A Little Too Close
hi hiii, could I request headcanons or a one shot (completely up to you) that's a shuichi saihara x reader where the reader is kaede's brother/sibling? that whole dynamic?
(if not, feel free to ignore)
thank you <3
A/N: Yes, absolutely! I kept the reader gender neutral, since it wasn't specified. Hope that's okay :}
A Little Too Close
Shuichi x GN!Reader Headcannons
Warnings: Grief/Loss, Trauma, and Nightmares
Word Count: 1527
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-Shuichi's first reaction to meeting (Y/N): He’s startled. Not because they’re intimidating, but because… They look like Kaede. Or maybe it's their energy, their expressions, the way they say his name. It throws him off. He fumbles with his hat almost immediately, tugging it low as he mumbles a polite greeting. “I didn’t know Kaede had a sibling…” (Y/N) smiles. “Guess she didn’t talk about me much, huh?” That makes him nervous. Not because of them- but now he’s overthinking what Kaede did say, and whether it was enough to prepare him for them. Spoiler: It wasn’t.
-They remind him of Kaede… but not quite: There are moments where they laugh or tilt their head just like she used to, and his heart squeezes. But then (Y/N) says something unexpected- sarcastic, bold, or quietly observant- and he realizes: They’re not her. And that’s… oddly comforting. They’re not a walking shadow of Kaede. They’re their own person. It makes him want to understand them more. Quietly. Carefully. Like a case he doesn’t want to mess up.
-Early awkwardness: He doesn’t know how to act around them at first. Should he treat them like Kaede treated him? Should he be distant, out of respect? (Y/N) catches him doing that weird thing where he hovers in a doorway, half-turning like he’s about to leave. They just raise an eyebrow and tell him to sit down. He does. Immediately. No questions asked. (They tease him about that later.)
-Accidental late-night conversations: The first time the two really talk is late- everyone else is asleep or gone, and the only sound is the ticking of a clock and some distant wind. (Y/N) asks him how he’s doing, really. He’s not used to someone asking without a motive. They don’t push, but they stay. That stays with him longer than their words do.
-Soft, silent comfort: He starts to notice how (Y/N) lingers when he’s feeling overwhelmed. How they never force conversation, but they offer it, like an open hand he can take or not. He realizes he likes their silence. It’s not awkward- it’s safe. Sometimes, they’ll just sit nearby with a book, or hum a tune Kaede used to play, and that’s enough to ground him.
-Little moments that get to him: (Y/N) fixes his collar without thinking. He freezes. They just go, “There. It was bugging me.” They bring him tea when he’s deep in notes. He thanks them with pink cheeks and a voice softer than usual. They laugh at one of his rare jokes, and he’s stunned for a second- then shyly smiles. He’s starting to look forward to making them laugh again.
-The turning point: He catches himself watching them one day- not analyzing, not deducing- just watching, with a kind of warmth in his chest that makes him anxious. He blurts out, “You’re… really different from Kaede.” “Yeah? Is that a good thing?” He hesitates. Then nods, voice low. “Yeah. It is.”
-Shuichi starts letting his walls down, little by little: At first, it’s subtle. He actually starts seeking them out instead of waiting for them to bump into him. They’ll catch him standing nearby when they’re talking to someone else, not saying much, just listening. He says it’s “out of habit,” but his eyes keep drifting to (Y/N). They ask if he wants to walk with them somewhere, and he says “Sure,” with this small, surprised smile like he wasn’t expecting to be invited.
-(Y/N) starts understanding his little tells: When he’s anxious, he tugs at his gloves. When he’s genuinely happy, his voice gets a little higher and softer. And when he’s looking at them- really looking- they can feel the intensity, even if he drops his gaze the second they meet it. They pretend not to notice when he stares a little too long, just to see how long it takes for him to turn red. (Spoiler: not long.)
-Domestic softness sneaks in: (Y/N) brings him tea or coffee without him asking now. They even remember how he takes it. Sometimes they sit beside him while he’s writing up notes on a case and rest their chin on his shoulder until he blushes and stiffens like a statue. He starts handing them his jacket on cold days without a word. He says, “You looked cold,” but he’s the one shivering.
-Kaede’s memory brings them together, not apart: One night, they’re both sitting in the music room. The piano sits untouched. (Y/N) says, “She’d hate how quiet it is in here.” Shuichi nods, staring at the keys. “She would’ve played something bright… even if no one was listening.” They play a few notes, a little clumsy at first, but Shuichi closes his eyes and listens. “You sound like her,” he whispers. “But… not.” They smile. “That’s the idea.”
-He confides in (Y/N), finally: He tells them he still has nightmares. About trials, about people he couldn’t save. They don’t try to fix it. They just listen, and then they tell him about their own fears. How losing Kaede still feels unreal. He reaches out, hesitates… then rests his hand lightly on theirs. No words. Just warmth. Just: I’m here.
-The “oh no I like them” moments: He overhears someone flirting with (Y/N) and nearly drops his notebook. He’s not jealous (he tells himself), but he definitely interrupts with something awkward and unnecessary. They ask if he wants to try cooking something together and he agrees way too fast, then spends the whole time pretending to be calm while he burns the rice. They fall asleep next to him during a late night chat. He watches them breathe for a while, then whispers, “I think Kaede would’ve liked this… us.”
-The shift: One day, (Y/N) brushes some hair out of his eyes without thinking. He catches their wrist mid-motion. “You always do that,” he says softly. “Like you’re not even thinking about it.” They shrug. “Maybe I just want an excuse to touch you.” Silence. His ears go red. Then, so quietly it’s barely there: “You don’t need an excuse.”
-The moment it finally clicks, for both of them: It happens quietly. No fireworks. No huge romantic gesture. Maybe they’re both watching the stars one night, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. (Y/N) says something like, “I wish Kaede could’ve seen this.” And Shuichi says, “I think she’d be happy. I mean… that we found each other.” There’s a pause. They both glance at each other. Something in the air changes. It’s not just comfort anymore. It’s something deeper. Something that’s been growing, slowly and patiently, in all the silences and half-smiles and lingering stares.
-Neither of them say it immediately… but it feels different: After that night, the way he looks at (Y/N) is different. More direct. Like he’s not afraid anymore. They catch yourself holding their breath when he leans close to show them something in his notebook. His fingers brush theirs and neither of them pull away this time.
-The first kiss: It’s so painfully gentle. Shuichi is careful, like he’s afraid to break something delicate. He hesitates right before, his lips just a breath away, and whispers, “Is this okay?” (Y/N) nods, heart fluttering, and he finally closes the gap. It’s shy and sweet and makes their knees go weak. When they pull back, they’re both red-faced and smiling like idiots. He covers his face with his hand and just goes, “Wow…” (Y/N) teases him: “What? Solved the case of your own feelings?” “Took me long enough,” he mumbles.
-The “we’re official” moments: He doesn’t call them his partner right away. He just kind of… sticks closer. Sits next to them every time. Carries two drinks instead of one. He accidentally blurts out “my p- my partner.” in front of someone and then refuses to make eye contact for a whole hour. (Y/N) doesn’t tease him too much. They just take his hand and lace their fingers with his under the table. That shuts down his anxiety real quick.
-Soft, sleepy comfort: They take naps together now. Shuichi’s arms around their waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of their neck. He sleeps better when they're there. No nightmares. No tension in his shoulders. They kiss the top of his head before he falls asleep. He never says anything, but the way he exhales tells them everything.
-Domestic sweetness: He leaves them little notes when he’s busy, “Don’t forget to eat. I left your favorite tea by the kettle.” They write back on the same paper, “You’re cuter when you’re bossy.” He keeps that note in his pocket for weeks.
-The quiet confession (finally said out loud): He says it first. Not in a dramatic moment, but while they’re brushing his hair out of his eyes before bed. “I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I just… I do.” (Y/N) smiles. “I know. I love you too, detective.” He exhales like he’s been holding it in for months. Then he pulls them close and doesn’t let go.
More Posts from Deliciousspecimen and Others
I would like to request „where the hurt doesnt reach with kyoko, kaede and miu
A/N: Yes, of course! :} Slowly but surely getting through all of my requests.
Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.5
pt.4 - pt.6
pt.1
Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu x Male!Reader
Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety/Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues
Word Count: 2930
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Kyoko:
(Y/N) kept his head down in the dorm lounge, hands clenched around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The mug felt heavy- heavier than ceramic should- like the memories clawing at his chest had poured themselves inside.
The dorm was quiet. He had planned it that way. Early mornings were the safest. Fewer eyes, fewer voices. Fewer men.
He flinched as the door clicked open behind him.
Footsteps- measured, soft, deliberate- crossed the floor. No harsh breaths. No creaking floorboards from someone stomping in. Just silence.
“Good morning.”
He knew that voice. Soft and clear, like the first breeze after rain… Kyoko Kirigiri.
He didn’t answer. Just dipped his head lower.
But she didn’t mind. She never did.
“Do you want me to sit with you?” she asked.
(Y/N)’s grip on his cup tightened. His lips parted, but no sound came. He didn’t know how to say yes. Not without explaining the panic in his chest, or the constant crawl of anxiety under his skin. Not without revealing how he didn’t trust anyone- especially not the boys in this school, the ones with rough laughs and too-loud voices.
But Kyoko wasn’t like them.
She waited. Silent. Letting him answer in his own time.
“…yeah,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.
She didn’t ask any more questions. Just sat across from him, folded her gloved hands on the table, and looked at him- not with pity, but with understanding.
“You’ve been avoiding the others,” she said plainly, but gently. “The male students.”
His jaw tensed. Shame burned under his skin like acid.
“I’ve noticed,” she added, after a pause. “That’s all. I’m not judging you.”
“…I just… can’t,” he whispered. “I-They remind me of… Someone.”
Kyoko’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your stepfather?”
He froze.
“…How do you know that?” he murmured, eyes wide.
“I’m the Ultimate Detective,” she said softly. “But more than that… I noticed how your shoulders tense when anyone raises their voice. How you instinctively put space between yourself and any guy who walks near you. How you relax, just slightly, when you’re with me.”
(Y/N)’s breath hitched. Tears threatened behind his eyes, but he blinked them back, ashamed. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of her.
But Kyoko reached across the table- slowly, so gently- and placed her gloved hand near his, not touching, just close. An offering. A silent I’m here. You’re safe.
“You don’t have to explain everything,” she murmured. “Not until you’re ready. And even then, only if you want to.”
The room was quiet again. But it wasn’t lonely. Not with her there.
“I feel… broken,” he confessed, his voice cracking.
“You’re not,” she said, firmly. “You’re hurt. But not broken.”
(Y/N) looked up- really looked at her- and for the first time in days, the crushing weight in his chest loosened, just a little.
Maybe, with Kyoko… healing didn’t have to be loud… Maybe it could start here.
In silence. In stillness.
In the presence of someone who didn’t demand anything from him- except honesty, when he was ready.
Healing is quiet, but constant.
The halls of Hope’s Peak were always noisier in the afternoon, but (Y/N) found himself in the library. He liked the silence there. The weight of books around him felt grounding, the muffled sounds a safe sort of background noise.
He was flipping through a random mystery novel when a shadow passed the table- and without needing to look, he knew who it was.
Kyoko.
“Hi,” he murmured before she even spoke.
She stopped mid-step, slightly surprised… and then smiled faintly. “Hi.”
She took the seat across from him again, like it had become a silent ritual. There were no expectations between them. Just moments. Just space shared without pressure.
“You’re reading mystery novels now?” she asked, voice laced with a rare warmth.
(Y/N) gave a tiny shrug, fingers playing with the page corner. “Thought I’d try to understand what makes your brain tick.”
That earned him the smallest chuckle- soft and barely there, but real. His chest swelled with something fragile and new. He liked making her smile. Especially when she did it just for him.
“Do you want help solving it?” she asked, gesturing at the book.
He nodded, and they spent the next hour side by side- her pointing things out, him guessing and missing obvious clues, but laughing softly anyway. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders lifted, and it almost felt like he was just… a normal student. A normal boy. With a friend.
No- more than a friend. At least on his end.
He liked her. Liked the way she gave him space, but always showed up when he needed someone. Liked how she never asked about his scars but always looked like she wanted to fight whoever caused them.
Not all pain is visible. But she sees it anyway.
It happened in the courtyard. He hadn’t meant to go out, but he wanted air.
Then a group of guys passed by- too loud, too close- and one of them bumped into him hard, muttering something under his breath that wasn’t even mean, but his chest clamped down instantly.
The panic came fast. Sharp. Ugly.
His breath caught. Vision blurred.
He stumbled back toward the wall, heart hammering in his ears, the sky spinning above him-
“(Y/N)!”
Her voice cut through the noise.
She was there in seconds.
Kyoko didn’t touch him. She didn’t crowd him. She just knelt beside where he’d sunk to the ground, her gloved hand resting lightly against the pavement, near his.
“Breathe with me,” she said. Calm. Grounding. “In… and out. Match me.”
She inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower. Repeated. Over and over.
And (Y/N), shaking and pale, tried to match her. At first it didn’t work. His chest was too tight. His throat burned.
But she didn’t leave. Didn’t falter.
“In… and out.”
Eventually, the tightness loosened. The dizziness passed. His hands stopped shaking.
“…I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, voice barely there.
“Don’t apologize,” she said gently. “You’re not weak for surviving.”
Those words hit harder than anything else. He blinked hard, biting down the emotion swelling in his throat.
She sat beside him then, her shoulder close. Not touching- just present. Solid.
“I hate how scared I am,” he murmured. “How small I feel when they’re around.”
Kyoko was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’ve never been small to me.”
He turned his head toward her, startled. She met his eyes- clear and unwavering.
“You're brave,” she said. “Not because you’re unafraid. But because you keep going, even when you are.”
And- that was the moment he fell just a little harder.
Kaede:
(Y/N) didn’t speak much when he first arrived at Hope’s Peak. He flinched at sudden noises, kept his eyes on the floor, and sat in the back of every room, as far from the boys as he could manage. Rumors spread quickly in schools like this- but Kaede never paid them any mind.
She saw him- really saw him- when she stayed after class to pack her sheet music, and he lingered a little longer than usual. Just the two of them in the room. She glanced up to say goodbye, and (Y/N) visibly tensed.
Her voice softened. “Hey… sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
(Y/N) didn’t answer at first. But he didn’t bolt either.
That was enough for Kaede.
The next day, she played a melody in the music room after class, loud enough for the hallway to hear. Just in case he passed by again. She kept doing it for days. Weeks.
Until one afternoon, she looked up between notes… and there he was. Standing in the doorway, holding his arm with a nervous grip, eyes unfocused.
She smiled, gentle and bright. “You can come in, if you want.”
He stepped inside- slowly, like the floor might give out under him.
Kaede kept playing. Nothing fancy. Just something soft and warm, like sunrise through a window. When she finished, she turned to him.
“…You okay?”
“…I don’t really like being around people,” he mumbled, “especially… guys.”
Kaede nodded, never once looking away.
“I get it. You don’t have to explain. But I’m not a guy, and… I promise, I’ll never make you feel unsafe.”
(Y/N)’s lip trembled slightly. But he stayed.
That became their quiet ritual- no words needed. He’d sit nearby while she played, sometimes reading, sometimes just… existing. In a room where no one could hurt him. A place where her music filled the silence he carried like a second skin.
One rainy evening, she asked gently, “Can I show you something?”
She pulled a chair beside the piano and motioned for him to sit.
“You don’t have to play,” she smiled. “I just… want you to feel what it’s like to be near music like that. To feel safe inside something.”
He hesitated, then slowly sat beside her. Their shoulders didn’t quite touch.
She began to play, her fingers moving across the keys in slow, deliberate tenderness. The piece wasn’t just music- it was comfort. A lullaby for someone long overdue for kindness.
Halfway through, she felt it- (Y/N) leaned in, his head resting against her shoulder. Light, like a bird settling onto a branch for the first time.
Kaede didn’t stop playing.
And for the first time in a long, long while… (Y/N) closed his eyes and let himself breathe.
The next day, he was there before her.
Kaede blinked when she opened the door to the music room and found (Y/N) already seated near the piano bench, a sketchbook in his lap. He looked up, startled- like he hadn’t meant to be caught.
“I… I wanted to hear you play again,” he said quickly, almost apologetically. “If that’s okay.”
She smiled. “Of course it is.”
As she sat down at the piano, she peeked at the edge of his notebook. Scribbles- music notes, little stars, a clumsy sketch of what might’ve been her fingers on the keys.
She didn’t comment. Just started to play.
Over time, it became something sacred. She'd play for him every afternoon. And when her fingers rested, they’d talk. At first, he only answered in nods or short phrases- but the wall between them was crumbling, brick by fragile brick.
One day, he surprised her.
“Do you… remember the first song you played for me?” he asked, barely louder than the hum of the heater.
Kaede paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Clair de Lune.”
“It reminded me of…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “Of my mom. She used to play music on a little radio in the kitchen. Classical stuff. Before she met him.”
Kaede’s fingers stilled on the keys, but she didn’t say anything. She let the silence hold the space, like the soft pedal of a piano, gentle and unpressing.
“She stopped playing music after he moved in,” he whispered. “After a while, everything got quiet. Like… too quiet. I didn’t think I’d ever like music again.”
Kaede blinked slowly, heart aching.
“But I like yours,” he added, with the faintest smile. “I like… being around you.”
That made her heart flutter. Not with giddiness, but with something deeper. Like trust taking root.
She turned to him, her voice quiet. “I like being around you too.”
From that day on, something shifted.
He started waiting for her outside the music room instead of sneaking in early. He’d walk with her down the hall, always keeping a careful distance from the louder male students, but close enough that his shoulder brushed hers now and then.
And sometimes- when the room was empty, and the song was soft, and the sun hit just right- he’d smile. Not just at the music, but at her.
Kaede would smile back, her heart swelling.
She knew healing wasn’t a straight line. There were days when he still flinched at loud voices. When group activities left him drained and hollow-eyed. But he always found his way back to her.
One afternoon, after a particularly long session, he stayed behind after she packed up.
“Kaede?” he said, voice trembling.
She turned, instantly focused on him.
“…Can I hug you?”
The question knocked the wind from her.
But she nodded, gently, like she was answering a question from a dream. She opened her arms without a word.
(Y/N) stepped forward hesitantly. Then slowly- like a scared animal testing the air- he melted into her.
It wasn’t tight or desperate. Just a quiet press of his face into her shoulder, arms loosely around her waist.
Kaede held him with the kind of care reserved for breakable things. Her hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Miu:
(Y/N) had flinched when Miu first barged into his dorm, voice carrying that usual volume and vulgarity like a storm in stilettos.
“Yo, pencil-dick! You alive in here or what? You didn’t show up for breakfast and I ain’t got time to invent a search drone with tits just to find your sorry a-”
She stopped. Mid-rant. Her blue eyes scanned the dark room and landed on him, curled up in the corner with trembling shoulders, the edge of his sleeve wet where he’d been biting it to stay quiet. Not because he was hiding from her- but from the memories her voice had triggered.
“…Ah. Shit.”
It was the first time she didn’t call him a name.
Miu didn’t step closer. She dropped to sit cross-legged by the door, fiddling awkwardly with a spare screw in her hand, voice dipping just enough to feel like a whisper.
“Okay, so... maybe screaming like I’m in heat wasn’t the move,” she mumbled, chewing her bottom lip. “You wanna talk or should I just sit here and talk to myself like a damn lunatic? ‘Cause I can do both.”
(Y/N) didn’t answer. His voice was buried too deep behind the fear. But he didn’t tell her to leave.
She took that as permission.
Later that night, after hours of her rambling about new inventions- some genius, some dangerously stupid- he finally managed a small voice. Fragile.
“…Why’re you being nice to me?”
Miu blinked, caught off guard. Her usual grin didn’t come. Instead, she shrugged, arms resting loosely on her knees.
"'Cause I know what it’s like to hate being touched. To hear someone’s footsteps and feel your chest lock up. To build a thousand walls with your bare hands 'cause you don’t trust a single fucking person not to break you again.”
(Y/N) looked up at her, eyes wide. She wasn’t loud anymore. She was... real.
She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Plus, you’re the only guy who doesn’t try to touch me or tell me to shut up. That’s kinda hot.”
A breathless, broken laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
And that was the first night he fell asleep with her sitting beside him- quiet, steady, and real.
It wasn’t overnight. But it was something.
The next morning, Miu came back. Same knock, a little softer this time. She waited- didn’t barge in. When (Y/N) cracked the door open, she was standing there with a weird contraption in her hands.
“It’s a... uh... noise-canceling headset,” she said, trying and failing to sound casual. “If I yell too loud, it automatically dampens my voice before it reaches your ears. Like a built-in anti-Miu filter. Patent pending, dickweed.”
He blinked at her, then... laughed. A real laugh, quiet and airy, but genuine.
She flushed bright pink. “S-Shut up, it’s not because I like you or anything! I just got bored! You think I sit around all day worrying about your trauma baby brain or some shit?!”
(Y/N) smiled.
“Thank you.”
She looked like she short-circuited for a second. “…Whatever.”
Over the next few weeks, they started eating together- sometimes in the cafeteria, sometimes in his room. He talked more now, slowly. Haltingly. But it was there.
“I used to be afraid of falling asleep,” he admitted one evening, his fingers picking nervously at the hem of his sleeve as they sat cross-legged on his bed, a blanket pulled over both their legs. “If I stayed awake, I could hear him coming. I’d have time to hide.”
Miu didn’t answer right away. She just scooted closer, their knees brushing.
“If you ever need someone to sleep next to you,” she said softly, “I’m right here. I snore and occasionally yell ‘ORGASM!’ in my dreams, but like- other than that, I’m pretty fuckin’ cuddly.”
He laughed again, but this time, there were tears running down his cheeks.
One night, he reached for her hand.
She was rambling about a new sex robot idea (“It makes you breakfast and calls you daddy! Revolutionary!”), and he wasn’t really listening- just watching her, soft-eyed and warm.
His fingers brushed hers. Hesitant. Unsure.
She froze mid-sentence, cheeks blooming with color. “W-Woah. D-Don’t get all handsy on me, lover boy…”
But she didn’t pull away.
And when his grip tightened, just slightly, her own hand squeezed back. Gentle. Careful. A little shaky.
“…But if you wanna hold hands like some lame high school anime couple, I guess I can allow it.”
(Y/N) didn’t say anything. He just leaned his head on her shoulder.
And for once, Miu Iruma- Ultimate Inventor, self-proclaimed genius perv, filthy-mouthed storm of chaos- didn’t say a word either.
She just let him rest there.
Is there a chance, and this is a crack one-shot, do one of Amity Blight accidently calling Charlie Mom? Its setting takes place during episode 3 of Season 1 with the trust exercises.
Also for an idea, instead of Amity being a witch she can be a Cat Sinner who died in the mid 1980s at 16. Just to make it a bit angsty along with some Odalia bashing.
A/N: LOLOL Sure, @beastkeeper91!!! Its a bit shorter than my normal works, but I figured that was okay, because It was only a silly little crack one-shot.
Trust Fall Trauma pt.1
pt.2
Sinner!Amity Blight x Hazbin Hotel.
Warnings: Toxic parent-child relationships, Trauma responses, Mild language.
Word Count: 1159
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Charlie sighed, adjusting her clipboard as she rallied her little chaotic crew into the lobby.
“Alright!” she beamed with unnatural optimism. “Today’s team-building exercise is about trust!”
Groans erupted.
Charlie clapped. “It’s called a trust fall. One person falls back, the other catches them. Easy!”
That was when Amity Blight, one of the Hotel’s newer residents, felt her fur bristle.
She crossed her arms, tail flicking sharply. “That sounds like something invented by a corporate psychopath.”
“Exactly!” Charlie chirped. “Now partner up!”
It took some aggressive pairing (and a minor explosion), but soon everyone was reluctantly lined up. Amity ended up with Charlie.
Which… wasn’t terrible. Charlie was weirdly kind for someone born of literal Hell royalty. And she hadn’t yelled at Amity once, unlike what she was used to.
Charlie smiled softly. “You ready?”
“No,” Amity deadpanned. “But fine. Let’s get this over with.”
She turned, arms stiff at her sides, muttering, “If you drop me, I’m going to claw your face off.”
Charlie just laughed. “I got you, I promise.”
Amity hesitated for a moment. Then she let herself fall.
And Charlie caught her.
Effortlessly. Gently. Like she did this every day.
And something inside Amity broke.
A quiet, aching little thing she’d buried decades ago.
Her mouth opened before her brain could stop it.
“…Thanks, Mom.”
Silence.
Angel Dust howled with laughter.
Alastor raised an eyebrow.
Vaggie’s jaw hit the floor.
Charlie blinked. “Wait- did you just-?”
Amity’s ears flattened instantly, her face going crimson. “NO. NOPE. I- That wasn’t- Shut up-”
“Oh my-,” Angel wheezed. “She called Charlie Mom.”
“I am flattered,” Charlie said, cheeks pink.
“I hate all of you,” Amity growled, fur puffed up to max embarrassment mode.
She stormed off to the hallway, heart pounding like a jackhammer.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She hadn’t called anyone “Mom” since she was alive. And even then- Odalia Blight didn’t count. That woman had been more CEO than mother.
She still remembered the “trust exercises” her mother used to do.
“Trust me, Amity. You’ll be grateful for this training someday.” “Trust me, darling, this pain is for your own good.”
She'd rather rot in Hell (which, technically, she was doing) than ever call Odalia "Mom" again.
But Charlie? Charlie, with her sunshine-and-rainbows smile and the way she caught Amity without hesitation? That moment cracked something fragile wide open.
She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, tail twitching with frustration and… something like grief.
“Hey.”
Charlie’s voice was soft as she walked up, keeping a gentle distance.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Amity didn't look at her. “It’s fine. I just… glitched.”
“Everyone has glitches,” Charlie said. “I think that was really brave.”
Amity snorted. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
Charlie smiled sadly. “I know what it’s like. To have a mom who doesn’t… feel like a mom.”
That made Amity freeze.
“I just want you to know,” Charlie added, “you’re safe here. No trust fall required.”
And for the first time in a long time, Amity felt something warm bloom behind her ribs.
“Thanks,” she said, quieter this time.
And then:
“But if you ever tell anyone about this, I do have claws.”
Charlie just laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me… kiddo.”
Amity groaned, facepalming. “Don’t push it.”
For the next three days, Amity Blight perfected the ancient art of Avoidance.
She mastered it with the elegance of a cat slipping under a door and the speed of a bat outta Hell.
If anyone walked into a room- she left it.
If Angel Dust started teasing her- she vanished.
If Alastor smiled at her too long- she bolted like someone had lit her tail on fire.
But Charlie?
Somehow, Charlie was the only one Amity didn’t avoid.
Which only made things worse- because now everyone noticed.
Vaggie caught on first.
She cornered Charlie in the kitchen over a burned pot of… Something..? It looked inedible.
“She keeps orbiting you,” Vaggie said, stirring aggressively. “Like a traumatized raccoon. With trust issues.”
Charlie blinked. “She’s just… figuring things out.”
“Yeah, figuring out how to run away like it’s a track meet,” Vaggie muttered.
“She’s trying.”
“She called you Mom, Charlie.”
Charlie smiled faintly. “Yeah. I know.”
Vaggie gave her a look. “Are you okay with that?”
Charlie didn’t answer right away. Then she softly said, “I think she needs someone who doesn’t hurt her just for existing.”
Vaggie’s expression softened. She took over the stirring for Charlie, doing it a little… Less violently than she would have normally.
“Alright. Then we pull her in.”
Charlie tilted her head. “What, like… a redemption intervention?”
Vaggie grinned. “More like forced bonding.”
Amity was tiptoeing down the hallway, tail low, ears back, perfect stealth mode activated-
“AMITY!”
She yelped. Practically jumped out of her own fur.
Charlie was there, all sunshine and way-too-much-energy-for-Hell. Vaggie stood beside her, arms crossed, looking suspiciously like someone who'd just baited a trap.
“Come with us,” Charlie said cheerfully.
Amity narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“No reason!” Charlie lied terribly. “Just… hanging out.”
“Team-building,” Vaggie added. “Again.”
Amity took a slow, suspicious step back. “Is this another trust fall? Because if so, I swear-”
“Nope,” Charlie beamed. “Today’s activity is… redecorating!”
“Decorating?”
“The hotel,” Charlie said brightly. “You live here now. You should make it feel like home.”
Amity looked between the two of them, eyes narrowing.
“…this is a trap.”
“Obviously,” Vaggie said, grabbing her arm.
They ended up in one of the guest lounges, with buckets of paint, mismatched furniture, and an actual beanbag throne Angel Dust had labeled “KING SHIT ONLY.”
Charlie handed Amity a brush. “You pick the color.”
Amity blinked. “What?”
“This room’s yours to redecorate. Do whatever you want.”
Amity hesitated.
This didn’t feel like a punishment. Or a manipulation. Or one of those “trust me, darling” moments Odalia used to weaponize.
It felt… safe. Real. Like her opinion mattered.
“…Purple,” she muttered. “Midnight violet.”
Charlie grinned. “Classy. I like it.”
As they worked- paint splattering, Angel popping in to offer unhelpful interior design advice (“Have you considered GLITTER VOMIT?”)- Amity started to loosen up.
Just a little.
By the end of the day, the room looked… More her. And Amity felt like maybe- maybe- she didn’t have to hide in the shadows forever.
Later that night, after everyone else drifted off to their chaos or beds, Amity lingered in the lounge, curled in a beanbag with a book she'd found in a forgotten corner.
Charlie poked her head in.
“Hey,” she said. “Can I come in?”
Amity nodded without looking up. “Sure, Mom.”
Silence.
She froze.
Charlie blinked.
“…again?” Vaggie called from the hallway.
“IT WAS A SLIP!” Amity shouted, ears flattening, eyes wide.
But Charlie just smiled, soft and warm. “It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”
“…You should. It’s weird.”
“I think,” Charlie said gently, “it means I’m doing something right.”
Amity looked away, swallowing hard.
She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t cry. But she didn’t run either…
Can you please do like a fluff maybe tiny angst fanfic thing with Inosuke x reader😭🙏 I've been going through and awful time and struggling with my mental health and he's my absolute favorite😢. But also its totally okay if you dont dont worry about it if you dont wanna. Please & thank you! Have a good day!!
A/N: Of course! Inosuke is one of my favorites, too. You didn't give me many details to go off of, so I did my best! Reader is Gender Neutral, because the gender wasn't specified.
You Can Be Weak With Me
Inosuke x GN!Reader
Warnings: Emotional Distress/Mental Health Struggles, Self-Criticism, Physical Injury/Blood
Word Count: 2270
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The Kamaboko Squad had a strange dynamic, but somehow it worked.
Tanjiro was the heart- kind, patient, unbreakable. Zenitsu was... Nerves and noise, a blur of panic and surprising bursts of bravery. Inosuke was pure instinct, a creature of wild energy and sharp edge.
And then there was (Y/N).
Quiet. Steady. Always nearby, but never quite with them.
At every campfire, they sat a few paces away. When walking the dirt paths between villages, (Y/N) lingered at the rear, eyes constantly sweeping the surroundings. They fought like a shadow- swift, efficient, disappearing into the smoke of battle almost as quickly as they appeared.
Inosuke noticed first.
Not because he was observant, necessarily, but because he was wired to notice the things that slipped between cracks. Wild things. Quiet things.
"Hey, hey! Why are you always sneakin' off?" Inosuke had blurted one night, crouched beside the fire with a hunk of half-roasted meat skewered on his sword. His boar mask tilted toward (Y/N)'s distant figure, silhouetted at the edge of the clearing.
Tanjiro smiled in that warm, understanding way of his. "That's just how (Y/N) is, Inosuke. They like having space."
"Space?!" Inosuke repeated as if the word was foreign. He pushed himself up onto his feet with an explosive spring of motion, sword still in hand, meat forgotten. "There's too much space! We gotta be a pack! Like wolves!" He turned to Zenitsu for backup.
Zenitsu, mouth full of rice, only made a muffled noise that was probably agreement.
(Y/N) shifted slightly, but said nothing. Their gaze flickered toward the group, soft but cautious- like a stray animal deciding whether a hand reaching out was kind or cruel.
Inosuke stomped over without hesitation.
(Y/N) braced for the usual crash of sound and bluster, but when Inosuke stopped just a few feet away, there was something almost... Unsure about him. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Through the slits in his mask, (Y/N) caught the flash of his green eyes- narrowed, searching.
"You don't have to be all... far away," Inosuke muttered, scuffing his foot against the dirt. "You can sit closer. If you want. I mean- it's stupid if you don't."
It was probably the kindest thing he'd ever said to anyone.
(Y/N) stared at him for a long moment, chest tight with something unfamiliar- something warm. Slowly, they rose from their spot and padded closer, settling down a few feet from the others, but noticeably nearer than before.
Inosuke made a triumphant sound, like he'd won some kind of battle, and flopped down next to them with a heavy thud, his shoulder bumping theirs.
He didn't move away.
Neither did (Y/N).
The next few days passed in a blur of walking, fighting, patching wounds, and walking again. It was always like that- endless roads under endless skies, villages clinging to the edges of survival.
Demon attacks never stopped. And neither did the Kamaboko Squad. Currently, though… They were heading somewhere specific. A Demon they had caught wind of while traveling.
But today- Well… Most days… (Y/N) was struggling.
They hid it well- or they thought they did.
The sleepless nights. The tightness in their chest that never went away. The way their hands trembled slightly after battles, not from fear of demons, but from fear of themselves- of what they weren't strong enough to be.
There were days (Y/N) barely felt real at all.
The others were too busy to notice. Or maybe they did notice, but were kind enough not to say.
Except Inosuke.
Inosuke had the instincts of a wild animal. He didn't understand sadness- not in the way most did, not being the best at dealing with emotions. But even he could tell something was wrong.
That night, camped along a mountain trail, he found (Y/N) again sitting at the edge of the firelight, arms wrapped around their knees, face shadowed.
Inosuke didn't announce himself. Didn't shout. He just... crouched down beside them.
"You look weird," he said bluntly.
(Y/N) huffed a breath, part tired, part bitter amusement. "I always look weird."
Inosuke shook his head- his boar mask was pushed up tonight, exposing his messy hair and serious, narrowed eyes. "Not like that. You look... wrong."
He shifted closer, peering into their face with unsettling intensity.
"Are you sick? Hurt? Did somebody bite you?!" he demanded, baring his teeth a little, like he'd hunt down whatever dared.
(Y/N) tried to laugh, but it came out broken. Their throat tightened painfully. "No... I just... I'm just tired, Inosuke."
It was mostly the truth.
Mostly.
Inosuke made a low, growling sound- frustrated, restless. His whole body coiled like he wanted to do something, but he didn’t know what. Fighting he understood. Hunting he understood. This... this invisible enemy inside (Y/N)- He couldn't punch it, couldn't headbutt it into submission.
"I don't like it when you're like this," he said, voice low. "You're supposed to be strong."
(Y/N) flinched.
That was it, wasn’t it? The cruel little echo in their head.
You're supposed to be stronger.
You're supposed to be better.
You're supposed to...
"I know," (Y/N) whispered, barely audible.
Inosuke stared at them- really stared- and something shifted behind his eyes.
Without warning, Inosuke dropped to the ground, sprawling onto his side until his head came to rest against (Y/N)'s arm. He let out a loud, theatrical sigh, as if annoyed with himself. "Tch. Fine," he grumbled. "I'll be strong enough for both of us."
(Y/N) blinked, stunned. Before they could react, Inosuke continued, fiddling with a blade of grass between his fingers. "You don't have to be strong all the time," he muttered. "You can be weak with me."
(Y/N) stared down at the wild mess of his hair, their heart squeezing so tight it hurt to breathe. In his strange, broken, stubborn way, Inosuke was telling them it was okay to fall apart. That it was okay to be a mess- and that he would stay anyway.
Something hot prickled behind their eyes. Slowly, almost without thinking, they leaned down, brushing their forehead lightly against his hair.
"...Thank you," (Y/N) whispered, their voice cracking.
Inosuke made a pleased, confused sound and gently bumped his head against them- a soft, careful nuzzle, rare for him.
For the first time in days, (Y/N) finally let themselves breathe. That night, they all settled in to rest. Inosuke gave (Y/N) space, leaving them alone under the stars.
When morning came, they packed up camp and set off, heading toward the last place the demon had been sighted.
But when they arrived, everything went wrong.
It wasn’t (Y/N)'s fault- not really. The demon was stronger than any of them had expected, its body slick with armored plates, its claws slicing through trees like paper. They fought with everything they had.
(Y/N) fought too. But for just a second- a single, stupid second- they got sloppy.
The demon’s claws slashed across their side, shallow but brutal, sending them crashing into a tree. When Tanjiro and Inosuke finally brought the creature down, (Y/N) was crumpled against the roots, blood darkening the earth beneath them.
Hours later, they sat alone by the dim glow of a dying campfire, one hand fisted tight over the fabric of their bandaged ribs. Their body trembled with exhaustion- and with something heavier. Something black and gnawing at the edges of their mind.
It's your fault.
You should have been faster. Smarter.
If you had died... If you had slowed the others down... Someone else could have gotten hurt.
"You stupid idiot," (Y/N) whispered, nails biting into their palm. "You're dead weight. You shouldn't be here."
A branch cracked somewhere behind them.
(Y/N) stiffened, scrubbing at their face quickly before glancing up- and froze.
Inosuke stood a few feet away, watching them with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Then Inosuke moved. In one quick, almost clumsy motion, he dropped to his knees in front of (Y/N), grabbed their face in both rough, calloused hands, and forced them to look at him.
"Don't," he said, low and fierce.
(Y/N)'s chest twisted. "Inosuke, I-"
"Shut up," he growled, but there was no anger in it. Only a raw desperation. "I can smell it on you. That stupid guilt. Like rotting meat."
(Y/N)'s breath caught in their throat.
"You fought," Inosuke said, shaking them just slightly, as if trying to jolt the poison thoughts right out of their skull. "You fought like crazy. You were hurt, but you still fought. That's strong."
"But I-" (Y/N) tried again, voice breaking. "I messed up. I let it hit me. If something happened to you, or Tanjiro, or Zenitsu, or-"
"You didn't!" Inosuke snarled. "We're all alive. Because of you."
(Y/N)'s eyes blurred with tears they couldn't stop anymore. Their whole body shook from the weight of it- the guilt, the fear, the endless, clawing pressure to be better, to be perfect, to be worth the space they took up.
"I can't-" they choked out, voice cracking wide open. "I'm not strong enough. I never was."
Inosuke made a frustrated, pained sound deep in his chest- then he pulled (Y/N) forward, hard and fast, until their forehead thumped against his bare shoulder.
"Shut up," he said again, but softer this time- almost broken. His arms wrapped around them tight, like he was physically trying to hold them together.
"You're one of us. I don't care if you're strong or weak or stupid or smart. You're mine," he muttered into their hair. "You don't have to fight alone."
(Y/N) let out a raw, shuddering breath- and finally, finally, the dam inside them cracked.
They buried their face against Inosuke’s chest and sobbed- ugly, shaking, broken sobs, the kind that tore up your ribs and left you gasping for air.
Inosuke didn’t pull away.
He just stayed there- solid and real and grounding- muttering nonsense under his breath, things like "Stupid (Y/N)," and "I'll beat up anything that makes you cry," and "You're not allowed to disappear, you hear me?"
At some point, (Y/N) stopped fighting it. They let themselves lean into him completely, clutching his shoulder gently, breathing in the warm, earthy scent of him.
They weren't okay.
But maybe... maybe they would be.
Because Inosuke- wild, reckless, stubborn Inosuke- wasn't going to let them fall apart alone.
Not anymore.
When (Y/N) woke, the first thing they noticed was the heavy warmth draped over them.
The campfire had burned down to glowing embers. Dawn light bled slowly into the gray sky, painting everything soft and muted. The air was cold, sharp enough that every breath stung their lungs- but they were warm.
Because Inosuke was still there.
Curled around them like a living shield, arms locked tight across their back, chin resting against the crown of their head. His breathing was slow and even, but his muscles were tense- even in sleep, he was ready, guarding them from enemies seen and unseen.
(Y/N) shifted slightly, wincing at the ache in their ribs.
Immediately, Inosuke stirred.
He blinked blearily down at them, messy hair falling across his forehead, green eyes sharp with instant alertness. The moment he registered they were awake, he tightened his hold just slightly, pulling them closer against his chest.
"You're not allowed to move," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
(Y/N) gave a hoarse, surprised laugh. "I'm not?"
"Nope," Inosuke said firmly, squeezing them once like a warning.
"You didn't sleep much, did you?" they asked softly, guilt tugging at the edges of their voice.
Inosuke grunted. "I had to keep watch. You were crying like an idiot." There was no venom in it- just blunt concern, the only way he knew how to say I was scared for you without actually saying it.
(Y/N) swallowed hard. Their hands, still trembling slightly, found his shoulder- clutched it again without thinking.
"I'm sorry," they whispered.
Inosuke made a low, growling noise in his throat- angry, almost hurt- and pulled back just enough to stare into their face.
"Don't say that," he said fiercely. "Don't you dare be sorry for needing help."
His words were clumsy. Rough around the edges. But they slammed straight into (Y/N)'s chest, stealing the air from their lungs.
"I need you too," Inosuke said, quieter now. "So you gotta stay. Even if you're hurting. Even if you're scared. You gotta stay."
(Y/N) blinked rapidly against the hot sting behind their eyes. They didn't deserve this kind of loyalty. This kind of raw, stubborn care. And yet- here Inosuke was. Offering it anyway.
Slowly, carefully, (Y/N) leaned their forehead against his again. The touch was feather-light, a soft, tentative thing- but Inosuke didn’t pull away.
Instead, he tilted his head just slightly until their temples touched, grounding them both.
"I'll stay," (Y/N) whispered.
Inosuke huffed, triumphant, like he’d won some kind of secret war. "Good. 'Cause I'm not lettin' you go."
He shifted again, making himself more comfortable- essentially wrapping himself around (Y/N) like a wild animal refusing to be separated from something sacred.
They lay there in the soft light of morning, tucked into each other, heartbeat to heartbeat.
(Y/N)... felt like they belonged.
And Inosuke- reckless, fierce, utterly untamable Inosuke- was right there with them.
Where he intended to stay.
Verosika x male!reader dating headcannons please
A/N: Of course, @ultimategraffitiguy! Verosika is one of my favorites :}
Mine, Loud and Clear
Verosika x Male!Reader
Warnings: Sexual themes, Possessiveness/Jealousy, Arguments/Conflict
Word Count: 943
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- Verosika was the one who made the first move: Obviously, she knew what she wanted the second she laid eyes on (Y/N) and didn't waste a second before flirting shamelessly, practically daring him not to fall for her.
- At first, (Y/N) thought he was just another target for her to toy with: But when she started genuinely caring whether he texted her back or if he smiled at her during a date, she realized she was in deeper than she meant to be.
- He surprised her by not being easy to push around: Not hostile, but just solid enough that he didn’t let her walk all over him. That infuriated and attracted her all at once.
- In public, Verosika loves flaunting their relationship: Clinging to his arm, stealing kisses, tracing a claw up his chest with a mischievous smirk while other demons stare. "What? You think I'm gonna hide how hot my man is? Dream on."
- Dates are extravagant if she plans them: Exclusive clubs, private concerts, trips to weird, beautiful corners of Hell- but (Y/N) tends to suggest things like movies, walks through busy streets, or greasy, hole-in-the-wall diners. Somehow, she ends up loving his ideas even more.
- Verosika flirts like breathing: Constantly, effortlessly, shamelessly. She'll whisper dirty things right in (Y/N)'s ear in the middle of a crowded room just to watch him blush and stammer like a fool.
- Her favorite thing? Making him squirm: She’ll drag a finger up his thigh under the table, lean in way too close, brush her fangs against his ear as she pretends to "ask a question"- all while acting totally innocent if anyone notices.
- (Y/N) learned quickly that challenging her only makes her worse: "You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna rattle me, babe." Cue Verosika grabbing him by the collar and proving she absolutely can rattle him.
- Possessive as hell… but fun about it: If another demon so much as looks at him the wrong way, she’ll pull him into a kiss so deep and smug it leaves him dizzy. When they pull away, she'll smirk at the onlookers with a "he's mine, back off" kind of look.
- She loves leaving marks: Hickeys low on his neck, nail scratches on his back, lipstick smudges on his mouth- anything to make sure everyone knows who he's with.
- (Y/N) finds out she's extremely physical when she’s really in the mood: grabbing, pinning, climbing into his lap without warning, sitting in his chair and pulling him down into a kiss until he's gasping.
- Dirty talk? Constant. Merciless: "Careful how you look at me, sweetheart... I might have to drag you somewhere private and ruin you." She loves watching his face heat up- it’s almost a game to see how fast she can get him flustered.
- She teases him about his reactions nonstop: "Aww, look at you. All red for me? You're adorable." And if he tries to flip it and tease her? Good luck. Verosika loves a challenge- she'll escalate until he's the one begging for mercy.
- When she’s feeling extra playful, she’ll dress just a little more scandalous if she knows they’re going somewhere public: Tiny skirts, plunging tops, tail flicking at his knees- all so he struggles to keep it together while she acts totally innocent.
- But it’s not just physical: Sometimes, when they're alone and it’s quiet, she’ll crawl into his lap, bury her face against his neck, and mumble soft, sultry promises against his skin. (Y/N) can always tell when it's not just teasing- when it’s real and vulnerable underneath all the heat.
- Verosika loves when he gets bold: If (Y/N) ever turns the tables- like grabbing her waist and pinning her to the wall mid flirt- it drives her crazy. She loves that tiny flash of dominance from him, especially because she knows she’s the only one who gets to see it.
- (Y/N) learned quickly that Verosika is a jealous creature, even if she tries to play it cool: If anyone flirts with him, she immediately stakes her claim- usually with a kiss that leaves him dizzy and the offender looking for the nearest exit.
- But behind closed doors, she softens: She loves sprawling across (Y/N)'s chest after a long day, her wings loosely draped over him, lazily tracing little patterns over his skin with her nails while they talk about absolutely nothing important.
- Verosika secretly treasures the little, normal things he does: Holding the door open for her, tucking her hair behind her ear, bringing her a drink without her asking. She’ll tease him mercilessly about it, but she will have the biggest smile on her face the whole time.
- Whenever she’s stressed or overwhelmed (which happens more than she’ll admit), she finds herself instinctively seeking him out: Even if it's just to sit next to him while she works through her thoughts. He’s one of the only people she trusts enough to see her without all the glamour. No makeup, no elaborate outfits, no show. Just Verosika- tired, gorgeous, and real.
- When they fight (because they do), it's explosive: lots of shouting, dramatic exits, slamming doors- but (Y/N) never lets her go to bed angry. He’ll find a way back to her, even if it’s just leaning against her door and muttering a stubborn, half-sincere "I’m not leaving until you hear me out." - Verosika never thought she'd settle down: She never even amused the idea she would care so much about someone else's happiness, but (Y/N) somehow made it feel easy- normal, even. She still won't admit she's "soft," though. Not yet.
Ember in the Dark pt.5
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.4 - pt.6
pt.1
Warnings: Violence, Combat, Injury, Mild gore, Abduction, Restraint, Death, Hallucinations/Visions, Blood, and Panic/Fear.
Word Count: 6174
Summary: (Y/N) is ambushed by three hooded figures trying to abduct her. She fights back but is restrained until her scream alerts Vander, Silco, and Felicia. A brutal fight ensues, leaving her stabbed before her attackers are defeated or driven off. Silco rushes her home, where Felicia stitches her wound while Vander and Silco struggle to contain her unstable magic. Before losing consciousness, she sees a vision of her mother. Realizing the attack was a targeted abduction, Vander and Silco investigate and learn that the Mageseekers, possibly backed by someone powerful, won’t stop hunting her. Meanwhile, Felicia watches over (Y/N). When she wakes, Silco warns her not to go out alone. Though frustrated, she accepts his help, and in an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness, he washes and combs her hair, revealing his fear. She reassures him, but both know the danger isn’t over. Left alone, (Y/N) struggles to rest, haunted by how close she came to being taken.
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The grip on her arm was like iron.
One moment, she was walking behind the others, her steps careful, keeping an eye on the shadows. The next, a rough yank wrenched her off balance, dragging her into the darkness of a narrow alleyway.
She barely had time to react before she was shoved against the damp stone wall, a gloved hand clamping over her mouth. Instinct flared- she thrashed, trying to throw her weight forward, but another force seized her other arm, pinning her in place.
"Quiet." The voice was cold, controlled. A tone that expected obedience.
Three of them. Just like before.
Her heart pounded as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Their clothes were dark, heavy- made for blending in. Beneath their hoods, she caught glimpses of stern faces, sharp eyes that held purpose.
They weren’t just some random thugs looking to mug her.
This was something else.
The man holding her still leaned in slightly, eyes flickering over her face, searching for something. Confirming something.
“She’s the one,” he murmured.
Her blood ran cold.
The second man- broader, his grip bruising her arm- spoke next, voice laced with disdain. “Took us long enough to track her down. She’s been hiding.”
She didn’t understand. Who were these people?
The third figure, standing just behind the others, exhaled sharply. “She doesn’t even know why we’re here...”
She stiffened.
Before she could process that, the first man leaned in closer, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.
“You’re coming with us.”
No.
She didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but she knew she couldn’t let them take her.
She jerked against their grip, shoving her weight forward, twisting, trying to rip herself free. The man restraining her hissed in frustration, tightening his hold.
Then, she felt it.
A tingling beneath her skin. A crackling in her bones. A spark, desperate and wild, clawing to the surface.
Her breath came fast, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she fought against the instinct screaming at her to let go. She could- she knew she could- but she wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.
Instead, she did the one thing she avoided at all costs.
She screamed.
A raw, desperate sound tore from her throat, sharp and jagged, cutting through the damp, crowded streets of the Undercity.
The men cursed, reacting instantly. The one holding her mouth recoiled, caught off guard just long enough for her to thrash against his grip. The broader man snarled and clamped down harder on her arm, yanking her back before she could bolt.
“Shut her up,” he snapped.
A gloved hand struck her cheek. The sting was sharp, burning- but she didn’t stop.
She couldn’t stop.
“VANDER! SILCO!!” she screamed again, using every bit of breath in her lungs, hoping- praying- that they heard her before these bastards dragged her away.
Shouting erupted from the streets.
The men tensed.
Her heart soared.
The voices were distant but getting closer- familiar voices.
“(Y/N)?”
Vander.
Then another, sharp and cutting- “Where is she?!”
The hooded figures exchanged looks, calculating.
They had seconds before her people arrived.
The grip on her loosened just slightly- just enough.
And she took her chance.
With everything she had, she drove her knee into the nearest man’s gut, using the momentum to rip her arm free. The other lunged to grab her, but she twisted away, slipping through his fingers just as-
Vander and Silco came crashing into the alley.
Felicia rushed in after, keeping her distance but ready.
Vander was a force of nature, barreling straight for the nearest hooded figure. His sheer presence alone sent the man stumbling back.
Silco was precise, fast, cold- lunging straight for the one who had hit her, a blade flashing in his hand.
Panting, she stumbled back. Felicia was suddenly at her side, gripping her arms, steadying her.
She wasn’t alone... The alley exploded into chaos.
Vander fought like a battering ram, his fists landing like sledgehammers against the people who had been attacking (Y/N). He slammed one against the brick wall, sending the man crumpling to the ground with a sickening crack.
Silco was faster, sharper- his knife found its mark in the shoulder of the second man, twisting with ruthless precision. The man cried out, staggering back, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his cloak.
(Y/N) gasped for breath, pressing a hand to the fresh bruise on her cheek, her heart hammering. She could barely focus as Felicia yanked her further back, shielding her from the fight.
The group was trying to retreat.
They hadn’t expected this.
But just as the last one turned to flee, he moved too fast- too close to her.
It happened in an instant.
A flash of steel.
A searing pain tore through her side.
She sucked in a sharp breath, the world tilting as she looked down.
The blade was small but deep, buried just beneath her ribs. The figure yanked it back, and warmth spread across her torso- blood soaking through the fabric of her cloak.
Felicia screamed.
Silco turned instantly, eyes wide as he saw her sway.
Then, his expression shifted.
Pure, unrelenting rage twisted his features. His hand tightened around his knife.
He didn’t just stab this time- he drove the blade into the man’s gut and twisted it, his face inches from the man’s as he watched the light leave his eyes.
The hooded man gurgled.
Collapsed.
But she barely saw it.
Her knees buckled.
Pain flooded her senses, her breath ragged and shallow. Arms caught her before she hit the ground- Silco, his grip firm but shaking.
“(Y/N)- (Y/N), stay awake.”
Vander was suddenly there, pale-faced, pressing his hands against the wound.
Too much blood.
Felicia hovered, panic tightening her expression. “We need to move. Now.”
The fight was over. The group was either dead or gone.
But (Y/N) was slipping fast.
Silco clenched his jaw, his voice steady but tight. “We’re taking her home.”
Then, without another word, they ran.
Silco didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
(Y/N)’s blood was everywhere- soaking into his shirt, warm and sticky against his skin as he tightened his grip. She was too still, her head lolling slightly against his shoulder, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
Her eyes- he caught a glimpse of them through her half-lidded stare.
Glowing.
A faint, golden shimmer.
Not now.
Not here.
“Stay with me, (Y/N),” he muttered, barely hearing his own voice over the pounding of his heartbeat. “We’re almost there.”
Vander was at his side, keeping pace despite the panic in his expression. Felicia ran ahead, shoving people out of the way, clearing a path.
The bar was too far.
Too damn far.
Silco’s arms ached, but he didn’t dare let her go.
She stirred slightly, fingers twitching against his chest, lips parting as if to speak. But when she did, it wasn’t words- just a sharp, pained exhale as another jolt of golden light flickered through her hands.
Shit.
They burst through the back entrance of the bar, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.
Benzo took one look at (Y/N), at the blood, at them, and rushed forward.
“Get her upstairs. Now.”
Silco didn’t need to be told twice.
He took the stairs two at a time, Vander right behind him, Felicia on his heels. They reached her room, Silco lowering her onto the bed with a care that felt unnatural for him.
The moment he let go, her body tensed. Her fingers clenched in the sheets as a golden glow crackled up her arms.
She was losing control.
Vander swore. “(Y/N)-”
Silco grabbed her wrist, his grip firm, grounding.
“Breathe,” he ordered, voice sharp, forcing her to look at him.
Her eyes fluttered open- still glowing, but unfocused.
“It... hurts,” she rasped.
“I know.” Silco’s voice softened, but his free hand pressed against her wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “But you need to stay here. You hear me?”
Benzo shoved past Vander, dropping a bowl of water, cloth, and a needle with thread onto the bedside table. “She’s burning up. Someone’s gotta patch her up before she bleeds out.”
Felicia moved first, rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll do it.”
Silco didn’t let go of (Y/N)’s wrist. Vander hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed.
(Y/N)’s breathing was shallow, her hands trembling as golden light flickered along her skin, fading in and out. She was still here, still fighting.
And Silco wasn’t leaving her side.
Felicia’s hands were steady, but her heart pounded in her chest.
(Y/N)’s body was slick with sweat, her magic crackling at her fingertips, sparking against the sheets. It was wild- unstable. Every time she tensed in pain, the light flared, lashing out like a live wire.
“She’s gonna fry me,” Felicia muttered under her breath, threading the needle with shaking fingers.
“Then be quick,” Vander said, his grip tightening on (Y/N)’s shoulders. He and Silco pressed her down to keep her from thrashing.
Silco was still gripping her wrist, his knuckles white. “(Y/N),” he murmured, voice sharp. “You have to stop moving.”
She let out a choked sound- not quite a scream, but damn close. Her body jerked, golden light surging up her arms, singeing the sheets. Small embers hissed against the damp cloth Benzo had thrown over her stomach to catch the blood.
Felicia clenched her jaw. No more hesitating.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and then she pressed the needle into torn skin.
(Y/N) screamed.
Her back arched violently, her arms seizing as another burst of magic crackled out of her. Silco barely flinched as sparks danced up his forearm, burning through his sleeve. Vander gritted his teeth, holding her down as Felicia worked as fast as she could, threading the needle through her flesh, sealing the wound shut.
More sparks. More magic.
(Y/N) convulsed, nails digging into Silco’s arm, breath ragged, uneven.
Felicia’s fingers trembled. The needle was slick with blood. (Y/N)’s blood.
She worked faster.
Silco murmured to her again, voice low, grounding.
(Y/N)’s thrashing slowed.
The light in her hands flickered.
Felicia forced the last stitch through, tying it off with a sharp tug.
“It’s done,” she gasped, pressing a cloth over the wound to stem the bleeding. “She just- she just needs to rest now.”
Silco loosened his grip but didn’t move away. Vander let out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face.
Felicia wiped the sweat from her forehead with a shaky hand.
(Y/N) was barely conscious, her body limp, her breathing shallow. The glow at her fingertips had faded to a dull flicker, no longer sparking against the sheets.
They had stopped the bleeding.
But she had come too close.
Too close to dying.
Too close to losing control.
Felicia swallowed hard. “We can’t let this happen again.”
Vander exhaled. “No. We can’t.”
Silco said nothing. He just stayed where he was, still holding (Y/N)’s wrist, even long after her fingers had gone still.
The world blurred at the edges. The pain in her torso dulled, lost beneath exhaustion and the magic still humming under her skin. Voices murmured in the haze- Silco, firm and steady, grounding her. Vander, heavy with something unspoken. Felicia, exhaling sharply, muttering under her breath. Benzo, chiming in now and then but mostly quiet.
But beyond them, just past the flickering light of the room, stood someone else.
A figure- blurry, shifting, barely tangible.
(Y/N) blinked, her vision hazy, her mind tangled between reality and something else entirely.
The shape before her crackled softly, golden light sparking along its edges.
The same color that bled from her hands when she lost control.
The same magic.
The same blood.
“…Mama?”
The whisper barely left her lips, slipping away into the space between breath and silence.
The figure didn’t speak.
But it watched her.
(Y/N)’s chest tightened. Her fingers twitched, aching to reach forward, to touch what wasn’t really there.
She knew it wasn’t real. Knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her.
Or maybe… something else.
Still.
The golden light crackled again, curling like smoke. And for the briefest moment, she swore she could see her mother’s face- soft, sad, watching her with eyes that held too much.
The same way she had the last time (Y/N) ever saw her awake.
A lump rose in her throat.
“Don’t go,” she murmured.
But her voice barely held weight.
The light flickered- once, twice- before dimming entirely.
The figure was gone.
And (Y/N) finally let herself fall into the dark.
The room was heavy with silence after (Y/N)’s whisper faded. Her outstretched hand fell limply to the mattress, her body finally succumbing to unconsciousness. The faint golden glow at her fingertips flickered out like a dying ember.
Felicia exhaled, shaking out her hands, still stained with (Y/N)’s blood. The stitching was rough, rushed- but it would hold. It had to.
Vander sat heavily on a crate, rubbing his face with both hands, exhaustion clear in the slope of his shoulders.
Silco hadn’t moved. His fingers still rested against (Y/N)’s wrist, checking for a steady pulse. His grip was tight- too tight for someone usually so composed.
Felicia was the first to speak.
“That wasn’t some random street scuffle.” Her voice was quiet, but certain. “That was planned.”
Silco’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Vander straightened, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did you get a good look at ‘em?”
Silco nodded, eyes dark. “Hooded figures. Armed, coordinated. Not from around here.” His fingers twitched- like he wanted a cigarette- but he didn’t reach for one. “They weren’t just after a payday.”
Felicia swallowed, glancing at (Y/N)’s still form. “They were after her.”
A beat of silence.
Vander let out a long breath. “Then we need to find out who the hell they were.”
Felicia ran a hand through her hair. “If they knew what she is- what she can do this isn’t over.”
Silco’s voice was flat. “She screamed. Drew attention.”
“Good,” Vander said firmly. “Or she’d be dead.”
Felicia shuddered. “And if they’re still watching?”
Silco’s fingers curled into a fist. “Then we make them regret it.”
Vander nodded. “We start asking around. Someone’s bound to know something.” He met Silco’s eyes. “I’ll check the Lanes. See if anyone’s heard about strangers poking around.”
Silco exhaled sharply. “Benzo, you’ll hear more than most at your shop.”
Felicia crossed her arms. “And what about her?” She jerked her chin toward (Y/N). “We can’t leave her alone.”
Silco’s answer was instant. “Then we don’t.”
Vander nodded. “We take shifts.”
Silco looked down at (Y/N), his expression unreadable. “She needs rest.”
Felicia sighed. “We all do.”
But they wouldn’t.
Not tonight.
Tonight, they had work to do.
Benzo left first, pulling his coat tighter around himself before disappearing into the streets. He knew better than to ask too many questions- he’d hear what needed to be heard soon enough.
Felicia sat on the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of her friend’s chest. The worst was over, but she still looked pale, her breathing uneven. Felicia reached down, adjusting the blanket over her, though she knew it wouldn’t help much.
“She’ll be fine,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Silco and Vander stood near the door, preparing to leave. Vander exhaled through his nose, glancing once more at (Y/N). “If anything changes-”
“I’ll come get you,” Felicia finished, giving him a tired look. “I know.”
Silco rolled his shoulders, eyes sharp with something cold. “If she wakes up, don’t let her move. She’ll be stubborn about it.”
Felicia huffed a short, humorless laugh. “No shit.”
Vander placed a hand on Silco’s shoulder, nodding toward the door. “C’mon. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to track these bastards down.”
Silco gave (Y/N) one last look before turning sharply and stepping out into the streets. Vander followed, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.
Felicia sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Well, (Y/N),” she muttered, glancing at her unconscious friend. “Looks like you stirred up a real mess this time.” She just hoped they’d be able to clean it up before it got worse.
The Undercity was never quiet, even at night. Vander and Silco moved through the twisting alleyways, boots scuffing against damp stone, the scent of soot and metal thick in the air. They didn’t speak at first- there was no need. Their minds were set on the same goal; finding out who the hell had come after (Y/N).
Vander clenched his fists. “They knew what they were looking for,” he muttered. “Didn’t go after me, didn’t go after you or Felicia. Just her.”
Silco’s jaw tensed. “They knew about her magic.”
Vander shot him a glance. “She’s been careful, Silco. No way word got out just like that.”
Silco exhaled sharply through his nose, sharp eyes scanning the streets ahead. “Doesn’t matter how careful she was. Someone saw something. Someone talked.”
The thought made Vander’s stomach twist. They had spent years making sure (Y/N) kept her secret hidden, had uprooted their lives, moved from place to place, taken jobs in the mines to keep her safe- and still, it wasn’t enough.
They stopped outside a makeshift gambling den wedged between rusted pipes and flickering neon signs. It was one of the places that thrived on knowing things- people paid debts with information as often as they did with coin.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension. Eyes flicked toward them as they stepped inside, taking in their presence but quickly looking away. Vander had a reputation- so did Silco.
They made their way to a table near the back, where a wiry man with thin, calculating eyes was nursing a cheap drink. His name was Lark, and he had a talent for sniffing out whispers in the Undercity.
“Gentlemen,” Lark greeted, his voice smooth, practiced. “Didn’t expect to see you two tonight. What brings you here?”
Silco slid into the seat across from him, Vander standing close behind, arms crossed. “We’re looking for information,” Silco said coolly. “About some hooded bastards prowling the streets. They went after a friend of ours.”
Lark’s lips twitched. “Hooded, huh? That’s not much to go on.”
Vander leaned in, his broad presence casting a shadow over the man. “You know exactly who we’re talking about.”
Lark hesitated, swirling his drink. He measured his words carefully. “You’re talking about the Mageseekers.”
The word hit like a hammer. Silco’s expression remained unreadable, but Vander stiffened slightly.
“Mageseekers?” Vander repeated. “Never heard of ‘em.”
Lark tilted his head. “You wouldn’t have. They don’t come down here often. But when they do, they’re hunting.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “They work for those with money, be it Piltover, Noxus, anyone with the information to give them what they want... Real nasty types. Their job is to sniff out anyone with magic, and when they find ‘em… Well. Let’s just say they don’t send ‘em off with a friendly warning.”
Silco’s fingers drummed once against the table. “Why come all the way down here for one girl?”
Lark gave a loose shrug. “Could be a mistake. Could be she caught their attention somehow. But if the Mageseekers know about her, that means someone up top does too. Piltover doesn’t waste time chasing ghosts…”
Vander exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a gang looking for an easy target. This was bigger. More dangerous.
Silco pushed back from the table. “If you hear anything else, you’ll let us know.”
Lark smirked. “Of course. For a price.”
Vander reached into his pocket, tossing a few coins onto the table. Lark scooped them up greedily, nodding in satisfaction.
“Be careful,” Lark said as they turned to leave. “If the Mageseekers have her scent, they won’t stop coming.”
Vander and Silco left the gambling den, stepping back into the cold, oil-slicked streets.
“This is bad,” Vander muttered.
Silco’s gaze was hard, calculating. “We’ll handle it.”
But Vander wasn’t so sure. Because for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just up against the Undercity’s dangers. They were up against Piltover, against Mageseekers…
The walk back to the bar was silent. Vander and Silco moved with purpose, their minds spinning with what they had just learned. The Mageseekers were bad enough- but the fact that they were sniffing around meant someone in Piltover had taken notice of (Y/N). That alone was enough to make the situation dangerous.
When Vander and Silco reached the bar, the warm glow of the lights was a stark contrast to the cold weight settling in their chests. The place was still closed to the public, but inside, up the stairs, Felicia sat in the same spot she was in before... On the edge of (Y/N)’s bed, (Y/N) resting beside her.
Felicia looked up as they entered. “Well?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration.
Silco exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. “Mageseekers,” he said flatly. “They’re sent from Piltover. Hunting people like her.” His gaze flickered to (Y/N), still unconscious, her breathing shallow. “If they found her once, they’ll find her again.”
Felicia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So what do we do?”
Vander pulled up a chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “We stay close. No more going off alone. No more risks. They’ll come back, and when they do, we’ll be ready.”
Felicia nodded, but something about the way she looked at (Y/N) was uneasy. She knew it wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore.
Felicia let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over her tired face. “I’ll go make some food… She will need the energy…” she murmured, though the exhaustion in her voice betrayed her need for a break. She cast one last glance at (Y/N), still motionless on the bed, before rising to her feet.
Vander followed suit, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. “I’ll be downstairs. Give a shout if anything changes,” he said, though the weight in his tone made it clear he wasn’t expecting good news anytime soon.
Silco remained seated, his sharp eyes never leaving (Y/N). As Vander and Felicia made their way out of the room, the door creaked shut behind them, leaving behind a heavy silence.
For a moment, there was only the dim glow of the bedside lamp, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Silco exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his fingers absently toying with a knife at his belt.
“You really don’t make things easy, do you?” he muttered, watching the slow rise and fall of (Y/N)’s chest.
The Undercity was dangerous enough- but now, with the Mageseekers involved, things had taken a sharp and deadly turn.
(Y/N)'s eyelids fluttered open, the dim glow of the bedside lantern casting soft shadows across the room. Her body felt like it had been dragged across the Undercity’s roughest streets, every movement sending sharp pain through her torso. The wound throbbed, stitched together with Felicia’s quick, practiced hands, but the bruises on her ribs and shoulders made even breathing an effort.
She blinked, disoriented, mind foggy from exhaustion and pain.
Silco was sitting nearby, leaning back in a chair, one leg crossed over the other- his sharp eyes were on her the second she stirred.
“You’re awake.” His voice was quiet, but there was something in it. Relief, maybe. It was hard to tell with Silco sometimes.
(Y/N) groaned, shutting her eyes again. “Unfortunately.”
Silco let out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle. “You had us worried,” he admitted, shifting in his seat.
Her fingers twitched as she tried to push herself up slightly, but pain flared up her side, forcing her back down. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Shit.”
“Careful,” Silco warned, watching her struggle. “Felicia stitched you up, but you tear that open, and you’ll be bleeding all over again.”
(Y/N) huffed, frustrated. “Feels like I already am.” She hesitated, eyes flickering to Silco. “What happened?”
He exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Mageseekers.”
Her stomach twisted at the name.
Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. “They were following us. They caught you when you strayed too far back. Vander and I got to you before they could take you, but one of them got a lucky hit.”
(Y/N) swallowed hard. “And now?”
Silco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now we wait. See what Benzo finds. But you… you don’t leave the bar. Not alone.”
(Y/N)’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated being confined. Hated feeling weak. But she wasn’t stupid- she knew this was bad.
Still, something nagged at her. The Mageseekers weren’t usually in the Undercity. They had no reason to be here unless… Unless someone had given them one.
Or unless someone else had sent them.
Her throat felt dry. “…They won’t stop, will they?”
Silco was quiet for a moment. Then, with a voice far softer than she expected, he said, “No. They won’t.”
The weight of that truth settled over her, suffocating.
Outside, the distant hum of the Undercity’s streets carried on, the world moving as if nothing had changed. But for (Y/N), everything had.
Silco hadn’t moved from his seat, his eyes never straying far from her as she sat there, lost in thought. The weight of everything pressed against her ribs, heavy and suffocating. The pain, the attack, the realization that she wasn’t safe- probably never had been.
But what got to her most wasn’t the danger. It wasn’t even the Mageseekers. It was the damn feeling of weakness clawing at her insides.
She felt disgusting. Dried blood clung to her skin, crusted over her stomach where the wound had been stitched. Her clothes were stiff with it, the fabric sticking to her in the worst places. She wanted out of them. She wanted to clean herself up, to not feel like she was still stuck in that alley, surrounded by those hooded bastards.
But moving- hell, even sitting up- wasn’t something she could do on her own.
The realization made her stomach twist. She hated this. Hated asking for help, hated feeling small and pathetic. But she’d rather die than go downstairs like this, looking like something dragged through the Lanes and left to rot.
Her fingers curled into the bedsheets as she debated it, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Silco was still watching her, patient but expectant. He knew she was working through something, but he wasn’t going to pry.
Her throat tightened. She exhaled sharply, barely above a whisper.
“…Can you help me?”
Silco raised an eyebrow. “With?”
She clenched her jaw, looking away. “I need to clean up.”
He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t tease her for the hesitation or draw attention to the shame buried in her voice.
Instead, he just stood.
“Alright.”
Relief flooded through her, though she refused to let it show.
With Silco’s help, she slowly- agonizingly- pushed herself up. Every movement sent fresh spikes of pain through her body, her wound burning, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet. Silco slipped an arm around her waist, careful of the injury, keeping her steady as her legs wobbled beneath her.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered back, though she wasn’t convinced.
Silco guided her across the room to where the old metal basin sat, a rag and a pitcher of water next to it. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.
“Sit,” he ordered, helping her onto the stool beside it.
She obeyed, too tired to argue.
The water was cold as she poured some into the basin, soaking the rag before wringing it out. She hissed when the cloth touched her skin, wiping away the dried blood from her stomach. It took more effort than she wanted to admit just to lift the hem of her shirt, exposing the stitches.
Silco watched, arms crossed, but he said nothing.
After a few moments, (Y/N) swallowed her pride again and held the rag out to him.
“…Can you get my back?”
Silco took it without a word.
She sucked in a breath as the cold cloth pressed against her shoulder, dragging down her spine where bruises had already started to form. His movements were precise, careful, but he didn’t hesitate. He never did.
She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle between them.
“…Thank you,” she murmured, voice barely above a breath.
Silco didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to.
Once she was clean, he helped her into fresh clothes, a loose shirt that wouldn’t tug at the stitches, before carefully wrapping a new bandage around her torso. Once done, he carefully brought her back into her room.
(Y/N) sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, still adjusting to the feeling of fresh bandages against her skin. She felt better- cleaner, at least- but the soreness hadn’t faded. Her body ached like hell, but at least she didn’t feel like she was drowning in her own blood anymore.
She thought they were done. Thought Silco would leave her to rest now that she was taken care of.
Instead, he stayed.
She tensed when she felt him move behind her, fingers gathering her tangled hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Silco didn’t answer immediately. He took the small comb from her bedside table- one she barely used- and ran it through the strands, carefully working through the knots.
“Your hair’s a mess,” he said simply.
(Y/N) huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, getting stabbed tends to make things like brushing my hair less of a priority.”
Silco made a noncommittal sound, focused on his task. He worked in steady strokes, more careful than she expected from someone so sharp-edged. It was… odd.
He was being soft. Unusually so.
(Y/N) didn’t know what to do with that.
She swallowed, staring at her hands in her lap. “…You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Then why?
The question hung in the air, unspoken.
Silco didn’t answer it, but she could feel it in the way his fingers combed through her hair, untangling the knots with a patience she hadn’t known he possessed.
It wasn’t like him to be openly gentle. But this- this was different.
Maybe he thought she wouldn’t remember. Maybe he assumed the pain, the exhaustion, would dull the weight of this moment. Or maybe he just didn’t care if she noticed.
Either way, she let him do it.
For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) let herself be taken care of.
Silco lingered behind her after tying her hair back, his hands briefly resting on her shoulders before slowly falling away.
He should have left. Should have walked away now that she was taken care of... Instead, he stayed.
(Y/N) sat still, her head slightly bowed, her breathing steady but fragile- like even that took effort. He watched the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants, gripping them tightly as if grounding herself.
She had almost died today.
The thought clawed at his mind, tightening in his chest like a vice.
Silco had always understood that death was inevitable in the Undercity. He had seen enough of it to know that anyone could be taken in an instant. But the idea of losing her- of seeing her crumpled in an alley, blood pooling beneath her, magic flickering uncontrollably in her weakened state- was something else entirely.
It was a fear he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.
But now, with her here, still breathing, still alive… He felt it.
(Y/N) exhaled softly, tilting her head slightly, as if sensing the weight of his silence. “You’re still here,” she murmured.
Silco clenched his jaw, steadying himself before responding. “…Yeah.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
“You’re scared,” she said suddenly.
He stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
But (Y/N) only gave a tired, knowing smile. “…You are.”
Silco hated that she could see through him.
He hated it even more that she was right.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “…They almost took you from us.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it- sharp, dangerous, like the promise of a blade in the dark.
(Y/N) swallowed, her fingers loosening their grip on her pants. “But they didn’t,” she reassured, glancing back at him. “I’m still here.”
Silco’s eyes flickered to hers, searching, unreadable.
Still here.
For now.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing against her back lightly- just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t slipping away.
“…Get some rest,” he murmured, finally stepping away.
(Y/N) didn’t stop him this time.
But before he reached the door, she spoke again- soft, but certain.
“…You don’t have to be scared, Sil...”
He didn’t turn around.
Didn’t tell her that it was too late for that.
The room was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the empty bar below and the occasional creak of pipes in the walls. The dim light on the bedside table flickered, casting long shadows across the room.
(Y/N) lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, but rest wouldn’t come. The dull ache of her wound pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a constant reminder of how close she had come to being taken. She stared at the ceiling, thoughts circling like vultures.
She couldn’t just lie here.
(Y/N) forced herself up with a wince, pressing a hand against her aching side. The stitches pulled uncomfortably, but she had never been the type to stay still for long- especially not now, when there were Mageseekers lurking in the shadows, and questions she desperately needed answers to.
Her boots were quiet against the floor as she made her way down the stairs, the dim glow of the bar’s lanterns casting warm light over the wooden surfaces. The place was still closed, but Vander was behind the counter, cleaning a glass with slow, thoughtful movements.
His gaze flicked up as soon as she reached the bottom step.
“You shouldn’t be up,” he said, his voice edged with something between exasperation and concern.
(Y/N) exhaled, leaning against the counter. “I’d rather be here than lying in bed, thinking too much.”
Vander sighed, setting the glass down. “That wound’s fresh. You push yourself too hard, kid.”
“I’ll live.”
He gave her a look, one that made it very clear he wasn’t amused. “Not if you go tearing your stitches open.”
(Y/N) only offered a faint smirk in return, ignoring the way her body ached as she pulled herself onto one of the barstools. “Benzo back yet?”
Vander shook his head. “Not yet. But I doubt it’ll take long… And Fel is in back cooking...”
She nodded, tapping her fingers against the worn wood of the bar. Silence stretched between them, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the doors.
It was Silco who finally broke it.
“I told you to rest,” he muttered from his seat near the end of the bar, watching her with sharp, unimpressed eyes.
(Y/N) turned to him, raising a brow. “And I told you I’m fine.”
Silco’s gaze flickered to her side, to the way she was ever so slightly favoring it. “…Sure you are.”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, a door swung open at the far end of the room. Felicia emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a rag, her expression set in a tired scowl.
She froze for a second, eyes narrowing as she took in (Y/N), sitting at the bar when she was supposed to be resting. Then, with a sharp exhale, she threw the rag down onto a nearby table.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, already storming toward her. “You got stabbed, hours ago, and you’re up and walking around like it’s nothing?”
“I can’t just lay around,” (Y/N) muttered, swaying slightly as she tried to sit up on her stool. “We both know this isn’t over.”
Felicia let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no shit. And you bleeding out on the floor is really gonna help, huh?” She sighs, shaking her head. “I made stew. You’re eating, and then you’re resting. Or Ill knock you out myself…”
There was no real threat behind her words, just frustration, worry- the kind that only came from caring too much. But (Y/N) wasn’t sure she had it in her to fight back against that right now.
(Y/N) didn’t argue, she just slowly nodded. She was too tired. And, truth be told… the stew smelled pretty damn good.
“Good,” Felicia muttered. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Stubborn idiot.”
(Y/N) smirked faintly. “Takes one to know one.”
Ember in the Dark pt.9
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.8 - pt.10
pt.1
Warnings: Power Imbalance/Oppression, Police Brutality, Mild Violence, Substance use, Pregnancy/Childbirth, Postpartum Exhaustion
Word Count: 7609
Summary: More tensions rise with Piltover as Felicia nears the end of her pregnancy. The group all rally around her, especially when she goes into labor and gives birth to a daughter, Violet. (Y/N) unexpectedly steps into a caretaker role, bonding deeply with Violet and becoming a steady, calming force- especially for Silco, whose growing frustration with the Enforcers is barely contained. As she softens in ways she didn’t expect, Silco begins to see her a bit differently, their relationship deepening through quiet gestures and unspoken trust. With Violet’s arrival, the group finds brief comfort and unity, even as the world outside remains uncertain. Amid it all, (Y/N) and Silco draw closer, finding something worth protecting in each other- and in the fragile new life they’ve all welcomed into Zaun.
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The bar had settled into its late-night lull, the hum of conversation reduced to low murmurs and the occasional clink of glass. The air was warm, thick with the scent of cheap whiskey and the faint burn of tobacco.
Felicia sat at the counter, one hand lazily drumming against her stomach. She was showing more now, the curve of her belly undeniable beneath her loose-fitting shirt. Vander stood behind the bar, wiping down the counter with slow, methodical movements, while Silco leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, his ever-watchful gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
(Y/N) slid into the stool next to Felicia, nudging her with her elbow. “Getting real now, huh?”
Felicia huffed, giving a mock glare. “You mean the constant backaches, the swollen feet, or the fact that I can’t even tie my own damn boots anymore?” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Yeah. It’s real.”
Vander chuckled, setting a glass of water in front of her. “You’re handling it better than most.”
“Handling it,” Felicia repeated dryly. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Silco smirked, his fingers tapping idly against his arm. “You say that like it you didnt cause it.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep being an ass, Silco. We’ll see how smug you are when I make you babysit.”
Silco’s smirk faltered just slightly, and (Y/N) laughed, leaning against the counter. “Oh, that’s happening. No getting out of it.”
Before Silco could formulate a response, the front door swung open, and a few stragglers stumbled out into the street, leaving the place mostly empty aside from their little group. It was quieter than usual- most folks had cleared out early, wary of the increased Enforcer patrols lately.
Vander took a deep breath, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “You all hear what happened in the Lanes today?”
(Y/N) straightened slightly. “What now?”
Vander leaned on the counter, voice dropping just a bit. “Couple of kids got cornered by Enforcers. Supposedly, they were just lifting some food, but instead of scaring them off, the bastards roughed ‘em up. Left one barely able to walk.”
Felicia frowned, shaking her head. “Damn…”
Silco’s jaw tightened, his fingers stilling. “And what did Topside have to say about it?”
Vander sighed. “Same as always. They don’t care. They never have.”
(Y/N) felt the shift in the air, the familiar tension settling over Silco’s shoulders. His frustration had been simmering beneath the surface for months now, each new injustice adding to the weight of it.
Felicia noticed it too. She nudged him lightly with her foot. “Don’t go starting shit, Silco.”
His eyes flicked to her, sharp, but he said nothing.
Vander, watching him closely, exhaled. “Look, I know it ain’t fair. But picking a fight right now? It ain’t the move. We can’t afford trouble.”
Silco scoffed under his breath, but (Y/N) reached out, her fingers brushing against his wrist. It was a small touch, grounding, but enough to make him glance her way. She didn’t say anything, just held his gaze, and after a moment, he exhaled through his nose, tension easing- if only slightly.
Felicia stretched, pushing herself up from her seat. “Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m heading out before the kid decides to start kicking my ribs in again.”
Vander smirked. “Need help getting to Connol’s?”
Felicia shot him a look. “I’m pregnant, not helpless.”
(Y/N) laughed, and Vander held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright.”
Felicia shook her head fondly before heading out, disappearing into the night.
Silco let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “One of these days, Vander, your patience with Piltover is going to cost us.”
Vander’s gaze hardened. “And rushing into a fight we can’t win will cost us more.”
The two stared at each other for a long moment, the weight of unspoken arguments lingering between them.
(Y/N), sensing the brewing storm, slid off her stool, looping an arm around Silco’s. “Come on, let’s get some air.”
He hesitated, but eventually let her pull him toward the door, stepping out into the quiet streets of the Undercity- of Zaun. The name still wasn’t fully embraced, but it was catching on. It was something.
(Y/N) leaned against him slightly. “One step at a time, yeah?”
Silco exhaled, his arm tightening around her just slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “One step at a time.”
The Lanes were quieter at this hour. The usual chaos had simmered down to a dull murmur, the occasional burst of laughter or clatter of metal breaking the silence. The smell of damp stone, oil, and something vaguely metallic lingered in the air.
(Y/N) walked beside Silco, her fingers slowly sliding down his wrist before settling into his palm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip tightened slightly, grounding himself in the quiet presence of her beside him.
They weren’t heading anywhere in particular, just moving through the Lanes, letting the weight of the conversation in the bar settle.
Silco let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. “You ever wonder what it would be like… if Piltover actually gave a damn?”
(Y/N) glanced at him. “Sometimes. But I don’t waste too much time on it.”
Silco scoffed. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “Because it won’t change anything. And thinking about what-ifs just makes it worse.”
He hummed, considering her words. His thumb brushed absentmindedly over her knuckles, though his gaze was distant, fixed on the uneven cobblestone ahead of them. “It’s exhausting. Watching them act like they’re better than us. Letting us scrape by while they thrive off our work. You heard what happened today, and it won’t stop. It never stops.”
(Y/N) squeezed his hand. “I know.”
They walked a bit further in silence, the faint glow of distant street lanterns casting long shadows against the alley walls.
Finally, she spoke again. “You’re not wrong. About any of it.”
Silco glanced at her, waiting.
She met his gaze, eyes steady. “But we both know what happens if you push too soon. We-... I can’t afford to lose you, Silco.”
Something in his expression softened, just barely. He exhaled slowly, dragging his free hand through his hair. “You make it sound like I’m reckless.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Because you are... We all are.”
Silco gave a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here we are.”
A comfortable silence stretched between them as they continued walking. The Lanes weren’t empty, but the people who still lingered in the streets paid them little mind. A few familiar faces nodded in passing, a silent acknowledgment, before disappearing into the alley’s.
Eventually, they found themselves at one of the higher walkways overlooking the Undercity. From here, they could see the sprawling tangle of buildings, the dim glow of neon signs flickering in the distance. Smoke curled up from the factories, mixing with the ever-present green shimmer of lights.
Silco leaned against the railing, eyes scanning the city below.
“This place deserves better,” he murmured.
(Y/N) rested her arms beside his, close enough for their shoulders to brush. “Then we make it better.”
Silco turned his head toward her, searching her face for something. Eventually, his hand found hers again, intertwining their fingers.
The quiet of the night was interrupted by the rhythmic clatter of heavy boots against the cobblestone.
Silco tensed immediately, fingers twitching against the railing as his sharp gaze flicked toward the source of the sound.
(Y/N) squeezed his hand gently, a silent warning. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket, lighting it with practiced ease before taking a slow drag. The ember flared, casting a brief glow across her face as she exhaled.
“Enforcers,” she muttered under her breath, voice low. “Keep your head down, don’t give them a reason to stop.”
Silco exhaled sharply through his nose, but he gave a subtle nod.
They remained still as the group of Enforcers approached- three of them, two women and a tall man leading the way. Their uniforms were pristine, stark against the grime of the Undercity.
Despite their silence, the Enforcers stopped in front of them anyway.
The man at the front eyed them both, head tilting slightly. “Out late, aren’t we?”
Silco didn’t even try to mask his disdain. “So standing outside is forbidden now too?”
(Y/N) discreetly nudged his side, a subtle reminder not to push too far.
She took another slow drag, exhaling the smoke before responding, “Just out for a smoke.”
The Enforcers didn’t look convinced. One of the women shifted, arms crossing over her chest as she eyed them both.
“Funny,” she said. “Most people down here scatter when they see us coming.”
Silco smirked, voice laced with dry amusement. “And yet, here we are.”
(Y/N) shot him a warning glance.
The tall man studied them a moment longer before stepping closer, looking Silco up and down like he was sizing him up. “Got names?”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes, flicking ash from her cigarette. “Didn’t know names were required to stand in our own city.”
The man scoffed. “Your city?” He glanced at the other two, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “That’s rich.”
Silco’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. (Y/N) could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his fingers curled slightly against the railing.
The second woman finally spoke up. “We’ll be patrolling this area all night. I suggest you both move along before we find a reason to keep you here.”
(Y/N) nodded, grabbing Silco’s wrist. “Yeah, yeah. We’re going.”
She pulled him away before he could say something that’d make things worse.
The Enforcers watched them for a few more moments before turning and continuing their route, their boots echoing against the stone as they disappeared into the darkness.
Once they were out of earshot, Silco exhaled sharply. “They think they own this place.”
(Y/N) took another drag of her cigarette, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist. “I know.”
Silco glanced down at where she held onto him, his anger still simmering, but beneath it was something else- something quieter.
“…I hate them.” His voice was calm, almost eerily so.
(Y/N) didn’t argue. She just laced her fingers through his again. “I know.”
(Y/N) kept her grip on Silco’s hand as they made their way back toward the bar, her thumb absently brushing against his skin in an attempt to keep him grounded.
“Just let it go for tonight,” she murmured, watching the way his jaw stayed tight, his eyes burning with frustration.
Silco scoffed, shaking his head. “Let it go? You saw them, (Y/N). They stop us for nothing. Just because they can- because no one down here can stop them.” His free hand twitched at his side. “And they think it’s funny.”
(Y/N) sighed, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “I know. I hate them too, but getting all worked up over it right now isn’t gonna change anything.”
Silco let out a sharp breath through his nose but didn’t argue.
By the time they reached the bar, it was mostly quiet inside- Felicia was gone, and Vander was nowhere in sight. The faint scent of smoke and spilled liquor still lingered in the air, a comforting kind of familiar.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Silco didn’t even hesitate.
He grabbed her wrist and strode toward the bar, tugging her along as he muttered under his breath.
(Y/N) sighed but followed, watching as he grabbed his worn journal from its usual spot behind the counter. He flipped it open, snatching up a pencil before immediately scrawling down his thoughts with quick, sharp strokes.
“They patrol these streets like they’re theirs,” he muttered, writing furiously as he spoke. “They walk through our city and act as if we should be grateful for their presence- like we owe them something.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Zaun belongs to us, not them. And yet, they still try to keep us beneath their boot.”
(Y/N) leaned against the bar, watching as he continued to scribble down his thoughts. She took another slow drag of her cigarette, letting the moment pass in silence.
Finally, she exhaled, smoke curling between them as she muttered, “You’re gonna run out of pages at this rate.”
Silco paused, glancing up at her. His fingers still gripped the pencil tightly, knuckles faintly white.
“…I need to write it down,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “If I don’t, I feel like I’ll suffocate on it.”
(Y/N) studied him for a moment before nodding, reaching over to grab his half-full glass left on the bar from earlier. She pushed it toward him.
“Then write,” she said simply. “Get it out.”
Silco held her gaze for a long moment before finally relenting. He picked up the glass, took a slow sip, and then returned to his journal.
(Y/N) didn’t push him to stop. She just sat there, finishing her cigarette, keeping him company as he poured his frustration onto the pages.
Vander stepped out from the back, rubbing a towel over his hands, and immediately spotted Silco hunched over the bar, writing furiously. (Y/N) sat beside him, cigarette between her fingers, watching with quiet patience.
Vander sighed. “Alright,” he muttered, tossing the towel onto the counter as he walked over. “What happened this time?”
Silco didn’t look up. “Enforcers,” he said simply, the word laced with venom as he continued writing.
Vander exhaled through his nose, glancing at (Y/N) for clarification.
She rolled her eyes, flicking the ash from her cigarette. “We were just out for a smoke. They decided to stop us and start asking questions.” She shrugged. “Nothing new.”
Silco scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s the problem. It shouldn’t be normal, but it is. They act like they own everything- even the damn streets we stand on.” He jabbed the pencil against the page, underlining something aggressively. “They weren’t even looking for anything. They just wanted to remind us who’s in control.”
Vander frowned, crossing his arms. “You didn’t mouth off too much, did you?”
Silco shot him a look.
Vander sighed again. “I mean it, Silco. We can’t afford to be on their radar right now.”
Silco clenched his jaw but didn’t argue. (Y/N) nudged his foot lightly with hers. “I already got on him about that,” she muttered. “He behaved.”
Vander gave Silco a long, knowing look before shaking his head and grabbing himself a drink. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Silco let out a sharp exhale and finally- finally- set the pencil down. He ran a hand through his hair before rubbing his eyes, the frustration still simmering under his skin.
Vander leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Look, I get it,” he said after a moment. “I do. But we gotta pick our battles. Fighting every time they piss us off?” He shook his head. “That ain’t winnable.”
Silco muttered something under his breath, but Vander ignored it.
(Y/N) reached over, lightly tapping Silco’s journal with her fingers. “You feel better now?”
Silco studied the pages, his jaw working. After a long pause, he exhaled and gave a small, reluctant nod.
“…Yeah,” he admitted.
(Y/N) smirked, tapping the journal again. “Good. Then drink something and cool off before you start a revolution right here at the bar.”
Vander chuckled at that, though Silco only shot her a dry look before grabbing his glass.
The tension in Silco’s shoulders finally began to ease as he nursed his drink, but (Y/N) could still feel the way his fingers drummed against the bar- a telltale sign that his mind was still running a mile a minute.
Vander watched him for a moment before sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I know you hate it, Silco. I do too. But we need to be smart. We can’t afford to stir up trouble, not now.”
Silco scoffed. “Smart would be not letting Piltover walk all over us in the first place.”
(Y/N) shot him a warning look, nudging his thigh with hers. “Silco.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn’t push the argument further. Instead, he took another sip of his drink, fingers tightening around the glass.
Vander shook his head, but before he could say anything else, the door to the bar swung open.
Felicia walked in, looking tired but in good spirits, her hand resting on the curve of her growing stomach. She glanced at the three of them, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you all look like you just got chewed up and spit out?”
(Y/N) sighed. “Silco had a run-in with Enforcers.”
Felicia let out a groan, dragging a hand down her face as she made her way over to the bar. “Of course he did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Silco muttered, though the bitterness was still clear in his voice.
Felicia waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure you were just a ray of sunshine about it.” She lowered herself onto a stool, exhaling. “Connol would have a fit if he knew I came back out here this late, but I needed some air... Snuck back over here after he passed out.”
(Y/N) tilted her head, watching her friend carefully. “Everything okay?”
Felicia hesitated, glancing down as she tapped her fingers against the counter. “Yeah,” she finally said, but her voice lacked its usual energy. “Just… adjusting. It’s all just… A lot. Ya know?”
Vander placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone in this, Fel.”
She gave him a tired smile. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
For a moment, the conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. Silco, having finally calmed down, leaned against (Y/N), resting his chin on his hand as she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the back of his.
Vander took a deep breath, glancing at each of them in turn before speaking. “Look, I know things are changing. For all of us. But we stick together, yeah? No matter what.”
Felicia smiled. “Yeah. No matter what.”
Silco didn’t say anything, but the way his fingers curled around (Y/N)’s told her he was thinking the same thing.
The days started to pass in a blur. The Undercity was alive with its usual chaos, but within the walls of The Last Drop, an anxious energy had settled over their group. Felicia was nearing her due date, and while she was still as sharp-tongued as ever, there was an underlying exhaustion in her movements, a weight to her steps.
(Y/N) found her leaning against the bar one evening, hand resting on the curve of her belly as she sipped at a cup of tea. Vander had all but banned her from drinking anything stronger, and despite her grumbling, she hadn't put up much of a fight.
“You alright?” (Y/N) asked, sliding onto the stool next to her.
Felicia sighed, rubbing a slow hand over her stomach. “Define alright.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Not in immediate distress?”
Felicia let out a tired laugh. “Guess I’m alright, then.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I just want this kid out already. If I have to waddle up and down those damn stairs one more time, I’m throwing myself off ‘em.”
Silco, seated at the other end of the bar, raised a brow but didn’t comment. He’d taken to watching everything more closely these past few weeks, as if expecting Felicia to suddenly go into labor right in front of them.
Vander, ever the caretaker, appeared from the back with a fresh glass of water, placing it in front of Felicia with a knowing look. “You should be resting.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Resting? In this place?” She gestured vaguely to the lively bar, where the usual ruckus of drinkers and gamblers filled the air. “Yeah, sure, let me just take a nap on the damn pool table.”
Vander sighed but didn’t push the issue. Instead, he ruffled her hair- a move that earned him a glare- as he turned to (Y/N). “And you? Keeping this one outta trouble?” He nodded toward Silco, who smirked against the rim of his glass.
(Y/N) let out an exaggerated sigh, resting her chin in her hand. “Trying my best, but you know how he is.”
Silco hummed. “I take offense to that.”
“Do you?” she teased.
“Not enough to stop.”
Before the conversation could continue, Felicia suddenly inhaled sharply, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. Vander was at her side instantly, concern flashing across his face.
“What is it?”
Felicia clenched her jaw, exhaling through her nose. “What do you think?” she muttered. “Shit. Okay. Yeah. This is happening.”
A brief silence followed before (Y/N) blinked. “Wait- now?”
Felicia shot her a dry look. “No, I just enjoy false alarms.”
Vander’s eyes widened before he sprang into action. “Alright, alright- Silco, go get Connol.”
Silco was already on his feet, moving swiftly toward the door without argument. (Y/N) stood as well, steadying Felicia when she swayed slightly.
“Shit,” Felicia muttered again, gripping (Y/N)’s arm. “This is really happening.”
(Y/N) squeezed her hand. “We got you.”
Vander’s voice was firm as he turned toward one of the regulars. “Go get Ren- the doc down by the Fissures. Tell her we need her now.”
The bar’s usual noise dulled as people began to realize what was happening. Even those deep into their drinks straightened, exchanging glances as Vander helped Felicia toward the back. This was it.
Violet was coming.
Vander and (Y/N) helped Felicia into the back, guiding her toward the large basin they had set up in advance. It wasn’t much, but it was the cleanest and most private place they could manage in The Last Drop.
“Alright, easy now,” Vander muttered as they eased her down, Felicia gripping his arm in a way that made him wince.
(Y/N) hovered nearby, adjusting the blankets and towels they had stocked up for this exact moment. “See? The baby bin was a good idea,” she quipped, though the grin on her face was half-nervous energy.
Felicia shot her a glare between labored breaths. “Swear to god, (Y/N), if you call it that one more time, I’ll personally haunt you from the grave.”
(Y/N) held up her hands in surrender, but her smirk remained.
Before Felicia could threaten her further, a sharp pain stole her breath, her fingers tightening in Vander’s grip. He murmured something low and reassuring, rubbing slow circles along her back.
The door banged open, and Silco stepped in, Connol right behind him. Connol’s face was paler than usual, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.
“She-?” he started, but Felicia cut him off with a growl.
“No, I just enjoy sitting in a tub for fun. Yes, Connol, she’s coming.”
Connol swallowed hard but nodded, moving quickly to her side. He knelt beside the basin, brushing damp strands of hair from Felicia’s forehead. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I got you.”
Felicia’s gaze softened- just for a moment- before another contraction hit, and she nearly crushed his fingers in hers.
The next few hours blurred into a haze of pain, muttered reassurances, and Felicia cursing like a sailor. Ren, the woman Vander had sent for, arrived quickly, taking charge with a practiced calm. “Alright, breathe, girl. We’re doing this.”
(Y/N) stayed close, offering Felicia sips of water between contractions while Vander kept her steady. Silco stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he watched everything unfold. He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t leave either.
At some point, (Y/N) felt a hand brush against hers, and when she glanced up, she saw Silco had moved closer. He didn’t say anything, just gave her fingers a small squeeze before letting go.
And then- after what felt like both forever and no time at all- a sharp, gasping cry filled the room.
Silence fell as Ren caught the tiny, wriggling newborn, carefully cleaning her before wrapping her in one of the blankets (Y/N) had set aside. She turned to Felicia and Connol, a rare smile tugging at her lips.
“It’s a girl.”
Felicia let out something between a laugh and a sob, her head falling back against Vander’s shoulder. Connol was already reaching out, his hands shaking as he took the tiny bundle from Ren.
Vander exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Shit,” he muttered, but he was smiling.
(Y/N) leaned over, peering at the newborn. “Well, hello there, Violet,” she murmured, smiling softly at the small girl.
Felicia sighed, exhausted but content, as she reached for her daughter. As soon as Violet was in her arms, she quieted, curling up against her mother’s chest.
Silco, standing just behind (Y/N), exhaled softly. “A new addition to Zaun,” he mused.
Vander snorted. “To the Undercity,” he corrected, though there was no real fight behind it.
Silco smirked. “For now.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. Instead, she just leaned against Silco’s side, watching as Felicia and Connol marveled at their daughter.
The Last Drop had always been filled with noise- arguments, laughter, plans whispered in the dark. But tonight, for just a moment, everything felt quieter.
Violet was here. And the world had changed just a little more.
The room slowly settled after the chaos of birth, the sharp edge of urgency fading into something softer. Felicia was exhausted, her head lolling against Connol’s shoulder as he helped her up from the tub. Vander hovered close, just in case she needed more support, but Connol held her steady.
“C’mon, love,” Connol murmured, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Felicia barely had the energy to nod, but she leaned into him as he led her upstairs to the washroom. Vander followed them partway before stopping at the base of the stairs, watching until they disappeared.
That left (Y/N) with Violet.
She adjusted her hold on the tiny newborn, cradling her carefully as she made her way to the back booths. The baby was warm, bundled snugly in the softest blanket they could find. Her little fingers twitched, curling slightly in sleep.
Ren, ever the watchful presence, remained nearby, settling in the seat across from (Y/N). She was quiet as she cleaned off her hands, but her sharp gaze stayed on Violet, monitoring every little movement.
(Y/N) shifted slightly, rocking the baby as she let out a tiny whimper. “Hey now, no need for that,” she murmured, voice soft. “You’ve had a big day already.”
Violet let out a tiny, breathy sigh, nuzzling deeper into the blanket.
Ren smirked. “You’ve got the touch,” she commented, leaning back in her seat.
(Y/N) scoffed lightly. “You say that like I haven’t been around babies before.”
Ren shrugged. “Still. She likes you.”
(Y/N) glanced down at the small bundle in her arms, the steady rise and fall of Violet’s tiny chest. A small, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in her chest.
She pressed a finger gently against Violet’s palm, watching as the baby’s tiny fingers curled around it.
“She’s so small,” (Y/N) murmured.
Ren nodded. “They always are.”
A moment of quiet settled between them, only the faint sounds of the bar in the distance filling the space.
(Y/N) exhaled, leaning back slightly in the booth. “You think she’ll be okay here?” she asked, voice low.
Ren studied her for a moment before replying, “She’ll be okay as long as she’s got people who give a damn about her.”
(Y/N) smirked slightly. “Well, then she’s got a damn good start.”
Ren huffed out a small laugh but nodded in agreement.
(Y/N) looked down at Violet again, her thumb tracing slow circles along the baby’s hand. “Welcome to Zaun, little one,” she whispered.
After some time, Connol came back downstairs, looking far more at ease than when he had first gone up. His hair was still slightly damp from where Felicia had likely splashed him in the bath, but there was a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before.
(Y/N) carefully handed Violet over, watching as Connol took the baby with gentle hands, cradling her close to his chest. For someone who had been panicked about fatherhood, he certainly looked like he had already fallen into the role.
“She’s a quiet one,” (Y/N) mused, stretching slightly as the weight of the baby left her arms.
Connol chuckled, rocking Violet slightly. “Let’s hope she stays that way.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Felicia’s asking for her.”
(Y/N) nodded, watching as he made his way upstairs, disappearing into the guest room Vander had prepared weeks ago. It had been his idea to set up the room, knowing full well that expecting Felicia to go back and forth between Connol’s apartment and the bar after giving birth was ridiculous.
“She’ll be better off here for a bit,” Vander had said, arms crossed as he stood in the doorway, looking over the freshly made bed and the small bassinet tucked in the corner. “Least until she’s ready to be up and about again.”
Vander had been right. Now, with Felicia recovering and Violet so small, it was easier to have them close.
(Y/N) leaned back into the booth with a sigh, rubbing her arms lightly. The warmth of the newborn was already missed, but a dull ache lingered in her shoulders from holding her so long. Ren, still sitting across from her, was watching the stairs before shifting her gaze back to (Y/N).
“You alright?” she asked.
(Y/N) nodded slightly. “Yeah. Just… glad there were no complications…”
Ren hummed in agreement but didn’t press further.
A moment later, Silco appeared, making his way over to their booth with a slow, measured stride. He didn’t say anything as he slid in beside (Y/N), settling in close enough for their legs to brush beneath the table.
(Y/N) glanced at him, arching a brow. “You good?”
Silco exhaled through his nose, leaning his elbow on the table as he studied her. “You were holding the baby for a long time.”
(Y/N) smirked. “What, worried my arms are gonna fall off?”
Silco scoffed lightly, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Just didn’t think you were the type to get all soft over a newborn.”
Ren snorted at that. “She was cooing at her.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
Silco smirked, shifting slightly so his arm draped over the back of the booth behind her. “I suppose it suits you.”
(Y/N) shot him a look, but Silco only grinned, reaching over to steal her cigarette from the ashtray. She let him, shaking her head as he took a slow drag.
The three of them sat there in quiet for a moment, the noise of the bar distant, the air between them easy.
Eventually, Vander’s voice carried over from behind the counter. “You two planning on sitting there all night, or you gonna help me close up?”
(Y/N) sighed dramatically, pushing herself up from the booth. “Yeah, yeah, we’re coming.”
Silco took another lazy drag before finally moving, and Ren stretched before standing, heading out of the bar to leave them to it. The bar was winding down, but the night still had a few hours left in it.
And as they worked together, cleaning up for the night, there was an unspoken understanding between them.
Zaun- their Zaun- had just gained its newest citizen.
After Violet’s birth, time passed in a blur.
Felicia was exhausted, but she was managing. Connol barely left her side, and between (Y/N), Vander, and Silco she always had someone around to help her with Violet. Despite all the teasing about the "baby bin," (Y/N) had taken to the newborn more than anyone expected. Whenever Felicia needed rest, (Y/N) was the first to scoop Violet up, walking her around the bar, humming soft melodies as she cradled her close. Even Silco had been caught watching them with a raised brow, though he never commented on it.
The Undercity had been relatively quiet, though tensions with Piltover never truly faded. Enforcers still patrolled the Lanes, their presence an ever-looming reminder that peace was fragile.
One evening, after the bar had finally emptied out, Vander leaned against the counter, running a rag over a glass before setting it down. “So,” he started, looking toward Felicia, who was sitting with Violet in her arms, slowly rocking her. “You given any thought to when you’re heading back to Connol’s?”
Felicia let out a tired sigh, shifting Violet slightly. “Haven’t really thought about it.” She glanced toward Connol, who was sitting beside her, his hand resting on her knee. “I mean, I know we can’t stay here forever, but-”
“You can stay,” Vander cut in. “Long as you need.”
Felicia gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Vander.”
Time moved strangely in the days that followed- marked less by clocks and more by feedings, naps, and the soft lull of lullabies echoing through the walls. The once-rowdy atmosphere of The Last Drop had softened around the edges. It hadn’t lost its grit, but it had found something gentler nestled in its corners. Slowly, routines formed. Chaos gave way to rhythm. And though everyone knew things couldn’t stay this way forever, no one was in a rush to change it.
Gone were the lazy, whiskey-slow starts. Now, the day often began with the soft, hiccupping cries of Violet filtering down the stairwell, a sound that had somehow become comforting despite the initial panic it caused that first night.
It was still early when (Y/N) padded out of her room, her socks silent on the floorboards. The bar was quiet, save for the faint clink of glass from downstairs- Vander, already up and prepping for the day. She crossed the hall and carefully nudged open the door to the guest room.
Inside, the air was warm and dim. Felicia was curled up in bed, snoring softly, while Connol sat in the rocking chair nearby, shirt half-buttoned and eyes glassy with exhaustion. Violet rested against his shoulder, fussing quietly.
“Tag out,” (Y/N) whispered, stepping fully into the room.
Connol blinked, surprised. “You sure? She’s been fussy all-”
“I got her.” She held out her arms.
He hesitated for only a second before easing Violet into her embrace, careful not to wake her fully. (Y/N) cradled the baby against her chest, rocking her gently as she stepped back toward the hall.
“I’ll take her downstairs. You sleep.”
Connol didn’t argue. The second the door clicked shut, she heard the chair creak as he collapsed into it with a sigh.
Downstairs, the bar was still lit with the soft haze of early morning. Vander glanced up from wiping the counter, a brow raised as he saw her walk in, gently bouncing Violet against her shoulder.
“You’re up early,” he said.
(Y/N) shrugged. “So is she.”
He grinned. “She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?”
“Shut up,” (Y/N) muttered, but she didn’t deny it. She moved to the booth by the window, settling Violet into the crook of her arm as she sat. The baby stirred but didn’t cry, instead letting out a soft sigh as she pressed her tiny face against (Y/N)’s collarbone.
Vander brought over a mug of tea, placing it in front of her with a smirk. “Don’t worry. Happens to the best of us.”
She rolled her eyes but accepted the tea, sipping quietly as the morning light crept in through the cracks in the shutters.
By midday, the rest of the gang had trickled in.
Felicia emerged looking like death warmed over, wrapped in a blanket and shuffling toward the bar like a woman possessed. “Coffee,” she croaked.
“Tea,” Vander corrected, placing a steaming mug in front of her.
Felicia stared at it like it had personally wronged her. “This is a hate crime.”
(Y/N) snorted from her seat, Violet still asleep in her arms. “Just drink it, mom.”
Felicia shot her a glare, but the word “mom” clearly hadn’t sunk in yet- it left her blinking, dazed, as she slowly sat down beside her.
Silco showed up not long after, unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear, hair slightly disheveled from sleep. He paused in the doorway when he saw (Y/N) cradling Violet, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly, he made his way over and leaned against the table.
“She always that quiet for you?” he asked.
(Y/N) shrugged, glancing down at the baby. “She likes me.”
Silco’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “Apparently.”
(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”
“Of a baby?” he scoffed. “Hardly.”
But she caught the corner of his mouth twitching- just barely- and she smiled to herself.
That evening, the bar was closed early for the first time in weeks. A slow lull settled over the place as everyone found themselves in the common area past the backroom, too tired to talk much, but too content to separate.
Felicia sat curled up on one end of the couch, head in Connol’s lap as he gently played with her hair. Vander had claimed his usual armchair, a bottle of something strong resting on his thigh. Silco leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed as he looked out over the Lanes, but every so often, his gaze flicked back toward (Y/N), who was curled up in the center of the couch with Violet dozing against her chest.
It wasn’t until Violet gave a tiny, hiccuping cry that the whole room stirred. Felicia made a tired sound, but before she could move, (Y/N) was already on her feet, cradling the baby with practiced ease.
“I got her,” she said softly, gently bouncing Violet.
Felicia gave her a look. “You know you’re not obligated, right? We can take care of our own kid.”
(Y/N) smirked. “Yeah, but I want to.”
That caught everyone off guard, if only for a moment. Silco’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching her with a strange intensity. Vander set his drink down.
“She’s really grown on you,” he said, not unkindly.
(Y/N) nodded, her voice quiet. “I didn’t think she would… but she has.”
Violet finally settled again, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of (Y/N)’s shirt. The whole room seemed to exhale at once.
Felicia tilted her head. “You ever think about having one?”
(Y/N) blinked. “Me? No. Gods, no.”
Felicia smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”
(Y/N) glanced down at Violet, brushing her knuckles against the baby’s soft cheek. “…Maybe someday. If the world doesn’t burn down first.”
Silco’s voice cut in quietly from the window. “It already is.”
(Y/N) met his gaze, holding it. “Then we make something good in the ashes.”
No one had a response to that. Not right away.
Eventually, Felicia yawned and nudged Connol. “Alright, dad duty. You’re on.”
Connol groaned but stood, taking Violet gently from (Y/N)’s arms. She lingered just a second longer before letting go, fingers brushing the baby’s blanket with a reluctant kind of affection.
Silco watched her the whole time.
As the group slowly dispersed for the night, he hung back until it was just the two of them left in the bar. She was standing by the window now, arms folded as she stared out into the flickering lights of the Undercity.
“You’re acting different,” he said finally, stepping closer.
(Y/N) glanced at him. “That obvious?”
He shrugged. “Maybe not to them. But I notice.”
She was quiet for a moment, then: “I think I’m just… remembering things I didn’t think I still had in me.”
Silco didn’t press. He just stood beside her, their shoulders nearly touching, the silence between them as comfortable as anything else.
Eventually, (Y/N) looked up at him with a tired smile.
“Want to hold her tomorrow when I watch her?”
Silco stared at her, surprised. “…You trust me with her?”
(Y/N) nodded. “I trust you with a lot more than that.”
And for once, Silco didn’t have a sharp reply.
He just nodded, voice quieter than usual. “…Alright.”
The next morning was slow, the kind that crept in through dusty windows and settled over The Last Drop like a warm blanket.
(Y/N) was already awake, wandering barefoot through the bar in one of Silco’s oversized shirts she’d stolen some time ago, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was pulled back haphazardly, now that it had grown out a bit. She didn’t care. She’d gotten the baby back to sleep, and in this place, that was a damn victory.
Silco was seated at the counter, watching her.
He didn’t mean to- at least, not like that closely. He’d come down for a quiet drink and maybe a bit of peace before the rest of the world woke up. Instead, he’d walked in to see her cradling Violet in the crook of her arm, bottle in one hand, humming softly under her breath.
And now, she was swaying by the booth with the baby propped on her shoulder, gently patting her back. No fanfare. No dramatics. Just soft, instinctual care.
He watched the way her fingers moved- gentle, practiced, careful. The way she whispered nonsense to Violet, murmuring things like “You’ve got your mother’s glare, you know that?” and “If you scream again, I’m letting Uncle Vander take you for a walk.”
Silco’s throat felt dry. Uncomfortably so.
She caught him staring when she turned, arching a brow but smiling around it. “You watching me or the baby?”
“Yes,” he said before he could stop himself.
(Y/N) snorted. “Charming.”
She moved toward the counter, shifting Violet to her other arm and reaching for the warm bottle she’d left to reheat in a bowl of water. She tested the temperature on the inside of her wrist, nodded to herself, and offered it to the half-sleeping baby. Violet latched without complaint, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of (Y/N)’s shirt.
Silco… swallowed hard.
“You want to hold her?” she asked casually, like it wasn’t the most loaded question in the world.
Silco blinked. “Now?”
She glanced at him. “You said you wanted to. You can back out.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not backing out.”
She grinned, stepping closer. “Alright, then sit up straight. Support her neck. She doesn’t like sudden movements.”
Silco gave her a dry look. “You do remember who you’re talking to, right?”
“You’re not intimidating when you’re being handed a baby,” she deadpanned, then gently passed Violet into his arms.
She adjusted his grip, her fingers brushing against his forearms, and then pulled back just enough to watch.
Violet nestled against him, her tiny fingers fisting in the collar of his vest.
Silco stared down at her like she was a live grenade.
(Y/N) sat beside him, watching the way his entire body tensed. “You look like you’re about to be attacked.”
“She’s… small,” he muttered, eyes locked on Violet’s sleepy face.
“Babies usually are.”
“I could crush her.”
“You won’t.”
There was a pause, quiet save for Violet’s soft sucking noises as she finished the bottle.
“She trusts you,” (Y/N) said softly, watching him. “I do too.”
Silco looked at her then.
Really looked.
She was a mess- hair tousled, skin still glowing faintly from sleep, and bags under her eyes.
She was also… radiant.
Her hands were capable of violence and fury and fire- but now, they were warm and gentle, holding softness like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And something about seeing her like that- still strong, but so tender- it undid something in him.
“…What?” she asked when she noticed him staring.
Silco blinked. “Nothing.”
(Y/N)’s lips curled. “You’ve got that look. The ‘I just had a dark, brooding epiphany’ look.”
“I do not have a look.”
She reached over and tapped between his brows. “This. Right here. You’re doing it.”
He caught her hand, not roughly, but firmly. “I was thinking.”
“Dangerous habit,” She mocked, repeating something he had told her time and time before.
Silco’s thumb brushed along the side of her hand without thinking, lingering longer than necessary.
“I was thinking…” he started, voice low, “...that you’ve changed a bit.”
(Y/N) tilted her head. “Not sure if that’s a compliment.”
“It is,” he said quietly. “You… surprise me.”
(Y/N)’s gaze softened just slightly. “I could say the same about you.”
They stayed there like that for a long moment. Silco still cradling Violet, (Y/N) leaning in a little closer, their forearms brushing on the countertop.
Violet let out a soft gurgle, breaking the silence, and (Y/N) chuckled.
“Alright, time to burp her before she explodes,” she said, reaching for the baby.
But Silco didn’t hand her over right away.
His fingers lingered on the back of Violet’s head for a moment longer, then slowly passed her back with a care that didn’t go unnoticed.
(Y/N) adjusted Violet on her shoulder, gently patting her back. “You did good,” she murmured, half to him, half to the baby.
Silco watched her, then stood, muttering, “I need to get some air.”
He left before she could tease him- but not before she saw the flush climbing up the back of his neck.
YAYYY thanks for Kyoko/Celeste/Toko request it was awesome (the inclusion of Jack caught me off guard since I personally don't find her attractive but idm!!! /Gen I should've been more specific whoopsie haha!) very well written, I enjoyed it alot!
Ps. Unfortunately an infamous ableist, homophobic, fatphobic (amongst other awful things) user liked that post :( if you wanted to block them or not M/ommy/hon/da (without the slashes, they search their name up for people talking about them hence the censoring
Oh, my bad about the Jack inclusion! I hope it was okay nonetheless! And yes, I noticed that user, and I already promptly blocked them :}
Thank you for the warning. If you have any more requests, feel free to make them. I'll try to keep it strictly to the characters asked from now on. I consider Jack/Toko sorta the same person (or ya know, two people sharing the same body), which is the only reason why I added them lmao.
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.
ITS SO CRISP!!! I want the art book so baddddddd 🥺
Digital Artbook was released in Japan so I found some HD Silco concepts on twitter and upscaled them to an even higher quality
A/N: Hello everyone! This is the second to last chapter of my Young Silco Fic! I'm going to be making another one after, though. A sequel, that continues the fic. This chapter has smut in it, so ill put some warnings before the smut, so it can be skipped :}
Ember in the Dark pt.10
Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
pt.9 - pt.11
pt.1
Warnings: MDNI 18+, Explicit sexual content, Mild blood and injury, Police brutality/Enforcer violence, Verbal degradation/Humiliation, Emotional vulnerability, Possessive behavior.
Word Count: 9079
Summary: After a quiet moment caring for baby Violet, (Y/N) finds Silco brooding alone, burdened by his fear of breaking the fragile things he’s come to care for. Their emotional connection deepens as (Y/N) reassures him of her love and trust. Back at her room, that tenderness unfolds into their first time together- soft, reverent, and slow, with Silco treating her with overwhelming care. Her magic flares with emotion but stays controlled, mirroring the depth of their bond. In the morning, subtle marks of their night together spark teasing from friends, and Silco's quiet protectiveness becomes even more apparent. The day continues with routine- (Y/N) working in the mines while Silco walks her partway, worried but trusting her strength. But on her way home, (Y/N) is ambushed by Enforcers. Brutalized and humiliated, she chooses not to retaliate with magic, still haunted by what happened the last time. Bloodied and shaken but defiant, she returns to The Last Drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bar was still and quiet again, the low creak of floorboards the only sound as (Y/N) gently patted Violet’s back. The baby let out a small, satisfied burp against her shoulder, then went limp in the way only newborns could- completely trusting, utterly unaware of the chaos and love she’d been born into.
“Alright, little fire cracker,” she murmured softly, brushing her nose against Violet’s forehead. “Let’s get you back to your mom before you start thinking I’m your favorite.”
Felicia was already awake and half-dressed when (Y/N) eased open the door to the guest room. She looked groggy, hair a mess, but her expression softened immediately at the sight of Violet.
“Gimme,” she whispered, arms already outstretched.
(Y/N) chuckled and transferred the baby gently into her waiting hands. “She’s warm, fed, and already burped. I’m spoiling her for you.”
Felicia smirked sleepily. “You’re spoiling me, you mean.” She glanced down at her daughter, cradling her close. “Thanks.”
“Always.”
They shared a quiet look, something warm and wordless passing between them. Then (Y/N) turned, brushing her hands down the front of her borrowed shirt and heading for the door again.
“I’m gonna go find the brooding menace,” she said over her shoulder.
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Tell him if he doesn’t come back soon, I’m making him take a night shift with Violet.”
(Y/N) snorted and slipped out.
The streets of the Undercity were hushed, still heavy with morning fog and the metallic tang of distant factory steam. Most of the Lanes hadn’t stirred yet. There was a kind of peace in it- a rare, stretched-out quiet that blanketed the grime and noise like a breath held just under the surface.
(Y/N) walked with practiced ease through the Undercity, eyes sharp despite the stillness. She knew him. Knew how he vanished when emotions crept too close to the surface. He wouldn’t have gone far. Silco liked proximity- liked to be close enough to protect, even when he needed distance.
She found him on one of the upper walkways that overlooked the Lanes, hands braced on the rusting railing, shoulders hunched against the damp. His vest was still wrinkled from earlier, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, catching the pale light.
He didn’t turn when she approached. Didn’t have to.
“You always gonna keep brooding like this,” she said softly, “or is it just when I hand you a baby?”
His shoulders lifted with a slow inhale, then dropped again. “You didn’t just hand me a baby,” he said, voice low.
(Y/N) moved to stand beside him, her fingers curling around the railing. “No?”
“You handed me… innocence,” he said after a moment. “Something soft. Fragile.” He looked down at his hands. “Something I could break.”
She watched him for a beat. “But you didn’t.”
He finally looked at her then. His eyes were tired, but alert. Thoughtful. “Not this time.”
(Y/N) leaned sideways, letting her shoulder brush against his. “You won’t break her. Or me.”
Silco was quiet for a long moment. “You’re good with her.”
“She’s easy to love,” she murmured, then looked up at him. “So are you.”
He gave her a long, unreadable look. His throat bobbed, but no words came.
(Y/N) stepped in front of him, slipping her arms around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. “You don’t have to say it back,” she whispered, head against his chest. “I know.”
His arms came around her slowly, settling against her back like he’d been holding in the urge. His chin dropped to the top of her head.
“I do love you…” he said quietly. “You just say it better.”
(Y/N) smiled against his chest. “I love you too, Sil.”
His arms tightened.
They stood like that for a while, the silence comfortable, the city still.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re going to ruin me,” he said, a rare softness breaking through the steel of his voice.
“You were already ruined,” she teased gently. “I’m just making you tolerable.”
That earned her a rare, real laugh- quiet and low, but genuine.
He leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow, no urgency- just a kind of reverence, like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this moment but wasn’t about to waste it.
When they finally parted, he looked down at her with something close to awe.
“…If I ever lost you,” he murmured, “I don’t know who I’d become.”
(Y/N) reached up, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “You won’t.”
Silco held her gaze for a long time, then nodded once, like he was making a promise to himself more than her.
“Come on,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “Let’s go home. Felicia said if you don’t show up soon, she’s putting you on night duty.”
He groaned softly, but didn’t protest as she led him back toward the warmth of the bar- of home.
The walk back was quiet.
Not heavy, not tense- just quiet. A kind of hush reserved for early mornings and moments where the world felt like it had stopped turning just for them.
The bar was dim when they returned. A few soft clinks from Vander in the kitchen, the distant creak of Connol’s footsteps above, but otherwise it was still. Home, in all its chaotic, grimy glory, was resting. So were they.
Silco followed her upstairs without a word, his hand loosely in hers.
When they reached her room, (Y/N) pushed open the door, letting the familiar scent of worn linen and smoke-sweet air rush out to greet them. It wasn’t a large space, but it was hers- warm, slightly cluttered, the windows cracked open just enough to let the city’s breath in.
She shrugged off her boots, and climbed into her bed. Silco slid in beside her, his vest undone, sleeves still rolled. Neither of them said much as she pulled a cigarette out, and lit it with a quick flicker of her magic, the faint sulfur glow lighting her features in amber.
She took a slow drag, then passed it to him.
Silco accepted it between two fingers, his hand brushing hers as he inhaled. The smoke curled in the air above them, trailing toward the ceiling like a shared secret.
They lay back on the bed, shoulders just touching, the world outside forgotten for now.
(Y/N) turned her head, watching the lazy way his chest rose and fell. He looked softer like this- less of the sharp angles, less of the weight he wore so carefully. Just Silco. Just hers.
He offered her the cigarette again, and she took it with a small smile, letting the smoke settle into her lungs before passing it back.
“You ever think,” she murmured, voice low, “about how different things could’ve been if we met somewhere else?”
Silco exhaled, slow and quiet. “If we met anywhere else,” he said, voice rough around the edges, “you wouldn’t have stayed.”
(Y/N) arched a brow. “Oh?”
He glanced sideways at her, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “You like things messy.”
She huffed a laugh. “Maybe I just like you messy.”
He let that hang in the air for a second before reaching over to stub out the cigarette in the small dish on her nightstand.
Then, without a word, he shifted closer, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. His fingers spread wide against her back, warm and grounding. She settled against his chest with a quiet hum, her hand sliding up to cup his face.
Silco leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly, his lashes lowering as she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone.
(Y/N) leaned up slowly, their noses nearly touching, and pressed her forehead to his.
“I really do love you,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”
His breath caught.
He didn’t say it back- not because he didn’t feel it, but because her words settled too deep, cracked something open in him every time. Instead, he kissed her. Soft and slow, a promise more than passion.
When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.
He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin, and just… stayed there. Let himself exist in her space, unguarded.
(Y/N) held him, her fingers tracing lazy lines up and down his back, anchoring him without needing to speak.
The silence between them stretched, comfortable and close. (Y/N)’s fingers stayed tangled in the fabric of his shirt, absently toying with a loose thread while Silco breathed steadily against her throat.
Then, slowly, he began to move.
Soft kisses, barely-there at first, pressed along the curve of her neck. One at the hollow of her throat. Another just beneath her jaw. Gentle, deliberate.
(Y/N) let out a quiet breath, tilting her head slightly, exposing more of her neck without hesitation. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as her body instinctively leaned into him.
Silco smiled against her skin, something slow and unhurried. He didn’t speak- didn’t need to. The way her body responded to him, the quiet hum she made when his lips found the spot just beneath her ear, said more than enough.
His hands began to move too. One slipped up along her waist, fingers tracing the edge of her shirt, while the other settled on the small of her back. His touch wasn’t rushed- it was reverent, like he was committing every inch of her to memory.
His kisses grew bolder, warmer. He nipped lightly at her skin, then soothed the spot with a tender kiss, his hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt to feel the heat of her skin beneath.
(Y/N)’s breath caught- just for a second- before she exhaled slowly, her hands moving to curl around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
“Silco…” she whispered, barely audible.
He didn’t answer- not with words. Instead, he kissed the spot just below her ear again, then trailed down, slow and deliberate, his fingers drawing lazy circles against the dip of her spine.
Silco’s breath warmed against her skin as his kisses deepened, no longer just soft brushes of affection but something heavier, something hungry. His lips dragged along the slope of her neck, then parted- his tongue flicking against her pulse point before his teeth grazed it.
(Y/N)’s fingers tightened in the back of his shirt, a soft sound escaping her throat.
He latched onto the curve where her neck met her shoulder, sucking gently, then harder, leaving the beginning bloom of a mark beneath his mouth. A low hum of satisfaction vibrated in his chest at the way she melted into him, body pliant and warm.
Her hand slid up into his hair, fingers weaving through the strands at his nape. She gave a slow, deliberate tug- not too hard, just enough to make him groan softly against her throat.
Silco’s grip on her waist tightened in response, pulling her closer, pressing his body flush to hers. He kissed his way down the line of her neck, pausing to nip at her collarbone before soothing the sting with a languid swipe of his tongue.
“Mm…” (Y/N) breathed, head tilting back further, exposing even more of her throat for him without even thinking. “You’re insatiable.”
He smirked against her skin, his voice low and rough. “Only with you.”
His mouth returned to her neck, this time biting a little harder, enough to leave another mark. She gasped softly, her fingers curling tighter in his hair, tugging again. He growled- quiet and pleased- and let his hand wander higher beneath her shirt, splaying wide across her bare back.
(SMUT START)
(Y/N) shifted against him, her thigh brushing his, and the contact sent another ripple of heat through both of them.
She let out a soft whine that filled the quiet space between them- barely audible, but impossible to ignore, a soft plea without words. Silco paused, his breath catching, and pulled back just enough to look at her.
Her eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips parted. She looked utterly undone already- and he hadn’t even started yet.
His hand moved slowly to her cheek, thumb brushing her skin, reverent. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice hushed, as though he didn’t want to disturb the stillness of the moment.
(Y/N) nodded, gaze steady despite the heat burning beneath it. “I want you,” she whispered. “I want this.”
And that was all he needed.
He kissed her again, slower this time, lingering- like a promise.
His fingers trembled faintly as he began to undress her, not from fear but from care, from the weight of how much this meant. Every layer peeled away was met with another kiss- her shoulder, the dip beneath her collarbone, the soft line of her stomach. His mouth never strayed far from her skin, like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.
When she was bare before him, he just looked at her for a moment, breath catching. Not with lust- but with awe.
“You’re…” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t have the words.”
She reached for him, flustered and shy despite the intimacy, and whispered, “Then don’t speak. Just… Be here with me.”
Silco nodded, and only then did he begin to undress himself, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between them but breath and the quiet hum of wanting.
He leaned over her, one hand cupping her cheek, and began to trail kisses down her body- slow, deliberate, worshipful. Across the hollow of her throat. The curve of her breast. The soft line of her ribs. He kissed every inch of her like she was sacred, like he’d never get another chance.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her fingers tangling in the sheets as heat bloomed across her skin. “Silco…” she whispered, voice catching.
He glanced up at her from where he knelt beside her, eyes heavy with affection and something deeper- something tender, trembling, but true.
“I love you,” she said again, voice breathless.
His lips found her sternum, just over her heart. “I know,” he murmured. “I love you too...”
He felt it... How deep their love for one another went.
In the quiet shiver of her breath beneath his touch. In the way her hands reached for him, unsure but eager. In the trembling curve of her mouth as she bit back another whimper.
Every part of her called to him- and he answered not with haste, but with care.
Neither of them had ever done this before- but in that moment, nothing about it felt wrong. It was soft. It was vulnerable. It was theirs.
And he made sure she knew- every kiss, every caress, every breath he gave to her- she mattered.
She always had.
Silco hovered above her, one hand cupping her cheek, the other trailing slowly along her side- just feeling her. His touch was featherlight, reverent, and she leaned into it instinctively, already flushed and trembling beneath him.
Her breath hitched again when his fingers slipped lower, tracing along her inner thigh. He watched her closely, gauging every flicker of emotion in her eyes. He wasn’t in a rush- he wouldn’t be. Not with her.
“You’re alright?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper, warm and low.
(Y/N) nodded, her hand coming up to curl around his wrist. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Just… nervous.”
He leaned down, kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the hinge of her jaw. “We’ll go slow.”
She relaxed beneath him, her thighs parting just slightly as he moved lower, his fingers brushing carefully against her.
The first touch was gentle- tentative, almost. His fingers explored with a softness that made her shiver, each movement slow and deliberate, designed to learn her. To show her she was safe.
(Y/N) let out a quiet, involuntary gasp, her hips shifting, and he stilled.
“Too much?” he asked, pausing.
She shook her head quickly, breathless. “No- keep… keep going.”
His fingers moved again, this time with more purpose. He circled her slowly, coaxing her open with each careful stroke. She whimpered, her hand fisting in the sheets, the sensation unlike anything she’d ever known. It wasn’t just pleasure- it was trust, devotion, the quiet worship written in every movement of his hand.
She felt her body reacting to it, soft and warm and aching in the best way. He kissed her again- slow and steady- his mouth working to distract her from the tension that was gradually building inside of her.
When she was ready enough, he slid a finger inside her- carefully.
Her breath caught.
Silco immediately slowed, lips against her temple. “Its okay,” he whispered. “Just breathe.”
She did, trembling a little as her body adjusted, the unfamiliar stretch prickling with a sharp edge that quickly faded under his careful pace.
He kissed her through it. Murmured to her. Let her hold onto him as tightly as she needed to.
Another finger followed, gentle and slow, and her body responded- welcoming, shifting, clinging.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against her skin, voice raw with sincerity. “So perfect.”
(Y/N) clung to him, gasping softly as the ache turned to heat, as her body melted into the rhythm of his hand and the grounding weight of his touch.
And all the while, Silco stayed close- his forehead pressed to hers, his breath mingling with hers, the only thing on his mind being her and the way she bloomed under his touch.
He’d never known anything like it. Never felt anything like this.
He was falling. Already had. And here, with her, wrapped in the warmth of something slow and sacred, he let himself fall deeper.
She was breathing hard now, her body trembling beneath his, flushed and open. Silco never took his eyes off her- watching the way her lips parted, the way her lashes fluttered, how her hand stayed tangled in his hair like she couldn’t bear to let him go.
He slowly eased his fingers from her, giving her a moment to breathe, and leaned in close again, pappering her face wih soft kisses.
One kiss on her cheek. Another at the bridge of her nose. A third at the corner of her mouth. And then one on her eyelid as she shut her eyes, breath catching like she might cry- not from pain, but from how tender it all was.
She opened her eyes slowly to find him hovering above her, gaze burning but soft. His voice came out lower than before, like he was afraid to break the moment.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his hand smoothing along her thigh.
Her lips quivered as she nodded. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice broken on a soft whine. “I want you.”
And god, how that undid him.
Not the lust in her voice, but the trust. The way she looked up at him like he was hers- like he’d always been.
Silco leaned in, kissed her again, slower than before, trying to pour everything into it- his nerves, his reverence, his love.
Then, carefully, he positioned himself, hand steadying her hip. He watched her face the entire time, made sure he could see every reaction- every little wince, every breath.
And when he finally began to push in, he did it with excruciating care, like he might break her if he went too fast.
(Y/N)’s breath hitched, her brow furrowing with the unfamiliar pressure, and he paused, stilling instantly.
“Breathe for me,” he murmured, brushing hair from her face. “You’re okay.”
She nodded, eyes glassy. “Just… don’t stop.”
He kissed her again, her temple, her jaw, her lips- anchoring her through every inch. His hand stayed on her hip, the other threading between their bodies to find hers, soothing her, grounding her.
When he was finally fully inside, he didn’t move- not right away. He just held her. Pressed his forehead to hers, hands trembling slightly from how hard it was to stay still.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Only mine.”
(Y/N) smiled through a shaky exhale, her arms wrapped tightly around his back.
“I’ve always been yours.”
Silco moved with care- agonizing care.
Every inch of his body was taut with restraint, every thrust slow, shallow, measured. He watched her face the entire time, searching for the smallest hint of pain, of discomfort, but all he found was her- flushed and gasping, her lashes damp, her mouth trembling as she tried to hold herself together.
He was trying too.
It took everything in him to keep his pace slow, his grip gentle. His instincts begged him to lose himself in her completely, but she came first. Always. Especially now.
“You’re okay?” he asked again, his voice low and hoarse, forehead pressed to hers.
(Y/N) nodded, breathless. “Yes- yes, I’m okay.”
Her voice cracked with the pleasure beginning to bloom beneath the ache, her arms tightening around his back. She shifted slightly, hips rising to meet his, and a small, broken moan slipped from her lips.
That was when it happened.
The first spark.
Tiny, harmless, but unmistakable- like static dancing across her skin. Silco stilled instantly, his eyes flicking to where her hand had gripped the sheet. The faintest golden light crackled at her fingertips, flickering before vanishing as quickly as it came.
“…(Y/N),” he murmured.
She looked up at him, eyes wide- and glowing, just barely. A soft, otherworldly gold shimmered in her irises, light blooming at the edges. Her magic was responding, pulled to the surface by emotion, sensation, connection.
“I- I’m okay,” she whispered quickly, her voice shaking. “It’s just- just reacting. I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”
He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his hand brushing gently down her side. “Are you sure?”
She nodded again, more urgently this time, one hand moving up to cradle his face. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
Her thumb traced his cheek as her power slowly ebbed, the sparks withdrawing, the glow fading from her eyes like the tide pulling back into the sea. She steadied her breathing, grounding herself, and kissed him.
It was messy, half-desperate, but full of control- an anchor for them both.
Silco exhaled shakily against her mouth. “You’re… incredible.”
And then, slowly, he started moving again.
Still gentle, but with more rhythm now, more intent. He kept one hand firmly on her hip, the other laced with hers, grounding her as her magic pulsed just beneath the surface, humming along her skin.
Her moans grew softer, higher, laced with gasps as each movement sank deeper. Her nails dug into his back- not too hard, just enough to feel. Her body was learning the rhythm of him, easing into the heat and stretch with each careful thrust.
Silco leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “You feel like you were made for me.”
(Y/N) whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re everything,” she whispered, voice catching.
And in that moment- her body beneath his, her magic singing in the air, her heart laid open and offered without hesitation- Silco knew:
He would burn the world down before he let her go.
The pace between them shifted, gradually, as the room filled with soft, shared breaths and the rustle of linen beneath their tangled bodies. Silco’s self-control was still ironclad, but now it was laced with urgency- a slow build, a deep need tempered by care.
His hips moved with more purpose, each thrust hitting a little deeper, a little harder, but never enough to overwhelm. Just enough to make her arch into him, to make her gasp quietly with every pass of friction, every deliberate roll of his hips against hers.
(Y/N) was losing herself in him- breathless, trembling, overwhelmed in the best way. And god, she wanted to cry out his name. To let the world know who she belonged to, who was unraveling her like this.
But she couldn’t.
They weren’t alone.
A few rooms down, the others were sleeping- or just waking up. And the last thing she wanted was for Felicia or Vander to come knocking because they’d heard too much.
So instead, she wrapped her arms tighter around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.
Silco faltered just slightly when he felt her breath there- hot and shaky. Then came the bite.
She bit down gently, muffling her moan against his skin, her teeth scraping the sensitive flesh of his throat. He shuddered hard, a growl rumbling low in his chest, barely contained.
His rhythm stuttered for a breath before it resumed- deeper, now, driven by the way her mouth clung to him, the heat of her breath trembling against his pulse.
“You’re going to kill me,” he whispered, voice frayed, lips brushing her ear.
(Y/N) let out a breathless laugh against his throat, the sound soft, shaky. “Then die with me,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the haze of their shared heat.
Silco kissed her- messy, desperate- and pushed deeper, his movements growing more intense as he lost himself in the sensation of her. Every gasp she swallowed against his neck. Every tremble of her magic just under her skin. Every heartbeat they shared like a drum against their ribs.
They were quiet, but their bodies spoke in ways words never could.
And in the safety of that room, in the hush of a world that had never been kind to either of them, they found something that was.
They were close- so close.
Silco’s restraint had begun to unravel, thread by thread, as her body tightened around him with every desperate, choked whimper she tried to stifle against his skin. His pace had lost its careful rhythm, hips moving rougher now, deeper, driven by something raw and primal and devoted. It wasn’t about control anymore.
It was about need.
He was panting against her neck, the sounds escaping him now- moans, low grunts, broken curses he couldn’t bite back in time. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, their bodies slick with heat, breath tangled, hearts pounding out of sync and then together again.
(Y/N) was shaking beneath him, her thighs trembling around his waist, her magic flickering again at her fingertips as she tried so hard to keep it all contained. Her moans were soft but urgent, desperate, and they only pushed him further.
Then-
“I- Silco-” she gasped, breath hitching, “I’m close- god, please-”
His head dropped to her shoulder, breath hot and ragged. His pace stuttered, hips rolling faster now, deeper, chasing both of their highs with abandon.
“Where,” he rasped, voice nearly broken, teeth clenched, “where do you want me-?”
He was right on the edge, barely holding on, and her answer- her sweet, gasped whimper- wrecked him.
“Inside,” she breathed. “Want you inside- want all of you- please…”
His body froze for the briefest second, her words crashing through him like fire licking up his spine.
And then something snapped.
A sound rumbled deep in his chest- more growl than breath. Possessive. Claiming. His thrusts turned almost frantic, but never careless, driven now by that single, burning thought: She wanted him. All of him. She chose him.
And his mind flickered- suddenly, violently- to the memory of her earlier that day.
Cradling Violet against her chest. Humming softly, swaying on tired feet, so gentle, so instinctively maternal it had shaken something loose in him. Seeing her like that- his girl holding new life like she was born for it- he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
Now, that image burned in his mind, layered over the sound of her moaning beneath him, the feeling of her nails digging into his back, the pulse of her magic humming against his skin.
And she wanted his seed.
His hips jerked, rhythm faltering as the growl in his chest deepened. “You want that?” he whispered, nearly wrecked. “You want me like that? Want me to fill you?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, her arms clinging around his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. “Please, Silco- want you- need you-”
That was it.
He buried himself as deep as he could go, his body trembling as he came with a ragged, low moan against her throat- inside her, just as she asked, giving her everything she wanted. Everything he had.
He held her through it, his arms trembling around her, breath broken and uneven. And even as the haze began to settle, his lips found her cheek, her shoulder, her collarbone- pressing shaky, reverent kisses against sweat-damp skin.
“Mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re mine.”
And she was.
She always had been.
The afterglow clung to the room like smoke- warm and quiet, the kind of silence that hummed with meaning. Their breathing was still uneven, the air thick with the heat they’d stirred into existence.
Silco rested against her for just a moment longer, his forehead pressed gently to her temple, his fingers drawing light, shaky patterns on her hip. He didn’t want to move- not yet- but when he finally shifted to pull out, it was careful, slow.
Still, (Y/N) whimpered softly beneath him, the sensation making her whole body twitch with lingering sensitivity.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
He was already moving- slipping off the bed, reaching for his pants and dragging them on with clumsy fingers. His steps were fast but quiet as he disappeared down the hall, urgency etched into every movement.
She stayed curled on the bed, dazed and flushed, thighs still trembling from how hard it had hit her. Her fingers curled into the sheets, grounding herself, breath still shaky even as her magic pulsed low and quiet under her skin.
(SMUT END)
He returned in what felt like seconds, cloth in hand, and knelt beside the bed. His touch was gentle, reverent as he cleaned her up- careful not to hurt her, never rushing. He soothed his way through it with small kisses to her thigh, to her stomach, murmuring soft things under his breath like he was trying to chase away any trace of discomfort.
When he was finished, he wiped himself down with what was left of the warmth in the cloth, then tossed it aside without a thought. He climbed into bed beside her immediately after, pulling the blanket over them both as he gathered her into his arms like she was something precious. Something breakable.
She didn’t hesitate- her body moved instinctively toward him, curling into his chest, her fingers bunching in the fabric of his waistband as her head tucked beneath his chin. She was still trembling faintly, the edges of her magic flaring and fading like little echoes of everything they’d just shared.
Silco held her tighter.
His fingers pressed trailing up and down her back, grounding her, anchoring her. And his other hand came up to cup the back of her head, fingers weaving into her hair.
He looked down at her with eyes softer than he usually allowed himself to wear. No mask. No posture. Just him, and the way he saw her- his girl, his flame, his constant.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing her hair. “Did I push you too much?”
(Y/N) shook her head against his chest. “No. Just… don’t let go yet.”
“Never,” he said immediately, fiercely. His arms curled tighter around her, and he kissed her forehead, lingering there like he could seal the words into her skin.
They stayed like that for a long time, bodies pressed close, breath syncing again.
(Y/N) had stilled after a while, her breathing growing slow and deep as her body finally gave in to exhaustion. She’d fallen asleep on his chest, completely bare, her arms still loosely wrapped around him, legs tangled with his, her face tucked beneath his jaw like she belonged there.
Silco didn’t move.
Didn’t dare.
His hand drifted slowly up and down her back, just the faintest touch of his fingertips against her skin- memorizing her, grounding himself in the warmth of her body against his. She was soft and warm and real in a way that left him breathless, even now. Her hair was slightly damp against his collarbone, and every exhale from her nose ghosted along the base of his throat, lulling him into something deep and quiet.
It was still early- the sky beyond the window barely touched with gray light, the city not yet awake. The bar was quiet, save for the distant creak of old wood settling and the occasional murmur of wind outside.
He could hear his own heartbeat. Steady. Loud. Content.
(Y/N) shifted slightly in her sleep, pressing even closer, her leg slipping over his hip, her bare chest flush against his. Silco stilled for a moment, his breath catching.
She was so warm. So trusting.
He liked the feeling of her skin against his. He liked the weight of her- unapologetically naked, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. And maybe, in some small way, he was.
His hand came to rest just beneath her shoulder blade, his thumb brushing slow, aimless circles into her skin. Every so often, she twitched in her sleep- faint, subconscious reactions- and every time she did, he was there, holding her steady, letting her know she was safe.
She had given herself to him. Her body. Her trust. Everything.
And now she slept like she had nothing to fear. Like she knew he’d keep her safe.
Silco tilted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of hers, lips brushing the crown of her hair. He closed his eyes for a long moment, letting the peace settle over him like a second blanket.
He’d never had this before- this quiet, this closeness. No performance. No violence. No deals struck in dark corners.
Just her. And her breathing. And the way she fit perfectly into the curve of his body.
He let himself relax beneath her, his hand never leaving her skin, and whispered so quietly it was barely audible:
“…Mine.”
And with that, he lay still- watching over her until the morning sun crept slow and golden through the cracks in the window.
The hours passed slowly, golden light filtering through the cracked window, warming the tangle of sheets and limbs that lay in its path. The bar downstairs had begun to stir- quiet footsteps, soft conversation, the occasional clink of glass- but none of it reached the sanctuary of (Y/N)’s room.
Silco hadn’t slept, not really. He’d rested, eyes closed, his breath steady, but part of him stayed anchored in the feeling of her curled around him. Still bare, still warm, still tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder like she belonged there.
She shifted slightly as the sun climbed higher in the sky, her fingers flexing against his chest. A low hum escaped her throat, and then her voice, soft and hoarse from sleep:
“…You’re still here.”
Silco smirked, eyes still closed. “Where else would I be?”
She let out a sleepy little laugh, one arm tightening around his waist as she nuzzled deeper against him. “Could’ve vanished like a ghost,” she murmured.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, voice low and sincere.
That made her pause, just long enough to lift her head slightly and press a lazy kiss to his collarbone. Then, still half-asleep, she whispered, “Wanna take a bath with me?”
Silco cracked one eye open, brows lifting ever so slightly. “…Now?”
She nodded against his skin. “Mhm. Don’t want to go alone.”
He let out a soft, amused exhale, brushing a hand down her spine. “You just want an excuse to stay close.”
“Is it working?”
A pause. Then:
“Yes.”
She grinned against him before finally rolling out of bed with a quiet groan, the sheets slipping down her bare back. Silco’s gaze followed her, slow and appreciative, as she stretched lazily, muscles still loose from sleep- and from him.
(Y/N) reached for one of his shirts that had ended up on the floor and tugged it over her head. It hung off her frame, the collar wide and slipping off one shoulder. She didn’t bother with anything else- just padded across the room barefoot before turning to glance at him over her shoulder.
“You coming?”
Silco stood, running a hand through his hair before nodding. “Always.”
They cracked open the door cautiously, peering down the hallway to make sure it was clear. A few voices murmured from downstairs, but no footsteps echoed on the upper floor.
(Y/N) grabbed his hand and tugged him out with her, the two of them slipping quietly down the hall toward the washroom like a pair of teenagers sneaking out after curfew.
She tried to stifle a giggle when his hand settled on her lower back, warm and familiar. He leaned close, lips brushing her ear as they reached the door.
“If Vander catches us, I’m blaming you.”
She grinned. “Please. Vander’s known what this is.”
Silco hummed low in his throat. “Still not interested in the lecture.”
(Y/N) pushed open the washroom door and slipped inside, tugging him in with her before quietly closing it behind them.
“Then let’s not give him anything to talk about.”
Silco raised a brow. “We’re going to be naked and locked in a room together. That ship may have sailed.”
“Mm,” she smirked, stepping toward the tub and turning on the tap. “Then we better make it worth it.”
The bath had been quiet.
Not in a strained way- but in the easy, intimate quiet that followed something sacred. They had slipped into the warm water together, the steam wrapping around them like a blanket, softening the edge of the morning chill. (Y/N) had settled between Silco’s legs, her back to his chest, as he ran a cloth gently along her skin, taking his time. No teasing, no rush. Just care.
She had returned the favor with equal tenderness- fingers threading through his damp hair, cloth gliding along his shoulders, over the lean strength of his arms. The silence between them was filled with nothing but the sound of water and the occasional shift of breath when their hands lingered just a little longer than necessary.
When they finished, they dried off wordlessly- Silco pressing a quick, stolen kiss to her temple before he turned toward the door.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” he murmured, voice still low and warm.
(Y/N) nodded, watching him go before she turned back toward the mirror, wrapping a towel around her body.
She moved to her room with practiced ease- pulling on clean underthings, rummaging through the dresser for clothes, brushing the knots from her damp hair in slow, even strokes. Her body was pleasantly sore in places she hadn’t known could ache, her magic still buzzing low in her chest, like the afterglow hadn’t quite worn off yet.
It wasn’t until she tilted her head to run the brush through the underside of her hair that she caught sight of it in the mirror.
Then another. And another.
“…Oh.”
Her neck- her collarbone, even the top of her chest- was covered in soft, dark bruises. Not harsh. Not angry. But thorough. The ghostly traces of his mouth mapped out across her skin like a constellation only he could read.
She set the brush down slowly, reaching up to gently press her fingers to one of the marks. It didn’t hurt- only made the heat rush back to her face in full force. She had been so swept up in everything that she hadn’t even realized how much of himself Silco had left behind.
The flush on her cheeks deepened, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
“Possessive bastard,” she muttered under her breath, but there was no bite to it. None at all.
Her fingertips lingered on one mark, just below her jaw. She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a small breath, lips curling into something soft. Something fond.
She got ready quickly, before making her way down into the bar.
The familiar creak of the stairs gave her away before she even stepped into view, but it was the silence that followed- sharp and sudden- that made (Y/N)’s smirk bloom before she even hit the bottom step.
She’d took care when getting dressed. Her shirt was casual, loose enough to move in, but the collar sat just low enough to give a teasing glimpse of the marks that trailed along her neck and collarbone. Not bold. Not obvious. Just enough.
Enough for him.
When she stepped into the bar, the light caught her just right, and Silco- mid-sip of his coffee- choked.
Not dramatically. Just enough that the mug paused halfway to his mouth and he had to quickly clear his throat, eyes narrowing just slightly as he caught sight of her. His collar was flipped higher than usual, subtly shielding the faint, fading bruises she'd left along the base of his throat.
(Y/N) arched a brow, all innocent as she made her way toward him.
“Morning,” she said smoothly, like nothing had happened, sliding onto a stool at the bar.
Silco didn’t respond right away- just took a deliberately slow sip of his coffee, eyes flicking over her exposed skin with unmistakable heat before settling into something cooler, more composed. But he didn’t fool her.
Not for a second.
His jaw was a little too tight. His eyes lingered a little too long.
She fought the grin tugging at her lips.
Behind the bar, Vander definitely noticed something. He gave them both a side-eye glance over the rim of the glass he was cleaning but didn’t say a word. Yet.
At the booth across the room, Felicia was bouncing Violet gently in her arms, murmuring softly to her as Connol leaned in close, clearly besotted with the baby. Felicia glanced up just in time to catch the very obvious tension simmering between (Y/N) and Silco, and her eyes narrowed.
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at her lips.
“Someone’s walking different,” she said under her breath, mostly to Connol- but loud enough for (Y/N) to hear.
(Y/N) didn’t flinch. She just tilted her head toward Silco, eyes still locked on his.
“Guess you weren’t as subtle as you thought,” she murmured, low and teasing.
Silco’s fingers tightened slightly around his mug, but his expression remained neutral- save for that twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Mm. And here I thought you were the one who enjoyed discretion.”
“Funny,” she said, resting her chin in her hand, her eyes gleaming. “You didn’t seem too concerned with that earlier when you left the marks.”
Vander definitely choked on a laugh this time, turning away before either of them could see his face.
Felicia outright cackled from the booth.
And Silco? Silco just took another slow sip of his coffee.
But the tips of his ears were red.
And (Y/N) sat back in her seat, pleased and glowing, her fingers brushing one of the fading bruises at her throat.
Let them stare.
She had nothing to hide.
The morning settled into its usual rhythm- not without a few lingering smirks and knowing glances, but still familiar. Predictable in the way only chaos can be when wrapped in the comfort of routine.
Felicia shifted Violet from one arm to the other, muttering about leaky bottles and no sleep, while Connol fussed more than necessary, trying to sneak spoonfuls of food toward her between breaths. Vander barked out orders to one of the younger runners, gesturing with a half-eaten piece of bread. The bar was alive again, in its own unique way- half family, half machine.
(Y/N) moved through it like she always did- grabbing her worn satchel, tying her boots, slipping on her usual cloak with practiced ease. The bite of metal, smoke, and earth waited for her in the mines, same as every day. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers- her routine, her way to contribute, to stay sharp, to stay moving.
Silco appeared beside her before she could reach the door, already dressed, coat draped casually over one shoulder, his coffee long gone.
“Heading in?” he asked, tone casual- but his eyes were anything but.
She nodded. “Yeah. Just to check in with the others, run inventory. Maybe help the crews down by the collapsed tunnel.” She glanced at him. “I’m not training today.”
His brow ticked slightly. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” she said, reaching up to adjust his collar in return- more teasing than necessary. “Just… not in the mood to throw fire around.”
He smirked faintly, but his gaze lingered. “You’ve been pushing yourself hard.”
“I can rest tomorrow,” she said simply, then tilted her head. “Want to come with? Just to walk.”
Silco paused- like the idea surprised him- and then gave a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll walk with you to the office.”
Something warm flickered in her chest at that, and she bumped his arm lightly as they stepped outside together.
The streets of the Undercity were already humming with movement- merchants hauling carts, scavengers bartering loudly in alleyways, children darting between walkways chasing pieces of scrap like treasure. The air was thick with smoke and smog, but it was home.
As they walked, their hands brushed occasionally. Not by accident.
“Y’know,” she said, glancing over at him, “you don’t have to walk me down every time.”
Silco looked at her sidelong, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “I know.”
(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as they turned the corner, the entrance to the mines visible ahead.
Silco walked with her the whole way, boots echoing against the damp stone floor, his sharp eyes scanning the walls like he couldn’t not be on guard.
“You still remember the turns if you end up in the deeper tunnels?” he asked offhandedly.
(Y/N) smirked. “You’re sweet when you’re pretending not to worry.”
“I’m always worrying,” he muttered, but his tone lacked any real sharpness.
They reached the office in no time- an old iron-reinforced room carved into the rock, dimly lit with flickering green and gold lanterns that buzzed faintly. Inside was a scarred desk, stacks of ledgers, worn chairs, and a small iron hook where she always hung her cloak.
She shrugged off her bag and cloak with practiced ease, fingers brushing dust from her sleeves before hanging both neatly in their places. She caught the way Silco watched her in the corner of her eye- how his gaze lingered just a little too long on the exposed curve of her neck now that her cloak was off, on the quiet way she settled into the space like she’d done it a thousand times.
She turned to look at him fully, one brow raised. “You planning on loitering all day?”
Silco stepped forward, closing the distance between them slowly. He didn’t answer right away- just reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch warm against her cheek.
Then he leaned down and pressed a soft, steady kiss to her forehead.
It was quick, but it lingered.
Not a promise. Not a goodbye.
Just his way of saying he saw her. Cared for her. Wanted her safe.
When he pulled back, his voice was low but sure. “I’ll see you later.”
(Y/N) nodded, her voice equally soft. “Be careful, yeah?”
He smirked faintly. “Always.”
And just like that, he turned and disappeared down the tunnel, his coat catching the low light before he vanished into the haze of the mines. She watched him go, something warm pulsing beneath her ribs before she turned back to the desk, rolling up her sleeves and getting to work.
The day had begun, it passed in its usual rhythm, familiar in its simplicity.
The mine office was dim and quiet, save for the scratching of her pen across paper and the occasional creak of boots outside the door as workers passed by. (Y/N) checked supply inventories, cross-referenced excavation schedules, marked out the safe zones from the unstable ones. It was tedious work- but necessary. And she liked it. It kept her grounded, kept her from spiraling too deep into the weight of everything else going on above and beneath the surface.
Hours slipped by in the low hum of effort. She fixed a jammed lift schedule, sorted faulty lamp returns, and passed by a collapsed tunnel to give her usual report- though she didn’t go near the deeper parts. Not today. Her magic stayed quiet, humming under her skin, patient.
By the time she finished and looked at the rusted old clock hanging on the wall, it was late. The kind of late where the air in the tunnels started to feel heavier, colder. Most of the crews had already left, the usual noise of hammers and shouting and shifting machinery long since faded.
She let out a soft sigh, rubbing the back of her neck as she stood and stretched. Her muscles ached in familiar places, and a thin layer of dust clung to her pants and sleeves. She grabbed her cloak from the hook by the door, shaking it out with a practiced flick before draping it over her shoulders. Her bag followed- slung across her chest as she ran a hand through her now-tousled hair.
The walk back through the tunnels was quiet. Eerily so. But she was used to it. She made her way toward the entrance of the mines, stepping out into the city.
The Undercity greeted her like an old friend- distant neon lights glowing in the hazy twilight, the scent of smoke and metal thick in the air. The Lanes buzzed softly in the distance, and as she adjusted her cloak tighter around herself, she found her thoughts drifting forward.
The Last Drop would be warm by now- lit up and alive in its usual gritty way. Violet would probably be asleep upstairs, Felicia most likely slumped in a booth with a drink in hand, and Vander behind the bar telling someone off for trying to cheat at cards.
And Silco…
He’d be there, she was sure of it.
Maybe already sitting at the bar, waiting for her like he did most nights when she came back late. Maybe pretending he wasn’t waiting at all.
A tired smile crept onto her lips as she pushed forward through the streets, heart tugging her home.
Back to the bar.
Back to him.
(Y/N) pulled her cloak tighter, keeping her head down as she moved through the winding streets toward the familiar warmth of The Last Drop. The sound of heavy boots echoed around the corner- Enforcers. Routine, by now. Always watching. Always looking for an excuse.
She didn’t glance up- not really- but one of them caught her gaze anyway. Just a second too long. Just enough.
“Hey!” one of them barked.
She froze.
Four of them broke off from the patrol, boots loud against the cobblestone as they spread out around her, forming a half-circle. Uniforms crisp, expressions smug. The leader- broad, smug, with a baton already half-raised- gestured toward her with a nod.
“Out late, sweetheart?”
(Y/N) didn’t answer. Just lowered her eyes, her jaw tight.
“We’re conducting a search,” another said, already reaching for her bag.
She knew the drill. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t afford to.
She let them pull the bag from her shoulder, dig through it, pat her down with rough, mocking hands. One of them yanked her cloak aside, as if they expected to find contraband hidden in the folds. They didn’t. Of course they didn’t.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
It never was.
“Tsk. Nothing,” the leader said, almost disappointed. “Looks like she’s just another gutter rat wasting our time.”
One of them stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Then maybe we remind her who runs these streets.”
She could’ve fought.
Could’ve burned them all down with a flick of her wrist.
But her magic stayed quiet. Her body stayed still. She didn’t move.
She remembered the last time.
The screams. The smoke…
So she let it happen.
They knocked her down first. A punch to the gut, a boot to her ribs. Her shoulder hit the ground hard, and the stone scraped across her palms when she tried to catch herself. Then the batons came- short, sharp blows meant to bruise more than break, meant to humiliate. Her lip split. Her breath left her in a wheeze.
But she didn’t cry out.
She didn’t give them that.
She curled in on herself, shielded her head, and waited for it to end.
Eventually, it did.
One of them spit at the ground beside her. “Tell your friends in the Lanes to keep their mouths shut.”
They left her there in the alley, blood on her lip, ribs aching, cloak torn at the edge.
For a long moment, she didn’t move.
Then, slowly, she sat up. Her hands shook as she adjusted her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, then pulled her hood up, hiding as much of her face as she could manage.
And then she walked.
Not quickly. Not limping.
Just steady.
Until the glow of The Last Drop came into view.
The noise spilled out into the street, muffled laughter, the low hum of conversation, the scent of smoke and stale beer. Home.
She pushed the door open with one hand, shoulder braced against the frame like her body didn’t want to be held up anymore.
The light hit her first.
Then Silco turned from where he sat at the bar- and froze.
His eyes locked on her.
Blood at the corner of her mouth. Another tear in her cloak. Dirt and ash and bruises painted across her skin.
She stood in the doorway, barely holding herself upright.
“…Hey,” she rasped, like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just been used as a message.
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