May I please request a reader who comes by to drop off a homemade lunch, while Anaxa, Aglaea, and Kaeya are hard at work, please?
Care is a Kind of Rebellion Too
Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Aglaea x Reader, Kaeya x Reader, Fluff, Domestic Vibes, Caring Reader, Established or Blossoming Affection, Food as Love Language, Workaholic Characters, Gentle Moments, Subtle Angst, Touch-Starved, Teasing and Banter, Slow-Burn Hints.
Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, Implied Violence, Overwork and Exhaustion, References to Death and Sacrifice, Mild Suggestive Flirtation.
The heavy scent of aged parchment and burnt ether drifted through the sanctum’s arched halls. Books were scattered across marble counters like fallen leaves. At the heart of this whirlwind sat Anaxa, ink-stained gloves drumming against a glowing slate, his one visible eye narrowed with maddening focus.
You cleared your throat gently at the doorway.
“Anaxa—” you paused, remembering, “...Anaxagoras?”
He didn’t glance up. “If you’ve come to ask why divinity recoils at mortal autonomy, don’t. I’ve had six hours of rhetorical foolishness and three migraines.”
You held up a carefully packed lacquered box.
“I just came to bring you lunch.”
That stopped him. The quill hovered mid-air. He blinked once. Then again.
“I… see,” he muttered, voice suddenly softer. “You’ve made this?”
You nodded. “You skipped breakfast again.”
He stared at the box like it was a puzzle that might explode or bless him. Gently, he took it. Black-threaded gloves brushed yours, hesitating for a second too long.
“I assume this wasn’t bought from the market?”
“No,” you smiled, settling beside him. “I made it this morning. You don’t have to eat it all, but...”
He opened the box.
Warm rice. Spiced vegetables. A sweet honeyed roll. No sacred relics. No soulstones. Just food.
Anaxagoras, the one who had dissected gods and whispered forbidden truths, looked genuinely stunned.
“…You are,” he began quietly, “the most dangerous kind of alchemist. You conjure care. And I’m not prepared for it.”
You laughed. “It’s just lunch, Anaxagoras.”
He smiled faintly, his gaze glinting with something warmer than intellect.
“Yes. But perhaps, it’s the only magic I still believe in.”
In the heart of Okhema’s Loomtower, threads of gold wove through the air like dancing sunbeams. Aglaea moved with divine precision, her fingers conjuring glowing patterns into embroidered timelines. Her focus was a masterpiece unto itself—severe, poised, beautiful.
You knocked lightly on the crystal doorframe. “I brought you something.”
She didn’t look up at first, but her aura shifted. Subtly softer.
“Unless it’s an ambassador from Ka’venos bringing treaty edits, I will accept your offering,” she said dryly.
You stepped closer, holding out a golden-laced box. “Lunch. You’ve been working for hours.”
Finally, she turned. Her eyes met yours—sharp green-golden softening as they landed on your face, then the box.
“You made this yourself?”
“I did.”
She reached for it with elegant fingers, her touch reverent. She opened the box with a grace usually reserved for ceremonial artifacts.
Inside: hand-rolled grape leaves, a floral salad, and small sugar-dusted pastries shaped like laurel leaves.
For a moment, Aglaea said nothing. Then she looked up at you with something painfully gentle in her gaze.
“I forget, sometimes,” she whispered, “that I am allowed to be... nourished. Not just worshiped.”
You smiled and helped her sit.
She took one pastry, held it to her lips, then paused.
“…You are too good to me.”
“I’m just making sure you don’t forget to eat.”
Aglaea chuckled—a soft, airy sound.
“I will never forget this. Not the taste. Not the care. And not the one who dared to interrupt destiny with kindness.”
The sun hit the windows of the Knights of Favonius HQ just right, casting golden lines across Kaeya’s desk, though he barely noticed. Maps, reports, and half-drunk wine bottles cluttered the space. He leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning yet another mission log.
You slipped in silently, lunch box in hand.
“Kaeya,” you called, casually. “Guess who didn’t eat again?”
His head tilted lazily in your direction. “Would it be me? Because if so, I’m deeply offended at your accusation. I absolutely… almost considered a snack.”
You raised a brow and set the box on his paperwork. “Real food. Made by real hands. Me.”
He leaned forward, eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. “You cooked for me? Am I being courted?”
“You’re being fed,” you retorted, but your smile betrayed affection.
Kaeya opened the box, revealing roasted meat with grilled fruit, sautéed greens, and a buttery tart with mint garnish.
He whistled low. “You really did go all out, huh?”
You crossed your arms. “You’ve been pushing yourself. Someone had to look out for you.”
Kaeya picked up a fork, then paused. His voice dropped a bit.
“...You always do.”
He took a bite, eyes closing slightly at the taste. “Mmm. Alright. This might be better than Diluc’s grilled tiger fish. Don’t tell him I said that.”
“No promises.”
He looked up again, smile gentler now. “Thank you. Truly. For this. You always know how to find me at my worst and bring me something better.”
You leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
“Next time, just remember to ask. I’d rather you didn’t starve before I could show off my cooking.”
Kaeya chuckled, and this time, it reached his eyes.
“Deal. But only if you agree to keep spoiling me like this.”
