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ultimategraffitiguy · 2 months ago

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Splash of Life

Sypnosis: A cute painting date between the ultimate Nurse, Swimmer and Graffiti Artist in Aoi's backyard. But what happens when the guy known for his vast creativity runs short on ideas?

"Mikan? Aoi? What is all this?" Natan breathed out, his heterochromatic eyes trailing over the high, brick wall that loomed dover them.

The two women in question only turned to him with bright smiles. The younger of the pair, Aoi, only grabbed his hand and began to tug him into the construction. Mikan followed the pair as they stopped in front of the wall. She nodded her head. "Mhm! The owner didn't like how blank it was and wanted to decorate it. So we recommend you to help," she stuttered.

Beside the wall was a small site. Protective plastic had been placed over the concrete floor. On a small table, cans and buckets of paint— supplied by the owner— were set. A small stepladder was sat beside the table too.

"Ta-da! So what do you think? Your own mini studio!" Aoi chirped, her hands shimmering as she displayed the scene. Her grin was wide as she presented it.

Natan couldn't help but pause, taking in the sight. He felt a wave of excitement hit him. Though the two girls couldn't see it behind his mask, his lips had tugged into an appreciative smile. "It's amazing, thanks," he spoke his voice soft. Both the swimmer and nurse silently cheered before pushing him further towards the wall.

It wasn't long before they set to work. Mikan and Aoi both left to let the property owner know of their arrival, while Natan stared up at the structure. Though this was only done with heavy urging from the former. As he stood on front of the daunting white fabric, nothing seemed to come to mind.

Art was his thing. Paint, colours and pictures always leaped from his subconscious at the mere sight of a blank surface. Now, for the first time, he was stuck. In search of the smallest of comfort, Natan turned to the corner where he last saw the duo. Aoi could be heard, enthusiastically telling the owner about Natan and his skill and while Mikan stumbled to offer a few words of praise of her own. The gruff voice of the property owner could be heard as he hummed along with her words. From what could be heard, everyone was excited to see what he'd do with the space.

However, Natan was still drawing blanks. His good eye bored into the roughened bricks — almost as if the action would provide him with an answer. When it became obvious that it wouldn't, he let out a defeated sigh. He sank to the floor and closed his eyes to calm himself. Just then, the two girls returned, still buzzing with glee.

Seeing that— the sight of Natan on the floor— a pair of baby pink flitted to his sunken posture. They immediately worried at the sight. "Huh? Wait, Natan!" she breathed, her soft voice rising in pitch with panic. The nurse immediately sprung into action and rushed to the artist. She dropped to the floor and began checking on him. Aoi, now also alarmed by Mikan's panic, looks over to the scene. She quickly follows.

"Woah! Are you okay?! Natan?!" She blurted out , her eyes scanning over the pair. Despite how worried she was, since Mikan was more knowledgeable on medicine that the herself, she stood to the side.

Natan, now noticing their presence, turned his head to meet their gaze. He gently reassured them of his health status, "Nah, I'm good. Just... stuck." His head turned to the blank wall again.

Aoi hummed in thought, now also looking up to meet the object of his attention, "Sounds tough." She tapped her chin in thought when a timid voice broke through their thoughts.

"Why not just paint what you're feeling? Or maybe something that inspired you?" When she realised they two pairs of eyes were now burning right into her, Mikan doubled down and began her usual stutter. "I mean, that's what a lot of artists do, right? I read it somewhere that when they get art block, they just draw their feelings." Bandaged fingers twiddled and mingled with one another as her already soft voice grew even softer.

Natan gave a hum in thought as he acknowledged his partner's opinion on the matter. Then, it raised the question; how was he feeling right now?

It seemed that he hadn't had any issues. His grades were beginning to slip a little. He ran into Sonia, who rattled him even further. So— in his opinion — he was just fed up with everything. The only unusual thing was that he was here— sitting with his girlfriends, in a tent, int form of blank, surrounded by paint. Four of the best things in his life, yet his mind was drawing blanks!

With a soft sigh, he began to really sink into his feelings. He was happier now— sitting in the middle of all his favourite things. How precisely could he covey that in an art piece. And then, it hit him. Natan suddenly shot up and pressed a kiss to Mikan's forehead through his mask. The latter only gasped in shock as a bright shade of pink dusted her cheeks. Aoi watched in silence as she bit back her jealousy.

As they both watched him move to the table, the bright blue of the back of his jacket met their gaze. He scurried around for a little while before grabbing a few cans of spray paint. Natan hurried back to where they were and stood before the formerly daunting wall. "Hey, could you please back up. I don't wanna get paint on you," he murmured, now shaking a can. The ball rattled inside before he raised it to the cloth. Respecting his wished, Mikan and Aoi then shifted away from Natan to let him do his thing.

The can hissed as it sprayed paint to taint the white. Line after line, a design slowly began to form. Now sensing that their boyfriend was back on track, both Aoi and Mikan decided to give him space to work. They engaged in idle conversation as they waited. It didn't take long for the sound of constant movement and shuffling to cease. Suddenly curious, pale blue irises flicked to peek at his work. Her jaw fell open.

In bright, bold letters, the words 'Splash of Life' had been sprayed on the walls. The design was simple, seemingly still missing something...

And it seemed that she wasn't the only one who thought so as she found Natan, standing in front of it with a contemplative expression. Without even looking away from the wall, he softly murmured, "Could one of you please give me some more paint?"

Mikan, hearing his request, immediately jumped at the opportunity to help. She grabbed a bucket of pink paint and began to make her way over to him. Surprise to no one, she tripped over her own feet and fell straight down to the ground. The paint went splattering everywhere on the floor and even got on the wall. Both the swimmer and nurse paled at sight, their jaws dropping to the floor as their eyes nearly bulged right from their skulls. Silence fell over the trio as the thick liquid trickled down the surface in thick globs.

Then, inspiration struck. With sparkling eyes, Natan turned to the nurse on the floor. "Mikan... You're a genius!" he exclaimed. Both the girls stared at the artist as though a screw had loosened from his head. They gave each other wary looks. But their concern confusion didn't last long as he turned to them with the brightest eyes they'd seen on him in a long while. "You'd do that again, right? Please?"

Natan's hands clasped together and the pair couldn't find it in their hearts to resist such a plea. With each showing amusement in their gaze, they all went to grab a bucket of paint from the small station provided. After setting a portion of it aside (no wasting of materials will be done in this household), they got to work. Colour after colour, splashes and splatters began to decorate the wall to give it thar extra dose of life it so desperately needed. And after waiting for the paint to dry, Natan redid some of the details that had been lost in the chaos.

Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, the masked artist slowly withdrew himself from the newly decorated surface. Pride and admiration glimmers in the eyes of all three Hope's Peak students. And at that particular moment, the owner of the building rounded the corner. "It's been a while, I trust everything is proceeding nice–"

He stood, frozen, as he took in the sight of their hard work. He then began to applaud. And if the trio had squinted, they probably would be found a crystalline tear forming at the corner of his eye. The pride they'd all felt only seemed to multiply at the wordless praise. The property owner then began to sing his own song of praise— commenting the use of colour, shape and line and it really spoke to him as the viewer.

This went on for several minutes.

By then, Aoi had gained a deadpan expression on her face. Mikan had begun to stare at the man with mild concern and fear. And Natan couldn't help but feel awkward under the endless onslaught of praise. All three of them watched the older man dance in front of the wall as he droned on and on about its excellence.

Then, the man snapped his head and locked eyes with Natan. The younger flinched at the sudden action. In mere seconds, the owner was in front him, clasping the boy's hands in his own as more words of approval flowed from his lips, "You have a talent, my boy! It's best you embrace it in as many opportunities as possible. Hold on, I must tell my friends! They'd love to hear of this!" And with that, he was off, leaving a few very confused teenagers behind him.

All three of them blinked in disbelief at the scene before a soft giggle was heard. One turned to two. And that spread to the third. Soon, all three of them were laughing with one another— doubling down and hugging their stomachs. Once the amusement died down, they stared right back up at the wall again.

The air was thick with smell of paint, but seemed light, despite of that. They all stood in silence before the man returned yet again. He held his phone in his hand. "Please me that you'd grant me the honour of taking your photo, young man!" he exclaimed, already charging towards the artist in question who only stiffened slightly.

Aoi gently shoved her lover to him with an encouraging smile, "Go for it! He worked hard, so he deserves it!" Mikan only gave a nod of agreement as the boy stumbled closer to the man. It wasn't long before he was set in front of his work and everyone else stood a fair distance away to capture the both in the frame.

After a brief moment, Natan blurted out, "Hold on!" They all paused, now looking at him with mild confusion. Before they could even begin tk question him, he continued, "Can my girlfriends also be in the photo? They helped out a lot in this too. It only feels right."

The property owner only shrugged and gave the go-ahead. Both girls rushed over to their boyfriend with gleeful grins and stood on each side of him. After deciding on a pose, the picture was taken. Everything about it screamed lively— the art, the light, the brightened look in their eyes, their smiles.

Aoi immediately approached the man to view the photo and asked that he sent her a copy. After a brief discussion, filled smiles and wild gestures, an agreement was made.

Now, they picture is hung in a spot— safe from paint and any other harmful or damaging materials— on a wall in Natan's studio. As he works, he occasionally finds himself glancing and smiling at the sight and memories it brings forth.

Thanks a lot to @ultimategraffitiguy for the request! Honestly, this was a but of a challenge since Ive never really written polygamy before surprisingly. Especially with such different characters. So it was a fun challenge.

Honestly, this took way longer than I expected and it killed me. Tell me why it took so long long even find a date spot for them!! There was first the beach, but I couldn't because of Natan's scars (could've been a cute fic. Now, I'm invested🤔). I wanted the aquarium, but I was worried about Mikan's fear of large things. Then, I actually GOOGLED date ideas. I wanted something calming, so I could focus on the characters, instead of the date itself. So eventually, painting stuck and this came out.

Now that I think about it, I might make a part 2 with the beach idea. It sounds pretty cute overall...🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️)

Liked my work? Check out my other masterlists!

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ultimategraffitiguy · 2 months ago

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Verosika x male!reader dating headcannons please

A/N: Of course, @ultimategraffitiguy! Verosika is one of my favorites :}

Mine, Loud and Clear

Verosika x Male!Reader

Warnings: Sexual themes, Possessiveness/Jealousy, Arguments/Conflict

Word Count: 943

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- Verosika was the one who made the first move: Obviously, she knew what she wanted the second she laid eyes on (Y/N) and didn't waste a second before flirting shamelessly, practically daring him not to fall for her.

- At first, (Y/N) thought he was just another target for her to toy with: But when she started genuinely caring whether he texted her back or if he smiled at her during a date, she realized she was in deeper than she meant to be.

- He surprised her by not being easy to push around: Not hostile, but just solid enough that he didn’t let her walk all over him. That infuriated and attracted her all at once.

- In public, Verosika loves flaunting their relationship: Clinging to his arm, stealing kisses, tracing a claw up his chest with a mischievous smirk while other demons stare. "What? You think I'm gonna hide how hot my man is? Dream on."

- Dates are extravagant if she plans them: Exclusive clubs, private concerts, trips to weird, beautiful corners of Hell- but (Y/N) tends to suggest things like movies, walks through busy streets, or greasy, hole-in-the-wall diners. Somehow, she ends up loving his ideas even more.

- Verosika flirts like breathing: Constantly, effortlessly, shamelessly. She'll whisper dirty things right in (Y/N)'s ear in the middle of a crowded room just to watch him blush and stammer like a fool.

- Her favorite thing? Making him squirm: She’ll drag a finger up his thigh under the table, lean in way too close, brush her fangs against his ear as she pretends to "ask a question"- all while acting totally innocent if anyone notices.

- (Y/N) learned quickly that challenging her only makes her worse: "You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna rattle me, babe." Cue Verosika grabbing him by the collar and proving she absolutely can rattle him.

- Possessive as hell… but fun about it: If another demon so much as looks at him the wrong way, she’ll pull him into a kiss so deep and smug it leaves him dizzy. When they pull away, she'll smirk at the onlookers with a "he's mine, back off" kind of look.

- She loves leaving marks: Hickeys low on his neck, nail scratches on his back, lipstick smudges on his mouth- anything to make sure everyone knows who he's with.

- (Y/N) finds out she's extremely physical when she’s really in the mood: grabbing, pinning, climbing into his lap without warning, sitting in his chair and pulling him down into a kiss until he's gasping.

- Dirty talk? Constant. Merciless: "Careful how you look at me, sweetheart... I might have to drag you somewhere private and ruin you." She loves watching his face heat up- it’s almost a game to see how fast she can get him flustered.

- She teases him about his reactions nonstop: "Aww, look at you. All red for me? You're adorable." And if he tries to flip it and tease her? Good luck. Verosika loves a challenge- she'll escalate until he's the one begging for mercy.

- When she’s feeling extra playful, she’ll dress just a little more scandalous if she knows they’re going somewhere public: Tiny skirts, plunging tops, tail flicking at his knees- all so he struggles to keep it together while she acts totally innocent.

- But it’s not just physical: Sometimes, when they're alone and it’s quiet, she’ll crawl into his lap, bury her face against his neck, and mumble soft, sultry promises against his skin. (Y/N) can always tell when it's not just teasing- when it’s real and vulnerable underneath all the heat.

- Verosika loves when he gets bold: If (Y/N) ever turns the tables- like grabbing her waist and pinning her to the wall mid flirt- it drives her crazy. She loves that tiny flash of dominance from him, especially because she knows she’s the only one who gets to see it.

- (Y/N) learned quickly that Verosika is a jealous creature, even if she tries to play it cool: If anyone flirts with him, she immediately stakes her claim- usually with a kiss that leaves him dizzy and the offender looking for the nearest exit.

- But behind closed doors, she softens: She loves sprawling across (Y/N)'s chest after a long day, her wings loosely draped over him, lazily tracing little patterns over his skin with her nails while they talk about absolutely nothing important.

- Verosika secretly treasures the little, normal things he does: Holding the door open for her, tucking her hair behind her ear, bringing her a drink without her asking. She’ll tease him mercilessly about it, but she will have the biggest smile on her face the whole time.

- Whenever she’s stressed or overwhelmed (which happens more than she’ll admit), she finds herself instinctively seeking him out: Even if it's just to sit next to him while she works through her thoughts. He’s one of the only people she trusts enough to see her without all the glamour. No makeup, no elaborate outfits, no show. Just Verosika- tired, gorgeous, and real.

- When they fight (because they do), it's explosive: lots of shouting, dramatic exits, slamming doors- but (Y/N) never lets her go to bed angry. He’ll find a way back to her, even if it’s just leaning against her door and muttering a stubborn, half-sincere "I’m not leaving until you hear me out." - Verosika never thought she'd settle down: She never even amused the idea she would care so much about someone else's happiness, but (Y/N) somehow made it feel easy- normal, even. She still won't admit she's "soft," though. Not yet.

#verosika x reader

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ultimategraffitiguy · 2 months ago

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

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

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

Ashes of Grace

Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 4868

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

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

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

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

Valentino didn’t get that luxury.

He died.

And with him, the District fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not light. Not in the Hellborn sense.

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

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

The theater doors slammed open, and they raced outside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all (Y/N) needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, she exhaled. And spoke.

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

Her voice broke.

"But then came Lute."

The name seemed to leech the warmth from the room.

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

Sera’s fists trembled.

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

At the doorway, Charlie stood frozen, fists shaking.

Sera turned to face them fully.

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

Silence fell like a blade.

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

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

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

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

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

A trembling seraphim bowed low before her.

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

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

"Banished or destroyed."

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

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

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

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

She was alive. Battered. Different. But alive.

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

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

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

"C-Charlie...?"

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

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

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

Tears welled in Emily’s remaining eye.

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

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

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

Nearby, Alastor watched with predatory curiosity.

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

Sera flinched.

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

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

"You still believe in it?" he asked.

Sera looked up, tears brimming.

"Yes."

He nodded once, a grim glint in his eye.

"Then we fight."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie nodded fiercely, fire blazing in her eyes.

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

Lucifer clapped a proud hand on her shoulder.

"That’s my girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It ain’t. But it’s true."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re giving this to me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together, they looked ready.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dozens. No- hundreds.

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

Instead, they just... stared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

A long, agonizing pause.

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

It clattered against the marble with a ringing finality.

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

The graying woman stepped forward again, her hands shaking.

"We follow you now," she whispered

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

Charlie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.

Sera looked ready to collapse from relief.

But before anyone could celebrate-

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

Charlie paled instantly. "She's coming."

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

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

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

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

He didn’t need to shout.

His presence alone was command enough.

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

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

The Exterminators surged forward.

And the battle for Heaven began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world seemed to stop.

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

She fell to her knees.

"You… can’t…" she rasped.

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

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

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

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

The light died.

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

Across the courtyard, the everyone fell silent.

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

The only sound was the ragged breathing of the survivors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She swallowed hard, her hand brushing against her sisters.

"In Heaven."

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

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

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

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

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

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

The light swallowed them all.

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

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

But warm.

Hopeful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vaggie squeezed her hand tightly. "We will."

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

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

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

#hazbin hotel #emily hazbin hotel #hazbin

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ultimategraffitiguy · 2 months ago

Note

Aoi asahina x gn!reader fluff headcannons.

🌤️ — Aoi is my girl ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 here we go, enjoy!

°.✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩.°

❝ Donuts for two. ❞

— FANDOM: DANGANRONPA: TRIGGER HAPPY HAVOC

— PAIRING: AOI ASAHINA x GN!READER

— ROMANTIC/PLATONIC

— HCS

— TW: BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR, OOC.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩.°

☆ ┈ First of all: she adore you soo much.

☆ ┈ Aoi shows her affection through physical contact.

☆ ┈ Do you feel sad, or maybe you just want to be attention? Not another word! Aoi will hang on your neck, cuddling you, giggling.

☆ ┈ She likes just holding hands, hugging you, or even giving you a friendly pat on the back or shoulder. Even if you didn't ask for any of this, she will still literally suffocate you with her attention and affection.

☆ ┈ She won't care if there are people around, Aoi is not shy about your relationship or friendship and believes that it is absolutely normal to do this in public.

☆ ┈ She will often wake you up in the early morning so that she can spend more time with you lol.

☆ ┈ Aoi trusts you as much as she trusts herself, so she will often tell you some secrets or other things that she would not want others to hear.

☆ ┈ Aoi is strong enough, and it's not a problem for her to lift you up and spin you in the air during a hug.

☆ ┈ It often happens suddenly, so I hope you don't suddenly scream.

☆ ┈ Although she herself feels depressed after the murders, if she notices that you are sad too, she will try to cheer you up so that you feel better.

☆ ┈ If a donut appears in the nearest kilometer from the two of you, it seems to me that you will run towards it at the speed of light to treat each other.

☆ ┈ Aoi is quite protective towards you, and maybe she can go fight with someone who has something against you.

☆ ┈ Congratulations, you are now in a trio with Sakura and Aoi.

☆ ┈ Actually, I don't see any disadvantages.

☆ ┈ If you can swim, she will often invite you to swim in the pool together.

☆ ┈ If you can't, then she'll try to teach you, and if you just don't like swimming, well, at least keep her company by the pool! Please?

☆ ┈ Aoi has the most ridiculous pet names, but that's the beauty of them.

☆ ┈ Brags to others about how cool you are. Don't argue with her, you are cool.

..:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟﾞ｡.:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟ🌤

🌤️ — I like her c: hope you like it, have a good day ☆

#aoi asahina #aoi asahina x reader #aoi x reader

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ultimategraffitiguy · 2 months ago

Text

Today is 24 April and the birthday of our favorite swimmer Aoi asahina.

Happy birthday Hina!

#danganronpa #aoi asahina #danganposting #trigger happy havoc

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ultimategraffitiguy · 2 months ago

Text

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ultimategraffitiguy · 2 months ago

Note

can you do „where the hurt doesn’t reach but with Charlie Morningstar, Emily and Verosika mayday? (The reader dies due to abuse of the stepfather and in Charlie and Verosika case he was mistakenly sent to hell)

A/N: Yes! There are quite a few requests for this, most of them are Danganronpa LOL I love switching things up though, so I love that now there are more fandoms I can write for :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.3

pt.2 - pt.4

pt.1

Charlie, Emily, and Verosika x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 3398

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

Charlie:

Hell wasn’t what he expected.

There was no lake of fire, no pitchforks, no screaming banshees. Just... noise. Colors too bright. People too loud. The overwhelming sensation of eyes on him- men with their sharp grins and cruel laughter, and women with their razor stares. It was too much. Too fast.

(Y/N) didn’t know why he’d been sent here. He knew he wasn’t a saint, but what happened to him wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t fair. He had tried to survive. But the world above had ignored the bruises, the fear, the shaking hands. And one day, he didn’t wake up again.

His stepfather had made sure of that.

And now here he was, in Hell.

He kept to the shadows of the city, hiding behind dumpsters, curling into corners when the crowds got too loud. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since arriving. Every man who looked at him with interest sent him recoiling like a wounded animal. He hadn’t eaten in days.

Until someone found him.

She looked like she didn’t belong here. Blonde hair like sunlight, warm eyes, a kind smile that didn’t waver even when she saw how dirty and thin he was. She crouched, slowly, as if approaching a stray.

“Hi,” she said softly. “My name’s Charlie. What’s yours?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was tight. His body, tense. He expected a trap. A laugh. A demand.

But none came.

Charlie stayed kneeling, a respectable distance away, her hands resting on her knees. She spoke in low tones, like a lullaby, talking about a hotel- some place for redemption, a safe place, a home. Her voice didn’t press. It invited.

After a long silence, (Y/N) rasped out his name.

Charlie’s smile brightened, but not in a way that hurt his eyes. It was... soft. Real.

“I’m so glad you’re here, (Y/N),” she said.

He didn’t believe her. Not yet. But he let her help him to his feet.

It took weeks.

Charlie gave him a room at the Hazbin Hotel- quiet, cozy, safe. She let him lock the door if he wanted. There was food on the table every morning. Books. Music. A plant on the windowsill.

She was careful with him. Never touched without asking. Never raised her voice. And when Alastor’s booming laugh or Husk’s growls sent him into panic, Charlie would gently guide him away, her hand hovering nearby, a silent offer. Never a command.

One evening, (Y/N) sat in the lobby, knees tucked to his chest, staring at the flickering fireplace. Charlie sat on the couch across from him, reading something light.

“Why am I here?” he asked, finally. His voice was quiet. Broken.

Charlie looked up, blinking.

“In Hell?” she asked gently.

He nodded.

“I- I tried to be good,” he said. His voice cracked. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I was scared. I was just... scared all the time.”

Charlie set the book down and leaned forward, hands clasped.

“I believe you,” she said. “The system’s broken. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. And you don’t belong here.”

Tears welled in his eyes. His hands trembled.

“I’m not safe,” he whispered. “Not even now. I still feel him.”

Charlie’s expression twisted- not with pity, but with something deeper. Fierce compassion.

“You are safe,” she said, firmly this time. “I swear it. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. Not ever.”

His breath caught. He stared at her- searching, trembling.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” he asked.

Charlie smiled again, that same gentle smile from the first day.

“Because I see someone who deserves to be cared about,” she said. “And I think maybe... you haven’t heard that enough.”

The tears finally spilled over.

Charlie didn’t move toward him. She let him cry. Let him feel. And when he looked at her through the blur, she was still there. Patient. Real.

Something started to shift after that night.

It was slow, like ice melting in a warm hand. But it was real.

(Y/N) started leaving his room more often- early in the mornings when the hotel was quietest, when the light from the stained glass made the hallways glow like sunrise. Sometimes, he’d find Charlie in the kitchen humming off-key while burning toast, or laughing with Vaggie over something small. And he liked that. The softness of it. The warmth.

Charlie always greeted him with a smile. Never forced conversation. But she noticed him. She always noticed.

“You’re up early,” she’d say, with that gentle lilt in her voice, like music that didn’t ask anything from him.

And he’d just shrug, or nod. But he didn’t hide anymore.

He found himself drawn to her.

Not just because she was safe- but because she made things feel safe.

Books she left on the counter had little sticky notes in them, pointing out jokes or poems she thought he’d like. Sometimes, she’d pass him in the hallway with a quiet “I made cookies,” and then disappear before he could respond, as if she knew praise or thanks might overwhelm him.

She never made him feel small for being afraid. Or for being quiet. Or for not knowing how to accept care.

(Y/N) had never had that.

He didn’t know what to call what was happening inside him. But when she laughed, it stirred something. When she sat next to him on the couch- still at a safe distance, still always waiting for his lead- his pulse fluttered. He didn’t shrink away anymore. Sometimes… he even leaned closer.

One evening, the hotel was quiet. Most of the others were out.

(Y/N) sat by the window in the common room, watching distant flames flicker across the skyline. The hellscape beyond the glass didn’t frighten him so much now. Not when the room behind him felt like peace.

Charlie approached softly.

“Mind if I sit?”

He shook his head.

She settled beside him on the couch. A bit closer than usual. Not touching- but close enough for warmth to reach him. She glanced out the window too.

“It’s kind of pretty, in its own way,” she murmured.

He looked at her instead. She caught him, and smiled.

And for the first time, he didn’t look away.

“You really don’t belong here,” he whispered.

Charlie tilted her head, curious. “What makes you say that?”

He swallowed. His throat was tight, but not in fear. Not anymore.

“You’re... good.”

A quiet smile played on her lips. “So are you, (Y/N). You just never had the chance to know it.”

He hesitated. Then-

“I like being around you,” he said. Barely above a breath. “More than anyone.”

Charlie blinked, stunned- but only for a moment. Her smile softened into something deeper.

“I’m really glad,” she said, her voice thick with something tender. “I like being around you too. A lot.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was soft. Steady.

And then, cautiously- slowly- he reached out.

His fingers brushed hers on the cushion between them.

Charlie didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. She just turned her palm up and gently laced their fingers together.

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

It didn’t feel like fire.

It felt like home.

Emily:

Hell wasn't fire and brimstone the way (Y/N) had always pictured it. It wasn’t pitchforks and devils with snarling faces. It was worse- confusion. Loneliness. Screams in the distance that never quite stopped. The acidic sting of regret settled into the corners of his soul like mold.

He hadn’t expected to wake up at all. The last thing he remembered was cold tile, the way his lungs struggled to hold air, and the sound of his stepfather’s voice rising like thunder. Then… nothing.

Then… this.

He didn’t belong here. Even the damned knew it.

He barely spoke, flinching away from the touch of strangers, shrinking at the bark of a man’s laugh or the sudden rise of a voice. He wandered the quieter corners of Hell, ignored for the most part- just another broken soul in a place full of them.

Until she appeared.

Emily didn’t look like anyone else here. For one, she glowed. Not metaphorically- actually. Like a star set to wander, her feathers radiant and soft gold, her six wings moving with an elegance that didn’t belong in this place. When she descended into that quiet alleyway where he sat huddled, (Y/N) had thought for a moment he was hallucinating.

He recoiled at first when she reached a hand out. She didn't blame him. She knew fear when she saw it- not the Hell-bred fear of punishment, but the raw human kind. The kind etched deep from betrayal, from pain at the hands of those who should have offered safety.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she had said gently. Her voice was warmth over frost. “You weren’t supposed to end up here.”

He didn’t speak. He hadn’t in days. He just looked up at her, blinking with wide, empty eyes.

So she sat with him. Didn’t press. Didn’t reach again.

She came back the next day. And the next. She brought little things: feathers woven into cords, soft celestial cloth for his shaking hands, the hum of ancient lullabies. She shielded him when passing demons snarled too loud, standing taller than most would expect with those bright, protective wings curling around him.

“You were a child,” she whispered once, brushing hair back from his eyes when he allowed her close. “It wasn’t your fault.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened. He wanted to believe her.

He wanted to believe someone.

Sometimes he woke screaming. Not from what he saw here- but what he remembered from before. The heavy footsteps. The things said in the dark. The ache in his ribs that never quite faded, even in death.

Emily never flinched. She didn’t try to force silence or push for peace. She simply held him, wings folding like a cathedral around them both.

It was the first time he’d been touched gently by someone older, someone stronger.

He cried the first time she held his hand. Just held it. No force. No pressure. Just presence.

“You were lost,” she murmured one evening, as they sat in a quiet crumbling church where no one else dared go. Her wings shimmered in the shadows. “But I found you.”

“You’re not scared of me?” he rasped. His voice was cracked and unsure, like something unused for too long.

Emily’s expression softened. “You’re not something to be feared. You’re something to be protected.”

Tears welled again, unbidden, burning hotter than any flame Hell had offered him. “I was… just a kid.”

“I know.”

His fingers curled around hers.

She never called him weak. Never asked him to stop trembling. She understood that survival sometimes looked like silence. That fear wasn’t a flaw- it was a wound.

And slowly, with every brush of her feathers, every patient moment she gave him to breathe without expectation, (Y/N) started to believe something new.

Days turned into something like weeks, though time in Hell was slippery, hard to track. It didn’t matter. What mattered was her.

Emily never pushed, but she was always there. In the quiet places. The corners where screaming didn’t reach. The crumbling church where the air felt lighter with her near.

And (Y/N)- he found himself wanting to be near her.

At first it had scared him, how easy it became to lean toward her presence, to seek her glow like a sunflower might seek the sun. But Emily didn’t punish his want. She didn’t mock it, or twist it, or make it feel like a trap. She simply welcomed it.

Some days, they sat in silence, legs tucked beside each other on the old church pew. On others, she spoke in soft stories- of stars, of old memories, of places far above that he had never seen but could picture vividly when she described them.

He began speaking back, little by little. His voice stayed low, cautious. But he talked. About Earth. About the cold tile floors. About his mom, and the music she used to play when she thought no one was listening. About the boy he used to be before everything fractured.

Emily listened as though his words were sacred.

And (Y/N) realized one day- with quiet awe- that he liked the way she made him feel.

Safe.

Worth listening to.

Not a burden. Not broken beyond repair.

Just… him.

One evening, as they sat beneath what passed for a moon in Hell’s sky, he turned to her, eyes still ringed with shadow but no longer so hollow. He watched how her feathers caught the pale light like strands of gold.

“I like being around you,” he said softly. “It’s... easier to breathe when you’re here.”

Emily blinked, surprised by the weight of sincerity in his tone- but then her lips curved into the gentlest smile.

“I’m glad,” she whispered. “Because I like being around you too.”

He didn’t recoil when she reached for his hand this time. In fact, his fingers found hers first.

There was still so much left to untangle inside him- trauma didn’t vanish with kindness. But in Emily’s presence, the sharpest edges of his fear dulled. The ghosts of the past still whispered, but they were quieter now, easier to face.

One night, as he curled against her side, wings wrapped around him like a sun-warmed cocoon, he let himself believe something impossible:

That maybe he deserved this.

Verosika:

The living world had never been kind to (Y/N). It was a patchwork of slammed doors, quiet sobs, and footsteps he learned to fear before he could even drive. His mother tried her best, but his stepfather’s voice was louder- louder than love, louder than reason. Bruises hid beneath long sleeves. Scars weren’t always skin-deep.

By the time he stumbled into Verosika Mayday’s hellish orbit on Earth, (Y/N) was more ghost than boy- skittish, silent, always flinching when any man so much as looked his way. But Verosika? She wasn’t a man. She was fire and glitter and whiskey-wrapped confidence. She was chaos in high heels and didn't give a damn what anyone thought- except when it came to him.

She noticed right away how he tensed around others, how he wouldn't meet her bandmate’s eyes, how even her touch, no matter how gentle, made him freeze for a breath too long. Verosika wasn’t known for tenderness, but she softened around him like ice under sun.

"You don’t owe me anything, sugar," she’d whispered one night, brushing his hair from his eyes as he trembled against her side. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

She let him set the pace. Sometimes that meant silence. Sometimes that meant sitting together, no music, no glamor, just her and him and the quiet.

It wasn't perfect. Verosika had demons of her own- ego, anger, the sting of rejection- but she never raised her voice at him. Not once. Never made him feel small.

But the past has sharp teeth. And some monsters wear human faces… Like her.

The call came on a gray Tuesday, long after she'd started calling him “darling” like it meant something. Long after he started smiling again, small and real and barely there but there. Verosika had just come off stage, sweat still clinging to her skin, makeup smudged from a killer performance.

Then the call.

He was gone.

The bastard had done it. No one had stopped him in time.

(Y/N) died scared. Alone. Verosika knew it the second the voice on the other end confirmed what her gut had already screamed. The world tilted. The bottle in her hand shattered. Her scream shook the walls.

The descent back into Hell was nothing new for Verosika. She'd come and gone a hundred times before, always with fanfare, lights, and an entourage of sin. But this time was different. There were no backup dancers. No adoring fans. Just her, hollow and shaking, mascara still streaked from tears that hadn’t stopped since the call.

She was back in her true form now, wings twitching, tail low, heels echoing through the streets of the Lust Ring like a funeral drumbeat. Everything felt louder without him. Uglier. Useless.

He’s not here, they told her.

“No record of a soul by that name,” the clerks at the soul registry droned, lazily flipping through pages like they weren’t talking about him. “Probably made it up top.”

She should have been relieved- he deserved Heaven, more than anyone she’d ever known. But the thought of him wandering eternity alone, without knowing the truth about her, that gutted her.

Would he hate her?

He’d never asked where she went after midnight gigs, never pressed when her eyes glowed too bright or when she healed a bruise on his arm with a touch she played off as luck. But he wasn’t stupid. Just scared. She never wanted to be another shadow over his shoulder.

Verosika wandered the outlands, hoping, praying- something she never thought she’d do again- that he had found peace.

Until she heard it.

A soft, familiar cry.

Not the scream of the damned. Not wailing torment. Something more fragile.

Him.

She knew it the instant she heard it. That broken sound he made in his sleep when the nightmares came crawling. The sob in the back of his throat like he was trying to hide it from the world.

She ran.

Faster than she ever had in stilettos, wings half-spread, heart pounding like it might give out. Through alleyways of bone and brimstone, down corridors no demon cared to tread- until she found him.

Curled in a corner of a crumbling stone chamber. Small. Shaking. Pale.

He was in his human form. That’s how lost he was. That’s how scared.

“(Y/N)...?” her voice cracked, softer than it had ever been. He didn’t look up at first.

She dropped to her knees beside him, ignoring the soot and blood and heat. Gently- so gently- she reached out, brushing trembling fingers against his arm.

He flinched hard.

Her hand retreated.

But his eyes- those familiar, wounded eyes- finally lifted to meet hers. Wide. Shiny with tears. Recognition bloomed slow in his face, like dawn breaking through thick fog.

“...V-Verosika...?”

She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Yeah, baby. It’s me. I’m here.”

He stared at her, still trembling. “Y-You... You’re...?”

She nodded. Couldn’t lie to him. Not now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never wanted to scare you. I just... I didn’t want to be another thing you had to be afraid of.”

His lip trembled. “Are we... in hell?”

The words broke her.

“Yeah, sugar. But you’re not supposed to be. They said you went up. I think... I think you got lost.”

He looked around, like seeing Hell for the first time, like he hadn’t quite processed it yet. “I don’t... I didn’t wanna leave you... I was s-scared... and then he-”

He cut himself off, curling tighter, and Verosika swore her heart cracked again.

“No, no, no- don’t do that. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered, crawling closer but keeping her distance. “You hear me? He hurt you. He was the monster. Not you.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I was so scared... I thought I was alone...”

She bit back her own tears and finally reached out again. This time, when she brushed his hand, he didn’t flinch away. He gripped her fingers like a lifeline.

“You’re not alone,” she breathed, crawling forward until she could pull him gently into her arms, his head tucking beneath her chin. “Not anymore.”

He clung to her like he’d fall apart otherwise. She stroked his hair the same way she used to, back when he was still alive, when he still smelled like cheap shampoo and fear.

“I missed you,” he whispered against her throat.

“I missed you too,” she choked. “So damn much.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for the brimstone to cool beneath them. Long enough for the screams of Hell to fade into background noise.

And when he finally slept in her arms, breathing slow and deep and safe, Verosika knew one thing:

If Heaven didn’t want him-

She’d build one for him down here.

31 notes · View notes

ultimategraffitiguy · 3 months ago

Note

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

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

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.2

pt.1 - pt.3

Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 4145

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

Sayaka:

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

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

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

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

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

Until one rainy afternoon.

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

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

“Can I sit with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” Sayaka asked, gently.

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

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

His throat bobbed. He looked away again, ashamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart ached, full and warm. She nodded.

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

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

Into her voice. Into her warmth.

Into the beginning of something safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her expression softened, almost glowing in the fading light.

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

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

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

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

“Then we can fall together,” she whispered.

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

He felt wanted.

He felt seen.

And most of all, he felt hopeful.

Celestia:

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

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

(Y/N).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you here?” he asked.

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

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

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

“Let me in,” she said softly.

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

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

“You’ve been hiding.”

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

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

His head snapped up, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He flinched.

But she didn’t pull away.

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

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

“You do.”

His eyes welled up- unwilling, ashamed.

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

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

She simply stayed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Celeste?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

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

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

Hope.

He wasn’t healed. Not yet.

But he wasn’t alone anymore.

It became routine after that night.

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

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

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

No judgment. No pity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She took the flower gently, her fingers brushing his.

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

“I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

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

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

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

(Y/N) glanced at her. “Did it help?”

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

He let that sink in, then nodded.

A few weeks later, he reached for her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I ask you something, darling?”

“Anything.”

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

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

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

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

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

“Promise?”

“To protect you. In my own way.”

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

“What is that?”

He smiled softly. “Safe.”

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

Because she was beginning to realize something as well.

She liked being around him, too.

Sonia:

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

Sonia noticed.

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

And (Y/N) had survived something terrible.

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

Instead, she sat beside him.

Not too close. Just enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Why?”

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

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

And the day after that.

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

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

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

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

But he nodded. Just once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That maybe, someday, he could let someone in.

And if anyone could be the first…

…it would be Sonia.

Over the next few weeks, things began to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head.

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

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

And she was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m trying to be better.”

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

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

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

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

He took it.

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

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

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

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