YAYYY Thanks For Kyoko/Celeste/Toko Request It Was Awesome (the Inclusion Of Jack Caught Me Off Guard

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.

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

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.

Please may I have The Walking Dead platonic headcanons of what if Carl Grimes had a older sister who is maybe 3 years older than him and had a 6th Sense when it comes to safe houses and places that is unlikely raided for supplies and what to avoid...e.g. if a certain place seemed overrun with walkers being one of them and when someone offering a safe haven being too good to be true and they seemed 'off'..which had saved her group on numerous occasions. She's a good one and always had been..even after her mother's passing, she promised to look out for Carl and for Judith. She learnt how to use a gun under her father's guidance at the start from the age of 12 before handling it on her own when it comes to having to shoot walkers..or use daggers. She is mostly the person who looked after and raised Judith since infancy and was willing to die to protect her when she was in harm's way.

Rick Grimes relationship with his daughter

Carl Grimes relationship with his elder sister

Lori Grimes relationship with her daughter too.

The Group's relationship with her..(with the same ones who knew Carl for a long time too)

Shane's relationship with her..and how he felt that she didn't see him as a father very much..she saw right through him but she didn't say anything because he was her Dad's colleague and friend.

A/N: Absolutely! I might make a longer fic based on this request! Already got permision from the requester :} I'm either gonna base it off this one, or make one new walking dead fic all together. Eighter way, ill credit you for the request, @the-letter-horror-lover!

Raised by the End of the World

Older-Sister!Reader x The Walking Dead Headcanons

Warnings: Violence/Death, Parental Loss, Trauma, Existential Despair/Sacrifice

Word Count: 1798

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- (Y/N) has an uncanny gut instinct that rarely fails her: While not supernatural, her "sixth sense" is more of a hyper-awareness built from trauma, observation, and cold survival logic. She knows the difference between quiet and too quiet. She’s the type who will stop everyone mid-step because something “feels off,” even if there are no walkers or sounds- and more often than not, she’s right.

- She can “read” people frighteningly well: One look, and she can tell if someone is lying, desperate, dangerous, or putting on an act. Rick has learned to trust her instincts even over his own at times. In abandoned houses, she can glance at the dust, placement of things, and smell of the air and tell if someone’s been there recently. She’s especially good at finding caches of supplies overlooked by others. She's the one who always checks under floorboards, between false walls, and above ceiling tiles. It’s almost become a running joke- until she finds a forgotten stash of canned goods or ammo.

- Rick started training her in basic gun safety and handling when she was 9, back before the world fell apart: It began with weekends at the range- slow, careful lessons on how to respect the weapon. Mostly so he could eventually go hunting with him, and actually know how to aim.

- She took to it quickly, surprising even Rick with her precision: She never flinched. When she asked to learn how to use a knife next, Rick hesitated, but taught her anyway- something he later thanked himself for.

- After everything went to hell, she became one of the best shots in the group: Not just accurate, but calm. She doesn’t waste bullets. Every shot counts. She's also quick with a dagger or makeshift blade. She's not the strongest, but she’s fast and precise- throat, eye, skull. She's had to learn how to end things cleanly, especially when Judith was with her.

- Lori loved (Y/N), but often didn’t understand her: While Carl was more emotionally reactive, (Y/N) was quiet, steady, and internalized everything. They had friction- especially as the world began to collapse- with Lori sometimes chastising her for “acting like an adult” or “trying to be in charge.” (Y/N) never argued back. She just kept doing what needed to be done… But deep down, Lori was proud. She told Rick, before her death, that (Y/N) was stronger than both of them- that she had something in her that would keep them all alive.

- Their last real moment together was quiet: Lori cupped her daughter’s face, said “Take care of your brother. Take care of Judith.” And (Y/N) nodded once, already promising without needing to say it aloud. After Lori’s death, (Y/N) was the only one who stayed with Carl that whole night. She didn’t say a word. Just let him lean on her until he slept… 

- Now (Y/N) often acts more like Carl’s second parent than just a sister: She's firm when she needs to be, but she's never condescending. Carl listens to her more than most, even when he pretends not to. They argue like siblings, but when the world goes to hell (again), Carl always looks for her first. If she’s nearby, he knows things will be okay.

- From the moment Judith was born, (Y/N) took over almost all of her care: She was the one waking in the middle of the night, rocking her, warming formula, changing diapers even during the hardest of times.

- Judith’s first word wasn’t “mama” or “dada.” It was “Sissy,”: The whole group melted when they heard it. She braided Judith’s hair when it got long enough, wrapped her in scraps of blankets when they were on the road, and told her made-up fairy tales when the real world was too ugly to explain. If Judith ever cried or screamed when walkers were near, (Y/N) would press her forehead to hers and whisper calming things until she went quiet- even if her own heart was pounding out of her chest. She once hid with Judith in a broken-down car overnight, clutching her tightly while walkers passed within feet of them She didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn’t breathe until the moans were gone.

- Rick sees (Y/N) as both his daughter and his second-in-command: After Lori’s death, she became the emotional pillar of the family, even when Rick wasn’t in a place to be the father she needed. He regrets that he put too much responsibility on her shoulders too early- relying on her to help raise Judith, to keep Carl in line, to read the room when he couldn’t. But deep down, he trusts her instincts more than almost anyone.

- Their bond is strong but often unspoken: Built on quiet glances, half-nods, and wordless understanding. When something goes wrong, she’s usually the first person he looks to. He’s told her, more than once, “You shouldn’t have to be this strong.” And each time, she just gave him a tired smile and said, “I know.” He worries about the cost of the apocalypse on her soul, even more than Carl’s. She carries so much, and rarely lets anyone see her fall apart.

- Carl both idolizes and resents her, in that complex sibling way: She’s his protector, his compass- but also a reminder of everything they lost. She was the one who taught him how to bandage his first walker scratch, who stayed up with him after nightmares when Rick was spiraling. When Carl went through phases of trying to be hard or emotionless, it was her disappointment- not Rick’s- that stung the most. She didn't yell, just gave him that look that said, "You know better."

- He never wanted to admit how scared he was of losing her: But when she once got clipped during a raid and bled out onto the concrete, Carl didn’t leave her side all night. She always made him feel like he didn’t have to be strong all the time. He could crumble, and she would carry the weight for both of them.

- Everyone knows not to second-guess her gut feelings: Even Daryl has said, “If (Y/N) says we don’t go in there, we don’t go in there.” She's quiet but respected- the kind of person people turn to when things get tense because she doesn’t panic, and she always has a plan. Carol shares a soft, maternal bond with her- the two often look after Judith together. Carol sees how much of herself is reflected in (Y/N)’s sacrifices. Glenn was always amazed by her resourcefulness; he once told Maggie he thought (Y/N) could find a full grocery store in a burnt-out gas station.

- At an abandoned hotel just outside of Atlanta, the group thought they’d struck gold: Clean water, canned goods, beds. (Y/N) took one step in and froze. Said the smell was wrong. Turned out it was a trap set by scavengers waiting on the roof with rifles.

- During a harsh winter, she led them to an abandoned church no one wanted to check: “too obvious,” they said. But she felt it in her bones. Not only was it untouched, it had a hidden root cellar stocked with old food from a prepper priest.

- Once, they were approached by a smiling man offering food and shelter at his supposed “community.”: Everyone wanted to hear him out. She stared him down, her voice flat: “He’s not hungry. Look at his boots- clean. He’s hunting, not surviving.” The man ran when she exposed him.

- When walkers broke into a safehouse and (Y/N) was upstairs with Judith: She shoved the dresser in front of the door, locked herself and the baby in the closet, and readied her knife. She didn’t expect to survive- only to keep the door shut long enough for someone else to get to Judith. In a moment where bullets ran out and Judith was in direct danger, she used herself as a human shield without thinking. Daryl pulled her out at the last second, but she was ready to die without hesitation.

- Once, she and Carl were separated from the group during a supply run: She kept Carl behind her the entire time, even when they were ambushed by a lone hostile survivor. She was the one who fired first- Carl never forgot the look on her face after. Calm. Empty. Controlled.

- Daryl Dixon: Daryl sees a kindred spirit in her. Not loud, not flashy, but lethal when it counts. He’s seen her gut a walker with one arm while holding Judith with the other. They often patrol together in silence, both appreciating the lack of small talk.

- Carol Peletier: Carol is maybe the only person who understands what it means to be both warrior and mother in one body. She once told (Y/N), “We do what we have to, and we carry it forever. That’s just how it is for people like us.”

- Michonne: She respects (Y/N) fiercely. They’ve fought side-by-side more than once, and Michonne once admitted she thinks (Y/N) has the best instincts in the entire group. When things feel “off,” Michonne always checks her face first.

- Glenn Rhee: Glenn used to tease her gently, trying to get her to laugh or loosen up. He told Maggie that she reminded him of a cat- quiet, deadly, and always watching.

- Maggie Greene: Maggie bonded with (Y/N) over motherhood. Though their circumstances were wildly different, they shared a resilience born from loving someone so small in a world so cruel.

- Hershel: Before his death, Hershel treated (Y/N) with warmth and fatherly affection. He once told Rick, “That girl’s got an old soul. Like she’s lived through this before.”

- Shane never knew quite how to handle (Y/N): She was polite, respectful, but distant. She didn’t laugh at his jokes the way Carl did, didn’t trust him the way Lori sometimes did. He could tell she saw through him. Through the bravado, the barking orders, the possessiveness over the Grimes family. And that infuriated him- because she never said anything. Never called him out. Just looked at him.

- That silence was worse than yelling: It was judgment without words. Shane knew she didn’t see him as a father figure- not even close- and that burned. He tried, once, to bond with her. Brought her a box of supplies and said, “Thought you’d like first pick. You earned it.” She just nodded and said, “Thanks,” but her eyes didn’t soften.

- After Shane’s death, she didn’t speak of him often: But once, years later, when Judith asked about “Uncle Shane,” (Y/N) just said, “He tried to love us. But he lost himself before he ever really could.”

ITS SO CRISP!!! I want the art book so baddddddd 🥺

Digital Artbook was released in Japan so I found some HD Silco concepts on twitter and upscaled them to an even higher quality

Ember in the Dark pt.3

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.2 - pt.4

pt.1

Warnings: Survival Struggle, Dark Themes, Alcohol use, Smoking, Themes of oppression and struggle, and Trauma.

Word Count: 2893

Summary: After a failed heist exposes (Y/N)’s magic, she, Vander, Silco, and Felicia lay low by working in the mines. Over the years, they establish themselves in the Undercity, with Vander saving to buy the bar that becomes the "Last Drop." As their influence grows, Silco shares his vision of an independent Zaun, planting the seed of revolution. While Vander is hesitant, (Y/N) listens- intrigued but cautious. Lost in her past, she drowns her thoughts in smoke and whiskey, avoiding what haunts her. Yet, the idea of change lingers, and the path ahead is uncertain.

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

The weight of (Y/N)’s secret still hung thick in the air, pressing against them like the smog outside their hideout. Now that everyone knew, there was no going back.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at her hands- at the faint traces of magic that still tingled beneath her skin. The others were quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Silco was the first to break the silence. "We need a plan."

Felicia snorted. "You think?" She gestured vaguely in (Y/N)’s direction. "This isn’t just some petty theft or smuggling job, Silco. She’s a mage. The second the wrong people find out, they’ll be all over us."

Vander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face was grim. "Felicia’s right. The Enforcers will come looking for whoever set off that magic during the heist. We don’t know if anyone saw your face, but if they did…" His jaw tightened. "It won’t just be you they come for, (Y/N). It’ll be all of us."

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted.

She knew. She knew.

She had spent her whole life hiding, knowing that even in the Undercity, where the laws were loose and survival meant everything, people still feared magic. Mages were either used, sold out, or killed.

Silco was watching her again, that calculating look back in his eyes. "Do you know how to control it?"

(Y/N) hesitated.

"Kind of," she admitted. "I’ve had to teach myself, but it’s-" She swallowed. "It’s not perfect. And when I panic, it’s harder to stop."

Felicia let out a long breath. "So if something goes wrong, you might accidentally blow up a building?"

(Y/N) shot her a glare. "I don’t blow things up."

"Could’ve fooled me."

"Felicia," Vander warned, before turning back to (Y/N). "We’ll figure it out," he said, like it was that simple. Like they could just sit down and solve this like any other problem.

(Y/N) wished she could believe that.

Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You need practice," he said bluntly. "You need to learn how to control it before it controls you."

(Y/N) frowned. "And how exactly do you suggest I do that? I can’t exactly go around throwing magic in the streets."

"Underground," Silco said without hesitation. "There are places in the Lanes where no one asks questions. The lower sectors, the abandoned tunnels- hell, even the Fissures. People go missing down there all the time. No one would notice a few sparks."

Vander didn’t look convinced. "And if someone does see?"

Silco tilted his head, smirking slightly. "Then we make sure they don’t talk."

Felicia groaned. "Great. Now we’re considering murder. Love that."

"We’re not killing anyone," Vander said firmly. "But Silco’s right about one thing- (Y/N) does need to learn how to control it. If the Enforcers come knocking, she needs to be able to hide it. Or fight back."

(Y/N)’s hands curled into fists. "I don’t want to fight."

Vander’s face softened. "I know."

Felicia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Alright. Say we do train her. Say she figures out how to keep her magic in check. What’s the endgame here? We just keep hiding forever?"

The room fell silent again.

Because none of them had an answer.

Eventually, someone would find out. The Undercity thrived on secrets, but it also thrived on selling them. And (Y/N)’s magic was worth more than just coin.

Silco’s gaze flickered toward her. "We don’t have to figure out everything tonight. But the sooner you learn to control it, the safer we all are."

(Y/N) took a slow, shaky breath. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want this.

But what choice did she have?

"Okay," she murmured. "I’ll do it."

Felicia sighed dramatically, throwing up her hands. "Fine. But if you do accidentally blow something up, I’m telling everyone it was Silco’s idea."

Silco smirked. "You say that like it would be the first time."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but something in her chest loosened… They weren’t running yet, but they would be ready when the time came.

The decision settled over them like dust, thick and inescapable. If they wanted to keep (Y/N) safe, they needed to stay put. No more bouncing from hideout to hideout, no more risky jobs that put them in Enforcer sights.

For a while now, they had talked about joining the Miners. It wasn’t glamorous work- nothing in the Undercity was- but it was steady, and more importantly, it was a place to disappear.

Felicia was the first to voice it aloud. "We should actually head for the mines, I guess..."

Vander nodded, rubbing his chin. "Yeah. The mines are deep enough that no one asks questions. No Enforcers, no Pilties. Just workers doing what they have to do to survive."

Silco looked less convinced. "It’s miserable work," he pointed out. "Back-breaking, dangerous, and not exactly known for long life expectancy."

"It’s better than getting caught," (Y/N) muttered.

That shut him up.

Felicia huffed, leaning back against the wall. "Besides, people go missing in the mines all the time. If (Y/N) needs a place to train, no one’s going to notice a little flicker of magic in some abandoned tunnel. They’ll just assume it’s fumes or gas leaks."

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted. She didn’t like the idea of being buried underground, of working herself to exhaustion in the mines just to stay invisible. But she liked the alternative even less.

Vander stretched, cracking his neck. "We’ll need to find someone to vouch for us. Miners don’t just take in new hands without a good word."

Silco smirked. "I might know someone."

Felicia raised a brow. "Of course you do."

"I make it a point to know useful people."

(Y/N) exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Okay. If this is what we have to do, then let’s do it."

The decision was made.

Tomorrow, they would start making arrangements. They would lay low, keep (Y/N) hidden, and work in the mines until they figured out their next move.

For now, it was enough to have a plan, it was enough to be together…

The years in the mines had hardened them all, but they had done what they set out to do. (Y/N) could control her magic now, keeping it hidden when needed, calling on it when necessary. She had learned to harness it, to let it flow without losing herself to it.

And more importantly, she had survived.

The four of them still lived together, still watched each other’s backs, but things were changing. They weren’t just desperate kids scrambling to make it through another day. They had goals now, real ones.

Vander had been saving for a while, working longer shifts, cutting corners on meals, taking riskier but better-paying jobs when he could. And now, he had almost enough to buy the old abandoned bar near the Markets.

Felicia had rolled her eyes when he first mentioned it. "You want to be a bartender now?"

Vander had just grinned. "I want to own something. To have a place of our own. A real home."

The idea had stuck.

It would take time, but if they pulled it off, it could be the start of something bigger. A place where they didn’t have to run. A place they could build something for themselves.

Silco had been skeptical at first, but even he had to admit- having a secure location came with its advantages. And Felicia? Well, she liked the idea of a bar because it meant easy access to drinks and a place to keep an eye on the people who owed them favors.

(Y/N)? She just liked the idea of having a home that wasn’t temporary.

They weren’t there yet. But soon, they would be.

And for the first time in a long time, the future felt like something worth looking forward to.

The mines had given them more than just a way to hide- they had given them purpose. Vander and Silco had worked their way up the ranks, gaining respect and authority, while (Y/N) and Felicia put in long hours, their earnings adding to Vander’s growing stash.

The bar was so close to being theirs.

And now, they just had to name it.

"‘The Last Drop,’" Vander mused, leaning back in his chair. "I like it."

Felicia snorted. "Of course, you do. It sounds dramatic enough for you."

(Y/N) smirked. "It is a good name, though. Feels… fitting."

Silco nodded, swirling the cheap liquor in his glass. "A place for the desperate. The ones at the end of their rope. The last refuge before you fall."

Vander grinned. "See? Dramatic. But I like that."

Felicia raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. ‘The Last Drop’ it is."

It felt right… It wasn’t just a name. It was theirs.

It didn't take long to actually achieve it.

After years of scraping by, of moving from place to place, of struggling just to survive, they finally had something permanent…

Vander had stood in the middle of the empty space, hands on his hips, taking it all in with a quiet sense of pride. "Needs work," he had admitted. "But we’ll fix it up."

And they did.

It wasn’t grand, not yet, but it had walls, a roof that mostly kept the rain out, and a counter where drinks could be poured. It had a future.

As Vander and Silco’s reputation grew, so did their network of trusted allies. They weren’t in power- not yet- but they had people who listened when they spoke. People who respected them. And in the Undercity, that was worth more than coin.

One of those people was Benzo, a shop owner they had recently met. His pawn shop sat close to the bar, a place filled with oddities, old weapons, and trinkets that told stories of lives long past. He was sharp, experienced, and- most importantly- he knew things. The kind of man who had eyes and ears in the right places.

And then there was Connol.

Felicia had met him recently, and though she hadn’t shared much about him yet, there was something different in the way she talked about him. A flicker of something new.

The world was shifting around them, and they were finally in a position to shape it instead of just surviving it.

For the first time in years, the future wasn’t just something to fear. It was something to build.

The bar had settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind that only came when the night had dragged on and most of the patrons had stumbled home.

(Y/N) exhaled a slow breath, the ember of her cigarette glowing softly in the dim light. Next to her, Silco leaned over his book, writing with careful strokes, his whiskey glass half-full beside him. Vander stood behind the bar, absentmindedly wiping down the counter, still getting used to the rhythm of tending to the place.

Felicia wasn’t here- she had been disappearing more and more, off doing whatever it was she did with Connol. None of them had asked. Not yet.

Silco turned a page, but his mind wasn’t on the words. It hadn’t been for a while.

He had been thinking- turning an idea over in his mind, letting it take root, letting it grow. The Undercity… It wasn’t just a slum, wasn’t just a place where people survived at the mercy of Piltover’s scraps. It could be more. It should be more.

And maybe- just maybe- they could be the ones to make it happen.

He tapped his pen against the book, then glanced at (Y/N), who was watching him through the smoke curling between them.

"You’ve got that look again," she murmured.

Silco smirked. "What look?"

"The one that means you’re thinking too much."

Vander chuckled from behind the bar. "That is a dangerous thing."

Silco leaned back in his seat, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Have you ever thought about what the Undercity could be?"

Vander raised a brow. "It is what it is, Silco."

Silco shook his head. "No, it’s what they let it be. Piltover controls everything- our work, our trade, our lives. We live in their shadow, scraping by, pretending that’s all we’ll ever have."

(Y/N) stubbed out her cigarette, watching him closely. "And you think we can change that?"

Silco’s grip tightened around his glass. "I know we can."

Vander sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Silco…"

"No, listen," Silco pressed, leaning forward. "We have a foothold now. We have people who trust us, who listen to us. The bar isn’t just a business- it’s a gathering place. A starting point." His eyes gleamed with conviction. "We could be more than this. It could stand on its own. No more crawling to Piltover for scraps. No more living under their rule."

Silco let the words settle between them.

(Y/N) glanced at Vander, who was frowning, thoughtful but hesitant.

"You want to make a war out of this?" Vander finally asked, voice low.

Silco exhaled slowly. "I want to make a home. A real one. One where we don’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves... We can make Zaun..."

(Y/N) was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she reached for another cigarette. "You really think we could pull it off?"

Silco met her gaze, unwavering. "I think if we don’t, no one else ever will."

Vander sighed again, shaking his head- but he didn’t argue.

Because deep down, maybe part of him agreed.

Silco let the idea simmer, allowing Vander and (Y/N) to sit with it, to think about it. He knew better than to push too fast- Vander was cautious, (Y/N) measured. But the seed was planted.

He had spent years thinking about it, turning the idea over in his mind like a gambler weighing his last coin. The Undercity didn’t have to be a gutter for Piltover’s discarded souls. It could be Zaun- not just a slum, not just the shadows beneath the gleaming city above, but a true city. A force of its own.

The mines, the industry, the people- they were the backbone of Piltover’s prosperity. Without them, the Pilties would crumble under the weight of their own arrogance. And yet, the Undercity was treated as a wasteland, a place to be managed rather than respected.

Silco envisioned something greater. A Zaun that stood apart, that no longer bowed to Piltover’s rules. A Zaun where they decided their own future, not one dictated by Piltover’s Enforcers and Council laws.

The bar was quiet now, save for the occasional clink of glass and the low hum of the Undercity’s ever-present machinery beyond its doors. The night stretched on, thick with unspoken thoughts and the weight of Silco’s vision lingering between them.

(Y/N) nursed her drink, her fingers loosely wrapped around the glass as the warmth of it settled in her chest. She was buzzed- definitely buzzed. A lightweight, as always. But that was just how things were down here. You started young, numbing the cold grip of the Undercity however you could.

Vander had stopped trying to stop her a long time ago.

"You’re thinking about it," Silco mused beside her, his voice low and knowing.

(Y/N) smirked lazily, swirling the remnants of her drink. "’Course I am. It’s a lot to think about."

He nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. "You don’t have to decide anything now."

She snorted. "I know. You’re letting it sit with us, right?"

Silco chuckled, amused. She was sharp, even with alcohol softening the edges of her thoughts. He liked that about her.

She leaned back, exhaling. "Zaun," she murmured, rolling the word on her tongue. "Feels... different. Feels like something real."

Silco glanced at her, studying the way she stared at her drink, thoughtful even through the haze of liquor.

"It will be real," he said, certainty laced in his tone. "Someday."

(Y/N) didn’t argue. Didn’t scoff. She just nodded, because maybe, just maybe, she could see it too.

After some time, Vander started to moved through the bar with practiced ease, cutting people off, sending the last stragglers stumbling toward the door. The place was shutting down for the night. Not that it mattered much to (Y/N) or Silco. They lived here.

Silco sat comfortably, still sipping at his whiskey, but (Y/N)… She had gone quiet.

Her second drink sat half-finished in front of her, her gaze fixed on the worn wood of the bar. The alcohol had softened her edges, but instead of making her talkative, it had drawn her inward.

She was thinking.

Silco knew that look.

(Y/N) didn’t talk much about her past- not beyond the bare bones of it. They all knew about her magic, but her mother? Her life before coming to the Undercity? That was a locked door she never let them open.

Instead, she lit another cigarette, the flicker of flame briefly illuminating her face before she inhaled, filling her lungs with smoke and whiskey, pushing everything else down.

Silco watched her for a moment before breaking the silence.

"Heavy thoughts?"

(Y/N) exhaled, the smoke curling toward the ceiling. "Always."

He hummed, tilting his glass. "Anything worth sharing?"

She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Not tonight."

That was how it always was, so Silco didn’t push.

He just poured himself another drink and stayed beside her, letting the ghosts settle in around them.

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

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

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.2

pt.1 - pt.3

Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia x Male!Reader

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

Word Count: 4145

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Sayaka:

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

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

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

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

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

Until one rainy afternoon.

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

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

“Can I sit with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” Sayaka asked, gently.

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

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

His throat bobbed. He looked away again, ashamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart ached, full and warm. She nodded.

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

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

Into her voice. Into her warmth.

Into the beginning of something safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her expression softened, almost glowing in the fading light.

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

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

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

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

“Then we can fall together,” she whispered.

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

He felt wanted.

He felt seen.

And most of all, he felt hopeful.

Celestia: 

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

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

(Y/N).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you here?” he asked.

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

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

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

“Let me in,” she said softly.

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

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

“You’ve been hiding.”

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

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

His head snapped up, confused. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He flinched.

But she didn’t pull away.

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

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

“You do.”

His eyes welled up- unwilling, ashamed.

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

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

She simply stayed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Celeste?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

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

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

Hope.

He wasn’t healed. Not yet.

But he wasn’t alone anymore.

It became routine after that night.

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

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

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

No judgment. No pity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She took the flower gently, her fingers brushing his.

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

“I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

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

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

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

(Y/N) glanced at her. “Did it help?”

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

He let that sink in, then nodded.

A few weeks later, he reached for her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I ask you something, darling?”

“Anything.”

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

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

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

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

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

“Promise?”

“To protect you. In my own way.”

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

“What is that?”

He smiled softly. “Safe.”

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

Because she was beginning to realize something as well.

She liked being around him, too.

Sonia:

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

Sonia noticed.

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

And (Y/N) had survived something terrible.

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

Instead, she sat beside him.

Not too close. Just enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Why?”

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

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

And the day after that.

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

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

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

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

But he nodded. Just once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That maybe, someday, he could let someone in.

And if anyone could be the first…

…it would be Sonia.

Over the next few weeks, things began to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head.

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

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

And she was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m trying to be better.”

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

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

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

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

He took it.

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

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

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

Hello, can you please do genya x black reader headcannons? Preferably a longer list! Thank you!

A/N: Absolutely! I want to make it known, though- I am an Indonesian American. So, white and Asian. I did my best, though. If there is anything that is wrong, or inaccurate, please tell me! It's purely from me being ignorant. Gonna make that known before writing for other races. Also, the gender wasn't specified, so I kept it gender neutral.

Soft Places to Fall

Genya x GN!Reader Headcannons

Warnings: None that I can really see :}

Word Count: 1479

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- First Impressions: Genya was awkward at first- painfully awkward. He wasn’t used to anyone looking at him without flinching or backing off, let alone someone as stunning as (Y/N), whose rich skin gleamed in the sunlight and whose presence was calm and steady. The first time he tried talking to them, he tripped over his words and nearly barked like a startled dog.

- Learning to Communicate: (Y/N) had a patience Genya didn’t know he needed. They were steady and unbothered by his sharpness, never mistaking it for cruelty. When Genya stumbled, they waited. When he got frustrated with himself, they gently redirected him. (Y/N)’s communication style- expressive, honest, and rooted- helped Genya learn how to express himself in healthier ways.

- Pride in Heritage: One of the things that fascinated Genya most about (Y/N) was how deeply they honored where they came from. Whether it was in the way (Y/N) braided their hair with practiced, deft fingers, or the way they spoke proudly of their family’s traditions, Genya was endlessly respectful. He loved sitting close, watching them work with oils and combs, quietly offering his clumsy help if they ever needed an extra pair of hands.

- Realizing His Feelings: It took forever for Genya to admit to himself that he liked (Y/N). It hit him the hardest during a random training session- when (Y/N) laughed at something stupid and the sunlight caught their skin like they were dipped in gold. He stood there, slack-jawed, a sword dangling uselessly in his hand, while his heart punched against his ribs.

- The Clumsy Confession: Genya was horrible at confessing. He didn't plan anything out; it just exploded out of him one evening after a mission. (Y/N) was patching up his bruised hands, and suddenly he blurted, "I LIKE YOU!"- way too loud, way too fast. He looked absolutely horrified with himself after, fists clenched at his sides, refusing to meet their eyes.

- (Y/N)’s Response: (Y/N) just blinked at him... then smiled. A slow, soft smile that could melt glaciers. They didn’t laugh or make fun of him- they just leaned closer and said, “I like you too, you big dummy.” Genya nearly passed out from relief.

- Defending Them: Woe to anyone who even looked at (Y/N) the wrong way. Genya had zero tolerance for racism or disrespect. His temper was legendary already, but when it came to (Y/N), it burned hotter than anything. He didn’t care who he had to go through- he would never let them feel small or unwelcome.

- Physical Affection: Physical affection took a long time for Genya to get comfortable with- but (Y/N)’s touch was warm, grounding. They never rushed him. A brush of hands, a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, a slow forehead press after a hard battle- (Y/N) taught him that softness wasn’t weakness.

- Comfort after Insecurities: Whenever Genya fell into spirals of self-hatred- thinking himself ugly, monstrous, unworthy- (Y/N) was there. They’d cup his face, calloused thumbs brushing his cheeks, and remind him how they saw him: strong, loyal, beautiful in ways that no wound could ever touch. And when (Y/N) faced their own struggles, their exhaustion in a world that sometimes refused to understand them, Genya held them close, swearing between gritted teeth that he would always stand by them.

- First Date: Their first "date" wasn’t anything fancy. Genya asked them awkwardly if they wanted to walk with him after training. They wandered through a quiet forest path, hands brushing but not quite holding yet, both a little too shy. (Y/N) talked about their dreams, Genya listened intently, occasionally throwing in gruff, "That's real cool..." without realizing how red his ears were.

- Small Gestures of Love: Genya was never big on grand displays. Instead, he showed his love in quiet, stubborn ways- carrying their things without being asked, standing just slightly in front of them when they entered a new town, making sure they had a seat by the fire first. (Y/N) quickly learned to recognize the meaning behind his rough edges. 

- Genya’s Protective Nature Intensifies: Now that they were officially dating, Genya’s protective instincts were off the charts. Even minor cuts on (Y/N) during training sent him into panic mode. He’d kneel in front of them immediately, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch until they nodded.

- Learning Affection in (Y/N)’s Style: (Y/N) showed affection in ways Genya wasn’t used to- through small touches, gentle teasing, long, meaningful looks. At first, he got so flustered he had to look away. But little by little, he grew used to it, even starting to crave it- especially when (Y/N) would reach up, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him into a soft, forehead-to-forehead moment.

- Awkward But Sweet Pet Names: (Y/N) had cute nicknames for him early on- “Tough guy,” “Big softie,” sometimes “Sunshine” just to mess with him. Genya had no idea what to call (Y/N) at first and would get so serious trying to pick the perfect one. Eventually, he just stuck with “(Y/N),” but the way he said it- low, reverent- made it feel like the most important name in the world.

- Their First Kiss: It happened after a brutal mission when they both thought they might not make it back. Sitting under a half-collapsed shrine, Genya finally worked up the nerve. It was so careful- he hovered a beat too long, giving (Y/N) every chance to pull away. But when (Y/N) tilted their head slightly and closed the gap, it was messy, desperate, and full of so much feeling Genya was almost shaking.

- Promises Made Quietly: Genya wasn’t a man of big speeches. Instead, after their first kiss, as he held (Y/N) tightly against him, he whispered, "I'll protect you... no matter what." It wasn’t just about demons. It was about the world. About ignorant looks, hateful words, anything that might ever try to dim (Y/N)’s light. He meant it with everything he had.

- Domestic Vibes: Once they were past the awkward phase, Genya was the definition of a homebody with (Y/N). He loved spending quiet evenings with them, whether it was cleaning weapons, sitting outside watching the stars, or just sharing food. Even in silence, there was never discomfort- only warmth.

- Physical Comfort: Genya got extremely affectionate after a while, but only with (Y/N). It wasn’t uncommon for him to absentmindedly pull them into his lap when sitting down, lean against them until he practically melted, or wrap his arms around their waist from behind when they were talking to someone.

- Hair and Skin Care Bonding: Genya lived for the moments when (Y/N) would let him help with their haircare routine. He took it very seriously- he’d sit on the floor in front of them, a towel spread out, oils and creams nearby, determined not to mess anything up. He loved the closeness, the quiet trust of it all. (Y/N) also started making small skincare blends for him when his scars acted up, and he followed their instructions religiously.

- Shared Dreams: Late at night, under the stars, they talked about the future. A quiet home. Fields of green. A place where (Y/N) could be loud, soft, angry, joyful- everything- without apology. Where Genya could smile without fear. They didn't know if they'd survive the war against demons, but if they did… they knew they'd build that life together.

- Jealous but Chill: Genya’s jealousy mellowed out after a while. If someone flirted with (Y/N), he didn’t immediately bristle like before. He trusted them completely. That said, he still gave a signature Genya death glare if someone got too bold- and (Y/N) would usually have to tug him away before he scared someone half to death.

- Fight Banter: After getting used to fighting side-by-side, (Y/N) and Genya developed a lowkey bantering style mid-battle. "Cover me!" "When don't I?" "Don't get cocky, (Y/N)!" It wasn’t disrespectful; it was rhythm. Trust. They were so in tune with each other that it made them a terrifying pair to face.

- Protectiveness Without Smothering: Genya’s protectiveness matured into a deep, steady support. He no longer rushed to shield (Y/N) from everything- he knew they were strong. Instead, he stood at their side, a constant, immovable force. He had faith in their strength and just wanted to be their shield when needed.

- Cooking Together: Neither of them were master chefs, but they loved cooking together. It was chaotic, messy, and filled with laughter. (Y/N) would introduce him to different seasonings and recipes from their culture, watching proudly as he learned to get the spices almost right. Genya beamed like a kid whenever (Y/N) complimented his cooking attempts.

Ember in the Dark pt.1

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.2

Warnings: War, Violence, Death, illness, Grief, Poverty, Persecution, Oppression, and Child neglect/orphanhood.

Word Count: 2914

Summary: Nayesa, a refugee from Ionia, flees to the Undercity with her infant daughter to escape Noxian forces, suppressing her magic to survive. She toils endlessly to keep her child safe, but when the girl unknowingly uses magic, Nayesa realizes their past will always haunt them. She works herself to death, leaving her daughter alone in the unforgiving streets. Forced to survive, the girl joins a group of orphans- Vander, Silco, and Felicia- learning to steal, fight, and conceal her powers.

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

The putrid scent of burning wood and flesh clung to the air as Nayesa ran, her breath ragged, her muscles screaming for respite. Behind her, the once-pristine forests of Ionia were choked with smoke, their vibrant greens now painted in the sickly fire glow. The rhythmic clang of Noxian steel against Ionian blades still rang in her ears, but she dared not turn back.

Her infant whimpered softly in her arms, her tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of her tattered robes. She adjusted her grip, pressing the baby closer to her chest, shielding her from the cold wind sweeping in from the coast. She couldn't cry- she mustn't cry. If the Noxians heard them, if they saw the faint shimmer of magic that still crackled beneath her fingertips, they would be hunted down.

She had seen it before. A woman who tried to fight back, her magic searing through Noxian armor- only for the warbands to descend upon her like beasts, silencing her screams beneath iron and blood. She had turned away, biting back her own fear, and fled. Magic is a death sentence. That was the one lesson Ionia’s war had taught her.

The boats at the shore were barely visible through the thickening fog. She stumbled onto the dock, her heart hammering as she found an old ferryman willing to take her. He was a man of few words, his face lined with the hardship of someone who had smuggled too many refugees, but his hand was steady as he took her trembling coin. No questions asked. She clutched her daughter tighter as the boat rocked, her gaze fixed on the horizon where The Undercity- dark, industrial, and suffocating- waited.

It was not home. It never would be. But it was safe.

The Undercity embraced the lost, the forsaken, and those with secrets to keep. Here, in the slums where even Piltovan Enforcers feared to tread, they could disappear. She learned to hide in the shadows, to suppress the flicker of magic in her blood, to live as just another nameless refugee in a city built on the bones of the forgotten.

Her baby would grow up not knowing Ionia’s forests, not hearing the songs of the wind dancing through cherry blossoms. But she would live. And for now, that was enough…

Nayesa’s fingers tightened around the threadbare cloak wrapped around her daughter, her mind drifting as the boat rocked gently beneath them. The salt-laden air of the ocean mixed with the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to her skin was a cruel reminder of what she had left behind.

Ionia was gone to her now. The home where she once played among the cherry blossoms, where the rivers whispered songs of old, where the spirits still danced in the wind- lost. She forced herself not to think of the faces she would never see again, the family she had abandoned to the fire and steel of Noxus. Guilt gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, but she buried it deep. She had no choice.

The ferryman, silent as the grave, guided the vessel through the thickening mist. His hands, calloused and cracked from years of toil, moved with mechanical precision as he adjusted the sail. Nayesa knew better than to speak- men like him survived by knowing nothing, saying nothing. Still, when his gaze briefly flickered to the bundle in her arms, there was no malice there, only understanding.

She exhaled, glancing down at her child. Small, fragile, yet warm against her chest. A spark of life amid the ashes of war. She traced a gentle hand over the baby’s cheek, whispering a promise she had no idea how to keep.

By the time they reached the docks, night had swallowed the sky. The towering, rust-streaked structures loomed overhead, their smog-drenched exteriors casting jagged shadows against the dim glow of neon signs. The scent of oil, metal, and damp earth thickened the air, an oppressive contrast to the crisp mountain breezes of Ionia.

She stepped off the boat, her legs weak from exhaustion, and nearly collapsed. The ferryman caught her arm- only for a second before slipping away into the murk, his presence vanishing as quickly as it had come.

Nayesa pulled the hood of her cloak low, blending into the throngs of workers, refugees, and outcasts that moved like restless phantoms through the lower districts. No one spared her a glance. In The Undercity, survival meant minding your own business.

The slums welcomed her with the cold indifference of a city built on desperation. She found shelter in a crumbling tenement, a place where the air was thick with the scent of rust and mildew, where the walls groaned under the weight of their decay. But it was a place to rest, to breathe.

Days blurred into weeks, then months. She worked where she could- scrubbing factory floors, mending torn garments, selling whatever scraps she could barter. She spoke little, kept her head down, and made sure no one saw the shimmer of power that still lived beneath her skin.

Her daughter, whom she named (Y/N), grew into the shadows of the Lanes. She never knew the wind-chimes of Ionia, never saw the blossoms bloom in spring, never ran through the open fields where the spirits once roamed. Instead, she learned the rhythm of the Undercity- the hiss of steam vents, the distant hum of chem-tech engines, the quiet desperation in every hushed conversation.

She would watch her at night, curled up in the dim glow of a flickering light, and wonder what kind of life she had truly given her.

Safe. But at what cost?

One evening, as Nayesa walked home through the winding alleys, she heard a sound that froze her blood.

Laughter.

A child’s laughter, light and unburdened, echoed through the filth and grime of the Undercity’s streets.

She turned the corner and saw (Y/N), no longer a baby but a bright-eyed child, her tiny hands outstretched as small, golden sparks danced at her fingertips. A wonder, a gift- one that could get them both killed.

Nayesa’s heart pounded.

Magic is a death sentence.

The war may have been left behind, but its lessons had not.

She rushed forward, scooping (Y/N) into her arms, extinguishing the light with a whispered hush.

No one could see. No one could know.

She had sacrificed everything for her daughter’s safety.

And now, the Undercity would demand its own price.

It was a city that took as much as it gave, swallowing the desperate and forgotten whole. Nayesa had always known it would come for her too, sooner or later.

For seven years, she scraped by in the underbelly of the city, enduring the choking smog, the filth-ridden streets, and the cold that seeped into her bones. She endured it all for (Y/N). Every coin she earned, every sleepless night, every bruise from the fists of those who thought a refugee woman was an easy target- it was all for her daughter.

(Y/N) was bright and full of wonder despite the bleak world around her. She didn’t remember the war, the flames that consumed their home, or the screams that once haunted Nayesa’s nights. To her, Ionia was nothing more than stories murmured in hushed tones, tales of Magic and rivers that whispered secrets to those who listened. Nayesa never told her the full truth of their exile, only that they had left because it was too dangerous to stay.

But the real danger wasn’t behind them- it was here, in the Lanes, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Nayesa had felt the sickness creeping into her body long before she admitted it to herself. The air in the lower districts was thick with toxins, a slow, creeping poison that gnawed at her lungs. Every cough was deeper, wetter. Every breath was a struggle. There were chem-doctors in the Lanes who could cure anything- for a price. But Nayesa had no money for miracles.

She worked until she couldn’t stand. Then, she worked more.

She didn’t tell (Y/N). She couldn’t.

But children saw more than adults ever gave them credit for.

"Momma, why are you always so tired?" (Y/N) asked one night, her small fingers tracing the lines of her mother’s weathered hands.

Nayesa smiled, brushing a stray lock of soft hair from her daughter’s face. "Because I have the best little girl in the world to take care of," she said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And that’s worth everything."

But love alone wasn’t enough to keep her alive.

One morning, Nayesa didn’t wake up.

(Y/N) shook her at first, small hands gripping the worn fabric of her mother’s cloak. "Momma?" she whispered, her voice uncertain, scared.

She didn’t move.

The room was cold. The single candle by the bedside had long since burned out, leaving only the distant glow of the Undercity’s ever-present green smog filtering through the cracks in the walls.

(Y/N) curled up beside her mother, waiting for her to wake up. She didn’t understand. Not yet.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the gnawing ache of hunger set in, that the truth began to sink in.

Her mother wasn’t waking up.

She was alone.

No one in the Lanes cared about another dead refugee. There were no mourning bells, no neighbors offering condolences. By nightfall, scavengers would come, rifling through their tiny home for anything of value.

(Y/N) didn't wait for them.

She packed what little she could- her mother’s old cloak, a handful of stolen ration bars, a rusty knife too dull to be a real weapon- and ran.

The streets of the Undercity were not kind to the weak.

She learned quickly. How to steal without being seen. How to disappear when Enforcers patrolled too close. How to navigate the tangled maze of pipes, vents, and back alleys that served as the lifeblood of the Undercity.

She was small, fast, invisible. And she was hungry.

The first time she stole from a chem merchant’s stall, she was caught. A rough hand yanked her back, slamming her against a wall.

"Little rat," the man snarled, his breath reeking of grease and sour alcohol. "Think you can take from me?"

(Y/n) trembled, her fingers curling instinctively. A warmth flickered in her palms, tiny sparks of golden light dancing between her fingers.

Magic.

No. No, no, no.

She clenched her fists, forcing it down, burying it deep. Her mother’s warning echoed in her mind.

Magic is a death sentence.

She braced herself for the beating- but it never came.

Instead, another voice cut through the heavy air.

"Let her go."

A boy, older than her, stood in the shadows of the alley. His arms were crossed, his clothes patched and dirt-streaked, but his gaze was sharp, calculating. His black hair covered his eyes a bit, too short to tie back, too long to look completely neat. "She’s with us."

The merchant sneered but let her go with a shove. "Keep your rats on a leash…" he spat before stalking off.

(Y/N) coughed, her ribs aching, but she turned to the boy, confused. "I’m not with you…" she said, wary.

"You are now," he replied simply.

And just like that, (Y/N) found herself among the lost children of the Lanes- the orphans, the runaways, the ones who had no homes… Vander, Silco, and Felicia… They moved like ghosts through the city, stealing to survive, hiding in the forgotten corners where the Enforcers wouldn’t dare to tread.

(Y/N) learned their ways. How to fight, how to climb, how to read the shifting tides of the city’s underworld. But most importantly, how to keep her secret.

She never used her magic. Not once.

Not until the day she had no choice.

It happened during a heist gone wrong- when she was fourteen...

They had planned everything perfectly- distract the shopkeeper, grab the goods, and slip away before anyone noticed. But no plan ever survived the chaos of The Undercity.

The Enforcers came down on them fast, too fast. (Y/N) ran, her breath sharp in her chest, her feet pounding against metal grates and uneven cobblestone. She took a wrong turn- a dead end.

The Enforcers were closing in.

She panicked.

A flicker of warmth ignited in her palm. Then a spark. Then a flame.

Golden light flared to life, illuminating the alleyway in brilliant, searing heat. The Enforcers reeled back, blinded, startled.

And (Y/N) ran.

She ran until her legs gave out, until she collapsed in a forgotten corner of the city, her heart slamming against her ribs.

She had been careful. She had hidden it for years… But now they would come for her. In The Undercity, secrets never stayed hidden for long…

For seven years, she had hidden what she was. Buried it beneath bruised knuckles and nimble fingers, beneath the hunger and the cold, beneath the fight to survive. But now, the secret she had fought to keep was out. Maybe not fully- but it was a crack, and cracks always widened.

The others would know soon enough.

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not with the heat still on her.

So, she disappeared into the veins of the Undercity, into the places where the air stank of rot and rust, where even Enforcers hesitated to follow. The tunnels beneath the city were a maze- only those born to the Lanes could navigate them, and (Y/N) had lived here long enough to know every passage, every broken grate, every hidden crawlspace.

She found a hollow space beneath a collapsed structure and curled into it, pressing her back against the damp stone, pulling her knees to her chest. She needed to think. To plan.

But plans meant nothing when Silco was the one sent to find you. Silco moved through the Undercity like a shadow, his sharp eyes scanning every alley, every abandoned structure. He knew how to track a runaway. They all did; life had made them that way.

Felicia had been worried, of course. "She’s been gone too long," she had muttered, arms crossed, trying to mask her concern. "What if the Enforcers-"

"She’s fine," Vander had cut in, though his frown betrayed his doubts. "She’s one of us."

And Silco? He hadn’t said much. He had only grabbed a knife and set out.

(Y/N) was fast. Smart. She knew how to disappear.

But he knew her.

He knew the places she went when she wanted to be alone, the paths she took when she needed to breathe. And more than that- he knew fear.

He had seen it in her when they ran from the heist, when the Enforcers had almost caught them. But there was something else, something deeper in the way she had looked at them before she fled.

Not fear of getting caught.

Fear of being seen.

It gnawed at him as he moved through the city, picking his way through the forgotten tunnels. If she was hurt, if someone else had found her first-

No. He pushed the thought away. He would find her.

The search had fractured them into three silent battalions. Felicia, driven by equal parts concern and duty, combed through the labyrinthine upper corridors where the stale, clinging mist of decay blurred every step. Vander took a divergent route, his methodical pace revealing an unspoken determination as he retraced familiar paths that had once served as escape routes. And then there was Silco- moving like a whisper among the ruins, his focus as sharp as the blade he carried.

In the winding gloom beneath a collapsed structure, Silco’s calculated steps slowed as a fragile form emerged from the darkness.

She was curled up beneath a collapsed structure, half-hidden in the darkness, her body taut with exhaustion. She looked smaller like this, the rough edge she carried worn down by fear and fatigue.

For a moment, he just watched her.

"You gonna come out," he finally said, his voice calm, "or do I have to drag you?"

(Y/N)’s head snapped up, her eyes sharp and alert despite her exhaustion. She hesitated, her muscles coiled like a cornered animal.

"You alone?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Silco scoffed. "No, I brought a whole damn parade." He stepped forward, crouching slightly so she wouldn’t bolt. "What the hell happened back there, (Y/N)?"

She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "We got sloppy."

"Not what I meant." His gaze didn’t waver. "You ran like they were hunting you."

(Y/N) flinched, just slightly, but Silco caught it.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Finally, she exhaled, looking away. "I just… I can’t go back yet."

Silco tilted his head, studying her. "Why?"

She bit her lip, hesitating.

Because I have magic. Because I lost control. Because if you knew, you’d never look at me the same way again.

But she couldn’t say that.

So instead, she forced a smirk, weak but convincing. "Didn’t feel like dealing with Vander’s lectures."

Silco snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, you’re gonna hear them anyway. So get up."

She didn’t move.

Silco’s smirk faded. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You don’t have to tell me, you know. But whatever’s got you scared?" He straightened up, eyes dark. "Don’t let it turn you into prey."

(Y/N) looked at him then, something unspoken passing between them.

Silco had always been sharp, always seeing things others missed. Maybe he didn’t know the truth yet. But he knew something.

And that was dangerous.

Still, she took his outstretched hand...

For Danganronpa, how about some Smut Headcanons for Hina, Mahiru, and Kaede helping their Female S/O to squirt for the first time!

A/N: Of course I can! This is my first time doing Headcanon's, though. I hope this is what you wanted :}

Journey into Intimacy pt.1

pt.2

Smut Headcanons for Hina, Mahiru, and Kaede.

18+ MDNI

Warnings: Sexual Content/Intimacy, Light Dom/Sub Dynamics, First times.

Word Count: 2502

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

Hina:

HAD TO CUT THIS PART BECAUSE SOMEONE LITERALLY FUCKING THREATEDNED ME!!!

Posted what happened, the link is above, but jfc some people are so mentally unwell. Who ever you are, I seriously hope you get the help you need.

Mahiru:

- The Nervous Anticipation: The air between them is different tonight. It’s not the usual playful flirting or casual kisses; it’s thick with something heavier, unspoken, but deeply understood. (Y/N) is fidgeting, her fingers messing with the hem of her shirt, while Mahiru- normally full of sarcastic remarks- finds herself uncharacteristically quiet. They both know where this is heading, but neither of them really knows how to start.

- Awkward Yet Sweet First Steps: Despite her usual confidence, Mahiru is a nervous wreck inside. She wants everything to be perfect, wants (Y/N) to feel safe and cherished, but holy hell, she’s overthinking every move. Meanwhile, (Y/N)- who has literally never done anything like this before- feels her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Every touch, every shared glance, feels ten times more intense than usual.

- Soft, Slow Exploration: Mahiru takes the lead, but gently. Her fingers trail over (Y/N)’s arms, her waist, tracing slow patterns on her skin as she watches every little reaction. She kisses her everywhere- her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw- until (Y/N) finally lets out a shaky breath, whispering, “I want you.” That’s all it takes for Mahiru’s heart to damn near explode. 

- Mahiru’s Photographer Instinct Kicks In: As things progress, Mahiru can’t help but admire the absolute beauty of the moment. (Y/N) looks so soft, so vulnerable yet trusting, and fuck, she wants to capture this forever. She resists the urge to grab her camera, but at some point, she whispers about how breathtaking (Y/N) looks. (Y/N), flustered as hell, buries her face in Mahiru’s shoulder. 

- Consent Queens: They check in with each other constantly. “Is this okay?” “Do you like this?” It’s sweet, but at some point, (Y/N) laughs between gasps, saying, “Mahiru, if you ask me one more time, I swear to god.” Mahiru chuckles, finally letting go of her nerves a little, before focusing on making her girlfriend fall apart in the best way possible. 

- Mahiru is a Soft Dom???: Mahiru may be a nervous mess internally, but her natural assertiveness doesn’t just disappear. She instinctively takes charge, not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes (Y/N) feel completely safe and adored. She’s super praise-heavy, whispering how beautiful (Y/N) is, how perfect she is, how much she loves seeing her like this. (Y/N), in return, melts under her touch. 

- Reaching the Peak: It happens so much faster than (Y/N) expected. She barely has time to process it before her whole body goes taut, her fingers digging into Mahiru’s shoulders as she gasps and trembles. It’s overwhelming, electrifying, and so damn intense, she almost can’t believe it’s real. Her breath catches, her back arches, and she lets out a breathless moan, completely lost in the moment. 

- Mahiru is Absolutely Mesmerized: Watching (Y/N) fall apart like this is the most stunning thing she’s ever seen. She never expected to love this side of her girlfriend so much, but fuck, knowing she’s the first person to ever make (Y/N) feel this way? That’s a feeling she never wants to lose. 

- The Immediate Aftermath: (Y/N) is still trembling, barely able to form words, so Mahiru pulls her close, cradling her against her chest. She whispers sweet nothings, pressing soft kisses against (Y/N)’s forehead, cheeks, lips. “You okay?” she murmurs, even though the answer is painfully obvious from the way (Y/N) is still clutching onto her like a lifeline. 

- Soft Aftercare is a Must: Mahiru takes care of (Y/N) afterward, running fingers through her hair, whispering soft reassurances, making sure she’s comfortable and warm. “Need water?” “Need anything?” (Y/N) pretends to protest being babied but secretly loves it. “Mahiru, you’re acting like I just ran a marathon,” she grumbles, but she’s already nuzzling into her anyway. 

- (Y/N)’s Shy Confession: After a few moments of silence, (Y/N) mumbles into Mahiru’s skin, “That was… the best thing I’ve ever felt.” She sounds so damn embarrassed, but Mahiru just grins, pressing another kiss to her temple. “Yeah?” she teases. “Glad I could be the one to show you.” (Y/N) groans, hiding her burning face in Mahiru’s shoulder. 

- Cuddles and Teasing: They stay wrapped up in each other, letting the moment linger, neither wanting to move. (Y/N), still, coming down from the high, lazily traces circles on Mahiru’s back. Eventually, she mutters, “You’re gonna be so fucking smug about this, aren’t you?” Mahiru grins, kissing her neck. “Oh, absolutely.” 

- Their Love Only Gets Stronger: Exploring each other doesn’t change their relationship- it deepens it. They were already so in love, but now there’s a whole new level of trust and closeness between them. They fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

Kaede:

- High School Sweethearts with a Whole Lot of Love: Kaede and (Y/N) have been dating since high school, and from the very beginning, their relationship has been filled with warmth, laughter, and way too many flustered moments. Kaede is very much a romantic, always doing little things like writing (Y/N) piano pieces, sneaking little notes into her bag, and kissing her nose just to make her blush. (Y/N), on the other hand, acts like the smooth one, but the second Kaede even breathes in her direction with a little more affection than usual, she is absolutely doomed.

- Fleeting touches: Holding Hands? Cute. But Holding Hands Under the Covers? Illegal. Even though they’ve been together for years, they are still flustered idiots when it comes to physical affection. (Y/N) still gets butterflies whenever Kaede casually holds her hand, and Kaede still turns bright red whenever (Y/N) kisses her neck- But the moment they start cuddling under the covers, it suddenly feels ten times more intimate, and neither of them knows what the to do about it.

- The Build-Up to Something More: They’ve been thinking about taking things a step further, but neither of them wants to rush. Kaede, being the overachiever she is, researches the hell out of everything. She wants to make sure that she knows how to make (Y/N) feel good without making her uncomfortable. (Y/N), meanwhile, is excited but also lowkey terrified. She knows she wants this with Kaede, but holy hell, the thought of Kaede actually touching her like that makes her whole brain short-circuit.

- The Night Everything Changes: It starts like any other night- just the two of them in Kaede’s room, soft music playing in the background, and a little bit of cuddling… But this time? There’s a different energy in the air. Kaede gently kisses (Y/N) a little deeper, letting her fingers trail along her waist, and (Y/N) suddenly realizes, ‘Oh, we’re really doing this.’ 

- Kaede Takes the Lead (Even Though She’s Shaking Like a Leaf): At first, Kaede is nervous as hell. She’s always been confident when it comes to playing the piano or performing, but when it comes to intimacy? That’s an entirely new stage, but when she hears the way (Y/N) breathes a little heavier every time she touches her, that nervousness slowly turns into determination. Kaede realizes that she wants to be the one to make (Y/N) feel good, to be the one who helps her experience something new and beautiful.

- (Y/N) Falls Apart Instantly: The second Kaede touches her in just the right way, (Y/N) is done for. She thought she could handle it. She really did. But the way Kaede’s soft, delicate hands explore her body makes her entire soul leave her body. She tries so hard to stay quiet, but Kaede sees right through her. “Don’t hold back,” Kaede whispers against her skin, and (Y/N) immediately melts into the sheets.

- Kaede Learns She Loves Being in Control: As Kaede keeps going, she notices every little detail- the way (Y/N)’s breathing changes, the way she grips onto the sheets, the way she softly gasps her name… Something about it makes Kaede feel so… powerful. For once, she’s not just playing an instrument- she’s playing with (Y/N), and every touch, every movement, is making her girlfriend completely fall apart beneath her.

- The First Time (Y/N) Ever Reaches her High: (Y/N) has never felt anything like this before- the slow build-up, the way her body tightens, the overwhelming pleasure that finally crashes over her like a wave. When it happens, she completely forgets how to function. She’s breathless, shaking, gripping onto Kaede like she’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Kaede doesn’t stop holding her for a single second, kissing her forehead, whispering soft reassurances, and just being the absolute best girlfriend in existence.

- (Y/N) Is a Flustered, Speechless Mess Afterwards: After everything, (Y/N) refuses to look Kaede in the eye. Kaede, being smug as hell, just grins and asks, “Was it good?” (Y/N) groans, hides under the blankets, and refuses to answer… But the way she pulls Kaede close and buries her face in her chest says everything Kaede needs to know.

- Morning After Shenanigans: The next morning, they are both grinning like lovesick idiots… Unfortunately, their friends immediately catch on. Shuichi squints at them over breakfast and asks, “Why are you two acting weird?” Miu, being the gremlin she is, immediately puts two and two together. “OH MY GOD, YOU TWO FINALLY FU-” “MIU, SHUT THE HELL UP!”

- A Whole New Level of Intimacy: Their relationship was always full of love, but after that night? It feels even deeper. Kaede can’t stop smiling whenever she looks at (Y/N), knowing she was her first in such a big way. (Y/N), on the other hand, gets flustered way more easily now, especially whenever Kaede touches her in public. “Oh, so now you’re nervous?” Kaede teases, nudging her. “Shut up,” (Y/N) mutters, hiding her face behind her hands.

- Exploring Even More Together: Now that they’ve taken that first step, they get more and more comfortable exploring each other. Kaede still loves teasing (Y/N) just to watch her reactions, and (Y/N) loves learning what makes Kaede weak in return. They take their time, learning and growing together, never rushing, and always making sure they’re both completely comfortable. Because at the end of the day? It’s not just about physical intimacy. It’s about trust, love, and being completely vulnerable with the person who means the most to them.

Ember in the Dark pt.6

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.5 - pt.7

pt.1

Warnings: Violence and Physical Confrontation, Interrogation, Threats, Mild Gore/Injury, Substance Use, Emotional distress and trauma.

Word Count: 7568

Summary: After learning that Mageseekers are after her, (Y/N) retreats in distress, and Silco follows to offer quiet support. She breaks down, revealing some of her past, while Silco, uncharacteristically vulnerable, admits his care for her. This leads to a tentative but meaningful moment before they rejoin the others, subtly changed. The group discovers that Mageseekers in the Undercity are trying to alert Piltover and decide to intercept them. After capturing and interrogating them, they learn that only four Enforcers know about (Y/N). Instead of killing the Mageseekers outright, Vander chooses to eliminate the Enforcers first. Later, (Y/N) seeks comfort in Silco, and by morning, their deepening connection leads to a slow, powerful moment, solidifying their unspoken bond.

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

Felicia set a steaming bowl of stew in front of (Y/N) with a quiet thunk, then sat next to her, arms crossed. She didn’t say anything- she didn’t have to. The look on her face said enough: Eat. Or else.

(Y/N) sighed but picked up the spoon, taking a small bite. The warmth settled in her stomach, grounding her more than she cared to admit. Around her, the usual hum of conversation had dulled to a tense silence. They were all waiting for Benzo to return, to see if he had heard anything while at his shop today.

The wait stretched long, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them. Then, finally, the door swung open, and Benzo stepped inside. He looked a bit nervous as he made his way over to the bar, sighing as he sat down.

“...Apparently someone got some coin for tipping some Enforcers off about (Y/N).” His voice was measured, but there was an edge to it. “The Council doesn’t know yet, but the captain of the Enforcers sent word to Mageseekers in the area. Nothing big, nothing we can’t handle… Technically, the Undercity isn’t part of Piltover, so the Enforcers can’t do much about her. That’s why they told the Mageseekers. They can come down here, arrest us, beat us up, but other than that, it’s not like they can exile her if she’s already not in Piltover.”

Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. It could have been worse, but still- it was enough. If the Mageseekers knew, that meant word could spread. If it reached Demacia… Noxus would follow.

(Y/N)’s hands curled into fists beneath the table, nails biting into her palms. The walls of the room suddenly felt too tight, the air too thick. She needed space. Pushing back her chair a little too quickly, the legs scraped against the wooden floor as she stood.

“I need a minute,” she muttered, barely waiting for a response before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs.

Felicia called after her, but (Y/N) didn’t stop. Her limbs felt too tight, her breath too shallow. The room had felt suffocating, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the conversation or the memories clawing their way to the surface. Each step up to her room felt heavier than the last, her thoughts a spiraling mess. By the time she reached her door, she shut it behind her, bracing her hands against the wooden frame as she inhaled deeply.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

A quiet knock on her door made her shoulders tense. She knew who it was before he even spoke.

“(Y/N).” Silco’s voice was calm, steady. “Let me in.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Then, slowly, she turned toward the door, letting Silco inside... But she said nothing.

(Y/N) walked away from him and sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her hands as Silco shut the door behind him. The room felt smaller with him inside, the weight of his presence pressing against the silence that had settled between them. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His sharp, blue eyes studied her, waiting, watching- like he always did when he knew something was wrong.

And (Y/N)... she couldn’t take it. She exhaled, a sharp, trembling breath, before running a hand through her hair. “Dammit, Sil...” Her voice cracked, betraying her, raw with something she had tried to swallow down. “Why does it have to be like this? Why does it always have to feel like I’m running from something? I didn’t ask for magic, I didn’t ask to be from Ionia. Wish I could just get rid of it...”

(Y/N)’s fingers curled into the fabric of her pants, gripping tightly as she struggled with the storm inside her. She never talked about her past. Not really. Not beyond what little she had been willing to share when they were kids. But Silco had always been the exception. He had always been the one to notice the cracks in her walls, the one who never pushed but always waited- and gods, how she hated him for it sometimes.

Because it worked.

“It’s because of Noxus that I ended up here in the first place,” she admitted, voice quiet, but full of something bitter. She felt, more than saw the way Silco straightened beside her. She could feel the shift in the air, the way his focus sharpened entirely on her.

“They burned my home,” she continued, eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. “They killed my people. They forced my mother to run with nothing but the clothes on her back and me in her arms.” Her breath hitched, and she gritted her teeth. “And now Mageseekers... That means it can all come crashing down on me.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “No matter how much I hid, no matter how much I tried to be normal- it’s like I’ll always be something other... Like I’m a curse.”

Her voice wavered. Her hands trembled. She had spent her whole life running, hiding, burying the truth of what she was. And it hadn’t been enough.

Silco watched her for a long moment, his gaze steady, unwavering. Then, without a word, he reached out, covering her shaking hand with his.

(Y/N) sucked in a sharp breath. Silco had never been one for comfort, not in the way Vander or Felicia was... But his grip was firm, grounding. A silent promise.

“They won’t take you,” he said, his voice low, certain.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She wanted to believe him- She really did…

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her chest tightening as the first tear slipped down her cheek. She hated this- hated how weak it made her feel, how exposed. She never cried in front of others. She never let herself.

But she couldn’t stop it.

The tears came anyway, silent and unstoppable, streaming down her face as her body trembled. Her breaths were shallow, uneven, the weight of everything pressing down on her all at once.

Silco didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull away. He just sat there, his hand still over hers, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

It was that- his quiet, unwavering presence- that finally broke her.

A sob wracked through her, sharp and raw, and she turned toward him, pressing her face into his shoulder as her body shook.

Silco stiffened at first, caught off guard. Affection- this kind of closeness- was something neither of them indulged in easily.

But he didn’t pull away.

Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his hand, resting it against her back. His fingers curled slightly, uncertain, but present.

"I-" she choked out, gripping onto his shirt. "I don’t want to run anymore."

Silco’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching at her words.

"You won’t," he murmured. His voice was low, steady- a quiet promise against the storm raging inside her.

They sat there like that for a long time- (Y/N) curled against him, her tears soaking into his shirt, Silco holding her gently, because in this moment, there were no masks, no defenses- just them.

She stayed there, pressed against him, her mind still racing even as her sobs quieted. She felt exhausted, raw, but… safe. Safe in a way she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time.

Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could hear his heartbeat too- steady, controlled, though there was something tense about the way he held her, something careful.

This was Silco. The same Silco she had known since they were kids. The one who had found her when she ran, who protected her secrets, who always looked at the world like he wanted to tear it apart and build something better in its place.

This moment… it was quiet, softer than any they’d had before.

(Y/N) took a shaky breath, forcing herself to pull back just enough to meet his eyes. His face was unreadable, the usual sharpness softened just slightly, but still guarded.

She hesitated.

Her fingers clenched in his shirt before she finally forced herself to speak.

“…Silco.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He didn’t look away.

"I-" She exhaled sharply, frustrated with herself, but she pushed through.

"Why do you treat me differently? Why… aren’t you standoffish with me, like how you are with most others?"

The words hung between them, heavy.

Silco’s expression didn’t change- not immediately. His grip on her hand tightened just slightly, his sharp eyes searching hers, looking for something, though she wasn’t sure what.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

"(Y/N)…"

His voice was quiet, almost careful in a way he rarely was.

(Y/N) could hear the pounding of her own heart in her ears, could feel her pulse in her fingertips where they still clung to his shirt. Every second that passed without a response made her stomach twist tighter, her breath stuck in her throat.

Then, finally, Silco exhaled, his fingers twitching where they rested against her hand.

"(Y/N)…" He said her name again, softer this time, but still guarded.

His face was unreadable- his usual sharp, calculating expression still there, but underneath it, something else flickered.

Something uncertain.

She searched his face, trying to figure out what he was thinking, trying to prepare herself for whatever he was going to say.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she had ever heard it.

"I don’t… know how to do this."

(Y/N) blinked.

Out of everything she had expected- anger, maybe even laughter… she hadn’t expected that.

Silco sighed through his nose, closing his eyes briefly before looking back at her.

"I never… let myself think about this."

His grip on her hand tightened slightly, but not in a way that hurt. Just like he was grounding himself.

"We’ve always had bigger things to worry about. Staying alive. Keeping ahead of everyone who wants us dead. And you…"

His jaw tensed, as if he was holding something back.

"You’re one of the only people I can trust."

(Y/N) swallowed, her throat dry.

"That’s not what I-"

"I care…" He cut her off, shaking his head slightly. "I care about you- more than I should."

Her breath hitched.

Silco’s sharp blue eyes locked onto hers, something intense in them.

"I don’t know how to feel something like this, (Y/N)."

He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

"But I care… I’d do anything for you."

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

For a moment, she could only stare at him, her mind catching up to what he had just said.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her fingers slowly loosening from his shirt, but not letting go entirely.

"I don’t know how to do this either," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to figure it out."

Silco didn’t speak, but his hand squeezed hers again, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles.

She barely had time to react before she felt the warmth of his hand against her cheek.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Silco looked just as startled as she felt, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up. His fingers twitched slightly, as if debating whether to pull away, but instead, he stayed there. She leaned into his touch before she could stop herself, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

When she opened them again, Silco was watching her with something unreadable in his expression- hesitation, curiosity, something softer than she had ever seen before.

"We’re fools," he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

(Y/N) let out a quiet, breathy laugh. "We’ve always been fools."

Silco huffed through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. His thumb brushed against her cheekbone, feather-light.

She wasn’t sure what to do. If she should say something, if she should move, if she should just stay here and let herself drown in the moment.

But then Silco, always the one to plan ahead, always the one to think things through, did something completely reckless.

He leaned in… Just barely. Not quite a kiss, not yet, giving her the chance to pull away.

…She didn’t…

Instead, she closed the distance.

Silco was careful, his hand still resting against her cheek as the kiss deepened. It was hesitant, unpracticed, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t thinking about that- weren’t thinking about anything at all, really.

(Y/N) could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the warmth of his lips against hers making her feel lightheaded. Or maybe that was just the leftover exhaustion and pain. She wasn’t sure.

Silco’s other hand hovered near her side before he caught himself, remembering her injury. Instead, he settled for gently cupping the side of her neck, his touch warm, grounding.

They were slow, careful. Learning.

By the time they finally broke apart, they were both breathing a little heavier, their foreheads almost touching.

Silco swallowed, his thumb still brushing against her skin.

"…Utter fools," he muttered, quieter this time.

(Y/N) let out a breathy laugh, her lips still tingling. "Yeah."

Neither of them moved right away. They just sat there, the weight of the moment settling between them.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Silco reached for her hand, his touch firm but careful. Not leading her- grounding her.

"Come on," he murmured. "They’re waiting."

As they made their way downstairs, there was an unspoken shift between them. Nothing had really changed, and yet… everything had.

(Y/N) stuck close to Silco’s side, though not in a way that would be obvious to anyone else. Just a half-step closer than usual, just a glance in his direction when she thought no one was looking.

And Silco- well, he wasn’t one for public displays of anything, but there was something softer in the way he moved, something more deliberate.

Vander was behind the bar, wiping down glasses while Benzo leaned against the counter, deep in conversation. Felicia was there too, sitting at one of the tables, but when she looked up and saw (Y/N) and Silco, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"You good?" Felicia asked, her voice casual, but the look in her eyes wasn’t.

(Y/N) nodded, clearing her throat. "Yeah. Just needed a breather."

Felicia didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it go, turning her attention back to the conversation Benzo and Vander were having.

(Y/N) exhaled, slipping into her usual spot at the table. Silco remained standing for a moment before taking a seat beside her- Close. Just enough that their legs brushed under the table.

But as Vander set a drink down in front of her, his brows furrowed slightly.

"You okay, kid? You look…" He hesitated, searching for the right word.

(Y/N) smirked faintly, grabbing the glass. "Tired?"

Vander huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Something like that."

She quickly downed her drink, ignoring the way Felicia kept sneaking glances at her from across the room. She reached for the bottle before Vander could say anything, pouring herself another drink with slightly unsteady hands. She needed the burn of the liquor, needed something to ground her.

Her mind was too full- of Enforcers, of the Mageseekers, of Silco, who still sat beside her, silent but present.

She could feel his eyes on her as she took a sip, the alcohol stinging down her throat.

Vander let out a sigh, crossing his arms. "You sure that’s a good idea, kid?"

(Y/N) didn’t answer at first, just swirling the whiskey in her glass.

"I’ve had worse ideas."

Felicia scoffed from across the room. "That’s not reassuring."

(Y/N) ignored her. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, not tonight. She felt raw, her nerves stretched thin, and drinking was the only thing that felt like it might help.

Silco didn’t stop her- he didn’t say a word, just leaned back slightly in his chair, sipping his own drink. But there was something in the way he watched her, something unreadable in his gaze.

After a moment, Vander exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "Just don’t overdo it," he muttered before turning his attention elsewhere.

(Y/N) didn’t respond, just took another sip of her drink, welcoming the warmth that spread through her chest. But no amount of alcohol could drown out the reality settling in the back of her mind.

The Mageseekers were after her.

The thought sat heavy in her gut, twisting like a knife. They had been too close today. Too damn close. One wrong move, one misstep, and she would have been dragged off to the cells of Piltover- if they didn’t kill her outright.

And now?

Now they wouldn’t stop looking.

Her grip tightened around the glass.

Felicia’s voice cut through her thoughts. "So, what’s the plan?"

(Y/N) blinked, glancing up. "What?"

Felicia sighed, leaning forward. "The Mageseekers. What are we gonna do about them?"

Silco spoke before (Y/N) could. "We lay low. Stick to the shadows. Make sure they don’t catch wind of her again." His voice was steady, certain, but his fingers tapped against his glass- a rare show of nerves.

Felicia frowned. "And how long do you think that’ll work?"

Silco’s eyes flicked toward (Y/N), sharp and considering. "Long enough."

Felicia scoffed. "That’s not a real plan, Silco. We can’t just hide forever."

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, staring into the amber liquid in her glass.

No. They couldn’t.

Because the Mageseekers weren’t the kind of enemy that just… gave up.

They would keep hunting. Keep searching.

And eventually, they would find her.

Unless she found a way to stop them first.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

(Y/N) could feel the tension rolling off Vander and Felicia, the weight of unspoken fears pressing down on all of them.

Then, Silco finally spoke.

"What if we got rid of the Mageseekers before they can send word to anyone higher up?"

His voice was even, calculated- but there was an edge to it, something sharp hidden beneath the surface.

Vander was already shaking his head before Silco even finished. "That’s not the way, Silco."

Felicia crossed her arms. "Killing Enforcers is one thing. The Mageseekers? They’d bring down hell on the Undercity if they thought someone was targeting them."

Silco didn’t react, just leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping against his glass in slow, measured movements. "They’ll bring down hell anyway, Felicia. The difference is whether or not (Y/N) is alive when they do."

(Y/N) swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away.

Because he was right.

And as much as she knew Vander and Felicia hated the idea, they both knew it too.

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to sit up straighter. "What other choice do we have?"

Vander’s jaw tensed, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

Felicia looked away, scowling.

But neither of them had an answer.

Because there wasn’t one.

After a long, tense pause, Vander let out a slow breath. "We’d need to be careful. Real careful."

Felicia’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but she gave a small nod. "And we’d have to be sure. If word’s already gotten out, then it won’t matter what we do."

Silco’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. He had already been thinking the same thing. "Then the first step is finding them. Figuring out how many of them know- and if they’ve already told anyone."

(Y/N) tightened her grip around her glass, nodding.

It was dangerous. Stupid, even.

But it was the only way.

Vander exhaled, running a hand down his face before nodding. “Alright. We don’t have time to waste. We split up, we get information, and we regroup. No one does anything reckless.”

His eyes flickered toward Silco, as if the words were meant for him in particular. Silco didn’t respond- just raised an eyebrow slightly, taking another slow sip of his drink.

Felicia pushed off from the table, already moving. “I’ll get Connol. He knows a few people who move between here and Piltover. If anything’s trickled down, we’ll hear about it.”

Silco finally set his glass down. “Benzo and I will check the deep end of the city. The Mageseekers aren’t above using hired help, and if they were seen, someone down there will know.”

Vander grunted, his fingers tapping against the counter. “(Y/N) and I will stay in the Lanes, listen for any rumors. If someone’s seen them sniffing around, we’ll know soon enough.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard, nodding. Her heart was still pounding, but at least now she had something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.

Felicia glanced between them all. “We meet back here in a few hours?”

Vander nodded. “Before dawn. No one goes off alone.”

Silco hummed, already pushing away from the counter. “Then let’s not waste time.”

With that, they each moved, stepping into the cold air of the Undercity, splitting off into the smog filled streets.

Vander and (Y/N) moved through the winding streets of the Lanes, keeping their heads low but their ears open. The brothel was their first stop- Babette knew everything that happened in the Undercity before most people did.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching them with sharp, knowing eyes. “Mageseekers, huh?” she mused, blowing out a slow stream of smoke. “Word is, a few of ‘em came sniffing around the markets earlier. Didn’t stay long, though.”

(Y/N) tensed beside Vander. “Did they ask about anything specific?”

Babette hummed, tapping ash onto the floor. “Not that I heard, but if they were here, they’re looking for something. Or someone.” Her gaze lingered on (Y/N), but she didn’t say anything more.

Vander nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Next, they wove through the market, asking the vendors they trusted most. Some had seen the Mageseekers, but no one knew exactly what they were after.

It wasn’t until they stopped by a small chem den that they got something more useful. A jittery dealer, hands stained with chemicals, muttered that he’d seen them talking to a courier near the border to Piltover. The Mageseekers weren’t just looking around- they were trying to get a message topside.

Vander’s jaw clenched. That wasn’t good. If word got out, they’d have more than just a few enforcers poking around.

“We need to get back,” (Y/N) said, voice tight.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

With that, they headed straight for the bar, the weight of their discovery heavy between them. If the others hadn’t found anything better, they’d have to act fast.

The bar was quiet when Vander and (Y/N) got there, but it didn’t last long.

Felicia and Connol arrived next, both looking tense. Then Silco and Benzo slipped in from the back entrance, shaking off the cold damp from the depths of the Undercity. Everyone looked tired, but there was no time to rest.

They sat around one of the tables, exchanging information quickly.

Felicia and Connol had tracked signs of the Mageseekers moving near the border, just as (Y/N) and Vander had heard. Silco and Benzo, meanwhile, had caught whispers in the fissures- something about outsiders asking the wrong people too many questions.

“They’re trying to send word topside,” Vander said grimly. “We stop that message from getting out, or this gets a hell of a lot worse.”

A silence hung over the table. The Mageseekers were dangerous, but letting them escape would be worse.

“We take them before they get to the bridge,” Silco said, voice sharp, determined. “Grab them, drag them somewhere quiet, make sure we know exactly what they know.” His fingers drummed against the tabletop. “Then we kill them.”

Vander’s expression darkened. “We don’t know that it has to go that far.”

“They came after (Y/N).” Silco’s voice was low but heated. “They would’ve dragged her off and locked her away, or worse. And you’d let them go?”

“I didn’t say that.” Vander let out a slow breath, trying to keep his voice even. “We get the information first. After that… we’ll see.”

Silco’s gaze was sharp, but he didn’t argue. Not yet.

Felicia leaned back, crossing her arms. “So, we intercept them at the bridge. Then what?”

Vander looked around at them all. “Then we take them to one of the old warehouses, out near the factory row. No one’ll hear anything out there.”

Everyone nodded, the plan settling between them. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all they had.

They had a long night ahead.

The night air was thick with the scent of damp stone and oil as they moved into position. The bridge loomed ahead, shrouded in the dim glow of golden lanterns from the upper city. Shadows stretched long against the uneven cobblestone, the sound of distant voices and the occasional scuffle of rats the only noise accompanying them.

They kept to the edges, hiding in the narrow alleys and behind the rusting remains of old pipes. It wasn’t long before they saw them- a small group of five figures making their way toward the bridge. Their robes were discreet, but not enough to fool anyone who knew what to look for. The way they moved, cautious and deliberate, screamed of authority that didn’t belong down here.

Silco’s grip tightened around the knife in his hand. His gaze flicked toward Vander, a silent confirmation passing between them.

Now.

They moved as one.

Felicia and Connol struck first, stepping out from the darkness to cut off their path. Before the Mageseekers could react, Vander and Silco closed in from behind, with (Y/N) and Benzo cutting off any chance of escape.

One of the Mageseekers cursed under his breath, already reaching for a weapon, but Felicia was faster. She slammed her elbow into his gut, knocking the wind out of him before twisting his arm behind his back. Connol drew a blade and leveled it at the others.

“Not a word,” Silco said, his voice low, dangerous.

The Mageseekers hesitated, eyes darting between them, weighing their odds. One of them- the tallest, likely the leader- lifted his chin slightly. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

Vander stepped forward, looming. “No, we do. And you’re not going anywhere.”

The leader sneered. “If we report back, more will come.”

Silco tilted his head. “Then it’s a good thing we don’t plan on letting you report back.”

The Mageseekers stiffened, but before any of them could react, Vander gave the signal.

With swift efficiency, they dragged them into the nearest alleyway, keeping them subdued. There was no time to waste. They needed to get them to the warehouse before anyone noticed they were missing.

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick with the stench of dust and rusting metal. The Mageseekers were bound tightly to old pipes, their hands tied behind their backs, their ankles secured. The dim light of a single oil lamp cast long, flickering shadows along the cracked walls, making the entire scene feel even more oppressive.

Vander stood with his arms crossed, his face grim, while Silco leaned against a crate, watching their captives with an unnerving stillness. (Y/N), standing just behind Vander, had her arms wrapped around herself, trying to steady the storm raging in her chest. Felicia and Connol lingered by the door, keeping an eye on the streets outside, while Benzo paced slowly behind the bound prisoners.

The questioning had been straightforward, and the answers had come easier than expected. The five Mageseekers in the room were the only ones who had come to the Undercity. They hadn't managed to send word to their superiors in Demacia yet, nor had they warned the rest of their order. That was something, at least.

Then came the question of the Enforcers.

The Mageseekers hesitated, but after some… encouragement, they admitted the truth. Only four Enforcers knew. The captain and three others. (Y/N) felt her stomach twist at the revelation.

The same three who had caught her all those years ago.

Her breath hitched. She could still remember their faces, their voices. The way they chased her through the streets, the way they forced her to use her magic to run away, the way they looked at her like she was nothing.

She clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.

“We know everything we need,” Silco said after a long silence, his voice quiet but sharp. His gaze flicked to Vander. “Now we decide what to do with them.”

Vander exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “We let them go, they come back with more. Killin’ ‘em, though…” He hesitated. “That’s a line I don’t want to cross unless we have to.”

Silco pushed off the crate, stepping closer to the bound prisoners. “You think they wouldn’t do the same to us? To (Y/N)?” His voice was razor-edged. “They hunt people like her down and toss them in chains. Or worse.” He turned to the others, his eyes dark. “If we let them live, we risk everything.”

Felicia frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t like the idea of just killing them,” she admitted. “But Silco’s not wrong. If we let them go, they will come back.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard, glancing at Vander. “What choice do we have?” she asked, her voice quiet. “If we let them walk away, we’re as good as dead.”

Vander sighed, his shoulders tense. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he stared at the Mageseekers. They looked back at him, defiant even now, even tied up and helpless.

Finally, he spoke. “…We deal with the Enforcers first.” His voice was heavy. “If we handle them, there’s no one left in Piltover who knows about (Y/N).” He glanced at the prisoners. “Until then, we keep these five locked up. We’ll decide their fate after the Enforcers are taken care of.”

Silco didn’t look satisfied, but he didn’t argue. Not yet.

They had their next move.

Back at the bar, the tension hung heavy between them. The doors were locked, the drinks forgotten, and the usual warmth of the place had been replaced with something colder, sharper. They sat around a table in the back, heads low, voices hushed.

Silco leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of him. “We’ll have to take them out one by one. If we hit them all at once, we risk too much attention.” His eyes flickered toward (Y/N) for the briefest moment before he continued. “The trick will be luring them away without raising suspicion.”

Vander exhaled through his nose, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s not just about takin’ them out, it’s about makin’ sure no one knows why they disappeared. If the Enforcers get wind of what we’re doing, we’re screwed.”

Felicia leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the table. “We could start with the easiest target- the one who strays from the others the most.” She looked at (Y/N). “Do you remember anything about them? Their routines?”

(Y/N) swallowed, trying to push past the nausea curling in her stomach. “The captain… he was always the last to leave the barracks. But the other three…” She shook her head. “I don’t remember much else. Just their faces.”

Benzo, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. “If they’re anything like the Enforcers I used to deal with, they’ll have their vices. Gambling, drinking, a side hustle or two. We just need to figure out what those are.”

Silco nodded. “Then that’s our next step. We dig. We find out where they go when they’re not playing soldier, and we pick them off one at a time.”

Vander let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “And after that...” His eyes met Silco’s. “We’re gonna have to lay low for a long time. With four of their own missin’, the Enforcers are gonna turn this city upside down lookin’ for answers.”

Silco’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then we make sure they don’t find any.”

The plan was reckless. Dangerous. But it was the only choice they had.

The silence in the bar stretched long after the others had left, leaving only the fading scent of smoke and liquor in their wake. The warmth of their presence had disappeared, replaced by an uneasy quiet that settled deep in (Y/N)’s chest. She sat at the table, fingers tracing the rim of her glass, the weight of the night pressing against her like a storm on the horizon.

Across from her, Silco hadn’t moved. He sat half-shrouded in the dim glow of the lantern, watching her with that sharp, knowing gaze. He didn’t push, didn’t speak, just waited. And maybe that was why she found herself breaking the silence, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.

“…Stay with me tonight?”

Silco’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t mock her for the request. He simply studied her, as if searching for the meaning beneath her words, then gave a small nod. “Alright.”

Relief washed through her, though she wasn’t sure why. They didn’t say much as they made their way upstairs, slipping into the small, dimly lit room. (Y/N) sat on the edge of the bed, unfastening her boots with slow, exhausted movements. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight- not with her thoughts running in endless circles, looping back to the same questions, the same fears.

Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. Then, after a moment, he sighed and sat beside her on the bed. “You think too much,” he muttered.

(Y/N) let out a tired laugh. “Kind of hard not to.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Then, without really thinking, she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. For a second, she thought he might pull away- but he didn’t. He stayed still, quiet, letting her take whatever comfort she needed.

“…You scared?” he asked after a while.

(Y/N) closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. “No,” she murmured. “Just… tired.”

Silco hummed softly, a sound of amusement or understanding- maybe both. “Then rest.”

She didn’t remember falling asleep. But when she woke, the dim morning light filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. She shifted slightly, only to realize she wasn’t alone. Warmth pressed against her, an arm draped over her waist, her hand resting lightly against a familiar chest.

Silco.

Her breath caught as her sleep-fogged mind registered the closeness, the way their legs were loosely tangled, his face just inches from hers. His breathing was slow and even, still deep in sleep. She had never seen him like this before- unguarded, his sharp features softened by unconsciousness. No calculated expression, no sharp words waiting behind his lips. Just… him.

A strange feeling curled in her chest, something warm and terrifying all at once. She should move before he woke, before he turned that piercing gaze on her. But… she didn’t. Instead, she closed her eyes again, listening to the quiet, letting herself stay just a little longer.

Eventually, she felt him shift. His body tensed slightly, adjusting to the unfamiliar warmth beside him. A slow inhale, a flicker of movement.

(Y/N) braced herself, waiting for him to pull away, to make some cutting remark. But when his blue eyes finally opened, still clouded with sleep, he just looked at her. No teasing. No sharp words. Just quiet understanding.

“…Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

She swallowed. “Morning.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them let go.

The air between them was fragile, humming with something neither of them had spoken aloud. Silco’s fingers moved first, threading through (Y/N)’s hair with a touch so careful, so deliberate, it felt as if he was memorizing the feel of her. It was unlike him- unlike the sharp edges, the carefully controlled restraint he carried.

She barely breathed, afraid that any sudden movement would break whatever fragile thing had settled between them.

Then he moved closer.

His fingers traced down to her jaw, featherlight, testing. Seeing if she would pull away.

But she didn’t.

She leaned into his touch, her own hand coming to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. Neither of them spoke.

Silco’s gaze flickered to her lips, hesitation creeping in- but when (Y/N) shifted, closing the last bit of distance between them, the moment cracked open like a flood.

His lips met hers, slow at first, careful- until it wasn’t.

(Y/N) pressed into him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he pulled her closer, their bodies molding together as if they had done this a hundred times before. But they hadn’t. And maybe that was what made it all the more intoxicating.

Silco wasn’t rough, wasn’t hurried. He kissed her like he was trying to take his time, like he wanted to make sure this wasn’t just some fleeting moment. And (Y/N) melted into it, into him, into the way his hands traced slow, reverent paths over her skin.

His lips didn’t leave hers for long. He kissed her again, slower this time, as though savoring every second, every soft sigh that left her lips. His fingers trailed along her jaw, tracing the curve of her cheek before tilting her chin just enough to deepen the kiss. Careful. Hesitant, even. But beneath his restraint was something simmering- something intense, something that burned.

When he finally broke away, his lips barely brushed against her skin as he moved lower, trailing soft, lingering kisses down her jaw. Each press of his mouth sent shivers down her spine, her breath catching when he reached the sensitive spot beneath her ear. He lingered there, his lips parting slightly against her pulse, feeling the way it fluttered beneath his touch.

His hands followed, fingertips ghosting down her arms, over the fabric of her clothes. Not rough, not demanding- just exploring. Mapping her. Tracing her like something he never thought he’d be allowed to touch.

His fingers trailed lower, brushing over her waist, then back up, caressing her through the thin fabric with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

(Y/N)’s breath hitched when he pressed a kiss just beneath her ear again, his breath warm, sending a slow, aching warmth curling low in her stomach. She felt his hesitation in the way his hands lingered at her hips, waiting for something- for her.

So she gave it.

Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer, giving him the silent permission he needed.

Silco let out a slow breath against her neck before pressing another kiss there- softer this time, deliberate. Careful, but claiming. A contrast that sent heat spreading through her limbs.

His lips moved lower, down the column of her throat, each kiss leaving a lingering heat in its wake. His hands, once hesitant, grew bolder, smoothing over her back, pulling her closer, but never pushing too far.

He was letting her set the pace. Letting her guide him.

…But Silco’s restraint was slipping. He could feel it in the slight tremble of his fingers against her waist, in the way his breathing deepened as (Y/N)’s hands tangled in his hair.

He wasn’t used to this- wasn’t used to wanting something so badly and having it right in front of him, willingly pressing against him, pulling him closer.

(Y/N)’s breath hitched as his lips traveled lower, pressing against the hollow of her throat before dragging back up to claim her lips again.

This kiss was different.

Less hesitant. More desperate.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a confession, a surrender.

Her hands roamed over his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he held himself together even as he unraveled beneath her touch. She whispered his name, soft and breathless, and something inside him broke.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was low, almost shaky.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his blue eyes burning into hers.

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

But she did. She could feel it in every touch, every kiss, every careful caress.

“I love you,” she murmured, barely above a whisper, but the words sent a shiver through him.

His grip on her tightened, his forehead pressing against hers as he exhaled- long and slow, like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“You don’t have to say that,” he rasped, as if the words were dangerous, as if they might unravel him completely.

“But I do,” she insisted, her fingers tracing over his jaw, grounding him. “I’ve loved you for years…”

A quiet sound left him, something caught between disbelief and longing.

Then he kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring everything he couldn’t say into it. His hands roamed with more certainty now, sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his palms.

“(Y/N)…” Her name was a whisper against her lips, a prayer.

“If I could love anyone…” He kissed her again, breathing her in, the taste of her, the feel of her. “It would be you.”

The words undid her.

She pulled him closer, hands desperate, bodies pressed flush together as the moment deepened, as the world outside this bed, this room, this morning ceased to matter.

No more hesitation.

No more secrets.

Just whispered names and the feeling of finally being where they belonged.

Silco lingered in bed as (Y/N) slowly moved to sit up, stretching her arms over her head, the morning light filtering through the window casting a soft glow over her skin. He found himself watching her, memorizing the way the light danced over her form before she turned to him with a small, sleepy smile.

“I need a bath,” she murmured, running a hand through her tousled hair. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit.”

Silco hummed in response, propping himself up on one elbow as he reached out, trailing his fingers down her arm.

“Don’t take too long,” he muttered, his voice still rough from sleep. “I don’t like waiting.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, standing to gather fresh clothes before making her way toward the washroom.

Silco watched her go, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand down his face.

Gods.

What had he just done?

This morning…

Everything about it had changed something between them.

They had known how they felt about each other somewhat, but neither had truly acted on it, not like this. It had always been a quiet understanding, a tension that hovered between them, acknowledged but never fully embraced. But now, there was no denying it. No pretending it hadn’t happened.

For the first time in a long while, Silco didn’t feel like he had to be so guarded.

And that terrified him.

But right now, he didn’t have the time to dwell on it.

With a grunt, he pushed himself out of bed, reaching for his shirt. There was work to be done, plans to set in motion. Whatever came next, they would face it together.

Downstairs, the others were waiting, but for now, (Y/N) had a moment to herself- one final bit of peace before the storm that was sure to come.

She stood before the mirror, fingers ghosting over the fresh stitches on her abdomen. The wound was still raw, an aching reminder of how close she had come to death. She traced her fingers just beneath it, absentmindedly, her mind flickering back to everything she had learned in the last few days- the Enforcers, Piltover, the Mageseekers hunting her.

It was overwhelming.

But there was no time to process it fully. Not yet.

She exhaled slowly and let her hands drop to her sides, her gaze drifting over the rest of her body- faint scars from years of fighting, surviving in the Undercity. Each mark told a story, a piece of her past carved into her skin.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned away from the mirror and stepped into the bath, sighing as the warm water enveloped her. She sank down, closing her eyes for a moment, letting herself simply exist in the quiet.

It was rare to have a moment like this- peaceful, still.

She ran her hands through her hair, washing away the remnants of the night before, of the past few days. She moved through the familiar motions of getting ready, her mind still lingering on the weight of everything that had happened.

Brushing through her damp hair, she worked out the knots before twisting it up into a bun, a few loose strands framing her face. Dressing in her usual layers, she adjusted her sleeves, ensuring they covered the faint golden shimmer that sometimes flickered along her skin when her magic stirred.

Once satisfied, she quickly brushed her teeth, rinsing away the last remnants of the night before.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her room, making her way down the creaky wooden steps into the bar.

The familiar scent of smoke, alcohol, and the faintest trace of damp stone greeted her.

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.”