I’m Gonna Do Crazy Things To Him (cherish Him And Make Sure He Never Feels Unloved Ever Again)

guys I might like Anaxa what do you think

the only reason Im using that background is bc it looks good with anaxa..💔

hihii!! may i request anaxa and sunday with a reader who likes putting up fronts? like they would constantly play these roles with vast personalities, put on masks, copy/mirror other’s mannerisms, till the point they don’t even know who they are anymore or their “true self” is? sorry if this doesn’t make sense >_<

🎭 anon

𝙃𝙎𝙍 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝘼 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙋𝙐𝙏𝙎 𝙊𝙉 𝘼 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙆 ᯓ★ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀: anaxa, sunday ᯓ★ rules | masterlist | 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀:

#𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗫𝗔

he picks up on it pretty fast - not because he’s offended, but because he knows the game.

you're a different person around everyone. loud and dramatic with one group, quiet and perceptive with another. even around him, you shift. sometimes you're flirty, sometimes aloof, sometimes overly agreeable in ways that feel just a bit too practiced. it’s like you’ve memorized entire personas and swap them in depending on who you’re speaking to.

most people wouldn’t notice. anaxa does.

he doesn’t call you out right away. he watches. listens. and when you’re quiet - when you finally let the performance drop for even a second - he slips beside you with this low, thoughtful hum.

“do you ever wonder who you'd be if you weren’t trying to be so many things at once?”

you tense up. a mask almost clicks into place, but he lifts a hand - easy, no pressure - and adds, “don’t give me a rehearsed answer. i'd prefer if you give me nothing at all, if that’s easier.”

he isn’t pushing. he’s just there. he doesn’t need a grand confession, or for you to tear yourself apart trying to be honest when even you aren’t sure what that means anymore. he just wants to see the version of you that’s not trying so hard.

sometimes, when you’re tired, when your face hurts from smiling and your voice doesn’t sound like your own anymore, you sit with him in silence.

he likes that version. the one that slouches a little, whose hands fidget with fabric threads, who sighs without having to explain why.

and he’ll keep showing up for that person, over and over. even if they don’t know who they are yet.

#𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬

he’s soft in ways most people don’t expect - cerebral, almost dreamy, but sharp enough to see through the cracks.

when he watches you shift and adjust in every room you walk into - your voice morphing, your body language echoing whoever you’re with - he doesn’t see dishonesty.

he sees someone exhausted.

you joke about it sometimes. how good you are at fitting in. how people always seem to like you. but there’s a hollowness behind it. sunday hears that too.

and one day, when the two of you are walking quietly through a garden or a hallway or some quiet, glass-and-gold room filled with nothing but sun and dust motes, he finally says:

“you don’t have to prove you belong to anyone. not with me.”

you blink. the words hit something raw.

he tilts his head gently toward you. “and you don’t have to disappear into everyone you meet, either. you’re allowed to just be. even if you don’t know what that is right now.”

his tone isn’t pitying. it’s inviting. not trying to strip your masks away, but offering a space where you might set one down - just for a minute.

when you ask, quietly, “what if there’s nothing underneath?”, he only smiles. small and certain.

“then we’ll build it together.”

he doesn’t flinch when you’re inconsistent. doesn’t correct you when your personality slides from one edge to the next. he just keeps showing up, offering softness without condition.

and maybe - just maybe - being seen like that is the first real thing you’ve felt in a while.

©𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 ● @lampridius 2025

REAL💔💔

hoyo please give anaxa crumbs. please

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.”

anaxa w this SONGGGGGGGG.

The way every heart notification is like a reminder of shame guys why are you liking ts💔💔

anyway We are married now he’s going to be my housewife and carry my 34 children

GOD.

I dont give two fuck He’s getting pregnant with my child

Until All amphoreus knows my name

Cringe culture is made by basic ass people I DONT CAREEE I LOVE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS I LOVE BEING SILLY I LOVE SPAMMING EMOJIS!!!!! I dont care what basic people who cant enjoy life think

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

thank you💔💔💔

In every life

Pairing: Anaxa/f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The veins have spread," you murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you almost cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rolled his eyes, though only one remained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May I kiss you?" You asked.

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

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

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

"Because you know how to ask."

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

"You're so kissable," she said.

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

"We’re being unexpectedly human tonight."

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

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

"I’ve missed this," you whispered.

"This?"

"Being held like this—by you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lip trembles. He continues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence that follows is unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

A real one.

Warm and low and rare.

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

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

Neither of you speaks for a while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just held you tighter.

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

Even knowing the world ends, they love anyway.

Even knowing their gods may fall, they hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds perfect,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In every life, it’s just you.

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

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

Yeah for my sake fr💔

Harmony, have you seen the new promotional video? There are some heavy implications if not confirmations and I'm not liking what I'm seeing:(

I mean, I kind of expected it, but it doesn't make it any easier:'(

Yup!! It seems like Castorice will have a breakthrough that'll be good for her but the others? ☠️ Interesting how Phainon is the only one with his limbs in tact in these trailers. Yes hyv, we get it stop now 💔

Im disappointed..

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

anaxanation we are better than that

the desperation Im in is unmatched

look at him guys he must spark some inspiration