me instead.”
He made you depend on him. It was easier than being vulnerable. He wanted to see gratitude in your eyes, not judgment. So he bought your silence, your presence and your shampoo— if you smelled like comfort, maybe you’d feel it. Maybe you’d forget to look at him long enough to see the fear.
He didn’t mean to buy your love.
But now that's his, he polishes it daily.
✦Childe
“I worship The Tsaritsa, but I dream of you.”
He hopes you never see the parts of him that enjoy the killing, not just the chase. He’s covered in mud, not blood; and he's quiet because there were more toy orders than usual, not because he had to walk through children to kill the father. It's what he tells himself.
note: for context, this is the second post of the reader being the tsaritsa's daughter. reminder that these are strictly platonic due to reader physically being a teenager!! see post here. might be ooc. (prob is lowk) pierro and pulcinella are really short considering there's not much on them..
lore spoilers!!
ps: part 2!!!
00: the jester, pierro.
to say you didn't like him was an understatement. you met him shortly after he joined your mother's band of fools, as you liked to call them. he was cordial and at first, you liked him enough. he'd share stories about his days as the mage of the vinster king before the cataclysm. similar stories your father used to share about his own family in khaenri'ah. and you'd listen, partly from interest and the other half because it seemed no one else wanted to approach you because of your fragile condition.
though, when you began seeking your mother after recovering enough strength to leave the warmth of your chambers with thick clothes and shivering hands, he became an insurmountable obstacle. it was like he could sense your presence at the massive doors to the throne room or one of the many council rooms in the palace. he'd beat you to the door, closing it behind him with a gentle click to prevent you seeing your mother and he'd escort you back to your chambers.
eventually the attempts became more frequent and more desperate than the last, your younger self homesick for a mother that was so far yet so close at the same time.
in one of the last few attempts you made to try and see your mother for at least a second, he'd finally gone cold.
"your mother refuses to see you, child. behave as the duchess you are and see yourself to your room and recover."
he had shut the door in your face.
from that day, you made it a point to avoid him, and he accepted it without a thought. though, there were still a few moments in which he quietly watched over you between the centuries. moments in a warm room where you let your violin echo your loneliness, or the few times you were outside for a few minutes. your face would crumble as the sun which once felt overwhelmingly warm to you now did nothing against the curse on your body, still freezing your hands and arms even with thick coats.
as time progressed and decades passed, you'd make your disdain clear with side glares and dismiss his reprimands with meaningless and empty promises. though on the very rare occasion you tolerated his presence, you'd listen to his stories like you did centuries ago, because in that aspect, it was like a glimpse of your father lingered on in his tales of khaenri'ah.
01: the captain, capitano.
the relationship between the two of you was oddly meaningful. the man was as quiet as a mouse when the two of you were alone. you weren't blind; you knew he and many of the harbingers only kept you company to keep an eye on you. because of that, you didn't find the formidable man intimidating, but a man with wise words and great intellect.
when you picked up the sword after being bedridden for such a long time, your steps weren't even close to your former prowess. once a child who wielded the blade and polearm with the vigor of a graceful warrior now tripped and staggered with simple movements. yet he often sat in silence, watching the flaws in your stance and with a deep voice, he'd point them out.
"your feet are too far apart and your arms are too close to your body." his footsteps were heavy on the thick carpet. he knew better than to be too close to you, his cryo capabilities would freeze your skin. instead, the scabbard of your sword pushed your arms a few inches to your right side.
"having a firmer base and keeping your feet light will allow you to move like a swan and strike with the strength of a tiger."
some days, he'd come around just to watch you get back up to your feet. he'd heard about your achievements in your youth (wonder from who), and watching you struggle to keep up with simple exercises made something in him want to see you improve. other times. he'd simply come and drink tea in silence, listening to you vent your frustrations about your swordsmanship, and most importantly, your mother.
when your body started adapting to your curse, he started dueling you. while your limbs started freezing over and showing signs of fatigue, he looked like a boulder being brushed by a light breeze. when the jester heard about it, he discouraged the practice and relayed that your mother found it unwise. but you stopped listening to anything that came from him. you made it obvious you wouldn't listen unless your mother said it face to face.
the captain, despite his loyalty to your mother, couldn't refuse your demand to keep training you. and so he did, even when your body was at its limit and your fingers turned a deep cerulean. he was harsh, but by the time you were collapsed on the carpet shivering, he had already draped a thick blanket over you and ordered a servant to bring tea. it was through him that you learned how to insulate your body with the own coldness of your flames.
then when your body warmed enough to stand and move slowly, you'd sit and drink tea together in silence. it was poetic, how a man who was slowly eroding was teaching a child cursed with the same fate. though one day, you were tempted to ask about the thing that plagued you the most.
"what lies beyond your hat, thrain?" he was calm about it, as if he had been prepared for years.
"a face disfigured by time and the consequences of sinners." you could only assume he meant the same erosion that was chiseled into your left hand. dark blue coloring and cracks of light blue creeping up your arm, so different from the half of the curse that affected your vision.
as the years went by, you regained some of your former prowess, and even thrain had to admit that he was putting in effort in defeating you. you weren't near his level, clearly, but you were scarily close considering the curse that burned you at both ends.
shortly before he left for natlan, he confided in you. in came in simple conversation after one of your duels. he calmly his tea, faced clouded with darkness while you regained your breath and warmth. he told you of his anger of the pyro archon, the way the gnosis held the solution towards the night kingdom and ley lines.
of course, you knew the way they functioned. your limited freedom and confinement to the indoors often led you down rabbit holes of information found in the books in the library. but when he told you of the souls in his body and his plan for natlan, you shut down as a defense mechanism.
the day he left, he visited you one last time. you were quiet and distant, but despite that, he allowed himself to get close to you. he patted the top of your head and murmured goodbye before his heavy footsteps disappeared down the corridor.
when the news came of his dormant state, you allowed a single tear to escape the gap of your mask, for the man who was your mentor and made his peace.
but for now, your plan was set in motion.
02: the doctor, dottore.
you quickly found out the doctor was a complex and multifaceted man. his interest in you was quickly piqued, an order from the tsaritsa herself to monitor your wellbeing. you met him a few years after he became a harbinger, a young man expelled from the akademiya for illegal research with too much ambition and too much thirst for knowledge.
the laboratory created for him in the depths of the zapolyarny palace was cold, even by the standards of an acclimated snezhnayan. the first time you stepped foot in it (quite literally), ice crept up your leg and made it a dense block of ice before you could step back. servants had to carry you back to your chambers while dottore followed closely behind, muttering his observations.
your leg refused to thaw until he took the risk of placing fire on it directly. from then on, he made a makeshift lab in the corner of the drawing room in your chambers, visiting you a couple of times a month due to the tsaritsa's demands. you found that dottore was an unconventionally antisocial man. despite talking to himself about his observations and findings, he'd give you one word answers to the things to didn't understand.
"interesting. the compounds and composition hasn't been changed, yet the chemical traces suggest contradicting elements.. why is that?" he watched a small sample of your fire with fascination, seeing it gently lick a blank sheet of paper. in the blink of an eye, it became a thin sheet of ice that broke with a slight touch.
"what does that mean?" you swung your legs languidly with boredom.
"something."
eventually, begrudgingly, zandik, as you somehow forced out of him, found himself warming up to you. sometimes, he brought you sweets or played the piano in your room after the experimenting left you cold and weak. he even began to strike up irrelevant findings in his other experiments just to erase the awkward silence.
but then, his visits became weekly. he'd realized that for some reason, you weren't aging as you should have. sure, you were a godling, but even then, you should have aged until you reached adulthood. but a single year of human development became three for your internal timeframe, then five, then ten, and so on until you became physically stuck at the age of sixteen.
unlike you or pierro or thrain, zandik was human, despite all his attempts to become immortal. you watched his body become slower and strained, watched as wrinkles formed around his eyes and mouth. but he wasn't scared. one day, he told and showed you of his success. on one of your checkups, a boy around your age accompanied him and your heart nearly stopped.
he looked like your little brother, had he lived sans the red eyes.
segments, he called them, a way for him to remain immortal while decaying like a human. the boy was warmer than the original zandik, though he still carried the same sharp ambition and relentless intelligence.
when the original zandik died, you cried for hours, not because you were particularly close, but rather because he became someone else you lost. eventually as time passed and segments grew from children to old men, you stopped crying for them, and each segment strayed from the familiarity the original zandik had with you.
but perhaps out of the consciousness of their being, everytime one of the segments was close to their time, they'd leave with a farewell, something even zandik didn't do, in which you'd stubbornly say you'd see them the following week. of course, by then a younger segment had replaced them and continued as if nothing happened.
once the news from nod-krai and sumeru reached your ears, you did not weep for him. instead, you looked at the piano in your room and sat on the stool, fingers pressing the keys to a solemn melody, the same he played after tiring days. when the song ended, you could only glance back at the piano.
"for good, our final farewell, zandik."
03: the damselette, columbina.
she came to you a particularly lonely night. the palace was oddly quiet except for the gentle weeping coming from your cello, a rendition of a popular ballet piece from the korolevskiy troupe. the song served as the entrance of the grand dance between the male and female lead. you had seen it with your father and mother when it was first released, your little brother barely walking and babbling.
your mother naturally loved it, a grand orchestra piece made by a single composer, the song acting as a final goodbye to his beloved sister. (yes i love pas de deux) you didn't understand it then, too young to comprehend it, but old enough to have the melody remain in your mind. but by extension, you grew to understand why she adored it.
after all, the song was a final, grand act of love.
amidst the timbre of the cello, a soft voice hummed the voice. from surprise. the grip on your bow tightened and what could only be described as a squeal squeak out of the cello. you turned around, surprised to see her standing mere feet away from you. you hadn't heard her coming. she tilted her head, her voice as soothing as a balm for the soul.
"why did you stop?" your eyes tried to meet hers, only to find a crisscross blindfold over her shut eyes.
"i wasn't expecting people. did my mother send you?" you queried, distant but not unkindly.
"the tsaritsa? no, she did not. i was merely wandering about the garden, but the wind carried over the melody. what was it?"
"you've never heard of the grand step of two?" you asked with bewilderment, a break in the composure you were carefully building around yourself. "it's the korolevskiy troupe's best movement."
"i rarely get the chance to leave the palace." she hummed quietly. you took a few seconds to digest her words before placing your bow back on the strings and began playing the descending scale once again. this time, she familiarized herself with the scale before singing it back in cadence.
from then on, her voice became the harmony to the melody of your violin or cello, or even the piano in your room. her voice, soothing as it was, sometimes lulled you sleep in between playing and you'd wake up to her gone, the sleeping only becoming more frequent after the abyssal curse reached your neck. sometimes, you'd talk about mundane things.
"is it as good as everyone says? the play from the korolevskiy troupe?" she mused over tea.
"it's recognized across teyvat as one of the most successful ballet pieces. to think you haven't seen it, i can't deny it, it surprises me."
"perhaps you and i can go see it- oh. forgive me." you shook your head, the movement stiff with melancholy. with the raging winters, even stepping foot outside the palace would be enough to freeze you solid.
"just make sure you see it." you said with a sad smile.
the day she did, she came back to you a few days later. sandrone had accompanied her and cried during the second act, during the grand step of two. she confided in you then. the piece caused her to feel homesick. homesick to a place she never truly belonged and the exhaustion of being utilized for her ability.
you didn't know what it was. unlike the other harbingers, you had never seen her demonstrate any strength that belied her gentle appearance. but there had to be a reason why your mother ranked her so high. at first, it was only a mention that breezed past your thoughts, but eventually, you could see it in her face.
you didn't want to lose anyone else. sure, your heart had become colder and accustomed to death and loss, but even thinking about it made your gut clench as if to throw up. she was the first to simply coexist with you, the first to see you, not as the tsaritsa's daughter, but simply you.
at first, you tried to dissuade her with the obvious that your mother wouldn't tolerate treason against her or the fatui. if she got caught, it would be a death sentence. but you saw the smile on her face, melancholic and languid, her mind already set.
you let her go.
as expected, the rooster had issued the palestar edict on your mother's behalf. days passed following the chaos between the woman who was in fact, the trilune goddess, and zandik.
a single letter had been delivered to you, the emblem of the frostmoon scions colored on the back with a single sentence:
"we'll watch the korolevskiy troupe together someday."
the letter was burned to ashes in the fireplace.
the plan didn't leave room for hesitation.
04: the knave, arlecchino.
she was the first one to be sought out by you. it wasn't directly, but the ascension of the criminal who killed the former fourth harbinger to be her replacement had roused your curiosity. sure, lesser ranked harbingers or mortal ones were simply replaced once their time came, but to think it was mere child who defeated the fourth harbinger was astounding.
you rarely left your chambers for a couple of years. it was around this point where you began wearing a mask to hide your face. the curse had caught up to your face. you understood why thrain hid his, yours a disfigured atrocity that made you break every mirror in your chambers and refused dottore's checkups. even rosalyne, who you often sought out, was denied entry.
the guards stationed at the throne room didn't even stop you at the massive doors, staring at you with bewilderment before opening the doors. there alone in the grand space stood a white and black haired teenager around your physical age, her frame turning towards you. her eyes narrowed imperceptibly with suspicion.
"are you another harbinger?" she asked, though it came out more as a demand. you mere shook your head with a languid grace.
"a mere passer-by. i try to understand who the fools who serve my mother are." you climbed up the steps slowly, almost painfully. your vision had become more unpredictable with the centuries and instead of your body freezing every time the temperature was below your body's liking, it also started freezing things through your clothes, evident in the splotches of ice of the stairs where your feet were.
"mother?" she murmured before humming with realization as she looked at a lavish portrait in the throne room. the tsaritsa with a man, a little boy who looked just like her, and an older girl who took after her father with the tsaritsa's eyes. "you're the grand duchess."
you hummed absentmindedly. you avoided looking at the portrait, the change in what you looked like and now would have probably been another breaking point. instead, you fixed your gaze on her. "you're young for a harbinger, though i suppose life favors the victors." you paused. standing beside her, the ice beneath your feet melted and you felt a hint of warmth. it felt wonderful, the first time in nearly five hundred years in which you felt warm and not cold. "hmm.. perhaps one day, you could join me for tea."
she started coming over to your chambers often, surprising rosalyne who teased you for not inviting her over. simply put, it was refreshing having someone of similar age to you close, even more so someone as honest about her intentions. you found to be serious and stern, though sometimes when it was just the female harbingers and yourself at one of sandrone's tea parties, she'd relax.
her warmth was more than welcome, and you often found yourself falling asleep on her shoulder. often, she relayed what pierro told her about her heritage, about the fall of the crimson moon dynasty and the rise of the eclipse dynasty in khaenri'ah. sometimes, you would supply her with your own stream of information from years of reading about the matter.
the curses you shared, so different yet so similar at the same time only seemed to strengthen the amicable bond between the two of you. hers, which burned so brightly also burned and corrupted her soul. yours, which was once the brightest flame of them all reduced to a power that slowly killed your body from the sheer cold.
she told you of her past, growing up in the house of the hearth alongside the only friend she ever had and the cruel mother that tore the bond between them. her silence suggested the sheer cruelty. in turn, you told her the broader details of your disappearance from the public eye, why the citizens of snezhnaya hadn't seen the grand duchess for centuries.
the knave began leaving for fontaine throughout the year, now managing the house of the hearth her own way. you could see the changes in her, the way she began growing out her hair and wearing makeup to look older than she really was. you watched with a saddened heart and envy as the young girl became a truly formidable woman who cared deeply despite her aloof demeanor.
in the meetings that became less frequent, she began to talk about the children of the house. particularly a set of twins and a younger boy who was well versed with mechanics.
"freminet, he's talented in many areas, yet his lack of confidence holds him back." she said once, her voice much deeper than you remembered it. "you'd get along with him, considering your own expertise in the mundane." she said it as if you weren't a multi centennial being.
she noticed your unusual silence one day, thick and almost oppressive in nature. the tea that was usually in the table in front of you wasn't there, and neither was the cursed girl she grew to see as a valued friend and sometimes slept on her shoulder when the curse exhausted her.
"peruere." you started, voice low and pained. your heart and face burned, feeling the curse extend slightly further. "if the time ever came, where someone you loved dearly was at risk, and it went against the life you've constructed as a harbinger.. would you fight as the knave or as peruere?"
"where does this come from?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and intrigue. "i'd rather avoid that sort of thing. but in the hypothetical sense.. peruere."
she didn't understand it then, why she could sense you smile under the mask, but now after columbina was gods knows where because of dottore, the decision was much simpler to make as she clenched her fist with steady determination.
the moment she went back to snezhnaya, she went to see you. yet you did not open the door, not the first time, nor the second, or the third day.
you could only listen to her retreating footsteps as you sat against the wall, the room covered in ice as you shed the last tears you ever would.
05: the rooster, pulcinella.
he was much like pierro in terms of keeping you away from matters concerning the fatui. by the time he had come, you weren't interested anymore. you kept your distance from him. you had heard how he constantly twisted people's words against them and began rumors among the ranks about the other harbingers.
not only that, but it seemed the facade of the dedicated mayor who took care of ajax's was really just a means to control him. he was young, you knew childe trusted him implicitly, but you and most of the harbingers understood it was for leverage.
to you, he was just another obstacle in the way of you seeing your mother, but unlike the director, you didn't fight him. although if there ever came a time where he crossed the line, you were more than ready to put him in his place. you weren't a harbinger after all. the rules did not apply to you.
06: the balladeer, scaramouche.
you met him after one of dottore's checkups. the scientist told you of an interesting being he found while in inazuma, a puppet, hidden in the ruins of an old village. at first, it was just a mention until he quite literally crashed into you at the turn of a corridor.
he scoffed and walked away while you stayed winded for a bit, mostly because the captain had not gone easy during a duel and had you wanting to run away from the room.
you rarely saw him between going and leaving harbinger meetings or when you tried to seek out your mother despite the constant refusal from the jester or the rooster. he didn't pay you any mind, as if you were just another deluded person in the palace.
the first proper interaction you had with him was after your last attempt to see your mother. it had been successful, but the event that transpired left you feeling empty and cold. you found yourself in the balcony of one of the towers, not caring about your limbs as they became solid ice or the crystalization of the skin of your face. you didn't cry, but you never wanted to disappear as much as you did at that moment.
"to think the beloved grand duchess of snezhnaya isn't very beloved by the tsaritsa herself. amusing." his voice was as cold as the winter storm that raged outside the castle. you turned and looked at him, four pointed star pupils glaring at him with heat that contested the ice of your limbs.
"you cross a line, balladeer." your voice imitated the command in your mother's voice exceptionally well. "though, i must say that you are the pot calling the kettle black. the abandoned puppet of the shogun, that i fear, is far more depressing than my situation."
"i've made my peace with it." he scoffed. he stopped beside you, wearing only the black and purple clothes that were far too light for such a cold place. he couldn't feel it, you noticed. you envied it.
"if you made your way here to become a harbinger, then clearly, you have not. though, i can't exactly blame you for it." your teeth clattered together as frost covered your chin. he looked at you incredulously, before scoffing again.
"why are you here? are you really willing to suffer for the actions of someone who clearly doesn't want you near?" his words struck something in your and for that moment, they served their purpose. you clenched your jaw and went back inside the palace with difficulty.
there was a strange rivalry between the two of you, not oppressive, but that of two people with incredibly similar situations trying to coax the other to move on while clinging to the past. often, you'd find yourself in situations where you took turns insulting the other while other harbingers like dottore were around. it filled the room with light humor, considering that if any other person said those things to either one of you, they'd be missing by dinner.
however, the two of you also shared the appreciation of knowledge. it had come up in random conversation, but it stuck with you, his theory of a false sky. you found yourself invested in research about the possibility of it, eventually leading to your investigation of the four shades. particularly ronova, the shade of death.
when he started collaborating with dottore, you found yourself suspicious. you knew he wasn't over his past or the betrayals inflicted on him. but to become an artificial god, was a blasphemy that even you didn't consider wise.
"what are you trying to prove, scaramouche? that you can rewrite fate?" you asked him the night before he and dottore left for sumeru. he turned on his heels, answering as if it were the most obvious thing.
"fulfilling what i was created for. godhood is meant to be mine, even if it's achieved through unconventional ways." he scowled slightly. "maybe the reason you're curse hasn't gone away is simply because you let it control you."
you no longer remember him.
07: the marionette, sandrone.
you found the woman intriguing, really. you first met her when rosalyne invited you to her tea party on her behalf, dragging you along while telling you that it would be good for you. you simply let her, mostly because you didn't have anything better to do and you wanted to leave your chambers for a bit.
yet as you entered sandrone's room, what could only be described as a squeak left your lips as a giant automaton filled the room with its tall and rather wide frame.
"don't mind pulonia, take a seat." her voice was high and pompous. you sat next to rosalyne, naturally, far enough away to put some distance between yourself and the giant mecha. rosalyne never let you live your fear of pulonia down.
to say you were a bit terrified of her brilliance for mechanics was an understatement. her workshop was filled with books and parts used for mechas, complex where even your extensive knowledge of the sciences failed to grasp what half of it meant.
you rarely visited her workshop, as there wasn't much in common between the two of you. she tolerated you, as she put it, often spending time complaining about columbina's perpetual singing or rosalyne's habitual drinking habits. she did, however, find an interest in the aspect of your curse. she'd look at the frost on your hands that rarely went away and began ordering pulonia around, much to your dismay.
"why the interest?" you mentioned casually once, observing sandrone as she tinkered with a small device barely larger than a bracelet. she huffed slightly, shooting you daggers, her voice haughty and exaggerated.
"because every time you come over, i happen to find one of my teacups encrusted with ice." she pointed an accusing finger at you. "do you know how long it takes for it to melt?! or how many handles have been snapped off?! clearly gloves aren't going to be a long time solution so i'm making one."
"does that mean you want me at your tea parties? i'm honored." you teased with a small smile. she groaned and rolled her eyes
"please, i'm only doing this because i'd never hear the end of it from rosalyne." she muttered out. what she made was a carefully designed bracelet with constant heating. of course. the gadget froze over the moment it was placed on your wrist, leading to a groan from the woman.
she noticed the way that around her, you took after rosalyne and often teased her. it was probably one of the only things left that really showed that despite the curse, you were still a teenager. of course, whenever she did get annoyed, she'd "send" pulonia after you. she never really did, but watching you run out of the room was amusing enough.
she never did stop trying to build something for your hands. you were her guinea pig for the warming device, yet every time, it failed to work. she never got too discouraged, and by a few days later, you were pulled back into her workshop.
the teasing started dying down after years, as if the curse had hardened you, and it did, literally and metaphorically. but after rosalyne's death, it tanked, and not even threatening you with pulonia was enough to get you to act like before.
your presence at her tea parties became less frequent until you were just another empty seat.
08: the fair lady, la signora.
you were there when she became a harbinger out of formality, even though to had two servants flanking your side and helping you stand straight. you watched as pierro read your mother's decree out loud for the rest of the harbingers to hear. rosalyne-kruzchka lohefalter, the crimson witch of flames, to become the eighth fatui harbinger, and the title of la signora bequeath to her like a heirloom.
you only really met her when you were taken to the infirmary during a difficult night where you would not stop shivering. she was there, getting salve for the burns the liquid flame caused to her face. her eyes locked onto your frame, hiding beneath thick layers of blankets and sheets that barely did anything to stop the shivers.
"what's a kid like you doing here?" she asked kindly, the mondstadtian unaware of your royal blood. the servant beside you had looked at her with a pointed glare.
"this is the grand duchess and the tsesarevna, (name) anastasyevna." (yes matronymics) you were far too out of it to really listen to what they were saying, and eventually the cold brought you into a deep sleep. but when you woke up, you didn't see the servant, but rather rosalyne sitting beside you while reading.
she set down her book when she saw you stir slightly and gave a small smile. her hand was incredibly warm as it takes through the strands of your hair before settling on your cheek. surprisingly, frost didn't cover it and for the first time since you were cursed, someone gave you affection without the fear of your curse.
you quickly learned that your mother had specifically instructed her to look after you, mostly because it seemed that your skin didn't freeze with her touch and because the woman was instinctively maternal around children. as young as you were, you followed her around a lot when you were strong enough to walk like a duckling following its mother.
she never seemed to mind it, encouraged it, even. you, who never stepped foot outside of snezhnaya, often listened to her descriptions of her old home in mondstadt, though they were always laced with slight bitterness, and her studies in sumeru.
once you got better and began playing your instruments again, she often listened closely with a glass of wine, and in her eyes, a melancholy glazed her eyes, especially if the song was ever slightly solemn. you never questioned it. sometimes, she had sheet music sent from the other nations, ballads from mondstadt, anthems from sumeru, or folk songs from liyue.
in every aspect except blood, she became a partner in crime and something of a guardian. the two of you often teamed up to tease sandrone, more so when she began developing a bit of a temper. though you found yourself asking rosalyne more and more about your mother, which she always changed the topic to something else.
she was your constant source of heating, often finding yourself with your head on her lap while you complained about your mother or the endless checkups that she insisted. she'd pinch your cheek lightly with a light chuckle or rub the points of your ear when they were covered with frost. (she never lost that habit, even centuries later when you were taller than her and lost your childlike behavior.)
later in the centuries and after you had seen your mother, rosalyne remained as one of the people who had a deep bond with you. your new antisocial behavior made her push you into interacting with the other harbingers, such as sandrone and pantalone.
"what did the korolevskiy troupe perform this time?" peruere asked, handing over her plate for a slice of cake while you languidly sipped your tea beneath the mask.
"the mountain sparrow. you missed a good one." rosalyne answered, lying next to you on the couch, her hand twirling with your short (or tied up) hair. you ignored sandrone's sharp comment about sitting next to dottore and pantalone. and columbina's rebuttal of seeing sandrone cry.
"the composition was crafted from love and death. it'd be difficult to sit through it without shedding a tear." your voice was a low hum.
"perhaps a rendition?" rosalyne teased lightly, though peruere did seem interested. you shook your head.
"perhaps another time." the fair lady frowned slightly but didn't push.
she had seen you grow from a warm-hearted child to an antisocial teenager, the curse consuming and eroding your being. alongside it, you had developed a thirst for power that wasn't there before, spending more and more time researching abyssal energy and the ley lines.
inazuma was a region you knew little about, even through all the literature in the palace. rosalyne had promised to bring back a few light novels and to tell you about the region when she got back, as she did every time she departed for a nation.
only this time, nothing but ashes came back.
09: the regrator, pantalone.
you met feofan before he became a harbinger, one of zandik's experiments. originally, he was just a name in passing after a check up, though the doctor eventually began talking about him more in his pursuit of an elixir of immortality.
he was much like zandik in terms of ambition, a man born with nothing who hated the gods for interfering in mortal affairs. you didn't think much of him until he became a harbinger by zandik's recommendation. it was then that he and zandik were rarely seen apart, even during your checkups.
your blood was one of the materials zandik sought to try and craft an elixir of immortality. while it didn't work on him, it did for the chain-smoker. despite his hatred for the gods, it seemed the rule didn't apply for you. he felt indebted, even if he never said it out loud.
most of the time, his actions were subtle. you'd open the doors to your chambers and you'd find various assortments of sweets or silks from liyue. he was the reason you owned a cello, finding it in your room after a particularly bad winter night.
"are cigarettes really worth another set of lungs, feofan?" you asked once, nose wrinkling slightly from the smell. you had made yourself comfortable in his office, the room warm and covered with thick tapestries and carpets in front of the hearth. his smile was small and he answered with a hum.
"life's simple pleasures will always have a place. besides, there's nothing a good cigarette can't fix. i may as well make use of immortality to appreciate it thoroughly." you rolled your eyes.
"no being in teyvat is truly immortal. even the gods you hate will eventually erode to the works of time and death. it's only a matter of duration." he gave a light chuckle to your words and simply let out another puff of thick smoke.
"that just gives me more reason to take pleasure in these vices."
one time, he offered you a sip of his wine. he knew you wouldn't get any older physically, but your life was limited, so why not give you a glimpse of adulthood? it was only the one time, both because you spat out the bitter drink and stained a very expensive coat of his, and because he had been reprimanded by the rooster.
part of you knew the man would die not much longer after you eroded, the elixir no longer having a donor for the immortal aspect. you knew he knew, but he always told you the same thing. forget the past, live in the present, and ignore the future.
"if everyone had the same mentality you did, the world would cease to exist." you said over the gentle weeping of the piano dottore played. "equal attention to the three are necessary for survival."
"they distract from the moment. could you imagine being focused on something you couldn't control that you miss the time you spend with a good bottle of wine or comrades?"
needless to say, you appreciated his somewhat absurdist view on the passage of time, even if you couldn't relate to it.
you wanted to take fate into your own hands.
10: ???
11: childe, tartaglia.
you refused to see him for the longest time. it wasn't just because the rooster had personally sought him out at an absurdly young age, but because your mind betrayed you. instead of seeing ginger hair and deep blue eyes, your brain changed his features to a platinum white and eyes that held the four pointed star.
the fourteen year old didn't know who you were, a result of centuries of hiding away in the palace because of your curse. but all he knew was that you were mentored by the strongest man there was. and that was enough to get him to plague every walk around zapolyarny palace.
you'd leave your chambers and walk around the corridors only to have a second set of footsteps imitating yours. you'd shoot him a pointed, but heatless glare through your mask to try and get him to stay away, only for the boy to stubbornly follow you. eventually, his presence became expected and you'd save him a seat next to you in one of the drawing rooms.
"stubborn child, why do you insist on following me like a stray?" you demanded once, watching the boy take multiple biscuits from the serving stand on the coffee table, completely ignoring the warm cup of tea in front of him. he stuffed one in his mouth.
"cause you're the captain's student. he refuses to duel me." he stated, as if it made perfect sense for one of the strongest humans alive to duel a fourteen year old boy. "and if i beat you, then he'll be sure to consider me as a fine duelist."
you sighed in disbelief and continued drinking your tea.
you didn't think much of it until you started realizing more and more lower ranking fatui members were coming back injured from training. when you observed the training one day, you realized that it was childe's doing. despite his age and childish behavior, he had an intense bloodlust not even some vengeful gods had.
you indulged one day, picking up a wooden sword from one of the many racks lined up against the wall and walked over to the ginger, who stood over a well beaten pyro agent. his eyes lit up with adrenaline and he rushed forward, swinging his wooden staff. it only hit air as you side stepped it easily along with the other swings and grabbed him from the back of his collar like a petulant brat.
"what gives?!" he complained, freeing himself from your grip. you huffed lightly.
"if you cannot land a single hit on me, how do you expect the captain to duel you." you watched him huff with disappointment. you sighed through your nose and set the wooden blade down.
"from now, you come to me. other harbingers have already complained that their fatuus are out of commission because of your ruthlessness. understood?" you ordered. his eyes twinkled with satisfaction and victory. you won the battle, but he won the war.
of course, your duels often consisted of his calculated swinging that hit air and your constant side stepping before poking him with the end of the wooden blade or simply making him fall on his ass.
though, you felt.. proud.
once he was tired enough, you'd sit him on a couch and give him sweets. it was in those moments where he'd tell you about his family, especially his younger brother teucer. you listened out of politeness, but inwardly, anger consumed you. you knew the rooster was only taking care of his family as a way to control and manipulate ajax.
with time, he proved to be an exceptionally talented fighter, especially after he gained a delusion. you actually had to carry some of his attacks and his movements were in tandem with yours. even some of his techniques with the polearm were influenced by some of your own, untraditional methods. but you did make sure to put him in his place when he got too cocky.
"at this rate, you might actually make me take this seriously someday." you said, extending a hand towards his form. he shifted back from his alternate form and took it. he had grown taller than you, yet he still carried that childish behavior. you had grown used to it at a certain point.
"only seriously? i was hoping i'd defeat you." after his orders to go to liyue, dueling became rarer because of the schedule conflicts. but after rosalyne's death, even going near you seemed impossible.
hii !! i wanted to request hcs on how you think wanderer would react if his partner got jealous
i often see people depicting wanderer to be the more jealous one in the relationship and im curious about your take on the inverse
Jealousy, Jealousy｡⋆｡˚☽
Genshin Characters x jealous reader
Includes in this order -> Wanderer, Layla, Chiori, Cyno, Columbina, Lohen
a/n: I'm lowkey gonna add more characters to this
Links: nav | masterlist
Wanderer
He will notice faster than he lets on if you start acting off. He' very perceptive of your emotions because he cares a lot about you
Not the type to tease or make fun of you at all for being jealous
He has a history of abandonment and betrayal, so he understands your feelings a lot
Does secretly find it reassuring that you're afraid of losing him too. It makes him feel weird in a good way
He will bluntly say something like "You're really worried about them?"
His question is genuine, the concept of him even considering someone else when he already chose you is insane to him
Like he doesn't judge (partly because he also gets jealous sometimes even though he trusts you immensely) but he also knows that he's loyal to you
And he knows that you do trust him. He's done nothing to make you doubt him so he'll assume that it was either an outside cause or insecurity that caused you to feel that way
He will directly tell you that you have nothing to worry about because he's not interested in anyone else
If he weren't sure about you, you wouldn't be together in the first place
After that he will opt for non-verbal reassurance
Like he will definitely prioritize you (he already does, but even more-so), look to spend more time together even if it's just coexisting, go out of his way to do sweet things for you, etc.
He's terrible at initiating physical affection but he will do it if he thinks that it would help you
Imagine him hesitatingly asking if you want a hug
Will immediately agree if you ask for cuddles instead though
Don't call him out on being sweet, he will be embarrassed
Will try to subtly gauge your mood after a while, depending on whether you feel better or not he might bring back some of his sarcasm
NOT directed at your jealousy though, will never pick on something vulnerable
Loves you a lot and will try his best to reassure you
Layla
Will probably notice that something is off, even have a feeling of what it is, but doesn't want to jump to conclusions
Her own self-doubt makes her overly aware of other's feelings, but she also struggles to interpret stuff the right way
So she asks you directly. She cares so she wants to get to the bottom of this
If you admit that you were jealous she wouldn't know what to say at first
Someone caring about her this much is very blush inducing to her
Will be a little flustered but at the same time wants to reassure you as quick as possible
She's already the type to be really sweet to her partner and she will absolutely use this as an excuse to be even sweeter
Expect lots of affectionate words, she gets embarrassed saying them but she'll do it anyways
Also uses it as an excuse to nap and cuddle together
Chiori
Very straightforward once she notices that something up
Will ask you about it and will expect you to be honest. Her patience for unnecessary drama is thin
If you do lie she will give you one more chance to be honest by asking "are you sure?" but if you lie again then she'll lowkey just leave you be until you change your mind about lying or until you're over it
She's not one to press when you clearly don't want her to, and she will not blame you for wanting to avoid an emotional conversation, so she will trust you to handle yourself if you do go that route
Wonders if she did anything to make you feel like you can't confide in her and might bring that up in the future when your feelings have passed
Let's say you did open up though
She will take it seriously and will try to find out why you felt jealous
If the issue was a misunderstanding she'll clear it up and quickly move on, avoiding the same kinds of misunderstandings in the future by either reassuring you beforehand or just by communicating stuff better
If the jealousy stems from insecurity she'll definitely reassure you. She's very observant with her partners emotional needs
Has a habit of fixing problems at their source (not just in relationships, this is a general thing for her) so she might look more aloof than she feels
But she can be surprisingly affectionate when she realizes that you're upset so she's overall still pretty sweet. You can definitely tell that she cares
Cyno
It was because he was talking SO enthusiastically with this other person, you swear you've never seen his eyes shine this much (it was about a TCG Card)
Does NOT notice it on his own, he is way too dense
Because he doesn't realize the problem, he will accidentally make it worse
"Yes and not only is this person good at TCG, they also have the super rare card that I wanted to get for a while, they said they got it in a festival in Nod Krai, something about being forced to participate..."
Won't shut up about it
When you first tell him to please stop gushing about this person he looks at you in confusion
Gushing about this person?? In his mind he was gushing about TCG
Will apologize though, he would never make you intentionally sad and he really didn't mean to
Says that not even the best TCG player in the world would win his favor over you
Also he might have looked lively during the conversation about TCG with the other person, but it doesn't come close to how lively he looks with you sometimes (esp when you crack dad jokes like him)
Columbina
She will not notice for a while
If you start throwing hints, she will know that something is wrong, but not exactly what
It will randomly click for her
Imagine her tilting her head, asking "Are you jealous?" even though by then she already knows the answer
If you deny it she will just say "You are" and accept it as a fact. Once she knows, you can't fool her
If you do admit to being jealous she will lowkey be curious about it, asking you if you thought she'd leave you
She's not offended or accusatory or anything like that, just genuinely trying to understand so that she can best help you
Kinda giving therapy with her wordings
"What made you think that?"
Will reassure you by giving more affection, she'll lean on your shoulder and tell you that you worry too much in the calmest voice
Keeps this moment in mind and if you get jealous again in the future she'll point it out, but then also comfort you again
Lohen
Oh he WILL notice
And he thinks you're hot when jealous so he WILL make it worse on purpose
Usually he's the jealous and possessive one so he has to jealousymaxx you to make up for it
Leans in when hes talking with another person, smiles creepily charmingly, low voice, all that
To normal people it looks like he's threatening the other person. You're not normal and neither is he though, he is doing this on purpose.
He WANTS you to get mad at him
Has the most anticipating eyes when you angrily drag him away from the other person by his sleeve
Will absolutely tease
"Aww is my Darling jealous~?
"Stop calling me that and stop talking to that person"
"Stop calling you Darling or jealous?"
His masochistic ahh yearns to be slapped in the face by you, he's practically begging for it with his attitude
The jester's quarters is usually shrouded in a heavy, suffocating silence, reserved for the grim reality of planning a war against the divine. The maps spread across his enormous oak desk are stained with the ink of fallen nations, and the air always carries the faint, ancient scent of ash and dried parchment.
But then there is you. And the soft, mechanical click of a kamera lens shifting into focus.
When you first asked him to buy you a kamera, he didn't think much of it; you always had a habit of staring at scenery for far too long, or of saying out loud how beautiful something in your line of sight was, so naturally he assumed a kamera request was to capture such sights. Pierro never thought that the real reason behind the request was simply to capture him.
Of course, you always took pictures of beautiful sights, but more often than not, when Pierro was around, the first thing he could hear was the soft click of your kamera towards him.
At first, it caught him off guard.
Click.
He was reading reports.
Click.
He was overlooking troop deployments across Snezhnaya.
Click.
He was quietly watching the snow fall beyond the palace windows.
Every time he heard that familiar shutter, he expected you to be photographing something behind him.
Instead...
The lens was always pointed directly at him.
...click
Pierro doesn’t move immediately. He keeps his gaze fixed on a pile of documents, his gloved hand hovering inches over a document. A deep sigh comes out before he even looks up.
"Again...?" He asks before another sound invades the room.
...click
"...Is there something amusing about my paperwork?" Pierro's tone deceptively flat.
"Nope." you reply easily.
"...Then?".
"You look pretty... even when you're so focused like this."
"..."
Silence.
Not uncomfortable.
Merely thoughtful.
There was something in the way you said 'pretty' that awoke an amused feeling in Pierro; he never thought someone would use such word about him so matter-of-factly.
Maybe it was that amusement that made him allow you to take pictures of him in the first place. Although Pierro had set a rule about taking pictures while he was working, just in case your clumsy hands might lose the camera and it may fall into the wrong hands, but besides that, he truly never minded how many photos you took of him. How could he deny your happiness?
Having someone look at him through a lens just to find something beautiful to preserve is the only warmth he has left.
CAPITANO
The first time it happened, Capitano assumed it was an accident.
The quiet click echoed through the camp. He turned his helmet slightly toward you, waiting for an explanation.
You simply lowered the kamera with a smile.
"...Apologies," you said, though your expression suggested you were not sorry in the slightest. "The light looked nice."
He gave a single nod.
"I see."
That was all.
Or at least, that was what he thought.
Capitano is not a vain man.
Praise means little to him.
Admiration even less.
His entire life has been devoted to duty, to honor, to protecting others before himself. He neither seeks attention nor enjoys standing at its center. If anything, he prefers remaining unnoticed, his face forever hidden behind cold steel.
Which is exactly why your fascination confuses him.
One evening, after hearing the familiar click for what must have been the seventh time in the span of an hour, he finally speaks.
"...May I ask something?"
"Of course."
"You possess hundreds of photographs."
You nod.
"I do."
"...Then why continue taking more?"
You blink as though the answer is obvious.
"Because they're all different."
"...Different."
"You're never doing the exact same thing."
You begin scrolling through the kamera.
"Look."
You move beside him, showing him the tiny photographs.
"This one's when you were talking to Ororon."
"..."
"This one's after Sandrone's tea party."
"..."
Capitano studies the images in silence.
None of them are grand.
None are carefully posed.
They are simply... moments.
Small things.
Things he himself would never notice.
"I still don't get why I am the solemn center of each photo..."
"Because i love you." You simply said. "Isn't normal to take pictures of one's true love because they're the most important thing in someone's life?"
You made a small pause.
"Besides i like the idea of preserving your memory with photos... just in case."
Capitano's shoulders become strangely still.
"I see."
From then on, he never asks you to stop.
Sometimes, while you're fumbling with your Kamera, he'll patiently wait before walking away.
"...Finished?"
"Almost."
"...Take your time."
DOTTORE
He notices long before you realize he has.
"You've photographed me forty-three times this week." His voice suddenly interrupted.
You nearly drop the kamera.
"...You counted?"
"I remember." He quickly answered, his gaze hovering over you for a moment.
"...Curious."
"What is?"
"You never photograph my laboratory."
"You never photograph my work."
"You photograph..."
"...Me."
He gestures toward himself.
You simply shrug.
"I like you."
He pauses.
Not dramatically. Not visibly. But something in his focus sharpens.
"Can you repeat that?"
"I like you, is it a crime to photograph something i like?"
He studies your face with unmistakable curiosity.
"...Fascinating."
Rather than discouraging you, he begins doing small things in return, he'll deliberately lean against his desk while reading, knowing the angle of light will change, knowing it will alter how he appears in your frame.
He'll remove his gloves before writing notes, slower than necessary, as if testing whether you notice the difference.
He'll pause in the middle of speaking, just long enough for you to react, as if waiting for the exact moment your finger tightens on the shutter.
Click.
"...As expected."
"You did that on purpose."
"I wished to confirm a hypothesis."
"...You posed."
"...If that is your preferred terminology."
It even surprises him how much he enjoys it.
Not the attention itself, but the fact that its you giving it. That distinction becomes important to him in a way he doesn’t fully articulate, though it lingers in the way he allows himself to be seen a little more often than before, he's is not someone who cares for vanity, nor for how he appears in a frame. And yet, the knowledge that you choose to capture him out of everything in your world truly fascinates him.
He's even looking forward to seeing the results.
"May I see today's collection?"
COLUMBINA
You never really hid the fact that you took pictures of her, in fact you were quite obvious, despite that, she never really said anything, sometimes you wondered if Columbina was even aware that the subjects of the pictures you took was her despite how obvious it was. Of course, Columbina wasn't dumb.
...click
Today she slowly turned her head, as if the light itself has gently called her attention, not startled but curious, her movements are soft, unhurried, almost dreamlike.
"Are you taking a picture of me again?"
"Mhm."
"May I see?"
You hand her the kamera without hesitation.
She looks through every photo with quiet curiosity, her expression unreadable but not unkind. She lingers on some longer than others, tilting her head slightly as if listening to something only she can hear within the images themselves.
"..."
"...You always photograph me when I'm singing."
"I think you look happiest then."
She tilts her head further, almost childlike in her curiosity.
"...Do I?"
"You do."
A gentle smile appeared on her, soft and distant like moonlight on still water, beautiful, at least you saw it that way. Very dramatic that is true but, Columbina's beauty was truly the best thing you could've captured.
At least that's what you tell everyone.
"...Then keep taking them."
"Even if I take a lot?"
"Especially then."
Sometimes she'll quietly wander over while you're reviewing the pictures, footsteps almost silent, as if she’s afraid to disturb the moment even though she’s already part of it.
Without asking, she'll lean her head against your shoulder, watching the screen as if sharing the same memory, breathing in the same quiet.
"...I like seeing myself through your eyes." She said suddenly.
You blinked.
"You say that like it's strange."
"Is it?"
She blinks slowly.
"I think it's nice."
She never thinks your habit is strange.
If anything...
She finds it sweet that someone would treasure even the smallest, quietest fragments of her existence.
"You know..." Columbina suddenly whispered.
"hm?"
"I think i would like it if you were in the photos with me too, we can't let your beauty go to waste."
Your shoulder stiffened slightly, your gaze flicked away as your cheeks burned slightly.
"Don't say things like that so suddenly youー"
click
"huh-"
"hehe now i have a picture of you too, all flustered ( ◜‿◝ )♡"
ARLECCHINO
You never hid the fact that you took pictures of Arlecchino either, and it wasn't like you could hide anything from her regardless. It had never bothered her this small habit of yours, however she did set a clear rule.
"The House is off limits."
You nod immediately.
"No operations."
"No confidential meetings."
"No children unless they're not doing something important and have clearly stated properly that they're comfortable with pictures being taken."
"I understand."
Her rules are absolute, and you respect them without hesitation, its not like they don't make sense.
Outside of work...
She has no objections.
She's reading in the lounge.
Click.
"..."
She doesn’t look up.
Making coffee in the early morning light.
Click.
"...You’re persistent."
Fixing a loose button on her coat before stepping out.
Click.
"...I can hear you, you know."
"I know."
One evening she catches you scrolling through thousands of photos, her presence silent behind you. You don’t even notice her until she speaks.
"...You kept this one?"
She points toward an image taken after a long mission.
Her hair is slightly messy.
She looks exhausted.
Human, in a way few ever see her.
"You look very handsome when you're exhausted." You reply honestly.
Silence stretches between you for a few seconds.
A very faint, incredibly rare smile tugs at the corner of her strict lips. She lets out a quiet, fond sigh, shaking her head.
She leans slightly closer, just enough to see the screen better.
"You document everything."
A pause.
"Even moments I would consider... unnecessary."
Her eyes narrow slightly, but not in displeasure. More like she’s trying to understand the logic behind it.
"I like seeing you even in your most unflattering moments."
"As romantic as that is, I don't think anyone appreciates a bad photo."
She straightens, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she reaches out and gently tilts your kamera down, not stopping you, just adjusting your angle with precise, practiced care.
"If you insist on doing this..."
Her thumb brushes the edge of the device.
"...then at least do it properly."
SCARAMOUCHE
Scaramouche at first finds the whole thing annoying, as much as he loves you it is truly persistent how you keep trying to capture every single moment of him.
"Put that useless piece of junk away before I shatter it into a million pieces. I am not joking."
"No."
"..."
He walks toward you.
You instinctively hug the kamera closer. He just stops close enough that it feels like he could take it if he wanted to... and he did.
He snatches it with effortless speed.
"Hey—!"
You expect him to delete the pictures immediately.
Instead...
He stares at it.
"..."
The silence stretches longer than it should, his eyes narrow slightly, his thumb hovers over the device, not quite pressing anything. For a moment, he looks almost irritated at the idea that something so small has managed to capture him so easily.
He tilts the kamera slightly, and the screen reflects faintly in his eyes.
"You really think this is worth keeping?"
"Yeah." You reply quickly.
That single word makes him pause.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
He scrolls slowly and reluctantly
And then stops.
It’s a picture of him when he thought no one was looking—standing alone, wind brushing through his hair. Just... quiet.
"..."
He clicks to the next image.
Another.
Then another.
Each one makes his expression shift in the smallest, barely there, but still there way.
And yet he keeps going.
"...Why do you even take so many?"
He looks at you.
Really looks.
Then he immediately hands the kamera back.
He turns his head away as if that ends the conversation, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fully leave. He clicks his tongue once, like he’s trying to erase the entire interaction from memory.
He complains every single time.
He rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, calls you ridiculous, insufferable, and worse, but never actually stops you. He just stands there enduring it like it’s a personal inconvenience he refuses to admit he tolerates, like your presence has become an irritation he’s quietly accustomed to.
Yet...
After complaining so much, now whenever an entire day passes without hearing the shutter—
"...You've been quiet."
"Hm?"
"...No pictures today?"
You smiled mockingly.
"Aww do you miss the attention?"
"...Don't misunderstand."
He crosses his arms, looking away, voice sharpening as if to cover something else.
"...It's simply strange."
A pause.
"...Annoying, even."
But he doesn't leave the room right away.
SANDRONE
When you first asked Sandrone for a kamera she expected for you to document the tea parties she hosts, after all it's probably one of the only beautiful and peaceful moments that she has and she takes good care of making everything nice and sets a beautiful table presentation.
So when she finished setting everything every time she didn't expect for the kamera to always point at her.
At first, she assumes it is a mistake.
"...You are not photographing the table?"
Her voice is flat, but there is a faint pause at the end—like she is genuinely trying to understand.
You lower the kamera just a little, still smiling at her.
"I am. But you’re part of it."
She blinks once.
She thought it was just a one-time thing.
But then it happens again.
And again.
Every tea party, every carefully arranged afternoon, every moment she designs for “peace” ends up with your attention drifting away from the porcelain or mechanics and toward her instead.
"...You are doing it again."
"I know."
A pause.
"...I wanted to."
"...Why."
"Because you look cute."
There is a pause.
A long one.
Her fingers tighten slightly around her teacup.
"...That is not a sufficient reason."
But her voice is quieter than before.
And she still doesn’t tell you to stop.
The next time, she prepares more carefully.
The table is even more precise than usual. The lighting is adjusted. Everything is arranged like a display meant to be observed from a distance.
She sits down.
"...This time, focus on the table."
"Mm-hm."
You say it too easily.
Suspiciously easily.
She narrows her eyes slightly.
And then—
Click.
"..."
She doesn’t look up.
She just lets a long sigh out.
It was her again.
Of course it was.
"You are not listening."
"I am."
"You are not."
"I am listening and taking pictures."
"You should be listening and then taking the pictures."
"It works for me this way."
click
She knows she can't change your mind about the pictures you take, and deep inside she probably would be sad if she ever managed for you to actually stop taking pictures of her.
But she won't ever say that out loud of course.
SIGNORA
There are very few things Signora considers worth preserving.
Power fades. Beauty withers. Nations rise only to collapse beneath time's heel. Even people are fleeting; she learned that lesson five hundred years ago when Rostam died and Rosalyne died alongside him, leaving only the Crimson Witch... and later, the Eighth Harbinger. Every attachment she has ever treasured has ended in ashes.
So when she realizes that you are trying to preserve her...
She doesn't understand it.
At first, she assumes it's infatuation, the kind that fades.
She has seen nobles obsess over appearances. Diplomats flatter beautiful women. Admirers become bored after a season.
She expects the same from you.
After all there's no denying that she's a beauty, even she knows that. She expects admiration.
The familiar click of the kamera echoes through the hallway of the Zapolyarny Palace.
She doesn't even bother turning around.
"You've photographed me three times since breakfast."
Click.
"...Four." You grin shamelessly. "You looked pretty."
"..."
A faint sigh leaves her lips.
"You have remarkably low standards."
"You are my standards."
"..."
For a second, only a second, you catch the slightest pause in her stride before she continues walking as if nothing happened.
You photograph her while she's reading, while she's silently drinking tea, while she's staring through palace windows during snowfall, while she's half-asleep on the couch after returning from an exhausting mission, the glamorous moments, the ordinary moments.
The moments no one else is ever allowed to witness.
That confuses her more than any compliment ever could.
"...Why?"
You lower the kamera.
"What do you mean?"
"Why preserve... these moments?"
She gestures vaguely toward herself.
"I am not attending a banquet." She says."I'm hardly dressed for court, there's nothing impressive happening."
"...Because it's you."
"..."
"I don't need a special occasion."
"..."
"...I wanted to remember how peaceful you looked."
She looks away before you can notice the tiny crack in her carefully maintained composure.
People think Signora is vain.
She certainly enjoys elegance.
She carries herself with impossible grace, expects refinement, and refuses to tolerate sloppiness.
But beneath that polished surface is someone who once loved so deeply that grief transformed her into living flame. Someone whose memories of happiness became buried beneath centuries of pain and duty.
Your photographs begin reminding her of something she thought impossible.
Being remembered.
Not as "The Fair Lady."
Not as "The Eighth Harbinger."
Not as the Crimson Witch.
Just... Rosalyne.
Even if neither of you says the name aloud.
PANTALONE
To the Regrator, everything in existence has a price tag, a net worth, and a calculated return on investment. Relationships are usually no different. But when it comes to you and your constant photography, he becomes endlessly amused by your habit.
Whenever he catches you aiming the Kamera.
"Would this side be better?"
"...You're posing."
"I'm investing in quality." He smiles. "Am I providing adequate material for your collection today, my dear?"
He enjoys teasing you far too much, adjusting his posture just slightly every time you hesitate, as if the entire world is simply another negotiation to be refined into something more profitable, more perfect, more you-approved
If you gasp because he looked particularly handsome in one picture...
"Oh?"
"That expression."
"You liked that one."
"I—"
"You did."
He never lets you finish your denial, smiling likes there’s something quietly satisfied in the way he watches you react.
Eventually your old kamera starts struggling under the weight of constant use, worn down by how often it’s used to capture him in every possible light, every angle, every expression.
"A muse of my stature deserves only the finest tools for their craft. The resolution on that standard-issue Snezhnayan model is quite tragic."
You blink, lowering the kamera.
"It works just fine, Pantalone, is just a bit worn down."
He simply chuckles. "Nonsense. Only the best for the one documenting my legacy."
And without a word, it disappears.
The following morning, a beautiful new one rests on your desk, polished and far more advanced than anything you owned before.
"...You bought me this?"
"It captures finer details."
"You didn't have to."
"I know." Pantalone spoke with a pause. "...I wanted to."
he becomes your most cooperative model. He will literally pause high-stakes financial meetings with foreign dignitaries the moment you walk into the room, raising a hand to silence a trembling merchant just so you can get a clear photo of him looking imposing.
"One moment," Pantalone will tell the terrified merchant, completely ignoring the man's panic as he turns his most charming, radiant smile toward your lens. "My partner requires a portrait from my good side. Pray ensure you don't catch the glare on my rings, darling."
CHILDE
Taking pictures of Childe was the worst habit you could have possibly developed. Not because he hated it, the exact opposite.
He enjoyed it far, far too much.
The first few times, it was innocent enough. You'd catch him laughing after a fight, completely focused while cleaning one of his weapons, doing anything really. You'd quietly pull out your kamera, snap a photo, and he'd only glance over with that familiar fox-like grin.
"You taking pictures of me?"
"...Maybe."
"At least get my good side, baby."
That should've been your warning.
Because the moment Childe realized you genuinely loved taking pictures of him...of him, not because he was the Eleventh Harbinger, not because he was famous, but because you simply liked watching him exist...
he made it everybody's problem.
"Look at this picture my baby took of me!"
"So fucking stubborn aren't ya? haa, i guess once my baby sees me they'll have to take a bloody picture of me."
"Oh, this? My partner took this, aren't they talented?"
Every time he notices the kamera...
"Wait!"
He strikes an exaggerated pose mid-step, almost too fast for you to react.
"No, no, this angle!"
He shifts dramatically, turning his chin like he’s on a stage, eyes bright with anticipation as if the world itself is an audience.
"Oh! Get one while I'm sparring!"
He’s already halfway into a stance, energy coiling through him like a spring.
"Now! Before I move!"
Click.
His grin widens immediately.
"Oh! One more!"
And then another.
And another.
You end up with hundreds of dramatic photos of him mid-action, mid-laugh, mid-everything he possibly can turn into a performance. He treats your camera like an audience he never wants to disappoint, always trying to outdo the last version of himself you captured, as if each picture is a challenge he intends to win.
And somehow, he never runs out of energy for it. Even when he’s clearly been training for hours, even when sweat clings to his hair and his breathing is just slightly heavier than usual, even when he's bloody and on high, he still finds a way to turn it into something theatrical
"Alright, We're taking a double portrait," he declares, snatching the kamera right out of your hands and holding it up at arm's length.
"Smile!"
He spends the next ten minutes dragging you into a dozen messy, laughing selfies, some blurry, some with him kissing your cheek, and others where he's making a ridiculous face.
"We're sending the best one to Teucer," he says proudly, carefully slipping the kamera back into your coat pocket before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Gotta show the kids back home that their big brother found the best photographer in Teyvat."
ꜰᴀᴛᴜɪ ʜᴀʀʙɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ & when they realize they fell in love with you
Pulcinella is not included! All x Fem Reader.
Some very ooc- First time doing something like this so be nice :D
Accepting requests in the comments!
THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST @koshiroyuzu
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
⋆˙⟡ ℭ𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔦𝔫𝔞⋆˙⟡
Columbina didn’t realize it all at once.
There was no dramatic moment where everything suddenly clicked into place. Love, for her, came quietly. Softly. Like something that had always existed and simply waited for her to notice it.
At first, she just liked being near you.
She would drift into rooms you were in without thinking about it. Sit beside you in comfortable silence. Listen to you speak with that distant little smile on her face, humming softly whenever you laughed.
And one day, you reached over absentmindedly and fixed one of the feathers near her shoulder.
Such a small thing.
Barely anything.
Yet Columbina went strangely still.
“You looked crooked,” you murmured casually.
She stared at you for a long moment after that. Not unsettling. Just… thoughtful.
Because nobody had ever touched her so gently without fear before.
Later that night, she found herself replaying the moment over and over again in her head. The warmth of your fingers. The easy affection in your voice. The way you didn’t hesitate to touch her at all.
That was the first crack.
The realization came later.
You had fallen asleep beside her, curled comfortably against her shoulder while rambling halfway through some story. Your words had slowly faded into quiet breathing, and Columbina simply sat there listening to it.
Listening.
Watching.
Feeling something ache softly in her chest.
Not unpleasant.
Just… deep.
She looked down at you resting against her and whispered quietly, almost surprised by the truth of it.
“Oh.”
That was all.
No panic. No denial.
Just understanding.
Then her fingers carefully brushed through your hair as she smiled faintly to herself.
“So this is what it is.”
And from that point on, her devotion became absolute.
⋆.˚𝒜𝔯𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔬⋆.˚
Arlecchino noticed it long before she admitted it.
That was the problem.
She started making exceptions for you first.
Small ones.
Insignificant ones.
Allowing you to interrupt her work. Letting conversations go on longer than necessary. Memorizing details about your habits without meaning to.
At first, she told herself it was practicality.
You were useful to keep close. Pleasant to tolerate. Nothing more.
Then one evening, you arrived injured.
Not severely. Just enough to matter.
And Arlecchino reacted before thinking.
The moment she saw the blood on your sleeve, her expression sharpened instantly.
“Who did this?”
The question came out cold enough to freeze the room.
You tried to wave it off with a laugh. “It’s not that seriou—”
“It is to me.”
That silence afterward was what finally unsettled her.
Because she meant it.
Entirely.
She patched you up herself despite insisting someone else could have done it. Her hands were precise as always, but noticeably tighter than usual whenever you winced.
“You’re glaring at the bandages like they insulted you personally,” you teased softly.
“I dislike carelessness.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“I am aware.”
Yet she still looked irritated.
Not at you.
At the fact that you had gotten hurt at all.
And when you smiled at her afterward—warm, trusting, completely unaware of what you were doing to her—something in her chest pulled painfully tight.
That was the moment she understood.
Not attraction. Not attachment.
Love.
Deep enough to make her afraid for you.
Deep enough to make her dangerous about you.
Arlecchino went very still after that realization.
Then she sighed quietly and pressed a final bandage into place.
“…You are becoming a problem.”
You blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
Her gaze lingered on your face for one long second too many.
“…Nothing,” she answered flatly.
But her hand stayed on yours a moment longer than necessary before she finally let go.
✧.*𝔓𝔦𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔬 ✧.*
Pierro realized it in the worst possible way:
Through fear.
Not fear for himself.
For you.
He had spent centuries mastering restraint, distancing himself from attachment, burying softer emotions beneath duty and ambition. He considered it necessary. Efficient.
Then you walked into his life and quietly dismantled all of it without even trying.
At first, he appreciated your presence because it was calming. You spoke to him normally. Not with fear. Not with worship. Just honesty.
It became… addictive.
He began seeking you out without consciously meaning to. Asking for your opinion. Allowing you to remain beside him during long stretches of work neither of you needed to discuss.
And one night, you didn’t show up.
Simple as that.
You were late.
Objectively, it meant nothing.
Yet Pierro found himself unable to focus.
Every passing minute irritated him further. He reread the same document three times without absorbing a single word. His thoughts kept circling back to one thing:
Where are you?
Then the door finally opened.
“There you are,” you sighed, stepping inside. “Sorry, I got held up—”
Pierro stood so abruptly the chair scraped harshly against the floor.
You froze.
“…Pierro?”
The relief that hit him was immediate. Violent.
And horrifying.
Because in that moment, he understood exactly how deeply you had rooted yourself inside him.
You looked confused by his expression.
“You thought something happened to me?”
He said nothing.
Which was answer enough.
You softened instantly. “Hey… I’m alright.”
You stepped closer carefully, placing a hand against his arm.
And Pierro—normally so composed, so untouchable—closed his eyes briefly at the contact like it physically grounded him.
That was when he knew.
Not because you were there.
Because the thought of losing you had genuinely frightened him.
He opened his eyes again slowly before murmuring in a low voice:
“…Do not do that again.”
You smiled a little. “Be late?”
“Disappear.”
The word came out quieter than expected.
More honest, too.
And from then on, Pierro carried the unbearable truth with him constantly:
His heart no longer belonged entirely to himself.
꩜ S𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥𝔢 ꩜
Scaramouche realized it slowly.
Then all at once.
And he hated every second of it.
At first, he only noticed the irritation.
You occupied too much of his attention. Your voice lingered in his head after conversations ended. He kept finding himself looking for you in crowded rooms without meaning to.
Annoying.
Pathetic.
Weak.
He told himself that repeatedly.
Yet somehow, it only got worse.
He became territorial without understanding why. Short-tempered whenever someone got too close to you. Irritated when you smiled at other people for too long.
“You’re glaring again,” you pointed out one evening.
“I always glare.”
“…Not usually at innocent civilians.”
“They looked at you wrong.”
You blinked.
“They asked me what time it was.”
“Exactly.”
He turned away immediately after saying it, clearly irritated with himself for even speaking.
Because deep down, he already knew.
He just refused to call it what it was.
Love felt dangerous to him. Stupid. Reckless. The kind of thing people used against you.
And Scaramouche had spent far too long surviving to willingly hand someone that kind of power.
Then one night, you laughed.
That was it.
Not at him. Not because of anything important. You were sitting beside him rambling about something completely ridiculous, and suddenly you laughed so hard you leaned against his shoulder without thinking.
And Scaramouche froze.
Completely.
Because his first thought wasn’t to shove you away.
It was:
Stay.
The realization hit him so hard it made him feel physically ill.
His chest tightened painfully. His stomach twisted. He looked at you like you had personally betrayed him by making him feel something this raw.
“…You’re insufferable,” he muttered bitterly.
You snorted. “You say that every day.”
“I mean it every day.”
Yet he didn’t move away from you.
Didn’t stop you from leaning against him.
Didn’t stop staring at your smile when you weren’t looking.
And eventually—after days of anger, denial, pacing, and internal screaming—Scaramouche came to one miserable conclusion:
He would rather have this painful, terrifying thing than lose you.
That was the part that finally broke him.
Because once he accepted that?
There was no going back.
One night, completely unprompted, he suddenly muttered:
“…I hate what you’ve done to me.”
You blinked at him. “What did I do?”
He stared at you for a long moment before looking away sharply.
“…Made me care.”
And despite how angry he sounded—
His hand still reached for yours beneath the table.
𖤓 𝒯𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝒶 𖤓
Tartaglia fell in love with you like getting hit in the face with a brick.
Fast. Hard. Immediate.
There was no denial stage.
No fear.
Only overwhelming certainty.
One day he was teasing you over dinner, grinning like usual while you rolled your eyes at him—
And the next, he was staring at you halfway through your sentence thinking:
I want to marry her.
The realization was so abrupt he almost laughed out loud.
Because of course this would happen to him.
You looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“You’re pretty,” he answered immediately.
“That’s not new.”
“No, but right now it feels like a personal attack.”
You burst out laughing.
And that was it for him.
Done.
Finished.
Gone.
Tartaglia loves loudly by nature, and once he realized what he felt for you, it infected everything about him. He wanted you involved in every part of his life immediately.
He talked about the future without even thinking about it.
“You’d love my siblings,” he says casually one afternoon.
You blink. “Your siblings?”
“Mhm.” He smiles lazily. “You’d fit right in.”
Then, after a pause:
“You’d look good with my last name too.”
You nearly choke.
Meanwhile, he’s completely serious.
That’s the terrifying part.
Tartaglia becomes almost love-drunk once he falls. Softer around you. Happier. More reckless with affection.
He drapes himself over you constantly. Grins whenever you walk into a room. Brags about you to other people like it’s his favorite hobby.
And when he realizes you’re looking at him with the same warmth he feels for you?
God.
He practically glows.
One evening, while you’re half asleep against his chest, he suddenly blurts out:
“I think I want everything with you.”
You mumble sleepily, “Everything?”
“House. Family. Matching old people chairs.” He presses a quick kiss against your forehead. “All of it.”
You laugh softly.
Tartaglia just smiles into your hair with the most devastatingly sincere expression imaginable.
Because he means every word.
₊⊹ ℑ𝔩 𝔇𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔢 ₊⊹
Dottore knew almost immediately.
The difference between him and everyone else is that he didn’t panic about it.
He identified the feeling, analyzed it, accepted it, and moved on with surprising ease.
Interesting.
That was his first thought.
Not because he considered love trivial—but because he considered his own reaction to you fascinating.
He liked you too much.
Thought about you too often.
Found himself distracted by the sound of your voice.
Objectively speaking, those were symptoms.
And Dottore was very good at recognizing patterns.
One day he simply looked up from his work and said calmly:
“I appear to be in love with you.”
You stared at him.
“…That’s how you confess to people?”
“I was not aware there was a required format.”
The worst part?
He was completely genuine.
After realizing his feelings, Dottore became painfully obvious about them. Not romantically obvious in a normal way, of course. He’s still Dottore.
But suddenly gifts start appearing.
Rare books. Jewelry. Strange little inventions he claims “made him think of you.”
“This reminded you of me?” you ask, holding up something incredibly expensive and vaguely dangerous.
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
“You seemed like you would enjoy it.”
And he says it with such genuine hope that it completely disarms you.
That’s the thing nobody expects from Dottore once he falls in love:
He gets excited.
Not childish exactly, but close enough sometimes that it catches you off guard.
He genuinely likes making you happy.
If you smile at something he gives you, his entire mood noticeably improves for the rest of the day.
“You like it,” he observes one evening after handing you another gift.
“…I do.”
His mouth curves slightly.
“Excellent.”
The satisfaction in his voice is almost unfairly soft.
And when you thank him affectionately—touching his arm, smiling warmly at him, praising something he made—Dottore looks genuinely delighted beneath all that composure.
Like a man who discovered something wonderful and has no intention of ever letting it go.
One night, while watching you ramble excitedly about something completely unrelated, he suddenly says:
“You are disastrously easy to adore.”
You stop mid-sentence.
“…What?”
Dottore just smiles faintly behind his hand.
“I said what I meant.”
Capitano
Capitano realized it quietly.
There was no panic. No dramatic revelation.
Just certainty.
He noticed it through instinct first. The way his attention followed you automatically in crowded spaces. The way he relaxed slightly whenever you entered a room. The way he always positioned himself between you and danger without thinking.
At first, he believed it was habit.
Then one evening, you fell asleep against him during a long journey.
Your head rested on his shoulder, breathing soft and even, completely trusting him to stay there.
Capitano looked down at you for a long moment beneath his helmet.
Then very carefully adjusted his cloak around you so you would not get cold.
That was when he understood.
Not because of the affection.
Because protecting you suddenly felt more important than anything else.
You stirred slightly against him. “Mm… sorry…”
“There is nothing to apologize for,” he said quietly.
His hand rested against your back afterward, steady and warm.
And from that moment on, everyone around him noticed one undeniable truth:
Capitano’s patience for the world became significantly thinner whenever you were involved.
꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ꭈׁׅᨵׁׅꪀׁׅꫀׁׅܻ
Sandrone realized it through jealousy.
Which irritated her beyond belief.
At first, she thought you were simply tolerable. Easier to be around than most people. Less annoying. Less incompetent.
Then she started wanting your attention.
And that was the problem.
One afternoon, you spent nearly an hour talking to one of her assistants while she worked nearby.
By the end of it, Sandrone was in a horrible mood.
Tools slammed onto tables harder than necessary. Her responses became clipped and sharp. One poor assistant nearly fled the room in tears.
You finally looked over. “Are you okay?”
“I am perfectly fine.”
“You look mad.”
“I am not.”
A pause.
“…Why are you glaring at him?”
“I dislike his face.”
Which made absolutely no sense because she had employed him herself.
That night, Sandrone sat alone trying to figure out why seeing you smile at someone else had made her chest feel tight with annoyance.
Then it hit her.
And she immediately hated it.
“No,” she muttered aloud.
Unfortunately for her, denial did not fix anything.
If anything, she became worse afterward.
More possessive. More attentive. More obvious.
She’d pretend not to care while quietly building things for you in her workshop for hours.
When you thanked her warmly for one of them, she looked away immediately.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“…Well. Obviously.”
But her ears turned pink anyway.
𝕻𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊
Pantalone realized it embarrassingly fast.
The moment you smiled at him sincerely for the first time, he was practically doomed.
At first, he found you charming.
Then fascinating.
Then suddenly he was rearranging entire schedules just to spend more time with you and buying you gifts because he liked the look on your face when you received them.
One day, someone jokingly asked him why he was so generous toward you.
And before he could stop himself, he answered:
“Because she deserves everything.”
The room went quiet.
Pantalone blinked once.
Then sighed dramatically into his wine glass.
“…Ah,” he murmured. “That explains quite a lot.”
Unlike some of the others, he was not ashamed of being in love. If anything, he leaned into it immediately.
He adored loving you.
Adored spoiling you. Adored hearing your laugh. Adored the feeling of your hand on his arm during conversations.
He became almost insufferably affectionate afterward.
“You’re staring again,” you teased one evening.
“Can you blame me?”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet you continue to indulge me.”
He smiled lazily, reaching over to take your hand and press a kiss against your knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You should understand,” he said smoothly, eyes half-lidded with amusement, “that once I decide something has value, I invest heavily.”
You laughed.
Pantalone smiled right along with you—but softer.
Because unlike money, power, or influence…
You were the first thing he had ever wanted simply because you made him happy.
----------------
Ugh, I love them all. ACCEPTING SUGGESTIONS FOR SCENARIOS!! No NSFW rn, just fluff and angst :D
