Yandere Hsr X Reader - Blog Posts

phainon yandere profile. gender neutral, TW // yandere, nsfw at the end. credits @cinnamonest for the profile template. :)

What is he generally like? Is he self-aware, lucid, or obsessive? How does he behave?

Phainon is, in all variations of him, just a big dog with a tortured heart. He's desperate for your attention and approval, for someone to never leave him and carry the burden of the prophecy with him. Despite being surrounded by his fellow flame-chasers and admirers, he feels painfully lonely, knowing that at the end of the day, the only person who can truly walk his path is himself.

He's a little intense when it comes to the people around him, so you likely wouldn't think of him as obsessive at first - it's just how he is, so you believe. Phainon really leans into the 'pity me' card (complete with the puppy dog look), and neither you or nor anyone else can say anything about it. He creeps into your life, entwining himself with you until by the time you look down, it's too late.

He's obsessive and self-aware. He knows what he's doing is wrong, like threatening people or restricting your freedom, but Phainon will jump through any and all mental hoops to convince himself (and you) that it's all for your own good, hence obsessive. Idk the cognitive dissonance is strong with this one.

How do you meet him?

You’d have to be something special - preferably someone beyond the stars, someone who isn’t familiar with Okhema’s customs at all. Phainon would have trouble with separating you from the people he’s supposed to be a hero to, even if you were able to see him for him.

Alternatively, a childhood friend would do very well for him. Phainon remembers every precious memory he had with you before he could be coined Chrysos Heir. He attaches himself to you obsessively, completely sure that you’re the only person who could ever understand the true him and relieve the burden of all the blood on his hands.

How likely will he kidnap his darling?

Talking strict kidnapping, 1/10. Phainon doesn't need to keep you in his house to control you - he has power and sway over the people, and when that doesn't work, a few well placed bribes help so that someone has their eye on you at all times. Besides, he wants to see you happy and he wants you to accept him, most of all. Kidnapping you would be the antithesis of all that.

How difficult is it to escape from him? How does he restrain his darling? How does he deal with attempted escape?

10/10 difficulty, both physically and from his area of influence. Phainon would make up all sorts of excuses to stay with you a little while longer, whine and complain that he never gets to see you (lie), and try to wriggle his way into your home or coerce you back to his, even if it might make him seem a bit like... loser. He keeps you stuck to his side and in his shadow by sliding an arm around your waist or shoulder under the pretence of friendliness; he's clingy like you've never known clingy before.

He’s not above using drugs to achieve his desired outcome either, for example, making you so sleepy that you can’t turn down an invitation back to his place. Phainon feels bad about it at first, but when he sees you dozing uncontrollably on his shoulder, it's not difficult to wave the guilt away. And he finds it gets easier the more he does it! So it can't be all bad, can it?

From his area of influence, it’s easy enough to arrange for a little accident, a hiccup with your finances, whatever it takes to keep you within the city and keep you from leaving his side where he can reach you. There's no attempted escape from him - unless you're willing to hurt the people you love on your way out.

How easy is it to trick, deceive, or manipulate him?

For some minor trickery, like making up some excuse to slip away from a social situation, it’s easy enough. Phainon would rather gaslight himself into thinking you’re always right and that you’d never lie to him, and so he’ll let you get away with small lies even if he knows they are lies. True deception and manipulation is tough, however. He’s always two steps ahead of you - experienced warrior, remember? And well-loved by the citizens besides. Somebody would tell on you, even if he slips up.

You could manipulate him by showering him with love if you're smart about it. You'd have to prepare your exit while giving him lots of hugs and kisses and telling him how much you appreciate him, and Phainon will melt. Play to his rose-tinted glasses and you'll be able to conceal your true plans - just be prepared to move fast, and keep running for as long as you live.

How lenient is he? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He’s pretty liberal in the grand scheme of things. He lets you go about your day, stay in your home, continue to have your friends and family with you. But as Phainon closes in on possessing you, you get the distinct feeling that people are beginning to be uncomfortable around you, and that certain choice people have started disappearing - like the colleague who tried asking you out once. You’d turned him down, of course. But that doesn’t stop Phainon from taking… precautions.

You’re denied your freedom in the sense that every way you turn, you come up against the iron bars of your metaphorical bird cage. A gilded cage is still a cage, after all, and it's frustrating to know that someone is pulling the strings behind the scenes even though you have no idea who it is.

What kind of rules does he have? What kind of punishments would he use?

The one and only rule Phainon has: no leaving his side. And he means that in the grand scheme of things, as in no dying, and no leaving Okhema. He thinks he doesn't ask for much, really!

He isn't actually fond of punishing you. He likes to treat you like a delicate flower, so he lavishes you in all sorts of luxuries and creature comforts. The most punishment he'd ever use would be to isolate you in his home with nothing but himself for company. It's not the worst, all things considered, but I imagine spending a month alone with Phainon is enough to drive anyone up the wall.

How does he deal with rivals, or perceived rivals?

Phainon can be surprisingly peace-loving when it comes to his "rivals", or at the very least has no desire to hurt the people he's supposed to serve and protect. He tries to let killing be his last resort, and calls in favours from here or there to make sure your paths never cross again. Threats would come anonymously and are usually enough to deter them from ever speaking to you again.

He kills when he has to, though, and makes sure to do the deed himself. He wouldn't trust anyone else with such an important job.

How easy is it to make him mad? What does his anger look like?

Phainon doesn’t get mad so much as he gets desperate, upset, and very, very clingy. It hurts him if you reject him, talk about leaving the city or even Amphoreus, or try to lie to him. He’s nothing but good to you and has only ever acted for your benefit, so why do you treat him in this way? Tears are common. He doesn’t intend to guilt trip, but he does it very well. You feel like you're kicking a lost puppy in the rain whenever you hurt him. Is it ever worth it?

In a parallel vein, Phainon does get jealous. That’s when he feels the need to shower you in physical gifts, or mark you with bruises and bite marks and leave you so sore that there’s no doubt about who had done that to you. He wraps you all up in his arms, even in public, making sure that word spreads fast who this Chrysos Heir has his eye on.

Does he see you as above, beneath, or equal to him?

He sees his darling as his saviour, his rock, his anchor to whatever good is left in his world, so I’d say he sees you as above him. You’re his mortal god, and no normal human would ever relinquish their grasp on their god, would they?

How determined is he for you to love him, or is he content just having you?

It's a little bit of both for Phainon. He's not really determined so much as he is the type to roll around on his bed complaining about whyyy don't you love him back, kneel before you and worship the ground you walk on, anything you want.

He'll pour his everything into loving you, but if he expects anything back, it vacillates. He doesn't quite believe he's deserving of love, after all, and if something loves him back he fears he might lose it. So if you spend the rest of your life hating him, he supposes it's alright as long as you're safe, even if it hurts.

It's either that or he falls into a darkness every once in a while and really needs your comfort and affection. Denying him when he's like this is a sure way to be pulled into some... intimate endeavours.

How forceful is he? Does he care about your willingness?

Like before, it depends on his mood. Usually he's doing his best to coax you into warmer feelings for him, but sometimes, he allows himself to slip and treat you as an object of love rather than another person. Phainon isn't really forceful as in fond of using brute force, but he'll manipulate and cajole until your willingness becomes "your idea", or at least until he can gaslight you into thinking it was your idea.

General perverseness: How sexual is he? What's his drive like? Touchy? Any reservations about sexuality?

Touchy? Extremely. And not even in a perverse manner, Phainon just likes hugs and kisses and cuddles that way.

He doesn't really have any reservations about sexuality - he likes you, he wants you, that's all it is to him. But he doesn't like the idea of forcing you either (without the help of certain substances, at least.) He's definitely much more respectful in the beginning, letting you take things at your own pace. Just don't let him wait for too long...

His drive is constant but not uncontrollably high. Phainon's always in the mood to worship his darling, be it through gifts or pleasure. Whatever darling wants, darling gets, and he's more than happy to provide, even to the point of neglecting his own pleasure.

What body parts of his darling does he like the most?

Probably thighs. He just likes the softness and the warmth of it all, squeezing and kneading your flesh. It's intimate but not too intimate, and he can keep you close while he indulges. :)

this post was so incredibly long. please leave a reblog if you enjoyed TT

＃𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙇𝙇𝘼𝙍𝙊𝙉 𝙃𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙎 ⠿ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 HEADCANON

✶ ! [ 578 words ]

✶ ! [ CW: dark content, yandere themed, unhealthy obsession, overprotectiveness, stalking, potential ooc, written by non-fluent english speaker. ]

✶ ! [ Uniquant's Note: This abomination has been sitting in the basement for a month... I'm quite cringed at how messy the original hcs was, so it took me fairly a long time to make it acceptable (to me at least). Anyway, I hope u enjoy my monstrosity ♡ ]

✦ Request Status: Open

✦【 Type: Overprotective, devoted 】

: Let's start with how or what the weapon itself sees in you, shall we? Well, just like any other weapon, he himself needs a master in order to have any purpose in existing. And in this case, the master of this particular weapon is you.

: Weapon and master bond are quite complicated to break. The master needs their weapon to protect themselves and the weapon needs the master to have use of them thus care for them.

: When someone threatens its bond, it's either up to you, the master who should command your Blade to rid of such interloper or he'll purge the foul soul himself till they depart unto the afterlife. Oh also, he's a unique weapon. Under certain circumstances, he would moves on his own to protect his master. How marvelous is that?

: Now let's move to how he behaves. He follows you everywhere. To the highest mountain peaks of the Divine Ship, to the bottomless pit of lies built upon the Dreamscape, he is right there, guarding your back from any potential misfortune charging in your way.

: He thinks he is not quite worthy of your attention yet he won't let others bask in it either. Such an abomination like himself shouldn't even breathe the same air as you, yet he appears unwilling to leave your side anytime soon due to his obstinacy and selfishness. He convinced himself that he is doing all of this as an effort to keep the mortal wounds which scarred his past self away from you.

: The only moment when he stands the same step as you is when he deems someone 'dangerous' approaching you. Even if you inform him that the said someone is harmless, at least to you. All he would do is back up and glare daggers at them as his sword long unsheathed ready to dig into the interrupter's neck if they dare to even flash any form of hostility toward you.

: Should he act like a sword, then, should he too sacrifice his flesh to protect you. He'd scathe himself only when it's needed of course. He does not want you to worry your hearts out because he was too careless in his previous battle. He might hurt himself a bit more so your attention lingers awhile on him or his wounds. Will stop if you scowl him for it. But alas, he tends to forget things, including your scoldings.

: Once in a while, he is befuddled by how fast his entire world changed. Was his encounter with you part of Elio's script? But at the same time it doesn't make any sense to him, since Elio has always been open about how any part of the script would go. Was The Equilibrium finally witness his suffering and opted to to alleviate his agony by directing his life changing-encounter with you?

: Either way, those thoughts swiftly vanish as he remembered that nothing really matters as long as he is still by your side.

: As a mere weapon, he shouldn't act this way. Yet here he is. YOU tampered with his broken self and infected it with deuced mortal desire. Since he is yours now, shouldn't you take care of him as a good master?

: He is a bit stubborn and rash sometimes. But it's all for the sake of your safety. So, please forgive him and his wrongdoings, if you see it fit, do punish him. For he believes that you could do nothing wrong.

⋯ Copyright © 2024 by Illustrious-ia. Do not plagiarize, use for AI / Bot training, and re-upload outside of Tumblr.

All rights reserved.

I think my ask failed to send so I’ll do this again, btw love your writing.

Magician Reader who’s interested in Aventurine because they think his grand bets are magic tricks! (Plus other things like the coin trick he did with the trailblazer, him being a gambler so he is always by play cards, the way he smiles like he is ready to perform, etc)

Aventurine definitely started to believe in magic as soon as he saw the reader, maybe they were working their magic on him.

Eventually Aventurine convinces the reader to let him be their magic assistant and perform on stage with them. Concocting a trick of his own. During the final act of the magic show, Aventurine does an impromptu trick and makes the both of them disappear. Claiming the reader as his.

I think that the he uses the reader’s magic props against them, bounds them with their handcuffs, threatens them with swords, maybe even threatening their pet rabbit or dove. Whatever you’re comfortable with writing.

Hope this sends this time and I hope you have a great day!

(Thank you so much! I’m so glad you like my writing!

I had a little bit of difficulty with this request, your idea was already so perfect, I felt like I didn’t have much to add to it ;; but hopefully this is something like what you were looking for? I hope you like this and that you have a great day too!)

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive comments/situations, forced relationships, and empty threats of violence, this one is on the tamer side compared to my other writing, also I tried so hard but I don't know much about magic tricks, Lyney save me

Aventurine takes a bow and then presents you with a red rose, smirking at you seductively as he offers it to you. He’s sure you must have cast a spell on him with how smitten he is with you.

“Will you allow me to be your magic assistant, dearest magician~?” He asks you with a teasing tone to his voice, gently taking your hand and placing a kiss on it.

Your usual assistant had just called in sick, and you were desperate. It’s not that you trusted Aventurine or his tactics, but… What would be the harm in letting him do a few tricks with you during your performance? “Alright,” You agree, taking the rose from his hands politely, “But don’t try anything funny, okay?”

He puts his hand on your shoulder in a fashion too intimate for your comfort, “Wouldn’t dream of it~” He says with a smirk, and then he’s pulling out a bouquet from behind you, as if it materialized from thin air.

He presents the bouquet to you as well.

“You know, it’s not as interesting when you repeat the same trick twice.”

“Yes, but I know you already gave the rose to your little rabbit companion. I just figured that meant you’d prefer a bouquet~”

You look at him in shock that he recognized that so quickly, when all you did was tuck the rose in your hat when he wasn’t looking. He was too observant of your tricks. Damn him.

You take your hat off and pull your pet rabbit out of it, softly petting him as he holds the rose in his little mouth. “Yeah, but he looks pretty cute like this…”

Aventurine huffs, obviously jealous of your rabbit. “And I don’t?” He questions, crossing his arms.

“Oh calm down, you’ll get your credits once the show is over, now come on!” You grab him by the hand and pull him backstage.

Ah… You thought he was doing this for money? No, he genuinely wanted to help and be closer to you. He didn’t care about the credits at all. Was that really so hard to believe? He was a little offended. Yes, his time was worth a lot, but time spent with you was priceless.

You quickly go over the show and routine with him, obviously in a rush, seeing as it’s starting soon. You tell him about tricks like pulling your rabbit out of your hat, a few card tricks, and the sawing in half act, which you would be doing to him apparently. But that isn’t the one that caught his interest. The part that caught his interest and what he was anticipating the most was the disappearing act. He can’t hold back his smirk as ideas begin forming in his head.

Most of the show goes on without any problems, and he’s in complete awe every time you pull off a trick successfully. He’s so happy to be your assistant, and to your surprise, he’s a quick learner. The audience claps even louder as he takes a bow, and then much to your discomfort, he presents you with yet another rose on stage with a wink.

Okay, so maybe you should have told him that flirting in front of the audience was off limits.

He politely opens the door to the disappearing act for you, waiting for you to step inside. But before you can shut it behind yourself, he turns to the audience and announces something.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this disappearing act is a couple’s disappearing act, and must be performed with two people.” With those words, he climbs in along with you, “In an act of true love, we will kiss each other, and then disappear before your very eyes!” Then he climbs in with you and plants his lips against yours. Someone else, an IPC worker probably, runs up and takes care of the act on the outside, shutting the door as the audience claps wildly and whistles at the sight of him kissing you, rose petals raining down all over the stage as white doves are released.

“What are you doing?!” You shout, pulling away and wiping off the kiss, and he quickly clamps a hand over your mouth so no one can hear you shouting.

“Shhh…” He says softly, gently petting your hair in a comforting gesture. And then to your horror, you feel something cold clamp around your wrists. You look down and see your very own cuffs, effectively chaining your hands together and preventing any sort of movement from you.

And then he’s pulling you through the secret path in the back of the box, and with his hand over your mouth you can’t scream out for help. He pulls you along with him through the corridor, and you’re fighting him the entire way. All Aventurine does is chuckle at you squirming against him.

“Don’t worry, your show is taken care of.” He says, as if you’re just throwing a tantrum about him ‘ruining your magic show.’ “I made sure that they would-” “That’s not what I’m upset about and you know it.” You’re glaring daggers at him. “I rejected you already, Aventurine! I only accepted your help because I had no one else, and I thought what you wanted was payment.” And oh, do your words sting. 

“Oh, I do want payment. Just not the type of payment you’re thinking of, sweetheart~” He grabs you harshly and is crashing his lips against yours again in order to shut you up. He kisses you fiercely, his lips and tongue moving against yours, putting every ounce of passion into the kiss that he can. Like he’s trying to prove something to you.

And then you feel it. The feeling of a cool, metallic blade pressing against your neck. “Don’t move,” He tells you simply once he pulls away, and you have no choice but to comply with his wishes.

“Now, I want you to walk very carefully in the direction I instruct you to.” His smile is so sweet, but underneath lurks a malicious predator just waiting to strike. He’s like a shark circling the waters.

“Where are you taking me?” The blade presses further into your neck at the question as you walk with him, but not enough to draw blood. Just enough to keep you compliant. He would never actually harm you.

“We’re going home, my little magician~” His smile doesn’t falter as he says the words, even as you cry and kick and scream and beg for him to let you go, the blade still pressed to your throat. No matter how hard you fight him, he won’t ever let go of you.

“Two lovers, disappearing into the night together, never to be seen again~ Isn’t that the greatest magic trick of all~?”

His character in this fanfic is so well done 🫶

*Reen casually slides through your asks*

May I ask how will he feels or react towards his darling who's so clearly fall over heels for him? Like she doesn't even know what's lurking behind his playful mask yet she keeps showering him with her love and attention,

"Sometimes I wonder why you'd want to go out with me in the first place. You're so charming and fun to he around, I must be dreaming!"

"I found this fox keychain while strolling around and it reminds me of you! Come to think of it, have you ever actually seen a yellow fox anywhere?"

"You look so tired today, what happened? Let me make you some warm tea real quick!"

Will he unknowingly became more possessive each time passed or will he remains as calm as before? Anyways no pressure to reply and I hope you're having a great day everyday!

Am to totally not projecting myself here

(Ahhh! Thank you so much for being my first ask! I love your prompt so much, this is absolutely amazing! I hope you like this, and have a great day every day too!)

Aventurine never expected you to fall in love with him or reciprocate any of his advances in any way. He’s so used to people not liking him, or barely even tolerating him, that every bit of affection you offer him comes as a total shock and surprise. He thinks you’re so sweet and perfect in every way, and while it’s completely like you to be kind even to those who don’t deserve it, he never expected that he’d ever be the one on the receiving end of that kindness and affection. He can’t control the warmth that spreads through his chest every time you say something sweet, or smile at him, or even just the fact that you seem so willing to be around him. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced in his life before, and he can’t get enough. He wants more and more.

"Sometimes I wonder why you'd want to go out with me in the first place. You're so charming and fun to he around, I must be dreaming!"

When you say those words, it hits him like a bolt of lightning. You’re wondering why he’d want to go out with you? Shouldn’t he be the one saying these words? Everything about you is complete perfection, he’s obsessed with everything about you and can’t get enough of you and your light. You’re the only warmth and sunshine he’s ever experienced in his life. When he was young, he often wondered what the warmth of the sun truly felt like, to be able to feel it caress his skin and to feel truly safe. Now that he’s with you, he knows the answer to that question with all his heart. Every time you touch him, when you hold his hand or gently run your hand across his cheek, he can feel sparks flying under your touch. He’s always been very touch starved and so even just accidentally brushing against you causes the same reaction in him. He laughs softly as he pulls you into a tight embrace, the sound of his voice very light and airy, but there’s also a gentle tone to it- one you aren’t very used to hearing from him yet.

“Every day is a dream come true with you,” He pauses for a second, trying to find the words, “I love you more than life itself, and I’d do anything and everything to keep you by my side. You’re the best person I’ve ever met in my life, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” He feels that it’s more important to reassure you in this moment than come up with a witty, teasing one liner like he usually might. He wants you to know how much he loves you and truly values you.

Of course he’d want to be with you, every day, for all of eternity and beyond.

"I found this fox keychain while strolling around and it reminds me of you! Come to think of it, have you ever actually seen a yellow fox anywhere?"

“Ahaha, it reminds you of me, does it~?” He can’t help the flirty and playful edge to his voice as he speaks, but he also can’t deny that he has a slight blush on his face that you were thinking of him so fondly, “Aww, that’s quite adorable… Because you know what,” He pulls out a wrapped gift and presents it to you. You quickly open it and inside you find a rabbit plush, one with the same color eyes as yours and a ribbon in your favorite color around its neck, “I was thinking this cute little bunny reminds me of you! What do you think?” He winks at you in an extremely flirtatious manner, and you find yourself blushing as well. The warmth and softness between the two of you in interactions like these is unparalleled.

"You look so tired today, what happened? Let me make you some warm tea real quick!"

He sits down on the couch next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug without a word, it seems he had an extremely hard and stressful day at work. But you- you always make him feel so much better. All of the stress and pain disappears when he’s holding you, when he gets to be with you like this. You’re his anchor and his rock and the pillow that he likes to lay his head on after a long day. You open your mouth to say something, to insist you’ll go get him that tea, but he simply shushes you and pulls you in closer, arms wrapped so tightly around you that you can’t escape from his grasp.

“Please… Just let me hold you for a bit…”

Undoubtedly, every time you show him these little bits of affection, he becomes more and more in love and obsessed with you. He wants to keep you all to himself, he wants to hoard your light and warmth, and every day he’s constantly fighting against the urge and thoughts of locking you away, just for himself, forever.

But when he sees the way you look at the sky, or the sunset, or the stars at night… And he remembers how he too once looked so wistfully toward it, he can’t bring himself to do it. He wants to keep you this happy forever. 

And when you’re being so willing and compliant for him, who is he to rip your little bit of freedom away? You’re already in his grasp, forever, and he’s never going to let you go no matter what. You’re the little bunny to his fox, and he just wants to melt into your embrace every day for the rest of his life.

He loves you, and nothing will ever come between the two of you. Not even fate itself.

DANCE WITH THE DEVIL.

synopsis: yan! hsr men as slasher movie killers… and “love interests.” [blade, boothill, aventurine, sunday] words: 3.1k cw: yandere themes: obsession, stalking. slasher elements, gore. a/n: happy friday the 13th to all who celebrate

BLADE is already pretty much like Michael Myers from Halloween: large man, terrifying presence, unfathomable kill count, and cannot die. No matter what you do, no matter how many times you or the other survivors find a way to kill him, he keeps coming back, and with renewed vengeance every time.

The first time you’d been subjected to his knife was at a summer camp. Having gone there every summer for years growing up, you grew attached to the place and decided to pick up a role as a counselor in the summers following your high school graduation, and they passed peacefully. However, in the few months leading up to your college graduation, misfortune befell the small town where the camp was located. Someone’s grave had been dug up, and just weeks after that, people started turning up dead, their bodies littered with so many stab wounds that some were unrecognizable.

Given the ongoing investigation, the counselors and other camp staff requested that the summer camp not reopen, but the owners and even some parents insisted they stay open, and so despite your better judgment, you returned. You needed the money, and you knew how to defend yourself— if anything happened, you could keep yourself and your kids safe.

At least, that’s what you believed. When the man appears in the doorway of your cabin, his stocky figure silhouetted by the moonlight and leaving two red eyes gleaming down at you, you know there’s not a chance in hell you’re making it out of there alive.

You’d thrown yourself at him, yelling for your kids to escape through the back. He’s been merciless, sinking his knife into your flesh over and over again, but you persevered and fought back until you were sure every single one of your kids had made it a good distance away from the cabin. At some point you’d collapsed, from exhaustion and blood loss.

The doctors said it was a miracle you survived. They had your house guarded since he hadn’t been detained, but once word of his death by police gunfire got around, things calmed down significantly. You relaxed over the years, letting your guard down and believing that things could return to normal. Serial killings all over the nation popped up, but you worried not—after all, the killer you were concerned with was dead.

One of the survivors reached out to you five years after that fateful night, wishing to get together with the others who lived to get drinks and properly move on from everything. It was, of course, a set up; Blade had returned, and the man who invited you believed he’d be spared if he got the rest of the survivors together in one place.

He’d been the first one murdered that night. 

Once again, you narrowly dodged death, just barely managing to get yourself to a hospital before you received one stab wound too many. Time goes on, and no matter how many times they put a bullet through his head, he manages to come back. The list of survivors has grown, but the list of victims is now countless.

You’re in your thirties when the police reach out to the adult survivors. There’s a new survivor: a five year-old girl by the name of Yunli. Her parents had been ruthlessly slaughtered, but he hadn’t touched even a single hair on the young girl’s hair. She didn’t have any living family, and so, you agreed to take her in. 

Life is easier with Yunli in it. A bright, spunky little thing, she brings joy to your days and some semblance of a family that you’ve been too scared to seek out. It’s nice to have the sound of laughter filling your home.

That same laughter has you smiling tonight, the girl’s giggling floating down the hallway and into the kitchen, where you’re washing dishes. A quick glance at the microwave’s clock tells you it’s close to her bedtime, and she’s far more energetic than she typically would be at this time. You wipe your hands off on a dish towel and walk down the hall toward her room, wishing to find out what’s working her up at this hour and wanting to tell her to wind down before bed.

You knock lightly before turning the knob. You get the door open a crack before the sight on the other side of it leaves you frozen, horrified.

He’s in Yunli’s room, kneeling before her as she shows him the many dolls you’ve bought her. His knife is on the floor beside him, and the eyes that have haunted your dreams for years pierce into you, pinning you where you stand.

The girl seems… happier with you, than she had been with her parents. Perhaps he’ll have to be kinder to you this time.

BOOTHILL gives me Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibes in terms of how he kills and the brutality of it all, but not personality-wise. No, I actually think he’d be quite personable with that southern charm of his— so of course, no one would ever expect him to do anything unspeakable.

You and your friends are on a road trip when the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing but fields of crops as far as the eye can see, and the only sign of civilization is a barn, some stables, and a few coops with two houses near them about a mile away from where you’re standing.

You all make the trek, hoping to be able to get some help from the people living there. Worst case scenario, if it’s all been abandoned, you can squat there and look for tools to help you fix the car. But to your surprise, when you knock, a kind-looking man with wild white and black hair opens the door, and after hearing about your situation, is more than happy to be of assistance.

He tows the car onto his property and takes a look at it, determining that the entire engine needs to be replaced. Given his distance from the nearest auto shop, he says he’ll leave for town Sunday afternoon and get the part on Monday morning. It’s going to be an all-day trip, so he likely won’t be back until early Tuesday morning.

You’ve got a couple days to get to know him, in the meantime. Your friends absolutely adore him, pointing out how good of a guy he is, some even pointing out how attractive he is. You scoff one night as he’s making dinner away from where you’re all sitting, as one of your friends starts a bet on if any of you will be able to sleep with him before all of this is over.

Sunday afternoon comes all too soon, though, and none of you get very far with him before he’s heading off in his truck toward the nearest town. You’re a bit shocked that he would so willingly leave a group of strangers in his house unattended, but you chalk it up to his kindness that seems to be boundless.

You should have been far more concerned.

You’re all woken up that night by the sound of a chainsaw revving, shortly followed by one of your friend’s horrible shrieking. The room devolves into panic and chaos as you watch her get torn to shreds by the very man who invited you into his home, now donning a mask of what you hope is animal skin.

You all flee in different directions, but he knows the property better than you do, and sure enough, your friends are picked off one by one until you’re the last one standing. You narrowly dodge some of the traps he’s set up and take refuge in the stables, struggling to keep yourself together as you hear your friend’s cries in the distance. 

While looking for something to defend yourself with, you find a box hidden in a pile of hay. It’s locked, but you force it open, dumping its contents on the floor. A pistol, a few handwritten letters, and pictures of a woman and a young girl. You place the pistol beside you before your curiosity takes over, causing you to slowly go through and study the pictures.

In your distracted state, you failed to notice that he’d gotten into the stables. You jump to your feet when the chainsaw revs just a few feet in front of you. You turn off the safety and raise the gun, your hand steady and your shot clear.

He’s lost so much in his life, and it’s driven him to madness. And you, you remind him of something— someone precious who he lost to illness, to the cruelty of life.

He can’t lose you again. He won’t allow you to leave.

And that’s not something you’ll realize until he’s staring at you from the barrel of a gun you believe is loaded, laughing for a reason you can’t understand.

AVENTURINE stepped right out of a Scream movie. He’s a classic Ghostface-type killer, phone calls and everything. He’s certainly got the charisma needed to make the intimidating phone calls, and I feel like he would enjoy stalking and toying around with his prey a bit before going in for the kill. 

You could probably argue that he’s not the type to want to make things messy, but I feel like in this case, he would be using this as an outlet, meaning all his kills are brutal and gory. (Creative, at times, too. The police will give him that.) There’s just something so comforting about being covered in blood, the warm liquid almost serving as a warm embrace.

For him, there aren’t any better targets than his close friend group. He knows all their darkest secrets, and has no problem using his knowledge to torment them and easily back them into a corner, too panicked to see him coming until it’s too late. These people have always been fake, anyway, and he knows they’ve always looked down on him. Can you really blame him for taking out the trash?

And then, of course, there’s you. You’re not a saint by any means— no, you’ve got your fair share of skeletons in the closet, and each secret you divulge to him because of the trust you foolishly placed in him is sweeter than any death he could imagine giving you. Maybe that’s what draws him to you so much; where everyone else wears a mask, there’s something about you that’s genuine, and it’s a side of you that you’ve entrusted to only him.

So when the killer finally shows up on your doorstep, he’s the one you turn to. As you’re on the phone with the killer, responding to his taunts in an attempt to figure out where exactly he is in your house, you’re texting Aventurine on the side and sending him what you believe is your last goodbye. 

“Do you want to be forgiven?” The disguised voice on the other line croons into your ear. “Do you think you should be?”

You’ve just pressed send on your message when a hand seizes you by the back of the neck and throws you to the ground. The impact of hitting the hardwood floor distracts you from the sound of a phone buzzing nearby. You scramble backward, attempting to get to your feet as you do, but the masked man grabs onto your foot and sinks his knife into your calf, ripping a pained screech from your throat.

He drags you back toward him before settling on top of you, his legs straddling your waist rather suggestively. He sinks his blade into you and drags it across your skin slowly, the scorching pain leaving you writhing and crying out in pain.

He flees once he hears sirens in the distance. The police find you on the floor of your living room with four stab wounds and multiple cuts. Aventurine shows up not long after them, disheveled and worried and flashing the police the text you sent him. They allow him to ride in the ambulance with you, admiring his intent to endanger himself if it meant saving you.

You’re so frazzled that you don’t even notice he showed up at your house way sooner than he should’ve, as though he was already nearby. You just blindly turn to him for comfort, clutching onto him for dear life. It’s cute.

He runs his hands through your hair soothingly, shushing you and gently rubbing your back as you sob into his shoulder. You shouldn’t worry so much, dear. He’s here now, and he’ll make sure no one else lays a finger on you ever again.

You don’t realize your grave mistake until you’re standing in Jade’s basement, her brutalized body at your feet and a metal pipe in your hands. You can defend yourself all you like, but it’s far too easy for the masked killer to evade your swings and land his blade in your shoulder, your stomach, your thigh. All places that won’t kill you, of course.

When you finally collapse to your knees, sobbing hysterically and succumbing to your fate, the killer unexpectedly drops to his knees beside you. He wraps his arms around you and presses his chest to your back, trapping you in his hold. You shudder as he runs his blade along your face and neck, smearing your own blood across your soft skin.

“It’s okay,” he coos, and the familiar voice makes you freeze. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The mocking laughter that follows makes your heart drop, and the rest of your hope vanishes.

SUNDAY is definitely involved in some Children of the Corn type of shit. Some supernatural slasher stuff where there’s a cult behind everything, and he’s at the head of it all.

Ena is not a kind god. Countless generations of Oaks have tried various methods of worship and offerings, but none work quite as well as the human sacrifice. This is something Mr. Wood had taught him from a very young age, explaining to Sunday their history as he methodically cut up whichever poor soul had wandered into their humble, hidden town that week.

As head of the Family, he’s exemplary. No one has ever wielded a blade quite like he has, his hand always steady and unflinching. His blessed hands bring prosperity to the land that has never been seen before, Ena’s favor raining down on him and his people. He is as revered as their god at this point, and there is nothing his people would not do for him.

The road trip you make every year to your parent’s house for Thanksgiving was a long one, and a sudden downpour along the way has you rolling to a stop in the nearest town. You plan to just take shelter at a restaurant and grab a bite to eat while you’re there, then fill up on gas and be on your merry way once everything clears up. 

Everyone is so kind, though. The locals in the restaurant make conversation with you, asking about your life and cooing at you once you explain that you’re on your way to visit your family. You spend most of your time talking to the people at the table next to you, a man and his sister, and you get so lost in conversation that you haven’t even realized night has fallen. You pay your bill and are ready to head out when the man stops you.

“You should stay the night at one of the inns,” he advises, a delicate hand placed on your shoulder. “There are still storm clouds, and it could start pouring again at any moment. It would be unfortunate to have to travel through that, especially at night.”

You check the forecast, and to your dismay, he’s right. With his help, you check into a hotel across the street, and you thank him for his assistance before you turn in for the night.

Your peaceful sleep is soon disrupted by a rag being held over your mouth and nose, startling you awake. At this point, you’ve already breathed in the chloroform, and you barely have time to register the formless figures around your bed dressed in shades of white and navy blue before you pass out.

You wake up in an underground cellar, stone walls encasing you in cold nothingness. There are four other people in the room with you, also bound and gagged and staring back at you with wide-eyed terror. There are screams of pain echoing down the stairs from somewhere above you all, the sound of synchronized chanting doing little to mask it.

It’s not difficult to guess what fate awaits you.

Young children dressed in extremely formal clothing bring you all food and water. They’re sweet to you all, terribly so. You’re not sure how long you’re down there, but the time you have left is counted down with each person that is taken out of the room. There are new people brought into the cellar, but once the original four you were with are gone, you know your time has come.

The next time the shapeless people in robes descend the steps, they reach for you. You’re injected with some kind of sedative before you even have the chance to lash out at them, and the blindfold they place over your eyes seems pointless, since you black out, anyways.

When you wake, your arms and legs are bound to some kind of marble slab that you’ve been laid on. You’ve been stripped, and your skin is covered in some kind of oil. It’s cold, and the vulnerability of being exposed just makes your situation all the worse.

Your breath hitches and your pitiful, muffled cries for help stop when you feel something sharp prick your skin. Sunday lightly applies pressure to the knife in his hand, carving beautiful patterns along the surface of your skin. With his free hand, he traces a gloved finger over the beads of blood the blade leaves behind, his touch so devout it’s downright sinful. The sight of you brings him pause, the knife stopping all too suddenly.

It is the first time he has hesitated during a ritual.

Perhaps… you’re not meant to be sacrificed. No, surely something as divine as you is meant for much more than that. Perhaps Ena has lured you here just for him, a reward for his unwavering faith, steady leadership, and all he has done for their people.

“As the highest among us,” Mr. Wood had said the day he named Sunday the new head of the Family, “you have first pick at reaping Ena’s blessings.”

Ena is not a kind god. But perhaps, just this once, they would allow him to be selfish.

wake up guys heliosunny dropped another banger

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

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

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

Everything had gone black since that night.

The night your palace burned.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you doing this…?”

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

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

Then… the door burst open.

The moan cut off into a gurgled scream.

A warm spray misted your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blood.

You couldn’t even scream.

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

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

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

“You’re obsessed..”

“You’re still breathing. Be grateful.”

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

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

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

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

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

“…No bruises” he murmured. “Good.”

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

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

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

Time passed strangely.

Minutes. Hours. Maybe longer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That scent—faint gunpowder.

“Come” Anaxa said.

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

“No, you’re not.”

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

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

You didn’t answer.

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

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

You let him guide you.

-------

Later that evening, you heard new footsteps

“The doctor you requested.”

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

“Your Highness. With permission?”

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

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

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

Night crept in.

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

The house was silent—until it wasn’t.

A soft creak.

Then another.

You shifted slightly, “Anaxa…?”

No response.

Suddenly, a rough hand clamped over your mouth.

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

“Shhh…”

Kallius.

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

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

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

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

Your teeth clamped down on his hand.

“Ah—!!”

He yanked back with a growl.

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

“Y/N?”

You slammed into him chest-first, trembling.

He caught you instantly.

“What happened?”

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

“They bit me. Can you believe that?”

Anaxa didn’t reply. Not with words.

You felt the way his body stilled.

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

“Woah, woah—easy, big bro-”

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

Anaxa didn’t lower the gun.

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

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

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

The next few days passed in an odd hush.

Kallius was nowhere to be heard.

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

But Anaxa was gone.

The quiet he left behind wasn’t comforting.

You still couldn’t see.

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

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

“I see you haven’t lost your curiosity”

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

“Did you miss me?” he asked playfully.

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t mind.

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

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

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

You stood still.

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

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

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

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

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

“Anaxa.”

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

“I want to know what you look like.”

That made him pause.

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

You reached your hand out hesitantly.

He didn’t move at first.

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

And then your fingertips ghosted over something foreign.

An eyepatch.

You paused.

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

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

“It’s just… a memorable moment”

You could feel the unspoken weight in those words.

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

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

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

Because no matter how gently he touched you…

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

You remembered who he was.

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

He had stood there.

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

He killed your family.

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

No matter what it cost.

That morning, a guard approached with a message:

“His Highness summons you to the east tower.”

Anaxa never sent for you through anyone else.

But the guard bore his seal.

So you followed.

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

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

He was waiting by the railing.

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

The world dropped beneath you.

You didn’t even have time to scream.

CRACK.

Everything went black.

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

“Where?”

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

“Bring Kallius to the pit.”

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

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

Anaxa shot him in the other knee.

He raised his gun again.

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

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

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

Anaxa turned his eye on her.

“…So you want to die with him.”

“N-no, I—”

“Fine.”

He nodded once to his soldiers.

“Skin her too.”

Kallius’s screams were drowned out by hers.

-----

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

Wrapped in bandages. Blood dried at your temple.

Anaxa sat by your bedside, unmoving.

He hadn’t spoken since he returned.

But his hand was wrapped tightly around yours.

It was days before your eyes finally fluttered open.

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

You could see.

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

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

“…Y/N”

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

“You’re back”

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

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

In the days that followed, your body mended.

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

And so did he.

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

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

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

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

“They don’t deserve you.”

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

Reluctantly, he nodded.

“…I’ll try.”

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

“I wanted to leave.” you whispered.

They froze behind you.

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

The silence stretched. Then—

Thump.

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

Then the other.

Their foreheads hit the floor with sickening force.

Thump. Thump.

They began to sob.

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

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

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

You stumbled forward, horrified, grabbing their wrists.

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

The door opened behind you.

Anaxa stood in the doorway.

“What… happened here?”

You quickly turned.

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

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

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

“I’ll handle it. Just let me.”

After a beat, he nodded once.

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

They scrambled to obey.

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

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

What happened to Kallius?

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

And then waking up—alive.

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

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

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

“…What happened to your brother?”

He stilled.

At first, no reply.

Then, abruptly—his voice clipped.

“He got what he deserved.”

You waited, but that was all he gave.

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

You didn’t sleep.

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

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

She hesitated.

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

“What?”

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

You didn’t understand. Not yet.

But you nodded anyway.

“…Alright.”

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

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

But something changed his mind.

Instead of death, Kallius was tied up.

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

Executed.

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

They made sure he heard every scream.

He begged, cried.

But Anaxa never relented.

And when there were no followers left—

Anaxa slit his throat himself.

“He said… that was mercy.”

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

You returned to your room.

That night, you dressed for dinner.

You sat at the long table across from him.

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

You forced a smile. “Thank you.”

The meal was beautifully laid.

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

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

Not the taste. The aftertaste.

You set the goblet down.

Across from you, Anaxa tilted his head.

“…Is something the matter?”

And that’s when your heartbeat stuttered.

The room spun.

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

Anaxa was at your side in an instant.

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

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

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

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

“Just repeat after me.”

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

Repeating something.

Over and over.

“Yes… I accept…”

“I will never leave…”

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

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

There was a ring on your finger.

The door creaked open.

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

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

Union?

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

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

“What… did you do?”

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

You stared at him.

Everything fell into place.

He’d married you.

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

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

Love your writing 😍 about anaxa and phainon

Hoping that I can see more of them✨

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

Yandere!Anaxa x Florist!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

You moved instantly.

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

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

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

The man before you was no ordinary traveler.

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

If anything…

He looked amused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You eyed him. “A white lily?”

He hummed. “Is that a problem?”

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

Another chuckle. “How fitting.”

You frowned. “For you?”

“For you” he corrected smoothly.

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

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

He tilted his head. “Is that so?”

Before you could respond, he did something unforgivable.

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

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

His smirk faltered, eyes widening just slightly.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You leaned in close, voice dangerously soft.

“Don't do that to my flowers.”

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

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

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

Your eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

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

Instead, his gaze softened—just slightly.

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned. He was hiding something.

But that didn’t matter, not yet.

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

“How long do I have?” you asked.

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

“Even if it takes years?”

His lips curled. “I have patience.”

You narrowed your eyes. That was a lie.

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

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

This plant… it could change everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would you be?”

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

“You tell me, florist.”

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

It was fond.

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

“I don’t mind” he said smoothly.

“I do.”

He didn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

Not in anger.

Not in fear.

In something far more dangerous.

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

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

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

His smirk widened. “Do it.”

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

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

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

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

Despite everything, you still let him into your shop.

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

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

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

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

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

The plant pulsed beneath your touch.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

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

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

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

The first incident happened three days later.

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

The second incident followed soon after.

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

And then, the third incident.

This time, the attack was aimed at you.

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

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

Then, from the darkness, a slow clap.

You turned, only to find him.

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

“You handled that well” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

Your pulse pounded. Not with fear.

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

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

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

Not yet.

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

“You think you’ve won?” you murmured.

His smile widened. “Haven’t I?”

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

Anaxa let out a soft, breathless laugh.

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

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

“You should” he murmured.

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

He only smiled.

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

A warning. A promise. A challenge.

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

You felt the world blur around you.

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

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

You had been poisoned.

Not to kill. Not to harm.

But to bind.

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

Anaxa’s smile was slow, patient, victorious.

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

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

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

As if he had been waiting for this moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding slammed into you.

The plant. The rumors. The disappearances.

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

Anaxa smiled.

“Of course I did.”

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

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

Royalty.

Your lips parted in realization. “You—”

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

Your stomach twisted. “I never wanted that.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught.

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

The poison makes you crave him.

Anaxa leaned in, his lips mere inches from yours.

“You are mine now.”

For days, you tried to fight it.

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

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

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

And worst of all?

Somewhere along the way…

You had stopped trying to leave.

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