Ember In The Dark Pt.11
A/N: Hi everybody! This is the last part of my Young Silco fic :} Im am already writing a sequel, and I am excited to keep this story going. I hope you all like it!
Ember in the Dark pt.11
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.10 - Sequel
pt.1
Warnings: Violence/Physical Assault, Child Endangerment/Trauma, Death/Grief, War/Revolution, Substance Use.
Word Count: 9273
Summary: (Y/N) helps build a fragile life alongside Silco, Vander, Felicia, and Connol, raising Violet and Powder as their found family. After a violent encounter with Enforcers leaves everyone shaken, tensions escalate between Silco and Vander, leading to a planned uprising at the bridge. (Y/N) chooses to stay behind to protect the girls. The revolution ends in disaster- Felicia and Connol are killed, Silco vanishes, and (Y/N) is left to carry the girls to safety. Vander returns alone, claiming Silco abandoned them, but (Y/N) doesn’t believe it. She searches- finds no body, no trace- and quietly holds onto hope. Years pass. Violet and Powder grow. New kids join their family. The Last Drop becomes a haven, and (Y/N) stays at its heart- scarred but steady, protecting what remains. Silco’s name fades from conversation, but not from memory. She never truly lets him go.
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The Last Drop was alive with its usual rhythm- voices echoing off brick walls, the low clink of glass, laughter that rang too loud. But the second (Y/N) stepped inside, saying her hello’s, the mood shifted. Not all at once. Just enough to make the air feel different.
Felicia noticed quick. Her head snapped up from where she sat, Violet balanced on her hip. Her smile dropped like a stone. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of blood, the tension in (Y/N)’s shoulders, the way she clutched her bag like it was stitched to her ribs.
“Oh, god…” she breathed, already half on her feet. “Vander-”
Connol moved before she could finish, steadying Violet as Felicia stood. Vander looked up from where he was drying a glass behind the bar, brows drawing tight. He didn’t speak yet.
But Silco didn’t wait for anyone.
His stool scraped back sharply. The half-full glass he’d been nursing tipped and spilled across the bar, forgotten. He was across the room in seconds- quicker than anyone had ever seen him move when it wasn’t life or death.
His hands were on her before she could get another word out. One arm caught her around the waist, steadying her. The other came to her chin, tilting it gently, his fingers cool and trembling. His jaw clenched. Eyes scanned every mark on her face- the cut at her lip, the bruising along her cheekbone, the scraped edge of her brow.
“Who did this?” he asked, voice low and tight, almost quiet enough to miss. Almost.
She winced when his fingers brushed a sore spot, but she didn’t flinch away. Just looked up at him through lashes heavy with exhaustion, a ghost of a smile on her lips. It didn’t land.
“Enforcers,” she muttered. “Just a patrol.”
His expression darkened. He didn’t tighten his grip, but the air around him seemed to shift- an unspoken pressure that made the room hold its breath.
“They searched me,” she added, hoarse. “Didn’t find anything. They just… wanted to make a point.”
His thumb brushed a streak of blood from the corner of her mouth. His hand lingered there, and something flickered in his expression- hurt, maybe.
“You let them?” he rasped.
“I didn’t fight,” she whispered. “If I had… I might’ve hurt them. I didn’t trust myself not to lose control, even… If I can control it more now, than before...”
Silco closed his eyes, jaw tight with restraint.
Behind them, Vander stepped out from behind the bar. “Get her upstairs,” he said, voice low. “We’ll talk after.”
Felicia was already moving again, clutching Violet like a tether. Her face was a storm.
“I’m fine,” (Y/N) tried to say, barely above a whisper.
“No, you’re not,” Silco muttered. He slipped the edge of her cloak back over her shoulders, tightening it around her with careful hands. “Come on.”
He didn’t give her the chance to argue. With an arm secure around her waist, he guided her toward the stairs. His steps were sharp, shoulders taut with silent fury. Not a word was spoken as the door clicked shut behind them.
The quiet in the room was thick- not awkward, just heavy.
Silco didn’t ask her to sit. He simply steered her gently to the bed, helped her lower herself with careful hands, and moved across the room in a blur of precise motion. The tin basin. The pitcher. A cloth. A bottle of disinfectant- stings like hell, but it kept you alive.
He knelt in front of her and tilted her face toward the light. The cloth was warm. Gentle. He wiped the blood away with a steady hand.
She flinched when it passed over the split in her lip. “Sorry,” he murmured, almost too quietly.
“You’re better than they were,” she said, voice barely audible.
His jaw ticked, but he didn’t answer. He reached for the bottle, soaked a clean cloth, and pressed it carefully to her temple. It burned.
She hissed, eyes watering.
“Hold still.”
It wasn’t sharp. Just soft enough to keep her grounded.
He worked in silence. Cleaning every mark. Every bruise. Every scrape. His focus never wavered, but she could see the tension behind it- the way his brows knit together, the way he breathed through his nose like it was the only way to stay calm.
When he reached her hands, he stopped. Just for a moment.
They were torn up. Raw. Stone and dirt ground into her palms, her knuckles purpled from impact.
His thumbs hovered there, then moved with excruciating care, picking away the debris, soaking the cloth again and again. He didn’t speak until the worst of it was done.
“... You should have fought back.” he whispered, voice rough.
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. “Not again.”
He said nothing. Just reached for the gauze. Wrapped her hands with the same precision, knotting them tight enough to protect, not tight enough to sting.
When he finished, he lifted her hand to his lips. A kiss to her knuckles, light as air.
“You should’ve called for me,” he said, finally.
Her throat caught. “I didn’t know if you were nearby.”
“I don’t care,” he said, sharper now. “I would’ve burned the streets down to get to you.”
His eyes met hers. They burned- not with blame. But with something colder. Sharper.
“I’ll find them,” he said. “And when I do-”
“Silco.” Her voice was small, but it cut clean through the tension. “I’m okay. You got me. That’s what matters.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then his shoulders eased, just barely. He brought her hands to his lips again, eyes closed.
“You shouldn’t have to live like this,” he murmured.
“I want this,” she said, forehead pressing gently to his. “I want you.”
That was all it took to make the rage inside him quiet- at least for now.
He held her. Close. Like he could block out the world just by keeping her there.
No more words passed between them for a while. Just the sound of breath, the warmth of quiet touch. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands bandaged, shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she hadn’t said. Silco crouched in front of her still, hands never straying far.
Eventually, Silco helped her up with the same care he’d shown before. Arm around her waist. Not holding her up- just holding her steady.
They moved down the stairs together. Every creak felt too loud. The hum of the bar had returned, but the energy was different. Tense. Quiet.
Felicia still sat in her usual booth, Violet asleep in her arms, a worn blanket draped across them both. Connol was beside her, quiet and still. His eyes found (Y/N) the moment she appeared.
Vander was behind the bar again. Arms crossed. Watching. Measuring. Counting bruises.
Felicia’s eyes widened when she saw her. Relief flooded her face, but it didn’t erase the lingering anger.
“You’re alright,” she said. Like she needed to say it out loud to believe it. “Really alright?”
“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, voice steadier now. “Just a little beat up.”
Vander exhaled through his nose and turned for a clean glass. “Sit,” he said, gruff but not unkind. “Drink something warm. You’ll feel it more in an hour.”
(Y/N) gave a tired smile. Let Silco guide her to the booth across from Felicia and Connol. She didn’t lean on him. But she didn’t let go either.
Silco didn’t leave her side. He slid into the booth like he belonged there, quiet and sure, his arm settling along the backrest, fingers grazing her shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was grounding- anchored, solid.
Felicia leaned forward, eyes narrowed as she took in the bruises on (Y/N)’s face. “If I ever see those bastards near here again…” Her voice was tight, sharp.
“Fel,” Connol said softly, placing a steadying hand on her knee.
She didn’t look at him. “No. I mean it. We can’t just keep letting them do this.”
Silco’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Still, he stayed silent. Not here. Not yet. Not when the eyes of the bar had already turned toward them. The murmur of conversation had slowed, dulled. Now, even those who tried to act like they weren’t listening… were.
The atmosphere thickened. Simmering tension pooled in the corners of the room- quiet, heavy, waiting for a spark.
Vander stepped in, a steaming mug in his hand. He set it gently in front of (Y/N), then stepped back, arms folding across his chest.
“We take care of our own,” he said. His voice was low, but it carried. “Always have.”
(Y/N) curled her fingers around the mug. Her eyes stayed down, watching steam rise in slow spirals.
Silco’s hand moved to her back, palm warm through the fabric. His thumb pressed slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades. Grounding. Gentle.
The bar’s rhythm resumed in cautious pieces- clinks of glass, low conversation, chairs scraping against wood- but something had shifted. A quiet understanding passed between the walls. One of theirs had been hurt. Again. And the Undercity remembers.
Behind the bar, Vander didn’t move much. But his posture spoke volumes. Hands braced against the counter, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. He wasn’t pouring drinks. The bottle beside him sat forgotten.
His eyes hadn’t left (Y/N) since she walked in- since he’d seen the bruises blooming across her skin, the blood drying at the corner of her mouth. The way she winced when she shifted. What haunted him most wasn’t the damage.
It was that she hadn’t even fought back.
She hadn’t used magic, hadn’t lashed out, hadn’t screamed. She was just walking. And they jumped her like she was nothing.
His fingers curled into fists. The wood beneath his palms creaked under the strain.
Silco noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed. But he didn’t speak. His attention stayed on her, thumb still tracing circles.
Felicia broke the silence with a venomous whisper. “This city’s rotting from the top down.”
Connol said nothing. His jaw was clenched, hand resting protectively atop Violet’s blanket, as if shielding his newborn daughter from the world.
Vander’s voice, when it came, was quiet- but sharp as a blade. “She didn’t even raise a hand.” His gaze was distant, as though staring through the bar. “Didn’t say a word. Just walked. And they still thought they could beat her bloody.”
His fists trembled on the counter. “That’s the kind of peace they’re offering.”
Silco’s eyes flicked toward him. “Starting to see it, are you?”
Vander didn’t answer. But the silence said enough.
His shoulders sagged slightly, breath shuddering out. “I’ve spent half my life pulling people back from the edge. Telling them to wait. To think. To survive instead of strike.” He looked at (Y/N) then, something pained and heavy flickering behind his eyes. “But what do we do when there’s no fight left to stop? When we keep our heads down, and they still come for us?”
(Y/N) looked up. Her voice was quiet, raw. “I didn’t fight because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not because I was scared.”
Her gaze dropped again. “Didn’t matter. They just wanted someone to hurt.”
The weight of her words hung in the air. No one had an answer.
Vander ran a hand across his jaw, slow. “This city’s gonna crack,” he muttered. Then, barely audible- “And I don’t know if I can stop it this time.”
The weight in the room pressed against her skin, heavier than the bruises blooming beneath it. (Y/N) stared down into the mug. Herbal. Faintly sweet. Something Vander probably mixed together himself- pain relief, maybe. Or just something warm to hold. Something that made you feel less hollow.
She took a careful sip. The heat stung against her split lip.
The others were still talking. Still shifting around her like a gathering storm. Silco hadn’t moved. His hand stayed firm against her back. Steady. Present.
But even that comfort felt distant. Sharpened by the silence in her chest.
She didn’t want their fury.
Didn’t want Felicia’s wild-eyed rage, or Vander’s coiled grief. She didn’t want Connol’s quiet worry, or Silco’s unreadable stillness.
She just wanted them to stop looking at her like this was something new.
It wasn’t.
Pain had followed her since childhood- persistent, predictable, a shadow stitched into her every step. There was always someone bigger. Someone crueler. Someone who needed to remind her she didn’t belong.
This wasn’t new. It was just more of the same.
She didn’t want pity. Or promises. Or rage that would burn everything down.
She wanted peace.
She took another sip of her drink, hands trembling slightly, and said nothing.
Silco leaned in, voice low against her ear. “Do you want to go upstairs?”
She didn’t answer right away.
But eventually, she nodded.
He rose first, then reached for her gently, helping her stand without a word. He didn’t hold her- just offered the support, and let her decide how much she needed.
They didn’t look back as they left.
The climb upstairs was slow- not just from pain, though it still lingered with every step- but from the weight in her chest. A hollow sort of gravity.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t lean on him. Just walked.
Silco didn’t press. He kept close. Always within reach. But didn’t touch her unless she faltered. He walked with a kind of quiet restraint, as if every instinct told him to pull her in- but he knew she needed space more than shelter.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Inside, the room welcomed them in silence. Dim neon light filtered through worn curtains. The scent of the day- dust from the mines, candle wax, and faint smoke- still clung to the air.
(Y/N) didn’t stop moving. She crossed to the window, cloak slipping from her shoulders and falling where it may.
She didn’t pick it up.
She sank into the window seat, flicked her fingers, and summoned a small flame.
It sparked, sputtered. Her hand trembled.
She clenched her jaw, tried again.
This time, the fire steadied. She lit the cigarette between her lips and leaned back, exhaling smoke toward the cracked pane. The breeze drew it out slowly, like breath finally let go.
Silco stood near the door, watching.
She looked hollow.
Not broken. Not weak. Just… dimmed. Like the fire in her chest had drawn back behind old walls. Her hands trembled around the cigarette. Blood dried like rust along her bandages.
She didn’t try to hide it.
She didn’t say a word.
Silco stepped forward- slowly, deliberately- and knelt beside her, one arm resting on the windowsill. He tilted his head, studying her profile, but didn’t speak right away.
“Talk to me,” he said at last, his voice low, nearly lost beneath the hum of the Undercity outside.
(Y/N) didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed on the distant glow bleeding through the cracked glass- the Undercity’s fractured light, flickering like something half-remembered. Smoke curled from the cigarette between her fingers. Her silence stretched, brittle.
“I’m just tired,” she said finally. “Tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
Silco swallowed, jaw tensing. She wasn’t talking about the bruises. Not really.
She drew in another breath of smoke, slower this time. “People always look at me like I’m strong. Like I can take it.” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “And I can. But it’s starting to feel like that’s the only reason I’m still here.”
Her eyes dropped to her bandaged hands, and her voice cracked.
“To take it.”
He didn’t speak. Just reached out, fingers brushing hers as he gently took the cigarette from her grip. She let it go without a word. He crushed the ember into the ashtray, then stood, pulling her carefully to her feet.
She blinked up at him, caught off guard- but didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arms around her. Not tightly. Not to shield or protect. Just close. Like he was anchoring her, grounding her in something real.
“You’re not here just to endure,” he murmured into her hair. “Not to me.”
Her hands gripped the front of his shirt before she could even think of it, her face pressing into the warmth of his chest. His heartbeat, steady beneath her ear, became the only rhythm she could hold onto. The scent of smoke and iron clung to him, familiar, oddly soothing.
Silco said nothing more. He just held her, patient and still, while her body trembled quietly in his arms.
She tried to breathe. Not cry. Not break. But it was hard. The bruises on her ribs and hands still throbbed beneath her skin, but the worst pain lived deeper- in the place that never got the chance to heal.
Her voice, when it came, was almost too quiet to hear.
“I wish it was different.”
His arms tightened, just slightly.
“I know.”
“I wish I didn’t have this magic,” she whispered. “Wish I didn’t have to hide it. Didn’t have to be afraid of it. I wish I could fight back without making things worse. I wish we weren’t always hunted. Like prey in our own streets. I just…”
Her breath hitched. “I just want to live like normal people.”
Silco didn’t respond right away. His thumb moved slowly over her back, quiet and steady.
“Normal’s a lie,” he said eventually, his voice rough. “But freedom? That’s worth everything.”
She gave a shaky exhale, her cheek brushing the warm skin above his collarbone. Her eyes were heavy now.
“Feels like we’ll never have it.”
“We will.” His voice shifted- firmer now. Not idealistic. Certain. “Not tomorrow. Not soon. But one day. I’ll make sure of it.”
She didn’t argue. She didn’t have the strength.
Instead, she let herself lean into him, her body slowly releasing the tension it had carried all day. Her heartbeat slowed, syncing with his. If she couldn’t have peace, at least she had this. Him. The quiet safety of his arms.
The exhaustion caught up all at once. Her breath warmed the hollow of his neck as her grip loosened- not from retreat, but from surrender.
Without a word, Silco shifted, guiding her toward the bed. She didn’t resist. Just followed, limbs heavy with the weight of it all.
They slipped under the thin blanket, the only light coming from the dim Undercity glow through the window. She curled into him instinctively, her head on his chest, her hand tucked between them like she was trying to keep something safe.
Silco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close until there was no space left between them. His legs tangled with hers, and he rested his chin gently on the top of her head.
It wasn’t the first time they’d fallen asleep like this. But something about tonight felt heavier. Closer.
Not just comfort. Not just need.
Recognition.
He didn’t say it, but she felt it in every breath, every touch, every heartbeat: I see you. I won’t let go.
Her body softened in his arms. Her breathing slowed.
Still scarred. Still whole. Still his.
And in the faint hum of Zaun’s restless night, they drifted off. Two souls bound together in the dark, held fast by something stronger than all the things trying to break them.
Time passed.
Not all at once. Quietly. Gradually.
The bruises faded- from her skin, then from her routine. Her hands healed. The ache in her chest took longer. But even that began to dull- softened by warmth, by routine, by Silco’s constant, quiet presence.
And Violet grew.
From a bundle of soft blankets and curious eyes to a sharp, babbling toddler who could clear a room with a single shriek and charm it again with a crooked grin. She toddled through the bar on unsteady legs, fearless. Felicia stayed one step behind. Connol three steps ahead, trying to catch every fall.
She became The Last Drop’s heartbeat. Even the roughest regulars melted when she approached with sticky hands and wide eyes. No one said no- not even Silco, who would scowl as she climbed into his lap, then let her stay anyway, a hand gently steadying her back.
(Y/N) began working fewer shifts in the mines. At first, it was just a few missed mornings. Then it became habit. She helped Vander behind the bar, swept the floors, restocked the shelves. Quiet work. Grounding work.
She said it was to help out. But they all knew better.
It was the Enforcers. She was avoiding them. Avoiding herself, maybe. The edge of what she could do- what she might do, if pushed too far.
Vander never asked questions. Just passed her a towel and a crate to lift.
And Silco?
He didn’t say much. But he was always near.
She felt it in the way his hand brushed hers when he passed a bottle. The way he leaned in close when the bar was loud, voice low, a flicker of humor in his eyes. How he watched her, always. Not possessive- present.
The world didn’t get easier. But it got smaller. Closer.
The city still tried to claw peace from their hands- but they held onto it anyway. Nights at The Last Drop had quieted. Less yelling now. Fewer brawls breaking out in dark corners. The fire hadn’t gone out, but it burned lower, steadier, like the amber light spilling across the bar’s worn wood.
The Undercity hadn’t changed. It was still raw. Still scarred. But something beneath it had settled.
Maybe it was Violet, growing fast and fierce, commanding a room with just a look- Felicia’s look- while perched on a hip and sucking juice from a chipped cup. Maybe it was the way Vander and Silco had finally stopped talking past each other.
They hadn’t always seen eye to eye. Too many nights had ended with slammed doors and clenched jaws- Silco all edge and conviction, Vander slow-burning with old weight and weary patience. But something had shifted. Not just in the room, but between them.
(Y/N) saw it first.
The way they leaned closer during late-night talks, voices low as the bar emptied out. Vander no longer shutting Silco down the second Piltover came up. Silco, surprisingly, actually listening- pausing, considering. Like he’d finally realized not every battle needed to be waged in fire.
Maybe it was understanding. Or maybe it was, again, Violet.
She’d changed everything.
Hard to talk about revolution when a toddler was dragging around a chewed-up mug, insisting it was “hers.” When her tiny feet echoed across the floorboards, scattering dust motes in the lamplight.
So when Silco spoke of the future now, he didn’t say now. He didn’t say soon.
He said eventually.
And Vander, once immovable in his pacifism, didn’t dismiss it out of hand anymore. Just nodded. Quietly. Said things like, “Maybe. Someday. When she’s old enough to run if she has to.”
(Y/N) had overheard them once- stood in the doorway, unseen, as Vander cleaned out his pipe behind the counter. Silco leaned nearby, arms folded, eyes on the wall.
“We can’t keep takin’ hits like that,” Vander muttered, jaw set. “They come down here like they own the place.”
Silco didn’t bristle. Didn’t grin. Just replied, low and even, “We won’t. Not forever.”
Vander wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I’m not about to light a fire I can’t put out.”
Silco nodded. “I’m not asking you to.”
A beat passed. Then Vander looked at him- really looked at him- and said, “But we’ll be ready when it comes.”
That was all. No shouting. No threats. Just a shared promise, spoken like a quiet oath.
Not today… Not yet. But one day.
(Y/N) stepped back from the doorway, heart heavy in that strange way- full of knowing. Not afraid. Just aware. The world would shift again. That was inevitable.
But not while Violet was still tugging on pant legs and chasing flecks of light like they were treasure. Not while mornings were still soft and slow, Silco brushing past her in the kitchen, his fingers grazing her back, his voice low and familiar.
“Let her be little,” he’d murmur. “Just a while longer.”
And Vander would nod. And they’d wait.
They’d build.
Time, as it does, slipped forward without asking.
Violet turned four. A blur of questions, fast feet, and sharper opinions. She mimicked everyone- Felicia’s sass, Vander’s sighs, even Silco’s scowls (to his quiet dismay). She perched on barstools like she owned the place. Vander even carved her a little wooden step to stand behind the bar, though she mostly used it to sneak sips from mugs when no one was looking.
And then, one morning, Felicia walked into the bar with Connol trailing nervously behind her, hands wringing.
“Well,” she announced, hands on her hips. “Looks like the baby bin wasn’t a waste after all.”
(Y/N) nearly spit out her tea. “You mocked me for keeping that thing.”
Felicia smirked, rubbing a hand over her belly. “Yeah, well. Maybe you’re good for something after all.”
Silco didn’t say much about the news of the new baby.
But he watched.
Watched Felicia move with a kind of defiant ease, even when the weight of it slowed her down. Watched (Y/N) make space again- pulling the bin out of storage, folding tiny clothes with a strange, wistful look in her eye. Watched Violet mimic it all, dragging around a spare bottle like she was training for something.
Spring came fast. And with it- so did the baby.
The bar cleared out quickly. Regulars were shooed off. Towels boiled. Water warmed. Ren showed up right on time, muttering, “You lot breed like rats in winter,” while rolling up her sleeves.
(Y/N) stayed with Felicia through the pain, Connol at her side, Vander hovering in the doorway. Silco didn’t pace this time- just stood by the window, hands behind his back, breathing like it hurt to do it wrong.
And then the cry came.
Sharp. Fragile. Real.
Everyone stilled.
Ren wrapped the baby carefully, then looked around. “Well?” she said. “Who’s first?”
Felicia, exhausted but smiling with that same smug pride, didn’t hesitate. “Give her to Silco.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”
“Vander named Violet,” Felicia said, leaning into Connol. “It’s his turn.”
Silco froze. Looked to (Y/N). She gave him the softest nod.
So he stepped forward.
Ren guided his hands under the baby’s head. He held her like she might vanish. Small and warm and impossibly new.
She was wrinkled and red and making soft, wet noises- but her hair…
Silco stared.
Fine, pale fuzz. Blue. So faint it was barely visible. But unmistakable.
“She looks like…” he started, stopped. Swallowed. “Powder.”
Felicia blinked. “You mean the color, or-?”
He didn’t look up. “I don’t know. It just fits.”
(Y/N) leaned close, gazing at the newborn. “It does,” she murmured. “It really does.”
Felicia smiled faintly. “Then Powder it is.”
The name stuck- odd, but perfectly hers.
And life moved on.
When Powder started walking (and then sprinting, and then climbing everything), Felicia and Connol got restless. The bar was safe, yes, but they needed more. The mines, for all their danger, offered steady work.
“We’re not vanishing,” Felicia promised one morning, Powder on her hip, Violet tugging on her coat. “Just a few shifts. Keep things balanced.”
Connol added quickly, “We’ll be around. Just not always underfoot.”
Vander frowned- he always did when someone went underground- but he didn’t stop them. He just nodded.
And that left them- Vander, Silco, and (Y/N)- as the keepers of the Undercity’s most chaotic duo.
Violet, sharp and loud and entirely too clever, claimed a booth as her throne and demanded pastries as taxes.
Powder… Powder was stranger. Quieter. She wandered more. Spoke to herself. Built towers out of bottle caps and knocked them over to study the fall.
And Silco, of all people, shadowed her like a silent guardian. He never said why.
But he always caught her before she fell.
It started gradually.
Silco began keeping her within his line of sight- subtle, instinctive. Even while buried in planning or half-snarled conversations with smugglers, his gaze would flicker toward her. A quiet “no” and a hand on her shoulder was enough to pull her away from dangerous corners. Sometimes, if he was deep in one of his journals, he’d lift her onto the stool beside him without a word. Powder would climb up too, wide-eyed, watching his pen move like it was casting spells.
(Y/N) noticed it first.
The way Powder drifted toward Silco, no matter how crowded the room was. The way she’d tug at his coat until he looked down, then silently lift her arms to be held. And the way Silco- sharp, precise, always in control- would let her crawl into his lap without protest, wrapping one arm around her as she fiddled with the buttons on his vest like they were treasure.
It was disarming. And a little bit adorable.
One afternoon, (Y/N) found him slumped in the back booth of The Last Drop, half-asleep. Powder was curled up against his chest, her small fingers hooked into the edge of his vest. His hand rested over her back, thumb moving slowly in quiet circles. She leaned against the doorframe, watching for a moment before breaking the silence.
“You didn’t cuddle me like that when we were little.”
Silco cracked an eye open, unimpressed and half-drowsy. “You didn’t drool in your sleep.”
(Y/N) snorted and stepped closer, brushing a strand of blue hair out of Powder’s face.
“She’s got you wrapped around her tiny, sticky fingers, y’know.”
“She’s unpredictable,” he muttered. “Like a bomb with a smile.”
“And you love it.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t even try.
And as (Y/N) watched him shift just enough to pull the blanket a little higher over the girl in his arms, something warm and aching settled deep in her chest.
The Last Drop had always been a place of smoke and whispers- rebels meeting in corners, laughter shared over bruised knuckles and bitter liquor. But lately, the air had started to change. The whispers were louder. Plans took shape in the shadows. Smuggling routes reopened. Piltover shipments vanished, and the Enforcers never knew where to start looking.
The Undercity was stirring.
And at the center of it all stood two men: Vander, still carrying hope like a torch, and Silco, burning with something far more volatile. They didn’t agree on everything- rarely did- but they had found rhythm again, like bones remembering how to move.
(Y/N) watched from the edges.
Because she remembered what came of getting too close to that kind of fire. A sheriff dead. Ten people turned to dust. Her magic crackling out of control. The way the city looked at her afterward- not like a girl, but like a weapon that might go off again.
No one spoke of it anymore. Not Vander. Not Felicia. Not even Silco.
But she hadn’t forgotten.
So while they pushed forward- Vander meeting with people at dawn, Silco vanishing into alleyways and fixer dens- (Y/N) stayed behind.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she couldn’t let herself become that again.
So she looked after the girls.
Violet was seven now- quick-footed and fierce, with scraped knees and a sharp tongue. She climbed faster than most runners, had already started asking questions too big for her age.
Powder, at three, was quieter. Sloppy, brilliant, always tinkering. She'd pull apart broken tech just to rebuild it into something entirely new- and entirely unpredictable. More than once, Vander had flinched when her latest invention sparked to life.
(Y/N) was their constant.
She packed lunches. Cleaned up cuts. Told them stories when the nights grew long. Her rebellion wasn’t with fire and fists anymore. It was in keeping the people she loved intact while the world tried to wear them down.
One night, Silco came home late. His coat was torn at the shoulder, dried blood crusted on the sleeve. He stepped into the bar and stopped.
On the couch, (Y/N) lay curled with both girls half asleep across her- Violet stretched over her legs, Powder tucked under her arm. She looked up, eyes tired but soft.
“Don’t ask,” she said before he could speak. “They ran themselves ragged.”
Silco crossed the room and crouched beside them, his hand brushing over Powder’s hair, then Violet’s arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, flicked to (Y/N), darker than usual.
“You’re keeping them safe.”
“I have to,” she murmured.
He didn’t answer. But the thought hung there between them, heavy and unspoken.
And who’s keeping you safe?
(Y/N) didn’t need him to say it. She just reached out, brushing her fingers along his cheek, whispering- “I’m still here.” before carefully picking up the girls, and making her way up stairs.
The bar was full later that night. Shoulder to shoulder with the ones who mattered- runners, smugglers, chemists, old fighters with iron in their bones. You could feel it in the air. Something was coming.
Upstairs, (Y/N) and Felicia stood over the sleeping girls.
Violet had begged to stay up and “help with planning,” eyes shining. Powder had clung to her half-broken toy like it would anchor her. (Y/N) tucked the blanket in around them both, brushing their hair back with a hand that lingered too long.
“I don’t like this,” she said quietly as they stepped into the hall.
“I know,” Felicia replied.
Downstairs, the tension pressed against the walls like a held breath.
Vander stood tall at the center, arms crossed, jaw set. Silco was beside him, leaning slightly forward, hands clasped behind his back, speaking low.
No heat. No fight.
Just resolve.
When the time came, Vander raised a hand.
The room fell silent.
“We’ve been patient,” he said, voice clear and steady. “We’ve followed their rules. Tried to build something real in the cracks they left us.”
A few voices murmured agreement.
“But patience hasn’t bought us peace. It’s bought bruises. Blood. Fear.”
He swept the room with his gaze.
“And every time we let them walk our streets like they own ‘em, we tell our children this is all they’ll ever have.”
(Y/N) stood at the back with Felicia, arms crossed, shadows curling around her like second skin.
She didn’t speak.
She just listened.
Vander’s voice sharpened.
“So we’re taking it back. No more waiting. No more silence. If they want to walk our streets- they’re gonna have to bleed for it.”
Cheers rippled across the room, building slowly.
Then Silco stepped forward.
His voice was quiet. Precise. Cold.
“We hit them where they’ll feel it. The bridge. That’s where they hold power over us. That’s where they watch us- control us. So that’s where we remind them we’re not beneath them.”
Heads nodded. Plans took root.
And in the flickering light, (Y/N) stood still.
Watching. Remembering. Holding the weight of fire in her chest- and refusing to let it burn her again.
Vander lifted his hand to calm them. “We’ve got numbers. We know that bridge better than anyone. We fight smart. I’ll lead it.”
The bar erupted.
Chairs scraped. Bottles clinked. A half-dozen people surged forward, shouting their loyalty, their hunger for retaliation.
But not (Y/N).
She didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Her arms stayed folded across her chest, lips a thin line. Heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to run.
She got it. Really, she did. That righteous fury- they wore it like armor. And part of her wanted it, too. To burn hot. To burn back.
But all she could think about were two small girls asleep in the room upstairs… And the last time she’d let her magic answer violence with more of it.
Felicia stood near the wall, arms crossed, looking worn down to the bone. She glanced over, voice barely a whisper above the chaos. “You good?”
(Y/N) didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the center of the room. On Vander, solid as ever, holding the weight of the whole damn Undercity on his back. On Silco- quiet, sharp-eyed, unreadable.
She murmured, more to herself than anyone else, “I don’t know if this is the right way. But I think they’ve already decided.”
The meeting bled into the night, the bar slowly emptying until only low voices and the smoke of half-burned cigarettes remained. A plan had been made. A date.
Three months.
The bridge.
It still felt far.
But not far enough.
(Y/N) sat alone in the booth by the window, untouched drink in front of her, eyes distant as the Undercity’s green glow shimmered through cracked glass. Vander’s voice rumbled somewhere behind the counter. Silco’s lower, quiet, murmuring something to a smuggler near the back.
She barely heard them.
All she could think about… were the girls.
Powder would be four in two weeks. Gods. Four. She used to be a quiet bundle wrapped in a frayed blanket- Silco had held her once, stiff and unsure, like she might shatter. Now she was a walking whirlwind, inventing things from nothing but wires and junk.
And Violet- eight. A spitfire with scraped knees and fire in her veins, fierce as Felicia, stubborn as Vander. She looked at (Y/N) like she hung the stars when she helped her tie her boots or sound out long words in dog-eared books.
They weren’t hers. Not really.
But they were.
And now there was a war coming.
Not a whisper. Not a theory. A date. A choice.
She looked down at her hands. Scarred. Capable. And shaking.
Not from fear. Not exactly.
But because she knew what this path cost.
She heard a chair scrape back and looked up just as Silco approached. His coat was still draped over one shoulder, his expression unreadable, though the shadows beneath his eyes were darker than usual.
“You didn’t say anything,” he said as he slid into the booth across from her.
(Y/N) held his gaze. Steady. “Didn’t seem like there was much room for second thoughts.”
Silco tilted his head, studying her. “You don’t agree?”
“I don’t think it matters,” she said. “You’ve already decided.”
Her voice wasn’t bitter. Just tired.
Silco didn’t argue. Just leaned back, fingers tapping against the table’s edge. “You’re thinking about them.”
“Always.” Her voice softened. “Powder wants a new toolbelt for her birthday. Violet’s been asking for boots like Vander’s.”
She smiled, sad, faint. “They don’t know what’s coming.”
Silco went quiet. Long enough that the silence almost felt like an answer.
“Neither do we,” he said finally. “Not really.”
“But you’ll still go.”
“I have to.”
“I know.”
They sat there, still and silent, the weight of three months stretching out between them like a lit fuse.
Then- “Promise me something,” she said, eyes locked on his.
Silco straightened. “Anything.”
“If this falls apart,” she said, low and sure, “make sure you are safe.”
His eyes darkened- not from coldness, but something heavier. Fiercer. “I will.”
“I’ll stay behind,” she added. “With the kids. I won’t fight. Not this time. I’m not letting them wonder where I went.”
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. “You won’t lose what you built,” he said quietly. “Not if I can stop it.”
She nodded, throat tight. And squeezed his hand back.
Powder’s birthday came faster than expected.
The Last Drop still hummed with the tension of what was coming. But that day… that day, she didn’t let it touch them.
She slipped out early, arms full when she returned- scraps of cloth in soft colors, sweets from the docks, a small mechanical toy she’d bartered for with a vendor who owed Felicia a favor.
Most wouldn’t notice the changes in the bar. But the ones who mattered? They would.
Ribbons of powder blue and pink, twisted with wire, hung along the stair rail. A booth had been cleared- mismatched dishes, a crooked cake Vander swore wasn’t terrible, and two paper signs marked in shaky handwriting: VIOLET and POWDER.
Violet was the first down, barefoot and wide-eyed. “Is that cake?”
“Patience, firecracker,” (Y/N) grinned, scooping her up. “Birthday girl’s not even here yet.”
Felicia followed, Powder half-asleep on her shoulder, hair sticking out like she’d wrestled a static storm. Her fist still gripped a screwdriver.
“Happy birthday, Powpow,” (Y/N) whispered, lifting her carefully.
Powder blinked. “Is that… a cake?”
“Told you!” Violet beamed.
The party was quiet, small, warm. The best kind. Powder opened her little pile of gifts- buttons, gears, a satchel just her size, and a handmade goggle strap from (Y/N) that lit up at the clasp.
“Now you look like a real inventor,” she teased, ruffling her hair.
Powder beamed and threw her arms around her neck.
Across the room, Felicia met her eyes. A look passed between them. Quiet. Thankful.
(Y/N) just nodded and held Powder tighter.
She didn’t forget Violet either- slipping her a box wrapped in old newspaper with boot laces dyed her favorite color.
“Not your birthday,” she said with a smirk, “but being a big sister’s hard work.”
Violet grinned, tackled her in a hug.
The day passed in soft bursts of joy- chalk drawings on the bar walls, Powder tinkering with her new tools, Violet staging wild games in the back room.
For just a while, nothing else existed.
No war. No countdown. Just them.
Later, when the girls were asleep upstairs- bellies full, faces sticky with frosting- Felicia pulled her into a long hug.
“You’re too good to us,” she murmured.
“You’re my family,” (Y/N) whispered back. “I’d do it all again.”
Felicia sniffed. Laughed softly. “Don’t say that too loud. Might end up with another kid.”
“God, no.”
But she laughed too.
It was Powder’s day.
And (Y/N) made sure it was a good one.
Even with the clock still ticking.
The days had started to blur. Since Powder’s birthday, time had shifted- tilted on its axis. What used to feel like months now passed in weeks. Weeks collapsed into days. Now, the revolution was close enough to taste, and (Y/N) felt every second of it like a noose pulling tighter around her throat.
She kept moving. That’s how she managed it.
She cleaned up after the girls, swept the bar floors, restocked shelves, re-fastened loose nails. She fixed Violet’s boots in the mornings, helped Powder organize her new toolbelt, double-checked the locks at night. Always busy. Always doing. Because the moment she stopped- even for a breath- something in her chest cracked open.
She avoided Silco more than she wanted to. Slipped out of the room when he came in. Kept her replies short when he asked questions, her gaze lowered, never lingering. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t distance. She loved him- god, she loved him. But something in her gut had gone wrong. A slow, sick churn that wouldn’t leave her.
It was the same feeling she’d had before the last sheriff fell. Before every loss she hadn’t seen coming.
Everyone else seemed ready. The Undercity buzzed with tension, with quiet coordination. Weapons hidden. Escape routes mapped. Vander kept a layout of the city splayed across the back room table. Silco paced over it with sharp eyes, memorizing the paths like scripture. They were prepared. They believed.
And she wanted to believe with them.
She knew their reasons were real. She knew they were fighting for something better. But that didn’t stop the pit in her stomach from growing each time she walked past Vander bent over plans, or Silco murmuring to the others, fire catching behind his words.
At night, when the bar quieted, she sit awake in the dark listening to the soft sounds above- Powder’s breathing, Violet’s snoring- and wondered whether she’d ever hear them again once the smoke cleared.
One night, she stood at the window long after the lights were out, arms wrapped tight around herself. The city glowed that familiar, sickly green in the distance.
She didn’t hear him until he spoke.
“You’re avoiding me.”
His voice was soft. Not accusing- just... true.
(Y/N) flinched. Closed her eyes.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, barely a whisper.
Silco stepped closer, not crowding her, but close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
“Of the fight?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Of what it’s going to take.”
Silco was quiet. Then, low and sure- “It’s already taken everything. This is the only way we get it back.”
She didn’t argue. Just turned her gaze back to the window, watching the city pulse.
“I just want them safe,” she murmured. “That’s all I care about now.”
He nodded once. “Then stay with them. No matter what.”
She turned finally, looked at him fully for the first time in days.
“You’ll come back?”
There was a pause. A long one. Then-
“…I’ll try.”
Not a promise. Just a truth.
It had to be enough.
…Dawn came too fast…
The Undercity held its breath beneath the pale, grey light, every alley and window draped in anxious silence. No birds. No whistles. No drunken laughter. Just boots, gear, metal. War at the door.
Inside The Last Drop, the air felt frozen in place. Violet and Powder sat on the stairs, wide-eyed and quiet. Not babies anymore. They understood enough.
(Y/N) knelt in front of them, steadying her voice even though her hands trembled.
“Just another day,” she whispered. “That’s all. You’re staying with me, doors locked, windows tight. We stay quiet, okay?”
Violet nodded slowly. “Is something bad happening?”
(Y/N) smoothed her hair and kissed her brow. “No. Not to you.”
Then came the footsteps.
Silco. Vander. Felicia. Connol. Benzo. Others, too. Armed, armored, resolved.
(Y/N) stood and moved to Felicia first, hugging her tight. “Watch Connol’s back.”
“Always,” Felicia murmured.
She hugged Connol and Benzo, firm and quick. Then Vander- no words, just a shared embrace, the kind that said everything without needing to speak.
And then Silco.
He stood still, but the moment she reached for him, his arms wrapped around her in an instant. No hesitation. It was the kind of embrace that tried to memorize- her scent, her warmth, the way her magic thrummed just beneath her skin.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, then leaned in, kissing him deep and desperate, her fingers curled in his coat, the other at his jaw. When she broke the kiss, her lips ghosted his ear.
“You better fucking come back.”
His breath hitched. Just a little. Then he rested his forehead against hers.
“I will,” he whispered. “If only so you don’t burn the city down looking for me.”
She huffed a shaky laugh. Didn’t let go until she had to.
And then- like that- they were gone.
She locked the door behind them with trembling fingers and turned back to the girls. Wrapped her arms around them and held on.
Outside, the Undercity marched to war.
Inside, she kept the light on…
The silence was wrong.
It wasn’t peaceful. It was bracing. Even the air held still, like the city was exhaling for the last time.
(Y/N) did everything she could to distract the girls. Old books. Chalk drawings. Gentle songs hummed through clenched teeth. But her hands kept shaking.
And she knew.
Then- the pounding. A heavy, urgent fist at the door.
She ran. Unlocked it.
Benzo stood there, blood on his shirt, breathing ragged, eyes wide with horror.
“They knew,” he gasped. “They were waiting- we walked right into it- too many-”
She didn’t wait to hear the rest.
“Stay with the girls,” she ordered, already pulling on her coat.
“Auntie-!” Violet cried.
“Don’t follow me,” (Y/N) barked. “Stay with Benzo.”
She was gone before they could answer.
Smoke painted the sky as she ran- choking, black smoke that billowed across rooftops. The closer she got to the bridge, the thicker it became.
She arrived to chaos.
Screams. Steel. Bodies. Blood slicking the cobblestones. Enforcers everywhere. Zaunites, too- some fighting, some fallen.
No time to think.
Magic surged to her hands, golden light cracking from her fingers. She fought like she was made for it. Threw herself over downed allies, cast fire toward enemies, keeping them at bay.
Then she saw him- Vander, bloodied and using his gauntlets to fight with every muscle. She cut her way to him. No words. Just movement. Two parts of the same storm.
And then-
“Auntie!!”
The voice cut through everything. High. Familiar. Too close.
She turned, eyes wide.
Violet stood just beyond the fight, Powder clinging to her side.
“Benzo let them leave?” she breathed, fury flashing hot.
She darted to them.
“Where are they?!” Violet sobbed. “Where’s Mama? Dad?!”
(Y/N) looked to Vander.
His eyes dropped- just once- toward a heap of rubble nearby.
And she knew.
She followed his gaze.
Felicia lay crumpled, blood on her temple, Connol’s hand still wrapped around hers. Still. Silent.
Gone.
Violet froze. Shaking.
And everything inside (Y/N) shattered.
Violet threw out an arm, shielding Powders eyes with her fingers. “Don’t look,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her hands trembled.
(Y/N) was there in an instant, scooping them both into her arms and holding them tight- tighter than she’d ever held anything. Powder buried her face against her collar, breath hitching with quiet sobs. Violet clung to her shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright. (Y/N)’s knees nearly gave beneath her, but she didn’t fall. Not yet. She took a shaky step back from the wreckage, her eyes stinging, her lungs burning. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.
She held her girls.
Then Vander was beside her, silent for a moment, his hand landing heavy on her back.
“Take them,” he said, his voice raw, thinned by smoke and grief. “Please. Get them home. Somewhere safe.”
She looked at him- just once- and nodded. No argument. No questions. Just turned and carried them away.
One on each hip. Powder crying soft against her neck. Violet stiff and silent, arms locked around her like a vise. The walk back to The Last Drop felt endless. Every step rang in her bones.
She slammed the door shut behind them, bolted it, barred it. Dropped to her knees with both girls still wrapped in her arms. Held them like the world was trying to take them from her.
But in the back of her mind-
Silco.
She hadn’t seen him. Not once.
And the thought of him- alone, somewhere in the smoke, maybe bleeding, maybe worse- was already beginning to split her down the middle.
Vander didn’t return until long after nightfall.
His footsteps dragged through the rear hall like dead weight. His coat was half-burned, his hands red and raw, crusted with blood. The door creaked shut behind him, too final. Like a war had ended, but no one had won.
(Y/N) was on the floor by the hearth, sleeves rolled, hands trembling as she dabbed soot from Powder’s cheek. Violet sat close, arms around her knees, eyes fixed on the door.
Vander stood there, silent.
She looked up at him, heart already sinking. “…Well?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her. Through her. Like he hadn’t left the bridge at all.
“I couldn’t find him,” he said finally. The words scraped out of him. “He’s gone.”
Her chest tightened.
Vander’s expression twisted. “He disappeared. Coward.”
She flinched.
“He let it all fall apart.” He began to pace- restless, agitated, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “I trusted him. And he ran.”
(Y/N)’s hand froze, cloth paused at Powder’s temple. That didn’t sound like Silco. Not the Silco she knew. But she could see it- the rage in Vander’s eyes, the betrayal coiled beneath his skin.
Now wasn’t the time to argue. The smoke was still clinging to them all.
So she said nothing. Just nodded once. Quiet. Then turned back to the girls.
Powder sniffled. Violet leaned closer, a protective arm around her sister’s shoulders.
(Y/N) dipped the cloth again, wiped the soot away gently, one streak at a time. As if she could clean the night from their skin. As if it would undo any of it.
Vander sank into a nearby chair with a heavy groan and didn’t say another word.
The silence that followed didn’t feel like peace. It felt like a wound.
Silco’s name wasn’t spoken again.
Not by Vander. Not by Benzo. Not even by the few who survived and had once stood beside him.
But (Y/N) searched.
She helped move bodies from the bridge- limbs stiff, clothes torn, faces she’d known. She found Connol’s body. Felicia’s. Wrapped them herself. But Silco wasn’t there.
She checked every face, every coat. Her hands shook with each one she turned over. Hoping. Dreading.
He wasn’t dead. Not there. Not anywhere.
He was just- gone.
And somehow, that was worse.
Then, one night-
She was settling the girls into bed. Powder was half-asleep in her lap, Violet rubbing at her eyes and pretending not to yawn.
A slam. The front door.
She flinched, head snapping toward the stairs.
Vander. Soaked through. Water dripped from his hair, his boots. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at her. Just stormed through, fists clenched, leaving muddy footprints in his wake.
She watched him disappear into the back, heart thudding.
She didn’t ask. Not yet.
But something in her chest sparked. A small flame. One that hadn’t burned in a long time.
Weeks passed. Then months… Years…
Life reassembled itself in jagged pieces.
Violet grew louder, bolder, angrier. Powder withdrew into wires and gears, her grief funneled into creation.
Mylo came crashing into their lives a year later- mouthy, reckless, impossible to ignore. Vi challenged him before she even learned his name. Claggor followed soon after, calm and steady, the quiet gravity that kept the chaos from flying apart. And Ekko, sharp and fast, found a home with Benzo. He and Powder bickered constantly, but they always came back to each other.
The family grew. And (Y/N) stayed. Because someone had to.
The Last Drop softened. Fewer fights. More meals. It became a place worth protecting.
But the ache didn’t go.
Silco’s absence lingered in the corners. In the shadowed streets. In the quiet before sleep.
She never stopped loving him. She tried to. But she didn’t.
She stopped asking Vander. The look in his eyes when she did- the guilt, the anger- was enough.
So she let it go.
Or tried to.
The Undercity healed, if slowly. Vander swore off war, true to his word. The bridge remained, scarred and quiet. A marker of what had been lost.
Violet turned sixteen. All fire and fury, taller now, stronger. Protective to a fault.
Powder turned twelve. Brilliant. Strange. Her inventions more creative, even if most didn’t work, her mind was faster than ever. Her little fort in the kids room was a workshop of ideas no one else could follow.
And (Y/N) was still there.
Still waiting.
Still loving someone who might’ve died on a bridge or walked away from everything.
This was their world. Fragile. Messy. Real.
But somehow- it was still theirs.
More Posts from Deliciousspecimen and Others
A/N: Hello everyone! This is the second to last chapter of my Young Silco Fic! I'm going to be making another one after, though. A sequel, that continues the fic. This chapter has smut in it, so ill put some warnings before the smut, so it can be skipped :}
Ember in the Dark pt.10
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.9 - pt.11
pt.1
Warnings: MDNI 18+, Explicit sexual content, Mild blood and injury, Police brutality/Enforcer violence, Verbal degradation/Humiliation, Emotional vulnerability, Possessive behavior.
Word Count: 9079
Summary: After a quiet moment caring for baby Violet, (Y/N) finds Silco brooding alone, burdened by his fear of breaking the fragile things he’s come to care for. Their emotional connection deepens as (Y/N) reassures him of her love and trust. Back at her room, that tenderness unfolds into their first time together- soft, reverent, and slow, with Silco treating her with overwhelming care. Her magic flares with emotion but stays controlled, mirroring the depth of their bond. In the morning, subtle marks of their night together spark teasing from friends, and Silco's quiet protectiveness becomes even more apparent. The day continues with routine- (Y/N) working in the mines while Silco walks her partway, worried but trusting her strength. But on her way home, (Y/N) is ambushed by Enforcers. Brutalized and humiliated, she chooses not to retaliate with magic, still haunted by what happened the last time. Bloodied and shaken but defiant, she returns to The Last Drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bar was still and quiet again, the low creak of floorboards the only sound as (Y/N) gently patted Violet’s back. The baby let out a small, satisfied burp against her shoulder, then went limp in the way only newborns could- completely trusting, utterly unaware of the chaos and love she’d been born into.
“Alright, little fire cracker,” she murmured softly, brushing her nose against Violet’s forehead. “Let’s get you back to your mom before you start thinking I’m your favorite.”
Felicia was already awake and half-dressed when (Y/N) eased open the door to the guest room. She looked groggy, hair a mess, but her expression softened immediately at the sight of Violet.
“Gimme,” she whispered, arms already outstretched.
(Y/N) chuckled and transferred the baby gently into her waiting hands. “She’s warm, fed, and already burped. I’m spoiling her for you.”
Felicia smirked sleepily. “You’re spoiling me, you mean.” She glanced down at her daughter, cradling her close. “Thanks.”
“Always.”
They shared a quiet look, something warm and wordless passing between them. Then (Y/N) turned, brushing her hands down the front of her borrowed shirt and heading for the door again.
“I’m gonna go find the brooding menace,” she said over her shoulder.
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Tell him if he doesn’t come back soon, I’m making him take a night shift with Violet.”
(Y/N) snorted and slipped out.
The streets of the Undercity were hushed, still heavy with morning fog and the metallic tang of distant factory steam. Most of the Lanes hadn’t stirred yet. There was a kind of peace in it- a rare, stretched-out quiet that blanketed the grime and noise like a breath held just under the surface.
(Y/N) walked with practiced ease through the Undercity, eyes sharp despite the stillness. She knew him. Knew how he vanished when emotions crept too close to the surface. He wouldn’t have gone far. Silco liked proximity- liked to be close enough to protect, even when he needed distance.
She found him on one of the upper walkways that overlooked the Lanes, hands braced on the rusting railing, shoulders hunched against the damp. His vest was still wrinkled from earlier, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, catching the pale light.
He didn’t turn when she approached. Didn’t have to.
“You always gonna keep brooding like this,” she said softly, “or is it just when I hand you a baby?”
His shoulders lifted with a slow inhale, then dropped again. “You didn’t just hand me a baby,” he said, voice low.
(Y/N) moved to stand beside him, her fingers curling around the railing. “No?”
“You handed me… innocence,” he said after a moment. “Something soft. Fragile.” He looked down at his hands. “Something I could break.”
She watched him for a beat. “But you didn’t.”
He finally looked at her then. His eyes were tired, but alert. Thoughtful. “Not this time.”
(Y/N) leaned sideways, letting her shoulder brush against his. “You won’t break her. Or me.”
Silco was quiet for a long moment. “You’re good with her.”
“She’s easy to love,” she murmured, then looked up at him. “So are you.”
He gave her a long, unreadable look. His throat bobbed, but no words came.
(Y/N) stepped in front of him, slipping her arms around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. “You don’t have to say it back,” she whispered, head against his chest. “I know.”
His arms came around her slowly, settling against her back like he’d been holding in the urge. His chin dropped to the top of her head.
“I do love you…” he said quietly. “You just say it better.”
(Y/N) smiled against his chest. “I love you too, Sil.”
His arms tightened.
They stood like that for a while, the silence comfortable, the city still.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re going to ruin me,” he said, a rare softness breaking through the steel of his voice.
“You were already ruined,” she teased gently. “I’m just making you tolerable.”
That earned her a rare, real laugh- quiet and low, but genuine.
He leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow, no urgency- just a kind of reverence, like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this moment but wasn’t about to waste it.
When they finally parted, he looked down at her with something close to awe.
“…If I ever lost you,” he murmured, “I don’t know who I’d become.”
(Y/N) reached up, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “You won’t.”
Silco held her gaze for a long time, then nodded once, like he was making a promise to himself more than her.
“Come on,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “Let’s go home. Felicia said if you don’t show up soon, she’s putting you on night duty.”
He groaned softly, but didn’t protest as she led him back toward the warmth of the bar- of home.
The walk back was quiet.
Not heavy, not tense- just quiet. A kind of hush reserved for early mornings and moments where the world felt like it had stopped turning just for them.
The bar was dim when they returned. A few soft clinks from Vander in the kitchen, the distant creak of Connol’s footsteps above, but otherwise it was still. Home, in all its chaotic, grimy glory, was resting. So were they.
Silco followed her upstairs without a word, his hand loosely in hers.
When they reached her room, (Y/N) pushed open the door, letting the familiar scent of worn linen and smoke-sweet air rush out to greet them. It wasn’t a large space, but it was hers- warm, slightly cluttered, the windows cracked open just enough to let the city’s breath in.
She shrugged off her boots, and climbed into her bed. Silco slid in beside her, his vest undone, sleeves still rolled. Neither of them said much as she pulled a cigarette out, and lit it with a quick flicker of her magic, the faint sulfur glow lighting her features in amber.
She took a slow drag, then passed it to him.
Silco accepted it between two fingers, his hand brushing hers as he inhaled. The smoke curled in the air above them, trailing toward the ceiling like a shared secret.
They lay back on the bed, shoulders just touching, the world outside forgotten for now.
(Y/N) turned her head, watching the lazy way his chest rose and fell. He looked softer like this- less of the sharp angles, less of the weight he wore so carefully. Just Silco. Just hers.
He offered her the cigarette again, and she took it with a small smile, letting the smoke settle into her lungs before passing it back.
“You ever think,” she murmured, voice low, “about how different things could’ve been if we met somewhere else?”
Silco exhaled, slow and quiet. “If we met anywhere else,” he said, voice rough around the edges, “you wouldn’t have stayed.”
(Y/N) arched a brow. “Oh?”
He glanced sideways at her, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “You like things messy.”
She huffed a laugh. “Maybe I just like you messy.”
He let that hang in the air for a second before reaching over to stub out the cigarette in the small dish on her nightstand.
Then, without a word, he shifted closer, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. His fingers spread wide against her back, warm and grounding. She settled against his chest with a quiet hum, her hand sliding up to cup his face.
Silco leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly, his lashes lowering as she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone.
(Y/N) leaned up slowly, their noses nearly touching, and pressed her forehead to his.
“I really do love you,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”
His breath caught.
He didn’t say it back- not because he didn’t feel it, but because her words settled too deep, cracked something open in him every time. Instead, he kissed her. Soft and slow, a promise more than passion.
When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.
He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin, and just… stayed there. Let himself exist in her space, unguarded.
(Y/N) held him, her fingers tracing lazy lines up and down his back, anchoring him without needing to speak.
The silence between them stretched, comfortable and close. (Y/N)’s fingers stayed tangled in the fabric of his shirt, absently toying with a loose thread while Silco breathed steadily against her throat.
Then, slowly, he began to move.
Soft kisses, barely-there at first, pressed along the curve of her neck. One at the hollow of her throat. Another just beneath her jaw. Gentle, deliberate.
(Y/N) let out a quiet breath, tilting her head slightly, exposing more of her neck without hesitation. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as her body instinctively leaned into him.
Silco smiled against her skin, something slow and unhurried. He didn’t speak- didn’t need to. The way her body responded to him, the quiet hum she made when his lips found the spot just beneath her ear, said more than enough.
His hands began to move too. One slipped up along her waist, fingers tracing the edge of her shirt, while the other settled on the small of her back. His touch wasn’t rushed- it was reverent, like he was committing every inch of her to memory.
His kisses grew bolder, warmer. He nipped lightly at her skin, then soothed the spot with a tender kiss, his hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt to feel the heat of her skin beneath.
(Y/N)’s breath caught- just for a second- before she exhaled slowly, her hands moving to curl around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
“Silco…” she whispered, barely audible.
He didn’t answer- not with words. Instead, he kissed the spot just below her ear again, then trailed down, slow and deliberate, his fingers drawing lazy circles against the dip of her spine.
Silco’s breath warmed against her skin as his kisses deepened, no longer just soft brushes of affection but something heavier, something hungry. His lips dragged along the slope of her neck, then parted- his tongue flicking against her pulse point before his teeth grazed it.
(Y/N)’s fingers tightened in the back of his shirt, a soft sound escaping her throat.
He latched onto the curve where her neck met her shoulder, sucking gently, then harder, leaving the beginning bloom of a mark beneath his mouth. A low hum of satisfaction vibrated in his chest at the way she melted into him, body pliant and warm.
Her hand slid up into his hair, fingers weaving through the strands at his nape. She gave a slow, deliberate tug- not too hard, just enough to make him groan softly against her throat.
Silco’s grip on her waist tightened in response, pulling her closer, pressing his body flush to hers. He kissed his way down the line of her neck, pausing to nip at her collarbone before soothing the sting with a languid swipe of his tongue.
“Mm…” (Y/N) breathed, head tilting back further, exposing even more of her throat for him without even thinking. “You’re insatiable.”
He smirked against her skin, his voice low and rough. “Only with you.”
His mouth returned to her neck, this time biting a little harder, enough to leave another mark. She gasped softly, her fingers curling tighter in his hair, tugging again. He growled- quiet and pleased- and let his hand wander higher beneath her shirt, splaying wide across her bare back.
(SMUT START)
(Y/N) shifted against him, her thigh brushing his, and the contact sent another ripple of heat through both of them.
She let out a soft whine that filled the quiet space between them- barely audible, but impossible to ignore, a soft plea without words. Silco paused, his breath catching, and pulled back just enough to look at her.
Her eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips parted. She looked utterly undone already- and he hadn’t even started yet.
His hand moved slowly to her cheek, thumb brushing her skin, reverent. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice hushed, as though he didn’t want to disturb the stillness of the moment.
(Y/N) nodded, gaze steady despite the heat burning beneath it. “I want you,” she whispered. “I want this.”
And that was all he needed.
He kissed her again, slower this time, lingering- like a promise.
His fingers trembled faintly as he began to undress her, not from fear but from care, from the weight of how much this meant. Every layer peeled away was met with another kiss- her shoulder, the dip beneath her collarbone, the soft line of her stomach. His mouth never strayed far from her skin, like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.
When she was bare before him, he just looked at her for a moment, breath catching. Not with lust- but with awe.
“You’re…” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t have the words.”
She reached for him, flustered and shy despite the intimacy, and whispered, “Then don’t speak. Just… Be here with me.”
Silco nodded, and only then did he begin to undress himself, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between them but breath and the quiet hum of wanting.
He leaned over her, one hand cupping her cheek, and began to trail kisses down her body- slow, deliberate, worshipful. Across the hollow of her throat. The curve of her breast. The soft line of her ribs. He kissed every inch of her like she was sacred, like he’d never get another chance.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her fingers tangling in the sheets as heat bloomed across her skin. “Silco…” she whispered, voice catching.
He glanced up at her from where he knelt beside her, eyes heavy with affection and something deeper- something tender, trembling, but true.
“I love you,” she said again, voice breathless.
His lips found her sternum, just over her heart. “I know,” he murmured. “I love you too...”
He felt it... How deep their love for one another went.
In the quiet shiver of her breath beneath his touch. In the way her hands reached for him, unsure but eager. In the trembling curve of her mouth as she bit back another whimper.
Every part of her called to him- and he answered not with haste, but with care.
Neither of them had ever done this before- but in that moment, nothing about it felt wrong. It was soft. It was vulnerable. It was theirs.
And he made sure she knew- every kiss, every caress, every breath he gave to her- she mattered.
She always had.
Silco hovered above her, one hand cupping her cheek, the other trailing slowly along her side- just feeling her. His touch was featherlight, reverent, and she leaned into it instinctively, already flushed and trembling beneath him.
Her breath hitched again when his fingers slipped lower, tracing along her inner thigh. He watched her closely, gauging every flicker of emotion in her eyes. He wasn’t in a rush- he wouldn’t be. Not with her.
“You’re alright?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper, warm and low.
(Y/N) nodded, her hand coming up to curl around his wrist. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Just… nervous.”
He leaned down, kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the hinge of her jaw. “We’ll go slow.”
She relaxed beneath him, her thighs parting just slightly as he moved lower, his fingers brushing carefully against her.
The first touch was gentle- tentative, almost. His fingers explored with a softness that made her shiver, each movement slow and deliberate, designed to learn her. To show her she was safe.
(Y/N) let out a quiet, involuntary gasp, her hips shifting, and he stilled.
“Too much?” he asked, pausing.
She shook her head quickly, breathless. “No- keep… keep going.”
His fingers moved again, this time with more purpose. He circled her slowly, coaxing her open with each careful stroke. She whimpered, her hand fisting in the sheets, the sensation unlike anything she’d ever known. It wasn’t just pleasure- it was trust, devotion, the quiet worship written in every movement of his hand.
She felt her body reacting to it, soft and warm and aching in the best way. He kissed her again- slow and steady- his mouth working to distract her from the tension that was gradually building inside of her.
When she was ready enough, he slid a finger inside her- carefully.
Her breath caught.
Silco immediately slowed, lips against her temple. “Its okay,” he whispered. “Just breathe.”
She did, trembling a little as her body adjusted, the unfamiliar stretch prickling with a sharp edge that quickly faded under his careful pace.
He kissed her through it. Murmured to her. Let her hold onto him as tightly as she needed to.
Another finger followed, gentle and slow, and her body responded- welcoming, shifting, clinging.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against her skin, voice raw with sincerity. “So perfect.”
(Y/N) clung to him, gasping softly as the ache turned to heat, as her body melted into the rhythm of his hand and the grounding weight of his touch.
And all the while, Silco stayed close- his forehead pressed to hers, his breath mingling with hers, the only thing on his mind being her and the way she bloomed under his touch.
He’d never known anything like it. Never felt anything like this.
He was falling. Already had. And here, with her, wrapped in the warmth of something slow and sacred, he let himself fall deeper.
She was breathing hard now, her body trembling beneath his, flushed and open. Silco never took his eyes off her- watching the way her lips parted, the way her lashes fluttered, how her hand stayed tangled in his hair like she couldn’t bear to let him go.
He slowly eased his fingers from her, giving her a moment to breathe, and leaned in close again, pappering her face wih soft kisses.
One kiss on her cheek. Another at the bridge of her nose. A third at the corner of her mouth. And then one on her eyelid as she shut her eyes, breath catching like she might cry- not from pain, but from how tender it all was.
She opened her eyes slowly to find him hovering above her, gaze burning but soft. His voice came out lower than before, like he was afraid to break the moment.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his hand smoothing along her thigh.
Her lips quivered as she nodded. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice broken on a soft whine. “I want you.”
And god, how that undid him.
Not the lust in her voice, but the trust. The way she looked up at him like he was hers- like he’d always been.
Silco leaned in, kissed her again, slower than before, trying to pour everything into it- his nerves, his reverence, his love.
Then, carefully, he positioned himself, hand steadying her hip. He watched her face the entire time, made sure he could see every reaction- every little wince, every breath.
And when he finally began to push in, he did it with excruciating care, like he might break her if he went too fast.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her brow furrowing with the unfamiliar pressure, and he paused, stilling instantly.
“Breathe for me,” he murmured, brushing hair from her face. “You’re okay.”
She nodded, eyes glassy. “Just… don’t stop.”
He kissed her again, her temple, her jaw, her lips- anchoring her through every inch. His hand stayed on her hip, the other threading between their bodies to find hers, soothing her, grounding her.
When he was finally fully inside, he didn’t move- not right away. He just held her. Pressed his forehead to hers, hands trembling slightly from how hard it was to stay still.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Only mine.”
(Y/N) smiled through a shaky exhale, her arms wrapped tightly around his back.
“I’ve always been yours.”
Silco moved with care- agonizing care.
Every inch of his body was taut with restraint, every thrust slow, shallow, measured. He watched her face the entire time, searching for the smallest hint of pain, of discomfort, but all he found was her- flushed and gasping, her lashes damp, her mouth trembling as she tried to hold herself together.
He was trying too.
It took everything in him to keep his pace slow, his grip gentle. His instincts begged him to lose himself in her completely, but she came first. Always. Especially now.
“You’re okay?” he asked again, his voice low and hoarse, forehead pressed to hers.
(Y/N) nodded, breathless. “Yes- yes, I’m okay.”
Her voice cracked with the pleasure beginning to bloom beneath the ache, her arms tightening around his back. She shifted slightly, hips rising to meet his, and a small, broken moan slipped from her lips.
That was when it happened.
The first spark.
Tiny, harmless, but unmistakable- like static dancing across her skin. Silco stilled instantly, his eyes flicking to where her hand had gripped the sheet. The faintest golden light crackled at her fingertips, flickering before vanishing as quickly as it came.
“…(Y/N),” he murmured.
She looked up at him, eyes wide- and glowing, just barely. A soft, otherworldly gold shimmered in her irises, light blooming at the edges. Her magic was responding, pulled to the surface by emotion, sensation, connection.
“I- I’m okay,” she whispered quickly, her voice shaking. “It’s just- just reacting. I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”
He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his hand brushing gently down her side. “Are you sure?”
She nodded again, more urgently this time, one hand moving up to cradle his face. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
Her thumb traced his cheek as her power slowly ebbed, the sparks withdrawing, the glow fading from her eyes like the tide pulling back into the sea. She steadied her breathing, grounding herself, and kissed him.
It was messy, half-desperate, but full of control- an anchor for them both.
Silco exhaled shakily against her mouth. “You’re… incredible.”
And then, slowly, he started moving again.
Still gentle, but with more rhythm now, more intent. He kept one hand firmly on her hip, the other laced with hers, grounding her as her magic pulsed just beneath the surface, humming along her skin.
Her moans grew softer, higher, laced with gasps as each movement sank deeper. Her nails dug into his back- not too hard, just enough to feel. Her body was learning the rhythm of him, easing into the heat and stretch with each careful thrust.
Silco leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “You feel like you were made for me.”
(Y/N) whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re everything,” she whispered, voice catching.
And in that moment- her body beneath his, her magic singing in the air, her heart laid open and offered without hesitation- Silco knew:
He would burn the world down before he let her go.
The pace between them shifted, gradually, as the room filled with soft, shared breaths and the rustle of linen beneath their tangled bodies. Silco’s self-control was still ironclad, but now it was laced with urgency- a slow build, a deep need tempered by care.
His hips moved with more purpose, each thrust hitting a little deeper, a little harder, but never enough to overwhelm. Just enough to make her arch into him, to make her gasp quietly with every pass of friction, every deliberate roll of his hips against hers.
(Y/N) was losing herself in him- breathless, trembling, overwhelmed in the best way. And god, she wanted to cry out his name. To let the world know who she belonged to, who was unraveling her like this.
But she couldn’t.
They weren’t alone.
A few rooms down, the others were sleeping- or just waking up. And the last thing she wanted was for Felicia or Vander to come knocking because they’d heard too much.
So instead, she wrapped her arms tighter around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.
Silco faltered just slightly when he felt her breath there- hot and shaky. Then came the bite.
She bit down gently, muffling her moan against his skin, her teeth scraping the sensitive flesh of his throat. He shuddered hard, a growl rumbling low in his chest, barely contained.
His rhythm stuttered for a breath before it resumed- deeper, now, driven by the way her mouth clung to him, the heat of her breath trembling against his pulse.
“You’re going to kill me,” he whispered, voice frayed, lips brushing her ear.
(Y/N) let out a breathless laugh against his throat, the sound soft, shaky. “Then die with me,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the haze of their shared heat.
Silco kissed her- messy, desperate- and pushed deeper, his movements growing more intense as he lost himself in the sensation of her. Every gasp she swallowed against his neck. Every tremble of her magic just under her skin. Every heartbeat they shared like a drum against their ribs.
They were quiet, but their bodies spoke in ways words never could.
And in the safety of that room, in the hush of a world that had never been kind to either of them, they found something that was.
They were close- so close.
Silco’s restraint had begun to unravel, thread by thread, as her body tightened around him with every desperate, choked whimper she tried to stifle against his skin. His pace had lost its careful rhythm, hips moving rougher now, deeper, driven by something raw and primal and devoted. It wasn’t about control anymore.
It was about need.
He was panting against her neck, the sounds escaping him now- moans, low grunts, broken curses he couldn’t bite back in time. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, their bodies slick with heat, breath tangled, hearts pounding out of sync and then together again.
(Y/N) was shaking beneath him, her thighs trembling around his waist, her magic flickering again at her fingertips as she tried so hard to keep it all contained. Her moans were soft but urgent, desperate, and they only pushed him further.
Then-
“I- Silco-” she gasped, breath hitching, “I’m close- god, please-”
His head dropped to her shoulder, breath hot and ragged. His pace stuttered, hips rolling faster now, deeper, chasing both of their highs with abandon.
“Where,” he rasped, voice nearly broken, teeth clenched, “where do you want me-?”
He was right on the edge, barely holding on, and her answer- her sweet, gasped whimper- wrecked him.
“Inside,” she breathed. “Want you inside- want all of you- please…”
His body froze for the briefest second, her words crashing through him like fire licking up his spine.
And then something snapped.
A sound rumbled deep in his chest- more growl than breath. Possessive. Claiming. His thrusts turned almost frantic, but never careless, driven now by that single, burning thought: She wanted him. All of him. She chose him.
And his mind flickered- suddenly, violently- to the memory of her earlier that day.
Cradling Violet against her chest. Humming softly, swaying on tired feet, so gentle, so instinctively maternal it had shaken something loose in him. Seeing her like that- his girl holding new life like she was born for it- he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
Now, that image burned in his mind, layered over the sound of her moaning beneath him, the feeling of her nails digging into his back, the pulse of her magic humming against his skin.
And she wanted his seed.
His hips jerked, rhythm faltering as the growl in his chest deepened. “You want that?” he whispered, nearly wrecked. “You want me like that? Want me to fill you?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, her arms clinging around his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. “Please, Silco- want you- need you-”
That was it.
He buried himself as deep as he could go, his body trembling as he came with a ragged, low moan against her throat- inside her, just as she asked, giving her everything she wanted. Everything he had.
He held her through it, his arms trembling around her, breath broken and uneven. And even as the haze began to settle, his lips found her cheek, her shoulder, her collarbone- pressing shaky, reverent kisses against sweat-damp skin.
“Mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re mine.”
And she was.
She always had been.
The afterglow clung to the room like smoke- warm and quiet, the kind of silence that hummed with meaning. Their breathing was still uneven, the air thick with the heat they’d stirred into existence.
Silco rested against her for just a moment longer, his forehead pressed gently to her temple, his fingers drawing light, shaky patterns on her hip. He didn’t want to move- not yet- but when he finally shifted to pull out, it was careful, slow.
Still, (Y/N) whimpered softly beneath him, the sensation making her whole body twitch with lingering sensitivity.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
He was already moving- slipping off the bed, reaching for his pants and dragging them on with clumsy fingers. His steps were fast but quiet as he disappeared down the hall, urgency etched into every movement.
She stayed curled on the bed, dazed and flushed, thighs still trembling from how hard it had hit her. Her fingers curled into the sheets, grounding herself, breath still shaky even as her magic pulsed low and quiet under her skin.
(SMUT END)
He returned in what felt like seconds, cloth in hand, and knelt beside the bed. His touch was gentle, reverent as he cleaned her up- careful not to hurt her, never rushing. He soothed his way through it with small kisses to her thigh, to her stomach, murmuring soft things under his breath like he was trying to chase away any trace of discomfort.
When he was finished, he wiped himself down with what was left of the warmth in the cloth, then tossed it aside without a thought. He climbed into bed beside her immediately after, pulling the blanket over them both as he gathered her into his arms like she was something precious. Something breakable.
She didn’t hesitate- her body moved instinctively toward him, curling into his chest, her fingers bunching in the fabric of his waistband as her head tucked beneath his chin. She was still trembling faintly, the edges of her magic flaring and fading like little echoes of everything they’d just shared.
Silco held her tighter.
His fingers pressed trailing up and down her back, grounding her, anchoring her. And his other hand came up to cup the back of her head, fingers weaving into her hair.
He looked down at her with eyes softer than he usually allowed himself to wear. No mask. No posture. Just him, and the way he saw her- his girl, his flame, his constant.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing her hair. “Did I push you too much?”
(Y/N) shook her head against his chest. “No. Just… don’t let go yet.”
“Never,” he said immediately, fiercely. His arms curled tighter around her, and he kissed her forehead, lingering there like he could seal the words into her skin.
They stayed like that for a long time, bodies pressed close, breath syncing again.
(Y/N) had stilled after a while, her breathing growing slow and deep as her body finally gave in to exhaustion. She’d fallen asleep on his chest, completely bare, her arms still loosely wrapped around him, legs tangled with his, her face tucked beneath his jaw like she belonged there.
Silco didn’t move.
Didn’t dare.
His hand drifted slowly up and down her back, just the faintest touch of his fingertips against her skin- memorizing her, grounding himself in the warmth of her body against his. She was soft and warm and real in a way that left him breathless, even now. Her hair was slightly damp against his collarbone, and every exhale from her nose ghosted along the base of his throat, lulling him into something deep and quiet.
It was still early- the sky beyond the window barely touched with gray light, the city not yet awake. The bar was quiet, save for the distant creak of old wood settling and the occasional murmur of wind outside.
He could hear his own heartbeat. Steady. Loud. Content.
(Y/N) shifted slightly in her sleep, pressing even closer, her leg slipping over his hip, her bare chest flush against his. Silco stilled for a moment, his breath catching.
She was so warm. So trusting.
He liked the feeling of her skin against his. He liked the weight of her- unapologetically naked, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. And maybe, in some small way, he was.
His hand came to rest just beneath her shoulder blade, his thumb brushing slow, aimless circles into her skin. Every so often, she twitched in her sleep- faint, subconscious reactions- and every time she did, he was there, holding her steady, letting her know she was safe.
She had given herself to him. Her body. Her trust. Everything.
And now she slept like she had nothing to fear. Like she knew he’d keep her safe.
Silco tilted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of hers, lips brushing the crown of her hair. He closed his eyes for a long moment, letting the peace settle over him like a second blanket.
He’d never had this before- this quiet, this closeness. No performance. No violence. No deals struck in dark corners.
Just her. And her breathing. And the way she fit perfectly into the curve of his body.
He let himself relax beneath her, his hand never leaving her skin, and whispered so quietly it was barely audible:
“…Mine.”
And with that, he lay still- watching over her until the morning sun crept slow and golden through the cracks in the window.
The hours passed slowly, golden light filtering through the cracked window, warming the tangle of sheets and limbs that lay in its path. The bar downstairs had begun to stir- quiet footsteps, soft conversation, the occasional clink of glass- but none of it reached the sanctuary of (Y/N)’s room.
Silco hadn’t slept, not really. He’d rested, eyes closed, his breath steady, but part of him stayed anchored in the feeling of her curled around him. Still bare, still warm, still tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder like she belonged there.
She shifted slightly as the sun climbed higher in the sky, her fingers flexing against his chest. A low hum escaped her throat, and then her voice, soft and hoarse from sleep:
“…You’re still here.”
Silco smirked, eyes still closed. “Where else would I be?”
She let out a sleepy little laugh, one arm tightening around his waist as she nuzzled deeper against him. “Could’ve vanished like a ghost,” she murmured.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, voice low and sincere.
That made her pause, just long enough to lift her head slightly and press a lazy kiss to his collarbone. Then, still half-asleep, she whispered, “Wanna take a bath with me?”
Silco cracked one eye open, brows lifting ever so slightly. “…Now?”
She nodded against his skin. “Mhm. Don’t want to go alone.”
He let out a soft, amused exhale, brushing a hand down her spine. “You just want an excuse to stay close.”
“Is it working?”
A pause. Then:
“Yes.”
She grinned against him before finally rolling out of bed with a quiet groan, the sheets slipping down her bare back. Silco’s gaze followed her, slow and appreciative, as she stretched lazily, muscles still loose from sleep- and from him.
(Y/N) reached for one of his shirts that had ended up on the floor and tugged it over her head. It hung off her frame, the collar wide and slipping off one shoulder. She didn’t bother with anything else- just padded across the room barefoot before turning to glance at him over her shoulder.
“You coming?”
Silco stood, running a hand through his hair before nodding. “Always.”
They cracked open the door cautiously, peering down the hallway to make sure it was clear. A few voices murmured from downstairs, but no footsteps echoed on the upper floor.
(Y/N) grabbed his hand and tugged him out with her, the two of them slipping quietly down the hall toward the washroom like a pair of teenagers sneaking out after curfew.
She tried to stifle a giggle when his hand settled on her lower back, warm and familiar. He leaned close, lips brushing her ear as they reached the door.
“If Vander catches us, I’m blaming you.”
She grinned. “Please. Vander’s known what this is.”
Silco hummed low in his throat. “Still not interested in the lecture.”
(Y/N) pushed open the washroom door and slipped inside, tugging him in with her before quietly closing it behind them.
“Then let’s not give him anything to talk about.”
Silco raised a brow. “We’re going to be naked and locked in a room together. That ship may have sailed.”
“Mm,” she smirked, stepping toward the tub and turning on the tap. “Then we better make it worth it.”
The bath had been quiet.
Not in a strained way- but in the easy, intimate quiet that followed something sacred. They had slipped into the warm water together, the steam wrapping around them like a blanket, softening the edge of the morning chill. (Y/N) had settled between Silco’s legs, her back to his chest, as he ran a cloth gently along her skin, taking his time. No teasing, no rush. Just care.
She had returned the favor with equal tenderness- fingers threading through his damp hair, cloth gliding along his shoulders, over the lean strength of his arms. The silence between them was filled with nothing but the sound of water and the occasional shift of breath when their hands lingered just a little longer than necessary.
When they finished, they dried off wordlessly- Silco pressing a quick, stolen kiss to her temple before he turned toward the door.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” he murmured, voice still low and warm.
(Y/N) nodded, watching him go before she turned back toward the mirror, wrapping a towel around her body.
She moved to her room with practiced ease- pulling on clean underthings, rummaging through the dresser for clothes, brushing the knots from her damp hair in slow, even strokes. Her body was pleasantly sore in places she hadn’t known could ache, her magic still buzzing low in her chest, like the afterglow hadn’t quite worn off yet.
It wasn’t until she tilted her head to run the brush through the underside of her hair that she caught sight of it in the mirror.
Then another. And another.
“…Oh.”
Her neck- her collarbone, even the top of her chest- was covered in soft, dark bruises. Not harsh. Not angry. But thorough. The ghostly traces of his mouth mapped out across her skin like a constellation only he could read.
She set the brush down slowly, reaching up to gently press her fingers to one of the marks. It didn’t hurt- only made the heat rush back to her face in full force. She had been so swept up in everything that she hadn’t even realized how much of himself Silco had left behind.
The flush on her cheeks deepened, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
“Possessive bastard,” she muttered under her breath, but there was no bite to it. None at all.
Her fingertips lingered on one mark, just below her jaw. She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a small breath, lips curling into something soft. Something fond.
She got ready quickly, before making her way down into the bar.
The familiar creak of the stairs gave her away before she even stepped into view, but it was the silence that followed- sharp and sudden- that made (Y/N)’s smirk bloom before she even hit the bottom step.
She’d took care when getting dressed. Her shirt was casual, loose enough to move in, but the collar sat just low enough to give a teasing glimpse of the marks that trailed along her neck and collarbone. Not bold. Not obvious. Just enough.
Enough for him.
When she stepped into the bar, the light caught her just right, and Silco- mid-sip of his coffee- choked.
Not dramatically. Just enough that the mug paused halfway to his mouth and he had to quickly clear his throat, eyes narrowing just slightly as he caught sight of her. His collar was flipped higher than usual, subtly shielding the faint, fading bruises she'd left along the base of his throat.
(Y/N) arched a brow, all innocent as she made her way toward him.
“Morning,” she said smoothly, like nothing had happened, sliding onto a stool at the bar.
Silco didn’t respond right away- just took a deliberately slow sip of his coffee, eyes flicking over her exposed skin with unmistakable heat before settling into something cooler, more composed. But he didn’t fool her.
Not for a second.
His jaw was a little too tight. His eyes lingered a little too long.
She fought the grin tugging at her lips.
Behind the bar, Vander definitely noticed something. He gave them both a side-eye glance over the rim of the glass he was cleaning but didn’t say a word. Yet.
At the booth across the room, Felicia was bouncing Violet gently in her arms, murmuring softly to her as Connol leaned in close, clearly besotted with the baby. Felicia glanced up just in time to catch the very obvious tension simmering between (Y/N) and Silco, and her eyes narrowed.
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at her lips.
“Someone’s walking different,” she said under her breath, mostly to Connol- but loud enough for (Y/N) to hear.
(Y/N) didn’t flinch. She just tilted her head toward Silco, eyes still locked on his.
“Guess you weren’t as subtle as you thought,” she murmured, low and teasing.
Silco’s fingers tightened slightly around his mug, but his expression remained neutral- save for that twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Mm. And here I thought you were the one who enjoyed discretion.”
“Funny,” she said, resting her chin in her hand, her eyes gleaming. “You didn’t seem too concerned with that earlier when you left the marks.”
Vander definitely choked on a laugh this time, turning away before either of them could see his face.
Felicia outright cackled from the booth.
And Silco? Silco just took another slow sip of his coffee.
But the tips of his ears were red.
And (Y/N) sat back in her seat, pleased and glowing, her fingers brushing one of the fading bruises at her throat.
Let them stare.
She had nothing to hide.
The morning settled into its usual rhythm- not without a few lingering smirks and knowing glances, but still familiar. Predictable in the way only chaos can be when wrapped in the comfort of routine.
Felicia shifted Violet from one arm to the other, muttering about leaky bottles and no sleep, while Connol fussed more than necessary, trying to sneak spoonfuls of food toward her between breaths. Vander barked out orders to one of the younger runners, gesturing with a half-eaten piece of bread. The bar was alive again, in its own unique way- half family, half machine.
(Y/N) moved through it like she always did- grabbing her worn satchel, tying her boots, slipping on her usual cloak with practiced ease. The bite of metal, smoke, and earth waited for her in the mines, same as every day. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers- her routine, her way to contribute, to stay sharp, to stay moving.
Silco appeared beside her before she could reach the door, already dressed, coat draped casually over one shoulder, his coffee long gone.
“Heading in?” he asked, tone casual- but his eyes were anything but.
She nodded. “Yeah. Just to check in with the others, run inventory. Maybe help the crews down by the collapsed tunnel.” She glanced at him. “I’m not training today.”
His brow ticked slightly. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” she said, reaching up to adjust his collar in return- more teasing than necessary. “Just… not in the mood to throw fire around.”
He smirked faintly, but his gaze lingered. “You’ve been pushing yourself hard.”
“I can rest tomorrow,” she said simply, then tilted her head. “Want to come with? Just to walk.”
Silco paused- like the idea surprised him- and then gave a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll walk with you to the office.”
Something warm flickered in her chest at that, and she bumped his arm lightly as they stepped outside together.
The streets of the Undercity were already humming with movement- merchants hauling carts, scavengers bartering loudly in alleyways, children darting between walkways chasing pieces of scrap like treasure. The air was thick with smoke and smog, but it was home.
As they walked, their hands brushed occasionally. Not by accident.
“Y’know,” she said, glancing over at him, “you don’t have to walk me down every time.”
Silco looked at her sidelong, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “I know.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as they turned the corner, the entrance to the mines visible ahead.
Silco walked with her the whole way, boots echoing against the damp stone floor, his sharp eyes scanning the walls like he couldn’t not be on guard.
“You still remember the turns if you end up in the deeper tunnels?” he asked offhandedly.
(Y/N) smirked. “You’re sweet when you’re pretending not to worry.”
“I’m always worrying,” he muttered, but his tone lacked any real sharpness.
They reached the office in no time- an old iron-reinforced room carved into the rock, dimly lit with flickering green and gold lanterns that buzzed faintly. Inside was a scarred desk, stacks of ledgers, worn chairs, and a small iron hook where she always hung her cloak.
She shrugged off her bag and cloak with practiced ease, fingers brushing dust from her sleeves before hanging both neatly in their places. She caught the way Silco watched her in the corner of her eye- how his gaze lingered just a little too long on the exposed curve of her neck now that her cloak was off, on the quiet way she settled into the space like she’d done it a thousand times.
She turned to look at him fully, one brow raised. “You planning on loitering all day?”
Silco stepped forward, closing the distance between them slowly. He didn’t answer right away- just reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch warm against her cheek.
Then he leaned down and pressed a soft, steady kiss to her forehead.
It was quick, but it lingered.
Not a promise. Not a goodbye.
Just his way of saying he saw her. Cared for her. Wanted her safe.
When he pulled back, his voice was low but sure. “I’ll see you later.”
(Y/N) nodded, her voice equally soft. “Be careful, yeah?”
He smirked faintly. “Always.”
And just like that, he turned and disappeared down the tunnel, his coat catching the low light before he vanished into the haze of the mines. She watched him go, something warm pulsing beneath her ribs before she turned back to the desk, rolling up her sleeves and getting to work.
The day had begun, it passed in its usual rhythm, familiar in its simplicity.
The mine office was dim and quiet, save for the scratching of her pen across paper and the occasional creak of boots outside the door as workers passed by. (Y/N) checked supply inventories, cross-referenced excavation schedules, marked out the safe zones from the unstable ones. It was tedious work- but necessary. And she liked it. It kept her grounded, kept her from spiraling too deep into the weight of everything else going on above and beneath the surface.
Hours slipped by in the low hum of effort. She fixed a jammed lift schedule, sorted faulty lamp returns, and passed by a collapsed tunnel to give her usual report- though she didn’t go near the deeper parts. Not today. Her magic stayed quiet, humming under her skin, patient.
By the time she finished and looked at the rusted old clock hanging on the wall, it was late. The kind of late where the air in the tunnels started to feel heavier, colder. Most of the crews had already left, the usual noise of hammers and shouting and shifting machinery long since faded.
She let out a soft sigh, rubbing the back of her neck as she stood and stretched. Her muscles ached in familiar places, and a thin layer of dust clung to her pants and sleeves. She grabbed her cloak from the hook by the door, shaking it out with a practiced flick before draping it over her shoulders. Her bag followed- slung across her chest as she ran a hand through her now-tousled hair.
The walk back through the tunnels was quiet. Eerily so. But she was used to it. She made her way toward the entrance of the mines, stepping out into the city.
The Undercity greeted her like an old friend- distant neon lights glowing in the hazy twilight, the scent of smoke and metal thick in the air. The Lanes buzzed softly in the distance, and as she adjusted her cloak tighter around herself, she found her thoughts drifting forward.
The Last Drop would be warm by now- lit up and alive in its usual gritty way. Violet would probably be asleep upstairs, Felicia most likely slumped in a booth with a drink in hand, and Vander behind the bar telling someone off for trying to cheat at cards.
And Silco…
He’d be there, she was sure of it.
Maybe already sitting at the bar, waiting for her like he did most nights when she came back late. Maybe pretending he wasn’t waiting at all.
A tired smile crept onto her lips as she pushed forward through the streets, heart tugging her home.
Back to the bar.
Back to him.
(Y/N) pulled her cloak tighter, keeping her head down as she moved through the winding streets toward the familiar warmth of The Last Drop. The sound of heavy boots echoed around the corner- Enforcers. Routine, by now. Always watching. Always looking for an excuse.
She didn’t glance up- not really- but one of them caught her gaze anyway. Just a second too long. Just enough.
“Hey!” one of them barked.
She froze.
Four of them broke off from the patrol, boots loud against the cobblestone as they spread out around her, forming a half-circle. Uniforms crisp, expressions smug. The leader- broad, smug, with a baton already half-raised- gestured toward her with a nod.
“Out late, sweetheart?”
(Y/N) didn’t answer. Just lowered her eyes, her jaw tight.
“We’re conducting a search,” another said, already reaching for her bag.
She knew the drill. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t afford to.
She let them pull the bag from her shoulder, dig through it, pat her down with rough, mocking hands. One of them yanked her cloak aside, as if they expected to find contraband hidden in the folds. They didn’t. Of course they didn’t.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
It never was.
“Tsk. Nothing,” the leader said, almost disappointed. “Looks like she’s just another gutter rat wasting our time.”
One of them stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Then maybe we remind her who runs these streets.”
She could’ve fought.
Could’ve burned them all down with a flick of her wrist.
But her magic stayed quiet. Her body stayed still. She didn’t move.
She remembered the last time.
The screams. The smoke…
So she let it happen.
They knocked her down first. A punch to the gut, a boot to her ribs. Her shoulder hit the ground hard, and the stone scraped across her palms when she tried to catch herself. Then the batons came- short, sharp blows meant to bruise more than break, meant to humiliate. Her lip split. Her breath left her in a wheeze.
But she didn’t cry out.
She didn’t give them that.
She curled in on herself, shielded her head, and waited for it to end.
Eventually, it did.
One of them spit at the ground beside her. “Tell your friends in the Lanes to keep their mouths shut.”
They left her there in the alley, blood on her lip, ribs aching, cloak torn at the edge.
For a long moment, she didn’t move.
Then, slowly, she sat up. Her hands shook as she adjusted her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, then pulled her hood up, hiding as much of her face as she could manage.
And then she walked.
Not quickly. Not limping.
Just steady.
Until the glow of The Last Drop came into view.
The noise spilled out into the street, muffled laughter, the low hum of conversation, the scent of smoke and stale beer. Home.
She pushed the door open with one hand, shoulder braced against the frame like her body didn’t want to be held up anymore.
The light hit her first.
Then Silco turned from where he sat at the bar- and froze.
His eyes locked on her.
Blood at the corner of her mouth. Another tear in her cloak. Dirt and ash and bruises painted across her skin.
She stood in the doorway, barely holding herself upright.
“…Hey,” she rasped, like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just been used as a message.
Had to remake this post, because someone reported it for a symbol on one of the images, (that I didn't see and forgot to sensor, so fair. I respect that.) but I'm posting it again, because I feel like I absolutely need to.
To whoever this person is, I genuinely hope you get help, you freak.
I'm more than likely going to stop writing for this character, because jeez, I do not want to deal with that shit again.
TW: threats under the cut.
I knew the Danganronpa community was ick, but I guess I underestimated how foul some of the people in the community could be. At first I was like "haha, this is cringe, funny." But then the stuff he sent kept getting worse, and worse. THEN he threatened to r@pe me, like it was some fun little thing he could just throw around. As a S/A survivor myself, I think you are absolutely horrendous. You need help.
Hello my friend, I hope that you are having a good day! 😊 Well, For my story request, I wanted to see if you could do a headcanon with Demon Slayer AU x short black!reader where they suffered and take medication from Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) or Multiple Personality Disorder where they act just like Junko Enoshima from Danganronpa but instead of killing their friends they are very protective of them to the point where they will kill/hurt someone else!~ 😂🥹💔😈
A/N: Of course, @lelewright1234! I want to make it known, though, I do not over-dramatize mental illness. DID is usually very overly portrayed to be "evil" or "harmful" in media, and I very much do not like that. I made sure to do some research before writing this, to make sure I am not doing any harm. Reader is aggressive, but only when it comes to keeping those they love safe :} Also, the gender of the reader wasn't specified, so I kept it gender neutral, but also also, the dialog is pink, cuz... Well... All the other colors were taken LOL
All of Me, All of You
Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x GN!Black!Reader Headcannons
Warnings: Topics of Mental Health, Violence/Gore, and Trauma Responses
Word Count: 2108
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Tanjiro:
- Tanjiro is initially overwhelmed, but never fearful of (Y/N): Their energy reminds him of Zenitsu and Inosuke, but darker… sharper. He senses something fractured beneath the surface, and his kindness becomes a safe anchor.
- He learns the names and mannerisms of their alters over time: He is always calling them by their preferred name and tone. He’s especially good at grounding them during dissociative episodes- placing their hand on his heartbeat, holding eye contact, and speaking gently, “You’re here. You’re with me. I’m not going anywhere.”
- (Y/N) jokes about being "completely unhinged for their man,": Tanjiro just chuckles nervously until he sees them genuinely lose control when someone threatens him. One time, someone tried to kill Tanjiro during a mission and (Y/N) didn’t hesitate to gouge the enemy’s eyes out. Calmly. Softly. With a smile on their face. It terrifies everyone- except Tanjiro, who simply checks if they’re okay afterward.
- (Y/N) leaves bloodied love notes: “They touched you. I touched them back. With a blade.” Tanjiro keeps them hidden in a box because he doesn’t know what to do with them, but he can’t bring himself to throw them away.
- Medication and herbs help them sleep and prevents violent switching: But… It doesn't work all the time. When it fails, Tanjiro’s voice and scent help stabilize them. Tanjiro never forces them to change. Instead, he helps build routines that give structure without control.
- When he asks them out, he doesn’t do a big dramatic thing: He just says, “I love all of you. Every version. Every day.” And (Y/N) genuinely glitches for a second before saying yes.
- Tanjiro lets (Y/N) carve protective symbols into his blade hilt: Some are from folk tales (Y/N) remembers. Some they made up. He never questions them.
Inosuke:
- Inosuke lives for (Y/N)’s unpredictability: Their switching between personalities reminds him of a beast showing multiple stances- it's wild, it’s powerful, and it intrigues him.
- (Y/N)’s main protector personality treats their crew like royalty: Friends are sacred. Anyone who hurts one of them? Their lifespan just got significantly shorter. Inosuke once saw (Y/N) curb-stomp a demon for insulting Tanjiro’s nose. He fell a little in love that day.
- (Y/N)’s manic energy and sudden voice switches never throw Inosuke off: he adapts on the fly, meeting their different states with a mix of curiosity and brute loyalty. (Y/N) will giggle and switch from baby-talking Inosuke to planning someone's murder in a split second, and Inosuke just tilts his head like, "Huh. That’s hot."
- They take medication daily: They store their herbs and things in a cute pouch they sewed themself, covered in wild patterns and a tiny plush of a pig (for Inosuke, obviously). Some days, it works great- other days, (Y/N) is unhinged in a dangerously loving way. On those days, they cling to Inosuke like a talisman, grounding themselves through physical contact.
- When they dissociate badly, Inosuke doesn't fully understand it: He recognizes the signs- the blank stare, the disconnection. So he drops his usual yelling and becomes weirdly gentle. He’ll sit silently with them in a tree, hand on their back until they come back to him. He doesn’t try to "fix" them. He just accepts them. All of them.
- All of the alters agree on one thing: Inosuke belongs to them. Try flirting with him and see how fast a blade appears. Tanjiro helped them all come up with a color-coded system to identify who’s fronting. Inosuke ignores it and just uses vibes.
- Inosuke doesn’t say "I love you" much: He says “You’re strong,” “You smell like home,” or “If anyone touches you, I’ll break their arms.” (Y/N) says “I love you” through their chaos- they’ll cook him an entire feast, braid flowers into his hair, then threaten someone with a dagger in the same breath.
- When they switch, Inosuke has learned to adapt his affection: He hugs one alter, spars with another, brings meat to another, and just sits silently with the one that prefers calm. Sometimes they both sleep outside, like wild animals. He holds them like a baby boar, and they twitch in his arms until they settle.
- They don’t do PDA unless they’re in a certain headspace: When that time comes, it’s all over. Straddling his lap, biting his neck playfully, dramatic love declarations. Inosuke never knows what hit him.
- (Y/N) once got mistaken for a demon because of their intensity: Inosuke jumped in front of them, screaming “THEY’RE MY DEMON, BACK OFF!”
- (Y/N) writes love letters to Inosuke in different handwriting depending on the alter writing it: He collects them in a box he calls his "pride box." They both have a shared journal. Inosuke can’t really write well, but he draws them like a beast with heart eyes- every version of them.
Zenitsu:
- Zenitsu immediately falls for (Y/N)’s looks and protective aura- but is terrified the moment they switch alters in front of him for the first time: One second (Y/N) is soft-spoken and sweet, offering him a dumpling with a shy smile, and the next they’re standing on a table, eyes wide and grinning like a maniac, threatening to stab a merchant for “looking too long.” Zenitsu passes out. But when he wakes up and (Y/N) apologizes, stuttering and nervous, he just... melts. He realizes they weren’t trying to scare him- they were trying to protect him.
- Zenitsu learns to spot the signs of a switch: He respects each alter like a separate person. He greets them differently, talks with them differently, and never gets them mixed up.
- (Y/N) takes medication and herbs regularly, but sometimes it doesn’t work: Either the effects don’t kick in, or it causes physical side effects like dizziness or nausea. On rough days, Zenitsu becomes extra clingy and attentive. He holds their hand, braids their hair, lets them lay in his lap even when he’s panicking himself.
- He once tried to fight off a switch manually: “No, no, no! Stay here with me! Please don’t go scary mode, I can handle this-!” Spoiler… He could not. The protector alter came out and bodied the guy trying to rob them. But after every switch, Zenitsu wraps them in a blanket and reassures them they’re still loved. No matter what version of (Y/N) he’s with- he loves all of them.
- Zenitsu calls them “Sunshine,” no matter which alter he’s talking to: He says they’re his reason for fighting. Sometimes they wake up from dissociation and find that Zenitsu’s already made them food and is softly singing to himself nearby.
- The protector alter secretly adores Zenitsu, even if they pretend to be annoyed by how clingy and scared he is: They’d wreck someone for hurting him. On bad days, all three versions of (Y/N) might blend into one- and Zenitsu will stay by their side the whole time, gently reminding them who they are, and who he is.
- The protector alter takes the lead if the fight turns ugly: Think elegant blade work, laughing threats, wild eyes under a blood-smeared smile. Zenitsu does not like seeing them that way, but he understands it’s necessary. He’ll fight at their back, even when trembling. After every mission, no matter who fronted, they always find Zenitsu. And he always pulls them into a hug and says, “You’re safe. You’re still you. I’m proud of you.”
Nezuko:
- Nezuko loves how expressive and animated (Y/N) is: Even when they're cycling through personalities or dramatic outbursts, she’s calm, patient, and strangely entertained. She’ll tilt her head and smile sweetly, like “Yep. That’s my partner.”
-(Y/N)'s protectiveness is legendary: If anyone dares to look at Nezuko sideways, especially those that judge her, (Y/N)'s demeanor shifts instantly. Think wide grin, slow clap, and then, “Awww~ Did you think you were safe just because she’s sweet? That’s adorable. Let me fix your attitude... permanently.”
- When they’re “off-meds” or their symptoms spike: Nezuko recognizes it almost immediately. She’ll gently guide (Y/N) away from people, softly humming, holding their hand or petting their hair until they calm down.
- They bond through quiet activities when things are rough: Doing each other’s hair (Even though it was a process to teach Nezuko how to do (Y/N)'s hair, with the different texture and all), flower-picking, or watching fireflies in silence. Even with (Y/N)’s chaos, Nezuko grounds them. And they adore how peaceful she is.
- They don’t hide that they have DID. But they do downplay it with dramatic flair: They say things like, “Oh you know, I just keep life interesting~ One (Y/N) at a time!” All while flipping their hair and spinning dramatically.
- Nezuko and (Y/N) often tag-team missions: (Y/N) is the chaos, Nezuko is the calm. It throws demons way off. Some demons have tried to mess with Nezuko by provoking (Y/N), which is a mistake. (Y/N) will absolutely go feral, all while laughing and saying things like, “Oooooh you think you’re scary? Honey, you haven’t even met all of me yet~”
- (Y/N) sings loudly and off-key in the morning: Nezuko doesn’t mind- she mimics them and makes silly faces until they laugh.
- They sleep tangled up: Nezuko is usually gently curled into (Y/N)’s chest. If an alter is panicking in the night, Nezuko will sit up and rest her forehead against theirs until the shaking stops.
- Their dynamic is very "chaotic sunshine and quiet strength": When (Y/N) goes full dramatic monologue, Nezuko just holds up a peace sign or pats their head like, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Genya:
- (Y/N) is a compact firecracker, barely reaching Genya’s chest, but what they lack in height they more than make up for in intensity: Their presence is loud, chaotic, dramatic, and unpredictable- you’ll never know if they’re about to cradle you or cuss you out in three different accents.
- Medication is... complicated: With the time period, it's more herbs and calming agents passed to them by the Butterfly Estate, combined with daily grounding rituals they've invented themselves.
- Genya learns every single step of (Y/N)’s routine: He memorizes which teas help what symptoms. Which scents make them come back to themself. Which alter not to call cute unless he wants to get punched.
- At first, Genya didn’t know how to handle the... whirlwind that is (Y/N): He assumed they were unstable in a bad way. But then they saved him from a demon by breaking a bottle over its head, giggling the whole time, and said, “Touch my man again and I’ll make origami outta your spine.” That was the moment he knew. He was in deep.
- (Y/N) calls him “baby bird” sometimes: It makes him blush and scowl at the same time. “I’m not a bird, dammit- stop ruffling my hair!”
- (Y/N) talks a lot: Genya listens more than he speaks, but (Y/N) likes to think out loud, switch voices mid-sentence, and dramatically throw themselves across the room while explaining how hot Genya looks when he’s angry.
- Genya doesn't treat (Y/N) like they're broken: He treats them like they're human. And that is a huge deal to all of them. He sometimes stutters when talking to their more aggressive alter, but (Y/N) finds it adorable. “You’re scared of me, baby? I only bite people I don’t like.”
- They have a system: a code word when (Y/N) is losing time, grounding phrases that Genya uses to help bring them back, and a little sketchbook (Y/N)'s alters leave notes in for each other- and for Genya, too.
- (Y/N) fights like a theatrical maniac: They use erratic, unpredictable movements that confuse demons- suddenly graceful, then wild, then eerily still before a kill strike. They’ve been known to laugh during battle. Not a villainous cackle- more like a delighted child at a fireworks show. Their combat personality is ruthlessly protective. If a demon so much as grazes Genya, they go absolutely feral, dragging it by the throat back into the sun with zero hesitation.
- Genya will hold (Y/N)'s hand when they switch mid-conversation: Hed whisper, “You okay?” like it's the most normal thing in the world. They made Genya a beaded bracelet with alternating colors for each of their alters. He never takes it off. - When they’re having a rough time, Genya wraps them in his haori: He rubs their back, and gently says, “I don’t care which one you are today. I love all of you.” One of their alters once asked Genya out without asking the others. It became a thing. Now, every alter gets to ask in their own way.
A/N: This is the sequel to Ember in the Dark! I really enjoy writing for this fic :}
Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.1
Silco x Fem!Reader
(Ember in the Dark- prequel) pt.1
Warnings: Violence/Gore, Death/Grief, Trauma, Substance Use, War/Revolution Themes.
Word Count: 6110
Summary: After a failed topside heist, the kids return to The Last Drop bruised and reeking of trouble. (Y/N) and Vander quickly realize something went wrong- an explosion, a chase, and Enforcer heat. They soon learn Piltover is demanding someone take the fall. Vander refuses to give up the kids. Just as Grayson arrives, Silco reemerges- changed, vengeful, and flanked by a monstrous ally. He slaughters the Enforcers, kills Benzo, and takes Vander. When Silco turns to (Y/N), she sees a man both familiar and monstrous. Despite everything, she still loves him- and when he asks her to come, she does. They disappear into the shadows, leaving the shattered remnants of their family behind.
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The bar had been alive with its usual hum- clinking glasses, laughter a little too loud, the low rhythm of a deal being whispered between regulars at the corner booth. (Y/N) had fallen into the comfort of routine, her hands quick behind the bar, pouring drinks and trading coin, while Vander worked beside Huck a few steps away, smoothing out a supply deal with his usual half-gruff charm.
It had been a good night.
Until the door creaked open, and the kids walked in.
The smell hit first.
Then the bruises.
Then- Powder’s wide eyes, Vi’s split lip, Mylo’s torn sleeve, and Claggor’s slumped shoulders. They looked like they’d crawled through the Undercity’s rot and back again, covered in grime, bruised and battered- and definitely not just from a run through the Lanes.
(Y/N)’s entire body went still.
Vander looked up, went quiet. She caught his eye, and they both moved without a word- leaving one of the bartenders to manage the bar.
They followed the trail of reek and silence down into the back room.
Before they even reached the door, they could hear the muffled voices- Vi’s sharp whisper, Mylo’s whine, Powder’s soft murmur- and something tight curled in (Y/N)’s gut.
She pushed open the door.
There they were- slouched around the coffee table like the ghosts of their younger selves. Vi in the armchair, sitting tall despite the bruises, her arms crossed over her chest like armor. Powder curled up beside her on the couch, her knees to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. Mylo and Claggor sat opposite, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze.
(Y/N) didn’t speak.
She turned and grabbed a stack of clean cloths from the shelf and tossed them- one to Vi, one to Mylo, one to Claggor. Her way of saying Start cleaning yourselves up before I lose it.
Vander’s voice broke the silence, low and grim.
“Everyone all right?”
Mylo huffed, eyes anywhere but on them. “Never better.”
Vander hummed, slow and deliberate. “Good.”
He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, his voice cold enough to silence the whole room.
“I don’t suppose you can explain why we’re hearing about an explosion and a foot chase topside. Four children fleeing the scene.”
(Y/N) moved quietly around the room, ignoring the smell, the grime, the tension in the air. She crouched in front of Vi, gently grabbing her chin, tilting her face side to side to check for broken skin or swelling.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she asked, low and sharp, eyes flicking over the bruises on Vi’s cheek.
Vi rolled her eyes and tried to pull back. “That we can handle a real job?”
Vander’s face hardened instantly.
“A real job?”
Vi straightened, her voice quick now. “We got our own tip. Planned a route. Nobody even saw-”
“You blew up a building,” (Y/N) snapped, grabbing her chin again, giving her a warning look that stopped her cold.
Vi tried to deflect. “That wasn’t-”
“Did you even stop to think,” Vander cut in, “what could’ve happened to you? To them?”
He pointed to each of them, one by one, and they all flinched. Even Mylo stopped pretending to act tough. Vi’s bravado shrank a little, and she looked down, finally letting (Y/N) finish checking her over in silence.
When she was done, (Y/N) moved to Powder, brushing dirt from her temple with gentle fingers. The girl hadn’t said a word yet, just sat curled in on herself, her eyes wide and glassy.
Vander exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face.
“Where did you even get this tip?”
Silence.
(Y/N) shifted to check Claggor’s arm, noting a deep scrape along his bicep.
Still silence.
Then Powder’s voice came, soft and tired.
“…We just heard it at Benzo’s shop.”
Vander’s brow furrowed. “From?”
“…Little Man,” Powder admitted.
(Y/N) froze just slightly- then closed her eyes and let out a breath, pressing a cloth to Claggor’s arm.
Of course it had been Ekko.
Of course.
Vander muttered a curse under his breath, starting to pace again as the room sat heavy in shame.
(Y/N) didn’t yell. Didn’t need to. She just kept working, her voice calm but cold.
“You’re damn lucky you all made it back,” she said, not looking at any of them. “You’re not invincible. And you’re not ready.”
No one argued.
No one could.
And still, in the back of her mind, a sharp pain echoed through her chest-
We were them once.
And look how that turned out.
The silence in the room following Powder’s confession hung thick- too heavy for the small space, for their small shoulders.
Vander exhaled deeply, weariness settling into his spine like weight he hadn’t shaken in years. He turned to Vi, but she was already standing, her chin tilted up defiantly.
“I took us there,” she said, her voice firm and unflinching. “If you’re gonna be mad, be mad at me. But you’re the one who always says we have to earn our place in the world.”
Vander’s jaw clenched, and he huffed. “I also told you time and time again- the Northside’s off-limits.”
(Y/N), still kneeling by Claggor’s side, looked up, her voice cool. “We stay out of Piltover’s business.”
Vi threw up her hands, talking fast and hot now. “Why? They’ve got plenty, while we’re down here scraping together coins. We’re supposed to just be grateful for scraps?”
She turned her glare to Vander, eyes sharp. “When did you get so comfortable living in someone else’s shadow?”
The words cut through the room like broken glass.
Silence fell.
Even Powder looked up at that, her face unreadable. Mylo’s leg bounced, fast and nervous. Claggor stayed still, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
(Y/N) sighed, slow and heavy, and pushed herself to her feet now that she was sure no one was bleeding out or had a concussion.
She looked at all of them- Vi’s glare, Powder’s clenched hands, Mylo’s sullen posture.
“Right,” she said, with finality. “Everyone out. Come on.”
There was no argument.
They stood, shuffling past her in silence. She guided them out of the room, her hand resting briefly on each shoulder as they passed, quiet reassurance even in her exasperation.
She left Mylo and Claggor in the hallway, watching them both closely for any lingering tension.
Then she followed Powder out the bar's back entrance, lighting a cigarette as the younger girl knelt by one of the bins, digging around with practiced ease.
(Y/N) watched her, blowing out smoke slowly- until Powder paused.
Her hand stilled. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something small, bright, and unnaturally blue.
A crystal.
It shimmered faintly even in the low light, and for a heartbeat, Powder just stared at it- eyes wide, breath shallow.
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
But Powder flinched, snapping out of it, and shoved the thing deep into her coat like it might vanish if she just willed it hard enough. Then she bolted back inside without a word.
(Y/N) let it go.
For now.
She dropped her cigarette, crushed it under her boot, and followed after her, heart starting to beat a little faster.
Down the hall, just outside the kids’ room, she heard voices again.
Mylo.
“She's a problem.”
Vi’s voice, quiet. “Mylo, I'm really not-”
“Do you remember what was in that bag?” Mylo snapped. “The biggest payout we’ve ever seen. And she lost it.”
(Y/N) froze outside the door, hand hovering near the handle.
Inside, she heard the soft thunk of a ball bouncing against the wall. Mylo caught it. Threw it again.
“She made a mistake,” Vi said defensively.
“Name one time she hasn’t.”
“She’s young.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You were twice the person at half her age.”
A pause.
Then Vi’s voice, lower now. Bitter.
“You know what, Mylo? You’re right. There’s a bunch of things Powder just can’t do.”
Mylo didn’t hesitate. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
The words hit harder than they realized.
Because Powder had heard them, too.
She ran past (Y/N) in the hallway, wiping at her face, shoulders shaking.
(Y/N) didn’t say anything- she just followed, quick and quiet, until she found her in the kids’ room, curled up in her little makeshift fort. The same one she used to sleep in after Felicia died. Nestled between blankets and pillows and broken bits of inventions, trying to lose herself in something that wasn’t this.
(Y/N) slipped inside the fort without hesitation, kneeling and gathering Powder into her arms like she’d done a hundred times before.
Like a mother.
Because she was, in all the ways that mattered.
She didn’t say anything- just held her, stroking her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her head like Felicia used to do, like (Y/N) had once wished someone had done for her.
Eventually, Powder’s trembling eased, though she still clutched at (Y/N)’s coat like she was afraid to let go.
Then footsteps.
Vi.
She stood awkwardly in the doorway, a small frown plain on her face.
(Y/N) pressed one more kiss to Powder’s head, then slowly stood. She passed Vi on the way out and didn’t say anything- just reached up, brushed a thumb across her cheek, and kissed her forehead gently, too.
Then she left them alone.
Sisters.
To mend it on their own.
She made her way out of the bar, walking through the Lanes. The air outside Benzo’s was thick with tension, the kind that curled around your ribs and didn’t let go.
(Y/N) spotted Ekko leaning against the wall just outside, trying to look casual but clearly on edge. His arms were crossed tight, eyes sharp as they scanned the alley like he was expecting someone to come flying around the corner.
She softened at the sight of him- such a little thing, trying so hard to act grown.
She ruffled his hair as she passed. “Hey, little man.”
He gave a small, tired smile, but didn’t say much- just gave her a subtle nod before returning to his watch.
Inside, Benzo’s place smelled like oil and metal and something acrid in the walls that never quite went away. Vander was already talking when she stepped in- low, angry tones, his back half-turned to the door.
Benzo caught her eye and gave a slight nod. “She’s here.”
Vander turned, and just the look on his face made her stomach drop.
“They’re blaming us,” he said without any preamble. “Grayson- she says Piltover needs someone to hang it on.”
(Y/N)’s jaw clenched. “Of course they do.”
“She said it came from higher up,” Vander went on. “One of the councilors. Said they can’t afford to ignore this. So they want blood. Names.”
Her arms crossed slowly. “Let me guess- they want our kids.”
Vander nodded grimly.
“They want someone to take the fall for the explosion. For the theft. For trespassing topside.”
(Y/N) didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him.
She knew about the deal- Vander had brokered it years ago, when they were still clawing their way out of the ruins of the bridge. Keep the Undercity quiet, and Piltover wouldn’t look too closely. Keep things calm, and they’d stay out of the Lanes.
It had always felt like a fragile truce. Like balancing a knife on glass.
And now… it was breaking.
“They think you’ll hand over the kids,” she said, flatly.
Vander’s eyes burned. “I won’t.”
Benzo didn’t interrupt. He just watched as Vander pulled a small device from his coat- a metal piece that could be sent topside.
Vander nodded toward it. “Grayson gave the signal. She’s waiting for an answer.”
(Y/N) stared at it, then nodded once.
“We tell her no,” she said. “And we watch everything.”
They made their way back to the bar.
The kids had already scattered down into the arcade on (Y/N)’s word- somewhere out of sight, somewhere quiet. Somewhere that used to be theirs when they were younger, running from the world before the weight of it caught up.
Inside The Last Drop, the mood had shifted.
The usual warmth was still there, but the edges were fraying. People were tense. Voices were low. There were more eyes on the door than there were on drinks.
(Y/N) took her spot behind the bar. Vander leaned against the far end, scanning the crowd, quiet.
They didn’t talk much. Just kept their ears open.
Hours passed like that.
And then-
The kids came back.
One by one, they filed in through the side hallway, muddy boots scuffing softly on the wood. They didn’t say anything, didn’t cause a scene. Just… lingered.
Near the back. Close enough to (Y/N) and Vander to be protected, but not so close they’d be noticed.
Smart kids.
They’d learned to move like shadows.
And for now, that was exactly what they needed to be.
The tension in The Last Drop had become thick enough to choke on. Whispers had turned to murmurs. Murmurs into open frustration. And when Sevika stood from her booth, drink in hand, there was no mistaking the shift in the room.
“We should hit them back,” she said, her voice cutting clean through the chatter. “We’ve got the numbers to best them.”
(Y/N), standing behind the bar with her hands gripping a towel a little too tightly, said nothing. But her chest stirred with reluctant agreement.
She knew Sevika was right.
But she also knew what happened the last time they 'had the numbers.'
So she stayed quiet.
Because following Vander’s lead- whether it sat right or not- was the only thing that had kept the Undercity from burning again.
Vander raised his voice calmly but firmly, pushing off from where he leaned.
“You sure that’s what you want?” he asked, stepping forward slowly. “We crossed that bridge before. And we all know how that ended.”
(Y/N) tensed. She didn’t move, didn’t speak- but the weight of his words hit her like a hammer to the ribs.
Felicia’s hands, cold and bloodied in hers.
Connol’s still body on the ground.
The last time she saw Silco.
She said nothing. Just lit a cigarette and looked away.
Someone else, half-drunk and bitter, chimed in from near the door. “You’re just protecting your kids.”
(Y/N)’s eyes snapped over her shoulder- straight to the back corner, where the kids stood, lingering. They’d kept quiet, kept out of sight, but they were still watching.
Still listening.
Vander didn’t rise to the bait. He stepped in calmly, the firm voice of a man who had earned this room.
“I’m protecting our people,” he said. “I’d do the same for any one of you. We look out for each other. That’s the way it’s always been.”
(Y/N) exhaled slowly, smoke curling from her lips.
“This’ll blow over,” she added, tone even. “We just need to stand together.”
Sevika scoffed, ignoring her entirely. Her eyes were locked on Vander.
“The Vander I knew- the one who built the Undercity- he wouldn’t be afraid to fight.”
The bar hushed again.
Vander stepped toward her slowly, unflinching, until they stood toe-to-toe. He stared her down.
“Do I look afraid?”
Without hesitation, Sevika fired back: “No. You look weak.”
Then she let out a sharp whistle.
Her crew stood up in unison- shoulders squared, weapons at their hips- and one by one, they filed out the bar behind her, Sevika last.
(Y/N) didn’t stop them.
Neither did Vander.
Silence returned.
The kids- still watching- retreated down the hallway toward their room. Not a word. Just quiet understanding.
(Y/N) let out a long sigh and lit another cigarette, taking a slow drag as she leaned against the bar.
Then the door opened again.
Three Enforcers entered.
Not the usual grunts. Higher rank. Clean boots. One of them, Marcus, stepped ahead of the others like he already owned the place.
(Y/N) straightened, flicking her ash but saying nothing.
“We’re looking for some kids,” Marcus said, eyes scanning the room.
Vander didn’t miss a beat. “Bar’s full of ‘em,” he replied casually. “Best be specific.”
As the Enforcers started walking, poking through corners and checking under tables, Vander moved behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle, uncorked it, and offered, “How ‘bout a drink, eh?”
As he poured, his fingers dipped under the counter- click. The emergency switch. A signal to the kids below.
Hide. Now.
Then, Marcus dropped a line that made (Y/N)’s head whip around in alarm.
“Ran into an old friend of yours,” he said to Vander. “Had some stories.”
The bar went still.
Marcus stepped forward and took Vander’s pipe right out of his hand, rolling it between his fingers.
(Y/N)’s body tensed. So did half the bar.
Vander gave a subtle shake of his head- don’t.
Marcus smirked. “You weren’t always the peacekeeper, were you?”
Then, without flinching, he dropped the pipe into the liquor glass. It caught fire instantly.
Flames crackled in the silence.
Vander’s jaw flexed, but his voice stayed even.
“Yeah, well… you can’t escape the past, right?”
He lifted his eyes slowly- toward the wall above the bar.
Toward the gauntlets mounted high.
The ones he hadn’t touched since that night.
“Be a shame if I had to put ’em on again,” he said, voice low. “Cast irons… well. They’re hard to clean.”
The fire between them flickered. The room held its breath.
And every single person in The Last Drop remembered exactly who Vander used to be.
The search didn’t last long. The Enforcers poked through the bar, lifting up old crates, checking behind curtains, pulling up floor panels that had already been repaired twice over. (Y/N) didn’t flinch. Neither did Vander.
Eventually, the other two returned to Marcus.
“All clear.”
Marcus rolled his eyes with a scoff, lips curling into something sharp and cruel. Vander raised an eyebrow, half a shrug in response.
But Marcus wasn’t done.
“You people down here are all the same,” he sneered, turning to face the bar. “Mistaking arrogance for bravery. You think you're standing up for something, but we all know there’s a crime behind every coin that passes through this place.”
He turned to face Vander, stepping in closer, voice dropping low enough to be lethal.
“You’re just a small man in a little hole the world forgot to bury.”
And then, just to twist the knife-
Marcus lifted his baton and slammed it down onto the burning glass of liquor, shattering it across the counter. Fire spilled over the wood, licking up the side of a bottle rack.
“And I’m gonna bury the lot of you.”
Then he turned, shoved through the crowd of tense patrons, and left with his officers in tow, boots echoing against the stone.
The door slammed.
Silence followed.
(Y/N) didn’t waste time. She grabbed a nearby cloth, slammed it over the fire, smothering the flames until the last of the smoke curled up and vanished into the ceiling vents.
Vander stood there, unmoving, jaw locked tight, eyes still on the door. That line had cut, but he wasn’t about to show it.
Once they were sure the Enforcers were gone, the two of them quietly made their way down to the kids’ room. The tension clung to their shoulders as they descended the stairs.
The kids were all there, huddled and tense. Powder had her hands fisted into her sleeves, trying not to shake. Claggor sat stiffly, while Mylo bounced his leg, eyes darting to every sound.
(Y/N) glanced around, making sure no one was more hurt than they already were. “Are you all okay..?”
Vi was the first to speak.
“No, we’re not okay. They almost saw Powder.” Her voice cracked, furious and terrified all at once. “What if they took her?”
Vander stepped forward quickly, firm but calm. “No one is taking any of you.”
(Y/N) nodded, kneeling beside them. “We would never let that happen. Not to any of you.”
But Vi wasn’t comforted. She threw her arm out, motioning toward the others, her voice rising.
“It’s already happening! You heard him- he’s not gonna stop. They’re gonna keep coming. So we need to fight back. And if you two won’t-” her eyes flicked between Vander and (Y/N), “-then I will.”
(Y/N)’s chest went tight.
It reminded her too much of another voice, another pair of burning eyes once full of conviction.
Silco.
Vander heard it too.
His voice was quiet, but laced with weight. “I’ve heard this kind of talk before...”
He gave (Y/N) a look- a heavy one- before gently placing a hand on Vi’s shoulder and guiding her toward the exit.
“Come with me.”
(Y/N) didn’t stop him. Just watched as they disappeared up the stairs, Vi’s shoulders squared with defiance, Vander silent and steady at her side.
She stayed behind with the others, crouching down beside Powder and gently wrapping her in her arms, murmuring softly to calm her trembling hands.
The kids needed someone to stay.
And she always would.
She stayed downstairs with the kids for a long while after Vi left with Vander- running a hand through Powder’s hair, checking Claggor’s bruises, pressing a damp cloth to the scrape across Mylo’s temple. No one said much. They didn’t need to. The air was heavy with all that almost happened.
Eventually, Vi returned. Quiet, but calmer. She nodded to (Y/N), the unspoken signal that she was okay now- enough, at least.
(Y/N) gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder, then stood, smoothing her palms against her thighs as she made her way back upstairs.
The bar was quieter now, most of the patrons long gone after the Enforcers had stormed out. Only a few lingered in corners, keeping their voices down, casting side-glances toward the bar where Vander stood alone.
He didn’t look at her as she approached. Just held up a half-crushed pack of cigarettes, and she took one wordlessly.
They lit up together, just like they used to.
Back before everything fell apart.
Before the bridge.
Before Silco disappeared.
Before Felicia and Connol never came home.
She sat beside him, leaning against the counter, breathing in the smoke.
They didn’t say anything for a long moment.
Then Vander spoke, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.
“I’m going to turn myself in.”
The words struck like stone in her gut. She stared at him, cigarette paused halfway to her lips.
“If it gets them off the kids- if it keeps them safe- it’s worth it.”
Her chest tightened, and she felt the burn of tears she refused to let fall. Vander didn’t flinch. He just reached over and pulled her into a hug- tight, grounding, familiar.
“Promise me,” he murmured into her hair. “If I’m gone... you’ll look after them.”
“You know I will,” she whispered, voice shaking.
But before she could pull back, before the weight of goodbye could fully land-
Vander exhaled, slow and bitter.
“There’s something else.”
She stilled.
And then he told her.
What happened the night of the bridge.
How he and Silco had fought after the battle.
How Vander had overpowered him. Dragged him to the river. Held him under.
Cut his face.
Watched the man he’d once called brother claw his way from the edge, stealing Vander’s own blade before vanishing into the darkness.
“I thought he was dead,” Vander said, quietly. “For a while, I hoped he was.”
(Y/N) stepped back, her cigarette trembling in her hand.
“You tried to kill him?” Her voice was soft, but full of a furious disbelief. “You let me think he was gone. You watched me mourn him, and you knew.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Her jaw clenched, eyes burning. “You didn’t even try.”
He saw it then. The look of hate on her face. Like she didn’t recognize him anymore.
And maybe, for the first time in years- she didn’t.
Vander turned away, jaw tight, reaching beneath the bar for the signal Grayson had left. He figured now was as good a time as any.
But then the stairs creaked.
They both turned.
Powder stood there at the base of the stairwell, her eyes red-rimmed and sad, fingers curled into the hem of her oversized sweater.
Vander hesitated. Slowly straightened.
“…Want something to drink?” he asked, reaching for a bottle and grabbing a small glass- something sweet, the same kind of juice Felicia used to like.
She nodded, sliding onto the stool as Vander poured it and gently nudged it her way. “Cheer up, eh?”
But (Y/N) hadn’t taken her eyes off her.
Not until she saw it- nestled against Powder’s side, sticking out of her bag slightly.
The bunny.
Vi’s old stuffed bunny.
The one Felicia had given her. Years ago.
The one Vi hadn’t touched in ages.
Vander saw it too.
His body went rigid.
“…Powder,” he said, carefully. “Where did you get that?”
But she didn’t answer. Just looked down.
Vander reached under the bar for the signal.
His hand patted around.
And his face dropped.
“…It’s gone.”
They moved fast.
The second (Y/N) realized the signal was missing, her cigarette hit the floor, half-smoked and forgotten. She met Vander’s eyes- no words needed- and they were out the door before Powder could even ask what was wrong.
Benzo was just locking up his shop when they caught him.
“We need you,” Vander said sharply, grabbing the old man’s arm.
Benzo didn’t ask why. He saw their faces and followed without hesitation.
They ran through the alleys, cutting corners and weaving past the confused late-night crowd, boots echoing over cobblestone. (Y/N)’s heart pounded, every step fueled by a sick dread deep in her gut.
She’s going to turn herself in.
Vi already sent the signal.
We’re too late.
They reached the safehouse tucked just outside the Lanes, its rusted door creaking slightly under pressure. Vander pushed it open, and there she was.
Vi stood near the center of the room, her hands wringing nervously. She looked surprised when she saw them, her brow furrowing.
“Why are you-”
“We don’t have much time,” Vander cut in, stepping forward, already out of breath.
Vi blinked. “How did you find me?”
But Vander didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her, grounding them both.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “We all are. Always have been.”
Vi leaned into his touch, confused, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I… I thought this was the only way to protect the others.”
While they spoke, (Y/N) and Benzo had moved toward the front window, keeping low. She whistled sharply when she spotted movement outside- dark figures, uniforms, the glint of polished boots catching the faint streetlight.
Benzo’s head snapped toward Vander. “Vander…”
But he was already moving.
He cupped Vi’s face in his hands, eyes locked with hers.
“You’ve got a good heart,” he murmured. “Don’t ever lose it. No matter how the world tries to break you. You and (Y/N)… protect the family.”
“What are you-?”
Then Vander shoved her.
Quick. Rough. Out of nowhere.
Vi yelped as she stumbled backward- falling into the room behind her. Before she could get up, before she could reach for the edge, Vander slammed the door shut and twisted the lock.
Vi pounded on the wood.
“No- Vander!”
But it was too late.
She was safe.
And they would face what came next without her.
The banging hadn’t stopped since Vander locked the door- Vi’s muffled voice yelling his name, fists slamming against the wood from behind. It was the sound of desperation. Of betrayal. Of family being torn apart.
(Y/N)’s heart clenched with every hit.
Then the door to the safehouse opened.
Grayson entered first, calm and composed as always. Her eyes swept the room- landed on the sound coming from beheinde them- and she sighed softly.
“I’m guessing that’s for me.”
Before Marcus could take a single step forward, (Y/N) moved- planting herself in front of the door, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Marcus scowled and stepped forward anyway, only to find Vander stepping in front of him, blocking his path.
“You gonna let us make the arrest or not?” Marcus snapped, already gripping his baton.
Vander raised a hand, voice steady. “You’ll oblige a doomed man one last smoke…”
Before the sheriff could reply, (Y/N) already had a cigarette in her fingers, flicked it to life with a spark of a lighter, and placed it gently between Vander’s lips. Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn’t pull away.
Even now… even after what he’d confessed…
He was family.
He had always been family.
Vander took a long drag, the smoke curling slowly from his lips as he exhaled, voice low and rough.
“Won’t you?”
But before Marcus could lunge again, Grayson moved- swiftly stepping in, shoving Marcus aside without even blinking.
“I’m not putting you away, Vander,” she said, looking up at him, her voice tired but sincere.
Vander’s lips twitched in something close to a smile. “The council needs its pound of flesh.”
“Without you down here,” she countered, “it all falls apart.”
Vander shook his head, smoke trailing from his mouth as he gestured toward the others. “Benzo and (Y/N) will handle things. Might not have my devilish charm, but they run a tight ship.”
Grayson’s expression darkened, just slightly. “You won’t be coming back. Not for a long time.”
Vander took one last drag of the cigarette before pressing the cherry into the floor and crushing it under his boot.
Then he held out his wrists to Marcus.
“…I know.”
Grayson looked at him one last time. “Why?”
Vander’s eyes didn’t leave hers.
“It’s the only way.”
Marcus stepped forward, grabbing Vander roughly and binding his wrists. Vander didn’t fight it.
(Y/N) stood frozen as they turned to leave, the air thick with something that felt like grief- but not quite.
She looked back- just once- at the door behind her. She could still hear Vi banging, yelling. Her voice muffled by wood and fate.
And then, with a heavy heart, she followed them out.
The night air outside the safehouse was sharp, unnervingly still. (Y/N)'s boots hit the stone with practiced calm, her eyes scanning the shadows, instinct prickling at the back of her neck.
Something felt wrong.
Then- a blur.
Faster than any of them could react.
A sound like a blade slicing through the air.
And in one sickening swoop, Enforcers dropped like puppets with cut strings- blood spraying across the cobblestones. Limbs twisted. Armor crumpled. The sheriff was the last to fall, her body collapsing with a weighty thud, lifeless eyes staring at the stars.
(Y/N) froze. Vander cursed, stepping back instinctively, placing himself between her and the carnage.
Vander muttered, “What the devil…”
Marcus stumbled back, panic on his face, reaching for a weapon he barely knew how to use.
Benzo was quicker. He snatched up a pipe from the blood-slicked ground, holding it steady in both hands, old soldier instincts kicking in. “Stay close,” he muttered to (Y/N), voice taut.
But (Y/N) wasn’t hiding anymore.
The grief. The rage. The betrayal. It had been simmering under her skin for years- and now, with the taste of death in the air and the weight of fate hanging heavy, she let it burn.
Her hands lit with flame.
Her magic surged, raw and electric, glowing through the veins in her fingers like wildfire. Her eyes blazed with power, bright and defiant, reflecting the fire pooling at her fingertips.
No more hiding.
Vander stepped forward slowly- his eyes locked on something just beyond the smoke and ruin.
And then his face fell.
“…No,” he breathed.
(Y/N) turned, eyes narrowing, senses sharp.
And then she saw it too.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows. Cloaked in smoke, half-silhouetted by the flickering light of burning lamplight. His shoulders were broad. His coat was unfamiliar. But one eye- one eye- glowed an unnatural, searing orange, burning like a dying star.
She didn’t recognize him at first.
Not until Benzo let out a hoarse, broken whisper beside her.
“…Silco?”
The name struck her like lightning.
Her flames faltered for the briefest moment.
That thing- that man standing before them, drenched in shadow and ruin- was Silco.
Her Silco.
But something was wrong.
Something had changed.
And whatever had crawled out of the river that night wasn’t the man who had once held her like she was everything in the world.
But it was him.
And her heart cracked open at the sight.
Benzo was the first to move.
He let out a sharp cry, his pipe raised high as he charged forward- anger flashing in his eyes. “You animal!” he shouted. “Go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of!”
The moment cracked.
Out of instinct- old, ingrained instinct- (Y/N) almost stepped in front of Silco.
Her body remembered before. Before the fire, before the hatred, before the bridge.
Before the man she loved had disappeared beneath the surface.
“Benzo, stay back!” Vander yelled, already lunging forward, hand outstretched.
But it was too late.
Silco tilted his head slightly, his eye never leaving (Y/N). His voice came low, almost amused. “You never did know when to walk away… Benzo.”
And then it happened.
A whip of movement- barely visible, a blur of sinew and shadow- and the creature returned.
The same unnatural beast that had slaughtered the Enforcers moved again, and in the span of a breath, Benzo was gone.
His body hit the ground hard, unmoving.
(Y/N) froze.
Her magic flickered.
Her gaze locked on Benzo’s lifeless frame.
A strangled sound escaped Vander’s throat as he fell to his knees. “No!”
He scrambled toward his old friend, grief crashing through him like a wave.
Silco stood over it all, watching.
His voice was quieter now, maybe even tired. “Stubborn till the end…”
Marcus, pale and shaken, stepped forward slowly, breath ragged. “What the hell have you done? This- this wasn’t the deal!”
Silco turned his head toward him, one hand still clasped neatly behind his back. He walked slowly, deliberately, like the world around him hadn’t just shifted on its axis.
“Deal’s changed,” he said calmly, before tossing a pouch of gold at Marcus’s feet.
It hit the ground with a heavy clink, blood flecking the edge.
Marcus stared at it. But said nothing.
(Y/N) hadn’t moved.
She couldn’t.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Benzo.
Not until she felt him approaching.
Silco’s footsteps were soft, measured, until he stood in front of her. The creature behind him moved toward Vander- without a word- and slammed its fist into the side of Vander’s head. The crack of impact echoed in the alley as Vander slumped unconscious.
(Y/N) twitched, but didn’t react.
She couldn’t.
The monster picked Vander up like a ragdoll and disappeared into the shadows.
Silco… stayed.
He turned his full attention to her.
And for the first time in nearly a decade, she looked into both of his eyes.
One glowing bright, unnatural orange.
And one still the same soft, piercing blue she remembered falling in love with.
Even now, with everything burning around them, with blood still warm on the ground, with her magic humming violently at her fingertips-
Her heart ached.
Still.
Silco reached up, slowly, fingers brushing her chin.
His touch was gentle. Too gentle.
“Did you know?” he asked, voice low. Measured.
“…D… Did I know?”
“Of what happened between Vander and I.”
She swallowed hard.
“…Not… until today.”
Silco’s face barely moved, but something behind his eyes flickered—pain, maybe. Memory.
“I don’t wish to hurt you,” he said, quietly. “But you have to come with me.”
(Y/N) didn’t know what she was doing when she nodded.
Her thoughts were gone- ripped out like a tide.
All she could feel was the burn in her chest, the roaring silence in her mind.
She nodded again, slower this time.
And Silco, seeing her surrender, nodded in return.
Then, without a word, he reached down, took her hand into his-
And led her away.
Away from the blood.
Away from the flame.
Away from the person she had become in his absence.
Marcus watched them disappear into the shadows.
And said nothing.
Ember in the Dark pt.4
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.3 - pt.5
pt.1
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Smoking, and threat/following.
Word Count: 3895
Summary: Drunk and lost in thought, (Y/N) is helped to her room by Silco, who dismisses her drunken compliments about his appearance despite the buried feelings they stir. The next morning, she wakes with a pounding hangover and regret but pushes forward. Down in the bar, she shares a tense yet teasing conversation with Silco about the previous night. After making breakfast for their group, (Y/N), Silco, Vander, and Felicia head out to handle supply shipments. Along the way, (Y/N) notices hooded figures following them. She and Silco silently acknowledge the potential threat, deciding to stay cautious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The night stretched on, the hum of the Undercity’s distant machinery a lull beneath the quiet of the nearly empty bar.
(Y/N) had long since stopped paying attention to her drink, her fingers still loosely curled around her cigarette, the ember fading to nothing. She slumped against the bar, her head resting on her folded arms, her thoughts drifting somewhere Silco couldn’t follow.
He watched her for a moment, then sighed.
She was a mess. But then again, weren’t they all?
With quiet efficiency, he slid off his stool, stepping around to her side. "Come on," he murmured, voice softened just enough to be different from his usual sharpness.
She barely moved, blinking sluggishly as he pried the cigarette from her fingers, snuffing it out before guiding her up. She was unsteady, the alcohol dragging her limbs down like lead, but she followed his lead without complaint.
He brought her to her room- small, tucked away, but hers. He wasn’t gentle, not exactly, but he was careful as he eased her onto the thin mattress. She flopped onto it with a quiet sigh, her eyes half-lidded, lost somewhere between wakefulness and the pull of exhaustion.
Silco turned to leave.
Then- a hand on his wrist.
Her grip was weak, barely there, but it stopped him nonetheless.
He glanced back.
(Y/N) wasn’t looking at him, her gaze still distant, but her fingers curled slightly, as if to keep him from disappearing like the rest of her thoughts.
For a long moment, Silco just stood there.
Then, with an exhale, he sat down at the edge of the bed.
He wouldn’t stay forever. But for now? He’d stay.
(Y/N) stared up at him, her eyes glassy, unfocused- but still seeing him. Really seeing him.
Silco wasn’t looking at her. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together as he exhaled through his nose. He looked exhausted, always carrying the weight of his thoughts, his ambitions. The dim light filtering through the grimy window cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting sharp angles, tired blue eyes.
Gods, he was pretty.
The thought drifted through her whiskey-soaked mind before she could stop it, her lips parting slightly as if she might say it aloud.
She had fallen in love with him years ago, back when they were younger, when their world had been a little smaller, their dreams a little simpler. She had never said anything, never acted on it. What good would it do? They had always been fighting for survival, struggling to carve out something more in a city that tried to swallow them whole.
But the whiskey made her tongue looser than it should have been.
"You know," she murmured, her voice softer than usual, slightly slurred. "You’re really pretty."
Silco blinked, turning his head to look at her properly.
(Y/N) just smiled lazily, her cheek pressed against the pillow, eyes still locked on his face. "Too pretty, really… s’not fair."
Silco scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re drunk."
She hummed in agreement. "Maybe."
He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath about her being a lightweight.
(Y/N) just kept watching him, her mind a fog of whiskey and years of feelings buried too deep.
"Bet you don’t even realize," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper.
Silco turned back to her, brow furrowed. "Realize what?"
(Y/N) just smiled, slow and lopsided.
"Nothing," she murmured, letting her eyes slip shut. She’d keep her secret, for now.
Sleep took her quickly, pulling her under like the tide. The stress of the day, the weight of unspoken thoughts, and the whiskey swirling in her system all dragged her into the depths of exhaustion.
Silco sat there for a moment longer, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.
She had always been like this- carrying too much, saying too little. Even now, in her drunken haze, she had stopped herself before saying something real.
With a quiet exhale, he stood, carefully pulling the thin blanket over her.
"Idiot," he muttered, though there was no real bite to the word.
Then, with one last glance at her sleeping form, he turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
(Y/N) woke with a groan, her head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of her skull. Her mouth was dry, her stomach twisted in protest, and every little sound outside her room felt like a personal attack.
Shit.
She had done this to herself. Again.
It wasn’t the first time she had woken up feeling like death after drinking too much, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, that didn’t make it any less miserable.
For a moment, she just lay there, her face buried in the pillow, trying to will the world away. But she knew better. The longer she stayed in bed, the worse she’d feel.
With a groan, she forced herself to sit up. The room spun slightly, her stomach lurching in protest, but she swallowed it down, running a hand through her tangled hair.
She needed water. Food, maybe. And a cigarette.
With slow, sluggish movements, she dragged herself out of bed and started getting ready for the day, just like every other morning.
(Y/N) moved through her morning routine on autopilot, every action deliberate and slow to avoid making herself feel worse. Don’t move too fast, don’t think too hard, don’t throw up.
By the time she was dressed, her head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her stomach was a mess of nausea and regret. But she had survived worse.
She made her way downstairs, the air in the bar thick with the lingering scent of old liquor and smoke. It was still early- too early for business. The Last Drop didn’t open until midday, sometimes later, depending on what Vander felt like or how much of a headache they all had to deal with.
The place was quiet, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the walls.
(Y/N) let out a slow breath and leaned against the bar, rubbing at her temple. She needed coffee. Or maybe just another drink to even herself out.
She wasn’t sure which sounded worse.
(Y/N) opted for the easiest solution- whiskey.
With a practiced reach over the bar, she grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as she tried to be steady. She took a slow sip, wincing as the burn hit her throat. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than the headache clawing at her skull.
She was halfway through the glass when she heard footsteps descending the stairs.
Silco.
He stepped into the dimly lit bar, looking as put-together as ever, despite the late night before. His sharp gaze flickered to her, then down to the glass in her hand.
“Whiskey for breakfast?” he asked dryly, his voice laced with amusement.
(Y/N) didn’t bother looking up. “Helps the headache.”
Silco scoffed, moving toward the bar. “It causes the headache.”
She shrugged, taking another sip. “Then I’m just balancing things out.”
He leaned against the counter, watching her for a long moment.
“You remember anything from last night?” he asked, his tone casual- too casual.
That made her pause.
She frowned slightly, her mind sluggish as she tried to recall the details of the night before. She remembered drinking. She remembered feeling heavy- dragged down by old memories and smoke. She remembered Silco bringing her to bed…
And then-
Shit.
She had said something, hadn’t she?
(Y/N) took another sip of whiskey, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Not much,” she muttered. “Just that I drank too much.”
Silco hummed, unconvinced, but he didn’t push.
“Figures,” he said, reaching over to steal the glass from her hand, taking a sip himself.
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but didn’t argue… Maybe it was better if they both let last night go.
(Y/N) exhaled a long breath, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with steady hands- too steady, considering the storm in her head.
She didn’t want to let it go.
Even if the whiskey had dulled the details, she knew what had been there underneath- the truth of it. It wasn’t some drunken slip, some meaningless flattery. It had been real.
And maybe it was stupid, definitely reckless, but for once, she didn’t want to bite her tongue and bury it.
She watched as Silco took another sip from her glass, his sharp eyes already moving past the conversation, onto something else.
(Y/N) took a slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs before she spoke.
“I meant it.”
Silco raised a brow, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “Meant what?”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette. “What I said last night.”
Silco studied her, the amusement from earlier fading into something unreadable.
(Y/N) exhaled smoke, glancing off to the side. “I don’t remember everything, but I know I meant it.” She flicked ash into a nearby tray, her voice lower now. “Still do.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
Silco leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “You are aware you were completely sloshed, yes?”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I was wrong.”
Another silence.
Then, Silco smirked, slow and sharp. “I am quite pretty, aren’t I?”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the slight curve of her lips. “Asshole.”
Silco just chuckled, pushing the whiskey back toward her. “If you’re going to start confessing things, at least wait until you’re not hungover.”
(Y/N) shook her head, taking another sip. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t… But at least she had said something.
(Y/N) downed the last of her drink, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray before stretching her arms over her head. The whiskey had dulled the edges of her hangover, at least a little, but it wouldn’t last forever.
Time to get moving.
She pushed off the bar, glancing at Silco, who had already made himself comfortable with her glass of whiskey, refilling it. “You planning on helping, or just sitting there looking pretty?”
Silco smirked. “I think you already established my strengths.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes and made her way toward the small kitchen in the back. The Last Drop wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining, but they had enough supplies to make something decent- decent meaning anything edible that kept them from starving.
Felicia and Connol usually stopped by around this time, and Benzo wasn’t far behind. It had become something of an unspoken routine, a part of their mornings that had settled naturally into place. And (Y/N)? She was usually the one who ended up making breakfast.
She didn’t mind, though.
It was something normal. A small, steady thing in the chaos of the Undercity.
She gathered what ingredients they had- eggs, some bread that wasn’t too stale, and whatever meat Vander had managed to get his hands on- and started cooking, the familiar sounds of sizzling filling the air as she focused on the simple motions.
Soon, the others would show up. The bar would come alive again, and another day in the Lanes would begin.
(Y/N) carried the plates out to the bar, setting them down so everyone could grab what they wanted when they arrived. The scent of cooked food lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present smell of smoke and old whiskey.
They still had time before the bar opened for the day, so for now, things were slow- calm, even.
Benzo was the first to arrive, pushing open the door with a casual stride. “Smells good in here,” he commented, tossing a glance toward the food. “Better than whatever the hell that street vendor was sellin’ on my way over.”
(Y/N) smirked as she leaned against the bar. “That’s not exactly a high bar, Benzo.”
He chuckled, grabbing a plate without hesitation. “Hey, food is food.”
Not long after, Felicia and Connol arrived.
Felicia was talking before she even stepped fully inside. “Finally! I was starting to think you forgot about breakfast, (Y/N).”
(Y/N) scoffed. “Like I’d let you starve.”
Connol, quiet as usual, gave a nod in greeting before helping himself to some food. He had been around more lately- a lot more, and while (Y/N) didn’t fully know what to make of him yet, he seemed alright. He made Felicia happy, at least, and that was worth something.
Everyone settled in, eating and talking, the morning taking on the familiar rhythm of their routine. For a little while, it almost felt… normal.
Once breakfast was done and the plates were cleared, (Y/N) wiped her hands on a rag before making her way over to Vander and Silco, who were already deep in conversation near the bar.
Vander had his arms crossed, his usual serious expression in place, while Silco leaned against the counter, flipping through his notebook.
(Y/N) slid into the space between them, raising a brow. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
Vander glanced at her, then exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Depends.”
Silco, without looking up from his notes, added, “We’ve got some shipments coming in later- nothing major, but enough to keep an eye on.”
Vander nodded. “And I was thinkin’ we might head back to the mines later, put in a few hours. Keep up appearances.”
(Y/N) sighed. They didn’t have to work in the mines as much anymore, not with the Last Drop slowly becoming a more stable source of income, but keeping ties there was still important. “Figures.”
Silco finally shut his notebook, glancing between them. “And, if we have time, I wouldn’t mind checking out a few places in the Lanes. Get a read on things.”
That caught (Y/N)’s attention. “You mean more than just ‘getting a read,’ don’t you?”
Silco smirked. “Always.”
Vander gave him a look but didn’t argue.
(Y/N) crossed her arms, considering. A trip to the Lanes could mean anything- connections, information, or just making sure they weren’t falling behind on what was happening in the Undercity.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Sounds like a full day.”
Vander grunted in agreement, and Silco just gave a knowing tilt of his head. With the plan set, they went over the details quickly.
“Alright,” Vander said, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. “First, we handle the shipments. Make sure everything’s in order.”
Silco nodded, already thinking ahead. “After that, we move through the Lanes, see what’s stirring. There’s been talk of tensions rising in a few places- I’d rather not be blindsided.”
(Y/N) exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “And then we finish off in the mines.” She smirked. “Saving the best for last.”
Vander chuckled. “We’ll be in and out. Just enough to show our faces.”
Felicia, who had been listening from the side while finishing the last of her drink, stretched her arms over her head. “Sounds like a long day.”
Silco shot her a dry look. “You are still capable of working, yes?”
Felicia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be there. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
With everything decided, they gathered what they needed. (Y/N) grabbed her coat, Silco tucked his notebook away, and Vander made sure the bar was set to be running while they were gone. He had gotten one of his newly hired bartenders to come in, along with asking Benzo to sit around and drink… Just to watch things.
Then, without wasting any more time, they headed out into the Undercity to start their day.
Felicia lingered by the door, saying a quick goodbye to Connol before he disappeared into the winding streets of the Undercity. Whatever he did during the day was still a bit of a mystery- probably something inventive. He looked like the type to be scientific, always thinking, always watching.
But that wasn’t (Y/N)’s concern right now.
With Connol gone, the four of them set off, making their way through the dimly lit streets toward where the shipments were being delivered. The air was thick with the usual blend of smoke, oil, and the distant hum of machinery. It was a scent that clung to everything in the Undercity.
As they walked, Vander took the lead, his broad frame naturally clearing a path where needed. Silco, as always, kept sharp eyes on their surroundings, his thoughts likely already drifting toward whatever he expected to find in the Lanes later. Felicia walked beside (Y/N), hands in her pockets, a casual bounce in her step despite the rough streets beneath them.
(Y/N) flicked the butt of a cigarette into the gutter as they approached their destination- a tucked-away storage lot run by a man named Harker, a supplier they’d worked with a few times before. The shipments weren’t anything fancy, just supplies for the Last Drop- booze, some preserved goods, and whatever else they needed to keep the place running.
Vander stepped up first, knocking twice on the metal door. It took a moment, but soon enough, they heard the sound of locks shifting before Harker himself pulled the door open.
The man squinted at them, his face rough with age and soot. “You’re early,” he grunted.
Vander shrugged. “You got it ready or not?”
Harker snorted, stepping aside to let them in. “Yeah, yeah. Come on in. Just don’t touch nothin’ that ain’t yours.”
(Y/N) exchanged a glance with Silco before following the others inside. Time to get to work.
(Y/N) adjusted her grip on one of the heavier crates, the weight digging into her arms as she walked alongside the others. The streets of the Undercity were always filled with movement- faces ducking in and out of alleyways, the low hum of machinery echoing in the distance- but something felt different.
She had noticed them the moment they left the Last Drop- a few hooded figures lingering just a little too long in the alleys, their steps just a little too measured. At first, she thought it might be a coincidence, just another group moving through the Undercity like everyone else.
But now, as they neared the bar, she knew they were being followed.
She didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to glance toward Silco, who was walking slightly ahead of her. His sharp gaze was usually quick to pick up on things like this- he had to have noticed, right?
Felicia, carrying a smaller crate beside her, was too caught up in complaining about the weight to notice anything. “Seriously, why does alcohol have to be so damn heavy? Can’t we start serving something lighter?”
“Like what?” Vander asked dryly, barely breaking stride.
Felicia huffed. “I dunno, something that doesn’t make my arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”
(Y/N) wasn’t listening. She shifted her hold on the crate, subtly glancing over her shoulder.
The hooded figures were still there. Three of them. Keeping their distance, but staying close enough that it wasn’t natural.
Her pulse quickened, but her expression remained calm.
Silco turned his head slightly- just enough for his eyes to flicker toward her before looking forward again. He had noticed.
Good.
(Y/n) exhaled through her nose, keeping her pace steady. They were close to the bar now, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Whoever these people were, they weren’t just watching- they were waiting.
For what?
And more importantly- why?
As soon as the last crate was set down in the storage room, (Y/N) dusted off her hands and made her way over to Silco. He was already expecting her.
The others were still busy- Vander double-checking the shipments, Felicia stretching her arms and complaining about the heavy lifting. It gave (Y/N) the perfect moment to pull Silco aside, just out of earshot.
“You saw them too,” she muttered, keeping her voice low.
Silco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching her carefully. “Of course I did.” His tone was calm, but there was a knowing edge to it.
(Y/N) exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “They’ve been following us since we left the bar. I didn’t get a good look, but… they weren’t just passing through.”
Silco hummed in agreement. “No. They weren’t.”
That unsettled her. If Silco was concerned, it meant this wasn’t just her overthinking things.
“You think they’re watching us specifically?” she asked.
Silco tilted his head slightly, considering. “Possibly. Could be unrelated, but I doubt it.” He glanced toward the door. “Three of them, moving like they had a purpose. If they wanted to attack, they would’ve done it already. That means they were either scouting us or waiting for something.”
(Y/N) crossed her arms. “And that’s what worries me.”
Silco studied her for a moment before lowering his voice even further. “Did you notice anything about them? Anything off?”
(Y/N) thought back. They moved well, blending into the streets with ease. But something had felt strange about them. “Their movements were too careful,” she muttered. “Like they weren’t just random thugs.”
Silco’s expression didn’t change, but she could see the gears turning in his head. “We’ll have to keep an eye out. If they’re still around by the time we head to the Lanes, we’ll know for sure.”
(Y/N) nodded. “Should we tell Vander and Felicia?”
Silco considered it, then shook his head. “Not yet. No need to spook them if this turns out to be nothing.” (Y/N) hesitated but ultimately agreed. For now, they’d just have to watch their backs.
With the shipments handled and the Last Drop running smoothly for now, the four of them set off once more, weaving through the winding paths of the Undercity. The Lanes were the heart of the Undercity’s chaos- filled with traders, workers, gang members, and those just trying to survive another day. It was where information spread fastest, where rumors carried weight, and where they could keep their fingers on the pulse of the city.
(Y/N) stayed alert, her eyes flickering to the shadows between buildings, the alleys where trouble tended to brew. She hadn’t seen the hooded figures since they returned to the bar, but that didn’t mean they were gone.
Vander led the way, as he often did, his presence alone enough to command respect. People recognized him now- not as some leader, not yet, but as someone reliable, someone who got things done. Silco walked beside him, quiet but watchful, his mind likely still working through the same concerns (Y/N) had.
Felicia, as usual, brought a different kind of energy to the group. “We should get something to eat while we’re out,” she suggested, stretching her arms. “That stew from Elda’s stall? Real good. And I’m starving.”
Vander smirked. “You’re always starving.”
Felicia grinned. “Yeah, well, lifting crates all morning will do that.”
(Y/N) barely heard them, her attention on the movement around them. She caught glimpses of familiar faces- merchants selling scrap, chem-dealers peddling their poisons, Enforcers nowhere to be seen. It was business as usual.
But still… something felt off.
As they rounded a corner near one of the busier market areas, she caught it again- just for a second. A hooded figure, leaning against a wall, just barely in her peripheral vision. By the time she turned her head fully, they were gone.
Her stomach twisted… They were still being watched.
Hi!! Love you're work btw! Can I request reader who isn't good at showing affection and the only way they know how is by giving gifts but the more they give the more they feel like their giving too much and like assumes their not even keeping the gifts. Maybe have the characters comfort them that they are, sorry of this didn't make sense 😓
Hi! I absolutely can do this :} can you give me the fandoms and characters you want this for? You can send them in another ask, or just comment on this post, and I'll get to writing it after all the other ones I'm writing :}}
So for my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Yasuhiro Hagakure with chastity please?
In the fic, Ishimaru catches him masturbating in a public bathroom and tries to report him. But after Hagakure begs him not to while vowing to do anything, Ishimaru agrees but on one condition: Hagakure must wear a chastity cage for a whole month while he keeps the key. So Hagakure would have to put up with his new cock cage while trying to find ways to deal with his horniness.
What do you think?
A/N: I can totally do that, @princeasimdiya12! Fair warning, this is the first ever smut I've ever written, but I tried my best! Normally, I stick to x reader fics, but for requests, I'm more than willing to do ships and other stuff.
Locked Tight
Yasuhiro Hagakure (feat. Kiyotaka Ishimaru)
18+ MDNI
Warnings: Masturbation/Sexual Content, Chastity Kink/Denial, Humiliation/Embarrassment.
Word Count: 1950
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Yasuhiro Hagakure wasn’t exactly known for being careful. Hell, half the time, he wasn’t even known for being aware. But even he had to admit- this? This was a colossal screw-up.
Because right now, standing in front of him, arms crossed and face burning red (from fury or embarrassment, Hiro wasn’t sure), was Kiyotaka Ishimaru.
And Hiro?
Well, Hiro was currently sitting in the boys’ bathroom, pants around his ankles, dick very obviously in hand.
He had been in too much of a rush, too desperate, and had completely failed to lock the door.
This was the consequence of that.
“I-Ishimaru! Hey, uh, good evening? Didn’t hear you knock, man!” Hiro stammered, hurriedly yanking his pants up.
“That’s because I didn’t knock!” Ishimaru snapped, his voice sharp with righteous fury. “And even if I had, it wouldn’t change the fact that you were engaging in highly inappropriate behavior! Do you have no self-control? No shame?”
Hiro winced. Oh, he had plenty of shame- he just had shitty luck and even worse timing.
“Look, man, it’s not what it looks like!”
Ishimaru’s eyes twitched. “Oh? So you weren’t indulging in personal gratification instead of focusing on your academic and moral duties?”
Hiro groaned. “Okay, okay, fine! It is what it looks like! But please, please, don’t tell anyone, man! I can’t have this kind of thing on my rep-”
Ishimaru huffed, eyes narrowing, the fire of justice burning behind them. “Hmph. I should report you. Such behavior is degenerate! A distraction from self-improvement!”
Hiro paled. “Wait, no! Look, I swear I’ll do anything! Just- just don’t make this a whole thing, okay? I’ll owe you big time, man, I promise!”
Ishimaru hesitated, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms, as if weighing a moral dilemma far greater than the situation warranted. Then, finally, his eyes sharpened with conviction.
“Very well,” he said. “I won’t report you. However- you will have to prove that you can control your impulses. That you can rise above your baser urges and show some discipline!”
Hiro gulped. “Uh... What exactly does that mean?”
Ishimaru reached into his pocket, pulled out something small, metallic, and deeply ominous. Hiro’s stomach dropped.
“The hell is that?”
“A chastity device,” Ishimaru said primly. “You will wear it for a full month. I will keep the key. This will teach you true restraint.”
Hiro stared at him, horrified. “Dude. You just carry that around?”
Ishimaru’s cheeks flushed slightly, but his expression remained steadfast. “I practice self-discipline as well! I have my own! This is a tool of self-control, not something to be ashamed of!”
“That’s a cage for my dick, man!” Hiro wailed.
“Yes, and you will wear it, or I will report you.”
Ishimaru folded his arms, looking positively thrilled about this arrangement.
“So? What will it be?”
Hiro groaned, rubbing his face. He had no idea how he was gonna survive this.
“…Fine,” he muttered. “But I swear to god, if you lose that key-”
Ishimaru beamed. “Excellent! Your road to self-discipline begins immediately!”
Hiro gulped.
Yeah. This was gonna be hell.
Hagakure had made a lot of dumb mistakes in his life- falling for scam emails, trusting his own bullshit fortunes, getting stuck in a vending machine trying to grab a bag of chips- but this?
This was next-level self-inflicted misery.
Four days since Ishimaru had locked him up, and Hiro was already losing his goddamn mind.
It wasn’t just the fact that he couldn’t jerk off. It was that now? He wanted to more than ever.
Every little thing was a problem.
His boxers rubbed against it weirdly. His morning wood was absolute agony. Even just sitting wrong made the damn thing pinch.
And the worst part?
Ishimaru was acting like nothing was happening.
Every morning, the bastard would cheerfully stop by Hiro’s room and ask, “How is your self-discipline progressing?”
And Hiro? Hiro had to sit there, stiff as a fucking board (and not in the way he wanted), gritting his teeth and pretending he wasn’t about to explode.
“It’s fine,” he’d growl through clenched teeth.
Ishimaru would beam. “Excellent! Keep it up, and you’ll be a shining example of self-restraint in no time!”
Hiro wanted to die.
By day ten, he cracked.
“Ishimaru, please,” he begged, cornering the other man in the hallway. “I-I get it, okay?! Lesson learned! My self-control is ironclad! You can let me out now, right? RIGHT?”
Ishimaru just raised an eyebrow. “Hagakure, you agreed to one month.”
Hiro whimpered. “I wasn’t thinking straight! I had just been caught with my- you know! I panicked!”
Ishimaru crossed his arms. “And you believe that just ten days of discomfort has proven your growth?”
Hiro nodded so fast he gave himself whiplash. “YES! I have evolved! I have become a new man! A better man!”
Ishimaru hummed, clearly thinking it over. Then, slowly, a small, maddeningly smug smile crept across his face.
“Well, I do admire your enthusiasm, but rules are rules, Hagakure. A promise is a promise.”
Hiro stared at him in horror.
“You sick bastard.”
Ishimaru clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay strong, my friend! Only twenty days to go!”
Hiro slumped against the wall as Ishimaru walked away, whistling.
This was it.
This was how he was gonna die.
Hagakure had been locked up for ten days, and he already felt like he was on the verge of death.
But somehow- somehow- the next twenty were so much worse.
At first, he tried to be subtle about it.
Maybe if he just… rubbed against something, he could get a little relief? Not enough to actually get off, obviously, but just enough to take the edge off.
Big mistake.
The second he tried grinding against his mattress, the cage pinched in the worst way possible, sending a bolt of searing pain straight through him. He yelped, nearly tumbling off the bed.
Okay. New plan.
Pillows? Nope.
Rubbing with his hands? Absolutely not.
At one point, he even tried taking a warm bath, thinking the heat might help relax things-
Only for his body to betray him.
Getting hard inside the cage was a fresh new level of agony.
He almost cried.
Hiro was so desperate that his brain started working against him.
Everything felt suggestive.
The way his belt brushed against his hips? Sinful.
The vibrations of the washing machine when he leaned on it? Dangerously close to making him moan out loud.
And worst of all?
His own goddamn brain was edging him in his sleep.
He’d wake up from the dirtiest, filthiest dreams imaginable, fully straining against the cage, and holy hell, did it hurt.
He’d gasp awake, panting and sweating like he just ran a marathon, only to be left with zero relief.
He was losing his mind.
By the twentieth day, he was desperate. Absolutely feral.
He started trying to bargain with Ishimaru, offering anything to get the damn thing off.
“I’ll clean your room! For a year!”
“No.”
“I-I’ll give up porn forever! Forever, man! Just please!”
Ishimaru simply adjusted his armband, looking smug as hell.
“Discipline isn’t about temporary suffering, Hagakure! You’re making great progress!”
Hiro just threw his arms up in frustration and stormed off.
By now, Hiro had gotten so pent-up that he was at constant risk of embarrassing himself in public.
It was bad.
Anytime someone so much as brushed against him, he had to fight the urge to shudder.
When Asahina gave him a totally normal, friendly hug? He had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t make a sound.
And when Celeste leaned in just a little too close while asking about his fortune-telling?
He had to physically excuse himself before he humiliated himself in front of everyone.
He was turning into a goddamn animal.
By the last stretch, Hiro was not okay.
He was snappy, jittery, and absolutely obsessed with getting the key back.
It consumed his every waking thought.
He barely functioned like a normal human being anymore- just an overgrown, frustrated mess whose sole purpose in life was getting that damn cage off.
And so, on the final day, he snapped.
Hiro stormed into Ishimaru’s room, slamming the door behind him.
Ishimaru barely had time to look up before Hiro grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Give me the key.”
Ishimaru blinked, completely unbothered. “Now, now, Hagakure, there’s no need for viole-”
Hiro shook him.
“THE KEY, ISHIMARU.”
Ishimaru sighed, tilting his head in mock thought.
“I could let you out, but I must say, your progress has been-”
“I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD-”
Ishimaru smirked.
That bastard actually smirked.
“Very well,” he said, finally pulling out the key. “I suppose you have shown an admirable amount of restrai-”
Hiro didn’t even wait for him to finish.
The second the key was in his hands, he was gone.
Ishimaru just chuckled, crossing his arms.
“Maybe next time, he’ll thank me for it.”
Hagakure sprinted back to his room like a man possessed.
He didn’t even bother locking the door behind him- he just collapsed onto the bed, fumbling so hard with the tiny key that he almost dropped it.
His hands were shaking.
It took a few tries- his fingers were so clumsy from sheer desperation that he kept missing the lock-
But finally, finally, he heard the soft click.
And then, blessedly, the cage came off.
The sheer relief that flooded through him was indescribable.
He let out a ragged, shuddering breath, head tilting back as he simply existed in this moment of pure, unfiltered freedom.
A month.
A whole damn month.
And now, at last-
He couldn’t waste another second.
His hand was already moving before he even consciously decided to do it.
Hagakure grabbed his cock, shuddering at the feeling of being able to finally have something other than harsh metal against his throbbing length.
He slowly moved his hand up and down his shaft, a broken moan leaving his lips as his head flew back against the bed.
“F-Fuck…”
His hips sputtered upward at the smallest of touches, his body searching for a release to the tension that had been building up for a month.
As his hand pumped faster, his eyes rolled back, a low groan escaping his throat.
“Hnng-”
It hit him like a tidal wave.
His body jerked uncontrollably as he reached his limit, thick ropes of pent-up frustration spilling over his hand and thighs.
He lay there, sprawled across his bed, completely and utterly wrecked.
His brain was fried.
His body felt like it had been through war.
But goddamn, was he satisfied.
The stupid little cage sat on his bedside table, looking small and unassuming, like it hadn’t just put him through a month of absolute hell.
He glared at it.
Never. Again.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Hagakure?” Ishimaru’s voice came through, chipper and righteous as ever. “I trust you’ve learned something valuable from this experience?”
Hagakure groaned into his pillow. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice hoarse from his earlier activities.
“And what is that?” Ishimaru asked expectantly.
Hagakure sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
“…That I never, ever wanna go through that again.”
Ishimaru chuckled. “An admirable conclusion! I’m proud of your growth!”
Hagakure just groaned again, too exhausted to argue.
Ishimaru continued, “Now then! If you ever need assistance maintaining your self-discipline in the future, I’d be happy to-”
Hagakure threw a pillow at the door.
“GO AWAY!”
Ishimaru just laughed as he walked away.
Hagakure sighed, grabbing some tissues, shakily cleaning himself up.
He was so done with this whole ordeal.
He was taking a goddamn nap.
A long, satisfied one.
A/N: I am trying to work on my multi-part fic's, now that I'm mostly caught up with all my requests. I missed writing for Silcooooooo.
Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.2
Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.1
Warnings: Violence/Combat, Trauma, Imprisonment/Restraint, Explosions/Fire, and Death
Word Count: 5894
Summary: (Y/N) is led through Silco’s factory- alive with shimmer, but hollow with grief. Silco remains tender, pretending nothing’s changed, even as he parades Vander, weak and broken, as a symbol of failed ideals. When Silco offers Vander shimmer in exchange for loyalty, Vander refuses, desperate to protect the children. In a private chamber, (Y/N) finally breaks, confessing she searched for Silco for years. Their reunion is intimate but laced with sorrow. When Vi and the others storm the factory, everything spirals. Silco unleashes his shimmer-mutated monster, and (Y/N), bound by enchanted chains, is forced to watch the chaos unfold. Powder’s bomb kills Mylo and Claggor, devastating (Y/N), who Silco tries- and fails- to console. Vander ends saving Vi, transformed by shimmer into a final act of defiance. Afterward, (Y/N) and Silco find Powder, shattered. (Y/N) cradles her and later, she claims the name “Jinx,” offering unconditional love. Back at The Last Drop, (Y/N) remains shackled but tenderly cares for Jinx. Silco releases her chains, but (Y/N) doesn’t retaliate. Her only focus is Jinx- her “little firecracker”- the last thing worth protecting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The factory loomed like a carcass on the edge of the Undercity- cold, rusted steel and flickering lights illuminating a world that wasn’t quite dead.
It should’ve been abandoned.
It wasn’t.
Inside, the place was alive with movement- gears turning, people working, machines thundering deep within the structure’s bones. And all of it was for him.
Silco.
He kept his hand wrapped gently around (Y/N)’s as he led her forward, step by step, like they were just walking home. Like none of this had changed.
But her eyes were fixed on the floor. On the trail of oil and soot and blood leading them deeper in.
Her mind buzzed like static- empty and deafening at once. Everything she thought she understood had collapsed in a matter of hours. Grief curled around the edges of her thoughts like smoke, choking out the edges of her reality.
Silco’s thumb brushed along the back of her hand, slow and deliberate. The same way he used to, late at night, when they lay in bed and the world was quiet.
It made her heart ache.
How could she still miss it?
How could that part of her still want to melt into his touch, even now?
“This place is a little crude, I’ll admit,” Silco said, his voice low as they crossed a metal walkway above the factory floor. “The base violence necessary for change... but we both know Topside won’t listen to anything else.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Nearby, the man- creature- that had dragged Vander through the streets was deteriorating. No longer monstrous. Just sick. Slumped over the rail, vomiting some viscous, purple substance into the depths.
Another man approached, grabbing Vander roughly and throwing him against the side of the walkway with a clang.
(Y/N) flinched slightly, but Silco’s hand tightened gently around hers, guiding her to a stop.
Vander groaned, coughing, blood splattering the steel beneath him.
And for the first time, he looked up.
Straight at her.
Eyes full of pain- not from the injuries. From her.
(Y/N) didn’t return the look.
She was still watching Silco, eyes wide, almost in a trance, like she was trying to match the man before her to the boy she had once loved.
It wasn’t until Vander spoke that she snapped out of it- his voice ragged, cutting through the fog in her head.
“Even with your monsters,” he rasped, “You won’t win a war against Piltover.”
Silco exhaled a low hum. “I don’t have to. I just need to scare them.”
He turned slightly, reaching out to her again- fingers brushing softly behind her ear, tucking a stray strand of hair away like he used to.
“Piltover won’t dare set foot in the Underground again,” he murmured.
The former monster gagged and groaned again, the sludge he threw up hissing against metal.
Vander didn’t spare him a glance.
“You’ll get people killed,” Vander said, his voice heavy with grief and fury. “For what? Pride?”
Silco’s jaw tightened.
“For respect,” he snapped, turning fully now. “Opportunity. Everything they’ve denied us.”
He released (Y/N)’s hand finally and stepped forward, crouching down to Vander’s level. He stared at him like a blade about to be unsheathed.
Vander glared, breath ragged. “You had my respect. The Lanes’ respect. (Y/N)’s.” He nodded toward her. “But that was never enough for you.”
That struck something.
Silco’s calm shattered in an instant as he stood, pacing a step back with fury rising behind his eyes.
“We shared a vision, Vander. All of us.” His voice rose. “A dream of freedom. Not just for the Lanes, but for the entire Underground. United. One people.”
He turned to (Y/N) then- voice softer, filled with weight.
“The nation of Zaun.”
Then back to Vander, venom lacing each word.
“Do you even remember? I trusted you… and you betrayed me.”
(Y/N)’s eyes finally took in all of him- his ruined cheek, his sunken features, the warped skin trailing from his jaw to the edge of his glowing eye.
The scar where the toxic water had seeped into his skin.
The proof of how far he’d been willing to go.
And how much further he’d fallen to crawl back.
Vander’s breath rattled in his chest as he leaned against the steel railing, blood still wet on his lips. The anger in his eyes had softened into something heavier- regret, shame.
“…What I did to you,” he said, voice low, almost too quiet to hear, “I’ve never forgiven myself.”
He looked up at Silco- truly looked at him.
“You were my brother.”
Silco didn’t respond right away. He stared down at him for a long moment before his gaze slid toward (Y/N), and the edges of his expression flickered with something harder to name.
“No,” he murmured. “You still don’t understand.”
He turned to them both now- his voice rising slightly, almost reverent, almost haunted.
“Can you imagine what it’s like… when your blood mixes with the filth? When the river toxins eat through your nerves, strip away everything soft, everything human?”
He stepped closer to Vander again, looming now, his voice low and trembling- not with weakness, but with conviction.
“Oh, I hated you for what you’d done. Every breath I clawed in was filled with hate. But hate burns fast. And when it fades, it leaves room… for understanding.”
His eyes bore into Vander.
“The only way to defeat a superior enemy… is to stop at nothing. To become what they fear.”
He tilted his head.
“I hated you, Vander. But I still respected you. Until you made peace with them. Until you played lapdog to the people who tried to crush us. After everything we suffered.”
Vander’s jaw clenched, but his voice was tired. “I had no choice.”
“Perhaps,” Silco echoed with a hum. “But now… now you do.”
He reached into his coat, retrieving a small vial- glass, delicate, and filled with a swirling, violet liquid that shimmered even in the dim light.
He knelt again, holding it out between them so both Vander and (Y/N) could see.
“Shimmer.” His voice was soft, full of dark promise. “This is power. This is what they fear.”
He glanced up at (Y/N), then down at Vander.
“We can finally realize our dream. Together... Brother.”
Vander looked from the vial… to Silco… and finally up at (Y/N).
She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Her heart beat hollow in her chest, her thoughts knotted beyond reason.
Vander’s eyes turned back to Silco.
“Look at what you’ve done,” he whispered. “Benzo. These kids…”
He shook his head slowly. “In fighting Topside… you’d sacrifice everything that we are. It’s not the way. Can’t you see that? If it has to be me, then fine. Kill me. But please… spare the Lanes.”
Silco’s eyes narrowed, sharp and burning.
“You’d die for the cause,” he spat, “but you won’t fight for one?”
Vander gave a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just… not that man anymore.”
Silco’s lips curled- not in amusement, but disappointment.
“I’ll show you what you really are,” he muttered.
Then, without another glance at his old friend, he turned and walked toward (Y/N) again.
Her breath caught when he reached for her. He took her hand gently- fingers warm, familiar, haunting... And like something out of a long-forgotten dream, he laced his fingers through hers and led her away down the walkway.
Past the shimmer.
Past the scars.
The room they entered was dim, lit only by flickering industrial lights high in the rafters, casting long shadows against the grimy walls. Vander grunted, still dazed but regaining strength, just in time to be dragged inside by two of Silco’s men. He struggled weakly, but they forced him into a heavy chair bolted to the floor.
Without a word, the men bound his wrists to the armrests with reinforced chains- tight, unforgiving.
(Y/N) watched it all.
She didn’t move.
She just… watched, her heart twisted in knots, as Vander met her gaze with something between understanding and heartbreak. She gave him one last lingering look- long, pained- but didn’t pull away when Silco’s hand gently guided her from the room.
He led her up a flight of grated stairs, each step echoing with the weight of history between them.
At the top of the factory was a room- an old office overlooking the chaos below. Large, reinforced windows gave a full view of the operation, of Vander strapped below, of the quiet power Silco now commanded.
Inside, it was just the two of them.
(Y/N) stood awkwardly at first, eyes scanning the space like she might find an anchor.
She didn’t.
Silco motioned to one of the chairs before his desk. “Sit.”
She did.
He pulled the other chair closer, sitting directly in front of her, his eyes searching her face. He didn’t speak. Not yet. Not while the silence still held its weight.
They sat like that for a while- just breathing, listening to the distant hum of machinery, the ghost of bloodshed still heavy on both of them.
Then (Y/N) spoke.
Her voice cracked.
“I… I looked for you…”
Silco’s jaw twitched.
“For years, I looked,” she whispered, broken and small. “I searched every body on the bridge. Dug through rumors. Lies. Begged for information… anything that would lead me to you.”
She inhaled sharply, her hands shaking.
And then- gently- she reached forward, taking his hand into hers, lifting it slowly, reverently, pressing his palm to her cheek.
As soon as she felt his skin on hers, she nearly sobbed.
Her breath hitched, her face crumpling with the weight of every year she’d spent missing him. She hadn’t let anyone this close since he vanished. Hadn’t let herself feel this deeply. Not with Vander. Not with anyone. Only the children had been allowed into that tender part of her.
But this- this was different.
This was him.
And she’d missed him so much.
Silco stood slowly.
Then, wordlessly, he reached for her- his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled her to her feet, even as she trembled beneath his hands.
She nearly collapsed into him.
But he caught her.
His arms wrapped tight around her small frame, pulling her flush to his chest as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her sobs muffled against his collar. She breathed him in like she was afraid it might be the last time.
He still smelled like he always had- warm, sharp, a little like smoke... But now there was something else. Something chemical. Acrid. Lingering under the surface.
It clung to his coat, to his skin.
Shimmer.
She didn’t ask. Not yet. She just held him tighter, her fingers curling into the back of his coat... And Silco closed his eyes.
For the first time in years…
He held her like he’d never let go.
Silco held her until the shaking dulled, until the sobs faded into shallow, trembling breaths. He cupped her face afterward, thumbs brushing away the tears left behind on her cheeks, movements tender in a way that almost didn’t fit the man he'd become.
But then his gaze drifted past her- eyes narrowing toward the window that overlooked the catwalk.
He stilled.
(Y/N) turned, heart clenching.
Outside, darting shapes blurred through the shadows.
Mylo… Claggor. Vi.
Her heart dropped.
She spun back to Silco, panic in her eyes. “Sil- Silco, please- don’t hurt them. Please, don’t kill them. I- They’re just kids. I raised them. I love them. I-”
He leaned down, his hand slipping behind her neck. His lips pressed softly to her forehead.
“Calm down…” he murmured. “I can’t promise anything… I think you’ve figured that out by now.”
Her heart cracked again.
“But,” he added, gently taking her hand, “I will do all I can… Just for you.”
Her breath hitched- part fear, part relief, part dread.
He led her from the office, down toward the walkways that twisted like veins through the heart of the factory. His hand never left hers.
A whistle cut through the air behind them.
Footsteps answered.
Sevika fell in beside them, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of (Y/N) before letting out a sharp sigh and shaking her head.
“Of course,” she muttered.
Another man appeared, stepping forward.
He held chains.
(Y/N)’s stomach turned cold.
She pulled her hand from Silco’s, taking a step back- heart hammering.
Silco’s hand caught her chin gently, tilting her face toward him. His expression was unreadable.
“I have to take precautions,” he said softly. “You understand, don’t you?”
She didn’t have time to answer.
The man with the chains moved in quickly, wrapping them around her wrists and upper arms. As soon as the metal touched her skin, she felt it- pain, sudden and sharp, as the runes engraved in the chain flared to life, cutting off her magic.
Her breath stuttered. Her knees buckled slightly.
He made these… for her.
The realization made her blood run cold.
She struggled on instinct, fire rising in her throat- but Sevika grabbed her from behind, locking an arm around her shoulders to drag her forward.
Silco walked ahead of them all, his voice smooth as he approached the group below.
“Welcome.”
The children turned sharply.
Mylo tensed. Claggor instinctively stepped in front of Powder. Vi’s fists clenched at her sides.
And then they saw her.
Sevika dragged (Y/N) into the open, the chains glowing faintly against her skin.
Their eyes locked with hers.
And (Y/N)’s heart shattered.
Fear. Sadness. Betrayal.
Vi’s voice broke through the silence, small and shaking.
“M-Mom…?”
(Y/N) choked on the lump in her throat, pulling against the chains- only to cry out softly when the runes sparked again.
“I’m okay…” she managed, voice soft and shaking. “Focus on them, alright? Focus on each other.”
She tried to smile, tried to soothe them like she always did.
But her hands were bound. Her power was locked down. And she was being dragged by the man she’d once loved more than anything in the world.
Silco stopped beside her, reaching out to brush her hair back with a tenderness that made her flinch.
“Have you heard the rumor?” he asked the kids, voice light, casual- cruel.
“Vander the coward fled town, left his children behind…”
He paused, eyes glittering with venom.
“…And he was never seen again.”
(Y/N) sucked in a sharp breath, biting her lip to keep from sobbing.
And Vi- her face slowly twisted from fear into rage.
But (Y/N)… she could barely look at them.
Not like this.
Vi didn’t hesitate.
The second she saw (Y/N) like that- bound, chained, magic suppressed- something in her snapped.
“Claggor,” she barked, voice firm. “Find another way out of here.”
Claggor gave a quick nod, already moving, slipping back into the room Vander was in to search for an exit route.
Vander, still slumped in his restraints, his voice raw with emotion, rasped, “You don’t have to do this-”
“Yes, I do,” Vi cut him off, tone solid. Final.
And then one of Silco’s men stepped forward.
A mountain of a man. Thick arms, heavy boots, a massive knife in hand.
The second he approached Vi, (Y/N) instinctively lunged forward- pure panic in her eyes. “No!” she screamed, heart thundering as she tried to reach Vi, tried to protect her babies.
Sevika’s grip tightened around her waist, holding her firm.
(Y/N) fought against the chains anyway, gritting her teeth through the pain, trying to claw her way free.
“Let me go!”
But Sevika didn’t budge.
Vander’s voice broke, more desperate now. “Vi!”
The girl stood tall, squared her shoulders, clenched her fists.
And met the man head-on.
She glanced once- only once- back at Silco, then dropped into a fighting stance, steady and sure.
The man lunged.
He brought the knife down hard, but Vi lifted her arms- Vander’s gauntlets catching the blade with a clang that rang through the entire factory.
The force vibrated down her arms- but she held firm.
Then she struck.
One brutal, upward punch.
Crack.
The man’s head snapped back, blood flying from his mouth along with a tooth. His body flew backwards, crashing to the walkway with a heavy thud.
Out cold.
Silco’s eyes widened just slightly. Not fear. Not quite. But... surprise. He said nothing- just lifted a hand and gave a sharp signal.
Sevika responded immediately, yanking (Y/N) back by the chains, dragging her a step away as more of Silco’s men stepped forward.
(Y/N)’s eyes never left Vi.
Even as she was pulled back, she watched her girl fight.
One after another, they came.
And one by one, Vi dropped them.
A punch to the gut. A backhanded swing to the jaw. A full-force slam that sent one man tumbling off the side of the catwalk, screaming as he fell.
If the situation weren’t so dire, (Y/N) would’ve been bursting with pride.
Even through the fear, through the chains biting into her skin, she felt it rise like warmth in her chest.
Her baby girl was holding her own.
Then… only Sevika remained.
She stepped forward, cracking her knuckles, clearly ready to jump in.
But Silco raised his hand- calm, measured.
“Hold.”
Sevika paused, eyes narrowing. But she obeyed.
Still gripping (Y/N) tightly, keeping her locked in place, but she didn’t move to fight.
Silco stepped forward slowly, watching Vi with a calculating eye.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.
Silco’s expression was unreadable as his eyes shifted toward the sickly man lingering nearby- the one who had once torn through Enforcers like paper, and now barely looked human at all. Gaunt, twitching, with veins of violet threading beneath his skin.
“Ready to rise to the surface?” Silco asked, his voice deceptively soft.
The man’s eyes flicked to the small, glowing vial in Silco’s hand- a pulsing purple liquid that shimmered with unnatural energy. His gaze grew desperate, wild. He snatched it the second it was offered, uncorking it and downing the contents like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
And then- he screamed.
The transformation was immediate, violent. His spine arched, bones cracking, limbs lengthening, skin distorting. Purple fluid spilled from the corners of his mouth as his body twisted into something monstrous. The shriek that followed rattled the steel beams of the factory.
(Y/N)’s blood ran cold.
“No- no!” she shouted, yanking against the chains as hard as she could. Sevika held her firm, but her grip trembled slightly under the struggle. “Silco!”
Vi didn’t hesitate- she lunged in to strike the creature before it fully stabilized, gauntlets swinging.
But the monster was faster.
It caught her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground.
“No!” (Y/N) thrashed harder, desperation clawing through her throat. She looked at Silco, eyes wild. “You said you wouldn’t kill them!”
Silco’s jaw clenched. His face flickered with something- guilt, maybe. Regret.
“I said I’d try,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t enough.
Vander roared over the chaos, his voice raw. “Silco! Let her go! This is between you and me!”
Silco’s eyes darkened. His voice was flat- cold. “You had your chance.”
And the monster threw Vi.
She crashed hard into a nearby wall, grunting as she slid across the floor. One of the gauntlets skidded free, clattering loudly across the steel.
(Y/N)’s scream cracked out of her, her knees buckling as she fought harder.
Vi coughed, gasping, barely able to pull herself up. The monster advanced, step by heavy step, dripping shimmer and fury with every movement.
She crawled.
Clawed toward the others.
(Y/N), Vander, Mylo, and Claggor all shouted her name, voices overlapping in a desperate crescendo.
And then- Vi reached the door. With a trembling hand, she slammed it shut- and locked it. The bolt echoed like thunder.
The monster crashed into the other side, but the door held.
Inside, silence reigned for a moment. A breath of reprieve. Of safety.
(Y/N) collapsed to her knees in Sevika’s grip, a sob tearing loose from her throat.
Vi was safe.
For now.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she whispered, “Thank the Gods…”
But her eyes never left Silco.
And her heart had never hurt more.
The creature outside the sealed door snarled and slammed its fists against the metal, again and again. The walkway shook with the force of it, rattling bolts and echoing through the factory like thunder.
Sevika kept her grip on (Y/N), who was breathing hard, her cheeks damp with tears, her arms still trembling from the aftermath.
Silco stood nearby, unmoving- expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the blocked doorway.
(Y/N)’s voice cracked through the din, soft, pleading. “Please… Please, Silco… don’t do this…”
She turned her face toward him, eyes wide, broken. “Let the kids go. Please.”
There was a silence between them.
And then he looked at her.
His gaze softened- just slightly- as he sighed quietly.
“…Fine,” he said after a pause. “Once we get them all gathered again, I’ll let the children go.” His tone stayed firm. “But only the children.”
(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her body sagging in Sevika’s arms as if the tension had suddenly drained all at once. A strangled sob slipped past her lips.
And then- click.
A small sound. Metal ticking softly against the walkway.
(Y/N)’s eyes widened in an instant. “What..?”
Her gaze darted toward the source- a monkey. Small, mechanical, familiar. It shuffled forward, toy-like limbs moving with mechanical innocence.
She recognized it immediately.
Powder’s.
The monkey sat still for a beat, and then-
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the walkway in a blinding blast of heat and sound.
Silco lunged, pulling (Y/N) into his arms and wrapping himself tightly around her, shielding her body with his own. Sevika threw herself in front of them both- arms outstretched.
The force hit them like a wave.
Smoke. Shrapnel. Flames.
When (Y/N) came to, her ears were ringing. Her limbs heavy.
She blinked hard, vision swimming- and realized Silco was still holding her, arms wrapped tight. Sevika lay sprawled across the walkway ahead of them, unmoving.
Her left arm… was gone.
(Y/N) cried out in horror and pushed away from Silco, slipping from his grip. The chains slowed her, made her stumble, but she didn’t stop.
She crawled, dragging herself across the scorched walkway toward the room where the kids had been.
“No, no, no-” she whispered over and over.
The devastation was unreal.
Pieces of the railing hung loose, sparks flying from destroyed panels.
And in the back of the room-
Claggor.
Still. Lifeless.
Mylo- bloodied, crushed under debris, unmoving.
She fell to her knees in the middle of the walkway, her hands bound, unable to even hold them. She just stared through fresh, silent tears, sobbing until her voice cracked.
Behind her, Silco slowly emerged from the smoke. He stepped around Sevika’s body- limping slightly- and moved to (Y/N)’s side.
He knelt, wordless, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off.
He didn’t try again.
But when her body gave out, she collapsed against him anyway, no fight left in her. Her sobs echoed against the steel.
From inside the room, Violet’s screams and cires rang out. High, panicked, broken.
(Y/N) closed her eyes and shook her head, lips trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Then-
Movement.
Vander stumbled from the room, face battered, holding onto the wall for balance. His eyes flicked from (Y/N) to the remaining men around them- and the monster, who was still alive, still looming.
He roared and charged.
Fists flew.
He threw punches with the strength of desperation, slamming into the beast again and again. The creature responded in kind, and the two clashed like titans- blows echoing through the factory.
Then-
The creature landed a blow, sending Vander crashing down onto the walkway.
He groaned, tried to stand-
And from beside (Y/N), Silco rose to his feet. Slowly... Deliberately.
(Y/N) watched, dazed. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just watched.
Silco stepped up behind Vander- silent as a shadow.
And then… The blade.
In the back.
Vander choked, his body jerking forward. He turned, gasping, and grabbed Silco by the throat.
Silco- eyes fierce, lips curled into something almost mournful- stabbed him again.
Lower.
Vander’s grip weakened. He sagged forward, collapsing against Silco’s chest. The two of them locked eyes, breath labored and pained.
“…I knew you still had it in you,” Silco whispered.
And then he shoved him.
Vander’s body tumbled over the edge- into the boxes of shimmer bwloe, where spilled chemicals, shattered shimmer vials, and fire burned like hell itself.
Everything went quiet.
Except for (Y/N)’s trembling breath, and the sound of Vi sobbing somewhere in the dark.
Silco's steps were measured, calm despite the blood on his hands and the tremor still rolling through the floor beneath them. He approached the shimmer-mutated creature with purpose, voice sharp but steady.
“...Find the girl.”
The monster obeyed, stomping toward the ruined room. Its heavy limbs dragged it forward into the wreckage-strewn room where Violet had been trapped with Mylo and Claggor's fallen bodies.
Vi panicked as the creature loomed over her, its breath huffing like steam, arms rising to grab her-
BOOM.
A massive crashing sound rang through the factory, making the entire structure lurch violently.
(Y/N) stumbled.
The walkway groaned beneath their feet.
And then- a low growl.
Primal. Familiar.
Silco stepped in front of (Y/N) instantly, his arm thrown out to shield her, body still tense from the last fight.
Another figure emerged through the smoke and shadow.
Twisted. Unnatural.
A different kind of monster.
It grabbed Silco’s beast by the throat before anyone could react- crushing, choking- and with a violent twist, snapped its neck like it was nothing more than paper. The limp body was thrown aside, crashing into a wall and slumping into the rubble.
Silco’s jaw tensed as his eyes widened.
He stepped forward and forced (Y/N) up, gripping her arm, steadying her.
She didn’t speak- didn’t move beyond what he guided.
Her eyes were locked on the new creature.
Its eyes met hers- burning, tinged with shimmer.
“...Vander,” she whispered, barely audible.
He had survived.
He had used the shimmer.
And he had changed.
Silco realized it too, the horror evident in the way he slowly stepped back, pulling (Y/N) with him, his body subtly shifting into defense again. Vander snarled- deep and guttural- his distorted voice still capable of forming one clear word:
“Silco.”
(Y/N) tensed as Silco’s grip tightened around her hand.
The building shuddered again- more violently now. Pipes groaned, embers danced across the floor. The fire had spread.
Vander’s monstrous form looked between Silco and the collapsed room behind him- where Violet’s sobs could still faintly be heard.
And then, with a roar, he turned and ran, barreling back through the corridor.
(Y/N) and Silco watched as he scooped up Violet and charged through the broken wall just as the room collapsed around them. The building behind them erupted into flame, collapsing in on itself as embers roared toward the sky.
They stood in silence.
Silco gently tugged (Y/N) forward, guiding her out of the ruin. She didn’t resist, her legs moving on instinct alone. Her face was hollow, her eyes empty. The world around her felt far away.
But she heard it.
Faint, echoing through the smoke:
Vi's screams.
Powder’s cries.
They walked until the sounds grew louder- closer.
Then, voices. Muffled at first.
Powder’s, frantic. “Violet?! Please! Come back! Vi!”
That- that- snapped something in (Y/N).
She yanked free of Silco’s grip, her chains rattling as she stumbled forward.
“Powder!” she gasped.
She ran, her feet carrying her through the scorched earth, eyes scanning desperately- until she saw her.
Powder.
Kneeling in the ash. Shoulders shaking. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Vi!” she sobbed. “She left me! I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to-!”
(Y/N) froze a few steps away.
Her heart shattered all over again.
Powder was curled up so small, so broken.
Tears spilled from (Y/N)’s eyes as she slowly stepped closer.
Powder looked up.
And launched into her.
“Mama-!”
(Y/N) caught her instinctively, knees hitting the ground as she wrapped her arms around the girl- holding her so tightly, like she could piece her back together if she just held on hard enough.
Silco reached them seconds later, catching both of them as they toppled into his legs. He knelt behind them, arms wrapping around them both- sheltering them from what little of the world was left.
(Y/N) glanced around, confused, still dazed and trying to keep her sobbing to a minimum. “Where… Where did Vi go..?”
Powder cried into (Y/N)’s shoulder. “She left me. She’s… Not my sister anymore…”
(Y/N) stroked her hair, sobbing silently, her throat too raw for words.
Silco’s voice was low, gentle- soothing in a way she hadn’t heard in years.
“It’s okay…” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”
His hand brushed through Powder’s hair… then over (Y/N)’s.
“We’ll show them all.”
And in that hollow quiet, surrounded by ash and ruin, (Y/N) clung to Powder.
And Silco clung to them both.
And for better or worse…
This was what remained.
The chains still bound her wrists, biting into her skin, heavy with runes that pulsed faintly against her magic. But (Y/N) didn't care. She held onto Powder as best she could, arms wrapped tight despite the limits, despite the pain. The girl was clinging just as hard- shaking, sobbing, burying her face into (Y/N)’s neck.
They stayed like that for a long while. Just breathing. Just surviving.
Eventually, Silco shifted beside them, his voice low, yet steady.
“Come on,” he said, gently.
He reached down, wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders to help her rise. She trembled as she stood, her limbs aching, the chains dragging against her legs. Powder still clung to her, and with no small effort, (Y/N) shifted the girl up into her arms.
It hurt. It was heavy. Her body screamed in protest.
But she carried her anyway.
Silco kept close at her side, his hand never leaving her back as he slowly led them out of the ruins.
Behind them, a few of his surviving men regrouped near what was left of the factory. The fire still burned high in the distance, lighting the skyline like a grim beacon.
Silco glanced over his shoulder, voice firm as he spoke to them.
“Gather everything that’s left. Anything not lost in the blast- documents, weapons, shimmer... all of it.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “We’re done here. We take the bar now.”
There was no discussion.
The men moved quickly.
And Silco turned back to (Y/N), his voice quieter now, meant only for her and Jinx.
“We’ll start again,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “From the ashes.”
As the three of them walked off into the night- (Y/N) carrying Powder, Silco walking protectively at their side- the echoes of everything they’d lost still clung to their heels.
One they got to The Last Drop, Powder sat small and trembling on the bar, legs drawn up, ash smudged across her cheeks and under her eyes like a warpaint she never asked for. (Y/N) moved on instinct- her hands steady despite the shaking in her bones. She soaked the cloth in warm water and gently wiped away the soot, the blood, the smoke. Each stroke soft and methodical.
“There we go, Powpow…” she whispered, voice quiet, mother-soft. “I’ve got you.”
Powder flinched at the name, her lip wobbling. “Jinx…”
(Y/N)’s hands froze, just for a moment.
Powder didn’t look up. Her voice cracked as she repeated it. “I’m a jinx… That’s what I should be called…”
(Y/N) didn’t argue. Didn’t correct her. She just resumed cleaning, her touch never wavering.
“…Okay…” she said softly. “Either way... I’ve got you...”
From the far side of the bar, Silco watched. Silent. Still.
His eyes tracked the chains at (Y/N)’s wrists- the way they pulled at her skin every time she moved to tend to Powder.
He stepped forward slowly, fingers brushing the edge of a small brass key in his coat pocket. When he spoke, his voice was cautious. Careful.
“(Y/N)…?”
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp and cold beneath her exhaustion. She looked like she hadn’t fully come down from the chaos. Like a thread pulled too tight.
Silco held up the key.
“Can I trust you still?”
She scoffed, the sound dry, brittle. “I think that’s my question, Silco.”
He let out a quiet hum. Not a laugh. Not quite.
“I suppose it is.”
He walked closer, holding the key between two fingers. “This is for your chains. If I know you won’t turn on me… I’ll undo them.”
Powder’s- no, Jinx’s- eyes widened as she noticed the chains for the first time. “You’re- You’re chained-?” she gasped, reaching for (Y/N)’s wrists.
(Y/N) didn’t look away from Silco, but her expression softened as Powder pleaded, “L-Let her go… please?”
Silco didn’t move yet.
(Y/N) took a deep breath.
“I won’t attack you,” she said finally, her voice low, calm, resolute. “If that’s what you’re asking.” Her jaw clenched. “Undo them.”
Silco studied her for a moment longer- long enough for the weight of the moment to settle between them.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward… and slid the key into the lock.
The moment the chains hit the floor with a clatter, the magic surged.
Golden marks bloomed like ink across (Y/N)’s skin, glowing softly as they curled up her arms, pulsing with life and power that had been kept caged for far too long. Her eyes lit with the same glow- bright, wild, beautiful- before it all flickered, then faded, like the last flare of a dying star.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t revel in the return of her freedom.
She just exhaled quietly… and turned right back to Jinx.
There was no rage. No revenge. Just… care.
She dipped the cloth again, gently cleaning around the girl’s forehead where soot clung to her hairline. Her voice was soft, steady again.
“Almost done, sweetheart…”
Jinx stayed quiet, sniffling now and again, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar tightly.
Silco didn’t speak. He simply watched her- this girl who once burned like fire, now bent over the broken remnants of a child she swore to protect. There was something reverent in the way he looked at her, something unreadable in the way his fingers twitched at his side but never reached out.
(Y/N) gave no further reaction to her magic’s return.
No questions.
No celebration.
She just tucked a lock of Jinx’s hair behind her ear and whispered, “There we go, little firecracker…”
Because for now, she’d take care of her.
And she’d call her by something warm.
Something safe.
Until the world made room for her again.
YAYYY thanks for Kyoko/Celeste/Toko request it was awesome (the inclusion of Jack caught me off guard since I personally don't find her attractive but idm!!! /Gen I should've been more specific whoopsie haha!) very well written, I enjoyed it alot!
Ps. Unfortunately an infamous ableist, homophobic, fatphobic (amongst other awful things) user liked that post :( if you wanted to block them or not M/ommy/hon/da (without the slashes, they search their name up for people talking about them hence the censoring
Oh, my bad about the Jack inclusion! I hope it was okay nonetheless! And yes, I noticed that user, and I already promptly blocked them :}
Thank you for the warning. If you have any more requests, feel free to make them. I'll try to keep it strictly to the characters asked from now on. I consider Jack/Toko sorta the same person (or ya know, two people sharing the same body), which is the only reason why I added them lmao.
Can you do platonic sera x overlord!reader multipart/fanfction?
The lore: The Y/N is a powerful overlord who own entertainment district of pentangram (he posses velvet tea and Vox souls after they tired to kidnap Charlie, val dies lol) also he’s best friend of alastor and Charlie Morningstar. During one of this meeting with his subordinates vox and velvette they noticed something was fallen from heaven, they goes to check this out only to find out fallen sera and VERY hurt and wounded Emily, after he find out they known Charlie he help takes Emily to hotel, where lucifer helps Emily with her wounds. Y/N calm down sera enough to she could tell what happened in heaven. In heaven after sera approved Charlie plan after extermination, where due to that pentonius reddemed himself, lute somehow thanks to other seraphim’s, which convinced that hell and their allies are the danger managed to overthrow sera and the rest seraphim’s who were on sera and Emily side and she (lute) brought totalitarian rule to heaven.lute kills pentonius for being a “spy” and BRUTTALY injures Emily (she lost wings, right leg, left hand and the right eye) and banish her and sera to hell. She also planned in 6 months organize the final extermination, where he plans to kill all people not only from hell but also on earth.
A/N: Yes, of course! This one took me... Way longer than I thought it would LOL. Got it done though! Gonna start working on my other requests now, since this was the one I was solely focusing on, trying to get it done :} Also, fair warning, I didnt have all the colors I wanted for their dialogue. (Y/N), Charlie, Alastor, Sera, and Emily all have specific colors, buttttt... Everyone else doesn't. Sorry, but I did what I could.
Ashes of Grace
Sera x Overlord!Male!Reader
Warnings: Religious themes, Violence/Body horror, Death, Torture/Enslavement, Corruption of authority, Genocide/Extermination, Substance use
Word Count: 4868
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Pentagram City rarely slept. And neither did its monsters. Between the sleaze and sin, the neon-soaked streets, and the endless echoes of jazz and gunfire, power shifts were as common- and as violent- as the weather.
When Valentino’s body finally hit the floor, burned out and twitching under the weight of a wrath he'd never anticipated, the District changed forever.
At the center of it all stood (Y/N)- a name now spoken in equal parts awe and terror. A new overlord, born not from vanity or greed, but something deeper. Something biblical.
His rise hadn't just been loud; it had been seismic. After Velvette and Vox made the mistake of trying to kidnap Charlie Morningstar- Hell’s favorite princess, and (Y/N)'s dearest friend- (Y/N) retaliated with fire and iron. Velvette and Vox now belonged to him, their souls shackled to his service. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes... not. They wore their chains like tarnished jewelry, reminders of the price of betrayal.
Valentino didn’t get that luxury.
He died.
And with him, the District fell.
What rose from the ashes wasn't just a new territory. It was an empire of creativity, ruthlessness, and control- no longer just a playground for abusers, but a stage for something greater. Alastor, always amused by chaos, had grinned wide at the news. Charlie, overwhelmed, had cried when it was over, throwing her arms around (Y/N)'s shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered against him, her best friend…
(Y/N) only nodded, hiding the smoldering rage still burning deep in his bones.
A week passed. And inside his repurposed theater, (Y/N) lounged in a battered chair at the head of a heavy oak table, eyeing Vox and Velvette with lazy disinterest.
The two former overlords sat like petulant children, glaring daggers at anything but him.
"Don't act so bitter," (Y/N) drawled, resting his chin in one hand. "You're lucky I didn't turn you into lawn ornaments."
"I'd rather be one," Velvette muttered under her breath. "At least I had free will before."
Before (Y/N) could reply, something flashed through the high, smoke-clogged sky.
Not light. Not in the Hellborn sense.
It was something... higher… And it was falling fast.
Vox stiffened, staring upwards. "...That came from upstairs."
The theater doors slammed open, and they raced outside.
What they found wasn’t a crash site. It was a massacre.
The crater still smoked, shards of shattered halos glittering in the ash. Feathers- too white, too pure- floated like dying fireflies through the air. In the center, two figures lay broken.
One was barely breathing- her right leg severed, her hand gone, one eye torn out, her wings sheared off like scrap paper.
The other, though bleeding and shaking, was already dragging herself upright. Protective. Furious. Radiating raw divinity even through the grime.
(Y/N) approached carefully, his hands open, head tilted like a curious wolf.
"...You're angels," he said slowly. "Do you know Charlie?"
The seraphim’s expression cracked. She nodded, voice raw. "Yes... She's... our friend."
That was all (Y/N) needed.
Without hesitation, he lifted the mutilated one- Emily-into his arms. Gentle, despite the gore. His voice was low, steady.
"Then you're not enemies," he said. "You're survivors."
The Happy Hotel had seen its share of strange guests. But even here, Emily’s condition turned every head.
Charlie gasped the second she saw her, rushing forward to help. Vaggie barked sharp orders at Angel and Husk, clearing the lobby with military precision. Alastor, all false grins and real concern, set up a makeshift recovery area with eerie efficiency.
Then, Lucifer Morningstar himself swept in, as radiant and ridiculous as ever.
"Charlie!" he boomed, voice theatrical. "I came to see if-" His words cut off the second he spotted Emily. “Oh, fuck…”
Then Lucifer dropped to his knees beside her, pressing a glowing hand over Emily’s shattered body. His usual swagger softened into something almost tender.
"Hold on," he murmured. "We can fix you."
Hours later, after Emily stabilized under a blanket of maigc and careful hands, (Y/N) sat across from the still-shaking seraphim- Sera.
She couldn’t sit still. Pacing, flinching at every noise. Until finally, (Y/N) stood and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Breathe," he said quietly. "You're safe."
Slowly, she exhaled. And spoke.
"After Sir Pentious... After he came to Heaven, some of us began to question things," she said hoarsely. "Charlie’s idea of redemption didn’t seem so crazy anymore. Emily and I... we supported it. We gathered others. We tried to change things from within."
Her voice broke.
"But then came Lute."
The name seemed to leech the warmth from the room.
"After losing her arm in the fight you all had, she twisted everything. She called Charlie a devil. Called the hotel a trap. She rallied the fearful and the bitter... and they listened. Heaven turned into a machine."
Sera’s fists trembled.
"They hunted us. Emily and I were caught trying to flee. She... She ripped Emily apart. Then she banished us here, as a warning."
At the doorway, Charlie stood frozen, fists shaking.
Sera turned to face them fully.
"And it’s worse than that. She’s planning a Final Extermination. In six months. Not just Hell. Not just sinners. Earth, too."
Silence fell like a blade.
(Y/N) straightened, shadows unfurling around his boots. His voice, when it came, was steel.
"Then we’re not just saving Hell anymore," he said. "We’re saving everyone."
...Far above, Heaven's Throne Room had changed...
Where once golden beams warmed marble floors, now the light was colder, harsher, casting long skeletal shadows.
Lute sat perched atop a jagged throne, once a Exterminator- now a Leader.
A trembling seraphim bowed low before her.
"All remaining supporters of Sera have been purged. The rest... converted."
"And the traitors?" Lute asked. Her voice was a metallic hiss.
"Banished or destroyed."
She rose, wings unfolding in sharp, almost mechanical snaps.
"In six months’ time," she declared, "there will be no Hell. No Earth. Only perfection. Heaven will ascend through fire."
The court erupted in cold cheers as the corrupted seraphim spread their wings.
Back in the Happy Hotel, Emily’s eye fluttered open.
She was alive. Battered. Different. But alive.
Charlie was instantly by her side, gripping her hand tightly.
"You’re safe," Charlie whispered. "I promise."
Emily tried to sit up, her body aching with every movement.
"C-Charlie...?"
"Yes, it's me. Don’t worry. We’ve got you."
Lucifer, leaning nearby, flashed a crooked, nervous smile.
"Only because bleeding out on my daughter’s carpet is absolutely unacceptable. Bad for the aesthetic," he said, lightly. Then, more serious, he added, "I healed what I could. Your leg, your hand... But your wings..." He trailed off, frowning. "Those may take more work."
Tears welled in Emily’s remaining eye.
"Sir Pentious... He's really..."
Lucifer’s face darkened... Charlie just hugged her tighter.
Across the room, Sera sat curled at the bar, silent. Husk, uncharacteristically gentle, pushed a mug of something nonalcoholic toward her.
Nearby, Alastor watched with predatory curiosity.
"So," he said brightly. "Heaven’s fallen into the claws of a madwoman. Your friends butchered. Your hopes dashed." He smiled wider. "Welcome to Hell."
Sera flinched.
"We tried," she whispered. "We tried to save them. We believed in Charlie's dream..."
(Y/N) approached quietly, Vox and Velvette trailing behind like resentful ghosts.
"You still believe in it?" he asked.
Sera looked up, tears brimming.
"Yes."
He nodded once, a grim glint in his eye.
"Then we fight."
From the couch, Angel Dust cackled, tossing a grenade from hand to hand.
"About time! I’ve been dying to throw hands with someone uptight!"
It didn't take long for one of the Hotel’s many rooms to be taken, and changed. Celestial maps sprawled across walls and floors. Candles flickered wildly against the cracked stone.
Around a heavy oak table stood Lucifer, Charlie, Alastor, and (Y/N)- each face carved with focus.
"She wants to erase everything," Charlie said, voice tight. "Not just sinners. Everyone."
Alastor chuckled, low and eerie. "An ambitious apocalypse. I almost admire it."
(Y/N) planted his palms on the table, voice low and furious.
"We can't just defend. We strike first."
Charlie nodded fiercely, fire blazing in her eyes.
"We’re going to stop her. We’re going to prove we matter."
Lucifer clapped a proud hand on her shoulder.
"That’s my girl."
The mood was heavy, but not hopeless. A tense undercurrent thrummed through the room, setting everyone on edge. Maps and blueprints lay scattered across the table, papers weighed down with empty mugs and books. Sera stood at the center of it all, tracing a slow line along a map with two fingers, brow furrowed.
Around her, the others listened in silence. Charlie, Lucifer, (Y/N), Alastor, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, and Emily- propped up in a wheelchair and bundled in fresh bandages around her shoulders- watched with focused, anxious attention.
"Most of Heaven’s 'Winners' are still willing to listen," Sera said, voice low but steady. "They aren't like the Angels. They're just... humans. Humans who died and moved on. They remember. They can think for themselves."
Charlie tilted her head thoughtfully. "But what do they have to do with all this?"
"If we’re going to have any support up there, it'll be through them," Sera replied. She glanced around the room. "Lute’s seized control of Heaven’s higher ranks. She's convinced most of the Angels, crowned herself their queen. But the Winners... they’re still undecided."
(Y/N) crossed his arms, the gears already turning behind his narrowed eyes. "We could start a rebellion inside Heaven itself. Get the truth out before Lute locks everything down."
Sera gave a sharp nod. "Exactly. But we don’t have much time. After Emily and I fell, Lute accelerated her plans. She’s preparing the final phase right now."
"Then we don't just defend anymore," Lucifer said, his voice darkening. "We invade."
Sera met his gaze without flinching. "We hit fast. We send the message. And we take Lute out before she can trigger the Final Purge."
As the meeting dissolved into quieter preparations, Angel Dust wheeled Emily back toward her new room, a soft pink guest suite Charlie had thrown together- full of pillows, gauzy curtains, and delicate little touches meant to comfort. Emily was quiet, shrinking into herself, the overwhelming changes of the past days pressing in on her.
Angel, never good with heavy silences, plopped into a chair beside her and swung an arm lazily over the backrest. "So," he drawled, "how’s it feel bein’ the first angel who didn’t try to shank me on sight?"
Emily managed a weak, almost surprised smile. "We were taught that... souls in Hell couldn’t feel... I knew no different until I met Charlie."
He snorted and bumped her elbow with his. "Yeah, well, guess we’re full of surprises down here. Welcome to the club, doll."
She blinked, absorbing that, then tentatively leaned against him. "Thanks... for not being thrown off by me."
"Pfft." Angel waved it off. "Sweetheart, I’ve seen worse. Hell, you look better than half my dates."
"...I’m not sure if that’s comforting."
"It ain’t. But it’s true."
Later that evening, the corridors of the hotel grew quieter. Emily, wrapped in a simple jacket Charlie had picked out for her, made her way slowly down the hall. Every step was stiff, awkward- her balance thrown off.
Pushing through the swinging doors, she made her way to the bar, wincing as she hoisted herself onto a stool. Husk looked up from polishing glasses, one ear twitching as he noticed her.
"Not servin' you liquor, kid," he muttered, voice rough. "Charlie’d have my ass."
"I don't want a drink," Emily said quietly. "I just... wanted noise. Not pity."
Husk grunted, setting the glass down. "You walked pretty far," he said, more observation than praise.
Emily let out a hollow little laugh. "Didn’t want to stay in that room. It's too... Quiet."
She tapped the side of her head lightly. "When it’s that quiet, all I can hear is screaming from outside..."
Husk didn’t flinch. He just leaned his weight against the bar and nodded slightly, like he understood all too well.
They sat in silence for a while, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass against glass.
Eventually, Husk broke the quiet. "Why’d you come down here, really?"
Emily hesitated, looking down at the frayed sleeve covering her wrist. "Because... I think I'm scared." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be anymore."
For a moment, Husk simply stared at her. Then, with a grunt, he reached beneath the bar and pulled out a battered, worn playing card- the Queen of Hearts. Its corners were frayed, a small tear across the center.
"My last hand in a real poker game," he said, sliding it across the bar to her. "Lost everything. Still survived."
Emily stared down at the card like it was something sacred.
"You’re giving this to me?"
"Loaning it," Husk corrected. "For luck."
She tucked the card against her chest like armor, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered.
"Don't thank me. Win the next hand."
Meanwhile, across the hotel, final preparations were underway. In the lounge, Lucifer clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone's attention.
"Our infiltration team, then," he announced, a glint of theatrical excitement in his eye. "Charlie- the optimist; Sera- the righteous outcast; Emily- our fallen helper; and you, dear (Y/N)- the wildcard’s wildcard."
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. "You gonna narrate the whole mission?"
"Only the dramatic parts," Lucifer quipped, giving him a large smile.
"...So basically, all of it," (Y/N) muttered.
Charlie, ever the peacemaker, cleared her throat gently. "We have three objectives: reach the Holy Gates, rally the Winners to our side, and remove Lute before she can lead an attack."
Lucifer’s playful air faded slightly, replaced by something colder, sharper. "This isn’t just about Hell anymore. Or Heaven. This is about Earth. About proving redemption isn't some cruel joke."
Sera met his gaze and nodded once, solemn. "Then we strike fast."
At Lucifer’s gesture, a portal shimmered open in the air, unstable and crackling with divine static. It glowed like a tear in reality itself- liquid gold and silver threads of light straining to stay woven together.
Charlie approached the portal first, her hands trembling slightly, though her face was set with determination. Opening a portal to Heaven from Hell was unnatural, dangerous- and it showed. The light bled into the floor, the walls, everything it touched humming unnervingly.
"We don't know how long it'll hold," Lucifer warned. "Maybe a few hours. Maybe less if you screw around too much... Portals like these aren't usually supposed to be opened from this side..."
(Y/N) adjusted his coat, checking the weapons strapped across his hips. Nearby, Vox and Velvette watched, their usual smugness tempered by real worry. Sera tightened her grip on her sword, the blade gleaming faintly. Emily secured Husk’s playing card near her heart, her new sword slung awkwardly across her back.
Together, they looked ready.
Charlie turned back to Lucifer, her eyes fierce. "We’ll be back."
Lucifer smiled- but it was a fragile thing, brittle at the edges. "I know," he said.
Without another word, they stepped through the portal- and into stillness.
The air on the other side was cool, quiet in a way that felt... unnatural, like the whole world was holding its breath.
The gates loomed ahead, bathed in blinding light that offered no warmth. The team emerged slowly, blinking against the unnatural brilliance. Emily exhaled shakily, her hand tightening on her sword.
“The gates aren't usually... empty,” she muttered.
Normally, Saint Peter would have stood watch. Now, there was only silence.
(Y/N) swept his gaze over the endless marble sprawl before them. The architecture was grand, opulent- but it felt hollow, abandoned. Like a stage after the actors had fled mid-performance.
Sera muttered under her breath, voice strained. "This isn't right. Something's wrong."
Charlie tightened her grip on her staff, glancing nervously at the others. "We need to move. Fast."
They slipped forward through the eerie stillness, boots whispering over immaculate stone. Statues of angels lined the path, their faces twisted into expressions that were almost... pained. Not the serene smiles Heaven was famous for.
Emily limped slightly, favoring her newly healed leg, but kept pace grimly, the Queen of Hearts tucked safe against her ribs. She refused to slow them down.
As they neared the first courtyard- a vast open space dominated by a towering monument of silver and gold- (Y/N) raised a hand sharply. "Wait."
Movement… At first, it was just a ripple, like a heat mirage. Then forms began to materialize.
Dozens. No- hundreds.
Figures stepped out from the edges of the courtyard- Winners, eyes shadowed, hesitant. They were armed with angelic weapons- some with swords, others with halberds or spears- but none of them attacked.
Instead, they just... stared.
One woman near the front- a thin, graying soul with sharp cheekbones, hollow eyes, and large bunny ears- took a step forward.
"You're the ones who escaped," she said, voice cracking.
Her gaze landed on Sera, then Emily. "You came back."
Charlie stepped forward quickly, heart hammering in her chest. "Please- we’re not here to fight you. We’re here to stop Lute. To save everyone."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some looked uncertain. Others terrified. A few- a precious few- hopeful.
(Y/N) moved to stand beside Charlie, his voice carrying clean across the courtyard. "You know what she’s planning," he said coldly. "You’ve seen the signs. The exterminations... the disappearances. Heaven isn't salvation anymore. It's a slaughterhouse with a crown."
Silence.
Emily, breathless and shaking, found her voice. "I lost everything because I tried to help," she said, voice trembling but steady. "Sera and I... we saw the truth. If you stand with her, you'll lose yourselves, too."
A long, agonizing pause.
Then- a man near the back threw down his spear.
It clattered against the marble with a ringing finality.
One by one, others followed. Weapons dropped. People stepping out of their neat little lines, their faces raw with emotion.
The graying woman stepped forward again, her hands shaking.
"We follow you now," she whispered
(Y/N) let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Charlie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.
Sera looked ready to collapse from relief.
But before anyone could celebrate-
A loud banging sound tore through the air. Mechanical. Shattering. It echoed through the bones of the city like a death knell.
Charlie paled instantly. "She's coming."
From above, like a thundercloud, Lute descended. Around her, Exterminators unfolded from the shadows- sleek, brutal things, all flashing blades, baring their masks.
Lute smiled- a cruel, hateful one. "So this," she hissed, "is your rebellion?"
The newly turned Winners hesitated, fear rippling through their ranks.
(Y/N) stepped forward without hesitation, drawing his blade in one smooth motion, the tip glinting with something darker than metal.
He didn’t need to shout.
His presence alone was command enough.
Emily braced herself, lifting her sword with both hands. Sera set her jaw, raising her blade to guard. Charlie lifted her hands, trembling- but with fire in her eyes.
Lute laughed, the sound hollow and electric. "So be it," she said. "You can all burn together."
The Exterminators surged forward.
And the battle for Heaven began.
Lute met (Y/N)'s charge head-on, screaming a soundless war-cry, her wings flaring out wide like a specter of vengeance.
Their blades collided- but (Y/N) didn’t yield. He pressed forward, every strike hammering her defenses, forcing her back with sheer will. Charlie fought at his side, her eyes glowing with desperate red light, every swing of her claws another prayer hurled like a weapon. Sera drove her blade home again and again, ignoring the golden blood leaking from her side where a blade had caught her earlier. Emily, staggering but unbroken, struck too- a shallow cut, but enough to make Lute snarl and stagger.
The four of them moved like a single force. Hope. Anger. Love. Defiance.
"You're DONE!" (Y/N) bellowed. He struck low- a brutal, gouging slash across her knees.
Sera was already moving, her sword flashing upwards- tearing open Lute’s exposed side. And Emily- battered, exhausted Emily- threw her sword with everything she had.
The blade spun through the air- and punched through Lute’s heart.
The world seemed to stop.
Lute gasped, golden blood streaming from her mouth. Her wings spasmed violently, the corrupted light sputtering. Her eyes, so cold and cruel, flickered- fear flashing through them for the first time.
She fell to her knees.
"You… can’t…" she rasped.
(Y/N) stood over her, breathing hard, the others gathering behind him.
"You already lost," he said, voice quiet and absolute.
Lute tried to lunge one last time- a desperate, broken advance-
(Y/N) drove his blade through her throat.
The light died.
Lute crumpled, falling limp onto the marble. The Exterminators, leaderless, gave in, most either fleeing, or tossing down their weapons in defeat.
Across the courtyard, the everyone fell silent.
The battle was over. For a long moment, none of them moved.
The only sound was the ragged breathing of the survivors.
Then, slowly, Winners who had fought alongside them began to move through the carnage, beginning to clear the battlefield- gathering their fallen, offering silent prayers.
An eerie, heavy silence settled over Heaven’s once-pristine halls.
At the center of it all, (Y/N) stood with Charlie, Sera, and Emily.
Sera wiped her blade on her tattered dress and sheathed it slowly. She walked over, Emily limping close beside her, the two of them visibly shaken but steady.
Sera stopped before them, and for a moment, the words caught in her throat… Then she bowed- a deep, respectful gesture.
"You saved us," Sera said, her voice rough but sure. "You saved Heaven."
Emily offered a trembling smile, her bandaged hand pressed to her heart.
"You saved us," she echoed. "And... maybe yourselves too."
Charlie shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "We saved each other."
Sera smiled- soft, sad, but real. She looked at the group- at Charlie, at (Y/N), at Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Alastor lingering just out of the bloodstained light.
"I hope," Sera said, "that one day... when your mission fully succeeds... when Hell isn’t just a prison anymore... we’ll see you all again."
She swallowed hard, her hand brushing against her sisters.
"In Heaven."
Emily nodded fiercely, emotion thick in her throat. "You deserve it," she said. "Every one of you."
(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling the corner of his mouth- something tired, but deeply grateful. "We'll hold you to that," he said.
Behind them, the golden portal by the gates- flickering dangerously now- shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing across its edges.
Lucifer’s voice echoed from near the portal, "Time’s up! If you don’t wanna get stuck up here with the corpses, MOVE!"
Charlie turned, urgency snapping her back into motion. She grabbed Vaggie and (Y/N)'s wrist, tugging them toward the portal. Sera and Emily stepped aside, watching them go with solemn pride.
One by one, they sprinted toward the portal, battered and bruised- but alive. Alastor practically skipped through, humming under his breath. Angel Dust threw an exaggerated salute at Emily before diving in backward. Husk grumbled something about Emily keeping the card he gave her under his breath, but followed close behind.
The light swallowed them all.
And then- with a soft shuddering sigh- the portal collapsed, leaving only the broken battlefield and the survivors behind.
Above the battered gates of Heaven, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the light began to soften. No longer harsh. No longer cruel.
But warm.
Hopeful.
And far below- in a hotel full of sinners and misfits- redemption no longer seemed like just a dream.
The group stumbled out of the collapsing portal like survivors of a storm. They hit the lobby floor hard, some collapsing onto couches, others simply dropping where they stood.
Charlie sagged against the wall, clutching her chest, gasping huge breaths of smoky hotel air like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. Angel Dust sprawled dramatically across a bench, one leg draped over the backrest. "We’re alive! Suck it, Heaven!" Vaggie just dropped onto a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands with a weak laugh. Husk growled low in his throat, shuffling over to the bar- which Charlie didn’t even bother to scold him for.
(Y/N) stood a little apart from them all, his shoulders tight with exhaustion but his eyes still sharp, scanning every corner like he expected another attack.
Alastor straightened his coat with a little flourish, looking barely ruffled despite the battle they'd just fought. He approached, that permanent sharp-toothed smile a bit softer now- genuine, in its strange, predatory way.
"My, my," Alastor said, voice lilting. "I knew you had potential, but even I didn’t expect that little symphony." He gave (Y/N) a low, mocking bow. "You have my admiration."
(Y/N) snorted quietly. "Coming from you, that's... concerning." But a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Charlie pushed off the wall, her footsteps slow but determined, and closed the distance between them. She stopped in front of (Y/N), looking up at him with an expression so open, so grateful, it nearly staggered him.
"You didn’t have to do this," she said quietly. "You didn’t have to stay." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "But you did. And you saved so many more lives than just ours."
(Y/N) reached up, brushing his knuckles lightly under her chin, tipping her head just a fraction higher. "You’re my friend," he said simply. "That's all the reason I need."
Charlie’s throat bobbed in a thick swallow. She reached out impulsively- wrapped her arms around him in a tight, fierce hug. For a second (Y/N) froze- then he exhaled, slow and warm, and wrapped his arms back around her, grounding her.
Alastor watched with a faint tilt to his head, the smile on his face unreadable, but his red eyes softened around the edges.
When they finally pulled apart, Charlie’s smile was damp and glowing. "You’re one of us," she said. "No matter what anyone says."
(Y/N) ruffled her hair lightly, making her sputter a weak laugh- before his expression turned a little wry.
"...Speaking of things that belong to others," he muttered, voice dry.
Across the lobby, Vox and Velvette- looking thoroughly miserable- stood awkwardly by the doors. Velvette noticed him looking and made a dramatic gagging motion. Vox simply scowled, his screen flickering with static annoyance.
Charlie giggled nervously at the sight, covering her mouth. Even Alastor chuckled low in his chest, the sound like an old radio popping on.
(Y/N) sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I better get the gremlins back to their cage before they start redecorating."
He turned back to Charlie and Alastor one last time, catching their expressions- tired but proud.
With a mock salute, (Y/N) turned on his heel and strode across the room. He grabbed Vox by the back of his stupid designer jacket and yanked him forward, ignoring the glitchy cursing. Velvette followed, grumbling under her breath.
The front doors of the Hotel creaked open with a slow, eerie groan. (Y/N) paused just once in the doorway- glanced back over his shoulder.
At the threshold, the warm, battered light of the Hotel spilled across the floor behind him. It caught the edges of his coat, the lines of his frame, silhouetting him against the chaos they'd left- and the strange, imperfect hope they'd returned to.
Charlie stood watching him, Vaggie at her side, Angel Dust waving lazily from his perch. Alastor leaned on his cane nearby, grinning wide but... almost actually looking happy, while Husk offered a casual two-fingered salute from the bar.
(Y/N) let the corner of his mouth quirk up- a tired, crooked smile- and gave a simple nod.
Then he turned, dragging his reluctant prisoners with him, disappearing into the neon-drenched night of Pentagram City.
Outside, the air buzzed with tension and distant sirens and screams, the streets littered with scattered debris from the city’s usual violence. But somewhere under all the rot and grime, a pulse beat- faint, stubborn. The pulse of change. Of something new.
Inside the Hotel, Charlie wiped her face quickly, sniffling once before straightening her back.
"We're going to make this work," she said quietly, but with growing conviction. "We're going to fix this. All of it."
Vaggie squeezed her hand tightly. "We will."
Alastor chuckled, adjusting his tie. "The world will never know what hit it."
Angel Dust sprawled further across the bench with a groan. "Wake me up when it’s time for the afterparty."
Husk just muttered into his glass, "We better get a damn good one."
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