Where The Hurt Doesn’t Reach Pt.3
can you do „where the hurt doesn’t reach but with Charlie Morningstar, Emily and Verosika mayday? (The reader dies due to abuse of the stepfather and in Charlie and Verosika case he was mistakenly sent to hell)
A/N: Yes, @ultimategraffitiguy! There are quite a few requests for this, most of them are Danganronpa LOL I love switching things up though, so I love that now there are more fandoms I can write for :}
Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.3
pt.2 - pt.4
pt.1
Charlie, Emily, and Verosika x Male!Reader
Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety /Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues
Word Count: 3398
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Charlie:
Hell wasn’t what he expected.
There was no lake of fire, no pitchforks, no screaming banshees. Just... noise. Colors too bright. People too loud. The overwhelming sensation of eyes on him- men with their sharp grins and cruel laughter, and women with their razor stares. It was too much. Too fast.
(Y/N) didn’t know why he’d been sent here. He knew he wasn’t a saint, but what happened to him wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t fair. He had tried to survive. But the world above had ignored the bruises, the fear, the shaking hands. And one day, he didn’t wake up again.
His stepfather had made sure of that.
And now here he was, in Hell.
He kept to the shadows of the city, hiding behind dumpsters, curling into corners when the crowds got too loud. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since arriving. Every man who looked at him with interest sent him recoiling like a wounded animal. He hadn’t eaten in days.
Until someone found him.
She looked like she didn’t belong here. Blonde hair like sunlight, warm eyes, a kind smile that didn’t waver even when she saw how dirty and thin he was. She crouched, slowly, as if approaching a stray.
“Hi,” she said softly. “My name’s Charlie. What’s yours?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was tight. His body, tense. He expected a trap. A laugh. A demand.
But none came.
Charlie stayed kneeling, a respectable distance away, her hands resting on her knees. She spoke in low tones, like a lullaby, talking about a hotel- some place for redemption, a safe place, a home. Her voice didn’t press. It invited.
After a long silence, (Y/N) rasped out his name.
Charlie’s smile brightened, but not in a way that hurt his eyes. It was... soft. Real.
“I’m so glad you’re here, (Y/N),” she said.
He didn’t believe her. Not yet. But he let her help him to his feet.
It took weeks.
Charlie gave him a room at the Hazbin Hotel- quiet, cozy, safe. She let him lock the door if he wanted. There was food on the table every morning. Books. Music. A plant on the windowsill.
She was careful with him. Never touched without asking. Never raised her voice. And when Alastor’s booming laugh or Husk’s growls sent him into panic, Charlie would gently guide him away, her hand hovering nearby, a silent offer. Never a command.
One evening, (Y/N) sat in the lobby, knees tucked to his chest, staring at the flickering fireplace. Charlie sat on the couch across from him, reading something light.
“Why am I here?” he asked, finally. His voice was quiet. Broken.
Charlie looked up, blinking.
“In Hell?” she asked gently.
He nodded.
“I- I tried to be good,” he said. His voice cracked. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I was scared. I was just... scared all the time.”
Charlie set the book down and leaned forward, hands clasped.
“I believe you,” she said. “The system’s broken. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. And you don’t belong here.”
Tears welled in his eyes. His hands trembled.
“I’m not safe,” he whispered. “Not even now. I still feel him.”
Charlie’s expression twisted- not with pity, but with something deeper. Fierce compassion.
“You are safe,” she said, firmly this time. “I swear it. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. Not ever.”
His breath caught. He stared at her- searching, trembling.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” he asked.
Charlie smiled again, that same gentle smile from the first day.
“Because I see someone who deserves to be cared about,” she said. “And I think maybe... you haven’t heard that enough.”
The tears finally spilled over.
Charlie didn’t move toward him. She let him cry. Let him feel. And when he looked at her through the blur, she was still there. Patient. Real.
Something started to shift after that night.
It was slow, like ice melting in a warm hand. But it was real.
(Y/N) started leaving his room more often- early in the mornings when the hotel was quietest, when the light from the stained glass made the hallways glow like sunrise. Sometimes, he’d find Charlie in the kitchen humming off-key while burning toast, or laughing with Vaggie over something small. And he liked that. The softness of it. The warmth.
Charlie always greeted him with a smile. Never forced conversation. But she noticed him. She always noticed.
“You’re up early,” she’d say, with that gentle lilt in her voice, like music that didn’t ask anything from him.
And he’d just shrug, or nod. But he didn’t hide anymore.
He found himself drawn to her.
Not just because she was safe- but because she made things feel safe.
Books she left on the counter had little sticky notes in them, pointing out jokes or poems she thought he’d like. Sometimes, she’d pass him in the hallway with a quiet “I made cookies,” and then disappear before he could respond, as if she knew praise or thanks might overwhelm him.
She never made him feel small for being afraid. Or for being quiet. Or for not knowing how to accept care.
(Y/N) had never had that.
He didn’t know what to call what was happening inside him. But when she laughed, it stirred something. When she sat next to him on the couch- still at a safe distance, still always waiting for his lead- his pulse fluttered. He didn’t shrink away anymore. Sometimes… he even leaned closer.
One evening, the hotel was quiet. Most of the others were out.
(Y/N) sat by the window in the common room, watching distant flames flicker across the skyline. The hellscape beyond the glass didn’t frighten him so much now. Not when the room behind him felt like peace.
Charlie approached softly.
“Mind if I sit?”
He shook his head.
She settled beside him on the couch. A bit closer than usual. Not touching- but close enough for warmth to reach him. She glanced out the window too.
“It’s kind of pretty, in its own way,” she murmured.
He looked at her instead. She caught him, and smiled.
And for the first time, he didn’t look away.
“You really don’t belong here,” he whispered.
Charlie tilted her head, curious. “What makes you say that?”
He swallowed. His throat was tight, but not in fear. Not anymore.
“You’re... good.”
A quiet smile played on her lips. “So are you, (Y/N). You just never had the chance to know it.”
He hesitated. Then-
“I like being around you,” he said. Barely above a breath. “More than anyone.”
Charlie blinked, stunned- but only for a moment. Her smile softened into something deeper.
“I’m really glad,” she said, her voice thick with something tender. “I like being around you too. A lot.”
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was soft. Steady.
And then, cautiously- slowly- he reached out.
His fingers brushed hers on the cushion between them.
Charlie didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. She just turned her palm up and gently laced their fingers together.
(Y/N) let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
It didn’t feel like fire.
It felt like home.
Emily:
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone the way (Y/N) had always pictured it. It wasn’t pitchforks and devils with snarling faces. It was worse- confusion. Loneliness. Screams in the distance that never quite stopped. The acidic sting of regret settled into the corners of his soul like mold.
He hadn’t expected to wake up at all. The last thing he remembered was cold tile, the way his lungs struggled to hold air, and the sound of his stepfather’s voice rising like thunder. Then… nothing.
Then… this.
He didn’t belong here. Even the damned knew it.
He barely spoke, flinching away from the touch of strangers, shrinking at the bark of a man’s laugh or the sudden rise of a voice. He wandered the quieter corners of Hell, ignored for the most part- just another broken soul in a place full of them.
Until she appeared.
Emily didn’t look like anyone else here. For one, she glowed. Not metaphorically- actually. Like a star set to wander, her feathers radiant and soft gold, her six wings moving with an elegance that didn’t belong in this place. When she descended into that quiet alleyway where he sat huddled, (Y/N) had thought for a moment he was hallucinating.
He recoiled at first when she reached a hand out. She didn't blame him. She knew fear when she saw it- not the Hell-bred fear of punishment, but the raw human kind. The kind etched deep from betrayal, from pain at the hands of those who should have offered safety.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” she had said gently. Her voice was warmth over frost. “You weren’t supposed to end up here.”
He didn’t speak. He hadn’t in days. He just looked up at her, blinking with wide, empty eyes.
So she sat with him. Didn’t press. Didn’t reach again.
She came back the next day. And the next. She brought little things: feathers woven into cords, soft celestial cloth for his shaking hands, the hum of ancient lullabies. She shielded him when passing demons snarled too loud, standing taller than most would expect with those bright, protective wings curling around him.
“You were a child,” she whispered once, brushing hair back from his eyes when he allowed her close. “It wasn’t your fault.”
(Y/N)’s throat tightened. He wanted to believe her.
He wanted to believe someone.
Sometimes he woke screaming. Not from what he saw here- but what he remembered from before. The heavy footsteps. The things said in the dark. The ache in his ribs that never quite faded, even in death.
Emily never flinched. She didn’t try to force silence or push for peace. She simply held him, wings folding like a cathedral around them both.
It was the first time he’d been touched gently by someone older, someone stronger.
He cried the first time she held his hand. Just held it. No force. No pressure. Just presence.
“You were lost,” she murmured one evening, as they sat in a quiet crumbling church where no one else dared go. Her wings shimmered in the shadows. “But I found you.”
“You’re not scared of me?” he rasped. His voice was cracked and unsure, like something unused for too long.
Emily’s expression softened. “You’re not something to be feared. You’re something to be protected.”
Tears welled again, unbidden, burning hotter than any flame Hell had offered him. “I was… just a kid.”
“I know.”
His fingers curled around hers.
She never called him weak. Never asked him to stop trembling. She understood that survival sometimes looked like silence. That fear wasn’t a flaw- it was a wound.
And slowly, with every brush of her feathers, every patient moment she gave him to breathe without expectation, (Y/N) started to believe something new.
Days turned into something like weeks, though time in Hell was slippery, hard to track. It didn’t matter. What mattered was her.
Emily never pushed, but she was always there. In the quiet places. The corners where screaming didn’t reach. The crumbling building where the air felt lighter with her near.
And (Y/N)- he found himself wanting to be near her.
At first it had scared him, how easy it became to lean toward her presence, to seek her glow like a sunflower might seek the sun. But Emily didn’t punish his want. She didn’t mock it, or twist it, or make it feel like a trap. She simply welcomed it.
Some days, they sat in silence, legs tucked beside each other on the old church pew. On others, she spoke in soft stories- of stars, of old memories, of places far above that he had never seen but could picture vividly when she described them.
He began speaking back, little by little. His voice stayed low, cautious. But he talked. About Earth. About the cold tile floors. About his mom, and the music she used to play when she thought no one was listening. About the boy he used to be before everything fractured.
Emily listened as though his words were sacred.
And (Y/N) realized one day- with quiet awe- that he liked the way she made him feel.
Safe.
Worth listening to.
Not a burden. Not broken beyond repair.
Just… him.
One evening, as they sat beneath what passed for a moon in Hell’s sky, he turned to her, eyes still ringed with shadow but no longer so hollow. He watched how her feathers caught the pale light like strands of gold.
“I like being around you,” he said softly. “It’s... easier to breathe when you’re here.”
Emily blinked, surprised by the weight of sincerity in his tone- but then her lips curved into the gentlest smile.
“I’m glad,” she whispered. “Because I like being around you too.”
He didn’t recoil when she reached for his hand this time. In fact, his fingers found hers first.
There was still so much left to untangle inside him- trauma didn’t vanish with kindness. But in Emily’s presence, the sharpest edges of his fear dulled. The ghosts of the past still whispered, but they were quieter now, easier to face.
One night, as he curled against her side, wings wrapped around him like a sun-warmed cocoon, he let himself believe something impossible:
That maybe he deserved this.
Verosika:
The living world had never been kind to (Y/N). It was a patchwork of slammed doors, quiet sobs, and footsteps he learned to fear before he could even drive. His mother tried her best, but his stepfather’s voice was louder- louder than love, louder than reason. Bruises hid beneath long sleeves. Scars weren’t always skin-deep.
By the time he stumbled into Verosika Mayday’s hellish orbit on Earth, (Y/N) was more ghost than boy- skittish, silent, always flinching when any man so much as looked his way. But Verosika? She wasn’t a man. She was fire and glitter and whiskey-wrapped confidence. She was chaos in high heels and didn't give a damn what anyone thought- except when it came to him.
She noticed right away how he tensed around others, how he wouldn't meet her bandmate’s eyes, how even her touch, no matter how gentle, made him freeze for a breath too long. Verosika wasn’t known for tenderness, but she softened around him like ice under sun.
"You don’t owe me anything, sugar," she’d whispered one night, brushing his hair from his eyes as he trembled against her side. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
She let him set the pace. Sometimes that meant silence. Sometimes that meant sitting together, no music, no glamor, just her and him and the quiet.
It wasn't perfect. Verosika had demons of her own- ego, anger, the sting of rejection- but she never raised her voice at him. Not once. Never made him feel small.
But the past has sharp teeth. And some monsters wear human faces… Like her.
The call came on a gray Tuesday, long after she'd started calling him “darling” like it meant something. Long after he started smiling again, small and real and barely there but there. Verosika had just come off stage, sweat still clinging to her skin, makeup smudged from a killer performance.
Then the call.
He was gone.
The bastard had done it. No one had stopped him in time.
(Y/N) died scared. Alone. Verosika knew it the second the voice on the other end confirmed what her gut had already screamed. The world tilted. The bottle in her hand shattered. Her scream shook the walls.
The descent back into Hell was nothing new for Verosika. She'd come and gone a hundred times before, always with fanfare, lights, and an entourage of sin. But this time was different. There were no backup dancers. No adoring fans. Just her, hollow and shaking, mascara still streaked from tears that hadn’t stopped since the call.
She was back in her true form now, wings twitching, tail low, heels echoing through the streets of the Lust Ring like a funeral drumbeat. Everything felt louder without him. Uglier. Useless.
He’s not here, they told her.
“No record of a soul by that name,” the clerks at the soul registry droned, lazily flipping through pages like they weren’t talking about him. “Probably made it up top.”
She should have been relieved- he deserved Heaven, more than anyone she’d ever known. But the thought of him wandering eternity alone, without knowing the truth about her, that gutted her.
Would he hate her?
He’d never asked where she went after midnight gigs, never pressed when her eyes glowed too bright or when she healed a bruise on his arm with a touch she played off as luck. But he wasn’t stupid. Just scared. She never wanted to be another shadow over his shoulder.
Verosika wandered the outlands, hoping, praying- something she never thought she’d do again- that he had found peace.
Until she heard it.
A soft, familiar cry.
Not the scream of the damned. Not wailing torment. Something more fragile.
Him.
She knew it the instant she heard it. That broken sound he made in his sleep when the nightmares came crawling. The sob in the back of his throat like he was trying to hide it from the world.
She ran.
Faster than she ever had in stilettos, wings half-spread, heart pounding like it might give out. Through alleyways of bone and brimstone, down corridors no demon cared to tread- until she found him.
Curled in a corner of a crumbling stone chamber. Small. Shaking. Pale.
He was in his human form. That’s how lost he was. That’s how scared.
“(Y/N)...?” her voice cracked, softer than it had ever been. He didn’t look up at first.
She dropped to her knees beside him, ignoring the soot and blood and heat. Gently- so gently- she reached out, brushing trembling fingers against his arm.
He flinched hard.
Her hand retreated.
But his eyes- those familiar, wounded eyes- finally lifted to meet hers. Wide. Shiny with tears. Recognition bloomed slow in his face, like dawn breaking through thick fog.
“...V-Verosika...?”
She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Yeah, baby. It’s me. I’m here.”
He stared at her, still trembling. “Y-You... You’re...?”
She nodded. Couldn’t lie to him. Not now.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never wanted to scare you. I just... I didn’t want to be another thing you had to be afraid of.”
His lip trembled. “Are we... in hell?”
The words broke her.
“Yeah, sugar. But you’re not supposed to be. They said you went up. I think... I think you got lost.”
He looked around, like seeing Hell for the first time, like he hadn’t quite processed it yet. “I don’t... I didn’t wanna leave you... I was s-scared... and then he-”
He cut himself off, curling tighter, and Verosika swore her heart cracked again.
“No, no, no- don’t do that. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered, crawling closer but keeping her distance. “You hear me? He hurt you. He was the monster. Not you.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I was so scared... I thought I was alone...”
She bit back her own tears and finally reached out again. This time, when she brushed his hand, he didn’t flinch away. He gripped her fingers like a lifeline.
“You’re not alone,” she breathed, crawling forward until she could pull him gently into her arms, his head tucking beneath her chin. “Not anymore.”
He clung to her like he’d fall apart otherwise. She stroked his hair the same way she used to, back when he was still alive, when he still smelled like cheap shampoo and fear.
“I missed you,” he whispered against her throat.
“I missed you too,” she choked. “So damn much.”
They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for the brimstone to cool beneath them. Long enough for the screams of Hell to fade into background noise.
And when he finally slept in her arms, breathing slow and deep and safe, Verosika knew one thing:
If Heaven didn’t want him-
She’d build one for him down here.
More Posts from Deliciousspecimen and Others
YAYYY thanks for Kyoko/Celeste/Toko request it was awesome (the inclusion of Jack caught me off guard since I personally don't find her attractive but idm!!! /Gen I should've been more specific whoopsie haha!) very well written, I enjoyed it alot!
Ps. Unfortunately an infamous ableist, homophobic, fatphobic (amongst other awful things) user liked that post :( if you wanted to block them or not M/ommy/hon/da (without the slashes, they search their name up for people talking about them hence the censoring
Oh, my bad about the Jack inclusion! I hope it was okay nonetheless! And yes, I noticed that user, and I already promptly blocked them :}
Thank you for the warning. If you have any more requests, feel free to make them. I'll try to keep it strictly to the characters asked from now on. I consider Jack/Toko sorta the same person (or ya know, two people sharing the same body), which is the only reason why I added them lmao.
A/N: I am trying to work on my multi-part fic's, now that I'm mostly caught up with all my requests. I missed writing for Silcooooooo.
Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.2
Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.1
Warnings: Violence/Combat, Trauma, Imprisonment/Restraint, Explosions/Fire, and Death
Word Count: 5894
Summary: (Y/N) is led through Silco’s factory- alive with shimmer, but hollow with grief. Silco remains tender, pretending nothing’s changed, even as he parades Vander, weak and broken, as a symbol of failed ideals. When Silco offers Vander shimmer in exchange for loyalty, Vander refuses, desperate to protect the children. In a private chamber, (Y/N) finally breaks, confessing she searched for Silco for years. Their reunion is intimate but laced with sorrow. When Vi and the others storm the factory, everything spirals. Silco unleashes his shimmer-mutated monster, and (Y/N), bound by enchanted chains, is forced to watch the chaos unfold. Powder’s bomb kills Mylo and Claggor, devastating (Y/N), who Silco tries- and fails- to console. Vander ends saving Vi, transformed by shimmer into a final act of defiance. Afterward, (Y/N) and Silco find Powder, shattered. (Y/N) cradles her and later, she claims the name “Jinx,” offering unconditional love. Back at The Last Drop, (Y/N) remains shackled but tenderly cares for Jinx. Silco releases her chains, but (Y/N) doesn’t retaliate. Her only focus is Jinx- her “little firecracker”- the last thing worth protecting.
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The factory loomed like a carcass on the edge of the Undercity- cold, rusted steel and flickering lights illuminating a world that wasn’t quite dead.
It should’ve been abandoned.
It wasn’t.
Inside, the place was alive with movement- gears turning, people working, machines thundering deep within the structure’s bones. And all of it was for him.
Silco.
He kept his hand wrapped gently around (Y/N)’s as he led her forward, step by step, like they were just walking home. Like none of this had changed.
But her eyes were fixed on the floor. On the trail of oil and soot and blood leading them deeper in.
Her mind buzzed like static- empty and deafening at once. Everything she thought she understood had collapsed in a matter of hours. Grief curled around the edges of her thoughts like smoke, choking out the edges of her reality.
Silco’s thumb brushed along the back of her hand, slow and deliberate. The same way he used to, late at night, when they lay in bed and the world was quiet.
It made her heart ache.
How could she still miss it?
How could that part of her still want to melt into his touch, even now?
“This place is a little crude, I’ll admit,” Silco said, his voice low as they crossed a metal walkway above the factory floor. “The base violence necessary for change... but we both know Topside won’t listen to anything else.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Nearby, the man- creature- that had dragged Vander through the streets was deteriorating. No longer monstrous. Just sick. Slumped over the rail, vomiting some viscous, purple substance into the depths.
Another man approached, grabbing Vander roughly and throwing him against the side of the walkway with a clang.
(Y/N) flinched slightly, but Silco’s hand tightened gently around hers, guiding her to a stop.
Vander groaned, coughing, blood splattering the steel beneath him.
And for the first time, he looked up.
Straight at her.
Eyes full of pain- not from the injuries. From her.
(Y/N) didn’t return the look.
She was still watching Silco, eyes wide, almost in a trance, like she was trying to match the man before her to the boy she had once loved.
It wasn’t until Vander spoke that she snapped out of it- his voice ragged, cutting through the fog in her head.
“Even with your monsters,” he rasped, “You won’t win a war against Piltover.”
Silco exhaled a low hum. “I don’t have to. I just need to scare them.”
He turned slightly, reaching out to her again- fingers brushing softly behind her ear, tucking a stray strand of hair away like he used to.
“Piltover won’t dare set foot in the Underground again,” he murmured.
The former monster gagged and groaned again, the sludge he threw up hissing against metal.
Vander didn’t spare him a glance.
“You’ll get people killed,” Vander said, his voice heavy with grief and fury. “For what? Pride?”
Silco’s jaw tightened.
“For respect,” he snapped, turning fully now. “Opportunity. Everything they’ve denied us.”
He released (Y/N)’s hand finally and stepped forward, crouching down to Vander’s level. He stared at him like a blade about to be unsheathed.
Vander glared, breath ragged. “You had my respect. The Lanes’ respect. (Y/N)’s.” He nodded toward her. “But that was never enough for you.”
That struck something.
Silco’s calm shattered in an instant as he stood, pacing a step back with fury rising behind his eyes.
“We shared a vision, Vander. All of us.” His voice rose. “A dream of freedom. Not just for the Lanes, but for the entire Underground. United. One people.”
He turned to (Y/N) then- voice softer, filled with weight.
“The nation of Zaun.”
Then back to Vander, venom lacing each word.
“Do you even remember? I trusted you… and you betrayed me.”
(Y/N)’s eyes finally took in all of him- his ruined cheek, his sunken features, the warped skin trailing from his jaw to the edge of his glowing eye.
The scar where the toxic water had seeped into his skin.
The proof of how far he’d been willing to go.
And how much further he’d fallen to crawl back.
Vander’s breath rattled in his chest as he leaned against the steel railing, blood still wet on his lips. The anger in his eyes had softened into something heavier- regret, shame.
“…What I did to you,” he said, voice low, almost too quiet to hear, “I’ve never forgiven myself.”
He looked up at Silco- truly looked at him.
“You were my brother.”
Silco didn’t respond right away. He stared down at him for a long moment before his gaze slid toward (Y/N), and the edges of his expression flickered with something harder to name.
“No,” he murmured. “You still don’t understand.”
He turned to them both now- his voice rising slightly, almost reverent, almost haunted.
“Can you imagine what it’s like… when your blood mixes with the filth? When the river toxins eat through your nerves, strip away everything soft, everything human?”
He stepped closer to Vander again, looming now, his voice low and trembling- not with weakness, but with conviction.
“Oh, I hated you for what you’d done. Every breath I clawed in was filled with hate. But hate burns fast. And when it fades, it leaves room… for understanding.”
His eyes bore into Vander.
“The only way to defeat a superior enemy… is to stop at nothing. To become what they fear.”
He tilted his head.
“I hated you, Vander. But I still respected you. Until you made peace with them. Until you played lapdog to the people who tried to crush us. After everything we suffered.”
Vander’s jaw clenched, but his voice was tired. “I had no choice.”
“Perhaps,” Silco echoed with a hum. “But now… now you do.”
He reached into his coat, retrieving a small vial- glass, delicate, and filled with a swirling, violet liquid that shimmered even in the dim light.
He knelt again, holding it out between them so both Vander and (Y/N) could see.
“Shimmer.” His voice was soft, full of dark promise. “This is power. This is what they fear.”
He glanced up at (Y/N), then down at Vander.
“We can finally realize our dream. Together... Brother.”
Vander looked from the vial… to Silco… and finally up at (Y/N).
She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Her heart beat hollow in her chest, her thoughts knotted beyond reason.
Vander’s eyes turned back to Silco.
“Look at what you’ve done,” he whispered. “Benzo. These kids…”
He shook his head slowly. “In fighting Topside… you’d sacrifice everything that we are. It’s not the way. Can’t you see that? If it has to be me, then fine. Kill me. But please… spare the Lanes.”
Silco’s eyes narrowed, sharp and burning.
“You’d die for the cause,” he spat, “but you won’t fight for one?”
Vander gave a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just… not that man anymore.”
Silco’s lips curled- not in amusement, but disappointment.
“I’ll show you what you really are,” he muttered.
Then, without another glance at his old friend, he turned and walked toward (Y/N) again.
Her breath caught when he reached for her. He took her hand gently- fingers warm, familiar, haunting... And like something out of a long-forgotten dream, he laced his fingers through hers and led her away down the walkway.
Past the shimmer.
Past the scars.
The room they entered was dim, lit only by flickering industrial lights high in the rafters, casting long shadows against the grimy walls. Vander grunted, still dazed but regaining strength, just in time to be dragged inside by two of Silco’s men. He struggled weakly, but they forced him into a heavy chair bolted to the floor.
Without a word, the men bound his wrists to the armrests with reinforced chains- tight, unforgiving.
(Y/N) watched it all.
She didn’t move.
She just… watched, her heart twisted in knots, as Vander met her gaze with something between understanding and heartbreak. She gave him one last lingering look- long, pained- but didn’t pull away when Silco’s hand gently guided her from the room.
He led her up a flight of grated stairs, each step echoing with the weight of history between them.
At the top of the factory was a room- an old office overlooking the chaos below. Large, reinforced windows gave a full view of the operation, of Vander strapped below, of the quiet power Silco now commanded.
Inside, it was just the two of them.
(Y/N) stood awkwardly at first, eyes scanning the space like she might find an anchor.
She didn’t.
Silco motioned to one of the chairs before his desk. “Sit.”
She did.
He pulled the other chair closer, sitting directly in front of her, his eyes searching her face. He didn’t speak. Not yet. Not while the silence still held its weight.
They sat like that for a while- just breathing, listening to the distant hum of machinery, the ghost of bloodshed still heavy on both of them.
Then (Y/N) spoke.
Her voice cracked.
“I… I looked for you…”
Silco’s jaw twitched.
“For years, I looked,” she whispered, broken and small. “I searched every body on the bridge. Dug through rumors. Lies. Begged for information… anything that would lead me to you.”
She inhaled sharply, her hands shaking.
And then- gently- she reached forward, taking his hand into hers, lifting it slowly, reverently, pressing his palm to her cheek.
As soon as she felt his skin on hers, she nearly sobbed.
Her breath hitched, her face crumpling with the weight of every year she’d spent missing him. She hadn’t let anyone this close since he vanished. Hadn’t let herself feel this deeply. Not with Vander. Not with anyone. Only the children had been allowed into that tender part of her.
But this- this was different.
This was him.
And she’d missed him so much.
Silco stood slowly.
Then, wordlessly, he reached for her- his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled her to her feet, even as she trembled beneath his hands.
She nearly collapsed into him.
But he caught her.
His arms wrapped tight around her small frame, pulling her flush to his chest as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her sobs muffled against his collar. She breathed him in like she was afraid it might be the last time.
He still smelled like he always had- warm, sharp, a little like smoke... But now there was something else. Something chemical. Acrid. Lingering under the surface.
It clung to his coat, to his skin.
Shimmer.
She didn’t ask. Not yet. She just held him tighter, her fingers curling into the back of his coat... And Silco closed his eyes.
For the first time in years…
He held her like he’d never let go.
Silco held her until the shaking dulled, until the sobs faded into shallow, trembling breaths. He cupped her face afterward, thumbs brushing away the tears left behind on her cheeks, movements tender in a way that almost didn’t fit the man he'd become.
But then his gaze drifted past her- eyes narrowing toward the window that overlooked the catwalk.
He stilled.
(Y/N) turned, heart clenching.
Outside, darting shapes blurred through the shadows.
Mylo… Claggor. Vi.
Her heart dropped.
She spun back to Silco, panic in her eyes. “Sil- Silco, please- don’t hurt them. Please, don’t kill them. I- They’re just kids. I raised them. I love them. I-”
He leaned down, his hand slipping behind her neck. His lips pressed softly to her forehead.
“Calm down…” he murmured. “I can’t promise anything… I think you’ve figured that out by now.”
Her heart cracked again.
“But,” he added, gently taking her hand, “I will do all I can… Just for you.”
Her breath hitched- part fear, part relief, part dread.
He led her from the office, down toward the walkways that twisted like veins through the heart of the factory. His hand never left hers.
A whistle cut through the air behind them.
Footsteps answered.
Sevika fell in beside them, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of (Y/N) before letting out a sharp sigh and shaking her head.
“Of course,” she muttered.
Another man appeared, stepping forward.
He held chains.
(Y/N)’s stomach turned cold.
She pulled her hand from Silco’s, taking a step back- heart hammering.
Silco’s hand caught her chin gently, tilting her face toward him. His expression was unreadable.
“I have to take precautions,” he said softly. “You understand, don’t you?”
She didn’t have time to answer.
The man with the chains moved in quickly, wrapping them around her wrists and upper arms. As soon as the metal touched her skin, she felt it- pain, sudden and sharp, as the runes engraved in the chain flared to life, cutting off her magic.
Her breath stuttered. Her knees buckled slightly.
He made these… for her.
The realization made her blood run cold.
She struggled on instinct, fire rising in her throat- but Sevika grabbed her from behind, locking an arm around her shoulders to drag her forward.
Silco walked ahead of them all, his voice smooth as he approached the group below.
“Welcome.”
The children turned sharply.
Mylo tensed. Claggor instinctively stepped in front of Powder. Vi’s fists clenched at her sides.
And then they saw her.
Sevika dragged (Y/N) into the open, the chains glowing faintly against her skin.
Their eyes locked with hers.
And (Y/N)’s heart shattered.
Fear. Sadness. Betrayal.
Vi’s voice broke through the silence, small and shaking.
“M-Mom…?”
(Y/N) choked on the lump in her throat, pulling against the chains- only to cry out softly when the runes sparked again.
“I’m okay…” she managed, voice soft and shaking. “Focus on them, alright? Focus on each other.”
She tried to smile, tried to soothe them like she always did.
But her hands were bound. Her power was locked down. And she was being dragged by the man she’d once loved more than anything in the world.
Silco stopped beside her, reaching out to brush her hair back with a tenderness that made her flinch.
“Have you heard the rumor?” he asked the kids, voice light, casual- cruel.
“Vander the coward fled town, left his children behind…”
He paused, eyes glittering with venom.
“…And he was never seen again.”
(Y/N) sucked in a sharp breath, biting her lip to keep from sobbing.
And Vi- her face slowly twisted from fear into rage.
But (Y/N)… she could barely look at them.
Not like this.
Vi didn’t hesitate.
The second she saw (Y/N) like that- bound, chained, magic suppressed- something in her snapped.
“Claggor,” she barked, voice firm. “Find another way out of here.”
Claggor gave a quick nod, already moving, slipping back into the room Vander was in to search for an exit route.
Vander, still slumped in his restraints, his voice raw with emotion, rasped, “You don’t have to do this-”
“Yes, I do,” Vi cut him off, tone solid. Final.
And then one of Silco’s men stepped forward.
A mountain of a man. Thick arms, heavy boots, a massive knife in hand.
The second he approached Vi, (Y/N) instinctively lunged forward- pure panic in her eyes. “No!” she screamed, heart thundering as she tried to reach Vi, tried to protect her babies.
Sevika’s grip tightened around her waist, holding her firm.
(Y/N) fought against the chains anyway, gritting her teeth through the pain, trying to claw her way free.
“Let me go!”
But Sevika didn’t budge.
Vander’s voice broke, more desperate now. “Vi!”
The girl stood tall, squared her shoulders, clenched her fists.
And met the man head-on.
She glanced once- only once- back at Silco, then dropped into a fighting stance, steady and sure.
The man lunged.
He brought the knife down hard, but Vi lifted her arms- Vander’s gauntlets catching the blade with a clang that rang through the entire factory.
The force vibrated down her arms- but she held firm.
Then she struck.
One brutal, upward punch.
Crack.
The man’s head snapped back, blood flying from his mouth along with a tooth. His body flew backwards, crashing to the walkway with a heavy thud.
Out cold.
Silco’s eyes widened just slightly. Not fear. Not quite. But... surprise. He said nothing- just lifted a hand and gave a sharp signal.
Sevika responded immediately, yanking (Y/N) back by the chains, dragging her a step away as more of Silco’s men stepped forward.
(Y/N)’s eyes never left Vi.
Even as she was pulled back, she watched her girl fight.
One after another, they came.
And one by one, Vi dropped them.
A punch to the gut. A backhanded swing to the jaw. A full-force slam that sent one man tumbling off the side of the catwalk, screaming as he fell.
If the situation weren’t so dire, (Y/N) would’ve been bursting with pride.
Even through the fear, through the chains biting into her skin, she felt it rise like warmth in her chest.
Her baby girl was holding her own.
Then… only Sevika remained.
She stepped forward, cracking her knuckles, clearly ready to jump in.
But Silco raised his hand- calm, measured.
“Hold.”
Sevika paused, eyes narrowing. But she obeyed.
Still gripping (Y/N) tightly, keeping her locked in place, but she didn’t move to fight.
Silco stepped forward slowly, watching Vi with a calculating eye.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.
Silco’s expression was unreadable as his eyes shifted toward the sickly man lingering nearby- the one who had once torn through Enforcers like paper, and now barely looked human at all. Gaunt, twitching, with veins of violet threading beneath his skin.
“Ready to rise to the surface?” Silco asked, his voice deceptively soft.
The man’s eyes flicked to the small, glowing vial in Silco’s hand- a pulsing purple liquid that shimmered with unnatural energy. His gaze grew desperate, wild. He snatched it the second it was offered, uncorking it and downing the contents like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
And then- he screamed.
The transformation was immediate, violent. His spine arched, bones cracking, limbs lengthening, skin distorting. Purple fluid spilled from the corners of his mouth as his body twisted into something monstrous. The shriek that followed rattled the steel beams of the factory.
(Y/N)’s blood ran cold.
“No- no!” she shouted, yanking against the chains as hard as she could. Sevika held her firm, but her grip trembled slightly under the struggle. “Silco!”
Vi didn’t hesitate- she lunged in to strike the creature before it fully stabilized, gauntlets swinging.
But the monster was faster.
It caught her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground.
“No!” (Y/N) thrashed harder, desperation clawing through her throat. She looked at Silco, eyes wild. “You said you wouldn’t kill them!”
Silco’s jaw clenched. His face flickered with something- guilt, maybe. Regret.
“I said I’d try,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t enough.
Vander roared over the chaos, his voice raw. “Silco! Let her go! This is between you and me!”
Silco’s eyes darkened. His voice was flat- cold. “You had your chance.”
And the monster threw Vi.
She crashed hard into a nearby wall, grunting as she slid across the floor. One of the gauntlets skidded free, clattering loudly across the steel.
(Y/N)’s scream cracked out of her, her knees buckling as she fought harder.
Vi coughed, gasping, barely able to pull herself up. The monster advanced, step by heavy step, dripping shimmer and fury with every movement.
She crawled.
Clawed toward the others.
(Y/N), Vander, Mylo, and Claggor all shouted her name, voices overlapping in a desperate crescendo.
And then- Vi reached the door. With a trembling hand, she slammed it shut- and locked it. The bolt echoed like thunder.
The monster crashed into the other side, but the door held.
Inside, silence reigned for a moment. A breath of reprieve. Of safety.
(Y/N) collapsed to her knees in Sevika’s grip, a sob tearing loose from her throat.
Vi was safe.
For now.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she whispered, “Thank the Gods…”
But her eyes never left Silco.
And her heart had never hurt more.
The creature outside the sealed door snarled and slammed its fists against the metal, again and again. The walkway shook with the force of it, rattling bolts and echoing through the factory like thunder.
Sevika kept her grip on (Y/N), who was breathing hard, her cheeks damp with tears, her arms still trembling from the aftermath.
Silco stood nearby, unmoving- expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the blocked doorway.
(Y/N)’s voice cracked through the din, soft, pleading. “Please… Please, Silco… don’t do this…”
She turned her face toward him, eyes wide, broken. “Let the kids go. Please.”
There was a silence between them.
And then he looked at her.
His gaze softened- just slightly- as he sighed quietly.
“…Fine,” he said after a pause. “Once we get them all gathered again, I’ll let the children go.” His tone stayed firm. “But only the children.”
(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her body sagging in Sevika’s arms as if the tension had suddenly drained all at once. A strangled sob slipped past her lips.
And then- click.
A small sound. Metal ticking softly against the walkway.
(Y/N)’s eyes widened in an instant. “What..?”
Her gaze darted toward the source- a monkey. Small, mechanical, familiar. It shuffled forward, toy-like limbs moving with mechanical innocence.
She recognized it immediately.
Powder’s.
The monkey sat still for a beat, and then-
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the walkway in a blinding blast of heat and sound.
Silco lunged, pulling (Y/N) into his arms and wrapping himself tightly around her, shielding her body with his own. Sevika threw herself in front of them both- arms outstretched.
The force hit them like a wave.
Smoke. Shrapnel. Flames.
When (Y/N) came to, her ears were ringing. Her limbs heavy.
She blinked hard, vision swimming- and realized Silco was still holding her, arms wrapped tight. Sevika lay sprawled across the walkway ahead of them, unmoving.
Her left arm… was gone.
(Y/N) cried out in horror and pushed away from Silco, slipping from his grip. The chains slowed her, made her stumble, but she didn’t stop.
She crawled, dragging herself across the scorched walkway toward the room where the kids had been.
“No, no, no-” she whispered over and over.
The devastation was unreal.
Pieces of the railing hung loose, sparks flying from destroyed panels.
And in the back of the room-
Claggor.
Still. Lifeless.
Mylo- bloodied, crushed under debris, unmoving.
She fell to her knees in the middle of the walkway, her hands bound, unable to even hold them. She just stared through fresh, silent tears, sobbing until her voice cracked.
Behind her, Silco slowly emerged from the smoke. He stepped around Sevika’s body- limping slightly- and moved to (Y/N)’s side.
He knelt, wordless, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off.
He didn’t try again.
But when her body gave out, she collapsed against him anyway, no fight left in her. Her sobs echoed against the steel.
From inside the room, Violet’s screams and cires rang out. High, panicked, broken.
(Y/N) closed her eyes and shook her head, lips trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Then-
Movement.
Vander stumbled from the room, face battered, holding onto the wall for balance. His eyes flicked from (Y/N) to the remaining men around them- and the monster, who was still alive, still looming.
He roared and charged.
Fists flew.
He threw punches with the strength of desperation, slamming into the beast again and again. The creature responded in kind, and the two clashed like titans- blows echoing through the factory.
Then-
The creature landed a blow, sending Vander crashing down onto the walkway.
He groaned, tried to stand-
And from beside (Y/N), Silco rose to his feet. Slowly... Deliberately.
(Y/N) watched, dazed. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just watched.
Silco stepped up behind Vander- silent as a shadow.
And then… The blade.
In the back.
Vander choked, his body jerking forward. He turned, gasping, and grabbed Silco by the throat.
Silco- eyes fierce, lips curled into something almost mournful- stabbed him again.
Lower.
Vander’s grip weakened. He sagged forward, collapsing against Silco’s chest. The two of them locked eyes, breath labored and pained.
“…I knew you still had it in you,” Silco whispered.
And then he shoved him.
Vander’s body tumbled over the edge- into the boxes of shimmer bwloe, where spilled chemicals, shattered shimmer vials, and fire burned like hell itself.
Everything went quiet.
Except for (Y/N)’s trembling breath, and the sound of Vi sobbing somewhere in the dark.
Silco's steps were measured, calm despite the blood on his hands and the tremor still rolling through the floor beneath them. He approached the shimmer-mutated creature with purpose, voice sharp but steady.
“...Find the girl.”
The monster obeyed, stomping toward the ruined room. Its heavy limbs dragged it forward into the wreckage-strewn room where Violet had been trapped with Mylo and Claggor's fallen bodies.
Vi panicked as the creature loomed over her, its breath huffing like steam, arms rising to grab her-
BOOM.
A massive crashing sound rang through the factory, making the entire structure lurch violently.
(Y/N) stumbled.
The walkway groaned beneath their feet.
And then- a low growl.
Primal. Familiar.
Silco stepped in front of (Y/N) instantly, his arm thrown out to shield her, body still tense from the last fight.
Another figure emerged through the smoke and shadow.
Twisted. Unnatural.
A different kind of monster.
It grabbed Silco’s beast by the throat before anyone could react- crushing, choking- and with a violent twist, snapped its neck like it was nothing more than paper. The limp body was thrown aside, crashing into a wall and slumping into the rubble.
Silco’s jaw tensed as his eyes widened.
He stepped forward and forced (Y/N) up, gripping her arm, steadying her.
She didn’t speak- didn’t move beyond what he guided.
Her eyes were locked on the new creature.
Its eyes met hers- burning, tinged with shimmer.
“...Vander,” she whispered, barely audible.
He had survived.
He had used the shimmer.
And he had changed.
Silco realized it too, the horror evident in the way he slowly stepped back, pulling (Y/N) with him, his body subtly shifting into defense again. Vander snarled- deep and guttural- his distorted voice still capable of forming one clear word:
“Silco.”
(Y/N) tensed as Silco’s grip tightened around her hand.
The building shuddered again- more violently now. Pipes groaned, embers danced across the floor. The fire had spread.
Vander’s monstrous form looked between Silco and the collapsed room behind him- where Violet’s sobs could still faintly be heard.
And then, with a roar, he turned and ran, barreling back through the corridor.
(Y/N) and Silco watched as he scooped up Violet and charged through the broken wall just as the room collapsed around them. The building behind them erupted into flame, collapsing in on itself as embers roared toward the sky.
They stood in silence.
Silco gently tugged (Y/N) forward, guiding her out of the ruin. She didn’t resist, her legs moving on instinct alone. Her face was hollow, her eyes empty. The world around her felt far away.
But she heard it.
Faint, echoing through the smoke:
Vi's screams.
Powder’s cries.
They walked until the sounds grew louder- closer.
Then, voices. Muffled at first.
Powder’s, frantic. “Violet?! Please! Come back! Vi!”
That- that- snapped something in (Y/N).
She yanked free of Silco’s grip, her chains rattling as she stumbled forward.
“Powder!” she gasped.
She ran, her feet carrying her through the scorched earth, eyes scanning desperately- until she saw her.
Powder.
Kneeling in the ash. Shoulders shaking. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Vi!” she sobbed. “She left me! I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to-!”
(Y/N) froze a few steps away.
Her heart shattered all over again.
Powder was curled up so small, so broken.
Tears spilled from (Y/N)’s eyes as she slowly stepped closer.
Powder looked up.
And launched into her.
“Mama-!”
(Y/N) caught her instinctively, knees hitting the ground as she wrapped her arms around the girl- holding her so tightly, like she could piece her back together if she just held on hard enough.
Silco reached them seconds later, catching both of them as they toppled into his legs. He knelt behind them, arms wrapping around them both- sheltering them from what little of the world was left.
(Y/N) glanced around, confused, still dazed and trying to keep her sobbing to a minimum. “Where… Where did Vi go..?”
Powder cried into (Y/N)’s shoulder. “She left me. She’s… Not my sister anymore…”
(Y/N) stroked her hair, sobbing silently, her throat too raw for words.
Silco’s voice was low, gentle- soothing in a way she hadn’t heard in years.
“It’s okay…” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”
His hand brushed through Powder’s hair… then over (Y/N)’s.
“We’ll show them all.”
And in that hollow quiet, surrounded by ash and ruin, (Y/N) clung to Powder.
And Silco clung to them both.
And for better or worse…
This was what remained.
The chains still bound her wrists, biting into her skin, heavy with runes that pulsed faintly against her magic. But (Y/N) didn't care. She held onto Powder as best she could, arms wrapped tight despite the limits, despite the pain. The girl was clinging just as hard- shaking, sobbing, burying her face into (Y/N)’s neck.
They stayed like that for a long while. Just breathing. Just surviving.
Eventually, Silco shifted beside them, his voice low, yet steady.
“Come on,” he said, gently.
He reached down, wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders to help her rise. She trembled as she stood, her limbs aching, the chains dragging against her legs. Powder still clung to her, and with no small effort, (Y/N) shifted the girl up into her arms.
It hurt. It was heavy. Her body screamed in protest.
But she carried her anyway.
Silco kept close at her side, his hand never leaving her back as he slowly led them out of the ruins.
Behind them, a few of his surviving men regrouped near what was left of the factory. The fire still burned high in the distance, lighting the skyline like a grim beacon.
Silco glanced over his shoulder, voice firm as he spoke to them.
“Gather everything that’s left. Anything not lost in the blast- documents, weapons, shimmer... all of it.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “We’re done here. We take the bar now.”
There was no discussion.
The men moved quickly.
And Silco turned back to (Y/N), his voice quieter now, meant only for her and Jinx.
“We’ll start again,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “From the ashes.”
As the three of them walked off into the night- (Y/N) carrying Powder, Silco walking protectively at their side- the echoes of everything they’d lost still clung to their heels.
One they got to The Last Drop, Powder sat small and trembling on the bar, legs drawn up, ash smudged across her cheeks and under her eyes like a warpaint she never asked for. (Y/N) moved on instinct- her hands steady despite the shaking in her bones. She soaked the cloth in warm water and gently wiped away the soot, the blood, the smoke. Each stroke soft and methodical.
“There we go, Powpow…” she whispered, voice quiet, mother-soft. “I’ve got you.”
Powder flinched at the name, her lip wobbling. “Jinx…”
(Y/N)’s hands froze, just for a moment.
Powder didn’t look up. Her voice cracked as she repeated it. “I’m a jinx… That’s what I should be called…”
(Y/N) didn’t argue. Didn’t correct her. She just resumed cleaning, her touch never wavering.
“…Okay…” she said softly. “Either way... I’ve got you...”
From the far side of the bar, Silco watched. Silent. Still.
His eyes tracked the chains at (Y/N)’s wrists- the way they pulled at her skin every time she moved to tend to Powder.
He stepped forward slowly, fingers brushing the edge of a small brass key in his coat pocket. When he spoke, his voice was cautious. Careful.
“(Y/N)…?”
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp and cold beneath her exhaustion. She looked like she hadn’t fully come down from the chaos. Like a thread pulled too tight.
Silco held up the key.
“Can I trust you still?”
She scoffed, the sound dry, brittle. “I think that’s my question, Silco.”
He let out a quiet hum. Not a laugh. Not quite.
“I suppose it is.”
He walked closer, holding the key between two fingers. “This is for your chains. If I know you won’t turn on me… I’ll undo them.”
Powder’s- no, Jinx’s- eyes widened as she noticed the chains for the first time. “You’re- You’re chained-?” she gasped, reaching for (Y/N)’s wrists.
(Y/N) didn’t look away from Silco, but her expression softened as Powder pleaded, “L-Let her go… please?”
Silco didn’t move yet.
(Y/N) took a deep breath.
“I won’t attack you,” she said finally, her voice low, calm, resolute. “If that’s what you’re asking.” Her jaw clenched. “Undo them.”
Silco studied her for a moment longer- long enough for the weight of the moment to settle between them.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward… and slid the key into the lock.
The moment the chains hit the floor with a clatter, the magic surged.
Golden marks bloomed like ink across (Y/N)’s skin, glowing softly as they curled up her arms, pulsing with life and power that had been kept caged for far too long. Her eyes lit with the same glow- bright, wild, beautiful- before it all flickered, then faded, like the last flare of a dying star.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t revel in the return of her freedom.
She just exhaled quietly… and turned right back to Jinx.
There was no rage. No revenge. Just… care.
She dipped the cloth again, gently cleaning around the girl’s forehead where soot clung to her hairline. Her voice was soft, steady again.
“Almost done, sweetheart…”
Jinx stayed quiet, sniffling now and again, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar tightly.
Silco didn’t speak. He simply watched her- this girl who once burned like fire, now bent over the broken remnants of a child she swore to protect. There was something reverent in the way he looked at her, something unreadable in the way his fingers twitched at his side but never reached out.
(Y/N) gave no further reaction to her magic’s return.
No questions.
No celebration.
She just tucked a lock of Jinx’s hair behind her ear and whispered, “There we go, little firecracker…”
Because for now, she’d take care of her.
And she’d call her by something warm.
Something safe.
Until the world made room for her again.
Another ’’where the hurt doesnt reach’’ with Chinki, akane and junko with male!reader please
A/N: Of course! Pretty sure I've made one of these fic's for most of the girls in the games now. That's fun :}
Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.6
pt.5 - pt.?
pt.1
Chiaki, Akane and Junko x Male!Reader
Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Social Anxiety/Avoidance
Word Count: 3794
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chiaki:
The lights in the classroom flickered softly as the final bell rang. The hallways outside were already emptying, voices and laughter growing fainter with each passing second. But (Y/N) stayed seated at his desk, unmoving, his fingers curled tightly around the hem of his uniform jacket.
He hated this part of the day.
Not because of the classes, not even because of the exhaustion that dragged on his bones like weighted chains. But because eventually, he had to move. He had to walk out there. Past the boys who shouted too loudly, who bumped shoulders too hard, who laughed like threats.
His chest tightened.
"(Y/N)?" a soft voice floated into the room.
He flinched, halfway rising from his chair before registering the owner. Not a threat. Not him. Just... Chiaki…
The quiet girl who always carried her game console in her pocket, eyes half-lidded like she was constantly drifting through dreamy levels. She didn’t talk much, and when she did, it was often in game references and strategy hints. But somehow, she always noticed things no one else did.
Like the way he kept his back to the wall. The way he never raised his voice. The way he flinched when any of the boys clapped a hand on each other’s backs.
"...You didn’t leave with the others," she said, stepping closer, her bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. "Are you... waiting for someone?"
He shook his head silently.
Chiaki tilted her head. "Okay... can I sit here then?"
(Y/N) hesitated, then nodded. She took the seat beside him, setting her console on the desk between them. Her thumbs moved expertly over the buttons as a soft chiptune melody filled the space between them.
“I’m playing River Quest II,” she said, glancing sideways. “It’s about this kid who has to cross a haunted river to find his way home. But the boat he’s using keeps falling apart. So every night, he builds a new one. And even if he sinks, he tries again the next day.”
"...That sounds hard," (Y/N) murmured, voice hoarse.
“Yeah. But... I like it. There’s a lot of failure. But no matter what, the game lets you keep trying. Like... it wants you to win eventually. You just have to survive long enough.”
Her words sank into him slowly. Gentle. Understanding. Not pushing.
She didn’t ask questions like the counselors did. She didn’t talk about “opening up” or “dealing with trauma.” She just sat beside him in the silence, letting him exist.
"...You don’t talk to many people," Chiaki said softly after a while, her eyes still on the game. “Especially not guys.”
He stiffened. Instinctively. Reflexively.
She didn’t apologize. Didn’t backpedal or smother him with concern.
“I just thought you should know,” she continued, “you’re not weird for that.”
He turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable- but not cold. Just... focused, like she was watching a really important boss fight play out in real time.
"I don’t like loud people either," she added. “Or people who stand too close without asking.”
A breath escaped him- something like a laugh, though it barely had the strength. His shoulders dropped.
"...Thanks," he whispered.
Chiaki gave him a small nod, then paused her game.
“You can play with me... if you want. I can set it to co-op.”
"...What kind of game is it?"
“It’s not about fighting. It’s about surviving. Together.”
She handed him a second controller- one she kept just in case someone needed it. As (Y/N) took it with hesitant fingers, their shoulders barely touched. Just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t going to hurt him. That maybe, just maybe, this was his save point.
Later that evening, they left the classroom together.
The hallways had mostly cleared out, but a few stragglers still lingered- clusters of students chatting near the lockers or at classroom doors. (Y/N) kept close to the wall, his steps quiet, but his eyes wide and alert. Chiaki walked just behind him, humming quietly under her breath. The soft beeps of her handheld console were gone now- packed away- replaced by the dull echo of footsteps and laughter bouncing off the walls.
Then he heard it.
A sharp burst of male laughter up ahead.
He tensed.
There were three boys, loud and animated, joking about something and shoving each other playfully in the corridor. They hadn’t seen him. They weren’t even facing his direction.
But his throat tightened anyway.
His vision blurred.
The sound of their voices grew sharper, more distorted, like a tape warping and speeding up all at once. His legs stuttered to a stop. His chest locked up. His fingers went numb.
And suddenly, he was ten years old again.
Back in that hallway. Back in that house. The smell of beer and smoke choking the air. The sound of his voice- (Y/N)’s knees nearly buckled.
“Hey…” Chiaki’s voice came gently, like a hand through water.
He didn’t respond.
Her hand touched his sleeve. “(Y/N). It’s okay. Breathe.”
His shoulders shook. His eyes locked on the boys ahead, even though they were already walking the other way.
“They’re not looking at you,” Chiaki whispered. “They’re not coming over. You’re safe.”
It was a simple sentence.
But it anchored him.
He sucked in a shaky breath, then another. His heart was still pounding like it wanted to burst out of his chest, but the ringing in his ears began to fade.
Chiaki didn’t say anything else. She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t need to.
Instead, she stepped in front of him and held out her hand.
“Let’s take the long way back to the gates,” she said quietly. “Less noise. Fewer people.”
He stared at her hand.
It was small, delicate, and open. She wasn’t pushing it into his. She just held it there, offering.
After a moment, his fingers brushed hers- tentative, like he was still afraid he might break something just by being too close.
She gently curled her fingers around his.
Her grip wasn’t tight. It wasn’t controlling.
It was just... steady.
Safe.
They walked the long way around the school, down the side halls that smelled like books and chalk dust, past quiet windows tinted gold with the sunset. She didn’t let go.
At one point, she spoke again. Her voice was softer than before.
“You don’t have to talk about it. Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.
“That’s okay. There are other ways to say things.” She gave a small squeeze to his hand. “Like staying. Or listening. Or letting someone walk with you.”
"...Thanks for walking with me."
Chiaki looked up at him, a small smile on her face, serene and real. “Thanks for letting me.”
And for the first time in a very long time...
(Y/N) didn’t feel like he was running.
He felt like he was choosing to walk.
Akane:
The cafeteria buzzed with the easy hum of student life- cliques forming in every corner, laughter and teasing flung across the bright afternoon. (Y/N) kept his head down, stirring the food on his tray without much thought. He sat at the farthest end of the cafeteria, away from the crowd, where the walls at least covered his back. Where he could see if anyone approached.
Most people didn’t. Most people knew he wasn’t exactly friendly.
And frankly, (Y/N) preferred it that way.
Another day where he could sit quietly and get through without an incident was a good day, by his standards. He flinched slightly when a chair scraped loudly against the floor nearby- too loud, too sudden- and his whole body stiffened instinctively.
When he glanced up, his stomach twisted. But then, calmed a bit as soon as his eyes met the scourse of the sound. It was Akane Owari, the wild, carefree Gymnast.
She plopped down into the chair next to him without even a hint of hesitation, swinging one leg over the other, holding a tray piled with food.
(Y/N) blinked in confusion.
"You’re not eating." Akane’s voice was casual but blunt, her brown eyes sharp even as she started shoveling food into her mouth without any embarrassment. "Why not? Food's good here. Kinda boring, but good."
(Y/N) opened his mouth, then shut it again. His throat felt tight. He didn’t know how to explain that sometimes eating was hard when everything inside felt wrong. That sometimes he could barely taste anything through the constant pit in his stomach.
Instead, he just muttered, "Not that hungry."
Akane squinted at him mid-bite. "You’re too scrawny," she said flatly, pointing her fork at him accusingly. "You’ll fall over if the wind blows the wrong way."
(Y/N) flushed and looked away. He wasn’t used to people pointing things out about his body- it made him feel exposed. Like when he was younger. When every flaw, every weakness, got punished.
A quiet panic itched under his skin. She’s too close. She’s loud. She’s noticing me.
But then something strange happened.
Akane... didn’t push. She didn’t laugh, or call attention to his weird reaction. She just kept eating, completely nonchalant, like sitting next to him wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t some kind of freak to be tiptoed around or mocked.
Minutes passed.
(Y/N) felt himself starting to breathe a little easier.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
Finally, Akane broke the silence again, her voice softer this time. "You can sit with me at lunch, you know. If you want. ‘Cause... you look like you don’t got anybody."
Her words weren’t pitying. They were just honest.
(Y/N) stared at her, heart thudding painfully.
He wanted to trust her.
He wanted to believe in even a scrap of kindness.
But fear clawed up his throat, memories flashing too vividly- other people pretending to be nice, only to hurt him worse when he let his guard down. His hands trembled slightly under the table.
Akane must have noticed. Because she leaned back in her chair, hands up, palms facing him.
"No touching," she said, like it was a vow. "I don’t like it when people grab me without asking, either. So, uh... promise I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay."
(Y/N)’s breath hitched.
For a moment, he couldn’t look at her. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut tight.
When he finally managed to look again, Akane was just sitting there, lazily chewing a piece of chicken, like she hadn’t just casually offered him something he'd been craving for years.
Safety.
Choice.
A promise.
(Y/N) swallowed hard and gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.
Akane grinned at him, It wasn’t a teasing grin. It was warm. Friendly.
Like maybe she really meant it.
"Cool," she said. "You’re mine now. My lunch buddy."
And just like that, she went back to eating, talking between bites about all the weird crap she’d seen on TV lately, as if nothing had even happened.
Days bled into each other, and somehow, (Y/N) found himself... used to it. Used to Akane plopping down beside him at lunch. Used to her rambling about whatever crossed her mind- fights she watched, food she wanted, weird dreams she had.
He didn’t have to talk much, she didn’t expect him to.
And when he did say something, she listened like it mattered.
It was easy, in a way nothing else was. Easy enough that sometimes he forgot to be afraid when she sat too close. Easy enough that he didn’t flinch anymore when she burst out laughing or swung her arms wildly mid-story.
Until today.
Today was different.
He didn’t see it coming.
Didn’t see the group of boys from some other Class rounding the corner, roughhousing like they always did. (Y/N) shrank instinctively when they passed too close, ducking his head, praying they wouldn’t notice him.
But of course- someone did.
One of them, a tall boy with spiked hair and a cocky grin, spotted him instantly.
"Hey," the guy barked, jabbing a finger toward (Y/N). "Didn’t know they let scared little rats into Hope’s Peak."
The group chuckled. (Y/N)’s heart slammed against his ribs. His chest constricted.
He tried to melt into the wall, praying they'd get bored.
It never worked… It never worked.
"You hear me, freak?" the boy said louder, stepping closer. His shadow loomed over (Y/N). "You think you’re better than us, sittin' all quiet and weird? Huh?"
(Y/N) flinched without meaning to- sharp, instinctive, the way a kicked dog would. His breathing quickened, the old terror clawing at his spine. His palms were sweaty and cold at the same time.
"Leave him alone."
The voice cut through the air, sudden and razor-sharp.
(Y/N) barely had time to blink before Akane was there, standing between him and the guy, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a way (Y/N) had never seen before. Her whole body radiated tension- an animalistic readiness, like a jungle cat ready to tear into something.
The boy sneered. "Relax... We’re just messing around."
Akane tilted her head, cracking her knuckles one by one. "Yeah? Well, I don’t like it." Her voice was deceptively light, almost lazy. "Pick on someone else. Before I break your jaw."
The guy hesitated- maybe realizing that yeah, Akane could and would break something if she wanted to. He scoffed, tossing his hands up in mock surrender, before shoving past his friends and slinking away.
The group followed quickly, none of them daring to meet her gaze.
As soon as they were gone, Akane turned back to (Y/N).
Her expression softened immediately. No anger, no impatience. Just concern.
"You okay?" she asked simply.
(Y/N) opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was shaking- trembling- with the aftershocks of it all. But somehow, looking at her, he didn’t feel trapped. He didn’t feel like he was seconds from breaking.
He just felt... Seen. Protected.
(Y/N) squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deep, trying to steady himself.
Akane didn’t touch him.
She didn’t crowd him.
Instead, she dropped into a crouch right in front of him, balancing easily on the balls of her feet. She tilted her head again, smiling a little, almost sheepishly.
"I’m not good at this, y'know," she said. "The whole 'comforting' thing. But I don’t like seeing you scared."
(Y/N) opened his eyes slowly. His voice was hoarse when he finally whispered, "Thank you."
Akane grinned wide, her nose scrunching up.
"Hey, that’s what you do for the people you care about, right?"
Care…
The word landed heavier than she probably meant it to.
(Y/N) nodded slowly- another tiny, shaky nod- but it was genuine this time.
Akane rocked back on her heels, then stood up and offered him her pinky, wiggling it in front of him like a kid.
"Pinky promise," she said. "If anybody messes with you again, I’ll kick their ass. No questions asked."
(Y/N) stared at her hand for a long moment.
Then, hesitantly, so carefully, he hooked his pinky around hers.
It was the first time in a long time he touched someone and didn’t flinch.
Akane beamed. "Good. Now c’mon. You’re my lunch buddy, and i'm starving.”
Junko:
The world felt too loud for (Y/N).
The clang of lockers, the shrill excitement of new students meeting for the first time, the ever-present hum of fluorescent lights overhead- it all blurred into static in his ears. Hope’s Peak Academy was supposed to be a fresh start, but even walking these polished halls, (Y/N) felt a sinking pit deep in his gut. His scars didn’t show, not the kind that mattered. They throbbed silently beneath his skin, invisible to everyone else.
Everyone except maybe her.
"Ugh, could this place be any more boring?" a voice rang out like a bell, sharp and sugary sweet.
(Y/N) flinched instinctively, his shoulders tensing. He turned his head just slightly, not enough to draw attention. There she was… Junko Enoshima.
The Ultimate Fashionista. Long, wild pigtails, flawless skin, a magnetic presence that seemed to bend the very air around her. She was perfect. Perfect like a mannequin.
But as (Y/N) stared a little longer, he caught it- just a flicker behind those brilliantly blue eyes… Calculation.
He quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, panic prickling at his spine. Men were dangerous. Women... Women could be dangerous too, but less so. Still, people noticing him usually ended badly. He hoped she hadn’t seen him.
Of course she had.
Junko’s smile widened just a fraction as she sauntered closer, balancing on those towering heels like she ruled the world. She leaned down, just a little, to meet his hidden, downward gaze.
"Heyyyy. You're new, huh? What's your name?" Sweet voice. Thick with manufactured innocence.
(Y/N) opened his mouth, but his voice barely made it past his lips, "(Y/N)..."
She tilted her head, feigning a dramatic gasp. "Awww, you're shy! That's soooooo adorable~!" Her words dripped with honey, but her eyes... Her eyes stripped him bare.
It made (Y/N) take a trembling step back, his body recoiling before he could even think. He hated how obvious his fear must have looked.
Something shifted in Junko’s expression- so quick he almost missed it.
Interest.
"Ohhh, I get it," she chirped, standing up straight again, a hand resting lightly on her hip, "You're, like... scared of people, right?"
(Y/N) said nothing… He didn't need to. His silence said it for him.
Junko's gaze sharpened imperceptibly. This wasn't just shyness. This was deep, festering hurt. She knew the signs better than anyone. After all, wasn't she the Ultimate Analyst underneath all this glitter and glam?
"So cuuuute..." she said again, her voice softer this time. Real, almost.
And dangerous.
Without asking permission, she hooked her arm through his and tugged him along, her perfume clouding around him like a net.
"Don't worry! I'll protect you from all the big, scary boys around here~!" she teased, but there was something underneath the sing-song words.
A promise.
A threat.
(Y/N) wanted to pull away. Every instinct screamed for him to. But her hand was firm. Not rough, like others had been. Not yet. And deep down, a pitiful part of him ached- ached for someone to cling to.
Even if it was someone as terrifyingly unreadable as Junko Enoshima.
Days bled into one another like spilled ink.
At Hope’s Peak, (Y/N) learned the art of invisibility. Keep his head down. Hug the walls. Speak only when spoken to, and even then, softly enough to fade into the static.
But Junko wouldn’t let him disappear.
Every day, without fail, she found him. In the cafeteria, at the library, even once at the back entrance by the vending machines. A flash of blonde hair, a chime of mock surprise- "Omg, you’re here toooo?"- and she was by his side, smiling like they were childhood friends.
She never asked questions he didn't want to answer. Never touched him roughly… But she watched.
Always watching.
(Y/N) didn’t know if it was comfort or terror that curled tighter around his ribs when she was near.
But then… Something happened…
It happened three weeks into the semester.
(Y/N) was carrying a stack of books back to his dorm, arms full, vision half-blocked by the heavy tomes. He was focused only on keeping his breathing steady, moving quick but quiet down the mostly empty hall.
He didn’t see the boy until the shove came.
The books went flying, pages scattering like frightened birds. (Y/N) stumbled back, barely catching himself on the wall.
A tall boy, one of the rougher upperclassmen- he didn't even know his name- loomed over him, smirking.
"Oops. Guess you're just as useless as you look," the guy laughed, his voice a booming, cruel sound that cut into (Y/N)’s gut like a blade.
(Y/N) froze.
No breath. No movement. Like a rabbit in a wolf’s jaws. He barely registered the boy stepping closer, sneering down at him with twisted amusement.
"You even supposed to be here, freak? Weren't you scouted like, super late?" A hand grabbed at the collar of his shirt.
And then-
Click clack click clack.
The unmistakable rhythm of high heels against tile.
The boy barely had time to turn his head before Junko Enoshima was there, stepping between them like a sudden wildfire.
Her smile was dazzling.
Deadly.
"Uwaaah~ That’s not very nice of you," she sang sweetly, twirling a strand of her hair. "Picking on poor little (Y/N) like that. Don’t you know he’s, like, mine?"
The hallway seemed to shrink, the air thickening like a storm cloud.
The boy scoffed. "Tch. Whatever. I was just messing around."
Junko’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth.
Still sugary sweet.
Still ice cold.
"Oh, I know~ You were 'just messing around'," she cooed, voice dripping fake sympathy. "But see, I reeaaaaally hate it when people mess with my stuff. Like, reeeeeally hate it."
Her tone never rose. She didn’t yell, didn’t threaten. She simply existed- so vividly, so suffocatingly- that the boy instinctively stepped back.
Smart boy.
"Don't let me catch you 'messing around' again, 'kay?" she said with a little wink, like they were just two friends sharing a private joke.
The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked off, disappearing around the corner.
(Y/N) was still frozen against the wall, every nerve buzzing.
Junko turned to him then, her expression softening into something almost... human.
"You okay, sweetie?" she asked, crouching down and beginning to gather his scattered books without waiting for him to move.
(Y/N) opened his mouth. Closed it… Nodded once, stiffly.
Junko smiled- really smiled this time- and handed him the top book.
For a moment, their fingers brushed. He flinched, but Junko didn’t push it. Didn’t comment. She simply dusted off his sleeve, brushing off invisible dirt like he was something fragile.
"You know," she said airily as they walked side by side down the hall, "Next time someone tries that? Maybe I'll just break their fingers~."
(Y/N) turned his head, wide-eyed.
She laughed brightly at his expression. "Juuuust kidding!~" she chimed, but her eyes stayed cold and glittering.
Not kidding.
Not at all.
And somewhere deep in his hollowed-out chest, (Y/N) felt a strange warmth ignite- a tiny, desperate spark.
Because even if it was twisted- Even if it was dangerous- For the first time in a long, long time, someone had chosen to stand for him.
Even if that someone was Junko Enoshima.
Welcome!
I'm Gi, thank you for visiting my profile :}
Okay, so, I'm going to be so honest... I'm not exactly experienced when it comes to Tumblr. I mostly use it to look at art, and read fanfiction. Nonetheless, I want to try! I'm planning on posting my art, along with any fics I decide I want to write. I normally posty art on Insta, and my fics on Wattpad, but I thought it was time for a change, so I migrated here. I don't know what I'm doing exactly, but I would love suggestions on how to make things better, my writing, art, profile, everything! Feel free to give me any tips you want, I'll appreciate anything given to me :}
I'm going to start off with posting some art, just so this isn't my only post. If you like my work, don't hesitate to send me requests or suggestions!
Art post!
I decided I wanted to make a bigger version of my little profile guy, with my new hair since I cut it sorta recently.
I actually finished this one, which is sorta surprising lolol. I have like, 20 unfinished pieces I'm currently working on.
My masterlist, where all my other art or writing posts are :}
Hello my friend, I hope that you are having a good day! 😊 Well, For my first request, I wanted to see if you could do a headcanon with Demon Slayer AU x short black!reader (Short meaning like 5’2 in height and who’s ended up in Japan but has Trinidad and Tobago Caribbean roots/culture which includes the accent,food and of course Soca Carnival) who they date, want to marry and have children with in the future? ( You can choose how many kids each of them should have!)🐦🔥🌺🏝️🍹
A/N: Absolutely, @lelewright1234! I want to make it known, though- I am Indonesian-American. So, white and Asian. I did my best, though, with some research! If there is anything that is wrong, or inaccurate, please tell me! It's purely from me being ignorant. I did five characters to start with, if you want a part two, just request it and I'll start working on it :}
Carnival Hearts
Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x Fem!Black!Reader Headcannons
Warnings: None that I can tell :}
Word Count: 3054
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Tanjiro:
- The first time Tanjiro hears (Y/N)’s accent, he’s absolutely stunned: His eyes widen, he blinks a few times, and stammers, “Wh-what? Say that again?” Her voice is melodic to him, like music- rhythmic, warm, and full of life. Even when he doesn’t understand the slang, he’s enchanted by the way she speaks.
- Tanjiro becomes obsessed with (Y/N)’s cooking- deeply: The man had never tasted pelau, bake and shark, or curry chicken before… but now? He begs for them constantly. He’s always right beside her in the kitchen, apron on and eyes sparkling. “Okay, so I flip the roti- wait, why is it sticking- oh no, I messed it up again!”
- (Y/N)’s Music: When she hums soca music while cleaning, the first time, Tanjiro freezes mid-sweep. “What is this magical, energetic sound?! Why does it make me want to dance and fight demons at the same time??” Now, that music means good vibes, her, and home.
- Ever the gentleman: Tanjiro always leans down slightly to speak with (Y/N) since she’s only 5’2”- even if she insists it’s unnecessary. “Sorry!” he’d laugh, “You’re just so cute down there, I can’t help it!”
- Protective doesn’t even cover it: If anyone dares make fun of (Y/N)’s height or culture, Tanjiro remains sweet- but his glare? Cold as ice. It’s the kind of look that shuts an entire room up. “Speak with respect. Or don’t speak at all.”
- He’s a nickname machine: From “Tiny Tempest,” to “My Lil Firecracker,” to “Sunshine,” or simply a tender “(Y/N)-chan,” he always has something sweet on his lips when it comes to her.
- They balance each other perfectly: (Y/N) brings boldness, rhythm, and color into his world- while he offers peace, patience, and grounding. Together, they’re a heart-shaped hurricane of love.
- When Tanjiro proposes, it’s intimate and heart-melting: No grand show- just pure emotion. He might write to (Y/N)’s family back home to ask for their blessing, or maybe even learn to play a steelpan to perform a song. He could propose during Carnival, surrounded by joy and music, whispering, “You’ve brought so much light and color into my life. I want to dance through every day with you- through sunshine and storm. Will you marry me?”
- He’s all in for a culturally blended wedding: Traditional Japanese elements meet vibrant Trini culture. Yes, he wears the feathers. Yes, he’s bashful. But he does it with the softest smile, all for her.
- As a father? Tanjiro is dad of the year: Warm, affectionate, and involved. He teaches their kids sword forms, calligraphy, and compassion. (Y/N) teaches them how to cook Caribbean dishes, to limbo, and to live like joy is a celebration. “You are strong, kind, and beautiful,” he tells them. “From your mother, you carry music in your soul. From me, you carry strength and love. Never forget that.”
- Carnival becomes a yearly tradition for the whole family: The first time he joins (Y/N)’s family in Trinidad, Tanjiro is overwhelmed- in the best way. Their children race around in glittering costumes, she glows in feathers and color, and Tanjiro just stands there, heart bursting, whispering, “This… this is home.”
Inosuke:
- First Impressions & Height Obsession: The first thing Inosuke noticed was (Y/N)’s height- or lack thereof. “OI! WHY IS SHE SO TINY?!” he’d shout, poking the top of her head like she was some strange woodland creature. But the moment she scolded him with that sharp, melodic accent, he froze. Eyes wide. Brain malfunctioning. He’d never heard anyone sound like that before- and something in him loved it. From that moment on, he started listening to her more than he ever admitted.
- Food is Love: (Y/N) introduced him to Caribbean food, and it ruined every bland meal that came after. Inosuke devoured curry chicken, red beans, fried plantains, pelau, and especially roti like a man starved. “WHAT’S THIS? ROTI?? I WANT ROTI EVERY DAY, WOMAN!!” he’d shout with a satisfied grin. He boasted to the entire Corps that only he got to eat her cooking. It was sacred. No one else was allowed.
- Culture Shock (But He’s Thriving): Soca music confused him at first. “WHY’S IT SO GOOD?!” he’d demand, as if the music offended him. But soon enough, he was obsessed. Couldn’t get enough. He’d hum it during training sessions, during patrols- he even hummed it in battle.
- Carnival Chaos: (Y/N) took him to Carnival once, and he thought he was stepping into a war zone. “THIS IS THE BEST FIGHT PARTY EVER!!” he roared, covered in glitter and feathers. “It’s a celebration, not a brawl,” she had tried to explain- but by then he was whining his hips, downing rum, and dancing like he’d been born on to do it. She laughed so hard, she cried.
- Mutual Respect & Affection: Inosuke was fiercely protective of her, but never controlling. He loved how fiery she was- whether they were sparring, dancing, or teasing each other. He saw her as unstoppable, and he adored that.
- Constant Flexing: He never shut up about (Y/N). “MY WOMAN COULD BEAT YOU IN A FIGHT AND STILL MAKE A BETTER CURRY THAN YOUR MOM.” He'd randomly scream, “I’M GONNA MARRY HER!!” even if she wasn’t there. Zenitsu rolls his eyes “Dude, she’s not even here-” “I KNOW. SHE’LL FEEL IT.”
- Marriage… Inosuke Style: He didn’t really understand traditional proposals, so one day he just declared: “WE’RE MARRIED NOW.” “We are NOT- where’s the ring?!” “I CAN GET YOU A ROCK FROM THE FOREST.” Eventually, with some guidance, he pulled together a proper proposal. He placed a shiny ring inside a coconut shell lined with flowers. “It looks like you,” he said. (Y/N) melted.
- The Wedding: Their wedding was a chaotic, glorious fusion of both of their cultures. Steel pan music rang out, the food was a rainbow of flavor, and the dancing was vibrant and wild. Inosuke wore his haori- with added feathers, of course- and went absolutely feral on the dance floor. Tanjiro cried. Zenitsu fainted. Tengen declared it the party of the year.
- Kids, Kids, Kids: “I WANT FIVE,” he blurted out one day, unprompted. (Y/N) nearly choked. They ended up raising a wild little gang- Inosuke trained them like baby boars. Tree climbing, bug hunting, sword swinging. She balanced that chaos with rhythm, affection, culture, and soca music. She taught them how to cook, how to speak proper Trini slang, and how to carry themselves with fire.
- Family Vibes: All of their kids had a little lilt in their voices, and Inosuke was obsessed. He bragged constantly, “YOUR MOTHER ONCE MADE CURRY BEFORE STABBING A DEMON. THE CURRY TASTED BETTER BECAUSE OF IT.”
- Jealous Husband Energy: Sometimes the kids clung to (Y/N) a little too much for his liking. “OI! SHE’S MY WIFE FIRST!!” She’d just smile, kiss his cheek, and whisper, “Don’t worry, you’re still my big baby.”
Zenitsu:
- First Impressions and The Accent That Changed His Life: Zenitsu fell hard the moment he heard (Y/N) speak. Her accent hit his ears like a thunderclap wrapped in silk, and he turned beet red on the spot. “M-Marry me!!” came out before he even asked her name. Flustered and starstruck, he started babbling about angels and destiny. Tanjiro had to physically hold him back to stop him from proposing on the spot.
- The Way to His Heart: (Y/N)’s cooking became his favorite form of magic. The first time she made pelau, he shed actual tears. His soul ascended after one bite of bake and shark. And don’t even get him started on callaloo. After tasting her food, he’d clutch his chest dramatically and proclaim, “This has healing properties… my bones feel younger!” He always tried to help in the kitchen, but usually ended up snacking on half the ingredients. “I’m sorry! It smells too good! Are you using love as a seasoning?!”
- Culture Shock (and Awe): The first time he heard soca, Zenitsu looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “It’s so intense!!” he screamed- before learning to dance to it with full chaotic commitment. “I’m trying to whine for you, babe!!” he’d cry while flailing wildly. Carnival was even more intense. At first, he thought it was a battlefield, then a blessing. “ARE WE UNDER ATTACK OR IS THIS… THE BEST PARTY EVER?!”
- Dazzled at Carnival: The first time he saw (Y/N) in Carnival attire, his jaw hit the floor. His soul left his body. From that moment on, he walked beside her like a bodyguard on royal duty. “STEP ASIDE! THIS IS MY GIRLFR- I MEAN FUTURE WIFE!!” He refused to let go of her hand, even while hiding behind her during the loudest parts. After the parade, glitter on his cheeks and hands still clasped in hers, he fell asleep mumbling, “I wanna do this every year… with you.”
- Forever Starts Early: Zenitsu talked about marriage way too early- but he meant every word. “What kinds of have engagement customs do you have? Should I bring mangoes? Do I ask a grandparent? I want to do it right!” He dreamed of a wedding that fused both their worlds. Kimonos and Carnival feathers, sakura petals raining on soca dancers, sushi and curry goat side by side. “I want our kids to eat roti and mochi. To dance like you and train like me. I want that life with you.”
- Soft-Dad Supreme: He cried when the baby kicked. Cried when they said papa. Cried when they sneezed. Every milestone felt like a divine experience. He proudly tried to teach them Thunder Breathing, though they leaned more into music and dance- just like their mama. “You must whine at Carnival and meditate under the stars. That’s your birthright!”
- Compliments Hit Different: (Y/N)’s accent was a weapon of emotional destruction. One soft “Good job, Zen” and he was emotionally spinning through the air. The first time she told him she loved him, he went completely silent for ten minutes, just… stared at a tree. Later, he tried to write her a poem but cried halfway through every draft. “You’re fire and storm and sun and… and I’m lucky I even get to stand next to you.”
- He Adores (Y/N) Completely: Zenitsu adored everything about her- her strength, her rhythm, her voice, her culture. He genuinely believed she was a miracle in human form, and loving her made him braver than he ever thought possible. “You make me feel like lightning can be soft… like I’m more than just fear. I love you. I choose you.”
Nezuko:
- First Impressions: Even before she could speak, Nezuko was drawn to (Y/N). It wasn’t just the kindness- it was the energy. She moved with rhythm in her step, laughed like the world wasn’t burning, and wore sunshine like perfume. Nezuko hadn’t seen sunlight in years... until she met her. Barely 5'2, yet her presence filled every room. And Nezuko watched, enchanted.
- Food and Comfort: The first time (Y/N) introduced Nezuko to her cooking- doubles, bake and shark, pelau- Nezuko was visibly shaken (in the best way). Words weren’t necessary; the tug on the sleeve and the pointed finger at the pot said it all, “More, please.” She always saved the last bite for Nezuko, and Nezuko always offered it right back.
- Music and Moonlight: One night, (Y/N) hummed soft Soca beneath the moonlight. Nezuko tilted her head, curious, then began to sway. Gently, she took Nezuko’s hands and guided her into the rhythm, fireflies glowing around them like tiny Carnival lights. At first, Nezuko mimicked her moves- but soon, she was dancing beside her like she’d been doing it her whole life.
- The Accent: Nezuko adored (Y/N)’s accent. Even after regaining her voice, she would listen like each word was a melody. Whenever she used Trini slang, Nezuko would pout in confusion, then burst into laughter with her. Sometimes, she’d try to mimic the phrases- badly. But that only made her laugh harder.
- Physical Affection: Nezuko was a cuddler through and through. With (Y/N) being so small, she often wrapped herself around her like a protective vine. Her favorite place was curled into her chest, listening to soft lullabies while fingers played gently through her hair. After nightmares, her voice was the only thing that could soothe Nezuko back to sleep.
- In Battle: (Y/N) had the charisma and quick wit- Nezuko was the shield and the fire. If anyone dared threaten her, Nezuko didn’t hesitate. No words, just fangs, flames, and unyielding fury. After every fight, she was the first to check on Nezuko. And though Nezuko always insisted she was fine, one gentle “sweet girl” would have her melting into her arms.
- Dreams and Futures: Nezuko’s dream was simple. Peace, a garden, and a home where she was safe. She pictured kissing (Y/N)’s hands in the open, no fear, no muzzle- just freedom. In her quiet moments, she imagined them walking hand-in-hand on beaches. One Carnival, she was gifted a small ring made of seashells. She cried. She wore it like it was made of diamonds.
- Motherhood: Nezuko wanted children- not from duty, but from love. When she looked at (Y/N), she saw a future full of joy. She imagined barefoot little ones laughing with their mother’s vibrant spirit and growing strong with her Kamado heart. She’d teach them to make onigiri, while their mother taught them to wind their waist to Bunji Garlin. She let them paint her nails, sticker her face- each one worn with pride. Together, they’d raise them on calypso lullabies, warmth, and wild joy.
- All She Wants Is (Y/N): Nezuko never needed riches or recognition. All she wanted was her- a life where love was louder than fear, where two cultures danced and bloomed into something whole. A home filled with music, sun-warmed skin, soft words, and love that echoed through time.
Genya:
- First Impressions: Genya didn’t know what hit him when he first met (Y/N). She was short- barely reaching his chest- but her presence filled the room like sunlight. When she locked eyes with a demon twice her size and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll go handle it,” before body-slamming the creature into the dirt, he was stunned. She was powerful, radiant, and her voice? Hypnotic. From the moment she spoke, he was completely captivated.
- Trying to Keep His Distance (and Failing): He told himself (Y/N) would never go for someone like him- too bright, too bold, too far out of his league. But she kept choosing him. Sitting next to him during breaks. Calling him “pretty boy.” Offering him food from her plate. Slowly, all the defenses he’d built began to crumble. She didn’t just see him- she wanted him. And that meant everything.
- The Soca Incident: On a rest day, (Y/N) tugged him up and started dancin while softly singing. He froze- eyes wide, cheeks red- while she danced like rhythm lived in her bones. He didn’t move that time, but the memory stayed etched in his brain. That moment? It haunted him- in the best way.
- PDA and Soft Affection: Genya had never known casual affection. It always felt foreign. But with (Y/N)? She kissed his forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world. Held his face and called him “my handsome warrior.” Every time, he melted a little more. Eventually, he started leaning into it- hungry for the gentle kind of love she gave so freely.
- Obsessed With (Y/N)’s Accent: He loved her accent. Completely obsessed. When he was alone, he’d mimic her phrases under his breath. The first time she caught him doing it, he panicked. “I wasn’t making fun of you! I- I just like how you talk, okay?!” From then on, it became their little joke… and his quiet comfort.
- Food Is His Love Language (Well, (Y/N)’s): The first time she made him pelau, he swore he saw heaven. Roti? Devoured. She warned him about the pepper sauce- he ignored her. Instantly regretted it. Still cried his way through the heat, sweat and tears mixing as he mumbled, “It’s so good…”
- Homesick Days: On the rare days homesickness crept in, (Y/N) would talk about home- about Carnival, the sea breeze, the music, the smell of spices in the air. He didn’t always understand, but he listened. Held her close. Asked questions. And when she smiled again, he’d hum the soca songs she loved, hoping it made her feel a little closer to home.
- Quiet Proposal, Loud Love: He didn’t need a grand gesture. Just (Y/N). One night during a festival, while fireworks lit the sky, he slipped a ring onto her finger with a trembling hand. When she turned to him, he was already looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered. No speech. Just, “You’re my home. Stay?”
- Visiting Trinidad and Tobago: He went home with (Y/N). Tried his best to speak patois- fumbled it, of course- but she giggled every time, gently correcting him. Carnival overwhelmed him at first, but she dressed him up in glitter and feathers, and he followed her into the crowd. Nervous, dazzled… and completely in love.
- The Softest, Most Anxious Dad: The first time he held their child, he sobbed. Couldn’t stop. He was consumed with protecting them- checking their breath, their warmth, their blanket. But when (Y/N) danced around the room holding the baby to a soca beat, he stood there in awe. Then he joined- awkward, stumbling, but smiling wider than ever.
- Culture Keeper: He learned every recipe (Y/N) offered- pelau, callaloo, bake, macaroni pie. Not just for her, but for their children. So they’d know where they came from. Every time she leaned over his shoulder and said, “You're getting it, babe,” he lit up with pride.
- Raising Strong, Joyful Kids: Together, they raised children rooted in both worlds- (Y/N)’s vibrant culture and his quiet strength. Their kids danced to soca, sparred with wooden swords, and laughed with wild joy. Watching them, Genya saw everything he’d ever hoped for- two hearts' love blooming into something unforgettable.
Can you do separate peko, Mikan and tenko with male!reader who is depressed and scared of males due to his past abuse of stepfather?
A/N: Yes, I absolutely can! You didn't specify what kind of writing you wanted, so I just made oneshots for each of them :}
Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.1
pt.2
Peko, Mikan and Tenko x Male!Reader
Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries
Word Count: 3628
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Peko:
The first time Peko noticed him, it wasn’t because of something loud or dramatic.
It was because he wasn’t loud.
(Y/N) sat alone in the corner of the classroom, always a little too still, a little too tense. His eyes rarely met anyone’s directly, and when they did, they flinched away like they'd touched something too hot.
Peko understood silence. She understood stillness. But this wasn’t the silence of focus or discipline. This was a silence built from fear.
She didn’t approach him right away. Observation came naturally to her. She watched how he gripped the sleeves of his uniform during conversations. How he edged closer to the wall when a male classmate got too close. How his breathing would subtly hitch anytime a voice raised near him- even in laughter.
It wasn’t hard to piece together.
What she didn’t expect was how he looked at her.
Not with fear. Not with pity. But almost... curious. Like he couldn’t understand why someone like her- stern and composed- was the only one he didn’t shy away from.
They shared the same routine. Arrive early. Leave late. Avoid the crowd. So one day, when they passed in the hallway, and he flinched from someone else’s raised hand when going in for a highfive with another student, Peko made a choice.
She stopped.
“You’re hurt,” she said bluntly, her tone flat but not unkind. “You mask it well. But I see it.”
(Y/N)’s eyes widened, lips parting as if to protest, but nothing came out.
“I won’t ask what happened,” she continued, her voice steady. “But I’d like to offer... company. You don’t need to speak. I’ll simply sit.”
His throat bobbed. It was too much and not enough, all at once. He nodded.
That was how it started.
They began sharing quiet moments behind the school. No words, just the rustle of wind and the occasional time Peko pulled out her covered sword as she practiced her forms nearby. She never moved too fast, never startled him. The wood covering her blade slicing through the air with purpose, but her movements were deliberate- never violent, never chaotic.
(Y/N) started bringing a book. Sometimes he read. Sometimes he just listened to her breathe.
He trusted her long before he realized he did.
One afternoon, weeks into this fragile ritual, Peko put her sword down and sat beside him. Not close enough to touch- but closer than usual.
“I was trained to kill,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “But I don’t want to be feared.”
(Y/N) looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes were steady, but there was something buried deep- something vulnerable.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered.
She turned to him. The softest flicker of something like relief crossed her face.
“You don’t flinch when I move,” she said.
“You don’t raise your voice,” he replied. “You don’t... look at me like I’m broken.”
“You’re not broken,” she said without hesitation. “You survived something that tried to destroy you. That takes strength.”
His breath caught. No one had ever said that before. Not like that. Not without expectation.
Peko looked down. “I don’t understand emotions well. But... I want to protect what’s important to me. You’ve become important.”
His heart stuttered.
He didn’t know what to say. But maybe he didn’t need to.
Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.
And Peko, the girl who had only ever known her blade, sat quietly beside him- offering a different kind of shield.
After a while, they both stood, going off in their separate directions, like any other day.
The next day, around the end of the school day, (Y/N) was making his way to his loacker to gather all of his things.
The hallway was nearly empty, that sort of eerie quiet where footsteps echo too loudly. (Y/N) had stayed behind, as usual, hoping the other students would clear out so he wouldn’t have to squeeze through a crowd. But he hadn’t realized one of the seniors- Riku, loud and full of something bitter- was waiting around the corner.
“Hey,” Riku said, stepping into his path.
(Y/N) froze.
He recognized that voice. Recognized the way his tone coiled beneath fake friendliness. He backed up a step.
“Relax, man. Just wanna talk,” Riku smirked, inching closer. “You’re always glued to that sword-girl. Pretty sure she’s not into shy little losers.”
(Y/N)’s throat tightened. His breath came shallow. Riku moved fast- too fast- blocking his path with an arm against the lockers.
Something snapped behind his eyes. He wasn’t seeing the hallway anymore. He was seeing him. The stepfather who slammed doors. Who raised fists. Who spat words like nails. His body went rigid. Breath caught.
But then-
A voice, sharp and cold as steel, “Back away from him.”
Riku turned. “What the hell-?”
Peko stood at the end of the hall, eyes narrowed at Riku. She wasn’t holding it in an offensive stance. She didn’t need to.
Her presence alone was enough to shift the air.
Riku chuckled, but it was weak now. “Geez, you’re really babysitting him?”
Peko didn’t blink. “This is your final warning.”
Her hand moved slightly, her fingers brushing the handle of her sword on her back.
Riku scoffed but stepped back, muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t stupid. No one crossed Peko Pekoyama.
The moment he was gone, Peko turned her attention to (Y/N), whose back was still against the lockers, chest rising and falling fast.
“(Y/N),” she said, softly now. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”
It took a moment, but his gaze finally met hers. Wide, haunted.
She stepped closer. Slowly. “May I?” she asked, gesturing vaguely toward him- not to touch, just to be closer.
He nodded once.
They sat down on the bench nearby, the world narrowing to the silence between them. Peko waited. Patient. Steady. He clutched his sleeves tightly, knuckles white, before he finally broke the quiet.
“My stepfather…” he began. His voice cracked. He paused. Swallowed.
She waited.
“He used to do things like that. The cornering. The threats. And worse. I’d hear his boots coming down the hall and- I just- I couldn’t breathe.” His voice wavered, and he shut his eyes tightly. “I always thought it was my fault. That I wasn’t strong enough.”
Peko didn’t speak right away. When she did, her voice was low. Intent.
“You survived that,” she said. “Not because you were weak- but because you endured. And that kind of strength... is rare.”
His lips trembled. “Why don’t you run from me, Peko?”
She tilted her head slightly, frowning. “Why would I run from you?”
“Because I’m messed up. Broken. You could be with anyone-”
“I choose to be near you,” she interrupted, voice firm. “Not out of pity. Not out of duty. But because... when I’m with you, I feel calm. Like I don’t have to always be a weapon.”
His eyes widened.
She hesitated, then reached out- not touching him, just letting her hand hover, waiting. “May I?” she asked again.
Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.
She took his hand gently, her grip warm but never tight. Never controlling. Just… there.
And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a victim.
Mikan:
The first time Mikan saw him, (Y/N) was curled up in the corner of the classroom, sleeves tugged over his hands, eyes glued to the floor like looking at anyone might make him shatter.
She recognized it instantly- the stiffness in his shoulders, the flinch at every sudden movement, the way his breathing changed when someone walked behind him. Fear. Not the kind that faded with time, but the kind etched into the nervous system like a scar.
She understood that kind of fear too well.
Mikan had always been too much- too clumsy, too anxious, too eager to please- but she was never too much for pain. Pain, she'd learned, made people pay attention. She'd hated it, but she'd lived in it for so long that when she saw (Y/N), she knew. He lived there too.
It started small.
A quiet hello after class, barely above a whisper. A bandaid offered when she noticed he was biting the skin around his nails until it bled. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t look her in the eye. But he didn’t push her away either.
That was enough for Mikan.
She didn’t try to fix him. She just sat next to him sometimes, talked softly about things that didn’t matter- how the nurse’s office was out of gauze again, how her hair wouldn’t stay right no matter how she brushed it, how the sky looked heavy with rain. He never responded, but slowly, he started listening. And eventually, he started nodding.
Then one day, he spoke.
“I hate being touched.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Mikan froze. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to. She just nodded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Okay. I won’t touch you,” she said.
(Y/N)’s shoulders relaxed, just a little.
Weeks passed like that. (Y/N) never told her what happened, but sometimes he’d trail off mid-sentence and she’d see the flicker of something behind his eyes- something haunted and heavy. She didn’t press. She just kept showing up. With warmth. With patience.
And one rainy afternoon, everything changed.
He was shaking when he stumbled into the nurse’s office, soaked through, bruises blooming across his ribs. He wouldn’t say who did it. Mikan didn’t ask. She only helped him sit down on the cot, hands trembling as she reached for the medical kit, then paused.
“I-I-I’m going to clean your injuries now, but… I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay, okay?”
There was a long silence. Then, barely audible:
“…Okay.”
It was the first time he let her touch him.
Her hands were soft, careful. Every movement was slow, narrated in a gentle whisper. “I’m cleaning the cut now. It might sting a little, b-but I’ll be really careful, promise…”
He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His breathing hitched. She didn’t say anything when a tear slid down his cheek. She just handed him a tissue.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so broken.”
“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head so hard her hair slipped from its pins. “You’re not. You’re hurt. You’ve been hurt really badly, but that’s not the same as being broken.”
He looked at her then. Really looked at her. She saw the raw ache in his expression, the doubt, the exhaustion. But also, the beginning of something else. Hope, maybe.
In time, (Y/N) stopped flinching as much. He started sitting closer. Sometimes, he even smiled. It was small and fleeting, but to Mikan, it was brighter than the sun.
He wasn’t healed, not completely. Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came in pieces. In trust built moment by moment. In safety found in gentle hands and soft voices.
Mikan didn’t need him to be perfect. She didn’t even need him to be okay.
She just needed him to know he didn’t have to suffer alone.
And little by little, he began to believe it.
After that, the nurse’s office had become a kind of sanctuary.
At first, (Y/N) had only gone there when he had no choice- when bruises needed hiding or a panic attack left him too dizzy to think. But now, he found himself drifting there even on quiet days. Days when nothing hurt, at least not visibly. Days when the ghosts were just whispers, not screams.
Mikan was always there.
She never asked him to explain himself. She never pushed when the words got stuck in his throat. She just smiled- nervous, shaky, but real- and made space for him beside her. Sometimes she offered tea. Sometimes she rambled about classwork or clumsily spilled cotton balls across the floor. Sometimes she just sat with him, in silence, and that was enough.
(Y/N) found comfort in her softness, in how careful she was. How she always announced every move.
“I’m reaching for the thermometer now, o-okay? I won’t touch you.”
“I’ll sit here, if that’s okay. I c-can move if it’s not…”
He never realized how deeply he craved that kind of gentleness until she gave it to him.
It was a Thursday when something shifted.
(Y/N) was staring out the window, watching a few birds hop along the grass just beyond the courtyard. The sky was a dull gray, the kind that made everything feel a little heavier. Mikan sat beside him on the cot, legs drawn up beneath her, chewing nervously on her lower lip.
She looked at him, then down at her hands. “U-Um… (Y/N)? Can I ask something?”
He stiffened, but nodded.
“Have you ever… had anyone tell you they’re proud of you?”
He blinked.
“…No.”
Mikan’s lips parted like she might cry, but instead, she scooted just a little closer. “I am,” she whispered. “I-I mean… I’m proud of you. You’re so brave. You keep going even when it hurts, and you’re always so kind even when you're scared, and… I just think that’s really, really strong.”
The room was too quiet. Too still.
Then- without thinking- (Y/N) reached out. His fingers brushed her sleeve. Not skin. Just fabric. But it was the first time he’d reached for anyone in years.
Mikan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“Is… is it okay if I stay like this?” he asked, voice trembling. “Just for a minute.”
Her eyes went wide with emotion, then she gave the smallest, warmest smile.
“Yes. Of course it is.”
Later that night, (Y/N) sat on his bed with the lights off, staring at the soft imprint of her touch left in his memory. His stepfather’s voice still echoed sometimes, cruel and sharp and impossible to silence. But for once, it was quieter than the sound of Mikan’s voice.
“I’m proud of you.”
Those words replayed over and over, like a lullaby.
Tenko:
The dojo was quiet- unusually so. Dust motes floated in the sunlit air like tiny spirits, dancing just above the polished floorboards. Tenko Chabashira stood barefoot at the center of the room, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed with every practiced movement. Her breathing was controlled, sharp, matching the flow of her kata.
But she paused mid-strike, her sharp eyes flickering toward the door. Someone was there- hesitating. Hovering like a shadow.
"(Y/N)?" she called softly, letting her arms fall to her sides.
He flinched, half-hidden behind the sliding door, as if even hearing his name spoken aloud was too much. His knuckles were white where he clutched the edge of the frame, shoulders hunched beneath his too-large hoodie.
Tenko straightened and offered a gentle smile- not too big, not too forceful. She knew better than to rush him. Over the past few weeks, she’d noticed how (Y/N) never looked anyone in the eyes, how he avoided crowded hallways and jumped at loud voices. And worst of all- how he tensed around every man, like his whole body was bracing for a blow.
She had been careful. Always letting him choose the distance. Always making sure he knew she saw him as more than what the others whispered behind his back.
"I was just finishing up training," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "You can come in… if you want."
He hesitated, then stepped forward like he was walking into an unknown world. Every step seemed like a negotiation with himself. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he sat at the far edge of the room, back to the wall, as if needing a way out.
Tenko didn’t mind. She simply walked to the corner, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a slow sip before sitting cross-legged across from him.
"You’re always welcome here, you know," she said softly. "No pressure. Just… a place to breathe."
(Y/N)'s hands curled tightly in his sleeves. His voice, when it came, was almost inaudible. “You’re the only one who doesn’t… look at me like I’m broken.”
Tenko’s heart twisted. She leaned forward slightly, mindful of her posture- open, nonthreatening.
"You're not broken, (Y/N). You've just been hurt. And healing... takes time. But you're strong. I can tell."
He shook his head. "I'm not. I can't even look at half the class without freezing up. I can’t-"
“You showed up here,” she cut in gently. “That’s strength.”
There was silence. A long, aching silence.
Then, as if asking for something he couldn’t name, he whispered, "Can I stay a while?"
Tenko’s expression softened. She nodded, voice quiet but firm. “As long as you need.”
And so they sat there, in the soft golden light, surrounded by the scent of pine wood and old paper walls. No fighting. No fear. Just two people- one offering calm, the other learning to breathe again.
Tenko glanced at him, watching the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly.
"I don’t usually like guys," she admitted suddenly, rubbing the back of her neck. "They make me uncomfortable. Scared, sometimes. I… guess that’s why I understand you a little."
(Y/N)'s head turned, just barely, and for the first time, their eyes met. Not for long, not intensely- but it was enough. Enough to see the sincerity in hers, the warmth behind the guarded strength.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Tenko gave him a soft smile- one that didn’t need words.
After that day, the dojo became their quiet haven.
Most days after class, Tenko would finish her practice while (Y/N) sat nearby, always keeping his distance, always watching. Sometimes, he brought a book. Other times, he said nothing at all. But he came back- day after day- and that was enough for her.
One afternoon, when the clouds hung low and the wind rattled the paper windows, Tenko finished a round of sparring with the training dummy and sat beside him on the polished floor. She didn’t speak at first. Neither did he.
Instead, she handed him a cup of tea she’d brewed earlier. Chamomile. Something calming.
He took it slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he held the warm porcelain between his palms.
“I used to drink tea with my mom,” he said, voice low. “Before everything… changed.”
Tenko glanced over, surprised he’d spoken first. She stayed quiet, letting him decide how much to share.
“She used to hum,” he added. “All the time. While cleaning, cooking… even when things were bad. I miss that.”
Tenko looked down at her cup, her brow knitting softly. “I miss my sensei,” she said. “She taught me everything I know about Aikido. She said it wasn’t just about defense- it was about connection. With yourself. With others.”
She turned her head to meet his eyes.
“That’s why I started letting you sit here. I wanted you to feel safe… connected.”
(Y/N) bit his lip, shoulders curling in slightly like he was trying to keep himself small. But he didn’t move away.
“Sometimes I think I’ll never be normal,” he whispered.
Tenko scooted just a little closer- carefully, never pushing.
“What if you don’t have to be?” she said. “What if who you are now is already enough?”
He looked at her, eyes wide. There was no judgment there. No pity. Just Tenko-blunt, honest, warm. After a few moniutes, she suggested something.
“Just stretching,” she promised. “You don’t even have to touch me. It’s just you and your body. Reclaiming it.”
(Y/N) was hesitant. The idea of his body being his own felt... foreign. But Tenko’s voice was soft, and her patience never wavered.
He followed her lead one day, mirroring her as she slowly bent forward, arms extended. His form was shaky, unbalanced, but she never corrected him harshly.
“You’re doing great,” she said gently. “This part’s about feeling. Not perfection.”
Each day, he got a little better. He started standing straighter. Breathing deeper. Letting his hands relax at his sides instead of fisting in his sleeves.
He even laughed once- when Tenko tried to show off a high kick and accidentally knocked over a training mat.
She flushed red. “T-That was intentional, of course! A lesson in humility!”
His laugh was small but real, and she smiled like she’d just won a gold medal.
It was late one evening when (Y/N) had a nightmare and ended up knocking on her door at the dorms, pale and shaking.
Tenko didn’t ask questions. She pulled him inside and handed him a blanket. Made him tea. Sat on the floor with him until the trembling stopped.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
He shook his head.
She nodded. “Then we don’t have to.”
But after a while, as the tea grew cold between his hands, he said, “He used to come into my room when the house was quiet. Said it was my fault. That I was weak.”
Tenko’s hands tightened on her lap, her jaw clenching with quiet rage.
“You were never at fault,” she said. “Not even a little.”
And then- carefully, with the softness of someone offering a bridge- she opened her arms.
“I can hold you, if you want.”
His breath caught, chest rising unevenly.
“…Okay.”
He leaned in slowly, as if expecting her to flinch. But she didn’t. Her arms wrapped around his narrow shoulders, strong but warm. She held him like she meant it- like she wasn’t afraid of what he carried.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here.”
If it’s okay to ask, are you open to Omorashi and/or Omocute requests?
If not, that’s perfectly fine, I get it’s not for everyone, I just wanted to check.
Lolololol nope. I do not.
Honestly, didn't even know what that meant, but after a quick Google... Yeahhhhhh. I'm not writing piss stuff, sorry lmao. No shame, but uhhh... I just can't do that 💀 I am totally willing to do other things, though! Within reason, obviously.
For Danganronpa, how about some Smut Headcanons for Hina, Mahiru, and Kaede helping their Female S/O to squirt for the first time!
A/N: Of course I can! This is my first time doing Headcanon's, though. I hope this is what you wanted :}
Journey into Intimacy pt.1
pt.2
Smut Headcanons for Hina, Mahiru, and Kaede.
18+ MDNI
Warnings: Sexual Content/Intimacy, Light Dom/Sub Dynamics, First times.
Word Count: 2502
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hina:
HAD TO CUT THIS PART BECAUSE SOMEONE LITERALLY FUCKING THREATEDNED ME!!!
Posted what happened, the link is above, but jfc some people are so mentally unwell. Who ever you are, I seriously hope you get the help you need.
Mahiru:
- The Nervous Anticipation: The air between them is different tonight. It’s not the usual playful flirting or casual kisses; it’s thick with something heavier, unspoken, but deeply understood. (Y/N) is fidgeting, her fingers messing with the hem of her shirt, while Mahiru- normally full of sarcastic remarks- finds herself uncharacteristically quiet. They both know where this is heading, but neither of them really knows how to start.
- Awkward Yet Sweet First Steps: Despite her usual confidence, Mahiru is a nervous wreck inside. She wants everything to be perfect, wants (Y/N) to feel safe and cherished, but holy hell, she’s overthinking every move. Meanwhile, (Y/N)- who has literally never done anything like this before- feels her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Every touch, every shared glance, feels ten times more intense than usual.
- Soft, Slow Exploration: Mahiru takes the lead, but gently. Her fingers trail over (Y/N)’s arms, her waist, tracing slow patterns on her skin as she watches every little reaction. She kisses her everywhere- her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw- until (Y/N) finally lets out a shaky breath, whispering, “I want you.” That’s all it takes for Mahiru’s heart to damn near explode.
- Mahiru’s Photographer Instinct Kicks In: As things progress, Mahiru can’t help but admire the absolute beauty of the moment. (Y/N) looks so soft, so vulnerable yet trusting, and fuck, she wants to capture this forever. She resists the urge to grab her camera, but at some point, she whispers about how breathtaking (Y/N) looks. (Y/N), flustered as hell, buries her face in Mahiru’s shoulder.
- Consent Queens: They check in with each other constantly. “Is this okay?” “Do you like this?” It’s sweet, but at some point, (Y/N) laughs between gasps, saying, “Mahiru, if you ask me one more time, I swear to god.” Mahiru chuckles, finally letting go of her nerves a little, before focusing on making her girlfriend fall apart in the best way possible.
- Mahiru is a Soft Dom???: Mahiru may be a nervous mess internally, but her natural assertiveness doesn’t just disappear. She instinctively takes charge, not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes (Y/N) feel completely safe and adored. She’s super praise-heavy, whispering how beautiful (Y/N) is, how perfect she is, how much she loves seeing her like this. (Y/N), in return, melts under her touch.
- Reaching the Peak: It happens so much faster than (Y/N) expected. She barely has time to process it before her whole body goes taut, her fingers digging into Mahiru’s shoulders as she gasps and trembles. It’s overwhelming, electrifying, and so damn intense, she almost can’t believe it’s real. Her breath catches, her back arches, and she lets out a breathless moan, completely lost in the moment.
- Mahiru is Absolutely Mesmerized: Watching (Y/N) fall apart like this is the most stunning thing she’s ever seen. She never expected to love this side of her girlfriend so much, but fuck, knowing she’s the first person to ever make (Y/N) feel this way? That’s a feeling she never wants to lose.
- The Immediate Aftermath: (Y/N) is still trembling, barely able to form words, so Mahiru pulls her close, cradling her against her chest. She whispers sweet nothings, pressing soft kisses against (Y/N)’s forehead, cheeks, lips. “You okay?” she murmurs, even though the answer is painfully obvious from the way (Y/N) is still clutching onto her like a lifeline.
- Soft Aftercare is a Must: Mahiru takes care of (Y/N) afterward, running fingers through her hair, whispering soft reassurances, making sure she’s comfortable and warm. “Need water?” “Need anything?” (Y/N) pretends to protest being babied but secretly loves it. “Mahiru, you’re acting like I just ran a marathon,” she grumbles, but she’s already nuzzling into her anyway.
- (Y/N)’s Shy Confession: After a few moments of silence, (Y/N) mumbles into Mahiru’s skin, “That was… the best thing I’ve ever felt.” She sounds so damn embarrassed, but Mahiru just grins, pressing another kiss to her temple. “Yeah?” she teases. “Glad I could be the one to show you.” (Y/N) groans, hiding her burning face in Mahiru’s shoulder.
- Cuddles and Teasing: They stay wrapped up in each other, letting the moment linger, neither wanting to move. (Y/N), still, coming down from the high, lazily traces circles on Mahiru’s back. Eventually, she mutters, “You’re gonna be so fucking smug about this, aren’t you?” Mahiru grins, kissing her neck. “Oh, absolutely.”
- Their Love Only Gets Stronger: Exploring each other doesn’t change their relationship- it deepens it. They were already so in love, but now there’s a whole new level of trust and closeness between them. They fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
Kaede:
- High School Sweethearts with a Whole Lot of Love: Kaede and (Y/N) have been dating since high school, and from the very beginning, their relationship has been filled with warmth, laughter, and way too many flustered moments. Kaede is very much a romantic, always doing little things like writing (Y/N) piano pieces, sneaking little notes into her bag, and kissing her nose just to make her blush. (Y/N), on the other hand, acts like the smooth one, but the second Kaede even breathes in her direction with a little more affection than usual, she is absolutely doomed.
- Fleeting touches: Holding Hands? Cute. But Holding Hands Under the Covers? Illegal. Even though they’ve been together for years, they are still flustered idiots when it comes to physical affection. (Y/N) still gets butterflies whenever Kaede casually holds her hand, and Kaede still turns bright red whenever (Y/N) kisses her neck- But the moment they start cuddling under the covers, it suddenly feels ten times more intimate, and neither of them knows what the to do about it.
- The Build-Up to Something More: They’ve been thinking about taking things a step further, but neither of them wants to rush. Kaede, being the overachiever she is, researches the hell out of everything. She wants to make sure that she knows how to make (Y/N) feel good without making her uncomfortable. (Y/N), meanwhile, is excited but also lowkey terrified. She knows she wants this with Kaede, but holy hell, the thought of Kaede actually touching her like that makes her whole brain short-circuit.
- The Night Everything Changes: It starts like any other night- just the two of them in Kaede’s room, soft music playing in the background, and a little bit of cuddling… But this time? There’s a different energy in the air. Kaede gently kisses (Y/N) a little deeper, letting her fingers trail along her waist, and (Y/N) suddenly realizes, ‘Oh, we’re really doing this.’
- Kaede Takes the Lead (Even Though She’s Shaking Like a Leaf): At first, Kaede is nervous as hell. She’s always been confident when it comes to playing the piano or performing, but when it comes to intimacy? That’s an entirely new stage, but when she hears the way (Y/N) breathes a little heavier every time she touches her, that nervousness slowly turns into determination. Kaede realizes that she wants to be the one to make (Y/N) feel good, to be the one who helps her experience something new and beautiful.
- (Y/N) Falls Apart Instantly: The second Kaede touches her in just the right way, (Y/N) is done for. She thought she could handle it. She really did. But the way Kaede’s soft, delicate hands explore her body makes her entire soul leave her body. She tries so hard to stay quiet, but Kaede sees right through her. “Don’t hold back,” Kaede whispers against her skin, and (Y/N) immediately melts into the sheets.
- Kaede Learns She Loves Being in Control: As Kaede keeps going, she notices every little detail- the way (Y/N)’s breathing changes, the way she grips onto the sheets, the way she softly gasps her name… Something about it makes Kaede feel so… powerful. For once, she’s not just playing an instrument- she’s playing with (Y/N), and every touch, every movement, is making her girlfriend completely fall apart beneath her.
- The First Time (Y/N) Ever Reaches her High: (Y/N) has never felt anything like this before- the slow build-up, the way her body tightens, the overwhelming pleasure that finally crashes over her like a wave. When it happens, she completely forgets how to function. She’s breathless, shaking, gripping onto Kaede like she’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Kaede doesn’t stop holding her for a single second, kissing her forehead, whispering soft reassurances, and just being the absolute best girlfriend in existence.
- (Y/N) Is a Flustered, Speechless Mess Afterwards: After everything, (Y/N) refuses to look Kaede in the eye. Kaede, being smug as hell, just grins and asks, “Was it good?” (Y/N) groans, hides under the blankets, and refuses to answer… But the way she pulls Kaede close and buries her face in her chest says everything Kaede needs to know.
- Morning After Shenanigans: The next morning, they are both grinning like lovesick idiots… Unfortunately, their friends immediately catch on. Shuichi squints at them over breakfast and asks, “Why are you two acting weird?” Miu, being the gremlin she is, immediately puts two and two together. “OH MY GOD, YOU TWO FINALLY FU-” “MIU, SHUT THE HELL UP!”
- A Whole New Level of Intimacy: Their relationship was always full of love, but after that night? It feels even deeper. Kaede can’t stop smiling whenever she looks at (Y/N), knowing she was her first in such a big way. (Y/N), on the other hand, gets flustered way more easily now, especially whenever Kaede touches her in public. “Oh, so now you’re nervous?” Kaede teases, nudging her. “Shut up,” (Y/N) mutters, hiding her face behind her hands.
- Exploring Even More Together: Now that they’ve taken that first step, they get more and more comfortable exploring each other. Kaede still loves teasing (Y/N) just to watch her reactions, and (Y/N) loves learning what makes Kaede weak in return. They take their time, learning and growing together, never rushing, and always making sure they’re both completely comfortable. Because at the end of the day? It’s not just about physical intimacy. It’s about trust, love, and being completely vulnerable with the person who means the most to them.
Hello my friend, I hope that you are having a good day! 😊 Well, For my story request, I wanted to see if you could do a headcanon with Demon Slayer AU x short black!reader where they suffered and take medication from Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) or Multiple Personality Disorder where they act just like Junko Enoshima from Danganronpa but instead of killing their friends they are very protective of them to the point where they will kill/hurt someone else!~ 😂🥹💔😈
A/N: Of course, @lelewright1234! I want to make it known, though, I do not over-dramatize mental illness. DID is usually very overly portrayed to be "evil" or "harmful" in media, and I very much do not like that. I made sure to do some research before writing this, to make sure I am not doing any harm. Reader is aggressive, but only when it comes to keeping those they love safe :} Also, the gender of the reader wasn't specified, so I kept it gender neutral, but also also, the dialog is pink, cuz... Well... All the other colors were taken LOL
All of Me, All of You
Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x GN!Black!Reader Headcannons
Warnings: Topics of Mental Health, Violence/Gore, and Trauma Responses
Word Count: 2108
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tanjiro:
- Tanjiro is initially overwhelmed, but never fearful of (Y/N): Their energy reminds him of Zenitsu and Inosuke, but darker… sharper. He senses something fractured beneath the surface, and his kindness becomes a safe anchor.
- He learns the names and mannerisms of their alters over time: He is always calling them by their preferred name and tone. He’s especially good at grounding them during dissociative episodes- placing their hand on his heartbeat, holding eye contact, and speaking gently, “You’re here. You’re with me. I’m not going anywhere.”
- (Y/N) jokes about being "completely unhinged for their man,": Tanjiro just chuckles nervously until he sees them genuinely lose control when someone threatens him. One time, someone tried to kill Tanjiro during a mission and (Y/N) didn’t hesitate to gouge the enemy’s eyes out. Calmly. Softly. With a smile on their face. It terrifies everyone- except Tanjiro, who simply checks if they’re okay afterward.
- (Y/N) leaves bloodied love notes: “They touched you. I touched them back. With a blade.” Tanjiro keeps them hidden in a box because he doesn’t know what to do with them, but he can’t bring himself to throw them away.
- Medication and herbs help them sleep and prevents violent switching: But… It doesn't work all the time. When it fails, Tanjiro’s voice and scent help stabilize them. Tanjiro never forces them to change. Instead, he helps build routines that give structure without control.
- When he asks them out, he doesn’t do a big dramatic thing: He just says, “I love all of you. Every version. Every day.” And (Y/N) genuinely glitches for a second before saying yes.
- Tanjiro lets (Y/N) carve protective symbols into his blade hilt: Some are from folk tales (Y/N) remembers. Some they made up. He never questions them.
Inosuke:
- Inosuke lives for (Y/N)’s unpredictability: Their switching between personalities reminds him of a beast showing multiple stances- it's wild, it’s powerful, and it intrigues him.
- (Y/N)’s main protector personality treats their crew like royalty: Friends are sacred. Anyone who hurts one of them? Their lifespan just got significantly shorter. Inosuke once saw (Y/N) curb-stomp a demon for insulting Tanjiro’s nose. He fell a little in love that day.
- (Y/N)’s manic energy and sudden voice switches never throw Inosuke off: he adapts on the fly, meeting their different states with a mix of curiosity and brute loyalty. (Y/N) will giggle and switch from baby-talking Inosuke to planning someone's murder in a split second, and Inosuke just tilts his head like, "Huh. That’s hot."
- They take medication daily: They store their herbs and things in a cute pouch they sewed themself, covered in wild patterns and a tiny plush of a pig (for Inosuke, obviously). Some days, it works great- other days, (Y/N) is unhinged in a dangerously loving way. On those days, they cling to Inosuke like a talisman, grounding themselves through physical contact.
- When they dissociate badly, Inosuke doesn't fully understand it: He recognizes the signs- the blank stare, the disconnection. So he drops his usual yelling and becomes weirdly gentle. He’ll sit silently with them in a tree, hand on their back until they come back to him. He doesn’t try to "fix" them. He just accepts them. All of them.
- All of the alters agree on one thing: Inosuke belongs to them. Try flirting with him and see how fast a blade appears. Tanjiro helped them all come up with a color-coded system to identify who’s fronting. Inosuke ignores it and just uses vibes.
- Inosuke doesn’t say "I love you" much: He says “You’re strong,” “You smell like home,” or “If anyone touches you, I’ll break their arms.” (Y/N) says “I love you” through their chaos- they’ll cook him an entire feast, braid flowers into his hair, then threaten someone with a dagger in the same breath.
- When they switch, Inosuke has learned to adapt his affection: He hugs one alter, spars with another, brings meat to another, and just sits silently with the one that prefers calm. Sometimes they both sleep outside, like wild animals. He holds them like a baby boar, and they twitch in his arms until they settle.
- They don’t do PDA unless they’re in a certain headspace: When that time comes, it’s all over. Straddling his lap, biting his neck playfully, dramatic love declarations. Inosuke never knows what hit him.
- (Y/N) once got mistaken for a demon because of their intensity: Inosuke jumped in front of them, screaming “THEY’RE MY DEMON, BACK OFF!”
- (Y/N) writes love letters to Inosuke in different handwriting depending on the alter writing it: He collects them in a box he calls his "pride box." They both have a shared journal. Inosuke can’t really write well, but he draws them like a beast with heart eyes- every version of them.
Zenitsu:
- Zenitsu immediately falls for (Y/N)’s looks and protective aura- but is terrified the moment they switch alters in front of him for the first time: One second (Y/N) is soft-spoken and sweet, offering him a dumpling with a shy smile, and the next they’re standing on a table, eyes wide and grinning like a maniac, threatening to stab a merchant for “looking too long.” Zenitsu passes out. But when he wakes up and (Y/N) apologizes, stuttering and nervous, he just... melts. He realizes they weren’t trying to scare him- they were trying to protect him.
- Zenitsu learns to spot the signs of a switch: He respects each alter like a separate person. He greets them differently, talks with them differently, and never gets them mixed up.
- (Y/N) takes medication and herbs regularly, but sometimes it doesn’t work: Either the effects don’t kick in, or it causes physical side effects like dizziness or nausea. On rough days, Zenitsu becomes extra clingy and attentive. He holds their hand, braids their hair, lets them lay in his lap even when he’s panicking himself.
- He once tried to fight off a switch manually: “No, no, no! Stay here with me! Please don’t go scary mode, I can handle this-!” Spoiler… He could not. The protector alter came out and bodied the guy trying to rob them. But after every switch, Zenitsu wraps them in a blanket and reassures them they’re still loved. No matter what version of (Y/N) he’s with- he loves all of them.
- Zenitsu calls them “Sunshine,” no matter which alter he’s talking to: He says they’re his reason for fighting. Sometimes they wake up from dissociation and find that Zenitsu’s already made them food and is softly singing to himself nearby.
- The protector alter secretly adores Zenitsu, even if they pretend to be annoyed by how clingy and scared he is: They’d wreck someone for hurting him. On bad days, all three versions of (Y/N) might blend into one- and Zenitsu will stay by their side the whole time, gently reminding them who they are, and who he is.
- The protector alter takes the lead if the fight turns ugly: Think elegant blade work, laughing threats, wild eyes under a blood-smeared smile. Zenitsu does not like seeing them that way, but he understands it’s necessary. He’ll fight at their back, even when trembling. After every mission, no matter who fronted, they always find Zenitsu. And he always pulls them into a hug and says, “You’re safe. You’re still you. I’m proud of you.”
Nezuko:
- Nezuko loves how expressive and animated (Y/N) is: Even when they're cycling through personalities or dramatic outbursts, she’s calm, patient, and strangely entertained. She’ll tilt her head and smile sweetly, like “Yep. That’s my partner.”
-(Y/N)'s protectiveness is legendary: If anyone dares to look at Nezuko sideways, especially those that judge her, (Y/N)'s demeanor shifts instantly. Think wide grin, slow clap, and then, “Awww~ Did you think you were safe just because she’s sweet? That’s adorable. Let me fix your attitude... permanently.”
- When they’re “off-meds” or their symptoms spike: Nezuko recognizes it almost immediately. She’ll gently guide (Y/N) away from people, softly humming, holding their hand or petting their hair until they calm down.
- They bond through quiet activities when things are rough: Doing each other’s hair (Even though it was a process to teach Nezuko how to do (Y/N)'s hair, with the different texture and all), flower-picking, or watching fireflies in silence. Even with (Y/N)’s chaos, Nezuko grounds them. And they adore how peaceful she is.
- They don’t hide that they have DID. But they do downplay it with dramatic flair: They say things like, “Oh you know, I just keep life interesting~ One (Y/N) at a time!” All while flipping their hair and spinning dramatically.
- Nezuko and (Y/N) often tag-team missions: (Y/N) is the chaos, Nezuko is the calm. It throws demons way off. Some demons have tried to mess with Nezuko by provoking (Y/N), which is a mistake. (Y/N) will absolutely go feral, all while laughing and saying things like, “Oooooh you think you’re scary? Honey, you haven’t even met all of me yet~”
- (Y/N) sings loudly and off-key in the morning: Nezuko doesn’t mind- she mimics them and makes silly faces until they laugh.
- They sleep tangled up: Nezuko is usually gently curled into (Y/N)’s chest. If an alter is panicking in the night, Nezuko will sit up and rest her forehead against theirs until the shaking stops.
- Their dynamic is very "chaotic sunshine and quiet strength": When (Y/N) goes full dramatic monologue, Nezuko just holds up a peace sign or pats their head like, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Genya:
- (Y/N) is a compact firecracker, barely reaching Genya’s chest, but what they lack in height they more than make up for in intensity: Their presence is loud, chaotic, dramatic, and unpredictable- you’ll never know if they’re about to cradle you or cuss you out in three different accents.
- Medication is... complicated: With the time period, it's more herbs and calming agents passed to them by the Butterfly Estate, combined with daily grounding rituals they've invented themselves.
- Genya learns every single step of (Y/N)’s routine: He memorizes which teas help what symptoms. Which scents make them come back to themself. Which alter not to call cute unless he wants to get punched.
- At first, Genya didn’t know how to handle the... whirlwind that is (Y/N): He assumed they were unstable in a bad way. But then they saved him from a demon by breaking a bottle over its head, giggling the whole time, and said, “Touch my man again and I’ll make origami outta your spine.” That was the moment he knew. He was in deep.
- (Y/N) calls him “baby bird” sometimes: It makes him blush and scowl at the same time. “I’m not a bird, dammit- stop ruffling my hair!”
- (Y/N) talks a lot: Genya listens more than he speaks, but (Y/N) likes to think out loud, switch voices mid-sentence, and dramatically throw themselves across the room while explaining how hot Genya looks when he’s angry.
- Genya doesn't treat (Y/N) like they're broken: He treats them like they're human. And that is a huge deal to all of them. He sometimes stutters when talking to their more aggressive alter, but (Y/N) finds it adorable. “You’re scared of me, baby? I only bite people I don’t like.”
- They have a system: a code word when (Y/N) is losing time, grounding phrases that Genya uses to help bring them back, and a little sketchbook (Y/N)'s alters leave notes in for each other- and for Genya, too.
- (Y/N) fights like a theatrical maniac: They use erratic, unpredictable movements that confuse demons- suddenly graceful, then wild, then eerily still before a kill strike. They’ve been known to laugh during battle. Not a villainous cackle- more like a delighted child at a fireworks show. Their combat personality is ruthlessly protective. If a demon so much as grazes Genya, they go absolutely feral, dragging it by the throat back into the sun with zero hesitation.
- Genya will hold (Y/N)'s hand when they switch mid-conversation: Hed whisper, “You okay?” like it's the most normal thing in the world. They made Genya a beaded bracelet with alternating colors for each of their alters. He never takes it off. - When they’re having a rough time, Genya wraps them in his haori: He rubs their back, and gently says, “I don’t care which one you are today. I love all of you.” One of their alters once asked Genya out without asking the others. It became a thing. Now, every alter gets to ask in their own way.
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