Ember In The Dark Pt.8

For my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Mondo with bondage and gags please? He gets the idea to try escaping bondage to prove how tough he can be. So he instructs his gang members to take him to an abandoned warehouse to shackle his barefeet to a heavy weight, handcuff him and tape gag his mouth.

For a potential angst plot, as Mondo struggles to escape his bonds, he reflects on his worth as a gang leader and if he'll be as good as his late brother. What do you think?

A/N: Sure, @princeasimdiya12! I can do that :}

Stronger than Chains

Mondo Owada Oneshot

Warnings: Physical restraint/bondage, Self-imposed suffering, Blood/Injury, Emotional distress/Self-worth issues

Word Count: 1762

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The clattering of chains echoed through the cold, hollow warehouse. The moonlight slanted through broken windows in thick beams, catching on the dust that hung in the air like fog.

"Alright, you punks," Mondo barked, pacing barefoot across the cracked concrete. His jacket flared out behind him with each swaggering step. "You heard what I said. Lock me down. Tight. I ain't playin'."

The Crazy Diamonds, his loyal gang, exchanged uneasy looks. They'd done a lot for their boss over the years- illegal races, turf fights, even the occasional back-alley brawl- but this was... new.

"Boss... You serious?" Asked Mondo’s right-hand man, scratching the back of his neck. "You want us to actually chain you up like some kinda... prisoner?"

"You deaf or somethin’?" Mondo growled, shooting him a look that could start fires. "Told ya! I gotta prove I ain't weak. No matter what tries to hold me down, I’m stronger. This ain't for you. It's for me."

A few nervous chuckles floated up, but they obeyed. Always did.

Mondo planted himself in the center of the room, arms crossed, head held high. His feet, bare against the freezing floor, shifted slightly as they brought out the iron shackles. Heavy chains linked them to a giant scrap engine block they'd salvaged from a junkyard- easily over 600 pounds. It clanked threateningly as it was dragged closer.

"Do it," he grunted.

The gang worked fast. Cold iron cuffs snapped around his ankles, biting into the skin slightly. The chain dragged heavy across the ground as they locked it securely to the weight. His legs were effectively stuck- he could shuffle maybe an inch at most, if that.

Next, they produced a pair of handcuffs. Mondo smirked through gritted teeth, shoving his arms behind his back himself, daring them to slap them on. They did, clicking tightly around his wrists, the chill of the steel stinging his skin.

"You sure about the last part, boss?" One of his men asked, holding up a roll of thick, industrial duct tape.

"Yeah," Mondo growled low in his throat. "No talkin'. No excuses."

With a nod, the man ripped a length of tape free and slapped it firmly across Mondo’s mouth, smoothing it down so tight it almost molded to the shape of his lips. The adhesive pulled at the stubble on his jaw, and Mondo instinctively let out a rough, muffled grunt-

"Mmph!"

He glared at the gang but nodded approvingly. Good. No backing out now.

The gang stepped back, watching in tense silence as Mondo shifted, testing the bonds. The chains clattered and groaned under the strain as he tugged at them. His muscles flexed, sweat starting to bead at his temples despite the freezing warehouse air.

"Mmphh-!" Mondo grunted fiercely through the gag, struggling harder, jerking his legs in place, but the weight was immovable. His bare feet scraped against the rough concrete, the iron cuffs biting deeper with each pull. He tried wrenching his hands free behind his back- the cuffs clinked mockingly.

He let out another low, furious moan- "Mrghhh...!"

His gang watched in awe. Their boss was thrashing like a wild beast, fighting every inch of steel with the pure stubborn force of will that had made him the most feared biker in the country. His hair clung damply to his forehead, his taped mouth twisting with every muffled snarl and grunt:

"Mmmf- rrmph! Nghhh!"

But no matter how he strained, no matter how violently he jerked against them, the chains held. His knees eventually buckled and he sank slightly, panting heavily through his nose, letting out a shuddering groan,

"Hrrmmphhh..."

Still... he grinned beneath the gag, the edges of his mouth pulling tight under the tape. He hadn’t given up. Not even close.

He was Mondo Owada.

And nothing- not even steel and concrete- was gonna break him.

The Crazy Diamonds hesitated at the edges of the room, exchanging another series of nervous looks.

"Boss said not to let him out 'til he tells us," One muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We better let him... work it out."

"Even if he's stuck like that all night?" another whispered.

There was no answer. He just nodded toward the exit.

One by one, the gang members filed out, boots scuffing against concrete, leaving Mondo alone in the vast, echoing warehouse. The heavy door groaned shut, and with a final clank, it latched.

Silence. Bitter, biting silence.

Mondo jerked his arms, muscles flaring beneath his jacket. The cuffs rattled mockingly. His bare feet strained against the shackles, toes curling against the cold floor as he heaved his body weight forward. The chain dragged maybe an inch, scraping noisily- but that was it. The heavy engine didn't even budge.

"Rrmmphh!" Mondo snarled into the tape gag, furious. Furious at the chains. Furious at himself.

He slumped forward slightly, panting through his nose. The tape clung uncomfortably to his sweaty skin.

Still bound, still gagged, still stuck. He squeezed his eyes shut.

And in that darkness, another weight- heavier than the iron- settled on his chest.

Daiya wouldn't have gotten caught like this, he thought bitterly. My brother... he wouldn't have needed some dumbass stunt to prove he was tough.

Mondo shifted again, writhing against the cuffs until the metal bit deep into his wrists. He groaned low, a strangled noise against the tape, "Mrghhh..."

Daiya had been fearless. Respected. Legendary. When he spoke, the gang moved like a single living creature. When he walked into a room, the air itself seemed to tense.

Mondo? 

Mondo still felt like a damn kid playing dress-up in a dead man's boots.

He growled through the gag, a long, furious noise, yanking so hard against the cuffs his shoulders ached. The cuffs held. The chains held. Nothing broke.

"Nhhrghh-!" he cried, thrashing again. His hair was plastered to his forehead, breath sawing out in desperate, muffled gasps.

He hated this feeling. This helplessness. This weakness.

Was he really just a shadow of his brother? Some reckless idiot who could bark loud but never live up to the legend?

Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he sagged forward, the chain rattling softly with the motion. He stayed there, kneeling on the cold floor, the weight of everything- the chains, the memories, the expectations- crushing him down.

A ragged, barely audible sound escaped him through the gag, "...mrmph..."

He wasn't good enough.

Not yet.

Maybe... maybe not ever.

But he would be. He had to be. For Daiya. For the Crazy Diamonds. For himself.

Slowly, gritting his teeth under the tape, Mondo lifted his head. His muscles burned. His skin stung. His wrists were raw against the cuffs.

Good. Pain meant he was still fighting.

Pain meant he was still alive.

And if he was alive- he could still win.

With a deep, snarling breath, he planted his feet against the concrete, every muscle in his body straining against the chains once more.

The engine didn’t move. The cuffs dug deep. But Mondo Owada-

"MMPH-!!" he roared into the gag, a savage sound of pure, unfiltered will-

Wasn't giving up.

The minutes- or maybe hours dragged by in a haze of agony and fury.

Mondo had no way of keeping time. Just the sound of his ragged, muffled breathing behind the duct tape, the constant clink and scrape of metal against concrete, and the burning fire in his muscles.

He thrashed harder. Again. And again.

The cuffs carved angry red lines into his wrists. His ankles ached from how tightly the iron shackles bit into them, raw and scraped from his jerking struggles. His jaw hurt from straining behind the tape gag, his skin tender and irritated where the adhesive pulled with every grunt and growl.

And yet-

He didn't stop.

"Rrrghh...! Mmmpghh-!" he snarled low in his throat, eyes burning, forehead pressed to the cold floor for a moment as he sucked in furious breaths through his nose.

He refused to let these chains keep him down.

He refused to be weak.

He refused to stay shackled to some damn hunk of scrap metal like a trapped animal.

With a savage roar, Mondo dug deep- deeper than he ever had before- and heaved.

Muscles screaming, he twisted his hands as violently as he could behind his back, wrenching against the handcuffs until-

CLINK- SNAP!

One of the cuffs popped loose with a painful jerk, biting his wrist open in the process. Blood welled up, but Mondo didn’t even flinch.

He staggered forward, dragging the chain still shackling his ankles. Sweat poured from him. His knees buckled. But his grin- God, his grin - split across his face under the tape, wild and triumphant.

He dropped heavily onto his side, forcing his hands in front of him, fumbling to rip at the tape gag with trembling fingers. His fingernails caught the edge of the sticky mess, peeling it painfully from his raw skin.

It felt like ripping off a layer of himself- but he didn’t stop.

"Khh-!" he hissed as the tape tore free, finally letting his bruised lips part. He spat out a heavy breath, his voice hoarse from grunting and growling for so long.

"Hahh... hahhh..." He sucked in deep gulps of air, tasting freedom, tasting victory.

Mondo sat there for a long moment, completely wrecked- wrists bloodied, face red and raw, legs still trapped by the heavy chain- and still, he laughed. A low, raspy chuckle that grew into a full, stubborn, defiant laugh.

"Heh... Heh-heh... Haah...!"

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a bit of blood and sweat, his chest heaving from exertion.

Still shackled to the heavy weight, still hurting all over- but free from the cuffs, free from the gag, free from the worst of it.

And even now, beaten and bruised and practically vibrating from the effort, that same cocky, stubborn smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"Tch..." he muttered, dragging himself slowly to his feet despite the heavy chain. "Guess... I ain't such a damn weakling after all, huh, bro?"

He could almost hear Daiya’s voice in the back of his mind- not laughing at him, not mocking him- but proud.

Mondo stood there, broken and bloody and still standing, and for the first time in a long time... he actually believed he was worthy of being the Crazy Diamonds' leader.

And he'd damn well keep proving it- no matter how many times he had to fight. No matter how many times he had to break the chains himself.

Art post!

These are some of my older, finished pieces. Most of my art is posted on insta, but I do have two art books posted ony Wattpad too (both of which are in my bio). I have a lot more of my old art in those, all from the age of like 12, all the way to current time. I won't lie, a lot of it is cringe, but art is a journey. It would be more surprising if I wasn't cringe in my early teens, to be honest.

Anyway, here is my art! It's a bit old, but I will post more recent art in another post :}

Is there a chance, and this is a crack one-shot, do one of Amity Blight accidently calling Charlie Mom? Its setting takes place during episode 3 of Season 1 with the trust exercises.

Also for an idea, instead of Amity being a witch she can be a Cat Sinner who died in the mid 1980s at 16. Just to make it a bit angsty along with some Odalia bashing.

A/N: LOLOL Sure, @beastkeeper91!!! Its a bit shorter than my normal works, but I figured that was okay, because It was only a silly little crack one-shot.

Trust Fall Trauma pt.1

pt.2

Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.

Warnings: Toxic parent-child relationships, Trauma responses, Mild language.

Word Count: 1159

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Charlie sighed, adjusting her clipboard as she rallied her little chaotic crew into the lobby.

“Alright!” she beamed with unnatural optimism. “Today’s team-building exercise is about trust!”

Groans erupted.

Charlie clapped. “It’s called a trust fall. One person falls back, the other catches them. Easy!”

That was when Amity Blight, one of the Hotel’s newer residents, felt her fur bristle.

She crossed her arms, tail flicking sharply. “That sounds like something invented by a corporate psychopath.”

“Exactly!” Charlie chirped. “Now partner up!”

It took some aggressive pairing (and a minor explosion), but soon everyone was reluctantly lined up. Amity ended up with Charlie.

Which… wasn’t terrible. Charlie was weirdly kind for someone born of literal Hell royalty. And she hadn’t yelled at Amity once, unlike what she was used to.

Charlie smiled softly. “You ready?”

“No,” Amity deadpanned. “But fine. Let’s get this over with.”

She turned, arms stiff at her sides, muttering, “If you drop me, I’m going to claw your face off.”

Charlie just laughed. “I got you, I promise.”

Amity hesitated for a moment. Then she let herself fall.

And Charlie caught her.

Effortlessly. Gently. Like she did this every day.

And something inside Amity broke.

A quiet, aching little thing she’d buried decades ago.

Her mouth opened before her brain could stop it.

“…Thanks, Mom.”

Silence.

Angel Dust howled with laughter.

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

Vaggie’s jaw hit the floor.

Charlie blinked. “Wait- did you just-?”

Amity’s ears flattened instantly, her face going crimson. “NO. NOPE. I- That wasn’t- Shut up-”

“Oh my-,” Angel wheezed. “She called Charlie Mom.”

“I am flattered,” Charlie said, cheeks pink.

“I hate all of you,” Amity growled, fur puffed up to max embarrassment mode.

She stormed off to the hallway, heart pounding like a jackhammer.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She hadn’t called anyone “Mom” since she was alive. And even then- Odalia Blight didn’t count. That woman had been more CEO than mother.

She still remembered the “trust exercises” her mother used to do.

“Trust me, Amity. You’ll be grateful for this training someday.” “Trust me, darling, this pain is for your own good.”

She'd rather rot in Hell (which, technically, she was doing) than ever call Odalia "Mom" again.

But Charlie? Charlie, with her sunshine-and-rainbows smile and the way she caught Amity without hesitation? That moment cracked something fragile wide open.

She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, tail twitching with frustration and… something like grief.

“Hey.”

Charlie’s voice was soft as she walked up, keeping a gentle distance.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Amity didn't look at her. “It’s fine. I just… glitched.”

“Everyone has glitches,” Charlie said. “I think that was really brave.”

Amity snorted. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

Charlie smiled sadly. “I know what it’s like. To have a mom who doesn’t… feel like a mom.”

That made Amity freeze.

“I just want you to know,” Charlie added, “you’re safe here. No trust fall required.”

And for the first time in a long time, Amity felt something warm bloom behind her ribs.

“Thanks,” she said, quieter this time.

And then:

“But if you ever tell anyone about this, I do have claws.”

Charlie just laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me… kiddo.”

Amity groaned, facepalming. “Don’t push it.”

For the next three days, Amity Blight perfected the ancient art of Avoidance.

She mastered it with the elegance of a cat slipping under a door and the speed of a bat outta Hell.

If anyone walked into a room- she left it.

If Angel Dust started teasing her- she vanished.

If Alastor smiled at her too long- she bolted like someone had lit her tail on fire.

But Charlie?

Somehow, Charlie was the only one Amity didn’t avoid.

Which only made things worse- because now everyone noticed.

Vaggie caught on first.

She cornered Charlie in the kitchen over a burned pot of… Something..? It looked inedible.

“She keeps orbiting you,” Vaggie said, stirring aggressively. “Like a traumatized raccoon. With trust issues.”

Charlie blinked. “She’s just… figuring things out.”

“Yeah, figuring out how to run away like it’s a track meet,” Vaggie muttered.

“She’s trying.”

“She called you Mom, Charlie.”

Charlie smiled faintly. “Yeah. I know.”

Vaggie gave her a look. “Are you okay with that?”

Charlie didn’t answer right away. Then she softly said, “I think she needs someone who doesn’t hurt her just for existing.”

Vaggie’s expression softened. She took over the stirring for Charlie, doing it a little… Less violently than she would have normally.

“Alright. Then we pull her in.”

Charlie tilted her head. “What, like… a redemption intervention?”

Vaggie grinned. “More like forced bonding.”

Amity was tiptoeing down the hallway, tail low, ears back, perfect stealth mode activated-

“AMITY!”

She yelped. Practically jumped out of her own fur.

Charlie was there, all sunshine and way-too-much-energy-for-Hell. Vaggie stood beside her, arms crossed, looking suspiciously like someone who'd just baited a trap.

“Come with us,” Charlie said cheerfully.

Amity narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“No reason!” Charlie lied terribly. “Just… hanging out.”

“Team-building,” Vaggie added. “Again.”

Amity took a slow, suspicious step back. “Is this another trust fall? Because if so, I swear-”

“Nope,” Charlie beamed. “Today’s activity is… redecorating!”

“Decorating?”

“The hotel,” Charlie said brightly. “You live here now. You should make it feel like home.”

Amity looked between the two of them, eyes narrowing.

“…this is a trap.”

“Obviously,” Vaggie said, grabbing her arm.

They ended up in one of the guest lounges, with buckets of paint, mismatched furniture, and an actual beanbag throne Angel Dust had labeled “KING SHIT ONLY.”

Charlie handed Amity a brush. “You pick the color.”

Amity blinked. “What?”

“This room’s yours to redecorate. Do whatever you want.”

Amity hesitated.

This didn’t feel like a punishment. Or a manipulation. Or one of those “trust me, darling” moments Odalia used to weaponize.

It felt… safe. Real. Like her opinion mattered.

“…Purple,” she muttered. “Midnight violet.”

Charlie grinned. “Classy. I like it.”

As they worked- paint splattering, Angel popping in to offer unhelpful interior design advice (“Have you considered GLITTER VOMIT?”)- Amity started to loosen up.

Just a little.

By the end of the day, the room looked… More her. And Amity felt like maybe- maybe- she didn’t have to hide in the shadows forever.

Later that night, after everyone else drifted off to their chaos or beds, Amity lingered in the lounge, curled in a beanbag with a book she'd found in a forgotten corner.

Charlie poked her head in.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I come in?”

Amity nodded without looking up. “Sure, Mom.”

Silence.

She froze.

Charlie blinked.

“…again?” Vaggie called from the hallway.

“IT WAS A SLIP!” Amity shouted, ears flattening, eyes wide.

But Charlie just smiled, soft and warm. “It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“…You should. It’s weird.”

“I think,” Charlie said gently, “it means I’m doing something right.”

Amity looked away, swallowing hard.

She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t cry. But she didn’t run either…

can you do sayaka, Celeste and Akane with male!innocent!reader who add a lot of aphrodisiac to their food thinking it will just make them exited not knowing true properties of that….

Hi there! I'm sorry, but I cant do this request.

I don't write any form of noncon, and in my opinion, aphrodisiacs are indeed that. Its like slipping something into someone's drink, big no-no for me. Feel free to send in other requests, though!

A/N: This is the sequel to Ember in the Dark! I really enjoy writing for this fic :}

Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.1

Silco x Fem!Reader

(Ember in the Dark- prequel) pt.1

Warnings: Violence/Gore, Death/Grief, Trauma, Substance Use, War/Revolution Themes.

Word Count: 6110

Summary: After a failed topside heist, the kids return to The Last Drop bruised and reeking of trouble. (Y/N) and Vander quickly realize something went wrong- an explosion, a chase, and Enforcer heat. They soon learn Piltover is demanding someone take the fall. Vander refuses to give up the kids. Just as Grayson arrives, Silco reemerges- changed, vengeful, and flanked by a monstrous ally. He slaughters the Enforcers, kills Benzo, and takes Vander. When Silco turns to (Y/N), she sees a man both familiar and monstrous. Despite everything, she still loves him- and when he asks her to come, she does. They disappear into the shadows, leaving the shattered remnants of their family behind.

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The bar had been alive with its usual hum- clinking glasses, laughter a little too loud, the low rhythm of a deal being whispered between regulars at the corner booth. (Y/N) had fallen into the comfort of routine, her hands quick behind the bar, pouring drinks and trading coin, while Vander worked beside Huck a few steps away, smoothing out a supply deal with his usual half-gruff charm.

It had been a good night.

Until the door creaked open, and the kids walked in.

The smell hit first.

Then the bruises.

Then- Powder’s wide eyes, Vi’s split lip, Mylo’s torn sleeve, and Claggor’s slumped shoulders. They looked like they’d crawled through the Undercity’s rot and back again, covered in grime, bruised and battered- and definitely not just from a run through the Lanes.

(Y/N)’s entire body went still.

Vander looked up, went quiet. She caught his eye, and they both moved without a word- leaving one of the bartenders to manage the bar.

They followed the trail of reek and silence down into the back room.

Before they even reached the door, they could hear the muffled voices- Vi’s sharp whisper, Mylo’s whine, Powder’s soft murmur- and something tight curled in (Y/N)’s gut.

She pushed open the door.

There they were- slouched around the coffee table like the ghosts of their younger selves. Vi in the armchair, sitting tall despite the bruises, her arms crossed over her chest like armor. Powder curled up beside her on the couch, her knees to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. Mylo and Claggor sat opposite, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze.

(Y/N) didn’t speak.

She turned and grabbed a stack of clean cloths from the shelf and tossed them- one to Vi, one to Mylo, one to Claggor. Her way of saying Start cleaning yourselves up before I lose it.

Vander’s voice broke the silence, low and grim.

“Everyone all right?”

Mylo huffed, eyes anywhere but on them. “Never better.”

Vander hummed, slow and deliberate. “Good.”

He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, his voice cold enough to silence the whole room.

“I don’t suppose you can explain why we’re hearing about an explosion and a foot chase topside. Four children fleeing the scene.”

(Y/N) moved quietly around the room, ignoring the smell, the grime, the tension in the air. She crouched in front of Vi, gently grabbing her chin, tilting her face side to side to check for broken skin or swelling.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she asked, low and sharp, eyes flicking over the bruises on Vi’s cheek.

Vi rolled her eyes and tried to pull back. “That we can handle a real job?”

Vander’s face hardened instantly.

“A real job?”

Vi straightened, her voice quick now. “We got our own tip. Planned a route. Nobody even saw-”

“You blew up a building,” (Y/N) snapped, grabbing her chin again, giving her a warning look that stopped her cold.

Vi tried to deflect. “That wasn’t-”

“Did you even stop to think,” Vander cut in, “what could’ve happened to you? To them?”

He pointed to each of them, one by one, and they all flinched. Even Mylo stopped pretending to act tough. Vi’s bravado shrank a little, and she looked down, finally letting (Y/N) finish checking her over in silence.

When she was done, (Y/N) moved to Powder, brushing dirt from her temple with gentle fingers. The girl hadn’t said a word yet, just sat curled in on herself, her eyes wide and glassy.

Vander exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face.

“Where did you even get this tip?”

Silence.

(Y/N) shifted to check Claggor’s arm, noting a deep scrape along his bicep.

Still silence.

Then Powder’s voice came, soft and tired.

“…We just heard it at Benzo’s shop.”

Vander’s brow furrowed. “From?”

“…Little Man,” Powder admitted.

(Y/N) froze just slightly- then closed her eyes and let out a breath, pressing a cloth to Claggor’s arm.

Of course it had been Ekko.

Of course.

Vander muttered a curse under his breath, starting to pace again as the room sat heavy in shame.

(Y/N) didn’t yell. Didn’t need to. She just kept working, her voice calm but cold.

“You’re damn lucky you all made it back,” she said, not looking at any of them. “You’re not invincible. And you’re not ready.”

No one argued.

No one could.

And still, in the back of her mind, a sharp pain echoed through her chest-

We were them once.

And look how that turned out.

The silence in the room following Powder’s confession hung thick- too heavy for the small space, for their small shoulders.

Vander exhaled deeply, weariness settling into his spine like weight he hadn’t shaken in years. He turned to Vi, but she was already standing, her chin tilted up defiantly.

“I took us there,” she said, her voice firm and unflinching. “If you’re gonna be mad, be mad at me. But you’re the one who always says we have to earn our place in the world.”

Vander’s jaw clenched, and he huffed. “I also told you time and time again- the Northside’s off-limits.”

(Y/N), still kneeling by Claggor’s side, looked up, her voice cool. “We stay out of Piltover’s business.”

Vi threw up her hands, talking fast and hot now. “Why? They’ve got plenty, while we’re down here scraping together coins. We’re supposed to just be grateful for scraps?”

She turned her glare to Vander, eyes sharp. “When did you get so comfortable living in someone else’s shadow?”

The words cut through the room like broken glass.

Silence fell.

Even Powder looked up at that, her face unreadable. Mylo’s leg bounced, fast and nervous. Claggor stayed still, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

(Y/N) sighed, slow and heavy, and pushed herself to her feet now that she was sure no one was bleeding out or had a concussion.

She looked at all of them- Vi’s glare, Powder’s clenched hands, Mylo’s sullen posture.

“Right,” she said, with finality. “Everyone out. Come on.”

There was no argument.

They stood, shuffling past her in silence. She guided them out of the room, her hand resting briefly on each shoulder as they passed, quiet reassurance even in her exasperation.

She left Mylo and Claggor in the hallway, watching them both closely for any lingering tension.

Then she followed Powder out the bar's back entrance, lighting a cigarette as the younger girl knelt by one of the bins, digging around with practiced ease.

(Y/N) watched her, blowing out smoke slowly- until Powder paused.

Her hand stilled. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something small, bright, and unnaturally blue.

A crystal.

It shimmered faintly even in the low light, and for a heartbeat, Powder just stared at it- eyes wide, breath shallow.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

But Powder flinched, snapping out of it, and shoved the thing deep into her coat like it might vanish if she just willed it hard enough. Then she bolted back inside without a word.

(Y/N) let it go.

For now.

She dropped her cigarette, crushed it under her boot, and followed after her, heart starting to beat a little faster.

Down the hall, just outside the kids’ room, she heard voices again.

Mylo.

“She's a problem.”

Vi’s voice, quiet. “Mylo, I'm really not-”

“Do you remember what was in that bag?” Mylo snapped. “The biggest payout we’ve ever seen. And she lost it.”

(Y/N) froze outside the door, hand hovering near the handle.

Inside, she heard the soft thunk of a ball bouncing against the wall. Mylo caught it. Threw it again.

“She made a mistake,” Vi said defensively.

“Name one time she hasn’t.”

“She’s young.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You were twice the person at half her age.”

A pause.

Then Vi’s voice, lower now. Bitter.

“You know what, Mylo? You’re right. There’s a bunch of things Powder just can’t do.”

Mylo didn’t hesitate. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The words hit harder than they realized.

Because Powder had heard them, too.

She ran past (Y/N) in the hallway, wiping at her face, shoulders shaking.

(Y/N) didn’t say anything- she just followed, quick and quiet, until she found her in the kids’ room, curled up in her little makeshift fort. The same one she used to sleep in after Felicia died. Nestled between blankets and pillows and broken bits of inventions, trying to lose herself in something that wasn’t this.

(Y/N) slipped inside the fort without hesitation, kneeling and gathering Powder into her arms like she’d done a hundred times before.

Like a mother.

Because she was, in all the ways that mattered.

She didn’t say anything- just held her, stroking her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her head like Felicia used to do, like (Y/N) had once wished someone had done for her.

Eventually, Powder’s trembling eased, though she still clutched at (Y/N)’s coat like she was afraid to let go.

Then footsteps.

Vi.

She stood awkwardly in the doorway, a small frown plain on her face.

(Y/N) pressed one more kiss to Powder’s head, then slowly stood. She passed Vi on the way out and didn’t say anything- just reached up, brushed a thumb across her cheek, and kissed her forehead gently, too.

Then she left them alone.

Sisters.

To mend it on their own.

She made her way out of the bar, walking through the Lanes. The air outside Benzo’s was thick with tension, the kind that curled around your ribs and didn’t let go.

(Y/N) spotted Ekko leaning against the wall just outside, trying to look casual but clearly on edge. His arms were crossed tight, eyes sharp as they scanned the alley like he was expecting someone to come flying around the corner.

She softened at the sight of him- such a little thing, trying so hard to act grown.

She ruffled his hair as she passed. “Hey, little man.”

He gave a small, tired smile, but didn’t say much- just gave her a subtle nod before returning to his watch.

Inside, Benzo’s place smelled like oil and metal and something acrid in the walls that never quite went away. Vander was already talking when she stepped in- low, angry tones, his back half-turned to the door.

Benzo caught her eye and gave a slight nod. “She’s here.”

Vander turned, and just the look on his face made her stomach drop.

“They’re blaming us,” he said without any preamble. “Grayson- she says Piltover needs someone to hang it on.”

(Y/N)’s jaw clenched. “Of course they do.”

“She said it came from higher up,” Vander went on. “One of the councilors. Said they can’t afford to ignore this. So they want blood. Names.”

Her arms crossed slowly. “Let me guess- they want our kids.”

Vander nodded grimly.

“They want someone to take the fall for the explosion. For the theft. For trespassing topside.”

(Y/N) didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him.

She knew about the deal- Vander had brokered it years ago, when they were still clawing their way out of the ruins of the bridge. Keep the Undercity quiet, and Piltover wouldn’t look too closely. Keep things calm, and they’d stay out of the Lanes.

It had always felt like a fragile truce. Like balancing a knife on glass.

And now… it was breaking.

“They think you’ll hand over the kids,” she said, flatly.

Vander’s eyes burned. “I won’t.”

Benzo didn’t interrupt. He just watched as Vander pulled a small device from his coat- a metal piece that could be sent topside.

Vander nodded toward it. “Grayson gave the signal. She’s waiting for an answer.”

(Y/N) stared at it, then nodded once.

“We tell her no,” she said. “And we watch everything.”

They made their way back to the bar.

The kids had already scattered down into the arcade on (Y/N)’s word- somewhere out of sight, somewhere quiet. Somewhere that used to be theirs when they were younger, running from the world before the weight of it caught up.

Inside The Last Drop, the mood had shifted.

The usual warmth was still there, but the edges were fraying. People were tense. Voices were low. There were more eyes on the door than there were on drinks.

(Y/N) took her spot behind the bar. Vander leaned against the far end, scanning the crowd, quiet.

They didn’t talk much. Just kept their ears open.

Hours passed like that.

And then-

The kids came back.

One by one, they filed in through the side hallway, muddy boots scuffing softly on the wood. They didn’t say anything, didn’t cause a scene. Just… lingered.

Near the back. Close enough to (Y/N) and Vander to be protected, but not so close they’d be noticed.

Smart kids.

They’d learned to move like shadows.

And for now, that was exactly what they needed to be.

The tension in The Last Drop had become thick enough to choke on. Whispers had turned to murmurs. Murmurs into open frustration. And when Sevika stood from her booth, drink in hand, there was no mistaking the shift in the room.

“We should hit them back,” she said, her voice cutting clean through the chatter. “We’ve got the numbers to best them.”

(Y/N), standing behind the bar with her hands gripping a towel a little too tightly, said nothing. But her chest stirred with reluctant agreement.

She knew Sevika was right.

But she also knew what happened the last time they 'had the numbers.'

So she stayed quiet.

Because following Vander’s lead- whether it sat right or not- was the only thing that had kept the Undercity from burning again.

Vander raised his voice calmly but firmly, pushing off from where he leaned.

“You sure that’s what you want?” he asked, stepping forward slowly. “We crossed that bridge before. And we all know how that ended.”

(Y/N) tensed. She didn’t move, didn’t speak- but the weight of his words hit her like a hammer to the ribs.

Felicia’s hands, cold and bloodied in hers.

Connol’s still body on the ground.

The last time she saw Silco.

She said nothing. Just lit a cigarette and looked away.

Someone else, half-drunk and bitter, chimed in from near the door. “You’re just protecting your kids.”

(Y/N)’s eyes snapped over her shoulder- straight to the back corner, where the kids stood, lingering. They’d kept quiet, kept out of sight, but they were still watching.

Still listening.

Vander didn’t rise to the bait. He stepped in calmly, the firm voice of a man who had earned this room.

“I’m protecting our people,” he said. “I’d do the same for any one of you. We look out for each other. That’s the way it’s always been.”

(Y/N) exhaled slowly, smoke curling from her lips.

“This’ll blow over,” she added, tone even. “We just need to stand together.”

Sevika scoffed, ignoring her entirely. Her eyes were locked on Vander.

“The Vander I knew- the one who built the Undercity- he wouldn’t be afraid to fight.”

The bar hushed again.

Vander stepped toward her slowly, unflinching, until they stood toe-to-toe. He stared her down.

“Do I look afraid?”

Without hesitation, Sevika fired back: “No. You look weak.”

Then she let out a sharp whistle.

Her crew stood up in unison- shoulders squared, weapons at their hips- and one by one, they filed out the bar behind her, Sevika last.

(Y/N) didn’t stop them.

Neither did Vander.

Silence returned.

The kids- still watching- retreated down the hallway toward their room. Not a word. Just quiet understanding.

(Y/N) let out a long sigh and lit another cigarette, taking a slow drag as she leaned against the bar.

Then the door opened again.

Three Enforcers entered.

Not the usual grunts. Higher rank. Clean boots. One of them, Marcus, stepped ahead of the others like he already owned the place.

(Y/N) straightened, flicking her ash but saying nothing.

“We’re looking for some kids,” Marcus said, eyes scanning the room.

Vander didn’t miss a beat. “Bar’s full of ‘em,” he replied casually. “Best be specific.”

As the Enforcers started walking, poking through corners and checking under tables, Vander moved behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle, uncorked it, and offered, “How ‘bout a drink, eh?”

As he poured, his fingers dipped under the counter- click. The emergency switch. A signal to the kids below.

Hide. Now.

Then, Marcus dropped a line that made (Y/N)’s head whip around in alarm.

“Ran into an old friend of yours,” he said to Vander. “Had some stories.”

The bar went still.

Marcus stepped forward and took Vander’s pipe right out of his hand, rolling it between his fingers.

(Y/N)’s body tensed. So did half the bar.

Vander gave a subtle shake of his head- don’t.

Marcus smirked. “You weren’t always the peacekeeper, were you?”

Then, without flinching, he dropped the pipe into the liquor glass. It caught fire instantly.

Flames crackled in the silence.

Vander’s jaw flexed, but his voice stayed even.

“Yeah, well… you can’t escape the past, right?”

He lifted his eyes slowly- toward the wall above the bar.

Toward the gauntlets mounted high.

The ones he hadn’t touched since that night.

“Be a shame if I had to put ’em on again,” he said, voice low. “Cast irons… well. They’re hard to clean.”

The fire between them flickered. The room held its breath.

And every single person in The Last Drop remembered exactly who Vander used to be.

The search didn’t last long. The Enforcers poked through the bar, lifting up old crates, checking behind curtains, pulling up floor panels that had already been repaired twice over. (Y/N) didn’t flinch. Neither did Vander.

Eventually, the other two returned to Marcus.

“All clear.”

Marcus rolled his eyes with a scoff, lips curling into something sharp and cruel. Vander raised an eyebrow, half a shrug in response.

But Marcus wasn’t done.

“You people down here are all the same,” he sneered, turning to face the bar. “Mistaking arrogance for bravery. You think you're standing up for something, but we all know there’s a crime behind every coin that passes through this place.”

He turned to face Vander, stepping in closer, voice dropping low enough to be lethal.

“You’re just a small man in a little hole the world forgot to bury.”

And then, just to twist the knife-

Marcus lifted his baton and slammed it down onto the burning glass of liquor, shattering it across the counter. Fire spilled over the wood, licking up the side of a bottle rack.

“And I’m gonna bury the lot of you.”

Then he turned, shoved through the crowd of tense patrons, and left with his officers in tow, boots echoing against the stone.

The door slammed.

Silence followed.

(Y/N) didn’t waste time. She grabbed a nearby cloth, slammed it over the fire, smothering the flames until the last of the smoke curled up and vanished into the ceiling vents.

Vander stood there, unmoving, jaw locked tight, eyes still on the door. That line had cut, but he wasn’t about to show it.

Once they were sure the Enforcers were gone, the two of them quietly made their way down to the kids’ room. The tension clung to their shoulders as they descended the stairs.

The kids were all there, huddled and tense. Powder had her hands fisted into her sleeves, trying not to shake. Claggor sat stiffly, while Mylo bounced his leg, eyes darting to every sound.

(Y/N) glanced around, making sure no one was more hurt than they already were. “Are you all okay..?”

Vi was the first to speak.

“No, we’re not okay. They almost saw Powder.” Her voice cracked, furious and terrified all at once. “What if they took her?”

Vander stepped forward quickly, firm but calm. “No one is taking any of you.”

(Y/N) nodded, kneeling beside them. “We would never let that happen. Not to any of you.”

But Vi wasn’t comforted. She threw her arm out, motioning toward the others, her voice rising.

“It’s already happening! You heard him- he’s not gonna stop. They’re gonna keep coming. So we need to fight back. And if you two won’t-” her eyes flicked between Vander and (Y/N), “-then I will.”

(Y/N)’s chest went tight.

It reminded her too much of another voice, another pair of burning eyes once full of conviction.

Silco.

Vander heard it too.

His voice was quiet, but laced with weight. “I’ve heard this kind of talk before...”

He gave (Y/N) a look- a heavy one- before gently placing a hand on Vi’s shoulder and guiding her toward the exit.

“Come with me.”

(Y/N) didn’t stop him. Just watched as they disappeared up the stairs, Vi’s shoulders squared with defiance, Vander silent and steady at her side.

She stayed behind with the others, crouching down beside Powder and gently wrapping her in her arms, murmuring softly to calm her trembling hands.

The kids needed someone to stay.

And she always would.

She stayed downstairs with the kids for a long while after Vi left with Vander- running a hand through Powder’s hair, checking Claggor’s bruises, pressing a damp cloth to the scrape across Mylo’s temple. No one said much. They didn’t need to. The air was heavy with all that almost happened.

Eventually, Vi returned. Quiet, but calmer. She nodded to (Y/N), the unspoken signal that she was okay now- enough, at least.

(Y/N) gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder, then stood, smoothing her palms against her thighs as she made her way back upstairs.

The bar was quieter now, most of the patrons long gone after the Enforcers had stormed out. Only a few lingered in corners, keeping their voices down, casting side-glances toward the bar where Vander stood alone.

He didn’t look at her as she approached. Just held up a half-crushed pack of cigarettes, and she took one wordlessly.

They lit up together, just like they used to.

Back before everything fell apart.

Before the bridge.

Before Silco disappeared.

Before Felicia and Connol never came home.

She sat beside him, leaning against the counter, breathing in the smoke.

They didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then Vander spoke, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.

“I’m going to turn myself in.”

The words struck like stone in her gut. She stared at him, cigarette paused halfway to her lips.

“If it gets them off the kids- if it keeps them safe- it’s worth it.”

Her chest tightened, and she felt the burn of tears she refused to let fall. Vander didn’t flinch. He just reached over and pulled her into a hug- tight, grounding, familiar.

“Promise me,” he murmured into her hair. “If I’m gone... you’ll look after them.”

“You know I will,” she whispered, voice shaking.

But before she could pull back, before the weight of goodbye could fully land-

Vander exhaled, slow and bitter.

“There’s something else.”

She stilled.

And then he told her.

What happened the night of the bridge.

How he and Silco had fought after the battle.

How Vander had overpowered him. Dragged him to the river. Held him under.

Cut his face.

Watched the man he’d once called brother claw his way from the edge, stealing Vander’s own blade before vanishing into the darkness.

“I thought he was dead,” Vander said, quietly. “For a while, I hoped he was.”

(Y/N) stepped back, her cigarette trembling in her hand.

“You tried to kill him?” Her voice was soft, but full of a furious disbelief. “You let me think he was gone. You watched me mourn him, and you knew.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Her jaw clenched, eyes burning. “You didn’t even try.”

He saw it then. The look of hate on her face. Like she didn’t recognize him anymore.

And maybe, for the first time in years- she didn’t.

Vander turned away, jaw tight, reaching beneath the bar for the signal Grayson had left. He figured now was as good a time as any.

But then the stairs creaked.

They both turned.

Powder stood there at the base of the stairwell, her eyes red-rimmed and sad, fingers curled into the hem of her oversized sweater.

Vander hesitated. Slowly straightened.

“…Want something to drink?” he asked, reaching for a bottle and grabbing a small glass- something sweet, the same kind of juice Felicia used to like.

She nodded, sliding onto the stool as Vander poured it and gently nudged it her way. “Cheer up, eh?”

But (Y/N) hadn’t taken her eyes off her.

Not until she saw it- nestled against Powder’s side, sticking out of her bag slightly.

The bunny.

Vi’s old stuffed bunny.

The one Felicia had given her. Years ago.

The one Vi hadn’t touched in ages.

Vander saw it too.

His body went rigid.

“…Powder,” he said, carefully. “Where did you get that?”

But she didn’t answer. Just looked down.

Vander reached under the bar for the signal.

His hand patted around.

And his face dropped.

“…It’s gone.”

They moved fast.

The second (Y/N) realized the signal was missing, her cigarette hit the floor, half-smoked and forgotten. She met Vander’s eyes- no words needed- and they were out the door before Powder could even ask what was wrong.

Benzo was just locking up his shop when they caught him.

“We need you,” Vander said sharply, grabbing the old man’s arm.

Benzo didn’t ask why. He saw their faces and followed without hesitation.

They ran through the alleys, cutting corners and weaving past the confused late-night crowd, boots echoing over cobblestone. (Y/N)’s heart pounded, every step fueled by a sick dread deep in her gut.

She’s going to turn herself in.

Vi already sent the signal.

We’re too late.

They reached the safehouse tucked just outside the Lanes, its rusted door creaking slightly under pressure. Vander pushed it open, and there she was.

Vi stood near the center of the room, her hands wringing nervously. She looked surprised when she saw them, her brow furrowing.

“Why are you-”

“We don’t have much time,” Vander cut in, stepping forward, already out of breath.

Vi blinked. “How did you find me?”

But Vander didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her, grounding them both.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “We all are. Always have been.”

Vi leaned into his touch, confused, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I… I thought this was the only way to protect the others.”

While they spoke, (Y/N) and Benzo had moved toward the front window, keeping low. She whistled sharply when she spotted movement outside- dark figures, uniforms, the glint of polished boots catching the faint streetlight.

Benzo’s head snapped toward Vander. “Vander…”

But he was already moving.

He cupped Vi’s face in his hands, eyes locked with hers.

“You’ve got a good heart,” he murmured. “Don’t ever lose it. No matter how the world tries to break you. You and (Y/N)… protect the family.”

“What are you-?”

Then Vander shoved her.

Quick. Rough. Out of nowhere.

Vi yelped as she stumbled backward- falling into the room behind her. Before she could get up, before she could reach for the edge, Vander slammed the door shut and twisted the lock.

Vi pounded on the wood.

“No- Vander!”

But it was too late.

She was safe.

And they would face what came next without her.

The banging hadn’t stopped since Vander locked the door- Vi’s muffled voice yelling his name, fists slamming against the wood from behind. It was the sound of desperation. Of betrayal. Of family being torn apart.

(Y/N)’s heart clenched with every hit.

Then the door to the safehouse opened.

Grayson entered first, calm and composed as always. Her eyes swept the room- landed on the sound coming from beheinde them- and she sighed softly.

“I’m guessing that’s for me.”

Before Marcus could take a single step forward, (Y/N) moved- planting herself in front of the door, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Marcus scowled and stepped forward anyway, only to find Vander stepping in front of him, blocking his path.

“You gonna let us make the arrest or not?” Marcus snapped, already gripping his baton.

Vander raised a hand, voice steady. “You’ll oblige a doomed man one last smoke…”

Before the sheriff could reply, (Y/N) already had a cigarette in her fingers, flicked it to life with a spark of a lighter, and placed it gently between Vander’s lips. Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

Even now… even after what he’d confessed…

He was family.

He had always been family.

Vander took a long drag, the smoke curling slowly from his lips as he exhaled, voice low and rough.

“Won’t you?”

But before Marcus could lunge again, Grayson moved- swiftly stepping in, shoving Marcus aside without even blinking.

“I’m not putting you away, Vander,” she said, looking up at him, her voice tired but sincere.

Vander’s lips twitched in something close to a smile. “The council needs its pound of flesh.”

“Without you down here,” she countered, “it all falls apart.”

Vander shook his head, smoke trailing from his mouth as he gestured toward the others. “Benzo and (Y/N) will handle things. Might not have my devilish charm, but they run a tight ship.”

Grayson’s expression darkened, just slightly. “You won’t be coming back. Not for a long time.”

Vander took one last drag of the cigarette before pressing the cherry into the floor and crushing it under his boot.

Then he held out his wrists to Marcus.

“…I know.”

Grayson looked at him one last time. “Why?”

Vander’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

“It’s the only way.”

Marcus stepped forward, grabbing Vander roughly and binding his wrists. Vander didn’t fight it.

(Y/N) stood frozen as they turned to leave, the air thick with something that felt like grief- but not quite.

She looked back- just once- at the door behind her. She could still hear Vi banging, yelling. Her voice muffled by wood and fate.

And then, with a heavy heart, she followed them out.

The night air outside the safehouse was sharp, unnervingly still. (Y/N)'s boots hit the stone with practiced calm, her eyes scanning the shadows, instinct prickling at the back of her neck.

Something felt wrong.

Then- a blur.

Faster than any of them could react.

A sound like a blade slicing through the air.

And in one sickening swoop, Enforcers dropped like puppets with cut strings- blood spraying across the cobblestones. Limbs twisted. Armor crumpled. The sheriff was the last to fall, her body collapsing with a weighty thud, lifeless eyes staring at the stars.

(Y/N) froze. Vander cursed, stepping back instinctively, placing himself between her and the carnage.

Vander muttered, “What the devil…”

Marcus stumbled back, panic on his face, reaching for a weapon he barely knew how to use.

Benzo was quicker. He snatched up a pipe from the blood-slicked ground, holding it steady in both hands, old soldier instincts kicking in. “Stay close,” he muttered to (Y/N), voice taut.

But (Y/N) wasn’t hiding anymore.

The grief. The rage. The betrayal. It had been simmering under her skin for years- and now, with the taste of death in the air and the weight of fate hanging heavy, she let it burn.

Her hands lit with flame.

Her magic surged, raw and electric, glowing through the veins in her fingers like wildfire. Her eyes blazed with power, bright and defiant, reflecting the fire pooling at her fingertips.

No more hiding.

Vander stepped forward slowly- his eyes locked on something just beyond the smoke and ruin.

And then his face fell.

“…No,” he breathed.

(Y/N) turned, eyes narrowing, senses sharp.

And then she saw it too.

A figure stepped forward from the shadows. Cloaked in smoke, half-silhouetted by the flickering light of burning lamplight. His shoulders were broad. His coat was unfamiliar. But one eye- one eye- glowed an unnatural, searing orange, burning like a dying star.

She didn’t recognize him at first.

Not until Benzo let out a hoarse, broken whisper beside her.

“…Silco?”

The name struck her like lightning.

Her flames faltered for the briefest moment.

That thing- that man standing before them, drenched in shadow and ruin- was Silco.

Her Silco.

But something was wrong.

Something had changed.

And whatever had crawled out of the river that night wasn’t the man who had once held her like she was everything in the world.

But it was him.

And her heart cracked open at the sight.

Benzo was the first to move.

He let out a sharp cry, his pipe raised high as he charged forward- anger flashing in his eyes. “You animal!” he shouted. “Go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of!”

The moment cracked.

Out of instinct- old, ingrained instinct- (Y/N) almost stepped in front of Silco.

Her body remembered before. Before the fire, before the hatred, before the bridge.

Before the man she loved had disappeared beneath the surface.

“Benzo, stay back!” Vander yelled, already lunging forward, hand outstretched.

But it was too late.

Silco tilted his head slightly, his eye never leaving (Y/N). His voice came low, almost amused. “You never did know when to walk away… Benzo.”

And then it happened.

A whip of movement- barely visible, a blur of sinew and shadow- and the creature returned.

The same unnatural beast that had slaughtered the Enforcers moved again, and in the span of a breath, Benzo was gone.

His body hit the ground hard, unmoving.

(Y/N) froze.

Her magic flickered.

Her gaze locked on Benzo’s lifeless frame.

A strangled sound escaped Vander’s throat as he fell to his knees. “No!”

He scrambled toward his old friend, grief crashing through him like a wave.

Silco stood over it all, watching.

His voice was quieter now, maybe even tired. “Stubborn till the end…”

Marcus, pale and shaken, stepped forward slowly, breath ragged. “What the hell have you done? This- this wasn’t the deal!”

Silco turned his head toward him, one hand still clasped neatly behind his back. He walked slowly, deliberately, like the world around him hadn’t just shifted on its axis.

“Deal’s changed,” he said calmly, before tossing a pouch of gold at Marcus’s feet.

It hit the ground with a heavy clink, blood flecking the edge.

Marcus stared at it. But said nothing.

(Y/N) hadn’t moved.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Benzo.

Not until she felt him approaching.

Silco’s footsteps were soft, measured, until he stood in front of her. The creature behind him moved toward Vander- without a word- and slammed its fist into the side of Vander’s head. The crack of impact echoed in the alley as Vander slumped unconscious.

(Y/N) twitched, but didn’t react.

She couldn’t.

The monster picked Vander up like a ragdoll and disappeared into the shadows.

Silco… stayed.

He turned his full attention to her.

And for the first time in nearly a decade, she looked into both of his eyes.

One glowing bright, unnatural orange.

And one still the same soft, piercing blue she remembered falling in love with.

Even now, with everything burning around them, with blood still warm on the ground, with her magic humming violently at her fingertips-

Her heart ached.

Still.

Silco reached up, slowly, fingers brushing her chin.

His touch was gentle. Too gentle.

“Did you know?” he asked, voice low. Measured.

“…D… Did I know?”

“Of what happened between Vander and I.”

She swallowed hard.

“…Not… until today.”

Silco’s face barely moved, but something behind his eyes flickered—pain, maybe. Memory.

“I don’t wish to hurt you,” he said, quietly. “But you have to come with me.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what she was doing when she nodded.

Her thoughts were gone- ripped out like a tide.

All she could feel was the burn in her chest, the roaring silence in her mind.

She nodded again, slower this time.

And Silco, seeing her surrender, nodded in return.

Then, without a word, he reached down, took her hand into his-

And led her away.

Away from the blood.

Away from the flame.

Away from the person she had become in his absence.

Marcus watched them disappear into the shadows.

And said nothing.

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

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

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

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.5

pt.4 - pt.6

pt.1

Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 2930

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

Kyoko: 

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

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

He flinched as the door clicked open behind him.

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

“Good morning.”

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

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

But she didn’t mind. She never did.

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

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

But Kyoko wasn’t like them.

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

“…yeah,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In silence. In stillness.

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

Healing is quiet, but constant.

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

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

Kyoko.

“Hi,” he murmured before she even spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The panic came fast. Sharp. Ugly.

His breath caught. Vision blurred.

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

“(Y/N)!”

Her voice cut through the noise.

She was there in seconds.

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

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

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

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

But she didn’t leave. Didn’t falter.

“In… and out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaede: 

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

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

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

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

That was enough for Kaede.

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

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

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

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

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

“…You okay?”

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

Kaede nodded, never once looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaede didn’t stop playing.

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

The next day, he was there before her.

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

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

She smiled. “Of course it is.”

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

She didn’t comment. Just started to play.

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

One day, he surprised her.

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

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

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

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

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

Kaede blinked slowly, heart aching.

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

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

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

From that day on, something shifted.

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

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

Kaede would smile back, her heart swelling.

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

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

“Kaede?” he said, voice trembling.

She turned, instantly focused on him.

“…Can I hug you?”

The question knocked the wind from her.

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

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

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

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

Miu:

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

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

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

“…Ah. Shit.”

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

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

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

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

She took that as permission.

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

“…Why’re you being nice to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t overnight. But it was something.

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) smiled.

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

One night, he reached for her hand.

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

His fingers brushed hers. Hesitant. Unsure.

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

But she didn’t pull away.

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

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

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

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

She just let him rest there.

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

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

- (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.”

Had to remake this post, because someone reported it for a symbol on one of the images, (that I didn't see and forgot to sensor, so fair. I respect that.) but I'm posting it again, because I feel like I absolutely need to.

To whoever this person is, I genuinely hope you get help, you freak.

I'm more than likely going to stop writing for this character, because jeez, I do not want to deal with that shit again.

TW: threats under the cut.

I knew the Danganronpa community was ick, but I guess I underestimated how foul some of the people in the community could be. At first I was like "haha, this is cringe, funny." But then the stuff he sent kept getting worse, and worse. THEN he threatened to r@pe me, like it was some fun little thing he could just throw around. As a S/A survivor myself, I think you are absolutely horrendous. You need help.

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.”