Loyalty Cuts Deepest Pt.2

Ember in the Dark pt.5

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.4 - pt.6

pt.1

Warnings: Violence, Combat, Injury, Mild gore, Abduction, Restraint, Death, Hallucinations/Visions, Blood, and Panic/Fear.

Word Count: 6174

Summary: (Y/N) is ambushed by three hooded figures trying to abduct her. She fights back but is restrained until her scream alerts Vander, Silco, and Felicia. A brutal fight ensues, leaving her stabbed before her attackers are defeated or driven off. Silco rushes her home, where Felicia stitches her wound while Vander and Silco struggle to contain her unstable magic. Before losing consciousness, she sees a vision of her mother. Realizing the attack was a targeted abduction, Vander and Silco investigate and learn that the Mageseekers, possibly backed by someone powerful, won’t stop hunting her. Meanwhile, Felicia watches over (Y/N). When she wakes, Silco warns her not to go out alone. Though frustrated, she accepts his help, and in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness, he washes and combs her hair, revealing his fear. She reassures him, but both know the danger isn’t over. Left alone, (Y/N) struggles to rest, haunted by how close she came to being taken.

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The grip on her arm was like iron.

One moment, she was walking behind the others, her steps careful, keeping an eye on the shadows. The next, a rough yank wrenched her off balance, dragging her into the darkness of a narrow alleyway.

She barely had time to react before she was shoved against the damp stone wall, a gloved hand clamping over her mouth. Instinct flared- she thrashed, trying to throw her weight forward, but another force seized her other arm, pinning her in place.

"Quiet." The voice was cold, controlled. A tone that expected obedience.

Three of them. Just like before.

Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Their clothes were dark, heavy- made for blending in. Beneath their hoods, she caught glimpses of stern faces, sharp eyes that held purpose.

They weren’t just some random thugs looking to mug her.

This was something else.

The man holding her still leaned in slightly, eyes flickering over her face, searching for something. Confirming something.

“She’s the one,” he murmured.

Her blood ran cold.

The second man- broader, his grip bruising her arm- spoke next, voice laced with disdain. “Took us long enough to track her down. She’s been hiding.”

She didn’t understand. Who were these people?

The third figure, standing just behind the others, exhaled sharply. “She doesn’t even know why we’re here...”

She stiffened.

Before she could process that, the first man leaned in closer, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.

“You’re coming with us.”

No.

She didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but she knew she couldn’t let them take her.

She jerked against their grip, shoving her weight forward, twisting, trying to rip herself free. The man restraining her hissed in frustration, tightening his hold.

Then, she felt it.

A tingling beneath her skin. A crackling in her bones. A spark, desperate and wild, clawing to the surface.

Her breath came fast, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she fought against the instinct screaming at her to let go. She could- she knew she could- but she wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Instead, she did the one thing she avoided at all costs.

She screamed.

A raw, desperate sound tore from her throat, sharp and jagged, cutting through the damp, crowded streets of the Undercity.

The men cursed, reacting instantly. The one holding her mouth recoiled, caught off guard just long enough for her to thrash against his grip. The broader man snarled and clamped down harder on her arm, yanking her back before she could bolt.

“Shut her up,” he snapped.

A gloved hand struck her cheek. The sting was sharp, burning- but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.

“VANDER! SILCO!!” she screamed again, using every bit of breath in her lungs, hoping- praying- that they heard her before these bastards dragged her away.

Shouting erupted from the streets.

The men tensed.

Her heart soared.

The voices were distant but getting closer- familiar voices.

“(Y/N)?”

Vander.

Then another, sharp and cutting- “Where is she?!”

The hooded figures exchanged looks, calculating.

They had seconds before her people arrived.

The grip on her loosened just slightly- just enough.

And she took her chance.

With everything she had, she drove her knee into the nearest man’s gut, using the momentum to rip her arm free. The other lunged to grab her, but she twisted away, slipping through his fingers just as-

Vander and Silco came crashing into the alley.

Felicia rushed in after, keeping her distance but ready.

Vander was a force of nature, barreling straight for the nearest hooded figure. His sheer presence alone sent the man stumbling back.

Silco was precise, fast, cold- lunging straight for the one who had hit her, a blade flashing in his hand.

Panting, she stumbled back. Felicia was suddenly at her side, gripping her arms, steadying her.

She wasn’t alone... The alley exploded into chaos.

Vander fought like a battering ram, his fists landing like sledgehammers against the people who had been attacking (Y/N). He slammed one against the brick wall, sending the man crumpling to the ground with a sickening crack.

Silco was faster, sharper- his knife found its mark in the shoulder of the second man, twisting with ruthless precision. The man cried out, staggering back, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his cloak.

(Y/N) gasped for breath, pressing a hand to the fresh bruise on her cheek, her heart hammering. She could barely focus as Felicia yanked her further back, shielding her from the fight.

The group was trying to retreat.

They hadn’t expected this.

But just as the last one turned to flee, he moved too fast- too close to her.

It happened in an instant.

A flash of steel.

A searing pain tore through her side.

She sucked in a sharp breath, the world tilting as she looked down.

The blade was small but deep, buried just beneath her ribs. The figure yanked it back, and warmth spread across her torso- blood soaking through the fabric of her cloak.

Felicia screamed.

Silco turned instantly, eyes wide as he saw her sway.

Then, his expression shifted.

Pure, unrelenting rage twisted his features. His hand tightened around his knife.

He didn’t just stab this time- he drove the blade into the man’s gut and twisted it, his face inches from the man’s as he watched the light leave his eyes.

The hooded man gurgled.

Collapsed.

But she barely saw it.

Her knees buckled.

Pain flooded her senses, her breath ragged and shallow. Arms caught her before she hit the ground- Silco, his grip firm but shaking.

“(Y/N)- (Y/N), stay awake.”

Vander was suddenly there, pale-faced, pressing his hands against the wound.

Too much blood.

Felicia hovered, panic tightening her expression. “We need to move. Now.”

The fight was over. The group was either dead or gone.

But (Y/N) was slipping fast.

Silco clenched his jaw, his voice steady but tight. “We’re taking her home.”

Then, without another word, they ran.

Silco didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

(Y/N)’s blood was everywhere- soaking into his shirt, warm and sticky against his skin as he tightened his grip. She was too still, her head lolling slightly against his shoulder, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

Her eyes- he caught a glimpse of them through her half-lidded stare.

Glowing.

A faint, golden shimmer.

Not now.

Not here.

“Stay with me, (Y/N),” he muttered, barely hearing his own voice over the pounding of his heartbeat. “We’re almost there.”

Vander was at his side, keeping pace despite the panic in his expression. Felicia ran ahead, shoving people out of the way, clearing a path.

The bar was too far.

Too damn far.

Silco’s arms ached, but he didn’t dare let her go.

She stirred slightly, fingers twitching against his chest, lips parting as if to speak. But when she did, it wasn’t words- just a sharp, pained exhale as another jolt of golden light flickered through her hands.

Shit.

They burst through the back entrance of the bar, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.

Benzo took one look at (Y/N), at the blood, at them, and rushed forward.

“Get her upstairs. Now.”

Silco didn’t need to be told twice.

He took the stairs two at a time, Vander right behind him, Felicia on his heels. They reached her room, Silco lowering her onto the bed with a care that felt unnatural for him.

The moment he let go, her body tensed. Her fingers clenched in the sheets as a golden glow crackled up her arms.

She was losing control.

Vander swore. “(Y/N)-”

Silco grabbed her wrist, his grip firm, grounding.

“Breathe,” he ordered, voice sharp, forcing her to look at him.

Her eyes fluttered open- still glowing, but unfocused.

“It... hurts,” she rasped.

“I know.” Silco’s voice softened, but his free hand pressed against her wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “But you need to stay here. You hear me?”

Benzo shoved past Vander, dropping a bowl of water, cloth, and a needle with thread onto the bedside table. “She’s burning up. Someone’s gotta patch her up before she bleeds out.”

Felicia moved first, rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll do it.”

Silco didn’t let go of (Y/N)’s wrist. Vander hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed.

(Y/N)’s breathing was shallow, her hands trembling as golden light flickered along her skin, fading in and out. She was still here, still fighting.

And Silco wasn’t leaving her side.

Felicia’s hands were steady, but her heart pounded in her chest.

(Y/N)’s body was slick with sweat, her magic crackling at her fingertips, sparking against the sheets. It was wild- unstable. Every time she tensed in pain, the light flared, lashing out like a live wire.

“She’s gonna fry me,” Felicia muttered under her breath, threading the needle with shaking fingers.

“Then be quick,” Vander said, his grip tightening on (Y/N)’s shoulders. He and Silco pressed her down to keep her from thrashing.

Silco was still gripping her wrist, his knuckles white. “(Y/N),” he murmured, voice sharp. “You have to stop moving.”

She let out a choked sound- not quite a scream, but damn close. Her body jerked, golden light surging up her arms, singeing the sheets. Small embers hissed against the damp cloth Benzo had thrown over her stomach to catch the blood.

Felicia clenched her jaw. No more hesitating.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then she pressed the needle into torn skin.

(Y/N) screamed.

Her back arched violently, her arms seizing as another burst of magic crackled out of her. Silco barely flinched as sparks danced up his forearm, burning through his sleeve. Vander gritted his teeth, holding her down as Felicia worked as fast as she could, threading the needle through her flesh, sealing the wound shut.

More sparks. More magic.

(Y/N) convulsed, nails digging into Silco’s arm, breath ragged, uneven.

Felicia’s fingers trembled. The needle was slick with blood. (Y/N)’s blood.

She worked faster.

Silco murmured to her again, voice low, grounding.

(Y/N)’s thrashing slowed.

The light in her hands flickered.

Felicia forced the last stitch through, tying it off with a sharp tug.

“It’s done,” she gasped, pressing a cloth over the wound to stem the bleeding. “She just- she just needs to rest now.”

Silco loosened his grip but didn’t move away. Vander let out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face.

Felicia wiped the sweat from her forehead with a shaky hand.

(Y/N) was barely conscious, her body limp, her breathing shallow. The glow at her fingertips had faded to a dull flicker, no longer sparking against the sheets.

They had stopped the bleeding.

But she had come too close.

Too close to dying.

Too close to losing control.

Felicia swallowed hard. “We can’t let this happen again.”

Vander exhaled. “No. We can’t.”

Silco said nothing. He just stayed where he was, still holding (Y/N)’s wrist, even long after her fingers had gone still.

The world blurred at the edges. The pain in her torso dulled, lost beneath exhaustion and the magic still humming under her skin. Voices murmured in the haze- Silco, firm and steady, grounding her. Vander, heavy with something unspoken. Felicia, exhaling sharply, muttering under her breath. Benzo, chiming in now and then but mostly quiet.

But beyond them, just past the flickering light of the room, stood someone else.

A figure- blurry, shifting, barely tangible.

(Y/N) blinked, her vision hazy, her mind tangled between reality and something else entirely.

The shape before her crackled softly, golden light sparking along its edges.

The same color that bled from her hands when she lost control.

The same magic.

The same blood.

“…Mama?”

The whisper barely left her lips, slipping away into the space between breath and silence.

The figure didn’t speak.

But it watched her.

(Y/N)’s chest tightened. Her fingers twitched, aching to reach forward, to touch what wasn’t really there.

She knew it wasn’t real. Knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

Or maybe… something else.

Still.

The golden light crackled again, curling like smoke. And for the briefest moment, she swore she could see her mother’s face- soft, sad, watching her with eyes that held too much.

The same way she had the last time (Y/N) ever saw her awake.

A lump rose in her throat.

“Don’t go,” she murmured.

But her voice barely held weight.

The light flickered- once, twice- before dimming entirely.

The figure was gone.

And (Y/N) finally let herself fall into the dark.

The room was heavy with silence after (Y/N)’s whisper faded. Her outstretched hand fell limply to the mattress, her body finally succumbing to unconsciousness. The faint golden glow at her fingertips flickered out like a dying ember.

Felicia exhaled, shaking out her hands, still stained with (Y/N)’s blood. The stitching was rough, rushed- but it would hold. It had to.

Vander sat heavily on a crate, rubbing his face with both hands, exhaustion clear in the slope of his shoulders.

Silco hadn’t moved. His fingers still rested against (Y/N)’s wrist, checking for a steady pulse. His grip was tight- too tight for someone usually so composed.

Felicia was the first to speak.

“That wasn’t some random street scuffle.” Her voice was quiet, but certain. “That was planned.”

Silco’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

Vander straightened, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did you get a good look at ‘em?”

Silco nodded, eyes dark. “Hooded figures. Armed, coordinated. Not from around here.” His fingers twitched- like he wanted a cigarette- but he didn’t reach for one. “They weren’t just after a payday.”

Felicia swallowed, glancing at (Y/N)’s still form. “They were after her.”

A beat of silence.

Vander let out a long breath. “Then we need to find out who the hell they were.”

Felicia ran a hand through her hair. “If they knew what she is- what she can do this isn’t over.”

Silco’s voice was flat. “She screamed. Drew attention.”

“Good,” Vander said firmly. “Or she’d be dead.”

Felicia shuddered. “And if they’re still watching?”

Silco’s fingers curled into a fist. “Then we make them regret it.”

Vander nodded. “We start asking around. Someone’s bound to know something.” He met Silco’s eyes. “I’ll check the Lanes. See if anyone’s heard about strangers poking around.”

Silco exhaled sharply. “Benzo, you’ll hear more than most at your shop.”

Felicia crossed her arms. “And what about her?” She jerked her chin toward (Y/N). “We can’t leave her alone.”

Silco’s answer was instant. “Then we don’t.”

Vander nodded. “We take shifts.”

Silco looked down at (Y/N), his expression unreadable. “She needs rest.”

Felicia sighed. “We all do.”

But they wouldn’t.

Not tonight.

Tonight, they had work to do.

Benzo left first, pulling his coat tighter around himself before disappearing into the streets. He knew better than to ask too many questions- he’d hear what needed to be heard soon enough.

Felicia sat on the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of her friend’s chest. The worst was over, but she still looked pale, her breathing uneven. Felicia reached down, adjusting the blanket over her, though she knew it wouldn’t help much.

“She’ll be fine,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Silco and Vander stood near the door, preparing to leave. Vander exhaled through his nose, glancing once more at (Y/N). “If anything changes-”

“I’ll come get you,” Felicia finished, giving him a tired look. “I know.”

Silco rolled his shoulders, eyes sharp with something cold. “If she wakes up, don’t let her move. She’ll be stubborn about it.”

Felicia huffed a short, humorless laugh. “No shit.”

Vander placed a hand on Silco’s shoulder, nodding toward the door. “C’mon. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to track these bastards down.”

Silco gave (Y/N) one last look before turning sharply and stepping out into the streets. Vander followed, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

Felicia sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Well, (Y/N),” she muttered, glancing at her unconscious friend. “Looks like you stirred up a real mess this time.” She just hoped they’d be able to clean it up before it got worse.

The Undercity was never quiet, even at night. Vander and Silco moved through the twisting alleyways, boots scuffing against damp stone, the scent of soot and metal thick in the air. They didn’t speak at first- there was no need. Their minds were set on the same goal; finding out who the hell had come after (Y/N).

Vander clenched his fists. “They knew what they were looking for,” he muttered. “Didn’t go after me, didn’t go after you or Felicia. Just her.”

Silco’s jaw tensed. “They knew about her magic.”

Vander shot him a glance. “She’s been careful, Silco. No way word got out just like that.”

Silco exhaled sharply through his nose, sharp eyes scanning the streets ahead. “Doesn’t matter how careful she was. Someone saw something. Someone talked.”

The thought made Vander’s stomach twist. They had spent years making sure (Y/N) kept her secret hidden, had uprooted their lives, moved from place to place, taken jobs in the mines to keep her safe- and still, it wasn’t enough.

They stopped outside a makeshift gambling den wedged between rusted pipes and flickering neon signs. It was one of the places that thrived on knowing things- people paid debts with information as often as they did with coin.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension. Eyes flicked toward them as they stepped inside, taking in their presence but quickly looking away. Vander had a reputation- so did Silco.

They made their way to a table near the back, where a wiry man with thin, calculating eyes was nursing a cheap drink. His name was Lark, and he had a talent for sniffing out whispers in the Undercity.

“Gentlemen,” Lark greeted, his voice smooth, practiced. “Didn’t expect to see you two tonight. What brings you here?”

Silco slid into the seat across from him, Vander standing close behind, arms crossed. “We’re looking for information,” Silco said coolly. “About some hooded bastards prowling the streets. They went after a friend of ours.”

Lark’s lips twitched. “Hooded, huh? That’s not much to go on.”

Vander leaned in, his broad presence casting a shadow over the man. “You know exactly who we’re talking about.”

Lark hesitated, swirling his drink. He measured his words carefully. “You’re talking about the Mageseekers.”

The word hit like a hammer. Silco’s expression remained unreadable, but Vander stiffened slightly.

“Mageseekers?” Vander repeated. “Never heard of ‘em.”

Lark tilted his head. “You wouldn’t have. They don’t come down here often. But when they do, they’re hunting.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “They work for those with money, be it Piltover, Noxus, anyone with the information to give them what they want... Real nasty types. Their job is to sniff out anyone with magic, and when they find ‘em… Well. Let’s just say they don’t send ‘em off with a friendly warning.”

Silco’s fingers drummed once against the table. “Why come all the way down here for one girl?”

Lark gave a loose shrug. “Could be a mistake. Could be she caught their attention somehow. But if the Mageseekers know about her, that means someone up top does too. Piltover doesn’t waste time chasing ghosts…”

Vander exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a gang looking for an easy target. This was bigger. More dangerous.

Silco pushed back from the table. “If you hear anything else, you’ll let us know.”

Lark smirked. “Of course. For a price.”

Vander reached into his pocket, tossing a few coins onto the table. Lark scooped them up greedily, nodding in satisfaction.

“Be careful,” Lark said as they turned to leave. “If the Mageseekers have her scent, they won’t stop coming.”

Vander and Silco left the gambling den, stepping back into the cold, oil-slicked streets.

“This is bad,” Vander muttered.

Silco’s gaze was hard, calculating. “We’ll handle it.”

But Vander wasn’t so sure. Because for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just up against the Undercity’s dangers. They were up against Piltover, against Mageseekers… 

The walk back to the bar was silent. Vander and Silco moved with purpose, their minds spinning with what they had just learned. The Mageseekers were bad enough- but the fact that they were sniffing around meant someone in Piltover had taken notice of (Y/N). That alone was enough to make the situation dangerous.

When Vander and Silco reached the bar, the warm glow of the lights was a stark contrast to the cold weight settling in their chests. The place was still closed to the public, but inside, up the stairs, Felicia sat in the same spot she was in before...  On the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, (Y/N) resting beside her.

Felicia looked up as they entered. “Well?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration.

Silco exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. “Mageseekers,” he said flatly. “They’re sent from Piltover. Hunting people like her.” His gaze flickered to (Y/N), still unconscious, her breathing shallow. “If they found her once, they’ll find her again.”

Felicia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So what do we do?”

Vander pulled up a chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “We stay close. No more going off alone. No more risks. They’ll come back, and when they do, we’ll be ready.”

Felicia nodded, but something about the way she looked at (Y/N) was uneasy. She knew it wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore. 

Felicia let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over her tired face. “I’ll go make some food… She will need the energy…” she murmured, though the exhaustion in her voice betrayed her need for a break. She cast one last glance at (Y/N), still motionless on the bed, before rising to her feet.

Vander followed suit, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. “I’ll be downstairs. Give a shout if anything changes,” he said, though the weight in his tone made it clear he wasn’t expecting good news anytime soon.

Silco remained seated, his sharp eyes never leaving (Y/N). As Vander and Felicia made their way out of the room, the door creaked shut behind them, leaving behind a heavy silence.

For a moment, there was only the dim glow of the bedside lamp, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Silco exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his fingers absently toying with a knife at his belt.

“You really don’t make things easy, do you?” he muttered, watching the slow rise and fall of (Y/N)’s chest.

The Undercity was dangerous enough- but now, with the Mageseekers involved, things had taken a sharp and deadly turn.

(Y/N)'s eyelids fluttered open, the dim glow of the bedside lantern casting soft shadows across the room. Her body felt like it had been dragged across the Undercity’s roughest streets, every movement sending sharp pain through her torso. The wound throbbed, stitched together with Felicia’s quick, practiced hands, but the bruises on her ribs and shoulders made even breathing an effort.

She blinked, disoriented, mind foggy from exhaustion and pain.

Silco was sitting nearby, leaning back in a chair, one leg crossed over the other- his sharp eyes were on her the second she stirred.

“You’re awake.” His voice was quiet, but there was something in it. Relief, maybe. It was hard to tell with Silco sometimes.

(Y/N) groaned, shutting her eyes again. “Unfortunately.”

Silco let out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle. “You had us worried,” he admitted, shifting in his seat.

Her fingers twitched as she tried to push herself up slightly, but pain flared up her side, forcing her back down. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Shit.”

“Careful,” Silco warned, watching her struggle. “Felicia stitched you up, but you tear that open, and you’ll be bleeding all over again.”

(Y/N) huffed, frustrated. “Feels like I already am.” She hesitated, eyes flickering to Silco. “What happened?”

He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Mageseekers.”

Her stomach twisted at the name.

Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. “They were following us. They caught you when you strayed too far back. Vander and I got to you before they could take you, but one of them got a lucky hit.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard. “And now?”

Silco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now we wait. See what Benzo finds. But you… you don’t leave the bar. Not alone.”

(Y/N)’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated being confined. Hated feeling weak. But she wasn’t stupid- she knew this was bad.

Still, something nagged at her. The Mageseekers weren’t usually in the Undercity. They had no reason to be here unless… Unless someone had given them one.

Or unless someone else had sent them.

Her throat felt dry. “…They won’t stop, will they?”

Silco was quiet for a moment. Then, with a voice far softer than she expected, he said, “No. They won’t.”

The weight of that truth settled over her, suffocating.

Outside, the distant hum of the Undercity’s streets carried on, the world moving as if nothing had changed. But for (Y/N), everything had.

Silco hadn’t moved from his seat, his eyes never straying far from her as she sat there, lost in thought. The weight of everything pressed against her ribs, heavy and suffocating. The pain, the attack, the realization that she wasn’t safe- probably never had been.

But what got to her most wasn’t the danger. It wasn’t even the Mageseekers. It was the damn feeling of weakness clawing at her insides.

She felt disgusting. Dried blood clung to her skin, crusted over her stomach where the wound had been stitched. Her clothes were stiff with it, the fabric sticking to her in the worst places. She wanted out of them. She wanted to clean herself up, to not feel like she was still stuck in that alley, surrounded by those hooded bastards.

But moving- hell, even sitting up- wasn’t something she could do on her own.

The realization made her stomach twist. She hated this. Hated asking for help, hated feeling small and pathetic. But she’d rather die than go downstairs like this, looking like something dragged through the Lanes and left to rot.

Her fingers curled into the bedsheets as she debated it, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Silco was still watching her, patient but expectant. He knew she was working through something, but he wasn’t going to pry.

Her throat tightened. She exhaled sharply, barely above a whisper.

“…Can you help me?”

Silco raised an eyebrow. “With?”

She clenched her jaw, looking away. “I need to clean up.”

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t tease her for the hesitation or draw attention to the shame buried in her voice.

Instead, he just stood.

“Alright.”

Relief flooded through her, though she refused to let it show.

With Silco’s help, she slowly- agonizingly- pushed herself up. Every movement sent fresh spikes of pain through her body, her wound burning, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet. Silco slipped an arm around her waist, careful of the injury, keeping her steady as her legs wobbled beneath her.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered back, though she wasn’t convinced.

Silco guided her across the room to where the old metal basin sat, a rag and a pitcher of water next to it. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.

“Sit,” he ordered, helping her onto the stool beside it.

She obeyed, too tired to argue.

The water was cold as she poured some into the basin, soaking the rag before wringing it out. She hissed when the cloth touched her skin, wiping away the dried blood from her stomach. It took more effort than she wanted to admit just to lift the hem of her shirt, exposing the stitches.

Silco watched, arms crossed, but he said nothing.

After a few moments, (Y/N) swallowed her pride again and held the rag out to him.

“…Can you get my back?”

Silco took it without a word.

She sucked in a breath as the cold cloth pressed against her shoulder, dragging down her spine where bruises had already started to form. His movements were precise, careful, but he didn’t hesitate. He never did.

She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle between them.

“…Thank you,” she murmured, voice barely above a breath.

Silco didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to.

Once she was clean, he helped her into fresh clothes, a loose shirt that wouldn’t tug at the stitches, before carefully wrapping a new bandage around her torso. Once done, he carefully brought her back into her room.

(Y/N) sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, still adjusting to the feeling of fresh bandages against her skin. She felt better- cleaner, at least- but the soreness hadn’t faded. Her body ached like hell, but at least she didn’t feel like she was drowning in her own blood anymore.

She thought they were done. Thought Silco would leave her to rest now that she was taken care of.

Instead, he stayed.

She tensed when she felt him move behind her, fingers gathering her tangled hair.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Silco didn’t answer immediately. He took the small comb from her bedside table- one she barely used- and ran it through the strands, carefully working through the knots.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he said simply.

(Y/N) huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, getting stabbed tends to make things like brushing my hair less of a priority.”

Silco made a noncommittal sound, focused on his task. He worked in steady strokes, more careful than she expected from someone so sharp-edged. It was… odd.

He was being soft. Unusually so.

(Y/N) didn’t know what to do with that.

She swallowed, staring at her hands in her lap. “…You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Then why?

The question hung in the air, unspoken.

Silco didn’t answer it, but she could feel it in the way his fingers combed through her hair, untangling the knots with a patience she hadn’t known he possessed.

It wasn’t like him to be openly gentle. But this- this was different.

Maybe he thought she wouldn’t remember. Maybe he assumed the pain, the exhaustion, would dull the weight of this moment. Or maybe he just didn’t care if she noticed.

Either way, she let him do it.

For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) let herself be taken care of.

Silco lingered behind her after tying her hair back, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders before slowly falling away.

He should have left. Should have walked away now that she was taken care of... Instead, he stayed.

(Y/N) sat still, her head slightly bowed, her breathing steady but fragile- like even that took effort. He watched the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants, gripping them tightly as if grounding herself.

She had almost died today.

The thought clawed at his mind, tightening in his chest like a vice.

Silco had always understood that death was inevitable in the Undercity. He had seen enough of it to know that anyone could be taken in an instant. But the idea of losing her- of seeing her crumpled in an alley, blood pooling beneath her, magic flickering uncontrollably in her weakened state- was something else entirely.

It was a fear he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.

But now, with her here, still breathing, still alive… He felt it.

(Y/N) exhaled softly, tilting her head slightly, as if sensing the weight of his silence. “You’re still here,” she murmured.

Silco clenched his jaw, steadying himself before responding. “…Yeah.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“You’re scared,” she said suddenly.

He stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But (Y/N) only gave a tired, knowing smile. “…You are.”

Silco hated that she could see through him.

He hated it even more that she was right.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “…They almost took you from us.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it- sharp, dangerous, like the promise of a blade in the dark.

(Y/N) swallowed, her fingers loosening their grip on her pants. “But they didn’t,” she reassured, glancing back at him. “I’m still here.”

Silco’s eyes flickered to hers, searching, unreadable.

Still here.

For now.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing against her back lightly- just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t slipping away.

“…Get some rest,” he murmured, finally stepping away.

(Y/N) didn’t stop him this time.

But before he reached the door, she spoke again- soft, but certain.

“…You don’t have to be scared, Sil...”

He didn’t turn around.

Didn’t tell her that it was too late for that.

The room was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the empty bar below and the occasional creak of pipes in the walls. The dim light on the bedside table flickered, casting long shadows across the room.

(Y/N) lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, but rest wouldn’t come. The dull ache of her wound pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a constant reminder of how close she had come to being taken. She stared at the ceiling, thoughts circling like vultures.

She couldn’t just lie here.

(Y/N) forced herself up with a wince, pressing a hand against her aching side. The stitches pulled uncomfortably, but she had never been the type to stay still for long- especially not now, when there were Mageseekers lurking in the shadows, and questions she desperately needed answers to.

Her boots were quiet against the floor as she made her way down the stairs, the dim glow of the bar’s lanterns casting warm light over the wooden surfaces. The place was still closed, but Vander was behind the counter, cleaning a glass with slow, thoughtful movements.

His gaze flicked up as soon as she reached the bottom step.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he said, his voice edged with something between exasperation and concern.

(Y/N) exhaled, leaning against the counter. “I’d rather be here than lying in bed, thinking too much.”

Vander sighed, setting the glass down. “That wound’s fresh. You push yourself too hard, kid.”

“I’ll live.”

He gave her a look, one that made it very clear he wasn’t amused. “Not if you go tearing your stitches open.”

(Y/N) only offered a faint smirk in return, ignoring the way her body ached as she pulled herself onto one of the barstools. “Benzo back yet?”

Vander shook his head. “Not yet. But I doubt it’ll take long… And Fel is in back cooking...”

She nodded, tapping her fingers against the worn wood of the bar. Silence stretched between them, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the doors.

It was Silco who finally broke it.

“I told you to rest,” he muttered from his seat near the end of the bar, watching her with sharp, unimpressed eyes.

(Y/N) turned to him, raising a brow. “And I told you I’m fine.”

Silco’s gaze flickered to her side, to the way she was ever so slightly favoring it. “…Sure you are.”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, a door swung open at the far end of the room. Felicia emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a rag, her expression set in a tired scowl.

She froze for a second, eyes narrowing as she took in (Y/N), sitting at the bar when she was supposed to be resting. Then, with a sharp exhale, she threw the rag down onto a nearby table.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, already storming toward her. “You got stabbed, hours ago, and you’re up and walking around like it’s nothing?”

“I can’t just lay around,” (Y/N) muttered, swaying slightly as she tried to sit up on her stool. “We both know this isn’t over.”

Felicia let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no shit. And you bleeding out on the floor is really gonna help, huh?” She sighs, shaking her head. “I made stew. You’re eating, and then you’re resting. Or Ill knock you out myself…”

There was no real threat behind her words, just frustration, worry- the kind that only came from caring too much. But (Y/N) wasn’t sure she had it in her to fight back against that right now.

(Y/N) didn’t argue, she just slowly nodded. She was too tired. And, truth be told… the stew smelled pretty damn good.

“Good,” Felicia muttered. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Stubborn idiot.”

(Y/N) smirked faintly. “Takes one to know one.”

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

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

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.

Art post!

I decided I wanted to make a bigger version of my little profile guy, with my new hair since I cut it sorta recently.

I actually finished this one, which is sorta surprising lolol. I have like, 20 unfinished pieces I'm currently working on.

My masterlist, where all my other art or writing posts are :}

YAYYY thanks for Kyoko/Celeste/Toko request it was awesome (the inclusion of Jack caught me off guard since I personally don't find her attractive but idm!!! /Gen I should've been more specific whoopsie haha!) very well written, I enjoyed it alot!

Ps. Unfortunately an infamous ableist, homophobic, fatphobic (amongst other awful things) user liked that post :( if you wanted to block them or not M/ommy/hon/da (without the slashes, they search their name up for people talking about them hence the censoring

Oh, my bad about the Jack inclusion! I hope it was okay nonetheless! And yes, I noticed that user, and I already promptly blocked them :}

Thank you for the warning. If you have any more requests, feel free to make them. I'll try to keep it strictly to the characters asked from now on. I consider Jack/Toko sorta the same person (or ya know, two people sharing the same body), which is the only reason why I added them lmao.

ׄ 𓈒 ❤︎ 𓈒 ׄ ~~ Masterlist ~~ ׄ 𓈒 ❤︎ 𓈒 ׄ

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Requests are open! ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

Feel free to use my ask box to request anything, within reason. I am open to adding more fandoms to my list, but only if I've interacted with them, and know the lore of what I am writing is. I am also willing to add more things to the list of stuff I'm willing to write, depending on what is requested. I do not do Art requests, but I am thinking about doing commissions, eventually.

Art posts! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و

-Older pieces

-Mostly unfinished pieces

-Profile pic redraw

Things I will write ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

One shots

Fluff

Angst

Smut (assume characters involved in mature content are of age, obviously. Also, I don't normally just do smut for smut, I have to have some sort of plot device to keep the story moving.)

Full works

Headcannons

Multi-parts

Things I wont write (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ )

Any type of noncon

Incest

Anything mature involving anyone Underage

Literally anything involving the character Aoi Asahina. (I was threatened, and I do not wish to deal with that shit, at all. Any and all characters I think will put me in danger, expect them to be put on this list.)

Finished Fic's ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

-Ember in the Dark: Young!Silco x Fem!Reader (Full Work)

Oneshots ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

-Locked Tight: Yasuhiro Hagakure feat. Kiyotata Ishamaru (Smut) (Requested)

-Trust Fall Trauma: Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel. (Requested)

Part.1

Part.2

-Hellbound: The Owl House x Hazbin Hotel AU (Requested)

-Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach: Multifandom x Reader (Requested)

Part.1 (Peko, Mikan, and Tenko x Male!Reader)

Part.2 (Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia x Male!Reader)

Part.3 (Charlie, Emily, and Verosika x Male!Reader)

Part.4 (Mahiru, Toko/Genocide Jack, and Maki x Female!Reader)

Part.5 (Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu x Male!Reader)

Part.6 (Chiaki, Akane and Junko x Male!Reader)

-Terrible Prank- Better Apology: Demon Slayer x Fem!Reader (Requested)

Part.1 (Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya)

-Ashes of Grace: Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader (Requested)

-Stronger than Chains: Mondo Owada (Requested)

-You Can Be Weak With Me: Inosuke x GN!Reader (Requested)

-Feral Loyalty: Verosika x Fem!Reader (Requested)

Headcanons ＼(^o^)／

-Journey into Intimacy: First time Danganronpa Headcanons (Smut) (Requested)

Part.1 (Mahiru and Kaede)

Part.2 (Kyoko, Celeste, and Toko/Genocide Jack)

-The Softest Spotlight: Sayaka x GN!Reader Fluff Headcannons

-A Little Too Close: Shuichi x GN!Reader Headcannons (Reqested)

-Carnival Hearts: Demon Slayer x Fem!Black!Reader Headcannons (Reqested)

Part.1 (Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya)

-All of Me, All of You: Demon Slayer x GN!Black!Reader

Part.1 (Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya)

-Mine, Loud and Clear: Verosika x Male!Reader (Requested)

-Melt for Me: Sub!Makoto Naegi x Male!Reader (Smut) (Requested)

-Soft Places to Fall: Genya x GN!Reader (Requested)

-Raised by the End of the World: Older-Sister!Reader x The Walking Dead (Requested)

Full works ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

-Ember in the Dark: Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

Part.1

Part.2

Part.3

Part.4

Part.5

Part.6

Part.7

Part.8

Part. 9

Part.10

Part.11 (Last Part)

-Loyalty Cuts Deepest: Silco x Fem!Reader

Part.1

Part.2

-Drifting Between Worlds: Hunter x Fem!Reader (Requested)

Part.1

Part.2

Different Fandoms I am willing to write for! ♡꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱

Arcane

Attack on Titan

Avatar the Last Air Bender

Adventure Time

Black Butler

Baldur's Gate 3

Creepypasta

DC universe

Death Note

Danganronpa

Detroit: Become Human

Demon Slayer

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

Homestuck

Marvel

My Hero Acedemia

Naruto

Peaky Blinders

Red Dead Redemption 2

Supernatural

Stranger Things

Sally Face

Soul Eater

Steven Universe

The Owl House

The Walking Dead

The Last of Us

Undertale

I love this 🥺

High-ish quality scans of the Silco & Vander pages from the artbook

Ember in the Dark pt.1

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.2

Warnings: War, Violence, Death, illness, Grief, Poverty, Persecution, Oppression, and Child neglect/orphanhood.

Word Count: 2914

Summary: Nayesa, a refugee from Ionia, flees to the Undercity with her infant daughter to escape Noxian forces, suppressing her magic to survive. She toils endlessly to keep her child safe, but when the girl unknowingly uses magic, Nayesa realizes their past will always haunt them. She works herself to death, leaving her daughter alone in the unforgiving streets. Forced to survive, the girl joins a group of orphans- Vander, Silco, and Felicia- learning to steal, fight, and conceal her powers.

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The putrid scent of burning wood and flesh clung to the air as Nayesa ran, her breath ragged, her muscles screaming for respite. Behind her, the once-pristine forests of Ionia were choked with smoke, their vibrant greens now painted in the sickly fire glow. The rhythmic clang of Noxian steel against Ionian blades still rang in her ears, but she dared not turn back.

Her infant whimpered softly in her arms, her tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of her tattered robes. She adjusted her grip, pressing the baby closer to her chest, shielding her from the cold wind sweeping in from the coast. She couldn't cry- she mustn't cry. If the Noxians heard them, if they saw the faint shimmer of magic that still crackled beneath her fingertips, they would be hunted down.

She had seen it before. A woman who tried to fight back, her magic searing through Noxian armor- only for the warbands to descend upon her like beasts, silencing her screams beneath iron and blood. She had turned away, biting back her own fear, and fled. Magic is a death sentence. That was the one lesson Ionia’s war had taught her.

The boats at the shore were barely visible through the thickening fog. She stumbled onto the dock, her heart hammering as she found an old ferryman willing to take her. He was a man of few words, his face lined with the hardship of someone who had smuggled too many refugees, but his hand was steady as he took her trembling coin. No questions asked. She clutched her daughter tighter as the boat rocked, her gaze fixed on the horizon where The Undercity- dark, industrial, and suffocating- waited.

It was not home. It never would be. But it was safe.

The Undercity embraced the lost, the forsaken, and those with secrets to keep. Here, in the slums where even Piltovan Enforcers feared to tread, they could disappear. She learned to hide in the shadows, to suppress the flicker of magic in her blood, to live as just another nameless refugee in a city built on the bones of the forgotten.

Her baby would grow up not knowing Ionia’s forests, not hearing the songs of the wind dancing through cherry blossoms. But she would live. And for now, that was enough…

Nayesa’s fingers tightened around the threadbare cloak wrapped around her daughter, her mind drifting as the boat rocked gently beneath them. The salt-laden air of the ocean mixed with the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to her skin was a cruel reminder of what she had left behind.

Ionia was gone to her now. The home where she once played among the cherry blossoms, where the rivers whispered songs of old, where the spirits still danced in the wind- lost. She forced herself not to think of the faces she would never see again, the family she had abandoned to the fire and steel of Noxus. Guilt gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, but she buried it deep. She had no choice.

The ferryman, silent as the grave, guided the vessel through the thickening mist. His hands, calloused and cracked from years of toil, moved with mechanical precision as he adjusted the sail. Nayesa knew better than to speak- men like him survived by knowing nothing, saying nothing. Still, when his gaze briefly flickered to the bundle in her arms, there was no malice there, only understanding.

She exhaled, glancing down at her child. Small, fragile, yet warm against her chest. A spark of life amid the ashes of war. She traced a gentle hand over the baby’s cheek, whispering a promise she had no idea how to keep.

By the time they reached the docks, night had swallowed the sky. The towering, rust-streaked structures loomed overhead, their smog-drenched exteriors casting jagged shadows against the dim glow of neon signs. The scent of oil, metal, and damp earth thickened the air, an oppressive contrast to the crisp mountain breezes of Ionia.

She stepped off the boat, her legs weak from exhaustion, and nearly collapsed. The ferryman caught her arm- only for a second before slipping away into the murk, his presence vanishing as quickly as it had come.

Nayesa pulled the hood of her cloak low, blending into the throngs of workers, refugees, and outcasts that moved like restless phantoms through the lower districts. No one spared her a glance. In The Undercity, survival meant minding your own business.

The slums welcomed her with the cold indifference of a city built on desperation. She found shelter in a crumbling tenement, a place where the air was thick with the scent of rust and mildew, where the walls groaned under the weight of their decay. But it was a place to rest, to breathe.

Days blurred into weeks, then months. She worked where she could- scrubbing factory floors, mending torn garments, selling whatever scraps she could barter. She spoke little, kept her head down, and made sure no one saw the shimmer of power that still lived beneath her skin.

Her daughter, whom she named (Y/N), grew into the shadows of the Lanes. She never knew the wind-chimes of Ionia, never saw the blossoms bloom in spring, never ran through the open fields where the spirits once roamed. Instead, she learned the rhythm of the Undercity- the hiss of steam vents, the distant hum of chem-tech engines, the quiet desperation in every hushed conversation.

She would watch her at night, curled up in the dim glow of a flickering light, and wonder what kind of life she had truly given her.

Safe. But at what cost?

One evening, as Nayesa walked home through the winding alleys, she heard a sound that froze her blood.

Laughter.

A child’s laughter, light and unburdened, echoed through the filth and grime of the Undercity’s streets.

She turned the corner and saw (Y/N), no longer a baby but a bright-eyed child, her tiny hands outstretched as small, golden sparks danced at her fingertips. A wonder, a gift- one that could get them both killed.

Nayesa’s heart pounded.

Magic is a death sentence.

The war may have been left behind, but its lessons had not.

She rushed forward, scooping (Y/N) into her arms, extinguishing the light with a whispered hush.

No one could see. No one could know.

She had sacrificed everything for her daughter’s safety.

And now, the Undercity would demand its own price.

It was a city that took as much as it gave, swallowing the desperate and forgotten whole. Nayesa had always known it would come for her too, sooner or later.

For seven years, she scraped by in the underbelly of the city, enduring the choking smog, the filth-ridden streets, and the cold that seeped into her bones. She endured it all for (Y/N). Every coin she earned, every sleepless night, every bruise from the fists of those who thought a refugee woman was an easy target- it was all for her daughter.

(Y/N) was bright and full of wonder despite the bleak world around her. She didn’t remember the war, the flames that consumed their home, or the screams that once haunted Nayesa’s nights. To her, Ionia was nothing more than stories murmured in hushed tones, tales of Magic and rivers that whispered secrets to those who listened. Nayesa never told her the full truth of their exile, only that they had left because it was too dangerous to stay.

But the real danger wasn’t behind them- it was here, in the Lanes, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Nayesa had felt the sickness creeping into her body long before she admitted it to herself. The air in the lower districts was thick with toxins, a slow, creeping poison that gnawed at her lungs. Every cough was deeper, wetter. Every breath was a struggle. There were chem-doctors in the Lanes who could cure anything- for a price. But Nayesa had no money for miracles.

She worked until she couldn’t stand. Then, she worked more.

She didn’t tell (Y/N). She couldn’t.

But children saw more than adults ever gave them credit for.

"Momma, why are you always so tired?" (Y/N) asked one night, her small fingers tracing the lines of her mother’s weathered hands.

Nayesa smiled, brushing a stray lock of soft hair from her daughter’s face. "Because I have the best little girl in the world to take care of," she said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And that’s worth everything."

But love alone wasn’t enough to keep her alive.

One morning, Nayesa didn’t wake up.

(Y/N) shook her at first, small hands gripping the worn fabric of her mother’s cloak. "Momma?" she whispered, her voice uncertain, scared.

She didn’t move.

The room was cold. The single candle by the bedside had long since burned out, leaving only the distant glow of the Undercity’s ever-present green smog filtering through the cracks in the walls.

(Y/N) curled up beside her mother, waiting for her to wake up. She didn’t understand. Not yet.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the gnawing ache of hunger set in, that the truth began to sink in.

Her mother wasn’t waking up.

She was alone.

No one in the Lanes cared about another dead refugee. There were no mourning bells, no neighbors offering condolences. By nightfall, scavengers would come, rifling through their tiny home for anything of value.

(Y/N) didn't wait for them.

She packed what little she could- her mother’s old cloak, a handful of stolen ration bars, a rusty knife too dull to be a real weapon- and ran.

The streets of the Undercity were not kind to the weak.

She learned quickly. How to steal without being seen. How to disappear when Enforcers patrolled too close. How to navigate the tangled maze of pipes, vents, and back alleys that served as the lifeblood of the Undercity.

She was small, fast, invisible. And she was hungry.

The first time she stole from a chem merchant’s stall, she was caught. A rough hand yanked her back, slamming her against a wall.

"Little rat," the man snarled, his breath reeking of grease and sour alcohol. "Think you can take from me?"

(Y/n) trembled, her fingers curling instinctively. A warmth flickered in her palms, tiny sparks of golden light dancing between her fingers.

Magic.

No. No, no, no.

She clenched her fists, forcing it down, burying it deep. Her mother’s warning echoed in her mind.

Magic is a death sentence.

She braced herself for the beating- but it never came.

Instead, another voice cut through the heavy air.

"Let her go."

A boy, older than her, stood in the shadows of the alley. His arms were crossed, his clothes patched and dirt-streaked, but his gaze was sharp, calculating. His black hair covered his eyes a bit, too short to tie back, too long to look completely neat. "She’s with us."

The merchant sneered but let her go with a shove. "Keep your rats on a leash…" he spat before stalking off.

(Y/N) coughed, her ribs aching, but she turned to the boy, confused. "I’m not with you…" she said, wary.

"You are now," he replied simply.

And just like that, (Y/N) found herself among the lost children of the Lanes- the orphans, the runaways, the ones who had no homes… Vander, Silco, and Felicia… They moved like ghosts through the city, stealing to survive, hiding in the forgotten corners where the Enforcers wouldn’t dare to tread.

(Y/N) learned their ways. How to fight, how to climb, how to read the shifting tides of the city’s underworld. But most importantly, how to keep her secret.

She never used her magic. Not once.

Not until the day she had no choice.

It happened during a heist gone wrong- when she was fourteen...

They had planned everything perfectly- distract the shopkeeper, grab the goods, and slip away before anyone noticed. But no plan ever survived the chaos of The Undercity.

The Enforcers came down on them fast, too fast. (Y/N) ran, her breath sharp in her chest, her feet pounding against metal grates and uneven cobblestone. She took a wrong turn- a dead end.

The Enforcers were closing in.

She panicked.

A flicker of warmth ignited in her palm. Then a spark. Then a flame.

Golden light flared to life, illuminating the alleyway in brilliant, searing heat. The Enforcers reeled back, blinded, startled.

And (Y/N) ran.

She ran until her legs gave out, until she collapsed in a forgotten corner of the city, her heart slamming against her ribs.

She had been careful. She had hidden it for years… But now they would come for her. In The Undercity, secrets never stayed hidden for long…

For seven years, she had hidden what she was. Buried it beneath bruised knuckles and nimble fingers, beneath the hunger and the cold, beneath the fight to survive. But now, the secret she had fought to keep was out. Maybe not fully- but it was a crack, and cracks always widened.

The others would know soon enough.

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not with the heat still on her.

So, she disappeared into the veins of the Undercity, into the places where the air stank of rot and rust, where even Enforcers hesitated to follow. The tunnels beneath the city were a maze- only those born to the Lanes could navigate them, and (Y/N) had lived here long enough to know every passage, every broken grate, every hidden crawlspace.

She found a hollow space beneath a collapsed structure and curled into it, pressing her back against the damp stone, pulling her knees to her chest. She needed to think. To plan.

But plans meant nothing when Silco was the one sent to find you. Silco moved through the Undercity like a shadow, his sharp eyes scanning every alley, every abandoned structure. He knew how to track a runaway. They all did; life had made them that way.

Felicia had been worried, of course. "She’s been gone too long," she had muttered, arms crossed, trying to mask her concern. "What if the Enforcers-"

"She’s fine," Vander had cut in, though his frown betrayed his doubts. "She’s one of us."

And Silco? He hadn’t said much. He had only grabbed a knife and set out.

(Y/N) was fast. Smart. She knew how to disappear.

But he knew her.

He knew the places she went when she wanted to be alone, the paths she took when she needed to breathe. And more than that- he knew fear.

He had seen it in her when they ran from the heist, when the Enforcers had almost caught them. But there was something else, something deeper in the way she had looked at them before she fled.

Not fear of getting caught.

Fear of being seen.

It gnawed at him as he moved through the city, picking his way through the forgotten tunnels. If she was hurt, if someone else had found her first-

No. He pushed the thought away. He would find her.

The search had fractured them into three silent battalions. Felicia, driven by equal parts concern and duty, combed through the labyrinthine upper corridors where the stale, clinging mist of decay blurred every step. Vander took a divergent route, his methodical pace revealing an unspoken determination as he retraced familiar paths that had once served as escape routes. And then there was Silco- moving like a whisper among the ruins, his focus as sharp as the blade he carried.

In the winding gloom beneath a collapsed structure, Silco’s calculated steps slowed as a fragile form emerged from the darkness.

She was curled up beneath a collapsed structure, half-hidden in the darkness, her body taut with exhaustion. She looked smaller like this, the rough edge she carried worn down by fear and fatigue.

For a moment, he just watched her.

"You gonna come out," he finally said, his voice calm, "or do I have to drag you?"

(Y/N)’s head snapped up, her eyes sharp and alert despite her exhaustion. She hesitated, her muscles coiled like a cornered animal.

"You alone?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Silco scoffed. "No, I brought a whole damn parade." He stepped forward, crouching slightly so she wouldn’t bolt. "What the hell happened back there, (Y/N)?"

She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "We got sloppy."

"Not what I meant." His gaze didn’t waver. "You ran like they were hunting you."

(Y/N) flinched, just slightly, but Silco caught it.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Finally, she exhaled, looking away. "I just… I can’t go back yet."

Silco tilted his head, studying her. "Why?"

She bit her lip, hesitating.

Because I have magic. Because I lost control. Because if you knew, you’d never look at me the same way again.

But she couldn’t say that.

So instead, she forced a smirk, weak but convincing. "Didn’t feel like dealing with Vander’s lectures."

Silco snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, you’re gonna hear them anyway. So get up."

She didn’t move.

Silco’s smirk faded. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You don’t have to tell me, you know. But whatever’s got you scared?" He straightened up, eyes dark. "Don’t let it turn you into prey."

(Y/N) looked at him then, something unspoken passing between them.

Silco had always been sharp, always seeing things others missed. Maybe he didn’t know the truth yet. But he knew something.

And that was dangerous.

Still, she took his outstretched hand...

hi hiii, could I request headcanons or a one shot (completely up to you) that's a shuichi saihara x reader where the reader is kaede's brother/sibling? that whole dynamic?

(if not, feel free to ignore)

thank you <3

A/N: Yes, absolutely! I kept the reader gender neutral, since it wasn't specified. Hope that's okay :}

A Little Too Close

Shuichi x GN!Reader Headcannons

Warnings: Grief/Loss, Trauma, and Nightmares

Word Count: 1527

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-Shuichi's first reaction to meeting (Y/N): He’s startled. Not because they’re intimidating, but because… They look like Kaede. Or maybe it's their energy, their expressions, the way they say his name. It throws him off. He fumbles with his hat almost immediately, tugging it low as he mumbles a polite greeting. “I didn’t know Kaede had a sibling…” (Y/N) smiles. “Guess she didn’t talk about me much, huh?” That makes him nervous. Not because of them- but now he’s overthinking what Kaede did say, and whether it was enough to prepare him for them. Spoiler: It wasn’t.

-They remind him of Kaede… but not quite: There are moments where they laugh or tilt their head just like she used to, and his heart squeezes. But then (Y/N) says something unexpected- sarcastic, bold, or quietly observant- and he realizes: They’re not her. And that’s… oddly comforting. They’re not a walking shadow of Kaede. They’re their own person. It makes him want to understand them more. Quietly. Carefully. Like a case he doesn’t want to mess up.

-Early awkwardness: He doesn’t know how to act around them at first. Should he treat them like Kaede treated him? Should he be distant, out of respect? (Y/N) catches him doing that weird thing where he hovers in a doorway, half-turning like he’s about to leave. They just raise an eyebrow and tell him to sit down. He does. Immediately. No questions asked. (They tease him about that later.)

-Accidental late-night conversations: The first time the two really talk is late- everyone else is asleep or gone, and the only sound is the ticking of a clock and some distant wind. (Y/N) asks him how he’s doing, really. He’s not used to someone asking without a motive. They don’t push, but they stay. That stays with him longer than their words do.

-Soft, silent comfort: He starts to notice how (Y/N) lingers when he’s feeling overwhelmed. How they never force conversation, but they offer it, like an open hand he can take or not. He realizes he likes their silence. It’s not awkward- it’s safe. Sometimes, they’ll just sit nearby with a book, or hum a tune Kaede used to play, and that’s enough to ground him.

-Little moments that get to him: (Y/N) fixes his collar without thinking. He freezes. They just go, “There. It was bugging me.” They bring him tea when he’s deep in notes. He thanks them with pink cheeks and a voice softer than usual. They laugh at one of his rare jokes, and he’s stunned for a second- then shyly smiles. He’s starting to look forward to making them laugh again.

-The turning point: He catches himself watching them one day- not analyzing, not deducing- just watching, with a kind of warmth in his chest that makes him anxious. He blurts out, “You’re… really different from Kaede.” “Yeah? Is that a good thing?” He hesitates. Then nods, voice low. “Yeah. It is.”

-Shuichi starts letting his walls down, little by little: At first, it’s subtle. He actually starts seeking them out instead of waiting for them to bump into him. They’ll catch him standing nearby when they’re talking to someone else, not saying much, just listening. He says it’s “out of habit,” but his eyes keep drifting to (Y/N). They ask if he wants to walk with them somewhere, and he says “Sure,” with this small, surprised smile like he wasn’t expecting to be invited.

-(Y/N) starts understanding his little tells: When he’s anxious, he tugs at his gloves. When he’s genuinely happy, his voice gets a little higher and softer. And when he’s looking at them- really looking- they can feel the intensity, even if he drops his gaze the second they meet it. They pretend not to notice when he stares a little too long, just to see how long it takes for him to turn red. (Spoiler: not long.)

-Domestic softness sneaks in: (Y/N) brings him tea or coffee without him asking now. They even remember how he takes it. Sometimes they sit beside him while he’s writing up notes on a case and rest their chin on his shoulder until he blushes and stiffens like a statue. He starts handing them his jacket on cold days without a word. He says, “You looked cold,” but he’s the one shivering.

-Kaede’s memory brings them together, not apart: One night, they’re both sitting in the music room. The piano sits untouched. (Y/N) says, “She’d hate how quiet it is in here.” Shuichi nods, staring at the keys. “She would’ve played something bright… even if no one was listening.” They play a few notes, a little clumsy at first, but Shuichi closes his eyes and listens. “You sound like her,” he whispers. “But… not.” They smile. “That’s the idea.”

-He confides in (Y/N), finally: He tells them he still has nightmares. About trials, about people he couldn’t save. They don’t try to fix it. They just listen, and then they tell him about their own fears. How losing Kaede still feels unreal. He reaches out, hesitates… then rests his hand lightly on theirs. No words. Just warmth. Just: I’m here.

-The “oh no I like them” moments: He overhears someone flirting with (Y/N) and nearly drops his notebook. He’s not jealous (he tells himself), but he definitely interrupts with something awkward and unnecessary. They ask if he wants to try cooking something together and he agrees way too fast, then spends the whole time pretending to be calm while he burns the rice. They fall asleep next to him during a late night chat. He watches them breathe for a while, then whispers, “I think Kaede would’ve liked this… us.”

-The shift: One day, (Y/N) brushes some hair out of his eyes without thinking. He catches their wrist mid-motion. “You always do that,” he says softly. “Like you’re not even thinking about it.” They shrug. “Maybe I just want an excuse to touch you.” Silence. His ears go red. Then, so quietly it’s barely there: “You don’t need an excuse.”

-The moment it finally clicks, for both of them: It happens quietly. No fireworks. No huge romantic gesture. Maybe they’re both watching the stars one night, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. (Y/N) says something like, “I wish Kaede could’ve seen this.” And Shuichi says, “I think she’d be happy. I mean… that we found each other.” There’s a pause. They both glance at each other. Something in the air changes. It’s not just comfort anymore. It’s something deeper. Something that’s been growing, slowly and patiently, in all the silences and half-smiles and lingering stares.

-Neither of them say it immediately… but it feels different: After that night, the way he looks at (Y/N) is different. More direct. Like he’s not afraid anymore. They catch yourself holding their breath when he leans close to show them something in his notebook. His fingers brush theirs and neither of them pull away this time.

-The first kiss: It’s so painfully gentle. Shuichi is careful, like he’s afraid to break something delicate. He hesitates right before, his lips just a breath away, and whispers, “Is this okay?” (Y/N) nods, heart fluttering, and he finally closes the gap. It’s shy and sweet and makes their knees go weak. When they pull back, they’re both red-faced and smiling like idiots. He covers his face with his hand and just goes, “Wow…” (Y/N) teases him: “What? Solved the case of your own feelings?” “Took me long enough,” he mumbles. 

-The “we’re official” moments: He doesn’t call them his partner right away. He just kind of… sticks closer. Sits next to them every time. Carries two drinks instead of one. He accidentally blurts out “my p- my partner.” in front of someone and then refuses to make eye contact for a whole hour. (Y/N) doesn’t tease him too much. They just take his hand and lace their fingers with his under the table. That shuts down his anxiety real quick.

-Soft, sleepy comfort: They take naps together now. Shuichi’s arms around their waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of their neck. He sleeps better when they're there. No nightmares. No tension in his shoulders. They kiss the top of his head before he falls asleep. He never says anything, but the way he exhales tells them everything.

-Domestic sweetness: He leaves them little notes when he’s busy, “Don’t forget to eat. I left your favorite tea by the kettle.” They write back on the same paper, “You’re cuter when you’re bossy.” He keeps that note in his pocket for weeks.

-The quiet confession (finally said out loud): He says it first. Not in a dramatic moment, but while they’re brushing his hair out of his eyes before bed. “I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I just… I do.” (Y/N) smiles. “I know. I love you too, detective.” He exhales like he’s been holding it in for months. Then he pulls them close and doesn’t let go.

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

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

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.2

pt.1 - pt.3

Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 4145

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

Sayaka:

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

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

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

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

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

Until one rainy afternoon.

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

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

“Can I sit with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” Sayaka asked, gently.

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

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

His throat bobbed. He looked away again, ashamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart ached, full and warm. She nodded.

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

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

Into her voice. Into her warmth.

Into the beginning of something safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her expression softened, almost glowing in the fading light.

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

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

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

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

“Then we can fall together,” she whispered.

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

He felt wanted.

He felt seen.

And most of all, he felt hopeful.

Celestia: 

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

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

(Y/N).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you here?” he asked.

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

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

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

“Let me in,” she said softly.

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

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

“You’ve been hiding.”

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

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

His head snapped up, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He flinched.

But she didn’t pull away.

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

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

“You do.”

His eyes welled up- unwilling, ashamed.

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

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

She simply stayed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Celeste?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

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

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

Hope.

He wasn’t healed. Not yet.

But he wasn’t alone anymore.

It became routine after that night.

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

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

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

No judgment. No pity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She took the flower gently, her fingers brushing his.

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

“I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

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

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

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

(Y/N) glanced at her. “Did it help?”

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

He let that sink in, then nodded.

A few weeks later, he reached for her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I ask you something, darling?”

“Anything.”

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

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

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

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

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

“Promise?”

“To protect you. In my own way.”

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

“What is that?”

He smiled softly. “Safe.”

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

Because she was beginning to realize something as well.

She liked being around him, too.

Sonia:

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

Sonia noticed.

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

And (Y/N) had survived something terrible.

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

Instead, she sat beside him.

Not too close. Just enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Why?”

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

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

And the day after that.

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

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

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

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

But he nodded. Just once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That maybe, someday, he could let someone in.

And if anyone could be the first…

…it would be Sonia.

Over the next few weeks, things began to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head.

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

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

And she was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m trying to be better.”

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

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

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

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

He took it.

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

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

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

Art post!

This post has some more recent art, and sketches. My last post had some of my older, finished pieces. Feel free to give me any suggestions, tips, or requests in my asks or dms :}

A lot of these are unfinished, but I do plan on finishing them eventually. As soon as I do, I'll post them on here, and my insta!