You Can Be Weak With Me

If you're willing do you mind doing that last prompt you did (the one with Mahiru and Kaede, also fuck that Hina guy wtf) but with Kyoko, Celeste and Toko? I really enjoy subby readers and my gay heart is screaming ♥️

A/N: Absolutely! I tried to make it more subby, I hope this is what you wanted :} Also, yeah, I agree. That guy was super fucking weird. Hopefully, it won't be a problem anymore, though.

Journey into Intimacy pt.2

pt.1

Smut Headcanons for Kyoko, Celeste, and Toko (plus Genocide Jack).

18+ MDNI

Warnings: Sexual Content/Intimacy, Light Dom/Sub Dynamics, First times, Split Personality (?)

Word Count: 2098

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Kyoko:

- The Talk Comes First: Kyoko doesn’t act without knowing the full picture. She’ll sit beside (Y/N), voice calm and soothing, hands gently folded in her lap. “Are you sure you’re ready?” she’ll ask- not to test her, but to assure her she’s not going anywhere if she’s not. The detective always makes sure the emotional groundwork is solid before taking any step forward.

- Subtle Nervousness: She seems composed, but the truth is in the little things: how her fingers linger longer than usual, how she hesitates before speaking, how her eyes flick to (Y/N)’s lips then away again. It’s not fear- it’s hope. Quiet, careful hope that (Y/N) will want this just as much as she does.

- Soft, Private Setting: Kyoko prepares everything in advance: the room is clean, the sheets are freshly changed, the lights are low and warm. Maybe there’s a playlist in the background- instrumental, minimal vocals. She creates an atmosphere that wraps around (Y/N) like a protective spell.

- Guided Reassurance: She reads (Y/N)’s every reaction like she’s solving a case. If her breath catches or her fingers twitch, she slows. “Is this okay?” she murmurs. “We stop the moment you say so.” There is no judgment in her voice, only care.

- Uncharacteristically Soft Words: When the walls fall, they fall completely. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers against (Y/N)’s skin. “I’ve never trusted anyone this much.” Her words are rare gems, only shared when they matter most- raw and real in a way that Kyoko doesn’t allow herself to be often.

- Taking Her Time: She savors every kiss, every brush of skin. Her touches are slow, almost reverent, like she's memorizing the love of her life. She’s not rushing to an end- she’s exploring, mapping, learning. Her pace says ‘you matter to me’.

- Detective Instincts… for Love: If (Y/N) tenses, if her voice falters, if her expression shifts even slightly- she knows. She adjusts instantly. “We don’t have to go further. We can just be here.” Kyoko is attentive in a way that feels like she’s holding your soul in her hands.

- She Makes It About (Y/N): This isn’t about her. Kyoko pays attention to (Y/N)’s sighs, her shivers, her breath. She adapts to what she needs, and finds joy in giving her pleasure- not just physically, but emotionally. She’s endlessly patient, giving without asking for anything back.

- Detective-Level Focus: The way (Y/N)’s back arches? Noted. The little gasp when she kisses a certain spot? Locked in. She pieces it together like evidence, each detail helping her uncover exactly how to make her unravel.

- Hands First, Always Controlled: Kyoko’s fingers are her most precise tools- slender, confident, and deliberate. Even with gloves, she’s devastatingly effective. She doesn’t rush, she doesn’t falter. “I want to feel you come undone for me,” she murmurs, and she does.

- Kisses Between Commands: While her fingers do the work, her mouth follows: trailing kisses down (Y/N)’s neck, teeth nipping her collarbone, lips warm and firm. Her voice is low: “Don’t run. Let it happen.” She grounds her with both command and comfort.

- If She Uses Her Mouth… (Y/N)’s Doomed: Kyoko between her thighs is a study in devotion. She licks with purpose, pressure, and slow-building heat. Her hands keeps (Y/N) open, her eyes locked on hers. Every look says, ‘don’t look away from me’. And (Y/N) can't.

- She Talks (Y/N) Through It: “You’re close.” “That’s it, stay with me.” “I want you to let go.” Her voice alone is enough to push her over. She speaks in that even, warm tone (Y/N) trusts more than anything.

- Body Language Queen: When (Y/N) starts trembling, she grounds her. “Breathe. I’ve got you,” she whispers, and she does. She’s right there, adjusting her pace, never leaving her to ride it out alone. She breaks her down just to hold her through it.

- Finishing: When (Y/N) finally falls apart, she catches every piece. Shes in her arms before she can even think. “You did so well,” she murmurs against her temple. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” Her embrace is firm, warm, and unshakable.

- Gentle Aftercare: Warm water, soft clothes, slow fingers brushing through (Y/N)’s hair- Kyoko takes care of her like it’s second nature. Not for show, not for reward, but because (Y/N)’s hers, and that means everything. She wipes her down, tucks her into bed, kisses her wrist or her knuckles. The silence is not awkward- it’s safe. It’s filled with everything she can’t say aloud yet.

- Protective Instincts: She doesn’t move far. Her arm stays around (Y/N)’s waist, her forehead rests against hers, and she whispers, “I’m proud of you.” Even in sleep, she keeps her close, like she’s guarding something precious.

- And Later, When (Y/N)’s Ready: Kyoko brings it up again, gently. “How did that feel for you?” she asks, genuinely curious. She’s not looking for praise- she’s looking to learn, to understand, to grow. “Tell me everything. I want to know you.”

- A New Level of Bond: Afterwards, something in her softens permanently. She reaches for (Y/N)’s hand more in public, touches her back when she’s nervous, sits a little closer when she’s quiet. Her gestures stay small but deeply meaningful.

Celeste:

- Velvet Patience: Celeste is unnervingly calm, even in the most delicate situations. Her voice is a steady lull, her touch a whisper. She picks up on every nervous glance, every stuttered breath, and treats it not as hesitation- but as precious vulnerability to be cherished, not rushed.

- Curated Intimacy: Every moment is an event to Celeste. She crafts the room like a stage deep crimson sheets, flickering candlelight, the warm scent of roses and cinnamon tea. It's a soft fantasy she’s prepared just for (Y/N)- a world where tension melts away.

- Gentle Consent: Before anything begins, she cups (Y/N)’s cheek and asks, “Are you certain, my dear?” Her tone is so gentle, it borders on reverent. Consent, to her, is sacred. One “stop,” and she’ll halt without hesitation, offering warmth and cuddles instead.

- Experience Without Arrogance: Though she’s clearly confident and well-versed, Celeste never flaunts it. She leads with grace, not dominance. Her touches are exploratory, not possessive. She lets (Y/N) guide the pace, only stepping in to soothe or steady with tender encouragement.

- Laughter in Lace: If things go clumsy, she doesn’t blink. She just smiles, maybe chuckles, and says something like, “Perfection is dull, darling. I much prefer sincerity.” It eases the moment, makes (Y/N) feel seen and safe.

- Emotional First, Physical Second: For Celeste, intimacy without emotional resonance is meaningless. She watches (Y/N)’s face more than anything, whispering things like, “You’re doing beautifully,” or, “You have no idea how radiant you are when you trust me.”

- Slow, Intentional Control: Celeste doesn’t rush pleasure. She draws it out like a skilled gambler playing the long game. Her voice drops, sultry and steady: “Relax, mon amour. I know exactly how to make you tremble.” She plays (Y/N) like a prized deck of cards- every shuffle intentional.

- Bare Devotion: She begins with her hands- every movement is slow, studied, circular. One hand soothes while the other teases. If (Y/N) starts to shake, she holds her steady, whispering praise like silk over skin.

- Sweet Words, Wicked Edges: Celeste’s mouth is poetic even in passion. “You’re already this wet? How delightful…” Her tone stays elegant, teasing, yet never crude. She relishes how (Y/N) blushes, coaxing out gasps with every breathy murmur.

- Worship with Her Mouth: Between (Y/N)’s thighs, Celeste becomes reverent- like a queen worshiping a goddess. She alternates pressure and tempo with the finesse of a maestro. Occasionally, she pauses just to listen to the whimper she elicits, then resumes with a devilish glint in her eyes.

- Gentle Restraint: When things peak, Celeste adds pressure with a steady hand on (Y/N)’s hips. If she tries to squirm away or close her legs, Celeste parts them again, whispering, “No hiding, mon trésor. Let me see all of you.”

- Intuitive as a Card Shark: She reads (Y/N)’s reactions like a pro- breath catches, legs tense, voice cracks. Her every move is adjusted in response, keeping (Y/N) right at the edge until she knows- now. Only then does she let her fall.

- Hidden Softness: Only (Y/N) sees her like this- bare-voiced and slightly trembling when she says, “Thank you… for trusting me with something so precious.” It’s the rare crack in her otherwise theatrical façade, and it makes (Y/N) fall even harder.

- That First Finish- Her True Victory: The moment (Y/N) comes undone, Celeste doesn’t let go immediately. She eases her down slowly, lips softening, drawing out every last tremble. Her reward isn’t the climax itself- it’s the broken, blissful trust in (Y/N)’s voice afterward.

- Post-Climax Bliss: Afterward, Celeste is all silk and silence. She brings tea, tucks (Y/N) into bed, and curls around her like a shield. Her parting whisper? “You did beautifully… I hope I was unforgettable.” (Y/N) clings to her, dazed, and Celeste’s smile lingers in the dark.

- Aftercare Royalty: She doesn’t just do aftercare- she elevates it. Warm tea, gentle cleaning, luxurious sleepwear, and the softest embrace. (Y/N) gets to lie on her chest, feeling her fingertips move slowly through her hair as she whispers, “You are safe. You are adored.”

Toko (plus Jack):

- Nervous to the Core: The moment intimacy even approaches the conversation, Toko’s stammering like her life depends on it. “I-I-I- this is m-m-moving so fast! W-We haven’t even talked about lighting conditions!!”

- Hopeless Romantic: Her ideal “first time” is something out of a tragic Victorian novel- faint candlelight, whispered poetry, trembling confessions. She would kill for rose petals.

- Check-in Queen: “A-Are you okay? Did that hurt? I-I can stop- no really, just say the word!!” She checks in every ten seconds, desperate to get things “right.”

- Overheats Instantly: Compliment her? She short-circuits. “You’re so gentle, Toko.” - Cue wide-eyed stare, open mouth, and total emotional collapse.

- Tactile Panic, But Devotion: Touching (Y/N)? Terrifying. But she still does it, hands shaking, because she wants to. She takes her time, watching her reactions like she's memorizing scripture.

- Sacred Kisses: Every kiss is given with shaking lips and reverence. Like she’s afraid she’ll break the moment if she breathes too hard.

- Miracle Complex: When (Y/N) moans? She looks like she’s seen God. “I-I did that? You… because of me?” It's part pride, part panic, part euphoria. “I n-never thought anyone would… want me… Like that.”

- Taking the Stage-: When things get too intense for Toko- sneeze, slice, cackle- Jack’s on deck with that wild grin- “Well helloooo, lover~”

- Confidence on Fire: Where Toko panics, Jack thrives. She's flirty, bold, and loves teasing (Y/N) just to watch her squirm. Even so, shes weirdly considerate? She knows when to reel it in. If (Y/N)’s nervous, she dials it back (still grinning, of course). “Don’t cry on me now, babe. You’re doing sooo good~”

- Romance, But Make It Unhinged: Kisses (Y/N)’s knuckles while whispering, “You're the only one who makes me wanna play nice.” And she means it.

- Tongue Game- Dangerous: She’s filthy. Loud, wet, teasing- moaning like she’s the one getting off from tasting (Y/N). “Damn, sweetheart, you taste like sin~”

- Edge Queen: She loves dragging it out, edging until (Y/N)’s thighs tremble and she’s breathless. All while praising and taunting in equal measure.

- Orgasm Hunter: When she knows (Y/N)’s close, she gets feral. Eyes wild, tongue relentless, chasing her climax like it’s prey.

- Takes Care Afterwards (Sorta): Gently kisses (Y/N)s thighs, helps her clean up… while making a very inappropriate joke. “Can’t break my toy on the first playdate~”

- Balance of Soft and Savage: Toko builds the emotional intensity, Jack brings the fire. (Y/N) learns which version she wants depending on her mood. Toko starts it, slow and shaky. Jack finishes it, wild and ruthless. Tag-team of the century.

- Loving Navigation: (Y/N) learns how to hold Toko through the panic and keep Jack from going full menace. It's a labor of love- beautiful, weird, messy. Despite all the madness, both parts of Toko genuinely want to love and worship (Y/N)… they just express it very differently.

Ember in the Dark pt.6

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.5 - pt.7

pt.1

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

Word Count: 7568

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s fine. You’re fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she couldn’t stop it.

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t pull away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitated.

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

“…Silco.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He didn’t look away.

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

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

The words hung between them, heavy.

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

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

"(Y/N)…"

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

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

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

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

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

Something uncertain.

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

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

"I don’t… know how to do this."

(Y/N) blinked.

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

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

"I never… let myself think about this."

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) swallowed, her throat dry.

"That’s not what I-"

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

Her breath hitched.

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

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

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

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

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

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

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

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

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

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

Her breath caught in her throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…She didn’t…

Instead, she closed the distance.

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

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

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

They were slow, careful. Learning.

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

Silco swallowed, his thumb still brushing against her skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ve had worse ideas."

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

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

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

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

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

The Mageseekers were after her.

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

And now?

Now they wouldn’t stop looking.

Her grip tightened around the glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. They couldn’t.

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

They would keep hunting. Keep searching.

And eventually, they would find her.

Unless she found a way to stop them first.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

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

Then, Silco finally spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he was right.

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

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

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

Felicia looked away, scowling.

But neither of them had an answer.

Because there wasn’t one.

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

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

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

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

It was dangerous. Stupid, even.

But it was the only way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vander nodded. “Appreciate it.”

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had a long night ahead.

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

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

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

Now.

They moved as one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the question of the Enforcers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had their next move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Stay with me tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silco.

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

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

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

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

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

She swallowed. “Morning.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them let go.

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

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

Then he moved closer.

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

But she didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So she gave it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This kiss was different.

Less hesitant. More desperate.

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words undid her.

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

No more hesitation.

No more secrets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods.

What had he just done?

This morning…

Everything about it had changed something between them.

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

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

And that terrified him.

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

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

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

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

It was overwhelming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loyalty Cuts Deepest pt.1

Silco x Fem!Reader

(Ember in the Dark- prequel) pt.1

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

Word Count: 6110

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

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

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

It had been a good night.

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

The smell hit first.

Then the bruises.

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

(Y/N)’s entire body went still.

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

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

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

She pushed open the door.

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

(Y/N) didn’t speak.

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

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

“Everyone all right?”

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

Vander hummed, slow and deliberate. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

Vander’s face hardened instantly.

“A real job?”

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

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

Vi tried to deflect. “That wasn’t-”

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

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

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

Vander exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face.

“Where did you even get this tip?”

Silence.

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

Still silence.

Then Powder’s voice came, soft and tired.

“…We just heard it at Benzo’s shop.”

Vander’s brow furrowed. “From?”

“…Little Man,” Powder admitted.

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

Of course it had been Ekko.

Of course.

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

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

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

No one argued.

No one could.

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

We were them once.

And look how that turned out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words cut through the room like broken glass.

Silence fell.

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

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

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

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

There was no argument.

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

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

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

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

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

A crystal.

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

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

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

(Y/N) let it go.

For now.

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

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

Mylo.

“She's a problem.”

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

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

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

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

“She made a mistake,” Vi said defensively.

“Name one time she hasn’t.”

“She’s young.”

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

A pause.

Then Vi’s voice, lower now. Bitter.

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

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

The words hit harder than they realized.

Because Powder had heard them, too.

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

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

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

Like a mother.

Because she was, in all the ways that mattered.

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

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

Then footsteps.

Vi.

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

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

Then she left them alone.

Sisters.

To mend it on their own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vander nodded grimly.

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

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

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

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

And now… it was breaking.

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

Vander’s eyes burned. “I won’t.”

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

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

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

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

They made their way back to the bar.

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

Inside The Last Drop, the mood had shifted.

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

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

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

Hours passed like that.

And then-

The kids came back.

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

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

Smart kids.

They’d learned to move like shadows.

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

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

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

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

She knew Sevika was right.

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

So she stayed quiet.

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

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

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

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

Felicia’s hands, cold and bloodied in hers.

Connol’s still body on the ground.

The last time she saw Silco.

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

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

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

Still listening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bar hushed again.

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

“Do I look afraid?”

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

Then she let out a sharp whistle.

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

(Y/N) didn’t stop them.

Neither did Vander.

Silence returned.

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

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

Then the door opened again.

Three Enforcers entered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hide. Now.

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

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

The bar went still.

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

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

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

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

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

Flames crackled in the silence.

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

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

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

Toward the gauntlets mounted high.

The ones he hadn’t touched since that night.

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

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

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

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

Eventually, the other two returned to Marcus.

“All clear.”

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

But Marcus wasn’t done.

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

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

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

And then, just to twist the knife-

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

“And I’m gonna bury the lot of you.”

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

The door slammed.

Silence followed.

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

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

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

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

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

Vi was the first to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N)’s chest went tight.

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

Silco.

Vander heard it too.

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

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

“Come with me.”

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

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

The kids needed someone to stay.

And she always would.

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

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

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

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

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

They lit up together, just like they used to.

Back before everything fell apart.

Before the bridge.

Before Silco disappeared.

Before Felicia and Connol never came home.

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

They didn’t say anything for a long moment.

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

“I’m going to turn myself in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vander exhaled, slow and bitter.

“There’s something else.”

She stilled.

And then he told her.

What happened the night of the bridge.

How he and Silco had fought after the battle.

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

Cut his face.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

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

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

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

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

But then the stairs creaked.

They both turned.

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

Vander hesitated. Slowly straightened.

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

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

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

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

The bunny.

Vi’s old stuffed bunny.

The one Felicia had given her. Years ago.

The one Vi hadn’t touched in ages.

Vander saw it too.

His body went rigid.

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

But she didn’t answer. Just looked down.

Vander reached under the bar for the signal.

His hand patted around.

And his face dropped.

“…It’s gone.”

They moved fast.

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

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

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

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

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

She’s going to turn herself in.

Vi already sent the signal.

We’re too late.

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

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

“Why are you-”

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

Vi blinked. “How did you find me?”

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

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

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

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

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

But he was already moving.

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

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

“What are you-?”

Then Vander shoved her.

Quick. Rough. Out of nowhere.

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

Vi pounded on the wood.

“No- Vander!”

But it was too late.

She was safe.

And they would face what came next without her.

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

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

Then the door to the safehouse opened.

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

“I’m guessing that’s for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Even now… even after what he’d confessed…

He was family.

He had always been family.

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

“Won’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he held out his wrists to Marcus.

“…I know.”

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

Vander’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

“It’s the only way.”

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

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

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

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

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

Something felt wrong.

Then- a blur.

Faster than any of them could react.

A sound like a blade slicing through the air.

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

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

Vander muttered, “What the devil…”

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

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

But (Y/N) wasn’t hiding anymore.

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

Her hands lit with flame.

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

No more hiding.

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

And then his face fell.

“…No,” he breathed.

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

And then she saw it too.

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

She didn’t recognize him at first.

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

“…Silco?”

The name struck her like lightning.

Her flames faltered for the briefest moment.

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

Her Silco.

But something was wrong.

Something had changed.

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

But it was him.

And her heart cracked open at the sight.

Benzo was the first to move.

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

The moment cracked.

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

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

Before the man she loved had disappeared beneath the surface.

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

But it was too late.

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

And then it happened.

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

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

His body hit the ground hard, unmoving.

(Y/N) froze.

Her magic flickered.

Her gaze locked on Benzo’s lifeless frame.

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

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

Silco stood over it all, watching.

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus stared at it. But said nothing.

(Y/N) hadn’t moved.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Benzo.

Not until she felt him approaching.

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

(Y/N) twitched, but didn’t react.

She couldn’t.

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

Silco… stayed.

He turned his full attention to her.

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

One glowing bright, unnatural orange.

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

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

Her heart ached.

Still.

Silco reached up, slowly, fingers brushing her chin.

His touch was gentle. Too gentle.

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

“…D… Did I know?”

“Of what happened between Vander and I.”

She swallowed hard.

“…Not… until today.”

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

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

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

Her thoughts were gone- ripped out like a tide.

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

She nodded again, slower this time.

And Silco, seeing her surrender, nodded in return.

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

And led her away.

Away from the blood.

Away from the flame.

Away from the person she had become in his absence.

Marcus watched them disappear into the shadows.

And said nothing.

Ember in the Dark pt.3

Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

pt.2 - pt.4

pt.1

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

Word Count: 2893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted.

She knew. She knew.

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

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

(Y/N) hesitated.

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

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

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

"Could’ve fooled me."

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

(Y/N) wished she could believe that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vander’s face softened. "I know."

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

The room fell silent again.

Because none of them had an answer.

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

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

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

But what choice did she have?

"Okay," she murmured. "I’ll do it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That shut him up.

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

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

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

Silco smirked. "I might know someone."

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

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

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

The decision was made.

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

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

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

And more importantly, she had survived.

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

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

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

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

The idea had stuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bar was so close to being theirs.

And now, they just had to name it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn't take long to actually achieve it.

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

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

And they did.

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

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

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

And then there was Connol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silco smirked. "What look?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silco let the words settle between them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because deep down, maybe part of him agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was thinking.

Silco knew that look.

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

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

Silco watched her for a moment before breaking the silence.

"Heavy thoughts?"

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

Trust Fall Trauma pt.1

pt.2

Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.

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

Word Count: 1159

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

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

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

Groans erupted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie smiled softly. “You ready?”

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

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

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

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

And Charlie caught her.

Effortlessly. Gently. Like she did this every day.

And something inside Amity broke.

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

Her mouth opened before her brain could stop it.

“…Thanks, Mom.”

Silence.

Angel Dust howled with laughter.

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

Vaggie’s jaw hit the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

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

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

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

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

That made Amity freeze.

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

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

“Thanks,” she said, quieter this time.

And then:

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

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

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

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

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

If anyone walked into a room- she left it.

If Angel Dust started teasing her- she vanished.

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

But Charlie?

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

Which only made things worse- because now everyone noticed.

Vaggie caught on first.

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

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

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

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

“She’s trying.”

“She called you Mom, Charlie.”

Charlie smiled faintly. “Yeah. I know.”

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

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

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

“Alright. Then we pull her in.”

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

Vaggie grinned. “More like forced bonding.”

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

“AMITY!”

She yelped. Practically jumped out of her own fur.

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

“Come with us,” Charlie said cheerfully.

Amity narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Decorating?”

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

Amity looked between the two of them, eyes narrowing.

“…this is a trap.”

“Obviously,” Vaggie said, grabbing her arm.

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

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

Amity blinked. “What?”

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

Amity hesitated.

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

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

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

Charlie grinned. “Classy. I like it.”

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

Just a little.

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

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

Charlie poked her head in.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I come in?”

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

Silence.

She froze.

Charlie blinked.

“…again?” Vaggie called from the hallway.

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

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

“…You should. It’s weird.”

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

Amity looked away, swallowing hard.

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

Hello my friend! I have a good funny story request idea that you may like to do! Well I wanted to see you could do a headcanon/ story on the Demon Slayer Au x female!reader where they had a small argument with each other then the reader screams out how there aren’t very funny or loving because there either too serious, sad, rude, airhead or nice which shocks the Demon Slayer character. Then they decide to play a prank on the reader to prove them wrong ( it can be any type of prank from making them food with something their allergic to plus funny ingredients, trying to scare them, dress up in something silly, pretending to have amnesia and etc). But when their prank is over instead of getting a laugh or apologize; the reader would either get hurt/hospitalized (physically or emotionally), angry, cry, annoyed and even threaten to leave them ( is also joking as well) which causes them to feel guilty, like a jerk or beg for forgiveness?!!~ (It’s up to you whether or not they forgive them or not!)🤭😅❤️‍🔥✨

A/N: Of course, @lelewright1234! I made ths one a oneshot, since the other two you requested are headcanons :}

Terrible Prank- Better Apology

Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Nezuko, and Genya x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Physical Injury, Mentions of Leaving/Breakup Threats, and Miscommunication

Word Count: 4767

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

Tanjiro:

The morning sun crept through the paper-paneled windows, the scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air. Laughter echoed faintly down the hallway as Zenitsu teased Inosuke, and Nezuko hummed while tending to the garden.

But in the center of the house, things weren’t quite so peaceful.

“I’m just saying, Tanjiro,” (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms as she stood in the kitchen doorway, “you don’t always have to be so perfect all the time.”

Tanjiro blinked, confused, ladle still in hand from making soup. “Perfect? I don’t think I’m-”

“You are!” (Y/N) cut in, voice rising in frustration. “You’re too kind, too polite, too... I don’t know, nice! You’re never mad, never sarcastic, never playful- how do you expect people to relax around you when you’re always one step away from offering a moral lesson?”

The kitchen went silent, save for the gentle bubbling of miso soup.

Tanjiro's eyebrows furrowed. “But… I’m just trying to keep the peace. I like being kind to the people I care about. Especially you.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened, but she forged on. “I know you care, but it’s like... you never joke with me. You don’t tease, you don’t play around. Sometimes it feels like you're scared to just be real.”

Then she added- too loudly and too emotionally- “You’re not even that funny or loving, honestly!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Tanjiro’s eyes flickered with something quiet and deep- not anger, but woundedness.

“…I see,” he said softly.

“No- wait, I didn’t mean-” (Y/N) began, but Tanjiro simply nodded, setting the ladle down with a calm gentleness that somehow felt heavier than a slammed door.

That Afternoon, (Y/N) looked around for Tanjiro, but… She couldnt find him, anywhere.

“...He hasn’t said anything to you?” (Y/N) asked Nezuko in a hushed voice as she watered the bonsai plants. Nezuko gave a tiny shake of her head and shrugged.

(Y/N) sighed, heart heavy. The argument had been stupid. She hadn’t meant to accuse him of being unloving- she just wanted to see a messier, funnier side of him. To know he could be silly or imperfect around her.

Just once.

And it seemed, maybe, Tanjiro had taken that challenge to heart… Even so, she kept looking.

“Hey… Inosuke, where’s Tanjiro?” (Y/N) asked, glancing around the dinner table as she sat down. Zenitsu paused with a mouthful of rice halfway to his lips.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Zenitsu said, chewing. “He hit his head earlier- fell on a wet step outside.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “What?!”

“Yeah,” Inosuke chimed in, grinning. “And now he doesn’t remember anything. Doesn’t even know who you are.”

(Y/N) bolted from the table, heartbeat pounding.

She found him sitting on the porch, a serene smile on his face, moonlight painting his skin. He turned to them with wide eyes- gentle, unfamiliar.

“Oh. Hello. Are you a friend of the family?”

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks. “…Tanjiro?”

He tilted his head. “I was told that’s my name. You’re… (Y/N), right?”

Her heart twisted. “You don’t remember me?”

Tanjiro smiled sweetly, with not a hint of recognition. “Sorry.”

Days later, the amnesia act continued.

Tanjiro asked the same innocent questions over and over: where they had met, what they meant to each other, what her favorite color was. (Y/N) answered every time with a trembling voice and a forced smile. On the third night, she cried herself to sleep.

Zenitsu started looking guilty. Inosuke avoided her eyes.

By the fourth day, (Y/N) broke.

She stood up from their shared porch bench, voice shaky. “Alright, Tanjiro. You win.”

Tanjiro blinked. “Win what?”

“You’re funny. You’re playful. You got me, okay? Real good prank. Hilarious,” she said, voice cracking. “Except I guess I was wrong when I called you too nice. Because no one that kind would do this to someone they love.”

She turned away, rubbing at her eyes furiously.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Maybe not forever- but definitely long enough to figure out how I let myself fall for someone who thinks this is funny.”

Her voice dropped, half-joking, half-dead serious:

“…Hope it’s worth it.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She walked inside, quietly shutting the door behind them.

Late that same night, there was a soft knock on her door.

(Y/N) rolled over, wiping dried tears from her cheek. “Go away.”

“It’s me,” Tanjiro’s voice said. And it was his voice- not the stranger from the porch, but the one she knew. Warm, guilt-ridden, real.

The door creaked open. He stepped in, candle in hand, and shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought... maybe if I showed you I could be playful, you'd laugh. And we could make up. I didn’t think it would hurt you like this.”

(Y/N) stayed quiet.

He sank to his knees beside the futon. “I missed you. Even when I was pretending not to know you- I missed the real us. Every time you looked sad, or forced a smile, it made my stomach twist.”

(Y/N)’s voice was soft. “Then why didn’t you stop?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me,” he admitted.

There was silence between them.

Finally, (Y/N) sighed. “You’re a dummy, Tanjiro Kamado.”

His lips twitched. “I am.”

“And a bad actor.”

“I know.”

“And I still love you.”

His breath caught. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “I love you too. Always. Even when I’m too nice. Even when I mess up.”

(Y/N) snorted. “You’re allowed to mess up, Tanjiro. Just… not like that again.”

He nodded solemnly. “No more fake amnesia.”

“Good.”

A beat of silence.

“…Unless I need an excuse to get out of helping Inosuke with his… Nature stuff,” he added hopefully.

(Y/N) laughed, smacking his arm.

And just like that, the tension cracked- and love slipped in, soft and sure.

The next morning, Zenitsu glanced up from his tea as (Y/N) entered the kitchen with Tanjiro behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

“…So, did he get his memory back?” Zenitsu asked innocently.

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope. Still thinks he’s hilarious.”

Tanjiro just laughed and kissed her cheek.

Inosuke:

The forest was still, too still for (Y/N)’s liking.

The soft chirps of crickets were the only sounds keeping her company as her walked along the dirt path, surrounded by towering trees and the dim glow of moonlight. The mission was over, the demon slain, and the village safe again. But (Y/N)’s shoulders remained tense- because the most exhausting part of the evening wasn’t the battle.

It was Inosuke.

“Could you please not charge in next time without a plan?” (Y/N) asked, for what felt like the fifth time that day, her arms crossed tight across her chest.

Inosuke grunted in response, leaping over a rock and puffing out his chest like a peacock. “I didn’t need a plan! I WON! HAHA!” he declared, full of pride, his boar mask swinging from one hand. “You’re just mad ‘cause you didn’t get the final hit!”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes so hard it almost gave her a headache. “I’m mad because you almost got your head bitten off, you idiot!”

He turned toward her, that wild, half-mischievous, half-oblivious look on his face. “Then you would’ve been the one crying, huh? All like, ‘Oh nooo, my big strong wild man got himself eaten- waaah!’”

“I’d be crying of relief because I’d finally have some peace and quiet!”

That shut him up- if only for a moment. But when (Y/N) saw him frowning in confusion rather than embarrassment, something inside her snapped.

“You’re-!” she shouted, fists clenching. “You’re not even loving! You’re just... some wild airhead who acts like a rabid raccoon on a sugar rush!”

“HUH?! I’m totally loving!! I let you sleep on my arm that one time, didn’t I?!”

“That’s because you passed out mid-conversation!”

“Well... still counts!”

“No, it doesn’t!”

(Y/N) turned around and stomped off down the trail, fuming, ignoring the way the leaves crunched under her boots. Inosuke stayed back for a second, scratching his head, visibly baffled.

He’d seen her mad before, but never like this.

“Hmph. She thinks I’m not loving?” he muttered to himself, then suddenly smirked. “I’ll show ‘er loving. I’ll love ‘er so much, she’ll scream.”

Inosuke had a plan. A brilliant, perfect plan.

It involved a dead deer skull he’d found earlier, some long branches, a cloak soaked in dark mud, and his natural ability to hide in trees like a very aggressive bird.

He waited until (Y/N) had cooled off and was sitting at their shared campsite, fanning the flames of the small fire with a quiet pout still on her face.

Then- BAM!

A bloodcurdling shriek echoed from the treetops as something monstrous launched from the shadows. Mud, bone, and antlers flashed. (Y/N) screamed and scrambled back, drawing her blade by instinct. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Then-

The “creature” tripped over a root and faceplanted in front of her.

“HAHA! GOTCHA!” Inosuke leapt up, flinging off the deer skull and mud-caked cloak with a triumphant grin. “See?? Bet your heart’s racing! That’s love, baby!”

(Y/N) just stared at him. No laughter. No playful push. Just silence... and slowly rising anger.

She stood stiffly, brushing leaves and dirt off her clothes with trembling hands.

“You...” she began, voice shaking. “You scared the absolute hell out of me, Inosuke!”

He blinked, grin faltering. “Well, yeah! That was the point! It’s funny, right? Right?”

“You think traumatizing me is funny?!” she snapped, backing away a few steps. “You know what? I’m done. I’m so done. I’m going to pack up my things and leave. You can marry that deer skull and live happily ever after with your mud cloak.”

“Wait- WHAAAT?!”

“I hope you and Mrs. Deer Bone have a great life together.”

Inosuke looked genuinely terrified now. “No no no, wait, wait- (Y/N)! Come on! It was just a joke! You’re not really leaving, are you?!”

(Y/N) turned dramatically, starting to walk away.

Inosuke scrambled after them, dropping to his knees. “Okay, I’m sorry!! Please don’t go! You can punch me in the face! Kick me in the ribs! Stab me in the arm! Wait, no, not the arm, I need that- BUT STILL!! I’M SORRY!!”

(Y/N) stopped.

She turned, arms crossed again, raising a brow. “So now you’re saying sorry?”

“YES! I mean... yeah! I didn’t mean to make you mad, I just...” he fidgeted, looking anywhere but at her. “I thought if I could make you scream and laugh and forget being mad at me, then you’d know I care. But... I guess that wasn’t the smartest way.”

(Y/N) exhaled, finally letting her shoulders drop.

“I was never actually going to leave, you dumb boar,” she said softly. “But gods, Inosuke... you’ve got to learn how to show you care without nearly giving me a heart attack.”

He stood, slowly padding forward with his head low.

“Then... how do I show you?” he asked, for once not shouting or charging. Just curious. Soft.

(Y/N) walked over and gently took his hand, still stained with mud.

“This. Talking. Listening. Just be with me. Not hiding in trees trying to traumatize me.”

“...But trees are so cool, though-”

“Inosuke-”

“Okay! Okay! No more tree-jumping monsters!” He grinned sheepishly. “...Unless you want one.”

(Y/N) snorted, pulling him into a hug. “You’re impossible.”

His arms wrapped around her tightly, face pressed into her shoulder. “Yeah... but I’m your impossible.”

Zenitsu:

The sun filtered gently through the cracks in the wooden shutters, bathing the room in golden light. The safe house was unusually quiet this afternoon- Tanjiro and Inosuke were off training, Nezuko was napping peacefully in her box, and that left just Zenitsu and (Y/N) to occupy the space.

And that… was not going well.

“You always run away!” (Y/N)’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and frustrated.

Zenitsu flinched as if she'd thrown something at him. “I don’t always run away! I-I just... use tactical retreat when necessary!”

“Tactical retreat? You screamed and climbed on my head, Zenitsu!”

“That demon was horrifying!” Zenitsu wailed, gripping his own hair. “It had four arms and teeth where its eyes should be!”

“And I had to take care of it while you were shaking like a leaf behind a bush!” (Y/N) crossed her arms, exasperated. “I’m not saying you’re not brave when it counts, but when you act like this all the time- it doesn’t exactly scream ‘loving and protective boyfriend,’ Zenitsu!”

The words hit him like a slap, his wide amber eyes growing misty. “You don’t think I’m loving?”

(Y/N) sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Zenitsu... I love you. But you’re such a scaredy cat sometimes! And it hurts because I feel like I can’t depend on you unless you’re unconscious and lightning-charged.”

Zenitsu stood there, stunned, lower lip wobbling.

(Y/N) groaned. “I need to go cool off.” She stormed out of the room, sliding the door shut a bit too hard.

Later that day, Zenitsu paced in the hallway with his hands behind his back, muttering to himself.

“Scaredy cat... scaredy cat... I’ll show her scaredy cat... I’m going to prove I can be fun and loving. I’ll do something bold! Something dramatic! Something... memorable!”

It was then that he spotted a costume closet one of the Kakushi used for festivals. His eyes gleamed with mischief. An idea bloomed in his head, outrageous and ridiculous- and perfect.

Later, when (Y/N) returned from a walk, calmer now. Her fingers trailed along the hallway walls, the air carrying the scent of tea and clean wood. She was already planning what to say when she saw Zenitsu again- something like “I’m sorry for being harsh,” or “I know you’re trying.”

But then-

“RAWR!”

A creature leapt from behind a sliding door, arms flailing and covered in bright, ridiculous fabrics. Zenitsu had somehow forced himself into a lion onesie, complete with fuzzy tail and painted whiskers. He charged with a roar that sounded like a cat having a coughing fit.

(Y/N) screamed- not in amusement, but in raw, startled panic.

She tripped over a rock, fell hard on her side, and rolled a bit before groaning in pain.

Zenitsu dropped the fake roar instantly. “(Y/N)!!” He scrambled over in his fuzzy lion getup, paw-gloves flailing. “Oh no oh no oh no-! I didn’t mean to scare you like that!”

(Y/N) sat up, wincing. Her arm was scraped, her knee had caught the worst of the fall, and a forming bruise throbbed under her robes.

“I was trying to make you laugh! I thought-! I just wanted to prove I could be brave and... fun and... romantic and-!” Zenitsu’s bottom lip trembled again, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

(Y/N) blinked at him- at the giant lion suit, the silly little ears, the dumb tail, and his completely crumpled expression.

“I should leave,” she said solemnly.

Zenitsu let out a strangled noise. “NO! Don’t go! Please- I’m sorry- I’ll throw the suit away- I’ll be serious- I’ll go punch a demon in the face right now- I-”

“I meant leave you, not the house,” (Y/N) interrupted, deadpan.

Zenitsu looked like a kicked puppy.

“I’m joking, you ridiculous fuzzy idiot.”

Zenitsu blinked.

Then (Y/N) chuckled softly. “You really thought dressing up like that would make me laugh?”

He nodded sheepishly. “I wanted to be a brave lion boyfriend.”

(Y/N) shook her head, wincing again as she moved. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Zenitsu moved to help her up, all dramatics gone now, just soft and apologetic. “You... do still love me, right?”

She leaned heavily against him, hand resting on his fuzzy chest. “Of course I do. Even if you’re a bit of a coward, even if you’re dramatic... You always try. And that means a lot.”

Zenitsu flushed a deep scarlet, holding her tighter than the lion suit allowed. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be there next time- no matter how scary it is.”

(Y/N) smiled against his shoulder. “Just don’t dress like a circus act again, and we’ll be fine.”

“Deal.”

Later that night, Zenitsu sat by the futon, gently dabbing at (Y/N)’s scraped knee with some ointment.

“You’re lucky Tanjiro isn’t here. He’d be so disappointed in me.”

“He would lecture you about safety and emotional responsibility,” (Y/N) mused.

Zenitsu winced dramatically. “Ugh, even worse than fighting a demon.”

(Y/N) reached out and pulled him into bed beside her, sighing contentedly.

“I guess I do have a pretty loving boyfriend,” she mumbled sleepily. “Even if he’s a ridiculous coward.”

Zenitsu blushed as he pulled the blanket over both of them.

“...I love you too, you bruised-up gremlin.”

“Goodnight, lion boy.”

“...Rawr.”

Nezuko:

The sky was pale and overcast when the argument began. Spring usually meant new life, blooming trees, and bright sun filtering through clouds. But today? The wind was a little too sharp, and the air carried a tension that matched the sudden silence in the Kamado household.

"You always act like everything's perfect, Nezuko," (Y/N) snapped, turning away from the young demon-turned-human, arms crossed. "Like nothing ever bothers you. Like... you're always calm. Always sweet. Always too good to be real."

Nezuko stood still, mouth slightly open. Her soft pink eyes blinked once, then twice, hurt flickering across them like a candle guttering in the wind.

"But I am real," she said softly.

"Yeah, and I love you- I do. But sometimes I feel like... you’re not really here. Like you don’t feel the way I do. You’re so perfect all the time that I feel like I’m the only one who's ever angry or jealous or scared. And I hate that! I hate how you never screw up, how you never mess up, never yell- never even sweat under pressure. I hate that I’m the messy one in this-"

(Y/N)'s voice cracked, and she sucked in a breath.

"...I feel like I’m the only one trying sometimes."

Nezuko's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her fingers clenched at her sides, a dozen replies dying in her throat. She didn’t want to cry- not in front of (Y/N), who was already trembling from the weight of their confession.

"I’m not very loving," (Y/N) added bitterly. "Not like you. Because you're... you’re too perfect."

And just like that, she turned and stormed out onto the porch, leaving Nezuko alone in the kitchen, her heart quietly shattering beneath her ribs.

Later that night, Nezuko sat curled up on the tatami mat, frowning into a bowl of ingredients. She didn’t cry- crying wouldn’t fix it. But she was bothered. Maybe she hadn’t realized how distant she'd felt to (Y/N) lately. Maybe her quiet nature- once a comfort- was starting to feel like a wall.

"Too perfect, huh?" she whispered to herself.

A mischievous glint entered her eyes.

"Well... maybe I should show her I’m not that perfect."

She cracked her knuckles, glancing at the small box of dango flour and the recipe for (Y/N)'s favorite sweet- matcha mochi. But this time... she had a special ingredient in mind.

Nezuko grinned as she reached for the spice shelf.

"Wasabi... just a little prank."

The next afternoon, she presented the mochi like it was a peace offering. Green, soft, dusted with rice flour. Perfectly handmade.

(Y/N) was still a little raw from the fight, curled on the edge of the porch with her arms around her knees, watching clouds pass overhead.

"...I made you something," Nezuko said gently, nudging the plate into her view.

(Y/N) looked up, hesitant. "Mochi?"

Nezuko nodded innocently. "Your favorite. Matcha. With extra love."

There was a beat of silence. Then (Y/N) gave a small, lopsided smile. "You’re trying to bribe me with sweets, huh?"

"...Maybe."

She took one without much thought, bit in- and immediately froze.

Nezuko tried not to laugh too soon, but she saw her eyes widen comically and a sputter leave her lips.

"W-What the hell is in this?" (Y/N) gagged. "Is this... is this wasabi?!"

Nezuko burst out laughing, holding her sides. "Got you!"

"You little-" (Y/N) laughed too at first, nervously, wiping her tongue. "Nezuuuko!"

But then she stopped.

And blinked.

Nezuko’s laughter faltered.

"...You okay?"

(Y/N)’s face turned a little red- no, splotchy. She reached toward her throat.

"Shit."

She stood quickly, stumbling. "Nezuko- I-I'm- I'm allergic to wasabi-"

Her eyes went wide in horror.

"What?!"

Nezuko grabbed herinstantly, guiding her back inside. "Why didn’t you tell me?!"

"You’re not supposed to put prank spices in my favorite food!" she croaked, wheezing as she dug into her bag for her emergency medication.

It wasn’t a severe allergy- thankfully. Just enough to make her tongue swell, her face puff slightly, and breathing get mildly tight. But it was enough to scare the hell out of Nezuko.

As she downed the medicine and slumped back into a seated position, fanning her mouth with her hand, she gave Nezuko a sharp side-eye.

"That was evil, Kamado. I’m breaking up with you. I’m going to go find a quiet, boring farmer girl who can cook without trying to kill me."

"...No you're not." Nezuko’s voice cracked, her hands trembling as she tried to steady the cup of water for (Y/N).

"You don’t know that," (Y/N) teased weakly, though she were already leaning into her.

Nezuko placed the cup down, then sat beside her, face pale and tight with guilt.

"...I was trying to be funny. Trying to prove I wasn’t perfect. That I do mess up. But I didn’t want this."

(Y/N) chuckled, still half-wheezing. "Well, you definitely proved it."

Nezuko dropped her face into her hands. "I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I didn’t think- I didn’t even ask-"

(Y/N) leaned into her, resting her head against her shoulder, breath finally starting to come easier.

"I forgive you."

Nezuko looked up slowly, shocked.

(Y/N) gave her a small, crooked grin. "...You were trying to reach me. That’s what matters. Even if you nearly poisoned me doing it."

She let out a weak giggle.

Nezuko blinked a few times, and suddenly threw her arms around them, burying her face in her shoulder.

"You scared me..." she whispered.

"You scared me, too."

Silence fell between them for a moment, but it was warmer now. Closer.

"...Can I still cook for you?" Nezuko murmured after a while.

(Y/N) groaned dramatically. "Only if you promise never to go near wasabi again."

She nodded solemnly. "Deal."

"Also... maybe let’s both stop pretending. You don’t have to be perfect. And I don’t have to be the mess. We’re allowed to meet halfway."

Nezuko smiled into her neck.

"I love you, imperfections and all."

(Y/N) smirked. "Good. ‘Cause this relationship is definitely messy now."

Nezuko giggled, and for the first time that day, (Y/N) genuinely laughed with her.

Genya:

They were in the middle of a quiet clearing, sun filtering through the treetops above them. The scent of pine and moss lingered in the warm breeze, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused. No demons, no missions, just stillness.

Except… not really.

“You know, you never joke around,” (Y/N) muttered, crouched over the small fire pit she was trying to light. “Always so serious. It's like you’re afraid your face will crack if you smile too hard.”

Genya, sharpening his blade nearby, tensed visibly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

(Y/N) blew at an ember from within the fire and glanced at him. “It means you're not very… loving. You’re all ‘training’ this and ‘focus’ that, but never ‘Hey, (Y/N), I care about you’ or even ‘you look cute today.’ You’re like a really buff rock with a grudge.”

That got him. His eyes flicked up, brows furrowed deep.

“That's not fair,” he muttered. “Just 'cause I don’t say stuff like that doesn't mean I don't care.”

(Y/N) stood up now, hands on her hips. “Then show it once in a while, Genya. I'm not asking for poetry. Just… affection. A little fun. You’re always acting like smiling is illegal.”

Genya stood, jaw clenched, flustered and defensive. “I ain’t unloving! Just ‘cause I ain’t goofy doesn’t mean I don’t-”

But (Y/N) had already walked away, huffing, “Whatever.”

The argument settled into an awkward silence between them for the rest of the evening. But Genya couldn’t get her words out of his head. Too serious. Not loving. That stung. He wasn’t like his brother, sure, but he wasn’t heartless.

So... he got an idea. A stupid idea.

The next morning, (Y/N) woke up to an empty camp. She stretched and yawned, only to find a strange trail of bloodied feathers and ripped fabric leading into the forest. Her heart dropped.

"Genya?!" she called, already grabbing her weapon.

No answer.

Panic rising, she followed the trail- only for a blur to come rushing out of the bushes with a loud screech.

"DEMON!!" she screamed, drawing her blade-

-and immediately tripping over a random stick that was on the ground.

She went down hard, rolling down a small slope, crashing into a fallen log with a sickening crack.

"SHIT- (Y/N)!" Genya's voice cut through the trees as he dropped the silly makeshift costume of torn fabric and fake teeth.

He practically leapt down after her, heart hammering in his throat. (Y/N) groaned, clutching her ankle, which was visibly twisted. Her arm was scraped raw and bleeding, and there were bruises forming fast.

“You absolute jackass,” she hissed, eyes watering from pain and rage. “What the hell kind of prank is that?! I could’ve broken my neck!”

“I-I didn’t think you’d actually fall- shit, I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, don’t give me that face,” she snapped, trying and failing to sit up without wincing. “This was totally uncalled for.”

Genya hovered, guilt flooding every inch of his body. His hand shook as he touched her arm gently.

“I was just… I was tryin’ to show you I could be fun. That I ain’t too serious. I thought… if I could scare you a little, you’d laugh at it after. I was tryin’ to be less stiff for once.”

(Y/N) glared at him, then muttered, “Well, congrats. You broke me instead. Maybe I should leave your ass after all. Find a Hashira with a sense of humor.”

That hit him harder than any demon ever had. His expression crumbled.

“…You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment… and then sighed, a small smirk forming despite her pain. “Of course I don’t. Dumbass.”

Genya blinked.

“…Wait, so… you’re not actually leaving?”

“No, Genya,” she said softly. “You’re lucky I love you. Just maybe… stick to jokes that don’t involve fake demon attacks next time?”

He exhaled with a laugh- relieved, guilty, and embarrassed all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I really messed up.”

“You really did.”

He crouched beside her, lifting her injured arm gently and pulling out a small jar of salve. “Let me patch you up. And I’ll carry you back. I owe you.”

(Y/N) leaned into his side a little, her voice softer now. “You know… that was kinda loving. In a Genya sort of way.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just don’t do it again, or I’ll punch you.”

He chuckled quietly, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “Deal.”

Later that night, after she was fully bandaged and resting on a pile of blankets near the fire, he came over with something behind his back.

“…What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.

He revealed a crude bouquet of wildflowers, tied together with some thread. “I… uh… picked these. Earlier. Before the dumb prank. Just didn’t know how to give ‘em to you.”

(Y/N)’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “You’re seriously trying the soft-boy act now?”

He shrugged, ears turning red. “Just shut up and take the damn flowers.”

And she did- with a smirk, a kiss to his cheek, and a mumbled, “You’re still a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”

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

Hiiii, @lelewright1234!!!! :}

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

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

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

Feral Loyalty

Verosika x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 1614

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

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

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

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

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

And then she looked toward the couch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they didn’t.

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

That’s when it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

The bar fell silent.

Even Verosika blinked, stunned.

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, sugar.”

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

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

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

But Verosika was already pulling her into a tight hug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disgust.

It was awe. Cautious, wild awe.

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

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

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

“…Good?” (Y/N) blinked at her.

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

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

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

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

That surprised Verosika more than anything else.

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

But not (Y/N).

Never (Y/N).

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

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

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

“…You’re not mad?”

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

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

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

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

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

And then Verosika murmured, almost like a secret:

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

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

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

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

“To what?”

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

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

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

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

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

Stronger than Chains

Mondo Owada Oneshot

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

Word Count: 1762

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

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

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

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

"Boss... You serious?" Asked Mondo’s right-hand man, scratching the back of his neck. "You want us to actually chain you up like some kinda... prisoner?"

"You deaf or somethin’?" Mondo growled, shooting him a look that could start fires. "Told ya! I gotta prove I ain't weak. No matter what tries to hold me down, I’m stronger. This ain't for you. It's for me."

A few nervous chuckles floated up, but they obeyed. Always did.

Mondo planted himself in the center of the room, arms crossed, head held high. His feet, bare against the freezing floor, shifted slightly as they brought out the iron shackles. Heavy chains linked them to a giant scrap engine block they'd salvaged from a junkyard- easily over 600 pounds. It clanked threateningly as it was dragged closer.

"Do it," he grunted.

The gang worked fast. Cold iron cuffs snapped around his ankles, biting into the skin slightly. The chain dragged heavy across the ground as they locked it securely to the weight. His legs were effectively stuck- he could shuffle maybe an inch at most, if that.

Next, they produced a pair of handcuffs. Mondo smirked through gritted teeth, shoving his arms behind his back himself, daring them to slap them on. They did, clicking tightly around his wrists, the chill of the steel stinging his skin.

"You sure about the last part, boss?" One of his men asked, holding up a roll of thick, industrial duct tape.

"Yeah," Mondo growled low in his throat. "No talkin'. No excuses."

With a nod, the man ripped a length of tape free and slapped it firmly across Mondo’s mouth, smoothing it down so tight it almost molded to the shape of his lips. The adhesive pulled at the stubble on his jaw, and Mondo instinctively let out a rough, muffled grunt-

"Mmph!"

He glared at the gang but nodded approvingly. Good. No backing out now.

The gang stepped back, watching in tense silence as Mondo shifted, testing the bonds. The chains clattered and groaned under the strain as he tugged at them. His muscles flexed, sweat starting to bead at his temples despite the freezing warehouse air.

"Mmphh-!" Mondo grunted fiercely through the gag, struggling harder, jerking his legs in place, but the weight was immovable. His bare feet scraped against the rough concrete, the iron cuffs biting deeper with each pull. He tried wrenching his hands free behind his back- the cuffs clinked mockingly.

He let out another low, furious moan- "Mrghhh...!"

His gang watched in awe. Their boss was thrashing like a wild beast, fighting every inch of steel with the pure stubborn force of will that had made him the most feared biker in the country. His hair clung damply to his forehead, his taped mouth twisting with every muffled snarl and grunt:

"Mmmf- rrmph! Nghhh!"

But no matter how he strained, no matter how violently he jerked against them, the chains held. His knees eventually buckled and he sank slightly, panting heavily through his nose, letting out a shuddering groan,

"Hrrmmphhh..."

Still... he grinned beneath the gag, the edges of his mouth pulling tight under the tape. He hadn’t given up. Not even close.

He was Mondo Owada.

And nothing- not even steel and concrete- was gonna break him.

The Crazy Diamonds hesitated at the edges of the room, exchanging another series of nervous looks.

"Boss said not to let him out 'til he tells us," One muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We better let him... work it out."

"Even if he's stuck like that all night?" another whispered.

There was no answer. He just nodded toward the exit.

One by one, the gang members filed out, boots scuffing against concrete, leaving Mondo alone in the vast, echoing warehouse. The heavy door groaned shut, and with a final clank, it latched.

Silence. Bitter, biting silence.

Mondo jerked his arms, muscles flaring beneath his jacket. The cuffs rattled mockingly. His bare feet strained against the shackles, toes curling against the cold floor as he heaved his body weight forward. The chain dragged maybe an inch, scraping noisily- but that was it. The heavy engine didn't even budge.

"Rrmmphh!" Mondo snarled into the tape gag, furious. Furious at the chains. Furious at himself.

He slumped forward slightly, panting through his nose. The tape clung uncomfortably to his sweaty skin.

Still bound, still gagged, still stuck. He squeezed his eyes shut.

And in that darkness, another weight- heavier than the iron- settled on his chest.

Daiya wouldn't have gotten caught like this, he thought bitterly. My brother... he wouldn't have needed some dumbass stunt to prove he was tough.

Mondo shifted again, writhing against the cuffs until the metal bit deep into his wrists. He groaned low, a strangled noise against the tape, "Mrghhh..."

Daiya had been fearless. Respected. Legendary. When he spoke, the gang moved like a single living creature. When he walked into a room, the air itself seemed to tense.

Mondo? 

Mondo still felt like a damn kid playing dress-up in a dead man's boots.

He growled through the gag, a long, furious noise, yanking so hard against the cuffs his shoulders ached. The cuffs held. The chains held. Nothing broke.

"Nhhrghh-!" he cried, thrashing again. His hair was plastered to his forehead, breath sawing out in desperate, muffled gasps.

He hated this feeling. This helplessness. This weakness.

Was he really just a shadow of his brother? Some reckless idiot who could bark loud but never live up to the legend?

Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he sagged forward, the chain rattling softly with the motion. He stayed there, kneeling on the cold floor, the weight of everything- the chains, the memories, the expectations- crushing him down.

A ragged, barely audible sound escaped him through the gag, "...mrmph..."

He wasn't good enough.

Not yet.

Maybe... maybe not ever.

But he would be. He had to be. For Daiya. For the Crazy Diamonds. For himself.

Slowly, gritting his teeth under the tape, Mondo lifted his head. His muscles burned. His skin stung. His wrists were raw against the cuffs.

Good. Pain meant he was still fighting.

Pain meant he was still alive.

And if he was alive- he could still win.

With a deep, snarling breath, he planted his feet against the concrete, every muscle in his body straining against the chains once more.

The engine didn’t move. The cuffs dug deep. But Mondo Owada-

"MMPH-!!" he roared into the gag, a savage sound of pure, unfiltered will-

Wasn't giving up.

The minutes- or maybe hours dragged by in a haze of agony and fury.

Mondo had no way of keeping time. Just the sound of his ragged, muffled breathing behind the duct tape, the constant clink and scrape of metal against concrete, and the burning fire in his muscles.

He thrashed harder. Again. And again.

The cuffs carved angry red lines into his wrists. His ankles ached from how tightly the iron shackles bit into them, raw and scraped from his jerking struggles. His jaw hurt from straining behind the tape gag, his skin tender and irritated where the adhesive pulled with every grunt and growl.

And yet-

He didn't stop.

"Rrrghh...! Mmmpghh-!" he snarled low in his throat, eyes burning, forehead pressed to the cold floor for a moment as he sucked in furious breaths through his nose.

He refused to let these chains keep him down.

He refused to be weak.

He refused to stay shackled to some damn hunk of scrap metal like a trapped animal.

With a savage roar, Mondo dug deep- deeper than he ever had before- and heaved.

Muscles screaming, he twisted his hands as violently as he could behind his back, wrenching against the handcuffs until-

CLINK- SNAP!

One of the cuffs popped loose with a painful jerk, biting his wrist open in the process. Blood welled up, but Mondo didn’t even flinch.

He staggered forward, dragging the chain still shackling his ankles. Sweat poured from him. His knees buckled. But his grin- God, his grin - split across his face under the tape, wild and triumphant.

He dropped heavily onto his side, forcing his hands in front of him, fumbling to rip at the tape gag with trembling fingers. His fingernails caught the edge of the sticky mess, peeling it painfully from his raw skin.

It felt like ripping off a layer of himself- but he didn’t stop.

"Khh-!" he hissed as the tape tore free, finally letting his bruised lips part. He spat out a heavy breath, his voice hoarse from grunting and growling for so long.

"Hahh... hahhh..." He sucked in deep gulps of air, tasting freedom, tasting victory.

Mondo sat there for a long moment, completely wrecked- wrists bloodied, face red and raw, legs still trapped by the heavy chain- and still, he laughed. A low, raspy chuckle that grew into a full, stubborn, defiant laugh.

"Heh... Heh-heh... Haah...!"

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a bit of blood and sweat, his chest heaving from exertion.

Still shackled to the heavy weight, still hurting all over- but free from the cuffs, free from the gag, free from the worst of it.

And even now, beaten and bruised and practically vibrating from the effort, that same cocky, stubborn smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"Tch..." he muttered, dragging himself slowly to his feet despite the heavy chain. "Guess... I ain't such a damn weakling after all, huh, bro?"

He could almost hear Daiya’s voice in the back of his mind- not laughing at him, not mocking him- but proud.

Mondo stood there, broken and bloody and still standing, and for the first time in a long time... he actually believed he was worthy of being the Crazy Diamonds' leader.

And he'd damn well keep proving it- no matter how many times he had to fight. No matter how many times he had to break the chains himself.