Where The Hurt Doesn’t Reach Pt.5
I would like to request „where the hurt doesnt reach with kyoko, kaede and miu
A/N: Yes, of course! :} Slowly but surely getting through all of my requests.
Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.5
pt.4 - pt.6
pt.1
Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu 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: 2930
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Kyoko:
(Y/N) kept his head down in the dorm lounge, hands clenched around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The mug felt heavy- heavier than ceramic should- like the memories clawing at his chest had poured themselves inside.
The dorm was quiet. He had planned it that way. Early mornings were the safest. Fewer eyes, fewer voices. Fewer men.
He flinched as the door clicked open behind him.
Footsteps- measured, soft, deliberate- crossed the floor. No harsh breaths. No creaking floorboards from someone stomping in. Just silence.
“Good morning.”
He knew that voice. Soft and clear, like the first breeze after rain… Kyoko Kirigiri.
He didn’t answer. Just dipped his head lower.
But she didn’t mind. She never did.
“Do you want me to sit with you?” she asked.
(Y/N)’s grip on his cup tightened. His lips parted, but no sound came. He didn’t know how to say yes. Not without explaining the panic in his chest, or the constant crawl of anxiety under his skin. Not without revealing how he didn’t trust anyone- especially not the boys in this school, the ones with rough laughs and too-loud voices.
But Kyoko wasn’t like them.
She waited. Silent. Letting him answer in his own time.
“…yeah,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.
She didn’t ask any more questions. Just sat across from him, folded her gloved hands on the table, and looked at him- not with pity, but with understanding.
“You’ve been avoiding the others,” she said plainly, but gently. “The male students.”
His jaw tensed. Shame burned under his skin like acid.
“I’ve noticed,” she added, after a pause. “That’s all. I’m not judging you.”
“…I just… can’t,” he whispered. “I-They remind me of… Someone.”
Kyoko’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your stepfather?”
He froze.
“…How do you know that?” he murmured, eyes wide.
“I’m the Ultimate Detective,” she said softly. “But more than that… I noticed how your shoulders tense when anyone raises their voice. How you instinctively put space between yourself and any guy who walks near you. How you relax, just slightly, when you’re with me.”
(Y/N)’s breath hitched. Tears threatened behind his eyes, but he blinked them back, ashamed. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of her.
But Kyoko reached across the table- slowly, so gently- and placed her gloved hand near his, not touching, just close. An offering. A silent I’m here. You’re safe.
“You don’t have to explain everything,” she murmured. “Not until you’re ready. And even then, only if you want to.”
The room was quiet again. But it wasn’t lonely. Not with her there.
“I feel… broken,” he confessed, his voice cracking.
“You’re not,” she said, firmly. “You’re hurt. But not broken.”
(Y/N) looked up- really looked at her- and for the first time in days, the crushing weight in his chest loosened, just a little.
Maybe, with Kyoko… healing didn’t have to be loud… Maybe it could start here.
In silence. In stillness.
In the presence of someone who didn’t demand anything from him- except honesty, when he was ready.
Healing is quiet, but constant.
The halls of Hope’s Peak were always noisier in the afternoon, but (Y/N) found himself in the library. He liked the silence there. The weight of books around him felt grounding, the muffled sounds a safe sort of background noise.
He was flipping through a random mystery novel when a shadow passed the table- and without needing to look, he knew who it was.
Kyoko.
“Hi,” he murmured before she even spoke.
She stopped mid-step, slightly surprised… and then smiled faintly. “Hi.”
She took the seat across from him again, like it had become a silent ritual. There were no expectations between them. Just moments. Just space shared without pressure.
“You’re reading mystery novels now?” she asked, voice laced with a rare warmth.
(Y/N) gave a tiny shrug, fingers playing with the page corner. “Thought I’d try to understand what makes your brain tick.”
That earned him the smallest chuckle- soft and barely there, but real. His chest swelled with something fragile and new. He liked making her smile. Especially when she did it just for him.
“Do you want help solving it?” she asked, gesturing at the book.
He nodded, and they spent the next hour side by side- her pointing things out, him guessing and missing obvious clues, but laughing softly anyway. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders lifted, and it almost felt like he was just… a normal student. A normal boy. With a friend.
No- more than a friend. At least on his end.
He liked her. Liked the way she gave him space, but always showed up when he needed someone. Liked how she never asked about his scars but always looked like she wanted to fight whoever caused them.
Not all pain is visible. But she sees it anyway.
It happened in the courtyard. He hadn’t meant to go out, but he wanted air.
Then a group of guys passed by- too loud, too close- and one of them bumped into him hard, muttering something under his breath that wasn’t even mean, but his chest clamped down instantly.
The panic came fast. Sharp. Ugly.
His breath caught. Vision blurred.
He stumbled back toward the wall, heart hammering in his ears, the sky spinning above him-
“(Y/N)!”
Her voice cut through the noise.
She was there in seconds.
Kyoko didn’t touch him. She didn’t crowd him. She just knelt beside where he’d sunk to the ground, her gloved hand resting lightly against the pavement, near his.
“Breathe with me,” she said. Calm. Grounding. “In… and out. Match me.”
She inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower. Repeated. Over and over.
And (Y/N), shaking and pale, tried to match her. At first it didn’t work. His chest was too tight. His throat burned.
But she didn’t leave. Didn’t falter.
“In… and out.”
Eventually, the tightness loosened. The dizziness passed. His hands stopped shaking.
“…I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, voice barely there.
“Don’t apologize,” she said gently. “You’re not weak for surviving.”
Those words hit harder than anything else. He blinked hard, biting down the emotion swelling in his throat.
She sat beside him then, her shoulder close. Not touching- just present. Solid.
“I hate how scared I am,” he murmured. “How small I feel when they’re around.”
Kyoko was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’ve never been small to me.”
He turned his head toward her, startled. She met his eyes- clear and unwavering.
“You're brave,” she said. “Not because you’re unafraid. But because you keep going, even when you are.”
And- that was the moment he fell just a little harder.
Kaede:
(Y/N) didn’t speak much when he first arrived at Hope’s Peak. He flinched at sudden noises, kept his eyes on the floor, and sat in the back of every room, as far from the boys as he could manage. Rumors spread quickly in schools like this- but Kaede never paid them any mind.
She saw him- really saw him- when she stayed after class to pack her sheet music, and he lingered a little longer than usual. Just the two of them in the room. She glanced up to say goodbye, and (Y/N) visibly tensed.
Her voice softened. “Hey… sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
(Y/N) didn’t answer at first. But he didn’t bolt either.
That was enough for Kaede.
The next day, she played a melody in the music room after class, loud enough for the hallway to hear. Just in case he passed by again. She kept doing it for days. Weeks.
Until one afternoon, she looked up between notes… and there he was. Standing in the doorway, holding his arm with a nervous grip, eyes unfocused.
She smiled, gentle and bright. “You can come in, if you want.”
He stepped inside- slowly, like the floor might give out under him.
Kaede kept playing. Nothing fancy. Just something soft and warm, like sunrise through a window. When she finished, she turned to him.
“…You okay?”
“…I don’t really like being around people,” he mumbled, “especially… guys.”
Kaede nodded, never once looking away.
“I get it. You don’t have to explain. But I’m not a guy, and… I promise, I’ll never make you feel unsafe.”
(Y/N)’s lip trembled slightly. But he stayed.
That became their quiet ritual- no words needed. He’d sit nearby while she played, sometimes reading, sometimes just… existing. In a room where no one could hurt him. A place where her music filled the silence he carried like a second skin.
One rainy evening, she asked gently, “Can I show you something?”
She pulled a chair beside the piano and motioned for him to sit.
“You don’t have to play,” she smiled. “I just… want you to feel what it’s like to be near music like that. To feel safe inside something.”
He hesitated, then slowly sat beside her. Their shoulders didn’t quite touch.
She began to play, her fingers moving across the keys in slow, deliberate tenderness. The piece wasn’t just music- it was comfort. A lullaby for someone long overdue for kindness.
Halfway through, she felt it- (Y/N) leaned in, his head resting against her shoulder. Light, like a bird settling onto a branch for the first time.
Kaede didn’t stop playing.
And for the first time in a long, long while… (Y/N) closed his eyes and let himself breathe.
The next day, he was there before her.
Kaede blinked when she opened the door to the music room and found (Y/N) already seated near the piano bench, a sketchbook in his lap. He looked up, startled- like he hadn’t meant to be caught.
“I… I wanted to hear you play again,” he said quickly, almost apologetically. “If that’s okay.”
She smiled. “Of course it is.”
As she sat down at the piano, she peeked at the edge of his notebook. Scribbles- music notes, little stars, a clumsy sketch of what might’ve been her fingers on the keys.
She didn’t comment. Just started to play.
Over time, it became something sacred. She'd play for him every afternoon. And when her fingers rested, they’d talk. At first, he only answered in nods or short phrases- but the wall between them was crumbling, brick by fragile brick.
One day, he surprised her.
“Do you… remember the first song you played for me?” he asked, barely louder than the hum of the heater.
Kaede paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Clair de Lune.”
“It reminded me of…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “Of my mom. She used to play music on a little radio in the kitchen. Classical stuff. Before she met him.”
Kaede’s fingers stilled on the keys, but she didn’t say anything. She let the silence hold the space, like the soft pedal of a piano, gentle and unpressing.
“She stopped playing music after he moved in,” he whispered. “After a while, everything got quiet. Like… too quiet. I didn’t think I’d ever like music again.”
Kaede blinked slowly, heart aching.
“But I like yours,” he added, with the faintest smile. “I like… being around you.”
That made her heart flutter. Not with giddiness, but with something deeper. Like trust taking root.
She turned to him, her voice quiet. “I like being around you too.”
From that day on, something shifted.
He started waiting for her outside the music room instead of sneaking in early. He’d walk with her down the hall, always keeping a careful distance from the louder male students, but close enough that his shoulder brushed hers now and then.
And sometimes- when the room was empty, and the song was soft, and the sun hit just right- he’d smile. Not just at the music, but at her.
Kaede would smile back, her heart swelling.
She knew healing wasn’t a straight line. There were days when he still flinched at loud voices. When group activities left him drained and hollow-eyed. But he always found his way back to her.
One afternoon, after a particularly long session, he stayed behind after she packed up.
“Kaede?” he said, voice trembling.
She turned, instantly focused on him.
“…Can I hug you?”
The question knocked the wind from her.
But she nodded, gently, like she was answering a question from a dream. She opened her arms without a word.
(Y/N) stepped forward hesitantly. Then slowly- like a scared animal testing the air- he melted into her.
It wasn’t tight or desperate. Just a quiet press of his face into her shoulder, arms loosely around her waist.
Kaede held him with the kind of care reserved for breakable things. Her hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Miu:
(Y/N) had flinched when Miu first barged into his dorm, voice carrying that usual volume and vulgarity like a storm in stilettos.
“Yo, pencil-dick! You alive in here or what? You didn’t show up for breakfast and I ain’t got time to invent a search drone with tits just to find your sorry a-”
She stopped. Mid-rant. Her blue eyes scanned the dark room and landed on him, curled up in the corner with trembling shoulders, the edge of his sleeve wet where he’d been biting it to stay quiet. Not because he was hiding from her- but from the memories her voice had triggered.
“…Ah. Shit.”
It was the first time she didn’t call him a name.
Miu didn’t step closer. She dropped to sit cross-legged by the door, fiddling awkwardly with a spare screw in her hand, voice dipping just enough to feel like a whisper.
“Okay, so... maybe screaming like I’m in heat wasn’t the move,” she mumbled, chewing her bottom lip. “You wanna talk or should I just sit here and talk to myself like a damn lunatic? ‘Cause I can do both.”
(Y/N) didn’t answer. His voice was buried too deep behind the fear. But he didn’t tell her to leave.
She took that as permission.
Later that night, after hours of her rambling about new inventions- some genius, some dangerously stupid- he finally managed a small voice. Fragile.
“…Why’re you being nice to me?”
Miu blinked, caught off guard. Her usual grin didn’t come. Instead, she shrugged, arms resting loosely on her knees.
"'Cause I know what it’s like to hate being touched. To hear someone’s footsteps and feel your chest lock up. To build a thousand walls with your bare hands 'cause you don’t trust a single fucking person not to break you again.”
(Y/N) looked up at her, eyes wide. She wasn’t loud anymore. She was... real.
She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Plus, you’re the only guy who doesn’t try to touch me or tell me to shut up. That’s kinda hot.”
A breathless, broken laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
And that was the first night he fell asleep with her sitting beside him- quiet, steady, and real.
It wasn’t overnight. But it was something.
The next morning, Miu came back. Same knock, a little softer this time. She waited- didn’t barge in. When (Y/N) cracked the door open, she was standing there with a weird contraption in her hands.
“It’s a... uh... noise-canceling headset,” she said, trying and failing to sound casual. “If I yell too loud, it automatically dampens my voice before it reaches your ears. Like a built-in anti-Miu filter. Patent pending, dickweed.”
He blinked at her, then... laughed. A real laugh, quiet and airy, but genuine.
She flushed bright pink. “S-Shut up, it’s not because I like you or anything! I just got bored! You think I sit around all day worrying about your trauma baby brain or some shit?!”
(Y/N) smiled.
“Thank you.”
She looked like she short-circuited for a second. “…Whatever.”
Over the next few weeks, they started eating together- sometimes in the cafeteria, sometimes in his room. He talked more now, slowly. Haltingly. But it was there.
“I used to be afraid of falling asleep,” he admitted one evening, his fingers picking nervously at the hem of his sleeve as they sat cross-legged on his bed, a blanket pulled over both their legs. “If I stayed awake, I could hear him coming. I’d have time to hide.”
Miu didn’t answer right away. She just scooted closer, their knees brushing.
“If you ever need someone to sleep next to you,” she said softly, “I’m right here. I snore and occasionally yell ‘ORGASM!’ in my dreams, but like- other than that, I’m pretty fuckin’ cuddly.”
He laughed again, but this time, there were tears running down his cheeks.
One night, he reached for her hand.
She was rambling about a new sex robot idea (“It makes you breakfast and calls you daddy! Revolutionary!”), and he wasn’t really listening- just watching her, soft-eyed and warm.
His fingers brushed hers. Hesitant. Unsure.
She froze mid-sentence, cheeks blooming with color. “W-Woah. D-Don’t get all handsy on me, lover boy…”
But she didn’t pull away.
And when his grip tightened, just slightly, her own hand squeezed back. Gentle. Careful. A little shaky.
“…But if you wanna hold hands like some lame high school anime couple, I guess I can allow it.”
(Y/N) didn’t say anything. He just leaned his head on her shoulder.
And for once, Miu Iruma- Ultimate Inventor, self-proclaimed genius perv, filthy-mouthed storm of chaos- didn’t say a word either.
She just let him rest there.
More Posts from Deliciousspecimen and Others
Ember in the Dark pt.6
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.5 - pt.7
pt.1
Warnings: Violence and Physical Confrontation, Interrogation, Threats, Mild Gore/Injury, Substance Use, Emotional distress and trauma.
Word Count: 7568
Summary: After learning that Mageseekers are after her, (Y/N) retreats in distress, and Silco follows to offer quiet support. She breaks down, revealing some of her past, while Silco, uncharacteristically vulnerable, admits his care for her. This leads to a tentative but meaningful moment before they rejoin the others, subtly changed. The group discovers that Mageseekers in the Undercity are trying to alert Piltover and decide to intercept them. After capturing and interrogating them, they learn that only four Enforcers know about (Y/N). Instead of killing the Mageseekers outright, Vander chooses to eliminate the Enforcers first. Later, (Y/N) seeks comfort in Silco, and by morning, their deepening connection leads to a slow, powerful moment, solidifying their unspoken bond.
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Felicia set a steaming bowl of stew in front of (Y/N) with a quiet thunk, then sat next to her, arms crossed. She didn’t say anything- she didn’t have to. The look on her face said enough: Eat. Or else.
(Y/N) sighed but picked up the spoon, taking a small bite. The warmth settled in her stomach, grounding her more than she cared to admit. Around her, the usual hum of conversation had dulled to a tense silence. They were all waiting for Benzo to return, to see if he had heard anything while at his shop today.
The wait stretched long, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them. Then, finally, the door swung open, and Benzo stepped inside. He looked a bit nervous as he made his way over to the bar, sighing as he sat down.
“...Apparently someone got some coin for tipping some Enforcers off about (Y/N).” His voice was measured, but there was an edge to it. “The Council doesn’t know yet, but the captain of the Enforcers sent word to Mageseekers in the area. Nothing big, nothing we can’t handle… Technically, the Undercity isn’t part of Piltover, so the Enforcers can’t do much about her. That’s why they told the Mageseekers. They can come down here, arrest us, beat us up, but other than that, it’s not like they can exile her if she’s already not in Piltover.”
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. It could have been worse, but still- it was enough. If the Mageseekers knew, that meant word could spread. If it reached Demacia… Noxus would follow.
(Y/N)’s hands curled into fists beneath the table, nails biting into her palms. The walls of the room suddenly felt too tight, the air too thick. She needed space. Pushing back her chair a little too quickly, the legs scraped against the wooden floor as she stood.
“I need a minute,” she muttered, barely waiting for a response before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs.
Felicia called after her, but (Y/N) didn’t stop. Her limbs felt too tight, her breath too shallow. The room had felt suffocating, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the conversation or the memories clawing their way to the surface. Each step up to her room felt heavier than the last, her thoughts a spiraling mess. By the time she reached her door, she shut it behind her, bracing her hands against the wooden frame as she inhaled deeply.
It’s fine. You’re fine.
A quiet knock on her door made her shoulders tense. She knew who it was before he even spoke.
“(Y/N).” Silco’s voice was calm, steady. “Let me in.”
For a long moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Then, slowly, she turned toward the door, letting Silco inside... But she said nothing.
(Y/N) walked away from him and sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her hands as Silco shut the door behind him. The room felt smaller with him inside, the weight of his presence pressing against the silence that had settled between them. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His sharp, blue eyes studied her, waiting, watching- like he always did when he knew something was wrong.
And (Y/N)... she couldn’t take it. She exhaled, a sharp, trembling breath, before running a hand through her hair. “Dammit, Sil...” Her voice cracked, betraying her, raw with something she had tried to swallow down. “Why does it have to be like this? Why does it always have to feel like I’m running from something? I didn’t ask for magic, I didn’t ask to be from Ionia. Wish I could just get rid of it...”
(Y/N)’s fingers curled into the fabric of her pants, gripping tightly as she struggled with the storm inside her. She never talked about her past. Not really. Not beyond what little she had been willing to share when they were kids. But Silco had always been the exception. He had always been the one to notice the cracks in her walls, the one who never pushed but always waited- and gods, how she hated him for it sometimes.
Because it worked.
“It’s because of Noxus that I ended up here in the first place,” she admitted, voice quiet, but full of something bitter. She felt, more than saw the way Silco straightened beside her. She could feel the shift in the air, the way his focus sharpened entirely on her.
“They burned my home,” she continued, eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. “They killed my people. They forced my mother to run with nothing but the clothes on her back and me in her arms.” Her breath hitched, and she gritted her teeth. “And now Mageseekers... That means it can all come crashing down on me.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “No matter how much I hid, no matter how much I tried to be normal- it’s like I’ll always be something other... Like I’m a curse.”
Her voice wavered. Her hands trembled. She had spent her whole life running, hiding, burying the truth of what she was. And it hadn’t been enough.
Silco watched her for a long moment, his gaze steady, unwavering. Then, without a word, he reached out, covering her shaking hand with his.
(Y/N) sucked in a sharp breath. Silco had never been one for comfort, not in the way Vander or Felicia was... But his grip was firm, grounding. A silent promise.
“They won’t take you,” he said, his voice low, certain.
(Y/N) swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She wanted to believe him- She really did…
(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her chest tightening as the first tear slipped down her cheek. She hated this- hated how weak it made her feel, how exposed. She never cried in front of others. She never let herself.
But she couldn’t stop it.
The tears came anyway, silent and unstoppable, streaming down her face as her body trembled. Her breaths were shallow, uneven, the weight of everything pressing down on her all at once.
Silco didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull away. He just sat there, his hand still over hers, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
It was that- his quiet, unwavering presence- that finally broke her.
A sob wracked through her, sharp and raw, and she turned toward him, pressing her face into his shoulder as her body shook.
Silco stiffened at first, caught off guard. Affection- this kind of closeness- was something neither of them indulged in easily.
But he didn’t pull away.
Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his hand, resting it against her back. His fingers curled slightly, uncertain, but present.
"I-" she choked out, gripping onto his shirt. "I don’t want to run anymore."
Silco’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching at her words.
"You won’t," he murmured. His voice was low, steady- a quiet promise against the storm raging inside her.
They sat there like that for a long time- (Y/N) curled against him, her tears soaking into his shirt, Silco holding her gently, because in this moment, there were no masks, no defenses- just them.
She stayed there, pressed against him, her mind still racing even as her sobs quieted. She felt exhausted, raw, but… safe. Safe in a way she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time.
Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could hear his heartbeat too- steady, controlled, though there was something tense about the way he held her, something careful.
This was Silco. The same Silco she had known since they were kids. The one who had found her when she ran, who protected her secrets, who always looked at the world like he wanted to tear it apart and build something better in its place.
This moment… it was quiet, softer than any they’d had before.
(Y/N) took a shaky breath, forcing herself to pull back just enough to meet his eyes. His face was unreadable, the usual sharpness softened just slightly, but still guarded.
She hesitated.
Her fingers clenched in his shirt before she finally forced herself to speak.
“…Silco.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He didn’t look away.
"I-" She exhaled sharply, frustrated with herself, but she pushed through.
"Why do you treat me differently? Why… aren’t you standoffish with me, like how you are with most others?"
The words hung between them, heavy.
Silco’s expression didn’t change- not immediately. His grip on her hand tightened just slightly, his sharp eyes searching hers, looking for something, though she wasn’t sure what.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.
"(Y/N)…"
His voice was quiet, almost careful in a way he rarely was.
(Y/N) could hear the pounding of her own heart in her ears, could feel her pulse in her fingertips where they still clung to his shirt. Every second that passed without a response made her stomach twist tighter, her breath stuck in her throat.
Then, finally, Silco exhaled, his fingers twitching where they rested against her hand.
"(Y/N)…" He said her name again, softer this time, but still guarded.
His face was unreadable- his usual sharp, calculating expression still there, but underneath it, something else flickered.
Something uncertain.
She searched his face, trying to figure out what he was thinking, trying to prepare herself for whatever he was going to say.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she had ever heard it.
"I don’t… know how to do this."
(Y/N) blinked.
Out of everything she had expected- anger, maybe even laughter… she hadn’t expected that.
Silco sighed through his nose, closing his eyes briefly before looking back at her.
"I never… let myself think about this."
His grip on her hand tightened slightly, but not in a way that hurt. Just like he was grounding himself.
"We’ve always had bigger things to worry about. Staying alive. Keeping ahead of everyone who wants us dead. And you…"
His jaw tensed, as if he was holding something back.
"You’re one of the only people I can trust."
(Y/N) swallowed, her throat dry.
"That’s not what I-"
"I care…" He cut her off, shaking his head slightly. "I care about you- more than I should."
Her breath hitched.
Silco’s sharp blue eyes locked onto hers, something intense in them.
"I don’t know how to feel something like this, (Y/N)."
He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head.
"But I care… I’d do anything for you."
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
For a moment, she could only stare at him, her mind catching up to what he had just said.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her fingers slowly loosening from his shirt, but not letting go entirely.
"I don’t know how to do this either," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to figure it out."
Silco didn’t speak, but his hand squeezed hers again, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles.
She barely had time to react before she felt the warmth of his hand against her cheek.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Silco looked just as startled as she felt, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up. His fingers twitched slightly, as if debating whether to pull away, but instead, he stayed there. She leaned into his touch before she could stop herself, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.
When she opened them again, Silco was watching her with something unreadable in his expression- hesitation, curiosity, something softer than she had ever seen before.
"We’re fools," he muttered, shaking his head slightly.
(Y/N) let out a quiet, breathy laugh. "We’ve always been fools."
Silco huffed through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. His thumb brushed against her cheekbone, feather-light.
She wasn’t sure what to do. If she should say something, if she should move, if she should just stay here and let herself drown in the moment.
But then Silco, always the one to plan ahead, always the one to think things through, did something completely reckless.
He leaned in… Just barely. Not quite a kiss, not yet, giving her the chance to pull away.
…She didn’t…
Instead, she closed the distance.
Silco was careful, his hand still resting against her cheek as the kiss deepened. It was hesitant, unpracticed, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t thinking about that- weren’t thinking about anything at all, really.
(Y/N) could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the warmth of his lips against hers making her feel lightheaded. Or maybe that was just the leftover exhaustion and pain. She wasn’t sure.
Silco’s other hand hovered near her side before he caught himself, remembering her injury. Instead, he settled for gently cupping the side of her neck, his touch warm, grounding.
They were slow, careful. Learning.
By the time they finally broke apart, they were both breathing a little heavier, their foreheads almost touching.
Silco swallowed, his thumb still brushing against her skin.
"…Utter fools," he muttered, quieter this time.
(Y/N) let out a breathy laugh, her lips still tingling. "Yeah."
Neither of them moved right away. They just sat there, the weight of the moment settling between them.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Silco reached for her hand, his touch firm but careful. Not leading her- grounding her.
"Come on," he murmured. "They’re waiting."
As they made their way downstairs, there was an unspoken shift between them. Nothing had really changed, and yet… everything had.
(Y/N) stuck close to Silco’s side, though not in a way that would be obvious to anyone else. Just a half-step closer than usual, just a glance in his direction when she thought no one was looking.
And Silco- well, he wasn’t one for public displays of anything, but there was something softer in the way he moved, something more deliberate.
Vander was behind the bar, wiping down glasses while Benzo leaned against the counter, deep in conversation. Felicia was there too, sitting at one of the tables, but when she looked up and saw (Y/N) and Silco, her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You good?" Felicia asked, her voice casual, but the look in her eyes wasn’t.
(Y/N) nodded, clearing her throat. "Yeah. Just needed a breather."
Felicia didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it go, turning her attention back to the conversation Benzo and Vander were having.
(Y/N) exhaled, slipping into her usual spot at the table. Silco remained standing for a moment before taking a seat beside her- Close. Just enough that their legs brushed under the table.
But as Vander set a drink down in front of her, his brows furrowed slightly.
"You okay, kid? You look…" He hesitated, searching for the right word.
(Y/N) smirked faintly, grabbing the glass. "Tired?"
Vander huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Something like that."
She quickly downed her drink, ignoring the way Felicia kept sneaking glances at her from across the room. She reached for the bottle before Vander could say anything, pouring herself another drink with slightly unsteady hands. She needed the burn of the liquor, needed something to ground her.
Her mind was too full- of Enforcers, of the Mageseekers, of Silco, who still sat beside her, silent but present.
She could feel his eyes on her as she took a sip, the alcohol stinging down her throat.
Vander let out a sigh, crossing his arms. "You sure that’s a good idea, kid?"
(Y/N) didn’t answer at first, just swirling the whiskey in her glass.
"I’ve had worse ideas."
Felicia scoffed from across the room. "That’s not reassuring."
(Y/N) ignored her. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, not tonight. She felt raw, her nerves stretched thin, and drinking was the only thing that felt like it might help.
Silco didn’t stop her- he didn’t say a word, just leaned back slightly in his chair, sipping his own drink. But there was something in the way he watched her, something unreadable in his gaze.
After a moment, Vander exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "Just don’t overdo it," he muttered before turning his attention elsewhere.
(Y/N) didn’t respond, just took another sip of her drink, welcoming the warmth that spread through her chest. But no amount of alcohol could drown out the reality settling in the back of her mind.
The Mageseekers were after her.
The thought sat heavy in her gut, twisting like a knife. They had been too close today. Too damn close. One wrong move, one misstep, and she would have been dragged off to the cells of Piltover- if they didn’t kill her outright.
And now?
Now they wouldn’t stop looking.
Her grip tightened around the glass.
Felicia’s voice cut through her thoughts. "So, what’s the plan?"
(Y/N) blinked, glancing up. "What?"
Felicia sighed, leaning forward. "The Mageseekers. What are we gonna do about them?"
Silco spoke before (Y/N) could. "We lay low. Stick to the shadows. Make sure they don’t catch wind of her again." His voice was steady, certain, but his fingers tapped against his glass- a rare show of nerves.
Felicia frowned. "And how long do you think that’ll work?"
Silco’s eyes flicked toward (Y/N), sharp and considering. "Long enough."
Felicia scoffed. "That’s not a real plan, Silco. We can’t just hide forever."
(Y/N) clenched her jaw, staring into the amber liquid in her glass.
No. They couldn’t.
Because the Mageseekers weren’t the kind of enemy that just… gave up.
They would keep hunting. Keep searching.
And eventually, they would find her.
Unless she found a way to stop them first.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
(Y/N) could feel the tension rolling off Vander and Felicia, the weight of unspoken fears pressing down on all of them.
Then, Silco finally spoke.
"What if we got rid of the Mageseekers before they can send word to anyone higher up?"
His voice was even, calculated- but there was an edge to it, something sharp hidden beneath the surface.
Vander was already shaking his head before Silco even finished. "That’s not the way, Silco."
Felicia crossed her arms. "Killing Enforcers is one thing. The Mageseekers? They’d bring down hell on the Undercity if they thought someone was targeting them."
Silco didn’t react, just leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping against his glass in slow, measured movements. "They’ll bring down hell anyway, Felicia. The difference is whether or not (Y/N) is alive when they do."
(Y/N) swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away.
Because he was right.
And as much as she knew Vander and Felicia hated the idea, they both knew it too.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to sit up straighter. "What other choice do we have?"
Vander’s jaw tensed, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter.
Felicia looked away, scowling.
But neither of them had an answer.
Because there wasn’t one.
After a long, tense pause, Vander let out a slow breath. "We’d need to be careful. Real careful."
Felicia’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but she gave a small nod. "And we’d have to be sure. If word’s already gotten out, then it won’t matter what we do."
Silco’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. He had already been thinking the same thing. "Then the first step is finding them. Figuring out how many of them know- and if they’ve already told anyone."
(Y/N) tightened her grip around her glass, nodding.
It was dangerous. Stupid, even.
But it was the only way.
Vander exhaled, running a hand down his face before nodding. “Alright. We don’t have time to waste. We split up, we get information, and we regroup. No one does anything reckless.”
His eyes flickered toward Silco, as if the words were meant for him in particular. Silco didn’t respond- just raised an eyebrow slightly, taking another slow sip of his drink.
Felicia pushed off from the table, already moving. “I’ll get Connol. He knows a few people who move between here and Piltover. If anything’s trickled down, we’ll hear about it.”
Silco finally set his glass down. “Benzo and I will check the deep end of the city. The Mageseekers aren’t above using hired help, and if they were seen, someone down there will know.”
Vander grunted, his fingers tapping against the counter. “(Y/N) and I will stay in the Lanes, listen for any rumors. If someone’s seen them sniffing around, we’ll know soon enough.”
(Y/N) swallowed hard, nodding. Her heart was still pounding, but at least now she had something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.
Felicia glanced between them all. “We meet back here in a few hours?”
Vander nodded. “Before dawn. No one goes off alone.”
Silco hummed, already pushing away from the counter. “Then let’s not waste time.”
With that, they each moved, stepping into the cold air of the Undercity, splitting off into the smog filled streets.
Vander and (Y/N) moved through the winding streets of the Lanes, keeping their heads low but their ears open. The brothel was their first stop- Babette knew everything that happened in the Undercity before most people did.
She leaned against the doorframe, watching them with sharp, knowing eyes. “Mageseekers, huh?” she mused, blowing out a slow stream of smoke. “Word is, a few of ‘em came sniffing around the markets earlier. Didn’t stay long, though.”
(Y/N) tensed beside Vander. “Did they ask about anything specific?”
Babette hummed, tapping ash onto the floor. “Not that I heard, but if they were here, they’re looking for something. Or someone.” Her gaze lingered on (Y/N), but she didn’t say anything more.
Vander nodded. “Appreciate it.”
Next, they wove through the market, asking the vendors they trusted most. Some had seen the Mageseekers, but no one knew exactly what they were after.
It wasn’t until they stopped by a small chem den that they got something more useful. A jittery dealer, hands stained with chemicals, muttered that he’d seen them talking to a courier near the border to Piltover. The Mageseekers weren’t just looking around- they were trying to get a message topside.
Vander’s jaw clenched. That wasn’t good. If word got out, they’d have more than just a few enforcers poking around.
“We need to get back,” (Y/N) said, voice tight.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
With that, they headed straight for the bar, the weight of their discovery heavy between them. If the others hadn’t found anything better, they’d have to act fast.
The bar was quiet when Vander and (Y/N) got there, but it didn’t last long.
Felicia and Connol arrived next, both looking tense. Then Silco and Benzo slipped in from the back entrance, shaking off the cold damp from the depths of the Undercity. Everyone looked tired, but there was no time to rest.
They sat around one of the tables, exchanging information quickly.
Felicia and Connol had tracked signs of the Mageseekers moving near the border, just as (Y/N) and Vander had heard. Silco and Benzo, meanwhile, had caught whispers in the fissures- something about outsiders asking the wrong people too many questions.
“They’re trying to send word topside,” Vander said grimly. “We stop that message from getting out, or this gets a hell of a lot worse.”
A silence hung over the table. The Mageseekers were dangerous, but letting them escape would be worse.
“We take them before they get to the bridge,” Silco said, voice sharp, determined. “Grab them, drag them somewhere quiet, make sure we know exactly what they know.” His fingers drummed against the tabletop. “Then we kill them.”
Vander’s expression darkened. “We don’t know that it has to go that far.”
“They came after (Y/N).” Silco’s voice was low but heated. “They would’ve dragged her off and locked her away, or worse. And you’d let them go?”
“I didn’t say that.” Vander let out a slow breath, trying to keep his voice even. “We get the information first. After that… we’ll see.”
Silco’s gaze was sharp, but he didn’t argue. Not yet.
Felicia leaned back, crossing her arms. “So, we intercept them at the bridge. Then what?”
Vander looked around at them all. “Then we take them to one of the old warehouses, out near the factory row. No one’ll hear anything out there.”
Everyone nodded, the plan settling between them. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all they had.
They had a long night ahead.
The night air was thick with the scent of damp stone and oil as they moved into position. The bridge loomed ahead, shrouded in the dim glow of golden lanterns from the upper city. Shadows stretched long against the uneven cobblestone, the sound of distant voices and the occasional scuffle of rats the only noise accompanying them.
They kept to the edges, hiding in the narrow alleys and behind the rusting remains of old pipes. It wasn’t long before they saw them- a small group of five figures making their way toward the bridge. Their robes were discreet, but not enough to fool anyone who knew what to look for. The way they moved, cautious and deliberate, screamed of authority that didn’t belong down here.
Silco’s grip tightened around the knife in his hand. His gaze flicked toward Vander, a silent confirmation passing between them.
Now.
They moved as one.
Felicia and Connol struck first, stepping out from the darkness to cut off their path. Before the Mageseekers could react, Vander and Silco closed in from behind, with (Y/N) and Benzo cutting off any chance of escape.
One of the Mageseekers cursed under his breath, already reaching for a weapon, but Felicia was faster. She slammed her elbow into his gut, knocking the wind out of him before twisting his arm behind his back. Connol drew a blade and leveled it at the others.
“Not a word,” Silco said, his voice low, dangerous.
The Mageseekers hesitated, eyes darting between them, weighing their odds. One of them- the tallest, likely the leader- lifted his chin slightly. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
Vander stepped forward, looming. “No, we do. And you’re not going anywhere.”
The leader sneered. “If we report back, more will come.”
Silco tilted his head. “Then it’s a good thing we don’t plan on letting you report back.”
The Mageseekers stiffened, but before any of them could react, Vander gave the signal.
With swift efficiency, they dragged them into the nearest alleyway, keeping them subdued. There was no time to waste. They needed to get them to the warehouse before anyone noticed they were missing.
Inside the warehouse, the air was thick with the stench of dust and rusting metal. The Mageseekers were bound tightly to old pipes, their hands tied behind their backs, their ankles secured. The dim light of a single oil lamp cast long, flickering shadows along the cracked walls, making the entire scene feel even more oppressive.
Vander stood with his arms crossed, his face grim, while Silco leaned against a crate, watching their captives with an unnerving stillness. (Y/N), standing just behind Vander, had her arms wrapped around herself, trying to steady the storm raging in her chest. Felicia and Connol lingered by the door, keeping an eye on the streets outside, while Benzo paced slowly behind the bound prisoners.
The questioning had been straightforward, and the answers had come easier than expected. The five Mageseekers in the room were the only ones who had come to the Undercity. They hadn't managed to send word to their superiors in Demacia yet, nor had they warned the rest of their order. That was something, at least.
Then came the question of the Enforcers.
The Mageseekers hesitated, but after some… encouragement, they admitted the truth. Only four Enforcers knew. The captain and three others. (Y/N) felt her stomach twist at the revelation.
The same three who had caught her all those years ago.
Her breath hitched. She could still remember their faces, their voices. The way they chased her through the streets, the way they forced her to use her magic to run away, the way they looked at her like she was nothing.
She clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.
“We know everything we need,” Silco said after a long silence, his voice quiet but sharp. His gaze flicked to Vander. “Now we decide what to do with them.”
Vander exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “We let them go, they come back with more. Killin’ ‘em, though…” He hesitated. “That’s a line I don’t want to cross unless we have to.”
Silco pushed off the crate, stepping closer to the bound prisoners. “You think they wouldn’t do the same to us? To (Y/N)?” His voice was razor-edged. “They hunt people like her down and toss them in chains. Or worse.” He turned to the others, his eyes dark. “If we let them live, we risk everything.”
Felicia frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t like the idea of just killing them,” she admitted. “But Silco’s not wrong. If we let them go, they will come back.”
(Y/N) swallowed hard, glancing at Vander. “What choice do we have?” she asked, her voice quiet. “If we let them walk away, we’re as good as dead.”
Vander sighed, his shoulders tense. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he stared at the Mageseekers. They looked back at him, defiant even now, even tied up and helpless.
Finally, he spoke. “…We deal with the Enforcers first.” His voice was heavy. “If we handle them, there’s no one left in Piltover who knows about (Y/N).” He glanced at the prisoners. “Until then, we keep these five locked up. We’ll decide their fate after the Enforcers are taken care of.”
Silco didn’t look satisfied, but he didn’t argue. Not yet.
They had their next move.
Back at the bar, the tension hung heavy between them. The doors were locked, the drinks forgotten, and the usual warmth of the place had been replaced with something colder, sharper. They sat around a table in the back, heads low, voices hushed.
Silco leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of him. “We’ll have to take them out one by one. If we hit them all at once, we risk too much attention.” His eyes flickered toward (Y/N) for the briefest moment before he continued. “The trick will be luring them away without raising suspicion.”
Vander exhaled through his nose, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s not just about takin’ them out, it’s about makin’ sure no one knows why they disappeared. If the Enforcers get wind of what we’re doing, we’re screwed.”
Felicia leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the table. “We could start with the easiest target- the one who strays from the others the most.” She looked at (Y/N). “Do you remember anything about them? Their routines?”
(Y/N) swallowed, trying to push past the nausea curling in her stomach. “The captain… he was always the last to leave the barracks. But the other three…” She shook her head. “I don’t remember much else. Just their faces.”
Benzo, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. “If they’re anything like the Enforcers I used to deal with, they’ll have their vices. Gambling, drinking, a side hustle or two. We just need to figure out what those are.”
Silco nodded. “Then that’s our next step. We dig. We find out where they go when they’re not playing soldier, and we pick them off one at a time.”
Vander let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “And after that...” His eyes met Silco’s. “We’re gonna have to lay low for a long time. With four of their own missin’, the Enforcers are gonna turn this city upside down lookin’ for answers.”
Silco’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then we make sure they don’t find any.”
The plan was reckless. Dangerous. But it was the only choice they had.
The silence in the bar stretched long after the others had left, leaving only the fading scent of smoke and liquor in their wake. The warmth of their presence had disappeared, replaced by an uneasy quiet that settled deep in (Y/N)’s chest. She sat at the table, fingers tracing the rim of her glass, the weight of the night pressing against her like a storm on the horizon.
Across from her, Silco hadn’t moved. He sat half-shrouded in the dim glow of the lantern, watching her with that sharp, knowing gaze. He didn’t push, didn’t speak, just waited. And maybe that was why she found herself breaking the silence, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.
“…Stay with me tonight?”
Silco’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t mock her for the request. He simply studied her, as if searching for the meaning beneath her words, then gave a small nod. “Alright.”
Relief washed through her, though she wasn’t sure why. They didn’t say much as they made their way upstairs, slipping into the small, dimly lit room. (Y/N) sat on the edge of the bed, unfastening her boots with slow, exhausted movements. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight- not with her thoughts running in endless circles, looping back to the same questions, the same fears.
Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. Then, after a moment, he sighed and sat beside her on the bed. “You think too much,” he muttered.
(Y/N) let out a tired laugh. “Kind of hard not to.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Then, without really thinking, she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. For a second, she thought he might pull away- but he didn’t. He stayed still, quiet, letting her take whatever comfort she needed.
“…You scared?” he asked after a while.
(Y/N) closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. “No,” she murmured. “Just… tired.”
Silco hummed softly, a sound of amusement or understanding- maybe both. “Then rest.”
She didn’t remember falling asleep. But when she woke, the dim morning light filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. She shifted slightly, only to realize she wasn’t alone. Warmth pressed against her, an arm draped over her waist, her hand resting lightly against a familiar chest.
Silco.
Her breath caught as her sleep-fogged mind registered the closeness, the way their legs were loosely tangled, his face just inches from hers. His breathing was slow and even, still deep in sleep. She had never seen him like this before- unguarded, his sharp features softened by unconsciousness. No calculated expression, no sharp words waiting behind his lips. Just… him.
A strange feeling curled in her chest, something warm and terrifying all at once. She should move before he woke, before he turned that piercing gaze on her. But… she didn’t. Instead, she closed her eyes again, listening to the quiet, letting herself stay just a little longer.
Eventually, she felt him shift. His body tensed slightly, adjusting to the unfamiliar warmth beside him. A slow inhale, a flicker of movement.
(Y/N) braced herself, waiting for him to pull away, to make some cutting remark. But when his blue eyes finally opened, still clouded with sleep, he just looked at her. No teasing. No sharp words. Just quiet understanding.
“…Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
She swallowed. “Morning.”
Neither of them moved. Neither of them let go.
The air between them was fragile, humming with something neither of them had spoken aloud. Silco’s fingers moved first, threading through (Y/N)’s hair with a touch so careful, so deliberate, it felt as if he was memorizing the feel of her. It was unlike him- unlike the sharp edges, the carefully controlled restraint he carried.
She barely breathed, afraid that any sudden movement would break whatever fragile thing had settled between them.
Then he moved closer.
His fingers traced down to her jaw, featherlight, testing. Seeing if she would pull away.
But she didn’t.
She leaned into his touch, her own hand coming to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. Neither of them spoke.
Silco’s gaze flickered to her lips, hesitation creeping in- but when (Y/N) shifted, closing the last bit of distance between them, the moment cracked open like a flood.
His lips met hers, slow at first, careful- until it wasn’t.
(Y/N) pressed into him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he pulled her closer, their bodies molding together as if they had done this a hundred times before. But they hadn’t. And maybe that was what made it all the more intoxicating.
Silco wasn’t rough, wasn’t hurried. He kissed her like he was trying to take his time, like he wanted to make sure this wasn’t just some fleeting moment. And (Y/N) melted into it, into him, into the way his hands traced slow, reverent paths over her skin.
His lips didn’t leave hers for long. He kissed her again, slower this time, as though savoring every second, every soft sigh that left her lips. His fingers trailed along her jaw, tracing the curve of her cheek before tilting her chin just enough to deepen the kiss. Careful. Hesitant, even. But beneath his restraint was something simmering- something intense, something that burned.
When he finally broke away, his lips barely brushed against her skin as he moved lower, trailing soft, lingering kisses down her jaw. Each press of his mouth sent shivers down her spine, her breath catching when he reached the sensitive spot beneath her ear. He lingered there, his lips parting slightly against her pulse, feeling the way it fluttered beneath his touch.
His hands followed, fingertips ghosting down her arms, over the fabric of her clothes. Not rough, not demanding- just exploring. Mapping her. Tracing her like something he never thought he’d be allowed to touch.
His fingers trailed lower, brushing over her waist, then back up, caressing her through the thin fabric with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched when he pressed a kiss just beneath her ear again, his breath warm, sending a slow, aching warmth curling low in her stomach. She felt his hesitation in the way his hands lingered at her hips, waiting for something- for her.
So she gave it.
Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer, giving him the silent permission he needed.
Silco let out a slow breath against her neck before pressing another kiss there- softer this time, deliberate. Careful, but claiming. A contrast that sent heat spreading through her limbs.
His lips moved lower, down the column of her throat, each kiss leaving a lingering heat in its wake. His hands, once hesitant, grew bolder, smoothing over her back, pulling her closer, but never pushing too far.
He was letting her set the pace. Letting her guide him.
…But Silco’s restraint was slipping. He could feel it in the slight tremble of his fingers against her waist, in the way his breathing deepened as (Y/N)’s hands tangled in his hair.
He wasn’t used to this- wasn’t used to wanting something so badly and having it right in front of him, willingly pressing against him, pulling him closer.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched as his lips traveled lower, pressing against the hollow of her throat before dragging back up to claim her lips again.
This kiss was different.
Less hesitant. More desperate.
It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a confession, a surrender.
Her hands roamed over his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he held himself together even as he unraveled beneath her touch. She whispered his name, soft and breathless, and something inside him broke.
“(Y/N)…” His voice was low, almost shaky.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his blue eyes burning into hers.
“You don’t know what you do to me.”
But she did. She could feel it in every touch, every kiss, every careful caress.
“I love you,” she murmured, barely above a whisper, but the words sent a shiver through him.
His grip on her tightened, his forehead pressing against hers as he exhaled- long and slow, like he’d been holding his breath for years.
“You don’t have to say that,” he rasped, as if the words were dangerous, as if they might unravel him completely.
“But I do,” she insisted, her fingers tracing over his jaw, grounding him. “I’ve loved you for years…”
A quiet sound left him, something caught between disbelief and longing.
Then he kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring everything he couldn’t say into it. His hands roamed with more certainty now, sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his palms.
“(Y/N)…” Her name was a whisper against her lips, a prayer.
“If I could love anyone…” He kissed her again, breathing her in, the taste of her, the feel of her. “It would be you.”
The words undid her.
She pulled him closer, hands desperate, bodies pressed flush together as the moment deepened, as the world outside this bed, this room, this morning ceased to matter.
No more hesitation.
No more secrets.
Just whispered names and the feeling of finally being where they belonged.
Silco lingered in bed as (Y/N) slowly moved to sit up, stretching her arms over her head, the morning light filtering through the window casting a soft glow over her skin. He found himself watching her, memorizing the way the light danced over her form before she turned to him with a small, sleepy smile.
“I need a bath,” she murmured, running a hand through her tousled hair. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit.”
Silco hummed in response, propping himself up on one elbow as he reached out, trailing his fingers down her arm.
“Don’t take too long,” he muttered, his voice still rough from sleep. “I don’t like waiting.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled, standing to gather fresh clothes before making her way toward the washroom.
Silco watched her go, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand down his face.
Gods.
What had he just done?
This morning…
Everything about it had changed something between them.
They had known how they felt about each other somewhat, but neither had truly acted on it, not like this. It had always been a quiet understanding, a tension that hovered between them, acknowledged but never fully embraced. But now, there was no denying it. No pretending it hadn’t happened.
For the first time in a long while, Silco didn’t feel like he had to be so guarded.
And that terrified him.
But right now, he didn’t have the time to dwell on it.
With a grunt, he pushed himself out of bed, reaching for his shirt. There was work to be done, plans to set in motion. Whatever came next, they would face it together.
Downstairs, the others were waiting, but for now, (Y/N) had a moment to herself- one final bit of peace before the storm that was sure to come.
She stood before the mirror, fingers ghosting over the fresh stitches on her abdomen. The wound was still raw, an aching reminder of how close she had come to death. She traced her fingers just beneath it, absentmindedly, her mind flickering back to everything she had learned in the last few days- the Enforcers, Piltover, the Mageseekers hunting her.
It was overwhelming.
But there was no time to process it fully. Not yet.
She exhaled slowly and let her hands drop to her sides, her gaze drifting over the rest of her body- faint scars from years of fighting, surviving in the Undercity. Each mark told a story, a piece of her past carved into her skin.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned away from the mirror and stepped into the bath, sighing as the warm water enveloped her. She sank down, closing her eyes for a moment, letting herself simply exist in the quiet.
It was rare to have a moment like this- peaceful, still.
She ran her hands through her hair, washing away the remnants of the night before, of the past few days. She moved through the familiar motions of getting ready, her mind still lingering on the weight of everything that had happened.
Brushing through her damp hair, she worked out the knots before twisting it up into a bun, a few loose strands framing her face. Dressing in her usual layers, she adjusted her sleeves, ensuring they covered the faint golden shimmer that sometimes flickered along her skin when her magic stirred.
Once satisfied, she quickly brushed her teeth, rinsing away the last remnants of the night before.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her room, making her way down the creaky wooden steps into the bar.
The familiar scent of smoke, alcohol, and the faintest trace of damp stone greeted her.
Please may I have The Walking Dead platonic headcanons of what if Carl Grimes had a older sister who is maybe 3 years older than him and had a 6th Sense when it comes to safe houses and places that is unlikely raided for supplies and what to avoid...e.g. if a certain place seemed overrun with walkers being one of them and when someone offering a safe haven being too good to be true and they seemed 'off'..which had saved her group on numerous occasions. She's a good one and always had been..even after her mother's passing, she promised to look out for Carl and for Judith. She learnt how to use a gun under her father's guidance at the start from the age of 12 before handling it on her own when it comes to having to shoot walkers..or use daggers. She is mostly the person who looked after and raised Judith since infancy and was willing to die to protect her when she was in harm's way.
Rick Grimes relationship with his daughter
Carl Grimes relationship with his elder sister
Lori Grimes relationship with her daughter too.
The Group's relationship with her..(with the same ones who knew Carl for a long time too)
Shane's relationship with her..and how he felt that she didn't see him as a father very much..she saw right through him but she didn't say anything because he was her Dad's colleague and friend.
A/N: Absolutely! I might make a longer fic based on this request! Already got permision from the requester :} I'm either gonna base it off this one, or make one new walking dead fic all together. Eighter way, ill credit you for the request, @the-letter-horror-lover!
Raised by the End of the World
Older-Sister!Reader x The Walking Dead Headcanons
Warnings: Violence/Death, Parental Loss, Trauma, Existential Despair/Sacrifice
Word Count: 1798
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- (Y/N) has an uncanny gut instinct that rarely fails her: While not supernatural, her "sixth sense" is more of a hyper-awareness built from trauma, observation, and cold survival logic. She knows the difference between quiet and too quiet. She’s the type who will stop everyone mid-step because something “feels off,” even if there are no walkers or sounds- and more often than not, she’s right.
- She can “read” people frighteningly well: One look, and she can tell if someone is lying, desperate, dangerous, or putting on an act. Rick has learned to trust her instincts even over his own at times. In abandoned houses, she can glance at the dust, placement of things, and smell of the air and tell if someone’s been there recently. She’s especially good at finding caches of supplies overlooked by others. She's the one who always checks under floorboards, between false walls, and above ceiling tiles. It’s almost become a running joke- until she finds a forgotten stash of canned goods or ammo.
- Rick started training her in basic gun safety and handling when she was 9, back before the world fell apart: It began with weekends at the range- slow, careful lessons on how to respect the weapon. Mostly so he could eventually go hunting with him, and actually know how to aim.
- She took to it quickly, surprising even Rick with her precision: She never flinched. When she asked to learn how to use a knife next, Rick hesitated, but taught her anyway- something he later thanked himself for.
- After everything went to hell, she became one of the best shots in the group: Not just accurate, but calm. She doesn’t waste bullets. Every shot counts. She's also quick with a dagger or makeshift blade. She's not the strongest, but she’s fast and precise- throat, eye, skull. She's had to learn how to end things cleanly, especially when Judith was with her.
- Lori loved (Y/N), but often didn’t understand her: While Carl was more emotionally reactive, (Y/N) was quiet, steady, and internalized everything. They had friction- especially as the world began to collapse- with Lori sometimes chastising her for “acting like an adult” or “trying to be in charge.” (Y/N) never argued back. She just kept doing what needed to be done… But deep down, Lori was proud. She told Rick, before her death, that (Y/N) was stronger than both of them- that she had something in her that would keep them all alive.
- Their last real moment together was quiet: Lori cupped her daughter’s face, said “Take care of your brother. Take care of Judith.” And (Y/N) nodded once, already promising without needing to say it aloud. After Lori’s death, (Y/N) was the only one who stayed with Carl that whole night. She didn’t say a word. Just let him lean on her until he slept…
- Now (Y/N) often acts more like Carl’s second parent than just a sister: She's firm when she needs to be, but she's never condescending. Carl listens to her more than most, even when he pretends not to. They argue like siblings, but when the world goes to hell (again), Carl always looks for her first. If she’s nearby, he knows things will be okay.
- From the moment Judith was born, (Y/N) took over almost all of her care: She was the one waking in the middle of the night, rocking her, warming formula, changing diapers even during the hardest of times.
- Judith’s first word wasn’t “mama” or “dada.” It was “Sissy,”: The whole group melted when they heard it. She braided Judith’s hair when it got long enough, wrapped her in scraps of blankets when they were on the road, and told her made-up fairy tales when the real world was too ugly to explain. If Judith ever cried or screamed when walkers were near, (Y/N) would press her forehead to hers and whisper calming things until she went quiet- even if her own heart was pounding out of her chest. She once hid with Judith in a broken-down car overnight, clutching her tightly while walkers passed within feet of them She didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn’t breathe until the moans were gone.
- Rick sees (Y/N) as both his daughter and his second-in-command: After Lori’s death, she became the emotional pillar of the family, even when Rick wasn’t in a place to be the father she needed. He regrets that he put too much responsibility on her shoulders too early- relying on her to help raise Judith, to keep Carl in line, to read the room when he couldn’t. But deep down, he trusts her instincts more than almost anyone.
- Their bond is strong but often unspoken: Built on quiet glances, half-nods, and wordless understanding. When something goes wrong, she’s usually the first person he looks to. He’s told her, more than once, “You shouldn’t have to be this strong.” And each time, she just gave him a tired smile and said, “I know.” He worries about the cost of the apocalypse on her soul, even more than Carl’s. She carries so much, and rarely lets anyone see her fall apart.
- Carl both idolizes and resents her, in that complex sibling way: She’s his protector, his compass- but also a reminder of everything they lost. She was the one who taught him how to bandage his first walker scratch, who stayed up with him after nightmares when Rick was spiraling. When Carl went through phases of trying to be hard or emotionless, it was her disappointment- not Rick’s- that stung the most. She didn't yell, just gave him that look that said, "You know better."
- He never wanted to admit how scared he was of losing her: But when she once got clipped during a raid and bled out onto the concrete, Carl didn’t leave her side all night. She always made him feel like he didn’t have to be strong all the time. He could crumble, and she would carry the weight for both of them.
- Everyone knows not to second-guess her gut feelings: Even Daryl has said, “If (Y/N) says we don’t go in there, we don’t go in there.” She's quiet but respected- the kind of person people turn to when things get tense because she doesn’t panic, and she always has a plan. Carol shares a soft, maternal bond with her- the two often look after Judith together. Carol sees how much of herself is reflected in (Y/N)’s sacrifices. Glenn was always amazed by her resourcefulness; he once told Maggie he thought (Y/N) could find a full grocery store in a burnt-out gas station.
- At an abandoned hotel just outside of Atlanta, the group thought they’d struck gold: Clean water, canned goods, beds. (Y/N) took one step in and froze. Said the smell was wrong. Turned out it was a trap set by scavengers waiting on the roof with rifles.
- During a harsh winter, she led them to an abandoned church no one wanted to check: “too obvious,” they said. But she felt it in her bones. Not only was it untouched, it had a hidden root cellar stocked with old food from a prepper priest.
- Once, they were approached by a smiling man offering food and shelter at his supposed “community.”: Everyone wanted to hear him out. She stared him down, her voice flat: “He’s not hungry. Look at his boots- clean. He’s hunting, not surviving.” The man ran when she exposed him.
- When walkers broke into a safehouse and (Y/N) was upstairs with Judith: She shoved the dresser in front of the door, locked herself and the baby in the closet, and readied her knife. She didn’t expect to survive- only to keep the door shut long enough for someone else to get to Judith. In a moment where bullets ran out and Judith was in direct danger, she used herself as a human shield without thinking. Daryl pulled her out at the last second, but she was ready to die without hesitation.
- Once, she and Carl were separated from the group during a supply run: She kept Carl behind her the entire time, even when they were ambushed by a lone hostile survivor. She was the one who fired first- Carl never forgot the look on her face after. Calm. Empty. Controlled.
- Daryl Dixon: Daryl sees a kindred spirit in her. Not loud, not flashy, but lethal when it counts. He’s seen her gut a walker with one arm while holding Judith with the other. They often patrol together in silence, both appreciating the lack of small talk.
- Carol Peletier: Carol is maybe the only person who understands what it means to be both warrior and mother in one body. She once told (Y/N), “We do what we have to, and we carry it forever. That’s just how it is for people like us.”
- Michonne: She respects (Y/N) fiercely. They’ve fought side-by-side more than once, and Michonne once admitted she thinks (Y/N) has the best instincts in the entire group. When things feel “off,” Michonne always checks her face first.
- Glenn Rhee: Glenn used to tease her gently, trying to get her to laugh or loosen up. He told Maggie that she reminded him of a cat- quiet, deadly, and always watching.
- Maggie Greene: Maggie bonded with (Y/N) over motherhood. Though their circumstances were wildly different, they shared a resilience born from loving someone so small in a world so cruel.
- Hershel: Before his death, Hershel treated (Y/N) with warmth and fatherly affection. He once told Rick, “That girl’s got an old soul. Like she’s lived through this before.”
- Shane never knew quite how to handle (Y/N): She was polite, respectful, but distant. She didn’t laugh at his jokes the way Carl did, didn’t trust him the way Lori sometimes did. He could tell she saw through him. Through the bravado, the barking orders, the possessiveness over the Grimes family. And that infuriated him- because she never said anything. Never called him out. Just looked at him.
- That silence was worse than yelling: It was judgment without words. Shane knew she didn’t see him as a father figure- not even close- and that burned. He tried, once, to bond with her. Brought her a box of supplies and said, “Thought you’d like first pick. You earned it.” She just nodded and said, “Thanks,” but her eyes didn’t soften.
- After Shane’s death, she didn’t speak of him often: But once, years later, when Judith asked about “Uncle Shane,” (Y/N) just said, “He tried to love us. But he lost himself before he ever really could.”
[Request]
HH x TOH AU
This one is with Amity and Angel bonding with each other after they both find out that they have similar experiences with abuse.
(WARNING: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, both Physical & Psychological Abuse.)
A/N: @beastkeeper91, I love writing for fandom crossovers, so I love how many I've been getting :}
Trust Fall Trauma pt.2
pt.1
Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.
Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Toxic parent-child relationships, Trauma responses, Mild language.
Word Count: 1377
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It started, as many things at the Hotel did, with chaos.
“WHO put glitter in the toaster?!” Vaggie shrieked from the kitchen, holding up the crime scene with righteous fury.
“That would be me,” Angel Dust said proudly, sipping something fizzy and definitely not Charlie-approved. “I was experimenting.”
“With what? Arson?” Vaggie snapped.
Angel winked. “Domestic sparkle.”
In the corner, Amity bit back a snort. She was draped lazily across the bean bag she’d claimed during the last “team-building” activity (A.K.A the hostage decorating session). A book was open on her lap, mostly ignored.
Charlie breezed in, arms full of new flyers for her “Soulful Sundays” program, handing them out like cursed coupons.
“Angel, Amity- go put these up around town, please!”
“What am I, your poster boy?” Angel asked, examining one with his face doodled onto the logo. “Wait… actually, this is kind of cute. Look at my lashes.”
Amity rolled her eyes but stood. “I swear, if I get stabbed doing this again, I’m charging something next time.”
They were out the door five minutes later, squabbling lightly as they walked through the dim streets of Pentagram City.
“I still don’t get why I have to help,” Amity muttered, clutching her roll of posters.
“Because you have claws and you’re scary and people won’t mess with us?” Angel offered. “And because you secretly like us.”
She snorted. “Keep dreaming, spider.”
They wandered for a while, stapling posters to demon poles and charmingly decrepit walls, dodging the occasional mugging in progress. Eventually, they found themselves on the roof of a low building overlooking the twisted skyline.
Amity sat on the edge, feet dangling. Angel joined her, legs crossed delicately, cigarette in hand. For a while, they just watched the city breathe.
It was surprisingly… peaceful.
“Hey,” Angel said after a beat, glancing at the stripes on her arms. “You always had those?”
Amity tensed, glancing down.
The markings were faint, like natural fur patterns. But they weren’t. Not really... Not to her.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I've had them since I got to hell… Had them before too, but uh… They weren't exactly just marks at that time.”
Angel didn't push. He just nodded, taking a drag.
“I got scars, too,” he said after a minute. “...Val made sure of that.”
Amity looked at him sideways. There was something raw in his voice, despite the lightness he tried to fake. The cracks showed through if you knew where to look.
“My mom,” she said slowly, “Didn’t even care that I was hurting myself when she found out. She used to say the pain meant I was being shaped into something ‘worthy.’ That I’d thank her someday…”
Angel scoffed. “Let me guess. You didn’t.”
“I bled out on the floor of my bedroom when I was sixteen,” Amity said flatly. “So, no. I didn’t.”
Silence.
Angel took another drag, then offered the cigarette to her.
To no one's surprise, she declined it.
“Val told me I was nothing without him,” Angel said, voice softer now. “Just a pretty face with a hole to fill. Said I was lucky he kept me.”
“He sounds like Odalia,” Amity muttered, watching the smoke curl up from the cigarette Angel was smoking, into the deep red sky. “Except she preferred emotional evisceration. Less mess.”
“You ever try to fight back?”
“Once,” she said. “Got locked in my closet for a week.”
Angel winced.
They sat there, two ghosts with matching bruises in different shapes, saying nothing for a while.
Eventually, Amity spoke again.
“You ever wonder why the scars aren’t here, but the damage still is?”
“All the time,” Angel said. “I think Hell takes the pain and turns it into something you gotta wear. Like a suit. Or a warning.”
Amity looked down at her arms. The fur shimmered faintly under the lights of Hell.
“Maybe it’s not a punishment,” she said. “Maybe it’s a reminder. That we went through it...”
Angel looked at her then, really looked. The kid who called Charlie "Mom" by accident. The tough girl with the sharp wit and the too-tired eyes.
“You’re alright, Blight,” he said, tapping ashes into the void. “Kinda messed up, but in a way I respect.”
“You too, Angel,” she replied. “Spider freak.”
He grinned. “Trauma twins?”
She held up a fist.
He bumped it.
Eventually, Angel's cigarette burned down, and the chill of the rooftop crept in- not that Hell had real seasons, but the air still found ways to bite… Even with the heat.
Amity stretched, tail flicking lazily behind her. “We should finish the job before Charlie has a meltdown and starts handing out redemption-themed stickers again.”
“God forbid,” Angel groaned. “Last time I found one on my ass.”
They hopped down, finishing their poster rounds with minimal incident- aside from one demon who tried to flirt with Angel and got a mouthful of claws courtesy of Amity’s quick temper.
“Damn, girl,” Angel whistled as they walked away. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
“Good,” she said. “I was gonna put that on a business card.”
By the time they got back to the hotel, the front lobby was quiet, lit only by the warm golden glow of Charlie’s favorite chandelier and the soft flicker of whatever infernal candles Alastor insisted on lighting. The chaotic noise of earlier had faded. For once, things were… calm.
They stood in the doorway for a second. Neither of them moved.
“You ever get that thing,” Angel said, voice oddly gentle, “where you walk back into a place, and it feels like home, but your brain’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
Amity nodded slowly. “All the time.”
They entered together. Quietly. Like if they talked too loud, the spell might break.
Charlie was curled up on a couch in the lounge, half-asleep with a book open across her chest and her hair messed up a bit.
Angel grinned. “Sunshine passed out mid-sentence.”
Amity smiled faintly, something warm flickering behind her ribs. “She does that.”
They didn’t wake her. Just set the last few posters on the coffee table and sank into the nearby beanbags- Angel flopping like he was melting, Amity perching with the caution of a cat ready to bolt.
“You think she really means it?” Amity asked suddenly. “All this redemption stuff?”
“Charlie?” Angel leaned back, arms behind his head. “Yeah. She's nuts, but she means it. I’ve never seen someone try so hard to love everyone. It’s kinda annoying, honestly.”
Amity smirked. “She’s nice to me…”
“She's nice to everyone, but... Yeah, pretty sure she has an extra soft spot for you,” Angel teased. “Especially after the whole 'Mom' thing.”
Amity gave him a half-hearted glare, then sighed. “I didn’t mean to say it.”
“Sure,” he said. “But you felt it.”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin there, eyes tracing the edge of the chandelier above.
“I used to imagine what it would feel like,” she murmured. “To have someone who didn’t hurt me. Someone who stayed. But after a while, it just… felt stupid. Like fairy tales for broken kids.”
Angel was quiet.
Then, softly, “I used to fake voices when I was little. Pretend someone was reading to me at night. Said goodnight. Said I was safe.”
Amity looked at him. “You've never told anyone that, have you?”
“Nope,” he said. “You’re just special.”
She rolled her eyes, but it lacked heat.
A long moment passed. Then she asked:
“What does healing even look like for people like us?”
Angel thought about it.
“Not running,” he said finally. “Not hiding. Laughing more. Flinching less. Waking up and not feeling like the worst version of yourself.”
Amity nodded, quiet. “That sounds… impossible.”
He smiled sadly. “Yeah. But Charlie thinks we can get there. And I guess…” He nudged her foot with his own. “If I’ve gotta stumble toward healing with anyone, I don’t mind if it’s you and the rest of these idiots...”
She didn’t say anything.
But she didn’t pull away either.
Instead, she leaned back into the beanbag and let herself breathe. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Amity didn’t feel like she had to earn the right to just exist…
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
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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.
For my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Mondo with bondage and gags please? He gets the idea to try escaping bondage to prove how tough he can be. So he instructs his gang members to take him to an abandoned warehouse to shackle his barefeet to a heavy weight, handcuff him and tape gag his mouth.
For a potential angst plot, as Mondo struggles to escape his bonds, he reflects on his worth as a gang leader and if he'll be as good as his late brother. What do you think?
A/N: Sure, @princeasimdiya12! I can do that :}
Stronger than Chains
Mondo Owada Oneshot
Warnings: Physical restraint/bondage, Self-imposed suffering, Blood/Injury, Emotional distress/Self-worth issues
Word Count: 1762
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The clattering of chains echoed through the cold, hollow warehouse. The moonlight slanted through broken windows in thick beams, catching on the dust that hung in the air like fog.
"Alright, you punks," Mondo barked, pacing barefoot across the cracked concrete. His jacket flared out behind him with each swaggering step. "You heard what I said. Lock me down. Tight. I ain't playin'."
The Crazy Diamonds, his loyal gang, exchanged uneasy looks. They'd done a lot for their boss over the years- illegal races, turf fights, even the occasional back-alley brawl- but this was... new.
"Boss... You serious?" Asked Mondo’s right-hand man, scratching the back of his neck. "You want us to actually chain you up like some kinda... prisoner?"
"You deaf or somethin’?" Mondo growled, shooting him a look that could start fires. "Told ya! I gotta prove I ain't weak. No matter what tries to hold me down, I’m stronger. This ain't for you. It's for me."
A few nervous chuckles floated up, but they obeyed. Always did.
Mondo planted himself in the center of the room, arms crossed, head held high. His feet, bare against the freezing floor, shifted slightly as they brought out the iron shackles. Heavy chains linked them to a giant scrap engine block they'd salvaged from a junkyard- easily over 600 pounds. It clanked threateningly as it was dragged closer.
"Do it," he grunted.
The gang worked fast. Cold iron cuffs snapped around his ankles, biting into the skin slightly. The chain dragged heavy across the ground as they locked it securely to the weight. His legs were effectively stuck- he could shuffle maybe an inch at most, if that.
Next, they produced a pair of handcuffs. Mondo smirked through gritted teeth, shoving his arms behind his back himself, daring them to slap them on. They did, clicking tightly around his wrists, the chill of the steel stinging his skin.
"You sure about the last part, boss?" One of his men asked, holding up a roll of thick, industrial duct tape.
"Yeah," Mondo growled low in his throat. "No talkin'. No excuses."
With a nod, the man ripped a length of tape free and slapped it firmly across Mondo’s mouth, smoothing it down so tight it almost molded to the shape of his lips. The adhesive pulled at the stubble on his jaw, and Mondo instinctively let out a rough, muffled grunt-
"Mmph!"
He glared at the gang but nodded approvingly. Good. No backing out now.
The gang stepped back, watching in tense silence as Mondo shifted, testing the bonds. The chains clattered and groaned under the strain as he tugged at them. His muscles flexed, sweat starting to bead at his temples despite the freezing warehouse air.
"Mmphh-!" Mondo grunted fiercely through the gag, struggling harder, jerking his legs in place, but the weight was immovable. His bare feet scraped against the rough concrete, the iron cuffs biting deeper with each pull. He tried wrenching his hands free behind his back- the cuffs clinked mockingly.
He let out another low, furious moan- "Mrghhh...!"
His gang watched in awe. Their boss was thrashing like a wild beast, fighting every inch of steel with the pure stubborn force of will that had made him the most feared biker in the country. His hair clung damply to his forehead, his taped mouth twisting with every muffled snarl and grunt:
"Mmmf- rrmph! Nghhh!"
But no matter how he strained, no matter how violently he jerked against them, the chains held. His knees eventually buckled and he sank slightly, panting heavily through his nose, letting out a shuddering groan,
"Hrrmmphhh..."
Still... he grinned beneath the gag, the edges of his mouth pulling tight under the tape. He hadn’t given up. Not even close.
He was Mondo Owada.
And nothing- not even steel and concrete- was gonna break him.
The Crazy Diamonds hesitated at the edges of the room, exchanging another series of nervous looks.
"Boss said not to let him out 'til he tells us," One muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We better let him... work it out."
"Even if he's stuck like that all night?" another whispered.
There was no answer. He just nodded toward the exit.
One by one, the gang members filed out, boots scuffing against concrete, leaving Mondo alone in the vast, echoing warehouse. The heavy door groaned shut, and with a final clank, it latched.
Silence. Bitter, biting silence.
Mondo jerked his arms, muscles flaring beneath his jacket. The cuffs rattled mockingly. His bare feet strained against the shackles, toes curling against the cold floor as he heaved his body weight forward. The chain dragged maybe an inch, scraping noisily- but that was it. The heavy engine didn't even budge.
"Rrmmphh!" Mondo snarled into the tape gag, furious. Furious at the chains. Furious at himself.
He slumped forward slightly, panting through his nose. The tape clung uncomfortably to his sweaty skin.
Still bound, still gagged, still stuck. He squeezed his eyes shut.
And in that darkness, another weight- heavier than the iron- settled on his chest.
Daiya wouldn't have gotten caught like this, he thought bitterly. My brother... he wouldn't have needed some dumbass stunt to prove he was tough.
Mondo shifted again, writhing against the cuffs until the metal bit deep into his wrists. He groaned low, a strangled noise against the tape, "Mrghhh..."
Daiya had been fearless. Respected. Legendary. When he spoke, the gang moved like a single living creature. When he walked into a room, the air itself seemed to tense.
Mondo?
Mondo still felt like a damn kid playing dress-up in a dead man's boots.
He growled through the gag, a long, furious noise, yanking so hard against the cuffs his shoulders ached. The cuffs held. The chains held. Nothing broke.
"Nhhrghh-!" he cried, thrashing again. His hair was plastered to his forehead, breath sawing out in desperate, muffled gasps.
He hated this feeling. This helplessness. This weakness.
Was he really just a shadow of his brother? Some reckless idiot who could bark loud but never live up to the legend?
Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he sagged forward, the chain rattling softly with the motion. He stayed there, kneeling on the cold floor, the weight of everything- the chains, the memories, the expectations- crushing him down.
A ragged, barely audible sound escaped him through the gag, "...mrmph..."
He wasn't good enough.
Not yet.
Maybe... maybe not ever.
But he would be. He had to be. For Daiya. For the Crazy Diamonds. For himself.
Slowly, gritting his teeth under the tape, Mondo lifted his head. His muscles burned. His skin stung. His wrists were raw against the cuffs.
Good. Pain meant he was still fighting.
Pain meant he was still alive.
And if he was alive- he could still win.
With a deep, snarling breath, he planted his feet against the concrete, every muscle in his body straining against the chains once more.
The engine didn’t move. The cuffs dug deep. But Mondo Owada-
"MMPH-!!" he roared into the gag, a savage sound of pure, unfiltered will-
Wasn't giving up.
The minutes- or maybe hours dragged by in a haze of agony and fury.
Mondo had no way of keeping time. Just the sound of his ragged, muffled breathing behind the duct tape, the constant clink and scrape of metal against concrete, and the burning fire in his muscles.
He thrashed harder. Again. And again.
The cuffs carved angry red lines into his wrists. His ankles ached from how tightly the iron shackles bit into them, raw and scraped from his jerking struggles. His jaw hurt from straining behind the tape gag, his skin tender and irritated where the adhesive pulled with every grunt and growl.
And yet-
He didn't stop.
"Rrrghh...! Mmmpghh-!" he snarled low in his throat, eyes burning, forehead pressed to the cold floor for a moment as he sucked in furious breaths through his nose.
He refused to let these chains keep him down.
He refused to be weak.
He refused to stay shackled to some damn hunk of scrap metal like a trapped animal.
With a savage roar, Mondo dug deep- deeper than he ever had before- and heaved.
Muscles screaming, he twisted his hands as violently as he could behind his back, wrenching against the handcuffs until-
CLINK- SNAP!
One of the cuffs popped loose with a painful jerk, biting his wrist open in the process. Blood welled up, but Mondo didn’t even flinch.
He staggered forward, dragging the chain still shackling his ankles. Sweat poured from him. His knees buckled. But his grin- God, his grin - split across his face under the tape, wild and triumphant.
He dropped heavily onto his side, forcing his hands in front of him, fumbling to rip at the tape gag with trembling fingers. His fingernails caught the edge of the sticky mess, peeling it painfully from his raw skin.
It felt like ripping off a layer of himself- but he didn’t stop.
"Khh-!" he hissed as the tape tore free, finally letting his bruised lips part. He spat out a heavy breath, his voice hoarse from grunting and growling for so long.
"Hahh... hahhh..." He sucked in deep gulps of air, tasting freedom, tasting victory.
Mondo sat there for a long moment, completely wrecked- wrists bloodied, face red and raw, legs still trapped by the heavy chain- and still, he laughed. A low, raspy chuckle that grew into a full, stubborn, defiant laugh.
"Heh... Heh-heh... Haah...!"
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a bit of blood and sweat, his chest heaving from exertion.
Still shackled to the heavy weight, still hurting all over- but free from the cuffs, free from the gag, free from the worst of it.
And even now, beaten and bruised and practically vibrating from the effort, that same cocky, stubborn smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
"Tch..." he muttered, dragging himself slowly to his feet despite the heavy chain. "Guess... I ain't such a damn weakling after all, huh, bro?"
He could almost hear Daiya’s voice in the back of his mind- not laughing at him, not mocking him- but proud.
Mondo stood there, broken and bloody and still standing, and for the first time in a long time... he actually believed he was worthy of being the Crazy Diamonds' leader.
And he'd damn well keep proving it- no matter how many times he had to fight. No matter how many times he had to break the chains himself.
Ember in the Dark pt.4
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.3 - pt.5
pt.1
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Smoking, and threat/following.
Word Count: 3895
Summary: Drunk and lost in thought, (Y/N) is helped to her room by Silco, who dismisses her drunken compliments about his appearance despite the buried feelings they stir. The next morning, she wakes with a pounding hangover and regret but pushes forward. Down in the bar, she shares a tense yet teasing conversation with Silco about the previous night. After making breakfast for their group, (Y/N), Silco, Vander, and Felicia head out to handle supply shipments. Along the way, (Y/N) notices hooded figures following them. She and Silco silently acknowledge the potential threat, deciding to stay cautious.
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The night stretched on, the hum of the Undercity’s distant machinery a lull beneath the quiet of the nearly empty bar.
(Y/N) had long since stopped paying attention to her drink, her fingers still loosely curled around her cigarette, the ember fading to nothing. She slumped against the bar, her head resting on her folded arms, her thoughts drifting somewhere Silco couldn’t follow.
He watched her for a moment, then sighed.
She was a mess. But then again, weren’t they all?
With quiet efficiency, he slid off his stool, stepping around to her side. "Come on," he murmured, voice softened just enough to be different from his usual sharpness.
She barely moved, blinking sluggishly as he pried the cigarette from her fingers, snuffing it out before guiding her up. She was unsteady, the alcohol dragging her limbs down like lead, but she followed his lead without complaint.
He brought her to her room- small, tucked away, but hers. He wasn’t gentle, not exactly, but he was careful as he eased her onto the thin mattress. She flopped onto it with a quiet sigh, her eyes half-lidded, lost somewhere between wakefulness and the pull of exhaustion.
Silco turned to leave.
Then- a hand on his wrist.
Her grip was weak, barely there, but it stopped him nonetheless.
He glanced back.
(Y/N) wasn’t looking at him, her gaze still distant, but her fingers curled slightly, as if to keep him from disappearing like the rest of her thoughts.
For a long moment, Silco just stood there.
Then, with an exhale, he sat down at the edge of the bed.
He wouldn’t stay forever. But for now? He’d stay.
(Y/N) stared up at him, her eyes glassy, unfocused- but still seeing him. Really seeing him.
Silco wasn’t looking at her. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together as he exhaled through his nose. He looked exhausted, always carrying the weight of his thoughts, his ambitions. The dim light filtering through the grimy window cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting sharp angles, tired blue eyes.
Gods, he was pretty.
The thought drifted through her whiskey-soaked mind before she could stop it, her lips parting slightly as if she might say it aloud.
She had fallen in love with him years ago, back when they were younger, when their world had been a little smaller, their dreams a little simpler. She had never said anything, never acted on it. What good would it do? They had always been fighting for survival, struggling to carve out something more in a city that tried to swallow them whole.
But the whiskey made her tongue looser than it should have been.
"You know," she murmured, her voice softer than usual, slightly slurred. "You’re really pretty."
Silco blinked, turning his head to look at her properly.
(Y/N) just smiled lazily, her cheek pressed against the pillow, eyes still locked on his face. "Too pretty, really… s’not fair."
Silco scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re drunk."
She hummed in agreement. "Maybe."
He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath about her being a lightweight.
(Y/N) just kept watching him, her mind a fog of whiskey and years of feelings buried too deep.
"Bet you don’t even realize," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper.
Silco turned back to her, brow furrowed. "Realize what?"
(Y/N) just smiled, slow and lopsided.
"Nothing," she murmured, letting her eyes slip shut. She’d keep her secret, for now.
Sleep took her quickly, pulling her under like the tide. The stress of the day, the weight of unspoken thoughts, and the whiskey swirling in her system all dragged her into the depths of exhaustion.
Silco sat there for a moment longer, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.
She had always been like this- carrying too much, saying too little. Even now, in her drunken haze, she had stopped herself before saying something real.
With a quiet exhale, he stood, carefully pulling the thin blanket over her.
"Idiot," he muttered, though there was no real bite to the word.
Then, with one last glance at her sleeping form, he turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
(Y/N) woke with a groan, her head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of her skull. Her mouth was dry, her stomach twisted in protest, and every little sound outside her room felt like a personal attack.
Shit.
She had done this to herself. Again.
It wasn’t the first time she had woken up feeling like death after drinking too much, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, that didn’t make it any less miserable.
For a moment, she just lay there, her face buried in the pillow, trying to will the world away. But she knew better. The longer she stayed in bed, the worse she’d feel.
With a groan, she forced herself to sit up. The room spun slightly, her stomach lurching in protest, but she swallowed it down, running a hand through her tangled hair.
She needed water. Food, maybe. And a cigarette.
With slow, sluggish movements, she dragged herself out of bed and started getting ready for the day, just like every other morning.
(Y/N) moved through her morning routine on autopilot, every action deliberate and slow to avoid making herself feel worse. Don’t move too fast, don’t think too hard, don’t throw up.
By the time she was dressed, her head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her stomach was a mess of nausea and regret. But she had survived worse.
She made her way downstairs, the air in the bar thick with the lingering scent of old liquor and smoke. It was still early- too early for business. The Last Drop didn’t open until midday, sometimes later, depending on what Vander felt like or how much of a headache they all had to deal with.
The place was quiet, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the walls.
(Y/N) let out a slow breath and leaned against the bar, rubbing at her temple. She needed coffee. Or maybe just another drink to even herself out.
She wasn’t sure which sounded worse.
(Y/N) opted for the easiest solution- whiskey.
With a practiced reach over the bar, she grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as she tried to be steady. She took a slow sip, wincing as the burn hit her throat. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than the headache clawing at her skull.
She was halfway through the glass when she heard footsteps descending the stairs.
Silco.
He stepped into the dimly lit bar, looking as put-together as ever, despite the late night before. His sharp gaze flickered to her, then down to the glass in her hand.
“Whiskey for breakfast?” he asked dryly, his voice laced with amusement.
(Y/N) didn’t bother looking up. “Helps the headache.”
Silco scoffed, moving toward the bar. “It causes the headache.”
She shrugged, taking another sip. “Then I’m just balancing things out.”
He leaned against the counter, watching her for a long moment.
“You remember anything from last night?” he asked, his tone casual- too casual.
That made her pause.
She frowned slightly, her mind sluggish as she tried to recall the details of the night before. She remembered drinking. She remembered feeling heavy- dragged down by old memories and smoke. She remembered Silco bringing her to bed…
And then-
Shit.
She had said something, hadn’t she?
(Y/N) took another sip of whiskey, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Not much,” she muttered. “Just that I drank too much.”
Silco hummed, unconvinced, but he didn’t push.
“Figures,” he said, reaching over to steal the glass from her hand, taking a sip himself.
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but didn’t argue… Maybe it was better if they both let last night go.
(Y/N) exhaled a long breath, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with steady hands- too steady, considering the storm in her head.
She didn’t want to let it go.
Even if the whiskey had dulled the details, she knew what had been there underneath- the truth of it. It wasn’t some drunken slip, some meaningless flattery. It had been real.
And maybe it was stupid, definitely reckless, but for once, she didn’t want to bite her tongue and bury it.
She watched as Silco took another sip from her glass, his sharp eyes already moving past the conversation, onto something else.
(Y/N) took a slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs before she spoke.
“I meant it.”
Silco raised a brow, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “Meant what?”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette. “What I said last night.”
Silco studied her, the amusement from earlier fading into something unreadable.
(Y/N) exhaled smoke, glancing off to the side. “I don’t remember everything, but I know I meant it.” She flicked ash into a nearby tray, her voice lower now. “Still do.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
Silco leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “You are aware you were completely sloshed, yes?”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I was wrong.”
Another silence.
Then, Silco smirked, slow and sharp. “I am quite pretty, aren’t I?”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the slight curve of her lips. “Asshole.”
Silco just chuckled, pushing the whiskey back toward her. “If you’re going to start confessing things, at least wait until you’re not hungover.”
(Y/N) shook her head, taking another sip. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t… But at least she had said something.
(Y/N) downed the last of her drink, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray before stretching her arms over her head. The whiskey had dulled the edges of her hangover, at least a little, but it wouldn’t last forever.
Time to get moving.
She pushed off the bar, glancing at Silco, who had already made himself comfortable with her glass of whiskey, refilling it. “You planning on helping, or just sitting there looking pretty?”
Silco smirked. “I think you already established my strengths.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes and made her way toward the small kitchen in the back. The Last Drop wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining, but they had enough supplies to make something decent- decent meaning anything edible that kept them from starving.
Felicia and Connol usually stopped by around this time, and Benzo wasn’t far behind. It had become something of an unspoken routine, a part of their mornings that had settled naturally into place. And (Y/N)? She was usually the one who ended up making breakfast.
She didn’t mind, though.
It was something normal. A small, steady thing in the chaos of the Undercity.
She gathered what ingredients they had- eggs, some bread that wasn’t too stale, and whatever meat Vander had managed to get his hands on- and started cooking, the familiar sounds of sizzling filling the air as she focused on the simple motions.
Soon, the others would show up. The bar would come alive again, and another day in the Lanes would begin.
(Y/N) carried the plates out to the bar, setting them down so everyone could grab what they wanted when they arrived. The scent of cooked food lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present smell of smoke and old whiskey.
They still had time before the bar opened for the day, so for now, things were slow- calm, even.
Benzo was the first to arrive, pushing open the door with a casual stride. “Smells good in here,” he commented, tossing a glance toward the food. “Better than whatever the hell that street vendor was sellin’ on my way over.”
(Y/N) smirked as she leaned against the bar. “That’s not exactly a high bar, Benzo.”
He chuckled, grabbing a plate without hesitation. “Hey, food is food.”
Not long after, Felicia and Connol arrived.
Felicia was talking before she even stepped fully inside. “Finally! I was starting to think you forgot about breakfast, (Y/N).”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Like I’d let you starve.”
Connol, quiet as usual, gave a nod in greeting before helping himself to some food. He had been around more lately- a lot more, and while (Y/N) didn’t fully know what to make of him yet, he seemed alright. He made Felicia happy, at least, and that was worth something.
Everyone settled in, eating and talking, the morning taking on the familiar rhythm of their routine. For a little while, it almost felt… normal.
Once breakfast was done and the plates were cleared, (Y/N) wiped her hands on a rag before making her way over to Vander and Silco, who were already deep in conversation near the bar.
Vander had his arms crossed, his usual serious expression in place, while Silco leaned against the counter, flipping through his notebook.
(Y/N) slid into the space between them, raising a brow. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
Vander glanced at her, then exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Depends.”
Silco, without looking up from his notes, added, “We’ve got some shipments coming in later- nothing major, but enough to keep an eye on.”
Vander nodded. “And I was thinkin’ we might head back to the mines later, put in a few hours. Keep up appearances.”
(Y/N) sighed. They didn’t have to work in the mines as much anymore, not with the Last Drop slowly becoming a more stable source of income, but keeping ties there was still important. “Figures.”
Silco finally shut his notebook, glancing between them. “And, if we have time, I wouldn’t mind checking out a few places in the Lanes. Get a read on things.”
That caught (Y/N)’s attention. “You mean more than just ‘getting a read,’ don’t you?”
Silco smirked. “Always.”
Vander gave him a look but didn’t argue.
(Y/N) crossed her arms, considering. A trip to the Lanes could mean anything- connections, information, or just making sure they weren’t falling behind on what was happening in the Undercity.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Sounds like a full day.”
Vander grunted in agreement, and Silco just gave a knowing tilt of his head. With the plan set, they went over the details quickly.
“Alright,” Vander said, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. “First, we handle the shipments. Make sure everything’s in order.”
Silco nodded, already thinking ahead. “After that, we move through the Lanes, see what’s stirring. There’s been talk of tensions rising in a few places- I’d rather not be blindsided.”
(Y/N) exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “And then we finish off in the mines.” She smirked. “Saving the best for last.”
Vander chuckled. “We’ll be in and out. Just enough to show our faces.”
Felicia, who had been listening from the side while finishing the last of her drink, stretched her arms over her head. “Sounds like a long day.”
Silco shot her a dry look. “You are still capable of working, yes?”
Felicia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be there. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
With everything decided, they gathered what they needed. (Y/N) grabbed her coat, Silco tucked his notebook away, and Vander made sure the bar was set to be running while they were gone. He had gotten one of his newly hired bartenders to come in, along with asking Benzo to sit around and drink… Just to watch things.
Then, without wasting any more time, they headed out into the Undercity to start their day.
Felicia lingered by the door, saying a quick goodbye to Connol before he disappeared into the winding streets of the Undercity. Whatever he did during the day was still a bit of a mystery- probably something inventive. He looked like the type to be scientific, always thinking, always watching.
But that wasn’t (Y/N)’s concern right now.
With Connol gone, the four of them set off, making their way through the dimly lit streets toward where the shipments were being delivered. The air was thick with the usual blend of smoke, oil, and the distant hum of machinery. It was a scent that clung to everything in the Undercity.
As they walked, Vander took the lead, his broad frame naturally clearing a path where needed. Silco, as always, kept sharp eyes on their surroundings, his thoughts likely already drifting toward whatever he expected to find in the Lanes later. Felicia walked beside (Y/N), hands in her pockets, a casual bounce in her step despite the rough streets beneath them.
(Y/N) flicked the butt of a cigarette into the gutter as they approached their destination- a tucked-away storage lot run by a man named Harker, a supplier they’d worked with a few times before. The shipments weren’t anything fancy, just supplies for the Last Drop- booze, some preserved goods, and whatever else they needed to keep the place running.
Vander stepped up first, knocking twice on the metal door. It took a moment, but soon enough, they heard the sound of locks shifting before Harker himself pulled the door open.
The man squinted at them, his face rough with age and soot. “You’re early,” he grunted.
Vander shrugged. “You got it ready or not?”
Harker snorted, stepping aside to let them in. “Yeah, yeah. Come on in. Just don’t touch nothin’ that ain’t yours.”
(Y/N) exchanged a glance with Silco before following the others inside. Time to get to work.
(Y/N) adjusted her grip on one of the heavier crates, the weight digging into her arms as she walked alongside the others. The streets of the Undercity were always filled with movement- faces ducking in and out of alleyways, the low hum of machinery echoing in the distance- but something felt different.
She had noticed them the moment they left the Last Drop- a few hooded figures lingering just a little too long in the alleys, their steps just a little too measured. At first, she thought it might be a coincidence, just another group moving through the Undercity like everyone else.
But now, as they neared the bar, she knew they were being followed.
She didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to glance toward Silco, who was walking slightly ahead of her. His sharp gaze was usually quick to pick up on things like this- he had to have noticed, right?
Felicia, carrying a smaller crate beside her, was too caught up in complaining about the weight to notice anything. “Seriously, why does alcohol have to be so damn heavy? Can’t we start serving something lighter?”
“Like what?” Vander asked dryly, barely breaking stride.
Felicia huffed. “I dunno, something that doesn’t make my arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”
(Y/N) wasn’t listening. She shifted her hold on the crate, subtly glancing over her shoulder.
The hooded figures were still there. Three of them. Keeping their distance, but staying close enough that it wasn’t natural.
Her pulse quickened, but her expression remained calm.
Silco turned his head slightly- just enough for his eyes to flicker toward her before looking forward again. He had noticed.
Good.
(Y/n) exhaled through her nose, keeping her pace steady. They were close to the bar now, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Whoever these people were, they weren’t just watching- they were waiting.
For what?
And more importantly- why?
As soon as the last crate was set down in the storage room, (Y/N) dusted off her hands and made her way over to Silco. He was already expecting her.
The others were still busy- Vander double-checking the shipments, Felicia stretching her arms and complaining about the heavy lifting. It gave (Y/N) the perfect moment to pull Silco aside, just out of earshot.
“You saw them too,” she muttered, keeping her voice low.
Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching her carefully. “Of course I did.” His tone was calm, but there was a knowing edge to it.
(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “They’ve been following us since we left the bar. I didn’t get a good look, but… they weren’t just passing through.”
Silco hummed in agreement. “No. They weren’t.”
That unsettled her. If Silco was concerned, it meant this wasn’t just her overthinking things.
“You think they’re watching us specifically?” she asked.
Silco tilted his head slightly, considering. “Possibly. Could be unrelated, but I doubt it.” He glanced toward the door. “Three of them, moving like they had a purpose. If they wanted to attack, they would’ve done it already. That means they were either scouting us or waiting for something.”
(Y/N) crossed her arms. “And that’s what worries me.”
Silco studied her for a moment before lowering his voice even further. “Did you notice anything about them? Anything off?”
(Y/N) thought back. They moved well, blending into the streets with ease. But something had felt strange about them. “Their movements were too careful,” she muttered. “Like they weren’t just random thugs.”
Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she could see the gears turning in his head. “We’ll have to keep an eye out. If they’re still around by the time we head to the Lanes, we’ll know for sure.”
(Y/N) nodded. “Should we tell Vander and Felicia?”
Silco considered it, then shook his head. “Not yet. No need to spook them if this turns out to be nothing.” (Y/N) hesitated but ultimately agreed. For now, they’d just have to watch their backs.
With the shipments handled and the Last Drop running smoothly for now, the four of them set off once more, weaving through the winding paths of the Undercity. The Lanes were the heart of the Undercity’s chaos- filled with traders, workers, gang members, and those just trying to survive another day. It was where information spread fastest, where rumors carried weight, and where they could keep their fingers on the pulse of the city.
(Y/N) stayed alert, her eyes flickering to the shadows between buildings, the alleys where trouble tended to brew. She hadn’t seen the hooded figures since they returned to the bar, but that didn’t mean they were gone.
Vander led the way, as he often did, his presence alone enough to command respect. People recognized him now- not as some leader, not yet, but as someone reliable, someone who got things done. Silco walked beside him, quiet but watchful, his mind likely still working through the same concerns (Y/N) had.
Felicia, as usual, brought a different kind of energy to the group. “We should get something to eat while we’re out,” she suggested, stretching her arms. “That stew from Elda’s stall? Real good. And I’m starving.”
Vander smirked. “You’re always starving.”
Felicia grinned. “Yeah, well, lifting crates all morning will do that.”
(Y/N) barely heard them, her attention on the movement around them. She caught glimpses of familiar faces- merchants selling scrap, chem-dealers peddling their poisons, Enforcers nowhere to be seen. It was business as usual.
But still… something felt off.
As they rounded a corner near one of the busier market areas, she caught it again- just for a second. A hooded figure, leaning against a wall, just barely in her peripheral vision. By the time she turned her head fully, they were gone.
Her stomach twisted… They were still being watched.
Hello my friend! I have a good funny story request idea that you may like to do! Well I wanted to see you could do a headcanon/ story on the Demon Slayer Au x female!reader where they had a small argument with each other then the reader screams out how there aren’t very funny or loving because there either too serious, sad, rude, airhead or nice which shocks the Demon Slayer character. Then they decide to play a prank on the reader to prove them wrong ( it can be any type of prank from making them food with something their allergic to plus funny ingredients, trying to scare them, dress up in something silly, pretending to have amnesia and etc). But when their prank is over instead of getting a laugh or apologize; the reader would either get hurt/hospitalized (physically or emotionally), angry, cry, annoyed and even threaten to leave them ( is also joking as well) which causes them to feel guilty, like a jerk or beg for forgiveness?!!~ (It’s up to you whether or not they forgive them or not!)🤭😅❤️🔥✨
A/N: Of course, @lelewright1234! I made ths one a oneshot, since the other two you requested are headcanons :}
Terrible Prank- Better Apology
Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Physical Injury, Mentions of Leaving/Breakup Threats, and Miscommunication
Word Count: 4767
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tanjiro:
The morning sun crept through the paper-paneled windows, the scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air. Laughter echoed faintly down the hallway as Zenitsu teased Inosuke, and Nezuko hummed while tending to the garden.
But in the center of the house, things weren’t quite so peaceful.
“I’m just saying, Tanjiro,” (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms as she stood in the kitchen doorway, “you don’t always have to be so perfect all the time.”
Tanjiro blinked, confused, ladle still in hand from making soup. “Perfect? I don’t think I’m-”
“You are!” (Y/N) cut in, voice rising in frustration. “You’re too kind, too polite, too... I don’t know, nice! You’re never mad, never sarcastic, never playful- how do you expect people to relax around you when you’re always one step away from offering a moral lesson?”
The kitchen went silent, save for the gentle bubbling of miso soup.
Tanjiro's eyebrows furrowed. “But… I’m just trying to keep the peace. I like being kind to the people I care about. Especially you.”
(Y/N)’s throat tightened, but she forged on. “I know you care, but it’s like... you never joke with me. You don’t tease, you don’t play around. Sometimes it feels like you're scared to just be real.”
Then she added- too loudly and too emotionally- “You’re not even that funny or loving, honestly!”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Tanjiro’s eyes flickered with something quiet and deep- not anger, but woundedness.
“…I see,” he said softly.
“No- wait, I didn’t mean-” (Y/N) began, but Tanjiro simply nodded, setting the ladle down with a calm gentleness that somehow felt heavier than a slammed door.
That Afternoon, (Y/N) looked around for Tanjiro, but… She couldnt find him, anywhere.
“...He hasn’t said anything to you?” (Y/N) asked Nezuko in a hushed voice as she watered the bonsai plants. Nezuko gave a tiny shake of her head and shrugged.
(Y/N) sighed, heart heavy. The argument had been stupid. She hadn’t meant to accuse him of being unloving- she just wanted to see a messier, funnier side of him. To know he could be silly or imperfect around her.
Just once.
And it seemed, maybe, Tanjiro had taken that challenge to heart… Even so, she kept looking.
“Hey… Inosuke, where’s Tanjiro?” (Y/N) asked, glancing around the dinner table as she sat down. Zenitsu paused with a mouthful of rice halfway to his lips.
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Zenitsu said, chewing. “He hit his head earlier- fell on a wet step outside.”
(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “What?!”
“Yeah,” Inosuke chimed in, grinning. “And now he doesn’t remember anything. Doesn’t even know who you are.”
(Y/N) bolted from the table, heartbeat pounding.
She found him sitting on the porch, a serene smile on his face, moonlight painting his skin. He turned to them with wide eyes- gentle, unfamiliar.
“Oh. Hello. Are you a friend of the family?”
(Y/N) stopped in her tracks. “…Tanjiro?”
He tilted his head. “I was told that’s my name. You’re… (Y/N), right?”
Her heart twisted. “You don’t remember me?”
Tanjiro smiled sweetly, with not a hint of recognition. “Sorry.”
Days later, the amnesia act continued.
Tanjiro asked the same innocent questions over and over: where they had met, what they meant to each other, what her favorite color was. (Y/N) answered every time with a trembling voice and a forced smile. On the third night, she cried herself to sleep.
Zenitsu started looking guilty. Inosuke avoided her eyes.
By the fourth day, (Y/N) broke.
She stood up from their shared porch bench, voice shaky. “Alright, Tanjiro. You win.”
Tanjiro blinked. “Win what?”
“You’re funny. You’re playful. You got me, okay? Real good prank. Hilarious,” she said, voice cracking. “Except I guess I was wrong when I called you too nice. Because no one that kind would do this to someone they love.”
She turned away, rubbing at her eyes furiously.
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Maybe not forever- but definitely long enough to figure out how I let myself fall for someone who thinks this is funny.”
Her voice dropped, half-joking, half-dead serious:
“…Hope it’s worth it.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She walked inside, quietly shutting the door behind them.
Late that same night, there was a soft knock on her door.
(Y/N) rolled over, wiping dried tears from her cheek. “Go away.”
“It’s me,” Tanjiro’s voice said. And it was his voice- not the stranger from the porch, but the one she knew. Warm, guilt-ridden, real.
The door creaked open. He stepped in, candle in hand, and shut the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought... maybe if I showed you I could be playful, you'd laugh. And we could make up. I didn’t think it would hurt you like this.”
(Y/N) stayed quiet.
He sank to his knees beside the futon. “I missed you. Even when I was pretending not to know you- I missed the real us. Every time you looked sad, or forced a smile, it made my stomach twist.”
(Y/N)’s voice was soft. “Then why didn’t you stop?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me,” he admitted.
There was silence between them.
Finally, (Y/N) sighed. “You’re a dummy, Tanjiro Kamado.”
His lips twitched. “I am.”
“And a bad actor.”
“I know.”
“And I still love you.”
His breath caught. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “I love you too. Always. Even when I’m too nice. Even when I mess up.”
(Y/N) snorted. “You’re allowed to mess up, Tanjiro. Just… not like that again.”
He nodded solemnly. “No more fake amnesia.”
“Good.”
A beat of silence.
“…Unless I need an excuse to get out of helping Inosuke with his… Nature stuff,” he added hopefully.
(Y/N) laughed, smacking his arm.
And just like that, the tension cracked- and love slipped in, soft and sure.
The next morning, Zenitsu glanced up from his tea as (Y/N) entered the kitchen with Tanjiro behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.
“…So, did he get his memory back?” Zenitsu asked innocently.
(Y/N) grinned. “Nope. Still thinks he’s hilarious.”
Tanjiro just laughed and kissed her cheek.
Inosuke:
The forest was still, too still for (Y/N)’s liking.
The soft chirps of crickets were the only sounds keeping her company as her walked along the dirt path, surrounded by towering trees and the dim glow of moonlight. The mission was over, the demon slain, and the village safe again. But (Y/N)’s shoulders remained tense- because the most exhausting part of the evening wasn’t the battle.
It was Inosuke.
“Could you please not charge in next time without a plan?” (Y/N) asked, for what felt like the fifth time that day, her arms crossed tight across her chest.
Inosuke grunted in response, leaping over a rock and puffing out his chest like a peacock. “I didn’t need a plan! I WON! HAHA!” he declared, full of pride, his boar mask swinging from one hand. “You’re just mad ‘cause you didn’t get the final hit!”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes so hard it almost gave her a headache. “I’m mad because you almost got your head bitten off, you idiot!”
He turned toward her, that wild, half-mischievous, half-oblivious look on his face. “Then you would’ve been the one crying, huh? All like, ‘Oh nooo, my big strong wild man got himself eaten- waaah!’”
“I’d be crying of relief because I’d finally have some peace and quiet!”
That shut him up- if only for a moment. But when (Y/N) saw him frowning in confusion rather than embarrassment, something inside her snapped.
“You’re-!” she shouted, fists clenching. “You’re not even loving! You’re just... some wild airhead who acts like a rabid raccoon on a sugar rush!”
“HUH?! I’m totally loving!! I let you sleep on my arm that one time, didn’t I?!”
“That’s because you passed out mid-conversation!”
“Well... still counts!”
“No, it doesn’t!”
(Y/N) turned around and stomped off down the trail, fuming, ignoring the way the leaves crunched under her boots. Inosuke stayed back for a second, scratching his head, visibly baffled.
He’d seen her mad before, but never like this.
“Hmph. She thinks I’m not loving?” he muttered to himself, then suddenly smirked. “I’ll show ‘er loving. I’ll love ‘er so much, she’ll scream.”
Inosuke had a plan. A brilliant, perfect plan.
It involved a dead deer skull he’d found earlier, some long branches, a cloak soaked in dark mud, and his natural ability to hide in trees like a very aggressive bird.
He waited until (Y/N) had cooled off and was sitting at their shared campsite, fanning the flames of the small fire with a quiet pout still on her face.
Then- BAM!
A bloodcurdling shriek echoed from the treetops as something monstrous launched from the shadows. Mud, bone, and antlers flashed. (Y/N) screamed and scrambled back, drawing her blade by instinct. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.
Then-
The “creature” tripped over a root and faceplanted in front of her.
“HAHA! GOTCHA!” Inosuke leapt up, flinging off the deer skull and mud-caked cloak with a triumphant grin. “See?? Bet your heart’s racing! That’s love, baby!”
(Y/N) just stared at him. No laughter. No playful push. Just silence... and slowly rising anger.
She stood stiffly, brushing leaves and dirt off her clothes with trembling hands.
“You...” she began, voice shaking. “You scared the absolute hell out of me, Inosuke!”
He blinked, grin faltering. “Well, yeah! That was the point! It’s funny, right? Right?”
“You think traumatizing me is funny?!” she snapped, backing away a few steps. “You know what? I’m done. I’m so done. I’m going to pack up my things and leave. You can marry that deer skull and live happily ever after with your mud cloak.”
“Wait- WHAAAT?!”
“I hope you and Mrs. Deer Bone have a great life together.”
Inosuke looked genuinely terrified now. “No no no, wait, wait- (Y/N)! Come on! It was just a joke! You’re not really leaving, are you?!”
(Y/N) turned dramatically, starting to walk away.
Inosuke scrambled after them, dropping to his knees. “Okay, I’m sorry!! Please don’t go! You can punch me in the face! Kick me in the ribs! Stab me in the arm! Wait, no, not the arm, I need that- BUT STILL!! I’M SORRY!!”
(Y/N) stopped.
She turned, arms crossed again, raising a brow. “So now you’re saying sorry?”
“YES! I mean... yeah! I didn’t mean to make you mad, I just...” he fidgeted, looking anywhere but at her. “I thought if I could make you scream and laugh and forget being mad at me, then you’d know I care. But... I guess that wasn’t the smartest way.”
(Y/N) exhaled, finally letting her shoulders drop.
“I was never actually going to leave, you dumb boar,” she said softly. “But gods, Inosuke... you’ve got to learn how to show you care without nearly giving me a heart attack.”
He stood, slowly padding forward with his head low.
“Then... how do I show you?” he asked, for once not shouting or charging. Just curious. Soft.
(Y/N) walked over and gently took his hand, still stained with mud.
“This. Talking. Listening. Just be with me. Not hiding in trees trying to traumatize me.”
“...But trees are so cool, though-”
“Inosuke-”
“Okay! Okay! No more tree-jumping monsters!” He grinned sheepishly. “...Unless you want one.”
(Y/N) snorted, pulling him into a hug. “You’re impossible.”
His arms wrapped around her tightly, face pressed into her shoulder. “Yeah... but I’m your impossible.”
Zenitsu:
The sun filtered gently through the cracks in the wooden shutters, bathing the room in golden light. The safe house was unusually quiet this afternoon- Tanjiro and Inosuke were off training, Nezuko was napping peacefully in her box, and that left just Zenitsu and (Y/N) to occupy the space.
And that… was not going well.
“You always run away!” (Y/N)’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and frustrated.
Zenitsu flinched as if she'd thrown something at him. “I don’t always run away! I-I just... use tactical retreat when necessary!”
“Tactical retreat? You screamed and climbed on my head, Zenitsu!”
“That demon was horrifying!” Zenitsu wailed, gripping his own hair. “It had four arms and teeth where its eyes should be!”
“And I had to take care of it while you were shaking like a leaf behind a bush!” (Y/N) crossed her arms, exasperated. “I’m not saying you’re not brave when it counts, but when you act like this all the time- it doesn’t exactly scream ‘loving and protective boyfriend,’ Zenitsu!”
The words hit him like a slap, his wide amber eyes growing misty. “You don’t think I’m loving?”
(Y/N) sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Zenitsu... I love you. But you’re such a scaredy cat sometimes! And it hurts because I feel like I can’t depend on you unless you’re unconscious and lightning-charged.”
Zenitsu stood there, stunned, lower lip wobbling.
(Y/N) groaned. “I need to go cool off.” She stormed out of the room, sliding the door shut a bit too hard.
Later that day, Zenitsu paced in the hallway with his hands behind his back, muttering to himself.
“Scaredy cat... scaredy cat... I’ll show her scaredy cat... I’m going to prove I can be fun and loving. I’ll do something bold! Something dramatic! Something... memorable!”
It was then that he spotted a costume closet one of the Kakushi used for festivals. His eyes gleamed with mischief. An idea bloomed in his head, outrageous and ridiculous- and perfect.
Later, when (Y/N) returned from a walk, calmer now. Her fingers trailed along the hallway walls, the air carrying the scent of tea and clean wood. She was already planning what to say when she saw Zenitsu again- something like “I’m sorry for being harsh,” or “I know you’re trying.”
But then-
“RAWR!”
A creature leapt from behind a sliding door, arms flailing and covered in bright, ridiculous fabrics. Zenitsu had somehow forced himself into a lion onesie, complete with fuzzy tail and painted whiskers. He charged with a roar that sounded like a cat having a coughing fit.
(Y/N) screamed- not in amusement, but in raw, startled panic.
She tripped over a rock, fell hard on her side, and rolled a bit before groaning in pain.
Zenitsu dropped the fake roar instantly. “(Y/N)!!” He scrambled over in his fuzzy lion getup, paw-gloves flailing. “Oh no oh no oh no-! I didn’t mean to scare you like that!”
(Y/N) sat up, wincing. Her arm was scraped, her knee had caught the worst of the fall, and a forming bruise throbbed under her robes.
“I was trying to make you laugh! I thought-! I just wanted to prove I could be brave and... fun and... romantic and-!” Zenitsu’s bottom lip trembled again, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
(Y/N) blinked at him- at the giant lion suit, the silly little ears, the dumb tail, and his completely crumpled expression.
“I should leave,” she said solemnly.
Zenitsu let out a strangled noise. “NO! Don’t go! Please- I’m sorry- I’ll throw the suit away- I’ll be serious- I’ll go punch a demon in the face right now- I-”
“I meant leave you, not the house,” (Y/N) interrupted, deadpan.
Zenitsu looked like a kicked puppy.
“I’m joking, you ridiculous fuzzy idiot.”
Zenitsu blinked.
Then (Y/N) chuckled softly. “You really thought dressing up like that would make me laugh?”
He nodded sheepishly. “I wanted to be a brave lion boyfriend.”
(Y/N) shook her head, wincing again as she moved. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Zenitsu moved to help her up, all dramatics gone now, just soft and apologetic. “You... do still love me, right?”
She leaned heavily against him, hand resting on his fuzzy chest. “Of course I do. Even if you’re a bit of a coward, even if you’re dramatic... You always try. And that means a lot.”
Zenitsu flushed a deep scarlet, holding her tighter than the lion suit allowed. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be there next time- no matter how scary it is.”
(Y/N) smiled against his shoulder. “Just don’t dress like a circus act again, and we’ll be fine.”
“Deal.”
Later that night, Zenitsu sat by the futon, gently dabbing at (Y/N)’s scraped knee with some ointment.
“You’re lucky Tanjiro isn’t here. He’d be so disappointed in me.”
“He would lecture you about safety and emotional responsibility,” (Y/N) mused.
Zenitsu winced dramatically. “Ugh, even worse than fighting a demon.”
(Y/N) reached out and pulled him into bed beside her, sighing contentedly.
“I guess I do have a pretty loving boyfriend,” she mumbled sleepily. “Even if he’s a ridiculous coward.”
Zenitsu blushed as he pulled the blanket over both of them.
“...I love you too, you bruised-up gremlin.”
“Goodnight, lion boy.”
“...Rawr.”
Nezuko:
The sky was pale and overcast when the argument began. Spring usually meant new life, blooming trees, and bright sun filtering through clouds. But today? The wind was a little too sharp, and the air carried a tension that matched the sudden silence in the Kamado household.
"You always act like everything's perfect, Nezuko," (Y/N) snapped, turning away from the young demon-turned-human, arms crossed. "Like nothing ever bothers you. Like... you're always calm. Always sweet. Always too good to be real."
Nezuko stood still, mouth slightly open. Her soft pink eyes blinked once, then twice, hurt flickering across them like a candle guttering in the wind.
"But I am real," she said softly.
"Yeah, and I love you- I do. But sometimes I feel like... you’re not really here. Like you don’t feel the way I do. You’re so perfect all the time that I feel like I’m the only one who's ever angry or jealous or scared. And I hate that! I hate how you never screw up, how you never mess up, never yell- never even sweat under pressure. I hate that I’m the messy one in this-"
(Y/N)'s voice cracked, and she sucked in a breath.
"...I feel like I’m the only one trying sometimes."
Nezuko's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her fingers clenched at her sides, a dozen replies dying in her throat. She didn’t want to cry- not in front of (Y/N), who was already trembling from the weight of their confession.
"I’m not very loving," (Y/N) added bitterly. "Not like you. Because you're... you’re too perfect."
And just like that, she turned and stormed out onto the porch, leaving Nezuko alone in the kitchen, her heart quietly shattering beneath her ribs.
Later that night, Nezuko sat curled up on the tatami mat, frowning into a bowl of ingredients. She didn’t cry- crying wouldn’t fix it. But she was bothered. Maybe she hadn’t realized how distant she'd felt to (Y/N) lately. Maybe her quiet nature- once a comfort- was starting to feel like a wall.
"Too perfect, huh?" she whispered to herself.
A mischievous glint entered her eyes.
"Well... maybe I should show her I’m not that perfect."
She cracked her knuckles, glancing at the small box of dango flour and the recipe for (Y/N)'s favorite sweet- matcha mochi. But this time... she had a special ingredient in mind.
Nezuko grinned as she reached for the spice shelf.
"Wasabi... just a little prank."
The next afternoon, she presented the mochi like it was a peace offering. Green, soft, dusted with rice flour. Perfectly handmade.
(Y/N) was still a little raw from the fight, curled on the edge of the porch with her arms around her knees, watching clouds pass overhead.
"...I made you something," Nezuko said gently, nudging the plate into her view.
(Y/N) looked up, hesitant. "Mochi?"
Nezuko nodded innocently. "Your favorite. Matcha. With extra love."
There was a beat of silence. Then (Y/N) gave a small, lopsided smile. "You’re trying to bribe me with sweets, huh?"
"...Maybe."
She took one without much thought, bit in- and immediately froze.
Nezuko tried not to laugh too soon, but she saw her eyes widen comically and a sputter leave her lips.
"W-What the hell is in this?" (Y/N) gagged. "Is this... is this wasabi?!"
Nezuko burst out laughing, holding her sides. "Got you!"
"You little-" (Y/N) laughed too at first, nervously, wiping her tongue. "Nezuuuko!"
But then she stopped.
And blinked.
Nezuko’s laughter faltered.
"...You okay?"
(Y/N)’s face turned a little red- no, splotchy. She reached toward her throat.
"Shit."
She stood quickly, stumbling. "Nezuko- I-I'm- I'm allergic to wasabi-"
Her eyes went wide in horror.
"What?!"
Nezuko grabbed herinstantly, guiding her back inside. "Why didn’t you tell me?!"
"You’re not supposed to put prank spices in my favorite food!" she croaked, wheezing as she dug into her bag for her emergency medication.
It wasn’t a severe allergy- thankfully. Just enough to make her tongue swell, her face puff slightly, and breathing get mildly tight. But it was enough to scare the hell out of Nezuko.
As she downed the medicine and slumped back into a seated position, fanning her mouth with her hand, she gave Nezuko a sharp side-eye.
"That was evil, Kamado. I’m breaking up with you. I’m going to go find a quiet, boring farmer girl who can cook without trying to kill me."
"...No you're not." Nezuko’s voice cracked, her hands trembling as she tried to steady the cup of water for (Y/N).
"You don’t know that," (Y/N) teased weakly, though she were already leaning into her.
Nezuko placed the cup down, then sat beside her, face pale and tight with guilt.
"...I was trying to be funny. Trying to prove I wasn’t perfect. That I do mess up. But I didn’t want this."
(Y/N) chuckled, still half-wheezing. "Well, you definitely proved it."
Nezuko dropped her face into her hands. "I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I didn’t think- I didn’t even ask-"
(Y/N) leaned into her, resting her head against her shoulder, breath finally starting to come easier.
"I forgive you."
Nezuko looked up slowly, shocked.
(Y/N) gave her a small, crooked grin. "...You were trying to reach me. That’s what matters. Even if you nearly poisoned me doing it."
She let out a weak giggle.
Nezuko blinked a few times, and suddenly threw her arms around them, burying her face in her shoulder.
"You scared me..." she whispered.
"You scared me, too."
Silence fell between them for a moment, but it was warmer now. Closer.
"...Can I still cook for you?" Nezuko murmured after a while.
(Y/N) groaned dramatically. "Only if you promise never to go near wasabi again."
She nodded solemnly. "Deal."
"Also... maybe let’s both stop pretending. You don’t have to be perfect. And I don’t have to be the mess. We’re allowed to meet halfway."
Nezuko smiled into her neck.
"I love you, imperfections and all."
(Y/N) smirked. "Good. ‘Cause this relationship is definitely messy now."
Nezuko giggled, and for the first time that day, (Y/N) genuinely laughed with her.
Genya:
They were in the middle of a quiet clearing, sun filtering through the treetops above them. The scent of pine and moss lingered in the warm breeze, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused. No demons, no missions, just stillness.
Except… not really.
“You know, you never joke around,” (Y/N) muttered, crouched over the small fire pit she was trying to light. “Always so serious. It's like you’re afraid your face will crack if you smile too hard.”
Genya, sharpening his blade nearby, tensed visibly. “What the hell does that even mean?”
(Y/N) blew at an ember from within the fire and glanced at him. “It means you're not very… loving. You’re all ‘training’ this and ‘focus’ that, but never ‘Hey, (Y/N), I care about you’ or even ‘you look cute today.’ You’re like a really buff rock with a grudge.”
That got him. His eyes flicked up, brows furrowed deep.
“That's not fair,” he muttered. “Just 'cause I don’t say stuff like that doesn't mean I don't care.”
(Y/N) stood up now, hands on her hips. “Then show it once in a while, Genya. I'm not asking for poetry. Just… affection. A little fun. You’re always acting like smiling is illegal.”
Genya stood, jaw clenched, flustered and defensive. “I ain’t unloving! Just ‘cause I ain’t goofy doesn’t mean I don’t-”
But (Y/N) had already walked away, huffing, “Whatever.”
The argument settled into an awkward silence between them for the rest of the evening. But Genya couldn’t get her words out of his head. Too serious. Not loving. That stung. He wasn’t like his brother, sure, but he wasn’t heartless.
So... he got an idea. A stupid idea.
The next morning, (Y/N) woke up to an empty camp. She stretched and yawned, only to find a strange trail of bloodied feathers and ripped fabric leading into the forest. Her heart dropped.
"Genya?!" she called, already grabbing her weapon.
No answer.
Panic rising, she followed the trail- only for a blur to come rushing out of the bushes with a loud screech.
"DEMON!!" she screamed, drawing her blade-
-and immediately tripping over a random stick that was on the ground.
She went down hard, rolling down a small slope, crashing into a fallen log with a sickening crack.
"SHIT- (Y/N)!" Genya's voice cut through the trees as he dropped the silly makeshift costume of torn fabric and fake teeth.
He practically leapt down after her, heart hammering in his throat. (Y/N) groaned, clutching her ankle, which was visibly twisted. Her arm was scraped raw and bleeding, and there were bruises forming fast.
“You absolute jackass,” she hissed, eyes watering from pain and rage. “What the hell kind of prank is that?! I could’ve broken my neck!”
“I-I didn’t think you’d actually fall- shit, I didn’t mean-”
“Oh, don’t give me that face,” she snapped, trying and failing to sit up without wincing. “This was totally uncalled for.”
Genya hovered, guilt flooding every inch of his body. His hand shook as he touched her arm gently.
“I was just… I was tryin’ to show you I could be fun. That I ain’t too serious. I thought… if I could scare you a little, you’d laugh at it after. I was tryin’ to be less stiff for once.”
(Y/N) glared at him, then muttered, “Well, congrats. You broke me instead. Maybe I should leave your ass after all. Find a Hashira with a sense of humor.”
That hit him harder than any demon ever had. His expression crumbled.
“…You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.
She looked at him for a long moment… and then sighed, a small smirk forming despite her pain. “Of course I don’t. Dumbass.”
Genya blinked.
“…Wait, so… you’re not actually leaving?”
“No, Genya,” she said softly. “You’re lucky I love you. Just maybe… stick to jokes that don’t involve fake demon attacks next time?”
He exhaled with a laugh- relieved, guilty, and embarrassed all at once.
“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I really messed up.”
“You really did.”
He crouched beside her, lifting her injured arm gently and pulling out a small jar of salve. “Let me patch you up. And I’ll carry you back. I owe you.”
(Y/N) leaned into his side a little, her voice softer now. “You know… that was kinda loving. In a Genya sort of way.”
“…Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just don’t do it again, or I’ll punch you.”
He chuckled quietly, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “Deal.”
Later that night, after she was fully bandaged and resting on a pile of blankets near the fire, he came over with something behind his back.
“…What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.
He revealed a crude bouquet of wildflowers, tied together with some thread. “I… uh… picked these. Earlier. Before the dumb prank. Just didn’t know how to give ‘em to you.”
(Y/N)’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “You’re seriously trying the soft-boy act now?”
He shrugged, ears turning red. “Just shut up and take the damn flowers.”
And she did- with a smirk, a kiss to his cheek, and a mumbled, “You’re still a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”
ׄ 𓈒 ❤︎ 𓈒 ׄ ~~ Masterlist ~~ ׄ 𓈒 ❤︎ 𓈒 ׄ
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Requests are open! ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )
Feel free to use my ask box to request anything, within reason. I am open to adding more fandoms to my list, but only if I've interacted with them, and know the lore of what I am writing is. I am also willing to add more things to the list of stuff I'm willing to write, depending on what is requested. I do not do Art requests, but I am thinking about doing commissions, eventually.
Art posts! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و
-Older pieces
-Mostly unfinished pieces
-Profile pic redraw
Things I will write ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎
One shots
Fluff
Angst
Smut (assume characters involved in mature content are of age, obviously. Also, I don't normally just do smut for smut, I have to have some sort of plot device to keep the story moving.)
Full works
Headcannons
Multi-parts
Things I wont write (·•᷄ࡇ•᷅ )
Any type of noncon
Incest
Anything mature involving anyone Underage
Literally anything involving the character Aoi Asahina. (I was threatened, and I do not wish to deal with that shit, at all. Any and all characters I think will put me in danger, expect them to be put on this list.)
Finished Fic's ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱
-Ember in the Dark: Young!Silco x Fem!Reader (Full Work)
Oneshots ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜
-Locked Tight: Yasuhiro Hagakure feat. Kiyotata Ishamaru (Smut) (Requested)
-Trust Fall Trauma: Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel. (Requested)
Part.1
Part.2
-Hellbound: The Owl House x Hazbin Hotel AU (Requested)
-Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach: Multifandom x Reader (Requested)
Part.1 (Peko, Mikan, and Tenko x Male!Reader)
Part.2 (Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia x Male!Reader)
Part.3 (Charlie, Emily, and Verosika x Male!Reader)
Part.4 (Mahiru, Toko/Genocide Jack, and Maki x Female!Reader)
Part.5 (Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu x Male!Reader)
Part.6 (Chiaki, Akane and Junko x Male!Reader)
-Terrible Prank- Better Apology: Demon Slayer x Fem!Reader (Requested)
Part.1 (Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya)
-Ashes of Grace: Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader (Requested)
-Stronger than Chains: Mondo Owada (Requested)
-You Can Be Weak With Me: Inosuke x GN!Reader (Requested)
-Feral Loyalty: Verosika x Fem!Reader (Requested)
Headcanons ＼(^o^)／
-Journey into Intimacy: First time Danganronpa Headcanons (Smut) (Requested)
Part.1 (Mahiru and Kaede)
Part.2 (Kyoko, Celeste, and Toko/Genocide Jack)
-The Softest Spotlight: Sayaka x GN!Reader Fluff Headcannons
-A Little Too Close: Shuichi x GN!Reader Headcannons (Reqested)
-Carnival Hearts: Demon Slayer x Fem!Black!Reader Headcannons (Reqested)
Part.1 (Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya)
-All of Me, All of You: Demon Slayer x GN!Black!Reader
Part.1 (Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya)
-Mine, Loud and Clear: Verosika x Male!Reader (Requested)
-Melt for Me: Sub!Makoto Naegi x Male!Reader (Smut) (Requested)
-Soft Places to Fall: Genya x GN!Reader (Requested)
-Raised by the End of the World: Older-Sister!Reader x The Walking Dead (Requested)
Full works ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
-Ember in the Dark: Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
Part.1
Part.2
Part.3
Part.4
Part.5
Part.6
Part.7
Part.8
Part. 9
Part.10
Part.11 (Last Part)
-Loyalty Cuts Deepest: Silco x Fem!Reader
Part.1
Part.2
-Drifting Between Worlds: Hunter x Fem!Reader (Requested)
Part.1
Part.2
Different Fandoms I am willing to write for! ♡꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱
Arcane
Attack on Titan
Avatar the Last Air Bender
Adventure Time
Black Butler
Baldur's Gate 3
Creepypasta
DC universe
Death Note
Danganronpa
Detroit: Become Human
Demon Slayer
Hazbin Hotel
Helluva Boss
Homestuck
Marvel
My Hero Acedemia
Naruto
Peaky Blinders
Red Dead Redemption 2
Supernatural
Stranger Things
Sally Face
Soul Eater
Steven Universe
The Owl House
The Walking Dead
The Last of Us
Undertale
Can you do platonic sera x overlord!reader multipart/fanfction?
The lore: The Y/N is a powerful overlord who own entertainment district of pentangram (he posses velvet tea and Vox souls after they tired to kidnap Charlie, val dies lol) also he’s best friend of alastor and Charlie Morningstar. During one of this meeting with his subordinates vox and velvette they noticed something was fallen from heaven, they goes to check this out only to find out fallen sera and VERY hurt and wounded Emily, after he find out they known Charlie he help takes Emily to hotel, where lucifer helps Emily with her wounds. Y/N calm down sera enough to she could tell what happened in heaven. In heaven after sera approved Charlie plan after extermination, where due to that pentonius reddemed himself, lute somehow thanks to other seraphim’s, which convinced that hell and their allies are the danger managed to overthrow sera and the rest seraphim’s who were on sera and Emily side and she (lute) brought totalitarian rule to heaven.lute kills pentonius for being a “spy” and BRUTTALY injures Emily (she lost wings, right leg, left hand and the right eye) and banish her and sera to hell. She also planned in 6 months organize the final extermination, where he plans to kill all people not only from hell but also on earth.
A/N: Yes, of course! This one took me... Way longer than I thought it would LOL. Got it done though! Gonna start working on my other requests now, since this was the one I was solely focusing on, trying to get it done :} Also, fair warning, I didnt have all the colors I wanted for their dialogue. (Y/N), Charlie, Alastor, Sera, and Emily all have specific colors, buttttt... Everyone else doesn't. Sorry, but I did what I could.
Ashes of Grace
Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader
Warnings: Religious themes, Violence/Body horror, Death, Torture/Enslavement, Corruption of authority, Genocide/Extermination, Substance use
Word Count: 4868
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Pentagram City rarely slept. And neither did its monsters. Between the sleaze and sin, the neon-soaked streets, and the endless echoes of jazz and gunfire, power shifts were as common- and as violent- as the weather.
When Valentino’s body finally hit the floor, burned out and twitching under the weight of a wrath he'd never anticipated, the District changed forever.
At the center of it all stood (Y/N)- a name now spoken in equal parts awe and terror. A new overlord, born not from vanity or greed, but something deeper. Something biblical.
His rise hadn't just been loud; it had been seismic. After Velvette and Vox made the mistake of trying to kidnap Charlie Morningstar- Hell’s favorite princess, and (Y/N)'s dearest friend- (Y/N) retaliated with fire and iron. Velvette and Vox now belonged to him, their souls shackled to his service. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes... not. They wore their chains like tarnished jewelry, reminders of the price of betrayal.
Valentino didn’t get that luxury.
He died.
And with him, the District fell.
What rose from the ashes wasn't just a new territory. It was an empire of creativity, ruthlessness, and control- no longer just a playground for abusers, but a stage for something greater. Alastor, always amused by chaos, had grinned wide at the news. Charlie, overwhelmed, had cried when it was over, throwing her arms around (Y/N)'s shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered against him, her best friend…
(Y/N) only nodded, hiding the smoldering rage still burning deep in his bones.
A week passed. And inside his repurposed theater, (Y/N) lounged in a battered chair at the head of a heavy oak table, eyeing Vox and Velvette with lazy disinterest.
The two former overlords sat like petulant children, glaring daggers at anything but him.
"Don't act so bitter," (Y/N) drawled, resting his chin in one hand. "You're lucky I didn't turn you into lawn ornaments."
"I'd rather be one," Velvette muttered under her breath. "At least I had free will before."
Before (Y/N) could reply, something flashed through the high, smoke-clogged sky.
Not light. Not in the Hellborn sense.
It was something... higher… And it was falling fast.
Vox stiffened, staring upwards. "...That came from upstairs."
The theater doors slammed open, and they raced outside.
What they found wasn’t a crash site. It was a massacre.
The crater still smoked, shards of shattered halos glittering in the ash. Feathers- too white, too pure- floated like dying fireflies through the air. In the center, two figures lay broken.
One was barely breathing- her right leg severed, her hand gone, one eye torn out, her wings sheared off like scrap paper.
The other, though bleeding and shaking, was already dragging herself upright. Protective. Furious. Radiating raw divinity even through the grime.
(Y/N) approached carefully, his hands open, head tilted like a curious wolf.
"...You're angels," he said slowly. "Do you know Charlie?"
The seraphim’s expression cracked. She nodded, voice raw. "Yes... She's... our friend."
That was all (Y/N) needed.
Without hesitation, he lifted the mutilated one- Emily-into his arms. Gentle, despite the gore. His voice was low, steady.
"Then you're not enemies," he said. "You're survivors."
The Happy Hotel had seen its share of strange guests. But even here, Emily’s condition turned every head.
Charlie gasped the second she saw her, rushing forward to help. Vaggie barked sharp orders at Angel and Husk, clearing the lobby with military precision. Alastor, all false grins and real concern, set up a makeshift recovery area with eerie efficiency.
Then, Lucifer Morningstar himself swept in, as radiant and ridiculous as ever.
"Charlie!" he boomed, voice theatrical. "I came to see if-" His words cut off the second he spotted Emily. “Oh, fuck…”
Then Lucifer dropped to his knees beside her, pressing a glowing hand over Emily’s shattered body. His usual swagger softened into something almost tender.
"Hold on," he murmured. "We can fix you."
Hours later, after Emily stabilized under a blanket of maigc and careful hands, (Y/N) sat across from the still-shaking seraphim- Sera.
She couldn’t sit still. Pacing, flinching at every noise. Until finally, (Y/N) stood and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Breathe," he said quietly. "You're safe."
Slowly, she exhaled. And spoke.
"After Sir Pentious... After he came to Heaven, some of us began to question things," she said hoarsely. "Charlie’s idea of redemption didn’t seem so crazy anymore. Emily and I... we supported it. We gathered others. We tried to change things from within."
Her voice broke.
"But then came Lute."
The name seemed to leech the warmth from the room.
"After losing her arm in the fight you all had, she twisted everything. She called Charlie a devil. Called the hotel a trap. She rallied the fearful and the bitter... and they listened. Heaven turned into a machine."
Sera’s fists trembled.
"They hunted us. Emily and I were caught trying to flee. She... She ripped Emily apart. Then she banished us here, as a warning."
At the doorway, Charlie stood frozen, fists shaking.
Sera turned to face them fully.
"And it’s worse than that. She’s planning a Final Extermination. In six months. Not just Hell. Not just sinners. Earth, too."
Silence fell like a blade.
(Y/N) straightened, shadows unfurling around his boots. His voice, when it came, was steel.
"Then we’re not just saving Hell anymore," he said. "We’re saving everyone."
...Far above, Heaven's Throne Room had changed...
Where once golden beams warmed marble floors, now the light was colder, harsher, casting long skeletal shadows.
Lute sat perched atop a jagged throne, once a Exterminator- now a Leader.
A trembling seraphim bowed low before her.
"All remaining supporters of Sera have been purged. The rest... converted."
"And the traitors?" Lute asked. Her voice was a metallic hiss.
"Banished or destroyed."
She rose, wings unfolding in sharp, almost mechanical snaps.
"In six months’ time," she declared, "there will be no Hell. No Earth. Only perfection. Heaven will ascend through fire."
The court erupted in cold cheers as the corrupted seraphim spread their wings.
Back in the Happy Hotel, Emily’s eye fluttered open.
She was alive. Battered. Different. But alive.
Charlie was instantly by her side, gripping her hand tightly.
"You’re safe," Charlie whispered. "I promise."
Emily tried to sit up, her body aching with every movement.
"C-Charlie...?"
"Yes, it's me. Don’t worry. We’ve got you."
Lucifer, leaning nearby, flashed a crooked, nervous smile.
"Only because bleeding out on my daughter’s carpet is absolutely unacceptable. Bad for the aesthetic," he said, lightly. Then, more serious, he added, "I healed what I could. Your leg, your hand... But your wings..." He trailed off, frowning. "Those may take more work."
Tears welled in Emily’s remaining eye.
"Sir Pentious... He's really..."
Lucifer’s face darkened... Charlie just hugged her tighter.
Across the room, Sera sat curled at the bar, silent. Husk, uncharacteristically gentle, pushed a mug of something nonalcoholic toward her.
Nearby, Alastor watched with predatory curiosity.
"So," he said brightly. "Heaven’s fallen into the claws of a madwoman. Your friends butchered. Your hopes dashed." He smiled wider. "Welcome to Hell."
Sera flinched.
"We tried," she whispered. "We tried to save them. We believed in Charlie's dream..."
(Y/N) approached quietly, Vox and Velvette trailing behind like resentful ghosts.
"You still believe in it?" he asked.
Sera looked up, tears brimming.
"Yes."
He nodded once, a grim glint in his eye.
"Then we fight."
From the couch, Angel Dust cackled, tossing a grenade from hand to hand.
"About time! I’ve been dying to throw hands with someone uptight!"
It didn't take long for one of the Hotel’s many rooms to be taken, and changed. Celestial maps sprawled across walls and floors. Candles flickered wildly against the cracked stone.
Around a heavy oak table stood Lucifer, Charlie, Alastor, and (Y/N)- each face carved with focus.
"She wants to erase everything," Charlie said, voice tight. "Not just sinners. Everyone."
Alastor chuckled, low and eerie. "An ambitious apocalypse. I almost admire it."
(Y/N) planted his palms on the table, voice low and furious.
"We can't just defend. We strike first."
Charlie nodded fiercely, fire blazing in her eyes.
"We’re going to stop her. We’re going to prove we matter."
Lucifer clapped a proud hand on her shoulder.
"That’s my girl."
The mood was heavy, but not hopeless. A tense undercurrent thrummed through the room, setting everyone on edge. Maps and blueprints lay scattered across the table, papers weighed down with empty mugs and books. Sera stood at the center of it all, tracing a slow line along a map with two fingers, brow furrowed.
Around her, the others listened in silence. Charlie, Lucifer, (Y/N), Alastor, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, and Emily- propped up in a wheelchair and bundled in fresh bandages around her shoulders- watched with focused, anxious attention.
"Most of Heaven’s 'Winners' are still willing to listen," Sera said, voice low but steady. "They aren't like the Angels. They're just... humans. Humans who died and moved on. They remember. They can think for themselves."
Charlie tilted her head thoughtfully. "But what do they have to do with all this?"
"If we’re going to have any support up there, it'll be through them," Sera replied. She glanced around the room. "Lute’s seized control of Heaven’s higher ranks. She's convinced most of the Angels, crowned herself their queen. But the Winners... they’re still undecided."
(Y/N) crossed his arms, the gears already turning behind his narrowed eyes. "We could start a rebellion inside Heaven itself. Get the truth out before Lute locks everything down."
Sera gave a sharp nod. "Exactly. But we don’t have much time. After Emily and I fell, Lute accelerated her plans. She’s preparing the final phase right now."
"Then we don't just defend anymore," Lucifer said, his voice darkening. "We invade."
Sera met his gaze without flinching. "We hit fast. We send the message. And we take Lute out before she can trigger the Final Purge."
As the meeting dissolved into quieter preparations, Angel Dust wheeled Emily back toward her new room, a soft pink guest suite Charlie had thrown together- full of pillows, gauzy curtains, and delicate little touches meant to comfort. Emily was quiet, shrinking into herself, the overwhelming changes of the past days pressing in on her.
Angel, never good with heavy silences, plopped into a chair beside her and swung an arm lazily over the backrest. "So," he drawled, "how’s it feel bein’ the first angel who didn’t try to shank me on sight?"
Emily managed a weak, almost surprised smile. "We were taught that... souls in Hell couldn’t feel... I knew no different until I met Charlie."
He snorted and bumped her elbow with his. "Yeah, well, guess we’re full of surprises down here. Welcome to the club, doll."
She blinked, absorbing that, then tentatively leaned against him. "Thanks... for not being thrown off by me."
"Pfft." Angel waved it off. "Sweetheart, I’ve seen worse. Hell, you look better than half my dates."
"...I’m not sure if that’s comforting."
"It ain’t. But it’s true."
Later that evening, the corridors of the hotel grew quieter. Emily, wrapped in a simple jacket Charlie had picked out for her, made her way slowly down the hall. Every step was stiff, awkward- her balance thrown off.
Pushing through the swinging doors, she made her way to the bar, wincing as she hoisted herself onto a stool. Husk looked up from polishing glasses, one ear twitching as he noticed her.
"Not servin' you liquor, kid," he muttered, voice rough. "Charlie’d have my ass."
"I don't want a drink," Emily said quietly. "I just... wanted noise. Not pity."
Husk grunted, setting the glass down. "You walked pretty far," he said, more observation than praise.
Emily let out a hollow little laugh. "Didn’t want to stay in that room. It's too... Quiet."
She tapped the side of her head lightly. "When it’s that quiet, all I can hear is screaming from outside..."
Husk didn’t flinch. He just leaned his weight against the bar and nodded slightly, like he understood all too well.
They sat in silence for a while, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass against glass.
Eventually, Husk broke the quiet. "Why’d you come down here, really?"
Emily hesitated, looking down at the frayed sleeve covering her wrist. "Because... I think I'm scared." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be anymore."
For a moment, Husk simply stared at her. Then, with a grunt, he reached beneath the bar and pulled out a battered, worn playing card- the Queen of Hearts. Its corners were frayed, a small tear across the center.
"My last hand in a real poker game," he said, sliding it across the bar to her. "Lost everything. Still survived."
Emily stared down at the card like it was something sacred.
"You’re giving this to me?"
"Loaning it," Husk corrected. "For luck."
She tucked the card against her chest like armor, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered.
"Don't thank me. Win the next hand."
Meanwhile, across the hotel, final preparations were underway. In the lounge, Lucifer clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone's attention.
"Our infiltration team, then," he announced, a glint of theatrical excitement in his eye. "Charlie- the optimist; Sera- the righteous outcast; Emily- our fallen helper; and you, dear (Y/N)- the wildcard’s wildcard."
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. "You gonna narrate the whole mission?"
"Only the dramatic parts," Lucifer quipped, giving him a large smile.
"...So basically, all of it," (Y/N) muttered.
Charlie, ever the peacemaker, cleared her throat gently. "We have three objectives: reach the Holy Gates, rally the Winners to our side, and remove Lute before she can lead an attack."
Lucifer’s playful air faded slightly, replaced by something colder, sharper. "This isn’t just about Hell anymore. Or Heaven. This is about Earth. About proving redemption isn't some cruel joke."
Sera met his gaze and nodded once, solemn. "Then we strike fast."
At Lucifer’s gesture, a portal shimmered open in the air, unstable and crackling with divine static. It glowed like a tear in reality itself- liquid gold and silver threads of light straining to stay woven together.
Charlie approached the portal first, her hands trembling slightly, though her face was set with determination. Opening a portal to Heaven from Hell was unnatural, dangerous- and it showed. The light bled into the floor, the walls, everything it touched humming unnervingly.
"We don't know how long it'll hold," Lucifer warned. "Maybe a few hours. Maybe less if you screw around too much... Portals like these aren't usually supposed to be opened from this side..."
(Y/N) adjusted his coat, checking the weapons strapped across his hips. Nearby, Vox and Velvette watched, their usual smugness tempered by real worry. Sera tightened her grip on her sword, the blade gleaming faintly. Emily secured Husk’s playing card near her heart, her new sword slung awkwardly across her back.
Together, they looked ready.
Charlie turned back to Lucifer, her eyes fierce. "We’ll be back."
Lucifer smiled- but it was a fragile thing, brittle at the edges. "I know," he said.
Without another word, they stepped through the portal- and into stillness.
The air on the other side was cool, quiet in a way that felt... unnatural, like the whole world was holding its breath.
The gates loomed ahead, bathed in blinding light that offered no warmth. The team emerged slowly, blinking against the unnatural brilliance. Emily exhaled shakily, her hand tightening on her sword.
“The gates aren't usually... empty,” she muttered.
Normally, Saint Peter would have stood watch. Now, there was only silence.
(Y/N) swept his gaze over the endless marble sprawl before them. The architecture was grand, opulent- but it felt hollow, abandoned. Like a stage after the actors had fled mid-performance.
Sera muttered under her breath, voice strained. "This isn't right. Something's wrong."
Charlie tightened her grip on her staff, glancing nervously at the others. "We need to move. Fast."
They slipped forward through the eerie stillness, boots whispering over immaculate stone. Statues of angels lined the path, their faces twisted into expressions that were almost... pained. Not the serene smiles Heaven was famous for.
Emily limped slightly, favoring her newly healed leg, but kept pace grimly, the Queen of Hearts tucked safe against her ribs. She refused to slow them down.
As they neared the first courtyard- a vast open space dominated by a towering monument of silver and gold- (Y/N) raised a hand sharply. "Wait."
Movement… At first, it was just a ripple, like a heat mirage. Then forms began to materialize.
Dozens. No- hundreds.
Figures stepped out from the edges of the courtyard- Winners, eyes shadowed, hesitant. They were armed with angelic weapons- some with swords, others with halberds or spears- but none of them attacked.
Instead, they just... stared.
One woman near the front- a thin, graying soul with sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes, and large bunny ears- took a step forward.
"You're the ones who escaped," she said, voice cracking.
Her gaze landed on Sera, then Emily. "You came back."
Charlie stepped forward quickly, heart hammering in her chest. "Please- we’re not here to fight you. We’re here to stop Lute. To save everyone."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some looked uncertain. Others terrified. A few- a precious few- hopeful.
(Y/N) moved to stand beside Charlie, his voice carrying clean across the courtyard. "You know what she’s planning," he said coldly. "You’ve seen the signs. The exterminations... the disappearances. Heaven isn't salvation anymore. It's a slaughterhouse with a crown."
Silence.
Emily, breathless and shaking, found her voice. "I lost everything because I tried to help," she said, voice trembling but steady. "Sera and I... we saw the truth. If you stand with her, you'll lose yourselves, too."
A long, agonizing pause.
Then- a man near the back threw down his spear.
It clattered against the marble with a ringing finality.
One by one, others followed. Weapons dropped. People stepping out of their neat little lines, their faces raw with emotion.
The graying woman stepped forward again, her hands shaking.
"We follow you now," she whispered
(Y/N) let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Charlie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.
Sera looked ready to collapse from relief.
But before anyone could celebrate-
A loud banging sound tore through the air. Mechanical. Shattering. It echoed through the bones of the city like a death knell.
Charlie paled instantly. "She's coming."
From above, like a thundercloud, Lute descended. Around her, Exterminators unfolded from the shadows- sleek, brutal things, all flashing blades, baring their masks.
Lute smiled- a cruel, hateful one. "So this," she hissed, "is your rebellion?"
The newly turned Winners hesitated, fear rippling through their ranks.
(Y/N) stepped forward without hesitation, drawing his blade in one smooth motion, the tip glinting with something darker than metal.
He didn’t need to shout.
His presence alone was command enough.
Emily braced herself, lifting her sword with both hands. Sera set her jaw, raising her blade to guard. Charlie lifted her hands, trembling- but with fire in her eyes.
Lute laughed, the sound hollow and electric. "So be it," she said. "You can all burn together."
The Exterminators surged forward.
And the battle for Heaven began.
Lute met (Y/N)'s charge head-on, screaming a soundless war-cry, her wings flaring out wide like a specter of vengeance.
Their blades collided- but (Y/N) didn’t yield. He pressed forward, every strike hammering her defenses, forcing her back with sheer will. Charlie fought at his side, her eyes glowing with desperate red light, every swing of her claws another prayer hurled like a weapon. Sera drove her blade home again and again, ignoring the golden blood leaking from her side where a blade had caught her earlier. Emily, staggering but unbroken, struck too- a shallow cut, but enough to make Lute snarl and stagger.
The four of them moved like a single force. Hope. Anger. Love. Defiance.
"You're DONE!" (Y/N) bellowed. He struck low- a brutal, gouging slash across her knees.
Sera was already moving, her sword flashing upwards- tearing open Lute’s exposed side. And Emily- battered, exhausted Emily- threw her sword with everything she had.
The blade spun through the air- and punched through Lute’s heart.
The world seemed to stop.
Lute gasped, golden blood streaming from her mouth. Her wings spasmed violently, the corrupted light sputtering. Her eyes, so cold and cruel, flickered- fear flashing through them for the first time.
She fell to her knees.
"You… can’t…" she rasped.
(Y/N) stood over her, breathing hard, the others gathering behind him.
"You already lost," he said, voice quiet and absolute.
Lute tried to lunge one last time- a desperate, broken advance-
(Y/N) drove his blade through her throat.
The light died.
Lute crumpled, falling limp onto the marble. The Exterminators, leaderless, gave in, most either fleeing, or tossing down their weapons in defeat.
Across the courtyard, the everyone fell silent.
The battle was over. For a long moment, none of them moved.
The only sound was the ragged breathing of the survivors.
Then, slowly, Winners who had fought alongside them began to move through the carnage, beginning to clear the battlefield- gathering their fallen, offering silent prayers.
An eerie, heavy silence settled over Heaven’s once-pristine halls.
At the center of it all, (Y/N) stood with Charlie, Sera, and Emily.
Sera wiped her blade on her tattered dress and sheathed it slowly. She walked over, Emily limping close beside her, the two of them visibly shaken but steady.
Sera stopped before them, and for a moment, the words caught in her throat… Then she bowed- a deep, respectful gesture.
"You saved us," Sera said, her voice rough but sure. "You saved Heaven."
Emily offered a trembling smile, her bandaged hand pressed to her heart.
"You saved us," she echoed. "And... maybe yourselves too."
Charlie shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "We saved each other."
Sera smiled- soft, sad, but real. She looked at the group- at Charlie, at (Y/N), at Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Alastor lingering just out of the bloodstained light.
"I hope," Sera said, "that one day... when your mission fully succeeds... when Hell isn’t just a prison anymore... we’ll see you all again."
She swallowed hard, her hand brushing against her sisters.
"In Heaven."
Emily nodded fiercely, emotion thick in her throat. "You deserve it," she said. "Every one of you."
(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling the corner of his mouth- something tired, but deeply grateful. "We'll hold you to that," he said.
Behind them, the golden portal by the gates- flickering dangerously now- shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing across its edges.
Lucifer’s voice echoed from near the portal, "Time’s up! If you don’t wanna get stuck up here with the corpses, MOVE!"
Charlie turned, urgency snapping her back into motion. She grabbed Vaggie and (Y/N)'s wrist, tugging them toward the portal. Sera and Emily stepped aside, watching them go with solemn pride.
One by one, they sprinted toward the portal, battered and bruised- but alive. Alastor practically skipped through, humming under his breath. Angel Dust threw an exaggerated salute at Emily before diving in backward. Husk grumbled something about Emily keeping the card he gave her under his breath, but followed close behind.
The light swallowed them all.
And then- with a soft shuddering sigh- the portal collapsed, leaving only the broken battlefield and the survivors behind.
Above the battered gates of Heaven, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the light began to soften. No longer harsh. No longer cruel.
But warm.
Hopeful.
And far below- in a hotel full of sinners and misfits- redemption no longer seemed like just a dream.
The group stumbled out of the collapsing portal like survivors of a storm. They hit the lobby floor hard, some collapsing onto couches, others simply dropping where they stood.
Charlie sagged against the wall, clutching her chest, gasping huge breaths of smoky hotel air like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. Angel Dust sprawled dramatically across a bench, one leg draped over the backrest. "We’re alive! Suck it, Heaven!" Vaggie just dropped onto a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands with a weak laugh. Husk growled low in his throat, shuffling over to the bar- which Charlie didn’t even bother to scold him for.
(Y/N) stood a little apart from them all, his shoulders tight with exhaustion but his eyes still sharp, scanning every corner like he expected another attack.
Alastor straightened his coat with a little flourish, looking barely ruffled despite the battle they'd just fought. He approached, that permanent sharp-toothed smile a bit softer now- genuine, in its strange, predatory way.
"My, my," Alastor said, voice lilting. "I knew you had potential, but even I didn’t expect that little symphony." He gave (Y/N) a low, mocking bow. "You have my admiration."
(Y/N) snorted quietly. "Coming from you, that's... concerning." But a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Charlie pushed off the wall, her footsteps slow but determined, and closed the distance between them. She stopped in front of (Y/N), looking up at him with an expression so open, so grateful, it nearly staggered him.
"You didn’t have to do this," she said quietly. "You didn’t have to stay." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "But you did. And you saved so many more lives than just ours."
(Y/N) reached up, brushing his knuckles lightly under her chin, tipping her head just a fraction higher. "You’re my friend," he said simply. "That's all the reason I need."
Charlie’s throat bobbed in a thick swallow. She reached out impulsively- wrapped her arms around him in a tight, fierce hug. For a second (Y/N) froze- then he exhaled, slow and warm, and wrapped his arms back around her, grounding her.
Alastor watched with a faint tilt to his head, the smile on his face unreadable, but his red eyes softened around the edges.
When they finally pulled apart, Charlie’s smile was damp and glowing. "You’re one of us," she said. "No matter what anyone says."
(Y/N) ruffled her hair lightly, making her sputter a weak laugh- before his expression turned a little wry.
"...Speaking of things that belong to others," he muttered, voice dry.
Across the lobby, Vox and Velvette- looking thoroughly miserable- stood awkwardly by the doors. Velvette noticed him looking and made a dramatic gagging motion. Vox simply scowled, his screen flickering with static annoyance.
Charlie giggled nervously at the sight, covering her mouth. Even Alastor chuckled low in his chest, the sound like an old radio popping on.
(Y/N) sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I better get the gremlins back to their cage before they start redecorating."
He turned back to Charlie and Alastor one last time, catching their expressions- tired but proud.
With a mock salute, (Y/N) turned on his heel and strode across the room. He grabbed Vox by the back of his stupid designer jacket and yanked him forward, ignoring the glitchy cursing. Velvette followed, grumbling under her breath.
The front doors of the Hotel creaked open with a slow, eerie groan. (Y/N) paused just once in the doorway- glanced back over his shoulder.
At the threshold, the warm, battered light of the Hotel spilled across the floor behind him. It caught the edges of his coat, the lines of his frame, silhouetting him against the chaos they'd left- and the strange, imperfect hope they'd returned to.
Charlie stood watching him, Vaggie at her side, Angel Dust waving lazily from his perch. Alastor leaned on his cane nearby, grinning wide but... almost actually looking happy, while Husk offered a casual two-fingered salute from the bar.
(Y/N) let the corner of his mouth quirk up- a tired, crooked smile- and gave a simple nod.
Then he turned, dragging his reluctant prisoners with him, disappearing into the neon-drenched night of Pentagram City.
Outside, the air buzzed with tension and distant sirens and screams, the streets littered with scattered debris from the city’s usual violence. But somewhere under all the rot and grime, a pulse beat- faint, stubborn. The pulse of change. Of something new.
Inside the Hotel, Charlie wiped her face quickly, sniffling once before straightening her back.
"We're going to make this work," she said quietly, but with growing conviction. "We're going to fix this. All of it."
Vaggie squeezed her hand tightly. "We will."
Alastor chuckled, adjusting his tie. "The world will never know what hit it."
Angel Dust sprawled further across the bench with a groan. "Wake me up when it’s time for the afterparty."
Husk just muttered into his glass, "We better get a damn good one."
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.
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20-year-old artist in learning (Digital and traditional)| Gender fluid (They/Them) | ♑ | Pansexual/Demiromantic/Polyamorous | @piratemaxine05 is my lovely wife | On the Spectrum | SOCIALS!!! (Tumblr: @DeliciousSpecimen | ao3: DeliciousSpecimen | Wattpad: @idefcanyway | FFnet: DeliciousSpecimen | Insta: delicious.specimen)
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