Ember In The Dark Pt.9
Ember in the Dark pt.9
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.8 - pt.10
pt.1
Warnings: Power Imbalance/Oppression, Police Brutality, Mild Violence, Substance use, Pregnancy/Childbirth, Postpartum Exhaustion
Word Count: 7609
Summary: More tensions rise with Piltover as Felicia nears the end of her pregnancy. The group all rally around her, especially when she goes into labor and gives birth to a daughter, Violet. (Y/N) unexpectedly steps into a caretaker role, bonding deeply with Violet and becoming a steady, calming force- especially for Silco, whose growing frustration with the Enforcers is barely contained. As she softens in ways she didn’t expect, Silco begins to see her a bit differently, their relationship deepening through quiet gestures and unspoken trust. With Violet’s arrival, the group finds brief comfort and unity, even as the world outside remains uncertain. Amid it all, (Y/N) and Silco draw closer, finding something worth protecting in each other- and in the fragile new life they’ve all welcomed into Zaun.
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The bar had settled into its late-night lull, the hum of conversation reduced to low murmurs and the occasional clink of glass. The air was warm, thick with the scent of cheap whiskey and the faint burn of tobacco.
Felicia sat at the counter, one hand lazily drumming against her stomach. She was showing more now, the curve of her belly undeniable beneath her loose-fitting shirt. Vander stood behind the bar, wiping down the counter with slow, methodical movements, while Silco leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, his ever-watchful gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
(Y/N) slid into the stool next to Felicia, nudging her with her elbow. “Getting real now, huh?”
Felicia huffed, giving a mock glare. “You mean the constant backaches, the swollen feet, or the fact that I can’t even tie my own damn boots anymore?” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Yeah. It’s real.”
Vander chuckled, setting a glass of water in front of her. “You’re handling it better than most.”
“Handling it,” Felicia repeated dryly. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Silco smirked, his fingers tapping idly against his arm. “You say that like it you didnt cause it.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep being an ass, Silco. We’ll see how smug you are when I make you babysit.”
Silco’s smirk faltered just slightly, and (Y/N) laughed, leaning against the counter. “Oh, that’s happening. No getting out of it.”
Before Silco could formulate a response, the front door swung open, and a few stragglers stumbled out into the street, leaving the place mostly empty aside from their little group. It was quieter than usual- most folks had cleared out early, wary of the increased Enforcer patrols lately.
Vander took a deep breath, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “You all hear what happened in the Lanes today?”
(Y/N) straightened slightly. “What now?”
Vander leaned on the counter, voice dropping just a bit. “Couple of kids got cornered by Enforcers. Supposedly, they were just lifting some food, but instead of scaring them off, the bastards roughed ‘em up. Left one barely able to walk.”
Felicia frowned, shaking her head. “Damn…”
Silco’s jaw tightened, his fingers stilling. “And what did Topside have to say about it?”
Vander sighed. “Same as always. They don’t care. They never have.”
(Y/N) felt the shift in the air, the familiar tension settling over Silco’s shoulders. His frustration had been simmering beneath the surface for months now, each new injustice adding to the weight of it.
Felicia noticed it too. She nudged him lightly with her foot. “Don’t go starting shit, Silco.”
His eyes flicked to her, sharp, but he said nothing.
Vander, watching him closely, exhaled. “Look, I know it ain’t fair. But picking a fight right now? It ain’t the move. We can’t afford trouble.”
Silco scoffed under his breath, but (Y/N) reached out, her fingers brushing against his wrist. It was a small touch, grounding, but enough to make him glance her way. She didn’t say anything, just held his gaze, and after a moment, he exhaled through his nose, tension easing- if only slightly.
Felicia stretched, pushing herself up from her seat. “Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m heading out before the kid decides to start kicking my ribs in again.”
Vander smirked. “Need help getting to Connol’s?”
Felicia shot him a look. “I’m pregnant, not helpless.”
(Y/N) laughed, and Vander held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright.”
Felicia shook her head fondly before heading out, disappearing into the night.
Silco let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “One of these days, Vander, your patience with Piltover is going to cost us.”
Vander’s gaze hardened. “And rushing into a fight we can’t win will cost us more.”
The two stared at each other for a long moment, the weight of unspoken arguments lingering between them.
(Y/N), sensing the brewing storm, slid off her stool, looping an arm around Silco’s. “Come on, let’s get some air.”
He hesitated, but eventually let her pull him toward the door, stepping out into the quiet streets of the Undercity- of Zaun. The name still wasn’t fully embraced, but it was catching on. It was something.
(Y/N) leaned against him slightly. “One step at a time, yeah?”
Silco exhaled, his arm tightening around her just slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “One step at a time.”
The Lanes were quieter at this hour. The usual chaos had simmered down to a dull murmur, the occasional burst of laughter or clatter of metal breaking the silence. The smell of damp stone, oil, and something vaguely metallic lingered in the air.
(Y/N) walked beside Silco, her fingers slowly sliding down his wrist before settling into his palm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip tightened slightly, grounding himself in the quiet presence of her beside him.
They weren’t heading anywhere in particular, just moving through the Lanes, letting the weight of the conversation in the bar settle.
Silco let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. “You ever wonder what it would be like… if Piltover actually gave a damn?”
(Y/N) glanced at him. “Sometimes. But I don’t waste too much time on it.”
Silco scoffed. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “Because it won’t change anything. And thinking about what-ifs just makes it worse.”
He hummed, considering her words. His thumb brushed absentmindedly over her knuckles, though his gaze was distant, fixed on the uneven cobblestone ahead of them. “It’s exhausting. Watching them act like they’re better than us. Letting us scrape by while they thrive off our work. You heard what happened today, and it won’t stop. It never stops.”
(Y/N) squeezed his hand. “I know.”
They walked a bit further in silence, the faint glow of distant street lanterns casting long shadows against the alley walls.
Finally, she spoke again. “You’re not wrong. About any of it.”
Silco glanced at her, waiting.
She met his gaze, eyes steady. “But we both know what happens if you push too soon. We-... I can’t afford to lose you, Silco.”
Something in his expression softened, just barely. He exhaled slowly, dragging his free hand through his hair. “You make it sound like I’m reckless.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Because you are... We all are.”
Silco gave a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here we are.”
A comfortable silence stretched between them as they continued walking. The Lanes weren’t empty, but the people who still lingered in the streets paid them little mind. A few familiar faces nodded in passing, a silent acknowledgment, before disappearing into the alley’s.
Eventually, they found themselves at one of the higher walkways overlooking the Undercity. From here, they could see the sprawling tangle of buildings, the dim glow of neon signs flickering in the distance. Smoke curled up from the factories, mixing with the ever-present green shimmer of lights.
Silco leaned against the railing, eyes scanning the city below.
“This place deserves better,” he murmured.
(Y/N) rested her arms beside his, close enough for their shoulders to brush. “Then we make it better.”
Silco turned his head toward her, searching her face for something. Eventually, his hand found hers again, intertwining their fingers.
The quiet of the night was interrupted by the rhythmic clatter of heavy boots against the cobblestone.
Silco tensed immediately, fingers twitching against the railing as his sharp gaze flicked toward the source of the sound.
(Y/N) squeezed his hand gently, a silent warning. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket, lighting it with practiced ease before taking a slow drag. The ember flared, casting a brief glow across her face as she exhaled.
“Enforcers,” she muttered under her breath, voice low. “Keep your head down, don’t give them a reason to stop.”
Silco exhaled sharply through his nose, but he gave a subtle nod.
They remained still as the group of Enforcers approached- three of them, two women and a tall man leading the way. Their uniforms were pristine, stark against the grime of the Undercity.
Despite their silence, the Enforcers stopped in front of them anyway.
The man at the front eyed them both, head tilting slightly. “Out late, aren’t we?”
Silco didn’t even try to mask his disdain. “So standing outside is forbidden now too?”
(Y/N) discreetly nudged his side, a subtle reminder not to push too far.
She took another slow drag, exhaling the smoke before responding, “Just out for a smoke.”
The Enforcers didn’t look convinced. One of the women shifted, arms crossing over her chest as she eyed them both.
“Funny,” she said. “Most people down here scatter when they see us coming.”
Silco smirked, voice laced with dry amusement. “And yet, here we are.”
(Y/N) shot him a warning glance.
The tall man studied them a moment longer before stepping closer, looking Silco up and down like he was sizing him up. “Got names?”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes, flicking ash from her cigarette. “Didn’t know names were required to stand in our own city.”
The man scoffed. “Your city?” He glanced at the other two, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “That’s rich.”
Silco’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. (Y/N) could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his fingers curled slightly against the railing.
The second woman finally spoke up. “We’ll be patrolling this area all night. I suggest you both move along before we find a reason to keep you here.”
(Y/N) nodded, grabbing Silco’s wrist. “Yeah, yeah. We’re going.”
She pulled him away before he could say something that’d make things worse.
The Enforcers watched them for a few more moments before turning and continuing their route, their boots echoing against the stone as they disappeared into the darkness.
Once they were out of earshot, Silco exhaled sharply. “They think they own this place.”
(Y/N) took another drag of her cigarette, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist. “I know.”
Silco glanced down at where she held onto him, his anger still simmering, but beneath it was something else- something quieter.
“…I hate them.” His voice was calm, almost eerily so.
(Y/N) didn’t argue. She just laced her fingers through his again. “I know.”
(Y/N) kept her grip on Silco’s hand as they made their way back toward the bar, her thumb absently brushing against his skin in an attempt to keep him grounded.
“Just let it go for tonight,” she murmured, watching the way his jaw stayed tight, his eyes burning with frustration.
Silco scoffed, shaking his head. “Let it go? You saw them, (Y/N). They stop us for nothing. Just because they can- because no one down here can stop them.” His free hand twitched at his side. “And they think it’s funny.”
(Y/N) sighed, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “I know. I hate them too, but getting all worked up over it right now isn’t gonna change anything.”
Silco let out a sharp breath through his nose but didn’t argue.
By the time they reached the bar, it was mostly quiet inside- Felicia was gone, and Vander was nowhere in sight. The faint scent of smoke and spilled liquor still lingered in the air, a comforting kind of familiar.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Silco didn’t even hesitate.
He grabbed her wrist and strode toward the bar, tugging her along as he muttered under his breath.
(Y/N) sighed but followed, watching as he grabbed his worn journal from its usual spot behind the counter. He flipped it open, snatching up a pencil before immediately scrawling down his thoughts with quick, sharp strokes.
“They patrol these streets like they’re theirs,” he muttered, writing furiously as he spoke. “They walk through our city and act as if we should be grateful for their presence- like we owe them something.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Zaun belongs to us, not them. And yet, they still try to keep us beneath their boot.”
(Y/N) leaned against the bar, watching as he continued to scribble down his thoughts. She took another slow drag of her cigarette, letting the moment pass in silence.
Finally, she exhaled, smoke curling between them as she muttered, “You’re gonna run out of pages at this rate.”
Silco paused, glancing up at her. His fingers still gripped the pencil tightly, knuckles faintly white.
“…I need to write it down,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “If I don’t, I feel like I’ll suffocate on it.”
(Y/N) studied him for a moment before nodding, reaching over to grab his half-full glass left on the bar from earlier. She pushed it toward him.
“Then write,” she said simply. “Get it out.”
Silco held her gaze for a long moment before finally relenting. He picked up the glass, took a slow sip, and then returned to his journal.
(Y/N) didn’t push him to stop. She just sat there, finishing her cigarette, keeping him company as he poured his frustration onto the pages.
Vander stepped out from the back, rubbing a towel over his hands, and immediately spotted Silco hunched over the bar, writing furiously. (Y/N) sat beside him, cigarette between her fingers, watching with quiet patience.
Vander sighed. “Alright,” he muttered, tossing the towel onto the counter as he walked over. “What happened this time?”
Silco didn’t look up. “Enforcers,” he said simply, the word laced with venom as he continued writing.
Vander exhaled through his nose, glancing at (Y/N) for clarification.
She rolled her eyes, flicking the ash from her cigarette. “We were just out for a smoke. They decided to stop us and start asking questions.” She shrugged. “Nothing new.”
Silco scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s the problem. It shouldn’t be normal, but it is. They act like they own everything- even the damn streets we stand on.” He jabbed the pencil against the page, underlining something aggressively. “They weren’t even looking for anything. They just wanted to remind us who’s in control.”
Vander frowned, crossing his arms. “You didn’t mouth off too much, did you?”
Silco shot him a look.
Vander sighed again. “I mean it, Silco. We can’t afford to be on their radar right now.”
Silco clenched his jaw but didn’t argue. (Y/N) nudged his foot lightly with hers. “I already got on him about that,” she muttered. “He behaved.”
Vander gave Silco a long, knowing look before shaking his head and grabbing himself a drink. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Silco let out a sharp exhale and finally- finally- set the pencil down. He ran a hand through his hair before rubbing his eyes, the frustration still simmering under his skin.
Vander leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Look, I get it,” he said after a moment. “I do. But we gotta pick our battles. Fighting every time they piss us off?” He shook his head. “That ain’t winnable.”
Silco muttered something under his breath, but Vander ignored it.
(Y/N) reached over, lightly tapping Silco’s journal with her fingers. “You feel better now?”
Silco studied the pages, his jaw working. After a long pause, he exhaled and gave a small, reluctant nod.
“…Yeah,” he admitted.
(Y/N) smirked, tapping the journal again. “Good. Then drink something and cool off before you start a revolution right here at the bar.”
Vander chuckled at that, though Silco only shot her a dry look before grabbing his glass.
The tension in Silco’s shoulders finally began to ease as he nursed his drink, but (Y/N) could still feel the way his fingers drummed against the bar- a telltale sign that his mind was still running a mile a minute.
Vander watched him for a moment before sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I know you hate it, Silco. I do too. But we need to be smart. We can’t afford to stir up trouble, not now.”
Silco scoffed. “Smart would be not letting Piltover walk all over us in the first place.”
(Y/N) shot him a warning look, nudging his thigh with hers. “Silco.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn’t push the argument further. Instead, he took another sip of his drink, fingers tightening around the glass.
Vander shook his head, but before he could say anything else, the door to the bar swung open.
Felicia walked in, looking tired but in good spirits, her hand resting on the curve of her growing stomach. She glanced at the three of them, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you all look like you just got chewed up and spit out?”
(Y/N) sighed. “Silco had a run-in with Enforcers.”
Felicia let out a groan, dragging a hand down her face as she made her way over to the bar. “Of course he did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Silco muttered, though the bitterness was still clear in his voice.
Felicia waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure you were just a ray of sunshine about it.” She lowered herself onto a stool, exhaling. “Connol would have a fit if he knew I came back out here this late, but I needed some air... Snuck back over here after he passed out.”
(Y/N) tilted her head, watching her friend carefully. “Everything okay?”
Felicia hesitated, glancing down as she tapped her fingers against the counter. “Yeah,” she finally said, but her voice lacked its usual energy. “Just… adjusting. It’s all just… A lot. Ya know?”
Vander placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone in this, Fel.”
She gave him a tired smile. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
For a moment, the conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. Silco, having finally calmed down, leaned against (Y/N), resting his chin on his hand as she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the back of his.
Vander took a deep breath, glancing at each of them in turn before speaking. “Look, I know things are changing. For all of us. But we stick together, yeah? No matter what.”
Felicia smiled. “Yeah. No matter what.”
Silco didn’t say anything, but the way his fingers curled around (Y/N)’s told her he was thinking the same thing.
The days started to pass in a blur. The Undercity was alive with its usual chaos, but within the walls of The Last Drop, an anxious energy had settled over their group. Felicia was nearing her due date, and while she was still as sharp-tongued as ever, there was an underlying exhaustion in her movements, a weight to her steps.
(Y/N) found her leaning against the bar one evening, hand resting on the curve of her belly as she sipped at a cup of tea. Vander had all but banned her from drinking anything stronger, and despite her grumbling, she hadn't put up much of a fight.
“You alright?” (Y/N) asked, sliding onto the stool next to her.
Felicia sighed, rubbing a slow hand over her stomach. “Define alright.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Not in immediate distress?”
Felicia let out a tired laugh. “Guess I’m alright, then.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I just want this kid out already. If I have to waddle up and down those damn stairs one more time, I’m throwing myself off ‘em.”
Silco, seated at the other end of the bar, raised a brow but didn’t comment. He’d taken to watching everything more closely these past few weeks, as if expecting Felicia to suddenly go into labor right in front of them.
Vander, ever the caretaker, appeared from the back with a fresh glass of water, placing it in front of Felicia with a knowing look. “You should be resting.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Resting? In this place?” She gestured vaguely to the lively bar, where the usual ruckus of drinkers and gamblers filled the air. “Yeah, sure, let me just take a nap on the damn pool table.”
Vander sighed but didn’t push the issue. Instead, he ruffled her hair- a move that earned him a glare- as he turned to (Y/N). “And you? Keeping this one outta trouble?” He nodded toward Silco, who smirked against the rim of his glass.
(Y/N) let out an exaggerated sigh, resting her chin in her hand. “Trying my best, but you know how he is.”
Silco hummed. “I take offense to that.”
“Do you?” she teased.
“Not enough to stop.”
Before the conversation could continue, Felicia suddenly inhaled sharply, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. Vander was at her side instantly, concern flashing across his face.
“What is it?”
Felicia clenched her jaw, exhaling through her nose. “What do you think?” she muttered. “Shit. Okay. Yeah. This is happening.”
A brief silence followed before (Y/N) blinked. “Wait- now?”
Felicia shot her a dry look. “No, I just enjoy false alarms.”
Vander’s eyes widened before he sprang into action. “Alright, alright- Silco, go get Connol.”
Silco was already on his feet, moving swiftly toward the door without argument. (Y/N) stood as well, steadying Felicia when she swayed slightly.
“Shit,” Felicia muttered again, gripping (Y/N)’s arm. “This is really happening.”
(Y/N) squeezed her hand. “We got you.”
Vander’s voice was firm as he turned toward one of the regulars. “Go get Ren- the doc down by the Fissures. Tell her we need her now.”
The bar’s usual noise dulled as people began to realize what was happening. Even those deep into their drinks straightened, exchanging glances as Vander helped Felicia toward the back. This was it.
Violet was coming.
Vander and (Y/N) helped Felicia into the back, guiding her toward the large basin they had set up in advance. It wasn’t much, but it was the cleanest and most private place they could manage in The Last Drop.
“Alright, easy now,” Vander muttered as they eased her down, Felicia gripping his arm in a way that made him wince.
(Y/N) hovered nearby, adjusting the blankets and towels they had stocked up for this exact moment. “See? The baby bin was a good idea,” she quipped, though the grin on her face was half-nervous energy.
Felicia shot her a glare between labored breaths. “Swear to god, (Y/N), if you call it that one more time, I’ll personally haunt you from the grave.”
(Y/N) held up her hands in surrender, but her smirk remained.
Before Felicia could threaten her further, a sharp pain stole her breath, her fingers tightening in Vander’s grip. He murmured something low and reassuring, rubbing slow circles along her back.
The door banged open, and Silco stepped in, Connol right behind him. Connol’s face was paler than usual, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.
“She-?” he started, but Felicia cut him off with a growl.
“No, I just enjoy sitting in a tub for fun. Yes, Connol, she’s coming.”
Connol swallowed hard but nodded, moving quickly to her side. He knelt beside the basin, brushing damp strands of hair from Felicia’s forehead. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I got you.”
Felicia’s gaze softened- just for a moment- before another contraction hit, and she nearly crushed his fingers in hers.
The next few hours blurred into a haze of pain, muttered reassurances, and Felicia cursing like a sailor. Ren, the woman Vander had sent for, arrived quickly, taking charge with a practiced calm. “Alright, breathe, girl. We’re doing this.”
(Y/N) stayed close, offering Felicia sips of water between contractions while Vander kept her steady. Silco stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he watched everything unfold. He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t leave either.
At some point, (Y/N) felt a hand brush against hers, and when she glanced up, she saw Silco had moved closer. He didn’t say anything, just gave her fingers a small squeeze before letting go.
And then- after what felt like both forever and no time at all- a sharp, gasping cry filled the room.
Silence fell as Ren caught the tiny, wriggling newborn, carefully cleaning her before wrapping her in one of the blankets (Y/N) had set aside. She turned to Felicia and Connol, a rare smile tugging at her lips.
“It’s a girl.”
Felicia let out something between a laugh and a sob, her head falling back against Vander’s shoulder. Connol was already reaching out, his hands shaking as he took the tiny bundle from Ren.
Vander exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Shit,” he muttered, but he was smiling.
(Y/N) leaned over, peering at the newborn. “Well, hello there, Violet,” she murmured, smiling softly at the small girl.
Felicia sighed, exhausted but content, as she reached for her daughter. As soon as Violet was in her arms, she quieted, curling up against her mother’s chest.
Silco, standing just behind (Y/N), exhaled softly. “A new addition to Zaun,” he mused.
Vander snorted. “To the Undercity,” he corrected, though there was no real fight behind it.
Silco smirked. “For now.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. Instead, she just leaned against Silco’s side, watching as Felicia and Connol marveled at their daughter.
The Last Drop had always been filled with noise- arguments, laughter, plans whispered in the dark. But tonight, for just a moment, everything felt quieter.
Violet was here. And the world had changed just a little more.
The room slowly settled after the chaos of birth, the sharp edge of urgency fading into something softer. Felicia was exhausted, her head lolling against Connol’s shoulder as he helped her up from the tub. Vander hovered close, just in case she needed more support, but Connol held her steady.
“C’mon, love,” Connol murmured, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Felicia barely had the energy to nod, but she leaned into him as he led her upstairs to the washroom. Vander followed them partway before stopping at the base of the stairs, watching until they disappeared.
That left (Y/N) with Violet.
She adjusted her hold on the tiny newborn, cradling her carefully as she made her way to the back booths. The baby was warm, bundled snugly in the softest blanket they could find. Her little fingers twitched, curling slightly in sleep.
Ren, ever the watchful presence, remained nearby, settling in the seat across from (Y/N). She was quiet as she cleaned off her hands, but her sharp gaze stayed on Violet, monitoring every little movement.
(Y/N) shifted slightly, rocking the baby as she let out a tiny whimper. “Hey now, no need for that,” she murmured, voice soft. “You’ve had a big day already.”
Violet let out a tiny, breathy sigh, nuzzling deeper into the blanket.
Ren smirked. “You’ve got the touch,” she commented, leaning back in her seat.
(Y/N) scoffed lightly. “You say that like I haven’t been around babies before.”
Ren shrugged. “Still. She likes you.”
(Y/N) glanced down at the small bundle in her arms, the steady rise and fall of Violet’s tiny chest. A small, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in her chest.
She pressed a finger gently against Violet’s palm, watching as the baby’s tiny fingers curled around it.
“She’s so small,” (Y/N) murmured.
Ren nodded. “They always are.”
A moment of quiet settled between them, only the faint sounds of the bar in the distance filling the space.
(Y/N) exhaled, leaning back slightly in the booth. “You think she’ll be okay here?” she asked, voice low.
Ren studied her for a moment before replying, “She’ll be okay as long as she’s got people who give a damn about her.”
(Y/N) smirked slightly. “Well, then she’s got a damn good start.”
Ren huffed out a small laugh but nodded in agreement.
(Y/N) looked down at Violet again, her thumb tracing slow circles along the baby’s hand. “Welcome to Zaun, little one,” she whispered.
After some time, Connol came back downstairs, looking far more at ease than when he had first gone up. His hair was still slightly damp from where Felicia had likely splashed him in the bath, but there was a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before.
(Y/N) carefully handed Violet over, watching as Connol took the baby with gentle hands, cradling her close to his chest. For someone who had been panicked about fatherhood, he certainly looked like he had already fallen into the role.
“She’s a quiet one,” (Y/N) mused, stretching slightly as the weight of the baby left her arms.
Connol chuckled, rocking Violet slightly. “Let’s hope she stays that way.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Felicia’s asking for her.”
(Y/N) nodded, watching as he made his way upstairs, disappearing into the guest room Vander had prepared weeks ago. It had been his idea to set up the room, knowing full well that expecting Felicia to go back and forth between Connol’s apartment and the bar after giving birth was ridiculous.
“She’ll be better off here for a bit,” Vander had said, arms crossed as he stood in the doorway, looking over the freshly made bed and the small bassinet tucked in the corner. “Least until she’s ready to be up and about again.”
Vander had been right. Now, with Felicia recovering and Violet so small, it was easier to have them close.
(Y/N) leaned back into the booth with a sigh, rubbing her arms lightly. The warmth of the newborn was already missed, but a dull ache lingered in her shoulders from holding her so long. Ren, still sitting across from her, was watching the stairs before shifting her gaze back to (Y/N).
“You alright?” she asked.
(Y/N) nodded slightly. “Yeah. Just… glad there were no complications…”
Ren hummed in agreement but didn’t press further.
A moment later, Silco appeared, making his way over to their booth with a slow, measured stride. He didn’t say anything as he slid in beside (Y/N), settling in close enough for their legs to brush beneath the table.
(Y/N) glanced at him, arching a brow. “You good?”
Silco exhaled through his nose, leaning his elbow on the table as he studied her. “You were holding the baby for a long time.”
(Y/N) smirked. “What, worried my arms are gonna fall off?”
Silco scoffed lightly, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Just didn’t think you were the type to get all soft over a newborn.”
Ren snorted at that. “She was cooing at her.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
Silco smirked, shifting slightly so his arm draped over the back of the booth behind her. “I suppose it suits you.”
(Y/N) shot him a look, but Silco only grinned, reaching over to steal her cigarette from the ashtray. She let him, shaking her head as he took a slow drag.
The three of them sat there in quiet for a moment, the noise of the bar distant, the air between them easy.
Eventually, Vander’s voice carried over from behind the counter. “You two planning on sitting there all night, or you gonna help me close up?”
(Y/N) sighed dramatically, pushing herself up from the booth. “Yeah, yeah, we’re coming.”
Silco took another lazy drag before finally moving, and Ren stretched before standing, heading out of the bar to leave them to it. The bar was winding down, but the night still had a few hours left in it.
And as they worked together, cleaning up for the night, there was an unspoken understanding between them.
Zaun- their Zaun- had just gained its newest citizen.
After Violet’s birth, time passed in a blur.
Felicia was exhausted, but she was managing. Connol barely left her side, and between (Y/N), Vander, and Silco she always had someone around to help her with Violet. Despite all the teasing about the "baby bin," (Y/N) had taken to the newborn more than anyone expected. Whenever Felicia needed rest, (Y/N) was the first to scoop Violet up, walking her around the bar, humming soft melodies as she cradled her close. Even Silco had been caught watching them with a raised brow, though he never commented on it.
The Undercity had been relatively quiet, though tensions with Piltover never truly faded. Enforcers still patrolled the Lanes, their presence an ever-looming reminder that peace was fragile.
One evening, after the bar had finally emptied out, Vander leaned against the counter, running a rag over a glass before setting it down. “So,” he started, looking toward Felicia, who was sitting with Violet in her arms, slowly rocking her. “You given any thought to when you’re heading back to Connol’s?”
Felicia let out a tired sigh, shifting Violet slightly. “Haven’t really thought about it.” She glanced toward Connol, who was sitting beside her, his hand resting on her knee. “I mean, I know we can’t stay here forever, but-”
“You can stay,” Vander cut in. “Long as you need.”
Felicia gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Vander.”
Time moved strangely in the days that followed- marked less by clocks and more by feedings, naps, and the soft lull of lullabies echoing through the walls. The once-rowdy atmosphere of The Last Drop had softened around the edges. It hadn’t lost its grit, but it had found something gentler nestled in its corners. Slowly, routines formed. Chaos gave way to rhythm. And though everyone knew things couldn’t stay this way forever, no one was in a rush to change it.
Gone were the lazy, whiskey-slow starts. Now, the day often began with the soft, hiccupping cries of Violet filtering down the stairwell, a sound that had somehow become comforting despite the initial panic it caused that first night.
It was still early when (Y/N) padded out of her room, her socks silent on the floorboards. The bar was quiet, save for the faint clink of glass from downstairs- Vander, already up and prepping for the day. She crossed the hall and carefully nudged open the door to the guest room.
Inside, the air was warm and dim. Felicia was curled up in bed, snoring softly, while Connol sat in the rocking chair nearby, shirt half-buttoned and eyes glassy with exhaustion. Violet rested against his shoulder, fussing quietly.
“Tag out,” (Y/N) whispered, stepping fully into the room.
Connol blinked, surprised. “You sure? She’s been fussy all-”
“I got her.” She held out her arms.
He hesitated for only a second before easing Violet into her embrace, careful not to wake her fully. (Y/N) cradled the baby against her chest, rocking her gently as she stepped back toward the hall.
“I’ll take her downstairs. You sleep.”
Connol didn’t argue. The second the door clicked shut, she heard the chair creak as he collapsed into it with a sigh.
Downstairs, the bar was still lit with the soft haze of early morning. Vander glanced up from wiping the counter, a brow raised as he saw her walk in, gently bouncing Violet against her shoulder.
“You’re up early,” he said.
(Y/N) shrugged. “So is she.”
He grinned. “She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?”
“Shut up,” (Y/N) muttered, but she didn’t deny it. She moved to the booth by the window, settling Violet into the crook of her arm as she sat. The baby stirred but didn’t cry, instead letting out a soft sigh as she pressed her tiny face against (Y/N)’s collarbone.
Vander brought over a mug of tea, placing it in front of her with a smirk. “Don’t worry. Happens to the best of us.”
She rolled her eyes but accepted the tea, sipping quietly as the morning light crept in through the cracks in the shutters.
By midday, the rest of the gang had trickled in.
Felicia emerged looking like death warmed over, wrapped in a blanket and shuffling toward the bar like a woman possessed. “Coffee,” she croaked.
“Tea,” Vander corrected, placing a steaming mug in front of her.
Felicia stared at it like it had personally wronged her. “This is a hate crime.”
(Y/N) snorted from her seat, Violet still asleep in her arms. “Just drink it, mom.”
Felicia shot her a glare, but the word “mom” clearly hadn’t sunk in yet- it left her blinking, dazed, as she slowly sat down beside her.
Silco showed up not long after, unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear, hair slightly disheveled from sleep. He paused in the doorway when he saw (Y/N) cradling Violet, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly, he made his way over and leaned against the table.
“She always that quiet for you?” he asked.
(Y/N) shrugged, glancing down at the baby. “She likes me.”
Silco’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “Apparently.”
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”
“Of a baby?” he scoffed. “Hardly.”
But she caught the corner of his mouth twitching- just barely- and she smiled to herself.
That evening, the bar was closed early for the first time in weeks. A slow lull settled over the place as everyone found themselves in the common area past the backroom, too tired to talk much, but too content to separate.
Felicia sat curled up on one end of the couch, head in Connol’s lap as he gently played with her hair. Vander had claimed his usual armchair, a bottle of something strong resting on his thigh. Silco leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed as he looked out over the Lanes, but every so often, his gaze flicked back toward (Y/N), who was curled up in the center of the couch with Violet dozing against her chest.
It wasn’t until Violet gave a tiny, hiccuping cry that the whole room stirred. Felicia made a tired sound, but before she could move, (Y/N) was already on her feet, cradling the baby with practiced ease.
“I got her,” she said softly, gently bouncing Violet.
Felicia gave her a look. “You know you’re not obligated, right? We can take care of our own kid.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Yeah, but I want to.”
That caught everyone off guard, if only for a moment. Silco’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching her with a strange intensity. Vander set his drink down.
“She’s really grown on you,” he said, not unkindly.
(Y/N) nodded, her voice quiet. “I didn’t think she would… but she has.”
Violet finally settled again, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of (Y/N)’s shirt. The whole room seemed to exhale at once.
Felicia tilted her head. “You ever think about having one?”
(Y/N) blinked. “Me? No. Gods, no.”
Felicia smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”
(Y/N) glanced down at Violet, brushing her knuckles against the baby’s soft cheek. “…Maybe someday. If the world doesn’t burn down first.”
Silco’s voice cut in quietly from the window. “It already is.”
(Y/N) met his gaze, holding it. “Then we make something good in the ashes.”
No one had a response to that. Not right away.
Eventually, Felicia yawned and nudged Connol. “Alright, dad duty. You’re on.”
Connol groaned but stood, taking Violet gently from (Y/N)’s arms. She lingered just a second longer before letting go, fingers brushing the baby’s blanket with a reluctant kind of affection.
Silco watched her the whole time.
As the group slowly dispersed for the night, he hung back until it was just the two of them left in the bar. She was standing by the window now, arms folded as she stared out into the flickering lights of the Undercity.
“You’re acting different,” he said finally, stepping closer.
(Y/N) glanced at him. “That obvious?”
He shrugged. “Maybe not to them. But I notice.”
She was quiet for a moment, then: “I think I’m just… remembering things I didn’t think I still had in me.”
Silco didn’t press. He just stood beside her, their shoulders nearly touching, the silence between them as comfortable as anything else.
Eventually, (Y/N) looked up at him with a tired smile.
“Want to hold her tomorrow when I watch her?”
Silco stared at her, surprised. “…You trust me with her?”
(Y/N) nodded. “I trust you with a lot more than that.”
And for once, Silco didn’t have a sharp reply.
He just nodded, voice quieter than usual. “…Alright.”
The next morning was slow, the kind that crept in through dusty windows and settled over The Last Drop like a warm blanket.
(Y/N) was already awake, wandering barefoot through the bar in one of Silco’s oversized shirts she’d stolen some time ago, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was pulled back haphazardly, now that it had grown out a bit. She didn’t care. She’d gotten the baby back to sleep, and in this place, that was a damn victory.
Silco was seated at the counter, watching her.
He didn’t mean to- at least, not like that closely. He’d come down for a quiet drink and maybe a bit of peace before the rest of the world woke up. Instead, he’d walked in to see her cradling Violet in the crook of her arm, bottle in one hand, humming softly under her breath.
And now, she was swaying by the booth with the baby propped on her shoulder, gently patting her back. No fanfare. No dramatics. Just soft, instinctual care.
He watched the way her fingers moved- gentle, practiced, careful. The way she whispered nonsense to Violet, murmuring things like “You’ve got your mother’s glare, you know that?” and “If you scream again, I’m letting Uncle Vander take you for a walk.”
Silco’s throat felt dry. Uncomfortably so.
She caught him staring when she turned, arching a brow but smiling around it. “You watching me or the baby?”
“Yes,” he said before he could stop himself.
(Y/N) snorted. “Charming.”
She moved toward the counter, shifting Violet to her other arm and reaching for the warm bottle she’d left to reheat in a bowl of water. She tested the temperature on the inside of her wrist, nodded to herself, and offered it to the half-sleeping baby. Violet latched without complaint, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of (Y/N)’s shirt.
Silco… swallowed hard.
“You want to hold her?” she asked casually, like it wasn’t the most loaded question in the world.
Silco blinked. “Now?”
She glanced at him. “You said you wanted to. You can back out.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not backing out.”
She grinned, stepping closer. “Alright, then sit up straight. Support her neck. She doesn’t like sudden movements.”
Silco gave her a dry look. “You do remember who you’re talking to, right?”
“You’re not intimidating when you’re being handed a baby,” she deadpanned, then gently passed Violet into his arms.
She adjusted his grip, her fingers brushing against his forearms, and then pulled back just enough to watch.
Violet nestled against him, her tiny fingers fisting in the collar of his vest.
Silco stared down at her like she was a live grenade.
(Y/N) sat beside him, watching the way his entire body tensed. “You look like you’re about to be attacked.”
“She’s… small,” he muttered, eyes locked on Violet’s sleepy face.
“Babies usually are.”
“I could crush her.”
“You won’t.”
There was a pause, quiet save for Violet’s soft sucking noises as she finished the bottle.
“She trusts you,” (Y/N) said softly, watching him. “I do too.”
Silco looked at her then.
Really looked.
She was a mess- hair tousled, skin still glowing faintly from sleep, and bags under her eyes.
She was also… radiant.
Her hands were capable of violence and fury and fire- but now, they were warm and gentle, holding softness like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And something about seeing her like that- still strong, but so tender- it undid something in him.
“…What?” she asked when she noticed him staring.
Silco blinked. “Nothing.”
(Y/N)’s lips curled. “You’ve got that look. The ‘I just had a dark, brooding epiphany’ look.”
“I do not have a look.”
She reached over and tapped between his brows. “This. Right here. You’re doing it.”
He caught her hand, not roughly, but firmly. “I was thinking.”
“Dangerous habit,” She mocked, repeating something he had told her time and time before.
Silco’s thumb brushed along the side of her hand without thinking, lingering longer than necessary.
“I was thinking…” he started, voice low, “...that you’ve changed a bit.”
(Y/N) tilted her head. “Not sure if that’s a compliment.”
“It is,” he said quietly. “You… surprise me.”
(Y/N)’s gaze softened just slightly. “I could say the same about you.”
They stayed there like that for a long moment. Silco still cradling Violet, (Y/N) leaning in a little closer, their forearms brushing on the countertop.
Violet let out a soft gurgle, breaking the silence, and (Y/N) chuckled.
“Alright, time to burp her before she explodes,” she said, reaching for the baby.
But Silco didn’t hand her over right away.
His fingers lingered on the back of Violet’s head for a moment longer, then slowly passed her back with a care that didn’t go unnoticed.
(Y/N) adjusted Violet on her shoulder, gently patting her back. “You did good,” she murmured, half to him, half to the baby.
Silco watched her, then stood, muttering, “I need to get some air.”
He left before she could tease him- but not before she saw the flush climbing up the back of his neck.
More Posts from Deliciousspecimen and Others
Ember in the Dark pt.5
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.4 - pt.6
pt.1
Warnings: Violence, Combat, Injury, Mild gore, Abduction, Restraint, Death, Hallucinations/Visions, Blood, and Panic/Fear.
Word Count: 6174
Summary: (Y/N) is ambushed by three hooded figures trying to abduct her. She fights back but is restrained until her scream alerts Vander, Silco, and Felicia. A brutal fight ensues, leaving her stabbed before her attackers are defeated or driven off. Silco rushes her home, where Felicia stitches her wound while Vander and Silco struggle to contain her unstable magic. Before losing consciousness, she sees a vision of her mother. Realizing the attack was a targeted abduction, Vander and Silco investigate and learn that the Mageseekers, possibly backed by someone powerful, won’t stop hunting her. Meanwhile, Felicia watches over (Y/N). When she wakes, Silco warns her not to go out alone. Though frustrated, she accepts his help, and in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness, he washes and combs her hair, revealing his fear. She reassures him, but both know the danger isn’t over. Left alone, (Y/N) struggles to rest, haunted by how close she came to being taken.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The grip on her arm was like iron.
One moment, she was walking behind the others, her steps careful, keeping an eye on the shadows. The next, a rough yank wrenched her off balance, dragging her into the darkness of a narrow alleyway.
She barely had time to react before she was shoved against the damp stone wall, a gloved hand clamping over her mouth. Instinct flared- she thrashed, trying to throw her weight forward, but another force seized her other arm, pinning her in place.
"Quiet." The voice was cold, controlled. A tone that expected obedience.
Three of them. Just like before.
Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Their clothes were dark, heavy- made for blending in. Beneath their hoods, she caught glimpses of stern faces, sharp eyes that held purpose.
They weren’t just some random thugs looking to mug her.
This was something else.
The man holding her still leaned in slightly, eyes flickering over her face, searching for something. Confirming something.
“She’s the one,” he murmured.
Her blood ran cold.
The second man- broader, his grip bruising her arm- spoke next, voice laced with disdain. “Took us long enough to track her down. She’s been hiding.”
She didn’t understand. Who were these people?
The third figure, standing just behind the others, exhaled sharply. “She doesn’t even know why we’re here...”
She stiffened.
Before she could process that, the first man leaned in closer, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.
“You’re coming with us.”
No.
She didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but she knew she couldn’t let them take her.
She jerked against their grip, shoving her weight forward, twisting, trying to rip herself free. The man restraining her hissed in frustration, tightening his hold.
Then, she felt it.
A tingling beneath her skin. A crackling in her bones. A spark, desperate and wild, clawing to the surface.
Her breath came fast, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she fought against the instinct screaming at her to let go. She could- she knew she could- but she wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.
Instead, she did the one thing she avoided at all costs.
She screamed.
A raw, desperate sound tore from her throat, sharp and jagged, cutting through the damp, crowded streets of the Undercity.
The men cursed, reacting instantly. The one holding her mouth recoiled, caught off guard just long enough for her to thrash against his grip. The broader man snarled and clamped down harder on her arm, yanking her back before she could bolt.
“Shut her up,” he snapped.
A gloved hand struck her cheek. The sting was sharp, burning- but she didn’t stop.
She couldn’t stop.
“VANDER! SILCO!!” she screamed again, using every bit of breath in her lungs, hoping- praying- that they heard her before these bastards dragged her away.
Shouting erupted from the streets.
The men tensed.
Her heart soared.
The voices were distant but getting closer- familiar voices.
“(Y/N)?”
Vander.
Then another, sharp and cutting- “Where is she?!”
The hooded figures exchanged looks, calculating.
They had seconds before her people arrived.
The grip on her loosened just slightly- just enough.
And she took her chance.
With everything she had, she drove her knee into the nearest man’s gut, using the momentum to rip her arm free. The other lunged to grab her, but she twisted away, slipping through his fingers just as-
Vander and Silco came crashing into the alley.
Felicia rushed in after, keeping her distance but ready.
Vander was a force of nature, barreling straight for the nearest hooded figure. His sheer presence alone sent the man stumbling back.
Silco was precise, fast, cold- lunging straight for the one who had hit her, a blade flashing in his hand.
Panting, she stumbled back. Felicia was suddenly at her side, gripping her arms, steadying her.
She wasn’t alone... The alley exploded into chaos.
Vander fought like a battering ram, his fists landing like sledgehammers against the people who had been attacking (Y/N). He slammed one against the brick wall, sending the man crumpling to the ground with a sickening crack.
Silco was faster, sharper- his knife found its mark in the shoulder of the second man, twisting with ruthless precision. The man cried out, staggering back, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his cloak.
(Y/N) gasped for breath, pressing a hand to the fresh bruise on her cheek, her heart hammering. She could barely focus as Felicia yanked her further back, shielding her from the fight.
The group was trying to retreat.
They hadn’t expected this.
But just as the last one turned to flee, he moved too fast- too close to her.
It happened in an instant.
A flash of steel.
A searing pain tore through her side.
She sucked in a sharp breath, the world tilting as she looked down.
The blade was small but deep, buried just beneath her ribs. The figure yanked it back, and warmth spread across her torso- blood soaking through the fabric of her cloak.
Felicia screamed.
Silco turned instantly, eyes wide as he saw her sway.
Then, his expression shifted.
Pure, unrelenting rage twisted his features. His hand tightened around his knife.
He didn’t just stab this time- he drove the blade into the man’s gut and twisted it, his face inches from the man’s as he watched the light leave his eyes.
The hooded man gurgled.
Collapsed.
But she barely saw it.
Her knees buckled.
Pain flooded her senses, her breath ragged and shallow. Arms caught her before she hit the ground- Silco, his grip firm but shaking.
“(Y/N)- (Y/N), stay awake.”
Vander was suddenly there, pale-faced, pressing his hands against the wound.
Too much blood.
Felicia hovered, panic tightening her expression. “We need to move. Now.”
The fight was over. The group was either dead or gone.
But (Y/N) was slipping fast.
Silco clenched his jaw, his voice steady but tight. “We’re taking her home.”
Then, without another word, they ran.
Silco didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
(Y/N)’s blood was everywhere- soaking into his shirt, warm and sticky against his skin as he tightened his grip. She was too still, her head lolling slightly against his shoulder, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
Her eyes- he caught a glimpse of them through her half-lidded stare.
Glowing.
A faint, golden shimmer.
Not now.
Not here.
“Stay with me, (Y/N),” he muttered, barely hearing his own voice over the pounding of his heartbeat. “We’re almost there.”
Vander was at his side, keeping pace despite the panic in his expression. Felicia ran ahead, shoving people out of the way, clearing a path.
The bar was too far.
Too damn far.
Silco’s arms ached, but he didn’t dare let her go.
She stirred slightly, fingers twitching against his chest, lips parting as if to speak. But when she did, it wasn’t words- just a sharp, pained exhale as another jolt of golden light flickered through her hands.
Shit.
They burst through the back entrance of the bar, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.
Benzo took one look at (Y/N), at the blood, at them, and rushed forward.
“Get her upstairs. Now.”
Silco didn’t need to be told twice.
He took the stairs two at a time, Vander right behind him, Felicia on his heels. They reached her room, Silco lowering her onto the bed with a care that felt unnatural for him.
The moment he let go, her body tensed. Her fingers clenched in the sheets as a golden glow crackled up her arms.
She was losing control.
Vander swore. “(Y/N)-”
Silco grabbed her wrist, his grip firm, grounding.
“Breathe,” he ordered, voice sharp, forcing her to look at him.
Her eyes fluttered open- still glowing, but unfocused.
“It... hurts,” she rasped.
“I know.” Silco’s voice softened, but his free hand pressed against her wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “But you need to stay here. You hear me?”
Benzo shoved past Vander, dropping a bowl of water, cloth, and a needle with thread onto the bedside table. “She’s burning up. Someone’s gotta patch her up before she bleeds out.”
Felicia moved first, rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll do it.”
Silco didn’t let go of (Y/N)’s wrist. Vander hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed.
(Y/N)’s breathing was shallow, her hands trembling as golden light flickered along her skin, fading in and out. She was still here, still fighting.
And Silco wasn’t leaving her side.
Felicia’s hands were steady, but her heart pounded in her chest.
(Y/N)’s body was slick with sweat, her magic crackling at her fingertips, sparking against the sheets. It was wild- unstable. Every time she tensed in pain, the light flared, lashing out like a live wire.
“She’s gonna fry me,” Felicia muttered under her breath, threading the needle with shaking fingers.
“Then be quick,” Vander said, his grip tightening on (Y/N)’s shoulders. He and Silco pressed her down to keep her from thrashing.
Silco was still gripping her wrist, his knuckles white. “(Y/N),” he murmured, voice sharp. “You have to stop moving.”
She let out a choked sound- not quite a scream, but damn close. Her body jerked, golden light surging up her arms, singeing the sheets. Small embers hissed against the damp cloth Benzo had thrown over her stomach to catch the blood.
Felicia clenched her jaw. No more hesitating.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and then she pressed the needle into torn skin.
(Y/N) screamed.
Her back arched violently, her arms seizing as another burst of magic crackled out of her. Silco barely flinched as sparks danced up his forearm, burning through his sleeve. Vander gritted his teeth, holding her down as Felicia worked as fast as she could, threading the needle through her flesh, sealing the wound shut.
More sparks. More magic.
(Y/N) convulsed, nails digging into Silco’s arm, breath ragged, uneven.
Felicia’s fingers trembled. The needle was slick with blood. (Y/N)’s blood.
She worked faster.
Silco murmured to her again, voice low, grounding.
(Y/N)’s thrashing slowed.
The light in her hands flickered.
Felicia forced the last stitch through, tying it off with a sharp tug.
“It’s done,” she gasped, pressing a cloth over the wound to stem the bleeding. “She just- she just needs to rest now.”
Silco loosened his grip but didn’t move away. Vander let out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face.
Felicia wiped the sweat from her forehead with a shaky hand.
(Y/N) was barely conscious, her body limp, her breathing shallow. The glow at her fingertips had faded to a dull flicker, no longer sparking against the sheets.
They had stopped the bleeding.
But she had come too close.
Too close to dying.
Too close to losing control.
Felicia swallowed hard. “We can’t let this happen again.”
Vander exhaled. “No. We can’t.”
Silco said nothing. He just stayed where he was, still holding (Y/N)’s wrist, even long after her fingers had gone still.
The world blurred at the edges. The pain in her torso dulled, lost beneath exhaustion and the magic still humming under her skin. Voices murmured in the haze- Silco, firm and steady, grounding her. Vander, heavy with something unspoken. Felicia, exhaling sharply, muttering under her breath. Benzo, chiming in now and then but mostly quiet.
But beyond them, just past the flickering light of the room, stood someone else.
A figure- blurry, shifting, barely tangible.
(Y/N) blinked, her vision hazy, her mind tangled between reality and something else entirely.
The shape before her crackled softly, golden light sparking along its edges.
The same color that bled from her hands when she lost control.
The same magic.
The same blood.
“…Mama?”
The whisper barely left her lips, slipping away into the space between breath and silence.
The figure didn’t speak.
But it watched her.
(Y/N)’s chest tightened. Her fingers twitched, aching to reach forward, to touch what wasn’t really there.
She knew it wasn’t real. Knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her.
Or maybe… something else.
Still.
The golden light crackled again, curling like smoke. And for the briefest moment, she swore she could see her mother’s face- soft, sad, watching her with eyes that held too much.
The same way she had the last time (Y/N) ever saw her awake.
A lump rose in her throat.
“Don’t go,” she murmured.
But her voice barely held weight.
The light flickered- once, twice- before dimming entirely.
The figure was gone.
And (Y/N) finally let herself fall into the dark.
The room was heavy with silence after (Y/N)’s whisper faded. Her outstretched hand fell limply to the mattress, her body finally succumbing to unconsciousness. The faint golden glow at her fingertips flickered out like a dying ember.
Felicia exhaled, shaking out her hands, still stained with (Y/N)’s blood. The stitching was rough, rushed- but it would hold. It had to.
Vander sat heavily on a crate, rubbing his face with both hands, exhaustion clear in the slope of his shoulders.
Silco hadn’t moved. His fingers still rested against (Y/N)’s wrist, checking for a steady pulse. His grip was tight- too tight for someone usually so composed.
Felicia was the first to speak.
“That wasn’t some random street scuffle.” Her voice was quiet, but certain. “That was planned.”
Silco’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Vander straightened, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did you get a good look at ‘em?”
Silco nodded, eyes dark. “Hooded figures. Armed, coordinated. Not from around here.” His fingers twitched- like he wanted a cigarette- but he didn’t reach for one. “They weren’t just after a payday.”
Felicia swallowed, glancing at (Y/N)’s still form. “They were after her.”
A beat of silence.
Vander let out a long breath. “Then we need to find out who the hell they were.”
Felicia ran a hand through her hair. “If they knew what she is- what she can do this isn’t over.”
Silco’s voice was flat. “She screamed. Drew attention.”
“Good,” Vander said firmly. “Or she’d be dead.”
Felicia shuddered. “And if they’re still watching?”
Silco’s fingers curled into a fist. “Then we make them regret it.”
Vander nodded. “We start asking around. Someone’s bound to know something.” He met Silco’s eyes. “I’ll check the Lanes. See if anyone’s heard about strangers poking around.”
Silco exhaled sharply. “Benzo, you’ll hear more than most at your shop.”
Felicia crossed her arms. “And what about her?” She jerked her chin toward (Y/N). “We can’t leave her alone.”
Silco’s answer was instant. “Then we don’t.”
Vander nodded. “We take shifts.”
Silco looked down at (Y/N), his expression unreadable. “She needs rest.”
Felicia sighed. “We all do.”
But they wouldn’t.
Not tonight.
Tonight, they had work to do.
Benzo left first, pulling his coat tighter around himself before disappearing into the streets. He knew better than to ask too many questions- he’d hear what needed to be heard soon enough.
Felicia sat on the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of her friend’s chest. The worst was over, but she still looked pale, her breathing uneven. Felicia reached down, adjusting the blanket over her, though she knew it wouldn’t help much.
“She’ll be fine,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Silco and Vander stood near the door, preparing to leave. Vander exhaled through his nose, glancing once more at (Y/N). “If anything changes-”
“I’ll come get you,” Felicia finished, giving him a tired look. “I know.”
Silco rolled his shoulders, eyes sharp with something cold. “If she wakes up, don’t let her move. She’ll be stubborn about it.”
Felicia huffed a short, humorless laugh. “No shit.”
Vander placed a hand on Silco’s shoulder, nodding toward the door. “C’mon. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to track these bastards down.”
Silco gave (Y/N) one last look before turning sharply and stepping out into the streets. Vander followed, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.
Felicia sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Well, (Y/N),” she muttered, glancing at her unconscious friend. “Looks like you stirred up a real mess this time.” She just hoped they’d be able to clean it up before it got worse.
The Undercity was never quiet, even at night. Vander and Silco moved through the twisting alleyways, boots scuffing against damp stone, the scent of soot and metal thick in the air. They didn’t speak at first- there was no need. Their minds were set on the same goal; finding out who the hell had come after (Y/N).
Vander clenched his fists. “They knew what they were looking for,” he muttered. “Didn’t go after me, didn’t go after you or Felicia. Just her.”
Silco’s jaw tensed. “They knew about her magic.”
Vander shot him a glance. “She’s been careful, Silco. No way word got out just like that.”
Silco exhaled sharply through his nose, sharp eyes scanning the streets ahead. “Doesn’t matter how careful she was. Someone saw something. Someone talked.”
The thought made Vander’s stomach twist. They had spent years making sure (Y/N) kept her secret hidden, had uprooted their lives, moved from place to place, taken jobs in the mines to keep her safe- and still, it wasn’t enough.
They stopped outside a makeshift gambling den wedged between rusted pipes and flickering neon signs. It was one of the places that thrived on knowing things- people paid debts with information as often as they did with coin.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension. Eyes flicked toward them as they stepped inside, taking in their presence but quickly looking away. Vander had a reputation- so did Silco.
They made their way to a table near the back, where a wiry man with thin, calculating eyes was nursing a cheap drink. His name was Lark, and he had a talent for sniffing out whispers in the Undercity.
“Gentlemen,” Lark greeted, his voice smooth, practiced. “Didn’t expect to see you two tonight. What brings you here?”
Silco slid into the seat across from him, Vander standing close behind, arms crossed. “We’re looking for information,” Silco said coolly. “About some hooded bastards prowling the streets. They went after a friend of ours.”
Lark’s lips twitched. “Hooded, huh? That’s not much to go on.”
Vander leaned in, his broad presence casting a shadow over the man. “You know exactly who we’re talking about.”
Lark hesitated, swirling his drink. He measured his words carefully. “You’re talking about the Mageseekers.”
The word hit like a hammer. Silco’s expression remained unreadable, but Vander stiffened slightly.
“Mageseekers?” Vander repeated. “Never heard of ‘em.”
Lark tilted his head. “You wouldn’t have. They don’t come down here often. But when they do, they’re hunting.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “They work for those with money, be it Piltover, Noxus, anyone with the information to give them what they want... Real nasty types. Their job is to sniff out anyone with magic, and when they find ‘em… Well. Let’s just say they don’t send ‘em off with a friendly warning.”
Silco’s fingers drummed once against the table. “Why come all the way down here for one girl?”
Lark gave a loose shrug. “Could be a mistake. Could be she caught their attention somehow. But if the Mageseekers know about her, that means someone up top does too. Piltover doesn’t waste time chasing ghosts…”
Vander exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a gang looking for an easy target. This was bigger. More dangerous.
Silco pushed back from the table. “If you hear anything else, you’ll let us know.”
Lark smirked. “Of course. For a price.”
Vander reached into his pocket, tossing a few coins onto the table. Lark scooped them up greedily, nodding in satisfaction.
“Be careful,” Lark said as they turned to leave. “If the Mageseekers have her scent, they won’t stop coming.”
Vander and Silco left the gambling den, stepping back into the cold, oil-slicked streets.
“This is bad,” Vander muttered.
Silco’s gaze was hard, calculating. “We’ll handle it.”
But Vander wasn’t so sure. Because for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just up against the Undercity’s dangers. They were up against Piltover, against Mageseekers…
The walk back to the bar was silent. Vander and Silco moved with purpose, their minds spinning with what they had just learned. The Mageseekers were bad enough- but the fact that they were sniffing around meant someone in Piltover had taken notice of (Y/N). That alone was enough to make the situation dangerous.
When Vander and Silco reached the bar, the warm glow of the lights was a stark contrast to the cold weight settling in their chests. The place was still closed to the public, but inside, up the stairs, Felicia sat in the same spot she was in before... On the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, (Y/N) resting beside her.
Felicia looked up as they entered. “Well?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration.
Silco exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. “Mageseekers,” he said flatly. “They’re sent from Piltover. Hunting people like her.” His gaze flickered to (Y/N), still unconscious, her breathing shallow. “If they found her once, they’ll find her again.”
Felicia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So what do we do?”
Vander pulled up a chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “We stay close. No more going off alone. No more risks. They’ll come back, and when they do, we’ll be ready.”
Felicia nodded, but something about the way she looked at (Y/N) was uneasy. She knew it wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore.
Felicia let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over her tired face. “I’ll go make some food… She will need the energy…” she murmured, though the exhaustion in her voice betrayed her need for a break. She cast one last glance at (Y/N), still motionless on the bed, before rising to her feet.
Vander followed suit, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. “I’ll be downstairs. Give a shout if anything changes,” he said, though the weight in his tone made it clear he wasn’t expecting good news anytime soon.
Silco remained seated, his sharp eyes never leaving (Y/N). As Vander and Felicia made their way out of the room, the door creaked shut behind them, leaving behind a heavy silence.
For a moment, there was only the dim glow of the bedside lamp, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Silco exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his fingers absently toying with a knife at his belt.
“You really don’t make things easy, do you?” he muttered, watching the slow rise and fall of (Y/N)’s chest.
The Undercity was dangerous enough- but now, with the Mageseekers involved, things had taken a sharp and deadly turn.
(Y/N)'s eyelids fluttered open, the dim glow of the bedside lantern casting soft shadows across the room. Her body felt like it had been dragged across the Undercity’s roughest streets, every movement sending sharp pain through her torso. The wound throbbed, stitched together with Felicia’s quick, practiced hands, but the bruises on her ribs and shoulders made even breathing an effort.
She blinked, disoriented, mind foggy from exhaustion and pain.
Silco was sitting nearby, leaning back in a chair, one leg crossed over the other- his sharp eyes were on her the second she stirred.
“You’re awake.” His voice was quiet, but there was something in it. Relief, maybe. It was hard to tell with Silco sometimes.
(Y/N) groaned, shutting her eyes again. “Unfortunately.”
Silco let out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle. “You had us worried,” he admitted, shifting in his seat.
Her fingers twitched as she tried to push herself up slightly, but pain flared up her side, forcing her back down. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Shit.”
“Careful,” Silco warned, watching her struggle. “Felicia stitched you up, but you tear that open, and you’ll be bleeding all over again.”
(Y/N) huffed, frustrated. “Feels like I already am.” She hesitated, eyes flickering to Silco. “What happened?”
He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Mageseekers.”
Her stomach twisted at the name.
Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. “They were following us. They caught you when you strayed too far back. Vander and I got to you before they could take you, but one of them got a lucky hit.”
(Y/N) swallowed hard. “And now?”
Silco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now we wait. See what Benzo finds. But you… you don’t leave the bar. Not alone.”
(Y/N)’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated being confined. Hated feeling weak. But she wasn’t stupid- she knew this was bad.
Still, something nagged at her. The Mageseekers weren’t usually in the Undercity. They had no reason to be here unless… Unless someone had given them one.
Or unless someone else had sent them.
Her throat felt dry. “…They won’t stop, will they?”
Silco was quiet for a moment. Then, with a voice far softer than she expected, he said, “No. They won’t.”
The weight of that truth settled over her, suffocating.
Outside, the distant hum of the Undercity’s streets carried on, the world moving as if nothing had changed. But for (Y/N), everything had.
Silco hadn’t moved from his seat, his eyes never straying far from her as she sat there, lost in thought. The weight of everything pressed against her ribs, heavy and suffocating. The pain, the attack, the realization that she wasn’t safe- probably never had been.
But what got to her most wasn’t the danger. It wasn’t even the Mageseekers. It was the damn feeling of weakness clawing at her insides.
She felt disgusting. Dried blood clung to her skin, crusted over her stomach where the wound had been stitched. Her clothes were stiff with it, the fabric sticking to her in the worst places. She wanted out of them. She wanted to clean herself up, to not feel like she was still stuck in that alley, surrounded by those hooded bastards.
But moving- hell, even sitting up- wasn’t something she could do on her own.
The realization made her stomach twist. She hated this. Hated asking for help, hated feeling small and pathetic. But she’d rather die than go downstairs like this, looking like something dragged through the Lanes and left to rot.
Her fingers curled into the bedsheets as she debated it, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Silco was still watching her, patient but expectant. He knew she was working through something, but he wasn’t going to pry.
Her throat tightened. She exhaled sharply, barely above a whisper.
“…Can you help me?”
Silco raised an eyebrow. “With?”
She clenched her jaw, looking away. “I need to clean up.”
He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t tease her for the hesitation or draw attention to the shame buried in her voice.
Instead, he just stood.
“Alright.”
Relief flooded through her, though she refused to let it show.
With Silco’s help, she slowly- agonizingly- pushed herself up. Every movement sent fresh spikes of pain through her body, her wound burning, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet. Silco slipped an arm around her waist, careful of the injury, keeping her steady as her legs wobbled beneath her.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered back, though she wasn’t convinced.
Silco guided her across the room to where the old metal basin sat, a rag and a pitcher of water next to it. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.
“Sit,” he ordered, helping her onto the stool beside it.
She obeyed, too tired to argue.
The water was cold as she poured some into the basin, soaking the rag before wringing it out. She hissed when the cloth touched her skin, wiping away the dried blood from her stomach. It took more effort than she wanted to admit just to lift the hem of her shirt, exposing the stitches.
Silco watched, arms crossed, but he said nothing.
After a few moments, (Y/N) swallowed her pride again and held the rag out to him.
“…Can you get my back?”
Silco took it without a word.
She sucked in a breath as the cold cloth pressed against her shoulder, dragging down her spine where bruises had already started to form. His movements were precise, careful, but he didn’t hesitate. He never did.
She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle between them.
“…Thank you,” she murmured, voice barely above a breath.
Silco didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to.
Once she was clean, he helped her into fresh clothes, a loose shirt that wouldn’t tug at the stitches, before carefully wrapping a new bandage around her torso. Once done, he carefully brought her back into her room.
(Y/N) sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, still adjusting to the feeling of fresh bandages against her skin. She felt better- cleaner, at least- but the soreness hadn’t faded. Her body ached like hell, but at least she didn’t feel like she was drowning in her own blood anymore.
She thought they were done. Thought Silco would leave her to rest now that she was taken care of.
Instead, he stayed.
She tensed when she felt him move behind her, fingers gathering her tangled hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Silco didn’t answer immediately. He took the small comb from her bedside table- one she barely used- and ran it through the strands, carefully working through the knots.
“Your hair’s a mess,” he said simply.
(Y/N) huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, getting stabbed tends to make things like brushing my hair less of a priority.”
Silco made a noncommittal sound, focused on his task. He worked in steady strokes, more careful than she expected from someone so sharp-edged. It was… odd.
He was being soft. Unusually so.
(Y/N) didn’t know what to do with that.
She swallowed, staring at her hands in her lap. “…You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Then why?
The question hung in the air, unspoken.
Silco didn’t answer it, but she could feel it in the way his fingers combed through her hair, untangling the knots with a patience she hadn’t known he possessed.
It wasn’t like him to be openly gentle. But this- this was different.
Maybe he thought she wouldn’t remember. Maybe he assumed the pain, the exhaustion, would dull the weight of this moment. Or maybe he just didn’t care if she noticed.
Either way, she let him do it.
For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) let herself be taken care of.
Silco lingered behind her after tying her hair back, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders before slowly falling away.
He should have left. Should have walked away now that she was taken care of... Instead, he stayed.
(Y/N) sat still, her head slightly bowed, her breathing steady but fragile- like even that took effort. He watched the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants, gripping them tightly as if grounding herself.
She had almost died today.
The thought clawed at his mind, tightening in his chest like a vice.
Silco had always understood that death was inevitable in the Undercity. He had seen enough of it to know that anyone could be taken in an instant. But the idea of losing her- of seeing her crumpled in an alley, blood pooling beneath her, magic flickering uncontrollably in her weakened state- was something else entirely.
It was a fear he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.
But now, with her here, still breathing, still alive… He felt it.
(Y/N) exhaled softly, tilting her head slightly, as if sensing the weight of his silence. “You’re still here,” she murmured.
Silco clenched his jaw, steadying himself before responding. “…Yeah.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
“You’re scared,” she said suddenly.
He stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
But (Y/N) only gave a tired, knowing smile. “…You are.”
Silco hated that she could see through him.
He hated it even more that she was right.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “…They almost took you from us.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it- sharp, dangerous, like the promise of a blade in the dark.
(Y/N) swallowed, her fingers loosening their grip on her pants. “But they didn’t,” she reassured, glancing back at him. “I’m still here.”
Silco’s eyes flickered to hers, searching, unreadable.
Still here.
For now.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing against her back lightly- just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t slipping away.
“…Get some rest,” he murmured, finally stepping away.
(Y/N) didn’t stop him this time.
But before he reached the door, she spoke again- soft, but certain.
“…You don’t have to be scared, Sil...”
He didn’t turn around.
Didn’t tell her that it was too late for that.
The room was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the empty bar below and the occasional creak of pipes in the walls. The dim light on the bedside table flickered, casting long shadows across the room.
(Y/N) lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, but rest wouldn’t come. The dull ache of her wound pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a constant reminder of how close she had come to being taken. She stared at the ceiling, thoughts circling like vultures.
She couldn’t just lie here.
(Y/N) forced herself up with a wince, pressing a hand against her aching side. The stitches pulled uncomfortably, but she had never been the type to stay still for long- especially not now, when there were Mageseekers lurking in the shadows, and questions she desperately needed answers to.
Her boots were quiet against the floor as she made her way down the stairs, the dim glow of the bar’s lanterns casting warm light over the wooden surfaces. The place was still closed, but Vander was behind the counter, cleaning a glass with slow, thoughtful movements.
His gaze flicked up as soon as she reached the bottom step.
“You shouldn’t be up,” he said, his voice edged with something between exasperation and concern.
(Y/N) exhaled, leaning against the counter. “I’d rather be here than lying in bed, thinking too much.”
Vander sighed, setting the glass down. “That wound’s fresh. You push yourself too hard, kid.”
“I’ll live.”
He gave her a look, one that made it very clear he wasn’t amused. “Not if you go tearing your stitches open.”
(Y/N) only offered a faint smirk in return, ignoring the way her body ached as she pulled herself onto one of the barstools. “Benzo back yet?”
Vander shook his head. “Not yet. But I doubt it’ll take long… And Fel is in back cooking...”
She nodded, tapping her fingers against the worn wood of the bar. Silence stretched between them, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the doors.
It was Silco who finally broke it.
“I told you to rest,” he muttered from his seat near the end of the bar, watching her with sharp, unimpressed eyes.
(Y/N) turned to him, raising a brow. “And I told you I’m fine.”
Silco’s gaze flickered to her side, to the way she was ever so slightly favoring it. “…Sure you are.”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, a door swung open at the far end of the room. Felicia emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a rag, her expression set in a tired scowl.
She froze for a second, eyes narrowing as she took in (Y/N), sitting at the bar when she was supposed to be resting. Then, with a sharp exhale, she threw the rag down onto a nearby table.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, already storming toward her. “You got stabbed, hours ago, and you’re up and walking around like it’s nothing?”
“I can’t just lay around,” (Y/N) muttered, swaying slightly as she tried to sit up on her stool. “We both know this isn’t over.”
Felicia let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no shit. And you bleeding out on the floor is really gonna help, huh?” She sighs, shaking her head. “I made stew. You’re eating, and then you’re resting. Or Ill knock you out myself…”
There was no real threat behind her words, just frustration, worry- the kind that only came from caring too much. But (Y/N) wasn’t sure she had it in her to fight back against that right now.
(Y/N) didn’t argue, she just slowly nodded. She was too tired. And, truth be told… the stew smelled pretty damn good.
“Good,” Felicia muttered. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Stubborn idiot.”
(Y/N) smirked faintly. “Takes one to know one.”
ITS SO CRISP!!! I want the art book so baddddddd 🥺
Digital Artbook was released in Japan so I found some HD Silco concepts on twitter and upscaled them to an even higher quality
Ember in the Dark pt.2
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.1 - pt.3
Warnings: Violence, Themes of survival, Themes of secrecy and trust., Trauma, and Emotional distess.
Word Count: 2281
Summary: (Y/N) reveals her long-hidden magic to Silco, who, instead of reacting with fear, warns her of the danger if others find out. As they return to their hideout, she struggles with whether to tell Vander and Felicia. Silco advises secrecy, reminding her that once shared, it’s no longer just hers. Before she can decide, an unexpected visitor arrives- Vander and Felicia, worried about her disappearance. Their concern turns to frustration, prompting (Y/N) to make a choice. She reveals her magic, summoning a flicker of golden light. Stunned, Felicia reacts with shock and exasperation, while Vander, though concerned, reassures her that she’s still one of them. Despite their initial frustration, they accept her, and the tension eases.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Y/N)’s hand was still in Silco’s as he helped her up, steady despite the grime and damp clinging to her skin. For a second, she just stood there, forcing herself to breathe, to push down the tremors in her limbs.
She had to decide.
She could tell him.
The thought sent a sick kind of fear curling in her gut. For years, she had fought to keep it hidden. She had watched her mother waste away under the weight of survival, all while whispering the same warning over and over: Never let them see. Never let them know.
But Silco had seen something. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what, but she could feel his eyes on her, sharp and calculating even as they started walking back toward Vander and Felicia.
If she told him now, if she trusted him, would he keep it?
Or would he look at her like she was something other?
"You're quiet," Silco muttered as they weaved through the labyrinth of rusted pipes and narrow alleys. "Not like you."
(Y/N) huffed, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "Almost got caught by enforcers. Guess I’m not in a talking mood."
Silco gave her a sidelong glance. "You weren’t just running from them."
Her throat went dry.
She kept her expression even, but she could feel him watching her. The way he always did when he was picking someone apart, digging beneath the surface until he found the weak spot.
She should lie.
She should.
Instead, she stopped walking.
Silco took a few steps before realizing she wasn’t following. He turned, brow furrowing as she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides.
"(Y/N)," he said, slower now, careful.
Her chest ached. Say nothing. Swallow it down. Keep it buried.
But she was tired of swallowing it down.
"I have to tell you something," she blurted before she could stop herself.
Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she saw the way he straightened slightly, the way his hands twitched as if bracing for a fight. "Alright," he said, voice measured.
(Y/N)’s heart slammed against her ribs. This was it.
She glanced around, making sure no one was nearby, then took a slow breath.
Her fingers twitched.
And then, with a hesitant, controlled motion, she let the smallest flicker of golden light spark between them.
The glow barely lasted a second, just a tiny crackle of warmth between her fingertips, like the dying ember of a flame.
But Silco saw.
His whole body went rigid.
The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating.
(Y/N) clenched her jaw, forcing herself to meet his gaze. If he ran- if he flinched- she would bolt and never look back.
But Silco didn’t flinch.
He just stared, something unreadable flickering behind his sharp, dark eyes.
"You’ve been hiding that this whole time," he said at last, his voice disturbingly calm.
(Y/N) swallowed hard. "Yeah."
A long, tense pause.
Then-
"Smart," he murmured.
She blinked. "What?"
Silco tilted his head, watching her like he was seeing something new, something dangerous. "If people knew, you’d be dead."
She exhaled sharply, some part of her unraveling at the words. "I know."
Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. "Does Vander know?"
She shook her head. "Just you."
His lips twitched slightly, not quite a smirk, but something close. "And you trust me with it?"
"Wouldn't have shown you if I didn’t."
Silco was quiet for a moment, eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite name. Then, to her surprise, he let out a short breath of laughter.
"Well, shit," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "That explains a lot."
(Y/N) frowned. "You’re… not freaking out?"
He looked at her, something sharp in his expression. "Oh, I am," he admitted. "But not because of what you can do." His voice lowered. "Because if the wrong people see, we won’t just be running from Enforcers next time."
(Y/N)’s stomach twisted.
Silco sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Vander and Felicia are still looking for you. We need to go back before they start tearing up the whole damn city."
She hesitated. "And… you’re not going to tell them?"
Silco met her eyes, something dangerous curling at the edges of his smirk. "Your secret, your choice."
(Y/N) felt her chest tighten.
She had always expected fear. Hatred…
But Silco…
Silco just looked at her like she was a puzzle he had finally solved.
Like she was someone important.
Something powerful.
"Come on," he said, turning back toward the hideout. "Wouldn’t want Vander to cry over you."
(Y/N) snorted despite herself. "Yeah, right."
She followed him.
And for the first time in years, she wasn’t running.
The walk back was quieter than (Y/N) expected.
Silco didn’t push her to talk. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t prod at the weight sitting heavy on her chest. He just kept walking, hands tucked into his pockets, his sharp eyes flicking toward her every so often like he was keeping tally of her breaths, making sure she didn’t disappear again.
She should have felt relieved.
Instead, her stomach twisted tighter with every step.
She had told Silco.
The words still rattled in her skull, the image of that tiny spark of magic dancing between her fingers burned into her mind. For years, she had kept it buried so deep it felt like a second skin, an instinct as natural as breathing. But now-
Now, he knew.
And soon, she’d have to decide if Vander and Felicia would too.
The old hideout came into view- a crumbling, half-abandoned space wedged between rusted pipes and makeshift walls of scrap metal. It wasn’t much, just a shelter against the chaos of the Undercity, but it was theirs. A place where they could breathe, even if the air was thick with smog and secrets.
Silco pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, the dim glow of a stolen lantern casting shadows across the room. (Y/N) hesitated in the doorway, her fingers tightening around the frayed edge of her cloak.
"You coming in, or you planning to stand there all night?" Silco asked, throwing himself onto one of the old crates they used as seats.
She rolled her eyes but stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind her.
The space was eerily quiet without Vander’s gruff voice or Felicia’s sharp, teasing remarks. Their absence made the place feel hollow, like a ribcage missing its heart.
(Y/N) paced.
Sat down.
Got back up again.
Silco watched her, an amused tilt to his expression. "You’re overthinking."
"Shut up," she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair.
Silco didn’t argue. Just leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You don’t have to tell them," he said after a beat.
(Y/N) froze mid-step. "What?"
"You heard me." He tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, calculating gaze. "It’s your secret. No one else’s."
Her throat tightened. "But if they find out later-"
"They’ll be pissed," Silco finished bluntly. "But that’s a problem for later, isn’t it?"
(Y/N) clenched her jaw. She hated that he was right.
She should tell them. They were family- or as close to it as anyone could get in the Lanes. Vander, with his stupid protective instincts and his too-big heart. Felicia, who could cut with words as easily as with a blade, but always made sure they had food, even if it meant going hungry herself.
She trusted them.
Didn’t she?
"Would you?" she asked suddenly, turning to face Silco.
He raised a brow. "Would I what?"
"Tell them. If you were me."
Silco considered that for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he smirked, lazy and sharp. "I would take it to my grave."
(Y/N) groaned, flopping onto a crate beside him. "That’s so helpful, thanks."
Silco shrugged. "I’m just saying. People don’t react well to things they don’t understand. You already know that."
She did.
Gods, she did.
Her fingers curled into her palms.
"Vander’s not like that," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Silco hummed. "Maybe. Maybe not." He tapped his fingers against his knee. "But once you tell someone a secret, it’s not just yours anymore."
The words settled deep in her ribs, heavy and true.
She hated that.
The handle of the door rattled before she could respond. Silco had locked it when they came inside…
Both of them stiffened.
(Y/N)’s breath caught as she shot a look at Silco. His expression shifted instantly, the easy amusement fading into something sharp and ready.
Then-
"Oi, you in there?"
Vander’s voice, rough and edged with something tight- worry.
(Y/N) exhaled, her pulse still hammering in her throat.
Silco smirked, rolling his eyes. "Took them long enough."
Felicia’s voice cut in, laced with irritation. "If she’s not in there, I swear, I’m-"
(Y/N) pulled the door open before she could finish.
Vander and Felicia stood on the threshold, their expressions a mix of frustration, relief, and exhaustion.
Felicia’s narrowed eyes swept over her. "You little shit-"
(Y/N) barely had time to brace before Felicia yanked her into a tight, bone-crushing hug.
"You scared us," she muttered into (Y/N)’s shoulder, her grip fierce, like she was making sure she was real.
(Y/N) swallowed against the lump in her throat. "Sorry," she mumbled.
Vander crossed his arms, his gaze flicking between her and Silco. "What happened?"
The question lingered in the air, waiting.
(Y/N) felt Silco’s presence beside her, silent but steady.
This was it.
Tell them. Keep it secret. Trust them. Keep them safe.
Her fingers twitched.
She took a breath-
And made her choice.
(Y/N) stepped aside, letting Vander and Felicia into the hideout. Her stomach churned as she shut the door behind them, sealing herself in with the weight of what she was about to do.
Felicia flopped onto a crate with a dramatic sigh, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Do you have any idea how much time we wasted looking for your ass?" she grumbled. "Vander was ready to bust down half the city."
Vander didn’t deny it. He just gave (Y/N) a long, searching look before sitting down himself. "You alright?"
That was Vander. Not scolding her. Not demanding an explanation right away. Just… asking.
(Y/N) swallowed, nodding stiffly. She wasn’t alright, not really. But she was here. And she had made her choice.
Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching but not interfering. It was her secret to tell. He’d already said as much.
(Y/N) clenched her hands into fists, then forced herself to relax. Just do it. Before you lose your nerve.
"I need to tell you something," she said, voice tight. "And before I do, I just- I need you to listen. Just listen. Don’t freak out."
Felicia narrowed her eyes. "That’s a terrible way to start a conversation."
Vander frowned. "(Y/N), what’s going on?"
(Y/N) took a deep breath, before raising her hands, steady despite the tremor in her fingers.
A spark of golden light flickered to life. Small, hesitant, barely enough to illuminate the dim space. It crackled like embers, dancing across her fingertips, warm and alive.
The room felt too quiet.
Felicia stiffened. Vander’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, but he said nothing.
(Y/N) forced herself to meet their gazes.
"I have magic," she said, barely above a whisper. "I’ve always had it. I just- I never told you because I couldn’t. Because it’s dangerous. Because-" Her throat tightened. "Because I was scared."
The silence stretched.
Felicia blinked. "What the fuck?"
Vander exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Shit."
(Y/N)’s stomach plummeted.
Felicia stood, staring at her like she was seeing her for the first time. "Magic," she repeated, slower this time, like she was still trying to process it. "You’re telling me you’ve had magic this whole time?"
(Y/N) nodded, bracing for the worst. For them to pull away. For them to tell her she wasn’t one of them.
Vander sighed heavily, but his expression wasn’t anger. Just… concern. "How long?"
"Since before I came here," she admitted. "Since I was born."
Felicia let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through her hair. "I don’t- shit, (Y/N), do you know what could’ve happened if someone else found out?"
"Yes," She snapped, frustration bubbling over. "Of course I know. Why do you think I kept it secret?"
Felicia opened her mouth, then shut it again, jaw tightening.
Vander rubbed his temples. "And Silco knew?"
(Y/N) hesitated, but Silco answered for her, his voice calm. "She told me first."
Felicia turned on him, eyes flashing. "And you didn’t think to tell us?"
Silco shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Not my secret."
Felicia made a strangled noise, but Vander put a hand on her shoulder before she could start yelling properly.
"Alright," Vander said, his voice steady in the way that made people listen. "Alright. We… we’ll figure this out." He looked at (Y/N) again, his gaze softer this time. "But you should’ve told us sooner."
(Y/N) swallowed hard. "I know."
Vander sighed, then did something she didn’t expect.
He reached out and put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair the way he always did when he was trying to be reassuring.
"We’re not gonna turn on you, (Y/N)," he said, quiet but firm. "You’re still one of us."
Her throat tightened painfully.
Felicia groaned, throwing herself back onto the crate with a dramatic flop. "Gods, I hate that I’m not mad at you."
(Y/N) let out a breath that was half a laugh, half relief. "Yeah?"
Felicia shot her a glare. "Yeah. Asshole."
Silco smirked from his spot against the wall. "That went better than expected."
...Felicia flipped him off...
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."
If it’s okay to ask, are you open to Omorashi and/or Omocute requests?
If not, that’s perfectly fine, I get it’s not for everyone, I just wanted to check.
Lolololol nope. I do not.
Honestly, didn't even know what that meant, but after a quick Google... Yeahhhhhh. I'm not writing piss stuff, sorry lmao. No shame, but uhhh... I just can't do that 💀 I am totally willing to do other things, though! Within reason, obviously.
Please may I have The Walking Dead platonic headcanons of what if Carl Grimes had a older sister who is maybe 3 years older than him and had a 6th Sense when it comes to safe houses and places that is unlikely raided for supplies and what to avoid...e.g. if a certain place seemed overrun with walkers being one of them and when someone offering a safe haven being too good to be true and they seemed 'off'..which had saved her group on numerous occasions. She's a good one and always had been..even after her mother's passing, she promised to look out for Carl and for Judith. She learnt how to use a gun under her father's guidance at the start from the age of 12 before handling it on her own when it comes to having to shoot walkers..or use daggers. She is mostly the person who looked after and raised Judith since infancy and was willing to die to protect her when she was in harm's way.
Rick Grimes relationship with his daughter
Carl Grimes relationship with his elder sister
Lori Grimes relationship with her daughter too.
The Group's relationship with her..(with the same ones who knew Carl for a long time too)
Shane's relationship with her..and how he felt that she didn't see him as a father very much..she saw right through him but she didn't say anything because he was her Dad's colleague and friend.
A/N: Absolutely! I might make a longer fic based on this request! Already got permision from the requester :} I'm either gonna base it off this one, or make one new walking dead fic all together. Eighter way, ill credit you for the request, @the-letter-horror-lover!
Raised by the End of the World
Older-Sister!Reader x The Walking Dead Headcanons
Warnings: Violence/Death, Parental Loss, Trauma, Existential Despair/Sacrifice
Word Count: 1798
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- (Y/N) has an uncanny gut instinct that rarely fails her: While not supernatural, her "sixth sense" is more of a hyper-awareness built from trauma, observation, and cold survival logic. She knows the difference between quiet and too quiet. She’s the type who will stop everyone mid-step because something “feels off,” even if there are no walkers or sounds- and more often than not, she’s right.
- She can “read” people frighteningly well: One look, and she can tell if someone is lying, desperate, dangerous, or putting on an act. Rick has learned to trust her instincts even over his own at times. In abandoned houses, she can glance at the dust, placement of things, and smell of the air and tell if someone’s been there recently. She’s especially good at finding caches of supplies overlooked by others. She's the one who always checks under floorboards, between false walls, and above ceiling tiles. It’s almost become a running joke- until she finds a forgotten stash of canned goods or ammo.
- Rick started training her in basic gun safety and handling when she was 9, back before the world fell apart: It began with weekends at the range- slow, careful lessons on how to respect the weapon. Mostly so he could eventually go hunting with him, and actually know how to aim.
- She took to it quickly, surprising even Rick with her precision: She never flinched. When she asked to learn how to use a knife next, Rick hesitated, but taught her anyway- something he later thanked himself for.
- After everything went to hell, she became one of the best shots in the group: Not just accurate, but calm. She doesn’t waste bullets. Every shot counts. She's also quick with a dagger or makeshift blade. She's not the strongest, but she’s fast and precise- throat, eye, skull. She's had to learn how to end things cleanly, especially when Judith was with her.
- Lori loved (Y/N), but often didn’t understand her: While Carl was more emotionally reactive, (Y/N) was quiet, steady, and internalized everything. They had friction- especially as the world began to collapse- with Lori sometimes chastising her for “acting like an adult” or “trying to be in charge.” (Y/N) never argued back. She just kept doing what needed to be done… But deep down, Lori was proud. She told Rick, before her death, that (Y/N) was stronger than both of them- that she had something in her that would keep them all alive.
- Their last real moment together was quiet: Lori cupped her daughter’s face, said “Take care of your brother. Take care of Judith.” And (Y/N) nodded once, already promising without needing to say it aloud. After Lori’s death, (Y/N) was the only one who stayed with Carl that whole night. She didn’t say a word. Just let him lean on her until he slept…
- Now (Y/N) often acts more like Carl’s second parent than just a sister: She's firm when she needs to be, but she's never condescending. Carl listens to her more than most, even when he pretends not to. They argue like siblings, but when the world goes to hell (again), Carl always looks for her first. If she’s nearby, he knows things will be okay.
- From the moment Judith was born, (Y/N) took over almost all of her care: She was the one waking in the middle of the night, rocking her, warming formula, changing diapers even during the hardest of times.
- Judith’s first word wasn’t “mama” or “dada.” It was “Sissy,”: The whole group melted when they heard it. She braided Judith’s hair when it got long enough, wrapped her in scraps of blankets when they were on the road, and told her made-up fairy tales when the real world was too ugly to explain. If Judith ever cried or screamed when walkers were near, (Y/N) would press her forehead to hers and whisper calming things until she went quiet- even if her own heart was pounding out of her chest. She once hid with Judith in a broken-down car overnight, clutching her tightly while walkers passed within feet of them She didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn’t breathe until the moans were gone.
- Rick sees (Y/N) as both his daughter and his second-in-command: After Lori’s death, she became the emotional pillar of the family, even when Rick wasn’t in a place to be the father she needed. He regrets that he put too much responsibility on her shoulders too early- relying on her to help raise Judith, to keep Carl in line, to read the room when he couldn’t. But deep down, he trusts her instincts more than almost anyone.
- Their bond is strong but often unspoken: Built on quiet glances, half-nods, and wordless understanding. When something goes wrong, she’s usually the first person he looks to. He’s told her, more than once, “You shouldn’t have to be this strong.” And each time, she just gave him a tired smile and said, “I know.” He worries about the cost of the apocalypse on her soul, even more than Carl’s. She carries so much, and rarely lets anyone see her fall apart.
- Carl both idolizes and resents her, in that complex sibling way: She’s his protector, his compass- but also a reminder of everything they lost. She was the one who taught him how to bandage his first walker scratch, who stayed up with him after nightmares when Rick was spiraling. When Carl went through phases of trying to be hard or emotionless, it was her disappointment- not Rick’s- that stung the most. She didn't yell, just gave him that look that said, "You know better."
- He never wanted to admit how scared he was of losing her: But when she once got clipped during a raid and bled out onto the concrete, Carl didn’t leave her side all night. She always made him feel like he didn’t have to be strong all the time. He could crumble, and she would carry the weight for both of them.
- Everyone knows not to second-guess her gut feelings: Even Daryl has said, “If (Y/N) says we don’t go in there, we don’t go in there.” She's quiet but respected- the kind of person people turn to when things get tense because she doesn’t panic, and she always has a plan. Carol shares a soft, maternal bond with her- the two often look after Judith together. Carol sees how much of herself is reflected in (Y/N)’s sacrifices. Glenn was always amazed by her resourcefulness; he once told Maggie he thought (Y/N) could find a full grocery store in a burnt-out gas station.
- At an abandoned hotel just outside of Atlanta, the group thought they’d struck gold: Clean water, canned goods, beds. (Y/N) took one step in and froze. Said the smell was wrong. Turned out it was a trap set by scavengers waiting on the roof with rifles.
- During a harsh winter, she led them to an abandoned church no one wanted to check: “too obvious,” they said. But she felt it in her bones. Not only was it untouched, it had a hidden root cellar stocked with old food from a prepper priest.
- Once, they were approached by a smiling man offering food and shelter at his supposed “community.”: Everyone wanted to hear him out. She stared him down, her voice flat: “He’s not hungry. Look at his boots- clean. He’s hunting, not surviving.” The man ran when she exposed him.
- When walkers broke into a safehouse and (Y/N) was upstairs with Judith: She shoved the dresser in front of the door, locked herself and the baby in the closet, and readied her knife. She didn’t expect to survive- only to keep the door shut long enough for someone else to get to Judith. In a moment where bullets ran out and Judith was in direct danger, she used herself as a human shield without thinking. Daryl pulled her out at the last second, but she was ready to die without hesitation.
- Once, she and Carl were separated from the group during a supply run: She kept Carl behind her the entire time, even when they were ambushed by a lone hostile survivor. She was the one who fired first- Carl never forgot the look on her face after. Calm. Empty. Controlled.
- Daryl Dixon: Daryl sees a kindred spirit in her. Not loud, not flashy, but lethal when it counts. He’s seen her gut a walker with one arm while holding Judith with the other. They often patrol together in silence, both appreciating the lack of small talk.
- Carol Peletier: Carol is maybe the only person who understands what it means to be both warrior and mother in one body. She once told (Y/N), “We do what we have to, and we carry it forever. That’s just how it is for people like us.”
- Michonne: She respects (Y/N) fiercely. They’ve fought side-by-side more than once, and Michonne once admitted she thinks (Y/N) has the best instincts in the entire group. When things feel “off,” Michonne always checks her face first.
- Glenn Rhee: Glenn used to tease her gently, trying to get her to laugh or loosen up. He told Maggie that she reminded him of a cat- quiet, deadly, and always watching.
- Maggie Greene: Maggie bonded with (Y/N) over motherhood. Though their circumstances were wildly different, they shared a resilience born from loving someone so small in a world so cruel.
- Hershel: Before his death, Hershel treated (Y/N) with warmth and fatherly affection. He once told Rick, “That girl’s got an old soul. Like she’s lived through this before.”
- Shane never knew quite how to handle (Y/N): She was polite, respectful, but distant. She didn’t laugh at his jokes the way Carl did, didn’t trust him the way Lori sometimes did. He could tell she saw through him. Through the bravado, the barking orders, the possessiveness over the Grimes family. And that infuriated him- because she never said anything. Never called him out. Just looked at him.
- That silence was worse than yelling: It was judgment without words. Shane knew she didn’t see him as a father figure- not even close- and that burned. He tried, once, to bond with her. Brought her a box of supplies and said, “Thought you’d like first pick. You earned it.” She just nodded and said, “Thanks,” but her eyes didn’t soften.
- After Shane’s death, she didn’t speak of him often: But once, years later, when Judith asked about “Uncle Shane,” (Y/N) just said, “He tried to love us. But he lost himself before he ever really could.”
For my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Mondo with bondage and gags please? He gets the idea to try escaping bondage to prove how tough he can be. So he instructs his gang members to take him to an abandoned warehouse to shackle his barefeet to a heavy weight, handcuff him and tape gag his mouth.
For a potential angst plot, as Mondo struggles to escape his bonds, he reflects on his worth as a gang leader and if he'll be as good as his late brother. What do you think?
A/N: Sure, @princeasimdiya12! I can do that :}
Stronger than Chains
Mondo Owada Oneshot
Warnings: Physical restraint/bondage, Self-imposed suffering, Blood/Injury, Emotional distress/Self-worth issues
Word Count: 1762
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The clattering of chains echoed through the cold, hollow warehouse. The moonlight slanted through broken windows in thick beams, catching on the dust that hung in the air like fog.
"Alright, you punks," Mondo barked, pacing barefoot across the cracked concrete. His jacket flared out behind him with each swaggering step. "You heard what I said. Lock me down. Tight. I ain't playin'."
The Crazy Diamonds, his loyal gang, exchanged uneasy looks. They'd done a lot for their boss over the years- illegal races, turf fights, even the occasional back-alley brawl- but this was... new.
"Boss... You serious?" Asked Mondo’s right-hand man, scratching the back of his neck. "You want us to actually chain you up like some kinda... prisoner?"
"You deaf or somethin’?" Mondo growled, shooting him a look that could start fires. "Told ya! I gotta prove I ain't weak. No matter what tries to hold me down, I’m stronger. This ain't for you. It's for me."
A few nervous chuckles floated up, but they obeyed. Always did.
Mondo planted himself in the center of the room, arms crossed, head held high. His feet, bare against the freezing floor, shifted slightly as they brought out the iron shackles. Heavy chains linked them to a giant scrap engine block they'd salvaged from a junkyard- easily over 600 pounds. It clanked threateningly as it was dragged closer.
"Do it," he grunted.
The gang worked fast. Cold iron cuffs snapped around his ankles, biting into the skin slightly. The chain dragged heavy across the ground as they locked it securely to the weight. His legs were effectively stuck- he could shuffle maybe an inch at most, if that.
Next, they produced a pair of handcuffs. Mondo smirked through gritted teeth, shoving his arms behind his back himself, daring them to slap them on. They did, clicking tightly around his wrists, the chill of the steel stinging his skin.
"You sure about the last part, boss?" One of his men asked, holding up a roll of thick, industrial duct tape.
"Yeah," Mondo growled low in his throat. "No talkin'. No excuses."
With a nod, the man ripped a length of tape free and slapped it firmly across Mondo’s mouth, smoothing it down so tight it almost molded to the shape of his lips. The adhesive pulled at the stubble on his jaw, and Mondo instinctively let out a rough, muffled grunt-
"Mmph!"
He glared at the gang but nodded approvingly. Good. No backing out now.
The gang stepped back, watching in tense silence as Mondo shifted, testing the bonds. The chains clattered and groaned under the strain as he tugged at them. His muscles flexed, sweat starting to bead at his temples despite the freezing warehouse air.
"Mmphh-!" Mondo grunted fiercely through the gag, struggling harder, jerking his legs in place, but the weight was immovable. His bare feet scraped against the rough concrete, the iron cuffs biting deeper with each pull. He tried wrenching his hands free behind his back- the cuffs clinked mockingly.
He let out another low, furious moan- "Mrghhh...!"
His gang watched in awe. Their boss was thrashing like a wild beast, fighting every inch of steel with the pure stubborn force of will that had made him the most feared biker in the country. His hair clung damply to his forehead, his taped mouth twisting with every muffled snarl and grunt:
"Mmmf- rrmph! Nghhh!"
But no matter how he strained, no matter how violently he jerked against them, the chains held. His knees eventually buckled and he sank slightly, panting heavily through his nose, letting out a shuddering groan,
"Hrrmmphhh..."
Still... he grinned beneath the gag, the edges of his mouth pulling tight under the tape. He hadn’t given up. Not even close.
He was Mondo Owada.
And nothing- not even steel and concrete- was gonna break him.
The Crazy Diamonds hesitated at the edges of the room, exchanging another series of nervous looks.
"Boss said not to let him out 'til he tells us," One muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We better let him... work it out."
"Even if he's stuck like that all night?" another whispered.
There was no answer. He just nodded toward the exit.
One by one, the gang members filed out, boots scuffing against concrete, leaving Mondo alone in the vast, echoing warehouse. The heavy door groaned shut, and with a final clank, it latched.
Silence. Bitter, biting silence.
Mondo jerked his arms, muscles flaring beneath his jacket. The cuffs rattled mockingly. His bare feet strained against the shackles, toes curling against the cold floor as he heaved his body weight forward. The chain dragged maybe an inch, scraping noisily- but that was it. The heavy engine didn't even budge.
"Rrmmphh!" Mondo snarled into the tape gag, furious. Furious at the chains. Furious at himself.
He slumped forward slightly, panting through his nose. The tape clung uncomfortably to his sweaty skin.
Still bound, still gagged, still stuck. He squeezed his eyes shut.
And in that darkness, another weight- heavier than the iron- settled on his chest.
Daiya wouldn't have gotten caught like this, he thought bitterly. My brother... he wouldn't have needed some dumbass stunt to prove he was tough.
Mondo shifted again, writhing against the cuffs until the metal bit deep into his wrists. He groaned low, a strangled noise against the tape, "Mrghhh..."
Daiya had been fearless. Respected. Legendary. When he spoke, the gang moved like a single living creature. When he walked into a room, the air itself seemed to tense.
Mondo?
Mondo still felt like a damn kid playing dress-up in a dead man's boots.
He growled through the gag, a long, furious noise, yanking so hard against the cuffs his shoulders ached. The cuffs held. The chains held. Nothing broke.
"Nhhrghh-!" he cried, thrashing again. His hair was plastered to his forehead, breath sawing out in desperate, muffled gasps.
He hated this feeling. This helplessness. This weakness.
Was he really just a shadow of his brother? Some reckless idiot who could bark loud but never live up to the legend?
Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he sagged forward, the chain rattling softly with the motion. He stayed there, kneeling on the cold floor, the weight of everything- the chains, the memories, the expectations- crushing him down.
A ragged, barely audible sound escaped him through the gag, "...mrmph..."
He wasn't good enough.
Not yet.
Maybe... maybe not ever.
But he would be. He had to be. For Daiya. For the Crazy Diamonds. For himself.
Slowly, gritting his teeth under the tape, Mondo lifted his head. His muscles burned. His skin stung. His wrists were raw against the cuffs.
Good. Pain meant he was still fighting.
Pain meant he was still alive.
And if he was alive- he could still win.
With a deep, snarling breath, he planted his feet against the concrete, every muscle in his body straining against the chains once more.
The engine didn’t move. The cuffs dug deep. But Mondo Owada-
"MMPH-!!" he roared into the gag, a savage sound of pure, unfiltered will-
Wasn't giving up.
The minutes- or maybe hours dragged by in a haze of agony and fury.
Mondo had no way of keeping time. Just the sound of his ragged, muffled breathing behind the duct tape, the constant clink and scrape of metal against concrete, and the burning fire in his muscles.
He thrashed harder. Again. And again.
The cuffs carved angry red lines into his wrists. His ankles ached from how tightly the iron shackles bit into them, raw and scraped from his jerking struggles. His jaw hurt from straining behind the tape gag, his skin tender and irritated where the adhesive pulled with every grunt and growl.
And yet-
He didn't stop.
"Rrrghh...! Mmmpghh-!" he snarled low in his throat, eyes burning, forehead pressed to the cold floor for a moment as he sucked in furious breaths through his nose.
He refused to let these chains keep him down.
He refused to be weak.
He refused to stay shackled to some damn hunk of scrap metal like a trapped animal.
With a savage roar, Mondo dug deep- deeper than he ever had before- and heaved.
Muscles screaming, he twisted his hands as violently as he could behind his back, wrenching against the handcuffs until-
CLINK- SNAP!
One of the cuffs popped loose with a painful jerk, biting his wrist open in the process. Blood welled up, but Mondo didn’t even flinch.
He staggered forward, dragging the chain still shackling his ankles. Sweat poured from him. His knees buckled. But his grin- God, his grin - split across his face under the tape, wild and triumphant.
He dropped heavily onto his side, forcing his hands in front of him, fumbling to rip at the tape gag with trembling fingers. His fingernails caught the edge of the sticky mess, peeling it painfully from his raw skin.
It felt like ripping off a layer of himself- but he didn’t stop.
"Khh-!" he hissed as the tape tore free, finally letting his bruised lips part. He spat out a heavy breath, his voice hoarse from grunting and growling for so long.
"Hahh... hahhh..." He sucked in deep gulps of air, tasting freedom, tasting victory.
Mondo sat there for a long moment, completely wrecked- wrists bloodied, face red and raw, legs still trapped by the heavy chain- and still, he laughed. A low, raspy chuckle that grew into a full, stubborn, defiant laugh.
"Heh... Heh-heh... Haah...!"
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a bit of blood and sweat, his chest heaving from exertion.
Still shackled to the heavy weight, still hurting all over- but free from the cuffs, free from the gag, free from the worst of it.
And even now, beaten and bruised and practically vibrating from the effort, that same cocky, stubborn smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
"Tch..." he muttered, dragging himself slowly to his feet despite the heavy chain. "Guess... I ain't such a damn weakling after all, huh, bro?"
He could almost hear Daiya’s voice in the back of his mind- not laughing at him, not mocking him- but proud.
Mondo stood there, broken and bloody and still standing, and for the first time in a long time... he actually believed he was worthy of being the Crazy Diamonds' leader.
And he'd damn well keep proving it- no matter how many times he had to fight. No matter how many times he had to break the chains himself.
For Danganronpa, how about some Smut Headcanons for Hina, Mahiru, and Kaede helping their Female S/O to squirt for the first time!
A/N: Of course I can! This is my first time doing Headcanon's, though. I hope this is what you wanted :}
Journey into Intimacy pt.1
pt.2
Smut Headcanons for Hina, Mahiru, and Kaede.
18+ MDNI
Warnings: Sexual Content/Intimacy, Light Dom/Sub Dynamics, First times.
Word Count: 2502
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Hina:
HAD TO CUT THIS PART BECAUSE SOMEONE LITERALLY FUCKING THREATEDNED ME!!!
Posted what happened, the link is above, but jfc some people are so mentally unwell. Who ever you are, I seriously hope you get the help you need.
Mahiru:
- The Nervous Anticipation: The air between them is different tonight. It’s not the usual playful flirting or casual kisses; it’s thick with something heavier, unspoken, but deeply understood. (Y/N) is fidgeting, her fingers messing with the hem of her shirt, while Mahiru- normally full of sarcastic remarks- finds herself uncharacteristically quiet. They both know where this is heading, but neither of them really knows how to start.
- Awkward Yet Sweet First Steps: Despite her usual confidence, Mahiru is a nervous wreck inside. She wants everything to be perfect, wants (Y/N) to feel safe and cherished, but holy hell, she’s overthinking every move. Meanwhile, (Y/N)- who has literally never done anything like this before- feels her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Every touch, every shared glance, feels ten times more intense than usual.
- Soft, Slow Exploration: Mahiru takes the lead, but gently. Her fingers trail over (Y/N)’s arms, her waist, tracing slow patterns on her skin as she watches every little reaction. She kisses her everywhere- her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw- until (Y/N) finally lets out a shaky breath, whispering, “I want you.” That’s all it takes for Mahiru’s heart to damn near explode.
- Mahiru’s Photographer Instinct Kicks In: As things progress, Mahiru can’t help but admire the absolute beauty of the moment. (Y/N) looks so soft, so vulnerable yet trusting, and fuck, she wants to capture this forever. She resists the urge to grab her camera, but at some point, she whispers about how breathtaking (Y/N) looks. (Y/N), flustered as hell, buries her face in Mahiru’s shoulder.
- Consent Queens: They check in with each other constantly. “Is this okay?” “Do you like this?” It’s sweet, but at some point, (Y/N) laughs between gasps, saying, “Mahiru, if you ask me one more time, I swear to god.” Mahiru chuckles, finally letting go of her nerves a little, before focusing on making her girlfriend fall apart in the best way possible.
- Mahiru is a Soft Dom???: Mahiru may be a nervous mess internally, but her natural assertiveness doesn’t just disappear. She instinctively takes charge, not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes (Y/N) feel completely safe and adored. She’s super praise-heavy, whispering how beautiful (Y/N) is, how perfect she is, how much she loves seeing her like this. (Y/N), in return, melts under her touch.
- Reaching the Peak: It happens so much faster than (Y/N) expected. She barely has time to process it before her whole body goes taut, her fingers digging into Mahiru’s shoulders as she gasps and trembles. It’s overwhelming, electrifying, and so damn intense, she almost can’t believe it’s real. Her breath catches, her back arches, and she lets out a breathless moan, completely lost in the moment.
- Mahiru is Absolutely Mesmerized: Watching (Y/N) fall apart like this is the most stunning thing she’s ever seen. She never expected to love this side of her girlfriend so much, but fuck, knowing she’s the first person to ever make (Y/N) feel this way? That’s a feeling she never wants to lose.
- The Immediate Aftermath: (Y/N) is still trembling, barely able to form words, so Mahiru pulls her close, cradling her against her chest. She whispers sweet nothings, pressing soft kisses against (Y/N)’s forehead, cheeks, lips. “You okay?” she murmurs, even though the answer is painfully obvious from the way (Y/N) is still clutching onto her like a lifeline.
- Soft Aftercare is a Must: Mahiru takes care of (Y/N) afterward, running fingers through her hair, whispering soft reassurances, making sure she’s comfortable and warm. “Need water?” “Need anything?” (Y/N) pretends to protest being babied but secretly loves it. “Mahiru, you’re acting like I just ran a marathon,” she grumbles, but she’s already nuzzling into her anyway.
- (Y/N)’s Shy Confession: After a few moments of silence, (Y/N) mumbles into Mahiru’s skin, “That was… the best thing I’ve ever felt.” She sounds so damn embarrassed, but Mahiru just grins, pressing another kiss to her temple. “Yeah?” she teases. “Glad I could be the one to show you.” (Y/N) groans, hiding her burning face in Mahiru’s shoulder.
- Cuddles and Teasing: They stay wrapped up in each other, letting the moment linger, neither wanting to move. (Y/N), still, coming down from the high, lazily traces circles on Mahiru’s back. Eventually, she mutters, “You’re gonna be so fucking smug about this, aren’t you?” Mahiru grins, kissing her neck. “Oh, absolutely.”
- Their Love Only Gets Stronger: Exploring each other doesn’t change their relationship- it deepens it. They were already so in love, but now there’s a whole new level of trust and closeness between them. They fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
Kaede:
- High School Sweethearts with a Whole Lot of Love: Kaede and (Y/N) have been dating since high school, and from the very beginning, their relationship has been filled with warmth, laughter, and way too many flustered moments. Kaede is very much a romantic, always doing little things like writing (Y/N) piano pieces, sneaking little notes into her bag, and kissing her nose just to make her blush. (Y/N), on the other hand, acts like the smooth one, but the second Kaede even breathes in her direction with a little more affection than usual, she is absolutely doomed.
- Fleeting touches: Holding Hands? Cute. But Holding Hands Under the Covers? Illegal. Even though they’ve been together for years, they are still flustered idiots when it comes to physical affection. (Y/N) still gets butterflies whenever Kaede casually holds her hand, and Kaede still turns bright red whenever (Y/N) kisses her neck- But the moment they start cuddling under the covers, it suddenly feels ten times more intimate, and neither of them knows what the to do about it.
- The Build-Up to Something More: They’ve been thinking about taking things a step further, but neither of them wants to rush. Kaede, being the overachiever she is, researches the hell out of everything. She wants to make sure that she knows how to make (Y/N) feel good without making her uncomfortable. (Y/N), meanwhile, is excited but also lowkey terrified. She knows she wants this with Kaede, but holy hell, the thought of Kaede actually touching her like that makes her whole brain short-circuit.
- The Night Everything Changes: It starts like any other night- just the two of them in Kaede’s room, soft music playing in the background, and a little bit of cuddling… But this time? There’s a different energy in the air. Kaede gently kisses (Y/N) a little deeper, letting her fingers trail along her waist, and (Y/N) suddenly realizes, ‘Oh, we’re really doing this.’
- Kaede Takes the Lead (Even Though She’s Shaking Like a Leaf): At first, Kaede is nervous as hell. She’s always been confident when it comes to playing the piano or performing, but when it comes to intimacy? That’s an entirely new stage, but when she hears the way (Y/N) breathes a little heavier every time she touches her, that nervousness slowly turns into determination. Kaede realizes that she wants to be the one to make (Y/N) feel good, to be the one who helps her experience something new and beautiful.
- (Y/N) Falls Apart Instantly: The second Kaede touches her in just the right way, (Y/N) is done for. She thought she could handle it. She really did. But the way Kaede’s soft, delicate hands explore her body makes her entire soul leave her body. She tries so hard to stay quiet, but Kaede sees right through her. “Don’t hold back,” Kaede whispers against her skin, and (Y/N) immediately melts into the sheets.
- Kaede Learns She Loves Being in Control: As Kaede keeps going, she notices every little detail- the way (Y/N)’s breathing changes, the way she grips onto the sheets, the way she softly gasps her name… Something about it makes Kaede feel so… powerful. For once, she’s not just playing an instrument- she’s playing with (Y/N), and every touch, every movement, is making her girlfriend completely fall apart beneath her.
- The First Time (Y/N) Ever Reaches her High: (Y/N) has never felt anything like this before- the slow build-up, the way her body tightens, the overwhelming pleasure that finally crashes over her like a wave. When it happens, she completely forgets how to function. She’s breathless, shaking, gripping onto Kaede like she’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Kaede doesn’t stop holding her for a single second, kissing her forehead, whispering soft reassurances, and just being the absolute best girlfriend in existence.
- (Y/N) Is a Flustered, Speechless Mess Afterwards: After everything, (Y/N) refuses to look Kaede in the eye. Kaede, being smug as hell, just grins and asks, “Was it good?” (Y/N) groans, hides under the blankets, and refuses to answer… But the way she pulls Kaede close and buries her face in her chest says everything Kaede needs to know.
- Morning After Shenanigans: The next morning, they are both grinning like lovesick idiots… Unfortunately, their friends immediately catch on. Shuichi squints at them over breakfast and asks, “Why are you two acting weird?” Miu, being the gremlin she is, immediately puts two and two together. “OH MY GOD, YOU TWO FINALLY FU-” “MIU, SHUT THE HELL UP!”
- A Whole New Level of Intimacy: Their relationship was always full of love, but after that night? It feels even deeper. Kaede can’t stop smiling whenever she looks at (Y/N), knowing she was her first in such a big way. (Y/N), on the other hand, gets flustered way more easily now, especially whenever Kaede touches her in public. “Oh, so now you’re nervous?” Kaede teases, nudging her. “Shut up,” (Y/N) mutters, hiding her face behind her hands.
- Exploring Even More Together: Now that they’ve taken that first step, they get more and more comfortable exploring each other. Kaede still loves teasing (Y/N) just to watch her reactions, and (Y/N) loves learning what makes Kaede weak in return. They take their time, learning and growing together, never rushing, and always making sure they’re both completely comfortable. Because at the end of the day? It’s not just about physical intimacy. It’s about trust, love, and being completely vulnerable with the person who means the most to them.
I love this 🥺
High-ish quality scans of the Silco & Vander pages from the artbook
Hello my friend, I hope that you are having a good day! 😊 Well, For my story request, I wanted to see if you could do a headcanon with Demon Slayer AU x short black!reader where they suffered and take medication from Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) or Multiple Personality Disorder where they act just like Junko Enoshima from Danganronpa but instead of killing their friends they are very protective of them to the point where they will kill/hurt someone else!~ 😂🥹💔😈
A/N: Of course, @lelewright1234! I want to make it known, though, I do not over-dramatize mental illness. DID is usually very overly portrayed to be "evil" or "harmful" in media, and I very much do not like that. I made sure to do some research before writing this, to make sure I am not doing any harm. Reader is aggressive, but only when it comes to keeping those they love safe :} Also, the gender of the reader wasn't specified, so I kept it gender neutral, but also also, the dialog is pink, cuz... Well... All the other colors were taken LOL
All of Me, All of You
Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x GN!Black!Reader Headcannons
Warnings: Topics of Mental Health, Violence/Gore, and Trauma Responses
Word Count: 2108
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Tanjiro:
- Tanjiro is initially overwhelmed, but never fearful of (Y/N): Their energy reminds him of Zenitsu and Inosuke, but darker… sharper. He senses something fractured beneath the surface, and his kindness becomes a safe anchor.
- He learns the names and mannerisms of their alters over time: He is always calling them by their preferred name and tone. He’s especially good at grounding them during dissociative episodes- placing their hand on his heartbeat, holding eye contact, and speaking gently, “You’re here. You’re with me. I’m not going anywhere.”
- (Y/N) jokes about being "completely unhinged for their man,": Tanjiro just chuckles nervously until he sees them genuinely lose control when someone threatens him. One time, someone tried to kill Tanjiro during a mission and (Y/N) didn’t hesitate to gouge the enemy’s eyes out. Calmly. Softly. With a smile on their face. It terrifies everyone- except Tanjiro, who simply checks if they’re okay afterward.
- (Y/N) leaves bloodied love notes: “They touched you. I touched them back. With a blade.” Tanjiro keeps them hidden in a box because he doesn’t know what to do with them, but he can’t bring himself to throw them away.
- Medication and herbs help them sleep and prevents violent switching: But… It doesn't work all the time. When it fails, Tanjiro’s voice and scent help stabilize them. Tanjiro never forces them to change. Instead, he helps build routines that give structure without control.
- When he asks them out, he doesn’t do a big dramatic thing: He just says, “I love all of you. Every version. Every day.” And (Y/N) genuinely glitches for a second before saying yes.
- Tanjiro lets (Y/N) carve protective symbols into his blade hilt: Some are from folk tales (Y/N) remembers. Some they made up. He never questions them.
Inosuke:
- Inosuke lives for (Y/N)’s unpredictability: Their switching between personalities reminds him of a beast showing multiple stances- it's wild, it’s powerful, and it intrigues him.
- (Y/N)’s main protector personality treats their crew like royalty: Friends are sacred. Anyone who hurts one of them? Their lifespan just got significantly shorter. Inosuke once saw (Y/N) curb-stomp a demon for insulting Tanjiro’s nose. He fell a little in love that day.
- (Y/N)’s manic energy and sudden voice switches never throw Inosuke off: he adapts on the fly, meeting their different states with a mix of curiosity and brute loyalty. (Y/N) will giggle and switch from baby-talking Inosuke to planning someone's murder in a split second, and Inosuke just tilts his head like, "Huh. That’s hot."
- They take medication daily: They store their herbs and things in a cute pouch they sewed themself, covered in wild patterns and a tiny plush of a pig (for Inosuke, obviously). Some days, it works great- other days, (Y/N) is unhinged in a dangerously loving way. On those days, they cling to Inosuke like a talisman, grounding themselves through physical contact.
- When they dissociate badly, Inosuke doesn't fully understand it: He recognizes the signs- the blank stare, the disconnection. So he drops his usual yelling and becomes weirdly gentle. He’ll sit silently with them in a tree, hand on their back until they come back to him. He doesn’t try to "fix" them. He just accepts them. All of them.
- All of the alters agree on one thing: Inosuke belongs to them. Try flirting with him and see how fast a blade appears. Tanjiro helped them all come up with a color-coded system to identify who’s fronting. Inosuke ignores it and just uses vibes.
- Inosuke doesn’t say "I love you" much: He says “You’re strong,” “You smell like home,” or “If anyone touches you, I’ll break their arms.” (Y/N) says “I love you” through their chaos- they’ll cook him an entire feast, braid flowers into his hair, then threaten someone with a dagger in the same breath.
- When they switch, Inosuke has learned to adapt his affection: He hugs one alter, spars with another, brings meat to another, and just sits silently with the one that prefers calm. Sometimes they both sleep outside, like wild animals. He holds them like a baby boar, and they twitch in his arms until they settle.
- They don’t do PDA unless they’re in a certain headspace: When that time comes, it’s all over. Straddling his lap, biting his neck playfully, dramatic love declarations. Inosuke never knows what hit him.
- (Y/N) once got mistaken for a demon because of their intensity: Inosuke jumped in front of them, screaming “THEY’RE MY DEMON, BACK OFF!”
- (Y/N) writes love letters to Inosuke in different handwriting depending on the alter writing it: He collects them in a box he calls his "pride box." They both have a shared journal. Inosuke can’t really write well, but he draws them like a beast with heart eyes- every version of them.
Zenitsu:
- Zenitsu immediately falls for (Y/N)’s looks and protective aura- but is terrified the moment they switch alters in front of him for the first time: One second (Y/N) is soft-spoken and sweet, offering him a dumpling with a shy smile, and the next they’re standing on a table, eyes wide and grinning like a maniac, threatening to stab a merchant for “looking too long.” Zenitsu passes out. But when he wakes up and (Y/N) apologizes, stuttering and nervous, he just... melts. He realizes they weren’t trying to scare him- they were trying to protect him.
- Zenitsu learns to spot the signs of a switch: He respects each alter like a separate person. He greets them differently, talks with them differently, and never gets them mixed up.
- (Y/N) takes medication and herbs regularly, but sometimes it doesn’t work: Either the effects don’t kick in, or it causes physical side effects like dizziness or nausea. On rough days, Zenitsu becomes extra clingy and attentive. He holds their hand, braids their hair, lets them lay in his lap even when he’s panicking himself.
- He once tried to fight off a switch manually: “No, no, no! Stay here with me! Please don’t go scary mode, I can handle this-!” Spoiler… He could not. The protector alter came out and bodied the guy trying to rob them. But after every switch, Zenitsu wraps them in a blanket and reassures them they’re still loved. No matter what version of (Y/N) he’s with- he loves all of them.
- Zenitsu calls them “Sunshine,” no matter which alter he’s talking to: He says they’re his reason for fighting. Sometimes they wake up from dissociation and find that Zenitsu’s already made them food and is softly singing to himself nearby.
- The protector alter secretly adores Zenitsu, even if they pretend to be annoyed by how clingy and scared he is: They’d wreck someone for hurting him. On bad days, all three versions of (Y/N) might blend into one- and Zenitsu will stay by their side the whole time, gently reminding them who they are, and who he is.
- The protector alter takes the lead if the fight turns ugly: Think elegant blade work, laughing threats, wild eyes under a blood-smeared smile. Zenitsu does not like seeing them that way, but he understands it’s necessary. He’ll fight at their back, even when trembling. After every mission, no matter who fronted, they always find Zenitsu. And he always pulls them into a hug and says, “You’re safe. You’re still you. I’m proud of you.”
Nezuko:
- Nezuko loves how expressive and animated (Y/N) is: Even when they're cycling through personalities or dramatic outbursts, she’s calm, patient, and strangely entertained. She’ll tilt her head and smile sweetly, like “Yep. That’s my partner.”
-(Y/N)'s protectiveness is legendary: If anyone dares to look at Nezuko sideways, especially those that judge her, (Y/N)'s demeanor shifts instantly. Think wide grin, slow clap, and then, “Awww~ Did you think you were safe just because she’s sweet? That’s adorable. Let me fix your attitude... permanently.”
- When they’re “off-meds” or their symptoms spike: Nezuko recognizes it almost immediately. She’ll gently guide (Y/N) away from people, softly humming, holding their hand or petting their hair until they calm down.
- They bond through quiet activities when things are rough: Doing each other’s hair (Even though it was a process to teach Nezuko how to do (Y/N)'s hair, with the different texture and all), flower-picking, or watching fireflies in silence. Even with (Y/N)’s chaos, Nezuko grounds them. And they adore how peaceful she is.
- They don’t hide that they have DID. But they do downplay it with dramatic flair: They say things like, “Oh you know, I just keep life interesting~ One (Y/N) at a time!” All while flipping their hair and spinning dramatically.
- Nezuko and (Y/N) often tag-team missions: (Y/N) is the chaos, Nezuko is the calm. It throws demons way off. Some demons have tried to mess with Nezuko by provoking (Y/N), which is a mistake. (Y/N) will absolutely go feral, all while laughing and saying things like, “Oooooh you think you’re scary? Honey, you haven’t even met all of me yet~”
- (Y/N) sings loudly and off-key in the morning: Nezuko doesn’t mind- she mimics them and makes silly faces until they laugh.
- They sleep tangled up: Nezuko is usually gently curled into (Y/N)’s chest. If an alter is panicking in the night, Nezuko will sit up and rest her forehead against theirs until the shaking stops.
- Their dynamic is very "chaotic sunshine and quiet strength": When (Y/N) goes full dramatic monologue, Nezuko just holds up a peace sign or pats their head like, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Genya:
- (Y/N) is a compact firecracker, barely reaching Genya’s chest, but what they lack in height they more than make up for in intensity: Their presence is loud, chaotic, dramatic, and unpredictable- you’ll never know if they’re about to cradle you or cuss you out in three different accents.
- Medication is... complicated: With the time period, it's more herbs and calming agents passed to them by the Butterfly Estate, combined with daily grounding rituals they've invented themselves.
- Genya learns every single step of (Y/N)’s routine: He memorizes which teas help what symptoms. Which scents make them come back to themself. Which alter not to call cute unless he wants to get punched.
- At first, Genya didn’t know how to handle the... whirlwind that is (Y/N): He assumed they were unstable in a bad way. But then they saved him from a demon by breaking a bottle over its head, giggling the whole time, and said, “Touch my man again and I’ll make origami outta your spine.” That was the moment he knew. He was in deep.
- (Y/N) calls him “baby bird” sometimes: It makes him blush and scowl at the same time. “I’m not a bird, dammit- stop ruffling my hair!”
- (Y/N) talks a lot: Genya listens more than he speaks, but (Y/N) likes to think out loud, switch voices mid-sentence, and dramatically throw themselves across the room while explaining how hot Genya looks when he’s angry.
- Genya doesn't treat (Y/N) like they're broken: He treats them like they're human. And that is a huge deal to all of them. He sometimes stutters when talking to their more aggressive alter, but (Y/N) finds it adorable. “You’re scared of me, baby? I only bite people I don’t like.”
- They have a system: a code word when (Y/N) is losing time, grounding phrases that Genya uses to help bring them back, and a little sketchbook (Y/N)'s alters leave notes in for each other- and for Genya, too.
- (Y/N) fights like a theatrical maniac: They use erratic, unpredictable movements that confuse demons- suddenly graceful, then wild, then eerily still before a kill strike. They’ve been known to laugh during battle. Not a villainous cackle- more like a delighted child at a fireworks show. Their combat personality is ruthlessly protective. If a demon so much as grazes Genya, they go absolutely feral, dragging it by the throat back into the sun with zero hesitation.
- Genya will hold (Y/N)'s hand when they switch mid-conversation: Hed whisper, “You okay?” like it's the most normal thing in the world. They made Genya a beaded bracelet with alternating colors for each of their alters. He never takes it off. - When they’re having a rough time, Genya wraps them in his haori: He rubs their back, and gently says, “I don’t care which one you are today. I love all of you.” One of their alters once asked Genya out without asking the others. It became a thing. Now, every alter gets to ask in their own way.
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