Hellbound
Story Request: TOH x HH AU/Hellbound. (Seprate from Trust Fall Trauma.)
Plot/Storyline: When an edgy sinner, Luz Noceda, awakens in Hell. She meets a mischievously chaotic couple, Eda and Raine, along with a rebellious brat King; in order to survive in her new hostile environment, Luz has to help them with a mission.
(A re-written version of A lying Witch and A Warden.)
[Characters Present:]
(Luz Noceda)
• Age: 18.
• Species: Beastial Sinner (similar to her titan form).
• Date of Death: October 31st, 2022.
• Cause of Death: Ran over by a car.
(Eda Clawthorne)
• Age: 25.
• Species: Owl Sinner.
• Date of Death: October 28th, 1989.
• Cause of Death: Poisoned.
(Raine Clawthorne)
• Age: 23.
• Species: Bat Sinner.
• Date of Death: June 15th, 1998.
• Cause of Death: Crushed by a collapsed stage light.
(King Clawthorne)
• Age: 18.
• Species: Beastial Sinner.
• Date of Death: June 26th, 2001.
• Cause of Death: Head Trauma.
[Setting:]
• Bonesborough, a city 43.8 miles away from Pentagram City. Though, like any city in the Pride Ring, it's known to be chaotic and dangerous, it has a sense of diversity and equality between both Hellborns and Sinners. Which is very rare.
A/N: Yes, of course, @beastkeeper91! I tried to make it flow with A lying Witch and A Warden as well as I could :}
Hellbound
The Owl House x Hazbin Hotel AU
Warnings: Death, Blood & Injury, Child Abuse, Emotional Trauma/PTSD, Violence/Fighting, Decapitation, Gunfire/Explosions, Captivity/Imprisonment, Mild Profanity, Mentions of Starvation/Desperation
Word Count: 1712
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The last thing Luz Noceda remembered was the rain. It had soaked her cloak, her hair, the blood on her hands. She didn’t remember the headlights. She didn’t even feel the car hit her. All she remembered was the screaming in her head- the guilt, the fear, her mother’s final expression- and then…
Black.
Now, her eyes opened to more black, but not the comforting kind. Not the oblivion of death. This was...warm. Smoky. Red-tinted. The air buzzed with chaos. Fireworks crackled in the distance, or maybe it was gunfire. Laughter echoed, sinister and sharp. Luz sat up, blinking. Her fingers scraped the asphalt- no, not asphalt. The ground was warm like a stovetop, slick like oil.
Her reflection shimmered faintly in a puddle of some unknown sludge. Her body had changed- her lower arms and legs skeletal, fingers sharp and clawed like bone blades. Her cloak, black with swirling purple on the inside, shifted like smoke. Symbols glowed faintly on her chest. Her eyes- black voids surroinding bright gold- stared back at her.
“...What the hell?”
A hoot broke the silence.
Something slammed into the back of her skull.
“OW- HEY!” Luz whirled around to see an owl fluttering away. “What the- Get back here!”
She stumbled after it, bone clinking against the slick cobblestone, until the alley widened into a bizarre, patchwork tent. Bones strung with fairy lights, TVs stacked like totems, cursed knickknacks spilling out of bins. The owl landed on a perch above the entrance.
Inside, a tall woman lounged behind a counter, red dress clashing against her gray-feathered mane, along with glowing yellow eyes, a golden fang catching the light. She looked like she’d just walked out of a high-fashion photo shoot.
“Well well, look who the Devil dragged in,” she purred. “You look fresh.”
Luz blinked, catching her breath. “Did...did that owl just hit me in the face?”
The woman chuckled. “That’s Owlbert. He’s a menace. I’m Eda. Eda the Owl Lady. Welcome to Bonesborough, sweetheart.”
Luz furrowed her brow. “Bonesborough? Where even is that?”
Eda’s grin widened. “Forty something miles from Pentagram City, but light-years away in spirit. Chaotic? Absolutely. But we’ve got a little more...freedom here. Especially for Sinners.”
The word hit Luz like a slap. “Sinner...right.”
Eda’s eyes flicked across her. “Let me guess. Died recently? Big ol’ mess? Regret, guilt, anger- all those fun flavors?”
Luz said nothing.
“Thought so,” Eda muttered, standing. “Come on. You hungry? Got some ancient ramen packs that probably won’t kill you. Again.”
Back at Eda’s stand, Luz sat awkwardly beside a busted TV, eyes darting as Eda peddled bizarre human-world relics to the occasional creepy passerby. Luz’s fingers itched- there was something nostalgic about the tangled wires and broken screen.
“Mind if I-?”
Eda waved her on. Luz crouched and fiddled with the TV. A flash, a spark, then static- and suddenly, a hazy cartoon blared to life.
Eda let out a bark of laughter. “Well I’ll be damned- literally. You got it working!”
Crowds started gathering, drawn to the flickering screen. Eda leaned down, impressed. “You might be more useful than I thought.”
But the moment shattered when a group of hulking sinners barged in.
“Well well,” one sneered. “The Owl Lady and her new pet. We don’t like freeloaders peddling junk on our turf.”
Eda’s smile turned cold. “Turf wars already? You boys must be bored.”
The goons lunged.
“Run!” Eda grabbed Luz’s wrist, dragging her through the chaos as Owlbert screeched overhead like a siren. They darted through back alleys, jumped fences, and finally tumbled into a shadowed doorway.
Luz gasped for breath, adrenaline still pounding. “What- what was that?!”
Eda smirked. “Welcome to Hell, kid. Lesson one: don’t trust anyone bigger than you unless they’ve got feathers.”
The Owl House was barely a house- it looked more like a crumbling gothic tree fort slapped together with demon bones and stolen bricks. Inside, it was cozy in a chaotic, haunted kind of way. Luz stepped in, greeted by the smell of incense and sizzling bacon.
“King, Raine!” Eda called. “We’ve got company!”
A beastial creature stomped out from behind a curtain, skull-faced, tail flicking.
“Who’s the newbie?” he shouted.
“Name’s Luz,” she muttered, still catching up.
“I’m King. Supreme ruler of snacks.”
“Sure you are,” Eda said fondly.
From the upper balcony, a figure descended slowly, graceful wings unfolding. Luz stared. The bat-like figure had mint green hair and gentle but tired eyes.
“Raine,” they said, landing lightly. “You brought someone home, Eda?”
“She’s a fresh Sinner. Knows her way around stuff, and she didn’t scream when we got jumped. I think she’s a keeper.”
Raine tilted their head. “We’ll see.”
Luz felt their gaze settle on her- not judging, but searching.
“Do you want to survive here?” Raine asked softly.
Luz swallowed. “...I don’t know. But I don’t want to be alone.”
Eda threw an arm around her shoulders. “Then you’re in the right house… But… We need your help breaking into one of the V’s buildings.”
“You what now?”
Eda leaned back in her bone-carved chair, swirling a bottle of something that smelled like gasoline and cinnamon. “Pentagram City. Vee-owned facility. Lots of cash. Enough to keep us fed and functional for a month, maybe two if King doesn’t blow it all on glitter bombs again.”
“I regret nothing,” King muttered from under the couch blanket.
Raine shot Eda a look. “You said we’d only do this if we had no other options.”
“And we don’t,” Eda snapped. “I wouldn’t be asking if we weren’t on the edge.”
Luz frowned. “Why me?”
Eda gestured to her. “You’re clever. Got instincts. And no offense, kid, but fresh Sinners like you? You don’t register much yet on the radar. You’ll blend in easier. We need someone quiet and quick.”
Luz’s instincts screamed no, but her gut whispered something else. She knew what it felt like to have nowhere to go. And somehow, the idea of these three surviving by scraping the bottom of Hell’s barrel made her chest hurt.
“…Fine,” she said. “I’ll help.”
The V’s building loomed like a cathedral built by nightmares- glass and stone, with neon lights bleeding down the windows like tears. Luz and King crouched in the alley behind it, listening to the muted screech of sirens somewhere deeper in the city.
“We go up,” King whispered. “There’s a ventilation shaft leading to the holding cells.”
“Great,” Luz muttered. “Just like every dystopian game ever.”
They climbed, slipping through vents and past screaming pipes. When they finally emerged at the top, Luz froze.
The holding room was filled with Sinners- men, women, creatures barely human anymore- all staring with dull, sunken eyes. Chains glowed red at their ankles. Souls bound. Trapped.
Luz stepped closer. One woman met her eyes. “They told me I’d have power,” she rasped. “All I got was a cage.”
Luz’s throat tightened. Her fists curled.
Yeah, she thought. I know the feeling.
Down below, they regrouped with Eda and Raine in a rusted vault room.
“There.” Raine pointed to the thick metal container humming with magic.
Luz stepped up, her hands already twitching with motion. Symbols shimmered on her chest, reacting to the device.
“I’ve got it,” she said, cracking the lock open like she’d been doing it her whole afterlife. Inside? Stacks of Hell currency, more than Luz had ever seen.
Eda let out a low whistle. “Jackpot.”
Luz turned to her. “Why this? Why risk so much?”
Eda looked away for a beat before answering. “Because this stupid, broken world doesn’t care if we starve. And I’ve got two weirdos depending on me. I’m not letting them fall. Not again.”
Luz stared at her. “So we’re all just...weirdos?”
“Damn right,” Eda said, smiling faintly. “And weirdos stick together.”
It resonated deep. Deeper than Luz expected.
Then the walls exploded.
Smoke choked the room. A towering figure stepped through the haze- a member of the Vees, smiling wide. Their suit was crisp. Their voice was velvet over a blade.
“Stealing from us?” they said. “Now that’s cute.”
Before anyone could react, they moved. Fast as lightning.
Eda’s head hit the ground with a sickening thunk.
Luz screamed.
“EDA!”
But Eda’s body didn’t fall. Her decapitated head rolled back into place, snapping into her shoulders like it was magnetized.
“I hate when they do that,” she muttered, spitting dust.
“Run!” Raine shouted, getting into a defensive stance. King leapt forward with a snarl, sonic energy building in his chest.
Luz stood frozen- until she remembered the prisoners.
She turned and ran, but not away- from the vault to the upper floors, symbols glowing wildly on her cloak. She tore through the door, slamming her skeletal hand against the cage's core.
“Let them go!” she snarled.
The core shattered. Chains snapped. And suddenly, the facility was swarming with freed, furious sinners.
Luz led the charge back down just as Eda was slammed against a wall.
“Need a hand?” Luz yelled, hurling a chunk of glass at the Vee’s head.
Eda grinned through a bloody tooth. “You took your sweet time.”
Together, they fought- And when the Vee went down, it wasn’t clean, wasnt permanent- but it was enough.
They stumbled back to the Owl House in silence.
Raine poured a drink and collapsed on the couch.
Eda turned to Luz. “You didn’t have to come back for us, you know.”
“I wanted to,” Luz said quietly.
Eda nodded. “You’ve got guts. Dumb, beautiful guts… You can stay. If you want.”
Luz blinked. “Really?”
“On one condition.”
Luz tilted her head.
“You’re my apprentice now,” Eda said, smirking. “Which means chores. Market scamming. The works.”
Luz grinned, exhausted but...lighter. “Deal.”
Later that night, Luz lay on a ratty mattress under a flickering lamp. King snored in the room next door. Somewhere, Eda and Raine argued playfully over a card game.
She stared at the ceiling.
Her mother’s face flickered in her mind. Not the rage. Not the screams. But the quiet moments- back when things were soft and hopeful… Before all of the abuse, and hurt…
Her chest ached.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the darkness.
No answer came.
But for once, she wasn’t alone.
More Posts from Deliciousspecimen and Others
A/N: I am trying to work on my multi-part fic's, now that I'm mostly caught up with all my requests. I missed writing for Silcooooooo.
Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.2
Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.1
Warnings: Violence/Combat, Trauma, Imprisonment/Restraint, Explosions/Fire, and Death
Word Count: 5894
Summary: (Y/N) is led through Silco’s factory- alive with shimmer, but hollow with grief. Silco remains tender, pretending nothing’s changed, even as he parades Vander, weak and broken, as a symbol of failed ideals. When Silco offers Vander shimmer in exchange for loyalty, Vander refuses, desperate to protect the children. In a private chamber, (Y/N) finally breaks, confessing she searched for Silco for years. Their reunion is intimate but laced with sorrow. When Vi and the others storm the factory, everything spirals. Silco unleashes his shimmer-mutated monster, and (Y/N), bound by enchanted chains, is forced to watch the chaos unfold. Powder’s bomb kills Mylo and Claggor, devastating (Y/N), who Silco tries- and fails- to console. Vander ends saving Vi, transformed by shimmer into a final act of defiance. Afterward, (Y/N) and Silco find Powder, shattered. (Y/N) cradles her and later, she claims the name “Jinx,” offering unconditional love. Back at The Last Drop, (Y/N) remains shackled but tenderly cares for Jinx. Silco releases her chains, but (Y/N) doesn’t retaliate. Her only focus is Jinx- her “little firecracker”- the last thing worth protecting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The factory loomed like a carcass on the edge of the Undercity- cold, rusted steel and flickering lights illuminating a world that wasn’t quite dead.
It should’ve been abandoned.
It wasn’t.
Inside, the place was alive with movement- gears turning, people working, machines thundering deep within the structure’s bones. And all of it was for him.
Silco.
He kept his hand wrapped gently around (Y/N)’s as he led her forward, step by step, like they were just walking home. Like none of this had changed.
But her eyes were fixed on the floor. On the trail of oil and soot and blood leading them deeper in.
Her mind buzzed like static- empty and deafening at once. Everything she thought she understood had collapsed in a matter of hours. Grief curled around the edges of her thoughts like smoke, choking out the edges of her reality.
Silco’s thumb brushed along the back of her hand, slow and deliberate. The same way he used to, late at night, when they lay in bed and the world was quiet.
It made her heart ache.
How could she still miss it?
How could that part of her still want to melt into his touch, even now?
“This place is a little crude, I’ll admit,” Silco said, his voice low as they crossed a metal walkway above the factory floor. “The base violence necessary for change... but we both know Topside won’t listen to anything else.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Nearby, the man- creature- that had dragged Vander through the streets was deteriorating. No longer monstrous. Just sick. Slumped over the rail, vomiting some viscous, purple substance into the depths.
Another man approached, grabbing Vander roughly and throwing him against the side of the walkway with a clang.
(Y/N) flinched slightly, but Silco’s hand tightened gently around hers, guiding her to a stop.
Vander groaned, coughing, blood splattering the steel beneath him.
And for the first time, he looked up.
Straight at her.
Eyes full of pain- not from the injuries. From her.
(Y/N) didn’t return the look.
She was still watching Silco, eyes wide, almost in a trance, like she was trying to match the man before her to the boy she had once loved.
It wasn’t until Vander spoke that she snapped out of it- his voice ragged, cutting through the fog in her head.
“Even with your monsters,” he rasped, “You won’t win a war against Piltover.”
Silco exhaled a low hum. “I don’t have to. I just need to scare them.”
He turned slightly, reaching out to her again- fingers brushing softly behind her ear, tucking a stray strand of hair away like he used to.
“Piltover won’t dare set foot in the Underground again,” he murmured.
The former monster gagged and groaned again, the sludge he threw up hissing against metal.
Vander didn’t spare him a glance.
“You’ll get people killed,” Vander said, his voice heavy with grief and fury. “For what? Pride?”
Silco’s jaw tightened.
“For respect,” he snapped, turning fully now. “Opportunity. Everything they’ve denied us.”
He released (Y/N)’s hand finally and stepped forward, crouching down to Vander’s level. He stared at him like a blade about to be unsheathed.
Vander glared, breath ragged. “You had my respect. The Lanes’ respect. (Y/N)’s.” He nodded toward her. “But that was never enough for you.”
That struck something.
Silco’s calm shattered in an instant as he stood, pacing a step back with fury rising behind his eyes.
“We shared a vision, Vander. All of us.” His voice rose. “A dream of freedom. Not just for the Lanes, but for the entire Underground. United. One people.”
He turned to (Y/N) then- voice softer, filled with weight.
“The nation of Zaun.”
Then back to Vander, venom lacing each word.
“Do you even remember? I trusted you… and you betrayed me.”
(Y/N)’s eyes finally took in all of him- his ruined cheek, his sunken features, the warped skin trailing from his jaw to the edge of his glowing eye.
The scar where the toxic water had seeped into his skin.
The proof of how far he’d been willing to go.
And how much further he’d fallen to crawl back.
Vander’s breath rattled in his chest as he leaned against the steel railing, blood still wet on his lips. The anger in his eyes had softened into something heavier- regret, shame.
“…What I did to you,” he said, voice low, almost too quiet to hear, “I’ve never forgiven myself.”
He looked up at Silco- truly looked at him.
“You were my brother.”
Silco didn’t respond right away. He stared down at him for a long moment before his gaze slid toward (Y/N), and the edges of his expression flickered with something harder to name.
“No,” he murmured. “You still don’t understand.”
He turned to them both now- his voice rising slightly, almost reverent, almost haunted.
“Can you imagine what it’s like… when your blood mixes with the filth? When the river toxins eat through your nerves, strip away everything soft, everything human?”
He stepped closer to Vander again, looming now, his voice low and trembling- not with weakness, but with conviction.
“Oh, I hated you for what you’d done. Every breath I clawed in was filled with hate. But hate burns fast. And when it fades, it leaves room… for understanding.”
His eyes bore into Vander.
“The only way to defeat a superior enemy… is to stop at nothing. To become what they fear.”
He tilted his head.
“I hated you, Vander. But I still respected you. Until you made peace with them. Until you played lapdog to the people who tried to crush us. After everything we suffered.”
Vander’s jaw clenched, but his voice was tired. “I had no choice.”
“Perhaps,” Silco echoed with a hum. “But now… now you do.”
He reached into his coat, retrieving a small vial- glass, delicate, and filled with a swirling, violet liquid that shimmered even in the dim light.
He knelt again, holding it out between them so both Vander and (Y/N) could see.
“Shimmer.” His voice was soft, full of dark promise. “This is power. This is what they fear.”
He glanced up at (Y/N), then down at Vander.
“We can finally realize our dream. Together... Brother.”
Vander looked from the vial… to Silco… and finally up at (Y/N).
She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Her heart beat hollow in her chest, her thoughts knotted beyond reason.
Vander’s eyes turned back to Silco.
“Look at what you’ve done,” he whispered. “Benzo. These kids…”
He shook his head slowly. “In fighting Topside… you’d sacrifice everything that we are. It’s not the way. Can’t you see that? If it has to be me, then fine. Kill me. But please… spare the Lanes.”
Silco’s eyes narrowed, sharp and burning.
“You’d die for the cause,” he spat, “but you won’t fight for one?”
Vander gave a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just… not that man anymore.”
Silco’s lips curled- not in amusement, but disappointment.
“I’ll show you what you really are,” he muttered.
Then, without another glance at his old friend, he turned and walked toward (Y/N) again.
Her breath caught when he reached for her. He took her hand gently- fingers warm, familiar, haunting... And like something out of a long-forgotten dream, he laced his fingers through hers and led her away down the walkway.
Past the shimmer.
Past the scars.
The room they entered was dim, lit only by flickering industrial lights high in the rafters, casting long shadows against the grimy walls. Vander grunted, still dazed but regaining strength, just in time to be dragged inside by two of Silco’s men. He struggled weakly, but they forced him into a heavy chair bolted to the floor.
Without a word, the men bound his wrists to the armrests with reinforced chains- tight, unforgiving.
(Y/N) watched it all.
She didn’t move.
She just… watched, her heart twisted in knots, as Vander met her gaze with something between understanding and heartbreak. She gave him one last lingering look- long, pained- but didn’t pull away when Silco’s hand gently guided her from the room.
He led her up a flight of grated stairs, each step echoing with the weight of history between them.
At the top of the factory was a room- an old office overlooking the chaos below. Large, reinforced windows gave a full view of the operation, of Vander strapped below, of the quiet power Silco now commanded.
Inside, it was just the two of them.
(Y/N) stood awkwardly at first, eyes scanning the space like she might find an anchor.
She didn’t.
Silco motioned to one of the chairs before his desk. “Sit.”
She did.
He pulled the other chair closer, sitting directly in front of her, his eyes searching her face. He didn’t speak. Not yet. Not while the silence still held its weight.
They sat like that for a while- just breathing, listening to the distant hum of machinery, the ghost of bloodshed still heavy on both of them.
Then (Y/N) spoke.
Her voice cracked.
“I… I looked for you…”
Silco’s jaw twitched.
“For years, I looked,” she whispered, broken and small. “I searched every body on the bridge. Dug through rumors. Lies. Begged for information… anything that would lead me to you.”
She inhaled sharply, her hands shaking.
And then- gently- she reached forward, taking his hand into hers, lifting it slowly, reverently, pressing his palm to her cheek.
As soon as she felt his skin on hers, she nearly sobbed.
Her breath hitched, her face crumpling with the weight of every year she’d spent missing him. She hadn’t let anyone this close since he vanished. Hadn’t let herself feel this deeply. Not with Vander. Not with anyone. Only the children had been allowed into that tender part of her.
But this- this was different.
This was him.
And she’d missed him so much.
Silco stood slowly.
Then, wordlessly, he reached for her- his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled her to her feet, even as she trembled beneath his hands.
She nearly collapsed into him.
But he caught her.
His arms wrapped tight around her small frame, pulling her flush to his chest as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her sobs muffled against his collar. She breathed him in like she was afraid it might be the last time.
He still smelled like he always had- warm, sharp, a little like smoke... But now there was something else. Something chemical. Acrid. Lingering under the surface.
It clung to his coat, to his skin.
Shimmer.
She didn’t ask. Not yet. She just held him tighter, her fingers curling into the back of his coat... And Silco closed his eyes.
For the first time in years…
He held her like he’d never let go.
Silco held her until the shaking dulled, until the sobs faded into shallow, trembling breaths. He cupped her face afterward, thumbs brushing away the tears left behind on her cheeks, movements tender in a way that almost didn’t fit the man he'd become.
But then his gaze drifted past her- eyes narrowing toward the window that overlooked the catwalk.
He stilled.
(Y/N) turned, heart clenching.
Outside, darting shapes blurred through the shadows.
Mylo… Claggor. Vi.
Her heart dropped.
She spun back to Silco, panic in her eyes. “Sil- Silco, please- don’t hurt them. Please, don’t kill them. I- They’re just kids. I raised them. I love them. I-”
He leaned down, his hand slipping behind her neck. His lips pressed softly to her forehead.
“Calm down…” he murmured. “I can’t promise anything… I think you’ve figured that out by now.”
Her heart cracked again.
“But,” he added, gently taking her hand, “I will do all I can… Just for you.”
Her breath hitched- part fear, part relief, part dread.
He led her from the office, down toward the walkways that twisted like veins through the heart of the factory. His hand never left hers.
A whistle cut through the air behind them.
Footsteps answered.
Sevika fell in beside them, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of (Y/N) before letting out a sharp sigh and shaking her head.
“Of course,” she muttered.
Another man appeared, stepping forward.
He held chains.
(Y/N)’s stomach turned cold.
She pulled her hand from Silco’s, taking a step back- heart hammering.
Silco’s hand caught her chin gently, tilting her face toward him. His expression was unreadable.
“I have to take precautions,” he said softly. “You understand, don’t you?”
She didn’t have time to answer.
The man with the chains moved in quickly, wrapping them around her wrists and upper arms. As soon as the metal touched her skin, she felt it- pain, sudden and sharp, as the runes engraved in the chain flared to life, cutting off her magic.
Her breath stuttered. Her knees buckled slightly.
He made these… for her.
The realization made her blood run cold.
She struggled on instinct, fire rising in her throat- but Sevika grabbed her from behind, locking an arm around her shoulders to drag her forward.
Silco walked ahead of them all, his voice smooth as he approached the group below.
“Welcome.”
The children turned sharply.
Mylo tensed. Claggor instinctively stepped in front of Powder. Vi’s fists clenched at her sides.
And then they saw her.
Sevika dragged (Y/N) into the open, the chains glowing faintly against her skin.
Their eyes locked with hers.
And (Y/N)’s heart shattered.
Fear. Sadness. Betrayal.
Vi’s voice broke through the silence, small and shaking.
“M-Mom…?”
(Y/N) choked on the lump in her throat, pulling against the chains- only to cry out softly when the runes sparked again.
“I’m okay…” she managed, voice soft and shaking. “Focus on them, alright? Focus on each other.”
She tried to smile, tried to soothe them like she always did.
But her hands were bound. Her power was locked down. And she was being dragged by the man she’d once loved more than anything in the world.
Silco stopped beside her, reaching out to brush her hair back with a tenderness that made her flinch.
“Have you heard the rumor?” he asked the kids, voice light, casual- cruel.
“Vander the coward fled town, left his children behind…”
He paused, eyes glittering with venom.
“…And he was never seen again.”
(Y/N) sucked in a sharp breath, biting her lip to keep from sobbing.
And Vi- her face slowly twisted from fear into rage.
But (Y/N)… she could barely look at them.
Not like this.
Vi didn’t hesitate.
The second she saw (Y/N) like that- bound, chained, magic suppressed- something in her snapped.
“Claggor,” she barked, voice firm. “Find another way out of here.”
Claggor gave a quick nod, already moving, slipping back into the room Vander was in to search for an exit route.
Vander, still slumped in his restraints, his voice raw with emotion, rasped, “You don’t have to do this-”
“Yes, I do,” Vi cut him off, tone solid. Final.
And then one of Silco’s men stepped forward.
A mountain of a man. Thick arms, heavy boots, a massive knife in hand.
The second he approached Vi, (Y/N) instinctively lunged forward- pure panic in her eyes. “No!” she screamed, heart thundering as she tried to reach Vi, tried to protect her babies.
Sevika’s grip tightened around her waist, holding her firm.
(Y/N) fought against the chains anyway, gritting her teeth through the pain, trying to claw her way free.
“Let me go!”
But Sevika didn’t budge.
Vander’s voice broke, more desperate now. “Vi!”
The girl stood tall, squared her shoulders, clenched her fists.
And met the man head-on.
She glanced once- only once- back at Silco, then dropped into a fighting stance, steady and sure.
The man lunged.
He brought the knife down hard, but Vi lifted her arms- Vander’s gauntlets catching the blade with a clang that rang through the entire factory.
The force vibrated down her arms- but she held firm.
Then she struck.
One brutal, upward punch.
Crack.
The man’s head snapped back, blood flying from his mouth along with a tooth. His body flew backwards, crashing to the walkway with a heavy thud.
Out cold.
Silco’s eyes widened just slightly. Not fear. Not quite. But... surprise. He said nothing- just lifted a hand and gave a sharp signal.
Sevika responded immediately, yanking (Y/N) back by the chains, dragging her a step away as more of Silco’s men stepped forward.
(Y/N)’s eyes never left Vi.
Even as she was pulled back, she watched her girl fight.
One after another, they came.
And one by one, Vi dropped them.
A punch to the gut. A backhanded swing to the jaw. A full-force slam that sent one man tumbling off the side of the catwalk, screaming as he fell.
If the situation weren’t so dire, (Y/N) would’ve been bursting with pride.
Even through the fear, through the chains biting into her skin, she felt it rise like warmth in her chest.
Her baby girl was holding her own.
Then… only Sevika remained.
She stepped forward, cracking her knuckles, clearly ready to jump in.
But Silco raised his hand- calm, measured.
“Hold.”
Sevika paused, eyes narrowing. But she obeyed.
Still gripping (Y/N) tightly, keeping her locked in place, but she didn’t move to fight.
Silco stepped forward slowly, watching Vi with a calculating eye.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.
Silco’s expression was unreadable as his eyes shifted toward the sickly man lingering nearby- the one who had once torn through Enforcers like paper, and now barely looked human at all. Gaunt, twitching, with veins of violet threading beneath his skin.
“Ready to rise to the surface?” Silco asked, his voice deceptively soft.
The man’s eyes flicked to the small, glowing vial in Silco’s hand- a pulsing purple liquid that shimmered with unnatural energy. His gaze grew desperate, wild. He snatched it the second it was offered, uncorking it and downing the contents like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
And then- he screamed.
The transformation was immediate, violent. His spine arched, bones cracking, limbs lengthening, skin distorting. Purple fluid spilled from the corners of his mouth as his body twisted into something monstrous. The shriek that followed rattled the steel beams of the factory.
(Y/N)’s blood ran cold.
“No- no!” she shouted, yanking against the chains as hard as she could. Sevika held her firm, but her grip trembled slightly under the struggle. “Silco!”
Vi didn’t hesitate- she lunged in to strike the creature before it fully stabilized, gauntlets swinging.
But the monster was faster.
It caught her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground.
“No!” (Y/N) thrashed harder, desperation clawing through her throat. She looked at Silco, eyes wild. “You said you wouldn’t kill them!”
Silco’s jaw clenched. His face flickered with something- guilt, maybe. Regret.
“I said I’d try,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t enough.
Vander roared over the chaos, his voice raw. “Silco! Let her go! This is between you and me!”
Silco’s eyes darkened. His voice was flat- cold. “You had your chance.”
And the monster threw Vi.
She crashed hard into a nearby wall, grunting as she slid across the floor. One of the gauntlets skidded free, clattering loudly across the steel.
(Y/N)’s scream cracked out of her, her knees buckling as she fought harder.
Vi coughed, gasping, barely able to pull herself up. The monster advanced, step by heavy step, dripping shimmer and fury with every movement.
She crawled.
Clawed toward the others.
(Y/N), Vander, Mylo, and Claggor all shouted her name, voices overlapping in a desperate crescendo.
And then- Vi reached the door. With a trembling hand, she slammed it shut- and locked it. The bolt echoed like thunder.
The monster crashed into the other side, but the door held.
Inside, silence reigned for a moment. A breath of reprieve. Of safety.
(Y/N) collapsed to her knees in Sevika’s grip, a sob tearing loose from her throat.
Vi was safe.
For now.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she whispered, “Thank the Gods…”
But her eyes never left Silco.
And her heart had never hurt more.
The creature outside the sealed door snarled and slammed its fists against the metal, again and again. The walkway shook with the force of it, rattling bolts and echoing through the factory like thunder.
Sevika kept her grip on (Y/N), who was breathing hard, her cheeks damp with tears, her arms still trembling from the aftermath.
Silco stood nearby, unmoving- expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the blocked doorway.
(Y/N)’s voice cracked through the din, soft, pleading. “Please… Please, Silco… don’t do this…”
She turned her face toward him, eyes wide, broken. “Let the kids go. Please.”
There was a silence between them.
And then he looked at her.
His gaze softened- just slightly- as he sighed quietly.
“…Fine,” he said after a pause. “Once we get them all gathered again, I’ll let the children go.” His tone stayed firm. “But only the children.”
(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her body sagging in Sevika’s arms as if the tension had suddenly drained all at once. A strangled sob slipped past her lips.
And then- click.
A small sound. Metal ticking softly against the walkway.
(Y/N)’s eyes widened in an instant. “What..?”
Her gaze darted toward the source- a monkey. Small, mechanical, familiar. It shuffled forward, toy-like limbs moving with mechanical innocence.
She recognized it immediately.
Powder’s.
The monkey sat still for a beat, and then-
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the walkway in a blinding blast of heat and sound.
Silco lunged, pulling (Y/N) into his arms and wrapping himself tightly around her, shielding her body with his own. Sevika threw herself in front of them both- arms outstretched.
The force hit them like a wave.
Smoke. Shrapnel. Flames.
When (Y/N) came to, her ears were ringing. Her limbs heavy.
She blinked hard, vision swimming- and realized Silco was still holding her, arms wrapped tight. Sevika lay sprawled across the walkway ahead of them, unmoving.
Her left arm… was gone.
(Y/N) cried out in horror and pushed away from Silco, slipping from his grip. The chains slowed her, made her stumble, but she didn’t stop.
She crawled, dragging herself across the scorched walkway toward the room where the kids had been.
“No, no, no-” she whispered over and over.
The devastation was unreal.
Pieces of the railing hung loose, sparks flying from destroyed panels.
And in the back of the room-
Claggor.
Still. Lifeless.
Mylo- bloodied, crushed under debris, unmoving.
She fell to her knees in the middle of the walkway, her hands bound, unable to even hold them. She just stared through fresh, silent tears, sobbing until her voice cracked.
Behind her, Silco slowly emerged from the smoke. He stepped around Sevika’s body- limping slightly- and moved to (Y/N)’s side.
He knelt, wordless, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off.
He didn’t try again.
But when her body gave out, she collapsed against him anyway, no fight left in her. Her sobs echoed against the steel.
From inside the room, Violet’s screams and cires rang out. High, panicked, broken.
(Y/N) closed her eyes and shook her head, lips trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Then-
Movement.
Vander stumbled from the room, face battered, holding onto the wall for balance. His eyes flicked from (Y/N) to the remaining men around them- and the monster, who was still alive, still looming.
He roared and charged.
Fists flew.
He threw punches with the strength of desperation, slamming into the beast again and again. The creature responded in kind, and the two clashed like titans- blows echoing through the factory.
Then-
The creature landed a blow, sending Vander crashing down onto the walkway.
He groaned, tried to stand-
And from beside (Y/N), Silco rose to his feet. Slowly... Deliberately.
(Y/N) watched, dazed. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just watched.
Silco stepped up behind Vander- silent as a shadow.
And then… The blade.
In the back.
Vander choked, his body jerking forward. He turned, gasping, and grabbed Silco by the throat.
Silco- eyes fierce, lips curled into something almost mournful- stabbed him again.
Lower.
Vander’s grip weakened. He sagged forward, collapsing against Silco’s chest. The two of them locked eyes, breath labored and pained.
“…I knew you still had it in you,” Silco whispered.
And then he shoved him.
Vander’s body tumbled over the edge- into the boxes of shimmer bwloe, where spilled chemicals, shattered shimmer vials, and fire burned like hell itself.
Everything went quiet.
Except for (Y/N)’s trembling breath, and the sound of Vi sobbing somewhere in the dark.
Silco's steps were measured, calm despite the blood on his hands and the tremor still rolling through the floor beneath them. He approached the shimmer-mutated creature with purpose, voice sharp but steady.
“...Find the girl.”
The monster obeyed, stomping toward the ruined room. Its heavy limbs dragged it forward into the wreckage-strewn room where Violet had been trapped with Mylo and Claggor's fallen bodies.
Vi panicked as the creature loomed over her, its breath huffing like steam, arms rising to grab her-
BOOM.
A massive crashing sound rang through the factory, making the entire structure lurch violently.
(Y/N) stumbled.
The walkway groaned beneath their feet.
And then- a low growl.
Primal. Familiar.
Silco stepped in front of (Y/N) instantly, his arm thrown out to shield her, body still tense from the last fight.
Another figure emerged through the smoke and shadow.
Twisted. Unnatural.
A different kind of monster.
It grabbed Silco’s beast by the throat before anyone could react- crushing, choking- and with a violent twist, snapped its neck like it was nothing more than paper. The limp body was thrown aside, crashing into a wall and slumping into the rubble.
Silco’s jaw tensed as his eyes widened.
He stepped forward and forced (Y/N) up, gripping her arm, steadying her.
She didn’t speak- didn’t move beyond what he guided.
Her eyes were locked on the new creature.
Its eyes met hers- burning, tinged with shimmer.
“...Vander,” she whispered, barely audible.
He had survived.
He had used the shimmer.
And he had changed.
Silco realized it too, the horror evident in the way he slowly stepped back, pulling (Y/N) with him, his body subtly shifting into defense again. Vander snarled- deep and guttural- his distorted voice still capable of forming one clear word:
“Silco.”
(Y/N) tensed as Silco’s grip tightened around her hand.
The building shuddered again- more violently now. Pipes groaned, embers danced across the floor. The fire had spread.
Vander’s monstrous form looked between Silco and the collapsed room behind him- where Violet’s sobs could still faintly be heard.
And then, with a roar, he turned and ran, barreling back through the corridor.
(Y/N) and Silco watched as he scooped up Violet and charged through the broken wall just as the room collapsed around them. The building behind them erupted into flame, collapsing in on itself as embers roared toward the sky.
They stood in silence.
Silco gently tugged (Y/N) forward, guiding her out of the ruin. She didn’t resist, her legs moving on instinct alone. Her face was hollow, her eyes empty. The world around her felt far away.
But she heard it.
Faint, echoing through the smoke:
Vi's screams.
Powder’s cries.
They walked until the sounds grew louder- closer.
Then, voices. Muffled at first.
Powder’s, frantic. “Violet?! Please! Come back! Vi!”
That- that- snapped something in (Y/N).
She yanked free of Silco’s grip, her chains rattling as she stumbled forward.
“Powder!” she gasped.
She ran, her feet carrying her through the scorched earth, eyes scanning desperately- until she saw her.
Powder.
Kneeling in the ash. Shoulders shaking. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Vi!” she sobbed. “She left me! I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to-!”
(Y/N) froze a few steps away.
Her heart shattered all over again.
Powder was curled up so small, so broken.
Tears spilled from (Y/N)’s eyes as she slowly stepped closer.
Powder looked up.
And launched into her.
“Mama-!”
(Y/N) caught her instinctively, knees hitting the ground as she wrapped her arms around the girl- holding her so tightly, like she could piece her back together if she just held on hard enough.
Silco reached them seconds later, catching both of them as they toppled into his legs. He knelt behind them, arms wrapping around them both- sheltering them from what little of the world was left.
(Y/N) glanced around, confused, still dazed and trying to keep her sobbing to a minimum. “Where… Where did Vi go..?”
Powder cried into (Y/N)’s shoulder. “She left me. She’s… Not my sister anymore…”
(Y/N) stroked her hair, sobbing silently, her throat too raw for words.
Silco’s voice was low, gentle- soothing in a way she hadn’t heard in years.
“It’s okay…” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”
His hand brushed through Powder’s hair… then over (Y/N)’s.
“We’ll show them all.”
And in that hollow quiet, surrounded by ash and ruin, (Y/N) clung to Powder.
And Silco clung to them both.
And for better or worse…
This was what remained.
The chains still bound her wrists, biting into her skin, heavy with runes that pulsed faintly against her magic. But (Y/N) didn't care. She held onto Powder as best she could, arms wrapped tight despite the limits, despite the pain. The girl was clinging just as hard- shaking, sobbing, burying her face into (Y/N)’s neck.
They stayed like that for a long while. Just breathing. Just surviving.
Eventually, Silco shifted beside them, his voice low, yet steady.
“Come on,” he said, gently.
He reached down, wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders to help her rise. She trembled as she stood, her limbs aching, the chains dragging against her legs. Powder still clung to her, and with no small effort, (Y/N) shifted the girl up into her arms.
It hurt. It was heavy. Her body screamed in protest.
But she carried her anyway.
Silco kept close at her side, his hand never leaving her back as he slowly led them out of the ruins.
Behind them, a few of his surviving men regrouped near what was left of the factory. The fire still burned high in the distance, lighting the skyline like a grim beacon.
Silco glanced over his shoulder, voice firm as he spoke to them.
“Gather everything that’s left. Anything not lost in the blast- documents, weapons, shimmer... all of it.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “We’re done here. We take the bar now.”
There was no discussion.
The men moved quickly.
And Silco turned back to (Y/N), his voice quieter now, meant only for her and Jinx.
“We’ll start again,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “From the ashes.”
As the three of them walked off into the night- (Y/N) carrying Powder, Silco walking protectively at their side- the echoes of everything they’d lost still clung to their heels.
One they got to The Last Drop, Powder sat small and trembling on the bar, legs drawn up, ash smudged across her cheeks and under her eyes like a warpaint she never asked for. (Y/N) moved on instinct- her hands steady despite the shaking in her bones. She soaked the cloth in warm water and gently wiped away the soot, the blood, the smoke. Each stroke soft and methodical.
“There we go, Powpow…” she whispered, voice quiet, mother-soft. “I’ve got you.”
Powder flinched at the name, her lip wobbling. “Jinx…”
(Y/N)’s hands froze, just for a moment.
Powder didn’t look up. Her voice cracked as she repeated it. “I’m a jinx… That’s what I should be called…”
(Y/N) didn’t argue. Didn’t correct her. She just resumed cleaning, her touch never wavering.
“…Okay…” she said softly. “Either way... I’ve got you...”
From the far side of the bar, Silco watched. Silent. Still.
His eyes tracked the chains at (Y/N)’s wrists- the way they pulled at her skin every time she moved to tend to Powder.
He stepped forward slowly, fingers brushing the edge of a small brass key in his coat pocket. When he spoke, his voice was cautious. Careful.
“(Y/N)…?”
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp and cold beneath her exhaustion. She looked like she hadn’t fully come down from the chaos. Like a thread pulled too tight.
Silco held up the key.
“Can I trust you still?”
She scoffed, the sound dry, brittle. “I think that’s my question, Silco.”
He let out a quiet hum. Not a laugh. Not quite.
“I suppose it is.”
He walked closer, holding the key between two fingers. “This is for your chains. If I know you won’t turn on me… I’ll undo them.”
Powder’s- no, Jinx’s- eyes widened as she noticed the chains for the first time. “You’re- You’re chained-?” she gasped, reaching for (Y/N)’s wrists.
(Y/N) didn’t look away from Silco, but her expression softened as Powder pleaded, “L-Let her go… please?”
Silco didn’t move yet.
(Y/N) took a deep breath.
“I won’t attack you,” she said finally, her voice low, calm, resolute. “If that’s what you’re asking.” Her jaw clenched. “Undo them.”
Silco studied her for a moment longer- long enough for the weight of the moment to settle between them.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward… and slid the key into the lock.
The moment the chains hit the floor with a clatter, the magic surged.
Golden marks bloomed like ink across (Y/N)’s skin, glowing softly as they curled up her arms, pulsing with life and power that had been kept caged for far too long. Her eyes lit with the same glow- bright, wild, beautiful- before it all flickered, then faded, like the last flare of a dying star.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t revel in the return of her freedom.
She just exhaled quietly… and turned right back to Jinx.
There was no rage. No revenge. Just… care.
She dipped the cloth again, gently cleaning around the girl’s forehead where soot clung to her hairline. Her voice was soft, steady again.
“Almost done, sweetheart…”
Jinx stayed quiet, sniffling now and again, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar tightly.
Silco didn’t speak. He simply watched her- this girl who once burned like fire, now bent over the broken remnants of a child she swore to protect. There was something reverent in the way he looked at her, something unreadable in the way his fingers twitched at his side but never reached out.
(Y/N) gave no further reaction to her magic’s return.
No questions.
No celebration.
She just tucked a lock of Jinx’s hair behind her ear and whispered, “There we go, little firecracker…”
Because for now, she’d take care of her.
And she’d call her by something warm.
Something safe.
Until the world made room for her again.
Is there a chance, and this is a crack one-shot, do one of Amity Blight accidently calling Charlie Mom? Its setting takes place during episode 3 of Season 1 with the trust exercises.
Also for an idea, instead of Amity being a witch she can be a Cat Sinner who died in the mid 1980s at 16. Just to make it a bit angsty along with some Odalia bashing.
A/N: LOLOL Sure, @beastkeeper91!!! Its a bit shorter than my normal works, but I figured that was okay, because It was only a silly little crack one-shot.
Trust Fall Trauma pt.1
pt.2
Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.
Warnings: Toxic parent-child relationships, Trauma responses, Mild language.
Word Count: 1159
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Charlie sighed, adjusting her clipboard as she rallied her little chaotic crew into the lobby.
“Alright!” she beamed with unnatural optimism. “Today’s team-building exercise is about trust!”
Groans erupted.
Charlie clapped. “It’s called a trust fall. One person falls back, the other catches them. Easy!”
That was when Amity Blight, one of the Hotel’s newer residents, felt her fur bristle.
She crossed her arms, tail flicking sharply. “That sounds like something invented by a corporate psychopath.”
“Exactly!” Charlie chirped. “Now partner up!”
It took some aggressive pairing (and a minor explosion), but soon everyone was reluctantly lined up. Amity ended up with Charlie.
Which… wasn’t terrible. Charlie was weirdly kind for someone born of literal Hell royalty. And she hadn’t yelled at Amity once, unlike what she was used to.
Charlie smiled softly. “You ready?”
“No,” Amity deadpanned. “But fine. Let’s get this over with.”
She turned, arms stiff at her sides, muttering, “If you drop me, I’m going to claw your face off.”
Charlie just laughed. “I got you, I promise.”
Amity hesitated for a moment. Then she let herself fall.
And Charlie caught her.
Effortlessly. Gently. Like she did this every day.
And something inside Amity broke.
A quiet, aching little thing she’d buried decades ago.
Her mouth opened before her brain could stop it.
“…Thanks, Mom.”
Silence.
Angel Dust howled with laughter.
Alastor raised an eyebrow.
Vaggie’s jaw hit the floor.
Charlie blinked. “Wait- did you just-?”
Amity’s ears flattened instantly, her face going crimson. “NO. NOPE. I- That wasn’t- Shut up-”
“Oh my-,” Angel wheezed. “She called Charlie Mom.”
“I am flattered,” Charlie said, cheeks pink.
“I hate all of you,” Amity growled, fur puffed up to max embarrassment mode.
She stormed off to the hallway, heart pounding like a jackhammer.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She hadn’t called anyone “Mom” since she was alive. And even then- Odalia Blight didn’t count. That woman had been more CEO than mother.
She still remembered the “trust exercises” her mother used to do.
“Trust me, Amity. You’ll be grateful for this training someday.” “Trust me, darling, this pain is for your own good.”
She'd rather rot in Hell (which, technically, she was doing) than ever call Odalia "Mom" again.
But Charlie? Charlie, with her sunshine-and-rainbows smile and the way she caught Amity without hesitation? That moment cracked something fragile wide open.
She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, tail twitching with frustration and… something like grief.
“Hey.”
Charlie’s voice was soft as she walked up, keeping a gentle distance.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Amity didn't look at her. “It’s fine. I just… glitched.”
“Everyone has glitches,” Charlie said. “I think that was really brave.”
Amity snorted. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
Charlie smiled sadly. “I know what it’s like. To have a mom who doesn’t… feel like a mom.”
That made Amity freeze.
“I just want you to know,” Charlie added, “you’re safe here. No trust fall required.”
And for the first time in a long time, Amity felt something warm bloom behind her ribs.
“Thanks,” she said, quieter this time.
And then:
“But if you ever tell anyone about this, I do have claws.”
Charlie just laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me… kiddo.”
Amity groaned, facepalming. “Don’t push it.”
For the next three days, Amity Blight perfected the ancient art of Avoidance.
She mastered it with the elegance of a cat slipping under a door and the speed of a bat outta Hell.
If anyone walked into a room- she left it.
If Angel Dust started teasing her- she vanished.
If Alastor smiled at her too long- she bolted like someone had lit her tail on fire.
But Charlie?
Somehow, Charlie was the only one Amity didn’t avoid.
Which only made things worse- because now everyone noticed.
Vaggie caught on first.
She cornered Charlie in the kitchen over a burned pot of… Something..? It looked inedible.
“She keeps orbiting you,” Vaggie said, stirring aggressively. “Like a traumatized raccoon. With trust issues.”
Charlie blinked. “She’s just… figuring things out.”
“Yeah, figuring out how to run away like it’s a track meet,” Vaggie muttered.
“She’s trying.”
“She called you Mom, Charlie.”
Charlie smiled faintly. “Yeah. I know.”
Vaggie gave her a look. “Are you okay with that?”
Charlie didn’t answer right away. Then she softly said, “I think she needs someone who doesn’t hurt her just for existing.”
Vaggie’s expression softened. She took over the stirring for Charlie, doing it a little… Less violently than she would have normally.
“Alright. Then we pull her in.”
Charlie tilted her head. “What, like… a redemption intervention?”
Vaggie grinned. “More like forced bonding.”
Amity was tiptoeing down the hallway, tail low, ears back, perfect stealth mode activated-
“AMITY!”
She yelped. Practically jumped out of her own fur.
Charlie was there, all sunshine and way-too-much-energy-for-Hell. Vaggie stood beside her, arms crossed, looking suspiciously like someone who'd just baited a trap.
“Come with us,” Charlie said cheerfully.
Amity narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“No reason!” Charlie lied terribly. “Just… hanging out.”
“Team-building,” Vaggie added. “Again.”
Amity took a slow, suspicious step back. “Is this another trust fall? Because if so, I swear-”
“Nope,” Charlie beamed. “Today’s activity is… redecorating!”
“Decorating?”
“The hotel,” Charlie said brightly. “You live here now. You should make it feel like home.”
Amity looked between the two of them, eyes narrowing.
“…this is a trap.”
“Obviously,” Vaggie said, grabbing her arm.
They ended up in one of the guest lounges, with buckets of paint, mismatched furniture, and an actual beanbag throne Angel Dust had labeled “KING SHIT ONLY.”
Charlie handed Amity a brush. “You pick the color.”
Amity blinked. “What?”
“This room’s yours to redecorate. Do whatever you want.”
Amity hesitated.
This didn’t feel like a punishment. Or a manipulation. Or one of those “trust me, darling” moments Odalia used to weaponize.
It felt… safe. Real. Like her opinion mattered.
“…Purple,” she muttered. “Midnight violet.”
Charlie grinned. “Classy. I like it.”
As they worked- paint splattering, Angel popping in to offer unhelpful interior design advice (“Have you considered GLITTER VOMIT?”)- Amity started to loosen up.
Just a little.
By the end of the day, the room looked… More her. And Amity felt like maybe- maybe- she didn’t have to hide in the shadows forever.
Later that night, after everyone else drifted off to their chaos or beds, Amity lingered in the lounge, curled in a beanbag with a book she'd found in a forgotten corner.
Charlie poked her head in.
“Hey,” she said. “Can I come in?”
Amity nodded without looking up. “Sure, Mom.”
Silence.
She froze.
Charlie blinked.
“…again?” Vaggie called from the hallway.
“IT WAS A SLIP!” Amity shouted, ears flattening, eyes wide.
But Charlie just smiled, soft and warm. “It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”
“…You should. It’s weird.”
“I think,” Charlie said gently, “it means I’m doing something right.”
Amity looked away, swallowing hard.
She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t cry. But she didn’t run either…
different anon but can you do another part to "where the hurt doesn't reach" but with a female reader? And with Mahiru, Toko and Maki?
Lmao just realised whilst writing that's one girl from each main game
A/N: Of course :} We love some wlw. Just so its made known, though, any time I write for Toko, I am going to add Jack into it as well. Just because there isn't exactly one without the other.
Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.4
pt.3 - pt.5
pt.1
Mahiru, Toko (Plus Genocide Jack), and Maki x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety /Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues
Word Count: 3849
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mahiru:
The afternoon light poured softly through the old windows of Hope’s Peak’s photography studio, painting the floor in golden strips. Dust hung suspended in the beams, undisturbed until Mahiru Koizumi walked through them, camera slung over her shoulder, her gaze sharp but kind.
She hadn’t expected anyone to be here. The studio was usually empty this time of day- most students preferring the courtyard or their dorms. But as she stepped inside, her eyes caught the figure curled in the corner.
(Y/N) sat on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she was holding herself together. She flinched before Mahiru even said a word.
Mahiru stopped. No sudden moves. No loud noises. Just a steady breath, then another.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said gently. “I can leave, if you want.”
(Y/N)’s eyes flicked up. She didn’t speak- just shook her head, barely perceptible. Her gaze was wary, but not unkind.
Mahiru studied her for a moment. (Y/N) had always kept to herself in class. Quiet. Careful. Like she was bracing for something. Mahiru had seen bruises like that before- not the kind on skin, but the kind behind the eyes.
“I just wanted to develop some photos,” Mahiru continued, moving to her usual table. She set down her bag with deliberate softness, not looking at (Y/N) again right away. “You can stay. I don’t mind.”
Silence stretched. A quiet, fragile kind. But Mahiru didn’t try to fill it. She just got to work, letting the scent of developer fluid and the rhythmic motions of her craft fill the room with calm.
A soft voice, almost a whisper “You… take photos of people, right?”
Mahiru turned. (Y/N)’s arms were still wrapped around herself, but her gaze had shifted. Curious. Afraid, but curious.
“Yeah,” Mahiru said. “Not the posed kind, though. I like catching real moments. People being themselves.”
“…Is that hard?”
Mahiru tilted her head. “Sometimes. Depends on the person. Some people put up walls. Some people just… disappear behind a smile.” She paused. “But I think everyone deserves to be seen. Really seen. Not judged. Not used. Just… seen.”
(Y/N) blinked. Her throat moved like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words. Mahiru didn’t push her.
Minutes passed. Then… “Can I see one?”
Mahiru smiled, soft and genuine. She handed over a photo- black and white, grainy but intimate. A girl laughing mid-step, barefoot in the rain. The joy in her eyes was unfiltered. Free.
“She looks happy,” (Y/N) murmured, almost like it hurt to say.
“She was. For a moment.”
“…I don’t think I’ve ever looked like that.”
Something in Mahiru’s chest tugged painfully. She crouched near (Y/N), keeping a careful distance, her voice quieter now.
“Then maybe one day,” she said, “I can take a photo of you like that.”
(Y/N) tensed. She didn’t look up. “I don’t… like cameras.”
Mahiru nodded. “Okay. I won’t take any unless you ask.”
A long silence followed, but it was different now. Less sharp. Less suffocating.
Finally, (Y/N) asked, “Why are you being nice to me?”
Mahiru looked at her, earnest and unwavering. “Because I’ve seen what cruelty does to people. And because being kind… costs nothing. But it means everything.”
(Y/N)’s eyes shimmered, and she wiped at them with the back of her sleeve. Not sobbing. Just letting go, piece by piece.
“Most guys I knew didn’t think that way,” she whispered.
“I’m not most guys,” Mahiru said simply. “And they were wrong. About everything.”
The room felt warmer now. Not fully safe- not yet- but safer than it had been. Mahiru turned back to her photos, giving (Y/N) her space, but the quiet between them no longer felt like a wall.
It felt like a bridge.
The next time Mahiru entered the studio, (Y/N) was already there.
She sat on the windowsill this time, knees tucked up, eyes on the light slanting across the floor. She didn’t look surprised when Mahiru arrived- just quietly acknowledged her with a small nod.
Mahiru smiled softly. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
That was all. No explanations, no apologies for taking up space. Just presence.
Mahiru began setting up her camera again, checking the prints she’d left to dry last time. Her hands worked by muscle memory, but her mind was half on (Y/N). She could feel the quiet shift in the air- not tension, but something fragile trying to grow roots.
“You come here a lot,” (Y/N) said after a while, her voice still soft but a little more open.
Mahiru glanced up. “Yeah. It’s my favorite place. It’s quiet, but not lonely. You know?”
(Y/N) nodded. “I think I do.”
They spent more afternoons like that- saying little, doing even less. Sometimes (Y/N) brought a book. Sometimes she watched Mahiru work in silence, eyes following her movements with a kind of wary fascination.
One day, after Mahiru developed a print and held it up to the light, she felt (Y/N)’s gaze linger a little longer than usual.
“…Can I try?”
Mahiru turned, blinking. “You want to take a photo?”
(Y/N) hesitated, like the offer might collapse if she reached for it. Then she nodded.
“Of something else. Not people. Just… I want to know what you see through the camera.”
Mahiru handed it over gently, careful not to overwhelm her. “It’s all about finding the moment,” she said. “Even if it’s quiet. Especially if it’s quiet.”
(Y/N) moved slowly through the room, camera clutched like something precious. She didn’t raise it to her eye right away. Just observed. Then- click.
A stack of worn books on a shelf… The light catching on Mahiru’s film strips. A photo pinned crookedly on the wall, curling at the edges like it had been there too long.
When she handed the camera back, her hands were shaking just a little. But her eyes were calm.
Mahiru reviewed the shots, brows lifting. “These are good.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.” Mahiru turned the display toward her. “Look. You’ve got an eye for the quiet things. The things most people overlook. That’s rare.”
Something bloomed faintly in (Y/N)’s chest- small, unfamiliar. Not pride. Something gentler. Like she mattered.
“You’re the only one I like being around,” she admitted quietly. “Everyone else feels… too loud. Too close.”
Mahiru set the camera down, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she moved to sit near her, again keeping distance but close enough to be felt.
“I’ll never be loud with you,” Mahiru promised. “Not unless you want me to be. And if you ever want space, I’ll give it. You call the shots.”
(Y/N) looked at her- really looked at her- and for the first time, the fear in her eyes wasn’t the strongest thing there.
“…Can I take a photo of you?” she asked. “Just once?”
Mahiru blinked. “Me?”
(Y/N) nodded, already lifting the camera. “You were the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t broken.”
Mahiru didn’t speak- just sat still, the warmth in her expression softening every line of her face.
Click....
(Y/N) lowered the camera. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore.
Toko (and Jack):
(Y/N) kept to the corners of Hope’s Peak like a ghost- silent, untouchable, half-there. Shadows had become home, and solitude, the safest companion. The halls were too loud, the stares too sharp, and worst of all, there were too many boys. Too many broad shoulders, too many lowered voices and sudden movements, too many ways for fear to bloom in their chest like a bruise.
So when Toko Fukawa noticed them- really noticed- it was like the page of a book folding open mid-sentence.
She was used to being invisible, too. Not that she wanted attention. Attention meant judgment. Meant whispers and the gleam of disgust in someone’s eye. But (Y/N) wasn’t disgusted. When she looked at her, it was like she was bracing for a storm that never came. Like she was holding her breath, and still chose to meet her gaze anyway.
It unsettled her. And fascinated her.
One afternoon in the library, the silence between them finally broke. (Y/N) sat at the farthest table, fingers twitching as she turned the same page over and over, unread.
“You’re… uh… you’re not doing it right,” Toko blurted, then flinched at herself. “I mean-! You’ve been on that page for six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”
(Y/N) startled like a deer, flinching before shrinking into herself. Toko nearly apologized- nearly- but the words died in her throat. She saw the fear then, tucked behind her eyes like a broken wing.
“I wasn’t watching you,” she lied, cheeks burning. “Okay, maybe I was, but not in a creepy way, I swear. I just- ugh! I mean-” She groaned, burying her face in her sleeves. “This is why I should just talk to paper…”
“…You’re not scary.”
The voice was so soft, Toko almost didn’t hear it.
(Y/N) was still hunched, but she looked at her with something new: caution, not fear. As if testing the waters of her presence.
“You’re not like them,” she said.
Toko blinked. Then flushed deeper.
“W-Well of course not! I’m disgusting and weird and hideous and- wait, no, that wasn’t the point-!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “God, I’m screwing this up…”
But (Y/N) wasn’t retreating. Their lips twitched upward- not quite a smile, more like the idea of one.
A beat passed. Then Toko hesitated. “Do you… wanna read with me?”
The next few days were different.
(Y/N) didn’t talk much, but she didn’t have to. Toko would sit across from her in the library, the space between filled with the quiet rustle of pages and the faint tap of pencils. She’d sneak glances when (Y/N) wasn’t looking. Noticed how her shoulders flinched whenever someone loud passed by. How she always kept a wall at her back.
Toko knew trauma. Knew what it was like to live with the ghost of a hand too rough and a voice too loud. It made her stomach twist, thinking of what (Y/N) must’ve endured. But she didn’t ask. Instead, she gave her space- and safety.
At least, until Genocide Jack decided to make an appearance.
(Y/N) had been particularly quiet that day. Paler than usual. The bruise of nightmares still dark under her eyes. Toko barely had time to ask what was wrong before the pressure in her chest burst.
A jolt, a cackle, a sneeze- and she was gone.
In her place stood Genocide Jack, twirling scissors in her hand like they were an extension of her fingers.
“Well, hellooo, cupcake!” she sang, eyes glinting. “Didn’t expect to see such a sad little cutie on this fine, freaky day!”
(Y/N) froze.
Jack noticed.
Her smirk faltered, just a little. She cocked her head, lowering her scissors.
“Hey. Hey, woah. Easy there, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You think I’m gonna hurt you? Nah. You’re not my type.” She winked, but it didn’t carry the same manic glee. More… reassuring. Protective, even.
“You’re shaking,” she said, softer now. “Who did it?”
(Y/N)’s eyes flicked away.
Jack crouched down in front of them, still keeping a careful distance.
“You know, Toko’s real boring about this crap. She’d stammer and flail and write you a sad sonnet or whatever.” She tapped her chin. “But me? I get mad. Real mad. No one- and I mean no one- gets to hurt my little book buddy.”
That surprised (Y/N). “Book… buddy?”
“Damn right,” Jack said, grinning. “You’ve been sharing brain space with Toko. Which means, like it or not, you’ve got me too. Congratulations! You’ve earned a raving lunatic guardian angel.”
It was ridiculous. And terrifying. And oddly… comforting.
When Toko returned, blinking back into herself like a splash of cold water, she gasped. “Did she say something weird? She always says something weird-”
“She called me her book buddy,” (Y/N) murmured.
Toko froze. A flush crept up her face.
“She… she what?!”
(Y/N) chuckled.
It was quiet, fragile- but real. The first sound of real laughter that had left her in weeks.
And in that moment, for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt safe.
Not because the world was safe.
But because someone saw her. Bruises and all. And stayed.
After that strange, oddly healing moment, something began to shift.
(Y/N) kept coming to the library, but now she didn’t sit across from Toko- she sat beside her. Close enough that their sleeves would sometimes brush. Close enough that when loud footsteps echoed down the hall, (Y/N) would inch a little nearer, and Toko wouldn’t say a word. She’d just keep reading, heart pounding but steady, letting her presence do what words couldn’t.
And sometimes, when things got especially bad- when the nightmares came back, when (Y/N) walked the halls like she was holding back tears with each breath- Genocide Jack would come out, unprompted.
Toko didn’t always understand it, but somehow, (Y/N) liked her.
Her. The maniac. The murderer. The sharp-toothed, unfiltered chaos hiding in her bones.
“You’re not afraid of me,” Jack had said once, tilting her head as she sprawled upside down across the library bench. “Why’s that, huh? You like girls with a little stab in their step?”
(Y/N) gave her a look that was half-smile, half-sigh. “You’re honest,” she said simply. “You never lie about what you are.”
Jack blinked. Then she gave a laugh that wasn’t manic at all- just warm.
“Damn. You’re weird. I like it.”
They became an odd trio, in their way. (Y/N), quiet and ghostlike, Toko with her words and shame and fragile pride, and Jack, blazing through it all like a storm with scissors and sarcasm.
When Toko asked, in one of her rare moments of boldness, why (Y/N) kept showing up, she answered without hesitation:
“Because you make me feel okay… just being here.”
That stayed with Toko. Long after the library closed. Long after (Y/N) had gone.
It haunted her in the best way.
One evening, the library was nearly empty. Toko sat with her knees hugged to her chest, notebook open but untouched. (Y/N) hadn’t said much all day. She was pale again. Too still.
“Bad night?” she asked quietly.
(Y/N) nodded, then hesitated. “He used to bang on the door before coming in. Even now… I flinch when I hear knocking.”
Toko’s hands clenched around her sleeves.
“…I know how that feels.”
She looked up, surprised.
Toko wasn’t looking at her- she was staring at the floor, trembling just slightly.
“I had someone like that… he never knocked, either,” she whispered. “Sometimes I think I still hear his footsteps. I hate it. I hate how my body still remembers even when I try to forget.”
(Y/N) shifted. Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand over Toko’s.
Just that.
Toko froze.
But she didn’t pull away.
Neither of them said anything for a while. The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It was soft. Tentative.
“Do you… wanna stay with me tonight?” (Y/N) asked. “We don’t have to talk. Just… I sleep better when I know someone’s nearby.”
Toko’s breath caught.
Then she nodded.
That night, Toko sat curled in a beanbag in (Y/N)’s dorm room, notebook in her lap, glasses slipping down her nose. (Y/N) was in bed, curled under her blanket, already breathing softly.
Jack didn’t come out. For once, she stayed quiet. Still. Maybe even… at peace.
Toko watched (Y/N) sleep for a while, blinking slowly.
She didn’t understand why she liked being around her- around them- but she felt it. Felt it in the way (Y/N) leaned into her presence. Trusted her. Wanted her there.
It didn’t make her feel disgusting.
It made her feel wanted.
Maki:
It started with a broken cup.
(Y/N) hadn’t meant to drop it- it was just a clumsy twitch of the wrist, a ghost memory of flinching at a voice that wasn’t there. The ceramic shattered on the dormitory floor, echoing far too loud in the quiet of the common room. Her breath caught, eyes wide, body frozen like prey expecting punishment.
Maki Harukawa stepped into the doorway at that exact moment.
Her expression was unreadable, the same quiet storm it always was. Sharp eyes flicked from the broken cup to (Y/N), then to the trembling in her hands.
“I’ll clean it,” (Y/N) said quickly, too quickly. Her voice was thin and shaky, like a thread pulled too tight. “I didn’t mean to- please, don’t-”
“I’m not mad.” Maki’s voice was flat, but not cold. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if approaching a wounded animal. “I’ll get the broom.”
(Y/N) blinked. That was all she said.
Minutes passed. The shards were swept into a dustpan. Maki didn’t ask questions, didn’t press. She simply crouched, scooped the last of the fragments into a bag, and threw it away.
Then silence.
(Y/N) stood awkwardly in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
“You... wanted to?”
Maki finally looked at her then- really looked. Not with pity, but with a kind of quiet understanding that unnerved and comforted at once.
“I’ve seen that look before,” she said after a pause. “The way you flinched. The way your voice changes around men.”
(Y/N) stiffened.
Maki sat down on the edge of the couch, legs tucked under her. She didn’t ask (Y/N) to join her. She didn’t ask anything at all.
But after a moment, (Y/N) sat too. Not beside her- just near enough to feel the warmth of someone who wasn’t going to hurt her.
“It was my stepfather,” (Y/N) whispered, unsure why the words came out. “He was... angry. A lot. And when I couldn’t be what he wanted, he made sure I understood that.”
Maki didn’t look away. Her face didn’t twist in sympathy. She just listened.
“I’m afraid all the time,” (Y/N) admitted. “Especially around men. I know not everyone’s like him, but my body won’t listen. It freezes. I... freeze.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Maki’s tone didn’t change, but there was something soft behind it now. “Fear is how we survive sometimes.”
(Y/N) looked at her- the calm way Maki sat, so still, like a blade sheathed but never dull. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t reach out. She gave them space in a way no one else did.
“You’re the first person who hasn’t tried to fix me,” (Y/N) said, voice barely audible.
“That’s because you’re not broken,” Maki answered. “You’re hurt. There’s a difference.”
Silence wrapped around them again, this time not suffocating, but protective. Like a blanket pulled just high enough to hide behind.
Maki stood after a while, heading for the door. But before she left, she paused.
“I’m in the training room most mornings,” she said. “You don’t have to come. But if you do, I won’t ask why.”
(Y/N) blinked. “Are you... inviting me?”
Her eyes met (Y/N)’s. “I’m saying... it’s easier to fight ghosts when you’re not alone.”
And then she was gone.
But the room didn’t feel empty after.
It felt like the beginning of something quiet and kind.
It took three days for (Y/N) to show up.
She lingered at the edge of the training room, hands in her sleeves, unsure if she was welcome or just tolerated. But Maki didn’t stop mid-punch or raise an eyebrow. She just glanced toward her once, nodded like she’d expected it all along, and kept moving.
The rhythmic sound of fists against the sandbag was oddly soothing. Predictable. Controlled.
Unlike the chaos in (Y/N)’s chest.
“Want to try?” Maki asked without turning around.
(Y/N) hesitated. “I don’t really... fight.”
“That’s fine,” Maki said simply. “You don’t have to be strong like me.”
She offered a pair of gloves anyway, left them on the bench without pressure. (Y/N) didn’t touch them. Not that day.
But she came back. Again and again.
And slowly, something changed.
It wasn’t about the punching bags or the training. It was the routine. The silence. The way Maki didn’t push or prod or fill the air with empty words. She understood the language of people who flinch when spoken to too loudly.
(Y/N) started stretching beside her. Then mimicking the jabs. Then laughing- only once- when she tripped over her own feet, and Maki’s mouth twitched with something dangerously close to a smirk.
She was different when she let her guard down. Her sarcasm was dry and unexpected, her observations razor-sharp but never cruel. And (Y/N) found herself relaxing, just a little, every time she was near.
One morning, (Y/N) came in with a hoodie pulled tight over their head, shoulders hunched. Her eyes were puffy. She didn’t say anything.
Maki didn’t ask.
She just took a water bottle, cracked it open, and handed it over wordlessly.
“I had a nightmare,” (Y/N) whispered after a while. “I woke up and thought I was back there.”
Maki looked at her, silent for a moment. Then she said, “Sometimes I still dream of the first person I had to kill.”
(Y/N)’s breath caught.
“I didn’t want to,” Maki continued. “But I was told it was necessary. That if I didn’t, they’d kill me instead.”
A pause.
Then, gently: “You’re not alone in waking up afraid.”
(Y/N) looked down at her hands. “I hate how weak I feel.”
“You’re not weak. You survived.”
One week later, (Y/N) asked if she could walk with Maki to the courtyard.
It wasn’t much. Just sitting together in the chilly breeze, backs against the wall, sharing a peach Maki had taken from the kitchen like it was nothing.
Maki glanced sideways as (Y/N) chewed in silence. “You don’t have to stay near me just because I make you feel safe.”
(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “That’s not the only reason.”
“Oh?”
“I... like you.” The words stumbled out in a rush. “I mean, not just the way you make me feel calm. I like you. The way you listen. The way you don’t treat me like glass.”
Maki blinked. For a second, she said nothing.
Then: “I like being around you too.”
She didn’t blush. Didn’t fidget. But she let her knee brush against (Y/N)’s, the contact featherlight but real. Present. Intentional.
“I won’t touch you unless you ask,” Maki said quietly. “But if you ever want to be close, I’ll be here.”
And (Y/N), for the first time in years, leaned in just enough to rest her head against her shoulder.
The air smelled like fallen leaves and something new.
Something safe.
hello, can u make nsfw headcanons for sub!makoto naegi x male reader plisss
A/N: Absolutely! I can do that :}
Melt for Me
Sub!Makoto Naegi x Male!Reader
Warnings: MDNI 18+, Explicit sexual content, Dominance/Submission Dynamics, Praise Kink, Physical Restraints, Orgasm Control/Denial, Overstimulation
Word Count: 645
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- Makoto is a naturally obedient mess: It doesn’t even take (Y/N) raising his voice. A firm look, a subtle command, or even a hand at the back of his neck is enough to have Makoto nodding, face burning, ready to do whatever he's told.
- He craves praise like oxygen: (Y/N) quickly picks up on it- a murmured "good boy" in his ear will have Makoto melting, his knees buckling, his face hiding against (Y/N)'s chest to escape how much he's blushing.
- Makoto has the softest whimpers when (Y/N) pulls his hair: Not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough to guide his head wherever (Y/N) wants it. It makes Makoto shiver- it always leaves him pliant and needy.
- (Y/N) loves the way Makoto fidgets when he’s being teased: Biting his lip, shifting his weight, fists clenching at his sides like he's fighting the urge to beg out loud. Sometimes, (Y/N) will order him to "keep still," just to watch him tremble from the effort.
- Makoto secretly loves being marked: (Y/N) trailing his teeth along his neck, leaving faint bruises hidden under his clothes? It makes Makoto feel claimed. It’s both humiliating and addictive.
- Punishments are almost worse because Makoto likes them: If he slips up- talking back, hesitating too long, or being bratty- (Y/N) makes him kneel, hands behind his back, eyes low. And Makoto aches to be forgiven.
- Makoto is so easy to overwhelm with dirty talk: A few low-spoken threats or promises from (Y/N) and he's a shaking, panting mess, barely able to function. (Y/N) teases him by whispering filth in his ear during normal activities, just to see him choke on his words.
- Makoto is absolutely weak for being pinned: Whether it's pressed up against a wall, pinned to a bed, or trapped on (Y/N)’s lap with no escape, it gets Makoto dizzy and breathless fast. (Y/N) loves using his strength to manhandle him a little, especially when Makoto squirms just to be caught again.
- Overstimulation Games: (Y/N) loves to tie Makoto’s wrists above his head, blindfold him, and just… take his time. Feather-light touches, whispered threats, teasing and denying him until Makoto’s begging- voice cracking- promising he’ll be "so good" if (Y/N) just lets him finish.
- "On Your Knees": Makoto reacts instantly when (Y/N) uses that tone. Doesn’t matter if they’re home, in a hallway, anywhere. His legs give out almost automatically, pupils blown wide, waiting for permission to move any further.
- (Y/N) trains Makoto to ask for what he wants: No more shy hints or hopeful glances- Makoto has to say it, clearly and properly. "Please, touch me." "Please, can I come?" And every time he does, (Y/N) rewards him devastatingly well. No vague whining- full sentences, clear language, desperate voice. "Please, I need you. I need you so bad, I'll do anything, please just-" (Y/N) watches, arms crossed, making him work for every reward.
- Orgasm Control: (Y/N) sometimes forbids Makoto from finishing until he says he can. Makoto's thighs tremble, his whole body tight with the effort to obey. The first time he accidentally came without permission, the punishment was so slow and deliciously cruel that Makoto apologized for days.
- Despite all the heat and dominance, there's a tenderness underneath it: Makoto knows, with unshakable certainty, that (Y/N) treasures him- every trembling, obedient part of him. Makoto gets pulled into (Y/N)'s lap, wrapped up tight, praised sweetly until he’s hiccuping little sobs of gratitude against his chest. - Aftercare Overload: No matter how rough (Y/N) gets, after it’s over, Makoto is tucked into bed, hair stroked, soft kisses pressed against every sore spot. (Y/N) whispers praises into his hair, calling him beautiful, perfect, precious- until Makoto falls asleep blissed out and safe.
Ember in the Dark pt.5
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.4 - pt.6
pt.1
Warnings: Violence, Combat, Injury, Mild gore, Abduction, Restraint, Death, Hallucinations/Visions, Blood, and Panic/Fear.
Word Count: 6174
Summary: (Y/N) is ambushed by three hooded figures trying to abduct her. She fights back but is restrained until her scream alerts Vander, Silco, and Felicia. A brutal fight ensues, leaving her stabbed before her attackers are defeated or driven off. Silco rushes her home, where Felicia stitches her wound while Vander and Silco struggle to contain her unstable magic. Before losing consciousness, she sees a vision of her mother. Realizing the attack was a targeted abduction, Vander and Silco investigate and learn that the Mageseekers, possibly backed by someone powerful, won’t stop hunting her. Meanwhile, Felicia watches over (Y/N). When she wakes, Silco warns her not to go out alone. Though frustrated, she accepts his help, and in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness, he washes and combs her hair, revealing his fear. She reassures him, but both know the danger isn’t over. Left alone, (Y/N) struggles to rest, haunted by how close she came to being taken.
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The grip on her arm was like iron.
One moment, she was walking behind the others, her steps careful, keeping an eye on the shadows. The next, a rough yank wrenched her off balance, dragging her into the darkness of a narrow alleyway.
She barely had time to react before she was shoved against the damp stone wall, a gloved hand clamping over her mouth. Instinct flared- she thrashed, trying to throw her weight forward, but another force seized her other arm, pinning her in place.
"Quiet." The voice was cold, controlled. A tone that expected obedience.
Three of them. Just like before.
Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Their clothes were dark, heavy- made for blending in. Beneath their hoods, she caught glimpses of stern faces, sharp eyes that held purpose.
They weren’t just some random thugs looking to mug her.
This was something else.
The man holding her still leaned in slightly, eyes flickering over her face, searching for something. Confirming something.
“She’s the one,” he murmured.
Her blood ran cold.
The second man- broader, his grip bruising her arm- spoke next, voice laced with disdain. “Took us long enough to track her down. She’s been hiding.”
She didn’t understand. Who were these people?
The third figure, standing just behind the others, exhaled sharply. “She doesn’t even know why we’re here...”
She stiffened.
Before she could process that, the first man leaned in closer, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.
“You’re coming with us.”
No.
She didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but she knew she couldn’t let them take her.
She jerked against their grip, shoving her weight forward, twisting, trying to rip herself free. The man restraining her hissed in frustration, tightening his hold.
Then, she felt it.
A tingling beneath her skin. A crackling in her bones. A spark, desperate and wild, clawing to the surface.
Her breath came fast, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she fought against the instinct screaming at her to let go. She could- she knew she could- but she wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.
Instead, she did the one thing she avoided at all costs.
She screamed.
A raw, desperate sound tore from her throat, sharp and jagged, cutting through the damp, crowded streets of the Undercity.
The men cursed, reacting instantly. The one holding her mouth recoiled, caught off guard just long enough for her to thrash against his grip. The broader man snarled and clamped down harder on her arm, yanking her back before she could bolt.
“Shut her up,” he snapped.
A gloved hand struck her cheek. The sting was sharp, burning- but she didn’t stop.
She couldn’t stop.
“VANDER! SILCO!!” she screamed again, using every bit of breath in her lungs, hoping- praying- that they heard her before these bastards dragged her away.
Shouting erupted from the streets.
The men tensed.
Her heart soared.
The voices were distant but getting closer- familiar voices.
“(Y/N)?”
Vander.
Then another, sharp and cutting- “Where is she?!”
The hooded figures exchanged looks, calculating.
They had seconds before her people arrived.
The grip on her loosened just slightly- just enough.
And she took her chance.
With everything she had, she drove her knee into the nearest man’s gut, using the momentum to rip her arm free. The other lunged to grab her, but she twisted away, slipping through his fingers just as-
Vander and Silco came crashing into the alley.
Felicia rushed in after, keeping her distance but ready.
Vander was a force of nature, barreling straight for the nearest hooded figure. His sheer presence alone sent the man stumbling back.
Silco was precise, fast, cold- lunging straight for the one who had hit her, a blade flashing in his hand.
Panting, she stumbled back. Felicia was suddenly at her side, gripping her arms, steadying her.
She wasn’t alone... The alley exploded into chaos.
Vander fought like a battering ram, his fists landing like sledgehammers against the people who had been attacking (Y/N). He slammed one against the brick wall, sending the man crumpling to the ground with a sickening crack.
Silco was faster, sharper- his knife found its mark in the shoulder of the second man, twisting with ruthless precision. The man cried out, staggering back, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his cloak.
(Y/N) gasped for breath, pressing a hand to the fresh bruise on her cheek, her heart hammering. She could barely focus as Felicia yanked her further back, shielding her from the fight.
The group was trying to retreat.
They hadn’t expected this.
But just as the last one turned to flee, he moved too fast- too close to her.
It happened in an instant.
A flash of steel.
A searing pain tore through her side.
She sucked in a sharp breath, the world tilting as she looked down.
The blade was small but deep, buried just beneath her ribs. The figure yanked it back, and warmth spread across her torso- blood soaking through the fabric of her cloak.
Felicia screamed.
Silco turned instantly, eyes wide as he saw her sway.
Then, his expression shifted.
Pure, unrelenting rage twisted his features. His hand tightened around his knife.
He didn’t just stab this time- he drove the blade into the man’s gut and twisted it, his face inches from the man’s as he watched the light leave his eyes.
The hooded man gurgled.
Collapsed.
But she barely saw it.
Her knees buckled.
Pain flooded her senses, her breath ragged and shallow. Arms caught her before she hit the ground- Silco, his grip firm but shaking.
“(Y/N)- (Y/N), stay awake.”
Vander was suddenly there, pale-faced, pressing his hands against the wound.
Too much blood.
Felicia hovered, panic tightening her expression. “We need to move. Now.”
The fight was over. The group was either dead or gone.
But (Y/N) was slipping fast.
Silco clenched his jaw, his voice steady but tight. “We’re taking her home.”
Then, without another word, they ran.
Silco didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
(Y/N)’s blood was everywhere- soaking into his shirt, warm and sticky against his skin as he tightened his grip. She was too still, her head lolling slightly against his shoulder, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
Her eyes- he caught a glimpse of them through her half-lidded stare.
Glowing.
A faint, golden shimmer.
Not now.
Not here.
“Stay with me, (Y/N),” he muttered, barely hearing his own voice over the pounding of his heartbeat. “We’re almost there.”
Vander was at his side, keeping pace despite the panic in his expression. Felicia ran ahead, shoving people out of the way, clearing a path.
The bar was too far.
Too damn far.
Silco’s arms ached, but he didn’t dare let her go.
She stirred slightly, fingers twitching against his chest, lips parting as if to speak. But when she did, it wasn’t words- just a sharp, pained exhale as another jolt of golden light flickered through her hands.
Shit.
They burst through the back entrance of the bar, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.
Benzo took one look at (Y/N), at the blood, at them, and rushed forward.
“Get her upstairs. Now.”
Silco didn’t need to be told twice.
He took the stairs two at a time, Vander right behind him, Felicia on his heels. They reached her room, Silco lowering her onto the bed with a care that felt unnatural for him.
The moment he let go, her body tensed. Her fingers clenched in the sheets as a golden glow crackled up her arms.
She was losing control.
Vander swore. “(Y/N)-”
Silco grabbed her wrist, his grip firm, grounding.
“Breathe,” he ordered, voice sharp, forcing her to look at him.
Her eyes fluttered open- still glowing, but unfocused.
“It... hurts,” she rasped.
“I know.” Silco’s voice softened, but his free hand pressed against her wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “But you need to stay here. You hear me?”
Benzo shoved past Vander, dropping a bowl of water, cloth, and a needle with thread onto the bedside table. “She’s burning up. Someone’s gotta patch her up before she bleeds out.”
Felicia moved first, rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll do it.”
Silco didn’t let go of (Y/N)’s wrist. Vander hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed.
(Y/N)’s breathing was shallow, her hands trembling as golden light flickered along her skin, fading in and out. She was still here, still fighting.
And Silco wasn’t leaving her side.
Felicia’s hands were steady, but her heart pounded in her chest.
(Y/N)’s body was slick with sweat, her magic crackling at her fingertips, sparking against the sheets. It was wild- unstable. Every time she tensed in pain, the light flared, lashing out like a live wire.
“She’s gonna fry me,” Felicia muttered under her breath, threading the needle with shaking fingers.
“Then be quick,” Vander said, his grip tightening on (Y/N)’s shoulders. He and Silco pressed her down to keep her from thrashing.
Silco was still gripping her wrist, his knuckles white. “(Y/N),” he murmured, voice sharp. “You have to stop moving.”
She let out a choked sound- not quite a scream, but damn close. Her body jerked, golden light surging up her arms, singeing the sheets. Small embers hissed against the damp cloth Benzo had thrown over her stomach to catch the blood.
Felicia clenched her jaw. No more hesitating.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and then she pressed the needle into torn skin.
(Y/N) screamed.
Her back arched violently, her arms seizing as another burst of magic crackled out of her. Silco barely flinched as sparks danced up his forearm, burning through his sleeve. Vander gritted his teeth, holding her down as Felicia worked as fast as she could, threading the needle through her flesh, sealing the wound shut.
More sparks. More magic.
(Y/N) convulsed, nails digging into Silco’s arm, breath ragged, uneven.
Felicia’s fingers trembled. The needle was slick with blood. (Y/N)’s blood.
She worked faster.
Silco murmured to her again, voice low, grounding.
(Y/N)’s thrashing slowed.
The light in her hands flickered.
Felicia forced the last stitch through, tying it off with a sharp tug.
“It’s done,” she gasped, pressing a cloth over the wound to stem the bleeding. “She just- she just needs to rest now.”
Silco loosened his grip but didn’t move away. Vander let out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face.
Felicia wiped the sweat from her forehead with a shaky hand.
(Y/N) was barely conscious, her body limp, her breathing shallow. The glow at her fingertips had faded to a dull flicker, no longer sparking against the sheets.
They had stopped the bleeding.
But she had come too close.
Too close to dying.
Too close to losing control.
Felicia swallowed hard. “We can’t let this happen again.”
Vander exhaled. “No. We can’t.”
Silco said nothing. He just stayed where he was, still holding (Y/N)’s wrist, even long after her fingers had gone still.
The world blurred at the edges. The pain in her torso dulled, lost beneath exhaustion and the magic still humming under her skin. Voices murmured in the haze- Silco, firm and steady, grounding her. Vander, heavy with something unspoken. Felicia, exhaling sharply, muttering under her breath. Benzo, chiming in now and then but mostly quiet.
But beyond them, just past the flickering light of the room, stood someone else.
A figure- blurry, shifting, barely tangible.
(Y/N) blinked, her vision hazy, her mind tangled between reality and something else entirely.
The shape before her crackled softly, golden light sparking along its edges.
The same color that bled from her hands when she lost control.
The same magic.
The same blood.
“…Mama?”
The whisper barely left her lips, slipping away into the space between breath and silence.
The figure didn’t speak.
But it watched her.
(Y/N)’s chest tightened. Her fingers twitched, aching to reach forward, to touch what wasn’t really there.
She knew it wasn’t real. Knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her.
Or maybe… something else.
Still.
The golden light crackled again, curling like smoke. And for the briefest moment, she swore she could see her mother’s face- soft, sad, watching her with eyes that held too much.
The same way she had the last time (Y/N) ever saw her awake.
A lump rose in her throat.
“Don’t go,” she murmured.
But her voice barely held weight.
The light flickered- once, twice- before dimming entirely.
The figure was gone.
And (Y/N) finally let herself fall into the dark.
The room was heavy with silence after (Y/N)’s whisper faded. Her outstretched hand fell limply to the mattress, her body finally succumbing to unconsciousness. The faint golden glow at her fingertips flickered out like a dying ember.
Felicia exhaled, shaking out her hands, still stained with (Y/N)’s blood. The stitching was rough, rushed- but it would hold. It had to.
Vander sat heavily on a crate, rubbing his face with both hands, exhaustion clear in the slope of his shoulders.
Silco hadn’t moved. His fingers still rested against (Y/N)’s wrist, checking for a steady pulse. His grip was tight- too tight for someone usually so composed.
Felicia was the first to speak.
“That wasn’t some random street scuffle.” Her voice was quiet, but certain. “That was planned.”
Silco’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Vander straightened, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did you get a good look at ‘em?”
Silco nodded, eyes dark. “Hooded figures. Armed, coordinated. Not from around here.” His fingers twitched- like he wanted a cigarette- but he didn’t reach for one. “They weren’t just after a payday.”
Felicia swallowed, glancing at (Y/N)’s still form. “They were after her.”
A beat of silence.
Vander let out a long breath. “Then we need to find out who the hell they were.”
Felicia ran a hand through her hair. “If they knew what she is- what she can do this isn’t over.”
Silco’s voice was flat. “She screamed. Drew attention.”
“Good,” Vander said firmly. “Or she’d be dead.”
Felicia shuddered. “And if they’re still watching?”
Silco’s fingers curled into a fist. “Then we make them regret it.”
Vander nodded. “We start asking around. Someone’s bound to know something.” He met Silco’s eyes. “I’ll check the Lanes. See if anyone’s heard about strangers poking around.”
Silco exhaled sharply. “Benzo, you’ll hear more than most at your shop.”
Felicia crossed her arms. “And what about her?” She jerked her chin toward (Y/N). “We can’t leave her alone.”
Silco’s answer was instant. “Then we don’t.”
Vander nodded. “We take shifts.”
Silco looked down at (Y/N), his expression unreadable. “She needs rest.”
Felicia sighed. “We all do.”
But they wouldn’t.
Not tonight.
Tonight, they had work to do.
Benzo left first, pulling his coat tighter around himself before disappearing into the streets. He knew better than to ask too many questions- he’d hear what needed to be heard soon enough.
Felicia sat on the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of her friend’s chest. The worst was over, but she still looked pale, her breathing uneven. Felicia reached down, adjusting the blanket over her, though she knew it wouldn’t help much.
“She’ll be fine,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Silco and Vander stood near the door, preparing to leave. Vander exhaled through his nose, glancing once more at (Y/N). “If anything changes-”
“I’ll come get you,” Felicia finished, giving him a tired look. “I know.”
Silco rolled his shoulders, eyes sharp with something cold. “If she wakes up, don’t let her move. She’ll be stubborn about it.”
Felicia huffed a short, humorless laugh. “No shit.”
Vander placed a hand on Silco’s shoulder, nodding toward the door. “C’mon. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to track these bastards down.”
Silco gave (Y/N) one last look before turning sharply and stepping out into the streets. Vander followed, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.
Felicia sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Well, (Y/N),” she muttered, glancing at her unconscious friend. “Looks like you stirred up a real mess this time.” She just hoped they’d be able to clean it up before it got worse.
The Undercity was never quiet, even at night. Vander and Silco moved through the twisting alleyways, boots scuffing against damp stone, the scent of soot and metal thick in the air. They didn’t speak at first- there was no need. Their minds were set on the same goal; finding out who the hell had come after (Y/N).
Vander clenched his fists. “They knew what they were looking for,” he muttered. “Didn’t go after me, didn’t go after you or Felicia. Just her.”
Silco’s jaw tensed. “They knew about her magic.”
Vander shot him a glance. “She’s been careful, Silco. No way word got out just like that.”
Silco exhaled sharply through his nose, sharp eyes scanning the streets ahead. “Doesn’t matter how careful she was. Someone saw something. Someone talked.”
The thought made Vander’s stomach twist. They had spent years making sure (Y/N) kept her secret hidden, had uprooted their lives, moved from place to place, taken jobs in the mines to keep her safe- and still, it wasn’t enough.
They stopped outside a makeshift gambling den wedged between rusted pipes and flickering neon signs. It was one of the places that thrived on knowing things- people paid debts with information as often as they did with coin.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension. Eyes flicked toward them as they stepped inside, taking in their presence but quickly looking away. Vander had a reputation- so did Silco.
They made their way to a table near the back, where a wiry man with thin, calculating eyes was nursing a cheap drink. His name was Lark, and he had a talent for sniffing out whispers in the Undercity.
“Gentlemen,” Lark greeted, his voice smooth, practiced. “Didn’t expect to see you two tonight. What brings you here?”
Silco slid into the seat across from him, Vander standing close behind, arms crossed. “We’re looking for information,” Silco said coolly. “About some hooded bastards prowling the streets. They went after a friend of ours.”
Lark’s lips twitched. “Hooded, huh? That’s not much to go on.”
Vander leaned in, his broad presence casting a shadow over the man. “You know exactly who we’re talking about.”
Lark hesitated, swirling his drink. He measured his words carefully. “You’re talking about the Mageseekers.”
The word hit like a hammer. Silco’s expression remained unreadable, but Vander stiffened slightly.
“Mageseekers?” Vander repeated. “Never heard of ‘em.”
Lark tilted his head. “You wouldn’t have. They don’t come down here often. But when they do, they’re hunting.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “They work for those with money, be it Piltover, Noxus, anyone with the information to give them what they want... Real nasty types. Their job is to sniff out anyone with magic, and when they find ‘em… Well. Let’s just say they don’t send ‘em off with a friendly warning.”
Silco’s fingers drummed once against the table. “Why come all the way down here for one girl?”
Lark gave a loose shrug. “Could be a mistake. Could be she caught their attention somehow. But if the Mageseekers know about her, that means someone up top does too. Piltover doesn’t waste time chasing ghosts…”
Vander exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a gang looking for an easy target. This was bigger. More dangerous.
Silco pushed back from the table. “If you hear anything else, you’ll let us know.”
Lark smirked. “Of course. For a price.”
Vander reached into his pocket, tossing a few coins onto the table. Lark scooped them up greedily, nodding in satisfaction.
“Be careful,” Lark said as they turned to leave. “If the Mageseekers have her scent, they won’t stop coming.”
Vander and Silco left the gambling den, stepping back into the cold, oil-slicked streets.
“This is bad,” Vander muttered.
Silco’s gaze was hard, calculating. “We’ll handle it.”
But Vander wasn’t so sure. Because for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just up against the Undercity’s dangers. They were up against Piltover, against Mageseekers…
The walk back to the bar was silent. Vander and Silco moved with purpose, their minds spinning with what they had just learned. The Mageseekers were bad enough- but the fact that they were sniffing around meant someone in Piltover had taken notice of (Y/N). That alone was enough to make the situation dangerous.
When Vander and Silco reached the bar, the warm glow of the lights was a stark contrast to the cold weight settling in their chests. The place was still closed to the public, but inside, up the stairs, Felicia sat in the same spot she was in before... On the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, (Y/N) resting beside her.
Felicia looked up as they entered. “Well?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration.
Silco exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. “Mageseekers,” he said flatly. “They’re sent from Piltover. Hunting people like her.” His gaze flickered to (Y/N), still unconscious, her breathing shallow. “If they found her once, they’ll find her again.”
Felicia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So what do we do?”
Vander pulled up a chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “We stay close. No more going off alone. No more risks. They’ll come back, and when they do, we’ll be ready.”
Felicia nodded, but something about the way she looked at (Y/N) was uneasy. She knew it wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore.
Felicia let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over her tired face. “I’ll go make some food… She will need the energy…” she murmured, though the exhaustion in her voice betrayed her need for a break. She cast one last glance at (Y/N), still motionless on the bed, before rising to her feet.
Vander followed suit, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. “I’ll be downstairs. Give a shout if anything changes,” he said, though the weight in his tone made it clear he wasn’t expecting good news anytime soon.
Silco remained seated, his sharp eyes never leaving (Y/N). As Vander and Felicia made their way out of the room, the door creaked shut behind them, leaving behind a heavy silence.
For a moment, there was only the dim glow of the bedside lamp, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Silco exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his fingers absently toying with a knife at his belt.
“You really don’t make things easy, do you?” he muttered, watching the slow rise and fall of (Y/N)’s chest.
The Undercity was dangerous enough- but now, with the Mageseekers involved, things had taken a sharp and deadly turn.
(Y/N)'s eyelids fluttered open, the dim glow of the bedside lantern casting soft shadows across the room. Her body felt like it had been dragged across the Undercity’s roughest streets, every movement sending sharp pain through her torso. The wound throbbed, stitched together with Felicia’s quick, practiced hands, but the bruises on her ribs and shoulders made even breathing an effort.
She blinked, disoriented, mind foggy from exhaustion and pain.
Silco was sitting nearby, leaning back in a chair, one leg crossed over the other- his sharp eyes were on her the second she stirred.
“You’re awake.” His voice was quiet, but there was something in it. Relief, maybe. It was hard to tell with Silco sometimes.
(Y/N) groaned, shutting her eyes again. “Unfortunately.”
Silco let out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle. “You had us worried,” he admitted, shifting in his seat.
Her fingers twitched as she tried to push herself up slightly, but pain flared up her side, forcing her back down. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Shit.”
“Careful,” Silco warned, watching her struggle. “Felicia stitched you up, but you tear that open, and you’ll be bleeding all over again.”
(Y/N) huffed, frustrated. “Feels like I already am.” She hesitated, eyes flickering to Silco. “What happened?”
He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Mageseekers.”
Her stomach twisted at the name.
Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. “They were following us. They caught you when you strayed too far back. Vander and I got to you before they could take you, but one of them got a lucky hit.”
(Y/N) swallowed hard. “And now?”
Silco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now we wait. See what Benzo finds. But you… you don’t leave the bar. Not alone.”
(Y/N)’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated being confined. Hated feeling weak. But she wasn’t stupid- she knew this was bad.
Still, something nagged at her. The Mageseekers weren’t usually in the Undercity. They had no reason to be here unless… Unless someone had given them one.
Or unless someone else had sent them.
Her throat felt dry. “…They won’t stop, will they?”
Silco was quiet for a moment. Then, with a voice far softer than she expected, he said, “No. They won’t.”
The weight of that truth settled over her, suffocating.
Outside, the distant hum of the Undercity’s streets carried on, the world moving as if nothing had changed. But for (Y/N), everything had.
Silco hadn’t moved from his seat, his eyes never straying far from her as she sat there, lost in thought. The weight of everything pressed against her ribs, heavy and suffocating. The pain, the attack, the realization that she wasn’t safe- probably never had been.
But what got to her most wasn’t the danger. It wasn’t even the Mageseekers. It was the damn feeling of weakness clawing at her insides.
She felt disgusting. Dried blood clung to her skin, crusted over her stomach where the wound had been stitched. Her clothes were stiff with it, the fabric sticking to her in the worst places. She wanted out of them. She wanted to clean herself up, to not feel like she was still stuck in that alley, surrounded by those hooded bastards.
But moving- hell, even sitting up- wasn’t something she could do on her own.
The realization made her stomach twist. She hated this. Hated asking for help, hated feeling small and pathetic. But she’d rather die than go downstairs like this, looking like something dragged through the Lanes and left to rot.
Her fingers curled into the bedsheets as she debated it, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Silco was still watching her, patient but expectant. He knew she was working through something, but he wasn’t going to pry.
Her throat tightened. She exhaled sharply, barely above a whisper.
“…Can you help me?”
Silco raised an eyebrow. “With?”
She clenched her jaw, looking away. “I need to clean up.”
He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t tease her for the hesitation or draw attention to the shame buried in her voice.
Instead, he just stood.
“Alright.”
Relief flooded through her, though she refused to let it show.
With Silco’s help, she slowly- agonizingly- pushed herself up. Every movement sent fresh spikes of pain through her body, her wound burning, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet. Silco slipped an arm around her waist, careful of the injury, keeping her steady as her legs wobbled beneath her.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered back, though she wasn’t convinced.
Silco guided her across the room to where the old metal basin sat, a rag and a pitcher of water next to it. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.
“Sit,” he ordered, helping her onto the stool beside it.
She obeyed, too tired to argue.
The water was cold as she poured some into the basin, soaking the rag before wringing it out. She hissed when the cloth touched her skin, wiping away the dried blood from her stomach. It took more effort than she wanted to admit just to lift the hem of her shirt, exposing the stitches.
Silco watched, arms crossed, but he said nothing.
After a few moments, (Y/N) swallowed her pride again and held the rag out to him.
“…Can you get my back?”
Silco took it without a word.
She sucked in a breath as the cold cloth pressed against her shoulder, dragging down her spine where bruises had already started to form. His movements were precise, careful, but he didn’t hesitate. He never did.
She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle between them.
“…Thank you,” she murmured, voice barely above a breath.
Silco didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to.
Once she was clean, he helped her into fresh clothes, a loose shirt that wouldn’t tug at the stitches, before carefully wrapping a new bandage around her torso. Once done, he carefully brought her back into her room.
(Y/N) sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, still adjusting to the feeling of fresh bandages against her skin. She felt better- cleaner, at least- but the soreness hadn’t faded. Her body ached like hell, but at least she didn’t feel like she was drowning in her own blood anymore.
She thought they were done. Thought Silco would leave her to rest now that she was taken care of.
Instead, he stayed.
She tensed when she felt him move behind her, fingers gathering her tangled hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Silco didn’t answer immediately. He took the small comb from her bedside table- one she barely used- and ran it through the strands, carefully working through the knots.
“Your hair’s a mess,” he said simply.
(Y/N) huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, getting stabbed tends to make things like brushing my hair less of a priority.”
Silco made a noncommittal sound, focused on his task. He worked in steady strokes, more careful than she expected from someone so sharp-edged. It was… odd.
He was being soft. Unusually so.
(Y/N) didn’t know what to do with that.
She swallowed, staring at her hands in her lap. “…You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Then why?
The question hung in the air, unspoken.
Silco didn’t answer it, but she could feel it in the way his fingers combed through her hair, untangling the knots with a patience she hadn’t known he possessed.
It wasn’t like him to be openly gentle. But this- this was different.
Maybe he thought she wouldn’t remember. Maybe he assumed the pain, the exhaustion, would dull the weight of this moment. Or maybe he just didn’t care if she noticed.
Either way, she let him do it.
For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) let herself be taken care of.
Silco lingered behind her after tying her hair back, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders before slowly falling away.
He should have left. Should have walked away now that she was taken care of... Instead, he stayed.
(Y/N) sat still, her head slightly bowed, her breathing steady but fragile- like even that took effort. He watched the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants, gripping them tightly as if grounding herself.
She had almost died today.
The thought clawed at his mind, tightening in his chest like a vice.
Silco had always understood that death was inevitable in the Undercity. He had seen enough of it to know that anyone could be taken in an instant. But the idea of losing her- of seeing her crumpled in an alley, blood pooling beneath her, magic flickering uncontrollably in her weakened state- was something else entirely.
It was a fear he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.
But now, with her here, still breathing, still alive… He felt it.
(Y/N) exhaled softly, tilting her head slightly, as if sensing the weight of his silence. “You’re still here,” she murmured.
Silco clenched his jaw, steadying himself before responding. “…Yeah.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
“You’re scared,” she said suddenly.
He stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
But (Y/N) only gave a tired, knowing smile. “…You are.”
Silco hated that she could see through him.
He hated it even more that she was right.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “…They almost took you from us.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it- sharp, dangerous, like the promise of a blade in the dark.
(Y/N) swallowed, her fingers loosening their grip on her pants. “But they didn’t,” she reassured, glancing back at him. “I’m still here.”
Silco’s eyes flickered to hers, searching, unreadable.
Still here.
For now.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing against her back lightly- just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t slipping away.
“…Get some rest,” he murmured, finally stepping away.
(Y/N) didn’t stop him this time.
But before he reached the door, she spoke again- soft, but certain.
“…You don’t have to be scared, Sil...”
He didn’t turn around.
Didn’t tell her that it was too late for that.
The room was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the empty bar below and the occasional creak of pipes in the walls. The dim light on the bedside table flickered, casting long shadows across the room.
(Y/N) lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, but rest wouldn’t come. The dull ache of her wound pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a constant reminder of how close she had come to being taken. She stared at the ceiling, thoughts circling like vultures.
She couldn’t just lie here.
(Y/N) forced herself up with a wince, pressing a hand against her aching side. The stitches pulled uncomfortably, but she had never been the type to stay still for long- especially not now, when there were Mageseekers lurking in the shadows, and questions she desperately needed answers to.
Her boots were quiet against the floor as she made her way down the stairs, the dim glow of the bar’s lanterns casting warm light over the wooden surfaces. The place was still closed, but Vander was behind the counter, cleaning a glass with slow, thoughtful movements.
His gaze flicked up as soon as she reached the bottom step.
“You shouldn’t be up,” he said, his voice edged with something between exasperation and concern.
(Y/N) exhaled, leaning against the counter. “I’d rather be here than lying in bed, thinking too much.”
Vander sighed, setting the glass down. “That wound’s fresh. You push yourself too hard, kid.”
“I’ll live.”
He gave her a look, one that made it very clear he wasn’t amused. “Not if you go tearing your stitches open.”
(Y/N) only offered a faint smirk in return, ignoring the way her body ached as she pulled herself onto one of the barstools. “Benzo back yet?”
Vander shook his head. “Not yet. But I doubt it’ll take long… And Fel is in back cooking...”
She nodded, tapping her fingers against the worn wood of the bar. Silence stretched between them, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the doors.
It was Silco who finally broke it.
“I told you to rest,” he muttered from his seat near the end of the bar, watching her with sharp, unimpressed eyes.
(Y/N) turned to him, raising a brow. “And I told you I’m fine.”
Silco’s gaze flickered to her side, to the way she was ever so slightly favoring it. “…Sure you are.”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, a door swung open at the far end of the room. Felicia emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a rag, her expression set in a tired scowl.
She froze for a second, eyes narrowing as she took in (Y/N), sitting at the bar when she was supposed to be resting. Then, with a sharp exhale, she threw the rag down onto a nearby table.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, already storming toward her. “You got stabbed, hours ago, and you’re up and walking around like it’s nothing?”
“I can’t just lay around,” (Y/N) muttered, swaying slightly as she tried to sit up on her stool. “We both know this isn’t over.”
Felicia let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no shit. And you bleeding out on the floor is really gonna help, huh?” She sighs, shaking her head. “I made stew. You’re eating, and then you’re resting. Or Ill knock you out myself…”
There was no real threat behind her words, just frustration, worry- the kind that only came from caring too much. But (Y/N) wasn’t sure she had it in her to fight back against that right now.
(Y/N) didn’t argue, she just slowly nodded. She was too tired. And, truth be told… the stew smelled pretty damn good.
“Good,” Felicia muttered. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Stubborn idiot.”
(Y/N) smirked faintly. “Takes one to know one.”
Art post!
These are some of my older, finished pieces. Most of my art is posted on insta, but I do have two art books posted ony Wattpad too (both of which are in my bio). I have a lot more of my old art in those, all from the age of like 12, all the way to current time. I won't lie, a lot of it is cringe, but art is a journey. It would be more surprising if I wasn't cringe in my early teens, to be honest.
Anyway, here is my art! It's a bit old, but I will post more recent art in another post :}
Ember in the Dark pt.2
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.1 - pt.3
Warnings: Violence, Themes of survival, Themes of secrecy and trust., Trauma, and Emotional distess.
Word Count: 2281
Summary: (Y/N) reveals her long-hidden magic to Silco, who, instead of reacting with fear, warns her of the danger if others find out. As they return to their hideout, she struggles with whether to tell Vander and Felicia. Silco advises secrecy, reminding her that once shared, it’s no longer just hers. Before she can decide, an unexpected visitor arrives- Vander and Felicia, worried about her disappearance. Their concern turns to frustration, prompting (Y/N) to make a choice. She reveals her magic, summoning a flicker of golden light. Stunned, Felicia reacts with shock and exasperation, while Vander, though concerned, reassures her that she’s still one of them. Despite their initial frustration, they accept her, and the tension eases.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Y/N)’s hand was still in Silco’s as he helped her up, steady despite the grime and damp clinging to her skin. For a second, she just stood there, forcing herself to breathe, to push down the tremors in her limbs.
She had to decide.
She could tell him.
The thought sent a sick kind of fear curling in her gut. For years, she had fought to keep it hidden. She had watched her mother waste away under the weight of survival, all while whispering the same warning over and over: Never let them see. Never let them know.
But Silco had seen something. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what, but she could feel his eyes on her, sharp and calculating even as they started walking back toward Vander and Felicia.
If she told him now, if she trusted him, would he keep it?
Or would he look at her like she was something other?
"You're quiet," Silco muttered as they weaved through the labyrinth of rusted pipes and narrow alleys. "Not like you."
(Y/N) huffed, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "Almost got caught by enforcers. Guess I’m not in a talking mood."
Silco gave her a sidelong glance. "You weren’t just running from them."
Her throat went dry.
She kept her expression even, but she could feel him watching her. The way he always did when he was picking someone apart, digging beneath the surface until he found the weak spot.
She should lie.
She should.
Instead, she stopped walking.
Silco took a few steps before realizing she wasn’t following. He turned, brow furrowing as she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides.
"(Y/N)," he said, slower now, careful.
Her chest ached. Say nothing. Swallow it down. Keep it buried.
But she was tired of swallowing it down.
"I have to tell you something," she blurted before she could stop herself.
Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she saw the way he straightened slightly, the way his hands twitched as if bracing for a fight. "Alright," he said, voice measured.
(Y/N)’s heart slammed against her ribs. This was it.
She glanced around, making sure no one was nearby, then took a slow breath.
Her fingers twitched.
And then, with a hesitant, controlled motion, she let the smallest flicker of golden light spark between them.
The glow barely lasted a second, just a tiny crackle of warmth between her fingertips, like the dying ember of a flame.
But Silco saw.
His whole body went rigid.
The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating.
(Y/N) clenched her jaw, forcing herself to meet his gaze. If he ran- if he flinched- she would bolt and never look back.
But Silco didn’t flinch.
He just stared, something unreadable flickering behind his sharp, dark eyes.
"You’ve been hiding that this whole time," he said at last, his voice disturbingly calm.
(Y/N) swallowed hard. "Yeah."
A long, tense pause.
Then-
"Smart," he murmured.
She blinked. "What?"
Silco tilted his head, watching her like he was seeing something new, something dangerous. "If people knew, you’d be dead."
She exhaled sharply, some part of her unraveling at the words. "I know."
Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. "Does Vander know?"
She shook her head. "Just you."
His lips twitched slightly, not quite a smirk, but something close. "And you trust me with it?"
"Wouldn't have shown you if I didn’t."
Silco was quiet for a moment, eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite name. Then, to her surprise, he let out a short breath of laughter.
"Well, shit," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "That explains a lot."
(Y/N) frowned. "You’re… not freaking out?"
He looked at her, something sharp in his expression. "Oh, I am," he admitted. "But not because of what you can do." His voice lowered. "Because if the wrong people see, we won’t just be running from Enforcers next time."
(Y/N)’s stomach twisted.
Silco sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Vander and Felicia are still looking for you. We need to go back before they start tearing up the whole damn city."
She hesitated. "And… you’re not going to tell them?"
Silco met her eyes, something dangerous curling at the edges of his smirk. "Your secret, your choice."
(Y/N) felt her chest tighten.
She had always expected fear. Hatred…
But Silco…
Silco just looked at her like she was a puzzle he had finally solved.
Like she was someone important.
Something powerful.
"Come on," he said, turning back toward the hideout. "Wouldn’t want Vander to cry over you."
(Y/N) snorted despite herself. "Yeah, right."
She followed him.
And for the first time in years, she wasn’t running.
The walk back was quieter than (Y/N) expected.
Silco didn’t push her to talk. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t prod at the weight sitting heavy on her chest. He just kept walking, hands tucked into his pockets, his sharp eyes flicking toward her every so often like he was keeping tally of her breaths, making sure she didn’t disappear again.
She should have felt relieved.
Instead, her stomach twisted tighter with every step.
She had told Silco.
The words still rattled in her skull, the image of that tiny spark of magic dancing between her fingers burned into her mind. For years, she had kept it buried so deep it felt like a second skin, an instinct as natural as breathing. But now-
Now, he knew.
And soon, she’d have to decide if Vander and Felicia would too.
The old hideout came into view- a crumbling, half-abandoned space wedged between rusted pipes and makeshift walls of scrap metal. It wasn’t much, just a shelter against the chaos of the Undercity, but it was theirs. A place where they could breathe, even if the air was thick with smog and secrets.
Silco pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, the dim glow of a stolen lantern casting shadows across the room. (Y/N) hesitated in the doorway, her fingers tightening around the frayed edge of her cloak.
"You coming in, or you planning to stand there all night?" Silco asked, throwing himself onto one of the old crates they used as seats.
She rolled her eyes but stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind her.
The space was eerily quiet without Vander’s gruff voice or Felicia’s sharp, teasing remarks. Their absence made the place feel hollow, like a ribcage missing its heart.
(Y/N) paced.
Sat down.
Got back up again.
Silco watched her, an amused tilt to his expression. "You’re overthinking."
"Shut up," she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair.
Silco didn’t argue. Just leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You don’t have to tell them," he said after a beat.
(Y/N) froze mid-step. "What?"
"You heard me." He tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, calculating gaze. "It’s your secret. No one else’s."
Her throat tightened. "But if they find out later-"
"They’ll be pissed," Silco finished bluntly. "But that’s a problem for later, isn’t it?"
(Y/N) clenched her jaw. She hated that he was right.
She should tell them. They were family- or as close to it as anyone could get in the Lanes. Vander, with his stupid protective instincts and his too-big heart. Felicia, who could cut with words as easily as with a blade, but always made sure they had food, even if it meant going hungry herself.
She trusted them.
Didn’t she?
"Would you?" she asked suddenly, turning to face Silco.
He raised a brow. "Would I what?"
"Tell them. If you were me."
Silco considered that for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he smirked, lazy and sharp. "I would take it to my grave."
(Y/N) groaned, flopping onto a crate beside him. "That’s so helpful, thanks."
Silco shrugged. "I’m just saying. People don’t react well to things they don’t understand. You already know that."
She did.
Gods, she did.
Her fingers curled into her palms.
"Vander’s not like that," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Silco hummed. "Maybe. Maybe not." He tapped his fingers against his knee. "But once you tell someone a secret, it’s not just yours anymore."
The words settled deep in her ribs, heavy and true.
She hated that.
The handle of the door rattled before she could respond. Silco had locked it when they came inside…
Both of them stiffened.
(Y/N)’s breath caught as she shot a look at Silco. His expression shifted instantly, the easy amusement fading into something sharp and ready.
Then-
"Oi, you in there?"
Vander’s voice, rough and edged with something tight- worry.
(Y/N) exhaled, her pulse still hammering in her throat.
Silco smirked, rolling his eyes. "Took them long enough."
Felicia’s voice cut in, laced with irritation. "If she’s not in there, I swear, I’m-"
(Y/N) pulled the door open before she could finish.
Vander and Felicia stood on the threshold, their expressions a mix of frustration, relief, and exhaustion.
Felicia’s narrowed eyes swept over her. "You little shit-"
(Y/N) barely had time to brace before Felicia yanked her into a tight, bone-crushing hug.
"You scared us," she muttered into (Y/N)’s shoulder, her grip fierce, like she was making sure she was real.
(Y/N) swallowed against the lump in her throat. "Sorry," she mumbled.
Vander crossed his arms, his gaze flicking between her and Silco. "What happened?"
The question lingered in the air, waiting.
(Y/N) felt Silco’s presence beside her, silent but steady.
This was it.
Tell them. Keep it secret. Trust them. Keep them safe.
Her fingers twitched.
She took a breath-
And made her choice.
(Y/N) stepped aside, letting Vander and Felicia into the hideout. Her stomach churned as she shut the door behind them, sealing herself in with the weight of what she was about to do.
Felicia flopped onto a crate with a dramatic sigh, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Do you have any idea how much time we wasted looking for your ass?" she grumbled. "Vander was ready to bust down half the city."
Vander didn’t deny it. He just gave (Y/N) a long, searching look before sitting down himself. "You alright?"
That was Vander. Not scolding her. Not demanding an explanation right away. Just… asking.
(Y/N) swallowed, nodding stiffly. She wasn’t alright, not really. But she was here. And she had made her choice.
Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching but not interfering. It was her secret to tell. He’d already said as much.
(Y/N) clenched her hands into fists, then forced herself to relax. Just do it. Before you lose your nerve.
"I need to tell you something," she said, voice tight. "And before I do, I just- I need you to listen. Just listen. Don’t freak out."
Felicia narrowed her eyes. "That’s a terrible way to start a conversation."
Vander frowned. "(Y/N), what’s going on?"
(Y/N) took a deep breath, before raising her hands, steady despite the tremor in her fingers.
A spark of golden light flickered to life. Small, hesitant, barely enough to illuminate the dim space. It crackled like embers, dancing across her fingertips, warm and alive.
The room felt too quiet.
Felicia stiffened. Vander’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, but he said nothing.
(Y/N) forced herself to meet their gazes.
"I have magic," she said, barely above a whisper. "I’ve always had it. I just- I never told you because I couldn’t. Because it’s dangerous. Because-" Her throat tightened. "Because I was scared."
The silence stretched.
Felicia blinked. "What the fuck?"
Vander exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Shit."
(Y/N)’s stomach plummeted.
Felicia stood, staring at her like she was seeing her for the first time. "Magic," she repeated, slower this time, like she was still trying to process it. "You’re telling me you’ve had magic this whole time?"
(Y/N) nodded, bracing for the worst. For them to pull away. For them to tell her she wasn’t one of them.
Vander sighed heavily, but his expression wasn’t anger. Just… concern. "How long?"
"Since before I came here," she admitted. "Since I was born."
Felicia let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through her hair. "I don’t- shit, (Y/N), do you know what could’ve happened if someone else found out?"
"Yes," She snapped, frustration bubbling over. "Of course I know. Why do you think I kept it secret?"
Felicia opened her mouth, then shut it again, jaw tightening.
Vander rubbed his temples. "And Silco knew?"
(Y/N) hesitated, but Silco answered for her, his voice calm. "She told me first."
Felicia turned on him, eyes flashing. "And you didn’t think to tell us?"
Silco shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Not my secret."
Felicia made a strangled noise, but Vander put a hand on her shoulder before she could start yelling properly.
"Alright," Vander said, his voice steady in the way that made people listen. "Alright. We… we’ll figure this out." He looked at (Y/N) again, his gaze softer this time. "But you should’ve told us sooner."
(Y/N) swallowed hard. "I know."
Vander sighed, then did something she didn’t expect.
He reached out and put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair the way he always did when he was trying to be reassuring.
"We’re not gonna turn on you, (Y/N)," he said, quiet but firm. "You’re still one of us."
Her throat tightened painfully.
Felicia groaned, throwing herself back onto the crate with a dramatic flop. "Gods, I hate that I’m not mad at you."
(Y/N) let out a breath that was half a laugh, half relief. "Yeah?"
Felicia shot her a glare. "Yeah. Asshole."
Silco smirked from his spot against the wall. "That went better than expected."
...Felicia flipped him off...
[Request]
HH x TOH AU
This one is with Amity and Angel bonding with each other after they both find out that they have similar experiences with abuse.
(WARNING: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, both Physical & Psychological Abuse.)
A/N: @beastkeeper91, I love writing for fandom crossovers, so I love how many I've been getting :}
Trust Fall Trauma pt.2
pt.1
Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.
Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Toxic parent-child relationships, Trauma responses, Mild language.
Word Count: 1377
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It started, as many things at the Hotel did, with chaos.
“WHO put glitter in the toaster?!” Vaggie shrieked from the kitchen, holding up the crime scene with righteous fury.
“That would be me,” Angel Dust said proudly, sipping something fizzy and definitely not Charlie-approved. “I was experimenting.”
“With what? Arson?” Vaggie snapped.
Angel winked. “Domestic sparkle.”
In the corner, Amity bit back a snort. She was draped lazily across the bean bag she’d claimed during the last “team-building” activity (A.K.A the hostage decorating session). A book was open on her lap, mostly ignored.
Charlie breezed in, arms full of new flyers for her “Soulful Sundays” program, handing them out like cursed coupons.
“Angel, Amity- go put these up around town, please!”
“What am I, your poster boy?” Angel asked, examining one with his face doodled onto the logo. “Wait… actually, this is kind of cute. Look at my lashes.”
Amity rolled her eyes but stood. “I swear, if I get stabbed doing this again, I’m charging something next time.”
They were out the door five minutes later, squabbling lightly as they walked through the dim streets of Pentagram City.
“I still don’t get why I have to help,” Amity muttered, clutching her roll of posters.
“Because you have claws and you’re scary and people won’t mess with us?” Angel offered. “And because you secretly like us.”
She snorted. “Keep dreaming, spider.”
They wandered for a while, stapling posters to demon poles and charmingly decrepit walls, dodging the occasional mugging in progress. Eventually, they found themselves on the roof of a low building overlooking the twisted skyline.
Amity sat on the edge, feet dangling. Angel joined her, legs crossed delicately, cigarette in hand. For a while, they just watched the city breathe.
It was surprisingly… peaceful.
“Hey,” Angel said after a beat, glancing at the stripes on her arms. “You always had those?”
Amity tensed, glancing down.
The markings were faint, like natural fur patterns. But they weren’t. Not really... Not to her.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I've had them since I got to hell… Had them before too, but uh… They weren't exactly just marks at that time.”
Angel didn't push. He just nodded, taking a drag.
“I got scars, too,” he said after a minute. “...Val made sure of that.”
Amity looked at him sideways. There was something raw in his voice, despite the lightness he tried to fake. The cracks showed through if you knew where to look.
“My mom,” she said slowly, “Didn’t even care that I was hurting myself when she found out. She used to say the pain meant I was being shaped into something ‘worthy.’ That I’d thank her someday…”
Angel scoffed. “Let me guess. You didn’t.”
“I bled out on the floor of my bedroom when I was sixteen,” Amity said flatly. “So, no. I didn’t.”
Silence.
Angel took another drag, then offered the cigarette to her.
To no one's surprise, she declined it.
“Val told me I was nothing without him,” Angel said, voice softer now. “Just a pretty face with a hole to fill. Said I was lucky he kept me.”
“He sounds like Odalia,” Amity muttered, watching the smoke curl up from the cigarette Angel was smoking, into the deep red sky. “Except she preferred emotional evisceration. Less mess.”
“You ever try to fight back?”
“Once,” she said. “Got locked in my closet for a week.”
Angel winced.
They sat there, two ghosts with matching bruises in different shapes, saying nothing for a while.
Eventually, Amity spoke again.
“You ever wonder why the scars aren’t here, but the damage still is?”
“All the time,” Angel said. “I think Hell takes the pain and turns it into something you gotta wear. Like a suit. Or a warning.”
Amity looked down at her arms. The fur shimmered faintly under the lights of Hell.
“Maybe it’s not a punishment,” she said. “Maybe it’s a reminder. That we went through it...”
Angel looked at her then, really looked. The kid who called Charlie "Mom" by accident. The tough girl with the sharp wit and the too-tired eyes.
“You’re alright, Blight,” he said, tapping ashes into the void. “Kinda messed up, but in a way I respect.”
“You too, Angel,” she replied. “Spider freak.”
He grinned. “Trauma twins?”
She held up a fist.
He bumped it.
Eventually, Angel's cigarette burned down, and the chill of the rooftop crept in- not that Hell had real seasons, but the air still found ways to bite… Even with the heat.
Amity stretched, tail flicking lazily behind her. “We should finish the job before Charlie has a meltdown and starts handing out redemption-themed stickers again.”
“God forbid,” Angel groaned. “Last time I found one on my ass.”
They hopped down, finishing their poster rounds with minimal incident- aside from one demon who tried to flirt with Angel and got a mouthful of claws courtesy of Amity’s quick temper.
“Damn, girl,” Angel whistled as they walked away. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
“Good,” she said. “I was gonna put that on a business card.”
By the time they got back to the hotel, the front lobby was quiet, lit only by the warm golden glow of Charlie’s favorite chandelier and the soft flicker of whatever infernal candles Alastor insisted on lighting. The chaotic noise of earlier had faded. For once, things were… calm.
They stood in the doorway for a second. Neither of them moved.
“You ever get that thing,” Angel said, voice oddly gentle, “where you walk back into a place, and it feels like home, but your brain’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
Amity nodded slowly. “All the time.”
They entered together. Quietly. Like if they talked too loud, the spell might break.
Charlie was curled up on a couch in the lounge, half-asleep with a book open across her chest and her hair messed up a bit.
Angel grinned. “Sunshine passed out mid-sentence.”
Amity smiled faintly, something warm flickering behind her ribs. “She does that.”
They didn’t wake her. Just set the last few posters on the coffee table and sank into the nearby beanbags- Angel flopping like he was melting, Amity perching with the caution of a cat ready to bolt.
“You think she really means it?” Amity asked suddenly. “All this redemption stuff?”
“Charlie?” Angel leaned back, arms behind his head. “Yeah. She's nuts, but she means it. I’ve never seen someone try so hard to love everyone. It’s kinda annoying, honestly.”
Amity smirked. “She’s nice to me…”
“She's nice to everyone, but... Yeah, pretty sure she has an extra soft spot for you,” Angel teased. “Especially after the whole 'Mom' thing.”
Amity gave him a half-hearted glare, then sighed. “I didn’t mean to say it.”
“Sure,” he said. “But you felt it.”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin there, eyes tracing the edge of the chandelier above.
“I used to imagine what it would feel like,” she murmured. “To have someone who didn’t hurt me. Someone who stayed. But after a while, it just… felt stupid. Like fairy tales for broken kids.”
Angel was quiet.
Then, softly, “I used to fake voices when I was little. Pretend someone was reading to me at night. Said goodnight. Said I was safe.”
Amity looked at him. “You've never told anyone that, have you?”
“Nope,” he said. “You’re just special.”
She rolled her eyes, but it lacked heat.
A long moment passed. Then she asked:
“What does healing even look like for people like us?”
Angel thought about it.
“Not running,” he said finally. “Not hiding. Laughing more. Flinching less. Waking up and not feeling like the worst version of yourself.”
Amity nodded, quiet. “That sounds… impossible.”
He smiled sadly. “Yeah. But Charlie thinks we can get there. And I guess…” He nudged her foot with his own. “If I’ve gotta stumble toward healing with anyone, I don’t mind if it’s you and the rest of these idiots...”
She didn’t say anything.
But she didn’t pull away either.
Instead, she leaned back into the beanbag and let herself breathe. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Amity didn’t feel like she had to earn the right to just exist…
can you do second part of where the hurt doesn’t reach with Sayaka, celestia and Sonia?
A/N: Yes, of course! A lot of people seem to be requesting this one :}
Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.2
pt.1 - pt.3
Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia x Male!Reader
Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety /Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues
Word Count: 4145
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Sayaka:
It was the first time (Y/N) had attended Hope’s Peak Academy in over a week. His teachers had stopped asking questions. Some students whispered behind his back, casting glances filled with a mix of curiosity and pity. He could handle that. What he couldn’t handle were the boys who walked too close in the hallways, who slapped each other on the back, laughed too loud, shouted too suddenly. His body would freeze, breath catching in his throat. He’d learned to keep his eyes down, hands tucked close, always calculating an exit.
The world had become a tightrope- and he was so, so tired.
Sayaka Maizono noticed him before anyone else did. She always had, in her own quiet way. The Ultimate Pop Sensation was used to being seen, followed, idolized- but something about (Y/N), the way he disappeared into corners and avoided everyone's gaze, made her heart twist. He didn’t look at her like the others. He didn’t really look at anyone.
She found herself lingering near him between classes. Close, but not too close. Humming softly under her breath, the gentle melodies filling the awkward silences. Not words- never words- until he was ready.
He always looked like he wanted to speak, but was too afraid to.
Until one rainy afternoon.
(Y/N) sat alone in the music room, the overcast light pouring through the tall windows. His sleeves were pulled down past his wrists, fists curled in his lap. He hadn’t meant to cry, but the storm outside had stirred something in him, a memory he wished would stay buried. His breathing was shallow, trying not to make a sound.
Sayaka slipped in without knocking, as if the world had gently told her exactly where to go. She spotted him immediately- curled in on himself, trembling in the dim. Her voice, when it came, was softer than the rain.
“Can I sit with you?”
(Y/N) didn’t answer right away. He didn’t move. But he didn’t say no. That was enough.
Sayaka lowered herself onto the piano bench beside him, careful not to brush against him. Silence lingered- but it wasn’t heavy. It was patient.
“I like this room,” she said after a while, voice low and soothing. “It’s quiet, but it echoes just enough that if you sing, it feels like the whole world is listening. Not judging. Just… listening.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was watching her now, his tear-streaked face blotchy and red, lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice hoarse.
“For what?” Sayaka asked, gently.
“I don’t know. Being like this. Broken. I- I can’t be around people. I can’t breathe when they get close, and I hate it, and it’s stupid, and-”
“It’s not stupid,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s not your fault.”
His throat bobbed. He looked away again, ashamed.
Sayaka hesitated, then reached out- slowly, giving him time to pull away. When he didn’t, she placed her hand over his on the bench. Light as a feather. No pressure.
“I know what it’s like to smile when you don’t feel safe. To pretend everything’s okay because you don’t want to cause trouble.”
(Y/N) blinked. Her smile was sad now, wistful.
“I had to do that all the time. For the cameras. For the fans. For everyone but me.”
He didn’t speak, but his hand turned under hers, fingers trembling as they curled around hers in a tentative grasp.
“I can’t fix what happened to you,” Sayaka whispered. “But I can be someone who doesn’t scare you. I can stay. Sing, if you want. Or just sit here, holding your hand, and not expect you to be anything but you.”
A breath hitched in his throat. He squeezed her hand just a little tighter.
“I want to trust someone,” he admitted, barely audible. “I want it to be you.”
Her heart ached, full and warm. She nodded.
“Then let’s start with this. Right here. Just us. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to pretend. Just… be.”
As the rain tapped against the windows, Sayaka began to hum again. A soft lullaby, meant for no one else. (Y/N) closed his eyes, for the first time in months allowing himself to lean- not away, but toward.
Into her voice. Into her warmth.
Into the beginning of something safe.
Weeks pass, and something changed- not all at once, but in subtle, careful ways. (Y/N) still struggled. Crowded hallways remained overwhelming, and loud voices still made his heart race. But in between those moments of fear, he found something else… Her.
Sayaka Maizono had a way of making herself feel like calm in a storm. She never demanded. She never pushed. She simply… waited. Always nearby, always smiling in that soft, understanding way that never felt fake. With her, he didn’t need to keep looking over his shoulder. With her, he could breathe.
They started eating lunch together. In the back corner of the school courtyard, under the old cherry tree. She’d hum while she ate, and eventually she started talking about her life onstage- the costumes, the nerves, the rush of performing. Sometimes she brought him little things. A sweet from the bakery near her home, a flower she found on the way to school, a charm from a fan that she thought was “too cute not to share.”
And when (Y/N) spoke, she always stopped to listen. Like his voice was the most important sound in the world.
“I think I’m starting to like being around you,” he said one afternoon, the words awkward and shy. “Like, I actually look forward to it.”
Sayaka blinked, then beamed, a flush rising to her cheeks.
“I’m really glad,” she said. “Because I feel the same way.”
He smiled. A small one, unsure, but real.
They began spending more time together after school. The music room became their place. Sometimes she played piano while he read. Sometimes he sketched while she practiced a new song. Once, she taught him a simple melody and guided his hands along the keys. He stiffened at first, but she noticed instantly and let go.
“No pressure,” she said, giving him space. “Just when you’re ready.”
He nodded. A week later, he reached for her hand.
It became a routine. Hand in hand at the piano, their fingers brushing like a secret only they shared.
One day, after walking her home under a pale orange sunset, (Y/N) paused at her gate. He looked down, biting his lip, unsure. Sayaka tilted her head at him, waiting.
“I, um…” he stammered. “I know I still flinch sometimes. And I still panic. But when I’m with you… I don’t feel broken. You don’t make me feel weak.”
Her expression softened, almost glowing in the fading light.
“You’re not weak, (Y/N). You’re brave. Every day, you choose to keep going. And I get to be here and watch you heal… That’s an honor.”
A lump formed in his throat. His heart beat hard against his ribs.
“I think I…” He paused, panic rising. But then her hand found his, grounding him. He exhaled shakily. “I think I’m falling for you.”
Sayaka stepped closer, and for once, he didn’t flinch. Her hands were warm against his cheeks.
“Then we can fall together,” she whispered.
Their first kiss was a ghost of a thing- barely there, more promise than anything. But it was safe. Sweet. And (Y/N), for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel afraid.
He felt wanted.
He felt seen.
And most of all, he felt hopeful.
Celestia:
The hallway of Hope’s Peak Academy had long since emptied, save for the faint echo of heels clicking across polished tile. Celestia Ludenberg walked like a shadow with purpose- silent yet commanding. Every movement was deliberate, wrapped in her usual gothic lolita elegance.
Behind her, the silence was thick, but not as heavy as the quiet that clung to the dorm room she approached. His room.
(Y/N).
A boy with sad eyes and a habit of shrinking into himself whenever someone- especially a man- spoke too loud or too fast. Celestia had noticed from the first day. The way his shoulders tensed whenever Kiyotaka got passionate. The way his voice faltered in group conversations. The way he sat at the edges of rooms like a ghost hoping not to be noticed.
And most of all, the way he looked at her- not with desire or awe, like others did- but with a kind of cautious respect. Like he wasn’t sure how long kindness would last.
Today, he hadn’t shown up to class. Not even to the library. That was enough of a reason for her to knock.
A pause. Then a quiet, almost panicked voice- “Go away.”
Celestia didn’t flinch. “I’m afraid that is not an option.”
A rustle, a groan, the sound of someone stumbling across a cluttered room. After several seconds, the door cracked open just enough for one tired eye to peek through. That was all she needed.
He looked terrible. Eyes red-rimmed and dull. His shirt clung to him like he hadn’t changed in days.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
She tilted her head. “Because you are not where you ought to be.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The door didn’t open wider, but he didn’t close it either.
“Let me in,” she said softly.
He hesitated. But something about the steadiness in her voice- the way she didn’t demand or pity, just... waited- made him move. The door swung open wider, revealing a room barely lit, its corners littered with open books and clothes. The air was stale with solitude.
Celestia stepped in without a word, gliding over to the chair near his desk. She did not sit yet. She turned to him.
“You’ve been hiding.”
(Y/N) looked down. “So what if I have?”
Celestia took a breath. “Then allow me to hide with you.”
His head snapped up, confused. “What?”
She shrugged delicately, shedding her usual smug detachment for something quieter. “Everyone has their limits. Even you, darling. But you do not have to suffer them alone.”
He stared at her. “Why do you care? I’m not... I’m not useful. Not like you.”
A shadow flickered through her expression, but it was gone quickly.
“You are mistaken,” she said. “You possess something quite rare in this academy of masks. You feel. Deeply. I find that... honest.”
(Y/N) sat on the edge of his bed, hands trembling in his lap. “I’m tired, Celeste. Of being scared. Of thinking someone’s going to hurt me every time they raise their voice. I hate this part of me.”
She moved slowly now, kneeling before him, her black skirts pooling like ink on the floor. She reached out, her fingers brushing his hand.
He flinched.
But she didn’t pull away.
“I would never touch you without permission,” she said quietly. “But I will remain here, if you let me. A Queen must protect her kingdom, after all. And you, dear (Y/N)... you are someone I have chosen to keep within mine.”
His breath hitched. “You make it sound like I matter.”
“You do.”
His eyes welled up- unwilling, ashamed.
Celestia leaned just slightly closer, her voice no louder than a whisper. “You are allowed to cry. Even Kings and Queens weep in secret.”
The tears fell then. He didn't sob- just quiet, broken rivers that refused to stop. He didn’t know why her words broke the dam. Maybe it was the way she made him feel safe without ever pretending to understand. Maybe it was the fact that she never tried to fix him.
She simply stayed.
Eventually, as the minutes passed, he spoke again. "I don’t know if I can be normal.”
Celestia offered the faintest smile. “Darling, who in this wretched school is?”
And for the first time in weeks, (Y/N) let himself laugh- just once, just a breath of it. But it was real.
She rose, finally, and sat beside him on the bed. She left space between them but let her sleeve brush his arm lightly.
“Sleep, if you can,” she said. “I will remain. Should the nightmares come.”
“Celeste?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes lingered on his, warm beneath their usual sharpness. “No need for gratitude. Loyalty is not something I gamble with.”
As he lay down, his body worn and mind frayed, he felt something foreign settle beside the grief.
Hope.
He wasn’t healed. Not yet.
But he wasn’t alone anymore.
It became routine after that night.
Not loudly. Not all at once. But slowly, like light slipping through the cracks in a boarded window.
Celestia began visiting (Y/N)’s dorm more often. Sometimes she brought books from the library, reading them aloud in her velvety, theatrical cadence. Sometimes she brought tea- actual tea, with tiny biscuits, because of course she did. And sometimes, they just sat in silence. Not the heavy kind that used to choke him, but the kind that felt like breathing next to a fireplace. Comfortable. Undemanding.
She never pressured him to talk, but when he did, she listened. Actually listened.
No judgment. No pity.
Just her gaze- calm, observant, like she was reading the finer print of his soul.
One rainy evening, (Y/N) found himself lingering outside her door, a half-wilted flower clutched awkwardly in his hand.
It was nothing special. A violet he found near the edge of the courtyard, a little bruised but still beautiful. He hadn’t planned to pick it, but he thought of her. And for once, the thought didn’t carry fear or obligation. Just… warmth.
He knocked once, then almost turned to run. But the door opened swiftly.
Celestia stood in a cascade of crimson and black lace, her usual elegant poise giving way to something softer as she took him in- damp hair, shy glance, the flower.
“I, um… saw this and thought of you,” he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes.
She took the flower gently, her fingers brushing his.
“A violet,” she mused, tone almost amused. “You know, in the language of flowers, it means loyalty… and affection.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.
That night, they shared tea on her ornate sofa, the violet placed delicately in a small crystal vase beside her bed. (Y/N) talked more than usual. He told her about his mother’s lullabies. About how his stepfather used to slam cupboard doors just to make him flinch. About how he once hid under a table for two hours after a stranger accidentally raised their voice near him in public.
Celestia’s expression never changed. But her hands tightened just slightly on the teacup.
“I often pretended, as a child,” she said once he finished, voice lower now. “That I lived in a grand castle where no one could hurt me. Where those who tried were cast into the dungeon with no key.”
(Y/N) glanced at her. “Did it help?”
She smiled, a small, secret thing. “I am still here, am I not?”
He let that sink in, then nodded.
A few weeks later, he reached for her hand.
She didn’t say anything- just turned her hand palm up, letting his fingers settle into the spaces between hers.
He marveled at how easy it felt. How right. No panic in his chest. No memories clawing their way forward. Just her cool, steady presence. Her gloved fingers curled gently around his.
“You don’t mind?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Not at all,” she replied. “In fact… I rather enjoy being close to you.”
His heart fluttered- not in fear, but in something else. Something that might’ve been the early shape of love.
“I like being around you,” he said, more firmly now.
Celestia tilted her head, almost coy. “Of course you do. I am delightful company.”
He laughed- a real one this time. And she smiled, pleased.
That night, as she walked him back to his dorm, she paused before he stepped inside. Her hand lingered near his sleeve.
“May I ask you something, darling?”
“Anything.”
“When you are near me… do you still feel afraid?”
He met her gaze. Her crimson eyes, so sharp and calculating when playing others, now held only curiosity. Maybe even… vulnerability.
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
Her lashes fluttered. And in the hush of the hallway, she leaned in just slightly- not to kiss him, not yet. But close enough that her voice brushed his skin.
“Good,” she whispered. “Then I’ve kept my promise.”
“Promise?”
“To protect you. In my own way.”
(Y/N) swallowed. “You’ve done more than that. You’ve given me something I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.”
“What is that?”
He smiled softly. “Safe.”
And Celestia- poker-faced, invincible, untouchable Celestia- felt something stir in her chest that even she couldn’t gamble away.
Because she was beginning to realize something as well.
She liked being around him, too.
Sonia:
The first time Sonia Nevermind saw (Y/N), he was sitting alone at the edge of the academy courtyard, curled into himself like he was trying to disappear. The spring sun dappled through the leaves overhead, casting soft light across the bruised look in his eyes- not physical bruises, no. These were the kind you didn’t see unless you knew how to look.
Sonia noticed.
She wasn’t oblivious. Despite her bright disposition and the silken lilt of her voice, she had grown up in a world that required constant reading between the lines. The etiquette of royalty demanded it. But even more than that, Sonia had always been drawn to the fragile, the broken, the misunderstood. She saw nobility in endurance. In survival.
And (Y/N) had survived something terrible.
He didn’t speak much. Most of the other students found his distance unnerving- he flinched if someone raised their voice, seemed to shrink when a male classmate passed too close. Rumors whispered through the halls, cruel and speculative. Sonia didn’t listen to them.
Instead, she sat beside him.
Not too close. Just enough.
He didn’t look up at first, but she waited patiently, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the swaying trees ahead.
“You don’t have to talk,” she said gently, as though she knew how the weight of silence could also be a comfort.
(Y/N) peeked at her from the corner of his eye. Her presence was soft. Not imposing. There was no judgment in her expression, only a quiet certainty that unnerved him more than her title ever could.
“You’re… the princess,” he mumbled after a long while.
“I am,” she said, smiling faintly. “But here, I am simply Sonia. I would like to be your friend.”
He stared at his hands. His fingernails were chewed raw.
“…Why?”
She tilted her head. “Because you seem lonely.”
He didn't say anything more that day. But the next day, she sat beside him again.
And the day after that.
Sometimes she spoke about her homeland, about peculiar customs and ghost stories and festivals that lit the sky with fire. Sometimes she said nothing at all. He found he liked that best. Just her company. The way she never reached out to touch him without asking. The way she always kept space between them, yet never felt far.
One day, after weeks of these quiet meetings, (Y/N) showed her a small scar on his wrist. He didn’t explain it. He didn’t have to. Sonia only looked at him with solemn eyes and gently, reverently, pressed a kiss just above it.
“You are still here,” she whispered. “That means everything.”
His throat tightened. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t remember how. Not properly. The tears never came out right- they clogged up inside him like he didn’t deserve them.
But he nodded. Just once.
After that, he started walking with her between classes. Kept his head down, but her presence made it easier. When a male student bumped into him and muttered an apology, (Y/N) froze- but Sonia stepped between them, not protectively, but firmly. Like a wall of calm. She didn’t have to say anything. Her posture said it all.
Later that evening, when they sat together again under the trees, (Y/N) whispered, “Thank you.”
She turned to him, the last light of day dancing in her golden hair.
“I do not know what your past holds,” she said. “But I want to be part of your future.”
He flinched, not from fear, but from how gently she said it.
“How can you want someone like me?” he asked, voice barely audible. “I’m… broken.”
Sonia leaned in slowly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, fingers featherlight. She did not touch skin. She honored the space between them.
“You are not broken,” she said. “You are mending. That is a noble, brave thing. There is no shame in healing slowly.”
A shaky breath escaped his lips. He hadn’t been told that before.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, almost a plea.
“I know,” Sonia said. “I will not rush you. I will wait as long as you need. And when you are ready… I will be here.”
For the first time in a long while, (Y/N) let himself believe it might be true.
That maybe, someday, he could let someone in.
And if anyone could be the first…
…it would be Sonia.
Over the next few weeks, things began to change.
(Y/N) started speaking more during their time together. At first, it was in fragments- simple comments on the weather, shy questions about Sonia’s homeland. But slowly, those fragments became full thoughts, and then stories.
Sometimes he’d catch himself smiling without realizing it. And more often than not, Sonia would already be smiling back.
He never felt pressured with her. She never demanded his happiness or questioned his past. There was no pity in her eyes- only compassion. The difference meant everything.
She took to bringing him little things- a ribbon folded into a rose, a handmade charm for his keyring, a book of folklore from her Homeland. “For when the nightmares come,” she said softly, placing it beside him during lunch. “This one has a happy ending.”
He didn’t know how to tell her that her presence had already begun softening the edge of those nightmares. But she seemed to sense it anyway.
One afternoon, they sat beneath the trees again. The breeze was warm, and the leaves whispered above them.
(Y/N) was lying on his back, hands tucked beneath his head. Sonia sat beside him, legs folded, her gaze turned toward the sky.
“It’s peaceful,” he said, exhaling slowly.
“It is,” she agreed, her voice a melody in the quiet. “Do you know what we say in my Country when we find a moment like this?”
He shook his head.
“Magnificent silence” She smiled down at him. “It is sacred, because it means your heart is calm enough to hear the world.”
(Y/N)’s chest tightened at that. Because for the first time in what felt like years, the silence around him wasn’t terrifying. It wasn’t suffocating. It was full.
And she was there.
“…I like being around you,” he admitted suddenly. It tumbled out before he could stop it.
Sonia’s eyes widened slightly- but then her smile deepened, softened.
“I like being around you as well, (Y/N). Very much.”
His cheeks flushed. He turned his head away, but she didn’t tease him. She only continued watching the trees, allowing him his small, fragile vulnerability.
And then- “I’m… still scared, sometimes. Especially around guys. It doesn’t make sense. I know they’re not all like- like him.”
“You are allowed to be afraid,” Sonia said. “It is not a weakness. It is a wound still healing. We would never call a bandaged arm weak for needing time.”
He bit his lip. She always knew what to say, not because she had all the answers, but because she saw him.
“I’m trying to be better.”
“You already are,” she said softly. “Because you are choosing to stay. To trust. Even just a little. That is what bravery looks like.”
A quiet beat passed between them. The breeze lifted her hair like a silken banner.
“…Can I hold your hand?” he asked, voice small.
Sonia looked at him, gently surprised. Then, carefully, she offered her palm, open and patient.
He took it.
His hand trembled, but she didn’t grip tighter. She simply let it rest there, warm and steady.
They stayed like that, fingers barely laced, as the sun dipped lower through the trees.
It wasn’t loud or showy, what they shared. It didn’t need to be.
Drifting Between Worlds pt.2
Hunter x Fem!Reader
pt.1
Warnings: Emotional Abuse/Psychological Manipulation, Panic Attack/Anxiety, Helplessness/Powerlessness, Capital Punishment, Gaslighting.
Word Count: 5579
Summary: After a quiet moment, (Y/N) tends to Hunter’s scar, showing the deep bond they’ve built over two years of protecting each other. That night, Hunter has a panic attack from memories of Belos’s abuse, and (Y/N) comforts him. Their peace ends with a summons from Belos. Hunter is promoted to Golden Guard, and (Y/N) becomes his Onyx- his personal shadow. Framed as a reward, it’s clearly a way to control them. Their mission: observe Lilith’s attempt to capture Eda and monitor a human girl named Luz. During a student tour, (Y/N) notices Luz sneaking off and convinces Hunter to follow instead of reporting her. They witness Lilith capture Luz. Eda storms the castle to save her, losing her magic in the process and getting captured. Kiki announces her public petrification, leaving (Y/N) and Hunter silently preparing to witness the execution- torn between duty and conscience.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After their little moment, (Y/N) finally pulled her hand away from Hunter’s face, letting the warmth of her touch settle before shifting gears.
“Alright, Blondie,” she murmured, standing up. “Let’s get that scar taken care of before it starts bothering you.”
Hunter sighed, tilting his head back slightly. “The healer already did what she could.”
“Yeah, well, I’m doing the rest.” She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you want it to linger.”
Hunter rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
(Y/N) walked over to the small wooden shelf near their beds, where she kept a few things she had put together over the years- small remedies, basic salves, things she had learned to mix from trial and error, using ingredients she recognized were similar to ones she had in the Human Realm.
She grabbed a small container, then sat back down beside Hunter.
“Hold still,” she muttered.
He huffed but complied, letting her tilt his head slightly to the side so she could work.
The scar was still fresh, the skin bruised and sensitive. Her fingers were steady as she scooped a bit of the ointment onto her fingertips, rubbing it between them to warm it slightly before gently pressing it along the wound.
Hunter tensed at first but didn’t pull away.
“This should help keep it from getting too irritated,” she murmured, focused on her work. “Might help with the scarring too. No promises, though. You might just have to get used to being even more dashing.”
Hunter let out a breath that was almost a chuckle.
She carefully wrapped the bandages around his neck and jaw, making sure they weren’t too tight. When she was satisfied, she tied them off, brushing her hands against her pants as she sat back.
“There.” She smirked. “Good as new. Well... Mostly.”
Hunter lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along the bandage. “…Thanks.”
(Y/N) just shrugged. “Anytime.”
And she meant it.
The weight of the day lingered as (Y/N) and Hunter moved around their room, slipping into their usual nighttime routines. It was almost second nature now- after two years of sharing a space, they had fallen into a rhythm, a quiet understanding of how to exist around each other.
They had made deals early on, back when they first got assigned the same quarters, to avoid unnecessary arguments.
One of the first was changing.
(Y/N), being who she was, had quickly realized that Hunter was the type to get flustered over things like that. And since she wasn’t about to have either of them dealing with awkwardness on a daily basis, she had made a solution.
A makeshift divider.
It wasn’t fancy- just a simple wooden frame she had thrown together with cloth draped over it- but it worked. One side for her, one side for him.
She had always liked making things. Little tools, useful items, balms, salves- things that kept her hands busy, things that kept her mind busy.
It gave her something to control in a world that often felt completely out of her control.
Hunter, for his part, had never complained. He was practical like that.
(Y/N) stepped behind the divider first, tugging her scout uniform off and slipping into something more comfortable- a loose-fitting black shirt and soft pants, simple but effective.
When she finished, she called over. “Alright, Blondie. All yours.”
Hunter let out a quiet breath, stepping past her to take his turn. (Y/N) ran a hand through her hair, sitting cross-legged on her bed, idly tracing the mark on her wrist.
The sigil still felt like nothing to her.
No pain. No restriction.
Belos had wanted to brand her, control her the way he did witches, but it had never worked the way he intended.
She never let on how much that bothered her- she just shook the thought away.
Hunter emerged from behind the divider, dressed in his own sleepwear- a simple tunic and loose pants, nothing out of the ordinary. He ran a hand through his blond hair, sighing as he sat on his bed.
They didn’t talk much after that.
They didn’t need to.
Some nights, after long missions or hard days, they just… existed in the same space, letting the silence settle in.
It was a comfortable kind of quiet.
(Y/N) leaned back against her pillows, watching as Hunter pulled the blanket over himself.
“Get some sleep, Blondie,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.
Hunter let out a small huff. “Yeah. You too.”
She closed her eyes, her gem humming faintly as she finally let herself relax.
(Y/N) had just started to drift off when Hunter’s voice cut through the quiet, barely more than a whisper.
“Do you think he hates me?”
Her eyes opened.
Hunter’s voice was strained, uncertain.
“Is that why he hurts me?”
(Y/N) didn’t move- she just listened.
“I’m supposed to be the only family he has left… He’s the only family I have left…” Hunter’s voice wavered. He wasn’t even talking to her anymore. He was just talking, letting his thoughts spill out into the darkness.
“I get that he wants me to be strong… that he expects a lot from me. He says the Titan has plans for me. That I’m special.”
A sharp inhale.
“…If I’m special, what’s the point in hurting me?”
(Y/N) sat up immediately.
She didn’t need her Gem’s abilities to know what was happening.
Hunter’s breaths were too quick, too shallow. His body was locked up, stiff under his blankets, his hands gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His chest rose and fell in uneven, jerky motions.
Panic attack.
Did he even realize?
(Y/N) wasted no time.
She slipped out of her bed and padded across the room. As soon as she reached his bedside, Hunter tensed.
He wasn’t used to being touched when he was like this.
But (Y/N) didn’t care.
She climbed onto his bed without hesitation, slipping under the blanket beside him. She didn’t wait for permission- he wouldn’t have given it anyway. Instead, she reached out and pulled him close, her arms wrapping around him securely.
Hunter froze.
His whole body went rigid, his breath catching in his throat, but (Y/N) just tightened her grip.
“Shhh,” she murmured, her voice warm, soft.
Her gem glowed faintly, sending out the lightest, gentlest pulse of energy- not to control his emotions, not to force him to calm down, but to soothe him. To ease the raw edges, to remind his body that he was safe.
She felt him trembling, the panic still clawing at him, his mind racing in loops he couldn’t break on his own.
She ran a hand over his back, slow, steady, grounding him with touch. “Breathe with me, Hunter,” she cooed, voice low. “Just focus on me, okay?”
A shaky inhale.
A slightly steadier exhale.
Her fingers brushed through his hair, her gem pulsing softly again. “You’re not alone,” she whispered, pressing her forehead lightly against his. “I’ve got you.”
Hunter’s breath hitched.
And then, finally…
He moved.
His shaking hands hesitantly, tentatively, gripped the fabric of her sleeve. His body relaxed just slightly against hers, like he was allowing himself, for just one moment, to be held.
(Y/N) didn’t let go.
She wasn’t going anywhere…
As (Y/N) held him close, steady and unwavering, Hunter slowly came back down from his panic. Her fingers combed through his hair, gentle and rhythmic, while her other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles against his back. His breathing was still shaky at first, but with every careful stroke, every quiet whisper of reassurance, it evened out little by little.
Hunter hesitated for a long while, his body stiff, uncertain- like he didn’t know how to accept comfort, like he was waiting for her to pull away.
But she didn’t.
She just kept holding him, humming softly under her breath, letting her gem’s faint glow fill the silence with warmth.
Eventually, after what felt like forever, he let out a breath and did something that nearly broke her heart.
He nuzzled into her shoulder.
It was hesitant, barely there, like he was testing whether or not he was allowed to.
(Y/N) didn’t say a word.
She just held him closer.
Time blurred together.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, tangled in the quiet safety of each other’s presence.
But, at some point, Hunter’s breathing evened out completely. The tension in his body melted away, his fingers loosening their grip on her sleeve.
And, finally, he slept.
(Y/N) sighed softly, resting her chin atop his head, her own exhaustion creeping in now that she knew he was okay.
She had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
But for now, in this moment, she wasn’t going anywhere.
And with that thought, she let herself drift off, still holding him close.
Morning came slowly, the soft glow of the rising sun filtering through the small cracks in their room’s curtains. The usual coldness of the Emperor’s castle didn’t seem as sharp this morning- not when warmth surrounded them.
(Y/N) stirred first, her mind sluggish as she registered the unfamiliar but comfortable weight against her.
Hunter.
They were still tangled together, arms wrapped around each other, legs slightly overlapping. At some point in the night, they had curled closer, holding onto each other in their sleep without even realizing it.
It was the best sleep (Y/N) had gotten since arriving in the Boiling Isles.
And for Hunter… maybe the best sleep he had ever had.
For a moment, she didn’t move. She just lay there, letting the quiet settle, feeling how calm everything was.
But then, Hunter shifted, his breathing changing slightly as he woke.
She could feel the exact moment he realized what had happened.
His whole body went rigid.
(Y/N) smirked before even opening her eyes.
A sharp inhale. A stiffening of shoulders. And then-
A soft, strangled noise of pure mortification.
She cracked one eye open to see him completely frozen, his magenta eyes wide and filled with panic. His face was already turning a deep shade of red, his ears burning as he registered the fact that they were still holding onto each other.
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, her voice still thick with sleep.
“…Morning, Blondie.”
Hunter flinched.
His brain seemed to shut down for a second before he made a choked, stammering attempt at a response.
“I- uh- what- this- WHY-”
(Y/N) couldn’t help it. She laughed.
“Relax,” she teased, stretching slightly but making no effort to move away. “We just fell asleep. No big deal.”
Hunter opened his mouth, closed it, then covered his face with both hands, groaning. “This is a big deal!”
(Y/N) grinned. “Oh? Why?”
Hunter made a noise.
(Y/N) just shrugged, patting his back lazily. “Hey, at least you slept well.”
That made him pause.
He lowered his hands slightly, blinking at her.
“…Yeah,” he admitted after a long beat, his voice quieter. “I did.”
(Y/N) softened, her teasing smirk fading into something more genuine. “Me too.”
Hunter looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “W-We should probably… um… get up.”
(Y/N) hummed, still smirking. “You sure? You seem pretty comfy.”
Hunter let out an exasperated groan, shoving his pillow over his face.
(Y/N) just laughed, finally rolling off the bed and stretching with a satisfied sigh.
Yep.
Best sleep she’d had in years.
(Y/N) and Hunter moved through their usual morning routine, getting dressed in their scout uniforms. Despite the way the morning had started- warm, soft, and not entirely unpleasant- they both settled back into their usual rhythm.
Hunter, as always, was methodical about getting ready. Every strap adjusted, every piece of armor aligned perfectly. (Y/N), on the other hand, was a little more relaxed, rolling her shoulders as she buckled her gloves into place.
But before they could leave their room, a sharp knock echoed through the wooden door.
(Y/N) shot Hunter a look before striding over and pulling the door open.
A scout stood at attention, their mask in place, stiff and formal. "You are both requested in the throne room. Immediately."
Hunter straightened beside her, his shoulders tightening. (Y/N) just exhaled through her nose, giving the scout a mock salute. "Oh joy. More quality time with our beloved Emperor."
The scout didn't react, simply stepping aside to let them pass.
The throne room was as cold and imposing as ever.
Belos sat on his high throne, draped in white, his golden mask revealing nothing, like usual. The moment they entered, both Hunter and (Y/N) immediately dropped to one knee- though (Y/N) did so with just a little less enthusiasm.
Belos didn’t acknowledge them right away, letting the weight of his presence settle before finally speaking.
"I have gathered you here because new information has come to my attention."
Hunter remained stiff, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. (Y/N), on the other hand, kept her face neutral but felt the tension radiating off of him.
Belos continued.
"I have confirmed the existence of the human girl. She resides in Bonesborough, under the watch of The Owl Lady."
(Y/N) swallowed hard. There it is.
She knew Belos would find out sooner or later, but hearing him say it made her gut twist.
"As you are aware," Belos said smoothly, "I had sent Lilith to retrieve Eda."
(Y/N)'s mind raced. Lilith Clawthorne. Head of the Emperor's Coven. Eda's sister.
But Belos’s next words sent a cold chill through her spine.
"She has been... lacking."
Hunter’s fingers twitched at his sides.
Belos’s voice remained calm. Too calm.
"That is why I have decided to ensure loyalty where it is most needed."
(Y/N) didn’t like where this was going.
Belos finally turned his gaze to Hunter. "You will be promoted."
Hunter stiffened. "Promoted..?"
"You will become the Golden Guard," Belos said. "A position of authority and privilege, answering only to me. You will command the scouts, oversee operations, and ensure that the Emperor’s will is carried out."
(Y/N)'s breath caught.
She knew Hunter had always strived for this- had pushed himself harder than anyone else, desperate to prove himself.
But something about this felt wrong.
Belos wasn't rewarding Hunter.
He was tightening his leash.
"And as for you," Belos said, finally turning to (Y/N). "You will be assigned as his Onyx."
(Y/N)’s stomach dropped.
The title hit her like a slap, the weight of her own identity twisted into something else.
Onyx. Her Gem, her heritage, a title meant for leaders- for warriors who protected, who stood at the front lines, not at the beck and call of some Emperor.
And yet, Belos was turning it against her.
"You will remain at the Golden Guard’s side at all times," Belos continued. "You will be his personal guard, his enforcer, his shadow. And in this, you will prove your loyalty to me."
(Y/N) felt sick.
This wasn’t a promotion.
It was a collar.
Belos didn’t trust anyone- not Lilith, not his own coven heads.
But now, with this? He was making sure that if Lilith ever did betray him, Hunter and (Y/N) wouldn’t.
Hunter was stiff beside her, but he didn’t hesitate.
He bowed lower. "I will not fail you, Emperor Belos."
(Y/N) clenched her jaw, forcing her head down as well. "Understood."
Belos’s mask gave away nothing, but his voice was smooth. Satisfied.
"You are dismissed."
(Y/N) didn’t hesitate. She turned on her heel and followed Hunter out of the throne room.
But inside?
She was seething.
As soon as Hunter and (Y/N) stepped out of the throne room, they were met by a group of scouts standing at attention. Each one held something in their hands- new uniforms.
Hunter was handed his first.
The Golden Guard uniform.
It was unlike the standard scout attire- more ornate, with a high-collared cloak, armor with gold accents, and a mask that bore the signature sharp, beak-like shape. The uniform had apparently been passed down to him, the title of the Golden Guard now officially his.
Hunter took it with careful hands, his expression unreadable.
Then the scouts turned to (Y/N).
She expected something similar- another standard scout uniform, maybe something slightly adjusted to reflect her new position.
But what they handed her?
It was different.
The fabric was sleek, sharp in design like Hunter’s new uniform, but instead of gold, it was a muted, light pink- the color of her Gem.
Her mask, too, was different.
It wasn’t in the shape of a beak or a traditional scout’s mask. It was round, smooth, completely blank aside from the cutouts for her eyes. It was an eerie thing, unsettling in its simplicity.
She turned it over in her hands, her chest tightening.
It was intentional.
Belos had designed this role for her. He had taken her identity, her Gem, and turned it into a title, something that meant she belonged to him.
He had done the same to Hunter.
The two of them weren’t just scouts anymore. They were weapons.
And they were supposed to wield each other.
(Y/N) clenched her jaw but said nothing as she took the uniform.
One of the scouts stepped forward again, handing them a scroll, sealed with the mark of the Emperor’s Coven.
Hunter took it, breaking the seal and unrolling it. His eyes scanned over the orders inside.
(Y/N) watched as his grip on the paper tightened.
“What is it?” she asked, already dreading the answer.
Hunter exhaled sharply before handing her the scroll.
(Y/N) took it and read-
New Orders: Golden Guard and Onyx. Monitor Lilith Clawthorne closely. She has been ordered to bring in her sister, the wild witch Eda Clawthorne. If she fails, she will be stripped of her title. The human girl from Bonesborough attends a local school in an attempt to become a witch. The school is set to tour the Emperor’s Coven today. Lilith is expected to keep an eye on them. You will ensure she remains loyal. You will not intervene, just report back if anything is to occur.
(Y/N)’s grip on the scroll tightened.
Belos was setting up a trap.
Lilith was running out of time to bring Eda in, and if she failed, she would be punished. And now, they were supposed to watch her, report any hesitation, and make sure she didn’t stray.
And on top of that, the human- the girl (Y/N) had just seen- was going to be in the castle today.
She and Hunter were expected to watch.
To report if things didn’t go the way Belos wanted.
(Y/N)’s stomach twisted.
Hunter swallowed, still staring at the uniform in his hands. He had worked for this moment his whole life.
But now that it was here, she could feel the weight pressing down on him.
She met his gaze.
Neither of them said it.
But they were both thinking the same thing.
How much longer can we keep doing this?
They both headed back to their room, to change, and to start their new mission… As the day went on, it had been uneventful- for the most part.
Hunter and (Y/N) had stayed close to the Hexside students, their orders clear: Watch. Observe. Report if necessary.
(Y/N) had always hated orders like that.
It meant sitting back and watching things unfold, letting the pieces fall into place without interfering. And today?
The pieces were definitely falling.
She had noticed the human girl- Luz- trying to sneak away almost immediately. She wasn’t exactly subtle, tugging on grates, looking around with a suspicious expression despite her attempt to blend in.
Two others- friends, clearly- watched her with amusement.
One was a younger boy, dressed in the blue uniform of the Illusion track. The other was a girl, taller, with cute round glasses. She wore green- Plant track.
They were definitely letting Luz do her own thing, though it was obvious they found her antics entertaining.
(Y/N) shared a glance with Hunter, who simply crossed his arms and sighed. “She’s going to get caught.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Yeah. But it’ll be fun watching her try.”
Hunter huffed but didn’t argue.
As the tour moved into the Old Magic Relic Room, (Y/N)’s interest piqued slightly.
The room was filled with magical artifacts, relics of a time long past- the Green Thumb Gauntlet, the Oracle Sphere, the Healing Hat. There were statues too, high up in the rafters behind white-gold arches, depicting the original coven leaders from when Belos first introduced the system.
(Y/N) wasn’t sure why, but something about the room made her uneasy. Maybe it was the weight of history pressing down on her, the knowledge that all of this- everything- was part of Belos’s legacy of control.
Then, she noticed Lilith heading to the Throne room.
And she wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Luz, ever curious, immediately broke from the group and followed after Lilith.
(Y/N) and Hunter exchanged another look.
Hunter exhaled sharply. “We should report this.”
(Y/N) tilted her head. “Or we could see how this plays out.”
Hunter groaned but reluctantly followed her as they tailed the students a little longer, keeping tabs on everything.
Some time passed, and eventually, Luz returned to the group.
(Y/N) noted that she looked… off. Pale. Uneasy. Like she had seen something that had shaken her to her core.
She didn’t know what, but something had definitely happened while she was gone.
Hunter leaned in slightly, whispering, “Something isn’t right.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” (Y/N) murmured.
The Hexside students started leaving soon after, but Luz stayed behind.
Hunter and (Y/N) followed from a distance, watching as Luz seemed to be setting something up. When Luz peered out the window, checking to make sure no one noticed her absence, she saw-
Herself.
(Y/N)’s eyebrows shot up.
Luz, Willow, and Gus were all leaving with the group.
Except, they weren’t.
Seconds later, Luz was tapped on the shoulder, turning to find the real Willow and Gus standing behind her.
Illusions. Smart.
Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Clever.”
(Y/N) grinned. “I like them.”
Hunter rolled his eyes.
Willow and Gus confronted Luz, holding up notes she had left unattended. As Luz tried to explain, her friends revealed that they already knew about Eda’s curse- and that they wanted to help her steal the Healing Hat.
(Y/N) let out a low whistle. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
Hunter shot her a look. “We’re not supposed to interfere.”
“I know,” (Y/N) said innocently, rocking on her heels. “I’m watching, aren’t I?”
Hunter groaned, rubbing his temples.
They watched as Luz, Willow, and Gus made their way past the guards and into the relic room, sneaking toward the Healing Hat.
For a second, it seemed like they might actually pull it off.
But then-
Lilith appeared.
(Y/N) tensed slightly, watching the scene unfold.
Lilith barely had to try- she easily overpowered Willow and Gus, sending them tumbling aside before capturing Luz in a glowing containment bubble.
And then, without hesitation-
She destroyed the Healing Hat.
(Y/N)’s smirk faded.
Luz’s expression was pure heartbreak as the hat crumbled, all of her hopes for Eda’s curse vanishing in an instant.
Lilith’s face was unreadable, but her voice was cold. "It never would’ve worked anyway."
(Y/N) could feel the moment Lilith realized what she had just been given.
A weakness. A way to exploit Eda.
Lilith ordered Willow and Gus to go to Eda- to tell her that Luz had been captured.
Hunter watched all of this with a carefully neutral expression, his posture stiff, unreadable.
(Y/N), however, exhaled slowly, crossing her arms.
She had a feeling Belos would be pleased.
And that bothered her.
The moment Eda Clawthorne stormed up the castle, magic crackling around her like a living storm, (Y/N) knew- this was unlike anything they had seen before.
Eda wasn’t just powerful.
She was furious.
Even Hunter seemed momentarily stunned as the wild witch thundered through the castle, her very presence warping the air around her. The raw force of her magic sent shockwaves through the halls, setting banners aflame and making stone crack under her feet.
She wasn’t fighting her way in.
She was announcing herself.
She had come for Luz.
And nothing was going to stop her.
(Y/N) and Hunter immediately made their way to Belos.
If Eda was this desperate, this angry, then they needed to be ready for whatever was about to happen.
When they entered the throne room, Belos was already seated, watching everything unfold through the swirling green haze of a viewing spell.
Hunter knelt immediately. “What are your orders, Emperor Belos?”
Belos didn’t turn. He watched Eda’s onslaught unfold before him, completely calm.
Then, after a long pause-
“…Stand aside.”
Hunter stiffened. “But-”
Belos tilted his head, finally looking at them.
“You will keep your roles. You will remain where you are.” His voice was smooth, measured. “But you will do nothing.”
(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. Do nothing?
Something was off.
Belos wanted this to play out.
Hunter didn’t argue further. He simply bowed his head. “Understood.”
(Y/N) clenched her fists but forced herself to nod.
They were playing a role in Belos’s game, whether they liked it or not.
The Duel Begins.
(Y/N) and Hunter watched as Eda and Lilith clashed on the castle’s high bridge, exchanging magic and insults in equal measure.
But then-
Lilith slipped.
In the middle of their heated argument, she accidentally revealed the truth.
"Then why were you so easy to curse?!"
The air went still.
Eda froze, her magic flickering for the briefest moment.
Lilith’s eyes widened- she hadn’t meant to say it.
But it was too late.
Eda snarled, her fury reigniting. The duel escalated dangerously, wild magic tearing through the castle bridge.
And then, amid the chaos-
Luz broke free.
(Y/N) tensed as Luz shattered the containment spell, landing on the bridge with wide eyes, her hands clenched into fists.
But before she could run to Eda, Lilith let out a low, cold chuckle.
“Oh, child,” she said, almost pitying. “That bubble was for your protection.”
Then, without hesitation-
She blasted Luz off the bridge.
(Y/N)’s breath caught.
Hunter flinched beside her.
Luz tumbled backward, her scream echoing as she fell toward the pit of spikes below.
(Y/N)’s body moved before she could think, a pulse of instinct from her Gem telling her to act-
But she didn’t have to.
Because Eda moved first.
With the last of her magic, Eda caught Luz, hurling her to safety.
But at a cost.
Her magic was gone.
The curse took hold instantly, her body convulsing as her form shifted, twisted, morphed.
The Owl Beast emerged.
Luz’s face was filled with pure, heartbreaking terror.
(Y/N) felt it. The shock. The devastation. The helplessness.
Eda, barely able to speak, mustered her final words to Luz.
Then-
She sent Owlbert to carry Luz away.
She saved her.
And in return?
Lilith captured her.
The Owl Beast was restrained, her massive form bound in enchanted chains. Owlbert, too, was seized.
(Y/N) and Hunter stood at a distance, watching.
Doing nothing.
Because that’s what Belos had ordered.
Lilith turned to Luz, her expression unreadable.
“Go back to your world.” Her voice was cool, final.
“This one’s ours.”
Luz’s eyes burned with tears as she was forced to leave.
(Y/N) watched silently, her stomach twisting.
Belos had won.
(Y/N) stood beside Hunter, her body stiff, her mind racing.
"Stay silent."
That was Belos’s order.
She and Hunter were to remain at his side, to be his shadows, to be present in case anything were to happen. They were not to interfere.
And then, as if nothing had happened- as if he hadn’t just watched Lilith betray her own sister, hadn’t orchestrated all of this- Belos praised them.
"You have done a wonderful job," he said smoothly, his voice warm, almost gentle.
He was playing a role, just like he always did.
And she hated that she had to play along.
Still, she dropped her head slightly, pretending to accept the words.
Hunter, beside her, absorbed them like they were air.
Belos placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder, a sign of trust, of favoritism.
"I am proud of you, my Golden Guard," he murmured.
(Y/N) felt Hunter straighten, saw the way he lit up at those words- just for a moment- before forcing himself back into composure.
But she had felt the flash of emotion from him.
Hope. Relief.
A desperate need for approval.
(Y/N) clenched her jaw but kept quiet.
Belos turned, motioning for them to follow. “Come. We have more to attend to.”
The top floor of the palace was cold, sterile, designed for containment rather than comfort.
(Y/N) and Hunter stood still at Belos’s side as they entered the back room, where Lilith was struggling to restrain the beastly Eda Clawthorne.
The Owl Beast fought against its bindings, snarling, clawing, its massive form twitching and writhing. Lilith stood over it, clearly shaken but trying to keep control.
Belos stepped forward, raising a hand.
With a pulse of sickly green magic, Eda’s body seized, stiffened-
And then…
Her mind returned.
Eda gasped, her human consciousness restored, her beastly features retreating enough for her to think, to speak.
Belos moved closer, his golden mask unreadable.
"You have something that does not belong to you," he said smoothly, his tone almost casual.
Eda blinked, her body still weak, but her glare was unwavering. “And what’s that, Chuckles?”
Belos tilted his head slightly. “The portal door.”
(Y/N) froze.
A portal?
To the Human Realm?
Her hands clenched at her sides, her pulse spiking.
Why hadn’t he said anything before?
Hadn’t that been their deal? If he ever learned about a way home, he was supposed to tell her.
But he had kept it from her.
Because of course he did.
Her eyes flickered toward Hunter, but if he had any reaction, he wasn’t showing it.
Eda, however, laughed.
"Yeah, no. Not happening."
Belos exhaled, as if disappointed. “That is… unfortunate.”
He turned slightly, motioning toward one of the guards. “Then I will simply retrieve it myself. Take her away. She will be dealt with.”
Lilith’s face fell.
“My lord-” she started, stepping forward. “You promised-”
Belos ignored her.
Eda struggled weakly as the guards grabbed her, pulling her toward another chamber. “Hey! HEY! You slimy son of a-”
The door slammed shut.
Lilith stood frozen, eyes wide.
“B-But you said…” she whispered, looking genuinely shaken.
Belos turned his gaze toward her, his voice eerily calm. “I said she would be dealt with.”
(Y/N) watched as something in Lilith cracked.
For the first time, she seemed uncertain, like she had finally realized that her loyalty to Belos wasn’t going to be rewarded the way she had thought.
Belos held out Owlbert, the small staff twitching slightly in his grasp.
He placed it in Lilith’s hands.
“Destroy it.”
Lilith swallowed hard, gripping the staff.
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t refuse.
She just stood there, holding the staff like it was something fragile, something she didn’t want to break.
(Y/N) felt the shift.
Lilith was crumbling.
And Belos knew it.
With that final order, Belos turned and walked away, his white cloak billowing behind him.
(Y/N) and Hunter followed wordlessly, their roles clear.
Stay silent.
Do nothing.
Watch everything unfold.
(Y/N) didn’t look back.
Because if she did-
She wasn’t sure if she could keep pretending.
Neither of them spoke as they returned to their room, both lost in their own thoughts. The moment the door shut behind them, (Y/N) pulled off her mask, setting it down with a quiet thunk on the table.
Hunter did the same, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting heavily on his bed.
The air in their quarters was heavy.
(Y/N), however, wasn’t ready to just sit there.
She walked over to the small crystal ball they had gotten to share, a small luxury she had managed to get for them. It was their equivalent of a TV, the closest thing she had to anything that reminded her of home.
Flipping through the channels, she barely paid attention at first- random shows, puppet theaters, coven announcements-
Until she landed on the news report.
Her fingers froze over the controls.
The screen showed a press conference, the Emperor’s Coven symbol displayed behind the speakers.
And then-
Kikimora.
She stood at the podium, official and composed, her shrill voice sharp as she addressed the crowd.
"The Emperor’s Coven has adjudicated on the matter of the wild witch Eda Clawthorne."
(Y/N)’s stomach tightened.
Hunter, who had been half-distracted, immediately sat up straighter.
"It has been decided that her punishment will be petrification."
The words slammed into the room like a physical force.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched.
"The petrification will occur at sunset."
Silence.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them breathed.
For a long moment, (Y/N) just stared at the screen, at the smug confidence in Kikimora’s stance, at the casual way she announced Eda’s death like it was just another day at work.
Then, without a word, she turned off the crystal ball.
Hunter was already standing.
“We should be there in person,” he said, his voice unreadable.
(Y/N) exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”
They didn’t need to discuss it.
They didn’t need to argue.
They moved quickly, retrieving their masks, adjusting their uniforms, securing their weapons.
It was a ritual at this point- getting ready, preparing for their roles.
But this time?
It felt different.
This wasn’t just another mission.
This was a death sentence.
And they were going to watch it happen.
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