Mine, Loud And Clear

ITS SO CRISP!!! I want the art book so baddddddd 🥺

Digital Artbook was released in Japan so I found some HD Silco concepts on twitter and upscaled them to an even higher quality

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

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

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.5

pt.4 - pt.6

pt.1

Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 2930

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Kyoko: 

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

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

He flinched as the door clicked open behind him.

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

“Good morning.”

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

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

But she didn’t mind. She never did.

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

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

But Kyoko wasn’t like them.

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

“…yeah,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In silence. In stillness.

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

Healing is quiet, but constant.

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

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

Kyoko.

“Hi,” he murmured before she even spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The panic came fast. Sharp. Ugly.

His breath caught. Vision blurred.

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

“(Y/N)!”

Her voice cut through the noise.

She was there in seconds.

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

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

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

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

But she didn’t leave. Didn’t falter.

“In… and out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaede: 

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

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

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

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

That was enough for Kaede.

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

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

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

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

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

“…You okay?”

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

Kaede nodded, never once looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaede didn’t stop playing.

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

The next day, he was there before her.

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

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

She smiled. “Of course it is.”

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

She didn’t comment. Just started to play.

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

One day, he surprised her.

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

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

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

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

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

Kaede blinked slowly, heart aching.

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

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

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

From that day on, something shifted.

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

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

Kaede would smile back, her heart swelling.

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

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

“Kaede?” he said, voice trembling.

She turned, instantly focused on him.

“…Can I hug you?”

The question knocked the wind from her.

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

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

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

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

Miu:

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

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

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

“…Ah. Shit.”

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

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

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

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

She took that as permission.

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

“…Why’re you being nice to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t overnight. But it was something.

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) smiled.

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

One night, he reached for her hand.

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

His fingers brushed hers. Hesitant. Unsure.

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

But she didn’t pull away.

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

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

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

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

She just let him rest there.

Can you do platonic sera x overlord!reader multipart/fanfction?

The lore: The Y/N is a powerful overlord who own entertainment district of pentangram (he posses velvet tea and Vox souls after they tired to kidnap Charlie, val dies lol) also he’s best friend of alastor and Charlie Morningstar. During one of this meeting with his subordinates vox and velvette they noticed something was fallen from heaven, they goes to check this out only to find out fallen sera and VERY hurt and wounded Emily, after he find out they known Charlie he help takes Emily to hotel, where lucifer helps Emily with her wounds. Y/N calm down sera enough to she could tell what happened in heaven. In heaven after sera approved Charlie plan after extermination, where due to that pentonius reddemed himself, lute somehow thanks to other seraphim’s, which convinced that hell and their allies are the danger managed to overthrow sera and the rest seraphim’s who were on sera and Emily side and she (lute) brought totalitarian rule to heaven.lute kills pentonius for being a “spy” and BRUTTALY injures Emily (she lost wings, right leg, left hand and the right eye) and banish her and sera to hell. She also planned in 6 months organize the final extermination, where he plans to kill all people not only from hell but also on earth.

A/N: Yes, of course! This one took me... Way longer than I thought it would LOL. Got it done though! Gonna start working on my other requests now, since this was the one I was solely focusing on, trying to get it done :} Also, fair warning, I didnt have all the colors I wanted for their dialogue. (Y/N), Charlie, Alastor, Sera, and Emily all have specific colors, buttttt... Everyone else doesn't. Sorry, but I did what I could.

Ashes of Grace

Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader

Warnings: Religious themes, Violence/Body horror, Death, Torture/Enslavement, Corruption of authority, Genocide/Extermination, Substance use

Word Count: 4868

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Pentagram City rarely slept. And neither did its monsters. Between the sleaze and sin, the neon-soaked streets, and the endless echoes of jazz and gunfire, power shifts were as common- and as violent- as the weather.

When Valentino’s body finally hit the floor, burned out and twitching under the weight of a wrath he'd never anticipated, the District changed forever.

At the center of it all stood (Y/N)- a name now spoken in equal parts awe and terror. A new overlord, born not from vanity or greed, but something deeper. Something biblical.

His rise hadn't just been loud; it had been seismic. After Velvette and Vox made the mistake of trying to kidnap Charlie Morningstar- Hell’s favorite princess, and (Y/N)'s dearest friend- (Y/N) retaliated with fire and iron. Velvette and Vox now belonged to him, their souls shackled to his service. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes... not. They wore their chains like tarnished jewelry, reminders of the price of betrayal.

Valentino didn’t get that luxury.

He died.

And with him, the District fell.

What rose from the ashes wasn't just a new territory. It was an empire of creativity, ruthlessness, and control- no longer just a playground for abusers, but a stage for something greater. Alastor, always amused by chaos, had grinned wide at the news. Charlie, overwhelmed, had cried when it was over, throwing her arms around (Y/N)'s shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispered against him, her best friend…

(Y/N) only nodded, hiding the smoldering rage still burning deep in his bones.

A week passed. And inside his repurposed theater, (Y/N) lounged in a battered chair at the head of a heavy oak table, eyeing Vox and Velvette with lazy disinterest.

The two former overlords sat like petulant children, glaring daggers at anything but him.

"Don't act so bitter," (Y/N) drawled, resting his chin in one hand. "You're lucky I didn't turn you into lawn ornaments."

"I'd rather be one," Velvette muttered under her breath. "At least I had free will before."

Before (Y/N) could reply, something flashed through the high, smoke-clogged sky.

Not light. Not in the Hellborn sense.

It was something... higher… And it was falling fast.

Vox stiffened, staring upwards. "...That came from upstairs."

The theater doors slammed open, and they raced outside.

What they found wasn’t a crash site. It was a massacre.

The crater still smoked, shards of shattered halos glittering in the ash. Feathers- too white, too pure- floated like dying fireflies through the air. In the center, two figures lay broken.

One was barely breathing- her right leg severed, her hand gone, one eye torn out, her wings sheared off like scrap paper.

The other, though bleeding and shaking, was already dragging herself upright. Protective. Furious. Radiating raw divinity even through the grime.

(Y/N) approached carefully, his hands open, head tilted like a curious wolf.

"...You're angels," he said slowly. "Do you know Charlie?"

The seraphim’s expression cracked. She nodded, voice raw. "Yes... She's... our friend."

That was all (Y/N) needed.

Without hesitation, he lifted the mutilated one- Emily-into his arms. Gentle, despite the gore. His voice was low, steady.

"Then you're not enemies," he said. "You're survivors."

The Happy Hotel had seen its share of strange guests. But even here, Emily’s condition turned every head.

Charlie gasped the second she saw her, rushing forward to help. Vaggie barked sharp orders at Angel and Husk, clearing the lobby with military precision. Alastor, all false grins and real concern, set up a makeshift recovery area with eerie efficiency.

Then, Lucifer Morningstar himself swept in, as radiant and ridiculous as ever.

"Charlie!" he boomed, voice theatrical. "I came to see if-" His words cut off the second he spotted Emily. “Oh, fuck…”

Then Lucifer dropped to his knees beside her, pressing a glowing hand over Emily’s shattered body. His usual swagger softened into something almost tender.

"Hold on," he murmured. "We can fix you."

Hours later, after Emily stabilized under a blanket of maigc and careful hands, (Y/N) sat across from the still-shaking seraphim- Sera.

She couldn’t sit still. Pacing, flinching at every noise. Until finally, (Y/N) stood and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Breathe," he said quietly. "You're safe."

Slowly, she exhaled. And spoke.

"After Sir Pentious... After he came to Heaven, some of us began to question things," she said hoarsely. "Charlie’s idea of redemption didn’t seem so crazy anymore. Emily and I... we supported it. We gathered others. We tried to change things from within."

Her voice broke.

"But then came Lute."

The name seemed to leech the warmth from the room.

"After losing her arm in the fight you all had, she twisted everything. She called Charlie a devil. Called the hotel a trap. She rallied the fearful and the bitter... and they listened. Heaven turned into a machine."

Sera’s fists trembled.

"They hunted us. Emily and I were caught trying to flee. She... She ripped Emily apart. Then she banished us here, as a warning."

At the doorway, Charlie stood frozen, fists shaking.

Sera turned to face them fully.

"And it’s worse than that. She’s planning a Final Extermination. In six months. Not just Hell. Not just sinners. Earth, too."

Silence fell like a blade.

(Y/N) straightened, shadows unfurling around his boots. His voice, when it came, was steel.

"Then we’re not just saving Hell anymore," he said. "We’re saving everyone."

...Far above, Heaven's Throne Room had changed...

Where once golden beams warmed marble floors, now the light was colder, harsher, casting long skeletal shadows.

Lute sat perched atop a jagged throne, once a Exterminator- now a Leader.

A trembling seraphim bowed low before her.

"All remaining supporters of Sera have been purged. The rest... converted."

"And the traitors?" Lute asked. Her voice was a metallic hiss.

"Banished or destroyed."

She rose, wings unfolding in sharp, almost mechanical snaps.

"In six months’ time," she declared, "there will be no Hell. No Earth. Only perfection. Heaven will ascend through fire."

The court erupted in cold cheers as the corrupted seraphim spread their wings.

Back in the Happy Hotel, Emily’s eye fluttered open.

She was alive. Battered. Different. But alive.

Charlie was instantly by her side, gripping her hand tightly.

"You’re safe," Charlie whispered. "I promise."

Emily tried to sit up, her body aching with every movement.

"C-Charlie...?"

"Yes, it's me. Don’t worry. We’ve got you."

Lucifer, leaning nearby, flashed a crooked, nervous smile.

"Only because bleeding out on my daughter’s carpet is absolutely unacceptable. Bad for the aesthetic," he said, lightly. Then, more serious, he added, "I healed what I could. Your leg, your hand... But your wings..." He trailed off, frowning. "Those may take more work."

Tears welled in Emily’s remaining eye.

"Sir Pentious... He's really..."

Lucifer’s face darkened... Charlie just hugged her tighter.

Across the room, Sera sat curled at the bar, silent. Husk, uncharacteristically gentle, pushed a mug of something nonalcoholic toward her.

Nearby, Alastor watched with predatory curiosity.

"So," he said brightly. "Heaven’s fallen into the claws of a madwoman. Your friends butchered. Your hopes dashed." He smiled wider. "Welcome to Hell."

Sera flinched.

"We tried," she whispered. "We tried to save them. We believed in Charlie's dream..."

(Y/N) approached quietly, Vox and Velvette trailing behind like resentful ghosts.

"You still believe in it?" he asked.

Sera looked up, tears brimming.

"Yes."

He nodded once, a grim glint in his eye.

"Then we fight."

From the couch, Angel Dust cackled, tossing a grenade from hand to hand.

"About time! I’ve been dying to throw hands with someone uptight!"

It didn't take long for one of the Hotel’s many rooms to be taken, and changed. Celestial maps sprawled across walls and floors. Candles flickered wildly against the cracked stone.

Around a heavy oak table stood Lucifer, Charlie, Alastor, and (Y/N)- each face carved with focus.

"She wants to erase everything," Charlie said, voice tight. "Not just sinners. Everyone."

Alastor chuckled, low and eerie. "An ambitious apocalypse. I almost admire it."

(Y/N) planted his palms on the table, voice low and furious.

"We can't just defend. We strike first."

Charlie nodded fiercely, fire blazing in her eyes.

"We’re going to stop her. We’re going to prove we matter."

Lucifer clapped a proud hand on her shoulder.

"That’s my girl."

The mood was heavy, but not hopeless. A tense undercurrent thrummed through the room, setting everyone on edge. Maps and blueprints lay scattered across the table, papers weighed down with empty mugs and books. Sera stood at the center of it all, tracing a slow line along a map with two fingers, brow furrowed.

Around her, the others listened in silence. Charlie, Lucifer, (Y/N), Alastor, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, and Emily- propped up in a wheelchair and bundled in fresh bandages around her shoulders- watched with focused, anxious attention.

"Most of Heaven’s 'Winners' are still willing to listen," Sera said, voice low but steady. "They aren't like the Angels. They're just... humans. Humans who died and moved on. They remember. They can think for themselves."

Charlie tilted her head thoughtfully. "But what do they have to do with all this?"

"If we’re going to have any support up there, it'll be through them," Sera replied. She glanced around the room. "Lute’s seized control of Heaven’s higher ranks. She's convinced most of the Angels, crowned herself their queen. But the Winners... they’re still undecided."

(Y/N) crossed his arms, the gears already turning behind his narrowed eyes. "We could start a rebellion inside Heaven itself. Get the truth out before Lute locks everything down."

Sera gave a sharp nod. "Exactly. But we don’t have much time. After Emily and I fell, Lute accelerated her plans. She’s preparing the final phase right now."

"Then we don't just defend anymore," Lucifer said, his voice darkening. "We invade."

Sera met his gaze without flinching. "We hit fast. We send the message. And we take Lute out before she can trigger the Final Purge."

As the meeting dissolved into quieter preparations, Angel Dust wheeled Emily back toward her new room, a soft pink guest suite Charlie had thrown together- full of pillows, gauzy curtains, and delicate little touches meant to comfort. Emily was quiet, shrinking into herself, the overwhelming changes of the past days pressing in on her.

Angel, never good with heavy silences, plopped into a chair beside her and swung an arm lazily over the backrest. "So," he drawled, "how’s it feel bein’ the first angel who didn’t try to shank me on sight?"

Emily managed a weak, almost surprised smile. "We were taught that... souls in Hell couldn’t feel... I knew no different until I met Charlie."

He snorted and bumped her elbow with his. "Yeah, well, guess we’re full of surprises down here. Welcome to the club, doll."

She blinked, absorbing that, then tentatively leaned against him. "Thanks... for not being thrown off by me."

"Pfft." Angel waved it off. "Sweetheart, I’ve seen worse. Hell, you look better than half my dates."

"...I’m not sure if that’s comforting."

"It ain’t. But it’s true."

Later that evening, the corridors of the hotel grew quieter. Emily, wrapped in a simple jacket Charlie had picked out for her, made her way slowly down the hall. Every step was stiff, awkward- her balance thrown off.

Pushing through the swinging doors, she made her way to the bar, wincing as she hoisted herself onto a stool. Husk looked up from polishing glasses, one ear twitching as he noticed her.

"Not servin' you liquor, kid," he muttered, voice rough. "Charlie’d have my ass."

"I don't want a drink," Emily said quietly. "I just... wanted noise. Not pity."

Husk grunted, setting the glass down. "You walked pretty far," he said, more observation than praise.

Emily let out a hollow little laugh. "Didn’t want to stay in that room. It's too... Quiet."

She tapped the side of her head lightly. "When it’s that quiet, all I can hear is screaming from outside..."

Husk didn’t flinch. He just leaned his weight against the bar and nodded slightly, like he understood all too well.

They sat in silence for a while, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass against glass.

Eventually, Husk broke the quiet. "Why’d you come down here, really?"

Emily hesitated, looking down at the frayed sleeve covering her wrist. "Because... I think I'm scared." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be anymore."

For a moment, Husk simply stared at her. Then, with a grunt, he reached beneath the bar and pulled out a battered, worn playing card- the Queen of Hearts. Its corners were frayed, a small tear across the center.

"My last hand in a real poker game," he said, sliding it across the bar to her. "Lost everything. Still survived."

Emily stared down at the card like it was something sacred.

"You’re giving this to me?"

"Loaning it," Husk corrected. "For luck."

She tucked the card against her chest like armor, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Don't thank me. Win the next hand."

Meanwhile, across the hotel, final preparations were underway. In the lounge, Lucifer clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone's attention.

"Our infiltration team, then," he announced, a glint of theatrical excitement in his eye. "Charlie- the optimist; Sera- the righteous outcast; Emily- our fallen helper; and you, dear (Y/N)- the wildcard’s wildcard."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. "You gonna narrate the whole mission?"

"Only the dramatic parts," Lucifer quipped, giving him a large smile.

"...So basically, all of it," (Y/N) muttered.

Charlie, ever the peacemaker, cleared her throat gently. "We have three objectives: reach the Holy Gates, rally the Winners to our side, and remove Lute before she can lead an attack."

Lucifer’s playful air faded slightly, replaced by something colder, sharper. "This isn’t just about Hell anymore. Or Heaven. This is about Earth. About proving redemption isn't some cruel joke."

Sera met his gaze and nodded once, solemn. "Then we strike fast."

At Lucifer’s gesture, a portal shimmered open in the air, unstable and crackling with divine static. It glowed like a tear in reality itself- liquid gold and silver threads of light straining to stay woven together.

Charlie approached the portal first, her hands trembling slightly, though her face was set with determination. Opening a portal to Heaven from Hell was unnatural, dangerous- and it showed. The light bled into the floor, the walls, everything it touched humming unnervingly.

"We don't know how long it'll hold," Lucifer warned. "Maybe a few hours. Maybe less if you screw around too much... Portals like these aren't usually supposed to be opened from this side..."

(Y/N) adjusted his coat, checking the weapons strapped across his hips. Nearby, Vox and Velvette watched, their usual smugness tempered by real worry. Sera tightened her grip on her sword, the blade gleaming faintly. Emily secured Husk’s playing card near her heart, her new sword slung awkwardly across her back.

Together, they looked ready.

Charlie turned back to Lucifer, her eyes fierce. "We’ll be back."

Lucifer smiled- but it was a fragile thing, brittle at the edges. "I know," he said.

Without another word, they stepped through the portal- and into stillness.

The air on the other side was cool, quiet in a way that felt... unnatural, like the whole world was holding its breath.

The gates loomed ahead, bathed in blinding light that offered no warmth. The team emerged slowly, blinking against the unnatural brilliance. Emily exhaled shakily, her hand tightening on her sword.

“The gates aren't usually... empty,” she muttered.

Normally, Saint Peter would have stood watch. Now, there was only silence.

(Y/N) swept his gaze over the endless marble sprawl before them. The architecture was grand, opulent- but it felt hollow, abandoned. Like a stage after the actors had fled mid-performance.

Sera muttered under her breath, voice strained. "This isn't right. Something's wrong."

Charlie tightened her grip on her staff, glancing nervously at the others. "We need to move. Fast."

They slipped forward through the eerie stillness, boots whispering over immaculate stone. Statues of angels lined the path, their faces twisted into expressions that were almost... pained. Not the serene smiles Heaven was famous for.

Emily limped slightly, favoring her newly healed leg, but kept pace grimly, the Queen of Hearts tucked safe against her ribs. She refused to slow them down.

As they neared the first courtyard- a vast open space dominated by a towering monument of silver and gold- (Y/N) raised a hand sharply. "Wait."

Movement… At first, it was just a ripple, like a heat mirage. Then forms began to materialize.

Dozens. No- hundreds.

Figures stepped out from the edges of the courtyard- Winners, eyes shadowed, hesitant. They were armed with angelic weapons- some with swords, others with halberds or spears- but none of them attacked.

Instead, they just... stared.

One woman near the front- a thin, graying soul with sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes, and large bunny ears- took a step forward.

"You're the ones who escaped," she said, voice cracking.

Her gaze landed on Sera, then Emily. "You came back."

Charlie stepped forward quickly, heart hammering in her chest. "Please- we’re not here to fight you. We’re here to stop Lute. To save everyone."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some looked uncertain. Others terrified. A few- a precious few- hopeful.

(Y/N) moved to stand beside Charlie, his voice carrying clean across the courtyard. "You know what she’s planning," he said coldly. "You’ve seen the signs. The exterminations... the disappearances. Heaven isn't salvation anymore. It's a slaughterhouse with a crown."

Silence.

Emily, breathless and shaking, found her voice. "I lost everything because I tried to help," she said, voice trembling but steady. "Sera and I... we saw the truth. If you stand with her, you'll lose yourselves, too."

A long, agonizing pause.

Then- a man near the back threw down his spear.

It clattered against the marble with a ringing finality.

One by one, others followed. Weapons dropped. People stepping out of their neat little lines, their faces raw with emotion.

The graying woman stepped forward again, her hands shaking.

"We follow you now," she whispered

(Y/N) let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Charlie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.

Sera looked ready to collapse from relief.

But before anyone could celebrate-

A loud banging sound tore through the air. Mechanical. Shattering. It echoed through the bones of the city like a death knell.

Charlie paled instantly. "She's coming."

From above, like a thundercloud, Lute descended. Around her, Exterminators unfolded from the shadows- sleek, brutal things, all flashing blades, baring their masks.

Lute smiled- a cruel, hateful one. "So this," she hissed, "is your rebellion?"

The newly turned Winners hesitated, fear rippling through their ranks.

(Y/N) stepped forward without hesitation, drawing his blade in one smooth motion, the tip glinting with something darker than metal.

He didn’t need to shout.

His presence alone was command enough.

Emily braced herself, lifting her sword with both hands. Sera set her jaw, raising her blade to guard. Charlie lifted her hands, trembling- but with fire in her eyes.

Lute laughed, the sound hollow and electric. "So be it," she said. "You can all burn together."

The Exterminators surged forward.

And the battle for Heaven began.

Lute met (Y/N)'s charge head-on, screaming a soundless war-cry, her wings flaring out wide like a specter of vengeance.

Their blades collided- but (Y/N) didn’t yield. He pressed forward, every strike hammering her defenses, forcing her back with sheer will. Charlie fought at his side, her eyes glowing with desperate red light, every swing of her claws another prayer hurled like a weapon. Sera drove her blade home again and again, ignoring the golden blood leaking from her side where a blade had caught her earlier. Emily, staggering but unbroken, struck too- a shallow cut, but enough to make Lute snarl and stagger.

The four of them moved like a single force. Hope. Anger. Love. Defiance.

"You're DONE!" (Y/N) bellowed. He struck low- a brutal, gouging slash across her knees.

Sera was already moving, her sword flashing upwards- tearing open Lute’s exposed side. And Emily- battered, exhausted Emily- threw her sword with everything she had.

The blade spun through the air- and punched through Lute’s heart.

The world seemed to stop.

Lute gasped, golden blood streaming from her mouth. Her wings spasmed violently, the corrupted light sputtering. Her eyes, so cold and cruel, flickered- fear flashing through them for the first time.

She fell to her knees.

"You… can’t…" she rasped.

(Y/N) stood over her, breathing hard, the others gathering behind him.

"You already lost," he said, voice quiet and absolute.

Lute tried to lunge one last time- a desperate, broken advance-

(Y/N) drove his blade through her throat.

The light died.

Lute crumpled, falling limp onto the marble. The Exterminators, leaderless, gave in, most either fleeing, or tossing down their weapons in defeat.

Across the courtyard, the everyone fell silent.

The battle was over. For a long moment, none of them moved.

The only sound was the ragged breathing of the survivors.

Then, slowly, Winners who had fought alongside them began to move through the carnage, beginning to clear the battlefield- gathering their fallen, offering silent prayers.

An eerie, heavy silence settled over Heaven’s once-pristine halls.

At the center of it all, (Y/N) stood with Charlie, Sera, and Emily.

Sera wiped her blade on her tattered dress and sheathed it slowly. She walked over, Emily limping close beside her, the two of them visibly shaken but steady.

Sera stopped before them, and for a moment, the words caught in her throat… Then she bowed- a deep, respectful gesture.

"You saved us," Sera said, her voice rough but sure. "You saved Heaven."

Emily offered a trembling smile, her bandaged hand pressed to her heart.

"You saved us," she echoed. "And... maybe yourselves too."

Charlie shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "We saved each other."

Sera smiled- soft, sad, but real. She looked at the group- at Charlie, at (Y/N), at Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Alastor lingering just out of the bloodstained light.

"I hope," Sera said, "that one day... when your mission fully succeeds... when Hell isn’t just a prison anymore... we’ll see you all again."

She swallowed hard, her hand brushing against her sisters.

"In Heaven."

Emily nodded fiercely, emotion thick in her throat. "You deserve it," she said. "Every one of you."

(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling the corner of his mouth- something tired, but deeply grateful. "We'll hold you to that," he said.

Behind them, the golden portal by the gates- flickering dangerously now- shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing across its edges.

Lucifer’s voice echoed from near the portal, "Time’s up! If you don’t wanna get stuck up here with the corpses, MOVE!"

Charlie turned, urgency snapping her back into motion. She grabbed Vaggie and (Y/N)'s wrist, tugging them toward the portal. Sera and Emily stepped aside, watching them go with solemn pride.

One by one, they sprinted toward the portal, battered and bruised- but alive. Alastor practically skipped through, humming under his breath. Angel Dust threw an exaggerated salute at Emily before diving in backward. Husk grumbled something about Emily keeping the card he gave her under his breath, but followed close behind.

The light swallowed them all.

And then- with a soft shuddering sigh- the portal collapsed, leaving only the broken battlefield and the survivors behind.

Above the battered gates of Heaven, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the light began to soften. No longer harsh. No longer cruel.

But warm.

Hopeful.

And far below- in a hotel full of sinners and misfits- redemption no longer seemed like just a dream.

The group stumbled out of the collapsing portal like survivors of a storm. They hit the lobby floor hard, some collapsing onto couches, others simply dropping where they stood.

Charlie sagged against the wall, clutching her chest, gasping huge breaths of smoky hotel air like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. Angel Dust sprawled dramatically across a bench, one leg draped over the backrest. "We’re alive! Suck it, Heaven!" Vaggie just dropped onto a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands with a weak laugh. Husk growled low in his throat, shuffling over to the bar- which Charlie didn’t even bother to scold him for.

(Y/N) stood a little apart from them all, his shoulders tight with exhaustion but his eyes still sharp, scanning every corner like he expected another attack.

Alastor straightened his coat with a little flourish, looking barely ruffled despite the battle they'd just fought. He approached, that permanent sharp-toothed smile a bit softer now- genuine, in its strange, predatory way.

"My, my," Alastor said, voice lilting. "I knew you had potential, but even I didn’t expect that little symphony." He gave (Y/N) a low, mocking bow. "You have my admiration."

(Y/N) snorted quietly. "Coming from you, that's... concerning." But a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Charlie pushed off the wall, her footsteps slow but determined, and closed the distance between them. She stopped in front of (Y/N), looking up at him with an expression so open, so grateful, it nearly staggered him.

"You didn’t have to do this," she said quietly. "You didn’t have to stay." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "But you did. And you saved so many more lives than just ours."

(Y/N) reached up, brushing his knuckles lightly under her chin, tipping her head just a fraction higher. "You’re my friend," he said simply. "That's all the reason I need."

Charlie’s throat bobbed in a thick swallow. She reached out impulsively- wrapped her arms around him in a tight, fierce hug. For a second (Y/N) froze- then he exhaled, slow and warm, and wrapped his arms back around her, grounding her.

Alastor watched with a faint tilt to his head, the smile on his face unreadable, but his red eyes softened around the edges.

When they finally pulled apart, Charlie’s smile was damp and glowing. "You’re one of us," she said. "No matter what anyone says."

(Y/N) ruffled her hair lightly, making her sputter a weak laugh- before his expression turned a little wry.

"...Speaking of things that belong to others," he muttered, voice dry.

Across the lobby, Vox and Velvette- looking thoroughly miserable- stood awkwardly by the doors. Velvette noticed him looking and made a dramatic gagging motion. Vox simply scowled, his screen flickering with static annoyance.

Charlie giggled nervously at the sight, covering her mouth. Even Alastor chuckled low in his chest, the sound like an old radio popping on.

(Y/N) sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I better get the gremlins back to their cage before they start redecorating."

He turned back to Charlie and Alastor one last time, catching their expressions- tired but proud.

With a mock salute, (Y/N) turned on his heel and strode across the room. He grabbed Vox by the back of his stupid designer jacket and yanked him forward, ignoring the glitchy cursing. Velvette followed, grumbling under her breath.

The front doors of the Hotel creaked open with a slow, eerie groan. (Y/N) paused just once in the doorway- glanced back over his shoulder.

At the threshold, the warm, battered light of the Hotel spilled across the floor behind him. It caught the edges of his coat, the lines of his frame, silhouetting him against the chaos they'd left- and the strange, imperfect hope they'd returned to.

Charlie stood watching him, Vaggie at her side, Angel Dust waving lazily from his perch. Alastor leaned on his cane nearby, grinning wide but... almost actually looking happy, while Husk offered a casual two-fingered salute from the bar.

(Y/N) let the corner of his mouth quirk up- a tired, crooked smile- and gave a simple nod.

Then he turned, dragging his reluctant prisoners with him, disappearing into the neon-drenched night of Pentagram City.

Outside, the air buzzed with tension and distant sirens and screams, the streets littered with scattered debris from the city’s usual violence. But somewhere under all the rot and grime, a pulse beat- faint, stubborn. The pulse of change. Of something new.

Inside the Hotel, Charlie wiped her face quickly, sniffling once before straightening her back.

"We're going to make this work," she said quietly, but with growing conviction. "We're going to fix this. All of it."

Vaggie squeezed her hand tightly. "We will."

Alastor chuckled, adjusting his tie. "The world will never know what hit it."

Angel Dust sprawled further across the bench with a groan. "Wake me up when it’s time for the afterparty."

Husk just muttered into his glass, "We better get a damn good one."

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

Hiiii, @lelewright1234!!!! :}

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

Question: Aside from fanfics, are you open to headcanon requests? If so, do you have any sort of character limit?

Hello, anon! :}

I'm open to doing headcannons, I mean, I basically insert all of my hc's into the stories I write LOL

It might take some getting used to, though! Since I'm so used to writing flowing stories.

As of right now, I don't have a character limit. But be aware, the more that is requested, the longer it might take to write. I usually write every other day, so I have days in between to draw. I'd appreciate if the characters requested are in the same fandoms, though. Unless it's something like a mix of fandoms, like my Hunter x Fem!Reader (which was a mix of TOH and SU) fic that was requested.

Just make sure any requests follow the guidelines on my masterlist, and I'd be more than willing to try!

Thank you for asking!

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

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

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

[Characters Present:]

(Luz Noceda)

• Age: 18.

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

• Date of Death: October 31st, 2022.

• Cause of Death: Ran over by a car.

(Eda Clawthorne)

• Age: 25.

• Species: Owl Sinner.

• Date of Death: October 28th, 1989.

• Cause of Death: Poisoned.

(Raine Clawthorne)

• Age: 23.

• Species: Bat Sinner.

• Date of Death: June 15th, 1998.

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

(King Clawthorne)

• Age: 18.

• Species: Beastial Sinner.

• Date of Death: June 26th, 2001.

• Cause of Death: Head Trauma.

[Setting:]

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

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

Hellbound

The Owl House x Hazbin Hotel AU

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

Word Count: 1712

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

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

Black.

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

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

“...What the hell?”

A hoot broke the silence.

Something slammed into the back of her skull.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luz said nothing.

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

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

“Mind if I-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The goons lunged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s the newbie?” he shouted. 

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

“I’m King. Supreme ruler of snacks.”

“Sure you are,” Eda said fondly.

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

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

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

Raine tilted their head. “We’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

“You what now?”

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

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

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

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

Luz frowned. “Why me?”

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

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

“…Fine,” she said. “I’ll help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luz’s throat tightened. Her fists curled.

Yeah, she thought. I know the feeling.

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

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

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

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

Eda let out a low whistle. “Jackpot.”

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

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

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

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

It resonated deep. Deeper than Luz expected.

Then the walls exploded.

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

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

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

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

Luz screamed.

“EDA!”

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

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

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

Luz stood frozen- until she remembered the prisoners.

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

“Let them go!” she snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

They stumbled back to the Owl House in silence.

Raine poured a drink and collapsed on the couch.

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

“I wanted to,” Luz said quietly.

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

Luz blinked. “Really?”

“On one condition.”

Luz tilted her head.

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

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

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

She stared at the ceiling.

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

Her chest ached.

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

No answer came.

But for once, she wasn’t alone.

you write for helluva boss?

Yes, I do, @ultimategraffitiguy. I added it to my last of fandoms :}

different anon but can you do another part to "where the hurt doesn't reach" but with a female reader? And with Mahiru, Toko and Maki?

Lmao just realised whilst writing that's one girl from each main game

A/N: Of course :} We love some wlw. Just so its made known, though, any time I write for Toko, I am going to add Jack into it as well. Just because there isn't exactly one without the other.

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.4

pt.3 - pt.5

pt.1

Mahiru, Toko (Plus Genocide Jack), and Maki x Fem!Reader

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

Word Count: 3849

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Mahiru:

The afternoon light poured softly through the old windows of Hope’s Peak’s photography studio, painting the floor in golden strips. Dust hung suspended in the beams, undisturbed until Mahiru Koizumi walked through them, camera slung over her shoulder, her gaze sharp but kind.

She hadn’t expected anyone to be here. The studio was usually empty this time of day- most students preferring the courtyard or their dorms. But as she stepped inside, her eyes caught the figure curled in the corner.

(Y/N) sat on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she was holding herself together. She flinched before Mahiru even said a word.

Mahiru stopped. No sudden moves. No loud noises. Just a steady breath, then another.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said gently. “I can leave, if you want.”

(Y/N)’s eyes flicked up. She didn’t speak- just shook her head, barely perceptible. Her gaze was wary, but not unkind.

Mahiru studied her for a moment. (Y/N) had always kept to herself in class. Quiet. Careful. Like she was bracing for something. Mahiru had seen bruises like that before- not the kind on skin, but the kind behind the eyes.

“I just wanted to develop some photos,” Mahiru continued, moving to her usual table. She set down her bag with deliberate softness, not looking at (Y/N) again right away. “You can stay. I don’t mind.”

Silence stretched. A quiet, fragile kind. But Mahiru didn’t try to fill it. She just got to work, letting the scent of developer fluid and the rhythmic motions of her craft fill the room with calm.

A soft voice, almost a whisper “You… take photos of people, right?”

Mahiru turned. (Y/N)’s arms were still wrapped around herself, but her gaze had shifted. Curious. Afraid, but curious.

“Yeah,” Mahiru said. “Not the posed kind, though. I like catching real moments. People being themselves.”

“…Is that hard?”

Mahiru tilted her head. “Sometimes. Depends on the person. Some people put up walls. Some people just… disappear behind a smile.” She paused. “But I think everyone deserves to be seen. Really seen. Not judged. Not used. Just… seen.”

(Y/N) blinked. Her throat moved like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words. Mahiru didn’t push her.

Minutes passed. Then… “Can I see one?”

Mahiru smiled, soft and genuine. She handed over a photo- black and white, grainy but intimate. A girl laughing mid-step, barefoot in the rain. The joy in her eyes was unfiltered. Free.

“She looks happy,” (Y/N) murmured, almost like it hurt to say.

“She was. For a moment.”

“…I don’t think I’ve ever looked like that.”

Something in Mahiru’s chest tugged painfully. She crouched near (Y/N), keeping a careful distance, her voice quieter now.

“Then maybe one day,” she said, “I can take a photo of you like that.”

(Y/N) tensed. She didn’t look up. “I don’t… like cameras.”

Mahiru nodded. “Okay. I won’t take any unless you ask.”

A long silence followed, but it was different now. Less sharp. Less suffocating.

Finally, (Y/N) asked, “Why are you being nice to me?”

Mahiru looked at her, earnest and unwavering. “Because I’ve seen what cruelty does to people. And because being kind… costs nothing. But it means everything.”

(Y/N)’s eyes shimmered, and she wiped at them with the back of her sleeve. Not sobbing. Just letting go, piece by piece.

“Most guys I knew didn’t think that way,” she whispered.

“I’m not most guys,” Mahiru said simply. “And they were wrong. About everything.”

The room felt warmer now. Not fully safe- not yet- but safer than it had been. Mahiru turned back to her photos, giving (Y/N) her space, but the quiet between them no longer felt like a wall.

It felt like a bridge.

The next time Mahiru entered the studio, (Y/N) was already there.

She sat on the windowsill this time, knees tucked up, eyes on the light slanting across the floor. She didn’t look surprised when Mahiru arrived- just quietly acknowledged her with a small nod.

Mahiru smiled softly. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

That was all. No explanations, no apologies for taking up space. Just presence.

Mahiru began setting up her camera again, checking the prints she’d left to dry last time. Her hands worked by muscle memory, but her mind was half on (Y/N). She could feel the quiet shift in the air- not tension, but something fragile trying to grow roots.

“You come here a lot,” (Y/N) said after a while, her voice still soft but a little more open.

Mahiru glanced up. “Yeah. It’s my favorite place. It’s quiet, but not lonely. You know?”

(Y/N) nodded. “I think I do.”

They spent more afternoons like that- saying little, doing even less. Sometimes (Y/N) brought a book. Sometimes she watched Mahiru work in silence, eyes following her movements with a kind of wary fascination.

One day, after Mahiru developed a print and held it up to the light, she felt (Y/N)’s gaze linger a little longer than usual.

“…Can I try?”

Mahiru turned, blinking. “You want to take a photo?”

(Y/N) hesitated, like the offer might collapse if she reached for it. Then she nodded.

“Of something else. Not people. Just… I want to know what you see through the camera.”

Mahiru handed it over gently, careful not to overwhelm her. “It’s all about finding the moment,” she said. “Even if it’s quiet. Especially if it’s quiet.”

(Y/N) moved slowly through the room, camera clutched like something precious. She didn’t raise it to her eye right away. Just observed. Then- click.

A stack of worn books on a shelf… The light catching on Mahiru’s film strips. A photo pinned crookedly on the wall, curling at the edges like it had been there too long.

When she handed the camera back, her hands were shaking just a little. But her eyes were calm.

Mahiru reviewed the shots, brows lifting. “These are good.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not.” Mahiru turned the display toward her. “Look. You’ve got an eye for the quiet things. The things most people overlook. That’s rare.”

Something bloomed faintly in (Y/N)’s chest- small, unfamiliar. Not pride. Something gentler. Like she mattered.

“You’re the only one I like being around,” she admitted quietly. “Everyone else feels… too loud. Too close.”

Mahiru set the camera down, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she moved to sit near her, again keeping distance but close enough to be felt.

“I’ll never be loud with you,” Mahiru promised. “Not unless you want me to be. And if you ever want space, I’ll give it. You call the shots.”

(Y/N) looked at her- really looked at her- and for the first time, the fear in her eyes wasn’t the strongest thing there.

“…Can I take a photo of you?” she asked. “Just once?”

Mahiru blinked. “Me?”

(Y/N) nodded, already lifting the camera. “You were the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t broken.”

Mahiru didn’t speak- just sat still, the warmth in her expression softening every line of her face.

Click....

(Y/N) lowered the camera. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore.

Toko (and Jack):

(Y/N) kept to the corners of Hope’s Peak like a ghost- silent, untouchable, half-there. Shadows had become home, and solitude, the safest companion. The halls were too loud, the stares too sharp, and worst of all, there were too many boys. Too many broad shoulders, too many lowered voices and sudden movements, too many ways for fear to bloom in their chest like a bruise.

So when Toko Fukawa noticed them- really noticed- it was like the page of a book folding open mid-sentence.

She was used to being invisible, too. Not that she wanted attention. Attention meant judgment. Meant whispers and the gleam of disgust in someone’s eye. But (Y/N) wasn’t disgusted. When she looked at her, it was like she was bracing for a storm that never came. Like she was holding her breath, and still chose to meet her gaze anyway.

It unsettled her. And fascinated her.

One afternoon in the library, the silence between them finally broke. (Y/N) sat at the farthest table, fingers twitching as she turned the same page over and over, unread.

“You’re… uh… you’re not doing it right,” Toko blurted, then flinched at herself. “I mean-! You’ve been on that page for six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

(Y/N) startled like a deer, flinching before shrinking into herself. Toko nearly apologized- nearly- but the words died in her throat. She saw the fear then, tucked behind her eyes like a broken wing.

“I wasn’t watching you,” she lied, cheeks burning. “Okay, maybe I was, but not in a creepy way, I swear. I just- ugh! I mean-” She groaned, burying her face in her sleeves. “This is why I should just talk to paper…”

“…You’re not scary.”

The voice was so soft, Toko almost didn’t hear it.

(Y/N) was still hunched, but she looked at her with something new: caution, not fear. As if testing the waters of her presence.

“You’re not like them,” she said.

Toko blinked. Then flushed deeper.

“W-Well of course not! I’m disgusting and weird and hideous and- wait, no, that wasn’t the point-!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “God, I’m screwing this up…”

But (Y/N) wasn’t retreating. Their lips twitched upward- not quite a smile, more like the idea of one.

A beat passed. Then Toko hesitated. “Do you… wanna read with me?”

The next few days were different.

(Y/N) didn’t talk much, but she didn’t have to. Toko would sit across from her in the library, the space between filled with the quiet rustle of pages and the faint tap of pencils. She’d sneak glances when (Y/N) wasn’t looking. Noticed how her shoulders flinched whenever someone loud passed by. How she always kept a wall at her back.

Toko knew trauma. Knew what it was like to live with the ghost of a hand too rough and a voice too loud. It made her stomach twist, thinking of what (Y/N) must’ve endured. But she didn’t ask. Instead, she gave her space- and safety.

At least, until Genocide Jack decided to make an appearance.

(Y/N) had been particularly quiet that day. Paler than usual. The bruise of nightmares still dark under her eyes. Toko barely had time to ask what was wrong before the pressure in her chest burst.

A jolt, a cackle, a sneeze- and she was gone.

In her place stood Genocide Jack, twirling scissors in her hand like they were an extension of her fingers.

“Well, hellooo, cupcake!” she sang, eyes glinting. “Didn’t expect to see such a sad little cutie on this fine, freaky day!”

(Y/N) froze.

Jack noticed.

Her smirk faltered, just a little. She cocked her head, lowering her scissors.

“Hey. Hey, woah. Easy there, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You think I’m gonna hurt you? Nah. You’re not my type.” She winked, but it didn’t carry the same manic glee. More… reassuring. Protective, even.

“You’re shaking,” she said, softer now. “Who did it?”

(Y/N)’s eyes flicked away.

Jack crouched down in front of them, still keeping a careful distance.

“You know, Toko’s real boring about this crap. She’d stammer and flail and write you a sad sonnet or whatever.” She tapped her chin. “But me? I get mad. Real mad. No one- and I mean no one- gets to hurt my little book buddy.”

That surprised (Y/N). “Book… buddy?”

“Damn right,” Jack said, grinning. “You’ve been sharing brain space with Toko. Which means, like it or not, you’ve got me too. Congratulations! You’ve earned a raving lunatic guardian angel.”

It was ridiculous. And terrifying. And oddly… comforting.

When Toko returned, blinking back into herself like a splash of cold water, she gasped. “Did she say something weird? She always says something weird-”

“She called me her book buddy,” (Y/N) murmured.

Toko froze. A flush crept up her face.

“She… she what?!”

(Y/N) chuckled.

It was quiet, fragile- but real. The first sound of real laughter that had left her in weeks.

And in that moment, for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt safe.

Not because the world was safe.

But because someone saw her. Bruises and all. And stayed.

After that strange, oddly healing moment, something began to shift.

(Y/N) kept coming to the library, but now she didn’t sit across from Toko- she sat beside her. Close enough that their sleeves would sometimes brush. Close enough that when loud footsteps echoed down the hall, (Y/N) would inch a little nearer, and Toko wouldn’t say a word. She’d just keep reading, heart pounding but steady, letting her presence do what words couldn’t.

And sometimes, when things got especially bad- when the nightmares came back, when (Y/N) walked the halls like she was holding back tears with each breath- Genocide Jack would come out, unprompted.

Toko didn’t always understand it, but somehow, (Y/N) liked her.

Her. The maniac. The murderer. The sharp-toothed, unfiltered chaos hiding in her bones.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Jack had said once, tilting her head as she sprawled upside down across the library bench. “Why’s that, huh? You like girls with a little stab in their step?”

(Y/N) gave her a look that was half-smile, half-sigh. “You’re honest,” she said simply. “You never lie about what you are.”

Jack blinked. Then she gave a laugh that wasn’t manic at all- just warm.

“Damn. You’re weird. I like it.”

They became an odd trio, in their way. (Y/N), quiet and ghostlike, Toko with her words and shame and fragile pride, and Jack, blazing through it all like a storm with scissors and sarcasm.

When Toko asked, in one of her rare moments of boldness, why (Y/N) kept showing up, she answered without hesitation:

“Because you make me feel okay… just being here.”

That stayed with Toko. Long after the library closed. Long after (Y/N) had gone.

It haunted her in the best way.

One evening, the library was nearly empty. Toko sat with her knees hugged to her chest, notebook open but untouched. (Y/N) hadn’t said much all day. She was pale again. Too still.

“Bad night?” she asked quietly.

(Y/N) nodded, then hesitated. “He used to bang on the door before coming in. Even now… I flinch when I hear knocking.”

Toko’s hands clenched around her sleeves.

“…I know how that feels.”

She looked up, surprised.

Toko wasn’t looking at her- she was staring at the floor, trembling just slightly.

“I had someone like that… he never knocked, either,” she whispered. “Sometimes I think I still hear his footsteps. I hate it. I hate how my body still remembers even when I try to forget.”

(Y/N) shifted. Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand over Toko’s.

Just that.

Toko froze.

But she didn’t pull away.

Neither of them said anything for a while. The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It was soft. Tentative.

“Do you… wanna stay with me tonight?” (Y/N) asked. “We don’t have to talk. Just… I sleep better when I know someone’s nearby.”

Toko’s breath caught.

Then she nodded.

That night, Toko sat curled in a beanbag in (Y/N)’s dorm room, notebook in her lap, glasses slipping down her nose. (Y/N) was in bed, curled under her blanket, already breathing softly.

Jack didn’t come out. For once, she stayed quiet. Still. Maybe even… at peace.

Toko watched (Y/N) sleep for a while, blinking slowly.

She didn’t understand why she liked being around her- around them- but she felt it. Felt it in the way (Y/N) leaned into her presence. Trusted her. Wanted her there.

It didn’t make her feel disgusting.

It made her feel wanted.

Maki:

It started with a broken cup.

(Y/N) hadn’t meant to drop it- it was just a clumsy twitch of the wrist, a ghost memory of flinching at a voice that wasn’t there. The ceramic shattered on the dormitory floor, echoing far too loud in the quiet of the common room. Her breath caught, eyes wide, body frozen like prey expecting punishment.

Maki Harukawa stepped into the doorway at that exact moment.

Her expression was unreadable, the same quiet storm it always was. Sharp eyes flicked from the broken cup to (Y/N), then to the trembling in her hands.

“I’ll clean it,” (Y/N) said quickly, too quickly. Her voice was thin and shaky, like a thread pulled too tight. “I didn’t mean to- please, don’t-”

“I’m not mad.” Maki’s voice was flat, but not cold. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if approaching a wounded animal. “I’ll get the broom.”

(Y/N) blinked. That was all she said.

Minutes passed. The shards were swept into a dustpan. Maki didn’t ask questions, didn’t press. She simply crouched, scooped the last of the fragments into a bag, and threw it away.

Then silence.

(Y/N) stood awkwardly in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

“You... wanted to?”

Maki finally looked at her then- really looked. Not with pity, but with a kind of quiet understanding that unnerved and comforted at once.

“I’ve seen that look before,” she said after a pause. “The way you flinched. The way your voice changes around men.”

(Y/N) stiffened.

Maki sat down on the edge of the couch, legs tucked under her. She didn’t ask (Y/N) to join her. She didn’t ask anything at all.

But after a moment, (Y/N) sat too. Not beside her- just near enough to feel the warmth of someone who wasn’t going to hurt her.

“It was my stepfather,” (Y/N) whispered, unsure why the words came out. “He was... angry. A lot. And when I couldn’t be what he wanted, he made sure I understood that.”

Maki didn’t look away. Her face didn’t twist in sympathy. She just listened.

“I’m afraid all the time,” (Y/N) admitted. “Especially around men. I know not everyone’s like him, but my body won’t listen. It freezes. I... freeze.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Maki’s tone didn’t change, but there was something soft behind it now. “Fear is how we survive sometimes.”

(Y/N) looked at her- the calm way Maki sat, so still, like a blade sheathed but never dull. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t reach out. She gave them space in a way no one else did.

“You’re the first person who hasn’t tried to fix me,” (Y/N) said, voice barely audible.

“That’s because you’re not broken,” Maki answered. “You’re hurt. There’s a difference.”

Silence wrapped around them again, this time not suffocating, but protective. Like a blanket pulled just high enough to hide behind.

Maki stood after a while, heading for the door. But before she left, she paused.

“I’m in the training room most mornings,” she said. “You don’t have to come. But if you do, I won’t ask why.”

(Y/N) blinked. “Are you... inviting me?”

Her eyes met (Y/N)’s. “I’m saying... it’s easier to fight ghosts when you’re not alone.”

And then she was gone.

But the room didn’t feel empty after.

It felt like the beginning of something quiet and kind.

It took three days for (Y/N) to show up.

She lingered at the edge of the training room, hands in her sleeves, unsure if she was welcome or just tolerated. But Maki didn’t stop mid-punch or raise an eyebrow. She just glanced toward her once, nodded like she’d expected it all along, and kept moving.

The rhythmic sound of fists against the sandbag was oddly soothing. Predictable. Controlled.

Unlike the chaos in (Y/N)’s chest.

“Want to try?” Maki asked without turning around.

(Y/N) hesitated. “I don’t really... fight.”

“That’s fine,” Maki said simply. “You don’t have to be strong like me.”

She offered a pair of gloves anyway, left them on the bench without pressure. (Y/N) didn’t touch them. Not that day.

But she came back. Again and again.

And slowly, something changed.

It wasn’t about the punching bags or the training. It was the routine. The silence. The way Maki didn’t push or prod or fill the air with empty words. She understood the language of people who flinch when spoken to too loudly.

(Y/N) started stretching beside her. Then mimicking the jabs. Then laughing- only once- when she tripped over her own feet, and Maki’s mouth twitched with something dangerously close to a smirk.

She was different when she let her guard down. Her sarcasm was dry and unexpected, her observations razor-sharp but never cruel. And (Y/N) found herself relaxing, just a little, every time she was near.

One morning, (Y/N) came in with a hoodie pulled tight over their head, shoulders hunched. Her eyes were puffy. She didn’t say anything.

Maki didn’t ask.

She just took a water bottle, cracked it open, and handed it over wordlessly.

“I had a nightmare,” (Y/N) whispered after a while. “I woke up and thought I was back there.”

Maki looked at her, silent for a moment. Then she said, “Sometimes I still dream of the first person I had to kill.”

(Y/N)’s breath caught.

“I didn’t want to,” Maki continued. “But I was told it was necessary. That if I didn’t, they’d kill me instead.”

A pause.

Then, gently: “You’re not alone in waking up afraid.”

(Y/N) looked down at her hands. “I hate how weak I feel.”

“You’re not weak. You survived.”

One week later, (Y/N) asked if she could walk with Maki to the courtyard.

It wasn’t much. Just sitting together in the chilly breeze, backs against the wall, sharing a peach Maki had taken from the kitchen like it was nothing.

Maki glanced sideways as (Y/N) chewed in silence. “You don’t have to stay near me just because I make you feel safe.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “That’s not the only reason.”

“Oh?”

“I... like you.” The words stumbled out in a rush. “I mean, not just the way you make me feel calm. I like you. The way you listen. The way you don’t treat me like glass.”

Maki blinked. For a second, she said nothing.

Then: “I like being around you too.”

She didn’t blush. Didn’t fidget. But she let her knee brush against (Y/N)’s, the contact featherlight but real. Present. Intentional.

“I won’t touch you unless you ask,” Maki said quietly. “But if you ever want to be close, I’ll be here.”

And (Y/N), for the first time in years, leaned in just enough to rest her head against her shoulder.

The air smelled like fallen leaves and something new.

Something safe.

Ember in the Dark pt.4

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.3 - pt.5

pt.1

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Smoking, and threat/following.

Word Count: 3895

Summary: Drunk and lost in thought, (Y/N) is helped to her room by Silco, who dismisses her drunken compliments about his appearance despite the buried feelings they stir. The next morning, she wakes with a pounding hangover and regret but pushes forward. Down in the bar, she shares a tense yet teasing conversation with Silco about the previous night. After making breakfast for their group, (Y/N), Silco, Vander, and Felicia head out to handle supply shipments. Along the way, (Y/N) notices hooded figures following them. She and Silco silently acknowledge the potential threat, deciding to stay cautious.

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The night stretched on, the hum of the Undercity’s distant machinery a lull beneath the quiet of the nearly empty bar.

(Y/N) had long since stopped paying attention to her drink, her fingers still loosely curled around her cigarette, the ember fading to nothing. She slumped against the bar, her head resting on her folded arms, her thoughts drifting somewhere Silco couldn’t follow.

He watched her for a moment, then sighed.

She was a mess. But then again, weren’t they all?

With quiet efficiency, he slid off his stool, stepping around to her side. "Come on," he murmured, voice softened just enough to be different from his usual sharpness.

She barely moved, blinking sluggishly as he pried the cigarette from her fingers, snuffing it out before guiding her up. She was unsteady, the alcohol dragging her limbs down like lead, but she followed his lead without complaint.

He brought her to her room- small, tucked away, but hers. He wasn’t gentle, not exactly, but he was careful as he eased her onto the thin mattress. She flopped onto it with a quiet sigh, her eyes half-lidded, lost somewhere between wakefulness and the pull of exhaustion.

Silco turned to leave.

Then- a hand on his wrist.

Her grip was weak, barely there, but it stopped him nonetheless.

He glanced back.

(Y/N) wasn’t looking at him, her gaze still distant, but her fingers curled slightly, as if to keep him from disappearing like the rest of her thoughts.

For a long moment, Silco just stood there.

Then, with an exhale, he sat down at the edge of the bed.

He wouldn’t stay forever. But for now? He’d stay.

(Y/N) stared up at him, her eyes glassy, unfocused- but still seeing him. Really seeing him.

Silco wasn’t looking at her. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together as he exhaled through his nose. He looked exhausted, always carrying the weight of his thoughts, his ambitions. The dim light filtering through the grimy window cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting sharp angles, tired blue eyes.

Gods, he was pretty.

The thought drifted through her whiskey-soaked mind before she could stop it, her lips parting slightly as if she might say it aloud.

She had fallen in love with him years ago, back when they were younger, when their world had been a little smaller, their dreams a little simpler. She had never said anything, never acted on it. What good would it do? They had always been fighting for survival, struggling to carve out something more in a city that tried to swallow them whole.

But the whiskey made her tongue looser than it should have been.

"You know," she murmured, her voice softer than usual, slightly slurred. "You’re really pretty."

Silco blinked, turning his head to look at her properly.

(Y/N) just smiled lazily, her cheek pressed against the pillow, eyes still locked on his face. "Too pretty, really… s’not fair."

Silco scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re drunk."

She hummed in agreement. "Maybe."

He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath about her being a lightweight.

(Y/N) just kept watching him, her mind a fog of whiskey and years of feelings buried too deep.

"Bet you don’t even realize," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silco turned back to her, brow furrowed. "Realize what?"

(Y/N) just smiled, slow and lopsided.

"Nothing," she murmured, letting her eyes slip shut. She’d keep her secret, for now.

Sleep took her quickly, pulling her under like the tide. The stress of the day, the weight of unspoken thoughts, and the whiskey swirling in her system all dragged her into the depths of exhaustion.

Silco sat there for a moment longer, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.

She had always been like this- carrying too much, saying too little. Even now, in her drunken haze, she had stopped herself before saying something real.

With a quiet exhale, he stood, carefully pulling the thin blanket over her.

"Idiot," he muttered, though there was no real bite to the word.

Then, with one last glance at her sleeping form, he turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

(Y/N) woke with a groan, her head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of her skull. Her mouth was dry, her stomach twisted in protest, and every little sound outside her room felt like a personal attack.

Shit.

She had done this to herself. Again.

It wasn’t the first time she had woken up feeling like death after drinking too much, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, that didn’t make it any less miserable.

For a moment, she just lay there, her face buried in the pillow, trying to will the world away. But she knew better. The longer she stayed in bed, the worse she’d feel.

With a groan, she forced herself to sit up. The room spun slightly, her stomach lurching in protest, but she swallowed it down, running a hand through her tangled hair.

She needed water. Food, maybe. And a cigarette.

With slow, sluggish movements, she dragged herself out of bed and started getting ready for the day, just like every other morning.

(Y/N) moved through her morning routine on autopilot, every action deliberate and slow to avoid making herself feel worse. Don’t move too fast, don’t think too hard, don’t throw up.

By the time she was dressed, her head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her stomach was a mess of nausea and regret. But she had survived worse.

She made her way downstairs, the air in the bar thick with the lingering scent of old liquor and smoke. It was still early- too early for business. The Last Drop didn’t open until midday, sometimes later, depending on what Vander felt like or how much of a headache they all had to deal with.

The place was quiet, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the walls.

(Y/N) let out a slow breath and leaned against the bar, rubbing at her temple. She needed coffee. Or maybe just another drink to even herself out.

She wasn’t sure which sounded worse.

(Y/N) opted for the easiest solution- whiskey.

With a practiced reach over the bar, she grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as she tried to be steady. She took a slow sip, wincing as the burn hit her throat. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than the headache clawing at her skull.

She was halfway through the glass when she heard footsteps descending the stairs.

Silco.

He stepped into the dimly lit bar, looking as put-together as ever, despite the late night before. His sharp gaze flickered to her, then down to the glass in her hand.

“Whiskey for breakfast?” he asked dryly, his voice laced with amusement.

(Y/N) didn’t bother looking up. “Helps the headache.”

Silco scoffed, moving toward the bar. “It causes the headache.”

She shrugged, taking another sip. “Then I’m just balancing things out.”

He leaned against the counter, watching her for a long moment.

“You remember anything from last night?” he asked, his tone casual- too casual.

That made her pause.

She frowned slightly, her mind sluggish as she tried to recall the details of the night before. She remembered drinking. She remembered feeling heavy- dragged down by old memories and smoke. She remembered Silco bringing her to bed…

And then-

Shit.

She had said something, hadn’t she?

(Y/N) took another sip of whiskey, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Not much,” she muttered. “Just that I drank too much.”

Silco hummed, unconvinced, but he didn’t push.

“Figures,” he said, reaching over to steal the glass from her hand, taking a sip himself.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes but didn’t argue… Maybe it was better if they both let last night go.

(Y/N) exhaled a long breath, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with steady hands- too steady, considering the storm in her head.

She didn’t want to let it go.

Even if the whiskey had dulled the details, she knew what had been there underneath- the truth of it. It wasn’t some drunken slip, some meaningless flattery. It had been real.

And maybe it was stupid, definitely reckless, but for once, she didn’t want to bite her tongue and bury it.

She watched as Silco took another sip from her glass, his sharp eyes already moving past the conversation, onto something else.

(Y/N) took a slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs before she spoke.

“I meant it.”

Silco raised a brow, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “Meant what?”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette. “What I said last night.”

Silco studied her, the amusement from earlier fading into something unreadable.

(Y/N) exhaled smoke, glancing off to the side. “I don’t remember everything, but I know I meant it.” She flicked ash into a nearby tray, her voice lower now. “Still do.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Silco leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “You are aware you were completely sloshed, yes?”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I was wrong.”

Another silence.

Then, Silco smirked, slow and sharp. “I am quite pretty, aren’t I?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the slight curve of her lips. “Asshole.”

Silco just chuckled, pushing the whiskey back toward her. “If you’re going to start confessing things, at least wait until you’re not hungover.”

(Y/N) shook her head, taking another sip. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t… But at least she had said something.

(Y/N) downed the last of her drink, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray before stretching her arms over her head. The whiskey had dulled the edges of her hangover, at least a little, but it wouldn’t last forever.

Time to get moving.

She pushed off the bar, glancing at Silco, who had already made himself comfortable with her glass of whiskey, refilling it. “You planning on helping, or just sitting there looking pretty?”

Silco smirked. “I think you already established my strengths.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and made her way toward the small kitchen in the back. The Last Drop wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining, but they had enough supplies to make something decent- decent meaning anything edible that kept them from starving.

Felicia and Connol usually stopped by around this time, and Benzo wasn’t far behind. It had become something of an unspoken routine, a part of their mornings that had settled naturally into place. And (Y/N)? She was usually the one who ended up making breakfast.

She didn’t mind, though.

It was something normal. A small, steady thing in the chaos of the Undercity.

She gathered what ingredients they had- eggs, some bread that wasn’t too stale, and whatever meat Vander had managed to get his hands on- and started cooking, the familiar sounds of sizzling filling the air as she focused on the simple motions.

Soon, the others would show up. The bar would come alive again, and another day in the Lanes would begin.

(Y/N) carried the plates out to the bar, setting them down so everyone could grab what they wanted when they arrived. The scent of cooked food lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present smell of smoke and old whiskey.

They still had time before the bar opened for the day, so for now, things were slow- calm, even.

Benzo was the first to arrive, pushing open the door with a casual stride. “Smells good in here,” he commented, tossing a glance toward the food. “Better than whatever the hell that street vendor was sellin’ on my way over.”

(Y/N) smirked as she leaned against the bar. “That’s not exactly a high bar, Benzo.”

He chuckled, grabbing a plate without hesitation. “Hey, food is food.”

Not long after, Felicia and Connol arrived.

Felicia was talking before she even stepped fully inside. “Finally! I was starting to think you forgot about breakfast, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Like I’d let you starve.”

Connol, quiet as usual, gave a nod in greeting before helping himself to some food. He had been around more lately- a lot more, and while (Y/N) didn’t fully know what to make of him yet, he seemed alright. He made Felicia happy, at least, and that was worth something.

Everyone settled in, eating and talking, the morning taking on the familiar rhythm of their routine. For a little while, it almost felt… normal.

Once breakfast was done and the plates were cleared, (Y/N) wiped her hands on a rag before making her way over to Vander and Silco, who were already deep in conversation near the bar.

Vander had his arms crossed, his usual serious expression in place, while Silco leaned against the counter, flipping through his notebook.

(Y/N) slid into the space between them, raising a brow. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Vander glanced at her, then exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Depends.”

Silco, without looking up from his notes, added, “We’ve got some shipments coming in later- nothing major, but enough to keep an eye on.”

Vander nodded. “And I was thinkin’ we might head back to the mines later, put in a few hours. Keep up appearances.”

(Y/N) sighed. They didn’t have to work in the mines as much anymore, not with the Last Drop slowly becoming a more stable source of income, but keeping ties there was still important. “Figures.”

Silco finally shut his notebook, glancing between them. “And, if we have time, I wouldn’t mind checking out a few places in the Lanes. Get a read on things.”

That caught (Y/N)’s attention. “You mean more than just ‘getting a read,’ don’t you?”

Silco smirked. “Always.”

Vander gave him a look but didn’t argue.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, considering. A trip to the Lanes could mean anything- connections, information, or just making sure they weren’t falling behind on what was happening in the Undercity.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Sounds like a full day.”

Vander grunted in agreement, and Silco just gave a knowing tilt of his head. With the plan set, they went over the details quickly.

“Alright,” Vander said, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. “First, we handle the shipments. Make sure everything’s in order.”

Silco nodded, already thinking ahead. “After that, we move through the Lanes, see what’s stirring. There’s been talk of tensions rising in a few places- I’d rather not be blindsided.”

(Y/N) exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “And then we finish off in the mines.” She smirked. “Saving the best for last.”

Vander chuckled. “We’ll be in and out. Just enough to show our faces.”

Felicia, who had been listening from the side while finishing the last of her drink, stretched her arms over her head. “Sounds like a long day.”

Silco shot her a dry look. “You are still capable of working, yes?”

Felicia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be there. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

With everything decided, they gathered what they needed. (Y/N) grabbed her coat, Silco tucked his notebook away, and Vander made sure the bar was set to be running while they were gone. He had gotten one of his newly hired bartenders to come in, along with asking Benzo to sit around and drink… Just to watch things. 

Then, without wasting any more time, they headed out into the Undercity to start their day.

Felicia lingered by the door, saying a quick goodbye to Connol before he disappeared into the winding streets of the Undercity. Whatever he did during the day was still a bit of a mystery- probably something inventive. He looked like the type to be scientific, always thinking, always watching.

But that wasn’t (Y/N)’s concern right now.

With Connol gone, the four of them set off, making their way through the dimly lit streets toward where the shipments were being delivered. The air was thick with the usual blend of smoke, oil, and the distant hum of machinery. It was a scent that clung to everything in the Undercity.

As they walked, Vander took the lead, his broad frame naturally clearing a path where needed. Silco, as always, kept sharp eyes on their surroundings, his thoughts likely already drifting toward whatever he expected to find in the Lanes later. Felicia walked beside (Y/N), hands in her pockets, a casual bounce in her step despite the rough streets beneath them.

(Y/N) flicked the butt of a cigarette into the gutter as they approached their destination- a tucked-away storage lot run by a man named Harker, a supplier they’d worked with a few times before. The shipments weren’t anything fancy, just supplies for the Last Drop- booze, some preserved goods, and whatever else they needed to keep the place running.

Vander stepped up first, knocking twice on the metal door. It took a moment, but soon enough, they heard the sound of locks shifting before Harker himself pulled the door open.

The man squinted at them, his face rough with age and soot. “You’re early,” he grunted.

Vander shrugged. “You got it ready or not?”

Harker snorted, stepping aside to let them in. “Yeah, yeah. Come on in. Just don’t touch nothin’ that ain’t yours.”

(Y/N) exchanged a glance with Silco before following the others inside. Time to get to work.

(Y/N) adjusted her grip on one of the heavier crates, the weight digging into her arms as she walked alongside the others. The streets of the Undercity were always filled with movement- faces ducking in and out of alleyways, the low hum of machinery echoing in the distance- but something felt different.

She had noticed them the moment they left the Last Drop- a few hooded figures lingering just a little too long in the alleys, their steps just a little too measured. At first, she thought it might be a coincidence, just another group moving through the Undercity like everyone else.

But now, as they neared the bar, she knew they were being followed.

She didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to glance toward Silco, who was walking slightly ahead of her. His sharp gaze was usually quick to pick up on things like this- he had to have noticed, right?

Felicia, carrying a smaller crate beside her, was too caught up in complaining about the weight to notice anything. “Seriously, why does alcohol have to be so damn heavy? Can’t we start serving something lighter?”

“Like what?” Vander asked dryly, barely breaking stride.

Felicia huffed. “I dunno, something that doesn’t make my arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”

(Y/N) wasn’t listening. She shifted her hold on the crate, subtly glancing over her shoulder.

The hooded figures were still there. Three of them. Keeping their distance, but staying close enough that it wasn’t natural.

Her pulse quickened, but her expression remained calm.

Silco turned his head slightly- just enough for his eyes to flicker toward her before looking forward again. He had noticed.

Good.

(Y/n) exhaled through her nose, keeping her pace steady. They were close to the bar now, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Whoever these people were, they weren’t just watching- they were waiting.

For what?

And more importantly- why?

As soon as the last crate was set down in the storage room, (Y/N) dusted off her hands and made her way over to Silco. He was already expecting her.

The others were still busy- Vander double-checking the shipments, Felicia stretching her arms and complaining about the heavy lifting. It gave (Y/N) the perfect moment to pull Silco aside, just out of earshot.

“You saw them too,” she muttered, keeping her voice low.

Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching her carefully. “Of course I did.” His tone was calm, but there was a knowing edge to it.

(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “They’ve been following us since we left the bar. I didn’t get a good look, but… they weren’t just passing through.”

Silco hummed in agreement. “No. They weren’t.”

That unsettled her. If Silco was concerned, it meant this wasn’t just her overthinking things.

“You think they’re watching us specifically?” she asked.

Silco tilted his head slightly, considering. “Possibly. Could be unrelated, but I doubt it.” He glanced toward the door. “Three of them, moving like they had a purpose. If they wanted to attack, they would’ve done it already. That means they were either scouting us or waiting for something.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms. “And that’s what worries me.”

Silco studied her for a moment before lowering his voice even further. “Did you notice anything about them? Anything off?”

(Y/N) thought back. They moved well, blending into the streets with ease. But something had felt strange about them. “Their movements were too careful,” she muttered. “Like they weren’t just random thugs.”

Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she could see the gears turning in his head. “We’ll have to keep an eye out. If they’re still around by the time we head to the Lanes, we’ll know for sure.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Should we tell Vander and Felicia?”

Silco considered it, then shook his head. “Not yet. No need to spook them if this turns out to be nothing.” (Y/N) hesitated but ultimately agreed. For now, they’d just have to watch their backs.

With the shipments handled and the Last Drop running smoothly for now, the four of them set off once more, weaving through the winding paths of the Undercity. The Lanes were the heart of the Undercity’s chaos- filled with traders, workers, gang members, and those just trying to survive another day. It was where information spread fastest, where rumors carried weight, and where they could keep their fingers on the pulse of the city.

(Y/N) stayed alert, her eyes flickering to the shadows between buildings, the alleys where trouble tended to brew. She hadn’t seen the hooded figures since they returned to the bar, but that didn’t mean they were gone.

Vander led the way, as he often did, his presence alone enough to command respect. People recognized him now- not as some leader, not yet, but as someone reliable, someone who got things done. Silco walked beside him, quiet but watchful, his mind likely still working through the same concerns (Y/N) had.

Felicia, as usual, brought a different kind of energy to the group. “We should get something to eat while we’re out,” she suggested, stretching her arms. “That stew from Elda’s stall? Real good. And I’m starving.”

Vander smirked. “You’re always starving.”

Felicia grinned. “Yeah, well, lifting crates all morning will do that.”

(Y/N) barely heard them, her attention on the movement around them. She caught glimpses of familiar faces- merchants selling scrap, chem-dealers peddling their poisons, Enforcers nowhere to be seen. It was business as usual.

But still… something felt off.

As they rounded a corner near one of the busier market areas, she caught it again- just for a second. A hooded figure, leaning against a wall, just barely in her peripheral vision. By the time she turned her head fully, they were gone.

Her stomach twisted… They were still being watched.

Can you do Sayaka x reader fluff headcannons?

A/N: Yes, of course, @ultimategraffitiguy! You didn't specify the gender of the reader, so I kept it gender neutral :} Hope that's okay!

The Softest Spotlight

Sayaka x GN!Reader Fluff Headcannons

Warnings: None that I can really see :}

Word Count: 716

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- Constant cheerleader energy: Sayaka thrives on encouragement and gives it in abundance. Whether (Y/N)’s making breakfast or just trying to focus on studying, she’s their  #1 hype girl- "You're doing amazing, sweetheart!" levels of support every day. She believes in destiny, but she also believes in working hard to protect what you have. Even when things get tough, she always says, “As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

- Little love notes everywhere: She leaves (Y/N) sweet notes in the most random places: their notebook, your hoodie pocket, their shoe (once). They're always handwritten with cute little doodles and sparkly stickers.

- Cuddling = therapy: Sayaka is touchy and adores cuddles. Her favorite position is (Y/N) lying on their back with her draped over them like a weighted blanket. She hums her favorite songs softly while tracing patterns on their arm.

- Morning snuggles are a must: She wakes up first just so she can admire (Y/N)’s sleepy face. Her fingers brush their hair from their forehead as she whispers, “You look like a dream.” Then, when they stir, she gently pulls them back into bed- “Five more minutes, please~”

- Loves being the little spoon: Though she’ll happily big spoon too, her favorite thing is curling up in (Y/N)’s arms, her back against their chest, while they wrap their arms around her waist… She kicks her feet a little when she’s extra happy.

- Giggle fits under the blankets: Sometimes she just wants to be silly and soft- she’ll pull the covers over both of them like a little fort, tell (Y/N) jokes, make silly faces in the glow of her phone screen, and end up in a pile of giggles and forehead kisses.

- Soft lullabies as cuddles deepen: When (Y/N) is almost asleep, she hums a soft melody- usually something nostalgic from her younger days. It becomes (Y/N)’s personal lullaby, and now they can’t sleep well unless they hear her voice.

- Secret songs just for (Y/N): Despite being used to crowds, her favorite performances are the ones where it’s just the two of them. She writes lyrics inspired by their relationship, though she keeps some private in her journal. She’s promised- if she ever releases a solo album, (Y/N) will be the muse.

- Surprise back hugs: She always sneaks up behind (Y/N) when they’re doing something mundane- cooking, brushing their teeth, folding laundry- and wraps her arms around their middle, swaying gently with her chin resting on their shoulder. She just wants to be close.

- Blanket thief but in denial: Sayaka always ends up wrapped in the majority of the blanket by morning, yet she insists (Y/N) is the one who hogs it. The solution? (Y/N) ends up getting a bigger blanket just so she can burrito herself and still share with them.

- Loves curling up in your lap: When (Y/N) is sitting on the couch, Sayaka will crawl into their lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’ll curl up there like a cat, cheek pressed to their chest, arms tucked close as they stroke her hair.

- Says “I love you” when she’s half-asleep: When she’s drifting off, in that sleepy-soft voice, she mumbles “I love you” like a mantra. Sometimes it’s three times in a row. Sometimes it’s a barely audible whisper. But always sincere.

- Dates always feel magical: She plans the cutest little dates. Think picnics under fairy lights, karaoke at home in matching pajamas, or dancing around the kitchen with music blasting as they both sing terribly on purpose.

- The queen of matching fits: Sayaka lives for couple aesthetics. Matching accessories? Matching phone charms? She's already bought them. She even customizes (Y/N)’s stuff with their initials + a heart.

-  Protective but soft about it: She gets anxious when (Y/N) is sad or overwhelmed. They’ll catch her sneaking worried glances, always ready with a warm hug, tea, or even calling her manager to cancel practice so she can stay with (Y/N).

- Public affection? Yep: She’ll hold (Y/N)’s hand anywhere, sneak kisses when no one’s looking, and gush about them in interviews (with a shy smile and sparkles in her eyes). Fans adore how much she loves (Y/N).