Ember In The Dark Pt.4
Ember in the Dark pt.4
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.3 - pt.5
pt.1
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Smoking, and threat/following.
Word Count: 3895
Summary: Drunk and lost in thought, (Y/N) is helped to her room by Silco, who dismisses her drunken compliments about his appearance despite the buried feelings they stir. The next morning, she wakes with a pounding hangover and regret but pushes forward. Down in the bar, she shares a tense yet teasing conversation with Silco about the previous night. After making breakfast for their group, (Y/N), Silco, Vander, and Felicia head out to handle supply shipments. Along the way, (Y/N) notices hooded figures following them. She and Silco silently acknowledge the potential threat, deciding to stay cautious.
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The night stretched on, the hum of the Undercity’s distant machinery a lull beneath the quiet of the nearly empty bar.
(Y/N) had long since stopped paying attention to her drink, her fingers still loosely curled around her cigarette, the ember fading to nothing. She slumped against the bar, her head resting on her folded arms, her thoughts drifting somewhere Silco couldn’t follow.
He watched her for a moment, then sighed.
She was a mess. But then again, weren’t they all?
With quiet efficiency, he slid off his stool, stepping around to her side. "Come on," he murmured, voice softened just enough to be different from his usual sharpness.
She barely moved, blinking sluggishly as he pried the cigarette from her fingers, snuffing it out before guiding her up. She was unsteady, the alcohol dragging her limbs down like lead, but she followed his lead without complaint.
He brought her to her room- small, tucked away, but hers. He wasn’t gentle, not exactly, but he was careful as he eased her onto the thin mattress. She flopped onto it with a quiet sigh, her eyes half-lidded, lost somewhere between wakefulness and the pull of exhaustion.
Silco turned to leave.
Then- a hand on his wrist.
Her grip was weak, barely there, but it stopped him nonetheless.
He glanced back.
(Y/N) wasn’t looking at him, her gaze still distant, but her fingers curled slightly, as if to keep him from disappearing like the rest of her thoughts.
For a long moment, Silco just stood there.
Then, with an exhale, he sat down at the edge of the bed.
He wouldn’t stay forever. But for now? He’d stay.
(Y/N) stared up at him, her eyes glassy, unfocused- but still seeing him. Really seeing him.
Silco wasn’t looking at her. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together as he exhaled through his nose. He looked exhausted, always carrying the weight of his thoughts, his ambitions. The dim light filtering through the grimy window cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting sharp angles, tired blue eyes.
Gods, he was pretty.
The thought drifted through her whiskey-soaked mind before she could stop it, her lips parting slightly as if she might say it aloud.
She had fallen in love with him years ago, back when they were younger, when their world had been a little smaller, their dreams a little simpler. She had never said anything, never acted on it. What good would it do? They had always been fighting for survival, struggling to carve out something more in a city that tried to swallow them whole.
But the whiskey made her tongue looser than it should have been.
"You know," she murmured, her voice softer than usual, slightly slurred. "You’re really pretty."
Silco blinked, turning his head to look at her properly.
(Y/N) just smiled lazily, her cheek pressed against the pillow, eyes still locked on his face. "Too pretty, really… s’not fair."
Silco scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re drunk."
She hummed in agreement. "Maybe."
He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath about her being a lightweight.
(Y/N) just kept watching him, her mind a fog of whiskey and years of feelings buried too deep.
"Bet you don’t even realize," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper.
Silco turned back to her, brow furrowed. "Realize what?"
(Y/N) just smiled, slow and lopsided.
"Nothing," she murmured, letting her eyes slip shut. She’d keep her secret, for now.
Sleep took her quickly, pulling her under like the tide. The stress of the day, the weight of unspoken thoughts, and the whiskey swirling in her system all dragged her into the depths of exhaustion.
Silco sat there for a moment longer, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.
She had always been like this- carrying too much, saying too little. Even now, in her drunken haze, she had stopped herself before saying something real.
With a quiet exhale, he stood, carefully pulling the thin blanket over her.
"Idiot," he muttered, though there was no real bite to the word.
Then, with one last glance at her sleeping form, he turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
(Y/N) woke with a groan, her head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of her skull. Her mouth was dry, her stomach twisted in protest, and every little sound outside her room felt like a personal attack.
Shit.
She had done this to herself. Again.
It wasn’t the first time she had woken up feeling like death after drinking too much, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, that didn’t make it any less miserable.
For a moment, she just lay there, her face buried in the pillow, trying to will the world away. But she knew better. The longer she stayed in bed, the worse she’d feel.
With a groan, she forced herself to sit up. The room spun slightly, her stomach lurching in protest, but she swallowed it down, running a hand through her tangled hair.
She needed water. Food, maybe. And a cigarette.
With slow, sluggish movements, she dragged herself out of bed and started getting ready for the day, just like every other morning.
(Y/N) moved through her morning routine on autopilot, every action deliberate and slow to avoid making herself feel worse. Don’t move too fast, don’t think too hard, don’t throw up.
By the time she was dressed, her head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her stomach was a mess of nausea and regret. But she had survived worse.
She made her way downstairs, the air in the bar thick with the lingering scent of old liquor and smoke. It was still early- too early for business. The Last Drop didn’t open until midday, sometimes later, depending on what Vander felt like or how much of a headache they all had to deal with.
The place was quiet, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the walls.
(Y/N) let out a slow breath and leaned against the bar, rubbing at her temple. She needed coffee. Or maybe just another drink to even herself out.
She wasn’t sure which sounded worse.
(Y/N) opted for the easiest solution- whiskey.
With a practiced reach over the bar, she grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as she tried to be steady. She took a slow sip, wincing as the burn hit her throat. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than the headache clawing at her skull.
She was halfway through the glass when she heard footsteps descending the stairs.
Silco.
He stepped into the dimly lit bar, looking as put-together as ever, despite the late night before. His sharp gaze flickered to her, then down to the glass in her hand.
“Whiskey for breakfast?” he asked dryly, his voice laced with amusement.
(Y/N) didn’t bother looking up. “Helps the headache.”
Silco scoffed, moving toward the bar. “It causes the headache.”
She shrugged, taking another sip. “Then I’m just balancing things out.”
He leaned against the counter, watching her for a long moment.
“You remember anything from last night?” he asked, his tone casual- too casual.
That made her pause.
She frowned slightly, her mind sluggish as she tried to recall the details of the night before. She remembered drinking. She remembered feeling heavy- dragged down by old memories and smoke. She remembered Silco bringing her to bed…
And then-
Shit.
She had said something, hadn’t she?
(Y/N) took another sip of whiskey, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Not much,” she muttered. “Just that I drank too much.”
Silco hummed, unconvinced, but he didn’t push.
“Figures,” he said, reaching over to steal the glass from her hand, taking a sip himself.
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but didn’t argue… Maybe it was better if they both let last night go.
(Y/N) exhaled a long breath, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with steady hands- too steady, considering the storm in her head.
She didn’t want to let it go.
Even if the whiskey had dulled the details, she knew what had been there underneath- the truth of it. It wasn’t some drunken slip, some meaningless flattery. It had been real.
And maybe it was stupid, definitely reckless, but for once, she didn’t want to bite her tongue and bury it.
She watched as Silco took another sip from her glass, his sharp eyes already moving past the conversation, onto something else.
(Y/N) took a slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs before she spoke.
“I meant it.”
Silco raised a brow, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “Meant what?”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette. “What I said last night.”
Silco studied her, the amusement from earlier fading into something unreadable.
(Y/N) exhaled smoke, glancing off to the side. “I don’t remember everything, but I know I meant it.” She flicked ash into a nearby tray, her voice lower now. “Still do.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
Silco leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “You are aware you were completely sloshed, yes?”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I was wrong.”
Another silence.
Then, Silco smirked, slow and sharp. “I am quite pretty, aren’t I?”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the slight curve of her lips. “Asshole.”
Silco just chuckled, pushing the whiskey back toward her. “If you’re going to start confessing things, at least wait until you’re not hungover.”
(Y/N) shook her head, taking another sip. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t… But at least she had said something.
(Y/N) downed the last of her drink, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray before stretching her arms over her head. The whiskey had dulled the edges of her hangover, at least a little, but it wouldn’t last forever.
Time to get moving.
She pushed off the bar, glancing at Silco, who had already made himself comfortable with her glass of whiskey, refilling it. “You planning on helping, or just sitting there looking pretty?”
Silco smirked. “I think you already established my strengths.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes and made her way toward the small kitchen in the back. The Last Drop wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining, but they had enough supplies to make something decent- decent meaning anything edible that kept them from starving.
Felicia and Connol usually stopped by around this time, and Benzo wasn’t far behind. It had become something of an unspoken routine, a part of their mornings that had settled naturally into place. And (Y/N)? She was usually the one who ended up making breakfast.
She didn’t mind, though.
It was something normal. A small, steady thing in the chaos of the Undercity.
She gathered what ingredients they had- eggs, some bread that wasn’t too stale, and whatever meat Vander had managed to get his hands on- and started cooking, the familiar sounds of sizzling filling the air as she focused on the simple motions.
Soon, the others would show up. The bar would come alive again, and another day in the Lanes would begin.
(Y/N) carried the plates out to the bar, setting them down so everyone could grab what they wanted when they arrived. The scent of cooked food lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present smell of smoke and old whiskey.
They still had time before the bar opened for the day, so for now, things were slow- calm, even.
Benzo was the first to arrive, pushing open the door with a casual stride. “Smells good in here,” he commented, tossing a glance toward the food. “Better than whatever the hell that street vendor was sellin’ on my way over.”
(Y/N) smirked as she leaned against the bar. “That’s not exactly a high bar, Benzo.”
He chuckled, grabbing a plate without hesitation. “Hey, food is food.”
Not long after, Felicia and Connol arrived.
Felicia was talking before she even stepped fully inside. “Finally! I was starting to think you forgot about breakfast, (Y/N).”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Like I’d let you starve.”
Connol, quiet as usual, gave a nod in greeting before helping himself to some food. He had been around more lately- a lot more, and while (Y/N) didn’t fully know what to make of him yet, he seemed alright. He made Felicia happy, at least, and that was worth something.
Everyone settled in, eating and talking, the morning taking on the familiar rhythm of their routine. For a little while, it almost felt… normal.
Once breakfast was done and the plates were cleared, (Y/N) wiped her hands on a rag before making her way over to Vander and Silco, who were already deep in conversation near the bar.
Vander had his arms crossed, his usual serious expression in place, while Silco leaned against the counter, flipping through his notebook.
(Y/N) slid into the space between them, raising a brow. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
Vander glanced at her, then exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Depends.”
Silco, without looking up from his notes, added, “We’ve got some shipments coming in later- nothing major, but enough to keep an eye on.”
Vander nodded. “And I was thinkin’ we might head back to the mines later, put in a few hours. Keep up appearances.”
(Y/N) sighed. They didn’t have to work in the mines as much anymore, not with the Last Drop slowly becoming a more stable source of income, but keeping ties there was still important. “Figures.”
Silco finally shut his notebook, glancing between them. “And, if we have time, I wouldn’t mind checking out a few places in the Lanes. Get a read on things.”
That caught (Y/N)’s attention. “You mean more than just ‘getting a read,’ don’t you?”
Silco smirked. “Always.”
Vander gave him a look but didn’t argue.
(Y/N) crossed her arms, considering. A trip to the Lanes could mean anything- connections, information, or just making sure they weren’t falling behind on what was happening in the Undercity.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Sounds like a full day.”
Vander grunted in agreement, and Silco just gave a knowing tilt of his head. With the plan set, they went over the details quickly.
“Alright,” Vander said, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. “First, we handle the shipments. Make sure everything’s in order.”
Silco nodded, already thinking ahead. “After that, we move through the Lanes, see what’s stirring. There’s been talk of tensions rising in a few places- I’d rather not be blindsided.”
(Y/N) exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “And then we finish off in the mines.” She smirked. “Saving the best for last.”
Vander chuckled. “We’ll be in and out. Just enough to show our faces.”
Felicia, who had been listening from the side while finishing the last of her drink, stretched her arms over her head. “Sounds like a long day.”
Silco shot her a dry look. “You are still capable of working, yes?”
Felicia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be there. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
With everything decided, they gathered what they needed. (Y/N) grabbed her coat, Silco tucked his notebook away, and Vander made sure the bar was set to be running while they were gone. He had gotten one of his newly hired bartenders to come in, along with asking Benzo to sit around and drink… Just to watch things.
Then, without wasting any more time, they headed out into the Undercity to start their day.
Felicia lingered by the door, saying a quick goodbye to Connol before he disappeared into the winding streets of the Undercity. Whatever he did during the day was still a bit of a mystery- probably something inventive. He looked like the type to be scientific, always thinking, always watching.
But that wasn’t (Y/N)’s concern right now.
With Connol gone, the four of them set off, making their way through the dimly lit streets toward where the shipments were being delivered. The air was thick with the usual blend of smoke, oil, and the distant hum of machinery. It was a scent that clung to everything in the Undercity.
As they walked, Vander took the lead, his broad frame naturally clearing a path where needed. Silco, as always, kept sharp eyes on their surroundings, his thoughts likely already drifting toward whatever he expected to find in the Lanes later. Felicia walked beside (Y/N), hands in her pockets, a casual bounce in her step despite the rough streets beneath them.
(Y/N) flicked the butt of a cigarette into the gutter as they approached their destination- a tucked-away storage lot run by a man named Harker, a supplier they’d worked with a few times before. The shipments weren’t anything fancy, just supplies for the Last Drop- booze, some preserved goods, and whatever else they needed to keep the place running.
Vander stepped up first, knocking twice on the metal door. It took a moment, but soon enough, they heard the sound of locks shifting before Harker himself pulled the door open.
The man squinted at them, his face rough with age and soot. “You’re early,” he grunted.
Vander shrugged. “You got it ready or not?”
Harker snorted, stepping aside to let them in. “Yeah, yeah. Come on in. Just don’t touch nothin’ that ain’t yours.”
(Y/N) exchanged a glance with Silco before following the others inside. Time to get to work.
(Y/N) adjusted her grip on one of the heavier crates, the weight digging into her arms as she walked alongside the others. The streets of the Undercity were always filled with movement- faces ducking in and out of alleyways, the low hum of machinery echoing in the distance- but something felt different.
She had noticed them the moment they left the Last Drop- a few hooded figures lingering just a little too long in the alleys, their steps just a little too measured. At first, she thought it might be a coincidence, just another group moving through the Undercity like everyone else.
But now, as they neared the bar, she knew they were being followed.
She didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to glance toward Silco, who was walking slightly ahead of her. His sharp gaze was usually quick to pick up on things like this- he had to have noticed, right?
Felicia, carrying a smaller crate beside her, was too caught up in complaining about the weight to notice anything. “Seriously, why does alcohol have to be so damn heavy? Can’t we start serving something lighter?”
“Like what?” Vander asked dryly, barely breaking stride.
Felicia huffed. “I dunno, something that doesn’t make my arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”
(Y/N) wasn’t listening. She shifted her hold on the crate, subtly glancing over her shoulder.
The hooded figures were still there. Three of them. Keeping their distance, but staying close enough that it wasn’t natural.
Her pulse quickened, but her expression remained calm.
Silco turned his head slightly- just enough for his eyes to flicker toward her before looking forward again. He had noticed.
Good.
(Y/n) exhaled through her nose, keeping her pace steady. They were close to the bar now, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Whoever these people were, they weren’t just watching- they were waiting.
For what?
And more importantly- why?
As soon as the last crate was set down in the storage room, (Y/N) dusted off her hands and made her way over to Silco. He was already expecting her.
The others were still busy- Vander double-checking the shipments, Felicia stretching her arms and complaining about the heavy lifting. It gave (Y/N) the perfect moment to pull Silco aside, just out of earshot.
“You saw them too,” she muttered, keeping her voice low.
Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching her carefully. “Of course I did.” His tone was calm, but there was a knowing edge to it.
(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “They’ve been following us since we left the bar. I didn’t get a good look, but… they weren’t just passing through.”
Silco hummed in agreement. “No. They weren’t.”
That unsettled her. If Silco was concerned, it meant this wasn’t just her overthinking things.
“You think they’re watching us specifically?” she asked.
Silco tilted his head slightly, considering. “Possibly. Could be unrelated, but I doubt it.” He glanced toward the door. “Three of them, moving like they had a purpose. If they wanted to attack, they would’ve done it already. That means they were either scouting us or waiting for something.”
(Y/N) crossed her arms. “And that’s what worries me.”
Silco studied her for a moment before lowering his voice even further. “Did you notice anything about them? Anything off?”
(Y/N) thought back. They moved well, blending into the streets with ease. But something had felt strange about them. “Their movements were too careful,” she muttered. “Like they weren’t just random thugs.”
Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she could see the gears turning in his head. “We’ll have to keep an eye out. If they’re still around by the time we head to the Lanes, we’ll know for sure.”
(Y/N) nodded. “Should we tell Vander and Felicia?”
Silco considered it, then shook his head. “Not yet. No need to spook them if this turns out to be nothing.” (Y/N) hesitated but ultimately agreed. For now, they’d just have to watch their backs.
With the shipments handled and the Last Drop running smoothly for now, the four of them set off once more, weaving through the winding paths of the Undercity. The Lanes were the heart of the Undercity’s chaos- filled with traders, workers, gang members, and those just trying to survive another day. It was where information spread fastest, where rumors carried weight, and where they could keep their fingers on the pulse of the city.
(Y/N) stayed alert, her eyes flickering to the shadows between buildings, the alleys where trouble tended to brew. She hadn’t seen the hooded figures since they returned to the bar, but that didn’t mean they were gone.
Vander led the way, as he often did, his presence alone enough to command respect. People recognized him now- not as some leader, not yet, but as someone reliable, someone who got things done. Silco walked beside him, quiet but watchful, his mind likely still working through the same concerns (Y/N) had.
Felicia, as usual, brought a different kind of energy to the group. “We should get something to eat while we’re out,” she suggested, stretching her arms. “That stew from Elda’s stall? Real good. And I’m starving.”
Vander smirked. “You’re always starving.”
Felicia grinned. “Yeah, well, lifting crates all morning will do that.”
(Y/N) barely heard them, her attention on the movement around them. She caught glimpses of familiar faces- merchants selling scrap, chem-dealers peddling their poisons, Enforcers nowhere to be seen. It was business as usual.
But still… something felt off.
As they rounded a corner near one of the busier market areas, she caught it again- just for a second. A hooded figure, leaning against a wall, just barely in her peripheral vision. By the time she turned her head fully, they were gone.
Her stomach twisted… They were still being watched.
More Posts from Deliciousspecimen and Others
Hiiii!!!
I absolutely adore your Silco x reader, it's wonderful. Your writing it great 🥺 I was wondering if I could make a request? Okay, so, I love TOH, and SU, and you have both listed on your masterlist, sooooooo I was thinking maybe you could mix them?
Here's my idea, Hunter x reader, but reader is half Gem, like Steven. She somehow finds herself in the Demon realm, and ends up having to join the Coven Scouts, so she can find a way home.
A/N: Hiiii!!! Thank you so much! I can absolutely do that. I also love TOH and SU, so this is awesome. Actually, if it's okay, I'd love to make this into a new series because I had SO much fun writing it! If it's not okay, you can go ahead and send me a dm or another ask, and I won't, but I loved the idea, so I'd be more than willing to.
Drifting Between Worlds pt.1
Hunter x Fem!Reader
pt.2
Warnings: Violence/Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Blood/Injury, Power Imbalance/Authoritarian Abuse, Themes of Control/Oppression
Word Count: 7292
Summary: (Y/N), a half-human, half-Gem, is transported to the Boiling Isles and brought to Belos by his scouts. Forced into the Emperor’s Coven, she trains alongside Hunter, growing close to him while searching for a way home. During a scouting mission, they discover Eda Clawthorne teaching a human girl- Luz. Knowing the danger of this revelation, (Y/N) hesitates to report it, but Hunter insists on following protocol. When they inform Belos, he punishes Hunter, leaving him scarred. Furious but powerless, (Y/N) helps Hunter recover and comforts him, strengthening their bond. However, witnessing Belos’s cruelty sparks (Y/N)’s growing doubts about his rule.
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(Y/N) gasped for air as she broke through the surface of the water, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her entire body ached from the force of being shot through- whatever that was. One second, she was swimming in the ocean back home, and the next, she was being hurled through some kind of portal.
She blinked, disoriented. The sky above her was a deep, unnatural purple, with swirling clouds. Strange, jagged rock formations jutted out of the landscape around her, glowing with eerie light. But the most terrifying thing? The water below her boiled.
(Y/N) barely managed to grab onto a rocky ledge before she slipped back down. Her fingers burned slightly from the heat of the steam rising off the water. Breathing heavily, she pulled herself up, rolling onto her back and staring at the alien sky.
“What the heck,” she muttered, sitting up. She took stock of herself- her bathing suit was intact, even if it wasn’t ideal for whatever situation this was. She patted her collarbone, where the smooth, light pink Onyx was embedded into her skin. At least it wasn't cracked...
She had been through weird situations before- living with Steven and the Crystal Gems meant weird was normal- but this? This was new.
(Y/N) stood, shaking out her limbs and glancing around. The terrain was wild and unfamiliar, filled with crooked trees and strange creatures flitting about in the distance. “Okay,” she said to herself, taking a deep breath. “Step one: find someone in charge. Step two: figure out where I am...”
She moved cautiously, her bare feet brushing against the rough ground. She wasn’t too worried about getting hurt- her being a Gem meant minor scrapes and cuts weren’t a problem- but she didn’t exactly want to go charging into danger.
After what felt like an eternity of wandering, (Y/N) spotted movement- a figure, in uniform, carrying some kind of spear, walking along a worn dirt path.
A guard!
Hope flared in her chest, and she ran toward them. “Hey! Hey, excuse me!”
The guard- a creature with a birdlike mask and a white cloak- whipped around, gripping their spear tighter. “Halt! Who goes there?”
(Y/N) skidded to a stop, holding up her hands. “Whoa, whoa! I don’t mean any harm. I just- I need help. I’m lost. I don’t know how I got here.”
The guard’s head tilted. “You are… human?”
(Y/N) hesitated. “Uh… half?” She tapped her Gem. “Long story. But yeah, mostly human.”
The guard stepped back. “Humans are not meant to be here.”
(Y/N) groaned. “Yeah, I figured. Look, I just need to find someone in charge- some kind of authority? Maybe they can help me figure out how to get home?”
The guard hesitated, then sighed. “You should not be here. But I cannot leave you to wander. Come with me.”
Relieved, (Y/N) followed as the guard led her down the path, her mind racing. She had no idea what world she had stumbled into, but one thing was for sure- she had a long way to go before she found her way home.
(Y/N) followed the masked guard through the bizarre landscape of the Boiling Isles, her bare feet brushing over gnarled roots, uneven stone, and patches of strange, pulsing moss. Everywhere she looked, there were creatures that seemed ripped straight from a fever dream- multi-eyed birds, chimeric beasts with too many limbs, and even a small, scampering thing that looked like a skull with legs.
She tried to keep her face neutral, but every now and then, a shudder ran through her. She had seen weird before- Homeworld’s Gems, corrupted monsters, the things that lurked in Beach City’s more supernatural corners- but this? This was something else entirely.
“Are we almost there?” she asked after what felt like forever.
The guard barely turned their head. “Patience, human.”
She huffed, crossing her arms, but kept walking. Eventually, they emerged onto a wide, towering bridge that stretched over a massive chasm, and beyond it stood an enormous structure.
The castle- or palace- was massive, carved from gleaming white stone with gold accents. Tall spires twisted toward the sky, adorned with massive banners depicting a sigil she didn’t recognize. The entire place had a looming, eerie feel, like it was meant to impress and intimidate.
The guard gestured toward it. “This is Emperor Belos’s Castle. You stand before the heart of the Emperor’s Coven.”
(Y/N) frowned. “Right. And that means…?”
The guard didn’t answer, simply leading her across the bridge.
As they entered the palace, (Y/N) got an even better look at the inside- huge corridors lined with pillars, flickering torches casting long shadows, and walls decorated with more of those same sigils. Guards in similar white masks patrolled, watching her with curiosity- or suspicion.
“Where are we going?” she asked, voice lower now.
“To the Emperor,” the guard replied.
(Y/N) blinked. “Wait, seriously? I was meaning more of like, a local with some sort of knowledge or something… Not your leader or whatever...”
“You wished to meet someone with authority,” the guard said plainly. “There is no higher authority than Emperor Belos.”
Well. That was something.
As they walked deeper into the castle, (Y/N) felt her stomach twist uneasily. She had no idea who this Belos guy was, but something about this place felt… wrong. There was a heaviness in the air, a weight that settled against her skin, making her Gem hum faintly in her chest.
Something was off.
But she had come this far. If this Emperor guy could help her get home, she had to try.
Squaring her shoulders, (Y/N) followed the guard deeper into the palace, toward whatever fate awaited her.
The grand doors to the throne room swung open with an eerie creak, revealing a vast chamber lined with towering pillars. The air was thick with the scent of something old, like parchment and candle wax, but there was an undercurrent of something… darker.
(Y/N) swallowed hard as she stepped forward, her feet hitting the cold stone floor. At the far end of the room, seated atop an imposing throne, was the man she assumed to be Emperor Belos.
His presence filled the room like an unseen weight pressing against her shoulders. He was draped in a flowing white cloak, gold accents catching the dim light, and his face was hidden behind an ornate golden mask. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt his gaze settle on her.
Beside her, the masked guard immediately knelt, lowering their head in reverence.
(Y/N), on the other hand, shifted awkwardly.
Yeah...
She wasn't doing that.
Instead, she let out a nervous laugh and rocked on her heels. “Uh. Hi. I take it you're the guy in charge?”
The guard shot her a look from beneath their mask, but Belos merely tilted his head. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth- calm, but holding a distinct weight to it.
"You are… different.”
(Y/N) blinked. “Uh. Yeah, understatement of the year.” She gestured vaguely to herself. “Human. Or, well, half. Kind of got lost, ended up here. Thought maybe someone in charge could help.”
There was a long pause. The air in the room felt colder.
“Half-human…” Belos murmured, almost as if he was turning the thought over in his mind. He rested his chin on one gloved hand. “How fascinating.”
(Y/N) didn’t like the way he said that.
Her fingers twitched, and instinctively, she reached up to brush her Gem- a small, subconscious action she often did when she was nervous.
Belos’s head moved ever so slightly, like he had noticed.
“You say you arrived here by accident,” he said. “How?”
(Y/N) hesitated. “I, uh… I was swimming. In the ocean. Then, boom- portal. And next thing I know, I’m nearly getting boiled alive.” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “So, if you could help me find a way back to my world, that’d be great.”
Silence.
Belos regarded her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he rose from his throne.
(Y/N) stiffened. She was good at reading emotions- her connection to them ran deeper than most- but right now, standing in front of this man, she felt… nothing. It was like standing in front of a void.
“You wish to return home,” he said, stepping down toward her. “And yet… you are something quite rare. A human in the Demon Realm is already an anomaly. But a half-human with a power I do not yet understand? That is even more intriguing.”
(Y/N) took a step back. “Uh. Cool? I mean, I’m flattered, really, but I kinda just wanna go home.”
Belos stopped a few feet in front of her. He was tall- taller than she expected- and even though she couldn’t see his face, she felt the intensity of his gaze.
“You may yet prove useful, child.”
That set off every alarm in her brain.
“Yeahhh, see, I don’t love being called ‘useful’ by ominous masked guys in creepy castles,” (Y/N) said, forcing a grin. “So, if that’s all, I think I’ll just-”
She turned on her heel, ready to leave, but before she could take another step, a wave of green magic flickered out from Belos’s fingertips.
(Y/N) barely had time to react before the ground beneath her feet locked up, thick green tendrils snapping around her ankles like chains.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
Okay. Not good. Really not good.
Belos tilted his head. “I believe you will stay here a while longer.”
(Y/N) stood frozen, the green bindings around her ankles pulsing faintly with energy. Her mind raced, trying to figure out the best way to not be trapped in this nightmare situation, but Belos spoke before she could act.
“I have made my decision,” he said, voice calm, measured. “You will join my Coven.”
(Y/N)’s stomach dropped. “Wait, what?”
“You will receive the mark of the Emperor’s Coven,” he continued, ignoring her protests. “And you will train to become one of my Scouts. You will learn our ways, our laws, and how magic truly works in this world.”
(Y/N)’s hands clenched into fists. “Yeah, huge problem with that- I don’t do well with being told what to do.”
Belos regarded her, unmoved. “You wish to return home, do you not?”
(Y/N) hesitated.
Belos took a step closer. “There are no known portals back to the Human Realm. None that I know of.” There was something about the way he said it that made her gut twist- like maybe he did know something, and just wasn’t planning on telling her. “But if one were to be discovered…”
(Y/N)’s breath caught.
“I would decide whether or not you needed to know.”
Her fingers twitched toward her Gem, her instincts screaming at her. She could fight him, try to break free- but the room was filled with guards, and she wasn’t exactly at full strength after being thrown into this insane world.
For now, she needed to play along.
She forced her shoulders to relax and exhaled sharply through her nose. “So let me get this straight. I get branded with some magic tattoo, train to be one of your creepy bird-mask guys, and in exchange, you might help me get home?”
Belos tilted his head, as if amused. “That is the arrangement.”
(Y/N) gritted her teeth. The sigil- whatever it was- was meant for witches, right? But she wasn’t a witch. That whole system shouldn’t even apply to her. And yet, he still wanted her branded.
Something about that sat very wrong with her.
But she had no choice.
Not right now.
She forced herself to nod. “Fine.”
Belos lifted his hand, green magic curling around his fingertips. “Then we begin.”
A wave of energy surged forward, striking her wrist like searing hot ink.
(Y/N) clenched her teeth, swallowing down a hiss as the magic carved itself into her skin. The symbol of the Emperor’s Coven flared bright for a moment before settling, leaving behind an eerie, glowing mark embedded into her flesh.
She glared up at Belos, heart pounding.
"Enough of this," Belos said, his voice echoing through the throne room. His tone was final, dismissive. "The decision has been made. Send word to Hunter- she will be joining him in his room. That way, I can ensure the human is kept under watch."
(Y/N) stiffened. Hunter? That name meant nothing to her, but the idea of being shoved into some random room with a complete stranger wasn’t exactly comforting.
Belos turned his gaze toward one of the scouts. "You. Take her to her quarters."
The scout immediately bowed. "Yes, Emperor Belos. It would be my pleasure."
(Y/N) scowled but kept her mouth shut as the scout gestured for her to follow. As much as she wanted to argue, to push back, she knew she had no leverage here. Not yet.
The golden sigil on her wrist still tingled uncomfortably as she was led through the castles halls. The deeper they went, the more she realized just how massive this place was. There were halls lined with banners of the Emperor’s sigil, corridors guarded by silent scouts in their eerie masks, and doors leading to rooms she probably didn’t want to know the purpose of.
She kept her arms crossed over her chest, partly from irritation, partly because she was still just wearing a bathing suit.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived at a set of large wooden doors. The scout opened one, stepping aside.
"This will be your room," the scout said. "You’ll be sharing it with the Emperor’s nephew, Hunter. He’s also training to become a scout. You’ll receive your uniforms and off-duty clothing shortly."
(Y/N) arched an eyebrow. "The Emperor’s nephew?"
The scout gave a stiff nod. "He is young, but skilled. The Emperor believes it best that he keeps an eye on you."
Of course he does… (Y/N) sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Great. He's on babysitting duty."
The scout didn’t respond- just motioned for her to step inside.
(Y/N) hesitated before entering. The room wasn’t terrible, but it was nothing fancy either. Two small beds sat on opposite sides of the space, both neatly made. There was a single wardrobe, a desk against the far wall, and a few shelves lined with books, candles, and training manuals.
The room smelled faintly of parchment and dust, mixed with something vaguely metallic- probably from whatever weapons or armor were stored in here.
And then she spotted him.
A boy sat on the edge of one of the beds, hunched over a book. He looked up when she walked in, his bright magenta eyes immediately locking onto her.
He was younger than her- probably twelve, a little shorter than her, with short blond hair that swooped slightly in front of his face. His features were sharp, with a hooked nose and a slight gap between his teeth. He had a small chip in his ear, but other than that, he didn’t seem to have any visible scars.
For a second, they just stared at each other.
Then, (Y/N) sighed dramatically and flopped onto the unoccupied bed.
“So, Hunter, huh?” she said, folding her arms behind her head. “Guess that makes you my new babysitter.”
The boy bristled. “I’m not your babysitter,” he said quickly, his voice carrying the kind of indignant edge only a twelve-year-old could manage. “I’m training to become a scout. I have actual responsibilities.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not much older than me.”
“I’m thirteen.”
“That’s barely a difference.”
“Still older.”
Hunter exhaled sharply through his nose and shut his book with a snap. “Look,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why my uncle wants me to share a room with you, but just stay out of my way, and we won’t have any problems.”
(Y/N) snorted. “Oh, trust me, staying out of the way is the last thing I plan to do.”
Hunter gave her a long, scrutinizing look.
Before either of them could say anything else, a knock at the door interrupted them.
A scout stepped inside, dropping a neatly folded pile of clothes onto a nearby chair. "These are for you," they said to (Y/N). "Your scout uniforms, a mask, and a few off-duty outfits."
(Y/N) sat up, finally feeling a little relieved. "Awesome. Running around in a bathing suit wasn’t exactly my plan for today."
The scout gave a curt nod before leaving.
(Y/N) picked up one of the uniforms, inspecting it. The material was sturdy but flexible, mostly gray with black accents- same as what she had seen on the others. The off-duty clothes were simpler, mostly dark tones, but comfortable-looking.
Hunter watched her from his bed, arms still crossed.
"So," he said, voice measured. "You’re really human?"
(Y/N) glanced at him, then tapped her collarbone where her Gem gleamed faintly. "Half."
Hunter’s magenta eyes flickered to the gemstone, curiosity flashing across his face.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Hunter tilted his head. "Well… at least you’re not completely useless."
(Y/N) snorted. "Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it."
Hunter just hummed, flipping open his book again.
(Y/N) exhaled, rubbing at the fresh sigil on her wrist.
This was her new reality- for now, at least.
But she had no plans to stick around forever.
She just had to play along… until she found a way out.
Two years had passed since (Y/N) had been thrown into the Boiling Isles. Two years since she had been forced into the Emperor’s Coven, branded with a sigil meant for witches- one that, strangely, never seemed to affect her the way it did others.
She had learned a lot in that time.
Magic wasn’t just one thing here- it was divided, structured, controlled. There were different types of magic, and each coven specialized in one: Abominations, Healing, Illusions, Potions, and so on. Every witch was expected to join a coven, to be marked with a sigil that locked them into one type of magic for life. Only the Emperor’s Coven- Belos’s personal force- had the privilege of wielding multiple types of magic.
And anyone who refused to join a coven?
A wild witch.
(Y/N) had heard plenty about them. The Emperor painted them as dangerous, reckless, a threat to the system that kept order in the Isles. But the more she learned, the more she saw how much of it was just control.
She had trained alongside Hunter, learning the ways of the scouts, learning about the world she had been thrown into. And, in that time, she had become something she never expected- a partner.
After their training, they had been officially paired as scouting partners, working together on missions for the Emperor’s Coven. They had been given a slightly larger room than before, though they still shared it- two separate beds, a single wardrobe, and a small desk where Hunter often poured over books late into the night... Plus the little things (Y/N) made, scattered about in some places.
Despite their rocky start, they had grown into a strange, competitive sort of friendship.
Hunter was still Hunter, stubborn, cocky, always trying to prove himself. But over the years, (Y/N) had seen the cracks in his mask. He wasn’t just some power-hungry lackey- he wanted to be something, to prove his worth.
She got that.
And, despite everything, she trusted him more than anyone else in this place.
Not that she’d tell him that.
(Y/N) leaned against the railing of a high balcony overlooking the city of Bonesborough. The sky was dimming, lanterns flickering to life across the streets below. She tugged her gloves higher over her hands, absentmindedly brushing her fingers over the sigil on her wrist.
It still didn’t affect her.
Not the way it did witches. She had seen them struggle when they tried to use magic outside of their coven’s restriction, felt their pain when the sigil burned into them. But her? She could still summon her weapons, still feel the hum of energy in her Gem, still do things no one else here could.
And Belos knew it.
He had never spoken about it directly, but she had seen the way he watched her, the way he monitored her training, like she was an experiment he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
And she hated it.
“(Y/N).”
Hunter’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see him approaching, his white Scout cloak swaying with each step. He had gotten taller over the years- not by much, but enough that he was no longer shorter than her. His face had grown sharper, more defined, but his magenta eyes still held that same intense focus.
“Daydreaming again?” he asked, stopping beside her.
(Y/N) smirked. “What can I say? Your Uncle gives us such boring work, Blondie.”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “We have a mission tomorrow. Higher-ups want us scouting near the Knee. We leave at dawn.”
“Right, right,” she said, waving a hand. “Any actual details, or do I have to guess?”
Hunter huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s just recon. There have been rumors of wild witches moving in that area. We’re supposed to investigate, report back if we find anything.”
(Y/N) exhaled through her nose. She knew how this went. If they found wild witches, they were supposed to report them, let the coven take care of it.
The problem was…
She wasn’t so sure she wanted to.
Over the past few months, rumors had been circulating- whispers about wild witches banding together, resisting the coven system. And, more interestingly, there had been talk of something else.
Another human.
(Y/N) had been keeping her ears open, listening for any mention of this mystery person. A human in the Isles? That wasn’t something that happened every day. If there really was someone else from her world here, she needed to find them.
Hunter shifted beside her, his eyes scanning the streets below. “You’re distracted.”
(Y/N) shrugged. “Aren’t I always?”
Hunter frowned but didn’t press. He knew her well enough by now to know when she wasn’t ready to talk. Still, as the sky darkened and the city lights flickered, (Y/N) made a silent decision. If there was another human here… She was going to find them.
After gazing at the area below for a while longer, the two of them head back to the Castle, to rest and prepare for the mission in the morning...
When the time came, the wind howled as (Y/N) and Hunter crouched low behind a jagged rock formation, scanning the Knee for any signs of wild witch activity. The area was desolate- snow-covered ruins and eerie skeletal remains of the Titan’s long-dead body stretched across the landscape. It was cold, but nothing (Y/N) couldn’t handle.
Hunter adjusted his mask, his magenta eyes narrowing as he peered through the holes. “Anything?” he asked.
(Y/N) kept her eyes on the distant figures ahead. “Couple of witchlings,” she muttered. “Nothing worth reporting.”
Hunter sighed. “Great. Another boring recon mission.”
(Y/N) smirked. “You’re the one who wanted to take this seriously, Blondie.”
Hunter shot her a glare, but she ignored him, focusing on the three witches she had spotted earlier.
The Blight kids.
She recognized them from past missions- Edric and Emira, the older twins, and their younger sister, Amity. They weren’t causing any trouble, just training. The twins were helping their sister with a training wand, guiding her as she practiced spells.
It was harmless.
(Y/N) leaned back against the rock. “Nothing to worry about. They’re still in school. Too young to be locked into a coven yet.”
Hunter hummed in agreement, but they both knew that wasn’t always a guarantee. Not many were allowed to join covens as young as they had been, but the Emperor had made exceptions before.
(Y/N) turned her gaze elsewhere, scanning the landscape for anything unusual.
That’s when she saw them.
At first, she thought they were just another pair of witches training in the wilderness. One was tall, wearing a red dress, with a coat over it. She was moving with practiced ease, magic swirling at her fingertips. The other was younger- around twelve, maybe- with a small frame and a hat covering her head.
(Y/N) wouldn’t have thought anything of it… if it weren’t for the way the girl struggled.
The older woman flicked her wrist, effortlessly making a spell circle. The younger girl tried to copy her… but nothing happened. She tried again, waving her hands frantically, but the magic simply wasn’t there.
The girl pouted, stomping her foot in frustration.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched.
That… wasn’t normal. Most witchlings could do at least some magic, even if it was weak, even if it needed assistance. But this girl? Nothing. Her eyes darted back to the older woman. It took her a second to recognize her, but when she did, her stomach twisted.
The Owl Lady.
(Y/N) had heard about her before- Eda Clawthorne. A notorious wild witch, a troublemaker, and someone the Emperor had his eye on.
And she was training a girl who couldn’t use magic.
(Y/N)’s fingers twitched toward her Gem, her mind racing.
A human.
It had to be.
She could feel Hunter shift beside her, his attention also locked onto the scene ahead. “That’s the Owl Lady,” he murmured. “We should report this.”
(Y/N) hesitated. “Should we?”
Hunter turned to her, brow furrowed. “She’s a known wild witch. You know the rules- if we spot her, we report her.”
(Y/N) clenched her jaw. She knew the rules. She had followed them for two years- but this was different. This wasn’t just a wild witch causing trouble. This was another human.
And if Belos found out?
She had no doubt in her mind- this girl wouldn’t get a choice in what happened next.
“…Not yet,” (Y/N) said.
Hunter frowned. “What?”
(Y/N) forced a smirk. “Come on, Blondie. You really think Belos doesn’t already know the Owl Lady’s out here? If we bring him this, he’s just going to say we wasted his time.”
Hunter hesitated, clearly torn.
(Y/N) pressed further. “Let’s keep watching. See what they’re up to. If it’s anything actually dangerous, then we report it.”
Hunter exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if we get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”
(Y/N) grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She turned her gaze back to the girl.
This was it.
This was her chance to finally get some answers.
(Y/N) moved silently through the snow-covered terrain, crouching low behind the jagged rock formations as she and Hunter edged closer to The Owl Lady and the young girl. The wind howled through the valley, but she barely felt the cold, her entire focus locked onto the scene in front of her.
She needed to be sure- was this girl really human? Or just a witch with some sort of magic-blocking issue?
Hunter followed after her, his arms crossed, clearly annoyed. “This is reckless,” he muttered under his breath. “We should’ve reported this already.”
(Y/N) smirked. “You should’ve reported this already. I never said I was going to.”
Hunter groaned. “This is why I don’t let you plan things.”
(Y/N) ignored him, her eyes fixed on Eda and the girl.
The Owl Lady was… something else.
Instead of teaching the girl proper spells, she was eating snow, explaining the different types as if that had anything to do with magic. The girl- who was bundled up in a coat and hat- looked increasingly frustrated, her arms flailing as she pouted.
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. What kind of training method is that?
“She’s not even teaching her,” Hunter whispered, unimpressed. “What is this supposed to be?”
“No clue,” (Y/N) muttered, tilting her head as she watched.
The girl huffed, stomping her foot. “Eda! I wanna learn real magic! Not about weird snow flavors!”
Eda licked a bit of snow off her hand, nodding sagely. “That’s exactly what someone who doesnt know what they are doing would say.”
The girl groaned dramatically, throwing her arms up. “Come on! You said you’d teach me properly if I became your apprentice!”
Eda sighed. “And I will! But magic isn’t just about waving your hands around and hoping for the best, kid.” She turned her back for a moment, rummaging through her bag. “You’ve gotta understand it, feel it-”
(Y/N)’s eyes sharpened as the girl suddenly perked up, her expression shifting.
Something mischievous.
She glanced over at where the Blight siblings had been training earlier- where Amity’s training wand still lay abandoned in the snow.
(Y/N)’s stomach clenched as the girl quickly tiptoed over, her boots crunching lightly in the snow.
“Ohhh, here we go,” (Y/N) murmured.
Hunter frowned. “What?”
The girl smirked, crouching down and snatching up the wand before Eda could notice. Her fingers curled around the handle as she straightened up, holding it like it was some kind of trophy.
Then, with a spark of excitement in her eyes, she quickly copied the spell circles Eda had been trying to teach her. Before (Y/N) could see if she could actually cast the spell, Hunter jabbed at her slightly with his elbow, making her glance over at him.
“We need to go back and tell Belos,” Hunter said, his voice tense.
(Y/N) snapped her gaze to him. “Are you kidding me?” she whispered harshly. “We just found another human, and your first thought is to run off and tell him?”
Hunter’s jaw tightened. “That’s what we’re supposed to do.”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Right, because Belos totally won’t just lock her up the second he finds out she exists.”
Hunter exhaled sharply through his nose. “You don’t know that.”
(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “Yeah? And you do?”
He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough.
(Y/N) shook her head. “Come on, Hunter. You know how he is. You know what he does to people who don’t fit into his perfect little system.” She gestured toward the girl. “She’s human! She’s not even a wild witch! What do you think he’s going to do when he finds out she doesn’t belong?”
Hunter’s grip on his staff tightened. “That’s not our call to make.”
(Y/N) stepped closer, lowering her voice. “So what, we just hand her over? Let Belos decide what happens to her? Just like he decided for us?”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed at her slightly. “That’s different.”
(Y/N)’s heart pounded. “How?”
“Because we chose this!” he hissed. “We trained for this! We earned our place in the Emperor’s Coven! She-” He motioned toward the girl. “-She’s just some random kid who got stuck here!”
(Y/N) crossed her arms. “So was I! So why should we turn her in?”
Hunter groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re being reckless again.”
“And you’re being blind.”
Hunter whipped toward her, his eyes sharp. “I follow the rules, (Y/N)! That’s what keeps us safe!"
(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Hunter grabbed her by the shoulders.
She froze.
His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm. Desperate. His magenta eyes locked onto hers, his expression taut with something almost pleading.
“We need to go back and tell Belos,” he said, his voice quieter now, but more urgent. “You don’t understand- he… We’ve already done too much.”
(Y/N)’s breath hitched.
She did understand.
Hunter wasn’t the Golden Guard yet, but he was striving for it. He wanted to prove himself, to be someone in Belos’s eyes. And he knew- just as well as she did- that they had already gone too far off course.
If they stayed, if they pushed this any further…
There would be consequences.
For both of them.
(Y/N) felt the tension in Hunter’s grip, the slight tremble in his fingers as he held onto her shoulders. She didn’t need to use her Gem’s abilities to feel the desperation radiating from him- his expression said it all.
He was scared.
He was scared of failing.
Scared of what would happen if they made the wrong call.
(Y/N) swallowed hard, her shoulders slowly relaxing under his grip. She had spent two years by his side, training, fighting, surviving in this world. They had started as rivals, as reluctant partners, but now?
He was the only person in this entire place that she trusted.
Her lips curled into a soft, almost resigned smile. It wasn’t her usual cocky smirk, nor the teasing grin she always threw his way.
It was something real… Something gentle.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll go back.”
Hunter blinked, surprised at her sudden change of tone. He let go of her shoulders, stepping back slightly, as if unsure whether to believe her.
(Y/N) exhaled through her nose, running a hand through her hair. “You’re right,” she admitted, though it pained her to say it. “We’ve already done too much. If we wait any longer, we’ll get in trouble.” She let out a dry chuckle. “And I really don’t feel like getting locked up today.”
Hunter studied her, searching her face for any sign of deception. But there was none.
(Y/N) meant it.
His shoulders lowered slightly, and he nodded. “Good. We’ll report what we saw. Belos needs to know.”
(Y/N) forced herself not to grimace at that part. She just casted a glance toward the girl again, before nodding slowly.
“Alright, Blondie,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
With one last look at the wild witches in the distance, (Y/N) turned on her heel and followed Hunter back toward the Emperor’s Coven.
The wind whipped past them as Hunter’s staff soared through the sky, cutting through the dark clouds over the Boiling Isles. (Y/N) held on tightly, her mind racing.
She glanced at Hunter, his face set in a determined, almost grim expression. He believed this was the right thing. He had to. This was his whole life, his whole purpose- following orders, proving himself, earning his place.
And, for better or worse, (Y/N) had chosen to stand beside him.
As the castle loomed ahead, its towering white spires gleaming under the pale light, (Y/N) forced down the unease bubbling in her gut. When they entered the throne room, (Y/N) immediately felt the oppressive weight of Belos’s presence settle over her.
He sat on his throne, his golden mask unreadable, his long cloak draped over his form like a shroud. The air was thick with something dark, something wrong.
(Y/N) and Hunter both dropped to one knee.
No matter how much (Y/N) hated bowing to anyone, she knew better than to test Belos’s patience.
Hunter spoke first, his voice steady- though (Y/N) could hear the faint edge of nerves beneath it.
“We scouted the Knee as ordered,” Hunter reported. “We spotted a few witchlings, nothing of concern… but then we saw The Owl Lady.”
At that, Belos tilted his head slightly. “And you did not return immediately?”
Hunter swallowed. “We wanted to be sure-”
That was the wrong answer.
Before (Y/N) could react, a sickly green tendril of dark, corrupted magic shot from Belos’s fingertips, moving too fast.
It slashed across Hunter’s face and neck.
Hunter choked on a breath, his eyes going wide as pain ripped through him. His body instinctively curled inward, one hand shooting up to press against the fresh wound. Blood dripped between his fingers, staining his gloves.
(Y/N) moved without thinking- she was at his side in an instant, her Gem flaring to life, her eyes burning bright pink.
She glared up at Belos, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She could feel everything- the suffocating darkness in the air, the flicker of pain rolling off of Hunter, the twisted amusement buried deep in Belos’s presence.
This wasn’t a lesson.
It was punishment.
Her voice was sharp, shaking with barely contained rage. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
The room fell into a suffocating silence… Gi didn’t care. She knew she had just crossed a very dangerous line.
But right now?
She didn’t give a damn.
Belos tilted his head slightly, his golden mask betraying nothing. The room still felt suffocating, heavy with his presence.
“This is punishment,” he said calmly, his voice steady, as if explaining something simple to a disobedient child. “For not following orders.”
(Y/N)’s blood boiled, her pink-glowing eyes still locked onto him.
Hunter, still doubled over, sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers pressing against the wound on his cheek and neck. He was trying to keep quiet, trying to stay composed, but (Y/N) could feel his pain like it was her own.
“Next time,” Belos continued, his voice dripping with authority, “maybe you’ll think twice before disobeying.”
(Y/N)’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
But she knew better than to push further… Not now.
Belos flicked his wrist dismissively. “Leave me.”
(Y/N) was already moving- she slid an arm around Hunter’s back, careful but firm, helping him stand as his legs wobbled slightly. He still held one hand against his wound, his breaths shallow but controlled.
They didn’t say a word as they left the throne room, moving through the castle halls in tense, heavy silence.
The Healing Wing of the Emperor’s Coven was quiet when they arrived, dim candlelight flickering in glass lanterns along the walls. It was meant for scouts who got injured during missions- but not for those injured in the throne room.
Still, (Y/N) didn’t hesitate. She carefully led Hunter to one of the cots, easing him down before turning to one of the nearby healers. “He needs help. Now.”
The healer, a middle-aged witch from the Healing Coven, raised an eyebrow but quickly got to work, their hands glowing with soft blue light as they approached Hunter.
(Y/N) took a slow breath, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, trying to breathe past the lingering rage still burning inside her. Hunter just sat there, silent as the healer examined his wound, his magenta eyes staring at the floor.
She hated this.
She hated all of this.
But more than anything- more than the mission, more than the punishment, more than Belos- she hated that Hunter wasn’t surprised… Like he had expected this. Like it had happened before.
(Y/N) clenched her fists, her Gem pulsing faintly.
She wasn’t going to forget this- and she sure as hell wasn’t going to forgive it.
The soft glow of healing magic flickered against the dim candlelight as the healer worked on Hunter’s wound. (Y/N) stood off to the side, arms crossed tightly, watching every movement. The healer’s hands glowed a calming blue, slowly sealing the gash, easing the bleeding, knitting the torn skin back together. But even with magic, some things couldn’t be undone.
When the healer finally stepped back, they sighed. “That’s all I can do. The wound is closed, but the scarring… it’ll stay.”
Hunter barely reacted. He just gave a stiff nod, his jaw tight. (Y/N), however, clenched her fists. She knew that. She knew it wasn’t going to disappear entirely. But hearing it made her stomach twist with anger all over again.
The scar ran from the side of Hunter’s neck, up along his jaw, and across his cheek, ending just below his eye. His skin was still bruised around it, tender from the rawness of fresh healing.
Belos had done this to him.
Their own leader had scarred him just for hesitating.
(Y/N) inhaled sharply through her nose and forced herself to swallow the rage bubbling inside her. Now wasn’t the time. She stepped forward, moving to Hunter’s side. He hadn’t spoken much since they left the throne room.
“Come on, Blondie” she murmured, her voice softer than usual. “Let’s get you back to our room.”
Hunter didn’t argue. He stood, stiff but steady, and let (Y/N) guide him out of the healing wing.
The walk back to their shared quarters was quiet… Too quiet.
(Y/N) glanced at Hunter out of the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed straight ahead. But she could feel the way his emotions twisted and churned inside him. She wanted to say something. Anything.
But what was she supposed to say? Sorry our boss is a complete psychopath? Sorry this happened to you? Sorry I dragged this out and made things worse?
None of it would fix this… So she said nothing.
When they finally reached their room, she guided him inside and shut the door behind them. Hunter wordlessly sat on his bed, rubbing a gloved hand over his face before resting his elbows on his knees. He exhaled slowly, staring at the floor.
(Y/N) hesitated, then sat beside him, not too close, but close enough. For a long moment, they just sat there in silence.
Then, finally, Hunter spoke. “I shouldn’t have argued,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse, tired. “I should’ve just… obeyed.”
(Y/N)’s eyes flashed. “No.”
Hunter blinked, looking up at her.
(Y/N) turned to him fully, her (E/C) eyes- still faintly pink from lingering emotion- burning with something fierce. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this is your fault.”
Hunter frowned, his fingers twitching at his sides. “But I-”
“No.” (Y/N) shook her head. “Belos chose to do this. He didn’t have to, Hunter. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Hunter swallowed hard, his gaze dropping again. “Doesn’t change anything.”
(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe not. But it wasn’t your fault.”
She hesitated for a moment, then reached out, gently touching his sleeve, just for a second. A small, silent reassurance… Hunter didn’t pull away. He just sighed and closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping slightly.
She hated seeing him like this.
Carefully, she shifted a little closer, keeping her movements slow, deliberate. Her free hand lifted, hesitating for just a second before cupping the uninjured side of his face.
Hunter stiffened at the contact, his magenta eyes flicking to hers in surprise… But he didn’t pull away. Her thumb brushed against his jaw, slow and soft, a comforting touch rather than anything demanding. She let out a quiet sigh, her Gem glowing faintly in the dim candlelight.
“Hunter,” she murmured.
His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, but he stayed quiet.
(Y/N)’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, her voice dropping to something softer, something teasing. “I am sorry, though.”
Hunter frowned. “For what?”
She tilted her head slightly, her smile turning just a little playful. “For dragging this out. For making things harder. But, y’know…” Her thumb brushed along his cheek again. “You still look just as handsome.”
A slow blink.
Hunter’s ears immediately turned pink.
His mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again, as if he was trying to find words but failing miserably. His usual composure, his sharp retorts and perfectly structured logic- gone.
(Y/N) grinned.
There it was...
A small, flickering moment of something other than pain, than duty, than the crushing weight of what had just happened. Just for a second.
She could do more. She could use her Gem, could ease the tension twisting in his chest, could make him feel lighter, could quiet the storm inside of him.
But she wouldn’t.
Because even though she could sense emotions, even though she could manipulate them if she wanted to… That wasn’t her choice to make. Hunter’s emotions, his pain, his feelings- those belonged to him.
So instead, she just let her hand linger, warm and steady, letting him decide what to do next.
After a moment, Hunter finally managed to find his voice. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his face still lightly flushed.
(Y/N) smirked. “And yet, you’re not denying it.”
Hunter groaned, rolling his eyes, but she could feel the shift- the tiniest, smallest change. The weight of the moment didn’t disappear, but it eased, just a little.
[Request]
HH x TOH AU
This one is with Amity and Angel bonding with each other after they both find out that they have similar experiences with abuse.
(WARNING: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, both Physical & Psychological Abuse.)
A/N: @beastkeeper91, I love writing for fandom crossovers, so I love how many I've been getting :}
Trust Fall Trauma pt.2
pt.1
Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.
Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Toxic parent-child relationships, Trauma responses, Mild language.
Word Count: 1377
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It started, as many things at the Hotel did, with chaos.
“WHO put glitter in the toaster?!” Vaggie shrieked from the kitchen, holding up the crime scene with righteous fury.
“That would be me,” Angel Dust said proudly, sipping something fizzy and definitely not Charlie-approved. “I was experimenting.”
“With what? Arson?” Vaggie snapped.
Angel winked. “Domestic sparkle.”
In the corner, Amity bit back a snort. She was draped lazily across the bean bag she’d claimed during the last “team-building” activity (A.K.A the hostage decorating session). A book was open on her lap, mostly ignored.
Charlie breezed in, arms full of new flyers for her “Soulful Sundays” program, handing them out like cursed coupons.
“Angel, Amity- go put these up around town, please!”
“What am I, your poster boy?” Angel asked, examining one with his face doodled onto the logo. “Wait… actually, this is kind of cute. Look at my lashes.”
Amity rolled her eyes but stood. “I swear, if I get stabbed doing this again, I’m charging something next time.”
They were out the door five minutes later, squabbling lightly as they walked through the dim streets of Pentagram City.
“I still don’t get why I have to help,” Amity muttered, clutching her roll of posters.
“Because you have claws and you’re scary and people won’t mess with us?” Angel offered. “And because you secretly like us.”
She snorted. “Keep dreaming, spider.”
They wandered for a while, stapling posters to demon poles and charmingly decrepit walls, dodging the occasional mugging in progress. Eventually, they found themselves on the roof of a low building overlooking the twisted skyline.
Amity sat on the edge, feet dangling. Angel joined her, legs crossed delicately, cigarette in hand. For a while, they just watched the city breathe.
It was surprisingly… peaceful.
“Hey,” Angel said after a beat, glancing at the stripes on her arms. “You always had those?”
Amity tensed, glancing down.
The markings were faint, like natural fur patterns. But they weren’t. Not really... Not to her.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I've had them since I got to hell… Had them before too, but uh… They weren't exactly just marks at that time.”
Angel didn't push. He just nodded, taking a drag.
“I got scars, too,” he said after a minute. “...Val made sure of that.”
Amity looked at him sideways. There was something raw in his voice, despite the lightness he tried to fake. The cracks showed through if you knew where to look.
“My mom,” she said slowly, “Didn’t even care that I was hurting myself when she found out. She used to say the pain meant I was being shaped into something ‘worthy.’ That I’d thank her someday…”
Angel scoffed. “Let me guess. You didn’t.”
“I bled out on the floor of my bedroom when I was sixteen,” Amity said flatly. “So, no. I didn’t.”
Silence.
Angel took another drag, then offered the cigarette to her.
To no one's surprise, she declined it.
“Val told me I was nothing without him,” Angel said, voice softer now. “Just a pretty face with a hole to fill. Said I was lucky he kept me.”
“He sounds like Odalia,” Amity muttered, watching the smoke curl up from the cigarette Angel was smoking, into the deep red sky. “Except she preferred emotional evisceration. Less mess.”
“You ever try to fight back?”
“Once,” she said. “Got locked in my closet for a week.”
Angel winced.
They sat there, two ghosts with matching bruises in different shapes, saying nothing for a while.
Eventually, Amity spoke again.
“You ever wonder why the scars aren’t here, but the damage still is?”
“All the time,” Angel said. “I think Hell takes the pain and turns it into something you gotta wear. Like a suit. Or a warning.”
Amity looked down at her arms. The fur shimmered faintly under the lights of Hell.
“Maybe it’s not a punishment,” she said. “Maybe it’s a reminder. That we went through it...”
Angel looked at her then, really looked. The kid who called Charlie "Mom" by accident. The tough girl with the sharp wit and the too-tired eyes.
“You’re alright, Blight,” he said, tapping ashes into the void. “Kinda messed up, but in a way I respect.”
“You too, Angel,” she replied. “Spider freak.”
He grinned. “Trauma twins?”
She held up a fist.
He bumped it.
Eventually, Angel's cigarette burned down, and the chill of the rooftop crept in- not that Hell had real seasons, but the air still found ways to bite… Even with the heat.
Amity stretched, tail flicking lazily behind her. “We should finish the job before Charlie has a meltdown and starts handing out redemption-themed stickers again.”
“God forbid,” Angel groaned. “Last time I found one on my ass.”
They hopped down, finishing their poster rounds with minimal incident- aside from one demon who tried to flirt with Angel and got a mouthful of claws courtesy of Amity’s quick temper.
“Damn, girl,” Angel whistled as they walked away. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
“Good,” she said. “I was gonna put that on a business card.”
By the time they got back to the hotel, the front lobby was quiet, lit only by the warm golden glow of Charlie’s favorite chandelier and the soft flicker of whatever infernal candles Alastor insisted on lighting. The chaotic noise of earlier had faded. For once, things were… calm.
They stood in the doorway for a second. Neither of them moved.
“You ever get that thing,” Angel said, voice oddly gentle, “where you walk back into a place, and it feels like home, but your brain’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
Amity nodded slowly. “All the time.”
They entered together. Quietly. Like if they talked too loud, the spell might break.
Charlie was curled up on a couch in the lounge, half-asleep with a book open across her chest and her hair messed up a bit.
Angel grinned. “Sunshine passed out mid-sentence.”
Amity smiled faintly, something warm flickering behind her ribs. “She does that.”
They didn’t wake her. Just set the last few posters on the coffee table and sank into the nearby beanbags- Angel flopping like he was melting, Amity perching with the caution of a cat ready to bolt.
“You think she really means it?” Amity asked suddenly. “All this redemption stuff?”
“Charlie?” Angel leaned back, arms behind his head. “Yeah. She's nuts, but she means it. I’ve never seen someone try so hard to love everyone. It’s kinda annoying, honestly.”
Amity smirked. “She’s nice to me…”
“She's nice to everyone, but... Yeah, pretty sure she has an extra soft spot for you,” Angel teased. “Especially after the whole 'Mom' thing.”
Amity gave him a half-hearted glare, then sighed. “I didn’t mean to say it.”
“Sure,” he said. “But you felt it.”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin there, eyes tracing the edge of the chandelier above.
“I used to imagine what it would feel like,” she murmured. “To have someone who didn’t hurt me. Someone who stayed. But after a while, it just… felt stupid. Like fairy tales for broken kids.”
Angel was quiet.
Then, softly, “I used to fake voices when I was little. Pretend someone was reading to me at night. Said goodnight. Said I was safe.”
Amity looked at him. “You've never told anyone that, have you?”
“Nope,” he said. “You’re just special.”
She rolled her eyes, but it lacked heat.
A long moment passed. Then she asked:
“What does healing even look like for people like us?”
Angel thought about it.
“Not running,” he said finally. “Not hiding. Laughing more. Flinching less. Waking up and not feeling like the worst version of yourself.”
Amity nodded, quiet. “That sounds… impossible.”
He smiled sadly. “Yeah. But Charlie thinks we can get there. And I guess…” He nudged her foot with his own. “If I’ve gotta stumble toward healing with anyone, I don’t mind if it’s you and the rest of these idiots...”
She didn’t say anything.
But she didn’t pull away either.
Instead, she leaned back into the beanbag and let herself breathe. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Amity didn’t feel like she had to earn the right to just exist…
Hello my friend; I just came across your account so I wanted to say that I love your stories and everything! I also wanted to know if you are doing any stories requests or anything?🌷✨🤗🍒
Hiiii, @lelewright1234!!!! :}
I do indeed take requests! All of my boundaries and fandoms are in my masterlist, feel free to request anything you'd like! I have a few other requests I'm working on currently, but I love writing, I normally I get them done pretty quickly.
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.”
Hello, can you please do genya x black reader headcannons? Preferably a longer list! Thank you!
A/N: Absolutely! I want to make it known, though- I am an Indonesian American. So, white and Asian. I did my best, though. If there is anything that is wrong, or inaccurate, please tell me! It's purely from me being ignorant. Gonna make that known before writing for other races. Also, the gender wasn't specified, so I kept it gender neutral.
Soft Places to Fall
Genya x GN!Reader Headcannons
Warnings: None that I can really see :}
Word Count: 1479
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- First Impressions: Genya was awkward at first- painfully awkward. He wasn’t used to anyone looking at him without flinching or backing off, let alone someone as stunning as (Y/N), whose rich skin gleamed in the sunlight and whose presence was calm and steady. The first time he tried talking to them, he tripped over his words and nearly barked like a startled dog.
- Learning to Communicate: (Y/N) had a patience Genya didn’t know he needed. They were steady and unbothered by his sharpness, never mistaking it for cruelty. When Genya stumbled, they waited. When he got frustrated with himself, they gently redirected him. (Y/N)’s communication style- expressive, honest, and rooted- helped Genya learn how to express himself in healthier ways.
- Pride in Heritage: One of the things that fascinated Genya most about (Y/N) was how deeply they honored where they came from. Whether it was in the way (Y/N) braided their hair with practiced, deft fingers, or the way they spoke proudly of their family’s traditions, Genya was endlessly respectful. He loved sitting close, watching them work with oils and combs, quietly offering his clumsy help if they ever needed an extra pair of hands.
- Realizing His Feelings: It took forever for Genya to admit to himself that he liked (Y/N). It hit him the hardest during a random training session- when (Y/N) laughed at something stupid and the sunlight caught their skin like they were dipped in gold. He stood there, slack-jawed, a sword dangling uselessly in his hand, while his heart punched against his ribs.
- The Clumsy Confession: Genya was horrible at confessing. He didn't plan anything out; it just exploded out of him one evening after a mission. (Y/N) was patching up his bruised hands, and suddenly he blurted, "I LIKE YOU!"- way too loud, way too fast. He looked absolutely horrified with himself after, fists clenched at his sides, refusing to meet their eyes.
- (Y/N)’s Response: (Y/N) just blinked at him... then smiled. A slow, soft smile that could melt glaciers. They didn’t laugh or make fun of him- they just leaned closer and said, “I like you too, you big dummy.” Genya nearly passed out from relief.
- Defending Them: Woe to anyone who even looked at (Y/N) the wrong way. Genya had zero tolerance for racism or disrespect. His temper was legendary already, but when it came to (Y/N), it burned hotter than anything. He didn’t care who he had to go through- he would never let them feel small or unwelcome.
- Physical Affection: Physical affection took a long time for Genya to get comfortable with- but (Y/N)’s touch was warm, grounding. They never rushed him. A brush of hands, a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, a slow forehead press after a hard battle- (Y/N) taught him that softness wasn’t weakness.
- Comfort after Insecurities: Whenever Genya fell into spirals of self-hatred- thinking himself ugly, monstrous, unworthy- (Y/N) was there. They’d cup his face, calloused thumbs brushing his cheeks, and remind him how they saw him: strong, loyal, beautiful in ways that no wound could ever touch. And when (Y/N) faced their own struggles, their exhaustion in a world that sometimes refused to understand them, Genya held them close, swearing between gritted teeth that he would always stand by them.
- First Date: Their first "date" wasn’t anything fancy. Genya asked them awkwardly if they wanted to walk with him after training. They wandered through a quiet forest path, hands brushing but not quite holding yet, both a little too shy. (Y/N) talked about their dreams, Genya listened intently, occasionally throwing in gruff, "That's real cool..." without realizing how red his ears were.
- Small Gestures of Love: Genya was never big on grand displays. Instead, he showed his love in quiet, stubborn ways- carrying their things without being asked, standing just slightly in front of them when they entered a new town, making sure they had a seat by the fire first. (Y/N) quickly learned to recognize the meaning behind his rough edges.
- Genya’s Protective Nature Intensifies: Now that they were officially dating, Genya’s protective instincts were off the charts. Even minor cuts on (Y/N) during training sent him into panic mode. He’d kneel in front of them immediately, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch until they nodded.
- Learning Affection in (Y/N)’s Style: (Y/N) showed affection in ways Genya wasn’t used to- through small touches, gentle teasing, long, meaningful looks. At first, he got so flustered he had to look away. But little by little, he grew used to it, even starting to crave it- especially when (Y/N) would reach up, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him into a soft, forehead-to-forehead moment.
- Awkward But Sweet Pet Names: (Y/N) had cute nicknames for him early on- “Tough guy,” “Big softie,” sometimes “Sunshine” just to mess with him. Genya had no idea what to call (Y/N) at first and would get so serious trying to pick the perfect one. Eventually, he just stuck with “(Y/N),” but the way he said it- low, reverent- made it feel like the most important name in the world.
- Their First Kiss: It happened after a brutal mission when they both thought they might not make it back. Sitting under a half-collapsed shrine, Genya finally worked up the nerve. It was so careful- he hovered a beat too long, giving (Y/N) every chance to pull away. But when (Y/N) tilted their head slightly and closed the gap, it was messy, desperate, and full of so much feeling Genya was almost shaking.
- Promises Made Quietly: Genya wasn’t a man of big speeches. Instead, after their first kiss, as he held (Y/N) tightly against him, he whispered, "I'll protect you... no matter what." It wasn’t just about demons. It was about the world. About ignorant looks, hateful words, anything that might ever try to dim (Y/N)’s light. He meant it with everything he had.
- Domestic Vibes: Once they were past the awkward phase, Genya was the definition of a homebody with (Y/N). He loved spending quiet evenings with them, whether it was cleaning weapons, sitting outside watching the stars, or just sharing food. Even in silence, there was never discomfort- only warmth.
- Physical Comfort: Genya got extremely affectionate after a while, but only with (Y/N). It wasn’t uncommon for him to absentmindedly pull them into his lap when sitting down, lean against them until he practically melted, or wrap his arms around their waist from behind when they were talking to someone.
- Hair and Skin Care Bonding: Genya lived for the moments when (Y/N) would let him help with their haircare routine. He took it very seriously- he’d sit on the floor in front of them, a towel spread out, oils and creams nearby, determined not to mess anything up. He loved the closeness, the quiet trust of it all. (Y/N) also started making small skincare blends for him when his scars acted up, and he followed their instructions religiously.
- Shared Dreams: Late at night, under the stars, they talked about the future. A quiet home. Fields of green. A place where (Y/N) could be loud, soft, angry, joyful- everything- without apology. Where Genya could smile without fear. They didn't know if they'd survive the war against demons, but if they did… they knew they'd build that life together.
- Jealous but Chill: Genya’s jealousy mellowed out after a while. If someone flirted with (Y/N), he didn’t immediately bristle like before. He trusted them completely. That said, he still gave a signature Genya death glare if someone got too bold- and (Y/N) would usually have to tug him away before he scared someone half to death.
- Fight Banter: After getting used to fighting side-by-side, (Y/N) and Genya developed a lowkey bantering style mid-battle. "Cover me!" "When don't I?" "Don't get cocky, (Y/N)!" It wasn’t disrespectful; it was rhythm. Trust. They were so in tune with each other that it made them a terrifying pair to face.
- Protectiveness Without Smothering: Genya’s protectiveness matured into a deep, steady support. He no longer rushed to shield (Y/N) from everything- he knew they were strong. Instead, he stood at their side, a constant, immovable force. He had faith in their strength and just wanted to be their shield when needed.
- Cooking Together: Neither of them were master chefs, but they loved cooking together. It was chaotic, messy, and filled with laughter. (Y/N) would introduce him to different seasonings and recipes from their culture, watching proudly as he learned to get the spices almost right. Genya beamed like a kid whenever (Y/N) complimented his cooking attempts.
you write for helluva boss?
Yes, I do, @ultimategraffitiguy. I added it to my last of fandoms :}
Can you do platonic sera x overlord!reader multipart/fanfction?
The lore: The Y/N is a powerful overlord who own entertainment district of pentangram (he posses velvet tea and Vox souls after they tired to kidnap Charlie, val dies lol) also he’s best friend of alastor and Charlie Morningstar. During one of this meeting with his subordinates vox and velvette they noticed something was fallen from heaven, they goes to check this out only to find out fallen sera and VERY hurt and wounded Emily, after he find out they known Charlie he help takes Emily to hotel, where lucifer helps Emily with her wounds. Y/N calm down sera enough to she could tell what happened in heaven. In heaven after sera approved Charlie plan after extermination, where due to that pentonius reddemed himself, lute somehow thanks to other seraphim’s, which convinced that hell and their allies are the danger managed to overthrow sera and the rest seraphim’s who were on sera and Emily side and she (lute) brought totalitarian rule to heaven.lute kills pentonius for being a “spy” and BRUTTALY injures Emily (she lost wings, right leg, left hand and the right eye) and banish her and sera to hell. She also planned in 6 months organize the final extermination, where he plans to kill all people not only from hell but also on earth.
A/N: Yes, of course! This one took me... Way longer than I thought it would LOL. Got it done though! Gonna start working on my other requests now, since this was the one I was solely focusing on, trying to get it done :} Also, fair warning, I didnt have all the colors I wanted for their dialogue. (Y/N), Charlie, Alastor, Sera, and Emily all have specific colors, buttttt... Everyone else doesn't. Sorry, but I did what I could.
Ashes of Grace
Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader
Warnings: Religious themes, Violence/Body horror, Death, Torture/Enslavement, Corruption of authority, Genocide/Extermination, Substance use
Word Count: 4868
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Pentagram City rarely slept. And neither did its monsters. Between the sleaze and sin, the neon-soaked streets, and the endless echoes of jazz and gunfire, power shifts were as common- and as violent- as the weather.
When Valentino’s body finally hit the floor, burned out and twitching under the weight of a wrath he'd never anticipated, the District changed forever.
At the center of it all stood (Y/N)- a name now spoken in equal parts awe and terror. A new overlord, born not from vanity or greed, but something deeper. Something biblical.
His rise hadn't just been loud; it had been seismic. After Velvette and Vox made the mistake of trying to kidnap Charlie Morningstar- Hell’s favorite princess, and (Y/N)'s dearest friend- (Y/N) retaliated with fire and iron. Velvette and Vox now belonged to him, their souls shackled to his service. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes... not. They wore their chains like tarnished jewelry, reminders of the price of betrayal.
Valentino didn’t get that luxury.
He died.
And with him, the District fell.
What rose from the ashes wasn't just a new territory. It was an empire of creativity, ruthlessness, and control- no longer just a playground for abusers, but a stage for something greater. Alastor, always amused by chaos, had grinned wide at the news. Charlie, overwhelmed, had cried when it was over, throwing her arms around (Y/N)'s shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered against him, her best friend…
(Y/N) only nodded, hiding the smoldering rage still burning deep in his bones.
A week passed. And inside his repurposed theater, (Y/N) lounged in a battered chair at the head of a heavy oak table, eyeing Vox and Velvette with lazy disinterest.
The two former overlords sat like petulant children, glaring daggers at anything but him.
"Don't act so bitter," (Y/N) drawled, resting his chin in one hand. "You're lucky I didn't turn you into lawn ornaments."
"I'd rather be one," Velvette muttered under her breath. "At least I had free will before."
Before (Y/N) could reply, something flashed through the high, smoke-clogged sky.
Not light. Not in the Hellborn sense.
It was something... higher… And it was falling fast.
Vox stiffened, staring upwards. "...That came from upstairs."
The theater doors slammed open, and they raced outside.
What they found wasn’t a crash site. It was a massacre.
The crater still smoked, shards of shattered halos glittering in the ash. Feathers- too white, too pure- floated like dying fireflies through the air. In the center, two figures lay broken.
One was barely breathing- her right leg severed, her hand gone, one eye torn out, her wings sheared off like scrap paper.
The other, though bleeding and shaking, was already dragging herself upright. Protective. Furious. Radiating raw divinity even through the grime.
(Y/N) approached carefully, his hands open, head tilted like a curious wolf.
"...You're angels," he said slowly. "Do you know Charlie?"
The seraphim’s expression cracked. She nodded, voice raw. "Yes... She's... our friend."
That was all (Y/N) needed.
Without hesitation, he lifted the mutilated one- Emily-into his arms. Gentle, despite the gore. His voice was low, steady.
"Then you're not enemies," he said. "You're survivors."
The Happy Hotel had seen its share of strange guests. But even here, Emily’s condition turned every head.
Charlie gasped the second she saw her, rushing forward to help. Vaggie barked sharp orders at Angel and Husk, clearing the lobby with military precision. Alastor, all false grins and real concern, set up a makeshift recovery area with eerie efficiency.
Then, Lucifer Morningstar himself swept in, as radiant and ridiculous as ever.
"Charlie!" he boomed, voice theatrical. "I came to see if-" His words cut off the second he spotted Emily. “Oh, fuck…”
Then Lucifer dropped to his knees beside her, pressing a glowing hand over Emily’s shattered body. His usual swagger softened into something almost tender.
"Hold on," he murmured. "We can fix you."
Hours later, after Emily stabilized under a blanket of maigc and careful hands, (Y/N) sat across from the still-shaking seraphim- Sera.
She couldn’t sit still. Pacing, flinching at every noise. Until finally, (Y/N) stood and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Breathe," he said quietly. "You're safe."
Slowly, she exhaled. And spoke.
"After Sir Pentious... After he came to Heaven, some of us began to question things," she said hoarsely. "Charlie’s idea of redemption didn’t seem so crazy anymore. Emily and I... we supported it. We gathered others. We tried to change things from within."
Her voice broke.
"But then came Lute."
The name seemed to leech the warmth from the room.
"After losing her arm in the fight you all had, she twisted everything. She called Charlie a devil. Called the hotel a trap. She rallied the fearful and the bitter... and they listened. Heaven turned into a machine."
Sera’s fists trembled.
"They hunted us. Emily and I were caught trying to flee. She... She ripped Emily apart. Then she banished us here, as a warning."
At the doorway, Charlie stood frozen, fists shaking.
Sera turned to face them fully.
"And it’s worse than that. She’s planning a Final Extermination. In six months. Not just Hell. Not just sinners. Earth, too."
Silence fell like a blade.
(Y/N) straightened, shadows unfurling around his boots. His voice, when it came, was steel.
"Then we’re not just saving Hell anymore," he said. "We’re saving everyone."
...Far above, Heaven's Throne Room had changed...
Where once golden beams warmed marble floors, now the light was colder, harsher, casting long skeletal shadows.
Lute sat perched atop a jagged throne, once a Exterminator- now a Leader.
A trembling seraphim bowed low before her.
"All remaining supporters of Sera have been purged. The rest... converted."
"And the traitors?" Lute asked. Her voice was a metallic hiss.
"Banished or destroyed."
She rose, wings unfolding in sharp, almost mechanical snaps.
"In six months’ time," she declared, "there will be no Hell. No Earth. Only perfection. Heaven will ascend through fire."
The court erupted in cold cheers as the corrupted seraphim spread their wings.
Back in the Happy Hotel, Emily’s eye fluttered open.
She was alive. Battered. Different. But alive.
Charlie was instantly by her side, gripping her hand tightly.
"You’re safe," Charlie whispered. "I promise."
Emily tried to sit up, her body aching with every movement.
"C-Charlie...?"
"Yes, it's me. Don’t worry. We’ve got you."
Lucifer, leaning nearby, flashed a crooked, nervous smile.
"Only because bleeding out on my daughter’s carpet is absolutely unacceptable. Bad for the aesthetic," he said, lightly. Then, more serious, he added, "I healed what I could. Your leg, your hand... But your wings..." He trailed off, frowning. "Those may take more work."
Tears welled in Emily’s remaining eye.
"Sir Pentious... He's really..."
Lucifer’s face darkened... Charlie just hugged her tighter.
Across the room, Sera sat curled at the bar, silent. Husk, uncharacteristically gentle, pushed a mug of something nonalcoholic toward her.
Nearby, Alastor watched with predatory curiosity.
"So," he said brightly. "Heaven’s fallen into the claws of a madwoman. Your friends butchered. Your hopes dashed." He smiled wider. "Welcome to Hell."
Sera flinched.
"We tried," she whispered. "We tried to save them. We believed in Charlie's dream..."
(Y/N) approached quietly, Vox and Velvette trailing behind like resentful ghosts.
"You still believe in it?" he asked.
Sera looked up, tears brimming.
"Yes."
He nodded once, a grim glint in his eye.
"Then we fight."
From the couch, Angel Dust cackled, tossing a grenade from hand to hand.
"About time! I’ve been dying to throw hands with someone uptight!"
It didn't take long for one of the Hotel’s many rooms to be taken, and changed. Celestial maps sprawled across walls and floors. Candles flickered wildly against the cracked stone.
Around a heavy oak table stood Lucifer, Charlie, Alastor, and (Y/N)- each face carved with focus.
"She wants to erase everything," Charlie said, voice tight. "Not just sinners. Everyone."
Alastor chuckled, low and eerie. "An ambitious apocalypse. I almost admire it."
(Y/N) planted his palms on the table, voice low and furious.
"We can't just defend. We strike first."
Charlie nodded fiercely, fire blazing in her eyes.
"We’re going to stop her. We’re going to prove we matter."
Lucifer clapped a proud hand on her shoulder.
"That’s my girl."
The mood was heavy, but not hopeless. A tense undercurrent thrummed through the room, setting everyone on edge. Maps and blueprints lay scattered across the table, papers weighed down with empty mugs and books. Sera stood at the center of it all, tracing a slow line along a map with two fingers, brow furrowed.
Around her, the others listened in silence. Charlie, Lucifer, (Y/N), Alastor, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, and Emily- propped up in a wheelchair and bundled in fresh bandages around her shoulders- watched with focused, anxious attention.
"Most of Heaven’s 'Winners' are still willing to listen," Sera said, voice low but steady. "They aren't like the Angels. They're just... humans. Humans who died and moved on. They remember. They can think for themselves."
Charlie tilted her head thoughtfully. "But what do they have to do with all this?"
"If we’re going to have any support up there, it'll be through them," Sera replied. She glanced around the room. "Lute’s seized control of Heaven’s higher ranks. She's convinced most of the Angels, crowned herself their queen. But the Winners... they’re still undecided."
(Y/N) crossed his arms, the gears already turning behind his narrowed eyes. "We could start a rebellion inside Heaven itself. Get the truth out before Lute locks everything down."
Sera gave a sharp nod. "Exactly. But we don’t have much time. After Emily and I fell, Lute accelerated her plans. She’s preparing the final phase right now."
"Then we don't just defend anymore," Lucifer said, his voice darkening. "We invade."
Sera met his gaze without flinching. "We hit fast. We send the message. And we take Lute out before she can trigger the Final Purge."
As the meeting dissolved into quieter preparations, Angel Dust wheeled Emily back toward her new room, a soft pink guest suite Charlie had thrown together- full of pillows, gauzy curtains, and delicate little touches meant to comfort. Emily was quiet, shrinking into herself, the overwhelming changes of the past days pressing in on her.
Angel, never good with heavy silences, plopped into a chair beside her and swung an arm lazily over the backrest. "So," he drawled, "how’s it feel bein’ the first angel who didn’t try to shank me on sight?"
Emily managed a weak, almost surprised smile. "We were taught that... souls in Hell couldn’t feel... I knew no different until I met Charlie."
He snorted and bumped her elbow with his. "Yeah, well, guess we’re full of surprises down here. Welcome to the club, doll."
She blinked, absorbing that, then tentatively leaned against him. "Thanks... for not being thrown off by me."
"Pfft." Angel waved it off. "Sweetheart, I’ve seen worse. Hell, you look better than half my dates."
"...I’m not sure if that’s comforting."
"It ain’t. But it’s true."
Later that evening, the corridors of the hotel grew quieter. Emily, wrapped in a simple jacket Charlie had picked out for her, made her way slowly down the hall. Every step was stiff, awkward- her balance thrown off.
Pushing through the swinging doors, she made her way to the bar, wincing as she hoisted herself onto a stool. Husk looked up from polishing glasses, one ear twitching as he noticed her.
"Not servin' you liquor, kid," he muttered, voice rough. "Charlie’d have my ass."
"I don't want a drink," Emily said quietly. "I just... wanted noise. Not pity."
Husk grunted, setting the glass down. "You walked pretty far," he said, more observation than praise.
Emily let out a hollow little laugh. "Didn’t want to stay in that room. It's too... Quiet."
She tapped the side of her head lightly. "When it’s that quiet, all I can hear is screaming from outside..."
Husk didn’t flinch. He just leaned his weight against the bar and nodded slightly, like he understood all too well.
They sat in silence for a while, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass against glass.
Eventually, Husk broke the quiet. "Why’d you come down here, really?"
Emily hesitated, looking down at the frayed sleeve covering her wrist. "Because... I think I'm scared." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be anymore."
For a moment, Husk simply stared at her. Then, with a grunt, he reached beneath the bar and pulled out a battered, worn playing card- the Queen of Hearts. Its corners were frayed, a small tear across the center.
"My last hand in a real poker game," he said, sliding it across the bar to her. "Lost everything. Still survived."
Emily stared down at the card like it was something sacred.
"You’re giving this to me?"
"Loaning it," Husk corrected. "For luck."
She tucked the card against her chest like armor, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered.
"Don't thank me. Win the next hand."
Meanwhile, across the hotel, final preparations were underway. In the lounge, Lucifer clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone's attention.
"Our infiltration team, then," he announced, a glint of theatrical excitement in his eye. "Charlie- the optimist; Sera- the righteous outcast; Emily- our fallen helper; and you, dear (Y/N)- the wildcard’s wildcard."
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. "You gonna narrate the whole mission?"
"Only the dramatic parts," Lucifer quipped, giving him a large smile.
"...So basically, all of it," (Y/N) muttered.
Charlie, ever the peacemaker, cleared her throat gently. "We have three objectives: reach the Holy Gates, rally the Winners to our side, and remove Lute before she can lead an attack."
Lucifer’s playful air faded slightly, replaced by something colder, sharper. "This isn’t just about Hell anymore. Or Heaven. This is about Earth. About proving redemption isn't some cruel joke."
Sera met his gaze and nodded once, solemn. "Then we strike fast."
At Lucifer’s gesture, a portal shimmered open in the air, unstable and crackling with divine static. It glowed like a tear in reality itself- liquid gold and silver threads of light straining to stay woven together.
Charlie approached the portal first, her hands trembling slightly, though her face was set with determination. Opening a portal to Heaven from Hell was unnatural, dangerous- and it showed. The light bled into the floor, the walls, everything it touched humming unnervingly.
"We don't know how long it'll hold," Lucifer warned. "Maybe a few hours. Maybe less if you screw around too much... Portals like these aren't usually supposed to be opened from this side..."
(Y/N) adjusted his coat, checking the weapons strapped across his hips. Nearby, Vox and Velvette watched, their usual smugness tempered by real worry. Sera tightened her grip on her sword, the blade gleaming faintly. Emily secured Husk’s playing card near her heart, her new sword slung awkwardly across her back.
Together, they looked ready.
Charlie turned back to Lucifer, her eyes fierce. "We’ll be back."
Lucifer smiled- but it was a fragile thing, brittle at the edges. "I know," he said.
Without another word, they stepped through the portal- and into stillness.
The air on the other side was cool, quiet in a way that felt... unnatural, like the whole world was holding its breath.
The gates loomed ahead, bathed in blinding light that offered no warmth. The team emerged slowly, blinking against the unnatural brilliance. Emily exhaled shakily, her hand tightening on her sword.
“The gates aren't usually... empty,” she muttered.
Normally, Saint Peter would have stood watch. Now, there was only silence.
(Y/N) swept his gaze over the endless marble sprawl before them. The architecture was grand, opulent- but it felt hollow, abandoned. Like a stage after the actors had fled mid-performance.
Sera muttered under her breath, voice strained. "This isn't right. Something's wrong."
Charlie tightened her grip on her staff, glancing nervously at the others. "We need to move. Fast."
They slipped forward through the eerie stillness, boots whispering over immaculate stone. Statues of angels lined the path, their faces twisted into expressions that were almost... pained. Not the serene smiles Heaven was famous for.
Emily limped slightly, favoring her newly healed leg, but kept pace grimly, the Queen of Hearts tucked safe against her ribs. She refused to slow them down.
As they neared the first courtyard- a vast open space dominated by a towering monument of silver and gold- (Y/N) raised a hand sharply. "Wait."
Movement… At first, it was just a ripple, like a heat mirage. Then forms began to materialize.
Dozens. No- hundreds.
Figures stepped out from the edges of the courtyard- Winners, eyes shadowed, hesitant. They were armed with angelic weapons- some with swords, others with halberds or spears- but none of them attacked.
Instead, they just... stared.
One woman near the front- a thin, graying soul with sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes, and large bunny ears- took a step forward.
"You're the ones who escaped," she said, voice cracking.
Her gaze landed on Sera, then Emily. "You came back."
Charlie stepped forward quickly, heart hammering in her chest. "Please- we’re not here to fight you. We’re here to stop Lute. To save everyone."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some looked uncertain. Others terrified. A few- a precious few- hopeful.
(Y/N) moved to stand beside Charlie, his voice carrying clean across the courtyard. "You know what she’s planning," he said coldly. "You’ve seen the signs. The exterminations... the disappearances. Heaven isn't salvation anymore. It's a slaughterhouse with a crown."
Silence.
Emily, breathless and shaking, found her voice. "I lost everything because I tried to help," she said, voice trembling but steady. "Sera and I... we saw the truth. If you stand with her, you'll lose yourselves, too."
A long, agonizing pause.
Then- a man near the back threw down his spear.
It clattered against the marble with a ringing finality.
One by one, others followed. Weapons dropped. People stepping out of their neat little lines, their faces raw with emotion.
The graying woman stepped forward again, her hands shaking.
"We follow you now," she whispered
(Y/N) let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Charlie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.
Sera looked ready to collapse from relief.
But before anyone could celebrate-
A loud banging sound tore through the air. Mechanical. Shattering. It echoed through the bones of the city like a death knell.
Charlie paled instantly. "She's coming."
From above, like a thundercloud, Lute descended. Around her, Exterminators unfolded from the shadows- sleek, brutal things, all flashing blades, baring their masks.
Lute smiled- a cruel, hateful one. "So this," she hissed, "is your rebellion?"
The newly turned Winners hesitated, fear rippling through their ranks.
(Y/N) stepped forward without hesitation, drawing his blade in one smooth motion, the tip glinting with something darker than metal.
He didn’t need to shout.
His presence alone was command enough.
Emily braced herself, lifting her sword with both hands. Sera set her jaw, raising her blade to guard. Charlie lifted her hands, trembling- but with fire in her eyes.
Lute laughed, the sound hollow and electric. "So be it," she said. "You can all burn together."
The Exterminators surged forward.
And the battle for Heaven began.
Lute met (Y/N)'s charge head-on, screaming a soundless war-cry, her wings flaring out wide like a specter of vengeance.
Their blades collided- but (Y/N) didn’t yield. He pressed forward, every strike hammering her defenses, forcing her back with sheer will. Charlie fought at his side, her eyes glowing with desperate red light, every swing of her claws another prayer hurled like a weapon. Sera drove her blade home again and again, ignoring the golden blood leaking from her side where a blade had caught her earlier. Emily, staggering but unbroken, struck too- a shallow cut, but enough to make Lute snarl and stagger.
The four of them moved like a single force. Hope. Anger. Love. Defiance.
"You're DONE!" (Y/N) bellowed. He struck low- a brutal, gouging slash across her knees.
Sera was already moving, her sword flashing upwards- tearing open Lute’s exposed side. And Emily- battered, exhausted Emily- threw her sword with everything she had.
The blade spun through the air- and punched through Lute’s heart.
The world seemed to stop.
Lute gasped, golden blood streaming from her mouth. Her wings spasmed violently, the corrupted light sputtering. Her eyes, so cold and cruel, flickered- fear flashing through them for the first time.
She fell to her knees.
"You… can’t…" she rasped.
(Y/N) stood over her, breathing hard, the others gathering behind him.
"You already lost," he said, voice quiet and absolute.
Lute tried to lunge one last time- a desperate, broken advance-
(Y/N) drove his blade through her throat.
The light died.
Lute crumpled, falling limp onto the marble. The Exterminators, leaderless, gave in, most either fleeing, or tossing down their weapons in defeat.
Across the courtyard, the everyone fell silent.
The battle was over. For a long moment, none of them moved.
The only sound was the ragged breathing of the survivors.
Then, slowly, Winners who had fought alongside them began to move through the carnage, beginning to clear the battlefield- gathering their fallen, offering silent prayers.
An eerie, heavy silence settled over Heaven’s once-pristine halls.
At the center of it all, (Y/N) stood with Charlie, Sera, and Emily.
Sera wiped her blade on her tattered dress and sheathed it slowly. She walked over, Emily limping close beside her, the two of them visibly shaken but steady.
Sera stopped before them, and for a moment, the words caught in her throat… Then she bowed- a deep, respectful gesture.
"You saved us," Sera said, her voice rough but sure. "You saved Heaven."
Emily offered a trembling smile, her bandaged hand pressed to her heart.
"You saved us," she echoed. "And... maybe yourselves too."
Charlie shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "We saved each other."
Sera smiled- soft, sad, but real. She looked at the group- at Charlie, at (Y/N), at Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Alastor lingering just out of the bloodstained light.
"I hope," Sera said, "that one day... when your mission fully succeeds... when Hell isn’t just a prison anymore... we’ll see you all again."
She swallowed hard, her hand brushing against her sisters.
"In Heaven."
Emily nodded fiercely, emotion thick in her throat. "You deserve it," she said. "Every one of you."
(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling the corner of his mouth- something tired, but deeply grateful. "We'll hold you to that," he said.
Behind them, the golden portal by the gates- flickering dangerously now- shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing across its edges.
Lucifer’s voice echoed from near the portal, "Time’s up! If you don’t wanna get stuck up here with the corpses, MOVE!"
Charlie turned, urgency snapping her back into motion. She grabbed Vaggie and (Y/N)'s wrist, tugging them toward the portal. Sera and Emily stepped aside, watching them go with solemn pride.
One by one, they sprinted toward the portal, battered and bruised- but alive. Alastor practically skipped through, humming under his breath. Angel Dust threw an exaggerated salute at Emily before diving in backward. Husk grumbled something about Emily keeping the card he gave her under his breath, but followed close behind.
The light swallowed them all.
And then- with a soft shuddering sigh- the portal collapsed, leaving only the broken battlefield and the survivors behind.
Above the battered gates of Heaven, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the light began to soften. No longer harsh. No longer cruel.
But warm.
Hopeful.
And far below- in a hotel full of sinners and misfits- redemption no longer seemed like just a dream.
The group stumbled out of the collapsing portal like survivors of a storm. They hit the lobby floor hard, some collapsing onto couches, others simply dropping where they stood.
Charlie sagged against the wall, clutching her chest, gasping huge breaths of smoky hotel air like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. Angel Dust sprawled dramatically across a bench, one leg draped over the backrest. "We’re alive! Suck it, Heaven!" Vaggie just dropped onto a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands with a weak laugh. Husk growled low in his throat, shuffling over to the bar- which Charlie didn’t even bother to scold him for.
(Y/N) stood a little apart from them all, his shoulders tight with exhaustion but his eyes still sharp, scanning every corner like he expected another attack.
Alastor straightened his coat with a little flourish, looking barely ruffled despite the battle they'd just fought. He approached, that permanent sharp-toothed smile a bit softer now- genuine, in its strange, predatory way.
"My, my," Alastor said, voice lilting. "I knew you had potential, but even I didn’t expect that little symphony." He gave (Y/N) a low, mocking bow. "You have my admiration."
(Y/N) snorted quietly. "Coming from you, that's... concerning." But a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Charlie pushed off the wall, her footsteps slow but determined, and closed the distance between them. She stopped in front of (Y/N), looking up at him with an expression so open, so grateful, it nearly staggered him.
"You didn’t have to do this," she said quietly. "You didn’t have to stay." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "But you did. And you saved so many more lives than just ours."
(Y/N) reached up, brushing his knuckles lightly under her chin, tipping her head just a fraction higher. "You’re my friend," he said simply. "That's all the reason I need."
Charlie’s throat bobbed in a thick swallow. She reached out impulsively- wrapped her arms around him in a tight, fierce hug. For a second (Y/N) froze- then he exhaled, slow and warm, and wrapped his arms back around her, grounding her.
Alastor watched with a faint tilt to his head, the smile on his face unreadable, but his red eyes softened around the edges.
When they finally pulled apart, Charlie’s smile was damp and glowing. "You’re one of us," she said. "No matter what anyone says."
(Y/N) ruffled her hair lightly, making her sputter a weak laugh- before his expression turned a little wry.
"...Speaking of things that belong to others," he muttered, voice dry.
Across the lobby, Vox and Velvette- looking thoroughly miserable- stood awkwardly by the doors. Velvette noticed him looking and made a dramatic gagging motion. Vox simply scowled, his screen flickering with static annoyance.
Charlie giggled nervously at the sight, covering her mouth. Even Alastor chuckled low in his chest, the sound like an old radio popping on.
(Y/N) sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I better get the gremlins back to their cage before they start redecorating."
He turned back to Charlie and Alastor one last time, catching their expressions- tired but proud.
With a mock salute, (Y/N) turned on his heel and strode across the room. He grabbed Vox by the back of his stupid designer jacket and yanked him forward, ignoring the glitchy cursing. Velvette followed, grumbling under her breath.
The front doors of the Hotel creaked open with a slow, eerie groan. (Y/N) paused just once in the doorway- glanced back over his shoulder.
At the threshold, the warm, battered light of the Hotel spilled across the floor behind him. It caught the edges of his coat, the lines of his frame, silhouetting him against the chaos they'd left- and the strange, imperfect hope they'd returned to.
Charlie stood watching him, Vaggie at her side, Angel Dust waving lazily from his perch. Alastor leaned on his cane nearby, grinning wide but... almost actually looking happy, while Husk offered a casual two-fingered salute from the bar.
(Y/N) let the corner of his mouth quirk up- a tired, crooked smile- and gave a simple nod.
Then he turned, dragging his reluctant prisoners with him, disappearing into the neon-drenched night of Pentagram City.
Outside, the air buzzed with tension and distant sirens and screams, the streets littered with scattered debris from the city’s usual violence. But somewhere under all the rot and grime, a pulse beat- faint, stubborn. The pulse of change. Of something new.
Inside the Hotel, Charlie wiped her face quickly, sniffling once before straightening her back.
"We're going to make this work," she said quietly, but with growing conviction. "We're going to fix this. All of it."
Vaggie squeezed her hand tightly. "We will."
Alastor chuckled, adjusting his tie. "The world will never know what hit it."
Angel Dust sprawled further across the bench with a groan. "Wake me up when it’s time for the afterparty."
Husk just muttered into his glass, "We better get a damn good one."
hi hiii, could I request headcanons or a one shot (completely up to you) that's a shuichi saihara x reader where the reader is kaede's brother/sibling? that whole dynamic?
(if not, feel free to ignore)
thank you <3
A/N: Yes, absolutely! I kept the reader gender neutral, since it wasn't specified. Hope that's okay :}
A Little Too Close
Shuichi x GN!Reader Headcannons
Warnings: Grief/Loss, Trauma, and Nightmares
Word Count: 1527
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-Shuichi's first reaction to meeting (Y/N): He’s startled. Not because they’re intimidating, but because… They look like Kaede. Or maybe it's their energy, their expressions, the way they say his name. It throws him off. He fumbles with his hat almost immediately, tugging it low as he mumbles a polite greeting. “I didn’t know Kaede had a sibling…” (Y/N) smiles. “Guess she didn’t talk about me much, huh?” That makes him nervous. Not because of them- but now he’s overthinking what Kaede did say, and whether it was enough to prepare him for them. Spoiler: It wasn’t.
-They remind him of Kaede… but not quite: There are moments where they laugh or tilt their head just like she used to, and his heart squeezes. But then (Y/N) says something unexpected- sarcastic, bold, or quietly observant- and he realizes: They’re not her. And that’s… oddly comforting. They’re not a walking shadow of Kaede. They’re their own person. It makes him want to understand them more. Quietly. Carefully. Like a case he doesn’t want to mess up.
-Early awkwardness: He doesn’t know how to act around them at first. Should he treat them like Kaede treated him? Should he be distant, out of respect? (Y/N) catches him doing that weird thing where he hovers in a doorway, half-turning like he’s about to leave. They just raise an eyebrow and tell him to sit down. He does. Immediately. No questions asked. (They tease him about that later.)
-Accidental late-night conversations: The first time the two really talk is late- everyone else is asleep or gone, and the only sound is the ticking of a clock and some distant wind. (Y/N) asks him how he’s doing, really. He’s not used to someone asking without a motive. They don’t push, but they stay. That stays with him longer than their words do.
-Soft, silent comfort: He starts to notice how (Y/N) lingers when he’s feeling overwhelmed. How they never force conversation, but they offer it, like an open hand he can take or not. He realizes he likes their silence. It’s not awkward- it’s safe. Sometimes, they’ll just sit nearby with a book, or hum a tune Kaede used to play, and that’s enough to ground him.
-Little moments that get to him: (Y/N) fixes his collar without thinking. He freezes. They just go, “There. It was bugging me.” They bring him tea when he’s deep in notes. He thanks them with pink cheeks and a voice softer than usual. They laugh at one of his rare jokes, and he’s stunned for a second- then shyly smiles. He’s starting to look forward to making them laugh again.
-The turning point: He catches himself watching them one day- not analyzing, not deducing- just watching, with a kind of warmth in his chest that makes him anxious. He blurts out, “You’re… really different from Kaede.” “Yeah? Is that a good thing?” He hesitates. Then nods, voice low. “Yeah. It is.”
-Shuichi starts letting his walls down, little by little: At first, it’s subtle. He actually starts seeking them out instead of waiting for them to bump into him. They’ll catch him standing nearby when they’re talking to someone else, not saying much, just listening. He says it’s “out of habit,” but his eyes keep drifting to (Y/N). They ask if he wants to walk with them somewhere, and he says “Sure,” with this small, surprised smile like he wasn’t expecting to be invited.
-(Y/N) starts understanding his little tells: When he’s anxious, he tugs at his gloves. When he’s genuinely happy, his voice gets a little higher and softer. And when he’s looking at them- really looking- they can feel the intensity, even if he drops his gaze the second they meet it. They pretend not to notice when he stares a little too long, just to see how long it takes for him to turn red. (Spoiler: not long.)
-Domestic softness sneaks in: (Y/N) brings him tea or coffee without him asking now. They even remember how he takes it. Sometimes they sit beside him while he’s writing up notes on a case and rest their chin on his shoulder until he blushes and stiffens like a statue. He starts handing them his jacket on cold days without a word. He says, “You looked cold,” but he’s the one shivering.
-Kaede’s memory brings them together, not apart: One night, they’re both sitting in the music room. The piano sits untouched. (Y/N) says, “She’d hate how quiet it is in here.” Shuichi nods, staring at the keys. “She would’ve played something bright… even if no one was listening.” They play a few notes, a little clumsy at first, but Shuichi closes his eyes and listens. “You sound like her,” he whispers. “But… not.” They smile. “That’s the idea.”
-He confides in (Y/N), finally: He tells them he still has nightmares. About trials, about people he couldn’t save. They don’t try to fix it. They just listen, and then they tell him about their own fears. How losing Kaede still feels unreal. He reaches out, hesitates… then rests his hand lightly on theirs. No words. Just warmth. Just: I’m here.
-The “oh no I like them” moments: He overhears someone flirting with (Y/N) and nearly drops his notebook. He’s not jealous (he tells himself), but he definitely interrupts with something awkward and unnecessary. They ask if he wants to try cooking something together and he agrees way too fast, then spends the whole time pretending to be calm while he burns the rice. They fall asleep next to him during a late night chat. He watches them breathe for a while, then whispers, “I think Kaede would’ve liked this… us.”
-The shift: One day, (Y/N) brushes some hair out of his eyes without thinking. He catches their wrist mid-motion. “You always do that,” he says softly. “Like you’re not even thinking about it.” They shrug. “Maybe I just want an excuse to touch you.” Silence. His ears go red. Then, so quietly it’s barely there: “You don’t need an excuse.”
-The moment it finally clicks, for both of them: It happens quietly. No fireworks. No huge romantic gesture. Maybe they’re both watching the stars one night, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. (Y/N) says something like, “I wish Kaede could’ve seen this.” And Shuichi says, “I think she’d be happy. I mean… that we found each other.” There’s a pause. They both glance at each other. Something in the air changes. It’s not just comfort anymore. It’s something deeper. Something that’s been growing, slowly and patiently, in all the silences and half-smiles and lingering stares.
-Neither of them say it immediately… but it feels different: After that night, the way he looks at (Y/N) is different. More direct. Like he’s not afraid anymore. They catch yourself holding their breath when he leans close to show them something in his notebook. His fingers brush theirs and neither of them pull away this time.
-The first kiss: It’s so painfully gentle. Shuichi is careful, like he’s afraid to break something delicate. He hesitates right before, his lips just a breath away, and whispers, “Is this okay?” (Y/N) nods, heart fluttering, and he finally closes the gap. It’s shy and sweet and makes their knees go weak. When they pull back, they’re both red-faced and smiling like idiots. He covers his face with his hand and just goes, “Wow…” (Y/N) teases him: “What? Solved the case of your own feelings?” “Took me long enough,” he mumbles.
-The “we’re official” moments: He doesn’t call them his partner right away. He just kind of… sticks closer. Sits next to them every time. Carries two drinks instead of one. He accidentally blurts out “my p- my partner.” in front of someone and then refuses to make eye contact for a whole hour. (Y/N) doesn’t tease him too much. They just take his hand and lace their fingers with his under the table. That shuts down his anxiety real quick.
-Soft, sleepy comfort: They take naps together now. Shuichi’s arms around their waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of their neck. He sleeps better when they're there. No nightmares. No tension in his shoulders. They kiss the top of his head before he falls asleep. He never says anything, but the way he exhales tells them everything.
-Domestic sweetness: He leaves them little notes when he’s busy, “Don’t forget to eat. I left your favorite tea by the kettle.” They write back on the same paper, “You’re cuter when you’re bossy.” He keeps that note in his pocket for weeks.
-The quiet confession (finally said out loud): He says it first. Not in a dramatic moment, but while they’re brushing his hair out of his eyes before bed. “I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I just… I do.” (Y/N) smiles. “I know. I love you too, detective.” He exhales like he’s been holding it in for months. Then he pulls them close and doesn’t let go.
Can you do Sayaka x reader fluff headcannons?
A/N: Yes, of course, @ultimategraffitiguy! You didn't specify the gender of the reader, so I kept it gender neutral :} Hope that's okay!
The Softest Spotlight
Sayaka x GN!Reader Fluff Headcannons
Warnings: None that I can really see :}
Word Count: 716
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- Constant cheerleader energy: Sayaka thrives on encouragement and gives it in abundance. Whether (Y/N)’s making breakfast or just trying to focus on studying, she’s their #1 hype girl- "You're doing amazing, sweetheart!" levels of support every day. She believes in destiny, but she also believes in working hard to protect what you have. Even when things get tough, she always says, “As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”
- Little love notes everywhere: She leaves (Y/N) sweet notes in the most random places: their notebook, your hoodie pocket, their shoe (once). They're always handwritten with cute little doodles and sparkly stickers.
- Cuddling = therapy: Sayaka is touchy and adores cuddles. Her favorite position is (Y/N) lying on their back with her draped over them like a weighted blanket. She hums her favorite songs softly while tracing patterns on their arm.
- Morning snuggles are a must: She wakes up first just so she can admire (Y/N)’s sleepy face. Her fingers brush their hair from their forehead as she whispers, “You look like a dream.” Then, when they stir, she gently pulls them back into bed- “Five more minutes, please~”
- Loves being the little spoon: Though she’ll happily big spoon too, her favorite thing is curling up in (Y/N)’s arms, her back against their chest, while they wrap their arms around her waist… She kicks her feet a little when she’s extra happy.
- Giggle fits under the blankets: Sometimes she just wants to be silly and soft- she’ll pull the covers over both of them like a little fort, tell (Y/N) jokes, make silly faces in the glow of her phone screen, and end up in a pile of giggles and forehead kisses.
- Soft lullabies as cuddles deepen: When (Y/N) is almost asleep, she hums a soft melody- usually something nostalgic from her younger days. It becomes (Y/N)’s personal lullaby, and now they can’t sleep well unless they hear her voice.
- Secret songs just for (Y/N): Despite being used to crowds, her favorite performances are the ones where it’s just the two of them. She writes lyrics inspired by their relationship, though she keeps some private in her journal. She’s promised- if she ever releases a solo album, (Y/N) will be the muse.
- Surprise back hugs: She always sneaks up behind (Y/N) when they’re doing something mundane- cooking, brushing their teeth, folding laundry- and wraps her arms around their middle, swaying gently with her chin resting on their shoulder. She just wants to be close.
- Blanket thief but in denial: Sayaka always ends up wrapped in the majority of the blanket by morning, yet she insists (Y/N) is the one who hogs it. The solution? (Y/N) ends up getting a bigger blanket just so she can burrito herself and still share with them.
- Loves curling up in your lap: When (Y/N) is sitting on the couch, Sayaka will crawl into their lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’ll curl up there like a cat, cheek pressed to their chest, arms tucked close as they stroke her hair.
- Says “I love you” when she’s half-asleep: When she’s drifting off, in that sleepy-soft voice, she mumbles “I love you” like a mantra. Sometimes it’s three times in a row. Sometimes it’s a barely audible whisper. But always sincere.
- Dates always feel magical: She plans the cutest little dates. Think picnics under fairy lights, karaoke at home in matching pajamas, or dancing around the kitchen with music blasting as they both sing terribly on purpose.
- The queen of matching fits: Sayaka lives for couple aesthetics. Matching accessories? Matching phone charms? She's already bought them. She even customizes (Y/N)’s stuff with their initials + a heart.
- Protective but soft about it: She gets anxious when (Y/N) is sad or overwhelmed. They’ll catch her sneaking worried glances, always ready with a warm hug, tea, or even calling her manager to cancel practice so she can stay with (Y/N).
- Public affection? Yep: She’ll hold (Y/N)’s hand anywhere, sneak kisses when no one’s looking, and gush about them in interviews (with a shy smile and sparkles in her eyes). Fans adore how much she loves (Y/N).
Verosika x male!reader dating headcannons please
A/N: Of course, @ultimategraffitiguy! Verosika is one of my favorites :}
Mine, Loud and Clear
Verosika x Male!Reader
Warnings: Sexual themes, Possessiveness/Jealousy, Arguments/Conflict
Word Count: 943
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- Verosika was the one who made the first move: Obviously, she knew what she wanted the second she laid eyes on (Y/N) and didn't waste a second before flirting shamelessly, practically daring him not to fall for her.
- At first, (Y/N) thought he was just another target for her to toy with: But when she started genuinely caring whether he texted her back or if he smiled at her during a date, she realized she was in deeper than she meant to be.
- He surprised her by not being easy to push around: Not hostile, but just solid enough that he didn’t let her walk all over him. That infuriated and attracted her all at once.
- In public, Verosika loves flaunting their relationship: Clinging to his arm, stealing kisses, tracing a claw up his chest with a mischievous smirk while other demons stare. "What? You think I'm gonna hide how hot my man is? Dream on."
- Dates are extravagant if she plans them: Exclusive clubs, private concerts, trips to weird, beautiful corners of Hell- but (Y/N) tends to suggest things like movies, walks through busy streets, or greasy, hole-in-the-wall diners. Somehow, she ends up loving his ideas even more.
- Verosika flirts like breathing: Constantly, effortlessly, shamelessly. She'll whisper dirty things right in (Y/N)'s ear in the middle of a crowded room just to watch him blush and stammer like a fool.
- Her favorite thing? Making him squirm: She’ll drag a finger up his thigh under the table, lean in way too close, brush her fangs against his ear as she pretends to "ask a question"- all while acting totally innocent if anyone notices.
- (Y/N) learned quickly that challenging her only makes her worse: "You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna rattle me, babe." Cue Verosika grabbing him by the collar and proving she absolutely can rattle him.
- Possessive as hell… but fun about it: If another demon so much as looks at him the wrong way, she’ll pull him into a kiss so deep and smug it leaves him dizzy. When they pull away, she'll smirk at the onlookers with a "he's mine, back off" kind of look.
- She loves leaving marks: Hickeys low on his neck, nail scratches on his back, lipstick smudges on his mouth- anything to make sure everyone knows who he's with.
- (Y/N) finds out she's extremely physical when she’s really in the mood: grabbing, pinning, climbing into his lap without warning, sitting in his chair and pulling him down into a kiss until he's gasping.
- Dirty talk? Constant. Merciless: "Careful how you look at me, sweetheart... I might have to drag you somewhere private and ruin you." She loves watching his face heat up- it’s almost a game to see how fast she can get him flustered.
- She teases him about his reactions nonstop: "Aww, look at you. All red for me? You're adorable." And if he tries to flip it and tease her? Good luck. Verosika loves a challenge- she'll escalate until he's the one begging for mercy.
- When she’s feeling extra playful, she’ll dress just a little more scandalous if she knows they’re going somewhere public: Tiny skirts, plunging tops, tail flicking at his knees- all so he struggles to keep it together while she acts totally innocent.
- But it’s not just physical: Sometimes, when they're alone and it’s quiet, she’ll crawl into his lap, bury her face against his neck, and mumble soft, sultry promises against his skin. (Y/N) can always tell when it's not just teasing- when it’s real and vulnerable underneath all the heat.
- Verosika loves when he gets bold: If (Y/N) ever turns the tables- like grabbing her waist and pinning her to the wall mid flirt- it drives her crazy. She loves that tiny flash of dominance from him, especially because she knows she’s the only one who gets to see it.
- (Y/N) learned quickly that Verosika is a jealous creature, even if she tries to play it cool: If anyone flirts with him, she immediately stakes her claim- usually with a kiss that leaves him dizzy and the offender looking for the nearest exit.
- But behind closed doors, she softens: She loves sprawling across (Y/N)'s chest after a long day, her wings loosely draped over him, lazily tracing little patterns over his skin with her nails while they talk about absolutely nothing important.
- Verosika secretly treasures the little, normal things he does: Holding the door open for her, tucking her hair behind her ear, bringing her a drink without her asking. She’ll tease him mercilessly about it, but she will have the biggest smile on her face the whole time.
- Whenever she’s stressed or overwhelmed (which happens more than she’ll admit), she finds herself instinctively seeking him out: Even if it's just to sit next to him while she works through her thoughts. He’s one of the only people she trusts enough to see her without all the glamour. No makeup, no elaborate outfits, no show. Just Verosika- tired, gorgeous, and real.
- When they fight (because they do), it's explosive: lots of shouting, dramatic exits, slamming doors- but (Y/N) never lets her go to bed angry. He’ll find a way back to her, even if it’s just leaning against her door and muttering a stubborn, half-sincere "I’m not leaving until you hear me out." - Verosika never thought she'd settle down: She never even amused the idea she would care so much about someone else's happiness, but (Y/N) somehow made it feel easy- normal, even. She still won't admit she's "soft," though. Not yet.
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20-year-old artist in learning (Digital and traditional)| Gender fluid (They/Them) | ♑ | Pansexual/Demiromantic/Polyamorous | @piratemaxine05 is my lovely wife | On the Spectrum | SOCIALS!!! (Tumblr: @DeliciousSpecimen | ao3: DeliciousSpecimen | Wattpad: @idefcanyway | FFnet: DeliciousSpecimen | Insta: delicious.specimen)
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