Ashes Of Grace

Another ’’where the hurt doesnt reach’’ with Chinki, akane and junko with male!reader please

A/N: Of course! Pretty sure I've made one of these fic's for most of the girls in the games now. That's fun :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.6

pt.5 - pt.?

pt.1

Chiaki, Akane and Junko x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 3794

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Chiaki:

The lights in the classroom flickered softly as the final bell rang. The hallways outside were already emptying, voices and laughter growing fainter with each passing second. But (Y/N) stayed seated at his desk, unmoving, his fingers curled tightly around the hem of his uniform jacket.

He hated this part of the day.

Not because of the classes, not even because of the exhaustion that dragged on his bones like weighted chains. But because eventually, he had to move. He had to walk out there. Past the boys who shouted too loudly, who bumped shoulders too hard, who laughed like threats.

His chest tightened.

"(Y/N)?" a soft voice floated into the room.

He flinched, halfway rising from his chair before registering the owner. Not a threat. Not him. Just... Chiaki…

The quiet girl who always carried her game console in her pocket, eyes half-lidded like she was constantly drifting through dreamy levels. She didn’t talk much, and when she did, it was often in game references and strategy hints. But somehow, she always noticed things no one else did.

Like the way he kept his back to the wall. The way he never raised his voice. The way he flinched when any of the boys clapped a hand on each other’s backs.

"...You didn’t leave with the others," she said, stepping closer, her bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. "Are you... waiting for someone?"

He shook his head silently.

Chiaki tilted her head. "Okay... can I sit here then?"

(Y/N) hesitated, then nodded. She took the seat beside him, setting her console on the desk between them. Her thumbs moved expertly over the buttons as a soft chiptune melody filled the space between them.

“I’m playing River Quest II,” she said, glancing sideways. “It’s about this kid who has to cross a haunted river to find his way home. But the boat he’s using keeps falling apart. So every night, he builds a new one. And even if he sinks, he tries again the next day.”

"...That sounds hard," (Y/N) murmured, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. But... I like it. There’s a lot of failure. But no matter what, the game lets you keep trying. Like... it wants you to win eventually. You just have to survive long enough.”

Her words sank into him slowly. Gentle. Understanding. Not pushing.

She didn’t ask questions like the counselors did. She didn’t talk about “opening up” or “dealing with trauma.” She just sat beside him in the silence, letting him exist.

"...You don’t talk to many people," Chiaki said softly after a while, her eyes still on the game. “Especially not guys.”

He stiffened. Instinctively. Reflexively.

She didn’t apologize. Didn’t backpedal or smother him with concern.

“I just thought you should know,” she continued, “you’re not weird for that.”

He turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable- but not cold. Just... focused, like she was watching a really important boss fight play out in real time.

"I don’t like loud people either," she added. “Or people who stand too close without asking.”

A breath escaped him- something like a laugh, though it barely had the strength. His shoulders dropped.

"...Thanks," he whispered.

Chiaki gave him a small nod, then paused her game.

“You can play with me... if you want. I can set it to co-op.”

"...What kind of game is it?"

“It’s not about fighting. It’s about surviving. Together.”

She handed him a second controller- one she kept just in case someone needed it. As (Y/N) took it with hesitant fingers, their shoulders barely touched. Just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t going to hurt him. That maybe, just maybe, this was his save point.

Later that evening, they left the classroom together.

The hallways had mostly cleared out, but a few stragglers still lingered- clusters of students chatting near the lockers or at classroom doors. (Y/N) kept close to the wall, his steps quiet, but his eyes wide and alert. Chiaki walked just behind him, humming quietly under her breath. The soft beeps of her handheld console were gone now- packed away- replaced by the dull echo of footsteps and laughter bouncing off the walls.

Then he heard it.

A sharp burst of male laughter up ahead.

He tensed.

There were three boys, loud and animated, joking about something and shoving each other playfully in the corridor. They hadn’t seen him. They weren’t even facing his direction.

But his throat tightened anyway.

His vision blurred.

The sound of their voices grew sharper, more distorted, like a tape warping and speeding up all at once. His legs stuttered to a stop. His chest locked up. His fingers went numb.

And suddenly, he was ten years old again.

Back in that hallway. Back in that house. The smell of beer and smoke choking the air. The sound of his voice- (Y/N)’s knees nearly buckled.

“Hey…” Chiaki’s voice came gently, like a hand through water.

He didn’t respond.

Her hand touched his sleeve. “(Y/N). It’s okay. Breathe.”

His shoulders shook. His eyes locked on the boys ahead, even though they were already walking the other way.

“They’re not looking at you,” Chiaki whispered. “They’re not coming over. You’re safe.”

It was a simple sentence.

But it anchored him.

He sucked in a shaky breath, then another. His heart was still pounding like it wanted to burst out of his chest, but the ringing in his ears began to fade.

Chiaki didn’t say anything else. She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she stepped in front of him and held out her hand.

“Let’s take the long way back to the gates,” she said quietly. “Less noise. Fewer people.”

He stared at her hand.

It was small, delicate, and open. She wasn’t pushing it into his. She just held it there, offering.

After a moment, his fingers brushed hers- tentative, like he was still afraid he might break something just by being too close.

She gently curled her fingers around his.

Her grip wasn’t tight. It wasn’t controlling.

It was just... steady.

Safe.

They walked the long way around the school, down the side halls that smelled like books and chalk dust, past quiet windows tinted gold with the sunset. She didn’t let go.

At one point, she spoke again. Her voice was softer than before.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“That’s okay. There are other ways to say things.” She gave a small squeeze to his hand. “Like staying. Or listening. Or letting someone walk with you.”

"...Thanks for walking with me."

Chiaki looked up at him, a small smile on her face, serene and real. “Thanks for letting me.”

And for the first time in a very long time...

(Y/N) didn’t feel like he was running.

He felt like he was choosing to walk.

Akane:

The cafeteria buzzed with the easy hum of student life- cliques forming in every corner, laughter and teasing flung across the bright afternoon. (Y/N) kept his head down, stirring the food on his tray without much thought. He sat at the farthest end of the cafeteria, away from the crowd, where the walls at least covered his back. Where he could see if anyone approached.

Most people didn’t. Most people knew he wasn’t exactly friendly.

And frankly, (Y/N) preferred it that way.

Another day where he could sit quietly and get through without an incident was a good day, by his standards. He flinched slightly when a chair scraped loudly against the floor nearby- too loud, too sudden- and his whole body stiffened instinctively.

When he glanced up, his stomach twisted. But then, calmed a bit as soon as his eyes met the scourse of the sound. It was Akane Owari, the wild, carefree Gymnast.

She plopped down into the chair next to him without even a hint of hesitation, swinging one leg over the other, holding a tray piled with food.

(Y/N) blinked in confusion.

"You’re not eating." Akane’s voice was casual but blunt, her brown eyes sharp even as she started shoveling food into her mouth without any embarrassment. "Why not? Food's good here. Kinda boring, but good."

(Y/N) opened his mouth, then shut it again. His throat felt tight. He didn’t know how to explain that sometimes eating was hard when everything inside felt wrong. That sometimes he could barely taste anything through the constant pit in his stomach.

Instead, he just muttered, "Not that hungry."

Akane squinted at him mid-bite. "You’re too scrawny," she said flatly, pointing her fork at him accusingly. "You’ll fall over if the wind blows the wrong way."

(Y/N) flushed and looked away. He wasn’t used to people pointing things out about his body- it made him feel exposed. Like when he was younger. When every flaw, every weakness, got punished.

A quiet panic itched under his skin. She’s too close. She’s loud. She’s noticing me.

But then something strange happened.

Akane... didn’t push. She didn’t laugh, or call attention to his weird reaction. She just kept eating, completely nonchalant, like sitting next to him wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t some kind of freak to be tiptoed around or mocked.

Minutes passed. 

(Y/N) felt himself starting to breathe a little easier.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Finally, Akane broke the silence again, her voice softer this time. "You can sit with me at lunch, you know. If you want. ‘Cause... you look like you don’t got anybody."

Her words weren’t pitying. They were just honest.

(Y/N) stared at her, heart thudding painfully.

He wanted to trust her.

He wanted to believe in even a scrap of kindness.

But fear clawed up his throat, memories flashing too vividly- other people pretending to be nice, only to hurt him worse when he let his guard down. His hands trembled slightly under the table.

Akane must have noticed. Because she leaned back in her chair, hands up, palms facing him.

"No touching," she said, like it was a vow. "I don’t like it when people grab me without asking, either. So, uh... promise I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay."

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

For a moment, he couldn’t look at her. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut tight.

When he finally managed to look again, Akane was just sitting there, lazily chewing a piece of chicken, like she hadn’t just casually offered him something he'd been craving for years.

Safety.

Choice.

A promise.

(Y/N) swallowed hard and gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Akane grinned at him, It wasn’t a teasing grin. It was warm. Friendly.

Like maybe she really meant it.

"Cool," she said. "You’re mine now. My lunch buddy."

And just like that, she went back to eating, talking between bites about all the weird crap she’d seen on TV lately, as if nothing had even happened.

Days bled into each other, and somehow, (Y/N) found himself... used to it. Used to Akane plopping down beside him at lunch. Used to her rambling about whatever crossed her mind- fights she watched, food she wanted, weird dreams she had.

He didn’t have to talk much, she didn’t expect him to.

And when he did say something, she listened like it mattered.

It was easy, in a way nothing else was. Easy enough that sometimes he forgot to be afraid when she sat too close. Easy enough that he didn’t flinch anymore when she burst out laughing or swung her arms wildly mid-story.

Until today.

Today was different.

He didn’t see it coming. 

Didn’t see the group of boys from some other Class rounding the corner, roughhousing like they always did. (Y/N) shrank instinctively when they passed too close, ducking his head, praying they wouldn’t notice him.

But of course- someone did.

One of them, a tall boy with spiked hair and a cocky grin, spotted him instantly.

"Hey," the guy barked, jabbing a finger toward (Y/N). "Didn’t know they let scared little rats into Hope’s Peak."

The group chuckled. (Y/N)’s heart slammed against his ribs. His chest constricted.

He tried to melt into the wall, praying they'd get bored. 

It never worked… It never worked.

"You hear me, freak?" the boy said louder, stepping closer. His shadow loomed over (Y/N). "You think you’re better than us, sittin' all quiet and weird? Huh?"

(Y/N) flinched without meaning to- sharp, instinctive, the way a kicked dog would. His breathing quickened, the old terror clawing at his spine. His palms were sweaty and cold at the same time.

"Leave him alone."

The voice cut through the air, sudden and razor-sharp.

(Y/N) barely had time to blink before Akane was there, standing between him and the guy, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a way (Y/N) had never seen before. Her whole body radiated tension- an animalistic readiness, like a jungle cat ready to tear into something.

The boy sneered. "Relax... We’re just messing around."

Akane tilted her head, cracking her knuckles one by one. "Yeah? Well, I don’t like it." Her voice was deceptively light, almost lazy. "Pick on someone else. Before I break your jaw."

The guy hesitated- maybe realizing that yeah, Akane could and would break something if she wanted to. He scoffed, tossing his hands up in mock surrender, before shoving past his friends and slinking away.

The group followed quickly, none of them daring to meet her gaze.

As soon as they were gone, Akane turned back to (Y/N).

Her expression softened immediately. No anger, no impatience. Just concern.

"You okay?" she asked simply.

(Y/N) opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was shaking- trembling- with the aftershocks of it all. But somehow, looking at her, he didn’t feel trapped. He didn’t feel like he was seconds from breaking.

He just felt... Seen. Protected.

(Y/N) squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deep, trying to steady himself.

Akane didn’t touch him.

She didn’t crowd him.

Instead, she dropped into a crouch right in front of him, balancing easily on the balls of her feet. She tilted her head again, smiling a little, almost sheepishly.

"I’m not good at this, y'know," she said. "The whole 'comforting' thing. But I don’t like seeing you scared."

(Y/N) opened his eyes slowly. His voice was hoarse when he finally whispered, "Thank you."

Akane grinned wide, her nose scrunching up.

"Hey, that’s what you do for the people you care about, right?"

Care…

The word landed heavier than she probably meant it to.

(Y/N) nodded slowly- another tiny, shaky nod- but it was genuine this time.

Akane rocked back on her heels, then stood up and offered him her pinky, wiggling it in front of him like a kid.

"Pinky promise," she said. "If anybody messes with you again, I’ll kick their ass. No questions asked."

(Y/N) stared at her hand for a long moment.

Then, hesitantly, so carefully, he hooked his pinky around hers.

It was the first time in a long time he touched someone and didn’t flinch.

Akane beamed. "Good. Now c’mon. You’re my lunch buddy, and i'm starving.”

Junko:

The world felt too loud for (Y/N).

The clang of lockers, the shrill excitement of new students meeting for the first time, the ever-present hum of fluorescent lights overhead- it all blurred into static in his ears. Hope’s Peak Academy was supposed to be a fresh start, but even walking these polished halls, (Y/N) felt a sinking pit deep in his gut. His scars didn’t show, not the kind that mattered. They throbbed silently beneath his skin, invisible to everyone else.

Everyone except maybe her.

"Ugh, could this place be any more boring?" a voice rang out like a bell, sharp and sugary sweet.

(Y/N) flinched instinctively, his shoulders tensing. He turned his head just slightly, not enough to draw attention. There she was… Junko Enoshima.

The Ultimate Fashionista. Long, wild pigtails, flawless skin, a magnetic presence that seemed to bend the very air around her. She was perfect. Perfect like a mannequin.

But as (Y/N) stared a little longer, he caught it- just a flicker behind those brilliantly blue eyes… Calculation.

He quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, panic prickling at his spine. Men were dangerous. Women... Women could be dangerous too, but less so. Still, people noticing him usually ended badly. He hoped she hadn’t seen him.

Of course she had.

Junko’s smile widened just a fraction as she sauntered closer, balancing on those towering heels like she ruled the world. She leaned down, just a little, to meet his hidden, downward gaze.

"Heyyyy. You're new, huh? What's your name?" Sweet voice. Thick with manufactured innocence.

(Y/N) opened his mouth, but his voice barely made it past his lips, "(Y/N)..."

She tilted her head, feigning a dramatic gasp. "Awww, you're shy! That's soooooo adorable~!" Her words dripped with honey, but her eyes... Her eyes stripped him bare.

It made (Y/N) take a trembling step back, his body recoiling before he could even think. He hated how obvious his fear must have looked.

Something shifted in Junko’s expression- so quick he almost missed it.

Interest.

"Ohhh, I get it," she chirped, standing up straight again, a hand resting lightly on her hip, "You're, like... scared of people, right?"

(Y/N) said nothing… He didn't need to. His silence said it for him.

Junko's gaze sharpened imperceptibly. This wasn't just shyness. This was deep, festering hurt. She knew the signs better than anyone. After all, wasn't she the Ultimate Analyst underneath all this glitter and glam?

"So cuuuute..." she said again, her voice softer this time. Real, almost. 

And dangerous.

Without asking permission, she hooked her arm through his and tugged him along, her perfume clouding around him like a net.

"Don't worry! I'll protect you from all the big, scary boys around here~!" she teased, but there was something underneath the sing-song words. 

A promise. 

A threat.

(Y/N) wanted to pull away. Every instinct screamed for him to. But her hand was firm. Not rough, like others had been. Not yet. And deep down, a pitiful part of him ached- ached for someone to cling to.

Even if it was someone as terrifyingly unreadable as Junko Enoshima.

Days bled into one another like spilled ink.

At Hope’s Peak, (Y/N) learned the art of invisibility. Keep his head down. Hug the walls. Speak only when spoken to, and even then, softly enough to fade into the static. 

But Junko wouldn’t let him disappear.

Every day, without fail, she found him. In the cafeteria, at the library, even once at the back entrance by the vending machines. A flash of blonde hair, a chime of mock surprise- "Omg, you’re here toooo?"- and she was by his side, smiling like they were childhood friends.

She never asked questions he didn't want to answer. Never touched him roughly… But she watched.

Always watching.

(Y/N) didn’t know if it was comfort or terror that curled tighter around his ribs when she was near.

But then… Something happened…

It happened three weeks into the semester.

(Y/N) was carrying a stack of books back to his dorm, arms full, vision half-blocked by the heavy tomes. He was focused only on keeping his breathing steady, moving quick but quiet down the mostly empty hall.

He didn’t see the boy until the shove came.

The books went flying, pages scattering like frightened birds. (Y/N) stumbled back, barely catching himself on the wall.

A tall boy, one of the rougher upperclassmen- he didn't even know his name- loomed over him, smirking.

"Oops. Guess you're just as useless as you look," the guy laughed, his voice a booming, cruel sound that cut into (Y/N)’s gut like a blade.

(Y/N) froze.

No breath. No movement. Like a rabbit in a wolf’s jaws. He barely registered the boy stepping closer, sneering down at him with twisted amusement.

"You even supposed to be here, freak? Weren't you scouted like, super late?" A hand grabbed at the collar of his shirt.

And then- 

Click clack click clack.

The unmistakable rhythm of high heels against tile.

The boy barely had time to turn his head before Junko Enoshima was there, stepping between them like a sudden wildfire.

Her smile was dazzling. 

Deadly.

"Uwaaah~ That’s not very nice of you," she sang sweetly, twirling a strand of her hair. "Picking on poor little (Y/N) like that. Don’t you know he’s, like, mine?"

The hallway seemed to shrink, the air thickening like a storm cloud.

The boy scoffed. "Tch. Whatever. I was just messing around."

Junko’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth. 

Still sugary sweet.

Still ice cold.

"Oh, I know~ You were 'just messing around'," she cooed, voice dripping fake sympathy. "But see, I reeaaaaally hate it when people mess with my stuff. Like, reeeeeally hate it."

Her tone never rose. She didn’t yell, didn’t threaten. She simply existed- so vividly, so suffocatingly- that the boy instinctively stepped back.

Smart boy.

"Don't let me catch you 'messing around' again, 'kay?" she said with a little wink, like they were just two friends sharing a private joke.

The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked off, disappearing around the corner.

(Y/N) was still frozen against the wall, every nerve buzzing.

Junko turned to him then, her expression softening into something almost... human.

"You okay, sweetie?" she asked, crouching down and beginning to gather his scattered books without waiting for him to move.

(Y/N) opened his mouth. Closed it… Nodded once, stiffly.

Junko smiled- really smiled this time- and handed him the top book.

For a moment, their fingers brushed. He flinched, but Junko didn’t push it. Didn’t comment. She simply dusted off his sleeve, brushing off invisible dirt like he was something fragile.

"You know," she said airily as they walked side by side down the hall, "Next time someone tries that? Maybe I'll just break their fingers~."

(Y/N) turned his head, wide-eyed.

She laughed brightly at his expression. "Juuuust kidding!~" she chimed, but her eyes stayed cold and glittering.

Not kidding. 

Not at all.

And somewhere deep in his hollowed-out chest, (Y/N) felt a strange warmth ignite- a tiny, desperate spark. 

Because even if it was twisted- Even if it was dangerous- For the first time in a long, long time, someone had chosen to stand for him.

Even if that someone was Junko Enoshima.

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

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

Feral Loyalty

Verosika x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 1614

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

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

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

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

And then she looked toward the couch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they didn’t.

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

That’s when it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

The bar fell silent.

Even Verosika blinked, stunned.

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, sugar.”

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

She blinked, her body trembling as the glow faded. Realizing what she’d done, she looked at Verosika- her hands, the blood, the broken horn- and panicked.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

But Verosika was already pulling her into a tight hug.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered, breath warm against (Y/N)’s ear. “That was the hottest shit I’ve seen all week.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. Her heartbeat was a war drum in her chest, fear and adrenaline crashing together- but Verosika held her tighter, grounding her.

“Remind me never to piss you off, baby,” she murmured, brushing a kiss to the side of her head. “You’re full of surprises.”

The alley behind the bar was quieter, lit only by flickering neon and the red glow of Hell’s sky. Verosika’s heels clicked on the pavement as she half-dragged, half-guided (Y/N) down the side path.

“Okay, sit your adorable little ass down,” she said, pushing open the back door of her limo and motioning her inside. “Let me see your hands.”

(Y/N) hesitated, knuckles still stained red. Her hands shook- whether from fear or from the crash of adrenaline, she couldn’t tell. She climbed into the limo anyway, letting Verosika sit beside her with a wet wipe packet in hand and the strangest expression on her face.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disgust.

It was awe. Cautious, wild awe.

Verosika gently took (Y/N)’s wrist. “You broke your glass. That’s some sharp-ass instinct.”

“I-I didn’t mean to go that far,” (Y/N) whispered, voice cracking as her walls began to crumble. “I just… I saw them touching you. And I snapped. I don’t even remember deciding to do it…”

Verosika wiped blood from her fingers, slowly. Carefully. “You did good.”

“…Good?” (Y/N) blinked at her.

“Hell yeah. I mean, babe, I have security, but none of them have ever slammed a guy into the floor with a smile like that before.”

(Y/N) flushed hard. She wanted to hide.

“But also,” Verosika said, her voice dipping softer now, “I could tell it scared you.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard and looked away. “I’m… I don’t want to be like that. I just- I don’t know, I didn’t like the way they looked at you. Like you were something they could take.”

That surprised Verosika more than anything else.

Because most people in her world did see her that way. Something to possess. Something to show off, to drag under.

But not (Y/N).

Never (Y/N).

“I like that you got mad for me,” she said honestly. “You saw something ugly and you let yourself be scary. That’s not a bad thing.”

She leaned in closer, dabbing the last of the blood away from her cheek, then gently cupped her face. “But I also like the girl who flinches when people talk too loud and blushes when I call her ‘baby.’ You don’t have to choose which one you are.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

“…You’re not mad?”

Verosika snorted, brushing her thumb across (Y/N)’s cheek. “No. If anything, I’m flattered. You went feral over me. You know how hard it is to get that kind of loyalty in this dump?”

(Y/N) finally gave a weak smile. Her shoulders slumped as some invisible weight lifted.

“…I don’t want you to think I’m dangerous.”

“Oh, I know you’re dangerous,” Verosika said with a teasing glint, leaning in just a little more. “But only when you want to be.”

The limo idled in the alley, the two of them locked in a bubble of quiet aftershock.

And then Verosika murmured, almost like a secret:

“You really care about me, don’t you?”

(Y/N) didn’t look away this time. “Of course I do.”

Verosika studied her for a beat, something unreadable dancing in her eyes.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Then I guess you’ve earned the front row seat.”

“To what?”

Verosika grinned. “To whatever the hell this is.”

She kissed her on the cheek, then rested her forehead gently against (Y/N)’s. “Thanks for protecting me, sugar.”

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

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

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.1

pt.2

Peko, Mikan and Tenko x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 3628

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

Peko: 

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

It was because he wasn’t loud.

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

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

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

It wasn’t hard to piece together.

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

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

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

She stopped.

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

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

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

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

That was how it started.

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

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

He trusted her long before he realized he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart stuttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) froze.

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

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

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

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

But then-

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

Riku turned. “What the hell-?”

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

Her presence alone was enough to shift the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded once.

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

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

She waited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widened.

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

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

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

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

Mikan:

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

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

She understood that kind of fear too well.

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

It started small.

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

That was enough for Mikan.

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

Then one day, he spoke.

“I hate being touched.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

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

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

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

And one rainy afternoon, everything changed.

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

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

There was a long silence. Then, barely audible:

“…Okay.”

It was the first time he let her touch him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And little by little, he began to believe it.

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

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

Mikan was always there.

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

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

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

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

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

It was a Thursday when something shifted.

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

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

He stiffened, but nodded.

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

He blinked.

“…No.”

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

The room was too quiet. Too still.

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

Mikan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

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

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

“Yes. Of course it is.”

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

“I’m proud of you.”

Those words replayed over and over, like a lullaby.

Tenko:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was silence. A long, aching silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he murmured.

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

After that day, the dojo became their quiet haven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned her head to meet his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head.

She nodded. “Then we don’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

“I can hold you, if you want.”

His breath caught, chest rising unevenly.

“…Okay.”

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

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

Hello my friend; I just came across your account so I wanted to say that I love your stories and everything! I also wanted to know if you are doing any stories requests or anything?🌷✨🤗🍒

Hiiii, @lelewright1234!!!! :}

I do indeed take requests! All of my boundaries and fandoms are in my masterlist, feel free to request anything you'd like! I have a few other requests I'm working on currently, but I love writing, I normally I get them done pretty quickly.

Welcome!

I'm Gi, thank you for visiting my profile :}

Okay, so, I'm going to be so honest... I'm not exactly experienced when it comes to Tumblr. I mostly use it to look at art, and read fanfiction. Nonetheless, I want to try! I'm planning on posting my art, along with any fics I decide I want to write. I normally posty art on Insta, and my fics on Wattpad, but I thought it was time for a change, so I migrated here. I don't know what I'm doing exactly, but I would love suggestions on how to make things better, my writing, art, profile, everything! Feel free to give me any tips you want, I'll appreciate anything given to me :}

I'm going to start off with posting some art, just so this isn't my only post. If you like my work, don't hesitate to send me requests or suggestions!

I would like to request „where the hurt doesnt reach with kyoko, kaede and miu

A/N: Yes, of course! :} Slowly but surely getting through all of my requests.

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.5

pt.4 - pt.6

pt.1

Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety/Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues

Word Count: 2930

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

Kyoko: 

(Y/N) kept his head down in the dorm lounge, hands clenched around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The mug felt heavy- heavier than ceramic should- like the memories clawing at his chest had poured themselves inside.

The dorm was quiet. He had planned it that way. Early mornings were the safest. Fewer eyes, fewer voices. Fewer men.

He flinched as the door clicked open behind him.

Footsteps- measured, soft, deliberate- crossed the floor. No harsh breaths. No creaking floorboards from someone stomping in. Just silence.

“Good morning.”

He knew that voice. Soft and clear, like the first breeze after rain… Kyoko Kirigiri.

He didn’t answer. Just dipped his head lower.

But she didn’t mind. She never did.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” she asked.

(Y/N)’s grip on his cup tightened. His lips parted, but no sound came. He didn’t know how to say yes. Not without explaining the panic in his chest, or the constant crawl of anxiety under his skin. Not without revealing how he didn’t trust anyone- especially not the boys in this school, the ones with rough laughs and too-loud voices.

But Kyoko wasn’t like them.

She waited. Silent. Letting him answer in his own time.

“…yeah,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.

She didn’t ask any more questions. Just sat across from him, folded her gloved hands on the table, and looked at him- not with pity, but with understanding.

“You’ve been avoiding the others,” she said plainly, but gently. “The male students.”

His jaw tensed. Shame burned under his skin like acid.

“I’ve noticed,” she added, after a pause. “That’s all. I’m not judging you.”

“…I just… can’t,” he whispered. “I-They remind me of… Someone.”

Kyoko’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your stepfather?”

He froze.

“…How do you know that?” he murmured, eyes wide.

“I’m the Ultimate Detective,” she said softly. “But more than that… I noticed how your shoulders tense when anyone raises their voice. How you instinctively put space between yourself and any guy who walks near you. How you relax, just slightly, when you’re with me.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched. Tears threatened behind his eyes, but he blinked them back, ashamed. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of her.

But Kyoko reached across the table- slowly, so gently- and placed her gloved hand near his, not touching, just close. An offering. A silent I’m here. You’re safe.

“You don’t have to explain everything,” she murmured. “Not until you’re ready. And even then, only if you want to.”

The room was quiet again. But it wasn’t lonely. Not with her there.

“I feel… broken,” he confessed, his voice cracking.

“You’re not,” she said, firmly. “You’re hurt. But not broken.”

(Y/N) looked up- really looked at her- and for the first time in days, the crushing weight in his chest loosened, just a little.

Maybe, with Kyoko… healing didn’t have to be loud… Maybe it could start here.

In silence. In stillness.

 In the presence of someone who didn’t demand anything from him- except honesty, when he was ready.

Healing is quiet, but constant.

The halls of Hope’s Peak were always noisier in the afternoon, but (Y/N) found himself in the library. He liked the silence there. The weight of books around him felt grounding, the muffled sounds a safe sort of background noise.

He was flipping through a random mystery novel when a shadow passed the table- and without needing to look, he knew who it was.

Kyoko.

“Hi,” he murmured before she even spoke.

She stopped mid-step, slightly surprised… and then smiled faintly. “Hi.”

She took the seat across from him again, like it had become a silent ritual. There were no expectations between them. Just moments. Just space shared without pressure.

“You’re reading mystery novels now?” she asked, voice laced with a rare warmth.

(Y/N) gave a tiny shrug, fingers playing with the page corner. “Thought I’d try to understand what makes your brain tick.”

That earned him the smallest chuckle- soft and barely there, but real. His chest swelled with something fragile and new. He liked making her smile. Especially when she did it just for him.

“Do you want help solving it?” she asked, gesturing at the book.

He nodded, and they spent the next hour side by side- her pointing things out, him guessing and missing obvious clues, but laughing softly anyway. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders lifted, and it almost felt like he was just… a normal student. A normal boy. With a friend.

No- more than a friend. At least on his end.

He liked her. Liked the way she gave him space, but always showed up when he needed someone. Liked how she never asked about his scars but always looked like she wanted to fight whoever caused them.

Not all pain is visible. But she sees it anyway.

It happened in the courtyard. He hadn’t meant to go out, but he wanted air.

 Then a group of guys passed by- too loud, too close- and one of them bumped into him hard, muttering something under his breath that wasn’t even mean, but his chest clamped down instantly.

The panic came fast. Sharp. Ugly.

His breath caught. Vision blurred.

He stumbled back toward the wall, heart hammering in his ears, the sky spinning above him-

“(Y/N)!”

Her voice cut through the noise.

She was there in seconds.

Kyoko didn’t touch him. She didn’t crowd him. She just knelt beside where he’d sunk to the ground, her gloved hand resting lightly against the pavement, near his.

“Breathe with me,” she said. Calm. Grounding. “In… and out. Match me.”

She inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower. Repeated. Over and over.

And (Y/N), shaking and pale, tried to match her. At first it didn’t work. His chest was too tight. His throat burned.

But she didn’t leave. Didn’t falter.

“In… and out.”

Eventually, the tightness loosened. The dizziness passed. His hands stopped shaking.

“…I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, voice barely there.

“Don’t apologize,” she said gently. “You’re not weak for surviving.”

Those words hit harder than anything else. He blinked hard, biting down the emotion swelling in his throat.

She sat beside him then, her shoulder close. Not touching- just present. Solid.

“I hate how scared I am,” he murmured. “How small I feel when they’re around.”

Kyoko was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’ve never been small to me.”

He turned his head toward her, startled. She met his eyes- clear and unwavering.

“You're brave,” she said. “Not because you’re unafraid. But because you keep going, even when you are.”

And- that was the moment he fell just a little harder.

Kaede: 

(Y/N) didn’t speak much when he first arrived at Hope’s Peak. He flinched at sudden noises, kept his eyes on the floor, and sat in the back of every room, as far from the boys as he could manage. Rumors spread quickly in schools like this- but Kaede never paid them any mind.

She saw him- really saw him- when she stayed after class to pack her sheet music, and he lingered a little longer than usual. Just the two of them in the room. She glanced up to say goodbye, and (Y/N) visibly tensed.

Her voice softened. “Hey… sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer at first. But he didn’t bolt either.

That was enough for Kaede.

The next day, she played a melody in the music room after class, loud enough for the hallway to hear. Just in case he passed by again. She kept doing it for days. Weeks.

Until one afternoon, she looked up between notes… and there he was. Standing in the doorway, holding his arm with a nervous grip, eyes unfocused.

She smiled, gentle and bright. “You can come in, if you want.”

He stepped inside- slowly, like the floor might give out under him.

Kaede kept playing. Nothing fancy. Just something soft and warm, like sunrise through a window. When she finished, she turned to him.

“…You okay?”

“…I don’t really like being around people,” he mumbled, “especially… guys.”

Kaede nodded, never once looking away.

“I get it. You don’t have to explain. But I’m not a guy, and… I promise, I’ll never make you feel unsafe.”

(Y/N)’s lip trembled slightly. But he stayed.

That became their quiet ritual- no words needed. He’d sit nearby while she played, sometimes reading, sometimes just… existing. In a room where no one could hurt him. A place where her music filled the silence he carried like a second skin.

One rainy evening, she asked gently, “Can I show you something?”

She pulled a chair beside the piano and motioned for him to sit.

“You don’t have to play,” she smiled. “I just… want you to feel what it’s like to be near music like that. To feel safe inside something.”

He hesitated, then slowly sat beside her. Their shoulders didn’t quite touch.

She began to play, her fingers moving across the keys in slow, deliberate tenderness. The piece wasn’t just music- it was comfort. A lullaby for someone long overdue for kindness.

Halfway through, she felt it- (Y/N) leaned in, his head resting against her shoulder. Light, like a bird settling onto a branch for the first time.

Kaede didn’t stop playing.

And for the first time in a long, long while… (Y/N) closed his eyes and let himself breathe.

The next day, he was there before her.

Kaede blinked when she opened the door to the music room and found (Y/N) already seated near the piano bench, a sketchbook in his lap. He looked up, startled- like he hadn’t meant to be caught.

“I… I wanted to hear you play again,” he said quickly, almost apologetically. “If that’s okay.”

She smiled. “Of course it is.”

As she sat down at the piano, she peeked at the edge of his notebook. Scribbles- music notes, little stars, a clumsy sketch of what might’ve been her fingers on the keys.

She didn’t comment. Just started to play.

Over time, it became something sacred. She'd play for him every afternoon. And when her fingers rested, they’d talk. At first, he only answered in nods or short phrases- but the wall between them was crumbling, brick by fragile brick.

One day, he surprised her.

“Do you… remember the first song you played for me?” he asked, barely louder than the hum of the heater.

Kaede paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Clair de Lune.”

“It reminded me of…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “Of my mom. She used to play music on a little radio in the kitchen. Classical stuff. Before she met him.”

Kaede’s fingers stilled on the keys, but she didn’t say anything. She let the silence hold the space, like the soft pedal of a piano, gentle and unpressing.

“She stopped playing music after he moved in,” he whispered. “After a while, everything got quiet. Like… too quiet. I didn’t think I’d ever like music again.”

Kaede blinked slowly, heart aching.

“But I like yours,” he added, with the faintest smile. “I like… being around you.”

That made her heart flutter. Not with giddiness, but with something deeper. Like trust taking root.

She turned to him, her voice quiet. “I like being around you too.”

From that day on, something shifted.

He started waiting for her outside the music room instead of sneaking in early. He’d walk with her down the hall, always keeping a careful distance from the louder male students, but close enough that his shoulder brushed hers now and then.

And sometimes- when the room was empty, and the song was soft, and the sun hit just right- he’d smile. Not just at the music, but at her.

Kaede would smile back, her heart swelling.

She knew healing wasn’t a straight line. There were days when he still flinched at loud voices. When group activities left him drained and hollow-eyed. But he always found his way back to her.

One afternoon, after a particularly long session, he stayed behind after she packed up.

“Kaede?” he said, voice trembling.

She turned, instantly focused on him.

“…Can I hug you?”

The question knocked the wind from her.

But she nodded, gently, like she was answering a question from a dream. She opened her arms without a word.

(Y/N) stepped forward hesitantly. Then slowly- like a scared animal testing the air- he melted into her.

It wasn’t tight or desperate. Just a quiet press of his face into her shoulder, arms loosely around her waist.

Kaede held him with the kind of care reserved for breakable things. Her hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Miu:

(Y/N) had flinched when Miu first barged into his dorm, voice carrying that usual volume and vulgarity like a storm in stilettos.

 “Yo, pencil-dick! You alive in here or what? You didn’t show up for breakfast and I ain’t got time to invent a search drone with tits just to find your sorry a-”

She stopped. Mid-rant. Her blue eyes scanned the dark room and landed on him, curled up in the corner with trembling shoulders, the edge of his sleeve wet where he’d been biting it to stay quiet. Not because he was hiding from her- but from the memories her voice had triggered.

“…Ah. Shit.”

It was the first time she didn’t call him a name.

Miu didn’t step closer. She dropped to sit cross-legged by the door, fiddling awkwardly with a spare screw in her hand, voice dipping just enough to feel like a whisper.

“Okay, so... maybe screaming like I’m in heat wasn’t the move,” she mumbled, chewing her bottom lip. “You wanna talk or should I just sit here and talk to myself like a damn lunatic? ‘Cause I can do both.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. His voice was buried too deep behind the fear. But he didn’t tell her to leave.

She took that as permission.

Later that night, after hours of her rambling about new inventions- some genius, some dangerously stupid- he finally managed a small voice. Fragile.

“…Why’re you being nice to me?”

Miu blinked, caught off guard. Her usual grin didn’t come. Instead, she shrugged, arms resting loosely on her knees.

"'Cause I know what it’s like to hate being touched. To hear someone’s footsteps and feel your chest lock up. To build a thousand walls with your bare hands 'cause you don’t trust a single fucking person not to break you again.”

(Y/N) looked up at her, eyes wide. She wasn’t loud anymore. She was... real.

She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Plus, you’re the only guy who doesn’t try to touch me or tell me to shut up. That’s kinda hot.”

A breathless, broken laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

And that was the first night he fell asleep with her sitting beside him- quiet, steady, and real.

It wasn’t overnight. But it was something.

The next morning, Miu came back. Same knock, a little softer this time. She waited- didn’t barge in. When (Y/N) cracked the door open, she was standing there with a weird contraption in her hands.

“It’s a... uh... noise-canceling headset,” she said, trying and failing to sound casual. “If I yell too loud, it automatically dampens my voice before it reaches your ears. Like a built-in anti-Miu filter. Patent pending, dickweed.”

He blinked at her, then... laughed. A real laugh, quiet and airy, but genuine.

She flushed bright pink. “S-Shut up, it’s not because I like you or anything! I just got bored! You think I sit around all day worrying about your trauma baby brain or some shit?!”

(Y/N) smiled.

“Thank you.”

She looked like she short-circuited for a second. “…Whatever.”

Over the next few weeks, they started eating together- sometimes in the cafeteria, sometimes in his room. He talked more now, slowly. Haltingly. But it was there.

“I used to be afraid of falling asleep,” he admitted one evening, his fingers picking nervously at the hem of his sleeve as they sat cross-legged on his bed, a blanket pulled over both their legs. “If I stayed awake, I could hear him coming. I’d have time to hide.”

Miu didn’t answer right away. She just scooted closer, their knees brushing.

“If you ever need someone to sleep next to you,” she said softly, “I’m right here. I snore and occasionally yell ‘ORGASM!’ in my dreams, but like- other than that, I’m pretty fuckin’ cuddly.”

He laughed again, but this time, there were tears running down his cheeks.

One night, he reached for her hand.

She was rambling about a new sex robot idea (“It makes you breakfast and calls you daddy! Revolutionary!”), and he wasn’t really listening- just watching her, soft-eyed and warm.

His fingers brushed hers. Hesitant. Unsure.

She froze mid-sentence, cheeks blooming with color. “W-Woah. D-Don’t get all handsy on me, lover boy…”

But she didn’t pull away.

And when his grip tightened, just slightly, her own hand squeezed back. Gentle. Careful. A little shaky.

“…But if you wanna hold hands like some lame high school anime couple, I guess I can allow it.”

(Y/N) didn’t say anything. He just leaned his head on her shoulder.

And for once, Miu Iruma- Ultimate Inventor, self-proclaimed genius perv, filthy-mouthed storm of chaos- didn’t say a word either.

She just let him rest there.

Hello my friend! I have a good funny story request idea that you may like to do! Well I wanted to see you could do a headcanon/ story on the Demon Slayer Au x female!reader where they had a small argument with each other then the reader screams out how there aren’t very funny or loving because there either too serious, sad, rude, airhead or nice which shocks the Demon Slayer character. Then they decide to play a prank on the reader to prove them wrong ( it can be any type of prank from making them food with something their allergic to plus funny ingredients, trying to scare them, dress up in something silly, pretending to have amnesia and etc). But when their prank is over instead of getting a laugh or apologize; the reader would either get hurt/hospitalized (physically or emotionally), angry, cry, annoyed and even threaten to leave them ( is also joking as well) which causes them to feel guilty, like a jerk or beg for forgiveness?!!~ (It’s up to you whether or not they forgive them or not!)🤭😅❤️‍🔥✨

A/N: Of course, @lelewright1234! I made ths one a oneshot, since the other two you requested are headcanons :}

Terrible Prank- Better Apology

Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Physical Injury, Mentions of Leaving/Breakup Threats, and Miscommunication

Word Count: 4767

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

Tanjiro:

The morning sun crept through the paper-paneled windows, the scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air. Laughter echoed faintly down the hallway as Zenitsu teased Inosuke, and Nezuko hummed while tending to the garden.

But in the center of the house, things weren’t quite so peaceful.

“I’m just saying, Tanjiro,” (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms as she stood in the kitchen doorway, “you don’t always have to be so perfect all the time.”

Tanjiro blinked, confused, ladle still in hand from making soup. “Perfect? I don’t think I’m-”

“You are!” (Y/N) cut in, voice rising in frustration. “You’re too kind, too polite, too... I don’t know, nice! You’re never mad, never sarcastic, never playful- how do you expect people to relax around you when you’re always one step away from offering a moral lesson?”

The kitchen went silent, save for the gentle bubbling of miso soup.

Tanjiro's eyebrows furrowed. “But… I’m just trying to keep the peace. I like being kind to the people I care about. Especially you.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened, but she forged on. “I know you care, but it’s like... you never joke with me. You don’t tease, you don’t play around. Sometimes it feels like you're scared to just be real.”

Then she added- too loudly and too emotionally- “You’re not even that funny or loving, honestly!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Tanjiro’s eyes flickered with something quiet and deep- not anger, but woundedness.

“…I see,” he said softly.

“No- wait, I didn’t mean-” (Y/N) began, but Tanjiro simply nodded, setting the ladle down with a calm gentleness that somehow felt heavier than a slammed door.

That Afternoon, (Y/N) looked around for Tanjiro, but… She couldnt find him, anywhere.

“...He hasn’t said anything to you?” (Y/N) asked Nezuko in a hushed voice as she watered the bonsai plants. Nezuko gave a tiny shake of her head and shrugged.

(Y/N) sighed, heart heavy. The argument had been stupid. She hadn’t meant to accuse him of being unloving- she just wanted to see a messier, funnier side of him. To know he could be silly or imperfect around her.

Just once.

And it seemed, maybe, Tanjiro had taken that challenge to heart… Even so, she kept looking.

“Hey… Inosuke, where’s Tanjiro?” (Y/N) asked, glancing around the dinner table as she sat down. Zenitsu paused with a mouthful of rice halfway to his lips.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Zenitsu said, chewing. “He hit his head earlier- fell on a wet step outside.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “What?!”

“Yeah,” Inosuke chimed in, grinning. “And now he doesn’t remember anything. Doesn’t even know who you are.”

(Y/N) bolted from the table, heartbeat pounding.

She found him sitting on the porch, a serene smile on his face, moonlight painting his skin. He turned to them with wide eyes- gentle, unfamiliar.

“Oh. Hello. Are you a friend of the family?”

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks. “…Tanjiro?”

He tilted his head. “I was told that’s my name. You’re… (Y/N), right?”

Her heart twisted. “You don’t remember me?”

Tanjiro smiled sweetly, with not a hint of recognition. “Sorry.”

Days later, the amnesia act continued.

Tanjiro asked the same innocent questions over and over: where they had met, what they meant to each other, what her favorite color was. (Y/N) answered every time with a trembling voice and a forced smile. On the third night, she cried herself to sleep.

Zenitsu started looking guilty. Inosuke avoided her eyes.

By the fourth day, (Y/N) broke.

She stood up from their shared porch bench, voice shaky. “Alright, Tanjiro. You win.”

Tanjiro blinked. “Win what?”

“You’re funny. You’re playful. You got me, okay? Real good prank. Hilarious,” she said, voice cracking. “Except I guess I was wrong when I called you too nice. Because no one that kind would do this to someone they love.”

She turned away, rubbing at her eyes furiously.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Maybe not forever- but definitely long enough to figure out how I let myself fall for someone who thinks this is funny.”

Her voice dropped, half-joking, half-dead serious:

“…Hope it’s worth it.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She walked inside, quietly shutting the door behind them.

Late that same night, there was a soft knock on her door.

(Y/N) rolled over, wiping dried tears from her cheek. “Go away.”

“It’s me,” Tanjiro’s voice said. And it was his voice- not the stranger from the porch, but the one she knew. Warm, guilt-ridden, real.

The door creaked open. He stepped in, candle in hand, and shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought... maybe if I showed you I could be playful, you'd laugh. And we could make up. I didn’t think it would hurt you like this.”

(Y/N) stayed quiet.

He sank to his knees beside the futon. “I missed you. Even when I was pretending not to know you- I missed the real us. Every time you looked sad, or forced a smile, it made my stomach twist.”

(Y/N)’s voice was soft. “Then why didn’t you stop?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me,” he admitted.

There was silence between them.

Finally, (Y/N) sighed. “You’re a dummy, Tanjiro Kamado.”

His lips twitched. “I am.”

“And a bad actor.”

“I know.”

“And I still love you.”

His breath caught. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “I love you too. Always. Even when I’m too nice. Even when I mess up.”

(Y/N) snorted. “You’re allowed to mess up, Tanjiro. Just… not like that again.”

He nodded solemnly. “No more fake amnesia.”

“Good.”

A beat of silence.

“…Unless I need an excuse to get out of helping Inosuke with his… Nature stuff,” he added hopefully.

(Y/N) laughed, smacking his arm.

And just like that, the tension cracked- and love slipped in, soft and sure.

The next morning, Zenitsu glanced up from his tea as (Y/N) entered the kitchen with Tanjiro behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

“…So, did he get his memory back?” Zenitsu asked innocently.

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope. Still thinks he’s hilarious.”

Tanjiro just laughed and kissed her cheek.

Inosuke:

The forest was still, too still for (Y/N)’s liking.

The soft chirps of crickets were the only sounds keeping her company as her walked along the dirt path, surrounded by towering trees and the dim glow of moonlight. The mission was over, the demon slain, and the village safe again. But (Y/N)’s shoulders remained tense- because the most exhausting part of the evening wasn’t the battle.

It was Inosuke.

“Could you please not charge in next time without a plan?” (Y/N) asked, for what felt like the fifth time that day, her arms crossed tight across her chest.

Inosuke grunted in response, leaping over a rock and puffing out his chest like a peacock. “I didn’t need a plan! I WON! HAHA!” he declared, full of pride, his boar mask swinging from one hand. “You’re just mad ‘cause you didn’t get the final hit!”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes so hard it almost gave her a headache. “I’m mad because you almost got your head bitten off, you idiot!”

He turned toward her, that wild, half-mischievous, half-oblivious look on his face. “Then you would’ve been the one crying, huh? All like, ‘Oh nooo, my big strong wild man got himself eaten- waaah!’”

“I’d be crying of relief because I’d finally have some peace and quiet!”

That shut him up- if only for a moment. But when (Y/N) saw him frowning in confusion rather than embarrassment, something inside her snapped.

“You’re-!” she shouted, fists clenching. “You’re not even loving! You’re just... some wild airhead who acts like a rabid raccoon on a sugar rush!”

“HUH?! I’m totally loving!! I let you sleep on my arm that one time, didn’t I?!”

“That’s because you passed out mid-conversation!”

“Well... still counts!”

“No, it doesn’t!”

(Y/N) turned around and stomped off down the trail, fuming, ignoring the way the leaves crunched under her boots. Inosuke stayed back for a second, scratching his head, visibly baffled.

He’d seen her mad before, but never like this.

“Hmph. She thinks I’m not loving?” he muttered to himself, then suddenly smirked. “I’ll show ‘er loving. I’ll love ‘er so much, she’ll scream.”

Inosuke had a plan. A brilliant, perfect plan.

It involved a dead deer skull he’d found earlier, some long branches, a cloak soaked in dark mud, and his natural ability to hide in trees like a very aggressive bird.

He waited until (Y/N) had cooled off and was sitting at their shared campsite, fanning the flames of the small fire with a quiet pout still on her face.

Then- BAM!

A bloodcurdling shriek echoed from the treetops as something monstrous launched from the shadows. Mud, bone, and antlers flashed. (Y/N) screamed and scrambled back, drawing her blade by instinct. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Then-

The “creature” tripped over a root and faceplanted in front of her.

“HAHA! GOTCHA!” Inosuke leapt up, flinging off the deer skull and mud-caked cloak with a triumphant grin. “See?? Bet your heart’s racing! That’s love, baby!”

(Y/N) just stared at him. No laughter. No playful push. Just silence... and slowly rising anger.

She stood stiffly, brushing leaves and dirt off her clothes with trembling hands.

“You...” she began, voice shaking. “You scared the absolute hell out of me, Inosuke!”

He blinked, grin faltering. “Well, yeah! That was the point! It’s funny, right? Right?”

“You think traumatizing me is funny?!” she snapped, backing away a few steps. “You know what? I’m done. I’m so done. I’m going to pack up my things and leave. You can marry that deer skull and live happily ever after with your mud cloak.”

“Wait- WHAAAT?!”

“I hope you and Mrs. Deer Bone have a great life together.”

Inosuke looked genuinely terrified now. “No no no, wait, wait- (Y/N)! Come on! It was just a joke! You’re not really leaving, are you?!”

(Y/N) turned dramatically, starting to walk away.

Inosuke scrambled after them, dropping to his knees. “Okay, I’m sorry!! Please don’t go! You can punch me in the face! Kick me in the ribs! Stab me in the arm! Wait, no, not the arm, I need that- BUT STILL!! I’M SORRY!!”

(Y/N) stopped.

She turned, arms crossed again, raising a brow. “So now you’re saying sorry?”

“YES! I mean... yeah! I didn’t mean to make you mad, I just...” he fidgeted, looking anywhere but at her. “I thought if I could make you scream and laugh and forget being mad at me, then you’d know I care. But... I guess that wasn’t the smartest way.”

(Y/N) exhaled, finally letting her shoulders drop.

“I was never actually going to leave, you dumb boar,” she said softly. “But gods, Inosuke... you’ve got to learn how to show you care without nearly giving me a heart attack.”

He stood, slowly padding forward with his head low.

“Then... how do I show you?” he asked, for once not shouting or charging. Just curious. Soft.

(Y/N) walked over and gently took his hand, still stained with mud.

“This. Talking. Listening. Just be with me. Not hiding in trees trying to traumatize me.”

“...But trees are so cool, though-”

“Inosuke-”

“Okay! Okay! No more tree-jumping monsters!” He grinned sheepishly. “...Unless you want one.”

(Y/N) snorted, pulling him into a hug. “You’re impossible.”

His arms wrapped around her tightly, face pressed into her shoulder. “Yeah... but I’m your impossible.”

Zenitsu:

The sun filtered gently through the cracks in the wooden shutters, bathing the room in golden light. The safe house was unusually quiet this afternoon- Tanjiro and Inosuke were off training, Nezuko was napping peacefully in her box, and that left just Zenitsu and (Y/N) to occupy the space.

And that… was not going well.

“You always run away!” (Y/N)’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and frustrated.

Zenitsu flinched as if she'd thrown something at him. “I don’t always run away! I-I just... use tactical retreat when necessary!”

“Tactical retreat? You screamed and climbed on my head, Zenitsu!”

“That demon was horrifying!” Zenitsu wailed, gripping his own hair. “It had four arms and teeth where its eyes should be!”

“And I had to take care of it while you were shaking like a leaf behind a bush!” (Y/N) crossed her arms, exasperated. “I’m not saying you’re not brave when it counts, but when you act like this all the time- it doesn’t exactly scream ‘loving and protective boyfriend,’ Zenitsu!”

The words hit him like a slap, his wide amber eyes growing misty. “You don’t think I’m loving?”

(Y/N) sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Zenitsu... I love you. But you’re such a scaredy cat sometimes! And it hurts because I feel like I can’t depend on you unless you’re unconscious and lightning-charged.”

Zenitsu stood there, stunned, lower lip wobbling.

(Y/N) groaned. “I need to go cool off.” She stormed out of the room, sliding the door shut a bit too hard.

Later that day, Zenitsu paced in the hallway with his hands behind his back, muttering to himself.

“Scaredy cat... scaredy cat... I’ll show her scaredy cat... I’m going to prove I can be fun and loving. I’ll do something bold! Something dramatic! Something... memorable!”

It was then that he spotted a costume closet one of the Kakushi used for festivals. His eyes gleamed with mischief. An idea bloomed in his head, outrageous and ridiculous- and perfect.

Later, when (Y/N) returned from a walk, calmer now. Her fingers trailed along the hallway walls, the air carrying the scent of tea and clean wood. She was already planning what to say when she saw Zenitsu again- something like “I’m sorry for being harsh,” or “I know you’re trying.”

But then-

“RAWR!”

A creature leapt from behind a sliding door, arms flailing and covered in bright, ridiculous fabrics. Zenitsu had somehow forced himself into a lion onesie, complete with fuzzy tail and painted whiskers. He charged with a roar that sounded like a cat having a coughing fit.

(Y/N) screamed- not in amusement, but in raw, startled panic.

She tripped over a rock, fell hard on her side, and rolled a bit before groaning in pain.

Zenitsu dropped the fake roar instantly. “(Y/N)!!” He scrambled over in his fuzzy lion getup, paw-gloves flailing. “Oh no oh no oh no-! I didn’t mean to scare you like that!”

(Y/N) sat up, wincing. Her arm was scraped, her knee had caught the worst of the fall, and a forming bruise throbbed under her robes.

“I was trying to make you laugh! I thought-! I just wanted to prove I could be brave and... fun and... romantic and-!” Zenitsu’s bottom lip trembled again, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

(Y/N) blinked at him- at the giant lion suit, the silly little ears, the dumb tail, and his completely crumpled expression.

“I should leave,” she said solemnly.

Zenitsu let out a strangled noise. “NO! Don’t go! Please- I’m sorry- I’ll throw the suit away- I’ll be serious- I’ll go punch a demon in the face right now- I-”

“I meant leave you, not the house,” (Y/N) interrupted, deadpan.

Zenitsu looked like a kicked puppy.

“I’m joking, you ridiculous fuzzy idiot.”

Zenitsu blinked.

Then (Y/N) chuckled softly. “You really thought dressing up like that would make me laugh?”

He nodded sheepishly. “I wanted to be a brave lion boyfriend.”

(Y/N) shook her head, wincing again as she moved. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Zenitsu moved to help her up, all dramatics gone now, just soft and apologetic. “You... do still love me, right?”

She leaned heavily against him, hand resting on his fuzzy chest. “Of course I do. Even if you’re a bit of a coward, even if you’re dramatic... You always try. And that means a lot.”

Zenitsu flushed a deep scarlet, holding her tighter than the lion suit allowed. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be there next time- no matter how scary it is.”

(Y/N) smiled against his shoulder. “Just don’t dress like a circus act again, and we’ll be fine.”

“Deal.”

Later that night, Zenitsu sat by the futon, gently dabbing at (Y/N)’s scraped knee with some ointment.

“You’re lucky Tanjiro isn’t here. He’d be so disappointed in me.”

“He would lecture you about safety and emotional responsibility,” (Y/N) mused.

Zenitsu winced dramatically. “Ugh, even worse than fighting a demon.”

(Y/N) reached out and pulled him into bed beside her, sighing contentedly.

“I guess I do have a pretty loving boyfriend,” she mumbled sleepily. “Even if he’s a ridiculous coward.”

Zenitsu blushed as he pulled the blanket over both of them.

“...I love you too, you bruised-up gremlin.”

“Goodnight, lion boy.”

“...Rawr.”

Nezuko:

The sky was pale and overcast when the argument began. Spring usually meant new life, blooming trees, and bright sun filtering through clouds. But today? The wind was a little too sharp, and the air carried a tension that matched the sudden silence in the Kamado household.

"You always act like everything's perfect, Nezuko," (Y/N) snapped, turning away from the young demon-turned-human, arms crossed. "Like nothing ever bothers you. Like... you're always calm. Always sweet. Always too good to be real."

Nezuko stood still, mouth slightly open. Her soft pink eyes blinked once, then twice, hurt flickering across them like a candle guttering in the wind.

"But I am real," she said softly.

"Yeah, and I love you- I do. But sometimes I feel like... you’re not really here. Like you don’t feel the way I do. You’re so perfect all the time that I feel like I’m the only one who's ever angry or jealous or scared. And I hate that! I hate how you never screw up, how you never mess up, never yell- never even sweat under pressure. I hate that I’m the messy one in this-"

(Y/N)'s voice cracked, and she sucked in a breath.

"...I feel like I’m the only one trying sometimes."

Nezuko's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her fingers clenched at her sides, a dozen replies dying in her throat. She didn’t want to cry- not in front of (Y/N), who was already trembling from the weight of their confession.

"I’m not very loving," (Y/N) added bitterly. "Not like you. Because you're... you’re too perfect."

And just like that, she turned and stormed out onto the porch, leaving Nezuko alone in the kitchen, her heart quietly shattering beneath her ribs.

Later that night, Nezuko sat curled up on the tatami mat, frowning into a bowl of ingredients. She didn’t cry- crying wouldn’t fix it. But she was bothered. Maybe she hadn’t realized how distant she'd felt to (Y/N) lately. Maybe her quiet nature- once a comfort- was starting to feel like a wall.

"Too perfect, huh?" she whispered to herself.

A mischievous glint entered her eyes.

"Well... maybe I should show her I’m not that perfect."

She cracked her knuckles, glancing at the small box of dango flour and the recipe for (Y/N)'s favorite sweet- matcha mochi. But this time... she had a special ingredient in mind.

Nezuko grinned as she reached for the spice shelf.

"Wasabi... just a little prank."

The next afternoon, she presented the mochi like it was a peace offering. Green, soft, dusted with rice flour. Perfectly handmade.

(Y/N) was still a little raw from the fight, curled on the edge of the porch with her arms around her knees, watching clouds pass overhead.

"...I made you something," Nezuko said gently, nudging the plate into her view.

(Y/N) looked up, hesitant. "Mochi?"

Nezuko nodded innocently. "Your favorite. Matcha. With extra love."

There was a beat of silence. Then (Y/N) gave a small, lopsided smile. "You’re trying to bribe me with sweets, huh?"

"...Maybe."

She took one without much thought, bit in- and immediately froze.

Nezuko tried not to laugh too soon, but she saw her eyes widen comically and a sputter leave her lips.

"W-What the hell is in this?" (Y/N) gagged. "Is this... is this wasabi?!"

Nezuko burst out laughing, holding her sides. "Got you!"

"You little-" (Y/N) laughed too at first, nervously, wiping her tongue. "Nezuuuko!"

But then she stopped.

And blinked.

Nezuko’s laughter faltered.

"...You okay?"

(Y/N)’s face turned a little red- no, splotchy. She reached toward her throat.

"Shit."

She stood quickly, stumbling. "Nezuko- I-I'm- I'm allergic to wasabi-"

Her eyes went wide in horror.

"What?!"

Nezuko grabbed herinstantly, guiding her back inside. "Why didn’t you tell me?!"

"You’re not supposed to put prank spices in my favorite food!" she croaked, wheezing as she dug into her bag for her emergency medication.

It wasn’t a severe allergy- thankfully. Just enough to make her tongue swell, her face puff slightly, and breathing get mildly tight. But it was enough to scare the hell out of Nezuko.

As she downed the medicine and slumped back into a seated position, fanning her mouth with her hand, she gave Nezuko a sharp side-eye.

"That was evil, Kamado. I’m breaking up with you. I’m going to go find a quiet, boring farmer girl who can cook without trying to kill me."

"...No you're not." Nezuko’s voice cracked, her hands trembling as she tried to steady the cup of water for (Y/N).

"You don’t know that," (Y/N) teased weakly, though she were already leaning into her.

Nezuko placed the cup down, then sat beside her, face pale and tight with guilt.

"...I was trying to be funny. Trying to prove I wasn’t perfect. That I do mess up. But I didn’t want this."

(Y/N) chuckled, still half-wheezing. "Well, you definitely proved it."

Nezuko dropped her face into her hands. "I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I didn’t think- I didn’t even ask-"

(Y/N) leaned into her, resting her head against her shoulder, breath finally starting to come easier.

"I forgive you."

Nezuko looked up slowly, shocked.

(Y/N) gave her a small, crooked grin. "...You were trying to reach me. That’s what matters. Even if you nearly poisoned me doing it."

She let out a weak giggle.

Nezuko blinked a few times, and suddenly threw her arms around them, burying her face in her shoulder.

"You scared me..." she whispered.

"You scared me, too."

Silence fell between them for a moment, but it was warmer now. Closer.

"...Can I still cook for you?" Nezuko murmured after a while.

(Y/N) groaned dramatically. "Only if you promise never to go near wasabi again."

She nodded solemnly. "Deal."

"Also... maybe let’s both stop pretending. You don’t have to be perfect. And I don’t have to be the mess. We’re allowed to meet halfway."

Nezuko smiled into her neck.

"I love you, imperfections and all."

(Y/N) smirked. "Good. ‘Cause this relationship is definitely messy now."

Nezuko giggled, and for the first time that day, (Y/N) genuinely laughed with her.

Genya:

They were in the middle of a quiet clearing, sun filtering through the treetops above them. The scent of pine and moss lingered in the warm breeze, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused. No demons, no missions, just stillness.

Except… not really.

“You know, you never joke around,” (Y/N) muttered, crouched over the small fire pit she was trying to light. “Always so serious. It's like you’re afraid your face will crack if you smile too hard.”

Genya, sharpening his blade nearby, tensed visibly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

(Y/N) blew at an ember from within the fire and glanced at him. “It means you're not very… loving. You’re all ‘training’ this and ‘focus’ that, but never ‘Hey, (Y/N), I care about you’ or even ‘you look cute today.’ You’re like a really buff rock with a grudge.”

That got him. His eyes flicked up, brows furrowed deep.

“That's not fair,” he muttered. “Just 'cause I don’t say stuff like that doesn't mean I don't care.”

(Y/N) stood up now, hands on her hips. “Then show it once in a while, Genya. I'm not asking for poetry. Just… affection. A little fun. You’re always acting like smiling is illegal.”

Genya stood, jaw clenched, flustered and defensive. “I ain’t unloving! Just ‘cause I ain’t goofy doesn’t mean I don’t-”

But (Y/N) had already walked away, huffing, “Whatever.”

The argument settled into an awkward silence between them for the rest of the evening. But Genya couldn’t get her words out of his head. Too serious. Not loving. That stung. He wasn’t like his brother, sure, but he wasn’t heartless.

So... he got an idea. A stupid idea.

The next morning, (Y/N) woke up to an empty camp. She stretched and yawned, only to find a strange trail of bloodied feathers and ripped fabric leading into the forest. Her heart dropped.

"Genya?!" she called, already grabbing her weapon.

No answer.

Panic rising, she followed the trail- only for a blur to come rushing out of the bushes with a loud screech.

"DEMON!!" she screamed, drawing her blade-

-and immediately tripping over a random stick that was on the ground.

She went down hard, rolling down a small slope, crashing into a fallen log with a sickening crack.

"SHIT- (Y/N)!" Genya's voice cut through the trees as he dropped the silly makeshift costume of torn fabric and fake teeth.

He practically leapt down after her, heart hammering in his throat. (Y/N) groaned, clutching her ankle, which was visibly twisted. Her arm was scraped raw and bleeding, and there were bruises forming fast.

“You absolute jackass,” she hissed, eyes watering from pain and rage. “What the hell kind of prank is that?! I could’ve broken my neck!”

“I-I didn’t think you’d actually fall- shit, I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, don’t give me that face,” she snapped, trying and failing to sit up without wincing. “This was totally uncalled for.”

Genya hovered, guilt flooding every inch of his body. His hand shook as he touched her arm gently.

“I was just… I was tryin’ to show you I could be fun. That I ain’t too serious. I thought… if I could scare you a little, you’d laugh at it after. I was tryin’ to be less stiff for once.”

(Y/N) glared at him, then muttered, “Well, congrats. You broke me instead. Maybe I should leave your ass after all. Find a Hashira with a sense of humor.”

That hit him harder than any demon ever had. His expression crumbled.

“…You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment… and then sighed, a small smirk forming despite her pain. “Of course I don’t. Dumbass.”

Genya blinked.

“…Wait, so… you’re not actually leaving?”

“No, Genya,” she said softly. “You’re lucky I love you. Just maybe… stick to jokes that don’t involve fake demon attacks next time?”

He exhaled with a laugh- relieved, guilty, and embarrassed all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I really messed up.”

“You really did.”

He crouched beside her, lifting her injured arm gently and pulling out a small jar of salve. “Let me patch you up. And I’ll carry you back. I owe you.”

(Y/N) leaned into his side a little, her voice softer now. “You know… that was kinda loving. In a Genya sort of way.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just don’t do it again, or I’ll punch you.”

He chuckled quietly, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “Deal.”

Later that night, after she was fully bandaged and resting on a pile of blankets near the fire, he came over with something behind his back.

“…What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.

He revealed a crude bouquet of wildflowers, tied together with some thread. “I… uh… picked these. Earlier. Before the dumb prank. Just didn’t know how to give ‘em to you.”

(Y/N)’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “You’re seriously trying the soft-boy act now?”

He shrugged, ears turning red. “Just shut up and take the damn flowers.”

And she did- with a smirk, a kiss to his cheek, and a mumbled, “You’re still a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”

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

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

- 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.

can you do sayaka, Celeste and Akane with male!innocent!reader who add a lot of aphrodisiac to their food thinking it will just make them exited not knowing true properties of that….

Hi there! I'm sorry, but I cant do this request.

I don't write any form of noncon, and in my opinion, aphrodisiacs are indeed that. Its like slipping something into someone's drink, big no-no for me. Feel free to send in other requests, though!

A/N: Hello everyone! This is the second to last chapter of my Young Silco Fic! I'm going to be making another one after, though. A sequel, that continues the fic. This chapter has smut in it, so ill put some warnings before the smut, so it can be skipped :}

Ember in the Dark pt.10

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.9 - pt.11

pt.1

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Explicit sexual content, Mild blood and injury, Police brutality/Enforcer violence, Verbal degradation/Humiliation, Emotional vulnerability, Possessive behavior.

Word Count: 9079

Summary: After a quiet moment caring for baby Violet, (Y/N) finds Silco brooding alone, burdened by his fear of breaking the fragile things he’s come to care for. Their emotional connection deepens as (Y/N) reassures him of her love and trust. Back at her room, that tenderness unfolds into their first time together- soft, reverent, and slow, with Silco treating her with overwhelming care. Her magic flares with emotion but stays controlled, mirroring the depth of their bond. In the morning, subtle marks of their night together spark teasing from friends, and Silco's quiet protectiveness becomes even more apparent. The day continues with routine- (Y/N) working in the mines while Silco walks her partway, worried but trusting her strength. But on her way home, (Y/N) is ambushed by Enforcers. Brutalized and humiliated, she chooses not to retaliate with magic, still haunted by what happened the last time. Bloodied and shaken but defiant, she returns to The Last Drop.

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

The bar was still and quiet again, the low creak of floorboards the only sound as (Y/N) gently patted Violet’s back. The baby let out a small, satisfied burp against her shoulder, then went limp in the way only newborns could- completely trusting, utterly unaware of the chaos and love she’d been born into.

“Alright, little fire cracker,” she murmured softly, brushing her nose against Violet’s forehead. “Let’s get you back to your mom before you start thinking I’m your favorite.”

Felicia was already awake and half-dressed when (Y/N) eased open the door to the guest room. She looked groggy, hair a mess, but her expression softened immediately at the sight of Violet.

“Gimme,” she whispered, arms already outstretched.

(Y/N) chuckled and transferred the baby gently into her waiting hands. “She’s warm, fed, and already burped. I’m spoiling her for you.”

Felicia smirked sleepily. “You’re spoiling me, you mean.” She glanced down at her daughter, cradling her close. “Thanks.”

“Always.”

They shared a quiet look, something warm and wordless passing between them. Then (Y/N) turned, brushing her hands down the front of her borrowed shirt and heading for the door again.

“I’m gonna go find the brooding menace,” she said over her shoulder.

Felicia rolled her eyes. “Tell him if he doesn’t come back soon, I’m making him take a night shift with Violet.”

(Y/N) snorted and slipped out.

The streets of the Undercity were hushed, still heavy with morning fog and the metallic tang of distant factory steam. Most of the Lanes hadn’t stirred yet. There was a kind of peace in it- a rare, stretched-out quiet that blanketed the grime and noise like a breath held just under the surface.

(Y/N) walked with practiced ease through the Undercity, eyes sharp despite the stillness. She knew him. Knew how he vanished when emotions crept too close to the surface. He wouldn’t have gone far. Silco liked proximity- liked to be close enough to protect, even when he needed distance.

She found him on one of the upper walkways that overlooked the Lanes, hands braced on the rusting railing, shoulders hunched against the damp. His vest was still wrinkled from earlier, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, catching the pale light.

He didn’t turn when she approached. Didn’t have to.

“You always gonna keep brooding like this,” she said softly, “or is it just when I hand you a baby?”

His shoulders lifted with a slow inhale, then dropped again. “You didn’t just hand me a baby,” he said, voice low.

(Y/N) moved to stand beside him, her fingers curling around the railing. “No?”

“You handed me… innocence,” he said after a moment. “Something soft. Fragile.” He looked down at his hands. “Something I could break.”

She watched him for a beat. “But you didn’t.”

He finally looked at her then. His eyes were tired, but alert. Thoughtful. “Not this time.”

(Y/N) leaned sideways, letting her shoulder brush against his. “You won’t break her. Or me.”

Silco was quiet for a long moment. “You’re good with her.”

“She’s easy to love,” she murmured, then looked up at him. “So are you.”

He gave her a long, unreadable look. His throat bobbed, but no words came.

(Y/N) stepped in front of him, slipping her arms around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. “You don’t have to say it back,” she whispered, head against his chest. “I know.”

His arms came around her slowly, settling against her back like he’d been holding in the urge. His chin dropped to the top of her head.

“I do love you…” he said quietly. “You just say it better.”

(Y/N) smiled against his chest. “I love you too, Sil.”

His arms tightened.

They stood like that for a while, the silence comfortable, the city still.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re going to ruin me,” he said, a rare softness breaking through the steel of his voice.

“You were already ruined,” she teased gently. “I’m just making you tolerable.”

That earned her a rare, real laugh- quiet and low, but genuine.

He leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow, no urgency- just a kind of reverence, like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this moment but wasn’t about to waste it.

When they finally parted, he looked down at her with something close to awe.

“…If I ever lost you,” he murmured, “I don’t know who I’d become.”

(Y/N) reached up, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “You won’t.”

Silco held her gaze for a long time, then nodded once, like he was making a promise to himself more than her.

“Come on,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “Let’s go home. Felicia said if you don’t show up soon, she’s putting you on night duty.”

He groaned softly, but didn’t protest as she led him back toward the warmth of the bar- of home.

The walk back was quiet.

Not heavy, not tense- just quiet. A kind of hush reserved for early mornings and moments where the world felt like it had stopped turning just for them.

The bar was dim when they returned. A few soft clinks from Vander in the kitchen, the distant creak of Connol’s footsteps above, but otherwise it was still. Home, in all its chaotic, grimy glory, was resting. So were they.

Silco followed her upstairs without a word, his hand loosely in hers.

When they reached her room, (Y/N) pushed open the door, letting the familiar scent of worn linen and smoke-sweet air rush out to greet them. It wasn’t a large space, but it was hers- warm, slightly cluttered, the windows cracked open just enough to let the city’s breath in.

She shrugged off her boots, and climbed into her bed. Silco slid in beside her, his vest undone, sleeves still rolled. Neither of them said much as she pulled a cigarette out, and lit it with a quick flicker of her magic, the faint sulfur glow lighting her features in amber.

She took a slow drag, then passed it to him.

Silco accepted it between two fingers, his hand brushing hers as he inhaled. The smoke curled in the air above them, trailing toward the ceiling like a shared secret.

They lay back on the bed, shoulders just touching, the world outside forgotten for now.

(Y/N) turned her head, watching the lazy way his chest rose and fell. He looked softer like this- less of the sharp angles, less of the weight he wore so carefully. Just Silco. Just hers.

He offered her the cigarette again, and she took it with a small smile, letting the smoke settle into her lungs before passing it back.

“You ever think,” she murmured, voice low, “about how different things could’ve been if we met somewhere else?”

Silco exhaled, slow and quiet. “If we met anywhere else,” he said, voice rough around the edges, “you wouldn’t have stayed.”

(Y/N) arched a brow. “Oh?”

He glanced sideways at her, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “You like things messy.”

She huffed a laugh. “Maybe I just like you messy.”

He let that hang in the air for a second before reaching over to stub out the cigarette in the small dish on her nightstand.

Then, without a word, he shifted closer, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. His fingers spread wide against her back, warm and grounding. She settled against his chest with a quiet hum, her hand sliding up to cup his face.

Silco leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly, his lashes lowering as she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone.

(Y/N) leaned up slowly, their noses nearly touching, and pressed her forehead to his.

“I really do love you,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

His breath caught.

He didn’t say it back- not because he didn’t feel it, but because her words settled too deep, cracked something open in him every time. Instead, he kissed her. Soft and slow, a promise more than passion.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.

He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin, and just… stayed there. Let himself exist in her space, unguarded.

(Y/N) held him, her fingers tracing lazy lines up and down his back, anchoring him without needing to speak.

The silence between them stretched, comfortable and close. (Y/N)’s fingers stayed tangled in the fabric of his shirt, absently toying with a loose thread while Silco breathed steadily against her throat.

Then, slowly, he began to move.

Soft kisses, barely-there at first, pressed along the curve of her neck. One at the hollow of her throat. Another just beneath her jaw. Gentle, deliberate.

(Y/N) let out a quiet breath, tilting her head slightly, exposing more of her neck without hesitation. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as her body instinctively leaned into him.

Silco smiled against her skin, something slow and unhurried. He didn’t speak- didn’t need to. The way her body responded to him, the quiet hum she made when his lips found the spot just beneath her ear, said more than enough.

His hands began to move too. One slipped up along her waist, fingers tracing the edge of her shirt, while the other settled on the small of her back. His touch wasn’t rushed- it was reverent, like he was committing every inch of her to memory.

His kisses grew bolder, warmer. He nipped lightly at her skin, then soothed the spot with a tender kiss, his hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt to feel the heat of her skin beneath.

(Y/N)’s breath caught- just for a second- before she exhaled slowly, her hands moving to curl around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Silco…” she whispered, barely audible.

He didn’t answer- not with words. Instead, he kissed the spot just below her ear again, then trailed down, slow and deliberate, his fingers drawing lazy circles against the dip of her spine.

Silco’s breath warmed against her skin as his kisses deepened, no longer just soft brushes of affection but something heavier, something hungry. His lips dragged along the slope of her neck, then parted- his tongue flicking against her pulse point before his teeth grazed it.

(Y/N)’s fingers tightened in the back of his shirt, a soft sound escaping her throat.

He latched onto the curve where her neck met her shoulder, sucking gently, then harder, leaving the beginning bloom of a mark beneath his mouth. A low hum of satisfaction vibrated in his chest at the way she melted into him, body pliant and warm.

Her hand slid up into his hair, fingers weaving through the strands at his nape. She gave a slow, deliberate tug- not too hard, just enough to make him groan softly against her throat.

Silco’s grip on her waist tightened in response, pulling her closer, pressing his body flush to hers. He kissed his way down the line of her neck, pausing to nip at her collarbone before soothing the sting with a languid swipe of his tongue.

“Mm…” (Y/N) breathed, head tilting back further, exposing even more of her throat for him without even thinking. “You’re insatiable.”

He smirked against her skin, his voice low and rough. “Only with you.”

His mouth returned to her neck, this time biting a little harder, enough to leave another mark. She gasped softly, her fingers curling tighter in his hair, tugging again. He growled- quiet and pleased- and let his hand wander higher beneath her shirt, splaying wide across her bare back.

(SMUT START)

(Y/N) shifted against him, her thigh brushing his, and the contact sent another ripple of heat through both of them.

She let out a soft whine that filled the quiet space between them- barely audible, but impossible to ignore, a soft plea without words. Silco paused, his breath catching, and pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips parted. She looked utterly undone already- and he hadn’t even started yet.

His hand moved slowly to her cheek, thumb brushing her skin, reverent. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice hushed, as though he didn’t want to disturb the stillness of the moment.

(Y/N) nodded, gaze steady despite the heat burning beneath it. “I want you,” she whispered. “I want this.”

And that was all he needed.

He kissed her again, slower this time, lingering- like a promise.

His fingers trembled faintly as he began to undress her, not from fear but from care, from the weight of how much this meant. Every layer peeled away was met with another kiss- her shoulder, the dip beneath her collarbone, the soft line of her stomach. His mouth never strayed far from her skin, like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.

When she was bare before him, he just looked at her for a moment, breath catching. Not with lust- but with awe.

“You’re…” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t have the words.”

She reached for him, flustered and shy despite the intimacy, and whispered, “Then don’t speak. Just… Be here with me.”

Silco nodded, and only then did he begin to undress himself, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between them but breath and the quiet hum of wanting.

He leaned over her, one hand cupping her cheek, and began to trail kisses down her body- slow, deliberate, worshipful. Across the hollow of her throat. The curve of her breast. The soft line of her ribs. He kissed every inch of her like she was sacred, like he’d never get another chance.

(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her fingers tangling in the sheets as heat bloomed across her skin. “Silco…” she whispered, voice catching.

He glanced up at her from where he knelt beside her, eyes heavy with affection and something deeper- something tender, trembling, but true.

“I love you,” she said again, voice breathless.

His lips found her sternum, just over her heart. “I know,” he murmured. “I love you too...”

He felt it... How deep their love for one another went.

In the quiet shiver of her breath beneath his touch. In the way her hands reached for him, unsure but eager. In the trembling curve of her mouth as she bit back another whimper.

Every part of her called to him- and he answered not with haste, but with care.

Neither of them had ever done this before- but in that moment, nothing about it felt wrong. It was soft. It was vulnerable. It was theirs.

And he made sure she knew- every kiss, every caress, every breath he gave to her- she mattered.

She always had.

Silco hovered above her, one hand cupping her cheek, the other trailing slowly along her side- just feeling her. His touch was featherlight, reverent, and she leaned into it instinctively, already flushed and trembling beneath him.

Her breath hitched again when his fingers slipped lower, tracing along her inner thigh. He watched her closely, gauging every flicker of emotion in her eyes. He wasn’t in a rush- he wouldn’t be. Not with her.

“You’re alright?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper, warm and low.

(Y/N) nodded, her hand coming up to curl around his wrist. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Just… nervous.”

He leaned down, kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the hinge of her jaw. “We’ll go slow.”

She relaxed beneath him, her thighs parting just slightly as he moved lower, his fingers brushing carefully against her.

The first touch was gentle- tentative, almost. His fingers explored with a softness that made her shiver, each movement slow and deliberate, designed to learn her. To show her she was safe.

(Y/N) let out a quiet, involuntary gasp, her hips shifting, and he stilled.

“Too much?” he asked, pausing.

She shook her head quickly, breathless. “No- keep… keep going.”

His fingers moved again, this time with more purpose. He circled her slowly, coaxing her open with each careful stroke. She whimpered, her hand fisting in the sheets, the sensation unlike anything she’d ever known. It wasn’t just pleasure- it was trust, devotion, the quiet worship written in every movement of his hand.

She felt her body reacting to it, soft and warm and aching in the best way. He kissed her again- slow and steady- his mouth working to distract her from the tension that was gradually building inside of her.

When she was ready enough, he slid a finger inside her- carefully.

Her breath caught.

Silco immediately slowed, lips against her temple. “Its okay,” he whispered. “Just breathe.”

She did, trembling a little as her body adjusted, the unfamiliar stretch prickling with a sharp edge that quickly faded under his careful pace.

He kissed her through it. Murmured to her. Let her hold onto him as tightly as she needed to.

Another finger followed, gentle and slow, and her body responded- welcoming, shifting, clinging.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against her skin, voice raw with sincerity. “So perfect.”

(Y/N) clung to him, gasping softly as the ache turned to heat, as her body melted into the rhythm of his hand and the grounding weight of his touch.

And all the while, Silco stayed close- his forehead pressed to hers, his breath mingling with hers, the only thing on his mind being her and the way she bloomed under his touch.

He’d never known anything like it. Never felt anything like this.

He was falling. Already had. And here, with her, wrapped in the warmth of something slow and sacred, he let himself fall deeper.

She was breathing hard now, her body trembling beneath his, flushed and open. Silco never took his eyes off her- watching the way her lips parted, the way her lashes fluttered, how her hand stayed tangled in his hair like she couldn’t bear to let him go.

He slowly eased his fingers from her, giving her a moment to breathe, and leaned in close again, pappering her face wih soft kisses.

One kiss on her cheek. Another at the bridge of her nose. A third at the corner of her mouth. And then one on her eyelid as she shut her eyes, breath catching like she might cry- not from pain, but from how tender it all was.

She opened her eyes slowly to find him hovering above her, gaze burning but soft. His voice came out lower than before, like he was afraid to break the moment.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his hand smoothing along her thigh.

Her lips quivered as she nodded. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice broken on a soft whine. “I want you.”

And god, how that undid him.

Not the lust in her voice, but the trust. The way she looked up at him like he was hers- like he’d always been.

Silco leaned in, kissed her again, slower than before, trying to pour everything into it- his nerves, his reverence, his love.

Then, carefully, he positioned himself, hand steadying her hip. He watched her face the entire time, made sure he could see every reaction- every little wince, every breath.

And when he finally began to push in, he did it with excruciating care, like he might break her if he went too fast.

(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her brow furrowing with the unfamiliar pressure, and he paused, stilling instantly.

“Breathe for me,” he murmured, brushing hair from her face. “You’re okay.”

She nodded, eyes glassy. “Just… don’t stop.”

He kissed her again, her temple, her jaw, her lips- anchoring her through every inch. His hand stayed on her hip, the other threading between their bodies to find hers, soothing her, grounding her.

When he was finally fully inside, he didn’t move- not right away. He just held her. Pressed his forehead to hers, hands trembling slightly from how hard it was to stay still.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Only mine.”

(Y/N) smiled through a shaky exhale, her arms wrapped tightly around his back.

“I’ve always been yours.”

Silco moved with care- agonizing care.

Every inch of his body was taut with restraint, every thrust slow, shallow, measured. He watched her face the entire time, searching for the smallest hint of pain, of discomfort, but all he found was her- flushed and gasping, her lashes damp, her mouth trembling as she tried to hold herself together.

He was trying too.

It took everything in him to keep his pace slow, his grip gentle. His instincts begged him to lose himself in her completely, but she came first. Always. Especially now.

“You’re okay?” he asked again, his voice low and hoarse, forehead pressed to hers.

(Y/N) nodded, breathless. “Yes- yes, I’m okay.”

Her voice cracked with the pleasure beginning to bloom beneath the ache, her arms tightening around his back. She shifted slightly, hips rising to meet his, and a small, broken moan slipped from her lips.

That was when it happened.

The first spark.

Tiny, harmless, but unmistakable- like static dancing across her skin. Silco stilled instantly, his eyes flicking to where her hand had gripped the sheet. The faintest golden light crackled at her fingertips, flickering before vanishing as quickly as it came.

“…(Y/N),” he murmured.

She looked up at him, eyes wide- and glowing, just barely. A soft, otherworldly gold shimmered in her irises, light blooming at the edges. Her magic was responding, pulled to the surface by emotion, sensation, connection.

“I- I’m okay,” she whispered quickly, her voice shaking. “It’s just- just reacting. I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his hand brushing gently down her side. “Are you sure?”

She nodded again, more urgently this time, one hand moving up to cradle his face. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

Her thumb traced his cheek as her power slowly ebbed, the sparks withdrawing, the glow fading from her eyes like the tide pulling back into the sea. She steadied her breathing, grounding herself, and kissed him.

It was messy, half-desperate, but full of control- an anchor for them both.

Silco exhaled shakily against her mouth. “You’re… incredible.”

And then, slowly, he started moving again.

Still gentle, but with more rhythm now, more intent. He kept one hand firmly on her hip, the other laced with hers, grounding her as her magic pulsed just beneath the surface, humming along her skin.

Her moans grew softer, higher, laced with gasps as each movement sank deeper. Her nails dug into his back- not too hard, just enough to feel. Her body was learning the rhythm of him, easing into the heat and stretch with each careful thrust.

Silco leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “You feel like you were made for me.”

(Y/N) whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re everything,” she whispered, voice catching.

And in that moment- her body beneath his, her magic singing in the air, her heart laid open and offered without hesitation- Silco knew:

He would burn the world down before he let her go.

The pace between them shifted, gradually, as the room filled with soft, shared breaths and the rustle of linen beneath their tangled bodies. Silco’s self-control was still ironclad, but now it was laced with urgency- a slow build, a deep need tempered by care.

His hips moved with more purpose, each thrust hitting a little deeper, a little harder, but never enough to overwhelm. Just enough to make her arch into him, to make her gasp quietly with every pass of friction, every deliberate roll of his hips against hers.

(Y/N) was losing herself in him- breathless, trembling, overwhelmed in the best way. And god, she wanted to cry out his name. To let the world know who she belonged to, who was unraveling her like this.

But she couldn’t.

They weren’t alone.

A few rooms down, the others were sleeping- or just waking up. And the last thing she wanted was for Felicia or Vander to come knocking because they’d heard too much.

So instead, she wrapped her arms tighter around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Silco faltered just slightly when he felt her breath there- hot and shaky. Then came the bite.

She bit down gently, muffling her moan against his skin, her teeth scraping the sensitive flesh of his throat. He shuddered hard, a growl rumbling low in his chest, barely contained.

His rhythm stuttered for a breath before it resumed- deeper, now, driven by the way her mouth clung to him, the heat of her breath trembling against his pulse.

“You’re going to kill me,” he whispered, voice frayed, lips brushing her ear.

(Y/N) let out a breathless laugh against his throat, the sound soft, shaky. “Then die with me,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the haze of their shared heat.

Silco kissed her- messy, desperate- and pushed deeper, his movements growing more intense as he lost himself in the sensation of her. Every gasp she swallowed against his neck. Every tremble of her magic just under her skin. Every heartbeat they shared like a drum against their ribs.

They were quiet, but their bodies spoke in ways words never could.

And in the safety of that room, in the hush of a world that had never been kind to either of them, they found something that was.

They were close- so close.

Silco’s restraint had begun to unravel, thread by thread, as her body tightened around him with every desperate, choked whimper she tried to stifle against his skin. His pace had lost its careful rhythm, hips moving rougher now, deeper, driven by something raw and primal and devoted. It wasn’t about control anymore.

It was about need.

He was panting against her neck, the sounds escaping him now- moans, low grunts, broken curses he couldn’t bite back in time. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, their bodies slick with heat, breath tangled, hearts pounding out of sync and then together again.

(Y/N) was shaking beneath him, her thighs trembling around his waist, her magic flickering again at her fingertips as she tried so hard to keep it all contained. Her moans were soft but urgent, desperate, and they only pushed him further.

Then- 

“I- Silco-” she gasped, breath hitching, “I’m close- god, please-”

His head dropped to her shoulder, breath hot and ragged. His pace stuttered, hips rolling faster now, deeper, chasing both of their highs with abandon.

“Where,” he rasped, voice nearly broken, teeth clenched, “where do you want me-?”

He was right on the edge, barely holding on, and her answer- her sweet, gasped whimper- wrecked him.

“Inside,” she breathed. “Want you inside- want all of you- please…”

His body froze for the briefest second, her words crashing through him like fire licking up his spine.

And then something snapped.

A sound rumbled deep in his chest- more growl than breath. Possessive. Claiming. His thrusts turned almost frantic, but never careless, driven now by that single, burning thought: She wanted him. All of him. She chose him.

And his mind flickered- suddenly, violently- to the memory of her earlier that day.

Cradling Violet against her chest. Humming softly, swaying on tired feet, so gentle, so instinctively maternal it had shaken something loose in him. Seeing her like that- his girl holding new life like she was born for it- he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Now, that image burned in his mind, layered over the sound of her moaning beneath him, the feeling of her nails digging into his back, the pulse of her magic humming against his skin.

And she wanted his seed.

His hips jerked, rhythm faltering as the growl in his chest deepened. “You want that?” he whispered, nearly wrecked. “You want me like that? Want me to fill you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her arms clinging around his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. “Please, Silco- want you- need you-”

That was it.

He buried himself as deep as he could go, his body trembling as he came with a ragged, low moan against her throat- inside her, just as she asked, giving her everything she wanted. Everything he had.

He held her through it, his arms trembling around her, breath broken and uneven. And even as the haze began to settle, his lips found her cheek, her shoulder, her collarbone- pressing shaky, reverent kisses against sweat-damp skin.

“Mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re mine.”

And she was.

She always had been.

The afterglow clung to the room like smoke- warm and quiet, the kind of silence that hummed with meaning. Their breathing was still uneven, the air thick with the heat they’d stirred into existence.

Silco rested against her for just a moment longer, his forehead pressed gently to her temple, his fingers drawing light, shaky patterns on her hip. He didn’t want to move- not yet- but when he finally shifted to pull out, it was careful, slow.

Still, (Y/N) whimpered softly beneath him, the sensation making her whole body twitch with lingering sensitivity.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

He was already moving- slipping off the bed, reaching for his pants and dragging them on with clumsy fingers. His steps were fast but quiet as he disappeared down the hall, urgency etched into every movement.

She stayed curled on the bed, dazed and flushed, thighs still trembling from how hard it had hit her. Her fingers curled into the sheets, grounding herself, breath still shaky even as her magic pulsed low and quiet under her skin.

(SMUT END)

He returned in what felt like seconds, cloth in hand, and knelt beside the bed. His touch was gentle, reverent as he cleaned her up- careful not to hurt her, never rushing. He soothed his way through it with small kisses to her thigh, to her stomach, murmuring soft things under his breath like he was trying to chase away any trace of discomfort.

When he was finished, he wiped himself down with what was left of the warmth in the cloth, then tossed it aside without a thought. He climbed into bed beside her immediately after, pulling the blanket over them both as he gathered her into his arms like she was something precious. Something breakable.

She didn’t hesitate- her body moved instinctively toward him, curling into his chest, her fingers bunching in the fabric of his waistband as her head tucked beneath his chin. She was still trembling faintly, the edges of her magic flaring and fading like little echoes of everything they’d just shared.

Silco held her tighter.

His fingers pressed trailing up and down her back, grounding her, anchoring her. And his other hand came up to cup the back of her head, fingers weaving into her hair.

He looked down at her with eyes softer than he usually allowed himself to wear. No mask. No posture. Just him, and the way he saw her- his girl, his flame, his constant.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing her hair. “Did I push you too much?”

(Y/N) shook her head against his chest. “No. Just… don’t let go yet.”

“Never,” he said immediately, fiercely. His arms curled tighter around her, and he kissed her forehead, lingering there like he could seal the words into her skin.

They stayed like that for a long time, bodies pressed close, breath syncing again.

(Y/N) had stilled after a while, her breathing growing slow and deep as her body finally gave in to exhaustion. She’d fallen asleep on his chest, completely bare, her arms still loosely wrapped around him, legs tangled with his, her face tucked beneath his jaw like she belonged there.

Silco didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

His hand drifted slowly up and down her back, just the faintest touch of his fingertips against her skin- memorizing her, grounding himself in the warmth of her body against his. She was soft and warm and real in a way that left him breathless, even now. Her hair was slightly damp against his collarbone, and every exhale from her nose ghosted along the base of his throat, lulling him into something deep and quiet.

It was still early- the sky beyond the window barely touched with gray light, the city not yet awake. The bar was quiet, save for the distant creak of old wood settling and the occasional murmur of wind outside.

He could hear his own heartbeat. Steady. Loud. Content.

(Y/N) shifted slightly in her sleep, pressing even closer, her leg slipping over his hip, her bare chest flush against his. Silco stilled for a moment, his breath catching.

She was so warm. So trusting.

He liked the feeling of her skin against his. He liked the weight of her- unapologetically naked, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. And maybe, in some small way, he was.

His hand came to rest just beneath her shoulder blade, his thumb brushing slow, aimless circles into her skin. Every so often, she twitched in her sleep- faint, subconscious reactions- and every time she did, he was there, holding her steady, letting her know she was safe.

She had given herself to him. Her body. Her trust. Everything.

And now she slept like she had nothing to fear. Like she knew he’d keep her safe.

Silco tilted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of hers, lips brushing the crown of her hair. He closed his eyes for a long moment, letting the peace settle over him like a second blanket.

He’d never had this before- this quiet, this closeness. No performance. No violence. No deals struck in dark corners.

Just her. And her breathing. And the way she fit perfectly into the curve of his body.

He let himself relax beneath her, his hand never leaving her skin, and whispered so quietly it was barely audible:

“…Mine.”

And with that, he lay still- watching over her until the morning sun crept slow and golden through the cracks in the window.

The hours passed slowly, golden light filtering through the cracked window, warming the tangle of sheets and limbs that lay in its path. The bar downstairs had begun to stir- quiet footsteps, soft conversation, the occasional clink of glass- but none of it reached the sanctuary of (Y/N)’s room.

Silco hadn’t slept, not really. He’d rested, eyes closed, his breath steady, but part of him stayed anchored in the feeling of her curled around him. Still bare, still warm, still tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder like she belonged there.

She shifted slightly as the sun climbed higher in the sky, her fingers flexing against his chest. A low hum escaped her throat, and then her voice, soft and hoarse from sleep:

“…You’re still here.”

Silco smirked, eyes still closed. “Where else would I be?”

She let out a sleepy little laugh, one arm tightening around his waist as she nuzzled deeper against him. “Could’ve vanished like a ghost,” she murmured.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, voice low and sincere.

That made her pause, just long enough to lift her head slightly and press a lazy kiss to his collarbone. Then, still half-asleep, she whispered, “Wanna take a bath with me?”

Silco cracked one eye open, brows lifting ever so slightly. “…Now?”

She nodded against his skin. “Mhm. Don’t want to go alone.”

He let out a soft, amused exhale, brushing a hand down her spine. “You just want an excuse to stay close.”

“Is it working?”

A pause. Then:

“Yes.”

She grinned against him before finally rolling out of bed with a quiet groan, the sheets slipping down her bare back. Silco’s gaze followed her, slow and appreciative, as she stretched lazily, muscles still loose from sleep- and from him.

(Y/N) reached for one of his shirts that had ended up on the floor and tugged it over her head. It hung off her frame, the collar wide and slipping off one shoulder. She didn’t bother with anything else- just padded across the room barefoot before turning to glance at him over her shoulder.

“You coming?”

Silco stood, running a hand through his hair before nodding. “Always.”

They cracked open the door cautiously, peering down the hallway to make sure it was clear. A few voices murmured from downstairs, but no footsteps echoed on the upper floor.

(Y/N) grabbed his hand and tugged him out with her, the two of them slipping quietly down the hall toward the washroom like a pair of teenagers sneaking out after curfew.

She tried to stifle a giggle when his hand settled on her lower back, warm and familiar. He leaned close, lips brushing her ear as they reached the door.

“If Vander catches us, I’m blaming you.”

She grinned. “Please. Vander’s known what this is.”

Silco hummed low in his throat. “Still not interested in the lecture.”

(Y/N) pushed open the washroom door and slipped inside, tugging him in with her before quietly closing it behind them.

“Then let’s not give him anything to talk about.”

Silco raised a brow. “We’re going to be naked and locked in a room together. That ship may have sailed.”

“Mm,” she smirked, stepping toward the tub and turning on the tap. “Then we better make it worth it.”

The bath had been quiet.

Not in a strained way- but in the easy, intimate quiet that followed something sacred. They had slipped into the warm water together, the steam wrapping around them like a blanket, softening the edge of the morning chill. (Y/N) had settled between Silco’s legs, her back to his chest, as he ran a cloth gently along her skin, taking his time. No teasing, no rush. Just care.

She had returned the favor with equal tenderness- fingers threading through his damp hair, cloth gliding along his shoulders, over the lean strength of his arms. The silence between them was filled with nothing but the sound of water and the occasional shift of breath when their hands lingered just a little longer than necessary.

When they finished, they dried off wordlessly- Silco pressing a quick, stolen kiss to her temple before he turned toward the door.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” he murmured, voice still low and warm.

(Y/N) nodded, watching him go before she turned back toward the mirror, wrapping a towel around her body.

She moved to her room with practiced ease- pulling on clean underthings, rummaging through the dresser for clothes, brushing the knots from her damp hair in slow, even strokes. Her body was pleasantly sore in places she hadn’t known could ache, her magic still buzzing low in her chest, like the afterglow hadn’t quite worn off yet.

It wasn’t until she tilted her head to run the brush through the underside of her hair that she caught sight of it in the mirror.

Then another. And another.

“…Oh.”

Her neck- her collarbone, even the top of her chest- was covered in soft, dark bruises. Not harsh. Not angry. But thorough. The ghostly traces of his mouth mapped out across her skin like a constellation only he could read.

She set the brush down slowly, reaching up to gently press her fingers to one of the marks. It didn’t hurt- only made the heat rush back to her face in full force. She had been so swept up in everything that she hadn’t even realized how much of himself Silco had left behind.

The flush on her cheeks deepened, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

“Possessive bastard,” she muttered under her breath, but there was no bite to it. None at all.

Her fingertips lingered on one mark, just below her jaw. She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a small breath, lips curling into something soft. Something fond.

She got ready quickly, before making her way down into the bar.

The familiar creak of the stairs gave her away before she even stepped into view, but it was the silence that followed- sharp and sudden- that made (Y/N)’s smirk bloom before she even hit the bottom step.

She’d took care when getting dressed. Her shirt was casual, loose enough to move in, but the collar sat just low enough to give a teasing glimpse of the marks that trailed along her neck and collarbone. Not bold. Not obvious. Just enough.

Enough for him.

When she stepped into the bar, the light caught her just right, and Silco- mid-sip of his coffee- choked.

Not dramatically. Just enough that the mug paused halfway to his mouth and he had to quickly clear his throat, eyes narrowing just slightly as he caught sight of her. His collar was flipped higher than usual, subtly shielding the faint, fading bruises she'd left along the base of his throat.

(Y/N) arched a brow, all innocent as she made her way toward him.

“Morning,” she said smoothly, like nothing had happened, sliding onto a stool at the bar.

Silco didn’t respond right away- just took a deliberately slow sip of his coffee, eyes flicking over her exposed skin with unmistakable heat before settling into something cooler, more composed. But he didn’t fool her.

Not for a second.

His jaw was a little too tight. His eyes lingered a little too long.

She fought the grin tugging at her lips.

Behind the bar, Vander definitely noticed something. He gave them both a side-eye glance over the rim of the glass he was cleaning but didn’t say a word. Yet.

At the booth across the room, Felicia was bouncing Violet gently in her arms, murmuring softly to her as Connol leaned in close, clearly besotted with the baby. Felicia glanced up just in time to catch the very obvious tension simmering between (Y/N) and Silco, and her eyes narrowed.

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at her lips.

“Someone’s walking different,” she said under her breath, mostly to Connol- but loud enough for (Y/N) to hear.

(Y/N) didn’t flinch. She just tilted her head toward Silco, eyes still locked on his.

“Guess you weren’t as subtle as you thought,” she murmured, low and teasing.

Silco’s fingers tightened slightly around his mug, but his expression remained neutral- save for that twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Mm. And here I thought you were the one who enjoyed discretion.”

“Funny,” she said, resting her chin in her hand, her eyes gleaming. “You didn’t seem too concerned with that earlier when you left the marks.”

Vander definitely choked on a laugh this time, turning away before either of them could see his face.

Felicia outright cackled from the booth.

And Silco? Silco just took another slow sip of his coffee.

But the tips of his ears were red.

And (Y/N) sat back in her seat, pleased and glowing, her fingers brushing one of the fading bruises at her throat.

Let them stare.

She had nothing to hide.

The morning settled into its usual rhythm- not without a few lingering smirks and knowing glances, but still familiar. Predictable in the way only chaos can be when wrapped in the comfort of routine.

Felicia shifted Violet from one arm to the other, muttering about leaky bottles and no sleep, while Connol fussed more than necessary, trying to sneak spoonfuls of food toward her between breaths. Vander barked out orders to one of the younger runners, gesturing with a half-eaten piece of bread. The bar was alive again, in its own unique way- half family, half machine.

(Y/N) moved through it like she always did- grabbing her worn satchel, tying her boots, slipping on her usual cloak with practiced ease. The bite of metal, smoke, and earth waited for her in the mines, same as every day. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers- her routine, her way to contribute, to stay sharp, to stay moving.

Silco appeared beside her before she could reach the door, already dressed, coat draped casually over one shoulder, his coffee long gone.

“Heading in?” he asked, tone casual- but his eyes were anything but.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just to check in with the others, run inventory. Maybe help the crews down by the collapsed tunnel.” She glanced at him. “I’m not training today.”

His brow ticked slightly. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, reaching up to adjust his collar in return- more teasing than necessary. “Just… not in the mood to throw fire around.”

He smirked faintly, but his gaze lingered. “You’ve been pushing yourself hard.”

“I can rest tomorrow,” she said simply, then tilted her head. “Want to come with? Just to walk.”

Silco paused- like the idea surprised him- and then gave a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll walk with you to the office.”

Something warm flickered in her chest at that, and she bumped his arm lightly as they stepped outside together.

The streets of the Undercity were already humming with movement- merchants hauling carts, scavengers bartering loudly in alleyways, children darting between walkways chasing pieces of scrap like treasure. The air was thick with smoke and smog, but it was home.

As they walked, their hands brushed occasionally. Not by accident.

“Y’know,” she said, glancing over at him, “you don’t have to walk me down every time.”

Silco looked at her sidelong, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “I know.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as they turned the corner, the entrance to the mines visible ahead.

Silco walked with her the whole way, boots echoing against the damp stone floor, his sharp eyes scanning the walls like he couldn’t not be on guard.

“You still remember the turns if you end up in the deeper tunnels?” he asked offhandedly.

(Y/N) smirked. “You’re sweet when you’re pretending not to worry.”

“I’m always worrying,” he muttered, but his tone lacked any real sharpness.

They reached the office in no time- an old iron-reinforced room carved into the rock, dimly lit with flickering green and gold lanterns that buzzed faintly. Inside was a scarred desk, stacks of ledgers, worn chairs, and a small iron hook where she always hung her cloak.

She shrugged off her bag and cloak with practiced ease, fingers brushing dust from her sleeves before hanging both neatly in their places. She caught the way Silco watched her in the corner of her eye- how his gaze lingered just a little too long on the exposed curve of her neck now that her cloak was off, on the quiet way she settled into the space like she’d done it a thousand times.

She turned to look at him fully, one brow raised. “You planning on loitering all day?”

Silco stepped forward, closing the distance between them slowly. He didn’t answer right away- just reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch warm against her cheek.

Then he leaned down and pressed a soft, steady kiss to her forehead.

It was quick, but it lingered.

Not a promise. Not a goodbye.

Just his way of saying he saw her. Cared for her. Wanted her safe.

When he pulled back, his voice was low but sure. “I’ll see you later.”

(Y/N) nodded, her voice equally soft. “Be careful, yeah?”

He smirked faintly. “Always.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared down the tunnel, his coat catching the low light before he vanished into the haze of the mines. She watched him go, something warm pulsing beneath her ribs before she turned back to the desk, rolling up her sleeves and getting to work.

The day had begun, it passed in its usual rhythm, familiar in its simplicity.

The mine office was dim and quiet, save for the scratching of her pen across paper and the occasional creak of boots outside the door as workers passed by. (Y/N) checked supply inventories, cross-referenced excavation schedules, marked out the safe zones from the unstable ones. It was tedious work- but necessary. And she liked it. It kept her grounded, kept her from spiraling too deep into the weight of everything else going on above and beneath the surface.

Hours slipped by in the low hum of effort. She fixed a jammed lift schedule, sorted faulty lamp returns, and passed by a collapsed tunnel to give her usual report- though she didn’t go near the deeper parts. Not today. Her magic stayed quiet, humming under her skin, patient.

By the time she finished and looked at the rusted old clock hanging on the wall, it was late. The kind of late where the air in the tunnels started to feel heavier, colder. Most of the crews had already left, the usual noise of hammers and shouting and shifting machinery long since faded.

She let out a soft sigh, rubbing the back of her neck as she stood and stretched. Her muscles ached in familiar places, and a thin layer of dust clung to her pants and sleeves. She grabbed her cloak from the hook by the door, shaking it out with a practiced flick before draping it over her shoulders. Her bag followed- slung across her chest as she ran a hand through her now-tousled hair.

The walk back through the tunnels was quiet. Eerily so. But she was used to it. She made her way toward the entrance of the mines, stepping out into the city. 

The Undercity greeted her like an old friend- distant neon lights glowing in the hazy twilight, the scent of smoke and metal thick in the air. The Lanes buzzed softly in the distance, and as she adjusted her cloak tighter around herself, she found her thoughts drifting forward.

The Last Drop would be warm by now- lit up and alive in its usual gritty way. Violet would probably be asleep upstairs, Felicia most likely slumped in a booth with a drink in hand, and Vander behind the bar telling someone off for trying to cheat at cards.

And Silco…

He’d be there, she was sure of it.

Maybe already sitting at the bar, waiting for her like he did most nights when she came back late. Maybe pretending he wasn’t waiting at all.

A tired smile crept onto her lips as she pushed forward through the streets, heart tugging her home.

Back to the bar.

Back to him.

(Y/N) pulled her cloak tighter, keeping her head down as she moved through the winding streets toward the familiar warmth of The Last Drop. The sound of heavy boots echoed around the corner- Enforcers. Routine, by now. Always watching. Always looking for an excuse.

She didn’t glance up- not really- but one of them caught her gaze anyway. Just a second too long. Just enough.

“Hey!” one of them barked.

She froze.

Four of them broke off from the patrol, boots loud against the cobblestone as they spread out around her, forming a half-circle. Uniforms crisp, expressions smug. The leader- broad, smug, with a baton already half-raised- gestured toward her with a nod.

“Out late, sweetheart?”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. Just lowered her eyes, her jaw tight.

“We’re conducting a search,” another said, already reaching for her bag.

She knew the drill. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t afford to.

She let them pull the bag from her shoulder, dig through it, pat her down with rough, mocking hands. One of them yanked her cloak aside, as if they expected to find contraband hidden in the folds. They didn’t. Of course they didn’t.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

It never was.

“Tsk. Nothing,” the leader said, almost disappointed. “Looks like she’s just another gutter rat wasting our time.”

One of them stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Then maybe we remind her who runs these streets.”

She could’ve fought.

Could’ve burned them all down with a flick of her wrist.

But her magic stayed quiet. Her body stayed still. She didn’t move.

She remembered the last time.

The screams. The smoke… 

So she let it happen.

They knocked her down first. A punch to the gut, a boot to her ribs. Her shoulder hit the ground hard, and the stone scraped across her palms when she tried to catch herself. Then the batons came- short, sharp blows meant to bruise more than break, meant to humiliate. Her lip split. Her breath left her in a wheeze.

But she didn’t cry out.

She didn’t give them that.

She curled in on herself, shielded her head, and waited for it to end.

Eventually, it did.

One of them spit at the ground beside her. “Tell your friends in the Lanes to keep their mouths shut.”

They left her there in the alley, blood on her lip, ribs aching, cloak torn at the edge.

For a long moment, she didn’t move.

Then, slowly, she sat up. Her hands shook as she adjusted her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, then pulled her hood up, hiding as much of her face as she could manage.

And then she walked.

Not quickly. Not limping.

Just steady.

Until the glow of The Last Drop came into view.

The noise spilled out into the street, muffled laughter, the low hum of conversation, the scent of smoke and stale beer. Home.

She pushed the door open with one hand, shoulder braced against the frame like her body didn’t want to be held up anymore.

The light hit her first.

Then Silco turned from where he sat at the bar- and froze.

His eyes locked on her.

Blood at the corner of her mouth. Another tear in her cloak. Dirt and ash and bruises painted across her skin.

She stood in the doorway, barely holding herself upright.

“…Hey,” she rasped, like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just been used as a message.