Anaxa X Reader - Blog Posts

hii hello so um I cried and you need to pay for my therapy session

thank you💔💔💔

In every life

Pairing: Anaxa/f!reader

Summary: A sorrowful and tender fable of two divine beings caught in the slow ache of a love destined for another lifetime. You and Anaxa share a fleeting night of intimacy- quiet, gentle, and heartbreakingly human. As your bodies remember what your soul knows, you both hope that in the next life, the memory of the thousand nighs spent together follows you into the next life

c.w! grief, sensual intimacy and nudity (non nsfw), body insecurity, implied illness, mortality n reincarnation, bittersweet, no beta read we die like anaxa

A/N: omg idk what compelled me to write this... I'm actually gonna be releasing an anaxa series but it's more angsty and he has no eq in that series (alr posted it on ao3 tho)

In every life, I find you. And every time, I lose you.

The room was quiet save for the hum of the lamp—a dim glow painting flickers across the stone walls. Anaxa sat first, his back to the cool headboard, long strands of pale green hair uncoiling like ribbons as he tilted his head, watching you settle beside him. Your hand wandered, light as breath, across the bare skin of his chest. Your fingertips bruyoud the eight-pointed teal star at its center, the galaxy within it pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

He didn’t flinch. You never did either. You both had long since abandoned the need for fear around each other. The faintest smile tugged at your lips as you trailed over the branching veins of light snaking from the void of his left eye, hidden beneath the eyepatch. Your voice barely a whisper, "You shouldn't stick your hand in there."

"That was one time," Anaxa muttered dryly, the corner of his mouth lifting. He leaned back, letting the silence stretch again. "Are you going to—"

"No," you muttered. "I want to etch our bodies into our souls, so in the next life, I can still feel your touch when I close my eyes."

A pause. His breath caught. Then slowly, he moved, calloused hand finding your thigh as he helped you shift, guiding you with a reverence that was almost laughable for beings like them. You watched him, watching you, his ponytail sprawling out against the pillow. Your thumb gently bruyoud his lips.

He gasped softly. So did you. It was the most human you both had ever been.

You squeezed his bicep, not large but firm enough. "May I take off your jacket?"

He nodded. Both your movements were unhurried. He slipped it from his arms and tossed it onto the table with casual grace. The sleeveless black shirt he wore clung to his build. You stared at him, your fingers curling slightly in awe. He waited, then asked, "Are you going to say something or keep looking?"

"I'm thinking," you replied. "How do you still look like a storm held in flesh?"

He huffed, amused. "You always had a way with words."

"I had a way with knowledge. I don't know much anymore. Just feelings."

He reached for your hand, threading their fingers together. "Then tell me what you feel."

You leaned in, laying your cheek against his shoulder. "Like dying won’t be so terrible."

The lamp buzzed. Your shadows merged on the wall like two forgotten gods seeking warmth. you kissed his neck, soft and slow, tasting the skin that held centuries of silence. His hand found the back of your head, his grip gentle.

you chuckled, fingers ghosting along his chest. "You're not romancing me like mortals do."

"We aren't mortals," Anaxa said simply.

You borh ssipped from warm tea left half-finished on the table. When you placed your lips to the rim of his cup, he didn’t stop you. You both have shared blood before. This was far less intimate.

You unbuttoned your tunic slowly, deliberately. Not rushed. Not out of boredom. The black veins spidering across your torso were visible now. They reached your stomach.

"The veins have spread," you murmured.

His hand traced over them absently, his thumb dragging over the jagged paths. you flinched slightly—not from pain, but the youer tenderness of his touch.

"Sorry," you whispered. "I indulged too much last week. I figured we won’t get to eat delicacies when we die."

Your smile was self-deprecating. "My chest has grown. My figure too. More fat. More scars."

He didn’t answer with poetry. He wasn’t made for that. His fingers continued to trace, up from your stomach to your ribs, pausing just over your heart.

"You’re more beautiful than the gods who parade themselves for worship. Aphrodite would envy you."

you laughed quietly. "You flatter me. I've walked among humans long enough to hear that this body is distasteful. Too many flaws."

"Then they were fools." His tone was firm. "I see you through the lens of godhood, not lust. If we had time to do this again, I would never hesitate. Your body will feel the same in every life."

Your heart skipped. you exhaled sharply. Your blouse rested on the bed. "I still have scabs. Is it not unsightly?"

He sighed, long and low. "Not at all."

you almost cried.

He cupped your chest, reverent, not lewd. As if holding something sacred. "Beautiful," he said, not just about your body. It was about you, all of you. Just you.

Your voice was watery. "Being around those scoundrels makes me insecure."

"Then stay here," he said simply. "Lean closer."

You did. Both gods sat together, bare-skinned under the veil of night, looking out the window.

You, who had forgotten so much, leaned into the sound of his voice as he recounted your old favorites—peculiar facts about human society, stories about forgotten traditions and past lives. you smiled. you hadn’t known, but he remembered.

"You're still running your mouth," you teased.

"You’re still listening," he shot back.

As he continued, you giggled, unbuttoning his black tunic. His skin was warm under her fingers.

"You look less terrifying in the lamp’s glow and the midnight’s dusk," you said thoughtfully.

He chuckled—really chuckled—for the first time in years. His head tilted.

You reached up, tugging lightly at his eyepatch. He hesitated, then slowly removed it.

You stared into the void where his left eye should have been, where the galaxy spiraled within. "What a beautiful sight to see," you whispered.

He rolled his eyes, though only one remained.

Anaxa sighed. He paused, searching your face. Then, with that familiar slowness, he snaked his hand around your waist and pulled you in.

"Come here," he said, shifting to sit upright. You leaned into him, and you both turned to gaze at the window, the moonlight tracing your profiles.

You stared ahead, and he began to recount things you'd once loved once more—small human facts, details of society. "You used to love the story of the woman who mapped the stars by memory. Remember her?"

You nodded, smiling wistfully. "I remember her heart more than her name."

He went on, listing facts you'd forgotten. You giggled softly, thumbing the clasp of his black tunic. You unbuttoned it as he rambled on about societal structures collapsing under romantic revolutions.

"You still have bite," he said, amused.

"I’ve been among mortals for millennia. I think some of it stuck."

You tugged gently at the corner of his eyepatch. He stilled. Slowly, he removed it. The void of his left eye stared back—galactic, cracked, eternal.

"What a beautiful sight to see," you whispered.

He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're ridiculous."

"You look less terrifying in the lamp’s glow."

He laughed—really laughed. Not sharp, not scathing, but soft. Like air warming stone.

"May I kiss you?" You asked.

Anaxa hesitated, exhaled slowly, then gently drew your close with a hand to the back of your head.

You both breathed each other in, your foreheads pressed together. You leaned in further, brushing your lips against his collarbone, then bit gently into the skin, leaving a small mark. He winced, barely, but didn’t stop you. Why would he?

You pulled back, studying him. "You always let me do what I want."

"Because you know how to ask."

Your fingers cupped his cheek. His hair, green and lit faintly by the lamp, spilled over his shoulders. You thumbed his bottom lip.

"You're so kissable," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "That’s... unexpectedly human."

"We’re being unexpectedly human tonight."

You leaned in again, leaving kisses along the mark you made. Each movement was deliberate—no rush, no demand. Just touch.

He exhaled as if letting go of centuries. His hands moved slowly down her waist, fingers curling lightly over your thigh, adjusting your position with wordless care.

"I’ve missed this," you whispered.

"This?"

"Being held like this—by you."

he said nothing, but the way he tucked your hair behind your ear was answer enough.

And when you leaned over him again, he looked at you like you were something sacred.

You don’t even notice the first tear until it kisses the corner of your mouth—salt on your lips, grief in your throat. It just spills. Quietly, without warning. The kind of crying that creeps in, soft and shivering, the way twilight fades into night without a sound. Your shoulders tremble before you even realize you’re holding tension in them. You blink again, and suddenly your cheeks are slick, your breath hitching. You’re sobbing, but not loudly. Not violently. It’s soft. So painfully soft. Like the ache has been waiting all this time for the right moment to bloom.

And Anaxa is still there, his fingers already wrapped between yours. Clumsily, almost hesitantly. He’s never been good at this—comfort, vulnerability, skin that isn’t armor. But he doesn’t pull away. He holds on tighter.

Your warm skin brushes against his chest, your forehead pressing into the crook of his neck as your body folds in, seeking him as though there is nothing else in the world. And to him, there isn't.

He isn’t poetic. He doesn’t know the right words for sorrow. But his voice rumbles low, a whisper carved in stone. “It’s not the end.”

You shake your head slowly, trying to breathe through the sobs. It’s hard. It hurts. Gods weren’t meant to cry like this. But you, god of humanities, god of people and kindness and stories—you do. You cry like you’ve lived among mortals too long. And maybe you have.

“There’ll be another life,” Anaxa murmurs. “We’ll all be free, someday.”

He says it like he believes it. Like he’s clinging to the idea because it’s all he has left. “Maybe next time… we’ll just be people. You’ll be helping in some quiet village, healing others. Doing what you’ve always done. You always were better at being kind than the rest of us.”

Your lip trembles. He continues.

“And maybe I’ll just be some dusty academic, hoarding books in a dark office. And you’ll walk in, ask me where the philosophy texts are, and I won’t know why my chest aches when I look at you.”

You laugh wetly, your voice cracking with it. It’s hoarse. Tired. Real.

“I’d dedicate books to you again,” he says, a little softer now, brushing your hair back. “Even if I didn’t remember your name.”

Your arms tighten around him. Your body feels too warm, like grief is boiling under your skin, but he doesn’t let go. His hand slides up your back, pausing when it feels the bumps of old scabs, and then moving carefully—as if each touch is a vow.

“In the next life, you’ll have all the time in the world,” he whispers. “And I’ll watch you eat every delicacy you ever wanted, just to see your face light up. Every bite. I won't judge”

You hiccup through a sob, face still buried in his neck.

“and even if my body’s mortal, even if it forgets, my soul—” He swallows, his voice finally breaking. “—my soul will still love you the same.”

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Until you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes swollen, tears still leaking freely. Your lashes clump together. Your nose is red. And he thinks you’ve never looked more divine.

He lifts his hand and cups your cheek. His skin is rough, but his touch is so gentle. Reverent. As if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Even when you cry,” he says gruffly, “you’re still the most beautiful god I’ve ever known.”

And then, because he can’t help himself—because humor is the only thing keeping him from crying too—he adds, “Though you do soak tunics rather inconveniently.”

A tear-streaked laugh bursts from you, soft and breathless. You sniff and wipe your nose on your sleeve, and he flinches at the very mortal gesture. Then he chuckles.

A real one.

Warm and low and rare.

You lean into his chest again, wrapping your arms around his waist this time. Tighter. Grounded. Like if you hold him close enough, you might carry him into the next life with you.

He closes his eyes, resting his chin on your head.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

But his thumb strokes soft circles on your wrist, and your tears keep falling—quiet, steady, endless.

Anaxa helped you adjust, his hands moving with a strange tenderness for someone so gruff. He shifted beneath you so your cheek could rest against his chest, and your legs tangled between his with a comfort you never thought he’d allow. The feel of his skin against yours was still new, a study in warmth and restraint—your body pressed close, your breath syncing slowly. He exhaled quietly, his hand absentmindedly dragging along the arch of your back.

You felt it in that moment—the weight of time, the fear of endings, the helpless ache of knowing this might be all you had left. Maybe that’s why you did it. You summoned what little energy you still held, gathering the thread of it in your fingertips. The golden light glowed faintly in your palm, flickering like a candle in wind.

Anaxa noticed. “Don’t use up all your power,” he muttered, not lifting his head, but his voice was tight. His hand stilled on your spine. “You need to keep it. Just in case.”

“Hmph,” you replied, nose wrinkling slightly against his skin, though your smile softened the expression. “Too late.” You let the golden glow settle, shaping it slowly, carefully, with everything you remembered from human rituals.

It was a simple ring—no jewel, no carvings, just a smooth band of warmth forged from the last of your divinity. It rested in your palm like a piece of a dream. You stared at it for a while, lips parting slightly as your breath hitched. “Do you know why humans made rings for each other?” you asked quietly.

Anaxa lifted a brow, eyes half-lidded as he tilted his head to glance down. “Of course I do,” he said. His voice was gruff, but the way his thumb resumed tracing your spine betrayed his calm. “Symbol of a vow. Something permanent. Circular. No beginning, no end.”

You grinned faintly. “Exactly,” you whispered, brushing a finger over the curve of the band. “I always liked that part.” You looked up at him again. “Care to indulge with me?”

He scoffed under his breath. “You want to exchange rings like a mortal couple?” he asked, but there was no mockery in his tone—just confusion. Maybe disbelief. Maybe wonder.

“Yes,” you replied simply, without hesitation, though your cheeks burned. “I’ve forgotten a lot. I barely remember proper ceremonies. But I remember this.” Your voice cracked. “I want to remember this.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Anaxa sat up a little, his chest brushing against yours as he reached to take the tiny ring from your palm. His fingers were large, rough, but careful. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

He didn’t speak in verses. Didn’t dress it up in grand gestures or fancy words. He simply took your left hand, held it steady, and slid the ring onto your finger. “There. It’s yours now.”

You giggled, shoulders shaking as your smile widened. “That’s all you’re going to say?” you teased, eyes glittering with affection and tears. “No romantic declaration? No elaborate oath?”

He shrugged. “You already know it,” he replied, brushing your hair behind your ear. “What more is there to say?”

Your hand trembled slightly as you mirrored the action, forming a second ring with what little magic remained. This one was silver-white, faintly pulsing with light, like it remembered your touch. You reached for his hand, hesitating only for a moment before sliding it onto his finger.

“For every book you wrote to the stars,” you murmured, “and every word you didn’t know you wrote for me.” You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I vow to read with you. Even in the next life.”

He inhaled slowly, chest rising against yours, then exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for centuries. “You’re ridiculous,” he said softly. “And beautiful.” His thumb brushed under your eye. “And mine.”

There was a quiet that followed—not silence, but something gentler. The wind moved through the open window like a sigh. Somewhere far off, an owl called. The floor creaked with the weight of old wood, and the air smelled of rain that had not yet fallen.

Your tears hadn’t stopped, not really. They just flowed slower now, in a quiet stream along your cheek. Some of them fell onto Anaxa’s skin, warm like molten stardust, sinking into the hollow of his collarbone. He said nothing about it.

He just held you tighter.

Your fingers curled slightly in his hair, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. The rings glinted faintly in the moonlight—proof of a promise neither of you knew how to keep, but made anyway. That was always the beauty of mortals, wasn’t it?

Even knowing the world ends, they love anyway.

Even knowing their gods may fall, they hope.

You shifted slightly, letting out a shaky breath, and Anaxa helped you resettle, one hand supporting your thigh, the other cupping your back. “Comfortable?” he asked gruffly, though his voice held no edge. Only concern.

You nodded, your chin brushing the top of his sternum. “Better now.” You traced a lazy circle on his chest, fingers dragging slow warmth into his skin. “You make a good pillow.”

He chuckled faintly. “You make a heavy blanket,” he replied. You smacked his shoulder lightly and he laughed again, low and rare.

Your cheek pressed against his heartbeat again, the sound grounding. Like the ticking of a slow, eternal clock. You could fall asleep like this, you realized. You almost wanted to.

“Tell me more about your next life,” you murmured.

He hesitated. “You’ll hate it,” he warned. “It’s boring. Quiet. Peaceful.”

“That sounds perfect,” you whispered.

“I’ll be some forgotten librarian in a coastal town,” he muttered. “No one visits. No one bothers me. I’ll wait for you every Tuesday afternoon at three.” He smiled. “You’ll show up one day. Asking for a book I don’t have.”

You giggled softly. “Then you’ll recommend me something else. Something I didn’t know I needed.”

“And you’ll come back the next week,” he said. “And the week after that.”

You nodded. “Until we fall in love again.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, so light it almost didn’t touch. “Every life,” he said. “I’ll find you.”

The moonlight shifted, brushing over the curve of your joined hands and the tiny rings now warming your skin. They hummed faintly, almost imperceptibly. You didn’t need to see them to know they were there.

You felt it in your chest. In your breath. In your soul.

Anaxa’s hand resumed its path along your back, and you relaxed fully for the first time in what felt like centuries. You could still feel the magic fading slowly from your body—but this… this was worth it. Even if only for a little longer.

And for the first time in a thousand years, you both were truly human. 

Gods didn’t need to know. The two gods only needed to feel.

And here, in this tiny moment, you both finally did.

In every life, it’s just you.

Notes: what the hell, WHAT THE HELLY? I'm out of my hiatus out of sheer boredom BCS other than studying and learning how to do canva shits, I DO NOTHING. I ALREADY FINISHED THE NEW HSR EVENT AND IM JUST SO BOREDDDD

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

HAHAHDJSHDJAHDJSH…

💔💔💔💔

angst, 1.2K words, gn!reader, 3.1 quest spoilers

“..I love you,”

“Oh my god are you dying”

Anaxagoras narrows his eyes at your reply to his rather vulnerable confession.

“I take it back.” He mutters with the click of his tongue.

You turn to face him fully, straightening from your hunched position at the unfamiliar wooden desk. The room was a temporary space Aglaea had arranged for you and your husband.

It’d been fourteen days since the devastating fall of the grove.

Luckily your husband was able to save many lives, it came with a cost, a cost that nearly killed him. You hadn’t exactly been thrilled to hear that news—from him of all people—delivered with the same kind of dismissiveness he might use to comment on the weather!

“…I love you too,” you slowly reply

He’s not looking at you now, his gaze is almost avoidant, you note.

Ever since he returned from the grove, something had shifted. He wasn’t hesitant per se—just…more deliberate, Like he was measuring every word before handing it to you

But what made hearing “I love you” from Anaxagoras so strange wasn’t just the words—it was the fact that he literally never said them

He wasn’t an affectionate person. Not physically nor verbally.

—Not that he couldn’t be. But the only times Anaxa ever said those three words were when the two of you had been parted for more time than he liked.

He’s just too emotionally constipated.

Though he’s very good at praise and giving a loving touch when you need it.

You continue to stare down the man sat stiffly on the new bed. It’s odd to see Anaxa being hesitant. Especially around you.

“..You like Ohkema?” He said, taking a quick glance over to you. His forearms rested on his thighs and his fingers clasped together.

You pause, brows creasing. You’re not sure what he’s getting at. “I do, I miss home though,” You answer honestly. You really did miss home, everything was so perfect there. It’s good as gone now though.

“You’d be okay with staying here?”

“I mean there isn’t really anywhere else to go,” you snort

“So if something happened to me, you’d stay here?”

Your brow furrows deeper.

Anaxa’s eyes are locked on the floor, elbows still braced on his knees—but his fingers have tightened, knuckles pale.

“What do you mean ‘if something happened’? What kind of something?” You firmly demand his answer

“Hypothetically,” “Anaxagoras,” “Just answer me,”

You scoff, licking your lips slightly. “Yes I would stay, Anaxa,”

He nods softly, “Good.”

Your knee starts bouncing against the wooden floor. You don’t even notice it at first. You know something’s wrong. You can feel it curling tight inside your stomach.

“You nearly died two weeks ago,” you snap with a chuckle, voice light but bitter. “What, did you find a new way to finish the job?”

Anaxa is silent.

It was a joke.

You swallow hard as his eye finally meet yours—far too steady for your liking.

His expression blank, unreadable—but it tells you everything you never wanted to know.

Your stomach twists.

You slowly begin to shake your head, there’s no way.

“Shut up,” you blurt out“You aren’t funny, shut up,”

“I’m not joking,” he says, finally.

The indifference in his voice claws at you. You shoot up from the chair, the legs screeching harshly against the floor. Your heart pounding so hard you can hear it. “You’re not funny. That’s not funny,” you snap, voice high.

He chews the inside of his cheek, eye following you. A part of him wants to reach for you—hold you, say something that softens the blow. The other part knows there’s nothing he can do. Nothing that will make this easier.

“What—wh—When?!” you stammer, your fingers twitching in the air like you’re trying to grab the answer before it disappears. “When, Anaxa?!”

“In one system hour,”

“Tomorrow?!”

He twiddles his thumbs. “Yes.” And he says it like it’s nothing.

You’re not getting more time. You’re just getting a countdown.

“You’re telling me now?” you rasp, the words scraping out of your throat. “Like this?”

Anaxa’s hands flex slowly, fingers uncurling only to clench again. His jaw is tight. and his lips are sealed.

He doesn’t try to reach for you. doesn’t say your name. You don’t know if you want him too or not.

You shake your head and turn away, the sudden urge to get away overtaking you.

You leave the room, stepping into the ever-bright, empty hall. You speed walk down the path to wherever your feet will take you.

You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t care. You just need to outrun the truth—at least for a little while.

Anaxa sighs.

“You’re not running after them?”

“What good would that do”

Cerces lowered her head in disapproval.

“I didn’t know you were this cowardly. Had I known, perhaps I would’ve thought twice before choosing you.”

Anaxa exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t look up. “Too late for that.”

She sighs. “You couldn’t have given them more time to prepare?” Her gaze flickered over to him.

He leans forward, resting his face in his hands, “I told them now to spare the shock of my execution tomorrow,” he says, voice calm and measured—already having calculated the outcome.

“They’d no doubt interrupt the performance the moment they hear I’d be put to death.” He says lightly, a grin curling softly on his lips.

There’s absolutely no way you’d sit still through that. And he loves you for it.

“And why have my final days be steeped in misplaced mourning?”

Cerces thinks over his words. “What good is early grief? It wouldn’t have stopped anything. Only made the coming days harder.”

She falls quiet for a while, weighing both sides of the tragedy.

“Sweet thing they are,” She murmurs. Anaxa’s expressionless face returns. Cerces glances sidelong at him. “They’ll be alright.”

His gaze drops further. Anaxa nods softly. “Of course they will. They’re not weak,” he says, but quieter now, “they’ll carry on,”

She’s silent, her hands folded over one another as she wanders over to the closed window. “I feel for them,“

“They wouldn’t want your pity,” he replies quietly, his voice rough.

Cerces doesn’t turn back immediately, but her tone softens.

“Not pity. Understanding.”

Anaxa slowly turns the ring adorning his finger, then glances up briefly. “I’ve asked Phainon to watch over them in case anything ever happens to me, he will keep them safe. cared for. Should they ever need anything,”

Cerces doesn’t answer. She just watches as he straightens his posture, the light brushing along the edges of his thin frame.

“You really don’t have much time, Anaxagoras,”

He nods once, then rises up.

“I know.”

And then, without hesitation, he walks out—not toward the person he’d choose in another life, but toward the death he’s already shaken hands with.

A/N: for the love of skibidi toilet if you read this please comment/reblog 🙏 I want positive feedback 💔 I’m like a puppy that needs praise okay 💔 (constructive criticism is fine be nice tho or I’ll block u🫵) MLIST

Nanaxa tag list: @deaddmoth (last paragraph I thought of you n rev writing it lmao) @average-scara-fan <3

How would our favorite amphoreus men take care of reader after they got caught in the rain and got sick? maybe they have a fever, chills, blocked nose. i need some fluff in life

hope ur having a good day and love your works :)))0

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 ooh, be my baby | various hsr men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; i'll look after you . working on a rainy day had expected consequences. lucky you, your boyfriend loves you too much to scold you for the time being. well.. depends on who you choose.. ! (anaxa, mydei, phainon, dan heng, boothill, jing yuan)

love mail — hii anonnie tysm! i'm doing great!! thank u thats so sweet (´ﾟЗﾟ｀)♡ i brought back some ogs :3 ! and boothill cause i like him so don't jump me, sorry geppie i swear i love you ！Σ(￣□￣;) these r semishort n stuff cause these r a lot but i hope it does well :D

anaxa makes a cure for you in hours.

he hides it as just 'making advances in his medical knowledge' but he was genuinely worried. he had a busy week at the academy, and he didn't want to leave you alone with no way to be cared for. he wants to be there, but he couldn't call off of work a week before the students exams week, needing to post reviewers and host review classes.

so the weekend you got sick, he made a comfortable bed for you in his lab as he worked on something to free you of your sickness, making sure to also check on you the whole time.

he eventually made a concoction that helped your fever go away, body aches disappear, and clears your nose, however it didn't fix the headache. you don't mind, at least you can move your body without wanting to throw yourself off the planet.

anaxa gives you a minor scolding. something about taking better care of yourself and making him fuss over you, but he kisses your cheek and sighs. "i love you, and i'd figure out the cure to any disease that attacks you, but please don't do this again."

mydei lets you rest on top of him for the first day you got sick. tissues, snacks, thermometer, change of clothes.. all of that are set up on your nightstand. the only times he got up was to make you warm meals, and to replace the icepack that pressed up against your forehead.

honestly, he loves this. he knows the reason why you're warm is because you're literally burning up, but he likes it. you're like a little heating pad and you're extra clingy, weak arms squeezing his chiseled chest makes him melt.

he smothers you in kisses and affection till you feel better (oh, and medicine).

if you chose to be clingy to mydei, phainon's choosing to be clingy to you! but you don't want him to be sick :( he's being a big baby when you try to pull away, but he doesn't care. you're too sickly to fight back and honestly his strong, firm arms around you sound real nice rn. and so you let him, to your dismay.

he's a bit of a jerk about it though, cold hands slipping under your shirt and causing you to shiver, hearing his giggles as he apologizes and squeezes you. phainon's got so much love for teasing you, but he knows you need care to be better.

you fall asleep wrapped in blankets and tangled up with phainon.

boothill's probably the best of them all. he doesn't get sick, and he's like a personal heater or cooler. if you're too warm or too cold, he can adjust his body temperature to your liking. "yer clingin' onto me like i'd ever want to go anywhere, darlin'." he teases, running his fingers through your hair as you press yourself against his cold metal, hating how hot your body feels.

he plays some music for you to relax to, and he's telling you tales of his adventures to get you to sleep. who knew a soft, southern accent could work so well as a lullaby?

his arms are locked around you. he's hiding his worry well, but when you fall asleep he's whispering about how you need to take better care of yourself. "though, mm.. yer real cute like this, all snuggly and sniffly. could baby 'ya all week."

dan heng is definitely more on the scolding side, the moment he wakes up to you squirming and sniffling, he's got an unamused look on his face. the night prior, you walked through the astral express doors absolutely soaked from the rain. dan heng helped you change, shower, dry your hair and sleep. but you woke up sick regardless.. like he said you would, like you said you wouldn't.

"this is why you should let me come with you to missions." he grumbles, stirring the bowl of warm stew he made for you as you lay in bed. "goodness, it was one mission, and you come home to me like this. i hate how much i love you." dan heng scoffed, blowing the spoon of warm food and holding it against your lips. "i can't fight this urge to care for you. you're just so.. ugh."

he falls asleep before you, funny enough. you admire the face of your loving boyfriend before drifting off to your own slumber.

you should get sick more often.

you can't even be mad at yourself, jing yuan has allowed you to cuddle up to his sweet, insanely fluffy lion. you can't tell if it's the clogged nose or all the fur you're inhaling, but you love it. and you've got a 'weighted' blanket too. aka your boyfriend.

jing yuan had already fed you your medicine, changed clothes, and fed you well. so there was nothing to do but wait for the next few hours till you'd have to drink medicine again, so now you two are just cuddled up to the embodiment of a cloud.

"you're liking this far too much." your beloved boyfriend remarks, rubbing his head against your tummy as you chuckle, although very weakly. "maybe, but i really do appreciate being taken care of."

the deepest, velvety laugh escapes his lips as he looks up at you, that same smirk he's always worn on his face. "nothing less than for you. now rest, my love. i'll have dinner served for you soon."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

wake up guys heliosunny dropped another banger

Hello! Wondering if you can do a fic with Anaxa? Maybe how he uses his gun to scare off other people from Reader?

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

The scent of musk, sweat, and perfume clung to the air. Somewhere, silk rustled against bare skin, a stifled giggle was followed by a drawn-out moan. You sat stiffly on the cushioned floor, hands bound loosely in front of you.

Everything had gone black since that night.

The night your palace burned.

You’d watched the throne crumble, the flags torn down, the screams of your people. And then something—someone—had struck you down. The flash was so bright, you swore the stars themselves had bled into your retinas. Now all you saw was a sea of endless dark.

“Do you like the sounds?” a teasing voice asked. The man’s footsteps creaked closer. “Such a waste for someone like you to be blind... Can’t even see what you’re missing.”

That voice belonged to him—Kallius. He had taken you after the siege, claimed you like one might claim a broken heirloom, only to toss it onto the shelf for entertainment. At night, he brought women into the room and made a show of his indulgence, whispering cruel things to test your limits.

You flinched as the moans grew louder, fake and over-exaggerated, designed to pierce your ears like knives. One woman laughed as Kallius pressed her against the wall with a thud.

“This is what pleasure sounds like. Do you remember what that is?” he mocked.

“Why are you doing this…?”

“Oh? Still talking?” he chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to turn up the volume.”

There was another groan, sharper, more dramatic. You winced. You wanted to cry—but even your tears had dried up by now.

Then… the door burst open.

The moan cut off into a gurgled scream.

A warm spray misted your cheek.

You didn’t need your sight to know something was very, very wrong.

The woman had fallen silent. The other girls gasped, scrambling backward. You heard a soft metallic clink… the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

“…Big brother” Kallius muttered. There was a hint of amusement, but also fear. “You’re no fun.”

Anaxa stood in the doorway, the scent of smoke clinging to his coat.

“Too loud” Anaxa said flatly, stepping inside. “And you touched what's mine.”

You blinked, feeling something warm drip down your cheek. You reached up hesitantly—and felt it.

Blood.

You couldn’t even scream.

Anaxa knelt beside you, his hand brushing your ear gently. “Cover these,” he whispered, “You don’t need to hear what comes next.”

He stood again,“Out. Now. Before I forget to be merciful.”

There was a scramble of footsteps—heels on tile, fabric dragging. A whimper. Then silence again, broken only by Kallius’ low chuckle.

“You’re obsessed..”

“You’re still breathing. Be grateful.”

And then… his arms scooped you up, pulling you close to a chest you recognized even without your vision.

“You don’t belong in filth like that.”

You didn't reply. You didn’t even know how to. But you let yourself be carried, your face still warm with blood, your heart pounding against cracked ribs.

You didn’t know how to feel. You sat motionless in the chair by the fireplace, the blood still crusted on your cheek, a ghost of the earlier violence.

When he carried you into his chambers, Anaxa said nothing for a long time. He simply set you down on soft sheets and crouched in front of you. You could feel his eyes scanning every inch of your skin, his hands surprisingly gentle, checking your wrists, your arms, your face.

“…No bruises” he murmured. “Good.”

He didn’t speak after that. Just the quiet shuffle of him standing and walking away.

You heard the door close behind him with a metallic click. Locked—from the outside.

You exhaled, not realizing you'd been holding your breath.

Time passed strangely.

Minutes. Hours. Maybe longer.

Eventually, footsteps approached. The door opened, and cautious voices whispered to one another.

Servants. Two of them, women by their tones, helping you out of the stiff, bloodied clothes and into clean, silken ones. Warm water ran over your hands as they wiped your skin delicately.

They didn’t explain anything. Maybe they were too afraid.

You wanted to ask about your eyes, about a healer—anything. But all that came out was a hoarse, “Can I stay inside?”

“…His Highness says the fresh air will help.”

Later, as the sun—or what you assumed was the sun—shifted behind thick curtains, the door opened again.

You knew it was him. Even without seeing, you felt him.

That scent—faint gunpowder.

“Come” Anaxa said.

You stayed sitting on the bed, unsure, hugging your knees. “I’m fine here…”

“No, you’re not.”

He was closer now, and you didn’t even hear him move.

“You need to remember the world hasn’t ended. You’re still breathing. I made sure of that.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’ll hold your hand. I won’t let you fall.”

You hesitated. But your fingers still reached out, searching… and found his.

You let him guide you.

-------

Later that evening, you heard new footsteps

“The doctor you requested.”

Anaxa didn’t speak at first. He merely shifted beside you on the couch.

“Your Highness. With permission?”

Anaxa gave a quiet grunt, then turned to you. “He’s here to help. Let him.”

The doctor’s hands were cold. He checked your eyes, held lights near them—though you couldn’t tell how bright.

“Your eyes are healing, but slowly. The shock trauma caused temporary cortical blindness. It’s not permanent, but… you’ll need care. Rest, above all.”

Night crept in.

You curled beneath heavy blankets in the oversized bed, your thoughts swimming. Was this safety? Or just another cage?

The house was silent—until it wasn’t.

A soft creak.

Then another.

You shifted slightly, “Anaxa…?”

No response.

Suddenly, a rough hand clamped over your mouth.

You thrashed instinctively, but the body pressed against yours was larger, heavier.

“Shhh…”

Kallius.

“I missed that little shiver,” he said, pinning you to the bed, his breath hot and sour against your skin. “You really are a fine little plaything. No wonder Anaxa’s been hiding you like some precious gem.”

You couldn’t move—your limbs locked in panic.

“Let’s see how loyal he is,” Kallius murmured, dragging his fingers slowly down your arm. “Maybe he’ll still want you once I’ve had my fun. Or maybe he’ll finally toss you aside like broken glass.”

He shifted closer, the weight of his body pressing into you.

Your teeth clamped down on his hand.

“Ah—!!”

He yanked back with a growl.

You didn’t wait—you bolted. Your knees hit the cold floor. You didn’t care. You ran blindly through the halls.

“Y/N?”

You slammed into him chest-first, trembling.

He caught you instantly.

“What happened?”

Before you could even form the words, Kallius’s voice echoed down the hall.

“They bit me. Can you believe that?”

Anaxa didn’t reply. Not with words.

You felt the way his body stilled.

And then you heard it—the click of the safety coming off his gun.

“Woah, woah—easy, big bro-”

Kallius raised his hands in mock surrender, limping into view with a forced grin. “No need to point that thing at me. I was just teasing.”

Anaxa didn’t lower the gun.

He aimed directly at his brother’s thigh—and fired.

Kallius collapsed with a grunt of pain, hand clutching his bleeding leg as he cursed under his breath.

“I warned you” Anaxa muttered, already turning away with you still in his arms.

The next few days passed in an odd hush.

Kallius was nowhere to be heard.

In the meantime, servants tended to you more gently now.

But Anaxa was gone.

The quiet he left behind wasn’t comforting.

You still couldn’t see.

But your other senses sharpened. The scent of old books in the library. The breeze through the courtyard. The way sunlight warmed your face. You began taking walks with someone guiding you, or on your own when you were brave enough.

That’s where he found you—by the tall hedges in the east garden, tracing your fingers along rough bark and damp petals.

“I see you haven’t lost your curiosity”

You turned toward the sound. “You’re back.”

“Did you miss me?” he asked playfully.

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t mind.

“When I was younger. I was being pushed around by older kids in the village.”

You tilted your head slightly, unsure where this was going.

“There was a tree,” he continued, “with a single apple left. I couldn’t reach it. But someone else did. Not afraid of dirt or climbing. They picked it, dropped it down, and we split it right there under the branches like we were friends.”

You stood still.

“I always remembered that day,” he added, “because it was the first time someone didn’t look at me like I was nothing.”

He took a step closer. His fingers brushed your wrist.

“Come on. You’re tired,” he murmured. “Let’s get you back.”

The halls felt less threatening now, though you still didn’t know what to make of the man at your side—gentle and monstrous, savior and tormentor. He was all of it, layered and unreadable.

Late into the night, after servants had gone and silence had settled, you spoke:

“Anaxa.”

He stirred from where he stood near the balcony, the scent of fresh air clinging to him. “Hmm?”

“I want to know what you look like.”

That made him pause.

“I can’t see,” you continued, “but maybe I could… get an idea.”

You reached your hand out hesitantly.

He didn’t move at first.

Then, without a word, he stepped closer—close enough that his presence warmed your skin. You lifted your fingers carefully and brushed them across his jaw. You moved upward, tracing the curve of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose—sharp, symmetrical. His lips were still.

And then your fingertips ghosted over something foreign.

An eyepatch.

You paused.

“...Is something wrong with your eye?” you whispered.

He flinched slightly under your touch, but didn’t pull away.

“It’s just… a memorable moment”

You could feel the unspoken weight in those words.

You lowered your hand slowly, heart aching with a strange mix of fear and fascination.

Anaxa didn’t speak again. He simply helped you lie down, adjusting the blanket, making sure you were warm.

And as his footsteps faded into the next room, your thoughts drifted somewhere darker.

Because no matter how gently he touched you…

No matter how many times he said you’re safe…

You remembered who he was.

You remembered the screams. The flames. The night everything ended.

He had stood there.

He hadn’t just found you in the ruins. He had helped create them.

He killed your family.

The moment you were stronger—when your legs could carry you, and your eyes opened again—you’d leave.

No matter what it cost.

That morning, a guard approached with a message:

“His Highness summons you to the east tower.”

Anaxa never sent for you through anyone else.

But the guard bore his seal.

So you followed.

You climbed the winding steps slowly, fingers brushing the cold stone walls. The wind bit sharper the higher you went, and by the time you reached the terrace, something already felt… off.

“Kallius?” you whispered, recognizing the scent—too sweet, like wine overripe.

He was waiting by the railing.

“My brother’s little pet… You just never learn.”

The world dropped beneath you.

You didn’t even have time to scream.

CRACK.

Everything went black.

When the news reached Anaxa, his silence was more terrifying than any scream.

“Where?”

“Th-the east tower. The guards—found them at the base. Alive, but unconscious.”

“Bring Kallius to the pit.”

Kallius was dragged in, his leg still limping from the bullet wound. He grinned as though it were a joke.

“Oh come on, brother, really? They tripped. Clumsy little thing—”

Anaxa shot him in the other knee.

He raised his gun again.

But before he could give the final command, the chamber doors burst open.

A woman ran in—one of Kallius’s devoted.

“Wait—please!” she cried. “He only did it because of that person! They're poisoning you, you don’t see it—”

Anaxa turned his eye on her.

“…So you want to die with him.”

“N-no, I—”

“Fine.”

He nodded once to his soldiers.

“Skin her too.”

Kallius’s screams were drowned out by hers.

-----

Back in the upper chamber, you still hadn’t woken.

Wrapped in bandages. Blood dried at your temple.

Anaxa sat by your bedside, unmoving.

He hadn’t spoken since he returned.

But his hand was wrapped tightly around yours.

It was days before your eyes finally fluttered open.

Everything was blinding at first—white bandages, the sharp sting of light. A pressure in your skull throbbed, dull and heavy, but—

You could see.

And sitting beside you, head bowed with exhaustion… was him.

When he noticed your eyes open, his single visible eye went wide.

“…Y/N”

Relief washed over his features like breaking thunder. He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and cupped your cheek—but stopped himself before fully touching you.

“You’re back”

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry.

All you could do was point shakily toward the pitcher of water. He understood instantly, helping you drink, then bringing you warm broth, soft bread, fresh fruit.

In the days that followed, your body mended.

You walked again. Slowly. But now, with sight returning, the world came back to you in sharp contrast—vivid, overwhelming.

And so did he.

Anaxa didn’t leave your side unless necessary. But when he did… the change was obvious.

Short-tempered. Anyone who so much as looked at you wrong was snapped at. Servants flinched when he entered the room, even if he was calm.

You pulled him aside one day after seeing a maid leave with tears in her eyes.

“Anaxa,” you said, “you can’t keep treating people like that.”

“They don’t deserve you.”

“That’s not the point.” you pushed, trying to stay calm. “People want to help. But they’re scared. And scared people don’t stay loyal forever.”

Reluctantly, he nodded.

“…I’ll try.”

That night, you bathed and dressed with the help of two familiar servants—girls who had been by your side since the accident. They were kind.

“I wanted to leave.” you whispered.

They froze behind you.

“He helped me, yes. But he also took everything from me.”

The silence stretched. Then—

Thump.

You turned just in time to see one of the girls drop to her knees, face pale.

Then the other.

Their foreheads hit the floor with sickening force.

Thump. Thump.

They began to sob.

“Please don’t go,” one of them begged, “Please—he’ll think we let you slip, he’ll—he’ll kill us—!”

The other was already bleeding from her brow, tears mixing with red as she struck her head again and again.

“We’ll die,” she wept. “We’ll die if you leave. Please, please stay—”

You stumbled forward, horrified, grabbing their wrists.

“Stop!” you shouted. “Stop, I’m not—! I won’t go now, okay? Just stop!”

The door opened behind you.

Anaxa stood in the doorway.

“What… happened here?”

You quickly turned.

“They were helping me. That’s all. Nothing’s wrong.”

He looked unconvinced, his gaze darting to the trembling servants.

You placed your hand on his chest, trying to ground him.

“I’ll handle it. Just let me.”

After a beat, he nodded once.

“Out,” you said gently to the girls. “Go. Get cleaned up.”

They scrambled to obey.

And once they were gone… the room fell quiet again.

That night, as you lay in bed, the thought clawed at you.

What happened to Kallius?

You remembered the fall, the pain, the blur of stone and blood.

And then waking up—alive.

But Kallius… you hadn’t seen or heard his name spoken since.

The next day, during a quiet moment, you asked Anaxa.

He was seated at your window, light slicing across the dark fabric of his coat, his eyepatch catching the glow.

“…What happened to your brother?”

He stilled.

At first, no reply.

Then, abruptly—his voice clipped.

“He got what he deserved.”

You waited, but that was all he gave.

Anaxa rose soon after, “Rest well” before walking out.

You didn’t sleep.

It was the next morning when you approached one of the more trusted servants—an older woman.

“I need to know,” you told her. “What happened to Kallius.”

She hesitated.

“If you promise not to leave… I’ll tell you.”

“What?”

“If you stay here,” she repeated shakily. “We’ll talk. If not… I won’t say a word.”

You didn’t understand. Not yet.

But you nodded anyway.

“…Alright.”

She looked around, then led you to the laundry halls, where voices didn’t carry. And in a hushed voice, she told you.

At first, Anaxa had simply ordered Kallius to be executed.

But something changed his mind.

Instead of death, Kallius was tied up.

Each day, one by one, his loyalists were brought before him—his guards, his lovers, his advisors. One a day.

Executed.

Some were skinned. Some beheaded. Others poisoned slowly while he watched.

They made sure he heard every scream.

He begged, cried.

But Anaxa never relented.

And when there were no followers left—

Anaxa slit his throat himself.

“He said… that was mercy.”

The horror sat low in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

You returned to your room.

That night, you dressed for dinner.

You sat at the long table across from him.

“Good to see you up,” he said. “You’re glowing.”

You forced a smile. “Thank you.”

The meal was beautifully laid.

You lifted your goblet, your hands steady despite the churn in your gut.

But as the cool wine touched your lips, something felt… off.

Not the taste. The aftertaste.

You set the goblet down.

Across from you, Anaxa tilted his head.

“…Is something the matter?”

And that’s when your heartbeat stuttered.

The room spun.

You barely noticed your goblet slip from your hand, the wine soaking into the embroidered cloth. You gripped the table, but your fingers felt numb.

Anaxa was at your side in an instant.

“There we go,” he murmured gently, arms firm around you, lifting you up as though you weighed nothing. “You’re just tired.”

The warmth of his body pressed into yours. You were so cold.

Your legs didn’t listen to you. Your tongue felt heavy.

He guided you out of the hall, his voice low in your ear.

“Just repeat after me.”

You could barely understand his words, but your mouth moved.

Repeating something.

Over and over.

“Yes… I accept…”

“I will never leave…”

When you woke, you were back in your room—but everything was… different.

Ribbons hung from the posts of the bed. A tray of delicate sweets sat beside a floral bouquet. And your hand—

There was a ring on your finger.

The door creaked open.

Servants entered with smiles, bows, soft cheers. Someone scattered petals at your feet. They whispered congratulations. One girl held a cake shaped like a crown. Another gave you a shawl embroidered with phoenixes.

“May your union be eternal,” one whispered. “He’ll protect you forever now.”

Union?

You stood, half in a trance, as Anaxa entered last—his uniform exchanged for ceremonial robes.

“You’re awake” he said with quiet satisfaction.

“What… did you do?”

“You said yes,” he said, “You promised. And now everyone knows. You belong to this palace… and to me.”

You stared at him.

Everything fell into place.

He’d married you.

“You don’t need to run anymore,” he whispered. “You have a kingdom again. A husband. A future. All you have to do… is stay.”

When they catch you dancing by yourself...

Phainon joins you right in, rather smoothly as well. As much as he'd like just ogling at how happy you looked in the moment, he cannot risk you seeing it as something embarrassing. Though nowhere near a practitioner, the Chrysos Heir does an impressive job at keeping your mind off of spiralling into overthinking by taking the lead. To top, he'll always pick you up and spin you around until laughter is coaxed out of your lips, mixed with the sounds of his own glee.

Mydei's usual habit is to knock before entering your room, as such, him walking in you in a state of vulnerability is rare. But in the off-chance it does happen, he swears to Gorgo that he was equally as unprepared as you. If you're not too busy wishing that the ground would swallow you whole, take a look at the Prince ; petrified, flushed from head to toe and mind buffering — please remind him to breathe. He's just experienced falling in love a hundred times in a hundred different ways within a few seconds.

Anaxa is a master at this, in his own way. His instincts are quick enough to duck behind the nearest wall the moment his brain processes the scene, his movements are always muted enough for you to not notice. You'll never know of how fond he becomes of the music afterwards, how the memory alone is enough to make him smile even at death's door. It's debatable whether he'll ever slip up and give you the clue to realize that he's seen you dance to your heart's content many times. The scholar has no intention of ever interfering either, simply watching you twirl and smile revives him.

Im disappointed..

GUYS WHAJ HAPONED TO DROPPNG ANAXA XREADERS one after another💔💔💔💔

anaxanation we are better than that

the desperation Im in is unmatched

look at him guys he must spark some inspiration

The way my prayers have been answered with this anaxa x readers that has been dropping one after another these days

Love your writing 😍 about anaxa and phainon

Hoping that I can see more of them✨

Since I've just updated Yandere!Phainon, I'll write Yandere!Anaxa. Thank you for supporting me🩵

Yandere!Anaxa x Florist!Reader

In a quiet kingdom known for its lush flora, you run a small but thriving flower shop, using your magic to cultivate rare and powerful plants. Strong-willed and sharp-tongued, you care little for wealth or titles, only for the flowers that bloom under your care. Then he walks in.

A man shrouded in mystery and danger, arrives with a strange plant in hand and an offer to research it

The bell above your shop’s door chimed softly, signaling a customer. You barely looked up from where you were tending to a tray of delicate orchids, brushing your fingertips over their petals.

“Welcome” you said, voice steady yet warm. “Take your time.”

No response. How strange, most visitors, whether locals or travelers, at least offered a greeting. You turned your gaze toward the entrance only to find a man standing motionless, barely past the threshold.

And the moment your eyes met his, chaos erupted. The vines and roots in your shop, normally docile, swaying gently under your magic suddenly lashed out, twisting and lunging toward him like living creatures with a mind of their own. Thorns glinted under the lantern light, reaching to pierce into his skin.

You moved instantly.

Lifting a hand, you called forth your magic, your power sweeping through the air like an unseen force. The aggressive vines froze, caught mid-air, mere inches from his throat. With a flick of your wrist, they recoiled and slithered back, retreating into the soil.

You let out a slow breath before turning your sharp gaze to the stranger.

Now that you had a better look, you could see why your plants had reacted so violently.

The man before you was no ordinary traveler.

Dark fabric clung to his tall frame, adorned with silver accents and lined with enchanted thread that shimmered faintly under the light. His hair, a cascade of green, framed striking eyes that watched you without a hint of fear.

If anything…

He looked amused.

“I see” he murmured, his tone smooth, almost lazy. “They don’t like me.”

Your grip on your magic remained firm. “That makes two of us.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Oh? And here I thought florists were supposed to be welcoming.”

You didn’t smile. “Florists don’t typically get customers who trigger an unprovoked magical attack.”

His gaze flickered to the now-docile vines before returning to you. “Unprovoked, hm?”

You narrowed your eyes. There was something about him. Something unnatural. Your plants had never reacted like that before, not even to dangerous men. Which meant… This man was something else entirely.

Despite the warning signs, you did not turn him away. You were no fool. Forcing him out would only make him return.

Instead, you did what you did best, you observed.

You allowed him to browse your shop, watching from behind the counter as he idly picked up flowers, rolling their stems between his gloved fingers.

The tension in your shop was thick. Your plants remained still, but you could feel them watching, waiting.

Finally, the man turned to you, holding up a single white lily. “I’ll take this one.”

You eyed him. “A white lily?”

He hummed. “Is that a problem?”

You set down your gardening shears, stepping out from behind the counter. “That flower means purity and devotion.”

Another chuckle. “How fitting.”

You frowned. “For you?”

“For you” he corrected smoothly.

You stared. He held the lily up, brushing the petals along his fingers. “You protected me, didn’t you? Even when your magic screamed otherwise?”

“You weren’t in danger” you said evenly. “I was protecting my shop from needless damage. Not you.”

He tilted his head. “Is that so?”

Before you could respond, he did something unforgivable.

He brought the lily to his lips and bit down on the petals.

You snapped. Without thinking, you moved. In a blur of motion, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, slamming him against the wooden counter with surprising strength.

His smirk faltered, eyes widening just slightly.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You leaned in close, voice dangerously soft.

“Don't do that to my flowers.”

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “Apologies” he purred, unbothered by his current position. “I was just curious.”

Your grip on his wrist remained firm. Tight to the point you could feel his pulse. Steady. Unnaturally calm. A normal man would have tensed, would have recoiled at your sudden aggression.

But he didn't. He simply studied your reaction.

Your eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

For the first time, he didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze softened—just slightly.

Then, he smiled. Is that interest you saw in his eyes?

“I think” he murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly, “I’d like to find that out with you.”

And somehow, despite everything, despite the danger that curled around him like a cloak, you had the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.

-----

The moment Anaxa placed the plant in your hands, you felt it. It was alive. Not in the way all plants were, this was something else.

The veins in its leaves pulsed faintly, like a slow heartbeat. The roots twitched as if sensing your presence, curling toward your fingers.

You tore your gaze away from it, leveling Anaxa with a sharp look. “Where did you find this?”

His smirk was slow, deliberate. “Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m the one researching it.”

He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Then consider it a mystery for you to solve.”

You frowned. He was hiding something.

But that didn’t matter, not yet.

For now, the plant held your full attention. You ran your fingers along the stem, noting the strange texture. Not quite wood, not quite flesh. Somewhere in between.

“How long do I have?” you asked.

Anaxa’s eyes flickered, amused by your immediate interest. “No rush. Take as long as you need.”

“Even if it takes years?”

His lips curled. “I have patience.”

You narrowed your eyes. That was a lie.

No man who smirked like that, who watched you like that, was capable of patience.

But you said nothing. Instead, you turned away, already lost in thought.

This plant… it could change everything.

Days turned to weeks, and the more you uncovered about the plant, the more you realized it was wrong. It absorbed magic. Fed off of it. Craved it.

Your greenhouse had become a battleground of willpower, your magic straining to contain the unnatural hunger of its roots.

But more concerning than the plant itself was him. Anaxa visited often. Too often.

Always watching. Always hovering just close enough that his presence became a shadow at your back, his warmth bleeding into your space.

It was suffocating and you hated that. You didn't use to working under such stressful environment.

“You’re distracted today” he murmured, leaning against the wooden counter as he watched you work.

You didn’t look up. “I have a guest who refuses to leave. I wonder why.”

A low chuckle. “Is that what I am? A guest?”

“What else would you be?”

He hummed, pushing off the counter. You felt him step closer, his presence a tangible weight behind you.

“You tell me, florist.”

The way he said that title, it wasn’t mockery.

It was fond.

You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around your shears. “You’re getting in the way of my work.”

“I don’t mind” he said smoothly.

“I do.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, slow, measured, testing. You felt the ghost of his fingertips skim over your wrist, a barely-there touch and yet it burned.

You turned sharply, your shears flashing between the two of you, the blade stopping just before his throat.

Anaxa merely raised an eyebrow, utterly unbothered. Then, slowly, he smiled.

“You’re so beautiful when you threaten me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding and something inside you twisted.

Not in anger.

Not in fear.

In something far more dangerous.

And from the way his eyes darkened, he knew. Your breath was steady. Your hand did not shake. The shears remained pressed lightly against his throat, just enough for him to feel the cold metal against his skin. But Anaxa… he wasn’t afraid. If anything, he leaned in.

His voice was thick with amusement. “What now, little florist? Will you cut me down like your flowers?”

You exhaled slowly, eyes locked onto his. “Maybe.”

His smirk widened. “Do it.”

Your fingers tensed. Damn him. He was testing you. You hated that part of you, the part he had awakened, that wanted to push back.

You lowered the shears, stepping away. “I have work to do.”

Anaxa chuckled, touching his throat where the shears had been, mockingly thoughtful. “Mm. A shame. I would have liked to see how deep you'd go.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t tempt me.”

Despite everything, you still let him into your shop.

Anaxa never made himself scarce, always finding reasons to linger, offering idle conversation, watching as you worked, leaving small, carefully chosen gifts.

A book on ancient flora he knew you’d been searching for. A rare seed he procured from a distant kingdom. Even something as simple as a hot cup of tea on particularly exhausting days.

It was all calculated. And it was working. Because despite your wariness, despite knowing exactly what kind of man he was, you found yourself hesitating less when he got close. And Anaxa noticed.

One evening, as you were tending to the strange plant he had brought, you felt him step behind you. His fingers brushed your wrist, guiding your hand over the leaves.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

The plant pulsed beneath your touch.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He hummed, his fingers curling slightly over yours. “Just like you, it thrives on attention.”

Your lips parted to argue, to deny, to push him away. But your traitorous body remained still. That silence was all he needed.

His grip tightened. Just long enough to remind you who was winning this game.

The first incident happened three days later.

A neighboring florist, one of your longtime friends—vanished.

The second incident followed soon after.

Another florist. A merchant. Anyone who spent too much time near you. No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just whispers of disappearances.

And then, the third incident.

This time, the attack was aimed at you.

A masked figure cornered you late at night, their blade glinting under the dim lantern light. But you were no helpless damsel. Before they could strike, you reached into your apron, pulled out a handful of crushed lilies and blew the powder into their face.

The paralysis was instant. The would-be assassin barely had time to stagger before crumpling to the ground, unmoving. You stepped back, breathing heavily, heart hammering.

Then, from the darkness, a slow clap.

You turned, only to find him.

Anaxa stood in the shadows, watching you with that infuriating, satisfied smile.

“You handled that well” he murmured.

Your fingers curled into fists. “This was your doing.”

“Was it?” He tilted his head, stepping closer, eyes never leaving yours. “Strange… I seem to remember warning you that this town had become dangerous.”

You glared. “You expect me to believe this was a coincidence?”

“I expect you to be smart enough to see the truth.” He stopped a mere breath away from you, his fingers reaching out to trace along the petals of the flower in your hair.

“You need me, Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “And I’m the only one who will stay.”

Your pulse pounded. Not with fear.

But with the bitter realization that he wasn’t wrong.

The disappearances. The attack. The uncertainty in the air. Who else could you trust now?

He had woven himself into your life. And somehow, you had let him. But that didn’t mean you had lost.

Not yet.

So instead of pulling away, instead of rejecting his words, you met his gaze head-on.

“You think you’ve won?” you murmured.

His smile widened. “Haven’t I?”

You leaned in slightly, your breath ghosting against his skin, your fingers grazing his wrist. And then, in a single swift motion. You twisted his arm behind his back, slammed him against the shop’s wooden post, and pressed the sharp tip of your pruning shears to his throat.

Anaxa let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“Ah…” His voice was practically shaking with delight. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

Your grip tightened. “You don’t scare me.”

“You should” he murmured.

You stared at him, heart hammering, waiting for the moment he’d retaliate—waiting for him to strike. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned into the blade. A thin line of crimson beaded against his pale skin, but he didn’t flinch.

He only smiled.

“Keep me close” he whispered. “Or watch how far I’ll go to get to you.”

A warning. A promise. A challenge.

And for the first time, you realized this wasn’t a game you could walk away from.

You felt the world blur around you.

Heat crept into your veins, slow and insidious, twisting through your body like roots burrowing deep into the earth. Your fingers trembled as you gripped the counter, trying to steady yourself.

Your vision swam, colors bleeding together. Across from you, Anaxa stood, watching you with sick satisfaction.

You had been poisoned.

Not to kill. Not to harm.

But to bind.

“What… did you do?” Your voice came out breathless, weaker than you wanted it to be.

Anaxa’s smile was slow, patient, victorious.

“Shh.” He stepped closer, brushing a gloved hand against your flushed cheek. “Let it settle, little flower. There’s no use fighting it.”

Your breathing hitched. The warmth pooling in your body was unnatural, like a vine curling around your heart, tightening, twisting, refusing to let go.

Your knees nearly buckled. Anaxa caught you effortlessly, guiding you against his chest, holding you as if he had done this before.

As if he had been waiting for this moment.

“You’re strong” he murmured, pressing his lips against your hair. “I knew you wouldn’t fall easily.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Fight. Your mind screamed at you. Resist.

But the weight in your limbs, the fog in your head, it was drowning you.

And worst of all, beneath the confusion and anger, something inside you craved the feeling.

The warmth. The presence. His hands on you. His voice in your ears.

You forced yourself to move, shoving against his chest. He allowed it, stepping back just enough to watch you struggle.

Your glare should have been sharp, but the dizziness dulled it. “You… bastard.”

Anaxa chuckled, tilting his head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, my dear.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a delicate glass vial.

Inside, swirling with a faint glow, was the same plant you had spent weeks researching.

Understanding slammed into you.

The plant. The rumors. The disappearances.

Your breath came short and shallow. “You planned this from the beginning.”

Anaxa smiled.

“Of course I did.”

Your mind was still reeling, but one thing was clear—Anaxa was not just some wandering researcher.

He was someone powerful. Someone who had influence. And now that you thought about it, his posture, his way of speaking, the way he expected to be obeyed. It was all too familiar.

Royalty.

Your lips parted in realization. “You—”

“I rule the neighbor kingdom, Y/N.” He said it softly, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “And now, so will you.”

Your stomach twisted. “I never wanted that.”

“But you need it,” he countered. “And you need me.”

You clenched your fists. “What I need is for you to let me go.”

He smiled, patient as ever. “But you won’t leave.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And why is that?”

Anaxa’s stepped closer, his fingers brushing your pulse point. “Because I’ve rooted myself in you.”

Your breath caught.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His voice was low, hypnotic. “That pull. That ache.”

The poison makes you crave him.

Anaxa leaned in, his lips mere inches from yours.

“You are mine now.”

For days, you tried to fight it.

The bond, the warmth, the way his presence made your pulse race.

His voice in your ears. His hands guiding yours as you tended to the flowers. His whispers at night, promising, coaxing, binding.

You hated him. You hated how good he was at this. At pulling you in. At making you his.

And worst of all?

Somewhere along the way…

You had stopped trying to leave.

There was no escape from him. You will soon wither in his arms just like that lily.

💥💥

I love the way this is written my god

Yandere!Anaxa x Mage!Reader

The first time he saw you, you were undoing his chains.

His wrists were raw, skin torn from years of iron biting into flesh. His once-proud posture was nothing more than a hunched, broken frame, his long, pale green hair tangled and dull. He had no strength left to fight, only hatred simmering behind the eyes that still refused to yield.

You tended to him with hands far too gentle for someone with your power. You fed him, clothed him, healed him. And when his body recovered, you honed his mind.

"You’re free now" you had told him, but it wasn’t freedom you gave, it was discipline, strength, purpose. You sharpened his survival instincts, refined his combat abilities, ensuring he could stand on his own before releasing him into the world.

At first, he thought you were no different from his past captors, just another powerful figure toying with him under the guise of mercy. But as time passed, your kindness never faltered. You spoke to him, not as a master, not as an owner, but as an equal.

And then, one day, you left.

No farewell, no explanation. You had done your duty, and that was all he was to you. A responsibility. A passing moment in your grand, untouchable life.

He should have forgotten you. But he couldn’t. So he searched.

He followed whispers, traced the echoes of your name through the cities and villages, piecing together the legend that surrounded you. Y/n L/n, the Kingdom’s Respected Mage. Revered, beloved, unmatched in power. People spoke of you in awe, their eyes filled with admiration, their voices dripping with devotion.

It infuriated him. They didn’t deserve you. They hadn’t seen you the way he had.

And yet, you had left him behind to return to them.

His fingers curled into fists, trembling with rage and something far darker. If he wanted you, if he wanted you to be his, he needed to become more.

More than the people who adored you. More than the kingdom that praised you. More than even you yourself.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. The Kingdom’s Grand Arcane Tournament, a competition where only the strongest mages, warriors, and scholars gathered to prove their worth. Victory meant recognition, power, and most importantly… a chance to stand before you.

Anaxa’s lips curled slightly as he adjusted his gloves, ignoring the eyes around him. He wasn’t here for glory. He wasn’t here for the approval of nobles or the admiration of the masses. No, he was here for one reason alone.

To surpass you. And he was close.

The trials had been brutal, designed to eliminate the weak and unworthy. Fire rained from the sky, ice storms threatened to freeze bones solid, illusion magic twisted reality into nightmares. Yet, he endured. He thrived.

Every challenge was a step closer to you.

And then, fate finally brought you before him.

He had been walking through the grand halls of the castle, led by a guard toward the final test, when he saw you.

You moved with effortless grace, your robes flowing like liquid magic, the insignia of the Royal Mage embroidered upon your chest. Power radiated from you, but it was your presence that struck him the hardest.

The way nobles bowed their heads in respect. The way knights stepped aside in silent reverence. The way the very air seemed to hum in response to your existence.

You had grown even more magnificent. More untouchable.

His breath caught as he stepped forward, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

"Y/n!"

For a fleeting moment, your eyes flickered toward him. And then...nothing. No recognition. No reaction. You walked past him as if he was no more than a stranger, your focus already on your destination.

Anaxa froze.

Something inside him twisted, snapped, burned.

You ignored him? No.... No, no, no. This wasn’t right.

After everything. After all this time.

His fists clenched, his breathing shallow, but before he could move, the guards pushed him forward.

"The final test awaits" one of them grunted, leading him toward the towering gates of the Arcane Trial Grounds.

Anaxa didn’t resist. He let them guide him, but his thoughts never left you. It didn’t matter. Soon, it wouldn’t matter. Because when he won, when he stood above everyone else, you would have to look at him.

The moment Anaxa stepped inside the Tower, the air grew heavier, thick with enchantments woven over centuries. The last trial wasn’t a simple battle...it was a test of mind, body, and soul.

Whispers curled through the halls, illusions flickered at the edges of his vision, phantoms of his past trying to drag him into despair.

He saw chains. Rusted. Bloodied. Binding his wrists once more.

"You will never be free."

A voice sneered from the shadows. His very own voice. The voice of the boy who had once been weak. The boy you had left behind.

Anaxa exhaled slowly, his pink-violet eyes sharpening with cold resolve.

With a flick of his wrist, magic surged through him, and the illusions shattered like glass.

He wasn’t that boy anymore.

And he would prove it.

One step at a time, he climbed. The Tower challenged him with spell after spell, enemy after enemy, but he never faltered. His body ached, his magic burned in his veins, but he kept going.

Until, at last, he reached the highest chamber, the domain of the Royal Mage.

Your domain.

His breath was ragged, his clothes tattered, but a smirk played at his lips as he pushed the grand doors open.

And there you were.

Standing at the center of the grand hall, surrounded by books, scrolls, and floating runes. You turned at the sound of the door creaking open, your eyes meeting his once more.

This time, you didn’t ignore him.

"You pass."

That was all you had said when Anaxa stood before you in the Tower's highest chamber, battle-worn yet victorious. No praise, no warmth, just a simple statement before you handed him his new assignment. He would now serve directly under you, a mage of the Tower, tasked with studying arcane knowledge, assisting with research, and maintaining magical defenses for the kingdom.

But despite his new status, you kept your distance.

You never looked at him for long. You never spoke beyond what was necessary. You never acknowledged the years he had spent chasing after you.

Still, he obeyed. He played the role of the devoted mage, following your every instruction without complaint. If keeping his head down, working tirelessly, and proving his worth was the only way to break through your walls, then so be it. But he pushed himself too far.

It happened late one night. The Tower was quiet, most scholars having retired to their quarters, but Anaxa remained. He sat hunched over an ancient text, his normally immaculate pale green hair disheveled, dark circles forming beneath his eyes.

His fingers trembled as he traced sigils onto parchment. His mind swam, exhaustion clawing at the edges of his consciousness, but he refused to stop.

Just a little more. Just a little longer.

He had to be stronger. Smarter. Worthy.

The ink blurred. His vision swayed.

And then.. his body crumpled forward, knocking over a stack of scrolls as he collapsed onto the cold stone floor.

When he woke, the world was softer.

The unbearable ache in his body remained, but something warm pressed against his forehead- a damp cloth, cooling his fevered skin. His mind was sluggish, his limbs weak, but as he slowly blinked his way back to consciousness, a familiar presence filled his senses.

You. You were there.

His head rested on something—no, someone. Your lap.

Your hands, ones he had longed for, ones that had once freed him now hovered over his chest, weaving delicate healing sigils into the air.

His breath hitched.

“...You’re awake.”

Your voice was as calm as ever, but there was something different this time. A softness, a quiet concern you hadn’t shown him before. Anaxa swallowed hard, unsure if this was reality or some cruel dream.

"You overworked yourself" you said simply, as if scolding a stubborn child. "You need to rest."

He should have answered. Should have thanked you, should have reassured you that he was fine. But his mind was drowning in you. Your scent, your warmth, the way your fingers had just barely brushed against his hair. For the first time in so long, he felt something other than burning obsession. He felt peace.

His lips parted, his voice hoarse. "Stay."

You paused, your fingers stiffening for just a fraction of a second. Then, with the same unreadable expression, you withdrew your hand.

"You need sleep" you repeated, carefully shifting his head off your lap and onto a pillow instead. "I’ll check on you in the morning."

And just like that, the warmth vanished. The door clicked shut behind you. Anaxa stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding, his fists clenching the sheets beneath him.

For a moment, he had hoped.

For a moment, you had been his.

And now, more than ever, he knew he had to make you stay.

Anaxa was always watching. Always waiting.

For your approval. For your attention. For you.

But no matter how much he proved himself, no matter how hard he worked, you remained just out of reach. Close enough to torment him with your presence, but distant enough to remind him that he was still beneath you.

So when whispers of forbidden magic reached his ears, whispers of power that could surpass even yours- he listened.

It started with a single spell. A curse laced into his fingertips, shadowed energy that crackled at his touch. The rush of it, the sheer force, was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt as though he could close the gap between you. But you found out.

The moment you saw the dark magic coiling around his form, your expression darkened, your voice sharper than he had ever heard.

"Are you insane?" You demanded, eyes burning with disappointment. "You know what dark magic does to the mind of people, to the soul. Were you really willing to throw everything away for this?"

He had expected punishment. Maybe even expulsion.

But instead, you chose supervision. From then on, you kept him under your watch, ensuring he didn’t step out of line.

It should have felt like a leash.

But to him? It felt like being caged in your presence. And he loved it.

Under your watchful eye, Anaxa returned to his duties, but the hunger in his heart never faded.

Late at night, when the Tower was silent, he poured over ancient scrolls, searching for something he had never dared to seek before- his past.

And he found it.

His people. His homeland. The ones who had sold him into chains. The weight of it settled in his chest like stone. The hatred, the pain boiled beneath his skin. He couldn’t stay here. Not when the past still breathed. So he did the only thing he could. He ran.

Slipping past the Tower’s wards was difficult, but not impossible. He had memorized every security spell, every blind spot. He knew how to disappear.

But he also knew you would never let him go so easily.

He should have known you were following him.

Every time the road grew dangerous, every time the enemy’s traps were one step ahead of him, something interfered. A spell dissolving a barrier. A blade missing its mark. A shadow moving just out of sight.

By the time he reached his enemies- the cowards who had once controlled his fate, he knew. You had been there the entire time. But it didn’t matter. Not when he stood before the people who had once sold him into slavery. Not when he saw the fear in their eyes. And suddenly… revenge felt meaningless.

They weren’t gods. They weren’t demons. They were just pathetic.

Killing them wouldn’t erase the past. It wouldn’t change anything.

So he turned his back on them.

And when he walked away, he knew you were waiting.

The journey back to the Tower was silent.

You never scolded him. Never demanded answers.

But when you finally reached your chambers, he fell apart.

"Erase it" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Erase everything."

You stiffened. "Anaxa..."

"Please." His eyes were wild, desperate. "If it’s you...if it’s your magic, master...I won’t fight it."

You frowned. "Memories shape the mind. If I remove them, it will change you."

"It’ll be fine if it’s you controlling me."

The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

For a long moment, there was silence.

"You need rest" you said softly.

You turned away.

And for the first time, he wished you would just take him. The silence after his plea was unbearable. You didn’t answer him. You didn’t cast the spell he begged for. You simply turned away, as if his pain, his very existence, was just another fleeting moment in your long, untouchable life. And that broke something inside him. Days passed. Then weeks. Anaxa returned to his duties, but he was different now.

He still watched you. Still obeyed you. Still craved you.

But now, there was nothing else left inside him.

The hatred, the grief, the fire that once burned in his veins- gone.

All that remained was you.

You, who had refused to erase him. You, who had refused to free him from his torment. You, who had chosen to let him suffer.

And if you would not take away his pain, then there was only one other path left.

It happened deep in the Tower, beneath layers of wards and forgotten corridors, where only the most forbidden spells were kept.

Anaxa stood before an ancient circle, his fingers tracing over runes that pulsed with dark magic.

If you would not erase his past… If you would not take control of his mind…

Then he would give everything to you himself.

A spell older than time. A binding more powerful than any chains.

A curse that would tie his very soul to yours.

By the time you found him, the ritual was nearly complete.

"Anaxa!" Your voice cut through the chamber, furious and sharp. "Stop this!"

He turned, smiling softly. Finally, finally, you were looking at him.

"I can’t" he murmured. "I don't want to exist without you anymore."

The runes flared to life. Magic crackled around him, the binding beginning to weave itself into his flesh. You moved. Faster than he had ever seen before, you raised your hands, and in an instant, his spell was shattered.

The backlash sent him to his knees, gasping as raw magic burned through his veins. His vision blurred, his breath ragged, but none of it mattered. Because you were standing over him now, your face unreadable, your fingers curling into tight fists.

"You're a fool" you whispered. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

He let out a breathless laugh, his eyes filled with something between devotion and madness.

"I tried to give myself to you" he said. "But I was wrong, wasn't I?"

"You're the only one who can claim me. So do it, master." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Make me yours."

You stared at him.

At the man who had once loathed you. At the boy you had saved. At the monster you had created.

And for the first time, you hesitated.

Because despite everything… you felt it too, didn’t you?

The way he always sought you out. The way he belonged to you, in a way no one else ever had.

Maybe it would be easier if he was only yours. If he never left. If you never had to wonder if he'd disappear into the night, chasing ghosts of a past he could never change. Maybe it would be better if he belonged to you alone.

But in the end, you didn’t say those words.

You only sighed, kneeling beside him, your fingers brushing over his pale hair.

"You’re staying" you murmured. "That much is certain."

His breath hitched.

"But" you continued, your voice turning firm, "I will never take away your mind, your will, your soul."

You tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at you.

"You don’t get to run away from your pain, Anaxa. Not with dark magic, and not through me."

He trembled. He hated this. Hated the way you still held the power, the way you still refused to let him give himself up completely.

But deep down, he knew, he had already lost.

And yet, as he knelt there, drinking in the warmth of your touch, he decided.. that was fine. Because in the end, whether you wanted it or not. He was already yours.

ANAXA CONTENT💥💥💥

Idk who the other two is, meymen and phrank

Anatomy Of A Hug

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ft. Phainon, Mydei, Anaxa

Heads Up : Soft Yandere themes, Anaxa needs to see a therapist, Written before version 3.1, My Delusions I guess. I merely missed them a lot and decided to write something silly quickly orz.

-; ੈ♡˳ PHAINON

In the simplest terms, Phainon hugs with his everything. He's not shy to initiate skin-contact, will press himself to you accordingly — unless you voice out discomfort. He's diligent in wrapping his arms around your person securely, should you fancy melting in the bliss he offers. Though, his dexterity with hugs was honed through practice. In the beginning, the strength of a seasoned warrior had been more prevalent. A good amount of discussion (read: pleading to breathe) and experimentation snapped him out of the rush of pleasantries and reminded him of how precious a person he was dealing with.

Front hugs, back hugs, side hugs, bear hugs — he's okay with whatever you're comfortable with. His personal preference is going through all kinds of hugs he knows of manually ; first to shield you from all the evil that preys on your vulnerability, then scooping you up from the pull of gravity, a hearty squeeze to assure you of his protection, followed by a thrilling spin that will repel all bad thoughts out of your orbit. Until all the vestiges of weariness and stress have been replaced clean with the smiles he so adores.

Phainon is not one to be satisfied with short exchanges of warmth, the duration of these hugs tend to be quite long — or, as long as he can get away with before he has to commit to a Hero's responsibilities. Just as he initiates hugs with all of his soul, he expects the same when it comes to receiving them. Phainon prefers to be coddled, held with a promise of protection, ironically. Allow him to kneel and bring him close to your heart, weave your fingers through his hair, soothe the tension in his shoulders and he'll abandon the Flame-Chase altogether.

It's impossible to stir him in those moments, unless your safety happened to be at stake. As such, it's best for you to bid farewell to any other plans. Once he has memorized the nature of this exchange well, he goes beyond and utilizes it to deal with other nuisances. You cannot blame him, not when it has been proven that distracting you with a hug deters both the interference and yourself from paying heed to a mere passer-by. Sometimes his hug offers a bit less comfort and appears more as a shackle. Should you think to point this out, bear this in mind — your embrace is the last thread keeping his sanity intact.

-; ੈ♡˳ MYDEI

You must not care for your life at all, or at least, that's the thought Mydei found himself having when he was faced with the gesture. While the Crown Prince was not ignorant of the existence of a hug, he merely never had the opportunity to be properly acquainted with it. Not that it was necessary to know of it either, he can't win battles by hugging his opponents now, can he? As such, his reaction had been quite the spectacle when you initiated it. Begin by asking if he'd like a hug (throw in a ‘my prince’ at the end, sweetly), if his expression doesn't change then that means a ‘yes’, approach him calmly and wrap your arms around him next — be patient, he'll eventually reciprocate, given that you read the cues right.

If Mydei has to express affection, he'll do so in his own ways. It's already enough of an inconvenience that whenever he thinks of you, his head becomes blurred with clouds of emotions he's unable to decipher. That mushy sensation he feels inside whenever you have the audacity to hug him is just unfiltered agony to his mind. The journey to getting him less repulsed to the gesture has to be fueled by patience and understanding. Only when it clicks in his head that the feelings your hugs incite are not so dissimilar from the ones he gets by indulging in a plate of golden honeycakes does he warm up to the gesture.

Even then, Mydei is very particular about his preferences. Wave goodbye to the dream of spooning the prince any time soon, he's made it clear that that privilege is reserved for him alone. He'll always pull your head towards his chest and headlock you in place. If it's not possible to do so while standing, he'll sit down and gather you on his lap even — but he'll never allow his field of vision to be obstructed. Allowing this already renders you both vulnerable to attacks, he'll reason. He needs to remain vigilant, for the sake of your safety ; not that he'll translate the intention word by word.

Despite your efforts, you've discovered that ridding the prince of his stiffness is near-impossible, even if it's in private. His is not a life that's seen much comfort. Pay attention to the minute shifts in his eyes and you'll realize that the actual reason for his stilted posture, is because of the restraint he's exercising in unleashing his strength. It is a valid concern, he won't even need both of his hands to kill you. Death has rejected him countless times but awaits your departure in anticipation, he's merely mindful of its preying gaze.

-; ੈ♡˳ ANAXA

You are one fearless fellow if you initiated a hug with Anaxa, or you simply don't care about the fact that he's renowned as the scholar who most people are happy to avoid. The scholar in question would most likely call you an idiot though, you really need a thorough lesson in deciphering which men you must never approach. Not that he will be giving it, his time and energy are not to be wasted on such trivial concerns. Although he won't deny, with this brazen act, you've proven yourself to be a bit above the notion of ‘trivial’.

You think approaching the scholar is not so different from trying to befriend a cat, failure in the beginning is inevitable — only through persistence can you triumph. It's a task alone to try to acquaint yourself with him, getting him accustomed to physical affection might just be an acid test. The scholar has had no need for a rudimentary touch of another's skin, he'll say with a dignified hiss. But if you're observant, you'd know it's just a ruse to hide the depth of the depravation he's not allowing himself to acknowledge.

After much trial and error, when he finally bends to your efforts and accepts a hug, he's stiff and awkward, unsurprisingly. His hands wander as if settling on one place would burn his skin, face firmly hidden in the crook of your neck in what you can only assume is embarrassment. You would've teased him about the fierce flush on his ears and nape, if he hadn't ended the contact upon realizing his behavior. The scholar didn't dare face you for the next week, reflecting upon the incident vigorously.

Initially, his hugs were short, filled with muttered complaints to distract you from the firmness of his grip. The increasing average duration and his waning unwillingness towards the gesture did not go unnoticed by him at all. He knows the basic biological cause and it served as his rationale for quite a while. Yes, the reward system's activities are all there is to it, surely he possesses enough willpower to end this indulgence any time he wishes.

What he didn't anticipate though was you beating him to it, baffling him with your sudden consideration for his personal space. You are cruelty incarnate, conditioning him to this banal addiction and leaving him to deal with the consequences by himself? Now that is one preposterous claim to marvel at. It's wise if you cease pushing the man and retract your words. And if you don't? You're more than welcomed to repeat your jest at the firing point of his gun.

tumblr writiers atp Im begging on my knees for yall to erite Anaxa x readers give him the attention he deserves Im cryiing there’s so littke of him 💔

hear my pleas Yall are free to tag me in whatever you write

anything except smut is literally fine throw it my way