#wander x reader

premise. sometimes, talking to yourself feels safer than facing the guy you can’t stop thinking about…until he walks in on you mid-spiral. from awkward blushes to unexpected confessions, here’s what happens when your most embarrassing moments become the genshin boys' favorite memories

features. kazuha, diluc, childe, wanderer, alhaitham, xiao, ayato, cyno, itto, kaeya, baizhu, dainsleif, tighnari, thoma, heizou, bennett, kaveh, zhongli

kazuha

You're crouched beside a broken cart wheel, half-hidden in tall grass, muttering furiously to yourself as you examine the splintered wood.

“Of course it had to break here, in the middle of nowhere. No signal flare left, and I let the boat crew leave without me. Brilliant. Great job, really stellar planning—”

“You’re being rather harsh on yourself.”

You startle so hard you nearly fall backward. Kazuha stands a few paces behind, hands tucked calmly into his sleeves, his eyes full of quiet amusement and concern.

“You were gone longer than expected,” he explains, seeing your confusion. “Beidou sent me to check if you’d lost your way—or started arguing with local wildlife.”

You flush. “No, I’m just…talking to myself. Thinking through how to fix it.”

He steps closer and knelt beside you, examining the wheel. “Hm. The axle’s intact. A proper wedge might hold long enough to get you back to the road.”

You blink. “Oh. You’re not going to tease me about earlier?”

“I speak to the wind as if it listens,” he says lightly. “Why would I judge you for speaking to yourself?”

You glance at him. “And does the wind ever answer?”

He smiles faintly. “Only when I’m quiet enough to hear it.”

And then, just like that, he gets to work, gathering branches, finding rope in your satchel, never once asking why you chose to be alone in the first place but just staying until the cart moves again. Maybe the wind hadn’t answered, but he had.

diluc

He walks into the tavern early in the morning, expecting silence. Instead, he hears your voice in a low, frantic whisper as you await his arrival: “Okay, you’ve got this. He’s just a man. A tall, brooding, red-haired, intimidatingly handsome man—Archons above, why am I like this?”

He freezes mid-step, but the tap of his boot on the tile is loud enough to betray him. You whirl around, mortified, and lock eyes with him like a deer caught in emotionally compromising headlights.

He blinks once. Slowly.

“…I assume that was about me,” he says, voice neutral, but his ears are visibly pink.

“I—No—I mean—kind of?” you squeak, visibly crumbling under the weight of your own existence.

He clears his throat and looks away, reaching for a mug that absolutely does not need his attention.

“Understood,” he mutters.

For the rest of the day, he’s overly polite, painfully formal, and avoids eye contact like it’s flammable. Later that evening, you find a cup of your favorite tea left out for you—steaming, perfectly steeped, and completely unsupervised. The mug has a folded note under it, consisting of just three words: “You’ve got this.”

childe

He’s passing by your room when he hears your voice, quiet but distinct, and increasingly unhinged: “Okay. Plan A: cry. Plan B: threaten to cry. Plan C: run away and never return.”

He pauses mid-step, then leans against the doorway with a lopsided grin. “Wow, those are some elite-level crisis strategies. You sure you’re not Fatui?”

You shriek in embarrassment. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Long enough to know you’ve got potential,” he laughs, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside.

You groan and hide your face. “I was joking. mostly.”

“Nah, I kinda like it,” he teases. “Plan A’s got emotional flair. Plan B? Classic drama. However, Plan C?” his voice softens just a bit. “If you ran, I’d just find you. You know that, right?”

You look up and find his smile stripped of mischief. It’s quiet and gentle in a way that makes your heart trip over itself.

“But…if you do need tissues, I’ve got plenty.”

Somehow, this ends with him dragging you to sit on the couch, arms slung around you, both of you buried under a blanket neither of you remembers pulling over your laps.

“New plan,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Plan D: stay right here.”

wanderer

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He'd simply been on his way when he found you pacing the courtyard, completely unaware of his presence.

“He probably doesn’t even notice when I smile at him. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just ignoring me. Ugh. I should just throw a rock at him.”

He replies instantly. “Try it. I’ll throw one back.”

You flinch so hard you nearly drop your bag. He’s already leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, unreadable as ever. His gaze flicks to you, sharp but dissolving into something strangely unguarded. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.

“I notice,” he tells you, quieter now. almost like it costs him something to admit. “More than you think.”

Then he’s gone, vanishing down the corridor before you can speak, like he never meant to say anything at all. But later, you find a small, perfectly smooth stone placed outside your windowsill. No note. No explanation. Just one rock, light enough to throw.

alhaitham

He’s walking past the study when he hears you, your voice sounding low, frantic, and clearly not meant for anyone else.

“Okay, if I just put the books back exactly the way he had them, maybe he won’t know I was here. Unless…he cataloged them by page wear. Oh archons—what if he did? Why does he have to be attractive and terrifying?”

His deadpan voice sounds right behind you. “For the record, I do catalog them by page wear.”

You jump, dropping the book you’re holding, but instead of hitting the floor, it lands effortlessly in his palm.

“Also, you’ve been muttering to yourself for three full minutes. You’re not exactly subtle.”

You open your mouth to explain, apologize, evaporate, anything, but he just walks past and plucks a book from your stack.

“You misaligned this one by 0.6 centimeters,” he remarks, tone neutral. “But I’ll let it slide.”

You’re still frozen, blinking at him.

Without looking at you, he adds almost offhandedly, “Next time you wish to come by, just ask. I’d rather see you here than not.”

And then he starts reorganizing beside you. He’s silent, efficient, and just close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

xiao

You’re sitting alone on the quiet terrace just outside Wangshu Inn, knees pulled up to your chest as you mutter into the dusk. “Why did I say ‘sweet dreams’? Who says that to Xiao? He’s the vigilant yaksha, not some character from a bedtime story. He probably thinks I’m a sentimental weirdo—”

“I don’t.”

You whip around. He’s suddenly there, silent as ever, standing just behind you in the fading light.

“I don’t think you’re weird,” he repeats, voice soft and steady, though there’s the faintest crease in his brow like he’s wondering if he’s said too much.

You scramble to stand, completely flustered. “Wait, how long were you—?”

“I heard my name,” he says plainly, as if that explains everything.

The air feels charged with embarrassment. Yours. Maybe his, too. After a pause, he glances away toward the treetops. His voice is quieter now.

“No one’s said that to me before.”

You blink. “Said what?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “Sweet dreams.”

There’s something almost reverent in the way he says it, like the words feel too fragile in his mouth.

“I didn’t think those were something I could have.”

The breeze carries the scent of silk flowers, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without looking at you, he adds, “But I liked hearing it. From you.”

Your heart flips once, hard.

And before you can spiral all over again, he turns to go, but stops just long enough to murmur, “Goodnight. I hope…yours are sweet, too.”

ayato

He’s strolling through the estate gardens when he catches the faint tones of your voice, muffled but unmistakably dramatic. Curious, he peeks around a hedge and discovers you monologuing to a cluster of blue hydrangeas with passionate gestures.

“Lord Ayato, my dearest nemesis. Why must you smile like that? Why must your tea taste like heartbreak and fine politics?”

His brows lift in faint surprise. 

“And why did I tell him it was ‘transcendent’? That’s not normal person behavior. That’s the kind of thing a swooning diplomat says before fainting into their fan.”

Ayato brings a hand to his mouth, stifling the laugh that bubbles up. He knows he should announce himself—knows it's indecent to linger—but curiosity roots him in place. It’s rare to see you so unguarded, and rarer still to be the subject of such poetic vitriol.

You pace a few steps, oblivious. “He probably thinks I was flirting. Which I wasn’t. I think. Ugh.”

He waits just a second longer, watching as you sigh and press your fingertips to your forehead like a tragic heroine from a stage play, before stepping forward, his fan snapping closed with a soft click.

“I didn’t realize I’d been cast as the villain in your private soliloquy.”

You freeze. There is no mistaking his voice, nor the silk-smooth amusement threading through it. Slowly, you turn.

“I must say, your critique was…vivid,” he continues. His expression is polite, but his eyes betray him, bright with barely contained laughter. “And rather unfair to the tea, which I assure you is not culpable for your emotional distress.”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He tilts his head, as if considering something seriously.

“Though I do wonder what heartbreak tastes like to you.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands.

He inclines his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Next time, speak your grievances aloud to me instead. I assure you, I respond far better than flowers.”

cyno

He walks in on you muttering and pacing in circles.

“Okay, okay. Don’t laugh if he tells another joke. But also don’t not laugh, because then he’ll think you hate him. Ugh, why is this so complicated?”

He appears behind you with a perfectly straight face and says, “What do you call a fake noodle? an impasta.”

You shriek and nearly trip over a chair. He waits. You groan.

“That was…better than usual,” you admit.

He pauses as he appraises you. His lips twitch. “So. You’ve been rehearsing responses to my jokes?”

You blink, caught. “No. Definitely not.”

He steps closer, arms folded, head tilting in mock-serious thought. “Interesting. That implies you anticipated more. Which means…you’re expecting me.”

“…to keep telling them?”

He nods solemnly. “Correct. And now that I know you’re preparing, I’ll have to escalate.”

You groan again, this time into your hands, and he finally cracks a smile. Later, he’ll tell you a compliment disguised as a riddle. You’ll pretend not to swoon. He’ll pretend not to notice. Neither of you is very convincing.

itto

You’re standing in front of a mirror, hyping yourself up. “You’re brave. You’re bold. You can flirt with Itto today. Probably. Maybe. Okay, no, don’t flirt, just survive eye contact.”

A voice behind you booms, “Well hey, I think you’re already killin’ it!”

You scream and spin around so fast you almost knock over a stool. Itto’s standing in the doorway, grinning like a kid who just found candy and a beetle.

“Also, flirting’s totally encouraged. Ten outta ten, would recommend.”

You clutch your chest. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Since the part where you said you were bold and brave or whatever. Sounded super cool, so I figured I’d stay for the ending.”

You groan. He’s still grinning.

“But hey,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh, “you don’t gotta overthink it. Just talk to me like normal! Or, y’know, you could flirt if that’s easier.”

You entertain the idea of feigning amnesia, knowing he’d probably fall for it. Instead, you mutter, “...I liked your hair today.”

He lights up like the sun. “See? You’re killin’ it!”

Somehow, this ends with him offering to coach you through flirting with him. The audacity.

kaeya

You were only meant to drop off a report. Nothing more. Just a quick visit to the Knights’ headquarters, a few signatures, and out. And yet here you are, lingering in an empty hallway, your forehead pressed lightly against a stone pillar as you mutter to yourself.

“Genius. Absolutely genius. ‘Nice weather, Kaeya.’ That’s what I went with. Might as well have added, ‘Hi, I’ve been harboring a wildly inconvenient crush on you since Stormterror was still a problem. Want to date and/or be the reason I start writing terrible poetry again?’”

A breath of laughter—not your own—cuts through the silence.

“I’d be open to both,” a familiar voice replies.

You freeze.

He’s there, lounging against the window alcove like he’s been there all along, elbow propped casually on the sill, head tilted with interest. His smile says he heard every word. His eyes say he enjoyed it.

Kaeya pushes off the ledge and strolls toward you, every step perfectly unhurried. “Next time you plan to deliver a monologue about me, perhaps wait until I’ve left the building. Unless,” he adds, voice dropping with playful weight, “you were hoping I’d hear it.”

You can feel the heat rise to your face like a sunrise.

“I was just thinking out loud,” you manage.

“So I gathered. And for the record”—he passes close enough that his cloak brushes your sleeve—“I find it flattering.”

You briefly consider flinging yourself out the nearest window.

At the end of the corridor, he glances back over his shoulder, smile curling just shy of sincere.

“If the weather stays this nice, do let me know if that wildly inconvenient crush turns into something more actionable.”

And then he’s gone.

A junior knight passing by gives you a puzzled look. “You, uh…look like you saw a ghost.”

You exhale, voice thin. “Worse.”

baizhu

You’re by yourself in the back room of Bubu Pharmacy, sorting herbs and muttering under your breath. It’s been a long day, and unfortunately, your brain has chosen to perseverate.

“If I faint in front of him again, I’m just going to say it was low blood sugar. Not the fact that he tucked my hair behind my ear like it was nothing.”

“Hmm. I’ll make a note to check your glucose levels...and perhaps develop a tincture for sudden-onset romantic distress?”

You whip around so fast that a handful of Qingxin spills onto the table. Baizhu stands in the doorway, serene as ever, holding a tray of tea like he didn’t just obliterate your self-esteem.

“It’s a surprisingly common condition,” he adds, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Often triggered by gentle gestures and poor coping mechanisms.”

Changsheng pokes her head out from behind his collar and lets out a tiny, delighted laugh. “Lovesick. Very contagious,” she stage-whispers.

You bury your face in your hands.

Baizhu sets the tea down beside you with quiet care. “I could prepare a cure, but I fear the malady is mutual—and, strangely, quite welcome.”

dainsleif

You think you’re alone, sitting quietly in a dim corner of the library and murmuring your frustrations to yourself. Dainsleif, combing the shelves for a particular volume, pauses when he hears the soft thread of your voice carry through the candlelight: “I bet he doesn’t even remember my name. I’m probably just a temporary footnote to him anyway. Someone who fades like shadows at dusk.”

His low voice answers from just beyond the glow of your lantern. “You are not a footnote.”

You nearly jump out of your skin as Dainsleif steps into view. The candlelight flickers across the lines of his face, which remains composed and unreadable but not unfeeling. He doesn’t speak gently, not exactly, but there’s a steadiness to his tone that seems to lessen the musty air.

“Names are more than words,” he says. “They are memory. History. Presence.”

He kneels slightly and locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing.

“I remember your name,” he continues. “Not only the shape of it. I remember the weight it carries when you speak it. I remember the careful way you said goodnight two nights ago, as if you weren’t sure I’d hear it, or hold it.”

You can’t breathe. You can’t look away.

“Don’t assume I forget the things that matter,” he says, rising to his full height again. His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his posture softens. And then, without waiting for a reply, he turns and disappears into the stacks. For a long moment, all you can hear is the echo of his footsteps and the pulse of your own heart—louder now, and somehow less alone.

tighnari

You’re elbow-deep in soil, half-focused on coaxing the withered pardisah into a new pot, when your frustration finally boils over.

“Okay, next time, just say thank you and walk away. Easy. Normal. Not, ‘Wow, your ears are so expressive today,’ like some feral maniac.” You groan and press your forehead to your palm. “He probably thinks I’m studying him like a botanical specimen. What is wrong with me?”

“To be fair,” a dry voice answers behind you, “most people don’t notice ear movement unless they’re watching very closely.”

You nearly send the pot flying as you whip around. Tighnari is leaning beside your bag of soil, arms folded, one brow arched in faint incredulity.

“You were there…the whole time,” you croak.

“Roughly since the ‘feral maniac’ part,” he amends, tail flicking with suspicious amusement. “You were a bit harsh on yourself, but entertaining.”

You cover your face. “I swear I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” he says gently, and then—surprisingly—smiles. “I didn’t mind the compliment. It was…oddly specific, but sincere. And clearly the result of long observation.”

He steps past you, crouching to inspect the flower you nearly murdered in your panic.

“Next time,” he adds, not looking up, “less spiraling, more speaking.”

His tone is neutral, but his ears betray him with the smallest, involuntary flick.

And then he mutters to himself, “They’re only expressive when you’re around, anyway.”

You pretend not to hear. For now.

thoma

You’re alone in the kitchen—or so you believe—flipping gyozas with intense concentration and muttering under your breath. “Okay, Thoma likes them crispy. Not burnt. Crispy, like his smile. No, wait, what? Focus!”

“Crispy like my smile, huh?”

You flinch. The spatula slips from your fingers and clatters to the stovetop. Thoma is casually leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like he definitely heard more than he should have.

“I’m flattered,” he says, stepping closer. “But now I’ve got questions. What, exactly, does a crispy smile look like?”

“I—I meant the gyoza, not your— Wait, no, I meant both—I mean—”

The oil hisses sharply, like even the pan can’t take it anymore. Smoke streams upward.

“No, the gyozas!”

Thoma is already by your side, grabbing the pan with practiced ease and sliding it off the stove.

“You know,” he says, grinning as he surveys the damage, “you didn’t have to set them on fire just to impress me.”

“I didn’t—!”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Means I get to help.” He tosses you a wink. “Teamwork, right?”

Somehow, you end up shoulder to shoulder, sleeves rolled up, hands floured, trying again as he gives teasing tips on “optimal gyoza symmetry.”

Later, as the final batch sizzles golden and perfect, he leans just close enough to murmur, “Still not sure what a crispy smile is, but if we’re talking about yours…I think I get it now.”

heizou

You march down the corridor, shoulders tense, voice pitched low but laced with despair.

“No, Heizou, I don’t need your help picking up the papers I dropped. I just need a convenient hole to bury the cadaver of my dignity in, thank you very much—”

A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder.

“AAHH—” you scream mid-sentence, spinning on instinct and swinging your bag in self-defense.

Heizou barely ducks in time, a laugh tumbling out as he stumbles back, half-shielding himself. “Whoa, violent thoughts and airborne satchels? I should’ve brought a warrant first.”

You freeze, mortified. He’s already dusting off his sleeves like it’s just another day at the precinct.

“Really now, that’s the welcome I get?” he continues, far too amused for someone who was nearly concussed.

“You snuck up on me mid-spiral,” you retort, torn between embarrassment and residual adrenaline. “That’s reckless behavior, even for you.”

He raises a brow, utterly unbothered. “I prefer to think of it as instinct. I happen to have an uncanny sense for when people are saying my name behind my back. Or in this case, aloud. To themselves.”

Your eyes widen just enough to give you away. Heizou smiles like he’s just cracked another case.

“You know,” he adds, stepping just close enough for his voice to drop a tone, “talking to oneself is a perfectly natural response to emotional distress. Especially when that distress has, say…a face and a name?”

You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re insufferable.”

He tilts his head. “And yet, I’m the one you keep muttering about.”

You try to come up with a retort. You fail.

“Don’t worry,” he continues smoothly, already turning on his heel, “your secrets are safe with me.”

“You are the secret,” you call after him.

“And still,” he says without looking back, “you can’t seem to stop confessing to it.”

bennett

“Okay, just be normal. If I trip, I’ll just play dead. He won’t even notice. He’s used to disasters,” you tell yourself as you pace in tight little circles outside the Adventurers’ Guild.

“Wait, was that about me?”

You nearly leap into the decorative flower box beside the stairs.

Bennett stands behind you, blinking wide-eyed, equal parts confused and concerned.

“No—I mean—kind of?” you stammer.

He scratches the back of his neck, flustered. “I mean, yeah, stuff does kinda explode around me sometimes, but…hey, you’re not gonna trip.”

He pauses, then adds quickly, “But if you do, I’ll totally catch you! Probably! I mean, I’ve got decent reflexes! Usually!”

He’s turning red now, voice rising an octave as he tries to dig himself out.

“Not that you’ll fall, or need catching! It’s just—If you did fall, hypothetically, I’d be there. Probably. Hopefully. Unless something explodes first.”

You both stare at each other in silence for a beat and then burst out laughing.

“So,” you say, grinning, “wanna grab lunch before something does explode?”

“Yes! Wait, are you asking me out?”

You hesitate. “…Would it make you trip if I said yes?”

“Most likely.”

“Then, I’ll give you ‘probably’ as my answer.”

“Perfect.”

kaveh

He hears your muffled voice through the wall.

“If I see his ridiculously pretty face one more time, I’m going to cry. Or combust. Or both. There is no middle ground anymore.”

A suspicious creak of the floorboard makes your soul exit your body. The door swings open slowly. Kaveh stands there with a tea tray and the most theatrical expression known to man.

“Well,” he says, in full dramatic cadence, “had I known my face was wreaking such havoc on your emotional equilibrium, I would’ve brewed peppermint for the nerves.”

You groan and throw a pillow at him.

“Ah! betrayed by the very person moved to tears by my beauty. So you’ve chosen emotional combustion. Noted.”

You peek between your fingers. “Kaveh, please go.”

He places the tea tray down very deliberately. “I’ll leave,” he says, moving toward the door, “but only after I point out that I’m flattered, deeply and profoundly.”

He stops in the doorway, looks back with a grin just slightly too genuine.

“By the way,” he adds, not quite looking at you, “it’s mutual. The whole…emotional-overload-in-each-other’s-presence thing.”

And with that, he leaves. The tea cools quickly. You do not.

zhongli

You’re standing outside Wánmín Restaurant, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and muttered self-advice as you wait for a certain funeral consultant to join you for lunch.

“You can’t just stare at him every time he talks. He’s not poetry. He’s a man. A terrifyingly wise, elegant man made of tea and regret.”

You pause, frowning at the phrase.

“Tea and regret?”

You jolt and whirl around. Zhongli is standing just behind you, his expression unreadable, as if weighing your words with the patience of centuries.

After a moment’s pause, a faint smile graces his lips. “I believe that’s a new metaphor.”

Then, with a quiet elegance, he gestures in the space between you.

“You may continue your soliloquy. I find it…endearing.”

WOY crush headcanons (part 1)

(Story + headcanons)

(Gn reader)

GOD FINALLY— You don’t know for how long I wanted to post about WOY. I have so much drafts with them it’s even EMBARRASSING. Yk I WOULD post some woy content long ago I just wasn’t sure if its worth, like yk you guys usually read only tmnt content and then boom, suddenly woy— but since the request is there, and if even 1 person is interested in it like I do, then oh lord I will do it now, and NOBODY CAN STOP ME HAHDGSHAHA,, also, I’ll do 2 part, cuz it’s too big and I’m too tired to write all of them at once

Wander

────୨ৎ────

It was right after another fight.

You did something reckless. I mean, like they usually do. But this time, you did something that even Sylvia probably would’ve hesitated. That even him, Wander, won’t go for.

You sacrificed yourself for something big. Not out of pride. Not to be seen as a hero. Not even for something in return. But to save others. To protect, to help. Just like he always tried to do. And maybe that’s what shook him the most. You didn’t thought about yourself. You gave everything in that moment, that most people would run from

…Now, after it’s all over, you’re sitting together. He’s humming some little tune, while gently bandaging you, tying the last knot. You’re rambling about something dumb, and your hair’s a mess, and you’ve got dirt on your cheek, grinning like if everything that happened today was nothing to you.

He can’t stop looking at you.

And then, suddenly, for a long-long second, you made him feel…everything. Safety, happiness, calmness, and so soft, warm hope, that says that everything is gonna be alright, and everyone is gonna to be happy. Then you said something again, and he just laughs—

Until he stops.

“Oh …Oh.”

His smile fades for a second. Not in a sad way, just… like that air got knocked out of him.

His chest tightened. His heart skips a beat.

It doesn’t feel like failing. It’s feels like remembering. Like finally understanding

‘I love them’

────୨ৎ────

At first? He panics. Not in the loud way, like running in circles or screaming, but in that quiet, deeply uncomfortable stillness where he suddenly forgets how to move his arms. Wander is all about love, kindness, hope, and joy… but not for himself.

He gives love without expecting it back. That’s his core.

So the moment he realizes he’s personally in love—with a capital L in the beginning—is deeply confusing for him. Not because he’s ashamed, but because it’s not about you anymore. It’s about him needing you. And that’s scary.

────୨ৎ────

You’re still talking, swinging your legs, completely unaware that something seismic just cracked open inside him.

He gives you a soft “uh-huh” still holding your hand from the bandage, but his fingers have gone stiff.

‘No no no no nope nope nope… Not this. Not me. Not to… I can’t—!’

He smiles harder. That big, goofy, full-teeth Wander smile. Too wide. Too much.

You don’t notice. You just thank him, and say something funny about your near-death experience. You laugh.

And it hurts. It physically hurts.

He excuses himself. Just for a minute. You offer to come with him.

“Nope! Nope-nope-nope! I’m good! I’m—ooh, look! A distraction—!”

He vanishes behind a boulder. Sits down. Stares into space. And then does what Wander always does when the world gets confusing…

He takes his banjo and sing. It’s soft. Just a hum at first. Then lyrics he doesn’t know where they came from.

He presses a hand to his chest.

It’s too much. It’s too big. This feeling doesn’t bounce off like all the others. It’s not funny. It’s terrifying.

────୨ৎ────

Headcanons

So what does he do next?

Firstly, he keeps smiling. Do the same as he usually do. Now it’s just… a little more and often

He brings you weird but thoughtful gifts. A lava-proof gloves. A spoon carved from moon-bone. A sock puppet of your face

He tells jokes just a little faster. Hugs just a little tighter. But when you laugh at something he says, or take his hand without thinking, he looks away, and sings under his breath

Wander normally rambles, right? But now it’s bad.

“Wander, can you hand me the toolkit?”

“Toolkit?! Oh, yep-yep sure, the one with the tools. The tools in the box. For fixing. I—yeah—I use those all the time haha! Not that I’m saying you break stuff! I mean you don’t break—YOU’RE PERFECT—uh—WHAT I MEANT WAS—”

…Sylvia drags him away mid-sentence.

Also, he sings about it. Constantly. But in secret… He tries not to. But the feelings are too big

He hums love songs to himself while he’s on the scullship. He sings lullabies under his breath while you sleep.

He writes lyrics in the dirt when you’re not looking. And if Sylvia ever finds the lyrics titled “Your Eyes Are Like Burning Stardust” he will literally implode.

His hat is what keeps him feel safe and grounded. But when he’s with you? Nah, he doesn’t really needs it in that case.

So yeah, he gives you his hat. And just trust me, it’s means a lot. One day, without thinking, he tosses it to you to shield your eyes from the sun. Then immediately gasps.

“OH—uh—you can give it back—unless you wanna keep it—but only if it’s not weird for you—”

You smile and keep it on. He doesn’t stop smiling for the next 11 hours.

He tries so hard not to touch you. Then accidentally does. And panics. A hand on your shoulder. A brush of fingers. You lean against him in your sleep once and he ascends spiritually. He goes stiff like a board and whispers “Please. Don’t. Move. Or I’ll burst into sparkles.”

He starts acting braver around you. But in dumb ways. He wants to impress you, but he’s so bad at it, and it’s adorable.

“Wander, do NOT touch that glowing slime.”

“What? It’s fine! Look, I’ll just—AAAAAAAHHHH IT’S IN MY BOOTS—”

Wander will never stop loving you. He just doesn’t know if it’s safe to let you know. Because Wander doesn’t want to change what you have.

Wander lives to make people happy. He lives to keep people safe. But now, with this love swelling inside him like a cosmic balloon ready to burst, he’s afraid that loving you might hurt you. And he’s terrified of hurting others

If he ever thought his feelings might overwhelm someone, burden them, make them uncomfortable… he would 100% keep them to himself.

So yeah, basically, he won’t confess. Because what if it changes everything? He thinks about telling you a thousand times tho. Every time you laugh, or nudge him, or say you’re glad he’s around—he almost does. But then he backs down. Because what if you stop being you around him? Or maybe he’ll hurt you with his words, or make you uncomfortable, or make you feel weird, or…

Anyway. Instead, he just quietly loves you. From one step behind. With stars in his eyes and a song in his chest.

Sylvia

────୨ৎ────

It starts like any other day.

Fighting off some bounty hunters, racing through explosions, dodging space snakes.

You’re right beside her, boots on fire, laughing like a lunatic while you fling yourself from rooftop to rooftop, from a tree to a hill, from a hill to the ground—

And she’s yelling at you the whole time

“Would you slow down for FIVE SECONDS—?!”

But you don’t. And she follows. Because she always does.

Then it happens.

There’s a moment—you trip mid-jump. Mid-air. Just a second too soon. She sees it. Sees your falling. No landing in sight. Her stomach drops. For one horrible second, she thinks that’s it. She just too far, she cant make it—

Sylvia moved before she could end the thought. She lunges. Grabs your wrist. Spins. Takes the fall with you.

You both land hard, sand in your teeth, adrenaline in your ears.

The world goes quiet. She can’t hear anything in the background. Can’t feel the ground shaking. Just the blood pounding in her ears. Her breath locked in her chest.

And then—

Your head pops out. Grinning like an idiot. Dusting yourself off like nothing happened. “Wow…” you call.

She storms over. Doesn’t even think. Grabs your collar and yells:

“Are you actually crazy?!! No, seriously, you absolute IDIOT!!! YOU COULD DIE!! WHAT IF I—”

“…Sylvia.”

You said her name so casually. And then, for her endless surprise, you start laughing. Not a giggle. A full, loud laugh.

That’s when she stares. Mouth open. Dust clinging to her scales. Heart thudding, still processing the moment

“Oh Sylvia—!!”

You’re filthy. Bruised. Absolutely insane. And you look up at her like you just had the best day ever.

“Did you see that jump?! We almost DIED!”

She doesn’t interrupt you. And as you start to slow down, start to apologize, she pulls you into a hug so tight it knocks the wind out of you. Hard, full body, not that one of those Sylvia’s slap-back hugs. No quips, no play fighting. That one she never gives to you. Just raw, shaking, silent relief.

And as you laugh softly and rest your chin on her shoulder—

That’s when it hits her.

How sick she felt.

How hard she shook.

‘…Oh no.’

How empty the galaxy would feel without you bouncing beside her.

‘Oh crap…I’m in love with them, am I?’

────୨ৎ────

Her realisation is not some slow and poetic. It’s a gut-punch.

She’s tough, yes. She’s blunt, protective. Sometimes rude. Sometimes sharp. But she feels everything—she just doesn’t wear it the way Wander does. Sylvia is loyal, deeply emotional under her grit, and incredibly panics when someone she loves is in danger.

Just think about how she reacts when Wander is threatened. She drops everything. She growls, she charges and fights like hell.

So of course when it’s someone she loves, and she thinks she’s lost them? She’s going to freeze. She’s going to panic. Not flowery—it’s adrenaline. It’s shock. It’s the moment right before a fighter breaks. And Sylvia’s a seasoned warrior. She’s used to chaos. If that chaos suddenly feels hollow without you? That’s exactly when she knows: ‘This isn’t just anyone. I need them.’

Sylvia’s the one who’ll grab your arm and pull you out of danger. But the second she can’t? She thinks she lost the one person she’d never admit means everything. And when you survive, when you smile like it’s nothing?

She loses it. Emotionally.

────୨ৎ────

She pulls back first. Clears her throat. Punches your arm way too hard.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

She stomps ahead, muttering to herself. Wander catches up beside her, eyes wide.

“You okay Syl?”

“Fine. Now cmon, we gotta go…”

────୨ৎ────

Headcanons

At first avoids talking about it. At all costs. Sylvia handles danger, disasters, and idiot space warlords like a champ… But feelings? Nope. That’s where she draws the line. At least for one so tense and burning like this.

Every time you try to bring up the hug, she’ll immediately deflect:

“What hug? Ah, hug! Well, what with it? Nothing’s wrong. I was just checking if you had a pulse. Not my fault you’re so soft and cuddly—”

Her protective streak gets… worse. And louder. She starts tailing you a little too closely during fights. If a blaster gets pointed in your direction, it’s already smashed in pieces before you even notice.

If you get even slightly injured, she storms over like: “Okay, who touched them? WHO? Show me where it hurts...Oh I swear I’ll punch atoms out of them…”

Her version of flirting is punching your shoulder a little too hard and saying “You’re alright, you know that?”

Starts inviting you to do “dangerous stuff” with her.

“Wanna spar?”

“Wanna see who can jump this lava crevice faster?”

(She just wants to spend time with you)

I think that she might insult you affectionately. That’s her love language now.

She starts pulling the “casual” hangs.

“Oh look, this planet’s got two suns and a weird mushroom festival. Wanna check it out? Not a date. Just bored.”

“Hey, you wanna go for a drink? I mean, not like that just—you know—hydration’s important.”

She will never call it a date…Even if she combs her mane and adjust her saddle specifically for you first.

caitlyn (8/10)

attended to house parties her whole life (probably not voluntarily) and kept a lot of peoples drinks safe. she tends to stay away from the party so a very solid option if you need a quick toilet break. will only let go of it in emergencies but makes sure to buy you a drink as an apology.

vi (4/10)

might take a sip if the beverage is up her alley. can and will judge you based on your drink of choice. doesn't let go of the drink in any cases but anybody could spike the drink and homegirl wouldn't realize it. (makes sure they memorize her fist print is she does though)

jinx (0)

you wake up in a cold bath with empty ice bags on the ground. the side of your body feels super warm. you got the jinxed ending. have fun living without a liver.

ekko (7/10)

he dances while holding the cup 🥺🥺 will definietly ask if he can take a sip regardless of what the drink is. slightly pouts upon hearing no but won't force you to elaborate on it. drama queen, will close the cup with his palms if he hears you approaching

"my bad, thought you were coming for my buddies drink there"

heimerdinger (7/10)

will try his best to protect your drink. holds it with both of his hands. realistically, somebody could just swoop in and take it from his grasp but otherwise, another solid choice.

viktor (4/10)

why must you do this to him??? nervous that a half empty drink in hand might be an excuse for other people to speak to him. just stands there, you find him in the exact position as you left him. there's a big chance he might just leave it there if the party gets too intense.

mel (10/10)

super natural and professional about it. will sip only a little to make sure she leaves her lipstick mark on it. sways the glass slowly while gracefully holding a conversation.

jayce (8/10)

he's excited🥺🥺 holds it like a trophy. he fights for a safe drink, he'll die for a safe drink. might get bored if you take too long and theres a slight chance that he WILL judge you for your drinking choices.

singed (no)

no

silco (5/10)

if he likes you, he'll death stare anyone that gets close to the drink in question. if he doesn't, the houseplants will be seeing some action.

"hey silco can you hold this for a minute?"

"of course, love."

"cut the cameras"

sevika(6/10)

she also drinks without asking, not because she likes it but just to see you flustered. other than that, people could "joke" about grabbing the cup and they would be catching these blades.

aphelios (10/10)

he's a soldier with a mission. cup locked in sight, just silently stares at it until you come back. gets praised by his sister for being such a responsible friend.

kayn (7/10???)

actually very happy to hold it for you. might think of you as a stupid cunt if he sees you drinking embarrassing stuff but this is a very good opportunity to shut people up.

"oh sorry, kind of busy here you see. i'm keeping an eye on this one. have a good time" *bends down to rhaast's level* "kill this bitch right now."

aatrox (??/10)

YES HUMAN!! FINALLY YOU UNDERSTAND THE TRUE PURPOSE OF BEING A DEATH BLADE. ofc he will keep you tiny cup safe wdym *gets fucking split in half*

sett (10/10)

surprisingly (or not) responsible. he will cross his arms on his chest but hold onto the cup firmly. he's making his momma proud, no screwing around on his watch.

akali (6/10)

sure bestie, doesn't actually mind it. the only problem is, she also probably doesn't care if you're not very important to her. makes sure that the drink is safe from other substances but leaves it on the counter if she sees you approaching.

jhin (no)

art, shall blossom from the absence of your wit and self-awareness. what were you thinking :D?

vander (10/10)

another professional. definitely knows what an angelshot is and definitely slapped a bitch in a blue t-shirt before. tired and unamused dad keeping the cup safe, that's it this is the motto.

graves (???)

Scaramouche x Mechanic!reader. SFW. Fluffy.

a/n: Mya omg this is so so cute!

Scaramouche isn't one for patience, even though he knows it's essential in life, after all he waited so long to meet his soulmate, you.

He was curious about you, never seen a mechanic before, the most was doctors but watching you tinker with small things caught his attention

What really caught his attention was a project you've been working on, refusing to let him see it since you wanted it to be a surprise, he grew frustrated, what could be more important then him?

As time went on you developed a heart for him, however during that time he's became more of a pissy cat then your lover, often knocking things over, poking, swatting and doing anything to get your attention.

Imagine his surprise when you finally give him that attention he's been craving for the past few months with a gift, a heart. Was this what you where working on?

"This..is for me?" His expression would be soft, and endearing. He couldn't take his eyes off of your gift when you handed it to him.

"It's a heart for you, Scara. It's my way of giving you my heart," you replied, blushing as you shifted your weight nervously.

CHILDE

every seasoned solider has time to rest, after all battles only ever wear down your body. rest is time to heal, it is essential for any warrior. TARTAGLIA knows it is a human need, even if the bloodthirsty voice inside him demands for more. the voice is unwavering in its demand, growing resentful and spiteful when deadlines aren't met.

like any other human, CHILDE soon finds himself tired. he has finally succombed to the weariness of his body, letting himself go. the voice wants more, his body still pumped full of adrenaline wanting more fight. he stumbles across the fatui's medical ward, the tear that the foul legacy transformation does on his body is unmeasurable but he always manages to come out even stronger. that is who he is, that is what makes him a formidable foe. although he does always heal, the period of rest is unbearable. limping across the cold hallways, he clutches his arm sling close to his body, pressing himself to a wall as he gets a glimpse of you.

you are terrifying, a horror that can only match the tsaritsa herself, always making sure he stays in bed, taking extreme measures to do so. just as he think he's safe sighing, he turns to walk some more only to find you, arms crossed with a stern expression. he has been caught.

he is pulled to his room and snuggled up with blankets, he is acclimated to the cold of his homeland, a measly medical ward wouldn't freeze him to death, but you relent. you sit in a stool next to him, holding his hand. your reading a book, your voice resonating through the room. his thoughts calm as the only thing he could think about is you. the voice is long gone and he finally has time to rest.

XIAO

adeptus do not find any need to sleep, was a statement you were becoming far too familiar with. being an adeptus, XIAO absolutely refused any sleep, deeming it completely useless for him. yet whenever he comes back home feet trailing the ground and eyes half lidded begging to rest, you wished he went easier on himself.

could he spare some time for rest? time for peace.

the soft night breeze coming from an open window, as he came limping to the bed, sitting on the edge inches away from you while you were deep into slumber. he looks at your face, devoid of any emotions.

and for a brief second he lets his thoughts wonder, a sweet temptation of joining you. but alas, it is only a temptation, a thought he could only dream of.

he secures his polearm tightly, at once sitting up from the bed you were sleeping in. the bed creaks, as he find you wide awake. your eyes soften, gaze on him, only him. rubbing your forehead as you look at him, clearly drowsy, XIAO knows he has made a mistake. you take his hand into your own, eyes meet and at once he lets his guard down. there are still dangers out there, demons to be defeated. yet like always, his mind gives up.

he finds himself your arms, his forehead touching yours, at he is reminded of his past guilts. only when most vunerable, do dark thoughts seep into his mind. a weight on his shoulders always present, even when he tries to run. you kiss him, seemingly able to notice his exasperation. his expression turning into one of calm as his eyes close shut.

he will try to rest for once, if that means you will be able to be safe.

SCARAMOUCHE

SCARAMOUCHE is a mechanical puppet. he does not sleep, it is not within his biology to do so. though, you do sleep, you need sleep to be well. this is one of the many differences between you two.

you are rather nice to others, you connect with people with time. he constantly mistreats those he deems lower to him, he is tolerated by others. you are rather irresponsible with certain tasks, even if you have the capacity to finish them. he completes everything with a robotic precision.

you are the most annoying person he's ever met, but he can't help to be drawn to you. after all, you are the only person who's always come back to him. three betrayals he's suffered, every moment with you expecting one more being added to the list. yet in all your time together, you've never let him down, majorly that is. all minor disappointments are forgiven, though.

you've been a listening ear, guarding all his inner most feelings. you've given him advice, you've given him a home. you're his home, you're his constant, you're someone he can... tolerate. everything he does with you is a bother, that should just be done accordingly. yet never refused... he furrows his brows, annoyed at your silly proposal to take a break, go out somewhere and escape from the many labours of work. even if that dream destination is an isolated fatui camp.

he is trying, okay? he should get an award at the effort he's taking, after all he really does not find the purpose of rest in the first.

the day slipped through his fingers, as time always did when he was with you. laying on your lap was only for special ocassions, and today was one. your hand scratching his scalp, running your fingers through his hair, the warmth of your body pressed into him gave him a sense of calm. you handled him with delicate touch, as if he were a fine porcelain doll, afraid he might shatter with enough pressure.

he did not have the guts to tell you he quite appreciated your efforts, going as far as declaring he liked you. he thought of speaking, but words failed, besides he was SCARAMOUCHE the balladeer, an untouchable pillar of pride. he had appearances to keep up with, but if the stars aligned, maybe just maybe he would have a sliver of chance that you also felt as warm as he felt with you. you were his home and his constant, you were far too precious to lose.

masterlist

Pairing: Night Wanderlust/Wanderlust x Male!Reader

A/N: The original request was for possessed Wanderlust during majesty but that didn't give me much to work with so I changed it to Night Wanderlust

"Wander?" You had no idea what was going on,you were just walking through the city when you were pulled through a portal. “Wander looks down at you and chuckles, amused by your cluelessness. He bends down slightly so his face is closer to yours and grabs you by your jaw gently, forcing your gaze up to his.

Ah, so you remember me! I’m so flattered” His demeanor shifts and his grip on your jaw tightens slightly,he didn’t seem to recognize you. “Now however, I answer to the sorceress Night Swan and it’s night Wanderlust” You gripped his arm 

“Wander it's me,don't you recognize me?" He quirks an eyebrow and looks down at you, tilting his head in curiosity. His grip on your jaw tightens further, though not enough to hurt. He squints slightly as he looks you up and down almost intently.

“And why should I recognize you? I’ve met and danced with countless others. What makes you so special?” Was he really that far gone? Have you lost your boyfriend? You reached closer and touched his face,hoping you could get him back. His grip on your jaw loosens slightly as your hand touches his face, your unexpected touch catching him off guard. He stiffens at your touch, his expression remaining stern but you notice the slightest hint of surprise in his eyes. His eyes dart around your face, attempting to place you as memories slowly start filtering into his mind.

“You seem familiar” You moved closer to him