I post requests once or twice a week, usually on weekends. Be sure to be specific with requests, that way I can make it how you want it! Feel free to use my ask box to request anything, within reason. I am open to adding more fandoms to my list, but only if I've interacted with them, and know the lore of what I am writing is. I am also willing to add more things to the list of stuff I'm willing to write, depending on what is requested. I do not do Art requests, but I am thinking about doing commissions, eventually.
Smut (assume characters involved in mature content are of age, obviously. Also, I don't normally just do smut for smut usually, I have to have some sort of plot device to keep the story moving.)
Full works
Headcannons
Multi-parts
Things I wont write (·âąá·âàĄâąá· )
Smut (I'm taking a break on writing smutty stuff. Sorry y'all lmao.)
Any type of noncon
Incest
Anything mature involving anyone Underage
Finished Fic's ê°áą. .áąê±
-Ember in the Dark: Young!Silco x Fem!Reader (full work)
could I please request PLATONIC angel dust with late teens fem reader?
So reader is related to one of the characters (like Charlieâs little sister or something idk). And because of this reader basically lives at the hotel. Reader is super quiet,, she may not talk much and be really shy but she is respectful and a sweetheart to everyone else
anyway, after watching the scream rain episode, I realized that angel is literally a diva and is a fashion icon
Could I request that in this fic, angel basically helps teen reader get ready for some big event, helping her with hair makeup dresses etc, basically just makeover session with the two of them? Like bonding time hehe
bonus if once reader sees her reflection after all this, she sees how beautiful she is for the first time
A/N: Sure! Also, I am currently in the process of moving! That is why I have been a bit slow to post anything lately. I will get back to posting frequently once I am fully moved :}
Quiet Light
Platonic!Angel x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Social anxiety/Fear of attention and Low self-worth/Negative self-talk.
Word Count: 5583
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Hazbin Hotel was rarely ever quiet, but this was as close as it got.
Dust motes drifted through the lobbyâs stale warmth, catching the neon bleed from outside and turning it into a hazy halo over sticky couches and creaky chairs. On one of those couches, tucked into the corner like she belonged there as an afterthought, sat (Y/n). A book lay open in her lap, her fingers careful along the spine like the pages might bruise if she held them wrong. A chipped mug of cocoa waited on the coffee table, long since gone cold, a stubborn swirl of whipped cream still clinging to the ceramic like it refused to give up.
Every so often, she looked up and watched the hotel.
Husk grumbled behind the bar. Niffty hummed somewhere out of sight, busy making war on dirt. And upstairs, Charlieâs voice echoed faintly, repeating the same welcome speech for what had to be the hundredth time.
(Y/n)âs expression softened at the sound. There was always sunshine attached to Charlie. It clung to her in promises and dreams, bright enough to make you forget where you were for a second. (Y/n) loved her for it.
But being near Charlie was⊠a lot.
Like standing too close to a spotlight.
She dropped her gaze back to her book, willing her thoughts to stay put.
Today was important. Some gathering Charlie had set up, another attempt to convince Hellâs residents that redemption was worth their time and effort. Demons, sinners, and every kind of questionable personality had been invited. There would be music and speeches and dancing and food, and the whole hotel had been polished into something almost respectable.
Charlie had spent weeks on it. Vaggie had triple-checked everything.
And (Y/n)âŠ
(Y/n) tried to stay out of the way.
She did what she could. Picked up stray papers. Dusted shelves. Made sure Niffty didnât âaccidentallyâ bleach the carpets again. Whenever Charlie asked if she wanted a bigger role, helping greet guests, maybe even speaking alongside her, (Y/n) always smiled timidly and shook her head.
âIâll just⊠watch,â sheâd say. âItâs your thing. Iâll be in the background.â
The truth was, the idea of all those eyes on her made her chest tighten. She wasnât like Charlie. She didnât glow. She didnât fill a room. She didnât have a vision that made people stop and stare and whisper.
At best, people forgot she was there.
âHey, short stack.â
The voice snapped her out of her thoughts. It wasnât loud, exactly, but it curled through the air like smoke: casual, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
(Y/n) looked up to see Angel Dust leaning against the back of the couch, one elbow propped on it, four arms folded. A smirk sat on his lips like it lived there, and his eyes gleamed with his usual blend of boredom and mischief.
He looked like trouble. That was kind of his whole deal.
âGood morninâ, sunshine,â he added, wiggling his fingers in a half-wave.
(Y/n) blinked. âOh. Hi, Angel.â
Angel glanced toward the stairs, where Charlieâs voice echoed again, then back at (Y/n). âYou hidinâ from the chaos or what?â
She closed her book gently, thumb marking the page. âIâm not hiding. Iâm just⊠um⊠Reading.â
âUh-huh.â He tilted his head, amused and unconvinced. âCharlieâs runninâ around like her hairâs on fire, Vaggieâs got that âIâm-two-seconds-from-stabbing-someoneâ face, and youâre sittinâ here readinâ. Real normal day at the office.â
(Y/n)âs smile was tiny, but real. âI already did everything Char told me to doâŠâ
âUh-huh,â he repeated, squinting at her. âAnd tonightâs the big show, right? The âplease-donât-kill-each-other-during-my-speechâ party?â
Angel moved around the couch and flopped down on the other end with theatrical ease, limbs sprawling like he paid rent by taking up space. One foot claimed the coffee table as a throne.
âSo,â he said, drawing the word out. âWhatâre you wearinâ?â
(Y/n) blinked again. ââŠWearing?â
âYeah, kid. Yâknow.â He gestured vaguely at her outfit. âFor the party. Charlieâs gonna be decked out, Vaggieâll end up in whatever stoic combat-chic thing she owns, and youâŠâ His gaze swept over her current very casual look. âYou goinâ like that?â
Heat crawled up (Y/n)âs neck. Her fingers found the hem of her sweater automatically, tugging like she could hide inside it if she tried hard enough. Suddenly she could feel everything, the bunch of fabric at her waist, the crooked neckline, the way she was sitting too stiff.
âI⊠donât know,â she admitted. âI hadnât really thought about it.â
Angelâs brows shot up. âYou hadnâtâŠ? Doll, itâs a whole thing. Big night! Fancy crap! Drama!â He clutched one hand to his chest like heâd been personally wounded. âYou canât just roll up lookinâ like you rolled outta bed... No offense.â
She ducked her head. âIâm not⊠important. Iâll just be in the back.â
Angel stared at her for a beat. The sarcasm in his expression eased, just a notch, like a tide pulling back.
âSays who?â
(Y/n) shrugged. She didnât have an answer. Not one that didnât sound pathetic out loud.
Angel clicked his tongue and sat up straighter. âNope. Thatâs it. I call bull.â
âBull?â she echoed, confused.
âYeah. Bull.â He rose in one smooth motion and offered a hand with exaggerated gallantry. âCâmon, kid. Up and at âem.â
She blinked. âWhat?â
âYou heard me.â His grin widened. âWeâre havinâ ourselves a makeover.â
âA⊠what?â
âA makeover,â he repeated, like sheâd asked what gravity was. âHair, makeup, clothes, existential crisis, the works. Youâre Charlieâs kid sister. You canât be showinâ up lookinâ like a background extra in your own life.â
(Y/n)âs heart stuttered. âAngel, I- I donât⊠I donât think⊠I mean, you donât have toâŠâ
âWho said I have to?â he shot back, bright and smug. âI want to. Keeps me from dyinâ of boredom before dinner. Besides, kid, if anyone here knows how to make a statement entrance, itâs yours truly.â
He posed, hand on hip, one leg bent, lashes fluttering like a weapon.
Despite herself, (Y/n)âs mouth twitched. ââŠYou do look⊠Very nice... All the time.â
ââVery nice,â she says.â His grin went teasing. âFlatteryâll get you everywhere. Now câmon. We got work to do.â
She hesitated, twisting her fingers in her sweater. âAre you sure? I donât want to waste your time. Iâm⊠not exactly⊠glamorous material.â
Angelâs eyes flicked, quick and keen. For a moment he looked almost offended on her behalf.
âHey.â His tone sharpened. âNone of that crap. You hear me?â
(Y/n) flinched, and he softened immediately, the edge falling away.
âLook, kid. If thereâs one thing I know, itâs nobody wakes up lookinâ like a million bucks. It takes work.â He leaned in slightly, voice lower, firmer. âAnd you, little princess, got me on the case. I donât do half-assed.â
(Y/n) swallowed, eyes dropping to her hands again. The thought of attention still made her stomach twist.
But under it, a tiny spark flickered. Curiosity. A quiet, guilty what if.
âO-Okay,â she whispered. âIf you really⊠want to.â
Angel snapped his fingers like heâd won something. âAtta girl. Letâs go before your sister sees us and turns this into a full musical number.â
He nudged her book onto the table and offered his hand again.
This time, she took it.
His fingers were surprisingly warm, steady, as he helped her up.
Angelâs room looked exactly how (Y/n) expected.
And also somehow worse.
Sequins, lace, fishnet, clothes draped over bedposts, strewn across the vanity, hanging from chair backs like the room had been dressed by a tornado with taste. Makeup cluttered every surface in an explosion of color: glittery lipstick tubes, palettes with cracked mirrors, brushes splayed like tiny weapons. The air smelled like hairspray, perfume, and something faintly sugary.
âWelcome to my kingdom,â Angel announced, throwing his arms wide. âWatch your step. Thereâs at least three stilettos waitinâ to maim you.â
(Y/n) stepped carefully over a stray heel, eyes wide with open awe. Sheâd passed his door a hundred times, but sheâd never been inside. It felt like a different world, louder and brighter and unapologetically itself.
Her gaze caught on a cozy little setup in the corner, clearly made for Fat Nuggets. The pig waddled in after them, snuffling, then made itself comfortable in its little bed like it owned the place.
Angel nudged a pile of clothes off a chair with his foot. âPark it.â
(Y/n) sat gingerly, hands folding in her lap out of habit.
Angel turned to his vanity and flicked on the lights. Bulbs around the mirror flared to life, bathing everything in a warm, bright glow. His reflection grinned at him.
âAlright,â he said, clapping his hands once. âStep one: we gotta assess the situation.â
âThe⊠situation?â (Y/n) echoed faintly.
âYeah.â He moved closer, tilting her chin up with careful fingers. âWeâre workinâ with a pretty canvas here. You got good bone structure, nice eyes, all that jazz. You just gotta stop hidinâ it under âPlease-donât-look-at-meâ fashion choices.â
(Y/n)âs face flushed. But the way he said it wasnât mocking, just⊠matter-of-fact. Somehow that made it easier to take.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. âSo whatâs this event vibe again? âPlease-donât-murder-our-guestsâ or more âWe-pretend-we-ainât-a-condemned-hotelâ?â
(Y/n) cleared her throat. âCharlie said she wants it to feel⊠Welcoming. Hopeful. Um⊠Kind of like a celebration. Sheâs excited that people are even giving the idea a chance.â
âGotcha.â Angel went to his closet and flung the doors open. âSo we need somethinâ classy, gentle, but still âI-am-a-person-and-you-will-not-ignore-me.ââ
He flipped through hangers, muttering.
âToo much leg. Too much cleavage. Too many spikes. Dear God, why do I own this many feather boasâŠâ
(Y/n) looked down, picking at a loose thread on her cuff. âYou donât have to lend me anything if you donât want to,â she said quietly. âI can find something simple in my own closet.â
âNope,â Angel replied without looking back. âIf weâre doinâ this, weâre doinâ it right. Simpleâs fine. Bland ainât.â
He yanked out a dress and held it up, squinting critically. âHmm. You a fan of sequins?â
(Y/n)âs eyes widened. ââŠThat might be a little much.â
âYeah, fair,â he admitted. âDonât worry, kid, Iâm not slappinâ you in my stage gear. Youâd disappear under the personality.â
He tossed it aside, then suddenly froze mid-rummage.
âWait. Wait wait wait.â
Angel reached deep into the back corner and pulled something out carefully, like he was afraid it might crumble. When he turned, (Y/n)âs breath caught.
The dress was softer than anything else in the room. A deep, muted (F/C) that shifted into a dusky shade under the light. The neckline was modest but elegant. Simple, but with a quiet kind of magic.
Angelâs expression went strange for a second, almost⊠nostalgic.
âHavenât seen this in a while,â he murmured. âThought it got trashed.â
âItâs beautiful,â (Y/n) said before she could stop herself.
Angelâs smile was faint. âYeah. It is.â
He held it up against her, judging. âI think itâll fit. Might be a smidge big in the waist, but thatâs what belts and pins are for. What dâyou think, kid?â
(Y/n) reached out and brushed the fabric with her fingertips. Smooth. Cool. Supple.
She pictured herself in it and felt panic flutter sharp under her ribs.
âI donât know if I can pull it off,â she admitted.
âYou donât âpull offâ a dress,â Angel said, rolling his eyes. âYou wear it. It ainât a test. But tell you what: you put it on and hate it, we ditch the whole thing and you wear whatever you want. No pressure, alright?â
The gentleness in his voice surprised her enough that some of the fear eased.
She nodded. âO-Okay.â
âGreat!â Angel snapped his fingers. âBathroomâs there. Iâll grab accessories. Just yell if you trip over anything deadly in there.â
(Y/n) gathered the dress carefully and stepped into the adjacent bathroom. It was smaller, still cluttered in the telltale Angel Dust way: hair products lined the sink, a broken hair straightener sat abandoned in a corner.
She hung the dress on the back of the door and took a slow breath.
Sheâd never worn anything like this. Princess in Hell or not, sheâd always let Charlie take the spotlight, the eldest and the one destined to rule. When (Y/n) did have to go somewhere important, her mom dressed her up, but it was rigid. Not about feeling pretty. More about not drawing attention.
Trying now felt selfish. Or silly.
Or both.
But Angelâs words echoed anyway.
You canât be showinâ up lookinâ like a background extra in your own life.
She held that thought close like a shield, and carefully began to change.
Out in the room, Angel pretended not to hover.
He dug through his jewelry box, muttering âtoo chunky,â âtoo sharp,â and âabsolutely not, thatâs cursed,â while sneaking glances at the bathroom door.
He hadnât planned this. Heâd woken up ready to do the bare minimum. Tease Husk. Play with Nugget. Lounge around and complain about everything.
But then heâd seen (Y/n) curled up on that couch, small and quiet and already halfway vanished in her own home, and something in him had bristled.
He remembered what it felt like to be looked past. Over. Through. To be only what people wanted from you, not a person standing right there.
It sucked.
And yeah, he was a lot of things, loud, obnoxious, dramatic, but he wasnât about to let Charlieâs baby sister feel like that in the one place that was supposed to be safe.
Besides, he liked the kid. She was polite. She never flinched when he got loud. She never called him names like some others did. She brought him coffee sometimes, even when he didnât ask. Once, sheâd left a little sticky note on his door that said- âYou did really good with that guest today. Iâm proud of you.â
He still had it tucked into his mirror frame, hidden behind the corner of a photo.
Angel shook the thought away as the bathroom door creaked open.
âOkay, letâs see, we gotâŠâ
His words stalled.
(Y/n) stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame like she needed it. The dress fell around her in a gentle cascade, catching the vanity lights and shimmering softly. It fit her better than it had any right to. A little extra room at the waist, sure, but nothing unfixable.
Her hair was still a little messy from changing, and her cheeks were pink with nerves.
She looked like herself.
Just⊠clearer.
Like someone had turned the focus dial and suddenly the details popped.
âWow,â Angel said, and for once it didnât sound like a performance. âKid. Look at you.â
(Y/n)âs fingers twisted in the skirt. âItâs not too much?â
âItâs exactly enough.â He circled her slowly, thoughtful, hand on his chin. âYeah. Yeah, thisâll work.â His grin sharpened. âGimme five minutes and Iâm gonna have the whole lobby droolinâ, in the respectful, non-creepy way. Or Iâll stab âem.â
(Y/n) let out a small laugh, surprised by the sound.
Angelâs smile softened. âAlright, Cinderella. Park it at the vanity. Hair and makeup time.â
Sheâd never sat in front of a mirror like this. (Y/n) perched on the stool, hands in her lap, back straight with nerves. Under the bright bulbs, every detail felt suddenly visible: the slope of her nose, the faint shadows under her eyes. She tried not to cringe.
Angel clattered behind her, pulling brushes and palettes with practiced ease.
âFirst rule of makeover club,â he declared. âWe like what we see in the mirror. No trash talkinâ yourself, or I start trash talkinâ your fashion sense.â
âBut my fashion sense is alreadyâŠâ
âUh-uh.â He leaned into view, wagging a finger. âNone of that. That little voice in your head talkinâ smack? Tell it to shove off. Today weâre beinâ nice to you.â
(Y/n) bit her lip and nodded, eyes dipping again.
Angel sighed, softer. âLook up, kid. Just at me for now. Forget the mirror.â
She lifted her gaze to his in the glass. For once, his expression wasnât teasing. Just steady.
âYou ever done this before?â he asked, gesturing to the spread of makeup.
âUm. A little.â She shrugged. âCharlie tried to do my makeup when we were younger. She got⊠very excited. I ended up looking like a clown.â
âThat tracks,â Angel snorted. âSheâs got enthusiasm cominâ out her ears. Skill? Work in progress.â
(Y/n) stifled a giggle. Some tension slid out of her shoulders.
Angel picked up a brush and a palette. âWeâre keepinâ this soft, okay? No crazy colors unless you want âem. Weâre just gonna wake your face up a bit. You got good features. Weâre just gonna say, âHey, notice these.ââ
He dabbed gently under her eyes, careful and quick. His touch was lighter than she expected.
âYou ever notice,â he went on casually, âhow your sister walks into a room like she expects people to look?â
âBecause sheâs Charlie,â (Y/n) said automatically. âSheâs⊠special. Older. She is meant to rule over Hell somedayâŠâ
âMm-hmm,â Angel hummed, blending. âShe is. But so are you.â
(Y/n) snorted softly. âNot the same. I wonât rule anything. Wonât make any differencesâŠâ
âDifferent ainât less, doll.â He set the brush down and picked up another. âYouâre quiet. Thatâs not a bad thing. But quiet doesnât mean invisible. Thereâs a difference.â
(Y/n) stared at herself too hard, at all the times sheâd hidden behind louder people, behind Charlieâs neon optimism, behind her own uncertainty.
âWhat if I prefer to be invisible?â she muttered.
Angel paused.
âDo you?â
(Y/n) hesitated. Safer, sure. Less risk. Less chance of messing up. But sometimes, watching Charlie on stage, she felt a faint, guilty yearning, not to be Charlie, but to exist with half that confidence. To take up space without apologizing for it.
ââŠNot always,â she admitted.
Angelâs reflection smiled, small and genuine. âThought so.â
He picked up an eyeshadow palette and leaned in, fingers tipping her chin again. âAlright, close your eyes. Lemme do my thing.â
She did. The soft sweep of the brush over her lids made her nerves buzz in a strange, ticklish way.
âYou know,â Angel said, voice light but steady, âwhen I started⊠performinââŠâ He didnât say the word he meant, but she understood anyway. Angel had a way of skating around his past with jokes and half-truths. âI wasnât exactly feelinâ like the star of the show. I was just⊠furniture with a heartbeat. People looked, but they didnât see me. Not really.â
He switched eyes.
âBut then I found the right look, the right routine, and I was like⊠if theyâre gonna stare anyway, theyâre gonna stare at who I decide to be. Not just what they want from me.â His mouth twisted wryly. âTook me a while to get there. Still workinâ on it, if weâre honest. But getting all done up? Thatâs for me, yâknow? Makes me feel like I own the room even if I donât.â
He tapped her nose lightly.
âYou donât gotta own the room,â he added. âYou just gotta own you.â
(Y/n) swallowed. The words sank deeper than she expected.
âItâs just⊠hard,â she said quietly. âStanding next to Charlie. Sheâs this bright, shining thing. Everyone sees her. They love her. And I⊠I feel like Iâm just⊠there. Like a footnote.â
Angelâs expression softened.
âKid, Iâve seen you,â he said, and there was no joke in it. âYouâre the one pickinâ up after Niffty when she goes into cleaning overdrive. Youâre the one makinâ sure Husk drinks water at least once a week. Youâre the one who checks on me after I come back from Valâs...â
He didnât look at her when he said that, but she felt the weight anyway.
âYou think thatâs nothinâ? Thatâs the glue that keeps this place from fallinâ apart.â
(Y/n) blinked fast, throat tight.
âIâm just⊠Trying to help.â
âAnd you do.â He dusted a small highlighter along her cheekbones. âCharlieâs the firework, sure. But fireworks burn out quick sometimes... Someoneâs gotta be the stars you can still see when everything else goes dark.â
(Y/n) stared at him in the mirror, eyes glassy.
Angel cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. âAnyway, before this gets too sappy and I ruin my brand, turn your head a little. Yeah, like that.â He squinted at her cheek. âLook at those cheekbones. We stan bone structure.â
She laughed softly and wiped at one eye carefully, trying not to smudge anything. âI didnât know you were so poetic.â
âDonât tell anyone,â he muttered. âI got a reputation.â
He reached for lipstick. âAlright. How brave you feelinâ? On a scale of âchapstickâ to âI-could-conquer-kingdomsâ?â
(Y/n) considered, then offered a tiny smile. âMaybe halfway. âI could conquer a small room if everyoneâs nice to me.ââ
Angel snorted. âBaby steps. Weâll go soft.â He dabbed on a rosy shade with careful strokes. âYou got good natural color anyway. Weâre just bringinâ it out.â
He pulled back, nodded once. âOkay. Hair next.â
No one had ever given her hair this much attention. Angel moved behind her with a brush, starting at the ends and working up, slow and methodical so he wouldnât tug.
âIf you ever see Niffty cominâ at you with a hairbrush,â he said solemnly, ârun. That girl means well, but she detangles like sheâs fightinâ for her life.â
âSheâs just enthusiastic,â (Y/n) said, though she winced at the memory. âShe braided my hair once. It was⊠intense.â
âYeah, that tracks.â He chuckled, then paused. âAny preference? Up, down, half, shaved, kiddinâ about that last one. Mostly.â
(Y/n) hesitated. âUm⊠I donât know. Whatever you think looks best?â
âNope.â He clicked his tongue. âThis is a team effort. Gimme somethinâ. You wanna feel elegant? Cute? Powerful? Like you might stab someone with a hairpin?â
She really thought about it.
ââŠElegant,â she said at last. âBut⊠still like me.â
âNow weâre talkinâ.â His fingers moved, sectioning, twisting, pinning. âWeâll leave some down so you donât feel too exposed. Soft waves, a little pulled back to show off your face. Trust me, you got one worth showinâ.â
Her cheeks warmed. âThank you.â
âDonât mention it,â he said, then added quickly, âLike, seriously, donât. I got an image.â
They fell into a comfortable quiet after that. Angelâs hands worked with practiced ease, curling, pinning, smoothing. Every so often he murmured an instruction, âTilt your head,â âHold still,â âDonât freak out, thatâs just hairspray,â and she obeyed, feeling oddly safe.
When he stepped back, he exhaled dramatically.
âAlright,â he said. âMoment of truth, kid.â
(Y/n)âs stomach flipped. âIs it⊠done?â
âFor now.â His hands settled on her shoulders, grounding her. âYou ready to see yourself?â
Her fingers trembled a little. What if she hated it? What if she looked ridiculous? What if it only made her flaws louder?
Angel squeezed her shoulders.
âHey. Breathe. Remember the rules. No callinâ yourself names. You talk nice or you stay quiet, got it?â
She nodded and drew a slow breath. Another.
The lights buzzed softly.
âOkay,â she whispered.
Angel smiled at her through the mirror and turned the stool so she faced her reflection fully.
For a heartbeat, (Y/n) didnât recognize the girl staring back.
The dress flowed around her. Her hair, usually tied back or left plain, framed her face in soft, loose waves. Part of it was twisted back and pinned, adorned with a delicate little clip she hadnât even noticed him pick up. Her eyes looked brighter, not from heavy color, just a soft wash that deepened her irises, gentle lashes, a tiny shimmer at the inner corners like trapped starlight. Her skin looked smoother, shadows evened, a quiet glow catching on her cheekbones. Her lips were still hers, just tinted a gentle rose, like sheâd bitten into fruit.
She looked like herself.
But also like the version of herself sheâd never let out.
The one who could stand next to Charlie and not vanish.
ââŠOh,â (Y/n) breathed, and the sound wobbled.
Angel watched her carefully in the mirror, alert for panic.
âWell?â he asked lightly. âVerdict, kid?â
(Y/n) leaned closer, hand lifting, fingers trembling as she touched her cheek like she expected the image to smear and disappear.
âI⊠is that really⊠me?â she whispered.
Angel snorted softly. âLast I checked. Unless someone snuck in here and stole your face.â
Her throat tightened. âI look⊠I lookâŠâ
The word pretty rose in her mind like it didnât belong to her. Too big. Too impossible.
But the girl in the mirror did look pretty.
Not loud and dazzling like Charlie. Not sharp and dangerous like half the sinners downstairs.
Quietly. Steadily.
Like a light you didnât notice at first, and then realized you kept coming back to.
Beautiful.
The thought hit hard enough that her knees felt weak.
âIâŠâ She blinked fast, but a tear slipped free anyway. âI didnât think I could ever⊠look like this.â
Angelâs hands tightened slightly on her shoulders.
âHey, hey, hey,â he murmured. âNone of that, doll. You were always like this.â
She shook her head and wiped at her cheek. âNo, I, I wasnâtâŠâ
âYeah, you were.â Angel met her eyes in the mirror, and for once his face was serious, no glittering shield of jokes. âI didnât draw your face on, kid. I didnât swap it out. I just did a lilâ polish. This? This is you. Always has been.â
Her vision blurred again.
âBut I neverâŠâ
âNever what?â
âNever thought I was⊠worth the effort,â she confessed, voice small and raw. âIt always felt selfish. Or silly. Or like⊠no one would notice anyway.â
Angel inhaled sharply through his teeth. âKidâŠâ
He moved around to crouch in front of her, eye-level. One hand produced a tissue from somewhere, because of course it did. The other gently lifted her chin, thumb wiping away the tear without smearing anything.
âListen to me,â he said quietly. âYou donât gotta earn the right to feel good about yourself. You donât gotta be loud or perfect or âimportantâ by anyone elseâs standards to put on a nice dress and some mascara and go, âDamn, I look good.â That ainât selfish. Thatâs human.â He paused, lips quirking. âOr, yâknow. Human enough.â
A watery laugh escaped her.
âCharlie?â he went on. âShe dresses up âcause she likes it. Vaggie puts effort in for herself, even if she acts like she doesnât care. Me?â He gestured to himself dramatically. âIâm a whole situation.â
His expression softened again.
âBut I promise you: none of this started âcause I thought I was worthy. It started âcause I wanted one second where the person in the mirror looked like someone I could stand.â He nodded once. âYou donât gotta do this all the time. You donât gotta always be âon.â But tonight, you get to see what I see when I look at you.â
âAnd what is that?â she asked, barely audible.
âA cute kid,â he said instantly. âYou deserve to feel nice. Just like everyone else.â
Her cheeks flushed, but not with embarrassment. Something fragile and warm bloomed in her chest.
She looked back at her reflection. She still saw the shy curve of her shoulders, the uncertainty in her mouth. But she also saw strength in her jaw, kindness in her eyes, and a quiet kind of courage in the way she stayed sitting there even when she wanted to disappear.
For the first time, she didnât immediately start tallying flaws.
She just⊠looked.
âIâŠâ Her voice shook. âIâm beautiful.â
Angelâs smile curved, slow and proud. âDamn right you are.â
Another tear slipped free, but this one came with a breathless laugh.
âIâm really⊠beautiful.â
He squeezed her shoulder. âDonât ever let anyone convince you otherwise. Not demons, not yourself, not even your sunshine sister when she gets all self-sacrificinâ and dramatic.â
He shrugged, trying to play it off, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. âAnytime, kid. Youâre family. Hotelâs a package deal.â He sniffed and added quickly, âBesides, I canât have you walkinâ around lookinâ like a potato sack. Reflects on my brand.â
(Y/n) snorted, dabbing her eyes carefully. âYour brand is chaos.â
He finished her look with accessories: a slim belt cinched the waist without making it feel like a spotlight. A delicate necklace rested against her collarbone. Simple earrings, nothing heavy, because he knew sheâd fidget if they were.
Then he offered his arm with a flourish.
âMilady,â he said. âCare to make an entrance?â
She took it, half-expecting sheâd wake up, or trip, or somehow ruin everything. âDo I really look okay?â
âYou look more than okay,â Angel said, winking. âYou look like yourself turned up to eleven. Now letâs go blow your sisterâs mind.â
They walked down the hallway together, Angel swaggering like he was born in a spotlight, (Y/n) tentative at first, then a little steadier with each step.
At the top of the main staircase, the noise of preparations rose up to meet them: Niffty fussing over centerpieces, Husk grumbling about polishing glasses, Charlieâs voice threading through it all.
From up here, (Y/n) could see the transformation. The lobby floors were clean. Banners hung in bright hopeful strips. Tables were set with mismatched but charming decorations.
It almost looked⊠welcoming.
âWow,â (Y/n) murmured.
âTold ya they were goinâ all out,â Angel said. âYou ready?â
She took a slow breath. The weight of the dress, the brush of her hair at her neck, the faint perfume Angel had spritzed on her, vanilla with something warm, wrapped around her like a promise.
âI think so,â she said.
Angel squeezed her arm. âYou got this, kid.â
They started down the stairs.
It didnât take long for someone to notice.
Niffty turned first, her many eyes going comically wide. âOoooh!â she squealed, dropping the napkin sheâd been obsessively straightening. â(Y/n)! You look so, so, so cute!â
Husk glanced up from behind the bar, glass in hand. His brows lifted, and for a second he forgot to scowl.
âDamn,â he muttered. âYou really dressed up, huh, kid?â
(Y/n) flushed, but instead of folding in on herself, she lifted her chin a fraction. âY-Yeah... Angel helped.â
âDamn right I did,â Angel said, smug as sin.
And then Charlie turned.
Sheâd been fussing with note cards, practicing a line under her breath. Nifftyâs squeal snapped her attention up, impatient at first, then she froze.
â(Y/n)?â
Charlieâs eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open a little. The note cards slid from her hands and fluttered to the floor, completely forgotten.
(Y/n)âs heart clenched. For a split second, fear flashed: that Charlie would see this as stealing the spotlight, that sheâd be upset, that this was too much.
But then Charlieâs entire face lit up, eyes going glossy.
âOh. My. Gosh,â Charlie breathed, and she rushed forward so fast she nearly tripped. âLook at you! Youâre stunning!â
(Y/n) laughed shakily. âYouâre just saying that because youâre my sister.â
âIâm saying that because itâs true!â Charlie grabbed her hands and spun her the way they used to when they were younger, trying on their parentsâ clothes and playing pretend. âYouâre beautiful!!â
This time, the words didnât sting. They didnât feel like empty comfort. They landed like harmony, joining the small, fragile melody (Y/n) had started to believe upstairs. (Y/n)âs cheeks flamed, but she smiled.
Really smiled.
Not small and apologetic. Open. Bright.
Charlieâs gaze returned to her, eyes shining. âHow do you feel?â
(Y/n) paused. The nerves were still there, buzzing under her skin. Doubt still whispered at the edges.
But over it, stronger, was something new. Warm. Grounded. Like her presence belonged in her own body.
âI feelâŠâ She took a breath. âLike me. Just⊠not hiding.â
Charlieâs expression crumpled, and she pulled (Y/n) into a careful hug, mindful not to smudge anything. âThatâs all I ever want for you,â she whispered.
(Y/n) pressed her face into her sisterâs shoulder for a moment, breathing in that familiar scent, sugar and hope with something sharp that was uniquely Charlie.
Angel watched them with a small, private smile he tried to pretend wasnât there. He looked away before anyone could comment.
âAlright, alright,â Husk grumbled, though there wasnât much bite to it. âGroup hug later. We got a party to throw.â
Charlie pulled back and wiped her eyes. âRight. Right! We have guests coming soon.â She turned to (Y/n), bright and hopeful. â(Y/n), do you want to⊠stand with me at the door? Help greet people?â
The old instinct surged up: say no. Retreat. Watch from the sidelines where it was safe.
But Angelâs hand brushed lightly against (Y/n)âs elbow, a quiet reminder.
You donât gotta own the room. You just gotta own you.
(Y/n) met Charlieâs hopeful gaze and nodded slowly.
âYeah,â she said. âI⊠I think Iâd like that.â
Hello! I saw that you are open to requests! Are you willing to receive requests from DMs instead of asks? Also, how long are you willing to write a full-length fic from a request? 20 to 39 chapters! Do you write for Superman too?
My requests are indeed open! :} And as for your question, sort of? (More details under the cut)
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I prefer getting requests in my asks. Though, if you want to talk out specifics and things, we can DM about it first! But once all the details are laid out, I want it to be added to the asks, by either the requester or myself.
Keeping my requests to my asks helps me with organization. It also helps me keep it fair, because I do all of my requests in order from oldest to newest. I hope this helps! :}
Hey! Could you do teenage (like younger teenager) (gn or male) reader who is shy and doesn't express emotions on their face but reader always hangs out with husk, just in his general area! Maybe he could also be kinda a father figure in a way! Just go crazy!
A/N: Sure! I have a fic that is sorta similar to this one, so I tried to make it quite a bit different :}
The Hazbin Hotel pulsed with its usual brand of chaos- neon light bleeding into cracked wallpaper, laughter too loud to be sincere, and the barâs warm glow doing its best to pretend this place was anything other than Hell with a fresh coat of paint.
Sinner's crowded the lounge in mismatched clumps, arguing over card games and old grudges, spilling drinks they didnât taste, telling jokes that landed like broken glass. Behind it all, Husk moved with the weary precision of someone whoâd done this for a hundred years and hated every second of it. He polished a glass that was already clean, ears twitching at every raised voice.
And beside the bar, half in the light and half in the shadow, stood the newest arrival.
Small. Shoulders slightly hunched. Hands swallowed by the sleeves of an oversized hoodie like they were trying to disappear into fabric. Their eyes tracked everything- flicking across bottles, faces, exits- but their expression stayed stubbornly blank. Not angry. Not bored. Not scared, even.
Just⊠unreadable.
Charlie hovered a few feet behind them, hands clasped tight as if she could hold her excitement together by force. She was practically vibrating.
âSo this is the Lobby!â she announced, bright as a marquee. âWell- technically right here is the bar, and Husk kinda runs it, and-â
The kid didnât nod. Didnât smile. Didnât do that polite little âmm-hmâ people did when they were overwhelmed and trying not to show it.
They just stared at the bar like it was an exhibit.
Their gaze slid to Husk.
Husk squinted back over the rim of his glass, unimpressed on instinct. âWhat, did we start a daycare and nobody told me?â
âHusk!â Charlie scolded immediately, darting forward. âBe nice. This is (Y/n). They just got here. Iâm showing them around.â
(Y/n) blinked once- slow, measured. Their voice, when it came, was quiet and even, like a stone dropping into still water.
âHi.â
No warmth. No edge. Just a single syllable, perfectly placed and perfectly neutral.
Husk grunted. âYeah. Hi.â He turned away and pretended to care deeply about stacking glasses.
Charlie crouched slightly so she was more in their line of sight, her smile gentle but determined. âYou donât have to stay here if you donât want to. I know itâs⊠a lot. But Husk is- well, heâs Husk, but heâs not as bad as he pretends.â
She beamed toward the bar like a proud tour guide presenting a questionable attraction.
Huskâs ear flicked back. âStop lying to children.â
(Y/n) studied him for a long second. Their head tilted- barely. Then, without a word, they drifted past Charlie and quietly claimed an empty stool at the far end of the counter.
Not close enough to corner him. Not far enough to vanish.
Just⊠in range.
Charlie paused, surprised into silence.
Vaggie, posted nearby with her arms crossed and her posture screaming I will stab anyone who breathes wrong, lifted an eyebrow. The look she shot Husk was sharp and clear: Donât screw this up.
Husk answered with a look that said: I am absolutely not signing up for this.
But he didnât tell (Y/n) to move.
The kid sat with their hands still tucked in their sleeves, eyes fixed on the bottles lined up behind the bar like they were cataloging them for a museum. Husk pretended not to notice the way they didnât fidget, didnât fill the silence, didnât perform comfort for anyoneâs sake.
Charlie backed off carefully, voice soft. âOkay. Or you can hang out here. Thatâs fine too. Iâll, uh⊠let you settle in.â
And then she left them there, like she was trying not to spook a skittish animal.
It became a pattern.
Days passed, and (Y/n) simply⊠appeared.
In the mornings, Charlieâs optimism echoed down the halls. Angel Dust shouted something definitely inappropriate. Vaggie shouted back. Somewhere deeper in the hotel, Alastorâs voice crackled through the air like an old radio tuning itself to trouble.
And by the time Husk shuffled into the lounge- fur rumpled, wings drooping with exhaustion- (Y/n) would already be sitting at the bar.
Always a seat with a clear view of him, but never right underfoot.
They didnât order alcohol. Charlie had made that rule painfully clear, loudly, and with her face much too close to Huskâs.
âNO serving minors, Husk. Not even in Hell. You can give them juice. Or water. Or- hot chocolate!â
Husk had grumbled something about Hell being hot enough already, but a dusty tin of cocoa mix still ended up behind the bar like a quiet concession heâd deny if anyone asked.
(Y/n) never requested it. They rarely requested anything.
Husk would just slide something harmless toward them when he felt like it- soda, water, hot chocolate in a chipped mug. (Y/n) would look at it for a beat, then wrap both hands around it as if the warmth gave them something steady to hold onto.
âThanks,â theyâd say, always in that same flat tone.
And Husk- against his will and better judgment- started timing it. Started noticing when their hands were too cold. When their shoulders sat too tight. When their blank stare turned into that hard, distant stillness that didnât feel like calm at all.
He told himself it was nothing.
He told himself he was just⊠used to them being there.
Angel Dust noticed before anyone else could pretend it wasnât a thing.
He leaned across the bar one afternoon, grinning like heâd discovered a new form of entertainment. âAwwww, look at this!â Angel waved a hand between them. âHuskyâs got a little baby duck following him around. Thatâs adorable~â
(Y/n) didnât react. They glanced at Angel, blinked once, then looked back at Husk like they were waiting to see what heâd do.
Husk took a long drink and slammed the glass down harder than necessary. âTheyâre not a duck.â
Angel snickered. âFine, fine. Little bat, then. Lilâ batling. You smile, kid?â
(Y/n) stared straight at him, expression unchanged. âNo.â
Angel wheezed, delighted. âOh my god, theyâre serious. I love âem.â
Huskâs chest did something strange- some annoying little flicker he refused to name. He crushed it with a huff.
âDonât you have something better to do than bother the kid?â he grumbled.
Angel fluttered his lashes. âNot really.â
âThen go chase that pig of yours around. Or go annoy Alastor. Or go juggle chainsaws in the hallway. Just get away from my bar.â
Angel pouted dramatically, muttering about ungrateful cats and broody teens, but he wandered off.
(Y/n)âs eyes followed him, then slid back to Husk.
âYou donât like him?â they asked.
âI like him just fine when heâs on the other side of the hotel,â Husk muttered, wiping down a glass that didnât need it. âDonât worry about him. Heâs all noise.â
(Y/n) nodded- one small dip of their head. âOkay.â
No follow-up. No commentary. No attempt to pry.
Just acceptance.
And somehow, that made it worse. Or better. Husk couldnât decide.
They were there for card nights too.
Husk had dragged an old blackjack table out of storage- half nostalgia, half self-sabotage- after Charlie agreed to it with âpractice chips only,â like she was supervising a school fundraiser instead of a casino game in the underworld.
âHouse rules,â Husk told (Y/n), sliding plastic chips across the felt. âNo real bets for you. You can play to learn. Thatâs it.â
âOkay,â (Y/n) said, leaning forward just slightly- attention sharp, eyes tracking every flick of Huskâs hands.
They learned fast.
âNever hit on seventeen,â Husk muttered one night.
(Y/n) hit on seventeen.
The dealerâs hand busted.
(Y/n) won.
Husk froze, ears flattening.
Angel howled from across the room. âGuess the kidâs got instincts!â
âIt was beginner's luck,â Husk said gruffly, like luck was an insult. âDonât make a habit of that. Youâll get burned.â
(Y/n) nodded like they believed him. âOkay.â
But their eyes- just for a second- sparked.
Husk saw it.
He pretended he didnât.
Charlie was the next to notice, and she noticed in the way she always did: gently, like she didnât want to scare the good thing away.
She paused in a doorway one afternoon and watched the lounge hum along.
Husk stood behind the bar, polishing glasses with a bored scowl. Angel and Vaggie bickered in a corner. Somewhere farther back, Alastorâs laughter drifted like static on the edge of hearing.
And (Y/n) sat at the bar with a small notebook open, pencil moving in slow, careful strokes.
Husk leaned over, squinting at the page. âThatâs not how you add that. Youâre missing a carry.â
(Y/n) scratched something out. âOh.â
âHere.â Husk tapped the page with a claw. âYou regroup from the tens place. Eight plus seven is fifteen. Write down the five, carry the one. You get it?â
(Y/n) studied the numbers, then corrected them neatly. âYeah. I get it now.â
Charlieâs eyebrows shot up.
Husk was still muttering- âbasic arithmeticâ and âhow the hell did you survive being aliveâ -and (Y/n) was listening like it mattered.
Charlieâs smile softened into something almost relieved.
Later, she caught Husk alone. âYouâre good with them,â she said.
Husk nearly dropped the glass. âWhat?â
â(Y/n). They really seem comfortable with you.â Charlie leaned on the bar. âItâs been hard for them. They donât express like most people. Some of the others⊠misread it.â
Husk snorted. âYou mean they donât like that the kidâs closed off.â
âThey think theyâre angry. Or judging them.â Charlie sighed. âAlastor thinks theyâre âfascinating,â which is⊠its own problem.â
Huskâs tail flicked in immediate irritation. âYeah, well. Heâd find a paperclip fascinating if it bled.â
Charlie gave him a look- fond and knowing. âBut you just let them be. You donât push. And you still look out for them.â
âI didnât do anything,â Husk grumbled. âThey just keep sitting here. Like a piece of furniture with anxiety.â
Charlieâs expression gentled. âThat still matters.â
Husk busied himself with polishing, because his hands didnât know what to do with praise. âTheyâre just a kid stuck in Hell,â he muttered. âWeâre already screwed up enough. No need to make it worse for âem.â
Charlieâs eyes brightened in a way that made him immediately suspicious. âThatâs very⊠fatherly of you.â
He choked. âTake that back.â
She laughed and slipped away before he could argue properly, leaving the word hanging in the air like a curse he didnât want to catch.
Peace, of course, never lasted.
It started like any other day- neon flickering, the air thick with cheap perfume and old smoke, the bar loud enough to drown out thoughts.
Husk was shuffling a battered deck, half-bored, half-alert. (Y/n) sat at their usual spot, notebook open. Today they werenât doing math.
They were sketching.
Husk couldnât see what- just careful lines, pauses, then more lines, drawn with quiet intent. When (Y/n) concentrated, a tiny crease appeared between their brows. The closest thing they ever got to an expression.
Husk was just about to ask what they were drawing- just to be annoying, he told himself- when the hotel doors slammed open.
A rowdy group spilled in, already loud, already drunk on confidence they hadnât earned. One of them- a lanky sinner with too many eyes and a grin like a split seam- scanned the room like he owned it.
His gaze snagged on (Y/n).
âWell, well,â he drawled, swaggering forward. âDidnât expect to see you down here.â
(Y/n)âs pencil stopped.
Their shoulders stiffened- just a fraction.
Their face stayed blank, but their whole body went very, very still.
Husk set the cards down.
The sinner leaned against the bar beside them, too close, voice thick with familiarity that sounded like rot. âDidnât think you were the gambling type, kid. You ran off before you ever had the guts to play with the big boys.â
(Y/n) stared straight ahead. âYouâre loud.â
The sinner barked a laugh. âSame old stone face, huh? I always wondered if you even had emotions. Or if you were just⊠broken.â
Huskâs claws flexed.
Heâd seen (Y/n) take teasing before- Angelâs nonsense, other demonsâ jabs, Alastorâs probing little comments meant to pull people apart. They usually absorbed it like rain on stone.
But this was different.
(Y/n)âs grip tightened around the pencil until their knuckles went pale.
The sinner glanced over, smirking. âRelax, feathers. We go way back.â
âWe donât,â (Y/n) said quietly, not looking up. âYou just worked where I lived.â
The sinner ignored that like it didnât fit the story he wanted to tell. âJust catching up with an old friend.â
âYouâre not a friend,â Husk said, stepping out from behind the bar. âAnd youâre done talking.â
âWhat, you their babysitter?â the sinner sneered.
Something in Huskâs temper sparked sharp and immediate. He closed the distance and planted himself between them and the kid without thinking twice.
âThey donât wanna talk to you.â
The sinnerâs grin widened as he turned his voice outward, trying to make it a show. âOh, come on. Donât you wanna hear about what they were like before? Little freak wouldnât cry. Wouldnât laugh. Wouldnât scream. Just stared. Creepy.â
A couple demons turned to watch.
Huskâs voice dropped into something calm and dangerous. âGet out.â
The sinner scoffed. âWho put you in charge?â
âI did,â Charlie said from the doorway.
The room shifted.
Her smile was gone, replaced by a cold kind of authority that made even hardened sinners hesitate. Vaggie stood at her side like a loaded weapon.
âThis is a safe space,â Charlie said, quiet but absolute. âIf (Y/n) doesnât want you here, you leave.â
âSafe space. In Hell.â The sinner laughed like it was the funniest thing heâd ever heard.
From somewhere in the shadows, Alastorâs voice threaded through the air- warm and sharp and wrong, like a pleasant song played on a broken radio.
âI do believe the Princess has made her wishes clear,â he purred. âBest not to overstay your welcome, my friend.â
The sinnerâs bravado faltered as his many eyes flicked between Husk, Charlie, and the vague direction of that voice.
âFine,â he spat, backing away. âThis place is a joke anyway. As if Sinner's could ever be redeemed... Bullshit.â
He left with his crew, muttering as the doors slammed shut behind them.
The noise in the lounge restarted slowly, like everyone was pretending they hadnât just watched something real happen.
Husk exhaled through his teeth and turned back toward the bar.
(Y/n)âs stool was empty.
Their notebook was closed. Pencil placed neatly on top like theyâd packed up their presence with care.
Huskâs stomach dropped.
âShit,â he muttered.
Charlie was already scanning the room. âWhere did they-â
âIâll get âem,â Husk cut in, already moving.
He didnât wait for permission. Didnât wait for anyone to tell him it wasnât his job.
He checked the rest of the lobby. Empty. The halls. Empty. He took the stairs two at a time, ears straining for any sound that didnât belong to this place.
âKid?â His voice echoed. â(Y/n)?â
Nothing.
He tried the library. Their usual corner was empty. He swore under his breath and forced himself to think.
If you were a quiet teenager who hated being stared at- where would you go?
He found them in a storage room near the laundry, wedged between crates of supplies and old linens. Sitting on the floor. Knees pulled to their chest. Arms wrapped tight.
No tears. No trembling. Just a stillness that felt louder than sobbing ever could.
Husk leaned on the doorframe. âYou know, most people pick somewhere less dusty to have an existential crisis.â
(Y/n)âs eyes slid toward him. âIâm fine.â
âYeah,â Husk said dryly. âAnd Iâm a ray of sunshine.â
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The room smelled like soap and old fabric. He lowered himself onto an overturned crate across from them, joints complaining.
For a while, he just sat.
With (Y/n), silence wasnât empty. It was⊠a language.
Eventually, Husk spoke, carefully. âThat guy. You knew him. When you were alive.â
(Y/n) stared at their shoes. âYeah.â
âFrom⊠an orphanage?â
A small nod.
Huskâs jaw tightened. âWhatâd he mean- about you not reacting?â
(Y/n) hesitated. When they answered, their voice stayed steady, but their hands tightened around their sleeves like they were bracing.
âPeople talked a lot there...â A breath. âThey thought I didnât care. âCause my face doesnât⊠do the thing.â
âThe thing?â Husk echoed.
They made a vague gesture at their own face, like the idea was annoying to explain. âSmiling. Frowning. Looking⊠right.â
Huskâs ears dipped.
âThey joked about it,â (Y/n) continued. âOr got mad. Called me names. Said it made me âhard to place.â Like I was a broken appliance or something.â
Their tone didnât waver, but something about their posture pulled inward tighter.
âI tried,â they admitted, quieter. âPracticed in the mirror. But it felt wrong. So I stopped.â
Huskâs chest ached in a way he didnât want to touch.
âSo he was one of the assholes,â Husk said.
âYeah...â
(Y/n) looked down again. âI thought⊠maybe down here would be different. It is. Kind of. But people still look at me like Iâm mad. Or judging them. Iâm not. I just donât know how to be⊠different.â
They went still again, as if finishing the sentence cost something.
âI didnât want to cause trouble.â
âYou didnât,â Husk said immediately, too fast, too certain. âHe did.â
(Y/n)âs eyes flicked up.
âBecause heâs an asshole,â Husk added, like that explained the universe. âAnd assholes travel. They find their way into every crack.â
For the first time, (Y/n)âs mouth twitched- maybe the beginning of a smile, maybe just a reflex. It was small enough Husk couldâve missed it if he wasnât watching like heâd trained himself to.
He leaned back, exhaling. âLook⊠(Y/n). Youâre not broken.â
They stared at him, surprised.
âSome people got different wiring,â Husk went on, voice rough. âDoesnât mean the lights arenât on.â
âYou donât⊠think itâs creepy?â they asked, genuinely.
Husk snorted. âIâve seen creepy. Trust me. You ainât it.â
A beat.
âYouâre quiet. You stare a lot. So what?â Husk shrugged, like he didnât care- like the words didnât matter. âHellâs full of loud idiots who never shut up. Honestly, somebody like you is a damn relief.â
(Y/n) absorbed that, expression still mostly neutral- but their shoulders loosened by a fraction.
âBut I make people uncomfortable,â they murmured.
âPeople get uncomfortable when they donât understand something,â Husk said. âThatâs their problem. Doesnât make you wrong for existing the way you do.â
He hesitated, picking at a loose thread on his vest. âBesides⊠you clearly got emotions.â
(Y/n) blinked. âI do?â
Huskâs ears angled back, annoyed at how soft his chest felt. âYou show up at my bar every day. You sit where you can see me. You listen when I ramble about cards and math. You take the cocoa even when you donât ask for it.â
He looked away, like eye contact would make this worse. âThat ainât nothing.â
(Y/n)âs voice came out smaller. âYou noticed I was gone...â
âOf course I noticed,â Husk huffed. âYouâre like background noise I got used to. When itâs gone, it feels⊠wrong.â
(Y/n) stared at their hands. âI thought⊠if I left, itâd be easier.â
âEasier for who?â
A pause.
âYou,â they said.
The word landed heavy.
Husk scrubbed a paw over his face, exasperation and something like hurt tangling together. âKid- (Y/n). Did you really think I was just⊠tolerating you?â
They didnât answer. That was answer enough.
Husk exhaled slowly. âIâm not good at this. People. Feelings. Emotional crap.â He pointed a claw at them. âBut listen, âcause Iâm only gonna say this once.â
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and met their gaze head-on.
âI like having you around.â
(Y/n) went utterly still.
âI like that youâre quiet,â Husk continued, voice gruff, like he was forcing the words out past pride. âI like that youâre not constantly asking for something. I like that you listen. I like that when I look up, youâre just⊠there.â
His throat tightened. He hated that.
âYou donât make things harder,â he said. âYou make it⊠less awful.â
Silence settled again- but softer. Warmer.
(Y/n) swallowed. âOh.â
Huskâs eyes narrowed. âOh? Thatâs all you got?â
They thought for a moment. âThank you.â
Husk snorted. âBetter.â
He reached into his vest and pulled out a worn poker chip- dull red, edges chipped, logo half-scratched into memory. He turned it between his claws for a beat, then held it out.
(Y/n) stared at it like it might bite. âWhatâs that?â
âLucky chip,â Husk said. âHad it a long time. Stupid superstition. FiguredâŠâ He shifted, suddenly self-conscious. âFigured maybe you should have it.â
âWhy?â (Y/n) asked, quiet.
Husk frowned like the question offended him. âBecause. People like⊠tokens. Means you got a place. Here.â His voice dipped. âAt the bar. The Hotel. In this mess.â
Slowly, carefully, (Y/n) reached out and took it like it was fragile.
They turned it over in their palm, studying it with a reverence that made Huskâs chest do that annoying thing again.
âIâll keep it,â they said. âThank you.â
Husk made a sound that was probably âyouâre welcomeâ if someone generous was translating.
He stood with a groan and held out a hand without thinking.
(Y/n) looked at it, then placed their smaller hand in his. Their grip was cool and tentative, but they didnât pull away when he helped them up.
âCâmon,â Husk muttered. âIf Charlie finds out youâre hiding back here, sheâll organize some hotel-wide group feelings circle.â
(Y/n) made a tiny face- barely a crinkle near their eyes. âThat sounds⊠bad.â
âExactly.â
He didnât let go right away. He told himself it was because the floorboards were uneven.
Later, Angel Dust caught sight of (Y/n) back at their usual stool, the faded poker chip tucked safe in their hand.
Husk stood behind the bar, shuffling cards, tail flicking in that oddly relaxed way he only seemed to have when the kid was nearby.
Angel leaned in, ready with a joke- then paused.
(Y/n) was talking.
Not a lot. Not loudly. But more than usual.
âIf I sit on the left,â they were saying, âI can see the lobby doors. But if I sit here, I can see the whole room.â
âYeah,â Husk replied. âAnd if youâre here, I can see you. Easier to yell at you if you do something stupid.â
"I don't do stupid things." (Y/n) said.
Husk snorted. âEveryone does stupid things. Itâs Hell. But you do fewer of âem.â
(Y/n) seemed to file that away as a compliment.
Angel slid onto the stool beside them, grinning. âWell, look at you two. Real cozy. Should I start calling you âDaddyâ now, Husky?â
Huskâs fur puffed up like heâd been electrocuted. âI will throw you out a window.â
(Y/n) looked between them, then at Husk. âYouâd miss.â
Angel cackled, delighted. âOhhh, I like them more every day.â
Husk tried to glare and failed. His ears betrayed him, angling back with reluctant amusement as he flicked a card at Angelâs forehead.
âOrder something or get lost.â
Angel ordered something absolutely not appropriate for a teenager. Husk made it with a huff- and then, without being asked, slid a soda toward (Y/n).
They wrapped both hands around the glass. Their eyes softened briefly, just enough to be real.
From the doorway, Charlie watched with Vaggie at her side, chin resting on Vaggieâs shoulder.
âYou see it?â Charlie whispered.
Vaggie snorted. âSee what? That Husk is secretly a big softie?â
Charlie smiled, soft and bright all at once. âThat (Y/n) is⊠happier.â
Vaggieâs gaze lingered on the scene: the kid angled slightly toward Husk like he was a fixed point in the madness, the poker chip safe in their hand, the way Husk kept them in his line of sight without making a big deal out of it.
âYeah,â Vaggie admitted quietly. âYeah, I see it.â
Charlieâs eyes gleamed with mischief. âDo you think he knows? That heâs basically become their-â
âIf you say that word out loud,â Vaggie warned, âheâll bolt.â
Charlie clapped a hand over her mouth to hide a giggle- and kept watching anyway, like she was afraid if she blinked, the whole fragile thing might vanish.
where kyoko confesses her love to the reader!! ^_^
A/N: Sure! I love doing fem x fem ficssssssss :}
Inconveniently Important
Kyoko x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Killing game/Captivity/Confinement, Fear, Paranoia, Distrust, Emotional distress, Manipulation/Coercion, and Surveillance/Lack of privacy.
Word Count: 4382
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The first thing (Y/N) noticed about Kyoko Kirigiri were her eyes.
They were a clear, cool violet- observant in a way that made (Y/N) feel seen, and guarded in a way that made her feel like sheâd never truly be able to see back. When (Y/N) woke up in that strange classroom at Hopeâs Peak Academy- head pounding, memory full of holes, a single paper waiting on the desk like a bad joke- she stumbled into the hallway and met Kyoko almost immediately.
Kyoko wasnât doing what everyone else was doing.
While the others spilled out in loud confusion, calling for teachers who didnât answer and yanking on doors that didnât open, Kyoko stood slightly apart with her arms crossed, posture straight as if she could force the world into order by refusing to bend. Pale hair fell over her shoulders; on the left, a few strands were gathered into a neat braid, tied with a thin black bow. Gloves covered her hands, fingers resting near her elbows like she was holding herself together on purpose.
Even before Monokumaâs arrival turned panic into terror, (Y/N) clocked the way Kyoko watched. Not staring. Not gawking. Just⊠collecting. Taking measurements with her eyes.
âKyoko Kirigiri,â the girl said when introductions began, voice simple and clipped.
And then- nothing else.
No âUltimate,â no brag, no explanation. In the chaos, nobody pushed. Nobody except (Y/N), because fear did something strange to her: it didnât soften her thoughts; it sharpened them.
âIâm (Y/N) (L/N),â she offered, a step back from the crowd, hands shoved into her blazer pockets to hide the tremble in her fingers.
They were all Ultimates. That fact sat like a weight in the air- prestige turned into a cage. Some of them yelled, some cried, some tried to bargain with the bear like bargaining could change a locked door. (Y/N) was scared too, heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted out.
But she looked anyway.
Expressions. Movements. Tone. The second a person lied, the micro-shift in their posture, the way their voice turned sharp or thin. Information. Patterns.
And Kyoko- Kyoko did the same.
During the first days of captivity, when the dining hall filled with uneasy clusters and forced small talk, Kyoko drifted through the school alone. (Y/N) kept finding her in quiet places: the library, pulling books from the shelves with methodical hands; in front of a locked door, gloved fingertips tracing the frame like she expected the metal to confess; in shadowed hallways where the hum of fluorescent lights felt too loud.
Curiosity was dangerous in a killing game. (Y/N) understood that.
Still, it tugged at her like gravity.
The first time she spoke to Kyoko alone, it was in the hallway outside the gym.
The morning announcement had just ended- Monokumaâs bright, sing-song voice crawling behind her eyes. The others drifted toward breakfast in small groups, shoulders tight, laughter too forced to be real. Kyoko, as usual, went the opposite direction.
âKirigiri,â (Y/N) called.
Her voice cracked, and she hated that it did.
Kyoko stopped without flinching and turned. Up close, (Y/N) could see faint shadows under her eyes, the slightest crease between her brows. Tired, but composed. Like exhaustion was just another fact to file away.
âYes?â Kyoko asked.
(Y/N) swallowed hard. âDo you⊠want to walk together? I was going to check the stairway hall again.â
Kyoko studied her for a beat too long. It wasnât unkind, exactly, but it made (Y/N) feel like evidence.
Then Kyoko nodded once. âAll right.â
They walked side by side down the corridor, the schoolâs silence pressing in from all sides. The lights hummed overhead. Cameras watched from corners like unblinking eyes.
âYouâve been watching everyone,â Kyoko said, gaze forward.
It wasnât a question.
(Y/N) ducked her head. âI mean⊠yeah. Weâre in danger. If I donât focus on something, Iâll probably start panicking.â
âI see.â
There was something in Kyokoâs voice that wasnât warmth, exactly, but it wasnât cold either. A slight easing- like sheâd accepted a variable into the equation.
âYour observations may be useful.â
(Y/N)âs heart did a strange little lurch. âUseful?â
âIn a situation like this, information is valuable.â Kyokoâs eyes flicked to her. âIf you see what others miss, that could save lives.â
The words landed hard- heavy with responsibility, and sharper still because Kyoko said them like she believed it.
âYou⊠think I can help?â (Y/N) asked before she could stop herself.
âYes,â Kyoko said simply. âI wouldnât have agreed to walk with you otherwise.â
It shouldnât have made (Y/N) smile. It was blunt, almost clinical. And yet something about it felt like being chosen.
From then on, they fell into a quiet routine- not spoken aloud, not agreed upon in any official way, but real all the same. Kyoko moved through Hopeâs Peak like she was mapping it from the inside out, and (Y/N) found herself matching her pace.
When investigations started- because, of course they did, because Monokuma didnât just trap them, he cultivated them- Kyoko was always at the center. Calm where everyone else splintered. Precise where everyone else panicked. She led them through crime scenes and contradictions as if the truth was a thread she could pull until the knot gave way.
(Y/N) stayed close, filling gaps where she could. Kyoko found the hidden panels and the hairline scratches and the details everyone else walked past. (Y/N) watched the group, watched their reactions, listened for the places where fear made people sloppy.
Together, they became something like a unit. Not friends in the easy way (Y/N) imagined friendship was supposed to be- laughing, sharing secrets, leaning on each other without thinking. This was different. Quieter. Sharper. A partnership built in a place where trust was both vital and dangerous.
Other people noticed.
âThose two are kind of scary together,â Hiro muttered once, watching as Kyoko and (Y/N) knelt near a marked-off area and spoke in low voices.
âLike a detective duo,â Hina offered, a nervous smile trying to make it lighter.
âAnd- or like a super serious crime-fighting couple,â she added, and then immediately looked like she regretted having a mouth.
(Y/N) choked on air and pretended she hadnât heard it.
She tried not to think about how right it felt, standing shoulder to shoulder with Kyoko in dim, restricted corridors, the world narrowed to evidence and the faint brush of sleeves.
Most of their conversations stayed practical: theories, timing, strategy, what Monokuma might do next. But there were moments- small, startling cracks in the structure of survival- when something more human seeped through.
Like the day Monokuma handed out motives in the cruelest way possible.
The video (Y/N) watched alone left her sitting stiff in a classroom chair long after the screen went dark, hands digging into her own thighs hard enough to leave crescent marks. The room felt too bright, too small, as if the walls were closing in by inches. Her breath came short, stuck in her throat.
She didnât realize she was shaking until a gloved hand closed around her wrist.
Gentle. Firm. Real.
â(Y/N).â
She looked up.
Kyoko stood beside the desk, expression unreadable as ever, but her attention was pinned on (Y/N) like nothing else in the room mattered.
âYou shouldnât be alone right now,â Kyoko said quietly.
Tears burned hot behind (Y/N)âs eyes, embarrassing in their immediacy. She turned her face away. âIf I start crying, I might not stop.â
âThen Iâll stay until you do,â Kyoko replied, as if it were obvious.
(Y/N) stared at her.
For a moment, the cameras in the corners felt like they vanished. The monitors. The locked doors. Monokumaâs shadow over everything. It all blurred into the background until there was only Kyokoâs hand on her wrist and the steady weight of her presence.
âWhy?â (Y/N) managed, voice thin.
Kyoko hesitated- an actual pause, a tiny stutter in her usually flawless control. Her fingers tightened slightly.
âBecauseâŠâ Her gaze shifted, just barely, like she was choosing her words the way she chose evidence. âI donât want you to break. It would be very inconvenient.â
It was almost absurd. Almost a joke.
But Kyokoâs eyes didnât match the dryness of the line. They stayed fixed on (Y/N) with a quiet intensity that made something in her chest ache.
(Y/N) did cry then. Once she started, she couldnât stop- shoulders shaking, fear and loneliness spilling out in spite of all the effort sheâd put into keeping herself together. Kyoko didnât try to hush her. Didnât tell her to be strong. She simply moved behind her and set a hand lightly on her shoulder.
Not pulling her close. Not pushing her away.
Just⊠there. Solid. A tether.
After that, (Y/N) couldnât keep pretending what she felt was only respect.
She noticed too much. The way Kyokoâs eyes softened when she was deep in thought, violet darkening like dusk. The way her braid loosened at the end of long days, pale strands escaping like theyâd made a run for freedom. The way her mouth would quirk- barely- when someone made a terrible joke and she didnât want to reward them with laughter.
Most of all, she noticed the rare moments Kyokoâs guard slipped by a fraction.
They were glimpses through a locked door.
And (Y/N) wanted more, even though wanting was dangerous.
Because this was a killing game. People vanished. Names became empty seats. After every trial, the air felt thicker- poisoned by grief and by the knowledge that the next time could be any of them.
During one particularly brutal class trial, accusations flew like knives. Tempers snapped. Fear made people frantic. Kyoko took the lead as usual, voice cutting cleanly through the noise, guiding them step by step toward the truth alongside Makoto.
Then suspicion turned- briefly, viciously- toward Kyoko.
Something hot flared in (Y/N)âs chest, fast and fierce.
âThatâs enough,â (Y/N) said, louder than she meant to.
Heads turned. Even Monokumaâs grin seemed to widen.
(Y/N) forced herself to stand straighter. âLook at the evidence,â she said, jabbing the display screen with more force than necessary. âKyokoâs alibi fits. Her reasoning has consistently led us to the truth. If youâre accusing her, youâre ignoring the patterns weâve seen this entire time.â
Monokuma giggled, delighted. âOoooh, how dramatic! Are we watching a courtroom drama or a romance, huhuhu?â
âShut up,â (Y/N) snapped, before she could think better of it.
A flicker- so quick it almost didnât exist- ghosted across Kyokoâs face. Something like amusement. Something like relief. Then her expression smoothed back into calm.
â(Y/N) is right,â Kyoko said evenly. âEmotional speculation wonât save us. Focus on the facts.â
Later, after the verdict and the punishment and the awful quiet that followed, they trudged back through metal corridors that never stopped feeling wrong. The group moved toward the dorms in heavy silence, grief dragging at their heels.
Kyoko walked a little ahead, hands in her pockets, gaze distant.
âKyoko,â (Y/N) called softly.
Kyoko slowed, turned, and let (Y/N) catch up. The others kept going, leaving them alone in the hallway.
âYou defended me,â Kyoko observed.
Not a question. An acknowledgment.
âOf course I did.â (Y/N) looked away, suddenly too aware of her own heartbeat. âThey were being ridiculous. Youâre not⊠youâre not that kind of person.â
âAnd what kind of person am I?â Kyoko asked quietly.
(Y/N) blinked, caught off-guard. Kyoko didnât usually invite answers like that.
âYouâreâŠâ The words stuck, too big for the space. âYouâre someone who doesnât look away. Even when it hurts. You do what needs to be done. And youâre⊠kinder than you think you are.â
A faint color touched Kyokoâs cheeks- so subtle (Y/N) mightâve convinced herself she imagined it if she hadnât been watching so closely.
âYou give me more credit than I deserve,â Kyoko murmured.
âI donât think I do.â
Their eyes held for a heartbeat- fragile and electric, something unspoken vibrating between them.
Kyoko looked away first. âThereâs somewhere I need to check before the night announcement,â she said, returning to safer ground. âDo you want to come with me?â
âAlways,â (Y/N) answered, too fast.
Kyokoâs lips twitched, almost a smile. âThen letâs go.â
They ended up in the archives, dust motes drifting in dim light, shelves stacked with the schoolâs secrets. Kyoko sifted through files with careful hands, reading like she could pull the truth out by force of will. (Y/N) hovered nearby- watching Kyoko more than the paperwork.
âYouâre staring,â Kyoko said without looking up.
(Y/N) jumped. âS-Sorry. I was just⊠thinking.â
âAbout what?â
âAbout you.â
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
Kyoko finally lifted her gaze, one eyebrow raised. âOh?â
Heat flooded (Y/N)âs face. She scrambled for logic. âI mean- how you keep going. How you stay calm when everything is⊠like this.â
Kyoko was quiet for a moment. Then she closed the file with deliberate care and set it aside.
âItâs not that Iâm unaffected,â she said, voice lower. âI feel fear. Anger. Grief.â Her gaze dropped to her gloved hands. âIâve simply learned to lock those feelings away. To focus on what I can control.â
âThat sounds lonely,â (Y/N) said, before she could soften it.
(Y/N) took a small step closer, the air between them suddenly charged. âYou donât have to do it alone,â she said, quiet but certain. âI can be here. To help.â
Kyokoâs eyes widened a fraction- as if (Y/N) had suggested something impossible.
âYou speak as if youâll always be here,â Kyoko said softly. âThis is a killing game. Any of us could-â
âI know,â (Y/N) cut in, too sharp, because the thought made her throat close. âThatâs exactly why. As long as Iâm alive, I want to be by your side. I want it to mean something.â
Silence stretched, brittle.
Then Kyoko stepped closer- just enough that the edge of her sleeve brushed (Y/N)âs wrist.
âYouâre reckless,â Kyoko murmured.
âMaybe,â (Y/N) admitted. âBut I mean it.â
Kyokoâs gaze softened in that subtle way (Y/N) had learned to recognize. âI know,â she said. âThat scares me.â
The night announcement blared before either of them could say more, Monokumaâs voice ripping the moment apart. They returned to their dorms with the conversation unfinished, but something had shifted- an invisible line crossed.
Days passed. More secrets surfaced. Their own missing memories kept circling the edge of their minds like ghosts. Kyoko struggled with fragments that cut too close- truths about Hopeâs Peak, about the world outside, about the parts of herself she didnât fully remember. When she spoke of her father, her voice went quieter than usual, and (Y/N) had to fight the urge to reach out and hold her hand in plain view of every camera.
When they found hidden rooms and damning files, (Y/N) stayed close enough that their shoulders brushed, tiny contact offered like a silent promise: Iâm still here.
And through it all, (Y/N)âs feelings grew until she couldnât ignore them anymore.
The realization hit after another brush with death- another reminder of how thin the line was between living and being made an example. Sitting on the edge of her dorm bed, hands still shaking, (Y/N) stared at her own fingers and thought:
If I die without telling her, I will regret it more than anything.
The thought of actually telling her made her stomach twist.
What if it distracted Kyoko? What if it made them easier to manipulate? What if it became another weapon Monokuma could aim right at her?
(Y/N) buried her face in her hands. âThis is so stupid,â she muttered. âFalling in love in a killing game.â
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Her heart lurched. âWho is it?â
âItâs me,â Kyokoâs voice answered.
(Y/N) scrambled up like sheâd been caught doing something illegal. âC-Come in!â
The door slid open, and Kyoko stepped inside, closing it behind her. In the harsh dorm lighting, she looked the same as always- composed, neat, controlled.
Except⊠not entirely.
There was a tightness around her mouth, a stiffness in her posture that didnât match her usual calm readiness. Her eyes flicked around the room first, as if confirming they were alone.
(Y/N)âs pulse kicked. âIs everything okay? Did something happen? Did Monokuma-â
âNothing like that,â Kyoko said, shaking her head. âNo new motives. No emergencies.â
âThen⊠why are you here?â
Kyoko met her gaze. âI wanted to talk to you.â
The words hit like a gavel.
âOkay,â (Y/N) managed, trying to sound like her heart wasnât trying to escape her chest.
Kyoko moved to the small table and rested her hands on it, fingers curling slightly around the edge. She stared down at the surface as if it held a clue she needed.
âIâve been⊠thinking,â she said at last.
âA dangerous habit,â (Y/N) tried, a weak attempt at humor.
Kyokoâs eyes flicked up. Something moved in them- quick, uncertain. âPerhaps. But this line of thought is⊠different.â
She straightened and turned fully toward (Y/N). The space between them felt suddenly too small.
âIn this situation,â Kyoko began slowly, âweâre encouraged to detach. To see each other as potential threats⊠or potential sacrifices. Monokuma wants us isolated. He wants us to believe we can only rely on ourselves.â
(Y/N) nodded, throat tight. âYeah. Thatâs what makes it so awful.â
âIâve lived much of my life in that mindset,â Kyoko admitted, voice quieter than usual. âReliance on others was a weakness. Attachments made you vulnerable. I built walls- locked doors- and kept people on the other side.â
(Y/N)âs chest ached. âKyokoâŠâ
âWhen this began, I intended to approach it the same way,â Kyoko continued. âFocus on the truth. Avoid unnecessary emotional entanglements. People would die, and I thought it would be⊠easier⊠if I didnât let myself care.â
The idea felt wrong on instinct. (Y/N) shook her head. âBut you do care. Iâve seen it.â
âYes.â Kyokoâs lips pressed together. âDespite my intentions, I found myself caring anyway. About all of us. About stopping this. About the truth behind this place.â
She lifted her head, and (Y/N) felt pinned by those violet eyes.
âBut especially,â Kyoko said, voice dropping to a near-whisper, âabout you.â
(Y/N)âs breath caught. ââŠMe?â
Kyoko stepped forward. Then another. She stopped only when there was barely an armâs length between them.
âYou are reckless,â Kyoko said softly, and the words werenât an insult- more like an observation that carried fear under it. âYou throw yourself into danger if it means protecting someone else. You insist on believing in people even when you shouldnât. You see patterns where others see chaos⊠and somehow you refuse to let despair take root inside you.â
Her gaze flicked across (Y/N)âs face like she was searching for the right conclusion.
âI told myself staying close to you was practical,â Kyoko went on. âThat your observations helped. That we reached the truth more efficiently together. That was the lock I tried to use.â
Something in her expression fractured- just enough to show what was underneath.
âBut when you cried after the motive video,â Kyoko said, voice trembling so slightly (Y/N) almost didnât believe she heard it, âI didnât stay because it was practical. And when they accused me in that trial and you defended me without hesitation, my heartâŠâ She swallowed. âIt reacted.â
(Y/N) could hear her own heartbeat over the hum of the lights.
âEvery time you risk your life,â Kyoko whispered, âmy focus wavers. Just a little. Enough that I noticed. Enough that I had to confront what Iâve been avoiding.â
She stepped closer again- so close (Y/N) could see the fine tremor of Kyokoâs lashes when she blinked.
âThe truth is,â Kyoko said, and the words looked like they cost her something, âI care about you more than I should in a place like this. Youâve become important to me. More important than my own safety, at times.â
(Y/N)âs eyes blurred. âKyokoâŠâ
Kyoko took a slow breath, as if steadying herself before presenting the final piece of evidence.
âIâm not good at this,â she admitted, a small, almost self-deprecating exhale escaping her. âI donât know how to say it in a way that feels adequate. But in a situation where any of us could die at any moment, I refuse to leave it unsaid.â
She squared her shoulders like she did in trials- resolute, clear, unwavering.
â(Y/N),â she said, voice steady now, âIâm in love with you.â
For a second, the entire world narrowed to those words. The cameras, the monitors, the steel walls- white noise.
Kyoko didnât look away. Didnât flinch.
âI donât expect an answer,â she added, softer. âNot right away. Not at all, if thatâs what you want. I know it may complicate things. But you deserve the truth.â
She swallowed again, throat bobbing visibly. âWhatever happens next, I wanted you to have that. Even if it makes me vulnerable. Even if Monokuma tries to use it against us.â
Tears slid down (Y/N)âs cheeks before she even realized she was crying.
Kyokoâs eyes widened. âI- did I distress you? I apologize. I shouldnât have-â
âStop,â (Y/N) choked out, a shaky laugh breaking through the tears. âYouâre an absolute idiot.â
Kyoko blinked, genuinely thrown. âIdiot?â
(Y/N) stepped forward, closing the space between them before she could lose her nerve. Her hands trembled as she reached up and cupped Kyokoâs face. Kyokoâs skin was cool beneath her fingers, real in a place that often felt unreal.
âIâve been falling in love with you this entire time,â (Y/N) said, voice shaking but sure. âFrom the moment you told me my observations could save lives. From the moment you said youâd stay until I finished crying. From every trial, every investigation, every time you put yourself at risk without a second thought.â
Kyokoâs breath hitched, lips parting slightly.
âYouâre not a weakness,â (Y/N) continued, thumbs brushing lightly near Kyokoâs cheekbones. âYouâre the reason I keep going. When Iâm scared, I think, âKyoko would keep moving forward.â When I want to give up, I remember youâre still here- still fighting. I love you too. So much it hurts.â
â(Y/N),â Kyoko breathed, and there was something raw in it- something almost reverent.
Monokuma couldâve been watching. The mastermind couldâve been listening. The whole world couldâve been poised to twist this into something ugly.
In that moment, (Y/N) didnât care.
She leaned in, hesitating just long enough to search Kyokoâs eyes for any sign of regret.
There was none- only fierce, aching tenderness.
Their lips met in a brief, careful kiss- soft, like a promise they were terrified to break. Kyokoâs hands hovered for a heartbeat before settling at (Y/N)âs waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her uniform as if grounding herself.
When they drew apart, they stayed close, foreheads nearly touching, breath mingling.
âThis doesnât change our situation,â Kyoko said after a moment, voice gentle but firm. âWeâre still trapped. We still have to fight. We still have to survive.â
âI know,â (Y/N) whispered. âBut it changes how I face it.â
Kyokoâs head tilted slightly. âHow so?â
(Y/N) took Kyokoâs gloved hand and laced their fingers together. The contact sent warmth up her arm like a spark.
âBecause now,â (Y/N) said, squeezing once, âI know Iâm not just fighting for some abstract idea of hope. Iâm fighting for our future. For the chance to see what your smile looks like when youâre not forcing it down. For the day you sleep in and donât immediately start planning ten steps ahead. For the moment you can go an hour without thinking about evidence or motives or locked doors.â
Kyoko let out a breath that sounded like it mightâve been a laugh- or something dangerously close to a sob.
âYou set very high expectations,â she murmured.
âI think you can live up to them,â (Y/N) said.
Kyoko looked down at their joined hands, thumb brushing over (Y/N)âs knuckles with a careful slowness. âI⊠want those things too,â she admitted. âA future. With you in it.â
(Y/N)âs chest swelled so sharply it almost hurt. âThen weâll get there. Together.â
Something settled into Kyokoâs gaze- familiar resolve, the same steel she carried into every trial. But now it was threaded with something new.
Hope.
âTogether,â Kyoko echoed.
They didnât make dramatic promises. In a world like this, promises could be shattered in a single announcement.
Instead, they made something quieter- an unspoken vow to keep fighting, keep searching, keep choosing each other and the truth even when despair tried to swallow them whole.
The next day, the others noticed a difference.
Kyoko and (Y/N) still moved through the halls with the same focus. Still led investigations. Still pushed everyone toward the truth. But there were small changes: the way their hands brushed more often than chance could explain. The way Kyokoâs gaze lingered on (Y/N) a fraction longer before she spoke. The way (Y/N) seemed steadier at Kyokoâs side, like something unseen had finally anchored her.
Monokuma noticed too, of course.
âWhaaaatâs this?â he cackled over the intercom one morning, static crackling. âLooks like weâve got more than bullets flying in the courtroom! Romance amidst despair- how deliciously tragic! Are you two gonna kiss at the next punishment, huhuhu?â
(Y/N)âs jaw clenched.
Under the table, Kyokoâs hand brushed hers- silent, steady, a reminder that she wasnât alone.
âLet him talk,â Kyoko murmured, barely audible over the groans around them. âHe canât touch what matters.â
(Y/N) risked a small smile. âThat sounded almost sentimental.â
âDonât get used to it,â Kyoko replied, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
(I'm turning 21 today, and I wanted to post a bunch of old art, to see how far I've come. This is my last b-day post!)
(Teaser, my most recent PFP drawing :})
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These are the most recent drawings I've done :}
I am going to put little descriptions under each drawing (And these ones are mostly finished!)
The first one is Sal, from Sally face. The second one is Hunter, from The Owl House, and the third one is Inosuke from Demon Slayer.
The first one is a bunch of outfit concept designs for my Danganronpa OC. The second one is my Wife :}}}}} I love drawing her. The last one is the most recent version of my Hazbin Hotel bat OC.
Okay! last three!!! All of them being Alastor lmao. The first one is his canon design. The second one is his human design. The last ones are redesigns im working on! Just basic designs for now, but im planning on finishing that.
(I'm turning 21 today, and I wanted to post a bunch of old art, to see how far I've come.)
(Teaser, one of the early versions of my little PFP guy!)
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These are all old drawings I found on my Insta, from around highschool.
I am going to put little descriptions under each drawing. (A lot of them are self insert OC's, and a loooooot of them are not finished lmao.)
The first one was Sun from FNAF, with a human design. I never finished it lol. The second one is my Owl House OC. The third one is the first version of my bat Hazbin Hotel OC.
The first one is sketches of my wifeeeeee. I love her :} The second one is a spiderverse OC. The third one is another Steven Universe OC. All of which I need to finish lol.
The first one is my Metal Family OC :} The second one is a TADC OC im still finishing. And the last one is a danganronpa OC I think? I dont fully remeber lol.
(I'm turning 21 today, and I wanted to post a bunch of old art, to see how far I've come.)
(Teaser, Keith from Voltron!)
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These are all old drawings I found on my Insta, from around the start of highschool.
I am going to put little descriptions under each drawing. (A lot of them are self insert OC's.)
The first two were random OC's I made while in school, just drawing in class. The last one was a Hazbin Hotel OC I made.
The first one is a bunch of random work doodles. The next two were pose practice, when I was trying to learn how to draw digitally on my tablet.
The first one is a clown OC my gf helped me make, she chose the colors and designs and stuff :} The second one was a Steven Universe OC! I think it was a pearl of some kind, I dont remember lol. The last one was an old OC of a ex-friend of mine. She wanted me to draw it, so I did :}
Thank you for looking at my (old) art! Let me know if I should ever redraw any of these!
(I'm turning 21 today, and I wanted to post a bunch of old art, to see how far I've come.)
(Teaser, a drawing of my friends OC she asked me to do a loooooong time ago lol.)
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These are all old drawings I found on my Insta, from around late middle school and the start of highschool.
I am going to put little descriptions under each drawing. (A lot of them are self insert OC's.)
The first one is Sal, from Sally face. The second one is some random demon? I think I was just trying to figure out how to draw horns. Of course, like eyes, I refused to draw the second one LOL. The third one is another MHA OC, different than the one from my last post.
The first one is another version of my friends OC, from the teaser. After middle school, she asked me to try and draw it again, so I did :} the next one was a random expression I wanted to try out, not an oc or anything. Next is a Mystic Messenger OC LOL.
Finally, It seems like there is a bit of progress in the art lol. This as freshman year of highschool, a few months in. The first one was my MHA OC, the same one from my first post. The next one is another Homestuck OC, two different ones, actually. A human, and a troll. The last one was a random OC, and the very first drawing I ever did digitally!
Thank you for looking at my (old) art! Let me know if I should ever redraw any of these!
(It's my birthday today! January 10th :} I am turning 21!!! I figured since it's the begining of the year, and my birthday, I'm going to go through all of the art I have saved throughout the years, and post them! Basically, to see how much I have improved.)
(Teaser, the oldest darwing I could find. I have no idea who it is supposed to be lmaooo. A vampire girl, maybe?)
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These are all old drawings I found on my Insta, from like, 2018 I think?
I am going to try and put little descriptions under each drawing. (A lot of them are self insert OC's lololololol)
The first one was a Black Buter cat girl OC LMAOOOOO. The second one was Aphmau, as a wolf girl or something? The thrid was a Homestuck Troll OC, based on my extended zodiac results at the time.
The first one was a sketch of my MHA OC at the time, with all of their hero uniform stuff. The next one was a Naruto OC, I dont even remember her lmao. The next one was another version of the first MHA OC.
The first one is a Sally Face OC I think? The next one is fuckin Bill Cipher LOL. Aaaaaaaaand the last one is a random OC I dont remeber making at all! Some weird angel girl? Idk lol
Anyway, this is only the first post! Im probably going to make quite a few. Thank you for looking at my (old) art! Let me know if I should ever redraw any of these lmao.
A/N: Of course :} I'm trying to post before the 10th this month, because it's my 21st birthday, and I doubt I'll be doing much of anything around then LMAOOOOO.
The rooftop was quieter than it had any right to be.
Wind skimmed over the edge of Hopeâs Peak Academy, making the chain-link fence shiver and tugging at the hem of (Y/N)âs uniform jacket. The city beyond the campus glowed faintly- windows and streetlights like a distant constellation- but up here the world felt muffled, like someone had turned the volume down until only the static remained.
His fingers wrapped around the cold metal at the ledge. He held on hard enough that his knuckles went pale.
He didnât cry. Whatever tears heâd had left burned out somewhere between the empty dorm halls and the stairwell. What was left was hollow and buzzing- white noise trapped under his skin.
Useless. Weak. Burden.
The words werenât really his. Theyâd been fed to him slowly, day after day. Failed tests. Missed expectations. Sharp comments disguised as âadvice.â The suffocating pressure of âUltimateâ this and âUltimateâ that. Hopeâs Peak was built for exceptions. For the special. For the people who fit neatly into a title and wore it like armor.
Heâd never figured out what âspecialâ was supposed to mean for him.
The fence bit into his palms as he leaned forward, toes inching closer to the concrete lip. One more step, and-
That voice- he wouldâve known it anywhere, even wrapped in that bright, almost playful lilt. He turned his head slowly, muscles stiff, and there she was, lounging against the doorway like sheâd wandered onto a runway instead of into a crisis.
Junko Enoshima.
Hair swaying in the wind, posture loose, one hand cocked on her hip. The other toyed with a loose button on her cardigan like she was bored. Her blue eyes caught the low light and sharpened it into something pointed and assessing.
âWhat⊠are you doing here, Junko?â he managed. His throat felt scraped raw.
She smiled. Sweet enough to rot your teeth.
âI could ask you the same thing, (Y/N)-kun,â she said, dragging his name out like it was a joke she was savoring. âBut Iâm pretty sure we both know what you were about to do, soooâŠâ
Junko tilted her head, mock-thoughtful. âIâll go first. Iâm here to stop you. Lucky you!â
His grip tightened on the fence. âWhy?â
âBecause I donât feel like watching you smear yourself all over the pavement today,â she said lightly, like she was commenting on the weather. âMajor mood killer. Even if it might be kind of fun to seeâŠâ
He flinched hard, the words hitting in all the wrong places. âThatâs⊠not funny.â
Her smile widened by a fraction, the way it always did right before she twisted the knife.
Junko pushed off the doorframe and started toward him. Her heels clicked softly on the concrete- unhurried, deliberate. Like she was approaching something that might bolt if she moved too fast.
âRelax,â she said. âIf I just wanted to mess with you, I wouldnât have bothered coming up here at all.â
âThen why did you?â
She stopped a few meters away, just outside armâs reach, and folded her arms beneath her chest. The wind kicked her hair across her face, but her gaze didnât move.
âBecause you looked pathetic.â
He recoiled like sheâd slapped him. âI-I know that. You donât have to-â
âShut up and let me finish.â Her tone snapped sharp enough to cut the air. âYou looked pathetic in a way that pissed me off. Usually itâs a funny pathetic. You definitely arenât the funny type.â
(Y/N) swallowed, thrown by the strange edge in her voice. Not concern. Not sympathy. Something uglier- and for some reason, more real.
Junko studied him through half-lowered lashes. âYouâre not some extra in everybody elseâs tragedy. You donât get to just⊠walk off stage without my permission. Got it?â
His chest tightened. âIâm not your responsibility.â
She snorted. âObviously. Youâd be dead already if you were.â
For one disorienting second, the absurdity of it almost made him laugh. The feeling flashed and dissolved, leaving him emptier than before.
âIt doesnât matter,â he murmured, eyes dropping past the fence again. The drop blurred, dark and endless. âNo one would care if I was gone. Not really.â
Behind him, the air shifted.
Junkoâs steps were quiet as she came closer- close enough that he could feel her presence like heat at his back. She didnât touch him yet, but her voice slid in near his ear, softer now, dangerous in a different way.
âTry saying that again,â she said, âand this time donât lie to my face.â
His jaw tightened. âIâm not lying.â
âYouâre wrong,â Junko replied simply. âWhich is honestly worse.â
(Y/N) stared at his hands. At the metal links. At the white squeeze of his own fingers.
âYou donât know what itâs like,â he whispered. âFeeling like youâre the one extra piece in a puzzle that would make more sense without you.â
Junko hummed, like she was considering a new outfit. âOh, I know exactly what itâs like. Feeling out of place is practically my specialty.â
âNot like this.â
âExactly like this,â she insisted. âThe difference is Iâm hot and good at hiding it.â
Despite himself, a small sound tore out of him- something between a laugh and a sob. It embarrassed him immediately.
Junko shifted again. He felt the faintest press of her fingertips against his wrist- barely there, like she was giving him every chance to pull away. When he didnât, her hand slid over his, warm and steady, and she started prying his fingers away from the fence one by one.
âWhat are you-â Panic fluttered in his chest. âJunko, what are you doing?â
âAnchoring you.â Her tone went firm, almost patient in a way that felt wrong on her. âYouâre not making big decisions when your head is this messed up. Thatâs terrible impulse control. Like⊠worse than mine.â
His grip loosened. Breath hitched out of him in a shudder.
Junkoâs hand slipped fully into his, fingers threading like it was the most natural thing in the world. She tugged gently, just once.
âStep back, (Y/N)-kun,â she said. âNow.â
His legs felt numb, but he moved. One step away from the edge. Then another, guided by her pull.
It was only a meter, but suddenly the air didnât feel so thin. Suddenly he could breathe.
Junko let go only long enough to plant herself between him and the ledge, blocking his view of the drop like she was physically refusing to let it exist. The teasing curve of her mouth softened, and something almost- almost- vulnerable flickered behind her eyes.
âYou donât get to kill yourself just because youâre hurting,â she said quietly. âThatâs not tragic. Thatâs lazy. And selfish.â
He stared at her, stunned. âLazy?â
âYeah. You heard me.â Junko jabbed a finger lightly into his chest, right over his heartbeat. âYouâre in pain. That sucks. Iâm not denying it. But deciding youâre beyond saving and skipping to the credits? Thatâs the easiest out there is.â
Her eyes sharpened. âNo rewrites. No retakes. No trying to make it better. Just a hard cut to black and everyone else cleaning up your mess.â She clicked her tongue. âThatâs the least fun way to do it.â
His throat tightened so hard it hurt.
âAt least make it exciting if youâre going to do something stupid like dying,â she added, like she couldnât help herself. Then, softer, âDo you really want that to be your last performance? It completely lacks creativity.â
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His thoughts were sludge.
âI donât know what else to do,â he finally admitted, voice cracking on the truth.
Junko exhaled, a thin fog between them in the cold air. âThat,â she said, âis an actual answer. Still stupid. But honest.â
She stepped closer. Close enough that he could see a faint mascara smudge under one eye. Close enough that the wind tangled strands of her hair across her cheek, and she didnât bother fixing them. Close enough that if he leaned forward even a fraction, their foreheads would touch.
âYouâre allowed to be desperate,â she murmured. âYouâre allowed to feel like trash. Youâre allowed to be so tired that breathing feels like homework.â
Her fingers lifted and tugged his tie into place, a small, absurd gesture that made his chest ache worse.
âThatâs what makes life so fun,â she added, mouth twisting like she knew how ridiculous she sounded. âBut youâre not allowed to disappear. Not while Iâm watching.â
His pulse thudded under his ribs. âWhy do you care this much?â
Junkoâs gaze flicked away, up to the empty night sky like she was checking for an audience. When she looked back, the manic glint was there- but tempered by something quieter.
âBecause youâre mine,â she said simply. âMy despair. My chaos. My⊠idiot.â
Heat crawled up his neck. âJunko-â
âI like you too much to let you die like this,â she continued, blunt as a punch. Then, because she was Junko, she added with a sweet smile, âIf you die, I want to feel the despair of doing it myself.â
He went very still, caught between horror and the weirdest, sickest kind of comfort.
Junko leaned in just enough to flick his forehead. âIf you go splatter yourself, whoâs going to sit with me when Iâm bored? Who am I supposed to watch falling apart in slow motion if you jump to the ending?â
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and possessive. âYou make my life more interesting. That alone is enough reason not to die.â
It wasnât reassurance the way people wrote it in self-help books. It was selfish. Ugly. Honest. So undeniably her that it grounded him in a way nothing else had managed.
(Y/N) swallowed hard. âI⊠I donât know how to fix any of this.â
âYou donât have to,â Junko said. âYou just have to survive the night.â
Her hand wrapped around his again, firmer this time- less an offer, more a decision.
âCome on,â she said. âIâm kidnapping you.â
He blinked. âWhat?â
âDorm. Now.â Junko started tugging him toward the door like he weighed nothing. âIâm not letting Hopeâs Peakâs resident walking meltdown sleep alone after that little stunt.â
âI wasnât-â
âYes, you were,â she cut in instantly. âYou were absolutely going to do something irreversible, and we are not giving you that kind of agency tonight. Move it.â
He let her pull him. His legs were shaky, but every step away from the edge made the rooftop feel less like a stage and more like what it was- just concrete under harsh school lights.
They walked through dim corridors in silence, the academy eerie after hours. Junko didnât let go of his hand. If anything, she squeezed tighter, like she was daring the world to try to take him back.
Her room was curated chaos: clothes draped over chairs, glossy fashion magazines scattered like evidence, makeup palettes spread across the desk like a painterâs tools. It smelled faintly of perfume and hairspray, the kind of sweet chemical scent that clung to fabric.
âShoes off,â she ordered, kicking hers away without looking. âJacket too. Itâs cuddle time.â
He flushed hot. âC-cuddle time?â
Junko arched a brow. âYes?â Then, with a wicked tilt of her mouth, âUnless youâd prefer I tie you up and leave you to-â
He didnât let her finish. He stepped inside, awkward and stiff, then hesitated in the doorway, staring at the rumpled bed and the soft blankets. A Monokuma plush sat at the foot like a smug little gremlin.
His heart pounded. âWhat if I⊠mess up again?â he asked quietly. âWhat if I wake up tomorrow and feel just as bad?â
âYou probably will,â Junko said, blunt as ever. âThatâs how this works. Itâs not a one-night patch.â
She padded over, grabbed his sleeve, and tugged until he stumbled fully into the room. âBut tomorrow Iâll still be here. And youâll still be here.â Her grip tightened, like she was making it a rule. âThatâs the bare minimum. We can work with that.â
She nudged him toward the bed like he was a piece in a game sheâd already decided the outcome for. The mattress dipped when he sat, then again when she climbed up beside him, rearranging pillows with lazy efficiency.
âLie down,â Junko said, flipping her hair over one shoulder. âOn your side. I want the arm.â
âThe⊠arm?â
âIâm going to cling to you,â she said, like it was obvious. âDuh.â
He obeyed, clumsy with nerves, rolling onto his side with his back to her. For a moment there was only the sound of the wind tapping the window.
Then warmth pressed to his spine- Junkoâs body sliding close, her arm wrapping around his waist. Her fingers curled loosely over his stomach, casual like she owned the space there.
His breath hitched. âJunkoâŠâ
âShh,â she whispered into his hair. âOverthinking is banned. Starting now.â
He could feel her heartbeat against his back. Steady. Real. It anchored him more than the fence ever had.
After a long moment, his voice came out small. âDoes it⊠bother you? Being stuck with someone like me?â
Her arm tightened, pulling him closer. Her nose brushed the back of his neck, and he almost jumped at the intimacy of it.
âIt thrills me,â she said, half-mocking, half-sincere. âYouâre fragile and stubborn and so, so dramatic. You make despair feel⊠complicated.â A pause. âThatâs kind of impressive.â
He let out a weak huff of a laugh. âThat doesnât sound like a compliment.â
âIt is,â Junko insisted. âYouâre not just some sob story I can throw away when it gets boring. Youâre yours. And Iâm selfish enough to want you to keep existing so I can see what you do next.â
Silence settled between them- not empty this time. Heavy and warm.
(Y/N) stared at the faint cracks in the wall across from the bed, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing against his back. The thoughts still swirled, dark and sharp, but they were muffled now. Like someone had wrapped them in cotton.
âCan I⊠stay?â he asked, almost too quiet to hear. âLike this. Just for tonight?â
Junkoâs fingers traced idle circles at his side, slow and strangely soothing.
âYouâre not going anywhere,â she murmured. âNot off this bed. Not off that rooftop. Not out of my life.â
Her lips brushed the back of his neck- not quite a kiss, more like a promise.
âYouâre stuck with me, (Y/N)-kun.â
His eyes burned- not with the hopeless sting from before, but with something else. Something that felt like relief trying to exist despite everything.
âOkay,â he whispered.
Junkoâs hold didnât loosen. If anything, it steadied.
âGood boy...â
Outside, the wind rattled the window again, but in Junkoâs room the world felt smaller. Softer. (Y/N) focused on the weight of her arm, the warmth at his back, the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing- proof, for tonight at least, that the story hadnât ended on the rooftop.
Sayaka:
The music room was supposed to be one of the few quiet places left in Hopeâs Peak.
This late, the academy had that unnatural stillness- hallways emptied, classroom doors locked, the dayâs constant noise replaced by the low hum of vents and the faint settling creaks of a building too big for comfort. Moonlight poured in through the high windows, laying pale rectangles across the polished floor like stage marks. Dust drifted lazily through the beams. Everything looked clean and calm and controlled in a way that made his skin itch.
(Y/N) sat on the edge of the piano bench with his hands hanging loosely between his knees. The grand pianoâs lid was shut, glossy black and reflective, like a closed mouth. A single desk lamp sat on the far end, casting a small circle of warm light over the keys- bright enough to see, not bright enough to feel safe. The rest of the room blurred into soft shadow.
It would be easy, he thought.
Not a dramatic rooftop. Not a note. Not anything that would make someone think he wanted attention.
Just⊠one decision.
One moment where he stopped pretending he was okay and let the exhaustion swallow him whole.
His gaze fixed on the piano lid, on the warped reflection staring back at him. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair slightly messed up, like heâd raked a hand through it one too many times. Mouth pulled into that tight, almost-smile heâd been wearing for weeks- something practiced for the hallways, something meant to keep people from asking questions.
The kind of face people looked through at Hopeâs Peak.
Everyone here had something written beside their name, like it was carved into their bones: Ultimate this, Ultimate that. Titles. Talents. Proof. Even the air felt sharp with it, like the academy itself expected you to be exceptional the moment you walked through the doors.
Pressure to be better.
Pressure to catch up.
Pressure to not be the weak link, the one dragging everyone else down.
And the worst part- somehow worse than the obvious cruelty- was when people smiled and told him they believed in him. Like belief was a bandage you could press over a wound and call it healed. Like encouragement could fix whatever was wrong inside him.
His stomach twisted hard enough to make him swallow.
His fingers curled into fists.
I canât do this anymore.
The thought was small, almost polite. But it rang through him like a bell in an empty room.
He stood too fast. The bench scraped backward with a sharp, ugly sound that bounced off the walls.
Even that felt like a reprimand.
His heart thudded heavy in his chest, breath turning shallow and thin. He moved without really seeing- just shapes and shadows and the doorway, the hallway beyond it, the clean, quiet path back to his dorm that suddenly felt like a corridor leading to the end of something.
His hands were shaking. He noticed that much, distantly, the way you notice rain on your sleeve.
He didnât notice the footsteps in the corridor until it was too late.
â(Y/N)âŠ?â
Her voice stopped him cold.
For a second, his body forgot how to move. Like being spoken to had snapped him back into place.
Sayaka Maizono stood in the doorway with one hand on the frame. Her long blue hair spilled over her shoulder, catching the moonlight in a way that made her look almost unreal. She was still in her uniform, blazer unbuttoned, as if sheâd taken it off and put it back on without thinking. There was a faint shimmer near her lashes- leftover stage glitter that never seemed to fully come off, no matter how carefully she tried.
He forced his face into something neutral. Something normal. Something that wouldnât invite questions.
But whatever mask heâd been wearing all day had cracked somewhere along the way.
He could tell by the way her eyes widened just a fraction.
âSayaka,â he said, aiming for casual.
It came out rough. Hoarse. Like his throat had been sanded down from the inside.
She took in the scene in one glance- the pushed-back bench, the lamp still on, the way he hovered in the half-dark with his shoulders drawn tight. Concern flickered over her expression. She smoothed it quickly into something gentle, but she didnât erase it completely.
âWhat are you doing here so late?â she asked. Light tone, careful. Worry threaded through it like a quiet harmony.
He looked away before she could see too much.
âCould ask you the same thing,â he muttered.
A faint smile touched her mouth. âRehearsal ran long.â She shifted her weight, gaze lingering on him. âI thought everyone else had gone back to their dorms.â Her eyes flicked toward the lamp. âI saw the light through the window.â
He didnât answer.
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Not peaceful- just⊠waiting.
Sayaka stepped inside and let the door fall softly shut behind her. The click sounded too loud in the quiet room.
âHey,â she said, quieter now. âLook at me for a second?â
His instinct was to refuse. To shrug her off. To say he was fine, he was tired, he just needed sleep, heâd be better tomorrow.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
But his body didnât have the energy to keep fighting. Not against her voice. Not against the way she asked like she was afraid of what sheâd find if she didnât.
He hesitated, then lifted his gaze.
Her eyes were kinder than he deserved. Deep, worried blue- soft, but sharp enough to catch small fractures. She studied his face like it was something she had to understand, something she couldnât afford to misread.
âYouâve been off lately,â she said. âMore than usual.â
âIâm fine,â he lied automatically.
Her expression didnât change.
âTry again,â she said.
It wasnât harsh. Just⊠honest.
He swallowed. His throat felt tight. âIâm just tired.â
âEveryone here is tired.â She moved closer, the quiet rustle of her skirt crossing the room. âBut you look like youâre carrying something heavier than that.â
A laugh forced its way out of him, thin and wrong, like a note played off-key. âWhat, you mind reading now?â
âNo,â Sayaka said softly. âIâm your friend.â
The word hit him harder than anything else had.
Friend.
He didnât know what to do with it.
His eyes dropped to his hands. They clenched and unclenched like theyâd forgotten what they were supposed to be for when they werenât holding something together.
âSayaka, IâŠâ His voice faltered. ââŠI just⊠I need to go.â
âGo where?â she asked, and there was a slight edge under the gentleness now. Not anger- fear.
Away.
Out.
Down.
Quiet.
âBack to my room,â he said instead, staring at the floor like it could save him.
âNo.â
The word was gentle, but it landed firm enough to stop him mid-step.
He blinked, thrown. ââŠNo?â
Sayaka pressed her lips together, like she was deciding something. Her shoulders rose with a slow breath, then fell.
Then she closed the distance between them completely.
Close enough that he could see the faint sparkle near her eyes. Close enough that the room felt smaller- like there wasnât space to hide anymore.
â(Y/N),â she said, voice steady, âIâm going to ask you a question. And I need you to be honest with me. Not with the teachers. Not with the idea of âbeing strong.â With me.â
His heartbeat stuttered.
âSayaka, I donât-â
âWere you going to hurt yourself?â she asked.
The air seemed to vanish from the room.
Everything narrowed to the space between them. To her eyes. To the question hanging there like a spotlight.
Denial rose on instinct- fast, automatic, practiced. No. Of course not. Donât be ridiculous.
But it stopped at his throat.
It tasted like poison.
He exhaled shakily, looking away because if he looked at her too long, he might fall apart.
ââŠI donât know,â he whispered.
â(Y/N).â
His chest tightened. His voice turned smaller. âYes,â he admitted. âOkay? Yes.â
The word sat heavy in the silence, like it had been waiting too long to exist.
Sayaka didnât flinch. She didnât gasp. She didnât step back like heâd become something dangerous or disgusting.
She stepped forward.
And wrapped her arms around him.
He froze- shock running through him so fast it felt like electricity.
âSa-?!â he started.
âShh,â she murmured, pressing her head against his chest. âJust⊠let me do this.â
His body trembled, the panic and adrenaline suddenly having nowhere to go. His arms hovered awkwardly for a moment, uncertain, as if he didnât know what the rules were.
Then, slowly, like he was afraid heâd break her, he let his arms settle around her.
Not too tight.
Not too loose.
Just enough to feel that she was real.
Her uniform was warm against his. The faint scent of her shampoo- something soft and floral- wrapped around him like a tether. His breathing hitched, then eased, the way it did after youâd been holding it without realizing.
âWhy?â he managed, and his voice broke on the word. He hated it. âWhy do you care this much?â
Sayaka shifted just enough to look up at him, her arms still locked behind his back like she wasnât letting him go even if he tried.
âBecause you matter to me,â she said, like it was obvious. Like it was simple.
He shook his head hard. âNo, I donât. Iâm not⊠Iâm not that important. Iâm not like you.â The words spilled out faster now, raw and ugly. âIf I disappeared, nothing here would change.â
Sayakaâs hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt.
âDonât talk about yourself like that,â she said quietly- and there was steel in it, rare and sharp. âYou have no idea how wrong you are.â
Tears stung his eyes, hot and humiliating. He turned his face away, blinking hard like he could force them back.
âIâm tired, Sayaka,â he said, and his voice cracked again. âIâm so tired of never being enough. Of feeling like Iâm just⊠taking up space.â His throat tightened. âI donât want to drag you- or anyone- down with me.â
She listened without interrupting, without recoiling. When his words finally ran out and his breath hitched like it didnât know what to do next, she lifted a hand and cupped his cheek.
âYouâre not dragging me down,â she said. âYouâre keeping me grounded.â
He blinked through the blur. âWhatâŠ?â
Sayakaâs smile was small, sad in a way that didnât quite reach her eyes. âDo you know how many people only see me as âSayaka Maizono, Ultimate Pop Sensationâ?â she asked quietly. âAn image. A voice. A product.â Her fingers brushed his cheekbone, gentle. âEven here, sometimes it still feels like Iâm on stage. Like if Iâm not perfect, Iâll disappoint everyone.â
Her thumb wiped away a tear he hadnât noticed fall.
âBut you,â she continued, voice softer, âyou talk to me like Iâm just⊠Sayaka. You ask how Iâm really doing. You listen when I complain about rehearsals, or my throat hurting, or messing up a note.â A tiny tremor ran through her hand. âYou treat me like a person before you treat me like an idol.â
He stared at her, stunned, like sheâd handed him something too fragile to hold.
âYou make it easier to breathe,â she finished.
His mouth opened. Closed. âI⊠I didnât know.â
âI didnât tell you,â she admitted, and a watery little laugh escaped her. âI guess that makes us even.â
The laugh faded. She took a breath like she had to steady herself, too.
âYou being here,â she said, âmakes my day better. Every single time. You donât have to be âimportantâ to matter to me.â
Her gaze locked onto his, unwavering.
âIf you werenât here tomorrow,â she whispered, âit would break me.â
His chest ached, sharp and heavy.
âYouâre not saying that just to make me feel guilty, right?â he muttered, trying for a joke and failing halfway through.
âIâm saying it because itâs true,â she replied.
She reached up, smoothing his hair back from his forehead with a tenderness that made something inside him hurt in a different way.
âIâm scared, (Y/N),â she said. âIâm really, really scared of losing you.â
Something in him split open at the raw honesty, at the way she didnât pretend she was okay either.
âI donât know how to stop feeling like this,â he confessed, the words scraping out of him. âLike no matter what I do, itâs never going to get better.â
âI know you donât,â Sayaka said, and her voice shook, just slightly. âAnd I canât magically fix it for you. I wish I could.â
She swallowed, eyes shining.
âBut I can stay.â
She slid her hand into his- firm, warm- and laced their fingers together like she was anchoring him to the present.
âI can sit with you while itâs hard,â she said. âI can listen when youâre overwhelmed and remind you to breathe.â Her grip tightened a fraction. âI can help you talk to someone- a teacher, the nurse, anyone who can support you more than I can alone.â
Then, softer: âAnd tonight, I can make sure youâre not alone. Not for one second. If youâll let me.â
He stared at their joined hands like he didnât recognize them as his.
âWill it⊠really make a difference?â he asked, voice small.
âIt already has,â Sayaka said. âYouâre still here.â
The edges of the room blurred again. The urge to vanish hadnât disappeared- it still lurked, a dark shape at the back of his mind- but it had shifted. Dullened. Pushed back by warmth and by the simple fact of someone choosing him enough to stand in front of the exit.
âOkay,â he whispered. âI⊠I just want this feeling to stop.â
âThatâs not the same thing as wanting to die,â Sayaka said gently. âWanting the pain to end isnât the same as wanting your life to end.â
Something in that distinction loosened a knot in his chest he hadnât even realized was there.
She squeezed his hand again.
âCome to my dorm,â she said. âPlease. Just for tonight. Weâll talk, or not talk, or just⊠exist. Together.â Her voice softened even more. âYou donât have to be strong. You just have to be here.â
He hesitated- his instincts snapping up barriers out of habit- then nodded.
âOkay.â
Relief washed across her face so quickly it almost made his throat close again.
âOkay,â she echoed, a small, earnest smile blooming. âThank you.â
They walked back to the dorms side by side, hands still linked. The hallways felt different on the way out- less like a maze, more like a path. Each step away from the music room felt like a quiet act of defiance against the darkness that had been clinging to him.
Sayakaâs room was neat in the way of someone used to shared spaces and constant moving. Everything was folded and organized, but there were personal touches placed carefully on the shelves: photos, a small stack of CDs, a couple of plushies that looked like gifts from fans. She closed the door behind them, then turned, cheeks faintly pink as if sheâd only just realized what she was about to ask.
âUm,â she said, suddenly shy, âthis might be weird, but⊠do you want to lie down?â
His brain short-circuited for a second.
âWe donât have to sleep yet,â she added quickly. âI just⊠I think it might help if you could⊠feel someone nearby.â
He rubbed the back of his neck, heat creeping up his face. âYou mean⊠likeâŠâ
âCuddling,â Sayaka supplied, voice soft but steady. âIf youâre comfortable with that. If not, we can just sit and talk.â She glanced down, then back up. âI just⊠thought you might need to feel loved, not just hear it.â
His heart did a strange, painful flip.
âIâŠâ He swallowed hard. ââŠI think Iâd like that.â
Her smile returned, brighter now- relieved. âOkay.â
She tugged gently at his hand and guided him to the bed.
âTop or bottom?â she asked, and for a second he just stared, confused- until he realized what she meant and his face heated even more.
âUh- over the blanket is fine,â he blurted. âI donât want to mess anything up.â
âYouâre not messing anything up,â she said immediately, like she couldnât stand the idea. âYouâre my guest.â
They lay down facing each other, a small space between them filled with nervous energy and the quiet hum of the academy beyond the walls. Sayaka hesitated for only a moment before she scooted closer. She slid one arm under his head like a pillow and draped the other over his side, pulling him in carefully, as if he were something fragile.
He went rigid automatically.
Then, slowly, his body realized it was safe- safe enough, for now- and he softened into the embrace. Warmth seeped through the fabric of his uniform. Her heartbeat fluttered gently against him where their chests touched.
âIs this okay?â she asked, barely above a whisper.
âYeah,â he breathed. âItâs⊠more than okay.â
She exhaled, and her breath fanned over his collarbone.
âGood.â
For a while, neither of them spoke. The dorm was quiet except for the muffled rush of pipes and the occasional settling creak of the building. Sayakaâs fingers traced slow, absent patterns along his back, each touch a small wave of calm he hadnât known he could still feel.
âSayaka?â he murmured.
âMm?â
âThank you,â he said, voice rough again. âFor⊠for stopping me.â
Her hold tightened just a little. âThank you,â she replied, âfor letting me.â
He blinked, confused even through the tired haze. âLetting you?â
âI canât force you to stay,â she said softly. âNo one can.â She paused, her voice thickening. âBut you chose to. Even if it feels small and fragile and impossible right now- you chose to stay.â Her forehead rested lightly against his chest. âThat means everything to me.â
His chest ached again, but softer this time. Less like a wound, more like a bruise being pressed and acknowledged.
âI donât know whatâs going to happen tomorrow,â he admitted. âIâm scared itâll be just as bad.â
âIt might be,â Sayaka said honestly.
And somehow, that honesty didnât crush him. It made her feel real.
âBut if it is,â she continued, âthen tomorrow weâll talk about it. Or weâll drag some chairs onto the roof and eat snacks and complain about everything until we feel better.â A faint smile tugged at her voice. âOr weâll go to the nurse. Or a counselor. Or whoever we need.â Her hand squeezed his gently. âYouâre not facing it alone anymore.â
He swallowed, throat tight. ââŠYou promise?â
Sayaka shifted, bringing her face closer until her forehead touched his. Their noses brushed. His breath caught.
âI promise,â she whispered. âIâm not going anywhere, (Y/N). Not while you still need someone to remind you how much youâre worth.â
His eyes stung again, but the tears that slipped free this time felt lighter- like release instead of surrender.
âYouâre going to get glitter on me,â he mumbled, trying for a weak joke.
She giggled softly, the sound vibrating against him. âThen youâll match me.â
He closed his eyes.
The dark thoughts still lingered at the edges of his mind- shadows that didnât vanish just because someone held him- but they didnât feel like a tidal wave anymore. More like shapes in the corner of a room, kept back by the small, bright circle of warmth theyâd made together.
âIâm glad youâre here,â he murmured, already drifting.
âIâm glad youâre here too,â Sayaka whispered back, her voice thick with relief. âSo, so glad.â
Sonia:
Night settled over Jabberwock Island like a warm, heavy blanket.
Most of the cottages had gone dark. A few still glowed faintly- Nagitoâs window flickering like heâd forgotten how switches worked, Kazuichiâs humming with whatever mechanical thing he absolutely refused to stop âimproving,â and somewhere farther down the path came the unmistakable sound of Fuyuhiko yelling at someone to shut up already.
Down by the beach, though, the world was quieter.
Waves rolled in and out in a slow rhythm, hissing against the sand. The moon painted a pale path across the water, stretching straight into the dark like an invitation. The wind carried salt and something sharp that sat at the back of (Y/N)âs throat and wouldnât leave.
He stood at the edge where the wet sand turned cold under his shoes, staring at the black water. His hands hung at his sides, fingers flexing- clenching, unclenching- catching the fabric of his shorts like he needed something to hold onto and didnât know what.
It would be easy.
No elaborate plan. No blood. No⊠anything complicated. Just the water, the dark, the quiet.
Nobody would have to keep pretending they didnât notice how much he was struggling. Nobody would have to slow down for him. The others would move on like they always did- shining, capable, made for this- without dragging along the dead weight who still hadnât figured out what he was supposed to be.
âUltimateâ this. âUltimateâ that.
Heâd never felt further from that word in his life.
A breeze gusted over the shore, ruffling his hair and carrying the faint sounds of the island- distant insects, the muffled thump of music from the lobby, laughter from someoneâs open window. It all felt like it belonged to a different world. Like he was standing just outside of it, watching through glass.
He took one step closer to the edge.
âExcuse me!â
The voice cut through the night like a bell.
(Y/N) jolted so hard his heartbeat seemed to climb into his throat. He spun around, breath catching.
Sonia Nevermind stood halfway across the beach, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her skirt swayed in the wind, and the ribbon at her collar sat slightly askew- as if sheâd come running and hadnât stopped to fix it. Moonlight washed her pale and bright, almost unreal, like one of those old fairy tales she talked about with shining eyes.
âS-Sonia?â he managed. His voice came out rough, scraped raw.
She smiled, but it didnât quite reach her eyes.
âThere you are,â she said. âWe were wondering where you had gone.â
ââWeâ?â His gaze flicked instinctively back toward the cottages.
âGundham insisted you had gone to perform some âunspeakable nocturnal ritual,ââ Sonia said, brows lifting with the faintest exasperation. âHowever⊠I suspected it might be something else.â
She stepped closer. Her neat shoes sank a little into the sand. The boards of the little path near the shoreline creaked softly as she moved.
âYou did not come to dinner,â Sonia continued, quieter now. âYou did not return to the lobby. Your cottage was dark.â She took a careful breath, as if choosing each word. âI thought it would be⊠unwise⊠to leave you alone.â
(Y/N)âs eyes slid back to the water like a reflex.
âI just needed some air.â
âAh.â Soniaâs voice stayed gentle- too gentle, like she was holding something back on purpose. âAnd you could not find it at the hotel? Or anywhere that did not involve standing at the edge of the beach⊠in the dark⊠entirely alone?â
He flinched, heat prickling behind his eyes.
âItâs not-â
âPlease do not lie to me, (Y/N),â she said softly.
The formality slipped on his name, revealing something sharper underneath- something that sounded like worry when it wasnât wearing its polite clothes.
Sonia shuffled through the sand until she stopped a short distance away. Not close enough to corner him. Close enough that he could see it: the strain at the corners of her eyes, the way her hands clenched and unclenched like she didnât know what to do with them either.
The ocean kept rolling in, steady and indifferent.
âWere you intending to do something to hurt yourself?â Sonia asked.
No dodging. No pretending she didnât understand. She said it plainly, like a truth that needed to be faced, not danced around.
(Y/N) swallowed hard. His gaze dropped to the boards between them.
âI donât know,â he muttered.
â(Y/N),â Sonia said again, quiet.
The word lodged in his chest.
The truth sat there too- heavy, sour, impossible to swallow back down.
ââŠYes,â he whispered. âI was thinking about it.â
Silence stretched.
For a moment, he almost wished she would yell. Call him selfish. Call him weak. Tell him how stupid it was to be standing here, shaking on a piece of wood over an ocean like that was a solution.
Instead, Sonia exhaled slowly.
âThank you,â she said.
He blinked, thrown completely off balance.
âWhat?â
âThank you for being honest with me.â Her smile was small and shaky around the edges. âIt must have been very difficult to admit.â
He stared at her, throat tight.
âYouâre⊠not angry?â
Soniaâs expression tightened- not cold, but fierce.
âI am furious,â she said calmly. âBut not at you. At the idea that this island- this⊠world- has made you feel so cornered that such an option appears reasonable.â
Her hands clenched in front of her for a moment, then she forced them to relax, like she was practicing the same kind of composure she wore every day.
She took another careful step forward.
âMay I come closer?â she asked.
The question startled him more than the anger wouldâve.
âWhat?â
âMay I come closer?â Sonia repeated. âI do not wish to frighten you or make you feel trapped.â
His chest hurt. He didnât trust himself to speak, so he nodded.
Relief loosened something in her face. Sonia closed the distance until they were a step apart.
Up close, he could see the faint shadows under her eyes. Like she hadnât been sleeping much either.
Sonia glanced past him at the water, then back to his face.
âWould you take one step back for me?â she asked.
His legs felt like they were full of sand. For a long second he didnât move at all.
Then- slowly- he shifted his weight backward.
One step.
The air felt a tiny bit less sharp in his lungs.
âThank you,â Sonia said again, like heâd done something brave.
A shaky, ugly laugh slipped out of him. âItâs just one step.â
âIt is a step away from death,â Sonia replied. âThat seems rather significant to me.â
He looked at her helplessly, words coming apart at the seams inside him.
âI⊠I donât know what else to do, Sonia.â His fingers curled hard against his palms. âI donât know how to live with⊠this. Everyone around me is so⊠much. Talented. Confident. Useful.â His voice cracked. âAnd I just keep thinking- if Iâm not an Ultimate, if Iâm not amazing⊠whatâs the point of me being here at all?â
Something like hurt flickered across her face.
âIs that truly what you believe?â she asked softly.
He let out another bitter laugh that didnât sound like him. âIâm just⊠extra. A background character in everyone elseâs story. A liability in anything that actually matters.â He swallowed, eyes burning. âIf I disappeared, youâd all be safer. Better off. Happier.â
Soniaâs jaw tightened.
For the first time since sheâd arrived, her composure cracked- just a hairline fracture, but enough that he saw the person under the princess.
âThat is,â she said, voice firm, âan absolute falsehood.â
He flinched automatically. âYou donât have to-â
âI am not saying this out of obligation,â Sonia cut in, sharper now. âYou are mistaken. Profoundly.â
He froze, startled by the intensity in her eyes.
Soniaâs gaze drifted out over the waves, as if she was anchoring herself before she spoke.
âWhen I first arrived on this island,â she said, âI was very excited. It was like something from one of my beloved dramas. A tropical setting, classmates from different walks of life⊠adventure.â A faint smile tugged at her mouth. âBut I was also⊠terrified.â
âYou?â he blurted before he could stop himself. âYouâre a princess. You always look like you know exactly what youâre doing.â
Soniaâs smile softened- sadly, almost.
âThat is because I have spent my entire life learning to appear so,â she said. âIn my country, I am never truly alone. There are always eyes upon me. Expectations. Protocol.â Her voice quieted. âHere⊠for the first time, I was simply⊠Sonia.â
She looked back at him.
âAnd one of the very first people who treated me as âSoniaâ and not as âPrincess of Novoselicâ was you.â
He blinked. âMe?â
âYou,â she confirmed. âYou did not stumble over formalities. You did not attempt to impress me with grand gestures. You asked if I was enjoying myself. You asked what sorts of shows I liked to watch.â Her cheeks colored faintly. âYou listened to me ramble about serial killer trivia and did not look at me like I was a monster.â
(Y/N) swallowed, caught between disbelief and the sudden ache of being seen.
âI just⊠thought you seemed lonely,â he muttered.
âAnd you acted on that thought,â Sonia said, softer. âYou sat with me. You laughed with me. You did not demand anything in return. You made this island feel less like a cage and more like⊠somewhere we could endure together.â
Her hand lifted between them, hovering- careful, asking permission with her posture before her words even came.
âMay I take your hand?â Sonia asked.
His throat tightened. âY-yeah.â
Her fingers slipped around his, warm and steady. She squeezed- not enough to hurt. Just enough that he couldnât pretend it didnât matter.
âIf you vanished,â Sonia said quietly, âthis place would become much darker for me. I would not be âbetter off.â I would be devastated.â
His eyes stung. âYouâre just saying that because youâre kind,â he whispered.
âI am saying it because it is the truth.â Soniaâs grip tightened, earnest and unwavering. âYour life is not a burden. Your presence is not a mistake.â Her voice dipped, almost shaking with how real it was. âYou are my friend, (Y/N). I care for you dearly. And I do not wish to lose you- to the ocean or anything else.â
His breath hitched. His shoulders started to shake before he could stop them.
The words heâd been holding all day- maybe longer- spilled out in broken pieces.
âIâm so tired, Sonia,â he admitted, voice cracking. âIâm tired of pretending Iâm okay. Tired of feeling like the weakest link. Like one more bad day will just⊠snap me in half.â
Sonia stepped closer, closing the last space between them. Slowly. Deliberately. Giving him time to pull away.
He didnât.
She lifted their joined hands and pressed his knuckles lightly against her chest, over her heart.
âIt is all right to be tired,â she murmured. âIt is all right to be broken. It is all right to not know how to go on.â Her heart beat steady beneath his hand. âWhat is not all right is facing that alone.â
Her gaze held his- gentle, stubborn, refusing to let him slip away.
âWill you allow me to stay by your side?â she asked. âTo share that weight, even a little?â
Something inside him cracked open like a shell that had been too tight for too long.
He bowed his head, trembling. âI⊠I donât know how much I can promise,â he said. âI donât know what tomorrow will feel like.â
âThen do not promise me âtomorrow,ââ Sonia replied without hesitation. âPromise me⊠tonight.â
She squeezed his hand again, anchoring him.
âPromise me you will not walk into that water. Promise me you will come back to the shore with me, and rest, and let someone hold you while you remember what it feels like to be loved.â
His breath hitched painfully. âI can⊠try,â he whispered.
âThat is enough,â Sonia said at once. âThat is more than enough.â
They walked back up the beach hand in hand.
The sand didnât feel like a cliff edge anymore. It was just sand- soft, shifting, real beneath their shoes. Each step grounded him, pulled him away from the line where the water waited.
When the cottages came into view, Sonia hesitated.
âMy room is closer,â she said, a faint pink warming her ears. âWould you⊠would you feel comfortable resting there? I do not wish you to be alone tonight.â
Guilt twisted in his stomach. The idea of stepping into her space, of being one more thing she had to manage-
âI donât want to intrude,â he started. âYouâve already-â
âYou would not be intruding,â Sonia said firmly, leaving no room for argument. âYou would be⊠very welcome.â Her voice softened, and she glanced aside like she was suddenly aware of her own boldness. âI would feel much more at ease if I could keep an eye on you.â
She cleared her throat, trying for composure again.
âAnd I believe physical closeness may be⊠comforting, yes? âCuddling,â I believe it is called here.â
The thought of being held- of not having to brace himself alone against the tide inside his own head- made something warm and aching uncurl in his chest.
ââŠOkay,â he said quietly. âIf youâre really sure.â
âI am exceptionally sure.â
Soniaâs room was tidy, neat in a way that still felt lived-in. Little touches from Novoselic were scattered carefully around- framed photographs, a patterned throw folded over the bed, a tiny flag pinned near the window with almost ceremonial precision.
She closed the door gently behind them and turned, suddenly looking a little unsure herself.
âUm,â she said, fingers fussing with the edge of the blanket, âwe may simply lie atop the covers, if that feels more proper.â She glanced up at him. âYou may keep as much distance as you like.â
His throat felt too thick for a proper reply.
âI⊠I think Iâd like it if you were close,â he managed.
Relief softened her face into a small, trembling smile.
âI see. ThenâŠâ She gestured a bit awkwardly toward the bed. âWould you like to lie down first?â
He sat, then eased onto his side, facing the wall because looking directly at her felt like too much right now- like he might break completely if he saw too clearly how gentle she was being.
The mattress dipped as Sonia lay down behind him, cautious and careful, leaving a small space at first.
âMay IâŠ?â she asked, fingertips hovering near his shoulder.
âYeah,â he whispered. âPlease.â
Soniaâs arm slid gently around his middle, drawing him back until his spine met the soft warmth of her body. Her other hand slipped beneath the pillow near his head, and suddenly he was surrounded- warmth, faint perfume, the quiet solidity of someone holding him like he wasnât fragile or wrong.
His breath shuddered out.
Sonia tucked her face near the back of his shoulder, voice a soft murmur in the dark.
âIs this acceptable?â she asked.
He made a sound that was almost a sob. âItâs⊠perfect.â
Her arm tightened- not painfully, just enough that he could feel the promise in it.
âYou are not a burden,â Sonia whispered. âNot to me. Not now. Not ever.â
Her fingertips traced slow, steady patterns against his ribs, like she was teaching his body how to breathe again.
His eyes burned. âEven if I feel like this again tomorrow?â
âEspecially then,â Sonia said without missing a beat. âIf tomorrow is dark, tell me. If the ocean calls to you again, tell me. If you feel like you have no reason to stayâŠâ Her voice trembled for the first time, quiet but fierce. âI will give you mine.â
He curled his fingers around the wrist resting over his stomach, holding on like it was a lifeline.
âOkay,â he breathed. âIâll⊠Iâll stay. At least as long as youâre holding on to me.â
Soniaâs breath hitched- and then she let out a tiny, relieved laugh, like something inside her finally unclenched.
âThen I shall not let go,â she murmured. âNot tonight.â
(Y/N) closed his eyes.
The thoughts were still there, whispering at the edges of his mind, but they felt farther away now- drowned out by the steady beat of her heart against his back and the slow rhythm of her breathing near his ear.
For the first time in a long time, the idea of waking up tomorrow didnât feel like a punishment.
can you do from enemies to lovers sonia nevermind x male!reader where reader thinks that Sonia is like his old bully: acting nice but secretly manipulative, by the time passed, he find out he was wrong
A/N: Of course, @multiversumenjoyerofhappines! Happy New year!!!
The Princess Problem
Sonia x Male!Reader
Warnings: Emotional distress/Anxiety, Paranoia/Mistrust, Conflict/Argument, and Fear of Betrayal.
Word Count: 5018
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sonia Nevermind was dazzling in a way that made (Y/N)âs skin crawl.
The first day he saw her, she stood at the front of Hopeâs Peakâs classroom like a painting come to life- perfect posture, porcelain smile, a crown of blonde hair that practically glowed under the fluorescent lights. Her skirt fell exactly where it was supposed to. Her bows sat crisp and precise. Even the way she folded her hands over her chest looked rehearsed, immaculate.
âPleased to be making your acquaintances!â she said, her accent bright and delighted. âI am Sonia Nevermind. I look forward to learning alongside all of you!â
The class murmured- some impressed, some shy. Kazuichi was already practically vibrating in his seat, eyes turning into hearts. Chiaki gave a small wave from her seat.
(Y/N) just watched, jaw tightening.
Of course she was nice. Of course she was sweet. Of course she smiled at each person like they were priceless treasures instead of potential stepping-stones.
Heâd seen it before.
The last âprincessâ heâd known hadnât worn a crown, but she might as well have. Popular. Beloved. Always praised. Sheâd called him her friend in public, then whispered little lies into ears when no one was looking. Turned people against him with the softest voice and gentlest sigh.
He still remembered the look sheâd given him the day everything collapsed- eyes wide with innocent concern as she didnât deny a single accusation.
So (Y/N) dragged his gaze away from Soniaâs shining smile and stared out the window instead.
He wasnât falling for that again.
Over the next few weeks, Sonia was everywhere.
Not in a suffocating way- at least, not to everyone else. She moved through the school with a kind of lightness, scattering polite greetings like flower petals.
âGood morning, (Y/N)-san!â she chimed one day as she passed his desk.
âMorning,â he muttered, not looking up.
âOh!â She paused, unfazed. âAre you studying for the upcoming practical? I hear the faculty can be most strict. If you require assistance, I would be delighted to-â
âIâm fine,â he cut in, sharper than he meant to. âI donât need help.â
For half a heartbeat, something flickered in her eyes- surprise, maybe- before her smile settled neatly back into place.
âOf course. Please do your best, then!â
She glided away, greeting someone else, laughing when Fuyuhiko grumbled something under his breath.
Their classmates slowly adjusted to her quirks: the formal way of speaking, the endless curiosity about Japanese culture, her obsession with occult trivia.
âSheâs kinda weird,â Fuyuhiko admitted once, watching her animatedly describe some ritual from a foreign legend. âBut in a good way, I think.â
âSheâs perfect,â Kazuichi moaned, clutching his wrench like it was a bouquet. âLike, a real princess. And she talked to me today. Me.â
(Y/N) scoffed. âShe talks to everyone, dude.â
âYeah, because sheâs nice.â
âBecause she needs everyone to like her,â (Y/N) murmured under his breath.
Kazuichi didnât hear.
Fuyuhiko did. He shot (Y/N) a frown, like he wanted to argue, but he didnât push. (Y/N) preferred it that way. The less he said about Sonia, the better.
Still- ignoring her was harder than it shouldâve been.
She always greeted him. Always offered to include him when someone suggested a group outing. Whenever they split into teams for training exercises, sheâd look around with that sunny smile and say, âPerhaps (Y/N)-san would like to join us?â
He shut her down every time.
And every time, she just said, âVery well!â without a hint of hurt.
It made him suspicious. Nobody was that patient. Nobody who wasnât hiding something.
His paranoia solidified the day their homeroom teacher assigned the Hopeâs Peak Cultural Festival Project.
âYouâll be split into pairs,â the teacher announced, writing on the board. âEach pair is responsible for designing and presenting a themed booth representing your âUltimate talentâ and how it can bring hope to others. Consider it training for public relations. Pairs are non-negotiable.â
(Y/N) didnât like the sound of that.
He liked it even less when he saw the list.
Partner: Sonia Nevermind.
His stomach dropped.
âNo way,â he muttered. âThereâs gotta be some mistake.â
Fuyuhiko, reading over his shoulder, winced sympathetically. âYou could⊠talk to the teacher or something? Maybe theyâll switch.â
âIâll manage,â (Y/N) said through his teeth.
He didnât want to admit it, but another part of him whispered: And if you ask to switch, sheâll know you specifically didnât want her. Then sheâll smile and say she doesnât mind. And everyone will think youâre the problem.
Heâd lived this before.
Across the room, Sonia clapped her hands together. âAh! (Y/N)-san, we are partners! How delightful! I have never participated in a cultural festival before. In Novoselic, the celebrations are quite different, you seeâŠâ
âYeah,â he said flatly. âGreat.â
If she noticed his tone, she didnât show it.
âHave you any preferences regarding our booth? The teacher mentioned âhope.â Perhaps we should create something that allows people to experience joy? A dance, maybe? Or a haunted castle? Oh! A haunted castle of hope!â
(Y/N) pinched the bridge of his nose. âThose are opposites.â
âNot at all! Fear and hope dance together, do they not? Is that not the essence of horror?â
ââŠYouâre really into that kinda stuff, huh?â
âYes!â Her eyes sparkled. âIt is fascinating. The way human hearts quicken, and yet they laugh afterward. It brings people together.â
He did not want to think about his heart quickening anywhere near her.
âWe just need something simple,â he said. âLow effort. We do the assignment, we pass, weâre done.â
âOh.â She blinked, the brightness wavering. âI see. You are not fond of festivals?â
âItâs not that. I just donât see the point in showing off.â
Her expression softened, like sheâd recognized something. âBecause Hopeâs Peak is already full of expectations, yes?â
He stiffened. âDonât pretend you get it.â
âI did not intend to pretend anything,â she said quietly.
For the first time, her smile faltered- just a little.
It threw him off-balance. He looked away, annoyed at himself for noticing.
âWhatever,â he muttered. âMeet in the library after class. Weâll figure it out.â
âYes!â She reclaimed her brightness with visible effort. âI shall bring some sketches. Please look forward to it!â
That was exactly the problem.
He didnât want to look forward to anything with her.
The library meeting went about as well as heâd expected.
Which was to say: terrible.
Sonia arrived exactly on time, arms full of notebooks and color-coded folders. She set them down with meticulous care, like she was arranging a ceremony.
âI have prepared some concepts! Please, (Y/N)-san, tell me your thoughts.â
He glanced down.
The first page was a detailed diagram of a âHaunted Hope Pavilion,â complete with guest flow arrows, decor notes, and a section labeled Emergency Cheer-Up Candy Table.
ââŠYou did all this today?â he asked before he could stop himself.
Her cheeks pinked. âI became excited. In Novoselic, my tutors always said one must plan three times before acting once. I apologize if it is overwhelming.â
Overwhelming was one word.
Manipulative was another.
He could already see it: sheâd planned everything, leaving him with nothing to contribute. That way, when teachers praised their project and the class applauded, sheâd get credit by default- and heâd look like heâd coasted. People would resent him. Sheâd smile and say, Oh, but he tried his best!
Heâd been here before. Watching someone âhelpâ by taking charge, then pivoting just enough that any mistakes landed on him.
(Y/N)âs throat tightened.
âSo you already decided everything,â he said.
Sonia blinked. âPardon?â
âYou did the whole thing without me.â
âI only prepared suggestions,â she said quickly. âThis is our project. I wanted to make sure we had a starting point. You may change anything you like-â
âSure,â he snapped. âAnd if I say no, Iâm the jerk who ruined the princessâs perfect idea.â
Silence.
Her hands, resting lightly on the table, curled into her skirt.
âI⊠do not understand,â she said softly. âIs my enthusiasm unwelcome? Have I offended you somehow?â
He let out a short, bitter laugh. âOffended? No. Iâm used to it.â
The room felt smaller. The smell of old paper turned sharp in his nose, tangled with the memory of old hallways, old whispers.
âPeople like you always do this,â he went on, staring hard at the papers so he wouldnât have to look at her. âAct like youâre doing everyone a favor. Smile, apologize, pretend to be selfless. But everything has to go your way. Then if someone speaks up, you tilt your head and act confused until they look like the bad guy.â
He hadnât meant to say that much.
But once it started, it poured out, hot and relentless.
âAnd anyone who doesnât fall in line? They get left out. Or talked about behind their back until thereâs nothing left. All while the perfect princess pretends she never meant any harm.â
His chest hurt. His hands were clenched around the edge of the table, knuckles white.
A long moment passed.
Then Sonia drew in a careful breath.
â(Y/N)-san,â she said- and her voice wasnât airy now. It was steadier. Lower. âMay I speak honestly?â
He almost said no.
âWhatever.â
She gathered her notes, aligning the corners precisely, like she needed the ritual to keep herself from shaking.
âWhen I came to Hopeâs Peak,â she began, âI was very afraid.â
He blinked. That wasnât what he expected.
âIn my home country,â she continued, âeveryone is kind to me. But it is because I am the princess. They do not speak to Sonia, the person. Only Sonia Nevermind, the role. If I falter, they reassure me. If I am foolish, they laugh politely. If I object⊠no one listens, because I am not supposed to object.â
Her fingers worried the edge of a page.
âI wished to meet people who would speak to me as a classmate. Equal to equal. That is why I was so excited to be here.â
(Y/N) opened his mouth, then closed it again.
âI know my manner is strange,â she said. âI know I plan too much and perhaps push too eagerly. It is not my intention to control you. I simply⊠do not know how to behave any differently.â
She finally looked up.
There was no practiced sparkle in her eyes- only raw, searching anxiety.
âIf I have hurt you, I am sorry. Truly. But I cannot apologize for something I do not understand.â
The words hung between them.
His heartbeat roared in his ears.
She doesnât get it, the old part of him hissed. Thatâs how it starts. She plays innocent-
But something wasnât fitting.
That girl from his past had never looked unsure. Never admitted fear. Sheâd manipulated with confidence- secure in the knowledge that everyone would believe her.
Soniaâs shoulders were tense, like she was bracing for a blow.
He looked away first.
ââŠForget it,â he muttered. âI donât want to talk about it.â
She exhaled, a faint tremor in the sound. âVery well. In that case, let us decide simply. What would you like our project to be?â
He hesitated.
âIf you dislike all my ideas, we may start from nothing,â she added quickly. âI shall not be offended.â
It almost sounded like she meant it.
Something small and stubborn in him decided to test her.
âFine,â he said. âCut the haunted castle thing. Too much work. Weâll do something simple. An exhibit. âHope Around the Worldâ or something. You can talk about your country. Iâll set up displays, photos, whatever. People walk through, read stuff, done.â
Her face lit up- then dimmed. âBut⊠that was your concept.â
âYeah. Thatâs the point. You okay with that?â
âYes!â She nodded vigorously. âI would be honored to support your vision.â
He searched her expression for the tiniest hint of irritation.
If it was fake, it was flawless.
âOkay,â he said slowly. âThen weâll do it my way.â
âUnderstood, (Y/N)-san.â Her smile returned- less blinding, more tentative. âPlease tell me what tasks I may take on.â
They spent the next hour outlining his idea.
Sonia asked questions and took notes in neat handwriting. When she offered suggestions, she always followed them with, âIf that does not fit your image, we may discard it.â
She wasnât perfect. She still got carried away with mini-details about traditional dances and folklore. But she didnât pull rank. She didnât push when he clearly didnât want something. And when he muttered that heâd handle most of the construction because he didnât want the booth turning into âsome royal spectacle,â she just nodded and accepted it.
Even so, when he left the library, the old unease clung to him.
Nice or not, it had to be calculated.
Nobody was that good at acting without a reason.
He wasnât going to be the idiot who forgot that.
Two weeks before the festival, everything went wrong.
The first sign was the rain.
Hopeâs Peakâs gym- where most of the booths were being assembled- had a leaky roof. In a normal school, that wouldâve been fixed ages ago. But Hopeâs Peak had a habit of prioritizing âHopeâ and âTalentsâ over mundane maintenance.
Which was how (Y/N) found himself staring up at a spreading water stain directly above their half-finished exhibit.
âYou have got to be kidding me,â he groaned.
Their âHope Around the Worldâ booth had turned into something he was- reluctantly- proud of. Wooden arches painted like doorways to different countries. Strings of paper cranes. Photos pinned to soft fabric panels. Heâd spent hours cutting shapes, painting signs, arranging everything so it felt calm instead of overwhelming.
Now droplets were already spattering one corner, darkening the wood.
âWe must move it,â Sonia said, decisive, clutching a roll of tape. âAt once!â
âMove it where?â he demanded. âAll the other good spots are taken.â
Around them, other students rushed to cover their own projects, dragging tarps and bins. The gym rang with shouts and squeaking shoes.
Sonia scanned the chaos, eyes narrowing in thought. âThere is space near the stage,â she said. âIf we angle the panels-â
âThatâs by the door,â (Y/N) protested. âTraffic will bottleneck. People wonât stop and actually look.â
âBetter a bottleneck than soaked displays,â she shot back. âWe can adjust the flow with signage! Please, (Y/N)-san, if we do not act now-â
A sudden cold splash hit his cheek.
He looked up. The leak had intensified- water dripping faster onto the nearest arch.
âFine,â he hissed. âHelp me lift.â
They scrambled.
Sonia grabbed one side of the arch. He took the other. Together they shuffled it across the slick floor. Soniaâs shoes slid once, and he instinctively tightened his grip to keep the arch from tipping.
âCareful,â he muttered.
âYes,â she puffed. âApologies.â
They wove through a maze of booths, tossing apologies to classmates as they bumped edges. Finally, they reached the narrower side of the gym near the side doors. It wasnât ideal, but the ceiling there looked dry.
They set the arch down.
(Y/N)âs arms shook.
âUgh,â he groaned. âNow we have to move the panels too. This is the worst.â
âI shall fetch cloth and tape!â Sonia declared, already turning. âPlease secure the base; I will return quickly.â
Before he could answer, she darted off, weaving through the crowd with surprising agility.
He watched her go, frowning.
She couldâve stood there and given orders. Insisted he do the heavy lifting while she âsupervised.â Thatâs what the princess in his head wouldâve done.
Instead, she was actually working. Sweating. Skidding on rain-slick spots and catching herself with an undignified noise.
He shook his head hard, annoyed at his own thoughts.
Focus.
He knelt by the arch, checking the base for water damage. The wood was damp but salvageable. He adjusted supports, wiped away moisture with his sleeve, muttering curses under his breath.
âYo, (Y/N)!â Kazuichiâs voice cut through the din. âNeed a hand?â
âNah, we got it,â he said automatically.
ââWeâ?â Kazuichiâs eyes darted around. âYou mean- you and Sonia?â
âYes,â Soniaâs voice said from right behind him.
He flinched. âAH- Wha? Sonia... Donât sneak up on people.â
âAh, apologies!â She held up waterproof tape in one hand and a stack of towels in the other. Her hair was damp from a stray leak, bangs sticking to her forehead. âI acquired reinforcements.â
She dropped to her knees beside him without hesitation, pressing a towel to the worst of the damp.
âIf we seal the top and dry the sides, it should hold,â she declared. âWe must work swiftly!â
Kazuichi hovered, watched for a second, then shrugged. âOkay, okay, I get it. Iâll go⊠uh⊠be helpful somewhere else.â
He wandered off, still glancing back.
As they worked, Sonia hummed under her breath- something lilting and foreign. Her fingers moved fast, not caring when they smeared with dust and water.
âYouâre gonna ruin your clothes,â (Y/N) muttered.
âThey can be cleaned,â she said simply. âOur efforts, however, cannot be retrieved if we fail to protect them now. I cannot allow your hard work to be destroyed. That would be⊠how do you say⊠a crime worthy of despair.â
He snorted. âYouâve been hanging out with Gundham too much.â
âPerhaps!â A faint smile. âBut I speak truth.â
Hard work. Sheâd noticed.
The old narrative in his head tried to twist it- sheâs just flattering you- but it didnât quite stick.
Not when she was on the floor in a very un-princess-like posture, with dust on her cheek and no one important watching.
They finished securing the arch. Teachers placed buckets and warning cones under the worst leaks. The chaos in the gym slowly softened into grumbling resignation.
By the time theyâd reorganized their entire booth layout to fit the new spot, (Y/N) was wrecked. His back ached. His hands were raw from wood and fabric.
But when he stepped back and looked-
It still worked.
The arch framed the entrance. The panels curved in a gentle path. Paper cranes fluttered overhead, catching the gymâs harsh lights.
âIt looksâŠâ he started, then stalled.
âWonderful,â Sonia said softly. She clasped her hands to her chest. Her eyes shone- no performance, just something quiet and real. âThis feels like a place where people may breathe. I am most pleased.â
He swallowed. âYeah,â he managed. âItâs not bad.â
She turned to him, earnest. âThank you, (Y/N)-san.â
âFor what?â
âFor trusting me enough to work together,â she said simply. âEven if you do not yet⊠I mean-â
She broke eye contact, flustered. âAh! I am speaking too much. In any case, I am grateful.â
He stared at her.
Something in his chest shifted, like a piece of armor cracking- but not enough to fall away. Just enough to hurt.
âI didnât trust you,â he wanted to say.
Instead he muttered, âLetâs just get this over with,â but the words didnât have their usual bite.
She only smiled.
Soon enough, the festival began.
People stepped through the arch and slowed. They trailed fingers over colorful fabrics, paused to read placards Sonia had written about traditions from around the world.
âIn Novoselic, we light lanterns on the river to carry our hopes into the night. I wonder what hopes my classmates would send?â
Another read- âIn some countries, people write wishes on paper and tie them to trees. If you could ask for one thing, what would it be?â
(Y/N) had scoffed when she suggested including questions like that.
Now, watching people stop and actually think, he had to admit it was⊠effective.
âYou made all this?â an upperclassman asked, wide-eyed.
âYeah,â (Y/N) said, rubbing the back of his neck. âWe both did.â
Sonia- dressed in a simpler version of her royal attire, still regal but with her sleeves rolled up- guided a group of kids through a mini âstamp rallyâ sheâd invented.
âIf you find all the hope-phrases, you get a souvenir!â she told them, eyes sparkling.
The souvenirs were tiny paper charms (Y/N) had nearly given up on cutting by the end of the week. Watching a little girl clutch one like treasure made something warm twist in his stomach.
Between groups, Sonia returned to his side, slightly out of breath.
âThis is most invigorating!â she said. âDid you see the child who asked if they could make their own crane? I taught them. They wished for âlots of tasty snacks.â A most admirable hope.â
âHigh standards,â he said dryly.
She giggled. âIndeed!â
He caught himself smiling and quickly looked away.
âYou should take a break,â he said. âYouâve been running around for hours.â
âI could say the same to you.â She tilted her head. âYour eyes are becoming heavy, like chianti-hued stones.â
ââŠThatâs not a real expression.â
âIt is now!â
He huffed a soft laugh.
As the afternoon wore on, more students filtered in.
Chiaki stopped by, quietly impressed. Gundham declared their archway âan acceptable gateway to alternate realms.â Even Fuyuhiko grudgingly muttered, âNot bad,â before stalking off. Kazuichi visited three times, mostly to stare at Sonia until she asked about his booth and he fled in flustered panic.
Through it all, Sonia never once claimed sole credit.
Whenever someone complimented the design, she gestured to (Y/N).
âIt was (Y/N)-sanâs concept,â she said proudly. âI merely assisted.â
The first time she said it, he stiffened, waiting for the other shoe to drop- for someone to roll their eyes, to assume she was being âmodestâ while secretly taking ownership.
Instead, Chiaki just looked at him and smiled a little.
âNice work,â she said. âYou two really put a lot into this, huh?â
The quiet conviction in her voice made his throat tighten.
This wasnât like before.
No one was twisting the narrative behind his back. Sonia was leaving space for people to see him- on purpose.
As the crowd thinned toward evening, Sonia finally sagged against one of the panels with a soft sigh.
âAhh... My feet are becoming acquainted with despair.â
âSit,â (Y/N) said, dragging over a folding chair. âPrincesses are allowed to rest too.â
âThank you.â She sank into it, smoothing her skirt. âAnd you? Will you not sit, my knight?â
âIâm not your-â
He stopped, caught by the teasing glint in her eyes. His face warmed.
âIâm fine standing.â
She smiled, gentler now. âVery well.â
For a moment, they listened to the muffled festival beyond their little haven- voices, music, laughter.
âHey, Sonia,â he said, surprising himself by saying her name without the honorific.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. âY-Yes?â
He swallowed. His palms were suddenly sweaty.
âI⊠owe you an apology.â
She blinked. âFor what?â
âFor how Iâve treated you,â he said. âSince you got here.â
He stared at his hands.
âI thought you were like someone I knew before. Someone who acted kind but⊠wasnât. I decided you were the same. That everything you did had some hidden motive. That you were just waiting to turn on me.â
Saying it out loud made him feel small. Petty.
âI see,â she said softly.
âI was wrong,â he forced out. âYouâre⊠a lot of things. Overenthusiastic. Weird. Terrible at understanding when people want to be left alone.â
He heard her make a tiny indignant sound, and it made him smile despite himself.
âBut youâre not cruel,â he continued. âYouâve never once tried to make me look bad. You actually⊠listened. To my ideas. To me.â
He exhaled, long and shaky.
âI shouldnât have dumped all my old baggage on you,â he finished. âIâm sorry, Sonia.â
Silence stretched.
He resisted the urge to talk over it, to joke, to retreat.
Finally, she spoke.
âThank you,â she said.
He glanced up. Her eyes shone- not with tears, exactly, but with something bright and aching.
âIt is frightening, is it not?â she continued. âTo trust that someone is not who you fear they are. To admit you were mistaken. That takes great courage.â
She clasped her hands in her lap.
âI do not fully understand what this person did to you. But I am honored that you are willing to see me as myself.â
âI still feel like an idiot,â he muttered.
âThen we may be idiots together,â she said seriously. âI, who assumed my enthusiasm alone would be welcomed. You, who assumed the worst with good reason. We have both erred. Yet here we are, with a lovely booth and several paper cuts.â
He huffed a laugh. âYou really know how to make things sound dramatic.â
âI am a princess,â she said primly. âDrama is in the job description.â
He rolled his eyes, but his chest felt⊠lighter.
âSo,â he said slowly, âcan we start over?â
Her breath hitched. âStart overâŠ?â
âYeah.â He held out a hand, oddly nervous. âIâm (Y/N). Just⊠(Y/N). Not your knight. Not your subject. Just your classmate.â
She stared at his hand, then his face.
Then, with careful reverence, she took it. Her fingers were cool and slightly rough from crafting. She squeezed a little too tight, like she was afraid heâd pull away.
âIt is a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N),â she said. âI am Sonia. Just Sonia, if you wish.â
âOkay,â he said, and couldnât stop the small smile. âNice to meet you, just Sonia.â
They held on a second too long.
From near the archway, a quiet gasp sounded.
They both jerked their hands apart.
Chiaki stood there with a pamphlet in her hands.
âOh,â she said mildly. âSorry. Am I interrupting?â
âC-Chiaki!â Sonia squeaked, cheeks flushing. âN-No, we were merely-â
âTalking,â (Y/N) cut in quickly. âJust talking.â
âMm.â Chiakiâs gaze flicked between them, taking in their red faces and the lingering awkwardness. âLooks like you two are getting along now. Thatâs good.â
She smiled faintly. âIâll come back later.â
And she wandered off before either of them could recover.
Sonia pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. âO-Oh my. That was most embarrassing.â
âCould be worse,â (Y/N) said. âShe couldâve been Kazuichi.â
âTruly, that would be horrible.â
They burst out laughing at the same time- helpless, breathless- until the tension dissolved into something warmer.
As the festival wound down, the lights in the gym dimmed to a gentle glow. Students cleaned up trash, carried away props, and dozed on benches. Their booth remained: archway softly lit under borrowed fairy lights, paper cranes casting fluttering shadows on the floor.
They worked in comfortable silence, taking down signs and stacking materials.
âYou know,â (Y/N) said at one point, âfor all my complaining, this wasnât⊠awful.â
Sonia gasped. âHigh praise indeed!â
âDonât let it go to your head.â
âToo late! My heart is already swelling with joy.â
He shook his head, smiling.
When they took down the last panel, Sonia hesitated.
â(Y/N),â she said quietly.
âYeah?â
âI have a request.â
He lifted a brow. âYeah..?â
"My request is simple.â She clasped her hands behind her back, suddenly shy. âWould you⊠walk with me back to the dorms?â
He blinked. âThatâs it?â
âYes.â She ducked her head. âWe have spent much time working, but not⊠simply existing beside each other. I would like to know what that feels like.â
The way she said it- like a walk was something precious- hit him harder than it should have.
He slung his bag over his shoulder. âSure,â he said. âLetâs go.â
They stepped out into cool evening air. The campus was quieter now, festival buzz fading into distant music and occasional laughter.
As they walked, Sonia pointed out small things with sincere delight- the way lanterns swayed in the breeze, the way someone had drawn little mascot doodles along the path in chalk.
âYou really notice everything, donât you?â he said.
âI try,â she replied. âIf I do not look closely, it all blurs into a fog of duty. I wish to remember these days clearly. They are⊠precious.â
He glanced at her.
Under the soft campus lights, she looked less like a distant royal and more like a girl his age- hopeful, uncertain, trying her best.
That shift inside him happened again- perception rebalancing.
âSonia,â he said quietly.
âYes?â
âIâm still⊠figuring things out. About trusting people. About⊠all of this.â He gestured vaguely between them. âSo if I mess up again-â
âI shall tell you,â she said firmly. âAnd I expect you shall tell me when I misstep as well. That is what friends do, yes?â
âFriends,â he repeated, tasting the word.
It felt right.
And beneath it, something else hummed- something that might grow, with time.
âYeah,â he said. âFriends.â
She smiled at him, and this time he let himself admire it without suspicion.
They reached the dorm entrance. Students drifted in and out-showers, snacks, games.
âWell,â Sonia said, pausing. âThank you for walking with me, (Y/N).â
âAnytime,â he said- then startled at how much he meant it.
She hesitated, then stepped a fraction closer.
âOne more thing,â she murmured.
âYeah?â
âMay IâŠ?â
Before he could ask what she meant, she rose onto her toes and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
His brain short-circuited.
By the time he processed it, she was already retreating, cheeks flaming, hands clasped over her mouth.
âG-Good night!â she squeaked. âSleep most excellently!â
He stared after her, hand flying up to his cheek.
âYou canât just-â he sputtered. âWarn a guy!â
âI thought if I warned you, you might dodge! that would have been disappointing though...â she blurted.
They stared at each other for a beat- then both started laughing, helpless and breathless.
âGood night, Sonia,â he managed finally, still smiling like an idiot.
(I finished the drawings of Alastor! My left hand hurts soooo bad from all the drawing and writing I've been doing lately, but my autism says it must continue lololol.)
(Teaser, the full body drawing I did, since I already posted that one, along with my OC. My x reader fic is linked there too :})
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First, I decided to draw his canon outfit.
I like his OG outfit, but I wanted to look into more clothes he might wear, so I did both lolol. The full body one was based on more 1930s fashion, while this one is just the outfit he was shown wearing in the show. (I am not the best at drawing clothes, but I think I'm getting a bit better.)
I also wanted to make a more unhinged/not as put-together version of him. We love crazy bitches.
Now the bigger version with all of it together. I made two, because I wanted to add blood to one of them. Again, bitch is crazy.
(I am sooooooo hyper fixated on Alastor it's unreal. I'm drawing him a lot lately. Here are a few I've done. For pure indulgence sake I put him with my OC lmaooooo. I'm writing an x reader fic for him rn and everything đșđșđș)
(Teaser, a sketch.)
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First, a full body drawing I did of Alastor.
I don't usually draw men, but after drawing a bunch of my favorite characters the other day, I decided I should probably try and do it more often. (I am totally drawing more of Alastor, once I'm fully done, I'll obviously post it, I posted it!!!!!! I just really liked how this one came out.)
I also made one of him with my OC, because I'm obsessed with him lololol. Here is her full design if you're interested :}
Can you do kaede x male!reader where kaede is insecure about her figure and reader comfort her.
A/N: Sure, @multiversumenjoyerofhappines! I'm trying to write more frequently :}
More Than Enough
Kaede x Male!Reader
Warnings: Low self-worth/Self-esteem issues, Body image/Appearance insecurity, and Performance anxiety/Harsh self-criticism.
Word Count: 1013
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The soft hum of the piano curled through the empty music room, each note lingering just a breath before dissolving into silence. Kaedeâs fingers moved over the keys with their usual grace, but today the melody sat heavier in the air- like every chord was dragging something unseen behind it.
(Y/N) leaned against the doorway, arms loosely crossed, watching her play. Heâd always loved how Kaede disappeared into music, how she could make even the pauses feel intentional, like silence itself was part of the song. But the look on her face today wasnât the same. Her brows drew together, her shoulders tight- not lost in the piece, but fighting it.
When the final note faded, Kaedeâs hands slipped from the keys and fell to her lap. She exhaled, the sound too close to a quiet, frustrated sigh.
âIt still doesnât sound right,â she murmured.
(Y/N) tilted his head. âSounded perfect to me.â
She offered him a tired, crooked smile. âYouâre just being nice.â
He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her, the wooden floor creaking softly under his steps. âNo, seriously. Iâve heard you play a hundred times, and that was one of your best.â
Kaede shook her head, blonde hair brushing against her shoulders as she stared down at her reflection in the pianoâs glossy surface. âYou donât get it. Itâs not just the music.â She hesitated, fingers curling against her skirt. âItâs⊠me. I look at everyone else and I just-â Her voice wavered, thinning to a whisper. âI donât feel like I measure up. Not as a pianist, not as⊠a person.â
The confession hung in the air, fragile and echoing more loudly than any note sheâd just played.
(Y/N) blinked, the weight of her words catching him off guard. Then he moved to her side and knelt beside the bench, trying to find her eyes. âKaede,â he said softly, âYou donât seriously believe that, do you?â
She kept her gaze fixed on her hands, twisting the hem of her skirt between her fingers. âYou wouldnât understand.â
He sighed, a gentle sound. âTry me.â
She bit her lip. For a moment, it seemed like she might stay quiet. Then, in a voice that shook just enough to betray her, she whispered, âEveryone else is so⊠confident. Pretty. I look at them and then at myself, and I canât help but think Iâm not enough.â Her throat tightened around the last word.
He didnât answer right away. He watched her instead- the way her hands trembled, the way she pressed her lips together as if she could keep the rest of her doubts from spilling out.
Slowly, (Y/N) reached for her hand. Her fingers tensed, but she didnât pull away.
âKaede,â he said, his tone gentle but steady, âYou have no idea how wrong you are. Youâre beautiful- inside and out. You donât need to compare yourself to anyone. Youâre you. Thatâs exactly what makes you incredible.â
Her breath hitched. âYou really think that?â
(Y/N) gave a faint, earnest smile. âI donât just think it. I know it. You donât need to tear yourself apart like this. None of those things you tell yourself are true.â
Kaede let out a small, humorless laugh. âI canât help it,â she whispered. âEvery time I look in the mirror, or listen back to my performances, I pick out every tiny flaw. My hands donât look as elegant as I want them to, my face doesnât look like the kind of girl people usually call pretty, and-â She paused, her gaze dropping even lower. â-sometimes I feel like people only expect things from me because of how I act. Because Iâm the âpiano girl.â Not because Iâm actually⊠worth noticing.â
Her words slipped into a shaky breath. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves were listening.
(Y/N) turned toward her fully now. He could see the way she tried to hide the tremble in her hands, the way she swallowed back everything else she wanted to say.
He brushed his thumb lightly over her knuckles. âKaede,â he said quietly, âdo you know what I see when I look at you?â
She hesitated. ââŠWhat?â
âI see someone who works harder than anyone I know. Someone whose eyes light up when she talks about music. Someone who cares so much it scares her sometimes.â His mouth curved into a soft smile. âAnd yeah, I see someone so beautiful it actually makes it hard to focus.â
Kaede blinked, eyes wide, lashes still damp. âYou donât mean that.â
âI do,â he replied, not missing a beat. His voice held no room for doubt. âEvery single word. You donât need to look like anyone else. You donât need to change. Youâre already enough- more than enough.â
Kaede swallowed hard as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. âI⊠I wish I could believe that as easily as you do.â
He lifted his hand, brushing away the first tear with the pad of his thumb. âThen let me believe it for you,â he said softly. âUntil you can.â
For a moment, she couldnât speak. The warmth in his voice- the absolute sincerity- wrapped around her like a quiet song, one that reached deeper than any melody her fingers could create.
â(Y/N)âŠâ She said his name like it was something fragile. âYouâre too kind.â
He shook his head slightly, smiling. âNot kind. Honest.â
Her gaze held his, and the corners of her lips finally lifted, just a little. In the reflection of his eyes, she saw someone different- not perfect, not flawless- but someone who might actually be worthy of the way he looked at her.
The last of the sunlight slipped through the window and caught in her hair, turning it to gold as (Y/N) gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
And for Kaede, it wasnât the piano that eased the ache in her chest- it was him. His words. His warmth. His quiet, unwavering belief that she was enough, exactly as she was.
A/N: Hello! This is my first book of a series I'm planning :} I feel like its similar to my Silco fic, I'm going to start with Al and the reader being human, their lives while alive, and then I'll make a second book where they are sinners and all that, we will see how it goes! This one might take me a bit longer (to be fair, I have times where I hyperfixate on things, and that's literally ALL I want to write about LMAO.) I made an OC for this fic too, since usually the fics I make are originally just my OC's backstory, edited to be x readers lololol. If you want to see it, here it is! I also drew Alastor, and put him by my OC in a different post lolol. I'm hyperfixating harddddd. I grew up as a half-Asian girl in deep Tennessee, so a lot of the things I add to this story are from personal experience. I tried not to be very specific with it, though.
Precision and Silence pt.1
Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Childhood grief/Parental death, Immigration hardship, Xenophobia/Racism, Bullying/Verbal harassment, Physical aggression/violence, and Moral ambiguity
Word Count: 5165
Summary: (Y/N) was born in 1894 in a quiet port town, but after her fathers death in 1901, she and her mother emigrate to America seeking stability. New York overwhelms her with noise, prejudice, and isolation, so she learns at home, finding comfort in books, piano, and violin. By 1906, they move to New Orleans, where the heat, noise, and chaos initially unsettle her. Still, the cityâs constant music slowly becomes familiar. In 1907, sheâs introduced to Alastor, a charismatic boy her age with polished manners, sharp intelligence, and a smile that never fully leaves. Despite being opposite in temperament- her softness to his sharpness- they find common ground in music, refinement, and deep loyalty to their mothers. He finds her unpredictability refreshing.
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(Y/N) was born in 1894, in a small port town that always smelled of salt and ink. Her earliest memories were of paper- thin, soft, almost translucent- and her fatherâs hand over hers as she learned to draw.
âYou see?â he would murmur in their mother tongue, voice warm and patient. âSlow lines, (Y/N). The world will rush. You donât have to.â
She liked the quiet of it: the scratch of the brush, the steady pull of ink, the way the world narrowed to the page and nothing else. When people spoke too loudly or too quickly, everything blurred and clogged in her mind- but lines made sense. Ink made sense.
Cats made sense, too.
There were always cats: strays curled on wooden steps, blinking lazy amber eyes at her. She adored them. They didnât expect eye contact, didnât ask pointless questions, didnât take offense at her silence. They wanted a warm lap, careful hands, and fish scraps.
She could do that.
Her father was the first person who understood that her mind moved differently. When she spent hours lining up pebbles by color instead of playing with other children, he simply sat beside her and asked, âWhy this order?â and listened to her answer.
When he died in 1901, the world went out of order.
Adults explained it with words that meant nothing: illness, bad fortune, an unlucky season. (Y/N) understood only absence- the empty chair, the unused brush, the way her motherâs hands shook when she tried to hold chopsticks.
Grief did something to sound. It made everything louder. Doors slamming, neighbors arguing, dogs barking- every noise dug beneath her skin and set her teeth on edge.
Her mother went quiet on the outside and iron-hard on the inside.
âWeâre leaving,â she said one morning, voice flat with decision. âTo America. We will make a life there.â
America was not a place to (Y/N); it was a word. A word people said as if it were either a blessing or a curse.
The voyage by ship blurred together: too much motion, too many smells. Salt and coal smoke, sweat and unwashed wool, bodies pressed close. The enginesâ deep vibration lived in her bones, a constant tremor she could not escape. (Y/N) hated it. She clung to her motherâs sleeve, eyes mostly on the floor, trying not to gag at unfamiliar food and the crash of languages she didnât understand.
New York in 1901 was worse- too tall, too fast, too loud.
English struck her ears like someone dropping cutlery- sharp, clattering sounds that never stayed still long enough to grasp. Her mother spoke enough to get by, but shopkeepers still frowned and raised their voices, as if volume could bridge everything.
Children pointed. Adults stared too long. Her name became something else in their mouths.
She disliked all of it, but she bowed her head and accepted, because her mother needed work, and even at seven she understood that survival came before pride.
They rented a cramped room that smelled of starch and dust. Her mother sewed there by lamplight; (Y/N) sat in the corner with a worn English primer bought second-hand, tracing letters until her wrist ached. Her tongue stumbled over the strange words, her accent thick, but she tried. Her mother praised effort in low, steady tones that meant more than any loud compliment.
School was never really an option. For a few weeks, her mother tried sending her to a crowded classroom. It ended with tears, headaches, and a teacherâs irritated handwritten note that said, in essence: She is too strange. Too quiet. Too easily upset.
Her mother read it once, lips pressed thin, then burned it over the stove.
âBooks can teach you,â she said. âAnd I can. They donât see you. They donât deserve you.â
So (Y/N) learned at home. She read anything her mother could afford or borrow. She traced maps and copied illustrations. When a neighbor sold an old upright piano cheaply- no one had time to play it anymore- her mother bought it with money she didnât truly have.
âFor you,â she said. âYou can learn to play.â
The piano felt like drawing with sound. Predictable, ordered, with rules she could repeat until the notes settled neatly into her mind. Later, a serious old man in the building- no grandchildren, only a fierce love of music- taught her violin with patient corrections and no insistence on eye contact.
Years slipped by. English changed from broken glass in her mouth to something she could at least swallow, even if it still scratched her throat. The prejudice never softened. People looked at her and mumbled slurs under their breath, as if her existence were an insult. Men glared as she walked past with her mother. Children mocked the way she spoke until, one day, (Y/N) snapped and returned a precise insult in English- every consonant clean as a knife cut.
The other child gaped. Her mother was half horrified, half proud.
âYou will be respectful,â she scolded afterward, though a smile tugged at her lips. âBut... I'm glad you do not make yourself small.â
By 1906, New York had taken from them about as much as it could. Work was scarce, rents rose, and whispers traveled of opportunity farther south- New Orleans, Louisiana. A city of crossings: French, English, Ect. A place of music.
It sounded like chaos. It also sounded like a chance.
So they went.
New Orleans was hot in a way (Y/N) had never imagined. The air felt thick, almost chewable. The city smelled of river water, spices, and something sweet that always seemed on the edge of spoiling. She hated it at first. The humidity clung to her hair, her clothes, her skin. Sounds didnât just pass; they hung in the air. Brass bands, laughter, shouting, the rattle of carts over stone- all layered together.
But there was music. Everywhere.
Brass on street corners, pianos in saloons, fiddles on balconies. Men and women sang in languages she half understood and half wanted to.
Her mother found work in an immigrant neighborhood, taking in mending and cooking for families who appreciated a woman who kept quiet and sewed seams so straight they looked drawn. (Y/N) stayed mostly indoors, helping with chores, studying from worn books, practicing piano and violin when it would not bother the neighbors.
People still stared. Her different features, her quietness, her small, rare smiles made her stand out. But in this city of people who were all âotherâ in one way or another, hostility was more often muttered than shouted.
Most of the time.
She learned the streets by pattern: which ones were busiest, when to walk to avoid being jostled, which alleys hosted the friendliest cats, which windows spilled the best music. She still preferred paper, cats, and instruments to people. People were confusing. They said one thing and meant another; they took offense when she was honest, and also when she lied badly.
So she kept her world as predictable as she could.
And then, in 1907, it changed.
Long before she met him, (Y/N) knew there was a boy.
She heard about him in pieces.
From her mother: âA lady I started working for has a son. About your age, I think. Smart. She says he plays piano, too.â
From neighbors: âThat boy, Alastor- always smiling, that one. Gives me the chills, he does.â Said with a laugh that didnât sound entirely like a joke.
From the street itself: a tallish figure in a neat dress shirt far too formal for the weather, dark wavy hair that swooped a little in front of his face, small round glasses catching the sun. Other boys moved around him oddly- half respectful, half wary.
He was Creole, mixed-race in a city with a very careful social order- too dark for some, too light for others, never exactly where anyone thought he ought to be.
(Y/N) noticed only what she always noticed first: details.
His shoes were polished. His collar was never crooked. He walked with straight-backed confidence that did not bend under adult stares. He laughed easily, mouth curved in a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
She didnât understand him. So she avoided him.
Still, she noticed.
She heard heâd left another boy with a bloodied nose behind a shop. No one said why, only that the other boy âhad it coming.â No one said that about anyone else.
She wondered about him the way she wondered about most things: curiously, methodically, and from a safe distance.
She did not expect to meet him properly.
The city had other ideas.
The day they were introduced was bright and brutally hot, sunlight bouncing off the pale walls of the house where her mother now worked more regularly. The lady of the house was one of her better clients- steady pay, no leering men (when her son's father was out, at least), a refined air that her mother respected and occasionally found exhausting.
âBe polite,â her mother murmured as they stood at the gate. âBow your head. Donât mumble.â
âI do not mumble,â (Y/N) answered softly in English, her accent rounding the words. She smoothed her simple dress for the third time, fingers catching on a loose thread. The texture made her skin crawl, but she forced her hand away.
âYou do when youâre nervous,â her mother replied, tucking a flyaway strand of (H/C) hair behind her ear. Her motherâs own hair was pinned neatly; she wore American-style clothing now, though never quite in the local fashion. âIt is a friendly visit. She wants to meet you.â
(Y/N) did not particularly want to be met. But her mother needed this relationship. That mattered more.
Inside the gate, the air cooled under the shade of trees and a wide porch. The house smelled faintly of coffee and something spicy cooked earlier in the day. A piano somewhere inside sounded a few notes, then fell quiet.
On the porch, her mother raised her hand and knocked.
âRemember,â she murmured in their own language, low enough that only (Y/N) could hear. âWe are guests here. Smile and listen. Answer in English if you can. If not, let me speak.â
âBon aprĂšs-midi,â she greeted, before sliding into English, her voice warm and lilting. âYouâre right on time, as always, my friend.â
âHello,â (Y/N)âs mother replied, bowing her head slightly. âThank you for having us.â
(Y/N) half-hid behind her, peeking out only long enough to catch the womanâs gaze before dropping hers to the woman's gloved hands.
âAnd this must be your daughter,â the lady said, voice gentler as she leaned to the side to see better. âWhat a pretty girl.â
(Y/N) resisted the urge to flinch. Pretty was often said just before something unkind.
âIntroduce yourself,â her mother prompted in their language, then in English. â(Y/N), say hello.â
(Y/N) drew in a careful breath and stepped just far enough forward for the light to catch the (S/C) of her skin, the stark fall of (H/C) hair, the curious shade of her (E/C) eyes. She bowed her head slightly, small and precise.
âH-hello,â she said, the word careful and slightly stiff. âThank you for inviting us, Madame.â
The womanâs smile widened, a flicker of genuine approval touching her eyes. âPlease- come in, come in. It is far too hot to stand on the porch.â
They stepped inside. The house was narrow and long, sunlight slicing in through the shutters. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. The air smelled faintly of coffee and cooled-down cooking.
âSuch manners,â the woman said to (Y/N)âs mother. âSheâs a credit to you.â
(Y/N) filed the compliment away. It didnât relax her shoulders, but it kept them from tightening further.
ââŠand my boy,â the lady began saying, âheâs near your daughterâs age. I think it would do them both some good to have someone to talk to. Children need company, oui?â
There came the scrape of a chair, footsteps, the clink of something set down. (Y/N)âs hands twitched at her sides. She fixed her eyes on the floorboards, tracing the grain.
Then he was there.
He stepped into the doorway like an actor taking the stage. Fourteen, perhaps, a little taller than she was, lanky in a way that suggested heâd grown too fast and hadnât settled into it yet. His skin was a nice caramel color; his hair dark brown and wavy, swooping neatly. Thin, round glasses framed eyes the color of strong coffee.
And he was smiling.
It was a bright, charming expression, perfectly arranged, showing teeth. It should have been comforting; instead it felt⊠deliberate. Too precise, like a line drawn with a ruler. His eyes measured more than they warmed.
He bowed his head in a small, theatrically polite gesture, hands clasped behind his back.
âGood afternoon,â he said. His voice slid over the words with a clipped, polished cadence, like the sort of speech sheâd heard from stage actors and gentlemen giving public addresses. âItâs a pleasure to make your acquaintance.â
His mother nudged him, subtle but firm. âBe nice,â she murmured.
Alastor chuckled lightly, then turned his attention directly on (Y/N). His gaze did not waver. He seemed to examine her in pieces- the exact angle of her bow, the rigid line of her posture, the way she held her hands very still on purpose.
âMy name is Alastor,â he greeted, more specifically now. âMay I ask yours?â
(Y/N)âs throat tightened. Eye contact always felt like touching something too hot- it almost hurt. She let her gaze drop to the knot of his bowtie instead. The fabric was slightly darker than his shirt. She focused on that and pretended it was his face.
â(Y/N),â she said. âIt⊠it is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Alastor.â
For a heartbeat, his smile quirked higher at the corners, amused.
âJust Alastor will do,â he said smoothly. âWe are nearly the same age, after all.â
His eyes flicked briefly to her mother, then back again, as if fitting pieces of a puzzle into place.
âIâm very pleased to finally meet you,â he added. âMy mother speaks quite highly of your motherâs work. Iâve been terribly curious.â
The words were polite, perfectly appropriate. But (Y/N) heard the weight on âcuriousâ and recognized it; people used that tone for strange animals or foreign objects. For things that did not quite fit.
Her motherâs fingers brushed her shoulder in approval. (Y/N) straightened a little.
âYou two should talk,â Alastorâs mother declared brightly. âAlastor, perhaps you can show her the street. Thereâs still some light.â
(Y/N)âs instinct was to step closer to her mother, but she felt a gentle push between the shoulder blades.
âGo,â her mother murmured in their language. âBe polite. It is good to know someone.â
The protest died on (Y/N)âs tongue. She swallowed and nodded.
Alastor stepped aside with a little bow and a sweeping gesture, as if inviting her onto a stage.
âAfter you, mademoiselle,â he said, eyes gleaming with a playful light that was hard to read.
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then stepped past him, careful not to brush against his sleeve. Even so, she felt his gaze on the back of her neck, almost tangible.
Outside, the late afternoon wind hit them like a wall. Down the street, a trumpet wobbled through a melody, reaching and missing notes and reaching again. Somewhere, a woman laughed- sharp and high.
Alastor closed the door and hopped down the steps in two easy strides. (Y/N) followed more slowly, one hand on the rail. For a moment they stood in awkward silence.
New Orleans stretched before them: narrow houses pressed shoulder to shoulder, paint fading, laundry flapping like surrender flags on lines. People sat on stoops and in doorways, talking, smoking, watching.
Alastor inhaled as if the whole street belonged to him.
âSo,â he said with practiced cheerfulness. âHow are you finding our little corner of America, Miss (Y/N)?â
She blinked. âFindingâŠ?â
âDo you like it?â he clarified, tilting his head. âNew Orleans. The city.â
There was a touch of pride in his voice.
âOh.â She looked down the street at the sagging porches, the singing trumpet, the too-bright sky. âIt is⊠different,â she said cautiously.
He laughed, light and amused. A few bystanders glanced over.
âThat is the polite answer,â he said. ââDifferent.ââ
Heat crept into her cheeks. âI do not know⊠how else to say it,â she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. âEnglish is⊠a bit hard.â
He studied her, head slightly cocked. His smile stayed easy, but his eyes were keen, like a knife wrapped in velvet.
âAnd yet you speak quite well,â he said at last. âBetter than some of the brutes around here, I assure you.â
He nodded toward a cluster of boys farther down the block who were shoving each other and shouting, their laughter loud and graceless. âThey were born here around the language and still havenât learned to use it.â
She followed his gaze. The boys were roughly their age, perhaps younger- bare feet, ragged shirts. One noticed her, paused, and his grin twisted.
âHey!â he called, voice mocking. âHey, Al- what you doinâ with that little thing, huh?â
The others snickered. Another boy stuck out his tongue at her before making a crude gesture with his hand.
(Y/N) froze. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She understood that perfectly.
Alastorâs smile didnât waver. If anything, it brightened.
He took a step forward, posture relaxed, tone as pleasant as if he were discussing the weather.
âGood afternoon, gentlemen,â he called. âI was under the impression your parents had taught you better manners than to shout insults at young ladies in the street. Or am I overestimating them?â
The first boy scowled. âWeâre just talkinâ, Al. You think youâre betterân us now? With your fancy words and your little glasses?â
He adjusted his spectacles with two fingers, smile widening just enough to show a hint of teeth.
âI know it.â
The boys bristled. One stepped forward, shoulders squaring.
(Y/N) tugged lightly at Alastorâs sleeve. âIt is⊠all right,â she whispered. âWe should go.â
He glanced down at her hand. For an instant, something flickered in his eyes- discomfort, as if her touch were something that actively burned. He shifted just enough that her fingers slipped away; then, catching himself, patted her knuckles in a gesture that would look reassuring to anyone watching.
âDonât trouble yourself, Miss (Y/N),â he said, almost cheerful. âA lesson in civility is never wasted.â
He stepped fully into the street. (Y/N) remained where she was, heart pounding, unable to look away.
The first boy stepped up to him, fists clenched. âWhat, you gonna make us be nice?â
âIn a manner of speaking,â Alastor said, still all smiles. âYou see, such boorishness offends me personally. It also reflects poorly on the neighborhood and thus- on me. I take that very seriously.â
His voice cooled on the last words, still polite but as sharp as cut glass.
âYeah? And what you gonna do about it?â
Alastorâs smile did not change.
It happened quickly enough that (Y/N) almost missed it. One moment they were chest to chest. The next, Alastor stepped slightly aside, hooked a foot behind the boyâs ankle, and gave a light shove.
The boy went down hard, palms scraping along the rough boards of the walkway.
âOw! What the-â
Alastor leaned down, hands resting on his knees as he looked at him.
âCareful,â he said lightly. âWouldnât want you to hurt yourself. That would be very clumsy of you.â
There was a small, vicious satisfaction in his eyes that did not match the concerned lilt of his voice.
(Y/N)âs breath caught. That hadnât been clumsy at all.
The other boys hovered, torn between laughter and outrage.
Alastor straightened, dusting his hands as though heâd done nothing more serious than brush off his sleeves.
âNow then,â he continued brightly. âWhere were we? Ah, yes. You were making unkind remarks about my guest.â
His smiling gaze swept over them. For a heartbeat, the street seemed to hush.
âDonât,â one of the boys muttered, tugging at his friend. âLetâs just go.â
The fallen boy scrambled up, face red with anger and humiliation. He spat on the boards- close enough to be an insult, not enough to hit Alastorâs shoes- then stalked off, the others following.
âYouâll get yours, Al,â the boy muttered over his shoulder. âThink youâre so special.â
Alastor chuckled softly. âI already have mine,â he murmured.
(Y/N) stared at him. He noticed, and his smile gentled, almost tender.
âForgive me,â he said. âI donât often indulge in such theatrics. But I have very particular standards, Miss (Y/N). I cannot abide rudeness.â His gaze flicked in the direction the boys had gone. âOr stupidity.â
âYou⊠hurt him,â she said quietly. Her English was clumsy, but the meaning was clear.
Alastor tilted his head. âDid I?â he asked mildly. âHe fell. I merely⊠redirected his momentum.â His eyes gleamed. âBesides, a bruised ego is an excellent tutor. Pain can be wonderfully educational.â
There it was- that twist in his morality, something bent where others were straight. He spoke of it the way some people spoke about the weather.
âI do not like fighting very much,â she murmured.
âNor do I,â he answered promptly. âSuch a messy, inelegant business. I prefer⊠precision.â
He offered his arm, leaving a polite amount of space.
âShall we walk, Miss (Y/N)? I promise not to trip anyone else unless absolutely necessary.â
She hesitated. His smile was still there, uncracked, and that made him hard to read. But he had stepped in front of her when the boys jeered.
She nodded slowly. ââŠAll right.â
They walked down the block at a measured pace, side by side. Alastor kept his hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture straight, as though strolling a garden path instead of passing peeling paint and leaning fences.
âYour English will improve,â he said conversationally. âYou already have the most important part.â
She glanced at him. âImportant⊠part?â
âManners,â he said. âThe rest is only vocabulary.â
His eyes slid over her- the careful way she placed each step, the way her hands folded together.
âWhere are you from?â
She told him the name of her hometown. The syllables felt soft and right on her tongue. He repeated it, his pronunciation surprisingly accurate, as though heâd turned the sounds over in his mind before releasing them.
âLovely,â he said. âI should like to see it one day. To look at the world from somewhere that isnâtâŠâ
He made a small, dismissive gesture at the street.
âThis.â
âYou donât like it?â she asked, surprised. âYou said⊠it is your corner.â
He smiled, a smaller, more private smile this time.
âI like what it has made of me,â he said. âBut I know it too well. The jokes people tell, the way they drink, the way they think. It is all very⊠predictable.â
His eyes flicked to her. âSo far... You, however, are not.â
Heat rushed to her face. âI am just a girl,â she said, embarrassed. âI am not⊠special.â
âEveryone thinks that,â he replied lightly. âUntil they learn otherwise.â
He hummed under his breath- a snatch of a tune that might have come from the street band or his own head.
âDo you like music?â
She nodded. That was easier. âYes. I⊠listen. I play piano. And⊠sometimes violin.â
âI can as well,â he said without the slightest modesty. âPiano, violin, a bit of trumpet. I enjoy the way people look when they hear something they didnât expect.â There was that glint again. âSurprise is such a delightful expression. You would look lovely surprised, I think.â
She didnât know what to do with that, so she searched for safer ground. âYou⊠play for your mother?â
His smile softened instantly.
âOf course,â he said. âShe appreciates refinement. She deserves it.â
The affection in his tone was simple and genuine in a way almost nothing else about him was.
âMy mother is⊠my everything,â (Y/N) said quietly.
That needed no translation.
âThen we have that in common,â he replied. âPerhaps we are not so different, you and I.â
She thought of him sending a boy sprawling without losing his smile and wasnât entirely sure she agreed. But it was still⊠comforting, a little, to find someone else clinging to the one person who made the world less frightening.
They reached the corner where the street widened. A few older men lounged there, cigarettes glowing. One balanced a battered horn on his knee, his foot tapping to a private rhythm.
âAl,â one of them drawled. âYou botherinâ that poor girl?â
âOn the contrary,â Alastor said, hand to his chest in mock offense. âI am escorting her. A gentlemanâs duty.â
The men chuckled, indulgent. The one with the horn lifted it toward him.
âGo on, boy. Show the mademoiselle what you can do.â
Alastorâs smile brightened. He took the instrument with a little flourish, lifting it to his lips. For a moment he seemed utterly at ease, as if heâd been born with it in his hands.
Then he played.
The notes werenât flawless; once his embouchure slipped and he corrected with a faint frown. But the sound was bold and sure. The melody skittered and looped- ragtime tangled with something more personal, a shape he was building as he went.
The men whooped and clapped along. Children leaned from doorways.
(Y/N) watched with her hands clasped at her chest. For the first time, his constant smile made sense. It wasnât just a shield; it was part of his act, something he put on to command the room.
He liked the way people watched him.
When he finished, the last note hung in the thick air before dissolving. He handed the horn back with a little bow.
âMerci,â he said.
âShow-off,â one of the men said fondly.
Alastor turned to (Y/N).
âAnd what do you think, Miss (Y/N)?â he asked, as if her opinion mattered most.
She searched for the right word. âBeautiful,â she said at last. âIt was⊠beautiful.â
His smile stilled for a fraction of a second, as if sheâd surprised him. Then it returned, brighter.
âThank you,â he said, voice softer. âI shall have to play for you again, then. When I am better.â
âYou are already good,â she said, more firmly than she intended. âBetter than I am.â
He chuckled, pleased. âAh, but I want to be exceptional,â he replied. âThereâs very little satisfaction in being merely adequate.â
He said it lightly, but she suspected he meant it.
By the time they turned back, the sky had begun to burn orange at the edges. The trumpet down the street had fallen silent. The air felt no lighter, but (Y/N) found it easier to breathe.
Alastor walked a little closer now, though he still kept his hands to himself. Once, an older man stumbled past them, half-drunk, bumping (Y/N)âs shoulder. She flinched, murmuring an automatic apology despite the sharp look she shot after him.
The man barely noticed.
Alastor did.
âWatch where youâre going,â he said, tone polite, edge unmistakable.
The man blinked, muttered something, and shuffled on.
âYou do not like⊠People touching you very much... Do you?â (Y/N) asked quietly. Her shoulder still tingled where sheâd been jostled.
âNot particularly,â Alastor said. âIt is inconsiderate, donât you think? Invading oneâs space without invitation.â
He shrugged lightly. âBut then, most people are inconsiderate. Terribly dull.â
âYou stood⊠Pretty close to those boys,â she pointed out, then looked away. âBut⊠I suppose I understand. I do not like touch either.â
He laughed through his nose.
âAh, the difference is that standing close to them was my choice,â he said. âI donât mind being near others; I simply prefer it on my own terms.â His eyes slid to her. âYou, however, seem very careful not to touch anyone at all.â
She ducked her head. âIt is⊠easier,â she admitted. âIf I am⊠quiet, people forget. It is⊠safer. Or⊠that is what my mother says. I struggle with it, sometimesâŠâ
âSafer,â he repeated thoughtfully. âPerhaps. But dreadfully boring, I imagine.â
She didnât answer. She didnât need to.
They reached the familiar porch. Voices floated from inside- the ladyâs warm, musical tones and her motherâs careful, measured ones. Their shared laughter loosened something tight in (Y/N)âs chest.
Alastor stopped at the foot of the steps and turned to face her. The last light of the day flared against his glasses, hiding his eyes in gold.
âI have enjoyed our walk, Miss (Y/N),â he said. âYou are⊠refreshing.â
No one had ever called her that before. Strange- but not unpleasant.
âIâŠâ She swallowed, then bowed her head slightly. âThank you for walking with me, Alastor.â
He inclined his head, one hand over his heart with a flair too grand for the shabby porch.
âYou are very welcome. I hope we shall speak again soon.â
She thought of the boyâs scraped palms, the hornâs bright notes, his unshaken smile. She also thought of the way his voice had softened when he spoke of his mother, the way heâd said her English was better than the other childrenâs.
âI suppose that would not be horrible,â she said, surprising herself.
His smile sharpened, pleased.
âExcellent,â he said. âThen we shall.â
He stepped back as she climbed the stairs, giving her space in a way she suspected he didnât always give others. At the door, she glanced back.
He was still there, hands in his pockets now, humming that same little tune. He looked entirely at ease- as if the street itself answered to him.
Their eyes met for a heartbeat. His smile, already broad, seemed to settle into place like a mask.
(Y/N)âs heart beat strangely fast. She looked away first and slipped inside, the door closing softly behind her.
âDid the walk go well?â her mother asked, rising. âIs he kind?â
(Y/N) thought of scraped palms and careful courtesy, of Alastor saying, âPain can be wonderfully educational,â with that unfaltering smile.
âHe is⊠polite,â she said at last, in halting English. Then, softer, in their home language: âHeâs strange. But⊠maybe goodâŠâ
Her mother smiled.
âStrange people make life interesting,â she said. âAnd you, my little bat, deserve interesting.â
