Ember In The Dark Pt.7

Hi!! Love you're work btw! Can I request reader who isn't good at showing affection and the only way they know how is by giving gifts but the more they give the more they feel like their giving too much and like assumes their not even keeping the gifts. Maybe have the characters comfort them that they are, sorry of this didn't make sense 😓

Hi! I absolutely can do this :} can you give me the fandoms and characters you want this for? You can send them in another ask, or just comment on this post, and I'll get to writing it after all the other ones I'm writing :}}

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.”

THIS!!! THAT WEIRDO WHO THREATENED ME!!!

I posted the dm's they sent me, but beware, it's completely unhinged.

//Hey everyone! OOC speaking

Here's the accounts run by that aoi asahina creep, so you can block them and avoid interacting:

aoisitsonmyface

sweepingstarlight

bonbonpuppet

king-bon-asahina

bonbonpuppet117

glowstone-mod

aoiasahinasboyfriend

Keep in mind they could have more, so if they're still sending you asks or threats just ignore them, and if you know of any other accounts share them with me so I can add them to the list

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

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

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

[Characters Present:]

(Luz Noceda)

• Age: 18.

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

• Date of Death: October 31st, 2022.

• Cause of Death: Ran over by a car.

(Eda Clawthorne)

• Age: 25.

• Species: Owl Sinner.

• Date of Death: October 28th, 1989.

• Cause of Death: Poisoned.

(Raine Clawthorne)

• Age: 23.

• Species: Bat Sinner.

• Date of Death: June 15th, 1998.

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

(King Clawthorne)

• Age: 18.

• Species: Beastial Sinner.

• Date of Death: June 26th, 2001.

• Cause of Death: Head Trauma.

[Setting:]

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

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

Hellbound

The Owl House x Hazbin Hotel AU

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

Word Count: 1712

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

Black.

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

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

“...What the hell?”

A hoot broke the silence.

Something slammed into the back of her skull.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luz said nothing.

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

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

“Mind if I-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The goons lunged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s the newbie?” he shouted. 

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

“I’m King. Supreme ruler of snacks.”

“Sure you are,” Eda said fondly.

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

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

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

Raine tilted their head. “We’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

“You what now?”

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

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

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

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

Luz frowned. “Why me?”

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

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

“…Fine,” she said. “I’ll help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luz’s throat tightened. Her fists curled.

Yeah, she thought. I know the feeling.

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

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

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

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

Eda let out a low whistle. “Jackpot.”

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

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

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

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

It resonated deep. Deeper than Luz expected.

Then the walls exploded.

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

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

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

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

Luz screamed.

“EDA!”

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

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

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

Luz stood frozen- until she remembered the prisoners.

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

“Let them go!” she snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

They stumbled back to the Owl House in silence.

Raine poured a drink and collapsed on the couch.

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

“I wanted to,” Luz said quietly.

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

Luz blinked. “Really?”

“On one condition.”

Luz tilted her head.

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

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

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

She stared at the ceiling.

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

Her chest ached.

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

No answer came.

But for once, she wasn’t alone.

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

Hiiii, @lelewright1234!!!! :}

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

Can i have some verosika with a fem reader who normally acts really shy and timid around others but when verosika is in danger, the reader switchs to fight mode and they become really violet towards anyone who tries to hurt Verosika or her friends. 💖💕

A/N: Of course! I had to make Verosika red, since I make the fem readers pink. Hope thats okay :}

Feral Loyalty

Verosika x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 1614

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The bar was loud. The kind of loud that soaked into your bones and made your chest vibrate like a speaker with the bass turned too high.

(Y/N) sat curled up on one of the worn-out velvet couches in the VIP section, nursing a glass of something pink and fizzy she hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. Her eyes stayed on the rim, watching the bubbles pop.

Across the room, laughter boomed. Someone got shoved. A bottle shattered. Demons flirted and fought like it was the same language. And at the center of it all, shining brighter than the neon signs behind her, was Verosika Mayday.

She was fire. Hot pink and gold, wrapped in black leather and confidence. She leaned back on the bar like she owned it- hell, maybe she did. Every glance in her direction lingered too long. Every demon around her fought for a scrap of her attention.

And then she looked toward the couch.

(Y/N) froze, eyes going wide as Verosika’s smirk softened into something else- something gentle. The succubus broke away from the group mid-conversation and strutted her way over, heels clicking against the floor. With every step, (Y/N)’s heart pounded harder.

“Hey, sugar,” Verosika purred, settling beside her like she’d done this a hundred times before. She tossed an arm over the back of the couch, just enough to brush against (Y/N)’s shoulder. “You doin’ okay? You look like you’re about to melt into the cushions.”

(Y/N) gave a weak smile and nodded, not trusting her voice just yet.

Verosika tilted her head. “Still too loud for you?”

“…A little,” (Y/N) mumbled. “But… I don’t mind being here.”

That earned her a real smile. One of those rare ones where Verosika’s edges softened and she looked more like a person than a pop icon.

“You’re cute, y’know that?” she said, with none of the usual teasing lilt. It was softer. Sincere. “You don’t gotta force yourself to hang out in this mess just ‘cause I’m here.”

“I’m not,” (Y/N) whispered, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “I just… like being near you.”

Verosika paused. That wasn’t something she heard often- especially not like that. Not from someone who didn’t want something from her. No strings. No flirting back. Just honesty in its purest, most fragile form.

She glanced down at the timid girl beside her- eyes downcast, cheeks warm, lashes fluttering nervously- and felt something twist in her chest. A feeling she didn’t have a name for yet. But it was soft. Protective.

“Well,” she said, brushing a stray hair from (Y/N)’s face with the back of her fingers, “lucky for you, I also like you being near me.”

The room roared around them, but in that little corner of the world, all (Y/N) could hear was the soft, fluttering beat of her heart- and Verosika’s voice, low and fond. Verosika took a seat next to (Y/N), and the conversations kept flowing.

Verosika was mid-sentence, telling (Y/N) a story about one of her worst tour stops- something involving a stolen limo, a goat-headed club owner, and way too much champagne- when three guys sauntered over.

They weren’t fans. Not the harmless kind, anyway.

They reeked of that specific Hellborn arrogance: all swagger and smirks, with nothing behind their eyes but entitlement.

“Well, well,” one of them drawled, leaning far too close. “Ain’t you Verosika Mayday? Didn’t think someone like you wasted time in places like this.”

Verosika barely looked at him. “I go wherever I damn well want. You got a problem with that?”

The second one whistled low, eyeing her up and down. “Nah, just surprised you’re hangin’ with… what, a groupie? Pet project?”

(Y/N) shrunk a little under the weight of the gaze- but only for a second.

Verosika’s arm subtly moved closer, her tone getting colder. “Back off, boys.”

But they didn’t.

The third one reached for a strand of Verosika’s hair, twisting it around a clawed finger. “C’mon, baby. Ditch the quiet little doll and come have some real fun.”

That’s when it happened.

A snap. Not audible- but real. Like a thread in (Y/N)’s mind pulled taut and tore clean through.

Her body moved before she thought. Before she even felt it.

One second, she was sitting meekly beside Verosika. The next, her glass shattered against the demon’s face- shards cutting deep as fizzy pink liquid hissed into his wounds. He barely got out a scream before (Y/N) lunged, her face empty of fear. Completely still.

She slammed him to the floor with a strength that didn’t match her frame. Her heel dug into his throat as she grabbed the next one by the horn and wrenched.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Her voice was a growl. A low, demonic snarl that didn’t belong to the sweet, blushing girl from five minutes ago.

The bar fell silent.

Even Verosika blinked, stunned.

(Y/N)’s eyes glowed faintly now, a flicker of her demonic form pushing through the seams- claws instead of nails, a jagged smile curling up too wide, too sharp. The demon under her heel gurgled, clawing at her ankle, but she didn’t flinch.

“You think just 'cause she’s pretty and famous you can treat her like property?” she hissed. “You forgot what part of Hell you’re in.”

Blood pooled around the broken glass, and the third guy had already bolted.

Verosika stood slowly, watching the remaining two writhe. She smirked.

“Holy shit, sugar.”

The words snapped (Y/N) out of it.

She blinked, her body trembling as the glow faded. Realizing what she’d done, she looked at Verosika- her hands, the blood, the broken horn- and panicked.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

But Verosika was already pulling her into a tight hug.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered, breath warm against (Y/N)’s ear. “That was the hottest shit I’ve seen all week.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. Her heartbeat was a war drum in her chest, fear and adrenaline crashing together- but Verosika held her tighter, grounding her.

“Remind me never to piss you off, baby,” she murmured, brushing a kiss to the side of her head. “You’re full of surprises.”

The alley behind the bar was quieter, lit only by flickering neon and the red glow of Hell’s sky. Verosika’s heels clicked on the pavement as she half-dragged, half-guided (Y/N) down the side path.

“Okay, sit your adorable little ass down,” she said, pushing open the back door of her limo and motioning her inside. “Let me see your hands.”

(Y/N) hesitated, knuckles still stained red. Her hands shook- whether from fear or from the crash of adrenaline, she couldn’t tell. She climbed into the limo anyway, letting Verosika sit beside her with a wet wipe packet in hand and the strangest expression on her face.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disgust.

It was awe. Cautious, wild awe.

Verosika gently took (Y/N)’s wrist. “You broke your glass. That’s some sharp-ass instinct.”

“I-I didn’t mean to go that far,” (Y/N) whispered, voice cracking as her walls began to crumble. “I just… I saw them touching you. And I snapped. I don’t even remember deciding to do it…”

Verosika wiped blood from her fingers, slowly. Carefully. “You did good.”

“…Good?” (Y/N) blinked at her.

“Hell yeah. I mean, babe, I have security, but none of them have ever slammed a guy into the floor with a smile like that before.”

(Y/N) flushed hard. She wanted to hide.

“But also,” Verosika said, her voice dipping softer now, “I could tell it scared you.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard and looked away. “I’m… I don’t want to be like that. I just- I don’t know, I didn’t like the way they looked at you. Like you were something they could take.”

That surprised Verosika more than anything else.

Because most people in her world did see her that way. Something to possess. Something to show off, to drag under.

But not (Y/N).

Never (Y/N).

“I like that you got mad for me,” she said honestly. “You saw something ugly and you let yourself be scary. That’s not a bad thing.”

She leaned in closer, dabbing the last of the blood away from her cheek, then gently cupped her face. “But I also like the girl who flinches when people talk too loud and blushes when I call her ‘baby.’ You don’t have to choose which one you are.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

“…You’re not mad?”

Verosika snorted, brushing her thumb across (Y/N)’s cheek. “No. If anything, I’m flattered. You went feral over me. You know how hard it is to get that kind of loyalty in this dump?”

(Y/N) finally gave a weak smile. Her shoulders slumped as some invisible weight lifted.

“…I don’t want you to think I’m dangerous.”

“Oh, I know you’re dangerous,” Verosika said with a teasing glint, leaning in just a little more. “But only when you want to be.”

The limo idled in the alley, the two of them locked in a bubble of quiet aftershock.

And then Verosika murmured, almost like a secret:

“You really care about me, don’t you?”

(Y/N) didn’t look away this time. “Of course I do.”

Verosika studied her for a beat, something unreadable dancing in her eyes.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Then I guess you’ve earned the front row seat.”

“To what?”

Verosika grinned. “To whatever the hell this is.”

She kissed her on the cheek, then rested her forehead gently against (Y/N)’s. “Thanks for protecting me, sugar.”

Hiiii!!!

I absolutely adore your Silco x reader, it's wonderful. Your writing it great 🥺 I was wondering if I could make a request? Okay, so, I love TOH, and SU, and you have both listed on your masterlist, sooooooo I was thinking maybe you could mix them?

Here's my idea, Hunter x reader, but reader is half Gem, like Steven. She somehow finds herself in the Demon realm, and ends up having to join the Coven Scouts, so she can find a way home.

A/N: Hiiii!!! Thank you so much! I can absolutely do that. I also love TOH and SU, so this is awesome. Actually, if it's okay, I'd love to make this into a new series because I had SO much fun writing it! If it's not okay, you can go ahead and send me a dm or another ask, and I won't, but I loved the idea, so I'd be more than willing to.

Drifting Between Worlds pt.1

Hunter x Fem!Reader

pt.2

Warnings: Violence/Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Blood/Injury, Power Imbalance/Authoritarian Abuse, Themes of Control/Oppression

Word Count: 7292

Summary: (Y/N), a half-human, half-Gem, is transported to the Boiling Isles and brought to Belos by his scouts. Forced into the Emperor’s Coven, she trains alongside Hunter, growing close to him while searching for a way home. During a scouting mission, they discover Eda Clawthorne teaching a human girl- Luz. Knowing the danger of this revelation, (Y/N) hesitates to report it, but Hunter insists on following protocol. When they inform Belos, he punishes Hunter, leaving him scarred. Furious but powerless, (Y/N) helps Hunter recover and comforts him, strengthening their bond. However, witnessing Belos’s cruelty sparks (Y/N)’s growing doubts about his rule.

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

(Y/N) gasped for air as she broke through the surface of the water, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her entire body ached from the force of being shot through- whatever that was. One second, she was swimming in the ocean back home, and the next, she was being hurled through some kind of portal.

She blinked, disoriented. The sky above her was a deep, unnatural purple, with swirling clouds. Strange, jagged rock formations jutted out of the landscape around her, glowing with eerie light. But the most terrifying thing? The water below her boiled.

(Y/N) barely managed to grab onto a rocky ledge before she slipped back down. Her fingers burned slightly from the heat of the steam rising off the water. Breathing heavily, she pulled herself up, rolling onto her back and staring at the alien sky.

“What the heck,” she muttered, sitting up. She took stock of herself- her bathing suit was intact, even if it wasn’t ideal for whatever situation this was. She patted her collarbone, where the smooth, light pink Onyx was embedded into her skin. At least it wasn't cracked...

She had been through weird situations before- living with Steven and the Crystal Gems meant weird was normal- but this? This was new.

(Y/N) stood, shaking out her limbs and glancing around. The terrain was wild and unfamiliar, filled with crooked trees and strange creatures flitting about in the distance. “Okay,” she said to herself, taking a deep breath. “Step one: find someone in charge. Step two: figure out where I am...”

She moved cautiously, her bare feet brushing against the rough ground. She wasn’t too worried about getting hurt- her being a Gem meant minor scrapes and cuts weren’t a problem- but she didn’t exactly want to go charging into danger.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering, (Y/N) spotted movement- a figure, in uniform, carrying some kind of spear, walking along a worn dirt path.

A guard!

Hope flared in her chest, and she ran toward them. “Hey! Hey, excuse me!”

The guard- a creature with a birdlike mask and a white cloak- whipped around, gripping their spear tighter. “Halt! Who goes there?”

(Y/N) skidded to a stop, holding up her hands. “Whoa, whoa! I don’t mean any harm. I just- I need help. I’m lost. I don’t know how I got here.”

The guard’s head tilted. “You are… human?”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Uh… half?” She tapped her Gem. “Long story. But yeah, mostly human.”

The guard stepped back. “Humans are not meant to be here.”

(Y/N) groaned. “Yeah, I figured. Look, I just need to find someone in charge- some kind of authority? Maybe they can help me figure out how to get home?”

The guard hesitated, then sighed. “You should not be here. But I cannot leave you to wander. Come with me.”

Relieved, (Y/N) followed as the guard led her down the path, her mind racing. She had no idea what world she had stumbled into, but one thing was for sure- she had a long way to go before she found her way home.

(Y/N) followed the masked guard through the bizarre landscape of the Boiling Isles, her bare feet brushing over gnarled roots, uneven stone, and patches of strange, pulsing moss. Everywhere she looked, there were creatures that seemed ripped straight from a fever dream- multi-eyed birds, chimeric beasts with too many limbs, and even a small, scampering thing that looked like a skull with legs.

She tried to keep her face neutral, but every now and then, a shudder ran through her. She had seen weird before- Homeworld’s Gems, corrupted monsters, the things that lurked in Beach City’s more supernatural corners- but this? This was something else entirely.

“Are we almost there?” she asked after what felt like forever.

The guard barely turned their head. “Patience, human.”

She huffed, crossing her arms, but kept walking. Eventually, they emerged onto a wide, towering bridge that stretched over a massive chasm, and beyond it stood an enormous structure.

The castle- or palace- was massive, carved from gleaming white stone with gold accents. Tall spires twisted toward the sky, adorned with massive banners depicting a sigil she didn’t recognize. The entire place had a looming, eerie feel, like it was meant to impress and intimidate.

The guard gestured toward it. “This is Emperor Belos’s Castle. You stand before the heart of the Emperor’s Coven.”

(Y/N) frowned. “Right. And that means…?”

The guard didn’t answer, simply leading her across the bridge.

As they entered the palace, (Y/N) got an even better look at the inside- huge corridors lined with pillars, flickering torches casting long shadows, and walls decorated with more of those same sigils. Guards in similar white masks patrolled, watching her with curiosity- or suspicion.

“Where are we going?” she asked, voice lower now.

“To the Emperor,” the guard replied.

(Y/N) blinked. “Wait, seriously? I was meaning more of like, a local with some sort of knowledge or something… Not your leader or whatever...”

“You wished to meet someone with authority,” the guard said plainly. “There is no higher authority than Emperor Belos.”

Well. That was something.

As they walked deeper into the castle, (Y/N) felt her stomach twist uneasily. She had no idea who this Belos guy was, but something about this place felt… wrong. There was a heaviness in the air, a weight that settled against her skin, making her Gem hum faintly in her chest.

Something was off.

But she had come this far. If this Emperor guy could help her get home, she had to try.

Squaring her shoulders, (Y/N) followed the guard deeper into the palace, toward whatever fate awaited her.

The grand doors to the throne room swung open with an eerie creak, revealing a vast chamber lined with towering pillars. The air was thick with the scent of something old, like parchment and candle wax, but there was an undercurrent of something… darker.

(Y/N) swallowed hard as she stepped forward, her feet hitting the cold stone floor. At the far end of the room, seated atop an imposing throne, was the man she assumed to be Emperor Belos.

His presence filled the room like an unseen weight pressing against her shoulders. He was draped in a flowing white cloak, gold accents catching the dim light, and his face was hidden behind an ornate golden mask. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt his gaze settle on her.

Beside her, the masked guard immediately knelt, lowering their head in reverence.

(Y/N), on the other hand, shifted awkwardly.

Yeah...

She wasn't doing that.

Instead, she let out a nervous laugh and rocked on her heels. “Uh. Hi. I take it you're the guy in charge?”

The guard shot her a look from beneath their mask, but Belos merely tilted his head. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth- calm, but holding a distinct weight to it.

"You are… different.”

(Y/N) blinked. “Uh. Yeah, understatement of the year.” She gestured vaguely to herself. “Human. Or, well, half. Kind of got lost, ended up here. Thought maybe someone in charge could help.”

There was a long pause. The air in the room felt colder.

“Half-human…” Belos murmured, almost as if he was turning the thought over in his mind. He rested his chin on one gloved hand. “How fascinating.”

(Y/N) didn’t like the way he said that.

Her fingers twitched, and instinctively, she reached up to brush her Gem- a small, subconscious action she often did when she was nervous.

Belos’s head moved ever so slightly, like he had noticed.

“You say you arrived here by accident,” he said. “How?”

(Y/N) hesitated. “I, uh… I was swimming. In the ocean. Then, boom- portal. And next thing I know, I’m nearly getting boiled alive.” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “So, if you could help me find a way back to my world, that’d be great.”

Silence.

Belos regarded her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he rose from his throne.

(Y/N) stiffened. She was good at reading emotions- her connection to them ran deeper than most- but right now, standing in front of this man, she felt… nothing. It was like standing in front of a void.

“You wish to return home,” he said, stepping down toward her. “And yet… you are something quite rare. A human in the Demon Realm is already an anomaly. But a half-human with a power I do not yet understand? That is even more intriguing.”

(Y/N) took a step back. “Uh. Cool? I mean, I’m flattered, really, but I kinda just wanna go home.”

Belos stopped a few feet in front of her. He was tall- taller than she expected- and even though she couldn’t see his face, she felt the intensity of his gaze.

“You may yet prove useful, child.”

That set off every alarm in her brain.

“Yeahhh, see, I don’t love being called ‘useful’ by ominous masked guys in creepy castles,” (Y/N) said, forcing a grin. “So, if that’s all, I think I’ll just-”

She turned on her heel, ready to leave, but before she could take another step, a wave of green magic flickered out from Belos’s fingertips.

(Y/N) barely had time to react before the ground beneath her feet locked up, thick green tendrils snapping around her ankles like chains.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Okay. Not good. Really not good.

Belos tilted his head. “I believe you will stay here a while longer.”

(Y/N) stood frozen, the green bindings around her ankles pulsing faintly with energy. Her mind raced, trying to figure out the best way to not be trapped in this nightmare situation, but Belos spoke before she could act.

“I have made my decision,” he said, voice calm, measured. “You will join my Coven.”

(Y/N)’s stomach dropped. “Wait, what?”

“You will receive the mark of the Emperor’s Coven,” he continued, ignoring her protests. “And you will train to become one of my Scouts. You will learn our ways, our laws, and how magic truly works in this world.”

(Y/N)’s hands clenched into fists. “Yeah, huge problem with that- I don’t do well with being told what to do.”

Belos regarded her, unmoved. “You wish to return home, do you not?”

(Y/N) hesitated.

Belos took a step closer. “There are no known portals back to the Human Realm. None that I know of.” There was something about the way he said it that made her gut twist- like maybe he did know something, and just wasn’t planning on telling her. “But if one were to be discovered…”

(Y/N)’s breath caught.

“I would decide whether or not you needed to know.”

Her fingers twitched toward her Gem, her instincts screaming at her. She could fight him, try to break free- but the room was filled with guards, and she wasn’t exactly at full strength after being thrown into this insane world.

For now, she needed to play along.

She forced her shoulders to relax and exhaled sharply through her nose. “So let me get this straight. I get branded with some magic tattoo, train to be one of your creepy bird-mask guys, and in exchange, you might help me get home?”

Belos tilted his head, as if amused. “That is the arrangement.”

(Y/N) gritted her teeth. The sigil- whatever it was- was meant for witches, right? But she wasn’t a witch. That whole system shouldn’t even apply to her. And yet, he still wanted her branded.

Something about that sat very wrong with her.

But she had no choice.

Not right now.

She forced herself to nod. “Fine.”

Belos lifted his hand, green magic curling around his fingertips. “Then we begin.”

A wave of energy surged forward, striking her wrist like searing hot ink.

(Y/N) clenched her teeth, swallowing down a hiss as the magic carved itself into her skin. The symbol of the Emperor’s Coven flared bright for a moment before settling, leaving behind an eerie, glowing mark embedded into her flesh.

She glared up at Belos, heart pounding.

"Enough of this," Belos said, his voice echoing through the throne room. His tone was final, dismissive. "The decision has been made. Send word to Hunter- she will be joining him in his room. That way, I can ensure the human is kept under watch."

(Y/N) stiffened. Hunter? That name meant nothing to her, but the idea of being shoved into some random room with a complete stranger wasn’t exactly comforting.

Belos turned his gaze toward one of the scouts. "You. Take her to her quarters."

The scout immediately bowed. "Yes, Emperor Belos. It would be my pleasure."

(Y/N) scowled but kept her mouth shut as the scout gestured for her to follow. As much as she wanted to argue, to push back, she knew she had no leverage here. Not yet.

The golden sigil on her wrist still tingled uncomfortably as she was led through the castles halls. The deeper they went, the more she realized just how massive this place was. There were halls lined with banners of the Emperor’s sigil, corridors guarded by silent scouts in their eerie masks, and doors leading to rooms she probably didn’t want to know the purpose of.

She kept her arms crossed over her chest, partly from irritation, partly because she was still just wearing a bathing suit.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived at a set of large wooden doors. The scout opened one, stepping aside.

"This will be your room," the scout said. "You’ll be sharing it with the Emperor’s nephew, Hunter. He’s also training to become a scout. You’ll receive your uniforms and off-duty clothing shortly."

(Y/N) arched an eyebrow. "The Emperor’s nephew?"

The scout gave a stiff nod. "He is young, but skilled. The Emperor believes it best that he keeps an eye on you."

Of course he does… (Y/N) sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Great. He's on babysitting duty."

The scout didn’t respond- just motioned for her to step inside.

(Y/N) hesitated before entering. The room wasn’t terrible, but it was nothing fancy either. Two small beds sat on opposite sides of the space, both neatly made. There was a single wardrobe, a desk against the far wall, and a few shelves lined with books, candles, and training manuals.

The room smelled faintly of parchment and dust, mixed with something vaguely metallic- probably from whatever weapons or armor were stored in here.

And then she spotted him.

A boy sat on the edge of one of the beds, hunched over a book. He looked up when she walked in, his bright magenta eyes immediately locking onto her.

He was younger than her- probably twelve, a little shorter than her, with short blond hair that swooped slightly in front of his face. His features were sharp, with a hooked nose and a slight gap between his teeth. He had a small chip in his ear, but other than that, he didn’t seem to have any visible scars.

For a second, they just stared at each other.

Then, (Y/N) sighed dramatically and flopped onto the unoccupied bed.

“So, Hunter, huh?” she said, folding her arms behind her head. “Guess that makes you my new babysitter.”

The boy bristled. “I’m not your babysitter,” he said quickly, his voice carrying the kind of indignant edge only a twelve-year-old could manage. “I’m training to become a scout. I have actual responsibilities.”

(Y/N) smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not much older than me.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“That’s barely a difference.”

“Still older.”

Hunter exhaled sharply through his nose and shut his book with a snap. “Look,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why my uncle wants me to share a room with you, but just stay out of my way, and we won’t have any problems.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Oh, trust me, staying out of the way is the last thing I plan to do.”

Hunter gave her a long, scrutinizing look.

Before either of them could say anything else, a knock at the door interrupted them.

A scout stepped inside, dropping a neatly folded pile of clothes onto a nearby chair. "These are for you," they said to (Y/N). "Your scout uniforms, a mask, and a few off-duty outfits."

(Y/N) sat up, finally feeling a little relieved. "Awesome. Running around in a bathing suit wasn’t exactly my plan for today."

The scout gave a curt nod before leaving.

(Y/N) picked up one of the uniforms, inspecting it. The material was sturdy but flexible, mostly gray with black accents- same as what she had seen on the others. The off-duty clothes were simpler, mostly dark tones, but comfortable-looking.

Hunter watched her from his bed, arms still crossed.

"So," he said, voice measured. "You’re really human?"

(Y/N) glanced at him, then tapped her collarbone where her Gem gleamed faintly. "Half."

Hunter’s magenta eyes flickered to the gemstone, curiosity flashing across his face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Hunter tilted his head. "Well… at least you’re not completely useless."

(Y/N) snorted. "Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it."

Hunter just hummed, flipping open his book again.

(Y/N) exhaled, rubbing at the fresh sigil on her wrist.

This was her new reality- for now, at least.

But she had no plans to stick around forever.

She just had to play along… until she found a way out.

Two years had passed since (Y/N) had been thrown into the Boiling Isles. Two years since she had been forced into the Emperor’s Coven, branded with a sigil meant for witches- one that, strangely, never seemed to affect her the way it did others.

She had learned a lot in that time.

Magic wasn’t just one thing here- it was divided, structured, controlled. There were different types of magic, and each coven specialized in one: Abominations, Healing, Illusions, Potions, and so on. Every witch was expected to join a coven, to be marked with a sigil that locked them into one type of magic for life. Only the Emperor’s Coven- Belos’s personal force- had the privilege of wielding multiple types of magic.

And anyone who refused to join a coven?

A wild witch.

(Y/N) had heard plenty about them. The Emperor painted them as dangerous, reckless, a threat to the system that kept order in the Isles. But the more she learned, the more she saw how much of it was just control.

She had trained alongside Hunter, learning the ways of the scouts, learning about the world she had been thrown into. And, in that time, she had become something she never expected- a partner.

After their training, they had been officially paired as scouting partners, working together on missions for the Emperor’s Coven. They had been given a slightly larger room than before, though they still shared it- two separate beds, a single wardrobe, and a small desk where Hunter often poured over books late into the night... Plus the little things (Y/N) made, scattered about in some places.

Despite their rocky start, they had grown into a strange, competitive sort of friendship.

Hunter was still Hunter, stubborn, cocky, always trying to prove himself. But over the years, (Y/N) had seen the cracks in his mask. He wasn’t just some power-hungry lackey- he wanted to be something, to prove his worth.

She got that.

And, despite everything, she trusted him more than anyone else in this place.

Not that she’d tell him that.

(Y/N) leaned against the railing of a high balcony overlooking the city of Bonesborough. The sky was dimming, lanterns flickering to life across the streets below. She tugged her gloves higher over her hands, absentmindedly brushing her fingers over the sigil on her wrist.

It still didn’t affect her.

Not the way it did witches. She had seen them struggle when they tried to use magic outside of their coven’s restriction, felt their pain when the sigil burned into them. But her? She could still summon her weapons, still feel the hum of energy in her Gem, still do things no one else here could.

And Belos knew it.

He had never spoken about it directly, but she had seen the way he watched her, the way he monitored her training, like she was an experiment he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And she hated it.

“(Y/N).”

Hunter’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see him approaching, his white Scout cloak swaying with each step. He had gotten taller over the years- not by much, but enough that he was no longer shorter than her. His face had grown sharper, more defined, but his magenta eyes still held that same intense focus.

“Daydreaming again?” he asked, stopping beside her.

(Y/N) smirked. “What can I say? Your Uncle gives us such boring work, Blondie.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “We have a mission tomorrow. Higher-ups want us scouting near the Knee. We leave at dawn.”

“Right, right,” she said, waving a hand. “Any actual details, or do I have to guess?”

Hunter huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s just recon. There have been rumors of wild witches moving in that area. We’re supposed to investigate, report back if we find anything.”

(Y/N) exhaled through her nose. She knew how this went. If they found wild witches, they were supposed to report them, let the coven take care of it.

The problem was…

She wasn’t so sure she wanted to.

Over the past few months, rumors had been circulating- whispers about wild witches banding together, resisting the coven system. And, more interestingly, there had been talk of something else.

Another human.

(Y/N) had been keeping her ears open, listening for any mention of this mystery person. A human in the Isles? That wasn’t something that happened every day. If there really was someone else from her world here, she needed to find them.

Hunter shifted beside her, his eyes scanning the streets below. “You’re distracted.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Aren’t I always?”

Hunter frowned but didn’t press. He knew her well enough by now to know when she wasn’t ready to talk. Still, as the sky darkened and the city lights flickered, (Y/N) made a silent decision. If there was another human here… She was going to find them.

After gazing at the area below for a while longer, the two of them head back to the Castle, to rest and prepare for the mission in the morning...

When the time came, the wind howled as (Y/N) and Hunter crouched low behind a jagged rock formation, scanning the Knee for any signs of wild witch activity. The area was desolate- snow-covered ruins and eerie skeletal remains of the Titan’s long-dead body stretched across the landscape. It was cold, but nothing (Y/N) couldn’t handle.

Hunter adjusted his mask, his magenta eyes narrowing as he peered through the holes. “Anything?” he asked.

(Y/N) kept her eyes on the distant figures ahead. “Couple of witchlings,” she muttered. “Nothing worth reporting.”

Hunter sighed. “Great. Another boring recon mission.”

(Y/N) smirked. “You’re the one who wanted to take this seriously, Blondie.”

Hunter shot her a glare, but she ignored him, focusing on the three witches she had spotted earlier.

The Blight kids.

She recognized them from past missions- Edric and Emira, the older twins, and their younger sister, Amity. They weren’t causing any trouble, just training. The twins were helping their sister with a training wand, guiding her as she practiced spells.

It was harmless.

(Y/N) leaned back against the rock. “Nothing to worry about. They’re still in school. Too young to be locked into a coven yet.”

Hunter hummed in agreement, but they both knew that wasn’t always a guarantee. Not many were allowed to join covens as young as they had been, but the Emperor had made exceptions before.

(Y/N) turned her gaze elsewhere, scanning the landscape for anything unusual.

That’s when she saw them.

At first, she thought they were just another pair of witches training in the wilderness. One was tall, wearing a red dress, with a coat over it. She was moving with practiced ease, magic swirling at her fingertips. The other was younger- around twelve, maybe- with a small frame and a hat covering her head.

(Y/N) wouldn’t have thought anything of it… if it weren’t for the way the girl struggled.

The older woman flicked her wrist, effortlessly making a spell circle. The younger girl tried to copy her… but nothing happened. She tried again, waving her hands frantically, but the magic simply wasn’t there.

The girl pouted, stomping her foot in frustration.

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

That… wasn’t normal. Most witchlings could do at least some magic, even if it was weak, even if it needed assistance. But this girl? Nothing. Her eyes darted back to the older woman. It took her a second to recognize her, but when she did, her stomach twisted.

The Owl Lady.

(Y/N) had heard about her before- Eda Clawthorne. A notorious wild witch, a troublemaker, and someone the Emperor had his eye on.

And she was training a girl who couldn’t use magic.

(Y/N)’s fingers twitched toward her Gem, her mind racing.

A human.

It had to be.

She could feel Hunter shift beside her, his attention also locked onto the scene ahead. “That’s the Owl Lady,” he murmured. “We should report this.”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Should we?”

Hunter turned to her, brow furrowed. “She’s a known wild witch. You know the rules- if we spot her, we report her.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw. She knew the rules. She had followed them for two years- but this was different. This wasn’t just a wild witch causing trouble. This was another human.

And if Belos found out?

She had no doubt in her mind- this girl wouldn’t get a choice in what happened next.

“…Not yet,” (Y/N) said.

Hunter frowned. “What?”

(Y/N) forced a smirk. “Come on, Blondie. You really think Belos doesn’t already know the Owl Lady’s out here? If we bring him this, he’s just going to say we wasted his time.”

Hunter hesitated, clearly torn.

(Y/N) pressed further. “Let’s keep watching. See what they’re up to. If it’s anything actually dangerous, then we report it.”

Hunter exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if we get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She turned her gaze back to the girl.

This was it.

This was her chance to finally get some answers.

(Y/N) moved silently through the snow-covered terrain, crouching low behind the jagged rock formations as she and Hunter edged closer to The Owl Lady and the young girl. The wind howled through the valley, but she barely felt the cold, her entire focus locked onto the scene in front of her.

She needed to be sure- was this girl really human? Or just a witch with some sort of magic-blocking issue?

Hunter followed after her, his arms crossed, clearly annoyed. “This is reckless,” he muttered under his breath. “We should’ve reported this already.”

(Y/N) smirked. “You should’ve reported this already. I never said I was going to.”

Hunter groaned. “This is why I don’t let you plan things.”

(Y/N) ignored him, her eyes fixed on Eda and the girl.

The Owl Lady was… something else.

Instead of teaching the girl proper spells, she was eating snow, explaining the different types as if that had anything to do with magic. The girl- who was bundled up in a coat and hat- looked increasingly frustrated, her arms flailing as she pouted.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. What kind of training method is that?

“She’s not even teaching her,” Hunter whispered, unimpressed. “What is this supposed to be?”

“No clue,” (Y/N) muttered, tilting her head as she watched.

The girl huffed, stomping her foot. “Eda! I wanna learn real magic! Not about weird snow flavors!”

Eda licked a bit of snow off her hand, nodding sagely. “That’s exactly what someone who doesnt know what they are doing would say.”

The girl groaned dramatically, throwing her arms up. “Come on! You said you’d teach me properly if I became your apprentice!”

Eda sighed. “And I will! But magic isn’t just about waving your hands around and hoping for the best, kid.” She turned her back for a moment, rummaging through her bag. “You’ve gotta understand it, feel it-”

(Y/N)’s eyes sharpened as the girl suddenly perked up, her expression shifting.

Something mischievous.

She glanced over at where the Blight siblings had been training earlier- where Amity’s training wand still lay abandoned in the snow.

(Y/N)’s stomach clenched as the girl quickly tiptoed over, her boots crunching lightly in the snow.

“Ohhh, here we go,” (Y/N) murmured.

Hunter frowned. “What?”

The girl smirked, crouching down and snatching up the wand before Eda could notice. Her fingers curled around the handle as she straightened up, holding it like it was some kind of trophy.

Then, with a spark of excitement in her eyes, she quickly copied the spell circles Eda had been trying to teach her. Before (Y/N) could see if she could actually cast the spell, Hunter jabbed at her slightly with his elbow, making her glance over at him.

“We need to go back and tell Belos,” Hunter said, his voice tense.

(Y/N) snapped her gaze to him. “Are you kidding me?” she whispered harshly. “We just found another human, and your first thought is to run off and tell him?”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. “That’s what we’re supposed to do.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Right, because Belos totally won’t just lock her up the second he finds out she exists.”

Hunter exhaled sharply through his nose. “You don’t know that.”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “Yeah? And you do?”

He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough.

(Y/N) shook her head. “Come on, Hunter. You know how he is. You know what he does to people who don’t fit into his perfect little system.” She gestured toward the girl. “She’s human! She’s not even a wild witch! What do you think he’s going to do when he finds out she doesn’t belong?”

Hunter’s grip on his staff tightened. “That’s not our call to make.”

(Y/N) stepped closer, lowering her voice. “So what, we just hand her over? Let Belos decide what happens to her? Just like he decided for us?”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed at her slightly. “That’s different.”

(Y/N)’s heart pounded. “How?”

“Because we chose this!” he hissed. “We trained for this! We earned our place in the Emperor’s Coven! She-” He motioned toward the girl. “-She’s just some random kid who got stuck here!”

(Y/N) crossed her arms. “So was I! So why should we turn her in?”

Hunter groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re being reckless again.”

“And you’re being blind.”

Hunter whipped toward her, his eyes sharp. “I follow the rules, (Y/N)! That’s what keeps us safe!"

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Hunter grabbed her by the shoulders.

She froze.

His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm. Desperate. His magenta eyes locked onto hers, his expression taut with something almost pleading.

“We need to go back and tell Belos,” he said, his voice quieter now, but more urgent. “You don’t understand- he… We’ve already done too much.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

She did understand.

Hunter wasn’t the Golden Guard yet, but he was striving for it. He wanted to prove himself, to be someone in Belos’s eyes. And he knew- just as well as she did- that they had already gone too far off course.

If they stayed, if they pushed this any further…

There would be consequences.

For both of them.

(Y/N) felt the tension in Hunter’s grip, the slight tremble in his fingers as he held onto her shoulders. She didn’t need to use her Gem’s abilities to feel the desperation radiating from him- his expression said it all.

He was scared.

He was scared of failing.

Scared of what would happen if they made the wrong call.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, her shoulders slowly relaxing under his grip. She had spent two years by his side, training, fighting, surviving in this world. They had started as rivals, as reluctant partners, but now?

He was the only person in this entire place that she trusted.

Her lips curled into a soft, almost resigned smile. It wasn’t her usual cocky smirk, nor the teasing grin she always threw his way.

It was something real… Something gentle.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll go back.”

Hunter blinked, surprised at her sudden change of tone. He let go of her shoulders, stepping back slightly, as if unsure whether to believe her.

(Y/N) exhaled through her nose, running a hand through her hair. “You’re right,” she admitted, though it pained her to say it. “We’ve already done too much. If we wait any longer, we’ll get in trouble.” She let out a dry chuckle. “And I really don’t feel like getting locked up today.”

Hunter studied her, searching her face for any sign of deception. But there was none.

(Y/N) meant it.

His shoulders lowered slightly, and he nodded. “Good. We’ll report what we saw. Belos needs to know.”

(Y/N) forced herself not to grimace at that part. She just casted a glance toward the girl again, before nodding slowly.

“Alright, Blondie,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

With one last look at the wild witches in the distance, (Y/N) turned on her heel and followed Hunter back toward the Emperor’s Coven.

The wind whipped past them as Hunter’s staff soared through the sky, cutting through the dark clouds over the Boiling Isles. (Y/N) held on tightly, her mind racing.

She glanced at Hunter, his face set in a determined, almost grim expression. He believed this was the right thing. He had to. This was his whole life, his whole purpose- following orders, proving himself, earning his place.

And, for better or worse, (Y/N) had chosen to stand beside him.

As the castle loomed ahead, its towering white spires gleaming under the pale light, (Y/N) forced down the unease bubbling in her gut. When they entered the throne room, (Y/N) immediately felt the oppressive weight of Belos’s presence settle over her.

He sat on his throne, his golden mask unreadable, his long cloak draped over his form like a shroud. The air was thick with something dark, something wrong.

(Y/N) and Hunter both dropped to one knee.

No matter how much (Y/N) hated bowing to anyone, she knew better than to test Belos’s patience.

Hunter spoke first, his voice steady- though (Y/N) could hear the faint edge of nerves beneath it.

“We scouted the Knee as ordered,” Hunter reported. “We spotted a few witchlings, nothing of concern… but then we saw The Owl Lady.”

At that, Belos tilted his head slightly. “And you did not return immediately?”

Hunter swallowed. “We wanted to be sure-”

That was the wrong answer.

Before (Y/N) could react, a sickly green tendril of dark, corrupted magic shot from Belos’s fingertips, moving too fast.

It slashed across Hunter’s face and neck.

Hunter choked on a breath, his eyes going wide as pain ripped through him. His body instinctively curled inward, one hand shooting up to press against the fresh wound. Blood dripped between his fingers, staining his gloves.

(Y/N) moved without thinking- she was at his side in an instant, her Gem flaring to life, her eyes burning bright pink.

She glared up at Belos, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She could feel everything- the suffocating darkness in the air, the flicker of pain rolling off of Hunter, the twisted amusement buried deep in Belos’s presence.

This wasn’t a lesson.

It was punishment.

Her voice was sharp, shaking with barely contained rage. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

The room fell into a suffocating silence… Gi didn’t care. She knew she had just crossed a very dangerous line.

But right now?

She didn’t give a damn.

Belos tilted his head slightly, his golden mask betraying nothing. The room still felt suffocating, heavy with his presence.

“This is punishment,” he said calmly, his voice steady, as if explaining something simple to a disobedient child. “For not following orders.”

(Y/N)’s blood boiled, her pink-glowing eyes still locked onto him.

Hunter, still doubled over, sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers pressing against the wound on his cheek and neck. He was trying to keep quiet, trying to stay composed, but (Y/N) could feel his pain like it was her own.

“Next time,” Belos continued, his voice dripping with authority, “maybe you’ll think twice before disobeying.”

(Y/N)’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

But she knew better than to push further… Not now.

Belos flicked his wrist dismissively. “Leave me.”

(Y/N) was already moving- she slid an arm around Hunter’s back, careful but firm, helping him stand as his legs wobbled slightly. He still held one hand against his wound, his breaths shallow but controlled.

They didn’t say a word as they left the throne room, moving through the castle halls in tense, heavy silence.

The Healing Wing of the Emperor’s Coven was quiet when they arrived, dim candlelight flickering in glass lanterns along the walls. It was meant for scouts who got injured during missions- but not for those injured in the throne room.

Still, (Y/N) didn’t hesitate. She carefully led Hunter to one of the cots, easing him down before turning to one of the nearby healers. “He needs help. Now.”

The healer, a middle-aged witch from the Healing Coven, raised an eyebrow but quickly got to work, their hands glowing with soft blue light as they approached Hunter.

(Y/N) took a slow breath, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, trying to breathe past the lingering rage still burning inside her. Hunter just sat there, silent as the healer examined his wound, his magenta eyes staring at the floor.

She hated this.

She hated all of this.

But more than anything- more than the mission, more than the punishment, more than Belos- she hated that Hunter wasn’t surprised… Like he had expected this. Like it had happened before.

(Y/N) clenched her fists, her Gem pulsing faintly.

She wasn’t going to forget this- and she sure as hell wasn’t going to forgive it.

The soft glow of healing magic flickered against the dim candlelight as the healer worked on Hunter’s wound. (Y/N) stood off to the side, arms crossed tightly, watching every movement. The healer’s hands glowed a calming blue, slowly sealing the gash, easing the bleeding, knitting the torn skin back together. But even with magic, some things couldn’t be undone.

When the healer finally stepped back, they sighed. “That’s all I can do. The wound is closed, but the scarring… it’ll stay.”

Hunter barely reacted. He just gave a stiff nod, his jaw tight. (Y/N), however, clenched her fists. She knew that. She knew it wasn’t going to disappear entirely. But hearing it made her stomach twist with anger all over again.

The scar ran from the side of Hunter’s neck, up along his jaw, and across his cheek, ending just below his eye. His skin was still bruised around it, tender from the rawness of fresh healing.

Belos had done this to him.

Their own leader had scarred him just for hesitating.

(Y/N) inhaled sharply through her nose and forced herself to swallow the rage bubbling inside her. Now wasn’t the time. She stepped forward, moving to Hunter’s side. He hadn’t spoken much since they left the throne room.

“Come on, Blondie” she murmured, her voice softer than usual. “Let’s get you back to our room.”

Hunter didn’t argue. He stood, stiff but steady, and let (Y/N) guide him out of the healing wing.

The walk back to their shared quarters was quiet… Too quiet.

(Y/N) glanced at Hunter out of the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed straight ahead. But she could feel the way his emotions twisted and churned inside him. She wanted to say something. Anything.

But what was she supposed to say? Sorry our boss is a complete psychopath? Sorry this happened to you? Sorry I dragged this out and made things worse?

None of it would fix this… So she said nothing.

When they finally reached their room, she guided him inside and shut the door behind them. Hunter wordlessly sat on his bed, rubbing a gloved hand over his face before resting his elbows on his knees. He exhaled slowly, staring at the floor.

(Y/N) hesitated, then sat beside him, not too close, but close enough. For a long moment, they just sat there in silence.

Then, finally, Hunter spoke. “I shouldn’t have argued,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse, tired. “I should’ve just… obeyed.”

(Y/N)’s eyes flashed. “No.”

Hunter blinked, looking up at her.

(Y/N) turned to him fully, her (E/C) eyes- still faintly pink from lingering emotion- burning with something fierce. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this is your fault.”

Hunter frowned, his fingers twitching at his sides. “But I-”

“No.” (Y/N) shook her head. “Belos chose to do this. He didn’t have to, Hunter. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hunter swallowed hard, his gaze dropping again. “Doesn’t change anything.”

(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe not. But it wasn’t your fault.”

She hesitated for a moment, then reached out, gently touching his sleeve, just for a second. A small, silent reassurance… Hunter didn’t pull away. He just sighed and closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping slightly.

She hated seeing him like this.

Carefully, she shifted a little closer, keeping her movements slow, deliberate. Her free hand lifted, hesitating for just a second before cupping the uninjured side of his face.

Hunter stiffened at the contact, his magenta eyes flicking to hers in surprise… But he didn’t pull away. Her thumb brushed against his jaw, slow and soft, a comforting touch rather than anything demanding. She let out a quiet sigh, her Gem glowing faintly in the dim candlelight.

“Hunter,” she murmured.

His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, but he stayed quiet.

(Y/N)’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, her voice dropping to something softer, something teasing. “I am sorry, though.”

Hunter frowned. “For what?”

She tilted her head slightly, her smile turning just a little playful. “For dragging this out. For making things harder. But, y’know…” Her thumb brushed along his cheek again. “You still look just as handsome.”

A slow blink.

Hunter’s ears immediately turned pink.

His mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again, as if he was trying to find words but failing miserably. His usual composure, his sharp retorts and perfectly structured logic- gone.

(Y/N) grinned.

There it was...

A small, flickering moment of something other than pain, than duty, than the crushing weight of what had just happened. Just for a second.

She could do more. She could use her Gem, could ease the tension twisting in his chest, could make him feel lighter, could quiet the storm inside of him.

But she wouldn’t.

Because even though she could sense emotions, even though she could manipulate them if she wanted to… That wasn’t her choice to make. Hunter’s emotions, his pain, his feelings- those belonged to him.

So instead, she just let her hand linger, warm and steady, letting him decide what to do next.

After a moment, Hunter finally managed to find his voice. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his face still lightly flushed.

(Y/N) smirked. “And yet, you’re not denying it.”

Hunter groaned, rolling his eyes, but she could feel the shift- the tiniest, smallest change. The weight of the moment didn’t disappear, but it eased, just a little.

A/N: Hi everybody! This is the last part of my Young Silco fic :} Im am already writing a sequel, and I am excited to keep this story going. I hope you all like it!

Ember in the Dark pt.11

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.10 - Sequel

pt.1

Warnings: Violence/Physical Assault, Child Endangerment/Trauma, Death/Grief, War/Revolution, Substance Use.

Word Count: 9273

Summary: (Y/N) helps build a fragile life alongside Silco, Vander, Felicia, and Connol, raising Violet and Powder as their found family. After a violent encounter with Enforcers leaves everyone shaken, tensions escalate between Silco and Vander, leading to a planned uprising at the bridge. (Y/N) chooses to stay behind to protect the girls. The revolution ends in disaster- Felicia and Connol are killed, Silco vanishes, and (Y/N) is left to carry the girls to safety. Vander returns alone, claiming Silco abandoned them, but (Y/N) doesn’t believe it. She searches- finds no body, no trace- and quietly holds onto hope. Years pass. Violet and Powder grow. New kids join their family. The Last Drop becomes a haven, and (Y/N) stays at its heart- scarred but steady, protecting what remains. Silco’s name fades from conversation, but not from memory. She never truly lets him go.

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

The Last Drop was alive with its usual rhythm- voices echoing off brick walls, the low clink of glass, laughter that rang too loud. But the second (Y/N) stepped inside, saying her hello’s, the mood shifted. Not all at once. Just enough to make the air feel different.

Felicia noticed quick. Her head snapped up from where she sat, Violet balanced on her hip. Her smile dropped like a stone. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of blood, the tension in (Y/N)’s shoulders, the way she clutched her bag like it was stitched to her ribs.

“Oh, god…” she breathed, already half on her feet. “Vander-”

Connol moved before she could finish, steadying Violet as Felicia stood. Vander looked up from where he was drying a glass behind the bar, brows drawing tight. He didn’t speak yet.

But Silco didn’t wait for anyone.

His stool scraped back sharply. The half-full glass he’d been nursing tipped and spilled across the bar, forgotten. He was across the room in seconds- quicker than anyone had ever seen him move when it wasn’t life or death.

His hands were on her before she could get another word out. One arm caught her around the waist, steadying her. The other came to her chin, tilting it gently, his fingers cool and trembling. His jaw clenched. Eyes scanned every mark on her face- the cut at her lip, the bruising along her cheekbone, the scraped edge of her brow.

“Who did this?” he asked, voice low and tight, almost quiet enough to miss. Almost.

She winced when his fingers brushed a sore spot, but she didn’t flinch away. Just looked up at him through lashes heavy with exhaustion, a ghost of a smile on her lips. It didn’t land.

“Enforcers,” she muttered. “Just a patrol.”

His expression darkened. He didn’t tighten his grip, but the air around him seemed to shift- an unspoken pressure that made the room hold its breath.

“They searched me,” she added, hoarse. “Didn’t find anything. They just… wanted to make a point.”

His thumb brushed a streak of blood from the corner of her mouth. His hand lingered there, and something flickered in his expression- hurt, maybe.

“You let them?” he rasped.

“I didn’t fight,” she whispered. “If I had… I might’ve hurt them. I didn’t trust myself not to lose control, even… If I can control it more now, than before...”

Silco closed his eyes, jaw tight with restraint.

Behind them, Vander stepped out from behind the bar. “Get her upstairs,” he said, voice low. “We’ll talk after.”

Felicia was already moving again, clutching Violet like a tether. Her face was a storm.

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) tried to say, barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re not,” Silco muttered. He slipped the edge of her cloak back over her shoulders, tightening it around her with careful hands. “Come on.”

He didn’t give her the chance to argue. With an arm secure around her waist, he guided her toward the stairs. His steps were sharp, shoulders taut with silent fury. Not a word was spoken as the door clicked shut behind them.

The quiet in the room was thick- not awkward, just heavy.

Silco didn’t ask her to sit. He simply steered her gently to the bed, helped her lower herself with careful hands, and moved across the room in a blur of precise motion. The tin basin. The pitcher. A cloth. A bottle of disinfectant- stings like hell, but it kept you alive.

He knelt in front of her and tilted her face toward the light. The cloth was warm. Gentle. He wiped the blood away with a steady hand.

She flinched when it passed over the split in her lip. “Sorry,” he murmured, almost too quietly.

“You’re better than they were,” she said, voice barely audible.

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t answer. He reached for the bottle, soaked a clean cloth, and pressed it carefully to her temple. It burned.

She hissed, eyes watering.

“Hold still.”

It wasn’t sharp. Just soft enough to keep her grounded.

He worked in silence. Cleaning every mark. Every bruise. Every scrape. His focus never wavered, but she could see the tension behind it- the way his brows knit together, the way he breathed through his nose like it was the only way to stay calm.

When he reached her hands, he stopped. Just for a moment.

They were torn up. Raw. Stone and dirt ground into her palms, her knuckles purpled from impact.

His thumbs hovered there, then moved with excruciating care, picking away the debris, soaking the cloth again and again. He didn’t speak until the worst of it was done.

“... You should have fought back.” he whispered, voice rough.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. “Not again.”

He said nothing. Just reached for the gauze. Wrapped her hands with the same precision, knotting them tight enough to protect, not tight enough to sting.

When he finished, he lifted her hand to his lips. A kiss to her knuckles, light as air.

“You should’ve called for me,” he said, finally.

Her throat caught. “I didn’t know if you were nearby.”

“I don’t care,” he said, sharper now. “I would’ve burned the streets down to get to you.”

His eyes met hers. They burned- not with blame. But with something colder. Sharper.

“I’ll find them,” he said. “And when I do-”

“Silco.” Her voice was small, but it cut clean through the tension. “I’m okay. You got me. That’s what matters.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then his shoulders eased, just barely. He brought her hands to his lips again, eyes closed.

“You shouldn’t have to live like this,” he murmured.

“I want this,” she said, forehead pressing gently to his. “I want you.”

That was all it took to make the rage inside him quiet- at least for now.

He held her. Close. Like he could block out the world just by keeping her there.

No more words passed between them for a while. Just the sound of breath, the warmth of quiet touch. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands bandaged, shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she hadn’t said. Silco crouched in front of her still, hands never straying far.

Eventually, Silco helped her up with the same care he’d shown before. Arm around her waist. Not holding her up- just holding her steady.

They moved down the stairs together. Every creak felt too loud. The hum of the bar had returned, but the energy was different. Tense. Quiet.

Felicia still sat in her usual booth, Violet asleep in her arms, a worn blanket draped across them both. Connol was beside her, quiet and still. His eyes found (Y/N) the moment she appeared.

Vander was behind the bar again. Arms crossed. Watching. Measuring. Counting bruises.

Felicia’s eyes widened when she saw her. Relief flooded her face, but it didn’t erase the lingering anger.

“You’re alright,” she said. Like she needed to say it out loud to believe it. “Really alright?”

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, voice steadier now. “Just a little beat up.”

Vander exhaled through his nose and turned for a clean glass. “Sit,” he said, gruff but not unkind. “Drink something warm. You’ll feel it more in an hour.”

(Y/N) gave a tired smile. Let Silco guide her to the booth across from Felicia and Connol. She didn’t lean on him. But she didn’t let go either.

Silco didn’t leave her side. He slid into the booth like he belonged there, quiet and sure, his arm settling along the backrest, fingers grazing her shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was grounding- anchored, solid.

Felicia leaned forward, eyes narrowed as she took in the bruises on (Y/N)’s face. “If I ever see those bastards near here again…” Her voice was tight, sharp.

“Fel,” Connol said softly, placing a steadying hand on her knee.

She didn’t look at him. “No. I mean it. We can’t just keep letting them do this.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Still, he stayed silent. Not here. Not yet. Not when the eyes of the bar had already turned toward them. The murmur of conversation had slowed, dulled. Now, even those who tried to act like they weren’t listening… were.

The atmosphere thickened. Simmering tension pooled in the corners of the room- quiet, heavy, waiting for a spark.

Vander stepped in, a steaming mug in his hand. He set it gently in front of (Y/N), then stepped back, arms folding across his chest.

“We take care of our own,” he said. His voice was low, but it carried. “Always have.”

(Y/N) curled her fingers around the mug. Her eyes stayed down, watching steam rise in slow spirals.

Silco’s hand moved to her back, palm warm through the fabric. His thumb pressed slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades. Grounding. Gentle.

The bar’s rhythm resumed in cautious pieces- clinks of glass, low conversation, chairs scraping against wood- but something had shifted. A quiet understanding passed between the walls. One of theirs had been hurt. Again. And the Undercity remembers.

Behind the bar, Vander didn’t move much. But his posture spoke volumes. Hands braced against the counter, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. He wasn’t pouring drinks. The bottle beside him sat forgotten.

His eyes hadn’t left (Y/N) since she walked in- since he’d seen the bruises blooming across her skin, the blood drying at the corner of her mouth. The way she winced when she shifted. What haunted him most wasn’t the damage.

It was that she hadn’t even fought back.

She hadn’t used magic, hadn’t lashed out, hadn’t screamed. She was just walking. And they jumped her like she was nothing.

His fingers curled into fists. The wood beneath his palms creaked under the strain.

Silco noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed. But he didn’t speak. His attention stayed on her, thumb still tracing circles.

Felicia broke the silence with a venomous whisper. “This city’s rotting from the top down.”

Connol said nothing. His jaw was clenched, hand resting protectively atop Violet’s blanket, as if shielding his newborn daughter from the world.

Vander’s voice, when it came, was quiet- but sharp as a blade. “She didn’t even raise a hand.” His gaze was distant, as though staring through the bar. “Didn’t say a word. Just walked. And they still thought they could beat her bloody.”

His fists trembled on the counter. “That’s the kind of peace they’re offering.”

Silco’s eyes flicked toward him. “Starting to see it, are you?”

Vander didn’t answer. But the silence said enough.

His shoulders sagged slightly, breath shuddering out. “I’ve spent half my life pulling people back from the edge. Telling them to wait. To think. To survive instead of strike.” He looked at (Y/N) then, something pained and heavy flickering behind his eyes. “But what do we do when there’s no fight left to stop? When we keep our heads down, and they still come for us?”

(Y/N) looked up. Her voice was quiet, raw. “I didn’t fight because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not because I was scared.”

Her gaze dropped again. “Didn’t matter. They just wanted someone to hurt.”

The weight of her words hung in the air. No one had an answer.

Vander ran a hand across his jaw, slow. “This city’s gonna crack,” he muttered. Then, barely audible- “And I don’t know if I can stop it this time.”

The weight in the room pressed against her skin, heavier than the bruises blooming beneath it. (Y/N) stared down into the mug. Herbal. Faintly sweet. Something Vander probably mixed together himself- pain relief, maybe. Or just something warm to hold. Something that made you feel less hollow.

She took a careful sip. The heat stung against her split lip.

The others were still talking. Still shifting around her like a gathering storm. Silco hadn’t moved. His hand stayed firm against her back. Steady. Present.

But even that comfort felt distant. Sharpened by the silence in her chest.

She didn’t want their fury.

Didn’t want Felicia’s wild-eyed rage, or Vander’s coiled grief. She didn’t want Connol’s quiet worry, or Silco’s unreadable stillness.

She just wanted them to stop looking at her like this was something new.

It wasn’t.

Pain had followed her since childhood- persistent, predictable, a shadow stitched into her every step. There was always someone bigger. Someone crueler. Someone who needed to remind her she didn’t belong.

This wasn’t new. It was just more of the same.

She didn’t want pity. Or promises. Or rage that would burn everything down.

She wanted peace.

She took another sip of her drink, hands trembling slightly, and said nothing.

Silco leaned in, voice low against her ear. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

She didn’t answer right away.

But eventually, she nodded.

He rose first, then reached for her gently, helping her stand without a word. He didn’t hold her- just offered the support, and let her decide how much she needed.

They didn’t look back as they left.

The climb upstairs was slow- not just from pain, though it still lingered with every step- but from the weight in her chest. A hollow sort of gravity.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t lean on him. Just walked.

Silco didn’t press. He kept close. Always within reach. But didn’t touch her unless she faltered. He walked with a kind of quiet restraint, as if every instinct told him to pull her in- but he knew she needed space more than shelter.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Inside, the room welcomed them in silence. Dim neon light filtered through worn curtains. The scent of the day- dust from the mines, candle wax, and faint smoke- still clung to the air.

(Y/N) didn’t stop moving. She crossed to the window, cloak slipping from her shoulders and falling where it may.

She didn’t pick it up.

She sank into the window seat, flicked her fingers, and summoned a small flame.

It sparked, sputtered. Her hand trembled.

She clenched her jaw, tried again.

This time, the fire steadied. She lit the cigarette between her lips and leaned back, exhaling smoke toward the cracked pane. The breeze drew it out slowly, like breath finally let go.

Silco stood near the door, watching.

She looked hollow.

Not broken. Not weak. Just… dimmed. Like the fire in her chest had drawn back behind old walls. Her hands trembled around the cigarette. Blood dried like rust along her bandages.

She didn’t try to hide it.

She didn’t say a word.

Silco stepped forward- slowly, deliberately- and knelt beside her, one arm resting on the windowsill. He tilted his head, studying her profile, but didn’t speak right away.

“Talk to me,” he said at last, his voice low, nearly lost beneath the hum of the Undercity outside.

(Y/N) didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed on the distant glow bleeding through the cracked glass- the Undercity’s fractured light, flickering like something half-remembered. Smoke curled from the cigarette between her fingers. Her silence stretched, brittle.

“I’m just tired,” she said finally. “Tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

Silco swallowed, jaw tensing. She wasn’t talking about the bruises. Not really.

She drew in another breath of smoke, slower this time. “People always look at me like I’m strong. Like I can take it.” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “And I can. But it’s starting to feel like that’s the only reason I’m still here.”

Her eyes dropped to her bandaged hands, and her voice cracked.

“To take it.”

He didn’t speak. Just reached out, fingers brushing hers as he gently took the cigarette from her grip. She let it go without a word. He crushed the ember into the ashtray, then stood, pulling her carefully to her feet.

She blinked up at him, caught off guard- but didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arms around her. Not tightly. Not to shield or protect. Just close. Like he was anchoring her, grounding her in something real.

“You’re not here just to endure,” he murmured into her hair. “Not to me.”

Her hands gripped the front of his shirt before she could even think of it, her face pressing into the warmth of his chest. His heartbeat, steady beneath her ear, became the only rhythm she could hold onto. The scent of smoke and iron clung to him, familiar, oddly soothing.

Silco said nothing more. He just held her, patient and still, while her body trembled quietly in his arms.

She tried to breathe. Not cry. Not break. But it was hard. The bruises on her ribs and hands still throbbed beneath her skin, but the worst pain lived deeper- in the place that never got the chance to heal.

Her voice, when it came, was almost too quiet to hear.

“I wish it was different.”

His arms tightened, just slightly.

“I know.”

“I wish I didn’t have this magic,” she whispered. “Wish I didn’t have to hide it. Didn’t have to be afraid of it. I wish I could fight back without making things worse. I wish we weren’t always hunted. Like prey in our own streets. I just…”

Her breath hitched. “I just want to live like normal people.”

Silco didn’t respond right away. His thumb moved slowly over her back, quiet and steady.

“Normal’s a lie,” he said eventually, his voice rough. “But freedom? That’s worth everything.”

She gave a shaky exhale, her cheek brushing the warm skin above his collarbone. Her eyes were heavy now.

“Feels like we’ll never have it.”

“We will.” His voice shifted- firmer now. Not idealistic. Certain. “Not tomorrow. Not soon. But one day. I’ll make sure of it.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t have the strength.

Instead, she let herself lean into him, her body slowly releasing the tension it had carried all day. Her heartbeat slowed, syncing with his. If she couldn’t have peace, at least she had this. Him. The quiet safety of his arms.

The exhaustion caught up all at once. Her breath warmed the hollow of his neck as her grip loosened- not from retreat, but from surrender.

Without a word, Silco shifted, guiding her toward the bed. She didn’t resist. Just followed, limbs heavy with the weight of it all.

They slipped under the thin blanket, the only light coming from the dim Undercity glow through the window. She curled into him instinctively, her head on his chest, her hand tucked between them like she was trying to keep something safe.

Silco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close until there was no space left between them. His legs tangled with hers, and he rested his chin gently on the top of her head.

It wasn’t the first time they’d fallen asleep like this. But something about tonight felt heavier. Closer.

Not just comfort. Not just need.

Recognition.

He didn’t say it, but she felt it in every breath, every touch, every heartbeat: I see you. I won’t let go.

Her body softened in his arms. Her breathing slowed.

Still scarred. Still whole. Still his.

And in the faint hum of Zaun’s restless night, they drifted off. Two souls bound together in the dark, held fast by something stronger than all the things trying to break them.

Time passed.

Not all at once. Quietly. Gradually.

The bruises faded- from her skin, then from her routine. Her hands healed. The ache in her chest took longer. But even that began to dull- softened by warmth, by routine, by Silco’s constant, quiet presence.

And Violet grew.

From a bundle of soft blankets and curious eyes to a sharp, babbling toddler who could clear a room with a single shriek and charm it again with a crooked grin. She toddled through the bar on unsteady legs, fearless. Felicia stayed one step behind. Connol three steps ahead, trying to catch every fall.

She became The Last Drop’s heartbeat. Even the roughest regulars melted when she approached with sticky hands and wide eyes. No one said no- not even Silco, who would scowl as she climbed into his lap, then let her stay anyway, a hand gently steadying her back.

(Y/N) began working fewer shifts in the mines. At first, it was just a few missed mornings. Then it became habit. She helped Vander behind the bar, swept the floors, restocked the shelves. Quiet work. Grounding work.

She said it was to help out. But they all knew better.

It was the Enforcers. She was avoiding them. Avoiding herself, maybe. The edge of what she could do- what she might do, if pushed too far.

Vander never asked questions. Just passed her a towel and a crate to lift.

And Silco?

He didn’t say much. But he was always near.

She felt it in the way his hand brushed hers when he passed a bottle. The way he leaned in close when the bar was loud, voice low, a flicker of humor in his eyes. How he watched her, always. Not possessive- present.

The world didn’t get easier. But it got smaller. Closer.

The city still tried to claw peace from their hands- but they held onto it anyway. Nights at The Last Drop had quieted. Less yelling now. Fewer brawls breaking out in dark corners. The fire hadn’t gone out, but it burned lower, steadier, like the amber light spilling across the bar’s worn wood.

The Undercity hadn’t changed. It was still raw. Still scarred. But something beneath it had settled.

Maybe it was Violet, growing fast and fierce, commanding a room with just a look- Felicia’s look- while perched on a hip and sucking juice from a chipped cup. Maybe it was the way Vander and Silco had finally stopped talking past each other.

They hadn’t always seen eye to eye. Too many nights had ended with slammed doors and clenched jaws- Silco all edge and conviction, Vander slow-burning with old weight and weary patience. But something had shifted. Not just in the room, but between them.

(Y/N) saw it first.

The way they leaned closer during late-night talks, voices low as the bar emptied out. Vander no longer shutting Silco down the second Piltover came up. Silco, surprisingly, actually listening- pausing, considering. Like he’d finally realized not every battle needed to be waged in fire.

Maybe it was understanding. Or maybe it was, again, Violet.

She’d changed everything.

Hard to talk about revolution when a toddler was dragging around a chewed-up mug, insisting it was “hers.” When her tiny feet echoed across the floorboards, scattering dust motes in the lamplight.

So when Silco spoke of the future now, he didn’t say now. He didn’t say soon.

He said eventually.

And Vander, once immovable in his pacifism, didn’t dismiss it out of hand anymore. Just nodded. Quietly. Said things like, “Maybe. Someday. When she’s old enough to run if she has to.”

(Y/N) had overheard them once- stood in the doorway, unseen, as Vander cleaned out his pipe behind the counter. Silco leaned nearby, arms folded, eyes on the wall.

“We can’t keep takin’ hits like that,” Vander muttered, jaw set. “They come down here like they own the place.”

Silco didn’t bristle. Didn’t grin. Just replied, low and even, “We won’t. Not forever.”

Vander wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I’m not about to light a fire I can’t put out.”

Silco nodded. “I’m not asking you to.”

A beat passed. Then Vander looked at him- really looked at him- and said, “But we’ll be ready when it comes.”

That was all. No shouting. No threats. Just a shared promise, spoken like a quiet oath.

Not today… Not yet. But one day.

(Y/N) stepped back from the doorway, heart heavy in that strange way- full of knowing. Not afraid. Just aware. The world would shift again. That was inevitable.

But not while Violet was still tugging on pant legs and chasing flecks of light like they were treasure. Not while mornings were still soft and slow, Silco brushing past her in the kitchen, his fingers grazing her back, his voice low and familiar.

“Let her be little,” he’d murmur. “Just a while longer.”

And Vander would nod. And they’d wait.

They’d build.

Time, as it does, slipped forward without asking.

Violet turned four. A blur of questions, fast feet, and sharper opinions. She mimicked everyone- Felicia’s sass, Vander’s sighs, even Silco’s scowls (to his quiet dismay). She perched on barstools like she owned the place. Vander even carved her a little wooden step to stand behind the bar, though she mostly used it to sneak sips from mugs when no one was looking.

And then, one morning, Felicia walked into the bar with Connol trailing nervously behind her, hands wringing.

“Well,” she announced, hands on her hips. “Looks like the baby bin wasn’t a waste after all.”

(Y/N) nearly spit out her tea. “You mocked me for keeping that thing.”

Felicia smirked, rubbing a hand over her belly. “Yeah, well. Maybe you’re good for something after all.”

Silco didn’t say much about the news of the new baby.

But he watched.

Watched Felicia move with a kind of defiant ease, even when the weight of it slowed her down. Watched (Y/N) make space again- pulling the bin out of storage, folding tiny clothes with a strange, wistful look in her eye. Watched Violet mimic it all, dragging around a spare bottle like she was training for something.

Spring came fast. And with it- so did the baby.

The bar cleared out quickly. Regulars were shooed off. Towels boiled. Water warmed. Ren showed up right on time, muttering, “You lot breed like rats in winter,” while rolling up her sleeves.

(Y/N) stayed with Felicia through the pain, Connol at her side, Vander hovering in the doorway. Silco didn’t pace this time- just stood by the window, hands behind his back, breathing like it hurt to do it wrong.

And then the cry came.

Sharp. Fragile. Real.

Everyone stilled.

Ren wrapped the baby carefully, then looked around. “Well?” she said. “Who’s first?”

Felicia, exhausted but smiling with that same smug pride, didn’t hesitate. “Give her to Silco.”

Ren raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“Vander named Violet,” Felicia said, leaning into Connol. “It’s his turn.”

Silco froze. Looked to (Y/N). She gave him the softest nod.

So he stepped forward.

Ren guided his hands under the baby’s head. He held her like she might vanish. Small and warm and impossibly new.

She was wrinkled and red and making soft, wet noises- but her hair…

Silco stared.

Fine, pale fuzz. Blue. So faint it was barely visible. But unmistakable.

“She looks like…” he started, stopped. Swallowed. “Powder.”

Felicia blinked. “You mean the color, or-?”

He didn’t look up. “I don’t know. It just fits.”

(Y/N) leaned close, gazing at the newborn. “It does,” she murmured. “It really does.”

Felicia smiled faintly. “Then Powder it is.”

The name stuck- odd, but perfectly hers.

And life moved on.

When Powder started walking (and then sprinting, and then climbing everything), Felicia and Connol got restless. The bar was safe, yes, but they needed more. The mines, for all their danger, offered steady work.

“We’re not vanishing,” Felicia promised one morning, Powder on her hip, Violet tugging on her coat. “Just a few shifts. Keep things balanced.”

Connol added quickly, “We’ll be around. Just not always underfoot.”

Vander frowned- he always did when someone went underground- but he didn’t stop them. He just nodded.

And that left them- Vander, Silco, and (Y/N)- as the keepers of the Undercity’s most chaotic duo.

Violet, sharp and loud and entirely too clever, claimed a booth as her throne and demanded pastries as taxes.

Powder… Powder was stranger. Quieter. She wandered more. Spoke to herself. Built towers out of bottle caps and knocked them over to study the fall.

And Silco, of all people, shadowed her like a silent guardian. He never said why.

But he always caught her before she fell.

It started gradually.

Silco began keeping her within his line of sight- subtle, instinctive. Even while buried in planning or half-snarled conversations with smugglers, his gaze would flicker toward her. A quiet “no” and a hand on her shoulder was enough to pull her away from dangerous corners. Sometimes, if he was deep in one of his journals, he’d lift her onto the stool beside him without a word. Powder would climb up too, wide-eyed, watching his pen move like it was casting spells.

(Y/N) noticed it first.

The way Powder drifted toward Silco, no matter how crowded the room was. The way she’d tug at his coat until he looked down, then silently lift her arms to be held. And the way Silco- sharp, precise, always in control- would let her crawl into his lap without protest, wrapping one arm around her as she fiddled with the buttons on his vest like they were treasure.

It was disarming. And a little bit adorable.

One afternoon, (Y/N) found him slumped in the back booth of The Last Drop, half-asleep. Powder was curled up against his chest, her small fingers hooked into the edge of his vest. His hand rested over her back, thumb moving slowly in quiet circles. She leaned against the doorframe, watching for a moment before breaking the silence.

“You didn’t cuddle me like that when we were little.”

Silco cracked an eye open, unimpressed and half-drowsy. “You didn’t drool in your sleep.”

(Y/N) snorted and stepped closer, brushing a strand of blue hair out of Powder’s face.

“She’s got you wrapped around her tiny, sticky fingers, y’know.”

“She’s unpredictable,” he muttered. “Like a bomb with a smile.”

“And you love it.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t even try.

And as (Y/N) watched him shift just enough to pull the blanket a little higher over the girl in his arms, something warm and aching settled deep in her chest.

The Last Drop had always been a place of smoke and whispers- rebels meeting in corners, laughter shared over bruised knuckles and bitter liquor. But lately, the air had started to change. The whispers were louder. Plans took shape in the shadows. Smuggling routes reopened. Piltover shipments vanished, and the Enforcers never knew where to start looking.

The Undercity was stirring.

And at the center of it all stood two men: Vander, still carrying hope like a torch, and Silco, burning with something far more volatile. They didn’t agree on everything- rarely did- but they had found rhythm again, like bones remembering how to move.

(Y/N) watched from the edges.

Because she remembered what came of getting too close to that kind of fire. A sheriff dead. Ten people turned to dust. Her magic crackling out of control. The way the city looked at her afterward- not like a girl, but like a weapon that might go off again.

No one spoke of it anymore. Not Vander. Not Felicia. Not even Silco.

But she hadn’t forgotten.

So while they pushed forward- Vander meeting with people at dawn, Silco vanishing into alleyways and fixer dens- (Y/N) stayed behind.

Not because she was afraid.

Because she couldn’t let herself become that again.

So she looked after the girls.

Violet was seven now- quick-footed and fierce, with scraped knees and a sharp tongue. She climbed faster than most runners, had already started asking questions too big for her age.

Powder, at three, was quieter. Sloppy, brilliant, always tinkering. She'd pull apart broken tech just to rebuild it into something entirely new- and entirely unpredictable. More than once, Vander had flinched when her latest invention sparked to life.

(Y/N) was their constant.

She packed lunches. Cleaned up cuts. Told them stories when the nights grew long. Her rebellion wasn’t with fire and fists anymore. It was in keeping the people she loved intact while the world tried to wear them down.

One night, Silco came home late. His coat was torn at the shoulder, dried blood crusted on the sleeve. He stepped into the bar and stopped.

On the couch, (Y/N) lay curled with both girls half asleep across her- Violet stretched over her legs, Powder tucked under her arm. She looked up, eyes tired but soft.

“Don’t ask,” she said before he could speak. “They ran themselves ragged.”

Silco crossed the room and crouched beside them, his hand brushing over Powder’s hair, then Violet’s arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, flicked to (Y/N), darker than usual.

“You’re keeping them safe.”

“I have to,” she murmured.

He didn’t answer. But the thought hung there between them, heavy and unspoken.

And who’s keeping you safe?

(Y/N) didn’t need him to say it. She just reached out, brushing her fingers along his cheek, whispering- “I’m still here.” before carefully picking up the girls, and making her way up stairs.

The bar was full later that night. Shoulder to shoulder with the ones who mattered- runners, smugglers, chemists, old fighters with iron in their bones. You could feel it in the air. Something was coming.

Upstairs, (Y/N) and Felicia stood over the sleeping girls.

Violet had begged to stay up and “help with planning,” eyes shining. Powder had clung to her half-broken toy like it would anchor her. (Y/N) tucked the blanket in around them both, brushing their hair back with a hand that lingered too long.

“I don’t like this,” she said quietly as they stepped into the hall.

“I know,” Felicia replied.

Downstairs, the tension pressed against the walls like a held breath.

Vander stood tall at the center, arms crossed, jaw set. Silco was beside him, leaning slightly forward, hands clasped behind his back, speaking low.

No heat. No fight.

Just resolve.

When the time came, Vander raised a hand.

The room fell silent.

“We’ve been patient,” he said, voice clear and steady. “We’ve followed their rules. Tried to build something real in the cracks they left us.”

A few voices murmured agreement.

“But patience hasn’t bought us peace. It’s bought bruises. Blood. Fear.”

He swept the room with his gaze.

“And every time we let them walk our streets like they own ‘em, we tell our children this is all they’ll ever have.”

(Y/N) stood at the back with Felicia, arms crossed, shadows curling around her like second skin.

She didn’t speak.

She just listened.

Vander’s voice sharpened.

“So we’re taking it back. No more waiting. No more silence. If they want to walk our streets- they’re gonna have to bleed for it.”

Cheers rippled across the room, building slowly.

Then Silco stepped forward.

His voice was quiet. Precise. Cold.

“We hit them where they’ll feel it. The bridge. That’s where they hold power over us. That’s where they watch us- control us. So that’s where we remind them we’re not beneath them.”

Heads nodded. Plans took root.

And in the flickering light, (Y/N) stood still.

Watching. Remembering. Holding the weight of fire in her chest- and refusing to let it burn her again.

Vander lifted his hand to calm them. “We’ve got numbers. We know that bridge better than anyone. We fight smart. I’ll lead it.”

The bar erupted.

Chairs scraped. Bottles clinked. A half-dozen people surged forward, shouting their loyalty, their hunger for retaliation.

But not (Y/N).

She didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Her arms stayed folded across her chest, lips a thin line. Heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to run.

She got it. Really, she did. That righteous fury- they wore it like armor. And part of her wanted it, too. To burn hot. To burn back.

But all she could think about were two small girls asleep in the room upstairs… And the last time she’d let her magic answer violence with more of it.

Felicia stood near the wall, arms crossed, looking worn down to the bone. She glanced over, voice barely a whisper above the chaos. “You good?”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the center of the room. On Vander, solid as ever, holding the weight of the whole damn Undercity on his back. On Silco- quiet, sharp-eyed, unreadable.

She murmured, more to herself than anyone else, “I don’t know if this is the right way. But I think they’ve already decided.”

The meeting bled into the night, the bar slowly emptying until only low voices and the smoke of half-burned cigarettes remained. A plan had been made. A date.

Three months.

The bridge.

It still felt far.

But not far enough.

(Y/N) sat alone in the booth by the window, untouched drink in front of her, eyes distant as the Undercity’s green glow shimmered through cracked glass. Vander’s voice rumbled somewhere behind the counter. Silco’s lower, quiet, murmuring something to a smuggler near the back.

She barely heard them.

All she could think about… were the girls.

Powder would be four in two weeks. Gods. Four. She used to be a quiet bundle wrapped in a frayed blanket- Silco had held her once, stiff and unsure, like she might shatter. Now she was a walking whirlwind, inventing things from nothing but wires and junk.

And Violet- eight. A spitfire with scraped knees and fire in her veins, fierce as Felicia, stubborn as Vander. She looked at (Y/N) like she hung the stars when she helped her tie her boots or sound out long words in dog-eared books.

They weren’t hers. Not really.

But they were.

And now there was a war coming.

Not a whisper. Not a theory. A date. A choice.

She looked down at her hands. Scarred. Capable. And shaking.

Not from fear. Not exactly.

But because she knew what this path cost.

She heard a chair scrape back and looked up just as Silco approached. His coat was still draped over one shoulder, his expression unreadable, though the shadows beneath his eyes were darker than usual.

“You didn’t say anything,” he said as he slid into the booth across from her.

(Y/N) held his gaze. Steady. “Didn’t seem like there was much room for second thoughts.”

Silco tilted his head, studying her. “You don’t agree?”

“I don’t think it matters,” she said. “You’ve already decided.”

Her voice wasn’t bitter. Just tired.

Silco didn’t argue. Just leaned back, fingers tapping against the table’s edge. “You’re thinking about them.”

“Always.” Her voice softened. “Powder wants a new toolbelt for her birthday. Violet’s been asking for boots like Vander’s.”

She smiled, sad, faint. “They don’t know what’s coming.”

Silco went quiet. Long enough that the silence almost felt like an answer.

“Neither do we,” he said finally. “Not really.”

“But you’ll still go.”

“I have to.”

“I know.”

They sat there, still and silent, the weight of three months stretching out between them like a lit fuse.

Then- “Promise me something,” she said, eyes locked on his.

Silco straightened. “Anything.”

“If this falls apart,” she said, low and sure, “make sure you are safe.”

His eyes darkened- not from coldness, but something heavier. Fiercer. “I will.”

“I’ll stay behind,” she added. “With the kids. I won’t fight. Not this time. I’m not letting them wonder where I went.”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. “You won’t lose what you built,” he said quietly. “Not if I can stop it.”

She nodded, throat tight. And squeezed his hand back.

Powder’s birthday came faster than expected.

The Last Drop still hummed with the tension of what was coming. But that day… that day, she didn’t let it touch them.

She slipped out early, arms full when she returned- scraps of cloth in soft colors, sweets from the docks, a small mechanical toy she’d bartered for with a vendor who owed Felicia a favor.

Most wouldn’t notice the changes in the bar. But the ones who mattered? They would.

Ribbons of powder blue and pink, twisted with wire, hung along the stair rail. A booth had been cleared- mismatched dishes, a crooked cake Vander swore wasn’t terrible, and two paper signs marked in shaky handwriting: VIOLET and POWDER.

Violet was the first down, barefoot and wide-eyed. “Is that cake?”

“Patience, firecracker,” (Y/N) grinned, scooping her up. “Birthday girl’s not even here yet.”

Felicia followed, Powder half-asleep on her shoulder, hair sticking out like she’d wrestled a static storm. Her fist still gripped a screwdriver.

“Happy birthday, Powpow,” (Y/N) whispered, lifting her carefully.

Powder blinked. “Is that… a cake?”

“Told you!” Violet beamed.

The party was quiet, small, warm. The best kind. Powder opened her little pile of gifts- buttons, gears, a satchel just her size, and a handmade goggle strap from (Y/N) that lit up at the clasp.

“Now you look like a real inventor,” she teased, ruffling her hair.

Powder beamed and threw her arms around her neck.

Across the room, Felicia met her eyes. A look passed between them. Quiet. Thankful.

(Y/N) just nodded and held Powder tighter.

She didn’t forget Violet either- slipping her a box wrapped in old newspaper with boot laces dyed her favorite color.

“Not your birthday,” she said with a smirk, “but being a big sister’s hard work.”

Violet grinned, tackled her in a hug.

The day passed in soft bursts of joy- chalk drawings on the bar walls, Powder tinkering with her new tools, Violet staging wild games in the back room.

For just a while, nothing else existed.

No war. No countdown. Just them.

Later, when the girls were asleep upstairs- bellies full, faces sticky with frosting- Felicia pulled her into a long hug.

“You’re too good to us,” she murmured.

“You’re my family,” (Y/N) whispered back. “I’d do it all again.”

Felicia sniffed. Laughed softly. “Don’t say that too loud. Might end up with another kid.”

“God, no.”

But she laughed too.

It was Powder’s day.

And (Y/N) made sure it was a good one.

Even with the clock still ticking.

The days had started to blur. Since Powder’s birthday, time had shifted- tilted on its axis. What used to feel like months now passed in weeks. Weeks collapsed into days. Now, the revolution was close enough to taste, and (Y/N) felt every second of it like a noose pulling tighter around her throat.

She kept moving. That’s how she managed it.

She cleaned up after the girls, swept the bar floors, restocked shelves, re-fastened loose nails. She fixed Violet’s boots in the mornings, helped Powder organize her new toolbelt, double-checked the locks at night. Always busy. Always doing. Because the moment she stopped- even for a breath- something in her chest cracked open.

She avoided Silco more than she wanted to. Slipped out of the room when he came in. Kept her replies short when he asked questions, her gaze lowered, never lingering. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t distance. She loved him- god, she loved him. But something in her gut had gone wrong. A slow, sick churn that wouldn’t leave her.

It was the same feeling she’d had before the last sheriff fell. Before every loss she hadn’t seen coming.

Everyone else seemed ready. The Undercity buzzed with tension, with quiet coordination. Weapons hidden. Escape routes mapped. Vander kept a layout of the city splayed across the back room table. Silco paced over it with sharp eyes, memorizing the paths like scripture. They were prepared. They believed.

And she wanted to believe with them.

She knew their reasons were real. She knew they were fighting for something better. But that didn’t stop the pit in her stomach from growing each time she walked past Vander bent over plans, or Silco murmuring to the others, fire catching behind his words.

At night, when the bar quieted, she sit awake in the dark listening to the soft sounds above- Powder’s breathing, Violet’s snoring- and wondered whether she’d ever hear them again once the smoke cleared.

One night, she stood at the window long after the lights were out, arms wrapped tight around herself. The city glowed that familiar, sickly green in the distance.

She didn’t hear him until he spoke.

“You’re avoiding me.”

His voice was soft. Not accusing- just... true.

(Y/N) flinched. Closed her eyes.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, barely a whisper.

Silco stepped closer, not crowding her, but close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

“Of the fight?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Of what it’s going to take.”

Silco was quiet. Then, low and sure- “It’s already taken everything. This is the only way we get it back.”

She didn’t argue. Just turned her gaze back to the window, watching the city pulse.

“I just want them safe,” she murmured. “That’s all I care about now.”

He nodded once. “Then stay with them. No matter what.”

She turned finally, looked at him fully for the first time in days.

“You’ll come back?”

There was a pause. A long one. Then-

“…I’ll try.”

Not a promise. Just a truth.

It had to be enough.

…Dawn came too fast…

The Undercity held its breath beneath the pale, grey light, every alley and window draped in anxious silence. No birds. No whistles. No drunken laughter. Just boots, gear, metal. War at the door.

Inside The Last Drop, the air felt frozen in place. Violet and Powder sat on the stairs, wide-eyed and quiet. Not babies anymore. They understood enough.

(Y/N) knelt in front of them, steadying her voice even though her hands trembled.

“Just another day,” she whispered. “That’s all. You’re staying with me, doors locked, windows tight. We stay quiet, okay?”

Violet nodded slowly. “Is something bad happening?”

(Y/N) smoothed her hair and kissed her brow. “No. Not to you.”

Then came the footsteps.

Silco. Vander. Felicia. Connol. Benzo. Others, too. Armed, armored, resolved.

(Y/N) stood and moved to Felicia first, hugging her tight. “Watch Connol’s back.”

“Always,” Felicia murmured.

She hugged Connol  and Benzo, firm and quick. Then Vander- no words, just a shared embrace, the kind that said everything without needing to speak.

And then Silco.

He stood still, but the moment she reached for him, his arms wrapped around her in an instant. No hesitation. It was the kind of embrace that tried to memorize- her scent, her warmth, the way her magic thrummed just beneath her skin.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, then leaned in, kissing him deep and desperate, her fingers curled in his coat, the other at his jaw. When she broke the kiss, her lips ghosted his ear.

“You better fucking come back.”

His breath hitched. Just a little. Then he rested his forehead against hers.

“I will,” he whispered. “If only so you don’t burn the city down looking for me.”

She huffed a shaky laugh. Didn’t let go until she had to.

And then- like that- they were gone.

She locked the door behind them with trembling fingers and turned back to the girls. Wrapped her arms around them and held on.

Outside, the Undercity marched to war.

Inside, she kept the light on…

The silence was wrong.

It wasn’t peaceful. It was bracing. Even the air held still, like the city was exhaling for the last time.

(Y/N) did everything she could to distract the girls. Old books. Chalk drawings. Gentle songs hummed through clenched teeth. But her hands kept shaking.

And she knew.

Then- the pounding. A heavy, urgent fist at the door.

She ran. Unlocked it.

Benzo stood there, blood on his shirt, breathing ragged, eyes wide with horror.

“They knew,” he gasped. “They were waiting- we walked right into it- too many-”

She didn’t wait to hear the rest.

“Stay with the girls,” she ordered, already pulling on her coat.

“Auntie-!” Violet cried.

“Don’t follow me,” (Y/N) barked. “Stay with Benzo.”

She was gone before they could answer.

Smoke painted the sky as she ran- choking, black smoke that billowed across rooftops. The closer she got to the bridge, the thicker it became.

She arrived to chaos.

Screams. Steel. Bodies. Blood slicking the cobblestones. Enforcers everywhere. Zaunites, too- some fighting, some fallen.

No time to think.

Magic surged to her hands, golden light cracking from her fingers. She fought like she was made for it. Threw herself over downed allies, cast fire toward enemies, keeping them at bay.

Then she saw him- Vander, bloodied and using his gauntlets to fight with every muscle. She cut her way to him. No words. Just movement. Two parts of the same storm.

And then-

“Auntie!!”

The voice cut through everything. High. Familiar. Too close.

She turned, eyes wide.

Violet stood just beyond the fight, Powder clinging to her side.

“Benzo let them leave?” she breathed, fury flashing hot.

She darted to them.

“Where are they?!” Violet sobbed. “Where’s Mama? Dad?!”

(Y/N) looked to Vander.

His eyes dropped- just once- toward a heap of rubble nearby.

And she knew.

She followed his gaze.

Felicia lay crumpled, blood on her temple, Connol’s hand still wrapped around hers. Still. Silent.

Gone.

Violet froze. Shaking.

And everything inside (Y/N) shattered.

Violet threw out an arm, shielding Powders eyes with her fingers. “Don’t look,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her hands trembled.

(Y/N) was there in an instant, scooping them both into her arms and holding them tight- tighter than she’d ever held anything. Powder buried her face against her collar, breath hitching with quiet sobs. Violet clung to her shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright. (Y/N)’s knees nearly gave beneath her, but she didn’t fall. Not yet. She took a shaky step back from the wreckage, her eyes stinging, her lungs burning. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

She held her girls.

Then Vander was beside her, silent for a moment, his hand landing heavy on her back.

“Take them,” he said, his voice raw, thinned by smoke and grief. “Please. Get them home. Somewhere safe.”

She looked at him- just once- and nodded. No argument. No questions. Just turned and carried them away.

One on each hip. Powder crying soft against her neck. Violet stiff and silent, arms locked around her like a vise. The walk back to The Last Drop felt endless. Every step rang in her bones.

She slammed the door shut behind them, bolted it, barred it. Dropped to her knees with both girls still wrapped in her arms. Held them like the world was trying to take them from her.

But in the back of her mind-

Silco.

She hadn’t seen him. Not once.

And the thought of him- alone, somewhere in the smoke, maybe bleeding, maybe worse- was already beginning to split her down the middle.

Vander didn’t return until long after nightfall.

His footsteps dragged through the rear hall like dead weight. His coat was half-burned, his hands red and raw, crusted with blood. The door creaked shut behind him, too final. Like a war had ended, but no one had won.

(Y/N) was on the floor by the hearth, sleeves rolled, hands trembling as she dabbed soot from Powder’s cheek. Violet sat close, arms around her knees, eyes fixed on the door.

Vander stood there, silent.

She looked up at him, heart already sinking. “…Well?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her. Through her. Like he hadn’t left the bridge at all.

“I couldn’t find him,” he said finally. The words scraped out of him. “He’s gone.”

Her chest tightened.

Vander’s expression twisted. “He disappeared. Coward.”

She flinched.

“He let it all fall apart.” He began to pace- restless, agitated, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “I trusted him. And he ran.”

(Y/N)’s hand froze, cloth paused at Powder’s temple. That didn’t sound like Silco. Not the Silco she knew. But she could see it- the rage in Vander’s eyes, the betrayal coiled beneath his skin.

Now wasn’t the time to argue. The smoke was still clinging to them all.

So she said nothing. Just nodded once. Quiet. Then turned back to the girls.

Powder sniffled. Violet leaned closer, a protective arm around her sister’s shoulders.

(Y/N) dipped the cloth again, wiped the soot away gently, one streak at a time. As if she could clean the night from their skin. As if it would undo any of it.

Vander sank into a nearby chair with a heavy groan and didn’t say another word.

The silence that followed didn’t feel like peace. It felt like a wound.

Silco’s name wasn’t spoken again.

Not by Vander. Not by Benzo. Not even by the few who survived and had once stood beside him.

But (Y/N) searched.

She helped move bodies from the bridge- limbs stiff, clothes torn, faces she’d known. She found Connol’s body. Felicia’s. Wrapped them herself. But Silco wasn’t there.

She checked every face, every coat. Her hands shook with each one she turned over. Hoping. Dreading.

He wasn’t dead. Not there. Not anywhere.

He was just- gone.

And somehow, that was worse.

Then, one night-

She was settling the girls into bed. Powder was half-asleep in her lap, Violet rubbing at her eyes and pretending not to yawn.

A slam. The front door.

She flinched, head snapping toward the stairs.

Vander. Soaked through. Water dripped from his hair, his boots. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at her. Just stormed through, fists clenched, leaving muddy footprints in his wake.

She watched him disappear into the back, heart thudding.

She didn’t ask. Not yet.

But something in her chest sparked. A small flame. One that hadn’t burned in a long time.

Weeks passed. Then months… Years…

Life reassembled itself in jagged pieces.

Violet grew louder, bolder, angrier. Powder withdrew into wires and gears, her grief funneled into creation.

Mylo came crashing into their lives a year later- mouthy, reckless, impossible to ignore. Vi challenged him before she even learned his name. Claggor followed soon after, calm and steady, the quiet gravity that kept the chaos from flying apart. And Ekko, sharp and fast, found a home with Benzo. He and Powder bickered constantly, but they always came back to each other.

The family grew. And (Y/N) stayed. Because someone had to.

The Last Drop softened. Fewer fights. More meals. It became a place worth protecting.

But the ache didn’t go.

Silco’s absence lingered in the corners. In the shadowed streets. In the quiet before sleep.

She never stopped loving him. She tried to. But she didn’t.

She stopped asking Vander. The look in his eyes when she did- the guilt, the anger- was enough.

So she let it go.

Or tried to.

The Undercity healed, if slowly. Vander swore off war, true to his word. The bridge remained, scarred and quiet. A marker of what had been lost.

Violet turned sixteen. All fire and fury, taller now, stronger. Protective to a fault.

Powder turned twelve. Brilliant. Strange. Her inventions more creative, even if most didn’t work, her mind was faster than ever. Her little fort in the kids room was a workshop of ideas no one else could follow.

And (Y/N) was still there.

Still waiting.

Still loving someone who might’ve died on a bridge or walked away from everything.

This was their world. Fragile. Messy. Real.

But somehow- it was still theirs.

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."

Another ’’where the hurt doesnt reach’’ with Chinki, akane and junko with male!reader please

A/N: Of course! Pretty sure I've made one of these fic's for most of the girls in the games now. That's fun :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.6

pt.5 - pt.?

pt.1

Chiaki, Akane and Junko x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Social Anxiety/Avoidance

Word Count: 3794

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

Chiaki:

The lights in the classroom flickered softly as the final bell rang. The hallways outside were already emptying, voices and laughter growing fainter with each passing second. But (Y/N) stayed seated at his desk, unmoving, his fingers curled tightly around the hem of his uniform jacket.

He hated this part of the day.

Not because of the classes, not even because of the exhaustion that dragged on his bones like weighted chains. But because eventually, he had to move. He had to walk out there. Past the boys who shouted too loudly, who bumped shoulders too hard, who laughed like threats.

His chest tightened.

"(Y/N)?" a soft voice floated into the room.

He flinched, halfway rising from his chair before registering the owner. Not a threat. Not him. Just... Chiaki…

The quiet girl who always carried her game console in her pocket, eyes half-lidded like she was constantly drifting through dreamy levels. She didn’t talk much, and when she did, it was often in game references and strategy hints. But somehow, she always noticed things no one else did.

Like the way he kept his back to the wall. The way he never raised his voice. The way he flinched when any of the boys clapped a hand on each other’s backs.

"...You didn’t leave with the others," she said, stepping closer, her bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. "Are you... waiting for someone?"

He shook his head silently.

Chiaki tilted her head. "Okay... can I sit here then?"

(Y/N) hesitated, then nodded. She took the seat beside him, setting her console on the desk between them. Her thumbs moved expertly over the buttons as a soft chiptune melody filled the space between them.

“I’m playing River Quest II,” she said, glancing sideways. “It’s about this kid who has to cross a haunted river to find his way home. But the boat he’s using keeps falling apart. So every night, he builds a new one. And even if he sinks, he tries again the next day.”

"...That sounds hard," (Y/N) murmured, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. But... I like it. There’s a lot of failure. But no matter what, the game lets you keep trying. Like... it wants you to win eventually. You just have to survive long enough.”

Her words sank into him slowly. Gentle. Understanding. Not pushing.

She didn’t ask questions like the counselors did. She didn’t talk about “opening up” or “dealing with trauma.” She just sat beside him in the silence, letting him exist.

"...You don’t talk to many people," Chiaki said softly after a while, her eyes still on the game. “Especially not guys.”

He stiffened. Instinctively. Reflexively.

She didn’t apologize. Didn’t backpedal or smother him with concern.

“I just thought you should know,” she continued, “you’re not weird for that.”

He turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable- but not cold. Just... focused, like she was watching a really important boss fight play out in real time.

"I don’t like loud people either," she added. “Or people who stand too close without asking.”

A breath escaped him- something like a laugh, though it barely had the strength. His shoulders dropped.

"...Thanks," he whispered.

Chiaki gave him a small nod, then paused her game.

“You can play with me... if you want. I can set it to co-op.”

"...What kind of game is it?"

“It’s not about fighting. It’s about surviving. Together.”

She handed him a second controller- one she kept just in case someone needed it. As (Y/N) took it with hesitant fingers, their shoulders barely touched. Just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t going to hurt him. That maybe, just maybe, this was his save point.

Later that evening, they left the classroom together.

The hallways had mostly cleared out, but a few stragglers still lingered- clusters of students chatting near the lockers or at classroom doors. (Y/N) kept close to the wall, his steps quiet, but his eyes wide and alert. Chiaki walked just behind him, humming quietly under her breath. The soft beeps of her handheld console were gone now- packed away- replaced by the dull echo of footsteps and laughter bouncing off the walls.

Then he heard it.

A sharp burst of male laughter up ahead.

He tensed.

There were three boys, loud and animated, joking about something and shoving each other playfully in the corridor. They hadn’t seen him. They weren’t even facing his direction.

But his throat tightened anyway.

His vision blurred.

The sound of their voices grew sharper, more distorted, like a tape warping and speeding up all at once. His legs stuttered to a stop. His chest locked up. His fingers went numb.

And suddenly, he was ten years old again.

Back in that hallway. Back in that house. The smell of beer and smoke choking the air. The sound of his voice- (Y/N)’s knees nearly buckled.

“Hey…” Chiaki’s voice came gently, like a hand through water.

He didn’t respond.

Her hand touched his sleeve. “(Y/N). It’s okay. Breathe.”

His shoulders shook. His eyes locked on the boys ahead, even though they were already walking the other way.

“They’re not looking at you,” Chiaki whispered. “They’re not coming over. You’re safe.”

It was a simple sentence.

But it anchored him.

He sucked in a shaky breath, then another. His heart was still pounding like it wanted to burst out of his chest, but the ringing in his ears began to fade.

Chiaki didn’t say anything else. She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she stepped in front of him and held out her hand.

“Let’s take the long way back to the gates,” she said quietly. “Less noise. Fewer people.”

He stared at her hand.

It was small, delicate, and open. She wasn’t pushing it into his. She just held it there, offering.

After a moment, his fingers brushed hers- tentative, like he was still afraid he might break something just by being too close.

She gently curled her fingers around his.

Her grip wasn’t tight. It wasn’t controlling.

It was just... steady.

Safe.

They walked the long way around the school, down the side halls that smelled like books and chalk dust, past quiet windows tinted gold with the sunset. She didn’t let go.

At one point, she spoke again. Her voice was softer than before.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“That’s okay. There are other ways to say things.” She gave a small squeeze to his hand. “Like staying. Or listening. Or letting someone walk with you.”

"...Thanks for walking with me."

Chiaki looked up at him, a small smile on her face, serene and real. “Thanks for letting me.”

And for the first time in a very long time...

(Y/N) didn’t feel like he was running.

He felt like he was choosing to walk.

Akane:

The cafeteria buzzed with the easy hum of student life- cliques forming in every corner, laughter and teasing flung across the bright afternoon. (Y/N) kept his head down, stirring the food on his tray without much thought. He sat at the farthest end of the cafeteria, away from the crowd, where the walls at least covered his back. Where he could see if anyone approached.

Most people didn’t. Most people knew he wasn’t exactly friendly.

And frankly, (Y/N) preferred it that way.

Another day where he could sit quietly and get through without an incident was a good day, by his standards. He flinched slightly when a chair scraped loudly against the floor nearby- too loud, too sudden- and his whole body stiffened instinctively.

When he glanced up, his stomach twisted. But then, calmed a bit as soon as his eyes met the scourse of the sound. It was Akane Owari, the wild, carefree Gymnast.

She plopped down into the chair next to him without even a hint of hesitation, swinging one leg over the other, holding a tray piled with food.

(Y/N) blinked in confusion.

"You’re not eating." Akane’s voice was casual but blunt, her brown eyes sharp even as she started shoveling food into her mouth without any embarrassment. "Why not? Food's good here. Kinda boring, but good."

(Y/N) opened his mouth, then shut it again. His throat felt tight. He didn’t know how to explain that sometimes eating was hard when everything inside felt wrong. That sometimes he could barely taste anything through the constant pit in his stomach.

Instead, he just muttered, "Not that hungry."

Akane squinted at him mid-bite. "You’re too scrawny," she said flatly, pointing her fork at him accusingly. "You’ll fall over if the wind blows the wrong way."

(Y/N) flushed and looked away. He wasn’t used to people pointing things out about his body- it made him feel exposed. Like when he was younger. When every flaw, every weakness, got punished.

A quiet panic itched under his skin. She’s too close. She’s loud. She’s noticing me.

But then something strange happened.

Akane... didn’t push. She didn’t laugh, or call attention to his weird reaction. She just kept eating, completely nonchalant, like sitting next to him wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t some kind of freak to be tiptoed around or mocked.

Minutes passed. 

(Y/N) felt himself starting to breathe a little easier.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Finally, Akane broke the silence again, her voice softer this time. "You can sit with me at lunch, you know. If you want. ‘Cause... you look like you don’t got anybody."

Her words weren’t pitying. They were just honest.

(Y/N) stared at her, heart thudding painfully.

He wanted to trust her.

He wanted to believe in even a scrap of kindness.

But fear clawed up his throat, memories flashing too vividly- other people pretending to be nice, only to hurt him worse when he let his guard down. His hands trembled slightly under the table.

Akane must have noticed. Because she leaned back in her chair, hands up, palms facing him.

"No touching," she said, like it was a vow. "I don’t like it when people grab me without asking, either. So, uh... promise I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay."

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

For a moment, he couldn’t look at her. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut tight.

When he finally managed to look again, Akane was just sitting there, lazily chewing a piece of chicken, like she hadn’t just casually offered him something he'd been craving for years.

Safety.

Choice.

A promise.

(Y/N) swallowed hard and gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Akane grinned at him, It wasn’t a teasing grin. It was warm. Friendly.

Like maybe she really meant it.

"Cool," she said. "You’re mine now. My lunch buddy."

And just like that, she went back to eating, talking between bites about all the weird crap she’d seen on TV lately, as if nothing had even happened.

Days bled into each other, and somehow, (Y/N) found himself... used to it. Used to Akane plopping down beside him at lunch. Used to her rambling about whatever crossed her mind- fights she watched, food she wanted, weird dreams she had.

He didn’t have to talk much, she didn’t expect him to.

And when he did say something, she listened like it mattered.

It was easy, in a way nothing else was. Easy enough that sometimes he forgot to be afraid when she sat too close. Easy enough that he didn’t flinch anymore when she burst out laughing or swung her arms wildly mid-story.

Until today.

Today was different.

He didn’t see it coming. 

Didn’t see the group of boys from some other Class rounding the corner, roughhousing like they always did. (Y/N) shrank instinctively when they passed too close, ducking his head, praying they wouldn’t notice him.

But of course- someone did.

One of them, a tall boy with spiked hair and a cocky grin, spotted him instantly.

"Hey," the guy barked, jabbing a finger toward (Y/N). "Didn’t know they let scared little rats into Hope’s Peak."

The group chuckled. (Y/N)’s heart slammed against his ribs. His chest constricted.

He tried to melt into the wall, praying they'd get bored. 

It never worked… It never worked.

"You hear me, freak?" the boy said louder, stepping closer. His shadow loomed over (Y/N). "You think you’re better than us, sittin' all quiet and weird? Huh?"

(Y/N) flinched without meaning to- sharp, instinctive, the way a kicked dog would. His breathing quickened, the old terror clawing at his spine. His palms were sweaty and cold at the same time.

"Leave him alone."

The voice cut through the air, sudden and razor-sharp.

(Y/N) barely had time to blink before Akane was there, standing between him and the guy, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a way (Y/N) had never seen before. Her whole body radiated tension- an animalistic readiness, like a jungle cat ready to tear into something.

The boy sneered. "Relax... We’re just messing around."

Akane tilted her head, cracking her knuckles one by one. "Yeah? Well, I don’t like it." Her voice was deceptively light, almost lazy. "Pick on someone else. Before I break your jaw."

The guy hesitated- maybe realizing that yeah, Akane could and would break something if she wanted to. He scoffed, tossing his hands up in mock surrender, before shoving past his friends and slinking away.

The group followed quickly, none of them daring to meet her gaze.

As soon as they were gone, Akane turned back to (Y/N).

Her expression softened immediately. No anger, no impatience. Just concern.

"You okay?" she asked simply.

(Y/N) opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was shaking- trembling- with the aftershocks of it all. But somehow, looking at her, he didn’t feel trapped. He didn’t feel like he was seconds from breaking.

He just felt... Seen. Protected.

(Y/N) squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deep, trying to steady himself.

Akane didn’t touch him.

She didn’t crowd him.

Instead, she dropped into a crouch right in front of him, balancing easily on the balls of her feet. She tilted her head again, smiling a little, almost sheepishly.

"I’m not good at this, y'know," she said. "The whole 'comforting' thing. But I don’t like seeing you scared."

(Y/N) opened his eyes slowly. His voice was hoarse when he finally whispered, "Thank you."

Akane grinned wide, her nose scrunching up.

"Hey, that’s what you do for the people you care about, right?"

Care…

The word landed heavier than she probably meant it to.

(Y/N) nodded slowly- another tiny, shaky nod- but it was genuine this time.

Akane rocked back on her heels, then stood up and offered him her pinky, wiggling it in front of him like a kid.

"Pinky promise," she said. "If anybody messes with you again, I’ll kick their ass. No questions asked."

(Y/N) stared at her hand for a long moment.

Then, hesitantly, so carefully, he hooked his pinky around hers.

It was the first time in a long time he touched someone and didn’t flinch.

Akane beamed. "Good. Now c’mon. You’re my lunch buddy, and i'm starving.”

Junko:

The world felt too loud for (Y/N).

The clang of lockers, the shrill excitement of new students meeting for the first time, the ever-present hum of fluorescent lights overhead- it all blurred into static in his ears. Hope’s Peak Academy was supposed to be a fresh start, but even walking these polished halls, (Y/N) felt a sinking pit deep in his gut. His scars didn’t show, not the kind that mattered. They throbbed silently beneath his skin, invisible to everyone else.

Everyone except maybe her.

"Ugh, could this place be any more boring?" a voice rang out like a bell, sharp and sugary sweet.

(Y/N) flinched instinctively, his shoulders tensing. He turned his head just slightly, not enough to draw attention. There she was… Junko Enoshima.

The Ultimate Fashionista. Long, wild pigtails, flawless skin, a magnetic presence that seemed to bend the very air around her. She was perfect. Perfect like a mannequin.

But as (Y/N) stared a little longer, he caught it- just a flicker behind those brilliantly blue eyes… Calculation.

He quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, panic prickling at his spine. Men were dangerous. Women... Women could be dangerous too, but less so. Still, people noticing him usually ended badly. He hoped she hadn’t seen him.

Of course she had.

Junko’s smile widened just a fraction as she sauntered closer, balancing on those towering heels like she ruled the world. She leaned down, just a little, to meet his hidden, downward gaze.

"Heyyyy. You're new, huh? What's your name?" Sweet voice. Thick with manufactured innocence.

(Y/N) opened his mouth, but his voice barely made it past his lips, "(Y/N)..."

She tilted her head, feigning a dramatic gasp. "Awww, you're shy! That's soooooo adorable~!" Her words dripped with honey, but her eyes... Her eyes stripped him bare.

It made (Y/N) take a trembling step back, his body recoiling before he could even think. He hated how obvious his fear must have looked.

Something shifted in Junko’s expression- so quick he almost missed it.

Interest.

"Ohhh, I get it," she chirped, standing up straight again, a hand resting lightly on her hip, "You're, like... scared of people, right?"

(Y/N) said nothing… He didn't need to. His silence said it for him.

Junko's gaze sharpened imperceptibly. This wasn't just shyness. This was deep, festering hurt. She knew the signs better than anyone. After all, wasn't she the Ultimate Analyst underneath all this glitter and glam?

"So cuuuute..." she said again, her voice softer this time. Real, almost. 

And dangerous.

Without asking permission, she hooked her arm through his and tugged him along, her perfume clouding around him like a net.

"Don't worry! I'll protect you from all the big, scary boys around here~!" she teased, but there was something underneath the sing-song words. 

A promise. 

A threat.

(Y/N) wanted to pull away. Every instinct screamed for him to. But her hand was firm. Not rough, like others had been. Not yet. And deep down, a pitiful part of him ached- ached for someone to cling to.

Even if it was someone as terrifyingly unreadable as Junko Enoshima.

Days bled into one another like spilled ink.

At Hope’s Peak, (Y/N) learned the art of invisibility. Keep his head down. Hug the walls. Speak only when spoken to, and even then, softly enough to fade into the static. 

But Junko wouldn’t let him disappear.

Every day, without fail, she found him. In the cafeteria, at the library, even once at the back entrance by the vending machines. A flash of blonde hair, a chime of mock surprise- "Omg, you’re here toooo?"- and she was by his side, smiling like they were childhood friends.

She never asked questions he didn't want to answer. Never touched him roughly… But she watched.

Always watching.

(Y/N) didn’t know if it was comfort or terror that curled tighter around his ribs when she was near.

But then… Something happened…

It happened three weeks into the semester.

(Y/N) was carrying a stack of books back to his dorm, arms full, vision half-blocked by the heavy tomes. He was focused only on keeping his breathing steady, moving quick but quiet down the mostly empty hall.

He didn’t see the boy until the shove came.

The books went flying, pages scattering like frightened birds. (Y/N) stumbled back, barely catching himself on the wall.

A tall boy, one of the rougher upperclassmen- he didn't even know his name- loomed over him, smirking.

"Oops. Guess you're just as useless as you look," the guy laughed, his voice a booming, cruel sound that cut into (Y/N)’s gut like a blade.

(Y/N) froze.

No breath. No movement. Like a rabbit in a wolf’s jaws. He barely registered the boy stepping closer, sneering down at him with twisted amusement.

"You even supposed to be here, freak? Weren't you scouted like, super late?" A hand grabbed at the collar of his shirt.

And then- 

Click clack click clack.

The unmistakable rhythm of high heels against tile.

The boy barely had time to turn his head before Junko Enoshima was there, stepping between them like a sudden wildfire.

Her smile was dazzling. 

Deadly.

"Uwaaah~ That’s not very nice of you," she sang sweetly, twirling a strand of her hair. "Picking on poor little (Y/N) like that. Don’t you know he’s, like, mine?"

The hallway seemed to shrink, the air thickening like a storm cloud.

The boy scoffed. "Tch. Whatever. I was just messing around."

Junko’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth. 

Still sugary sweet.

Still ice cold.

"Oh, I know~ You were 'just messing around'," she cooed, voice dripping fake sympathy. "But see, I reeaaaaally hate it when people mess with my stuff. Like, reeeeeally hate it."

Her tone never rose. She didn’t yell, didn’t threaten. She simply existed- so vividly, so suffocatingly- that the boy instinctively stepped back.

Smart boy.

"Don't let me catch you 'messing around' again, 'kay?" she said with a little wink, like they were just two friends sharing a private joke.

The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked off, disappearing around the corner.

(Y/N) was still frozen against the wall, every nerve buzzing.

Junko turned to him then, her expression softening into something almost... human.

"You okay, sweetie?" she asked, crouching down and beginning to gather his scattered books without waiting for him to move.

(Y/N) opened his mouth. Closed it… Nodded once, stiffly.

Junko smiled- really smiled this time- and handed him the top book.

For a moment, their fingers brushed. He flinched, but Junko didn’t push it. Didn’t comment. She simply dusted off his sleeve, brushing off invisible dirt like he was something fragile.

"You know," she said airily as they walked side by side down the hall, "Next time someone tries that? Maybe I'll just break their fingers~."

(Y/N) turned his head, wide-eyed.

She laughed brightly at his expression. "Juuuust kidding!~" she chimed, but her eyes stayed cold and glittering.

Not kidding. 

Not at all.

And somewhere deep in his hollowed-out chest, (Y/N) felt a strange warmth ignite- a tiny, desperate spark. 

Because even if it was twisted- Even if it was dangerous- For the first time in a long, long time, someone had chosen to stand for him.

Even if that someone was Junko Enoshima.