Where The Hurt Doesn’t Reach Pt.6

Had to remake this post, because someone reported it for a symbol on one of the images, (that I didn't see and forgot to sensor, so fair. I respect that.) but I'm posting it again, because I feel like I absolutely need to.

To whoever this person is, I genuinely hope you get help, you freak.

I'm more than likely going to stop writing for this character, because jeez, I do not want to deal with that shit again.

TW: threats under the cut.

I knew the Danganronpa community was ick, but I guess I underestimated how foul some of the people in the community could be. At first I was like "haha, this is cringe, funny." But then the stuff he sent kept getting worse, and worse. THEN he threatened to r@pe me, like it was some fun little thing he could just throw around. As a S/A survivor myself, I think you are absolutely horrendous. You need help.

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.

can you do second part of where the hurt doesn’t reach with Sayaka, celestia and Sonia?

A/N: Yes, of course! A lot of people seem to be requesting this one :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.2

pt.1 - pt.3

Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia 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: 4145

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Sayaka:

It was the first time (Y/N) had attended Hope’s Peak Academy in over a week. His teachers had stopped asking questions. Some students whispered behind his back, casting glances filled with a mix of curiosity and pity. He could handle that. What he couldn’t handle were the boys who walked too close in the hallways, who slapped each other on the back, laughed too loud, shouted too suddenly. His body would freeze, breath catching in his throat. He’d learned to keep his eyes down, hands tucked close, always calculating an exit.

The world had become a tightrope- and he was so, so tired.

Sayaka Maizono noticed him before anyone else did. She always had, in her own quiet way. The Ultimate Pop Sensation was used to being seen, followed, idolized- but something about (Y/N), the way he disappeared into corners and avoided everyone's gaze, made her heart twist. He didn’t look at her like the others. He didn’t really look at anyone.

She found herself lingering near him between classes. Close, but not too close. Humming softly under her breath, the gentle melodies filling the awkward silences. Not words- never words- until he was ready.

He always looked like he wanted to speak, but was too afraid to.

Until one rainy afternoon.

(Y/N) sat alone in the music room, the overcast light pouring through the tall windows. His sleeves were pulled down past his wrists, fists curled in his lap. He hadn’t meant to cry, but the storm outside had stirred something in him, a memory he wished would stay buried. His breathing was shallow, trying not to make a sound.

Sayaka slipped in without knocking, as if the world had gently told her exactly where to go. She spotted him immediately- curled in on himself, trembling in the dim. Her voice, when it came, was softer than the rain.

“Can I sit with you?”

(Y/N) didn’t answer right away. He didn’t move. But he didn’t say no. That was enough.

Sayaka lowered herself onto the piano bench beside him, careful not to brush against him. Silence lingered- but it wasn’t heavy. It was patient.

“I like this room,” she said after a while, voice low and soothing. “It’s quiet, but it echoes just enough that if you sing, it feels like the whole world is listening. Not judging. Just… listening.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was watching her now, his tear-streaked face blotchy and red, lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice hoarse.

“For what?” Sayaka asked, gently.

“I don’t know. Being like this. Broken. I- I can’t be around people. I can’t breathe when they get close, and I hate it, and it’s stupid, and-”

“It’s not stupid,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s not your fault.”

His throat bobbed. He looked away again, ashamed.

Sayaka hesitated, then reached out- slowly, giving him time to pull away. When he didn’t, she placed her hand over his on the bench. Light as a feather. No pressure.

“I know what it’s like to smile when you don’t feel safe. To pretend everything’s okay because you don’t want to cause trouble.”

(Y/N) blinked. Her smile was sad now, wistful.

“I had to do that all the time. For the cameras. For the fans. For everyone but me.”

He didn’t speak, but his hand turned under hers, fingers trembling as they curled around hers in a tentative grasp.

“I can’t fix what happened to you,” Sayaka whispered. “But I can be someone who doesn’t scare you. I can stay. Sing, if you want. Or just sit here, holding your hand, and not expect you to be anything but you.”

A breath hitched in his throat. He squeezed her hand just a little tighter.

“I want to trust someone,” he admitted, barely audible. “I want it to be you.”

Her heart ached, full and warm. She nodded.

“Then let’s start with this. Right here. Just us. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to pretend. Just… be.”

As the rain tapped against the windows, Sayaka began to hum again. A soft lullaby, meant for no one else. (Y/N) closed his eyes, for the first time in months allowing himself to lean- not away, but toward.

Into her voice. Into her warmth.

Into the beginning of something safe.

Weeks pass, and something changed- not all at once, but in subtle, careful ways. (Y/N) still struggled. Crowded hallways remained overwhelming, and loud voices still made his heart race. But in between those moments of fear, he found something else… Her.

Sayaka Maizono had a way of making herself feel like calm in a storm. She never demanded. She never pushed. She simply… waited. Always nearby, always smiling in that soft, understanding way that never felt fake. With her, he didn’t need to keep looking over his shoulder. With her, he could breathe.

They started eating lunch together. In the back corner of the school courtyard, under the old cherry tree. She’d hum while she ate, and eventually she started talking about her life onstage- the costumes, the nerves, the rush of performing. Sometimes she brought him little things. A sweet from the bakery near her home, a flower she found on the way to school, a charm from a fan that she thought was “too cute not to share.”

And when (Y/N) spoke, she always stopped to listen. Like his voice was the most important sound in the world.

“I think I’m starting to like being around you,” he said one afternoon, the words awkward and shy. “Like, I actually look forward to it.”

Sayaka blinked, then beamed, a flush rising to her cheeks.

“I’m really glad,” she said. “Because I feel the same way.”

He smiled. A small one, unsure, but real.

They began spending more time together after school. The music room became their place. Sometimes she played piano while he read. Sometimes he sketched while she practiced a new song. Once, she taught him a simple melody and guided his hands along the keys. He stiffened at first, but she noticed instantly and let go.

“No pressure,” she said, giving him space. “Just when you’re ready.”

He nodded. A week later, he reached for her hand.

It became a routine. Hand in hand at the piano, their fingers brushing like a secret only they shared.

One day, after walking her home under a pale orange sunset, (Y/N) paused at her gate. He looked down, biting his lip, unsure. Sayaka tilted her head at him, waiting.

“I, um…” he stammered. “I know I still flinch sometimes. And I still panic. But when I’m with you… I don’t feel broken. You don’t make me feel weak.”

Her expression softened, almost glowing in the fading light.

“You’re not weak, (Y/N). You’re brave. Every day, you choose to keep going. And I get to be here and watch you heal… That’s an honor.”

A lump formed in his throat. His heart beat hard against his ribs.

“I think I…” He paused, panic rising. But then her hand found his, grounding him. He exhaled shakily. “I think I’m falling for you.”

Sayaka stepped closer, and for once, he didn’t flinch. Her hands were warm against his cheeks.

“Then we can fall together,” she whispered.

Their first kiss was a ghost of a thing- barely there, more promise than anything. But it was safe. Sweet. And (Y/N), for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel afraid.

He felt wanted.

He felt seen.

And most of all, he felt hopeful.

Celestia: 

The hallway of Hope’s Peak Academy had long since emptied, save for the faint echo of heels clicking across polished tile. Celestia Ludenberg walked like a shadow with purpose- silent yet commanding. Every movement was deliberate, wrapped in her usual gothic lolita elegance.

Behind her, the silence was thick, but not as heavy as the quiet that clung to the dorm room she approached. His room.

(Y/N).

A boy with sad eyes and a habit of shrinking into himself whenever someone- especially a man- spoke too loud or too fast. Celestia had noticed from the first day. The way his shoulders tensed whenever Kiyotaka got passionate. The way his voice faltered in group conversations. The way he sat at the edges of rooms like a ghost hoping not to be noticed.

And most of all, the way he looked at her- not with desire or awe, like others did- but with a kind of cautious respect. Like he wasn’t sure how long kindness would last.

Today, he hadn’t shown up to class. Not even to the library. That was enough of a reason for her to knock.

A pause. Then a quiet, almost panicked voice- “Go away.”

Celestia didn’t flinch. “I’m afraid that is not an option.”

A rustle, a groan, the sound of someone stumbling across a cluttered room. After several seconds, the door cracked open just enough for one tired eye to peek through. That was all she needed.

He looked terrible. Eyes red-rimmed and dull. His shirt clung to him like he hadn’t changed in days.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Because you are not where you ought to be.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

The door didn’t open wider, but he didn’t close it either.

“Let me in,” she said softly.

He hesitated. But something about the steadiness in her voice- the way she didn’t demand or pity, just... waited- made him move. The door swung open wider, revealing a room barely lit, its corners littered with open books and clothes. The air was stale with solitude.

Celestia stepped in without a word, gliding over to the chair near his desk. She did not sit yet. She turned to him.

“You’ve been hiding.”

(Y/N) looked down. “So what if I have?”

Celestia took a breath. “Then allow me to hide with you.”

His head snapped up, confused. “What?”

She shrugged delicately, shedding her usual smug detachment for something quieter. “Everyone has their limits. Even you, darling. But you do not have to suffer them alone.”

He stared at her. “Why do you care? I’m not... I’m not useful. Not like you.”

A shadow flickered through her expression, but it was gone quickly.

“You are mistaken,” she said. “You possess something quite rare in this academy of masks. You feel. Deeply. I find that... honest.”

(Y/N) sat on the edge of his bed, hands trembling in his lap. “I’m tired, Celeste. Of being scared. Of thinking someone’s going to hurt me every time they raise their voice. I hate this part of me.”

She moved slowly now, kneeling before him, her black skirts pooling like ink on the floor. She reached out, her fingers brushing his hand.

He flinched.

But she didn’t pull away.

“I would never touch you without permission,” she said quietly. “But I will remain here, if you let me. A Queen must protect her kingdom, after all. And you, dear (Y/N)... you are someone I have chosen to keep within mine.”

His breath hitched. “You make it sound like I matter.”

“You do.”

His eyes welled up- unwilling, ashamed.

Celestia leaned just slightly closer, her voice no louder than a whisper. “You are allowed to cry. Even Kings and Queens weep in secret.”

The tears fell then. He didn't sob- just quiet, broken rivers that refused to stop. He didn’t know why her words broke the dam. Maybe it was the way she made him feel safe without ever pretending to understand. Maybe it was the fact that she never tried to fix him.

She simply stayed.

Eventually, as the minutes passed, he spoke again. "I don’t know if I can be normal.”

Celestia offered the faintest smile. “Darling, who in this wretched school is?”

And for the first time in weeks, (Y/N) let himself laugh- just once, just a breath of it. But it was real.

She rose, finally, and sat beside him on the bed. She left space between them but let her sleeve brush his arm lightly.

“Sleep, if you can,” she said. “I will remain. Should the nightmares come.”

“Celeste?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes lingered on his, warm beneath their usual sharpness. “No need for gratitude. Loyalty is not something I gamble with.”

As he lay down, his body worn and mind frayed, he felt something foreign settle beside the grief.

Hope.

He wasn’t healed. Not yet.

But he wasn’t alone anymore.

It became routine after that night.

Not loudly. Not all at once. But slowly, like light slipping through the cracks in a boarded window.

Celestia began visiting (Y/N)’s dorm more often. Sometimes she brought books from the library, reading them aloud in her velvety, theatrical cadence. Sometimes she brought tea- actual tea, with tiny biscuits, because of course she did. And sometimes, they just sat in silence. Not the heavy kind that used to choke him, but the kind that felt like breathing next to a fireplace. Comfortable. Undemanding.

She never pressured him to talk, but when he did, she listened. Actually listened.

No judgment. No pity.

Just her gaze- calm, observant, like she was reading the finer print of his soul.

One rainy evening, (Y/N) found himself lingering outside her door, a half-wilted flower clutched awkwardly in his hand.

It was nothing special. A violet he found near the edge of the courtyard, a little bruised but still beautiful. He hadn’t planned to pick it, but he thought of her. And for once, the thought didn’t carry fear or obligation. Just… warmth.

He knocked once, then almost turned to run. But the door opened swiftly.

Celestia stood in a cascade of crimson and black lace, her usual elegant poise giving way to something softer as she took him in- damp hair, shy glance, the flower.

“I, um… saw this and thought of you,” he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes.

She took the flower gently, her fingers brushing his.

“A violet,” she mused, tone almost amused. “You know, in the language of flowers, it means loyalty… and affection.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

That night, they shared tea on her ornate sofa, the violet placed delicately in a small crystal vase beside her bed. (Y/N) talked more than usual. He told her about his mother’s lullabies. About how his stepfather used to slam cupboard doors just to make him flinch. About how he once hid under a table for two hours after a stranger accidentally raised their voice near him in public.

Celestia’s expression never changed. But her hands tightened just slightly on the teacup.

“I often pretended, as a child,” she said once he finished, voice lower now. “That I lived in a grand castle where no one could hurt me. Where those who tried were cast into the dungeon with no key.”

(Y/N) glanced at her. “Did it help?”

She smiled, a small, secret thing. “I am still here, am I not?”

He let that sink in, then nodded.

A few weeks later, he reached for her hand.

She didn’t say anything- just turned her hand palm up, letting his fingers settle into the spaces between hers.

He marveled at how easy it felt. How right. No panic in his chest. No memories clawing their way forward. Just her cool, steady presence. Her gloved fingers curled gently around his.

“You don’t mind?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Not at all,” she replied. “In fact… I rather enjoy being close to you.”

His heart fluttered- not in fear, but in something else. Something that might’ve been the early shape of love.

“I like being around you,” he said, more firmly now.

Celestia tilted her head, almost coy. “Of course you do. I am delightful company.”

He laughed- a real one this time. And she smiled, pleased.

That night, as she walked him back to his dorm, she paused before he stepped inside. Her hand lingered near his sleeve.

“May I ask you something, darling?”

“Anything.”

“When you are near me… do you still feel afraid?”

He met her gaze. Her crimson eyes, so sharp and calculating when playing others, now held only curiosity. Maybe even… vulnerability.

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

Her lashes fluttered. And in the hush of the hallway, she leaned in just slightly- not to kiss him, not yet. But close enough that her voice brushed his skin.

“Good,” she whispered. “Then I’ve kept my promise.”

“Promise?”

“To protect you. In my own way.”

(Y/N) swallowed. “You’ve done more than that. You’ve given me something I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.”

“What is that?”

He smiled softly. “Safe.”

And Celestia- poker-faced, invincible, untouchable Celestia- felt something stir in her chest that even she couldn’t gamble away.

Because she was beginning to realize something as well.

She liked being around him, too.

Sonia:

The first time Sonia Nevermind saw (Y/N), he was sitting alone at the edge of the academy courtyard, curled into himself like he was trying to disappear. The spring sun dappled through the leaves overhead, casting soft light across the bruised look in his eyes- not physical bruises, no. These were the kind you didn’t see unless you knew how to look.

Sonia noticed.

She wasn’t oblivious. Despite her bright disposition and the silken lilt of her voice, she had grown up in a world that required constant reading between the lines. The etiquette of royalty demanded it. But even more than that, Sonia had always been drawn to the fragile, the broken, the misunderstood. She saw nobility in endurance. In survival.

And (Y/N) had survived something terrible.

He didn’t speak much. Most of the other students found his distance unnerving- he flinched if someone raised their voice, seemed to shrink when a male classmate passed too close. Rumors whispered through the halls, cruel and speculative. Sonia didn’t listen to them.

Instead, she sat beside him.

Not too close. Just enough.

He didn’t look up at first, but she waited patiently, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the swaying trees ahead.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said gently, as though she knew how the weight of silence could also be a comfort.

(Y/N) peeked at her from the corner of his eye. Her presence was soft. Not imposing. There was no judgment in her expression, only a quiet certainty that unnerved him more than her title ever could.

“You’re… the princess,” he mumbled after a long while.

“I am,” she said, smiling faintly. “But here, I am simply Sonia. I would like to be your friend.”

He stared at his hands. His fingernails were chewed raw.

“…Why?”

She tilted her head. “Because you seem lonely.”

He didn't say anything more that day. But the next day, she sat beside him again.

And the day after that.

Sometimes she spoke about her homeland, about peculiar customs and ghost stories and festivals that lit the sky with fire. Sometimes she said nothing at all. He found he liked that best. Just her company. The way she never reached out to touch him without asking. The way she always kept space between them, yet never felt far.

One day, after weeks of these quiet meetings, (Y/N) showed her a small scar on his wrist. He didn’t explain it. He didn’t have to. Sonia only looked at him with solemn eyes and gently, reverently, pressed a kiss just above it.

“You are still here,” she whispered. “That means everything.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t remember how. Not properly. The tears never came out right- they clogged up inside him like he didn’t deserve them.

But he nodded. Just once.

After that, he started walking with her between classes. Kept his head down, but her presence made it easier. When a male student bumped into him and muttered an apology, (Y/N) froze- but Sonia stepped between them, not protectively, but firmly. Like a wall of calm. She didn’t have to say anything. Her posture said it all.

Later that evening, when they sat together again under the trees, (Y/N) whispered, “Thank you.”

She turned to him, the last light of day dancing in her golden hair.

“I do not know what your past holds,” she said. “But I want to be part of your future.”

He flinched, not from fear, but from how gently she said it.

“How can you want someone like me?” he asked, voice barely audible. “I’m… broken.”

Sonia leaned in slowly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, fingers featherlight. She did not touch skin. She honored the space between them.

“You are not broken,” she said. “You are mending. That is a noble, brave thing. There is no shame in healing slowly.”

A shaky breath escaped his lips. He hadn’t been told that before.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, almost a plea.

“I know,” Sonia said. “I will not rush you. I will wait as long as you need. And when you are ready… I will be here.”

For the first time in a long while, (Y/N) let himself believe it might be true.

That maybe, someday, he could let someone in.

And if anyone could be the first…

…it would be Sonia.

Over the next few weeks, things began to change.

(Y/N) started speaking more during their time together. At first, it was in fragments- simple comments on the weather, shy questions about Sonia’s homeland. But slowly, those fragments became full thoughts, and then stories.

Sometimes he’d catch himself smiling without realizing it. And more often than not, Sonia would already be smiling back.

He never felt pressured with her. She never demanded his happiness or questioned his past. There was no pity in her eyes- only compassion. The difference meant everything.

She took to bringing him little things- a ribbon folded into a rose, a handmade charm for his keyring, a book of folklore from her Homeland. “For when the nightmares come,” she said softly, placing it beside him during lunch. “This one has a happy ending.”

He didn’t know how to tell her that her presence had already begun softening the edge of those nightmares. But she seemed to sense it anyway.

One afternoon, they sat beneath the trees again. The breeze was warm, and the leaves whispered above them.

(Y/N) was lying on his back, hands tucked beneath his head. Sonia sat beside him, legs folded, her gaze turned toward the sky.

“It’s peaceful,” he said, exhaling slowly.

“It is,” she agreed, her voice a melody in the quiet. “Do you know what we say in my Country when we find a moment like this?”

He shook his head.

“Magnificent silence” She smiled down at him. “It is sacred, because it means your heart is calm enough to hear the world.”

(Y/N)’s chest tightened at that. Because for the first time in what felt like years, the silence around him wasn’t terrifying. It wasn’t suffocating. It was full.

And she was there.

“…I like being around you,” he admitted suddenly. It tumbled out before he could stop it.

Sonia’s eyes widened slightly- but then her smile deepened, softened.

“I like being around you as well, (Y/N). Very much.”

His cheeks flushed. He turned his head away, but she didn’t tease him. She only continued watching the trees, allowing him his small, fragile vulnerability.

And then- “I’m… still scared, sometimes. Especially around guys. It doesn’t make sense. I know they’re not all like- like him.”

“You are allowed to be afraid,” Sonia said. “It is not a weakness. It is a wound still healing. We would never call a bandaged arm weak for needing time.”

He bit his lip. She always knew what to say, not because she had all the answers, but because she saw him.

“I’m trying to be better.”

“You already are,” she said softly. “Because you are choosing to stay. To trust. Even just a little. That is what bravery looks like.”

A quiet beat passed between them. The breeze lifted her hair like a silken banner.

“…Can I hold your hand?” he asked, voice small.

Sonia looked at him, gently surprised. Then, carefully, she offered her palm, open and patient.

He took it.

His hand trembled, but she didn’t grip tighter. She simply let it rest there, warm and steady.

They stayed like that, fingers barely laced, as the sun dipped lower through the trees.

It wasn’t loud or showy, what they shared. It didn’t need to be.

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.”

Can you do separate peko, Mikan and tenko with male!reader who is depressed and scared of males due to his past abuse of stepfather?

A/N: Yes, I absolutely can! You didn't specify what kind of writing you wanted, so I just made oneshots for each of them :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.1

pt.2

Peko, Mikan and Tenko x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries

Word Count: 3628

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Peko: 

The first time Peko noticed him, it wasn’t because of something loud or dramatic.

It was because he wasn’t loud.

(Y/N) sat alone in the corner of the classroom, always a little too still, a little too tense. His eyes rarely met anyone’s directly, and when they did, they flinched away like they'd touched something too hot.

Peko understood silence. She understood stillness. But this wasn’t the silence of focus or discipline. This was a silence built from fear.

She didn’t approach him right away. Observation came naturally to her. She watched how he gripped the sleeves of his uniform during conversations. How he edged closer to the wall when a male classmate got too close. How his breathing would subtly hitch anytime a voice raised near him- even in laughter.

It wasn’t hard to piece together.

What she didn’t expect was how he looked at her.

Not with fear. Not with pity. But almost... curious. Like he couldn’t understand why someone like her- stern and composed- was the only one he didn’t shy away from.

They shared the same routine. Arrive early. Leave late. Avoid the crowd. So one day, when they passed in the hallway, and he flinched from someone else’s raised hand when going in for a highfive with another student, Peko made a choice.

She stopped.

“You’re hurt,” she said bluntly, her tone flat but not unkind. “You mask it well. But I see it.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, lips parting as if to protest, but nothing came out.

“I won’t ask what happened,” she continued, her voice steady. “But I’d like to offer... company. You don’t need to speak. I’ll simply sit.”

His throat bobbed. It was too much and not enough, all at once. He nodded.

That was how it started.

They began sharing quiet moments behind the school. No words, just the rustle of wind and the occasional time Peko pulled out her covered sword as she practiced her forms nearby. She never moved too fast, never startled him. The wood covering her blade slicing through the air with purpose, but her movements were deliberate- never violent, never chaotic.

(Y/N) started bringing a book. Sometimes he read. Sometimes he just listened to her breathe.

He trusted her long before he realized he did.

One afternoon, weeks into this fragile ritual, Peko put her sword down and sat beside him. Not close enough to touch- but closer than usual.

“I was trained to kill,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “But I don’t want to be feared.”

(Y/N) looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes were steady, but there was something buried deep- something vulnerable.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered.

She turned to him. The softest flicker of something like relief crossed her face.

“You don’t flinch when I move,” she said.

“You don’t raise your voice,” he replied. “You don’t... look at me like I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” she said without hesitation. “You survived something that tried to destroy you. That takes strength.”

His breath caught. No one had ever said that before. Not like that. Not without expectation.

Peko looked down. “I don’t understand emotions well. But... I want to protect what’s important to me. You’ve become important.”

His heart stuttered.

He didn’t know what to say. But maybe he didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

And Peko, the girl who had only ever known her blade, sat quietly beside him- offering a different kind of shield.

After a while, they both stood, going off in their separate directions, like any other day. 

The next day, around the end of the school day, (Y/N) was making his way to his loacker to gather all of his things.

The hallway was nearly empty, that sort of eerie quiet where footsteps echo too loudly. (Y/N) had stayed behind, as usual, hoping the other students would clear out so he wouldn’t have to squeeze through a crowd. But he hadn’t realized one of the seniors- Riku, loud and full of something bitter- was waiting around the corner.

“Hey,” Riku said, stepping into his path.

(Y/N) froze.

He recognized that voice. Recognized the way his tone coiled beneath fake friendliness. He backed up a step.

“Relax, man. Just wanna talk,” Riku smirked, inching closer. “You’re always glued to that sword-girl. Pretty sure she’s not into shy little losers.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened. His breath came shallow. Riku moved fast- too fast- blocking his path with an arm against the lockers.

Something snapped behind his eyes. He wasn’t seeing the hallway anymore. He was seeing him. The stepfather who slammed doors. Who raised fists. Who spat words like nails. His body went rigid. Breath caught.

But then-

A voice, sharp and cold as steel, “Back away from him.”

Riku turned. “What the hell-?”

Peko stood at the end of the hall, eyes narrowed at Riku. She wasn’t holding it in an offensive stance. She didn’t need to.

Her presence alone was enough to shift the air.

Riku chuckled, but it was weak now. “Geez, you’re really babysitting him?”

Peko didn’t blink. “This is your final warning.”

Her hand moved slightly, her fingers brushing the handle of her sword on her back.

Riku scoffed but stepped back, muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t stupid. No one crossed Peko Pekoyama.

The moment he was gone, Peko turned her attention to (Y/N), whose back was still against the lockers, chest rising and falling fast.

“(Y/N),” she said, softly now. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

It took a moment, but his gaze finally met hers. Wide, haunted.

She stepped closer. Slowly. “May I?” she asked, gesturing vaguely toward him- not to touch, just to be closer.

He nodded once.

They sat down on the bench nearby, the world narrowing to the silence between them. Peko waited. Patient. Steady. He clutched his sleeves tightly, knuckles white, before he finally broke the quiet.

“My stepfather…” he began. His voice cracked. He paused. Swallowed.

She waited.

“He used to do things like that. The cornering. The threats. And worse. I’d hear his boots coming down the hall and- I just- I couldn’t breathe.” His voice wavered, and he shut his eyes tightly. “I always thought it was my fault. That I wasn’t strong enough.”

Peko didn’t speak right away. When she did, her voice was low. Intent.

“You survived that,” she said. “Not because you were weak- but because you endured. And that kind of strength... is rare.”

His lips trembled. “Why don’t you run from me, Peko?”

She tilted her head slightly, frowning. “Why would I run from you?”

“Because I’m messed up. Broken. You could be with anyone-”

“I choose to be near you,” she interrupted, voice firm. “Not out of pity. Not out of duty. But because... when I’m with you, I feel calm. Like I don’t have to always be a weapon.”

His eyes widened.

She hesitated, then reached out- not touching him, just letting her hand hover, waiting. “May I?” she asked again.

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

She took his hand gently, her grip warm but never tight. Never controlling. Just… there.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a victim.

Mikan:

The first time Mikan saw him, (Y/N) was curled up in the corner of the classroom, sleeves tugged over his hands, eyes glued to the floor like looking at anyone might make him shatter.

She recognized it instantly- the stiffness in his shoulders, the flinch at every sudden movement, the way his breathing changed when someone walked behind him. Fear. Not the kind that faded with time, but the kind etched into the nervous system like a scar.

She understood that kind of fear too well.

Mikan had always been too much- too clumsy, too anxious, too eager to please- but she was never too much for pain. Pain, she'd learned, made people pay attention. She'd hated it, but she'd lived in it for so long that when she saw (Y/N), she knew. He lived there too.

It started small.

A quiet hello after class, barely above a whisper. A bandaid offered when she noticed he was biting the skin around his nails until it bled. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t look her in the eye. But he didn’t push her away either.

That was enough for Mikan.

She didn’t try to fix him. She just sat next to him sometimes, talked softly about things that didn’t matter- how the nurse’s office was out of gauze again, how her hair wouldn’t stay right no matter how she brushed it, how the sky looked heavy with rain. He never responded, but slowly, he started listening. And eventually, he started nodding.

Then one day, he spoke.

“I hate being touched.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Mikan froze. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to. She just nodded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Okay. I won’t touch you,” she said.

(Y/N)’s shoulders relaxed, just a little.

Weeks passed like that. (Y/N) never told her what happened, but sometimes he’d trail off mid-sentence and she’d see the flicker of something behind his eyes- something haunted and heavy. She didn’t press. She just kept showing up. With warmth. With patience.

And one rainy afternoon, everything changed.

He was shaking when he stumbled into the nurse’s office, soaked through, bruises blooming across his ribs. He wouldn’t say who did it. Mikan didn’t ask. She only helped him sit down on the cot, hands trembling as she reached for the medical kit, then paused.

“I-I-I’m going to clean your injuries now, but… I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay, okay?”

There was a long silence. Then, barely audible:

“…Okay.”

It was the first time he let her touch him.

Her hands were soft, careful. Every movement was slow, narrated in a gentle whisper. “I’m cleaning the cut now. It might sting a little, b-but I’ll be really careful, promise…”

He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His breathing hitched. She didn’t say anything when a tear slid down his cheek. She just handed him a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so broken.”

“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head so hard her hair slipped from its pins. “You’re not. You’re hurt. You’ve been hurt really badly, but that’s not the same as being broken.”

He looked at her then. Really looked at her. She saw the raw ache in his expression, the doubt, the exhaustion. But also, the beginning of something else. Hope, maybe.

In time, (Y/N) stopped flinching as much. He started sitting closer. Sometimes, he even smiled. It was small and fleeting, but to Mikan, it was brighter than the sun.

He wasn’t healed, not completely. Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came in pieces. In trust built moment by moment. In safety found in gentle hands and soft voices.

Mikan didn’t need him to be perfect. She didn’t even need him to be okay.

She just needed him to know he didn’t have to suffer alone.

And little by little, he began to believe it.

After that, the nurse’s office had become a kind of sanctuary.

At first, (Y/N) had only gone there when he had no choice- when bruises needed hiding or a panic attack left him too dizzy to think. But now, he found himself drifting there even on quiet days. Days when nothing hurt, at least not visibly. Days when the ghosts were just whispers, not screams.

Mikan was always there.

She never asked him to explain himself. She never pushed when the words got stuck in his throat. She just smiled- nervous, shaky, but real- and made space for him beside her. Sometimes she offered tea. Sometimes she rambled about classwork or clumsily spilled cotton balls across the floor. Sometimes she just sat with him, in silence, and that was enough.

(Y/N) found comfort in her softness, in how careful she was. How she always announced every move.

“I’m reaching for the thermometer now, o-okay? I won’t touch you.”

“I’ll sit here, if that’s okay. I c-can move if it’s not…”

He never realized how deeply he craved that kind of gentleness until she gave it to him.

It was a Thursday when something shifted.

(Y/N) was staring out the window, watching a few birds hop along the grass just beyond the courtyard. The sky was a dull gray, the kind that made everything feel a little heavier. Mikan sat beside him on the cot, legs drawn up beneath her, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

She looked at him, then down at her hands. “U-Um… (Y/N)? Can I ask something?”

He stiffened, but nodded.

“Have you ever… had anyone tell you they’re proud of you?”

He blinked.

“…No.”

Mikan’s lips parted like she might cry, but instead, she scooted just a little closer. “I am,” she whispered. “I-I mean… I’m proud of you. You’re so brave. You keep going even when it hurts, and you’re always so kind even when you're scared, and… I just think that’s really, really strong.”

The room was too quiet. Too still.

Then- without thinking- (Y/N) reached out. His fingers brushed her sleeve. Not skin. Just fabric. But it was the first time he’d reached for anyone in years.

Mikan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Is… is it okay if I stay like this?” he asked, voice trembling. “Just for a minute.”

Her eyes went wide with emotion, then she gave the smallest, warmest smile.

“Yes. Of course it is.”

Later that night, (Y/N) sat on his bed with the lights off, staring at the soft imprint of her touch left in his memory. His stepfather’s voice still echoed sometimes, cruel and sharp and impossible to silence. But for once, it was quieter than the sound of Mikan’s voice.

“I’m proud of you.”

Those words replayed over and over, like a lullaby.

Tenko:

The dojo was quiet- unusually so. Dust motes floated in the sunlit air like tiny spirits, dancing just above the polished floorboards. Tenko Chabashira stood barefoot at the center of the room, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed with every practiced movement. Her breathing was controlled, sharp, matching the flow of her kata.

But she paused mid-strike, her sharp eyes flickering toward the door. Someone was there- hesitating. Hovering like a shadow.

"(Y/N)?" she called softly, letting her arms fall to her sides.

He flinched, half-hidden behind the sliding door, as if even hearing his name spoken aloud was too much. His knuckles were white where he clutched the edge of the frame, shoulders hunched beneath his too-large hoodie.

Tenko straightened and offered a gentle smile- not too big, not too forceful. She knew better than to rush him. Over the past few weeks, she’d noticed how (Y/N) never looked anyone in the eyes, how he avoided crowded hallways and jumped at loud voices. And worst of all- how he tensed around every man, like his whole body was bracing for a blow.

She had been careful. Always letting him choose the distance. Always making sure he knew she saw him as more than what the others whispered behind his back.

"I was just finishing up training," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "You can come in… if you want."

He hesitated, then stepped forward like he was walking into an unknown world. Every step seemed like a negotiation with himself. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he sat at the far edge of the room, back to the wall, as if needing a way out.

Tenko didn’t mind. She simply walked to the corner, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a slow sip before sitting cross-legged across from him.

"You’re always welcome here, you know," she said softly. "No pressure. Just… a place to breathe."

(Y/N)'s hands curled tightly in his sleeves. His voice, when it came, was almost inaudible. “You’re the only one who doesn’t… look at me like I’m broken.”

Tenko’s heart twisted. She leaned forward slightly, mindful of her posture- open, nonthreatening.

"You're not broken, (Y/N). You've just been hurt. And healing... takes time. But you're strong. I can tell."

He shook his head. "I'm not. I can't even look at half the class without freezing up. I can’t-"

“You showed up here,” she cut in gently. “That’s strength.”

There was silence. A long, aching silence.

Then, as if asking for something he couldn’t name, he whispered, "Can I stay a while?"

Tenko’s expression softened. She nodded, voice quiet but firm. “As long as you need.”

And so they sat there, in the soft golden light, surrounded by the scent of pine wood and old paper walls. No fighting. No fear. Just two people- one offering calm, the other learning to breathe again.

Tenko glanced at him, watching the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

"I don’t usually like guys," she admitted suddenly, rubbing the back of her neck. "They make me uncomfortable. Scared, sometimes. I… guess that’s why I understand you a little."

(Y/N)'s head turned, just barely, and for the first time, their eyes met. Not for long, not intensely- but it was enough. Enough to see the sincerity in hers, the warmth behind the guarded strength.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Tenko gave him a soft smile- one that didn’t need words. 

After that day, the dojo became their quiet haven.

Most days after class, Tenko would finish her practice while (Y/N) sat nearby, always keeping his distance, always watching. Sometimes, he brought a book. Other times, he said nothing at all. But he came back- day after day- and that was enough for her.

One afternoon, when the clouds hung low and the wind rattled the paper windows, Tenko finished a round of sparring with the training dummy and sat beside him on the polished floor. She didn’t speak at first. Neither did he.

Instead, she handed him a cup of tea she’d brewed earlier. Chamomile. Something calming.

He took it slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he held the warm porcelain between his palms.

“I used to drink tea with my mom,” he said, voice low. “Before everything… changed.”

Tenko glanced over, surprised he’d spoken first. She stayed quiet, letting him decide how much to share.

“She used to hum,” he added. “All the time. While cleaning, cooking… even when things were bad. I miss that.”

Tenko looked down at her cup, her brow knitting softly. “I miss my sensei,” she said. “She taught me everything I know about Aikido. She said it wasn’t just about defense- it was about connection. With yourself. With others.”

She turned her head to meet his eyes.

“That’s why I started letting you sit here. I wanted you to feel safe… connected.”

(Y/N) bit his lip, shoulders curling in slightly like he was trying to keep himself small. But he didn’t move away.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never be normal,” he whispered.

Tenko scooted just a little closer- carefully, never pushing.

“What if you don’t have to be?” she said. “What if who you are now is already enough?”

He looked at her, eyes wide. There was no judgment there. No pity. Just Tenko-blunt, honest, warm. After a few moniutes, she suggested something. 

“Just stretching,” she promised. “You don’t even have to touch me. It’s just you and your body. Reclaiming it.”

(Y/N) was hesitant. The idea of his body being his own felt... foreign. But Tenko’s voice was soft, and her patience never wavered.

He followed her lead one day, mirroring her as she slowly bent forward, arms extended. His form was shaky, unbalanced, but she never corrected him harshly.

“You’re doing great,” she said gently. “This part’s about feeling. Not perfection.”

Each day, he got a little better. He started standing straighter. Breathing deeper. Letting his hands relax at his sides instead of fisting in his sleeves.

He even laughed once- when Tenko tried to show off a high kick and accidentally knocked over a training mat.

She flushed red. “T-That was intentional, of course! A lesson in humility!”

His laugh was small but real, and she smiled like she’d just won a gold medal.

It was late one evening when (Y/N) had a nightmare and ended up knocking on her door at the dorms, pale and shaking.

Tenko didn’t ask questions. She pulled him inside and handed him a blanket. Made him tea. Sat on the floor with him until the trembling stopped.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She nodded. “Then we don’t have to.”

But after a while, as the tea grew cold between his hands, he said, “He used to come into my room when the house was quiet. Said it was my fault. That I was weak.”

Tenko’s hands tightened on her lap, her jaw clenching with quiet rage.

“You were never at fault,” she said. “Not even a little.”

And then- carefully, with the softness of someone offering a bridge- she opened her arms.

“I can hold you, if you want.”

His breath caught, chest rising unevenly.

“…Okay.”

He leaned in slowly, as if expecting her to flinch. But she didn’t. Her arms wrapped around his narrow shoulders, strong but warm. She held him like she meant it- like she wasn’t afraid of what he carried.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here.”

Story Request: TOH x HH AU/Hellbound. (Seprate from Trust Fall Trauma.)

Plot/Storyline: When an edgy sinner, Luz Noceda, awakens in Hell. She meets a mischievously chaotic couple, Eda and Raine, along with a rebellious brat King; in order to survive in her new hostile environment, Luz has to help them with a mission.

(A re-written version of A lying Witch and A Warden.)

[Characters Present:]

(Luz Noceda)

• Age: 18.

• Species: Beastial Sinner (similar to her titan form).

• Date of Death: October 31st, 2022.

• Cause of Death: Ran over by a car.

(Eda Clawthorne)

• Age: 25.

• Species: Owl Sinner.

• Date of Death: October 28th, 1989.

• Cause of Death: Poisoned.

(Raine Clawthorne)

• Age: 23.

• Species: Bat Sinner.

• Date of Death: June 15th, 1998.

• Cause of Death: Crushed by a collapsed stage light.

(King Clawthorne)

• Age: 18.

• Species: Beastial Sinner.

• Date of Death: June 26th, 2001.

• Cause of Death: Head Trauma.

[Setting:]

• Bonesborough, a city 43.8 miles away from Pentagram City. Though, like any city in the Pride Ring, it's known to be chaotic and dangerous, it has a sense of diversity and equality between both Hellborns and Sinners. Which is very rare.

A/N: Yes, of course, @beastkeeper91! I tried to make it flow with A lying Witch and A Warden as well as I could :}

Hellbound

The Owl House x Hazbin Hotel AU

Warnings: Death, Blood & Injury, Child Abuse, Emotional Trauma/PTSD, Violence/Fighting, Decapitation, Gunfire/Explosions, Captivity/Imprisonment, Mild Profanity, Mentions of Starvation/Desperation

Word Count: 1712

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last thing Luz Noceda remembered was the rain. It had soaked her cloak, her hair, the blood on her hands. She didn’t remember the headlights. She didn’t even feel the car hit her. All she remembered was the screaming in her head- the guilt, the fear, her mother’s final expression- and then…

Black.

Now, her eyes opened to more black, but not the comforting kind. Not the oblivion of death. This was...warm. Smoky. Red-tinted. The air buzzed with chaos. Fireworks crackled in the distance, or maybe it was gunfire. Laughter echoed, sinister and sharp. Luz sat up, blinking. Her fingers scraped the asphalt- no, not asphalt. The ground was warm like a stovetop, slick like oil.

Her reflection shimmered faintly in a puddle of some unknown sludge. Her body had changed- her lower arms and legs skeletal, fingers sharp and clawed like bone blades. Her cloak, black with swirling purple on the inside, shifted like smoke. Symbols glowed faintly on her chest. Her eyes- black voids surroinding bright gold- stared back at her.

“...What the hell?”

A hoot broke the silence.

Something slammed into the back of her skull.

“OW- HEY!” Luz whirled around to see an owl fluttering away. “What the- Get back here!”

She stumbled after it, bone clinking against the slick cobblestone, until the alley widened into a bizarre, patchwork tent. Bones strung with fairy lights, TVs stacked like totems, cursed knickknacks spilling out of bins. The owl landed on a perch above the entrance.

Inside, a tall woman lounged behind a counter, red dress clashing against her gray-feathered mane, along with glowing yellow eyes, a golden fang catching the light. She looked like she’d just walked out of a high-fashion photo shoot.

“Well well, look who the Devil dragged in,” she purred. “You look fresh.”

Luz blinked, catching her breath. “Did...did that owl just hit me in the face?”

The woman chuckled. “That’s Owlbert. He’s a menace. I’m Eda. Eda the Owl Lady. Welcome to Bonesborough, sweetheart.”

Luz furrowed her brow. “Bonesborough? Where even is that?”

Eda’s grin widened. “Forty something miles from Pentagram City, but light-years away in spirit. Chaotic? Absolutely. But we’ve got a little more...freedom here. Especially for Sinners.”

The word hit Luz like a slap. “Sinner...right.”

Eda’s eyes flicked across her. “Let me guess. Died recently? Big ol’ mess? Regret, guilt, anger- all those fun flavors?”

Luz said nothing.

“Thought so,” Eda muttered, standing. “Come on. You hungry? Got some ancient ramen packs that probably won’t kill you. Again.”

Back at Eda’s stand, Luz sat awkwardly beside a busted TV, eyes darting as Eda peddled bizarre human-world relics to the occasional creepy passerby. Luz’s fingers itched- there was something nostalgic about the tangled wires and broken screen.

“Mind if I-?”

Eda waved her on. Luz crouched and fiddled with the TV. A flash, a spark, then static- and suddenly, a hazy cartoon blared to life.

Eda let out a bark of laughter. “Well I’ll be damned- literally. You got it working!”

Crowds started gathering, drawn to the flickering screen. Eda leaned down, impressed. “You might be more useful than I thought.”

But the moment shattered when a group of hulking sinners barged in.

“Well well,” one sneered. “The Owl Lady and her new pet. We don’t like freeloaders peddling junk on our turf.”

Eda’s smile turned cold. “Turf wars already? You boys must be bored.”

The goons lunged.

“Run!” Eda grabbed Luz’s wrist, dragging her through the chaos as Owlbert screeched overhead like a siren. They darted through back alleys, jumped fences, and finally tumbled into a shadowed doorway.

Luz gasped for breath, adrenaline still pounding. “What- what was that?!”

Eda smirked. “Welcome to Hell, kid. Lesson one: don’t trust anyone bigger than you unless they’ve got feathers.”

The Owl House was barely a house- it looked more like a crumbling gothic tree fort slapped together with demon bones and stolen bricks. Inside, it was cozy in a chaotic, haunted kind of way. Luz stepped in, greeted by the smell of incense and sizzling bacon.

“King, Raine!” Eda called. “We’ve got company!”

A beastial creature stomped out from behind a curtain, skull-faced, tail flicking.

“Who’s the newbie?” he shouted. 

“Name’s Luz,” she muttered, still catching up.

“I’m King. Supreme ruler of snacks.”

“Sure you are,” Eda said fondly.

From the upper balcony, a figure descended slowly, graceful wings unfolding. Luz stared. The bat-like figure had mint green hair and gentle but tired eyes.

“Raine,” they said, landing lightly. “You brought someone home, Eda?”

“She’s a fresh Sinner. Knows her way around stuff, and she didn’t scream when we got jumped. I think she’s a keeper.”

Raine tilted their head. “We’ll see.”

Luz felt their gaze settle on her- not judging, but searching.

“Do you want to survive here?” Raine asked softly.

Luz swallowed. “...I don’t know. But I don’t want to be alone.”

Eda threw an arm around her shoulders. “Then you’re in the right house… But… We need your help breaking into one of the V’s buildings.”

“You what now?”

Eda leaned back in her bone-carved chair, swirling a bottle of something that smelled like gasoline and cinnamon. “Pentagram City. Vee-owned facility. Lots of cash. Enough to keep us fed and functional for a month, maybe two if King doesn’t blow it all on glitter bombs again.”

“I regret nothing,” King muttered from under the couch blanket.

Raine shot Eda a look. “You said we’d only do this if we had no other options.”

“And we don’t,” Eda snapped. “I wouldn’t be asking if we weren’t on the edge.”

Luz frowned. “Why me?”

Eda gestured to her. “You’re clever. Got instincts. And no offense, kid, but fresh Sinners like you? You don’t register much yet on the radar. You’ll blend in easier. We need someone quiet and quick.”

Luz’s instincts screamed no, but her gut whispered something else. She knew what it felt like to have nowhere to go. And somehow, the idea of these three surviving by scraping the bottom of Hell’s barrel made her chest hurt.

“…Fine,” she said. “I’ll help.”

The V’s building loomed like a cathedral built by nightmares- glass and stone, with neon lights bleeding down the windows like tears. Luz and King crouched in the alley behind it, listening to the muted screech of sirens somewhere deeper in the city.

“We go up,” King whispered. “There’s a ventilation shaft leading to the holding cells.”

“Great,” Luz muttered. “Just like every dystopian game ever.”

They climbed, slipping through vents and past screaming pipes. When they finally emerged at the top, Luz froze.

The holding room was filled with Sinners- men, women, creatures barely human anymore- all staring with dull, sunken eyes. Chains glowed red at their ankles. Souls bound. Trapped.

Luz stepped closer. One woman met her eyes. “They told me I’d have power,” she rasped. “All I got was a cage.”

Luz’s throat tightened. Her fists curled.

Yeah, she thought. I know the feeling.

Down below, they regrouped with Eda and Raine in a rusted vault room.

“There.” Raine pointed to the thick metal container humming with magic.

Luz stepped up, her hands already twitching with motion. Symbols shimmered on her chest, reacting to the device.

“I’ve got it,” she said, cracking the lock open like she’d been doing it her whole afterlife. Inside? Stacks of Hell currency, more than Luz had ever seen.

Eda let out a low whistle. “Jackpot.”

Luz turned to her. “Why this? Why risk so much?”

Eda looked away for a beat before answering. “Because this stupid, broken world doesn’t care if we starve. And I’ve got two weirdos depending on me. I’m not letting them fall. Not again.”

Luz stared at her. “So we’re all just...weirdos?”

“Damn right,” Eda said, smiling faintly. “And weirdos stick together.”

It resonated deep. Deeper than Luz expected.

Then the walls exploded.

Smoke choked the room. A towering figure stepped through the haze- a member of the Vees, smiling wide. Their suit was crisp. Their voice was velvet over a blade.

“Stealing from us?” they said. “Now that’s cute.”

Before anyone could react, they moved. Fast as lightning.

Eda’s head hit the ground with a sickening thunk.

Luz screamed.

“EDA!”

But Eda’s body didn’t fall. Her decapitated head rolled back into place, snapping into her shoulders like it was magnetized.

“I hate when they do that,” she muttered, spitting dust.

“Run!” Raine shouted, getting into a defensive stance. King leapt forward with a snarl, sonic energy building in his chest.

Luz stood frozen- until she remembered the prisoners.

She turned and ran, but not away- from the vault to the upper floors, symbols glowing wildly on her cloak. She tore through the door, slamming her skeletal hand against the cage's core.

“Let them go!” she snarled.

The core shattered. Chains snapped. And suddenly, the facility was swarming with freed, furious sinners.

Luz led the charge back down just as Eda was slammed against a wall.

“Need a hand?” Luz yelled, hurling a chunk of glass at the Vee’s head.

Eda grinned through a bloody tooth. “You took your sweet time.”

Together, they fought- And when the Vee went down, it wasn’t clean, wasnt permanent- but it was enough.

They stumbled back to the Owl House in silence.

Raine poured a drink and collapsed on the couch.

Eda turned to Luz. “You didn’t have to come back for us, you know.”

“I wanted to,” Luz said quietly.

Eda nodded. “You’ve got guts. Dumb, beautiful guts… You can stay. If you want.”

Luz blinked. “Really?”

“On one condition.”

Luz tilted her head.

“You’re my apprentice now,” Eda said, smirking. “Which means chores. Market scamming. The works.”

Luz grinned, exhausted but...lighter. “Deal.”

Later that night, Luz lay on a ratty mattress under a flickering lamp. King snored in the room next door. Somewhere, Eda and Raine argued playfully over a card game.

She stared at the ceiling.

Her mother’s face flickered in her mind. Not the rage. Not the screams. But the quiet moments- back when things were soft and hopeful… Before all of the abuse, and hurt…

Her chest ached.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the darkness.

No answer came.

But for once, she wasn’t alone.

ׄ 𓈒 ❤︎ 𓈒 ׄ ~~ Masterlist ~~ ׄ 𓈒 ❤︎ 𓈒 ׄ

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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.”

Ember in the Dark pt.8

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.7 - pt.9

pt.1

Warnings: Trauma, Violence/Injury, Self-Isolation/Depression, Malnutrition, Emotional/Physical Exhaustion, Substance Use, Mild Intimacy, pregnancy Discussion, Mild Language.

Word Count: 10115

Summary: After a mission leaves (Y/N) grappling with guilt, she isolates herself, struggling to accept what she has done. Despite her friends' attempts to reach her, it’s Silco’s quiet reassurance that helps her begin to heal. Two weeks later, she reemerges, cutting her hair and returning to work and training, determined to move forward. One night, she confides in Silco, fearing she has become a monster. He reassures her that guilt proves she still has a heart, grounding her in his unwavering support. As life in Zaun stabilizes, the group- Vander, Silco, (Y/N), and Felicia- find comfort in their bond. Together, the group moves forward- not just as friends, but as family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was alive with noise- laughter, drunken shouts, the clinking of glasses- but to (Y/N), it all sounded distant. Muted.

She barely noticed the people in her way as she shoved past them, her steps quick, purposeful. Her fingers trembled as she climbed the stairs, her breath unsteady, her mind still caught in the warehouse. Still caught in that moment.

By the time she reached her room, she slammed the door shut and locked it behind her. Only then did she allow herself to exhale.

The room felt suffocating. Her skin felt tainted.

She had done what she needed to do. What they had all agreed had to be done. But the truth settled in her gut like a stone- she wasn’t just the hunted anymore.

She was the hunter.

She had become what they feared.

(Y/N) sat down heavily on the edge of her bed, running a hand over her face. The faint scent of smoke still clung to her fingers, her clothes. She looked down at her hands, staring at them in the dim candlelight. They still held the smallest warmth, a whisper of the magic she had used, a reminder of what she had done.

She clenched her hands into fists, taking a deep breath.

Outside, the bar carried on. Life moved forward, just as it always did.

Silco hadn’t followed her. She was grateful for that. She didn’t want to see the way he looked at her- not with judgment, because he wouldn’t judge her. But maybe with understanding. And that, somehow, was worse.

Because it meant he knew exactly what this felt like.

Downstairs, Silco leaned against the bar, tracing the rim of his glass as Vander and the others waited for him to speak.

“It’s done,” he finally said, his voice even.

Vander exhaled, rubbing his jaw. Benzo gave a small nod, as if he had already expected as much. Felicia shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the stairs but saying nothing.

No one asked for details. No one needed them.

Silco took a slow sip from his glass, his mind still half elsewhere.

(Y/N) would come to him when she was ready.

Until then, he would wait.

The days blurred together in a haze of smoke and silence.

(Y/N) barely left her room. If she did, it was only for a moment- to grab water, to stare out the window before disappearing again. She barely ate. She barely spoke.

They all tried. Vander knocked first, his voice gentle but firm, asking if she needed anything. She didn’t answer.

Felicia tried next, lingering outside the door, speaking softly, but (Y/N) still said nothing.

Even Benzo made an attempt, though he only sighed when he was met with silence, muttering something about how no one could hide away forever.

Silco was the last to try. He didn’t knock. He simply stood outside her door, silent for a moment, before speaking low enough that only she could hear.

“I’m still here.”

That was all. Then he left.

Still, she didn’t come out.

The bar continued on without her, though an uneasy weight hung over the place. Silco tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but his foot tapped anxiously under the counter, his cigarette burned lower than usual, and the shadows beneath his eyes darkened.

Vander, on the other hand, was dealing with an entirely different shift.

A title had been given to him- The Hound of the Underground.

It spread quickly. People whispered about the job they had pulled, about how the Enforcer captain had vanished without a trace. But more than that, they whispered about Vander.

Vander never wanted to be a leader. That had always seemed more like Silco’s role. But now, people were looking to him- to his strength, to his ability to stand against Piltover’s boot. And, whether he liked it or not, he was stepping into the role.

Silco found it amusing, watching Vander take the spotlight while he worked from the shadows… It had its own benefits.

A new captain had been appointed. A woman named Grayson.

Enforcer patrols had increased tenfold. They were more careful, more disciplined. But they still didn’t have a single lead.

And so, life went on.

For everyone- except (Y/N).

The second week passed, heavy with silence.

But that morning, (Y/N) made a decision.

She rose from bed, the stiffness in her limbs a reminder of how long she had spent lying in one place. The room was dim, the light from the cracked window barely illuminating the space. Slowly, she stepped into the washroom, bracing herself against the sink as she stared into the mirror.

She barely recognized herself.

Her eyes were dull, rimmed with exhaustion. Her skin was more pale, her lips pressed in a thin, tired line. The weight of what she had done clung to her, suffocating, but she wasn’t going to let it keep consuming her.

Not anymore.

(Y/N) opened one of the cabinets, searching until her fingers curled around a pair of old scissors. She exhaled, steadying her grip, and lifted them to her hair.

The first snip was the hardest.

But once she started, she didn’t stop. Strands of hair fell into the sink, a stark contrast against the porcelain, as she cut her way up to her eyes. She let it frame her face, leaving the back a little longer. She had done this before- cut Silco’s hair when they were younger, Vander’s, even Felicia’s once when she had been too impatient to grow it out.

So she wasn’t completely clueless.

She evened out the edges as best as she could, then took a step back to examine herself.

It was different. But maybe different was what she needed.

Once she was done, she swept the fallen hair into a pile, throwing it away before turning toward the bathtub.

She had let herself sit in her own filth for too long.

(Y/N) ran the water hot, stripping off her clothes and stepping in. The heat burned against her skin, but she welcomed it, scrubbing away the grime and sweat that clung to her. Her stitches had healed now- she had torn the thread from her body a few nights prior, biting down on a cloth to muffle the pain.

It was over now.

She let herself sink beneath the water, closing her eyes for a moment before resurfacing.

She was ready.

Ready to move forward.

(Y/N) got dressed, did the routine she had been avoiding for so long, making herself look a bit more presentable. She took a deep breath, before stepping out of her room.

The scent of smoke, cheap liquor, and freshly brewed coffee filled the air as she made her way down the stairs. The usual sounds of the bar hummed softly around her- glasses clinking, quiet conversation, the occasional creak of a chair against the wooden floor.

Vander stood behind the counter, cleaning a glass with slow, methodical movements. Silco sat off to the side, his head bowed over his journal, the tip of his pen scratching against the page. Across the room, Felicia sat with Connol, a cup of coffee in her hands as she spoke with him.

At first, none of them noticed her.

Then Vander looked up, his hands faltering mid-motion. His brows furrowed slightly before his expression softened, a worried but relieved smile tugging at his lips.

Silco, noticing Vander’s pause, raised an eyebrow and followed his gaze. When his eyes landed on (Y/N), his pen stilled. His gaze lingered on her hair, eyes widening just slightly as he took in the change.

Felicia was the last to notice.

Her conversation with Connol cut off as she turned her head, blinking in surprise before realization dawned on her. Without hesitation, she pushed back from her chair and rushed over, her coffee abandoned.

"(Y/N)!"

Before she could react, Felicia grabbed her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

(Y/N) tensed for a second before slowly relaxing into it, exhaling against Felicia’s shoulder.

“You absolute idiot,” Felicia murmured, voice thick with emotion. “You scared the hell out of us.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard, guilt twisting in her gut.

“I know,” she whispered.

Felicia pulled back, placing her hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders as she took a better look at her. “You cut your hair,” she murmured, brushing her fingers lightly against the shorter strands. “It looks good.”

(Y/N) gave a small, tired smile. “Thanks.”

Felicia let out a breath, shaking her head before pulling her in for another quick hug. “Don’t do that again, alright?”

(Y/N) nodded against her shoulder. “I won’t.”

As they stepped apart, (Y/N) glanced over at Vander and Silco.

Vander, still behind the counter, gave her a slow nod, his expression unreadable. “You hungry?” he asked.

(Y/N) hesitated, but after a moment, she nodded. “Yeah.”

Vander’s lips twitched slightly, and without another word, he turned toward the small kitchen in the back.

Silco, still seated, was watching her closely. His expression wasn’t as easy to read as the others. His gaze flickered back to her hair before meeting her eyes.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Silco huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

He tapped his pen against his journal before flipping it shut and standing. “C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the counter. “Sit down. You look like you could use something stronger than coffee.”

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh. “I think I’ve had enough of that for a while.”

Silco smirked. “We’ll see.”

As she moved toward the counter, the weight in her chest didn’t feel as heavy as before. She wasn’t sure if things would ever go back to normal.

But at least she wasn’t alone.

Instead of reaching for a bottle of whiskey like she normally would, (Y/N) leaned over the bar and grabbed a cup, pouring herself some coffee. The warmth seeped into her hands as she brought it to her lips, sipping slowly.

Felicia, still watching her carefully, grabbed Connol’s hand and tugged him along to sit beside her at the bar. Silco settled next to (Y/N), resting his arms on the counter as he watched her with quiet curiosity.

(Y/N) set her cup down and exhaled. “Alright… I’ve been ignoring everything for a while now. Catch me up. What’s been happening?”

Felicia and Connol exchanged a look before Felicia started.

“Well… for one, the Enforcers are crawling all over the place now. They’ve been patrolling constantly since the captain went missing, but no one’s been caught or questioned.” She leaned on the counter, tilting her head. “Oh, and Vander has a new title now.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Silco smirked. “The Hound of the Underground.”

(Y/N) blinked before huffing out a quiet laugh. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Felicia grinned. “You know how people get. Word spreads fast, and apparently, he’s got a whole reputation now. People are looking up to him, seeing him as a leader.”

(Y/N) stole another sip of coffee, glancing over toward Vander, who was still in the back making food. She knew he never intended for something like that to happen, but she also knew he wouldn’t ignore it. He never could.

“And the new Enforcer captain?” she asked.

Connol spoke up for the first time. “A woman named Grayson. Word is, she’s not like the last guy. Doesn’t take bribes as easily. She’s been trying to keep the other Enforcers from acting like power-hungry thugs.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

“Yeah,” Felicia muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

As they talked, (Y/N) kept having to tug her shirt back over her shoulder, the fabric slipping more than usual. It wasn’t until Silco’s gaze flickered downward that she realized why.

She had thinned out.

Not drastically, but enough to notice. Two weeks of barely eating had taken its toll. Her sleeves felt looser, her frame not as solid as before.

Silco didn’t say anything, but she caught the way his fingers drummed against the counter, a small furrow forming between his brows.

Felicia noticed too. She didn’t comment, but she shifted closer, nudging (Y/N) lightly.

“Vander’s making you food,” she said, as if reading her thoughts. “You’re eating all of it.”

(Y/N) sighed but didn’t argue. She took another sip of coffee instead, letting the warmth settle in her chest.

It didn’t take Vander long to bring out a plate of food, setting it down in front of (Y/N) with a firm look that told her there was no room for argument. She eyed it for a moment before glancing up at him with a smirk.

“So, ‘Hound of the Underground,’ huh?” she teased, picking up her fork.

Vander groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t start.”

Felicia snickered. “Too late.”

(Y/N) chuckled, shaking her head as she finally took a bite. It felt like forever since she’d eaten something warm, something made with care. Vander watched her for a second, making sure she actually ate before he went back to his work.

She ate slowly, listening as the conversation around her continued.

“So,” Silco said, leaning on the counter beside her, “now that you’re up and about again… what’s next?”

(Y/N) paused mid-bite, mulling over the question. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought that far. She had spent so long locking herself away, suffocating under the weight of her own mind, that she hadn’t considered what came after.

She chewed, swallowed, and exhaled. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted.

Felicia crossed her arms. “Well, you’re not running off on your own, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Not planning to.”

Silco watched her, fingers tapping lazily against the counter. “Then you stay here. Lay low. Let things settle.”

(Y/N) nodded. “That’s the plan.”

For now.

She took another bite, keeping her gaze lowered as the others continued talking. Despite everything, despite the weight still lingering in her chest, she felt… lighter.

Not fixed.

Not free.

But present.

As she ate, (Y/N) let her thoughts wander. She needed something to keep her occupied- something that wasn’t drinking herself numb or locking herself away again. She needed routine, structure.

The mines.

It was how they had started, how they had kept themselves afloat when things were uncertain. Hard work, exhausting work, but it kept them out of trouble. At least, most of the time.

She could go back to that. Spend her days in the mines, doing honest work, something that would wear her down in a way that wasn’t guilt or self-loathing. And when she wasn’t in the mines… she could train.

Her magic had changed- not a whole lot, but still… It had grown stronger. She needed to harness it, sharpen it like a blade instead of letting it lash out blindly.

She tapped her fingers against the counter, coming to a decision.

"I think I’m gonna start working in the mines again," she said finally.

Silco turned his head toward her, arching a brow. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’ll keep me busy.” She took another sip of coffee before adding, “And when I’m not working… I’m training.”

Felicia tilted her head. “Training?”

(Y/N) met her gaze. “My magic. I need to be better with it.”

Connol, who had been listening from the other side of the bar, crossed his arms. “Not a bad idea.”

Vander sighed, setting down the glass he’d been cleaning. “Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

(Y/N) offered him a tired smirk. “No promises.”

Silco watched her for a moment, then simply nodded. “I’ll help.”

(Y/N) blinked. “With what?”

“Your training.” He leaned back against the bar, shrugging. “It’s not like you’re going to do it alone, are you?”

Felicia grinned. “Looks like you’ve got a training partner.”

(Y/N) huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But she didn’t argue.

Maybe this was what she needed. Something to focus on. Something to move forward with.

(Y/N) finished her food, the warmth of it settling in her stomach in a way that made her realize just how much she had missed eating properly. Pushing her plate aside, she picked it up along with her cup and made her way behind the bar, ignoring Vander’s protests as she rinsed them off and started washing them herself.

Silco watched her from where he sat, tapping his fingers idly against his journal. He didn’t say anything, just observing as she methodically cleaned the dishes, her movements steady and purposeful.

Once she was done, she dried her hands on a nearby rag and turned back toward the others. “I’ll start in the mines tomorrow,” she said simply.

Felicia gave her an approving nod. “Good... If it’ll keep you busy.”

(Y/N) hummed in agreement, then glanced at Silco. “And for training… we’ll do it in the deeper parts of the mines. Like we used to when we were younger.”

Silco’s lips twitched into a small smirk. “Sounds like a plan.”

Vander sighed, shaking his head. “Just… be careful, alright?”

(Y/N) smirked. “Always.”

Silco snorted at that, but didn’t comment.

With that settled, (Y/N) let out a slow breath. Tomorrow, things would return to some semblance of normal. Or at least, as normal as life in the Undercity ever got.

(Y/N) spent the rest of the day in the bar, determined not to retreat back into her room. It was harder than she thought it would be- there was still a part of her that wanted to disappear upstairs, to avoid the noise, the stares, the weight of existing among people again. But she pushed through it.

She stayed in her seat at the bar beside Silco, nursing a cup of coffee instead of whiskey. He occasionally glanced up from his journal, giving her a quiet, knowing look, but he didn’t press her. She appreciated that.

Felicia and Connol had stayed close too, the two of them talking about anything and everything, just to keep conversation flowing. (Y/N) listened, interjecting now and then, but mostly just taking in the atmosphere- the smell of smoke, alcohol, and the faintest hint of whatever Vander had cooked earlier still lingering in the air.

Vander busied himself behind the bar, wiping down the counter, filling drinks, and chatting with patrons. Every now and then, he would glance at her, making sure she was still there, still okay.

At some point, Benzo showed up, sliding into the seat beside her and giving her a once-over. “Glad to see you out of that room,” he muttered, his tone gruff but not unkind.

(Y/N) smirked slightly. “Figured it was time.”

Benzo nodded approvingly before ordering a drink.

Hours passed, and she found herself relaxing, just a little. She even played a few rounds of cards with Felicia, Connol, and a few of the regulars. She wasn’t particularly good at it, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was here. Present... Trying.

As the night went on, the bar grew livelier, but she remained where she was, refusing to let the old instinct to retreat take over. Silco stayed close, occasionally passing her a cigarette without a word, and Vander made sure she always had something to sip on, whether it was coffee or water.

By the time the night wound down, she felt exhausted, but in a different way than before. This wasn’t the heavy, crushing exhaustion of grief and regret- this was just the tiredness of a long day spent in the company of people she cared about. She had made it through the entire day without retreating, without shutting herself away, but now, she was ready to sleep.

She hesitated for a moment before turning to Silco, who had been silently watching her from his place beside her at the bar. She met his gaze, her voice softer than usual. “…Come up with me?”

For weeks, she had shut herself away, refusing company, refusing comfort. But she missed this- missed the quiet warmth of his presence, missed how easy it was to breathe when he was next to her.

Silco’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he only gave a small nod. “Of course.”

She didn’t say anything else, just turned and made her way toward the stairs, trusting him to follow. She heard his stool scrape against the floor as he stood, his footsteps light behind her as they ascended.

Once inside her room, she exhaled, feeling some of the tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding finally release. She didn’t bother changing out of her clothes- she was too tired for that. Instead, she simply climbed into bed, shifting just enough to make space for him.

Silco settled in beside her without hesitation. It was familiar, easy. He didn’t say anything- he didn’t need to. Instead, he reached out, gently pulling her closer. She let him.

As they lay in the quiet of her room, tangled together in the dim neon lights filtering through the cracks in the curtains, Silco let out a slow breath. His arms were wrapped securely around her, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along her back. It had been so long since he had held her like this, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to let go.

“You worried me,” he murmured after a long stretch of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/N) didn’t respond right away, just curled in a little closer, pressing her forehead against his. He felt her tense slightly, like she was debating whether or not to respond.

Silco didn’t push, not yet. He just kept holding her, patient as ever.

After what felt like forever, she finally spoke, her voice quiet, hesitant. “…I felt like I became everything I was afraid of.”

His brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. He let her speak.

“I justified everything they did to my people. I became the reason they hunt us down. The reason they fear us. I- I killed without hesitation, without remorse, because I thought it was what needed to be done.” She exhaled shakily. “And then I locked myself away because I didn’t know how to live with it.”

Silco’s grip on her tightened slightly, but he still said nothing, waiting to make sure she had gotten everything out.

“I felt disgusting,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper now. “Like I was drowning in what I’d done.”

Silco let out a slow, measured breath before he finally spoke. “You did what you had to.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Did I?”

He stared directly into her eyes, refusing to pull away from her gaze, his hands coming up to cradle her face. “Yes,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “You survived. You protected yourself, protected all of us. That was never wrong.”

Her eyes searched his, uncertain. “Then why do I feel like it was?”

Silco didn’t have a perfect answer. He couldn’t magically take away what she felt, couldn’t erase the weight she carried. But he could remind her of the truth.

“Because you still have a heart,” he murmured, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Because you aren’t like them.”

She let out a shaky breath, eyes slipping shut as she let herself relax against him.

Silco held her closer, his lips brushing against her temple. “You are not a monster, (Y/N). You never were.”

She didn’t respond, but the way she clung to him a little tighter told him enough.

He would remind her every day if he had to. Because he loved her. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

As the night stretched on, the warmth between them remained steady. Silco kept his arms wrapped securely around her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing against his chest. Every now and then, he would press a slow, reassuring kiss against the top of her head, letting her know without words that she was safe, that she was not alone.

Slowly, her grip on him tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though afraid he would slip away. Even in sleep, she sought him out. Silco only held her closer in response, his fingers idly tracing along her back in a slow, comforting rhythm.

For the first time in weeks, her sleep was peaceful- no restlessness, no muttered words under her breath, no sudden jolts awake. Just warmth and quiet.

And, for the first time in weeks, Silco allowed himself to relax.

It didn’t take long before his own eyes drifted shut, and he finally followed her into sleep.

The morning came gently. A dim light filtered in through the cracks in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. The warmth from the night before remained, (Y/N) still clinging tightly to Silco in her sleep, her face nestled against his chest.

Silco woke first. His mind was slow to shake off the haze of sleep, but he didn’t move- he just lay there, watching her.

She looked peaceful. A stark contrast to the last two weeks of sleepless nights and empty stares.

His fingers instinctively threaded through her short hair, brushing through the strands with deliberate, careful movements. It was still strange to see her like this, but not in a bad way.

She shifted slightly at his touch, letting out a quiet breath but not waking up just yet.

Silco only continued his slow movements, watching the way the soft morning light illuminated her features.

Eventually, (Y/N)’s eyes slowly opened, only to be met with Silco’s soft, tired gaze. She gave him a tired smile, before nuzzling into the crook of his neck, her grip on him tightening.

Just her... Just him.

No weight of the past dragging them both down.

As they both hesitantly pulled themselves from the warmth of the bed, (Y/N) stretched her limbs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before making her way to the small dresser in the room. She sifted through her clothes, pulling out a worn but sturdy set of work clothes suitable for the mines.

Silco lingered for a moment, watching her silently before exhaling through his nose and heading toward the door. “I’ll be downstairs,” he murmured, giving her one last glance before slipping out of the room.

As he descended the stairs into the bar, the familiar scent of smoke and stale liquor filled the air. It was still early, meaning most of their usual patrons weren’t around just yet. Vander was already behind the counter, cleaning up from the night before.

Silco approached him, leaning casually against the bar. “Make her something to eat?” he said, voice low but firm.

Vander glanced up from the glass he was drying, raising an eyebrow. “She ask for something?”

Silco shook his head. “No. But she needs to eat before heading into the mines.”

Vander studied him for a moment before sighing, setting the glass aside. “Yeah, alright. I’ll get something together for her.” He didn’t argue- it was clear Silco was worried, and truthfully, so was he.

Silco gave a small nod of thanks before moving to his usual seat near the bar, pulling out his journal. He tapped a cigarette from his case but didn’t light it just yet, glancing toward the stairs every now and then, waiting for (Y/N) to come down.

(Y/N) came down the stairs, still adjusting her sleeves as she walked over to the bar. Her steps were slow, weighed down by lingering exhaustion, but she was determined to push through it. Spotting Silco in his usual seat, she made her way over, sinking into the spot beside him.

She let out a quiet yawn before slumping forward, draping herself over Silco without a second thought. “Gotta get used to getting up early again…” she mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep. “Bet the first week of working again is gonna be hell.”

Silco huffed in amusement but didn’t push her away. Instead, he let her rest against him, his hand absentmindedly trailing over the back of hers where it rested on the counter.

Vander, who had just set a plate of food down in front of her, smirked at the sight but didn’t say anything.

Felicia, however, was a different story. She leaned forward, her mug of coffee cradled between her hands as she raised an eyebrow at the two of them. “Are uh… you two..?”

(Y/N) stiffened slightly, her face warming, but she didn’t move away. Silco, on the other hand, just exhaled through his nose, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smirk.

“You make it sound like a dramatic revelation,” he murmured, taking a slow sip from his own cup.

Felicia snorted, giving Connol a knowing look. “I mean, considering how long you two have been dancing around each other, yeah, I’d say it is.”

(Y/N) groaned, pressing her forehead against Silco’s shoulder to hide her face. “Not even five minutes into the day, and you’re already fucking with me…”

Felicia just grinned. “You make it too easy.”

Silco nudged her slightly, motioning toward the plate Vander had set in front of her. It was a silent order, one she knew better than to argue against. With a quiet sigh, she sat up properly and picked up her fork, beginning to eat.

Felicia, still grinning, watched the two of them with amusement. They hadn’t made anything official, hadn’t spoken any words to define what they were, but the fact that Silco hadn’t denied her accusation made it clear where he stood.

As (Y/N) ate, Silco resumed writing in his journal, though his free hand remained close to hers on the counter. Every so often, his fingers would brush against hers, a subtle reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

Once she finished, she reached for her plate, intending to wash it, but Felicia was faster. With a smug smirk, she snatched it up before (Y/N) could protest. “Nope. You’ve got work to get to. I’ll take care of this.”

Shaking her head in amusement, (Y/N) slid off her seat and dusted off her pants. She glanced at Silco, hesitating for just a moment before leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

His fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he simply turned his head enough to meet her gaze, his eyes calm but unreadable.

Before the others could tease her further, she quickly turned on her heel and made her way toward the door. “I’ll be back later,” she called over her shoulder before heading out, making her way toward the mines.

The Undercity was restless. The increased Enforcer presence was obvious- pairs of them stalked the streets, watching, searching. They knew nothing about her, nothing about what had happened. And yet, every time she saw their armor glinting in the dim light, her stomach twisted with guilt. She kept to the shadows, choosing the quieter routes, the paths less patrolled.

By the time she reached the mines, her chest felt lighter, though her thoughts still clung to her like grime after a long shift. She slipped through the entrance, moving past the few workers already getting to it, and headed straight down to the small office they all used.

The room was the same as always- dusty, cluttered, smelling of sweat and metal. She made her way to her usual spot, placing her things down and rolling her shoulders. It had been a while since she’d worked, and she knew today was going to be rough. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To throw herself into something, to stay busy, to not think.

With that thought in mind, she grabbed her gloves, pulled them on tight, and headed out into the tunnels. Work waited, and she was ready for it.

The day was grueling. Each swing of the pickaxe sent a jolt through her arms, each lift of a crate strained muscles she hadn’t used in weeks. The sweat clung to her skin, her breath heavy from exertion, but she didn’t stop. She pushed through the exhaustion, through the aching burn in her limbs, through the thoughts clawing at the back of her mind.

By the time her shift was over, she felt like she could collapse where she stood. Instead, she grabbed a cigarette from her pocket and stepped outside, lighting it with slightly unsteady hands. She inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine calm her frayed nerves as she leaned against the wall of the office.

After a few minutes, she flicked the half-finished cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her boot before turning on her heel. She had something else to do now- something she hadn’t done in a long time.

She needed to get Silco.

Pushing through her exhaustion, she made her way back to the bar, slipping through the bustling streets, dodging Enforcers when needed. By the time she stepped inside, she was already searching for him. And when her eyes landed on him, sitting in his usual spot with his journal, she exhaled softly and approached.

“Come on,” she muttered, nudging his arm. “We’re training.”

Silco glanced up from his journal, eyes flicking over her appearance. She was still drenched in sweat, streaked with soot, her hair clinging to her skin in places. He could see the exhaustion in the slight slump of her shoulders, but she was determined- he knew better than to try and talk her out of it.

He sighed, closing his journal with a soft thud. “You really sure you want to?” he muttered, standing up.

She shrugged. “Just wanna get it over with.”

Without another word, she turned and started for the door, not bothering to check if he was following. Of course, he was.

The walk back to the mines was quiet, aside from the occasional scrape of her boot against the cobbled streets or the distant murmur of Undercity life around them. Silco didn’t press her to talk. He just walked beside her, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his mind already shifting toward their training.

When they reached the entrance to the mines, she led them deeper, past the active work areas, further into the tunnels they had used before. It was quiet here, the only sound being the occasional drip of water from the ceiling and the faint hum of machinery further in the distance.

She finally stopped, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her hands. “Alright,” she said, exhaling slowly. “Let’s get started.”

She rolled up her sleeves, letting the cool underground air brush against her arms. The soot clinging to her skin didn’t matter- she was too focused on the task at hand. The memory of what she had done two weeks ago lingered in her mind, the way the magic had responded without her even reaching out for it. It had felt different, raw, instinctive. She needed to understand it, to control it.

Reaching up, she unhooked one of the lanterns from the wall, the flame flickering in its glass casing. With a deep breath, she snuffed it out, plunging the space into deeper shadow. The faint glow from the tunnels behind them was enough to see, but here, in the quiet, it felt like she was wrapped in darkness.

She lowered the lantern to the ground and sat next to it, crossing her legs as she exhaled slowly. Silco leaned against the rock wall nearby, watching her intently but saying nothing. He knew better than to interrupt.

Closing her eyes, she reached inward, searching for the pulse of magic that had always been there. Normally, she used her hands, guiding the flow of energy outward like she had taught herself to do long ago. But now… now she wanted to pull from something deeper.

The flame had to return. She just needed to make it happen.

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself as she focused on the golden energy flowing through her veins. It was always there, thrumming beneath the surface, waiting to be called upon. Her fingers twitched, the instinct to reach out nearly overpowering- but she resisted. This time, she needed to let the magic move on its own.

Her breath slowed. The world around her faded away.

A familiar warmth coiled in her chest, spreading outward like sunlight breaking through thick storm clouds. Her eyes fluttered open, now glowing a brilliant gold in the dim underground. The energy pulsed, shifting through her like a heartbeat.

Then, the lantern flickered.

At first, just a spark, weak and fleeting. But then, as she exhaled, willing the magic forward, the flame roared to life, golden and warm, casting long shadows against the rock walls.

Silco watched in quiet awe, his sharp eyes reflecting the light as he studied her. She had done it- without her hands, without a gesture. Just raw, unfiltered power.

The lantern burned steadily, proof that she was growing stronger.

She kept her breathing steady, feeling the warmth of the golden flame as it flickered in front of her. Now that it was lit, the real challenge began- controlling it without any physical movement, relying only on her awareness of the power coursing through her.

She focused, letting herself feel the energy, the way it pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Slowly, she tried to pull back, easing her magic just slightly. The flame responded, shrinking down to a faint ember.

...Good...

Now, she pushed forward, letting a bit more power flow through her. The lantern’s flame grew, dancing with intensity, casting brighter light onto the cavern walls.

She repeated the process- pulling back, pushing forward- adjusting the flame’s size with nothing but her focus. Her hands remained still in her lap, but her eyes glowed as she carefully controlled each shift in power.

Silco stayed quiet beside her, watching intently. He knew this was important for her, a way to regain control after everything that had happened. And from what he could see, she was already getting stronger.

As the golden glow of the flame flickered one last time under her control, (Y/N) exhaled deeply, feeling exhaustion settle into her bones. She had been at this for hours, and while she had made progress, it took everything in her to maintain that level of concentration.

Silco watched as the light in her eyes dimmed, returning to normal as she let go of her magic. He could tell she was worn out, her shoulders slumping slightly as she sat back on her hands.

"That's enough for today," he finally said, standing up and offering her a hand. "You're going to pass out if you push yourself any further."

(Y/N) let out a tired chuckle before grabbing his hand, allowing him to pull her up. "Yeah... I think I’ve had enough of this for one night."

They started making their way back through the mines, the cool underground air a stark contrast to the heat she had been working with. It was quiet between them, but not uncomfortably so. (Y/N) leaned into Silco just slightly as they walked, her exhaustion making her movements sluggish.

By the time they reached the bar, the usual nighttime crowd was already in full swing. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air, the atmosphere lively as people drank away the weight of their own struggles.

(Y/N) barely paid attention as she shoved through the people in her way, making a beeline for the stairs. She was ready for sleep- more than ready.

Silco followed close behind, ensuring she made it upstairs without incident. As she stepped into her room, she glanced back at him, hesitating for a moment before mumbling, "You coming?"

Silco smirked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "You don’t have to ask."

(Y/N) sighed as she stretched her sore muscles, peeling off her sooty work clothes before heading straight for the washroom. The warm water helped ease the ache in her limbs, washing away the grime from the mines and the lingering warmth of her magic. She took her time, letting the steam relax her before finally stepping out, drying off, and slipping into something comfortable.

When she emerged, Silco was already waiting for her, sitting on the edge of her bed, one leg crossed over the other. His sharp eyes followed her as she slumped into the chair by her desk, exhaling tiredly.

Without a word, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick. He took a slow drag before holding it out toward her. She hesitated only for a moment before leaning forward, taking it between her fingers and inhaling deeply.

They passed it back and forth in silence, the air between them thick with smoke and quiet understanding. Neither of them needed to speak- this was enough. A moment of peace after everything.

As the cigarette burned down to its final embers, (Y/N) let out a slow sigh, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion. Without a word, she pushed herself up from the chair and made her way to the bed, slipping beneath the blankets. Silco followed shortly after, settling in beside her. They didn’t need to say anything- this had become their routine. She pressed herself close to him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, his breath warm against her hair as they both drifted off into sleep.

The next few weeks followed the same steady rhythm. (Y/N) would wake early, get ready, and head to the mines to work through the day. She pushed through the exhaustion, the sweat, the grime- anything to keep herself busy. After work, she’d find Silco, and the two of them would slip away into the depths of the mines to train.

She was getting better. At first, controlling the flame without physical gestures had been difficult, but with each session, she grew more confident. She learned to summon her fire at will, to adjust its intensity, and even to move it with nothing but her focus. Silco watched her progress with a quiet intensity, pushing her to go further while always making sure she didn’t push herself too hard.

Meanwhile, the tensions with the Enforcers and Mageseekers slowly faded. The increased patrols had begun to die down, and soon, it was as if everything had returned to normal- or as normal as life in the Undercity could be. The bar was always busy, Felicia and Connol were around often, and Vander continued to build his reputation among the people. Even (Y/N) found herself slipping back into the flow of things, the weight on her chest just a little lighter than before.

The warmth of the bar wrapped around them like an old, familiar embrace. The scent of stew, smoke, and aged whiskey lingered in the air, a comforting mix that felt like home. (Y/N) leaned against the bar, her body still aching from training, but the fatigue was drowned out by the simple pleasure of just being there- just being with them.

Vander, ever the host, tossed a bar towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter, his sharp eyes sweeping over the three of them. “If you’re all gonna sit there, at least have a drink with me. Feels like it’s been a while since we just sat and talked.”

(Y/N) flicked the last of her cigarette into the ashtray and smirked. “Fine. But you’re taking care of the next round.”

Vander let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head as he reached for a bottle. “When do I not take care of the rounds?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no tension hanging over them. No talk of Enforcers. No whispers of Mageseekers. Just them, drinks in hand, laughter lingering in the air like an old song.

Then, Felicia got that glint in her eye- the one that spelled trouble.

“Oh no,” (Y/N) muttered, already knowing she was about to regret whatever was coming next.

Felicia slammed her hands on the bar, grinning wide. “You-” she jabbed a finger at (Y/N) “-are coming with me.”

(Y/N) barely had time to react before Felicia grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward the open space near the jukebox.

“Fel- no, wait-”

“Shut up and move,” Felicia shot back, already pulling (Y/N) into the rhythm as the music played.

(Y/N) huffed, but the smirk on her face gave her away. She let herself be dragged into the dance, following Felicia’s lead as the beat pulsed around them. The tension that had been weighing her down for weeks melted away, bit by bit, as they moved. Felicia twirled, laughing, and soon enough, (Y/N) found herself laughing too.

From the bar, Vander and Silco watched the scene unfold with varying levels of amusement.

Vander leaned back with a chuckle, arms crossed. “Didn’t think she’d actually go along with it.”

Silco swirled his drink, smirking. “Oh, she’s got a soft spot for Fel, no doubt about it.”

Vander snorted. “We all do.”

Felicia spun (Y/N) one last time before pulling her into a breathless hug. “See? Told you it wouldn’t kill you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, catching her breath. “Nearly did.”

As they made their way back to the bar, Felicia flopped down first, resting her head on her arms. She glanced between them- Vander, Silco, and (Y/N)- before grinning.

Vander set drinks down in front of them, shaking his head. “What’s the occasion?”

Felicia hummed dramatically, waving a hand lazily. “Can’t a lady just be in the mood to dance with her friend to a familiar song?”

Vander raised a brow. “Not this lady. And not that song.”

Felicia smirked but then softened, leaning on her arms. “Tonight feels perfect… The bar is going good, we haven’t had any trouble in a while, Enforcers are backing off… Who would have thought a few harebrained schemes cooked up by the three of you bozos could turn a dank crack in the earth into a thriving, healthy community… Almost too good to be true.”

Vander let out a quiet laugh, glancing at Silco. “You hear that, Bozo Two? We made it. We’re done.”

Silco tilted his head, giving Vander a small smirk. “Oh, you’re sadly mistaken.” He let his gaze drift toward (Y/N). “I’m Bozo One.”

Vander barked out a laugh. “You said that real quick, like you’ve been waiting your whole life for the title.”

Silco took a slow sip of his drink, completely unfazed. “It’s about time I got the recognition I deserve.”

Felicia cackled, leaning against (Y/N), who shook her head with an amused smirk.

“Then what’s that make me?” (Y/N) asked, raising a brow.

“Bozo Two, obviously,” Felicia said without hesitation. “And Vander’s Bozo Three, because he’s too responsible to be anything else.”

Vander sighed dramatically. “Damn. Stuck with you lot, huh?”

Felicia smirked. “Forever, big guy.”

The four of them sat there, savoring the rare moment of peace, the laughter lingering in the air like an old memory.

But something was off.

Felicia, as usual, had a drink in front of her- but tonight, she hadn’t touched it. Not even once.

(Y/N) leaned her arms against the bar, watching her closely. It wasn’t just the drink. It was the way Felicia held it, fingers barely curled around the rim, as if she didn’t even realize it was there.

“You good?” (Y/N) asked, raising an eyebrow as she took a slow drag from her cigarette.

Felicia snapped out of whatever thoughts had been eating at her, blinking once before glancing toward Silco and Vander. Her fingers tapped against the glass once, twice, before she exhaled sharply and muttered, “Shit.”

Silco’s gaze flicked up from his drink, eyes narrowing slightly. “That bad?”

Felicia let out a humorless chuckle. “Depends on how you look at it,” she muttered, running a hand down her face.

Vander, finally catching onto the shift in the air, leaned against the bar in front of Felicia. His expression softened, concern knitting his brows together. “Alright. Out with it. What’s going on?”

Felicia hesitated. She looked at each of them- Vander, Silco, (Y/N)- before finally sighing.

“I’m knocked up.” She swallowed. “A girl.”

...Silence...

Vander’s eyes widened slightly, but his face remained unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached over, plucked her drink from her hands, and swapped it out with a glass of juice.

Silco, for once, didn’t have anything clever to say. He just blinked, as if waiting for the punchline.

(Y/N) exhaled a slow stream of smoke, tilting her head. “...How do you know?”

Felicia hesitated before answering, rubbing at her temple. “Wasn’t really part of my plan…” she admitted. “But, guess that’s everything when you’re living week to week.”

(Y/N) flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, eyes still studying her. “So… what did Connol say?”

Felicia let out a breath of laughter- small, tired. “Haven’t told him yet. Working up the nerve…” Her fingers drummed absently against the bar. “I don’t know anything about kids- I get sweaty being alone with one.”

Vander reached over, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said, voice steady, “you’re gonna be a great mother.”

Felicia let out an exhausted laugh, shaking her head as she brushed his hand off. “Shut up… I’m not ready for that.” She sighed, stirring her straw in her untouched drink. “I started trying to come up with a name, and it hit me- this one word is a decision she’s gonna live with her whole life…”

She paused, inhaling deeply before looking at them again. “I can’t protect her from all the shit down here and work out how to be a parent at the same time… Then I realized-” she gave them a small, knowing smile “-I don’t have to.”

(Y/N) hummed, leaning her head against Felicia’s shoulder. “Hmm? Why’s that?”

Felicia smirked. “Because the second I told you, I put you on the hook.”

Vander chuckled.

Felicia didn’t hesitate to continue, looking between them. “You’re not allowed to fail anymore. For her- for me.”

Silco smirked, swirling the last of his drink in his glass. “What’s the point of all this if we can’t raise an ankle biter or two?”

Vander huffed a quiet laugh and lifted his glass. “To Zaun, then.”

They clinked their drinks together.

(Y/N) smirked. “Blisters and bedrock.”

The others echoed the words, their voices carrying softly through the bar.

Vander broke the silence with a thoughtful chuckle. “I’ve always liked the name Violet.”

Felicia laughed softly, something warm settling in her chest. “Guess that’s what it’ll have to be, then, huh?”

The night stretched on, the weight of Felicia’s news lingering in the space she left behind.

Felicia stretched as she stood, smoothing down her shirt with a satisfied sigh. “Well, boys, (Y/N), I think it’s about time I go break the news to Connol.” She grinned, though the flicker of nervous energy behind it didn’t go unnoticed.

Vander gave her a reassuring nod. “You got this, Fel.”

Silco smirked, swirling the last of his drink lazily before taking a sip. “If he’s got half a brain, he’ll be over the moon.”

Felicia huffed out a laugh. “Let’s hope.” She glanced at (Y/N), giving her a light nudge. “And don’t let these two get into any trouble while I’m away.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, smirking. “No promises.”

With that, Felicia gave them all one last grin before heading for the door, disappearing into the Undercity night.

That left just the three of them.

The bar was officially closing for the night- chairs stacked on tables, lanterns dimmed, the lively hum of the evening now faded into something softer. The only sounds were the faint echoes of Zaun outside, the distant drip of condensation from the pipes, and the quiet clink of glasses being put away.

(Y/N) leaned back against the booth, drink in hand, as Vander and Silco sat across from her. For a while, none of them spoke. They just sat in easy quiet, letting the weight of everything settle.

Eventually, Vander exhaled deeply, breaking the silence. “Crazy, huh? Feels like just yesterday we were a bunch of reckless kids, and now… a baby.”

Silco scoffed lightly. “Speak for yourself. Some of us are still reckless.”

(Y/N) chuckled into her drink. “Recklessness is a sign of maturity now?”

Silco arched a brow. “Please, I was always the mature one... So of course”

Vander let out a deep laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s rich.”

(Y/N) smirked. “You're just mad Fel called us Bozos.”

Silco took another slow sip of his drink before answering, deadpan, “I earned that title.”

That got a real laugh out of both Vander and (Y/N), the sound of it echoing softly in the near-empty bar.

They stayed like that for a while- drinking, reminiscing, letting the night stretch on. The quiet between them wasn’t heavy, just comfortable. A reminder that, despite everything, they were still here.

Eventually, exhaustion settled in alongside the alcohol, and they made their way upstairs. Vander turned down the hall to his own room with a murmured goodnight, leaving just (Y/N) and Silco lingering at the top of the stairs.

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before reaching out, fingers brushing against Silco’s. It wasn’t much- just a small, soft touch- but he noticed. He always noticed.

Silco glanced down at their hands before meeting her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t pull away.

He let her guide him as she turned, leading him toward her room.

Neither of them spoke as she pushed the door open, stepping inside with him close behind. The familiar space was dimly lit by the streetlights outside, casting long shadows across the walls.

(Y/N) exhaled softly, finally releasing his hand as she ran a hand through her hair.

They didn’t need words. They never really did.

As they lay together, the quiet wrapping around them like a second skin, Silco absently traced patterns along (Y/N)’s back. She was curled up against him, her head resting against his chest, her body still carrying the weight of exhaustion no matter how much she tried to hide it.

Neither of them acknowledged the way they clung to each other.

They just let sleep take them- like most nights.

The dim light of early morning seeped through the cracks in the blinds, casting faint streaks across the worn wooden floor. The air was thick with lingering warmth, the kind that settled into the bones and refused to leave.

(Y/N) slowly blinked awake, her body still heavy with exhaustion. But it wasn’t the usual, aching kind. This was different. This was… grounding. Comforting.

The steady rise and fall of Silco’s chest beneath her cheek, the way his arm was slung around her waist, keeping her close- it was all grounding.

She shifted slightly, testing the space between them, only for Silco’s grip to tighten instinctively, pulling her right back against him.

Still half-asleep, his breathing was slow and steady, fingers twitching slightly against the small of her back.

She tilted her head up slightly, peering at Silco’s face. He looked… calm. Peaceful.

The sharp lines of his face were softened by sleep, his usually narrowed eyes still closed, and for once, there was no tension in his expression.

She smirked slightly. “Didn’t take you for a clingy sleeper,” she murmured, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Silco hummed but didn’t open his eyes. “Didn’t take you for someone who would complain about it,” he shot back, his voice low and rough with sleep.

(Y/N) chuckled, shaking her head before pressing her forehead against his chest. “I’m not.”

Silco let out a quiet breath, finally cracking one eye open to glance down at her. “…You sleep okay?”

(Y/N) thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I did… I like sleeping with you.”

Silco studied her for a second before simply pulling her back down against him. “Good,” he murmured. “Then we’re staying like this a little longer.”

(Y/N) didn’t argue.

She let herself sink back into him, the steady beat of his heart under her ear lulling her into something dangerously close to sleep.

But eventually… they had to get up.

As they got dressed, Silco couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself.

Every time (Y/N) turned around, he was there- fingers brushing over her arm, his palm pressing against the small of her back, lips ghosting over her shoulder as she adjusted her shirt.

She smirked, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You’re being needy,” she teased.

Silco, utterly unapologetic, hummed as he slid his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her against him. “And?” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but she didn’t push him away.

“And if we don’t get moving, Vander’s gonna come knocking, and I don’t think you want him barging in here.”

Silco huffed against her skin, but didn’t immediately let go. Instead, he turned her around in his arms, leaning in to kiss her properly- slow and deep, fingers tangling in her hair.

By the time he pulled back, (Y/N) was breathless, her grip tightening on his shirt.

“…You’re trying to distract me,” she accused.

Silco smirked. “Is it working?”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes at him before shoving his chest lightly. “Come on, we’ve got things to do.”

Silco sighed dramatically but finally relented, letting her step away- though not before sneaking in one last kiss to her temple.

“Fine,” he murmured. “But don’t think for a second that I’m done with you.”

(Y/N) shook her head with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With that, they finally headed downstairs, ready to face the day- though Silco still kept a hand on her, like he wasn’t quite willing to let go just yet.

As they stepped into the main area of the bar, (Y/N) felt the weight of Silco’s hand on the small of her back- a constant, grounding presence. His touch was deliberate, fingers lingering against her skin as he guided her through the space.

Felicia, already at the bar, raised an eyebrow as she caught sight of them.

“Well, well,” she mused, arms crossed. “This is becoming sort of a habit for you two, huh?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, playing it off, but Silco only smirked, making no effort to move his hand.

Vander, standing behind the counter, shot them both a knowing look before shaking his head with a chuckle. “You two finally gonna admit whatever this is?”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to respond, but Silco beat her to it.

“We don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he said smoothly, though his fingers absentmindedly traced circles against (Y/N)’s hip.

Felicia snorted. “That’s a fancy way of saying you haven’t figured it out yet.”

(Y/N) took a sip of the drink Vander had just placed in front of her, choosing to ignore the heat creeping up her neck. Because, in truth, they hadn’t talked about it- not really.

What they were. What they meant to each other.

Sure, they had exchanged “I love you’s,” but they had never exactly labeled anything.

But as Silco’s grip subtly tightened, as if silently telling her he wasn’t going anywhere, (Y/N) realized that maybe… they didn’t need to define it. Not yet.

She had just lit her cigarette when, without missing a beat, Silco plucked it from her fingers and took a slow drag, smirking as he exhaled the smoke.

She shot him an unimpressed look. “Really?”

He gave a lazy shrug. “You’ll live.”

Rather than argue, she just leaned against him, reaching up to take it back- but instead of fighting her on it, Silco simply held it between them, offering it up for her to share.

Felicia, watching the exchange, shook her head with a grin. “You two are somethin’ else.”

Vander chuckled, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “Alright, enough of that. How’d Connol take the news?”

Felicia sighed, running a hand through her hair before grabbing a glass. “Better than I thought, honestly. He panicked, sure, but not in a bad way. Just- y’know. Like holy shit, this is real kind of panic.” She took a sip of water, shrugging. “But after that, he just held me. Told me we’d figure it out.”

Vander nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. “Good man.”

Silco, exhaling another stream of smoke before passing the cig back to (Y/N), raised a brow. “You think he’s actually ready?”

Felicia huffed a laugh. “Hell no. But neither am I.” She drummed her fingers against the counter. “But we’ll get there... Eventually.”

(Y/N), taking another drag, studied her friend for a moment before smirking. “You know this means we’re gonna be uncles and an aunt, right?”

Felicia snorted. “Oh, fuck. You three? As family?” She groaned dramatically. “I might’ve made a mistake.”

They all laughed, but (Y/N) could see it- the way Felicia’s shoulders weren’t as tense anymore.

She was nervous, but knowing they had her back? That made all the difference.

Can i have some verosika with a fem reader who normally acts really shy and timid around others but when verosika is in danger, the reader switchs to fight mode and they become really violet towards anyone who tries to hurt Verosika or her friends. 💖💕

A/N: Of course! I had to make Verosika red, since I make the fem readers pink. Hope thats okay :}

Feral Loyalty

Verosika x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 1614

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was loud. The kind of loud that soaked into your bones and made your chest vibrate like a speaker with the bass turned too high.

(Y/N) sat curled up on one of the worn-out velvet couches in the VIP section, nursing a glass of something pink and fizzy she hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. Her eyes stayed on the rim, watching the bubbles pop.

Across the room, laughter boomed. Someone got shoved. A bottle shattered. Demons flirted and fought like it was the same language. And at the center of it all, shining brighter than the neon signs behind her, was Verosika Mayday.

She was fire. Hot pink and gold, wrapped in black leather and confidence. She leaned back on the bar like she owned it- hell, maybe she did. Every glance in her direction lingered too long. Every demon around her fought for a scrap of her attention.

And then she looked toward the couch.

(Y/N) froze, eyes going wide as Verosika’s smirk softened into something else- something gentle. The succubus broke away from the group mid-conversation and strutted her way over, heels clicking against the floor. With every step, (Y/N)’s heart pounded harder.

“Hey, sugar,” Verosika purred, settling beside her like she’d done this a hundred times before. She tossed an arm over the back of the couch, just enough to brush against (Y/N)’s shoulder. “You doin’ okay? You look like you’re about to melt into the cushions.”

(Y/N) gave a weak smile and nodded, not trusting her voice just yet.

Verosika tilted her head. “Still too loud for you?”

“…A little,” (Y/N) mumbled. “But… I don’t mind being here.”

That earned her a real smile. One of those rare ones where Verosika’s edges softened and she looked more like a person than a pop icon.

“You’re cute, y’know that?” she said, with none of the usual teasing lilt. It was softer. Sincere. “You don’t gotta force yourself to hang out in this mess just ‘cause I’m here.”

“I’m not,” (Y/N) whispered, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “I just… like being near you.”

Verosika paused. That wasn’t something she heard often- especially not like that. Not from someone who didn’t want something from her. No strings. No flirting back. Just honesty in its purest, most fragile form.

She glanced down at the timid girl beside her- eyes downcast, cheeks warm, lashes fluttering nervously- and felt something twist in her chest. A feeling she didn’t have a name for yet. But it was soft. Protective.

“Well,” she said, brushing a stray hair from (Y/N)’s face with the back of her fingers, “lucky for you, I also like you being near me.”

The room roared around them, but in that little corner of the world, all (Y/N) could hear was the soft, fluttering beat of her heart- and Verosika’s voice, low and fond. Verosika took a seat next to (Y/N), and the conversations kept flowing.

Verosika was mid-sentence, telling (Y/N) a story about one of her worst tour stops- something involving a stolen limo, a goat-headed club owner, and way too much champagne- when three guys sauntered over.

They weren’t fans. Not the harmless kind, anyway.

They reeked of that specific Hellborn arrogance: all swagger and smirks, with nothing behind their eyes but entitlement.

“Well, well,” one of them drawled, leaning far too close. “Ain’t you Verosika Mayday? Didn’t think someone like you wasted time in places like this.”

Verosika barely looked at him. “I go wherever I damn well want. You got a problem with that?”

The second one whistled low, eyeing her up and down. “Nah, just surprised you’re hangin’ with… what, a groupie? Pet project?”

(Y/N) shrunk a little under the weight of the gaze- but only for a second.

Verosika’s arm subtly moved closer, her tone getting colder. “Back off, boys.”

But they didn’t.

The third one reached for a strand of Verosika’s hair, twisting it around a clawed finger. “C’mon, baby. Ditch the quiet little doll and come have some real fun.”

That’s when it happened.

A snap. Not audible- but real. Like a thread in (Y/N)’s mind pulled taut and tore clean through.

Her body moved before she thought. Before she even felt it.

One second, she was sitting meekly beside Verosika. The next, her glass shattered against the demon’s face- shards cutting deep as fizzy pink liquid hissed into his wounds. He barely got out a scream before (Y/N) lunged, her face empty of fear. Completely still.

She slammed him to the floor with a strength that didn’t match her frame. Her heel dug into his throat as she grabbed the next one by the horn and wrenched.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Her voice was a growl. A low, demonic snarl that didn’t belong to the sweet, blushing girl from five minutes ago.

The bar fell silent.

Even Verosika blinked, stunned.

(Y/N)’s eyes glowed faintly now, a flicker of her demonic form pushing through the seams- claws instead of nails, a jagged smile curling up too wide, too sharp. The demon under her heel gurgled, clawing at her ankle, but she didn’t flinch.

“You think just 'cause she’s pretty and famous you can treat her like property?” she hissed. “You forgot what part of Hell you’re in.”

Blood pooled around the broken glass, and the third guy had already bolted.

Verosika stood slowly, watching the remaining two writhe. She smirked.

“Holy shit, sugar.”

The words snapped (Y/N) out of it.

She blinked, her body trembling as the glow faded. Realizing what she’d done, she looked at Verosika- her hands, the blood, the broken horn- and panicked.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

But Verosika was already pulling her into a tight hug.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered, breath warm against (Y/N)’s ear. “That was the hottest shit I’ve seen all week.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. Her heartbeat was a war drum in her chest, fear and adrenaline crashing together- but Verosika held her tighter, grounding her.

“Remind me never to piss you off, baby,” she murmured, brushing a kiss to the side of her head. “You’re full of surprises.”

The alley behind the bar was quieter, lit only by flickering neon and the red glow of Hell’s sky. Verosika’s heels clicked on the pavement as she half-dragged, half-guided (Y/N) down the side path.

“Okay, sit your adorable little ass down,” she said, pushing open the back door of her limo and motioning her inside. “Let me see your hands.”

(Y/N) hesitated, knuckles still stained red. Her hands shook- whether from fear or from the crash of adrenaline, she couldn’t tell. She climbed into the limo anyway, letting Verosika sit beside her with a wet wipe packet in hand and the strangest expression on her face.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disgust.

It was awe. Cautious, wild awe.

Verosika gently took (Y/N)’s wrist. “You broke your glass. That’s some sharp-ass instinct.”

“I-I didn’t mean to go that far,” (Y/N) whispered, voice cracking as her walls began to crumble. “I just… I saw them touching you. And I snapped. I don’t even remember deciding to do it…”

Verosika wiped blood from her fingers, slowly. Carefully. “You did good.”

“…Good?” (Y/N) blinked at her.

“Hell yeah. I mean, babe, I have security, but none of them have ever slammed a guy into the floor with a smile like that before.”

(Y/N) flushed hard. She wanted to hide.

“But also,” Verosika said, her voice dipping softer now, “I could tell it scared you.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard and looked away. “I’m… I don’t want to be like that. I just- I don’t know, I didn’t like the way they looked at you. Like you were something they could take.”

That surprised Verosika more than anything else.

Because most people in her world did see her that way. Something to possess. Something to show off, to drag under.

But not (Y/N).

Never (Y/N).

“I like that you got mad for me,” she said honestly. “You saw something ugly and you let yourself be scary. That’s not a bad thing.”

She leaned in closer, dabbing the last of the blood away from her cheek, then gently cupped her face. “But I also like the girl who flinches when people talk too loud and blushes when I call her ‘baby.’ You don’t have to choose which one you are.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

“…You’re not mad?”

Verosika snorted, brushing her thumb across (Y/N)’s cheek. “No. If anything, I’m flattered. You went feral over me. You know how hard it is to get that kind of loyalty in this dump?”

(Y/N) finally gave a weak smile. Her shoulders slumped as some invisible weight lifted.

“…I don’t want you to think I’m dangerous.”

“Oh, I know you’re dangerous,” Verosika said with a teasing glint, leaning in just a little more. “But only when you want to be.”

The limo idled in the alley, the two of them locked in a bubble of quiet aftershock.

And then Verosika murmured, almost like a secret:

“You really care about me, don’t you?”

(Y/N) didn’t look away this time. “Of course I do.”

Verosika studied her for a beat, something unreadable dancing in her eyes.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Then I guess you’ve earned the front row seat.”

“To what?”

Verosika grinned. “To whatever the hell this is.”

She kissed her on the cheek, then rested her forehead gently against (Y/N)’s. “Thanks for protecting me, sugar.”