when they overhear you talking lovingly about them [genshin men pt.2]
⋗ ft. albedo, illuga, kaveh, lohen, varka, wanderer, wriothesley, xiao
⋗ ~0.3k | fluff | gn!reader
Albedo
He’s waiting rather impatiently. The delivery should already be here, it is crucial to his work. The task at hand demands to be finished immediately, but without the necessary components Albedo can’t continue and his mind runs in circles of frustration and impatience. Similarly, his own steps circle around the room for something to do.
There are quiet voices outside the door suddenly, nothing new, yet in his current state his ears catch the sound and latch onto it. With you as part of the equation, his interest is piqued for the time being. He doesn’t appreciate interruptions while he’s deep in his work, but seeing as there’s nothing he can do, he comes closer to the door.
He jolts back once he can hear the words like they burn him. Frown tugs at his features. What are you even talking about - with whom? Something inside him must be getting messed up and thrown off balance. Something inside of you must be wrong. A chemical reaction going haywire. Why else would you feel like that towards a being such as him? Same as the base of your existence might be… Could you truly…?
The delivery finally arrives. When Albedo opens the door upon hearing the familiar sound of steps weighted down by the package, you jump away in fright. Instead of pointing out it was you who picked this precise location to spill your feelings, he gives you a gentle smile. Then - his lips move on their own, his tongue won’t listen to reason. He invites you inside.
It’s so impractical - he’s not done. This is a precise work requiring his full focus, and while he usually doesn’t struggle with devoting his senses and his mind to what he’s doing, right now it seems to be a challenge. He’s like a magpie drawn to the jewels of your eyes. His hands shake imperceptibly, and yet it’d be enough to lead to failure.
So he lays everything down. It seems his attention and interest is already elsewhere.
Illuga
On nights like this he tends to stay out longer. Both his duty and his curse. It’s cold and especially dark with no moonlight to illuminate the paths and some of the already sparse lights flicker like dying fireflies, soon to be extinguished. They really need to hound Aino into teaching them how to repair the technology, Illuga thinks.
Nonetheless, he makes his way towards home, towards you. The thought blows life into the embers in his chest, spreading warmth through his half-frozen body running on fumes at this point. Only a little further. He’s passing through the gap between the houses when he hears your laugh - and then more. Though he can’t tell who you’re speaking to, one of the neighbours, maybe, it doesn’t matter. It feels too much like a dream.
He clears his throat. He’d love to listen more - he truly would, but it’s rude to listen in on what you wanted to convey privately. Illuga would prefer to hear the rest of what you were to say in person, without secrets and hiding. You look like a rabbit caught in a trap, so utterly adorable that he almost feels bad.
So he doesn’t bring it up immediately. Instead, over the warm soup that’s your dinner, you talk about your days. He holds your hand in his, absentmindedly drawing circles on the back of your hand. You help each other undress and dress again once you’re ready for bed. And only then does he ask, only with you tucked under his chin, cocooned by blankets.
Illuga knows he could fall asleep like this and have the most peaceful sleep of his life, yet he resists the temptation. Instead, every shy confession of yours he meets with just as quiet whispered prayers of love. Pieces of his soul laid bare. With each exchange you bring yourself closer, he pulls you in tighter, as if you wanted to melt into a singular being.
Kaveh
The world is spinning in that familiar, dreamy way. Kaveh is swaying to the music surrounding him. He leans on the railing, looking down at the strangers living their life underneath his balcony. Headache is starting to form behind his eyes, a problem for future him. For now, he feels peaceful. And sleepy. Resting his head on his arms, he feels strength starting to leave him and his body leaning to the side-
Yet before he hits the ground, he’s pulled up and steadied. Another warm body presses against his, familiar and comfortable. He lets himself be guided and maneuvered, though he can’t say why he trusts you so much. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let you see him like this, and yet he’s so tired and weak that he can’t help but crave that care.
Kaven allows himself to be pushed onto bed and cleaned up. As soft as the touch of the wet cloth is, as smooth as the feeling of fresh pajamas is, they’re pushed to the background of his mind. His focus lingers on your words. Are you aware he can hear? Are you aware you’re saying all that… Do you mean it? He feels so pathetic it makes his eyes water shortly before he falls asleep.
When you wake up, Kaveh is nowhere to be found. A ghost, nobody is of any help as to his whereabouts. And he wants to keep it that way. Despite being haunted by guilt and his own self-doubt, he remains hidden while his mind races. A cursed circle of awareness and paranoia. You wouldn’t lie, you talk like that about him to his face, to your friends, when he’s there and when he’s not. Why can’t he accept it?
He keeps running away from your feelings until he can’t anymore. And then, and only then, does he run straight into your arms. He throws both of you to the ground, clinging to you desperately. And so the cycle begins anew.
Lohen
Slacking off? Lohen’s lips curl up, a cat who caught the canary. It was a highly unusual sight - after all you knew better than this. You knew exactly what it takes to be a knight of your standing, and you knew that one doesn’t keep their position by standing around talking about the weather.
What’s more - one doesn’t get to keep their life by chatting up strangers. At least not on his watch, not the one that’s his. Still, this isn’t an appropriate place for recklessness, and so he creeps closer, staying in the shadows.
The other guy sounds scared and… something more, is it confusion? Is it anger? If Lohen had to say, it’s the kind of panicked anger a cornered animal might feel in the face of a stronger beast. So he listens intently to your words that follow.
What he hears is so surprising and ordinary that he barely stifles his laugh before he lunges forward. In a second, the dude disappears. You on the other hand - you stand still, as relaxed as before, as if there wasn’t a dagger’s blade pressed against your throat. The edge has already tasted your blood, not enough to make it drip, but enough to make it clear you should be careful about how deeply you’re breathing.
“You’re losing your edge,” he sneers into your ear.
“Me? I’m not the one getting worked up over a love confession,” you huff, “From my lover no less.”
The sting of a cut is there with every word. Yet - yet, the blade stops the bleeding as much as it slices your throat. It’s nothing serious anyway. Nothing he’ll get told off for either, the captain’s already given up trying to understand your spats.
Besides, since the dagger’s not a threat, there’s an opening for you to slip from him with a few practiced moves. And so danse macabre begins, as much a proof of his devotion as a lesson in mortality.
Varka
It’s loud. Almost unbearably so, but Varka is long used to it. It’s just how taverns get after a successful expedition, successful battle - which was it again? He doesn’t quite remember, the booze buzzes through his veins loud enough to erase the memories of everything but victory. The one beacon of hope in the darkness of neverending struggles against the odds.
The air, however, is getting too stale so he finds himself heading outside to fill his lungs with the clean air of the night, warm and carrying the scent of flowers native to his homeland. Just what he needed.
He truly didn’t expect to stumble upon you here - just behind the corner, sitting at one of the tables outside, chatting where the roar inside is just a background noise. And definitely not with someone who’s not him. So he stalks closer, curious what made you leave the party. How foolish he was for thinking he’d leave your mind.
It’s not very gentlemanly of him, but so be it. Hearing you talk like that - that beats a thousand nights of celebrations thrown in his name. His heart pounds harder than it does preparing for a fight. So his strategy is to wait for you to be done talking, and then he struts over, ignores your panicked squeak and your friend’s laughter, and picks you up to carry you further away where it can be just you and him.
Even then, however, Varka holds you, safe and steady in his arms as he rests his forehead against yours. His eyes carry that same tenderness with which he looks at you when you share a bed. He stops, a moment of charged stillness, before his lips crash against yours. He easily takes control of the kiss, purring when your arms wrap around his neck. Gradually, though, the kiss slows down, less hungry and more desperate, reverent. It takes you a moment to realize that what he’s murmuring between each kiss is a thank you.
Wanderer
The sun’s reached its peak in the sky and beams down mercilessly on the city. The people weaving around him glisten with sweat, a plight he’s freed from. There’s no need to rush while everyone seems so sleepy with the sun’s heat.
Without a destination in mind, Wanderer lets his feet take him wherever - to the market, down to the docks. Then back towards the houses, because perhaps he could laze around today and go through some of the academic texts he took out to study.
Yet reaching the humble abode he shares with you, he finds words flowing from the open window, unguarded, and centered around him it seems. He can’t quite stop the poisonous flames of doubt and fear twisting themselves into anger from licking at his fingertips, spreading across his body.
It must be a performance, he decides. Nobody would ever talk about him in this way without a reason. Though a conversation with a friend can take many turns, he doubts they should ever get this… personal. You must’ve spotted him, although he knows you lack the skill. But what other reason would there be for your voice to soften like this? For these words to leave your mouth? He feels like you’re sitting at different sides of a confessional. Yet why does he feel like the sinner although he remains completely silent? He grits his teeth.
It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Don’t you speak like that, don’t you whisper those confessions while holding his face when there’s nothing to gain, too? The off-chance that you mean every word is worse. Doesn’t everyone like that leave or otherwise discard him? Why would you be any different? He cannot let anyone know his feelings, however, he cannot show his weakness or it’ll speed up the inevitable process.
So when you find Wanderer lying in the grass next to your home, he only gives an excuse about why he didn’t come in. He hesitates when you grab his hand to drag him inside.
Wriothesley
He enjoys being where he’s not expected to be. It’s a good way of getting a general idea about the mood inside the fortress, and Wriothesley would prefer to remain on top of things if there was anything that’s causing conflict. So he carries the box of snacks he acquired for the tea break you’re supposed to meet for shortly, having retrieved it himself.
And who does he not stumble upon? And engaged in conversation so deeply that you don’t even spot him, too. Ideas swarm in his mind until he catches a bit of what you’re saying. Then time just seems to stop. He draws back, enough to remain within earshot but hidden from sight. Definitely not so he can lean against the wall of his cover as the world tilts on its axis. Or so that nobody witnesses how heavy his breathing gets.
When you enter Wriothesley’s office later. He seems deep in thought. His gaze is unfocused, staring into the steaming tea as if it held answers to all the questions of the universe. Yet the moment you come closer to his desk, his attention snaps to you.
He offers you his hand, brings you closer and pulls, dragging you into his lap. His head suddenly rests against your chest, his arms hold you like you’ll disappear if he lets go any tiny bit. You’re the safety he’s always been longing for, he realizes. You. If he has you, the whole world can burn.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure him and watch magic happen. The towering figure of a man melts into you, a putty under your touch.
He doesn’t tell you why, or what happened. He simply stays completely pliant. It doesn’t matter if he’s drinking tea or helping himself to a slice of cake, he stays just as he is - leaning his head against you, closing his eyes in pleasure when you knead the muscles on his shoulder. His voice sounds much softer than you’ve ever heard it.
Xiao
When was the last time he followed the steps of a mortal for no good reason? Xiao doesn’t remember. Yet he can’t pinpoint why is it that he follows after you. Maybe because you don’t treat him like others do, with blind respect. No, gentler. Like the face of a rock, caressed by the wind and waves, eroded with time, its sharp edges smoothed, he himself finds he similarly softened towards you. The cravings of gods and mortals, demons and holy beings, don’t seem that different, after all.
He remains hidden, high in the branches of the willow you decide to rest under. Even from high up, he can see how peaceful your face becomes, the tension easing off your shoulders. Why were you so anxious coming here? He’s written off the nervous energy radiating off you as worry about your safety. The slimes and hilichurls of this area can be particularly nasty. But he was wrong.
He freezes, only his centuries of meticulous training and experience keeping him hidden and safe balancing on the unsteady branch. With your head leaned back against the bark, you beg for guidance. Who - Xiao has no idea. His name is all he can hear - his name in the center of the maze of fond feelings you try to navigate. Fond. Perhaps that doesn’t even begin to encompass it.
You talk for so long that you fall asleep in the shade of the tree, slouching against the trunk. Only then does he climb down, watching your sleeping form in a new light, with a new furious storm raging inside of his chest. He crouches down, his hand no less gentle than a falling feather as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Then, he does the unthinkable - he leans forwards and presses his lips against your forehead. You don’t stir, you only smile in your sleep.
Xiao looks around. Where can he hide to accidentally meet you on your way back?
My toxic trait is wishing and thinking that all my problems would be solved if I got kidnapped by whatever fictional entity I'm currently obsessed with the second something in my life goes wrong, instead of actually facing it
Yor and Loid (and a Lot of the cast like Yuri and Hemlock. Probably Nightfall too if we're honest, I'd need to see her apartment again. The Handler just crawled out of her depression hole to walk her dog so I'm giving her a pass. That counts to me.) suffer from No Hobbies syndrome so bad in the beginning.
These are all people who do their job extremely well but are locked purely in survival mode. They have not done something for the enjoyment of it in years. High functioning people living on the bottom of maslow's hierarchy of needs with tentative grasps of the safety rung at best.
I'm sorry Yor, why is your apartment just a table and a chair in the beginning. I know you love your brother and your work but aside from murder. No hobbies. No interests. The situation with her coworkers drastically improves not because she's married but because she literally has something ANYTHING to talk to them about. (Her eyes are so empty in those first chapters and I don't think it was an art style change) Truly man who raises shrimp and they save his life behavior. Melinda is not an insignificant part of this growth. She has FRIENDS (?!?!!!) who do ACTIVITIES with her!
Truly Yor has made the most progress of anyone. Oh I'm safe in my marriage. I feel loved and valued by him and my daughter. I am gaining connections with others. My job feels rewarding again. My self esteem is slowly improving.
Yuri? Starting to realize that his (sisters) safety needs are being met. Maybe they Aren't in survival mode anymore. Maybe there Is room in his life for more than work and worrying about Yor. He is starting to feel lonely because he sees that it Could be better. He, just like Yor, could have people he cares about and that would be okay. Pick up knitting Yuri. Anya needs some knit hats for winter. No don't look at what Loid made stop comparing yourself.
Loid? He's caught between the little bit of safety he's slipping into trusting at home and the very real constant danger he will honestly never escape as the most famous spy (ain't that a contradiction) of their time. He WANTS to cling to that bottom rung. That's kept him safe. That is where he survives. But Yor and Anya keep pulling him up. You are safe. You are loved. That is dangerous because Not being in survival mode means death. Yet he wants it. And that's just as dangerous.
But Loid is also extremely hobbyless. Yes he is good at pretty much everything. Can talk about anything. It's how he Passes as someone normal-ish. But Anya and Loids day on the cruise feels extremely telling. He's read all the books in the library. He can put the puzzle together in 2 minutes. All holes in one at mini golf. (how well does he pretend to play with his doctor coworkers do you think? One of them implied he'd gone golfing with them before) None of it seems to interest him. He's just engaging with it for Anya. (Who i'll remind you is ACTIVELY trying to find something he's interested in to distract him so she can escape and find Yor.)
Like at most I think we can infer he enjoys cooking. Not because we've seen him do it (maybe in the anime) it's not a cooking manga after all. Just that he seems to repeatedly choose to make more difficult things that taste excellent when something easy and plain would do. It's not like Yor and Anya expect 3 star meals, I think it's safe to assume neither of them were particularly food secure. And he seems offended when people imply he Shouldn't be the main cook of the family. But he also brought home a thing of canned tuna during the first week so it could just be a part of his commitment to being the ultimate father/husband. Maybe week one when he was still mailing in the Dad duties they ate canned tuna over rice with peanuts and called it dinner. Look no carrots kid. (That's even worse, extremely depression coded. But tell me chapter 1 Loid is making the same meals for himself and the kid he Doesn't want as he is for his Family. Especially once Yor shows up)
But beyond that what? He seems to enjoy training Bond. That's huge. That's something! He reads the spy war comics but that's for Anya. He seems to enjoy watching the news but that's for work. (Although perhaps analyzing the broadcasts IS fun for him. I imagine it's more reassurance for him that he's aware of the current situation tho) Anya tells him to try on silly clothes or skip through the port and he Does because he can be a pushover when she tells him how to be her best Papa. (Assuming her homework is done)
I'm just very interested to see who [Redacted] actually is. I don't think He knows. What Does [Redacted] like to do? Is there something that lets him turn his brain down to a simmer from its constant rolling boil?
I think we're getting close. To him feeling safe enough to start wanting things for himself. I think he'll hate it. Hates that he wants something again.
But put that man in a box. Let him sleep for a week with no obligations. And I think, once the pain fades and the boredom sets in, he wants to take Bond for a walk. Wants to make something grand for dinner. Wants to internally make fun of the politicians on TV, at least when it doesn't fill him with dread.
I hope we get that for all of our cast. That they take up checkers or knitting. Get really into tea making. It would save them, once the war is done.
Because without those things, the war is never done. You don't get to escape. Not really.
They can get spiky when threatened, raising their spines and inflicting a painful wound.
They are thought to be monogamous, mating for life with one partner. They are herbivore and feed on algae and coral and they grow up to a maximum of 30 cm.
Ypu can find them in the indo-pacific region, around Australian and the Philippines.
Yor and Loid's family came to pick them up. Despite being six Anya, with the help of Frankie and Becky and Martha, was there to pick her family up after they had a traumatic day, just like they came to pick her up after the bus.
As he ruminates over his emotional state and the mission in a panicked spiral, the voice that cuts through it is hers. Anya.
It's time to go home Papa. There's dinner to make.
I have often thought that both Yor and Loid probably have a great deal of anxiety around food security given they grew up during war times and had to support themselves as children.
Like we know Yor gathered food from their local area (killed a boar, mushrooms and such which implies they're living in a place where that was an option and the frames we have do make it look more rural which is probably a good thing) but even after the Garden starts paying her food is undoubtedly tight during those times and I'm sure there were struggles with rationing and not having an adult to advocate that they get their share as well.
And that's discounting Yor's inability to cook. At least that trained her and Yuri to eat whatever they had without being picky. But it's not like her and Yuri Don't have taste buds. They both recognize Loid's cooking is better than Yuri's. (I just reinspected his cooking, there's a literal salt shaker in one of the dishes, never mind he's also terrible. I had DEFENDED YOU YURI. The nice dishes are all Loids...)
And we Know Loid was in a bad way after his mother died. The day the bombs dropped and kill her, he was fishing and thinks about how 'there hasn't been much food lately'. So it was already scarce before the place was destroyed. And then he's 10(?) and all alone in a world with no room for him.
As much as Twilight allows himself to love anything, he seems to love cooking. Preparing feasts that three people could never hope to finish for dinner. (leftovers!) I imagine if we looked in their pantry and fridge it is completely stocked in a well organized manner. Despite Yor's 'I don't know what most of this stuff is I'll just buy one of everything' approach to shopping. (Which honestly I think is enrichment for Loid. 'Why did she buy a star fruit? What can i make with a starfruit, the lettuce that's going to go bad soon and the turkey from the other night...? Oh!' The man needs his puzzles.)
But I do wonder. Is there some quiet part of Loid that gets uneasy after Yor tries cooking and the fridge goes empty. That urges him to make a late night grocery run.
Something in Yor that panics, when Loid is away for work and they use up the last of his leftover containers. That feels the same directionless fear that she did as a child when they finished the last of their mother's cooking and there would never be any more.
Do they both feel some compulsion to keep a stash of shelf stable food somewhere no one else can see it, just in case? Even if they Know that's not necessary. That it leads to ants.
As of lately, Satan had been spending a suspicious amount of time in his room. Everyone assumed he was just engrossed in another book.
One day, he got up from the dinner table early. Like a normal demon, he always finishes his food. He’s not the type to waste it. But this time, he didn’t let Beelzebub have his leftovers. He took his plate upstairs.
That is what weirded you out. You decided to follow him to his room, after you gave Beelzebub the rest of your own food.
You rushed upstairs as if your life depended on it. Tiptoeing around in the hallway, you opened Satan’s door slowly.
Satan, clearly not expecting you, was startled. You locked eyes. You looked at him, kneeling down, with a spoon in hand. Then you looked at the little kitten he was spoon-feeding.
“Seriously? It’s the eleventh cat this week, and it’s only Tuesday!” You told him, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Shh, you’re scaring it” He shushed you.
“Lucifer’s gonna be so mad when he finds out” you said, lowering your voice.
“You mean IF he finds out” he replied smugly.
“Find out what?”
You, Satan, and Satan Jr. the 11th turned around at the same time to look towards the door, where Lucifer was standing with his arms crossed and an unnerving smile on his face.
“…Speak of the devil” you continued slowly, smiling nervously.
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