#yandere Anaxa x reader

[harmonysanreads]

Anaxa : Stalking? I was just... educating myself on your lore.

[zeyris-daydreams]

// mind the tags.

Being with Anaxagoras was no different than being a carefully placed test subject ; or rather, a carefully placed observation subject. He was a chrysos heir full of denial, but the fate didn't waltz around him, and so he met you.

Aglaea, as the one who strode in footsteps of romance titan, was fitting for the cause; Anaxagoras did not agree to her ideas(of an arranged marriage) on a whim, after all. A man like him does not leave things up to a chance, and you certainly weren't worth the gamble. In your eyes, this was arranged and spontaneous—a coincidence that you were the one.

He was far different than Mydei or Phainon in this aspect; Anaxagoras was entirely neutral towards his "fate". For him, to believe in a predetermined outcome was to create it from the threads with your fingers; a self fulfilling prophecy—he equated it to causing a war from belief that said war would come to pass.

People always strive for familiar and the safe, and sometimes—in efforts to prevent a catastrophy, they themselves cause it. Anaxagoras never left things for a chance and he never allowed well-timed coincidences to poison his mind either.

Given his observant and encompassing nature, very little evaded his sharp eye—

He cradled your face in his hands, tilting it. The feeling of discomfort was there, subtle enough yet present by the furrow of your eyebrows, or the soft trembling of your lip.

Anaxagoras didn't merely appreciate you, to be with him was to be under a scientists watchful scalpel—and he dissected you like a subject fitting for his blade. "Anaxagoras—" the name slipped from your lips, and yet you could not follow it up with anything.

His head tilted, and you could feel his stare pierce through your skin, right into the muscle, where he split it to reveal the bones and the bare and the nerves and your mind. It was only his look, and yet it felt like something far more violating.

"Yes?"

You swallowed, but before you could say anything Anaxagoras leaned up close, his lips gently brushing against your cheekbone. "Your eyebrows are uneven."

Despite how many times you've had this conversation, it seemed he did not relent. Then again he learned since then—that you did not appreciate his observant nature as much as you claimed to do. "It's cute."

If you were to do the same to him, he wouldn't care. Because frankly, Anaxagoras did not comment in bad faith. The little things that made you, be you, he wished to pick apart and lay out on the table—he wanted to study you, what makes you be you, what allows you to exist.

Your eyes narrowed in irritation, but most of all the feeling of an intrusion—a needle so thin it pricked right underneath your skin, and you could not tear it out.

The sage's face moved back, his thumb lightly brushing against your jaw. His 'inspections' felt more intrusive than appreciative, and it was easy to conclude the statements to carry a negative connotation. Then again, this was merely how Anaxagoras was—he commented on every step within his research field, and he commented on every step now.

He opened his mouth more than necessary before as well—the feeling of his hands on you in a heated moment between husband and wife, soured by the "Your breasts are uneven." that slipped out of his mouth. The way he ran his fingers down your body other times, voicing his observation of a mole he hadn't seen before. The slow stroke of Anaxagoras' finger down your nose, humming of it's shape.

Anaxagoras had to be observant, and regardless of what you assumed of his comments, it did not change the nature of them. You were still you—the one he had picked out. The one unknowing to the nature of the choice he made. He wanted to chisel out his mind in your shape, to commit everything to memory—was he a good sage if he could not do as much?

Things had to be shaped—that's why Anaxagoras did not believe in fate. He did not believe in prophecies nor predetermined outcomes, because with his mind and hand, he woven the threads that bound you to him. This was not a fate's play, and he would refuse to let it reap the praise for his own labour.

You were his because he made it so—do not let the idea of a 'fated meeting' fool you. Alas, you were not privy to the concept.

[Mydei] [Phainon] [Aglaea in writing…] [Full masterlist]

[vortexbloom]

Phainon, mydei and anaxa (separate) x fem reader romantic

Platonic for the children

Like them as a parent and they have a kid with fem reader, the kid feel lonely because they don't have a sibling and aunty aglaea request the kid to ask their parent about having a sibling.

The kid thank aunty aglaea for the solution and start to run towards their home feeling so exited to ask their parent about having a sibling, when the kid arrived in their house the kid start to search for the parents

when they see the character and fem reader in the living room or the kitchen, the kid start to walk towards the father and ask for a sibling, make both of them suprised by the kid's request meanwhile fem reader's face flushed red as tomato.

The father is eager to have another kid with fem reader and tell the kid that they will give them a sibling, the kid cheer and thank their parents. When the kid leave the parents, the husband feel smug and start to hug their wife from behind and whisper some word, while the male's hand caressing the fem reader's stomach.

🤭

BFKJYBSLYBDLSNDBXKSMS I genuinely love this request 😍😍

Your child asks you and your Husband for a Sibling (Separate OneShots)

Pairing: Phainon/Mydei/Anaxa x Female Reader

Fandom: HSR (Honkai Star Rail)

Warnings: Might be a lil bit spicy, fluff

─୨ৎ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────୨ৎ─

Masterlist - Honkai Star Rail

Masterlist - Genshin Impact

Moodboards - Genshin Impact

Masterlist - Marvel

Boycott List

─୨ৎ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────୨ৎ─

English isn’t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

I do NOT own any Characters !

Have fun reading this :D

The golden glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the grand windows of your home, casting long shadows across the room. You were curled up in a chair, enjoying a rare moment of quiet, while Phainon sat nearby, casually skimming through a book. His fingers traced the edges of the pages, but his attention was easily drawn away the moment your daughter burst into the room.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she called, her little feet pattering against the floor as she rushed toward you both.

Phainon arched a single brow, closing his book slowly. "Yes, little one?"

Your daughter huffed, hands on her hips, looking far too serious for someone her age. "I want a baby brother or sister."

Silence.

You nearly dropped your cup. Phainon, ever composed, simply leaned back in his chair, blue eyes glinting with curiosity, and something undeniably amused.

"Oh?" he mused. "And what has made you decide this?"

"Auntie Aglaea said I should ask!" she declared proudly. "She said if I tell you, then you’ll make it happen!"

You groaned inwardly. Of course Aglaea was behind this.

Phainon hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?"

Your daughter nodded eagerly. "She said that if two people love each other very much, then they—"

"That’s enough wisdom from Auntie Aglaea," you interrupted swiftly, your face heating up.

Phainon let out a soft, low chuckle, clearly enjoying your reaction far too much.

"But I really want a sibling," your daughter continued, looking between the two of you expectantly. "Please?"

Phainon exhaled, setting his book aside before standing up. He moved with his usual grace, stepping toward your daughter and crouching to meet her gaze. Then, with a smile, he reached out and gently ruffled her hair.

"You are quite lucky, little one," he murmured smoothly. "Because your wish has already been granted."

Your daughter’s eyes widened in delight. "Really?! I’m getting a sibling?"

Phainon nodded. "Yes. You’ll have a younger sibling soon."

She let out a happy squeal, jumping excitedly before rushing off. "I have to tell Auntie Aglaea!"

As soon as she disappeared down the hall, you let out a long sigh, placing a hand over your forehead. "I am going to kill Aglaea."

Phainon chuckled deeply, his amusement evident as he stepped behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"You should be thanking her," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety purr against your ear.

His hands slid over your stomach, his touch warm and deliberate. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles, a silent promise lingering in the air between you.

You shivered. "She’s meddling again."

Phainon hummed, his lips brushing against your temple. "Perhaps," he mused, "but she does have a point."

You exhaled, leaning into his embrace as his grip tightened, possessive yet tender. "And what point is that?"

“That it won’t hurt to have another child,” he whispered, his voice laced with something darker, something deeper. "After all…why not have a fourth member for our family?"

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your face. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," he purred, nuzzling against your neck, his fingers still caressing your stomach, "you wouldn’t have me any other way."

You sighed, relaxing into his hold. He was right. And somehow, you knew that Aglaea would be very, very pleased with the outcome of her meddling.

The soft hum of conversation filled the grand dining hall as you sat at the long table, enjoying a peaceful evening meal with Mydei and your son. The delicate scent of freshly prepared dishes lingered in the air, the atmosphere calm, unhurried.

For once, everything was tranquil.

Until your son suddenly set down his fork, puffing out his chest with all the determination of a warrior about to embark on a quest.

"Mommy! Daddy! I want a baby brother! Or a sister!"

You nearly choked on your food.

Mydei, in contrast, remained perfectly composed, leisurely twirling his wine glass between his fingers as he looked at your son with mild amusement. "Oh?"

Your son nodded enthusiastically, his little hands gripping the edge of the table. "Auntie Aglaea said I should ask you! She said if I really, really want a sibling, I should keep asking until you say yes!"

You let out a long sigh, already feeling a headache forming. "Of course, she did."

Mydei set down his glass, his expression unreadable. "And what would you do with a younger sibling, champ?"

Your son brightened. "I’d teach them everything! Like how to run fast, and how to sneak extra desserts from the kitchen when the chefs aren’t looking!"

You shot him a look. "You’ve been sneaking extra desserts?"

"…No?"

Mydei chuckled, resting his chin on his hand, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "A noble cause, indeed."

Your son clasped his hands together in a pleading motion. "Please? I promise I’ll be the best big brother ever!"

Mydei let the silence linger for a moment, his expression betraying nothing, until he finally leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

"You need not worry," he said smoothly. "You’re getting that sibling."

Your son froze, blinking rapidly. "Wait…REALLY?!"

Mydei nodded. "Yes. Soon, you will have a younger sibling."

Your son let out an excited shout, nearly knocking over his chair in his rush to stand. "I have to tell Auntie Aglaea!" He bolted from the room, his voice echoing down the hall, "Auntie Aglaea, it worked!!!"

You sighed and rubbed your temples. "That woman is too involved in our lives."

A deep chuckle rumbled behind you, and before you could react, Mydei’s arms slid around your waist, pulling you against his chest. His hold was firm yet impossibly gentle, his presence warm and grounding.

"Oh cmon, having a second child wouldn’t hurt, hm?," he murmured, his voice a silken purr against your ear.

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over your stomach, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His gestures were possessive, reverent, as if he was savoring this moment, the reality of your growing family settling between you.

You exhaled, placing your hands over his. "Well….I guess you‘re right."

Mydei’s smirk was audible in his tone. "Good to know that you think like this."

He pressed a slow, lingering kiss against the curve of your neck, his hands never leaving your stomach. "After all," he whispered, his voice dipping into something darker, more intimate, "this is a future I desire just as much as you."

You sighed, relaxing into his embrace, fully aware that Aglaea would be unbearably smug when she heard about this.

And yet, despite her meddling, you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed.

Because in the end, your family was growing.

And that was all that mattered.

The quiet of the evening was broken by the sound of your son rushing into the living room, his footsteps heavy with determination. You looked up from your book, eyebrows raising at his sudden entrance. Beside you, Anaxa remained in his usual state of calm composure, his piercing eyes following your son’s movements without a flicker of emotion.

"Mom! Dad!" your son exclaimed, bouncing up to you both with wide, eager eyes. "I want a sibling!"

You blinked in surprise. "A sibling?" you echoed, unsure if you’d heard him right.

Your son nodded fervently. "Yep! Auntie Aglaea said I should ask you if I want one. She said it’s the best idea ever!"

Anaxa raised a brow. "Aglaea, was it?" His lips curled into a small, knowing smile, though his voice remained soft, laced with a hint of amusement.

"Yeah! She said I should ask for a brother or sister!" your son continued, clearly excited by the thought. "I’ll be the best big brother! I promise!"

You felt a sudden weight in your chest. Of course, Aglaea would encourage this.

Your husband’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes softened slightly as he regarded your son. "So, you want a sibling?" Anaxa asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Your son nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! Someone to play with, someone to teach all the cool stuff I know!"

Anaxa’s lips twitched upward in the smallest of smiles, but he kept his tone steady as he replied, "Well, I guess we’re going to have a new member for our family soon."

Your son’s eyes widened, and he froze for a moment. "Wait, really?!"

Anaxa nodded. "Yes. Soon, you’ll have a younger sibling to play with."

Before either of you could say another word, your son jumped up, his face breaking into a wide grin. "I have to tell Auntie Aglaea! She’s gonna be so happy!" He bolted out of the room, barely pausing to look back as his laughter echoed down the hall.

You let out a deep breath, rubbing your temples. "Aglaea is absolutely going to gloat over this."

Anaxa chuckled softly, the sound low and smooth, before he shifted behind you, his hands finding your waist with practiced ease. He drew you back against his chest, his presence warm and solid, comforting.

"I suppose we should thank her for this," he murmured, his voice rumbling through you like a gentle wave.

You snorted softly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. "Thank her for giving our child ideas?"

Anaxa’s breath was warm against your ear as he leaned down, his lips brushing your temple in a light, affectionate kiss. "She only pushes us towards things we both want, my love."

You leaned back into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he caressed your stomach in slow, deliberate movements. His fingers were gentle yet firm, a reminder of the strength he wielded and the tenderness he reserved for you.

"Soon, you will carry our second child," Anaxa said, his words low and thoughtful, as if savoring the moment.

Your heart fluttered, and you placed your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. "I wasn’t expecting this…but I’m glad. I want this too."

Anaxa pressed a kiss to your neck, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly. "I know, my love. You and I make a good team. And soon, we’ll have more laughter in this house."

You turned in his arms to face him, gazing into his eyes, those stormy eyes that held so many secrets, yet in this moment, they were full of something softer. Something more tender.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice full of quiet affection.

Anaxa smiled, a rare, genuine smile that softened his usual sharp features. "I love you too, my dear. And now, we get to watch our family grow."

As the warmth of his embrace surrounded you, you felt the weight of Aglaea’s meddling lift off your shoulders. Your family was expanding, and that was all that mattered.

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽

[ariichive]

LONG AWAITED

anaxa returns to the city of okhema with one goal in mind.

yan!anaxa x gen. neutral reader.

tw: slight yandere, 3.1 main story quest spoilers, kidnapping kinda, not proofread :'), phainon appearance

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

the air of okhema felt unidealistic as anaxa quickly turned away from the white haired chrysos heir, who's eyes held admiration and a hint of nervousness. anaxa could not blame phainon for being on edge, after all it's been some time since he's traveled far from the grove of epiphany; the tension with aglaea only intensifying.

phainon wasn't just worried about anaxa's distaste towards the dressmaster, but the fact a certain beauty happened to reside in okehma; one anaxa had a growing obsession with that aglaea had informed him about.

the scent of earth and lingering incense clung to the air as anaxa strode ahead, his pace brisk despite the weight of his thoughts. phainon hesitated before following, his fingers ghosting over the embroidery of his sleeves—a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. the streets of okhema were alive, yet there was an undercurrent of unease threading through the revelry, as if the city itself was holding its breath.

"...professor anaxa, with all due respect, you should probably go rest." phainon said nervously as he watched the annoyance grow on the professor's face he didn't put any effort in to hide. anaxa brought a hand up to his head, already feeling his headache increasing.

"still as unrelenting as ever," anaxa said more to himself than phainon (who knew not take that as a compliment).

phainon shifted on his feet, uneasy under the weight of anaxa’s sharp gaze. the professor’s silence was rarely comforting; it carried the weight of words unspoken, of conclusions already drawn and judgments already made.

“if you keep straining yourself like this, your mind will falter before your body does,” phainon tried again, forcing his voice to remain even. “and considering how much you pride yourself on your intellect, i imagine that would be a rather devastating blow.”

anaxa exhaled through his nose, a slow, deliberate gesture that conveyed both irritation and restraint. “you assume exhaustion is a state that can be remedied by mere rest. a rather reductive view.” his fingers pressed against his temple, as if attempting to physically restrain the inevitable onslaught of thoughts. “the mind does not cease simply because the body demands reprieve. if anything, it accelerates in retaliation. an unfortunate contradiction of existence. now then, i must be on my way. more time spent here entwined in aglaea's threads is less time spent with my [name]."

“if something happens—”

anaxa halted, turning just enough to glance at phainon from over his shoulder.

“then it will be because i allowed it.”

and with that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving phainon standing there, uncertain if those words were meant to be reassuring or a quiet promise of inevitability.

anaxa moved through the streets of okhema with a purpose, his every step measured, his every breath steady. the air here was thick with incense and candle smoke, curling through the alleyways in a way that made the city feel almost dreamlike. he ignored the idle chatter of merchants, the distant hum of music, the eyes that lingered on him longer than necessary.

his destination was clear.

past the winding streets, through the stone archways laced with ivy, beyond the courtyards filled with marble statues of nameless gods.

his mind churned through the possibilities of the night—outcomes, variables, countermeasures.

but then, as he neared the threshold of that familiar estate, he felt something tighten in his chest.

a presence.

not phainon. not aglaea.

you.

his fingers curled slightly.

the moment he stepped inside, he would no longer be professor anaxa, the ever-stoic scholar with a mind sharpened like a blade.

no, within these walls, he was something else entirely. something raw. something that could not be defined.

nothing about the outside of your residence has changed in the slightest. your same favorite greenery blooming by your door, the half broken pillar you have yet to fix, and even the familar sense of longing deep in anaxa's heart.

you were in there. goodness, how long has he deprived himself of your beauty?

with an almost shaking hand and a crazed smile, anaxa's hand slowly made its way to knock. one swift, sharp, knock.

the sound echoed in the still air, sharp and deliberate. anaxa’s fingers lingered against the wood for a fraction longer than necessary before he pulled back, exhaling through his nose in a measured attempt to steady himself.

he had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times—constructed dialogues, crafted perfect syllables, envisioned every possible reaction you could give him. but now, standing here with his heart drumming an unsteady rhythm against his ribs, he found himself at war with something far less logical.

and when the door creaked open, revealing you—bathed in the glow of sunlight, as breathtaking as ever—he felt it.

that intoxicating, maddening sense of possession.

how could he have ever let himself stay away?

meanwhile, you were in utmost shock seeing the familiar face of an old friend standing outside your door. "anaxa!" you were quick to take his hand and pull him inside. "y-you're okay," your eyes were quick to scan over his body for injuries.

you heard about the bustling news around okhema, the fall of many at the grove of epiphany by the newly announced flame reaver. with the news of no survivors being found, you were immensely relieved to see anaxa.

anaxa allowed himself to be pulled inside, though his expression remained unreadable, save for the flicker of something unreadable—relief, amusement, or something far more dangerous—when he felt your hands on his.

“of course, i’m okay,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly as he watched you scan him for injuries. “you underestimate my ability to persevere.”

but there was something strange in the way he spoke. something distant.

the warmth of your concern should have soothed him, but instead, it only deepened the ache inside him. you were still the same—soft, caring, unguarded in your worry for him. and he?

he still had this dark desire within him.

you, however, seemed oblivious to the turmoil beneath his carefully composed exterior. you cupped his face gently, your thumb grazing the sharp line of his jaw. “you’re burning up,” you whispered, concern lacing your voice.

anaxa let out a breathless chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. if only you knew.

“it’s nothing,” he dismissed, though he didn’t pull away. “simply the remnants of a journey longer than intended.”

your frown deepened. “you should rest. whatever happened at the grove… it must have been—”

his hand shot up, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not harshly, but with enough force to halt your words. his grip was steady, calculated, yet there was something almost desperate in the way he held you.

his thumb brushed idly over your pulse, feeling the steady rhythm beneath his fingertips. a scholar by nature, anaxa had spent years studying patterns, deciphering truths from the subtlest details. and right now, your heartbeat told him everything—your worry, your hesitance, your trust.

trust.

his jaw clenched. did he still deserve it?

slowly, as if realizing the intensity of his own actions, anaxa loosened his grip, allowing his hand to drift away. “forgive me,” he murmured, his voice softer now, yet no less heavy. “it seems exhaustion makes a tyrant of me.”

you didn’t move for a moment, your eyes searching his, looking for something—an answer, perhaps, or reassurance.

maybe it was cerces playing a trick on him for his lack of belief in the gods. her former yearning for mnestia seeping through into him, enhancing his already deep need for you.

he took a slow, deliberate step closer, as though drawn by an invisible force, his presence closing the space between you without any words spoken. his eyes searched yours with an intensity that bordered on desperation, yet his expression remained calm, composed, almost as if he were fighting against something larger than himself.

“do you feel it too?” he asked, his voice a quiet rasp.

feel what? you wanted to ask. the tension in the air, the pull of something darker than you understood.

but instead, your breath hitched, something shifting within you as you stood there, uncertain whether to pull away or step closer. you couldn’t tear your eyes from his—this man, your old friend, your anaxa—but now, the person standing before you felt like something different altogether.

and suddenly, the truth was clear in the depth of his gaze.

he wasn’t here because of what had happened at the grove. he wasn’t here for the tragedy.

he was here for you.

and he wasn't going to leave without you.

“[name], you feel it too right? the gods won’t be here to save you either.”

[dreamdazedworld]

love at first sight.

Synopsis: Yandere! Anaxa worships you (yippie..?)

Note(s): Hey! It’s me, the one and only author of this one shot- Daze! It’s been a while, huh? Long story short, school entrance exams were approaching and I had to take a break for a certain period of time, but exams are over and I passed so I’m back from the dead!!! Anyways, I might post the Yingxing one shot that’s rotting in my drafts for ages once I’m done rewriting it, but first, I need to get rid of this Anaxa brain rot so eat up dearies!! Also, this may not be as good as my other works, but forgive me for that one! I think my writing skills got a bit rusty…. Though, I did give it my all! I hope that you all would like it! (Reblogs are very appreciated!)

Warning(s): Yandere, religious themes (not really), kidnapping, written before 3.0

Anaxa believes in no god, everyone knows that- and yet, he found himself captivated by you, his God, his everything.

Perhaps it was fate that pulled him to you- no, it had to be fate. His breathing hitched at the sound of your voice, delicate and angelic, just as he imagined. Ethereal, divine, perfect- your beauty was that of a divine being, he mused. After all, how could you be mortal when you were this heavenly, mesmerizing?

Anaxa believes in no god, except for you, and only you.

He thought that he’d be satisfied with watching you from afar and occasionally taking pictures to engrave your beauty in his memories, he really did. But the more he watched, the desire to steal you away from prying eyes grew stronger, and eventually devoured him whole from the inside. So please, forgive him for locking you up in his house. Forgive him for being so foolish and so greedy for your attention, forgive him for clipping your freedom away, please.

He doesn’t mind if you scream at him. Having your attention on him is more than enough, and even when you’re angry, you look so divine. He won’t mind if you cry, either- he’ll pull you into his embrace and gently kiss the tears away, even if he’s the one who made you cry in the first place. Punch him, use him, kill him, he doesn’t mind- as long as it means that you’ll be there by his side.

But when you start returning his actions back, Anaxa is ecstatic, though he doesn’t really show it on his face. It could be something very subtle- for example, the way your grip tightens whenever he embraces you in your vulnerable moments, or the way you start speaking more towards him, even if it was just a ‘good morning’, or a ‘good night’. It doesn’t matter how big or small it is, really, as long as there are signs that you’re starting to warm up to him, he’ll notice. And if it means that he’ll be able to see you smile, then he’s willing to wait, no matter how long it takes.

[yearninflowers]

Imagine...

Anaxa, someone you've gotten to know after one fateful meeting, has begun to grow on you little by little. Although those accidental meetups seem to happen quite frequently nowadays, you enjoy them all the same. He is quite the entertainer, after all. Equipped with various knowledge over life and his rather spicy attitude, he captured your eyes in the heat of prohibition and curiosity. He seemed to shine, somehow, in his own way. How could one be so confident with their belief and never falter? Whatever is fuelling his own devoutness—you wanted to ask—what does it take to be utterly devoted (to all his research) yet empty of faith like him?

The contradiction that lies beneath his impassive face could make anyone who notices laugh amusingly. Anaxa has always been a person who based his judgement on facts, and more often than not, ones he experienced himself. He does not believe, nor does he trust, an existence he could not grasp. It lacks a reason, he would say. Perhaps linking feelings with mindful comprehension has always been a stupid decision, yet he, a person who has never known of such intensity, does it all continuously. Such complexity is gathered to be one thing: devotion. And Anaxa, no matter how long he tried to search, could never have its truest form, faith.

A scholar's mind is to enquire about every little thing the world has to offer and speak of the truth that prevailed. Being one himself, Anaxa tries to do so as well. Questioning, denying, defending—he does it all easily. It comes like second nature to him. However, proving something that cannot be seen by the eyes is harder to do, even for someone as capable as Anaxa. He won't lie, though; the effect of believing said unseen thing is as real as it can be, yet proving its existence has always remained impossible to do. After all, what can you unveil to the world when the object itself is unknown?

So, he deems whatever faith lies upon someone; it is not equivalent to being real and only an effect of illusory belief. But that is what feelings are too, isn't it? An intense effect which stemmed from within the heart yet hidden deep inside the flesh of a soul. It cannot be proven, nor it can be seen, but it would always be there, haunting the bodies that bear the weight.

And for once in his life, something stirred itself inside Anaxa. Something ugly, he feared. The way his hands would tremble, fearing the ugliness of what he could do, made him disgusted with himself. How could someone as him be affected with something he could not foresee? Or an easier way to say, you. How could you, a stranger with no strings attached to any of the Chrysos Heirs, make his mind go numb? You, an ordinary citizen living in Amphoreus, had successfully done something many others had failed to do. You made him feel this absurdly warm feeling, and he could, for once, never figure out why something had happened.

Anaxa pondered for days upon days to search for the reason. He studied your movement almost daily, arranging coincidental meetings with a bump on the shoulder or even a short visit to a place you frequented. He thinks you must've noticed, but no words have been spoken over the increased bonding time. Perhaps you had never known that Anaxa has been watching you, studying you to the point of dissecting you apart inside his mind every time your eyes met. Perhaps you never noticed him just as he noticed you, deeply and obsessively.

Sometimes, it frustrates him. It feels as if all the observation he did had amounted to nothing. What else—just how—no, what will—argh, Anaxa feels the need to rip you apart, taking out everything to search for his selfish need. Will after opening the mystery box make him understand his concerning devotion? Has he finally succeeded in attaining what people often called faith? But has faith always felt so covetous? Is it not filled with belief that stemmed from one's pure love? This does not feel like its description to Anaxa. Whatever it is, it feels disgusting.

Yet it feels so amazing too. For once in all his time in the world, he feels whole—too full, even. However, the question still remains. For something as unreal as faith to fill Anaxa, The Heretic, just who are you to attain such a feat?

He now often wonders, is it you or him that made him feel the impossible? If it is him, then what is the fuel to his interest? Is it the curiosity of a human? Or could it be something entirely different? As a person, he'll gladly let it all flow. After all, feelings are as normal as they can be for people. But as a scholar, he is bound to question it nonetheless. As he said, a scholar's mind is to question everything, even if the subject is an obsession.

However, if it is you. Anaxa will still try to find the reason that makes you twinkle in his eyes. He'll do whatever it takes—even if it means scrapping you until the very last end of your being—to find out why. As someone who sees the world as an abundance of knowledge to be discovered, Anaxa will stop at nothing to find and prove it. Frankly, even if he thinks he's at fault for the sudden change in him, it will still lead to the same conclusion: examining you.

So, to make everything easier, as his new subject of interest, won't you let him search every inch of yourself and help unveil the truth? He can't ever help it anymore—the disgust and the curiosity keep on killing him from the inside, yet it makes him so full and so happy.

At least, for his sake, do it, yeah? Aren't you a very curious person as well? To mingle with such a person, amazed by his antics and abilities, and even seeking him out yourself—he knows you 'love' him too.

[leilawanderingaround]

Imagine Phainon abandoning his duty as the deliverancer for your cause...

They said geniuses hailed from the grove are nothing but a bunch of people who have lost their mind. One of them includes you.

The one who has angered the gods- they called you. Only it was enough to make Phainon curious. Surely you can't be that bad.

Arrogance, ambitious, heartless towards others, obsessive with forbidden knowledge. They scorn your existence, wishing for your demise yet follow your every order. Because they know it was the only way for you to stay alive.

"They shouldn't be alive to begin with"

"It was only by Cerces's grace that they still stand."

"The black tide failed to take back its creation again I see"

He imagines you to be this cold and fearsome leading figure, similar to that of Aglaea. But to his surprise, you were very... what to say... skittish?

You ignore him despite his ongoing attempts to talk to you, choosing to stay silent whenever he asked a question. Walking past him whenever you two cross paths. Or often locking the door of your study so he couldn't go in, and is even willing to skip meals just to avoid him.

"Reckless genius" he scolded inside his head as he found your door remained locked again during dinner time.

It's not like he come baring any ill intents. While yes, it's Aglaea's order to gather information. He doesn't plan on violating any rules or put anyone in harm way.

He just wished to learn more about you.

Anaxa- one of the few that you tolerate enough to barely talk to due to similar beliefs, have many time told him to drop it.

"They is not the type to bend easily. That idiot would rather die than have a proper talk to a Chrysos Heir like you" the sage said. "Best not to bother them..."

Too bad Phainon's patience has run dry at this point.

______

"So you found it..." Phainon could feel the gun's barrel pressed against the back of his head. The hero stays frozen, hands gripping the scroll tightly. His mind reeling from the information he just learned from all the scrolls inside your study. " I told you not to bother them. And you choose to ignore my warning"

Anaxa could feel the cold sweat running down his spine. He knows that the chosen ones have been sent here by the golden seamstress to find information about you but he never expected that he would be this reckless to just break in entering in board daylight, choosing the only day in the week when you weren't there to confront him.

"Did you know about this?" Phainon's voice sends tremble down Anaxa's arm. The sage swallows roughly before nodding.

"I am their partner in crime after all..." Anaxa said. His finger pressing slightly on the trigger but not enough to fire. He would like to avoid murder the deliverancer if possible. But if he insists on tattling to his allies, Anaxa wouldn't mind going down with him today just to ensure that you stay safe.

"All for you. Only for you." The sage thought as Phainon turn around. He wouldn't have anything if it wasn't for you. It's only right if he returns everything to you, for you.

"So you are saying that all we have been doing is all futile." Phainon's mind began racing. How many times did they do this? How many people have suffered and died just to continue this cursed cycle to continue? Has all he has done have been for naught?

"That I can't say..." Anaxa let out a breath he had been holding. The sage doesn't know the full extent of your research on the prophecy after all. You're not very willing to share, even with him- your closest confidant.

In a flash, Phainon turned around and promptly knocked Anaxa out cold on the floor before wending out of the room to find you. The one who could answer all of this.

_____

You knew he would come, you were waiting. Your arms crossed in front of your chest. You let out a sigh as the hero steps into your house after breaking the door down.

He stand in front of you, staring down. His blue eyes missing its usual warm gaze. Phainon's hands come to your shoulders, squeezing hard enough to bruised.

You have to stop yourself from groaning as you stare at him. Your heart beats like crazy inside of your ribcage.

" It doesn't matter" you thought. You could just start over the next cycle. And you won't fail again. But for now, you are willing to die.

Instead of the strike that you were hoping for, Phainon pull you closer, hugging your form. His hands trembling with unknown feeling.

"What do you need?" He ask. "To stop all of this... To safe everyone"

You were bewildered. What's happening here? You try to use your hand to push the hero away yet he hold you even closer, close enough that it was hard to breath properly.

"You need the core flames right? I will take them for you. I will bring you whatever you need. After that, we can get out of this together. Out of this cursed world..."

That day Phainon- the deliverancer disappeared. And someone don the mask of the Flame Reaver appeared.

[lavandulawrites]

Anaxa please save me🙏🏻🧎🏼‍♀️

I need this man so bad, it’s not even funny. Give me some Anaxa requests😼

[dreamdazedworld]

Okay so most of the time, I don’t reblog nsfw content. But I had to, because there’s MORE CONTENT FOR MY HUSBAND ANAXA!!!

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay

———

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[madthetruemad]

EVERYONE LOVED ANAXAGORAS' WIFE. Especially Phainon and Mydei. Their eyes would track your movements anytime you were in their general vicinity. Phainon was always the first to strike up conversation with you. His charm and easy going smile was comfortable and disarming. You would find yourself happily chatting away with him hours on end. Mydei, on the other hand, would always be the first to come to your rescue. Be it with enemies who infiltrated the city, a merchant trying to pull a fast one on you, or a thug pulling you into an alley. Mydei was always there and you would always pay him back for his help by buying him any food he wants. But as soon as the food is bought he is already sharing some with you, casuing you to stay by his side longer than intended.

As for Anaxa, your husband who you just love to dote on, he enjoys watching these two flit about like fools as they try to win your affection that doesn't even exist for them. It was laughable. Something that shouldn't even be considered a threat, yet, a devoted husband does get tired of others trying to take what belongs to him.

So he decides to silence their antics with an effective solution that he knows will work.

Phainon, though initially surprised by your appearance was quick to jumpstart back into action as he smiled at you, his gaze shifting to your growing bump of a belly, "it feels like yesterday when we all were swinging into adulthood, but now it seems you and Anaxa are taking it a step further."

Phainon could feel his jaw clench as he forced the words out, with how your bump was already showing, you were probably already some weeks along in your pregnancy. It irked him at the thought of Anaxa touching you like that. It made his skin crawl.

You, all the while, were naive to Phainon's inner turmoil as you laid a hand over your stomach, your eyes filled with nothing but love and happiness, "i always wanted a small family of my own, so when Anaxa finally started talking about children a few months ago, I was overjoyed! I always thought he would be too busy for a family, so i was happy that we finally talked about it."

"Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"

You hummed in thought, "i honestly don't know! But what I do know is that I will love him or her no matter what!"

Even though Phainon was good at masking his disdain towards your husband, Mydei was not. Anytime he looked at you, his nose would scrunch and he would find himself looking away. You wondered if you did something wrong. Oh, but Mydei would never blame you or the child you carry. His anger was solely on Anaxa.

"Are you alright, Mydei? You haven't been yourself," your voice was soft and it caused his heart to ache. He didn't like making you upset.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he eyes your stomach, "when are you due?"

He was finally talking and looking at you! It was a start!

"December."

He seemed to be deep in thought before he finally sighed. His arms falling to his sides as he looked you in the eye.

"I will ... make sure no one harms you during all of this."

You smiled, "thank you, Mydei."

You were glad that your friend was acting normal again. However..., Mydei was anything but normal on the inside. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but one thing was certain. Anaxa wouldn't be safe.

[harmonysanreads]

Oops

[heliosunny]

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.

[looneyunu]

Since we already have had Phainon, Anaxa, and Mydei yandere, why don't we make the entire Amphoreus yandere then? Because they are so yummy, of course. (Heavy on Aglaea.)

According to the leaks, it seems like all Titans or Chrysos Heirs have one thing in common — Imperfection.

Like, for Mydei, he is immortal. Castorice is everything she touches will die. Aglaea lost her sight. And many more for the rest. But Phainon seems to be different, as he is referred to as a perfect Chrysos Heir with no imperfection.

So, I am thinking about a silly Abundance reader, who somehow can apparently cure and fix their imperfection in an amount of time without knowing, wandering around Amphoreus and its cities for sightseeing, not acknowledging how much they have affected and changed other lives... Until the day they have to go.

But especially for Aglaea, whose ability can read other minds, will definitely make it impossible for darling to escape. Hehe, and I wonder how far Castorice will go for someone that perfectly fit for her, trying to escape.

By the way, we need more Phainon x reader fanfic and the rest x reader.

[lei-zingaround]

Yandere!Anaxa as that one meme/stock image of a bride threatening her spouse into signing the marriage documents by pointing a gun at their head.

[dreamdazedworld]

Okay, Anaxa brainrot that I’m going to start writing about just after I finish writing this……

“Ridiculous. In a world full of lies, I am the only truth.”

This.

This goes so well with Yandere! Anaxa like he would definitely make his darling believe that whatever he says is always the truth and never the lie, so he tells darling that the world is not a safe place to wander right now, and that he’s only trying to protect them by locking them up- in which, darling listens to.

With more information about him, the image of a manipulative Yandere just matches so well with Anaxa, well, Anaxagoras, as he tells the others to call him (he only will ever let his own darling call him that and nobody else, even if he acts like he hates it on the outside *wink wink*).

[yearninflowers]

Imagine…

Mydei, the warrior of Okhema, intimidating he is, yet for unknown reasons, also someone to hold you close in his embrace. His expression was unreadable, yet the erratic beat thumping inside his chest betrayed his facade. His hands, the way they hovered over your waist, held you close to him as if you two were beings never to be separated. His eyes, glaring at everyone who came even a meter close to you both, would scare anyone away.

His embrace, while it was hard, was warm. And it fully warmed up your heart, one whose beat was slow and close to a dying silence.

And so, for a while, you'd forget the one fact about him to spend a day more beside the man. Scary as he is, his attentive actions would always prove otherwise to you. Sometimes, even while looking at his presence, you'd forget that his hands were stained with blood. The same hands that hold you close to him; you would forget it all at the prospect of being close to such warmth.

Even as you close your eyes, resting your head to drown in the deep slumber, his call for your name echoed endlessly. In the night, the clock striking at twelve, you'd sober up, realising that the feelings inside your chest were nothing more than a sickness. His love—no, care—had you sick, even sicker than before. But was it really sickness if you felt safe? Loved even?

The vines of dependency held you tight with him. Mydei, one that draped you over the bond, was one you had loved dearly, yet his love, warm as ever, sucked you dry until you could never live without it. That much you noticed.

If to cut the vines is to kill yourself, no matter your love, vines could never hold you tight enough to stay. If one needs to be bound to love, then will it always be so restrictive? So pestering, until you grow fond of being scared? His embrace, while it fills you whole, made the surroundings go cold. Shivering through the relentless loss of warmth for long, wondering if Mydei will ever come back, scares you too much to let the vines stay. And cut shall you do.

…

Perhaps loosening it first should be better than cutting it all immediately. You didn't know the hands of someone in the battlefield could be this harsh and tight. Mydei, in contrast to you, tied himself with the vines on his own. Perhaps he knew what he felt was never pure love, but a mix of control laced with selfishness to mark someone as his. Yet what does he know about love? What even is love in the eyes of someone who fought in battles?

Days and nights, planning and executing, fighting and surviving, there was never love in those. Mydei couldn't possibly learn of such pure, innocent feeling in the heat of fighting for survivability. So, he wrapped you up in something he was most familiar with: control. Love was never his expertise, and while he would love to learn, love was never part of your expertise as well.

Both you and he lived similarly; love so scarce, you had to dig it up no matter the shape. But with even something sweet mixed in, once bitter will always be bitter—and you had enough of it. Mydei didn't, though; he could never. He had tasted something better than blood and pain. The thought of losing such a sweet taste would render him useless; his heart would restrict him from taking another step away as if he would die.

Truly, from the start, vines were never the ones tying you up. Have you noticed the slight tremble you'd experience once he was away? The terrified feeling and the dread once he was out of reach from your arms? Those things would always be the real ones binding you. Dependence was never it, was it? It was addiction and you never realised it.

You loved him, yet you felt so lost once he was away. There was never something you could do to prolong his stay, so you stopped, already tired of hoping for more—but what exactly more do you want? Perhaps true freedom? True love? Whatever you were thinking when you tried to run away, Mydei will do anything to make your wish come true. Longer stay, longer hugs, longer love? Mydei will do it all so long as you stay beside him once again. His embrace warmed and filled you whole, right? It will do its job once more and so on. Addiction is always so hard to get rid of, and it will be harder to erase if you never know the root of the problem.

What Mydei learnt after fighting in the field was that most people would let down their guards once victory was at the tip of their fingers. That would be an optimal choice to attack, rendering them to be at his mercy. And if he needs to do so to you, he shall do it, even if he has to bind you again with the same vines as before. After all, making you think you could escape the tight bond was easy for him; the illusion of vines trapping you felt more real than his warm embrace that truly trapped you with him, or to be more exact, the addiction that comes along with his love and loss.

It is all yours for the taking, bitter or not; Mydei will make sure you will take everything from him and he, too, from you.