#but roar she CAME IN CLUTCH

[jisungshotfirst]

I do not think I screamed enough at the time about how good roar is but FUCK ITS SUCH A GOOD SONG

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than fire

You're more amazing than shadowcore ore

[misswynters]

A Stark��s Fury

Cregan Stark x targ!wife! reader

[warning: blood, you getting cut in the arm

[synopsis: You are the wife of Cregan and younger sister of rhaenyra. You get cut in the arm and your son, Eddard, also gets hurt. Which makes cregan furious.

[note | here’s a lil something while i write the final chapter for winters embrace, just a short drabble :) also instead of rhae getting cut it’s you.

[requested: by anon

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting an amber glow across Driftmark. Laena Velaryon’s funeral was a somber affair, filled with the mournful silence of the assembled nobles and the soft lapping of waves against the shore. Among the gathered were you, the younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, your husband Cregan Stark, and your son Eddard, who clung to your skirts, his wide eyes taking in the solemnity of the occasion.

Your silver hair flowed down your back, and your violet eyes glistened with unshed tears as you stood beside Cregan. His strong arm encircled your waist, offering silent support. Despite the warmth of the setting sun, a chill hung in the air, a reflection of the grief that weighed heavily on your hearts.

As the ceremony proceeded, you noticed the tension simmering among the children. Your son, Eddard, stood with Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, trying to comfort them in their shared sorrow. Your heart ached for them, especially for Rhaena, who had just lost her mother.

When the time came for the family to pay their final respects, you and Cregan approached the bier. You whispered a prayer for Laena’s soul, your voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. Cregan squeezed your hand gently, his presence a solid rock amidst the turbulent sea of emotions.

After the funeral, you found yourself in the grand hall, where the tension between the Blacks and the Greens was palpable. You kept a watchful eye on Eddard, who was playing with the other children. However, the peace was shattered when a scuffle broke out between Aemond and Jace. The sight of Aemond taunting Jace, and the resulting fight, sent a shockwave through the hall.

Eddard tried to intervene, but in the chaos, he was struck and fell to the ground, crying out in pain. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding with fear and anger. Cregan was by your side in an instant, his protective instincts flaring as he assessed the situation.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

“Aemond taunted Jace, and then the fight started,” you explained, your voice trembling with emotion as you cradled Eddard.

Cregan’s eyes darkened with anger. “This has gone too far.”

The confrontation escalated when Alicent Hightower, her face twisted with rage, advanced on Rhaenyra, who was defending her sons. You stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation, but Alicent’s fury was uncontrollable. She drew a knife, lunging at Rhaenyra, but you intercepted the blow.

The blade sliced across your arm, and you cried out in pain, clutching the wound. Cregan’s roar of fury echoed through the hall as he moved to shield you. He grabbed the knife from Alicent’s hand, his face a mask of rage.

“Enough!” he bellowed. “This madness ends now!”

King Viserys, looking frail and distressed, tried to intervene. “Peace! There must be peace!”

Cregan turned on the king, his eyes blazing. “Peace? Look at what your family has done! My wife is injured, my son is hurt, and for what? Petty squabbles and insults?”

Rhaenyra, tears streaming down her face, reached for you. “Sister, I’m so sorry.”

You managed a weak smile, despite the pain. “It’s not your fault, Rhaenyra. But something must change.”

As the maesters attended to your wound, Cregan kept a protective arm around you. He glared at the Greens, making it clear that any further aggression would not be tolerated. The hall was filled with a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken threats and unresolved grievances.

In the aftermath, Cregan insisted on returning to Winterfell with you and Eddard. “We’ll be safer there,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I won’t risk your lives any longer.”

You nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thank you, Cregan.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your cool skin. “I love you. I will always protect you.”

As you prepared to leave Driftmark, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the family you were leaving behind. You took a moment to say your farewells to Rhaenyra and her children.

“Please, take care of yourselves,” you whispered to Rhaenyra, holding her hands tightly. “We’ll be in touch, I promise.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Be safe, sister.”

With a final embrace, you and Cregan gathered Eddard and boarded your ship, setting sail for Winterfell. The journey was long, but Cregan’s presence and Eddard’s innocent chatter kept your spirits high.

Winterfell welcomed you with open arms. The cold, crisp air and the familiar sights brought a sense of comfort. As you settled back into your home, the events at Driftmark seemed like a distant nightmare.

Cregan, ever the doting husband, ensured you had everything you needed to recover from your injury. He personally oversaw the maesters’ treatments, and his protective nature brought you solace.

A few hours later, as you sat by the fire, Cregan wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders and handed you a cup of hot tea. “How are you feeling?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

“Better,” you replied, taking a sip. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, sitting beside you. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

You leaned against him, finding comfort in his strength. “I know. And I’m grateful.”

Life in Winterfell slowly returned to normal. Eddard resumed his lessons and playtime with the other children, while you and Cregan focused on the responsibilities of ruling the North. Despite the distance from Driftmark, the shadow of that day lingered.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, you turned to Cregan. “Do you think things will ever be right again between the Blacks and the Greens?”

Cregan sighed, his brow furrowing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The wounds run deep. But we must try, for the sake of our family.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “I want Eddard to grow up in a world where he doesn’t have to choose sides.”

Cregan’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”

Many moons have passed, and your wound healed, leaving only a faint scar as a reminder of the confrontation. The bond between you and Cregan grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity. Winterfell thrived under your joint leadership, a beacon of stability and strength. In the morning, as the first snow of the season blanketed the ground, you stood on the battlements with Cregan, watching Eddard play with the other children.

“He’s so happy here,” you remarked, smiling at the sight of your son’s laughter.

Cregan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Of course he is, this is our home. He’s meant to be here.”

You nodded silently, feeling a deep sense of peace. Your eyes went to the scar on your arm, being reminded of what happened. You looked at your husband, with sadness in your eyes.

“I hope my family will stop this infighting, i wish for all of this today end” Your thoughts began to wonder of all the possible outcomes this conflict can end with. This could very well mean that death will linger in your family. Something no one will ever be prepared for, war costs everything.

The quietness of Winterfell enveloped you as you drifted into a fitful sleep beside Cregan. The room was cold, and the memory of the somber events—the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, the sharp sting of your wound—still weighed heavily on you.

In your dream, the landscape was bleak and foreboding. A storm raged over a desolate battlefield, its fury tearing at the very fabric of the sky. You wandered through the chaos, a spectral figure in the storm’s heart. Amidst the destruction, you saw a vision of a great dragon, its scales a dim and faded silver, bound by chains of ice that slowly constricted around its body. The dragon’s eyes were filled with a profound sorrow, as if it sensed the end drawing near.

A shadowy figure emerged from the storm—a man cloaked in shadows, his face obscured but his presence undeniably menacing. His voice cut through the tempest, speaking directly to your mind, “The chains of fate are not easily broken. A great loss is coming to your house.”

As you reached out to free the dragon, a dark prophecy formed in your mind, clear as day. “Cregan will face a treacherous choice,” you heard yourself say in the dream. “A betrayal will come from within. Death will follow.”

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering like a cold shiver down your spine. Your breathing was rapid and uneven, and a profound fear gripped you. You turned to Cregan, who was lying beside you, his face furrowed in concern.

The sudden movement and your distressed state had startled him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep as he reached out to steady you. His hand found yours, his grip warm and reassuring against your icy fingers.

“My dream,” you managed to stammer, your voice trembling. “I saw... I saw something terrible. A dragon in chains, and a warning about you—”

Cregan’s eyes narrowed with concern, but he quickly sat up, his arm wrapping protectively around you. “What did you see? Tell me everything,” he urged, his voice steady despite the worry etched on his face.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I don’t know all the details, but it felt so real. I fear that something dark is coming, and it will bring pain to us and our house.”

Cregan nodded, his expression resolute despite the alarm in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly, pulling you closer to his body. “For now, try to rest. You need it” He cradled your body as you leaned towards him, the warmth of his body bringing you comfort.

As you lay back down, you could feel the storm of fear inside you slowly ebbing, but the weight of the dream’s prophecy remained heavy in your heart.

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[cutielando]

allergies | lando norris

synopsis: in which your allergies strike at the worst possible moment

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: lando norris x allergic!reader

my masterlist

The paddock was buzzing with energy, a familiar hum of excitement filling the air as mechanics moved swiftly, journalists weaved through the crowd, and fans pressed against barriers hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers.

It was just another race weekend, another high-stakes event where the roar of engines and the scent of burnt rubber set the scene.

You had been standing near the McLaren garage, chatting with some of the engineers when it started.

At first, it was subtle - a tickle in your throat, a slight tightness in your chest. You dismissed it, blaming the humidity or the strong scent of fuel lingering in the air.

But then it escalated.

Your breath hitched, throat constricting as a wave of panic surged through you. Your vision blurred slightly, and your skin felt like it was burning. It didn’t take long for the realization to sink in.

You were having an allergic reaction.

You had always been careful. Always checked what you ate, what you touched. But somehow, something had triggered it, and now you were in the middle of the paddock, struggling to breathe.

Your hands trembled as you clutched at your throat, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a wheeze.

Lando was in the middle of a media session when he caught sight of you. He saw the way your body wavered, the way your hand gripped the edge of a table for support.

His heart plummeted at the sight of you struggling to breathe.

“Wait, sorry” he muttered abruptly to the reporter in front of him before pushing through the crowd, his mind solely focused on you.

By the time he reached you, your knees had buckled.

He barely caught you in time, his arms wrapping around your frame as you gasped for air.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked frantically, his grip tightening around you as if holding you together would somehow make it stop. “Talk to me, love.”

You tried, but the words wouldn’t come. Your eyes were wide, filled with fear, and it made his own chest tighten painfully.

“Shit” he cursed, looking around. “She’s having an allergic reaction! Someone get help!”

A McLaren medic was already rushing toward you, an EpiPen in hand.

Lando refused to let go of you, holding you close as they administered the shot, his free hand brushing strands of hair away from your sweat-dampened forehead.

“You’re okay,” he murmured over and over, voice thick with worry. “I’ve got you.”

The next few minutes felt like an eternity. Your breathing was still labored, but slowly - agonizingly slowly - it began to ease.

The tightness in your chest loosened, and the panic that had gripped your mind started to ebb away.

Lando exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You scared the shit out of me” he said.

Your voice was hoarse when you finally spoke.

“Didn’t mean to” you said, an apologetic smile on your face despite what you had just gone through.

He let out a weak laugh, though his eyes were still clouded with concern.

“You’re never leaving my sight again” he stated, his tone stating it obvious that there was no room for questions or complaints.

The medics insisted on taking you to the medical center for further observation, and Lando was glued to your side the entire time, fingers laced tightly with yours.

He didn’t care about the race weekend, the press, or the cameras catching every moment of his worry - none of it mattered.

All that mattered was you.

And he wasn’t letting go.

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[tqlepatia]

NOT A LOT, JUST FOREVER

- ❝ tw : Infant death, grief, abandonment themes, Injuryh❞

And your dearest fantasy, Is to grow a baby in me I could be a good mother

You remember the warmth of those early days like it was yesterday. The quiet hum of your little apartment in Zaun, the way Sevika's laughter used to fill every corner, rough but genuine. You and her weren't rich, but damn, happy as fuck. Sunday mornings were your favourite—her arms wrapped tight around you, calloused fingers tracing gentle patterns along my skin as sunlight crept through the cracks in the window.

“You know I love you, right, baby?” she’d whisper for you, voice thick with sleep.

“I know,” you would smile, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “I love you too.”

It was simple then. You two cooked together, danced clumsily in the living room to crackling music, and built a life out of love and promises. When you told her that you was pregnant, her eyes softened in a way I’d never seen before.

“We’re gonna do this, yeah?” she said, voice low but steady as she placed her hand over your belly. “I’ll take care of both of you.”

And for a while, she did. She was there for every appointment, every late-night craving, even when you got moody and impossible to deal with.

For the first six months, Sevika was the perfect partner — attentive, present, and fiercely protective. She'd read parenting books at night, muttering under her breath about "stupid baby advice" but taking it seriously nonetheless. Every kick from the baby brought a smile to her scarred face, and you believed nothing could ruin what you had.

But then everything changed.

Sevika began staying out later, consumed by work. She came home smelling of smoke, too tired to hold you or even ask how you were feeling. The warmth that once radiated between you faded into a cold distance. Nights were lonelier, the bed colder, and the silence louder.

At seven months pregnant, you told yourself it was just a rough patch. She’d come back to you — she always did.

But tonight was different.

A sharp pain twisted through your belly, making you gasp. You clutched the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to steady yourself. Panic surged through your veins. "Sevika..." you whispered, but the empty apartment echoed back. She wasn’t home. Again.

The ache in your chest was worse than the physical pain. Desperation drove you to grab your coat, ignoring the winter chill biting at your skin as you stepped into the dark streets of Zaun.

You knew where to find her.

The bar loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering like a tired heartbeat. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you pushed open the door, the smell of smoke and stale alcohol assaulting your senses.

And there she was — Sevika, sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, surrounded by rough-looking men. Her broad shoulders slumped, eyes shadowed by exhaustion.

"Sevika," you choked out, your voice trembling.

She turned, her eyes widening in shock. "Love? What the hell are you doin' here?"

Before you could answer, chaos erupted.

The door behind you burst open as masked figures stormed in, guns drawn and shouting orders. The patrons scattered, tables overturned, and glass shattered against the floor.

Sevika was on her feet instantly, her instincts kicking in as she drew a blade from her belt. "Get down!" she shouted, but you were frozen in place, your body refusing to move.

A flash of silver caught your eye.

Pain exploded through your belly as the blade pierced your skin. Time slowed. You looked down, disbelief washing over you as blood blossomed across your coat.

"No!" Sevika's roar was primal, filled with terror and rage. She fought her way to you, her fists a blur of violence, but it was too late.

You collapsed into her arms, the world tilting around you.

"Stay with me, baby," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Don't you dare leave me, okay?."

Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "You're gonna be okay. The baby's gonna be okay. Just... just hold on.. e-everything gonna be okay."

But you knew the truth.

She knew the truth.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sevika shook her head with determination, her expression filled with concern. "No, please don’t say that. I promise you, everything is going to be just fine, and the little one will be safe too."

The encroaching darkness began to creep in at the edges of your vision, a slow descent into a tranquil void. The sharp pangs of pain that had gripped you moments earlier faded into a serene numbness, a gentle wave that washed over your body. This sensation wrapped around you like a velvety shroud, cocooning you in its soft embrace. As the world around you dimmed, you felt a profound sense of calm beginning to take root, shielding you from the chaos that had once consumed your thoughts.

“I love you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, each word quaking as it escaped your lips. Your heart raced, feeling the weight of the moment pressing around you like a warm embrace. You could feel the cool air brushing against your skin, contrasting the warmth flooding through you. Your lips trembled slightly, betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within—hope, fear, and an undeniable yearning. Each syllable hung in the air, charged with vulnerability, as you searched their eyes for a response, longing to see the reflection of your own feelings mirrored back.

The rain came down in relentless sheets, cold and unforgiving. Zaun's streets shimmered under the dull glow of flickering neon lights, but Sevika barely noticed. Her coat was soaked through, hair plastered to her face, but she kept walking, steps heavy with sorrow.

The cemetery loomed ahead, its iron gate creaking as she pushed it open. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. In her hand, a bouquet of wildflowers—your favorite, bright even in the gloom.

Her breath hitched when she reached the twin headstones, side by side like a cruel monument to everything she'd lost. Yours was simple but elegant, etched with your name and the soft promise of "Forever Loved." Beside it was a smaller stone, marked only by a single word: Hope. The name you had chosen for your baby before everything was torn away.

Sevika knelt, the cold seeping into her bones. The flowers trembled in her calloused hands before she gently laid them at the base of the graves.

"I brought these for you," she murmured, voice rough and thick with grief. "I know they’re not much, but... I remember you said they made you happy."

Her fingers brushed against the damp stone, tracing your name as if trying to hold onto some part of you that was still here. The rain mixed with the tears she didn’t bother to hide.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words cracking under the weight of guilt. “For not being there... for failing you both. I should've protected you. I should've—” Her voice broke, a sob tearing through her chest.

The storm raged on, but Sevika stayed, anchored by the memories that haunted her every step. She saw flashes of your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you teased her, the gentle warmth of your hand on her cheek. And then the image of that night—the blood, your fading breath, the life that slipped away before she could save it.

"I miss you, princess," she choked out, her shoulders shaking. "I miss you both."

The rain washed over her, but it couldn't cleanse the ache buried deep in her chest. Still, as she knelt there, drenched and broken, Sevika made a silent vow: to carry your love, your memory, through every storm.

She pressed a trembling kiss to her fingertips and touched the stone once more. “I love you. Always.”

The wildflowers swayed gently in the wind, defiant against the rain, a fragile reminder that love, even in grief, never truly dies.

Sevika's steps were heavy as she made her way home, the storm still lingering in the dark skies above Zaun. Her coat clung to her drenched frame, boots scuffing against the slick pavement. The rain had soaked through to her bones, but she welcomed the cold—it dulled the ache that never left her chest.

The apartment was quiet when she pushed the door open, silence wrapping around her like a familiar specter. The faint scent of you still lingered in the walls, a cruel reminder of the life you had built together. Sevika stood in the dim entryway, her breath unsteady as water pooled at her feet.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket, fingers brushing against something soft and worn. Slowly, she pulled it out—a creased photograph, edges frayed from being handled too many times. The image was blurred slightly from age, but your radiant smile was unmistakable.

In the picture, you stood with a hand resting tenderly on your swollen belly, the other holding up the ultrasound pictures with pride. Your eyes sparkled with joy, the same joy Sevika had worked so hard to give you. She remembered that day vividly—how she had swallowed her pride and taken on grueling, endless shifts to afford the best hospital in Piltover. She wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, even if it meant sacrificing sleep and her own well-being.

Her thumb brushed over your face, lingering on the smile that had always felt like home. "I tried, bunny," she whispered hoarsely, voice trembling. "I tried so damn hard for you both."

Her knees weakened, and she sank onto the couch, the photo clutched tightly in her hand. The weight of her guilt pressed down on her chest, but there was something else too—love, fierce and unyielding, a thread that connected her to you even now.

Sevika leaned back, the photograph resting against her heart. The rain continued to beat against the windows, but inside, a fragile warmth flickered amidst the grief. She would carry that picture and the memory of your joy with her always, a testament to the love you had shared and the family you had dreamed of.

And though the world had taken you from her, it could never take that love away.

[miniimight]

can you write one where mikey tries so hard to hide your relationship but he lets you into toman without you really being all that strong (he just wanted you around) and some members try to hit on you and he teaches them a lesson?

I LOVE YOUR WORK BTW!!!! OMG

HIDDEN RELATIONSHIP ! but some new toman members make it not-so-hidden

with mikey + fem!reader

warnings unwelcome attraction, they corner you and try to force you into a date, a guy puts his hands on you against your will

notes i love this request !! :D i think i went overboard tho lol

mikey was the epitome of attention as the leader of the growing toman. he really couldn't help the fact that emma was known as his sister, but he desperately tried to keep the fact that you were his girlfriend under wraps. couldn't have dumb kids trying to use you against him or get you caught up in gang wars.

every time he dropped you home, you slid off his bike and handed him his spare helmet (more like his only helmet, cuz he didn't wear one).

"bye, mikey." you hummed. "pick me up tomorrow?"

you didn't even have to ask. "yeah." he leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the bike handle while the other was held in front of you, palm towards the dusky sky.

you slipped your hand into his and he squeezed it, lingering as if he were contemplating something. you waited patiently.

he was so tempted to pull you back into his arms. who cares about the toman meeting when it meant a few more minutes with you?

he sighed and gave in, pulling you closer to the bike bashfully. he looked shy to ask. he'd never spent much time with you after school as he usually ran with his friends. but this time... he just wanted you close.

"ride with me?" he mumbled. "...again?"

you tilted your head slightly. "but... i thought you were gonna hang out with your friends?"

he tugged you forward, forcing a little yelp out of you as you fell into his shoulder. he hugged you tightly, his voice muffled against your chest.

"we never get to hang out for long..." he said. just this once, and no one will notice. maybe he could introduce you to his close friends this time? "it'll be okay. trust me."

you smiled and climbed on again, clasping the helmet buckle under your chin. "okay."

his bike roared to life, zooming down the streets.

[]

he parked his bike nearby, but far away enough so that it'd look like he walked to the meeting spot. your eyes drank the sight of the crowd down there. you knew who mikey was and what he was involved in, but never actually saw it for yourself.

he pouted. "why do you look so surprised?"

you chuckled. "aw, don't pout. i know you're a hotshot, mikey, but seeing all your guys is a different thing."

"not all of them are my guys." mikey whipped out his phone. "anyways, i want you to meet my sister."

you blinked, whipping your head to face him. he already had the phone to his ear. "now?!"

mikey grinned mischievously. "hey emma? i've got someone here, come to where all the bikes are parked."

after a few minutes, his sister came running up with a groan. "what do you want mikey—oh!" emma's jaw dropped. "a girl?!" she pointed an accusatory finger at mikey. "explain yourself!"

mikey smirked proudly and pulled you closer, his arm strung around your shoulders. "a girlfriend."

"girlfr—?!" emma paced in a frustrated circle. "and you didn't tell me?!"

"yeah, cuz it's supposed to be a secret!" mikey retorted, huffing. "and i know you'd just tell ken-chin or something."

emma gaped at the two of you for a moment. you waved meekly, squeaking a "hi, emma. i'm y/n."

she rushed towards you, clutching your hands in hers. "tell. me. everything."

mikey smiled despite his front of annoyance, ruffling both your heads as he walked by. "come on."

as mikey walked, gang members scurried away to make ample room for their president and the two that flanked him: his sister and who they assumed was her guest. he soon reached the platform where all the captains gathered. his crew looked more curious than confused at your presence.

"oi, emma," draken narrowed his eyes at the blonde, the first to pipe up. "you can't just bring whoever you want to these things."

emma opened her mouth to retort, but mikey nudged her side. that was enough to make her revise what she was going to say. "whatever."

you, on the other hand, were confused, thrown into a whole new environment that you knew nothing about. seeing all these violence-prone tough guys made you feel so small and weak.

mikey observed you as your eyes nervously darted across the crowd of toman. he leaned towards you to whisper while his friends were occupied by a chatty emma, his hair brushing against your ear. "just stay where i can see you and you can see me."

"so, at the front?" you gave him a skeptical look.

"wherever you want, i just wanna see your face." he smiled, eyes closed. heat rose to your face as you cast your gaze elsewhere. dork.

you and mikey were pulled from your own little world when emma huffed and puffed at draken.

"ugh, this is boring anyway!" emma turned on her heels. "come on, y/n!"

"oh! okay..." you blinked and gave mikey a parting glance.

the boys watched the two of you race down the steps.

draken scoffed, standing at mikey's side. "why was that girl looking at you like that?"

mikey smiled to himself, his heart thrumming happily. "dunno. might be in love with me or something."

they all laughed at him. yeah, as if!

"emma, slow down—!" you grunted as you wove through all the boys gathered, ignoring their smirking or curious faces as you desperately tried to keep her flowy blond hair in your sight. but it was dark and the black uniforms didn't help one bit.

you paused, looking around.

you lost her. you cursed and just focused on making your way to the back, being alone around all these weird teenagers didn't sit well with you.

"hey."

the firm grip around your wrist sent chills down your spine. you tugged once in a hopes to slither away but with no luck.

"what're ya doing here?"

you turned to see a group of guys surrounding you. your heart dropped into your stomach. your eyes drifted upwards. you couldn't see over their heads; you couldn't see mikey.

"oh, just hanging out with a friend..." you answered. "i'm gonna go now..."

"hold on, you think we buy that?" the one doing all the talking scoffed. "you're a girl here at a gang meeting, what 'friend' are you visiting, huh?!"

you flinched at the tone, unable to find the words.

"wanna know what i think?" he bent down to look you in the eye. "think you're just looking for attention. what, need a boyfriend, sweetheart?"

you hurriedly shook your hands, staring at them with panic. "no! no, i have one! i have a boyfriend." you hoped that would deter them, you desperately hoped they would leave you alone. your head swiveled around. some were taking amusement in the interaction, others were turning a blind eye.

"really?" he asked.

you found yourself glaring at him, despite the uneven match. "yeah."

the boy paused and surveyed you, his nasty gaze raking over you. his lips curled into a smirk. "ha! why should i believe you?"

you resolve crumbled. you whimpered at the failed attempt to get the fuck out of here which did nothing for your case.

"aw, sad you got found out?" he grinned down at you, shoving his hands in his pockets. "it's okay, we can go somewhere together after this, how about that?"

you scoffed, crossing your arms. "i said i have a boyfriend." who, for all the class he lacked, had way more class than this piece of shit.

that seemed to anger the boy. "quit lyin, we know you ain't got shit."

mikey, please just notice me. you begged silently, hoping for some miracle that'd get you out of this situation.

"did you hear me?" the boy hissed, grabbing your wrists. you gasped and glared at him, pulling against him with all your might. "quit—" he grunted. "cut that out!"

you felt cornered and tears pooled in your eyes. your heart felt almost cold as you let your impulses take over, screaming, "let go!"

mikey was eagerly listening as his captains addressed the gang, but his mind was still looking for you in the crowd. he searched for minutes and still couldn't find anything.

he wilted. was he just a bad boyfriend? not being able to recognize his girl in a crowd?

then he heard murmuring, hushed whispers, before he heard your voice.

"let go!"

his face scrunched and he rose to his feet. let go? who had their hands on you?

he marched to the front of the platform, scanning the crowd with newfound intensity. draken seemed to notice and did the work for him.

"oi!" draken's voice made the gang fall silent. even the guy who acted big froze in front of you. "why the fuck do you have your back turned to your leader when he's addressing you?"

mikey saw a couple boys distance themselves from the commotion, where he saw. anger flared into his body and he itched to beat someone to death.

you were looking at him, completely distraught.

he flew down the stairs, shoving past the members towards you. hatred radiated off him in waves as his eyes never left the sight in front of him. someone—his gang members—were fucking disrespecting you. he felt embarrassed and enraged.

the boy who had pressured you immediately let go. you stumbled backwards before looking at mikey. even now, you didn't know if you should run to him in front of everyone.

your doubts were squashed when he opened his arms. you inhaled deeply. your breath shook as you blinked the tears from your eyes, speedwalking towards him. the silence was killing you. what a reveal, you thought. you didn't care though, just happy to be in mikey's arms.

mikey hugged you tightly, pulling back to observe you for any damage. he ghosted his fingers over your wrists. "did they hurt you?"

you gulped at the menacing edge to his voice. you shook your head. he gave your wrists a soothing squeeze.

the aggressors' eyes flickered between you and their leader.

you smiled sweetly and pointed at mikey, mouthing boyfriend!

they paled.

you grinned. get fucked.

"do you know what you just did?" mikey asked, shrugging off his coat and putting it around your shoulders. he walked past you.

"h-hey... i didn't know—" the guy scrambled backwards, his voice dripping with desperation.

"who cares?" mikey's eyes were cloudy. "even if she weren't mine, are you trying to make toman look bad? if you're gonna be pathetic, do it somewhere else."

the guy took that as a cue to leave, quickly turning around.

"who said you could leave?"

you blinked and he was on the ground, mikey's foot landing gracefully.

"huh?" you mumbled. before you could even process it, he was standing over the other bystanders, holding them by their shirt as he landed punch after punch.

when they were all piles of bones on the floor he stood up, dusting his pants and slipping his hands in his pockets. "you're not welcome in toman. you better not let your faces be seen around here any more or i'll bash your head in."

you pulled the wings of mikey's coat closer to your body. despite the violence, you felt... warm and soothed by mikey's actions.

draken dismissed the meeting and the gang practically ran out of there, eager to get out of mikey's area of impact. the founding members and emma remained.

mitsuya looked sheepish when he asked, "i guess she really was in love with you, huh?"

mikey turned his nose in the air. "of course. why would i lie about that?"

pah scoffed. "do you even know yourself?"

you inched closer to mikey, unsure of your place here. he held you by your waist, reassuring you. your racing heart slowed down, little by little.

"hey." surprisingly, draken looked a little embarrassed, probably because he treated you like some rando when you were mikey's girlfriend. "you... we're not like that brat, okay?"

"yeah, what a disgrace!" pah interrupted, huffing.

"you don't have to be afraid." draken continued, glaring at pah. "just like mikey, we'll look out for you."

you smiled, coming out of mikey's side just a little. "thank you. i'm y/n, by the way."

mitsuya groaned. "oh, now it all makes sense." you voiced a confused hum and he elaborated, telling you that mikey would always go on and on about you. his friends thought you were just a crush of his, and since they'd never saw you they honestly thought you were a figment of his hormonal imagination.

your cheeks burned. "oh... no, i'm totally real."

emma peeked out from behind draken. her eyes were glossy and she sniffed, toddling towards you. "y/nnnn!" she wailed, hugging you. "i'm so sorry!"

you pat her back. "emma, it's not your fault! oh my god. please don't cry!" you looked at mikey for help but he just smiled. that smile faded when he realized that his friends and sister were slowly pushing him outside their little circle, wanting to know everything.

"okay, get off." mikey's demeanor changed in an instant. he slipped in under draken's arm and grabbed your hand, tugging you behind him.

"hey, no fair!" emma exclaimed, running after her brother. "you had her for who knows how long but i can't even get to talk to her for five minutes?!"

mikey sped up, laughing. "she's my girlfriend, not yours!"

"mikey!"

his bright laughter brought a smile to your face. he mounted his bike and made sure you were secure before revving off into the distance, his friends hot on his tail.

you gripped mikey's torso, nuzzling into his back. "thank you."

"don't thank me." mikey replied, quiet. "should've never happened in the first place."

your cheek rested on his shoulder blade, staring at him. his hair cascaded just enough to obscure his eyes from view. "i'm glad i have a strong boyfriend to protect me." you giggled.

his chest puffed with pride. "i am pretty strong."

you rolled your eyes.

"but it's not just us anymore." he turned his head to meet your eyes. "you have a new family, now. and they're all gonna look out for you."

your jaw hurt from how hard you smiled. your heart fluttered. resting your head on his back again, you squeezed him tight.

[]

the peaceful drive soon turned into a competition when the toman captains tried to race mikey down, determined for answers. emma, who rode on draken's bike, was especially vicious.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[queen-of-nightmare-16]

PEACE | Vander/Warwick X Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS - Fluff • Threat • Injury • Mention of death • Brief mention of blood • Season 2 Spoilers! • Cuddling (BECAUSE THIS MAN DESERVES ONE!!)

PAIRING: Vander/Warwick X Fem Reader

SUMMARY: you were once Vander’s wife but believed he was dead after the cannery exploded. Now you’re staying at Viktor’s utopia hoping the machine herald can bring him back to you

WORD COUNT: 1.9K

——————————————————————————

The commune had been like a fever dream. That something so peaceful could exist in Zaun. Where everyone pulled their weight and shared resources and supplies without ulterior motives. It seemed like a paradise. It seemed too good to be true.

It was almost too much.

In just a couple of days — or was it even hours — your world had been turned upside down.

When Vi and Pow-- Jinx found you, you were both thrilled and sceptical. To see your adopted daughters together again. It certainly confusing to see that they somehow came back together again and with a little girl in tow but they had some information that nearly made your heart stop.

Vander … was alive!

A rasped pained laugh had been your response. It wasn’t possible. You heard the tale: Vander, your husband, died saving Vi. That was it, end of story. It broke you. So much so that you went searching for his body but found nothing. No doubt Silco had it thrown in the Pilt out of spite.

But Jinx was adamant. She claimed she fought some “version” of him in Stillwater, a beast, but it was still him. There was still something inside that recognised her. It was ludicrous. You had half a mind to tell them to leave and let you wallow in your loneliness. But your motherly urge clenched your heart; there was no way you could let them attempt to track this beast alone. Especially with a young child.

So you followed them, deep into the mines with spear in hand. Vi claimed they’d be safe thanks to her gauntlets but it provided you comfort. It had always been your weapon of choice.

After Vi and Jinx had their rather childish fight, the young girl who you had learnt was called Isha, received a bloody nose thanks to Vi’s elbow. You had wiped it clean with your sleeve, offering her a sweet smile as she sniffed but you all continued further in. Until your heart sunk completely when the ground rumbled. A distant roar surged fear through all your hearts, Jinx pushing Isha behind herself and Vi took a firm stance. Your knuckles became white clutching your spear; breath becoming staggered and fearful.

That when you saw it. A glimmer of red in the darkness, growing closer and brighter with every second; the ground trembling from its pounding fists. Jinx attempted to talk to it but nothing stopped its pursuit.

The sound of Vi’s gauntlet grabbing the beasts body before it could reach you caused the bioluminescent plants to light up and that when you became face to face with it. It’s blood red eyes were raging, a clawed paw stretched out desperately reaching out for Isha. It felt as if your heart was breaking all over again. There was an unrecognisable fury. This thing wanted to kill you all. How stupid it was to believe that this was him.

Vi became bloodied and bruised as she fought the beast, Jinx shielding Isha behind her with her gun raised. In a desperate attempt to save your daughter, you joined her in the fight; slashing and stabbing at its body. Yet it did little to nothing to halter it’s anger. It’s body healed at lightening speed.

This wasn’t a fight you could win.

It reared is large paw back, attempting to smite Vi in one swipe. Until you shoved her out of the way towards Jinx and took the hit yourself. It’s large arm smacked you away, your body surging through the air to slam into the wall. A yell rattled past your lips at impact, body feeling like it had just been shattered. You struggled to raise up to your feet until you realised the beasts attention had turned to your daughters. A glob of bloody spit from your mouth regained it, its crimson eyes glaring at your in a furious wrath. As your grip tightened on your snapped spear, you wielded it like you would a knife. You were ready to die here if it meant your girls could take the opportunity to escape. But Jinx halted your determination. She pleaded — no — begged for you to believe her. That this thing in front of you was the man you loved. Your eyes had shut, breathing slow as it leapt; its teeth bared ready to tear you apart.

But when you were face to face with it, so close that you could feel its breath on your cheeks, a sudden glimmer of familiarity befell you. A flicker of hope. Either way, it wasn’t stopping. So you took that chance. You tossed the broken weapon to the side and screamed his name.

Before you knew it, you were wrapped in its large arms. Eyes wide and breath shuddering, your hands slowly crept up to rest on its chest still unsure. But it wasn’t tearing you apart. Wasn’t disembowelling you with its claws. One of its pawed hands rested almost gently to the back of your head, pulling you tight to its body like it would be the last time. You almost wanted to free yourself from its grip out of fear. Until a low grumble from his jaws uttered a single word; causing a wave of tears to flow from your eyes like a waterfall. Your name.

It was him. It was your Vander.

And here you were. In Viktor’s small utopia; praying that this “herald” could heal your husband. Or return his mind to him fully. You cautiously watched Viktor exited from the greenhouse Vander had been designated to; the mechanical man slowly walking away in exhaustion.

“How long do you think this is gonna take?” Vi asked, staring at him in suspicion.

A deep breath heaved from your nose at her question. “I don’t know. In all my years I’ve never dealt with a ‘herald’ before,” you sighed tiredly. “I’ve never dealt with someone coming back from death either”.

“There’s a lot of things we haven’t dealt with,” Vi replied sadly.

She was right about that. It had been a small comfort to you, knowing that if Vander was gone his soul was finally at peace. But now here he was, back from the dead and twisted in his own body for whatever sick maniacal reason. Your brows furrowed in anger as a certain person invaded your mind. “I’ll kill Singed if I ever see him,” you swore, teeth coming close to grinding at the mere thought of that so called ‘scientist’.

“You’ll have to get in line,” Vi quipped, her soft small smile falling as quickly as it formed. “I’m gonna head to bed. You coming?”.

“I’m … I’m actually gonna go visit him. See how he’s doing,” you informed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. With a soft nod, Vi watched as you walked away towards the greenhouse.

There was still a wave of nervousness as you reached the door but it faded away when your gaze fell upon him. A few soft grunts huffed from his curled form, lying on the ground with a sorrowful look on face only for his head to perk up at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you greeted, shutting the door behind you. Vander rose up slightly, watching you with his new mismatched eyes as you sat down next to his hulking figure. You offered him a honeyed smile, stretching your legs out and leaning back against a pillar. “Any … any change today?”.

Vander snorted sadly in response and glanced down to his paws. Your hand quickly stretched up to cup his jaw, turning him back to look at you; your thumb gently stroking against his cheek to sooth him. “It’s ok. There’s always tomorrow,” you hushed, blinking back a set of tears as he nuzzled into your hand.

You couldn’t help but take in his features, from the sharp fangs to the large ears that twitched at the slightest sound. It made your heart clenched; that sometimes in a certain light or a quick glance you could just see a glimmer of the man you loved.

Almost as if he could sense your change in mood, Vander’s eyes opened; staring at you with a tilt of his head that must’ve said ‘what’s wrong?’.

“I’m ok,” you sniffed. “I’m just glad to have you back”.

He seemed to think to himself, contemplating something before shuffling closer to your body. You waited with bated breath, curiously watching as he fell to his side and laid his head to rest on your lap, his back to you and gaze directed to your boots.

Though it brought a smile to your face. Your heart fluttering at the recreation of a moment you and Vander would often share before things went to hell. Whenever Vander was stressed after a long day he would rest his head in your lap, sighing in relief as your fingers would cascade through his brown locks. The two of you would talk for hours, about your day or whatever your were worried about. It was a quiet intimate experience between you two.

“Heh, just like old times. Ey, Vander,” you teased, raising your hand to comb through the fur on his head. Vander groaned out softly, immediately relaxing against you. “Remember when we used to do this when we were younger? You denied it from hell to high water … then Benzo walked in and wouldn’t shut up about it”.

There was a chuff like laugh from Vander as his paw rested itself against your knee, his breath coming out steadier. The both of you fell silent as you thought of your fallen friend. Of all your fallen friends. Benzo. Connol. Felicia.

Silco.

You didn’t have a clue if Vander even knew his brother had passed. You hadn’t found it in you to ask or tell him either. There was so much going on already you didn’t want to bring him more heartbreak. No matter what had happened between them, Silco would always be his brother. He knew Vander long before you did. They played together as kids, worked together as teens, planned a revolution together as men. You knew in some way Vander would be devastated.

With a sigh, you continued massaging his scalp. No point in telling him now. One thing at a time.

“When we’re done here, how about we go away? Leave the Lanes, leave the Undercity. Find somewhere peaceful, somewhere safe,” you suggested. “Tell only the girls where we are so they can visit”.

Vander awkwardly glanced over his shoulder, staring at you in confusion.

“You didn’t think I was just gonna leave ya, did you?” You playfully quipped.

“However many tries, however long it takes; I am gonna stay right by you side,” you promised, leaning down to place a kiss against his brow, his eyes fluttering shut in content. “Like I’ve always said: it’s me and you till the end, big guy”.

When the sun rose in the morning, Vi had woken to discover you were missing. Both Jinx and Isha were still sleeping together in a pile of blankets whilst your bed appeared neat and unslept in. She rose to her feet and made her way over to the greenhouse, carefully opening the door as quietly as she could. Only for her shocked face to fall into a slight smile.

Somehow in the night the two of you had shifted. You were now laid out on your side, sleeping the most peacefully you had in years. Vander’s large arm had placed itself over your waist, keeping you trapped against his large body; his breath tussling your hair every time he exhaled. His massive paw was clutched in both your hands, pulled tightly to your chest. There wasn’t a care in the world to the two of you.

Just peace.

Vi smiled and decided to leave you be, allowing you both to enjoy your own personal paradise for a little longer.

——————————————————————————

First time returning to Imagines/One Shots but what they did to this man broke my heart and I felt like writing something for the first time in ages. Riot, I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Vander!!!

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Feat their son, Jack. She had some sort of trouble breathing but didn't want to alarm Toto or anyone else. Because they're busy preparing for the races. Even other drivers & WAGs ask her if she's alright. Ask me if you want more insight. Thanks!! :)) With prompts :

1)"My chest really... hurts..."

2)"I can't really breathe -"

3)"Don't you dare pass out on me."

4)"Careful you don't fall - gotcha!"

You can choose how many you want to use.

You can choose how many you want to use

Ps : from p✌🏻

“Breathless”

i will always write p’s requests first! hope you like it p

The sun had barely risen over the Silverstone circuit, casting a golden glow across the track as cars roared to life in the distance. It was race day, the culmination of months of tireless effort, strategies, and sacrifices. Every member of the Mercedes team, from the engineers to the drivers to the WAGs, was on edge. But it was a different kind of nervousness for you, the wife of Toto Wolff.

Toto was deep in his preparations, leading the team as always, focused and composed. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders as the team’s success and his drivers’ performance depended on the decisions made in those crucial final moments before the race. But you… you were struggling, and he had no idea.

As the day progressed, the increasing pressure of the crowd and the weight of the upcoming race only made it harder for you to breathe. It started off small—just a bit of tightness in your chest—but over time it became harder to ignore. The subtle discomfort bloomed into something much worse, sharp pangs slicing through your ribcage, leaving you gasping for air. You found it harder to breathe, each inhale feeling like you were suffocating, but you refused to let it show. You couldn’t. Not now. Not when Toto had so much to focus on. He couldn’t know.

You sat quietly in the hospitality area, surrounded by the other wives and girlfriends of the drivers, but you barely heard their chatter over the pounding in your ears. You could feel their concerned glances on you, but you forced a smile, clutching your chest and taking slow, shallow breaths, praying it would pass. The last thing you wanted was to be a distraction.

As you sipped your water, Jack, your young son, came over to you, his little face full of concern.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Jack asked, his innocent voice bringing warmth to your heart, even though your chest burned with every passing second.

You forced a smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Jack seemed to buy it, but the others weren’t so easily fooled.

One of the other drivers’ wives, Sophie, leaned in, her face etched with worry. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently. “You don’t look well.”

You nodded quickly, trying to mask the pain behind a veil of reassurance. “I’m fine, just… just a bit lightheaded. Nothing to worry about.”

But Sophie didn’t seem convinced. She glanced at you, and you could tell she wanted to say more, but she was interrupted by the loud rumble of an engine firing up on the track.

The tightness in your chest worsened, and you pressed a hand to your ribs, trying to steady your breathing. But it felt impossible. You were suffocating, and the air just wasn’t enough.

You stood up abruptly, trying to mask your discomfort by pretending to stretch. But it only made things worse. Your vision blurred, the edges of the world fading as you tried to push through it. Your breaths became shallow, faster, more frantic. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you stumbled forward, nearly collapsing into the arms of another WAG, who immediately caught you.

“Okay, that’s it,” Sophie said, her voice now filled with urgency. “You’re not fine. Let me get help.”

You shook your head weakly, panic rising in your chest, but you couldn’t argue anymore. Everything was spiraling out of control.

Meanwhile, Toto was deep in a team meeting, his mind on the race, on the strategy, on the stakes ahead. He was so close to achieving his dream for the season, but in the back of his mind, he always made sure to check in on you. Even now, he felt a strange unease tug at him, but he brushed it off. The day was too important.

But then, the call came.

“Toto, it’s your wife. You need to come now,” Sophie said, her voice thick with panic.

His heart stopped, a sinking feeling dropping to the pit of his stomach. He bolted from the room, his legs carrying him faster than he ever thought possible. He had no idea what was happening, but the tone in Sophie’s voice was enough to make his blood run cold.

When he arrived at the hospitality suite, the sight of you, pale and struggling for air, made his chest tighten in an instant. You were leaning against a table, breathing erratically, your hand clutching at your ribs as though you were trying to hold yourself together.

“Toto,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I’m sorry… I didn’t want to worry you…”

Toto’s face went ashen, his eyes wide with fear. “Don’t you dare pass out on me,” he growled, kneeling beside you, gripping your shoulders with a desperation you’d never seen from him before. “Please… just breathe, breathe with me.”

You gasped for air, but it was no use. Your chest constricted even more, the pain unbearable. A cold sweat drenched your skin, and you felt like you were slipping away. You couldn’t breathe.

Toto’s voice broke through the fog of panic, his hands shaking as he pressed you against his chest. “Stay with me, love. Stay with me. I can’t lose you.”

The next few moments were a blur. Paramedics rushed in, lifting you onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, Toto never leaving your side. He was frantic now, a man out of control, his mind racing with fear as he clutched your hand, whispering reassurances he didn’t believe himself. He was terrified.

In the ambulance, the oxygen mask was placed over your face, but the damage had been done. Your heart, strained under the pressure, had given out. You had suffered a heart attack—an event that felt so sudden, so unexpected. The pain, the tightness, the feeling of being trapped in your own body—it all made sense now. But the fear in Toto’s eyes, the way he cried quietly while holding your hand, that was something you couldn’t have prepared for.

“I need you, please,” Toto muttered, his voice raw with emotion. “I can’t do this without you.”

You fought for consciousness, focusing on the steady rise and fall of the oxygen as it filled your lungs. Slowly, the tightness eased, and you managed to open your eyes. The first thing you saw was Toto, his face streaked with tears, his expression torn apart with anguish. And then you saw Jack, standing beside him, his little hands clutching his father’s pant leg, looking up at you with eyes wide in fear.

You squeezed Toto’s hand weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay… I’m here.”

Toto’s entire body shuddered as he breathed in, the relief on his face immediate, but his hands remained tight around yours. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, tears welling up in your own eyes now. “I didn’t want you to worry. I just… I didn’t want to be a distraction. Not today.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice low and full of emotion. “You are my world, you are my priority. Everything else can wait. Don’t you ever try to protect me from your pain again. I can’t lose you.”

Toto’s words, raw and vulnerable, tore through you. You had been so determined to stay strong for him, for Jack, for the team. But now, in this moment, you realized that the only thing that mattered was the people you loved.

And you were going to fight for them.

Fight for your life. Because Toto Wolff couldn’t lose his family.

And neither could you.

@pear-1206

[woso-dreamzzz]

Guppy's Halloween

Arsenal Women x Child!Reader

Summary: The eighth of my Halloween-centric fics

"Don't," Leah warns," Kyra, don't you dare."

"I didn't say anything," Kyra snickers.

"You were going to."

"I mean..." Kyra grins. "Should we stop calling you Lord Farquaad, Mophead?"

Leah knew something like this would happen this morning. Hell, she'd known something like this would happen when Lia came to her with this idea.

Usually, she'd refuse but you'd been there too, looking up at her with wide, eager eyes.

She'd be heartless if she didn't say yes, which brings her to this moment with Kyra.

Leah is dressed as a mop, embarrassed beyond all belief but still holding strong.

"Oi," She snaps," Just because you're going mainstream with your costume! I mean, a vampire Kyra? Really?"

"Hey! Vampires are a classic1"

"Vampires are boring," Leah deadpans," You're just jealous Guppy didn't want to partner with you for a costume."

"So she got you too, huh?"

Leah turns, eyes wide.

Kyra howls with laughter, nearly going to ground as she wheezes, pointing between Leah and the newly arrived Codi.

"Really on theme," Leah notes," Did Guppy choose that out too?"

"I think so. Lia sent me the link though."

Codi stands in the middle of the gym and Leah isn't quite sure which one of them is wearing the most embarrassing costume.

Leah and her mop costume or Codi and her wet floor sign costume.

By this point, Kyra has actually fallen on the floor, clutching at her stomach as she nearly cries from laughter.

It only gets worse when Mariona comes in...dressed as a broom. Not like a witch with a broomstick. Just a generic broom that anyone would find scattered around the house.

The three of them look down at Kyra, who's on the floor roaring with laughter and wonder briefly if she's ever going to be able to get back up again.

Kyra manages to quieten her giggles for barely a moment before Lia, dressed as a bottle of kitchen cleaner, comes in and suddenly Kyra just can't manage it.

She's back on the floor again and, unlike everyone else, Lia doesn't seem to be embarrassed at all.

Then again, Lia's got experience in this after you and her dressed up last year as tea towels.

"Kyra," Lia says, looking down at her not exactly in judgement but with that mum look that everyone recognises," Stop laughing. Guppy's coming in a moment and you're not going to make her feel bad by laughing."

Kyra sobers up quickly.

The last time she'd upset you was when she'd messed up all your organised equipment boxes. She'd never seen you cry so hard, stressed beyond all belief and she'd had to avoid Lia for the whole rest of the day because of how angry she'd been.

"You will be nice," Lia says," And happy. And you will tell Guppy that you think her costume is so cool and you're so jealous, got it?"

Kyra swallows thickly. "Got it."

Lia smiles. "Good. Guppy, everyone's ready! You can come in now!"

Leah's used to your style of costumes. She's only seen you wear something 'normal' once and that was when you were still a baby and didn't have your own opinions.

Lia had dressed you up as a little werewolf but that was the only time.

All the others had been something so quintessentially you that Leah wonders how you can even have new ideas.

But then you come in and Leah's reminded that yes, of course you can have new ideas.

"I'm Henry Hoover!" You announce," Mummy helped make my costume!"

"Oh, wow, Guppy!" Leah says instantly," You look great!"

You grin, turning around so everyone can get a good look.

"We took the nose tube from our old Henry Hoover," You explain to Codi and Mariona," Our old one broke but we didn't throw it away because we can still use bits of it! Like for my costume. Do you like it?"

"It looks so good," Codi nods," You look so cool."

"Mario?"

Mariona grins, dotting kisses all over your face as you giggle. "You and Lia did a great job."

"Your costumes look good too!" You say, still laughing as Mariona's kisses tickle your face.

The assembled girls fawn and coo over you until you feel all happy and floaty, moving away to finally to look at Kyra with a face full of sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Kyra," You say," Did the store not have any other costumes?"

Kyra looks down at her vampire costume complete with a fancy Dracula cape. "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

You make a face, like you're trying not to be rude. "It's just...It's a bit boring, isn't it?"

Leah's face lights up. "I told you!"

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Heyyy Can you write a Dad!lewis where he’s getting ready for a race, but his little daughter insists on helping him. Maybe she tries to zip up his suit, hands him his helmet, or gives him a “good luck” kiss before he heads to the grid. The team finds it absolutely adorable, and he makes sure to let her know she’s his lucky charm.

Good luck charm

The rain tapped gently against the roof of the Ferrari garage, a soft, rhythmic patter that filled the air while the team bustled around, preparing for the upcoming race. It was one of those unpredictable race weekends where the weather refused to cooperate, but for a three-year-old girl named Yn, it was nothing short of magical.

Yn stood near the edge of the garage, her tiny hands clutching a bright red Ferrari flag that one of the engineers had given her earlier. Her eyes sparkled with wonder as she watched the sleek, red car sitting proudly in the center of the garage. It was her dad’s car, and to her, it was the coolest thing in the whole world.

"Wow," she whispered, as the tires were swapped and checked with impressive speed. Everything felt so big, loud, and important, but Yn wasn’t scared. Not when everyone around her was so kind.

A soft chuckle came from beside her. "Do you like it, Yn?" Angela asked, crouching down to her level. She had a warm smile, the kind that made Yn feel safe and comfortable.

Yn nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing with the motion. "It’s so fast!" she exclaimed, making Angela laugh quietly.

Across the garage, Lewis stood in his fireproofs, stretching his arms as he chatted with one of the engineers. Even when he was busy, his eyes would flick over to Yn, making sure she was okay. He loved having her at the track. It was something special, sharing this world with his little girl.

"Daddy is fast," Yn declared proudly, watching as the team moved around him.

"He is," Angela agreed, giving her a little squeeze on the shoulder. "He’s one of the fastest."

The Ferrari crew adored Yn. From the moment she had toddled into the garage with Lewis earlier that morning, she had captured all their hearts. It was impossible not to smile when she was around, especially when she clapped her hands excitedly every time she heard the roar of an engine.

"Yn, bambina!" One of the mechanics called out, holding up a small red cap with the team logo. "Want to try this on?"

Yn's eyes lit up. She let Angela guide her over, and she giggled as the mechanic gently placed the cap on her head. It was a little too big, but she loved it anyway. "Look!" she said, turning toward Angela. "I match Daddy!"

"You do," Angela agreed, brushing a curl out of her face. "You’re his little good luck charm."

Across the garage, Lewis caught sight of his daughter in the oversized cap and smiled to himself. She was having the time of her life, and honestly, it made all the rain and the delays worth it.

"Alright, let’s get started," Angela said softly to Lewis as she walked over. "Race time."

As Angela began to help him with his gear, Yn's curious eyes followed every movement. She watched as Angela picked up the balaclava and handed it to Lewis. Without thinking, Yn rushed over, her little feet tapping against the floor.

"I help!" she announced, her hands outstretched.

Lewis turned, a little surprised but immediately softened when he saw her eager expression. "You want to help me get ready, sweetheart?" he asked gently.

Yn nodded, her face serious with concentration. "I do it," she said firmly.

Angela laughed softly and handed YN the balaclava. "Alright, you can help."

Yn clutched the soft fabric and held it up to her dad. "Here, Daddy. You need this."

Lewis knelt down slightly so she could reach him easier. "Thank you, baby girl," he said, letting her place it in his hands. "You’re so helpful."

Her chest puffed out with pride as she returned to Angela, her eyes scanning the equipment. Next were the gloves, which Angela passed to her with a knowing smile. Yn took her job very seriously, toddling back to her father and handing him each glove carefully.

"Gloves, Daddy," she announced, watching as he pulled them on.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," Lewis said playfully, wiggling his fingers in the gloves.

When Angela picked up the earpiece, Yn held her hands out again. She carried it carefully to her dad, who crouched down in front of her. "This too," she said, her voice soft but confident.

"You’re amazing," Lewis told her, letting her tuck a braid behind his ear as she handed it over.

Finally, Angela handed her his helmet, but Yn knew it was heavy, so she carried it slowly to him, setting it down gently on the floor. She stood back, tapping her chin as if she was thinking very hard.

"Daddy, you need to kneel," she instructed seriously.

Lewis blinked in surprise, exchanging a curious glance with Angela, who only shrugged with amusement. "Okay," he said, lowering himself down onto one knee. "Like this?"

Yn nodded decisively before stepping forward and placing a soft, warm kiss on his cheek. "Good luck kiss," she whispered, her voice as sweet as honey.

For a moment, Lewis forgot all about the race. His heart melted at the gesture, and he couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, baby," he murmured, pulling her into a hug. " You are the best good luck charm ever."

She giggled softly, and as he released her, she picked up his helmet and handed it to him. "Now you ready," she declared.

"I am now," Lewis agreed, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. "You did such a good job helping."

The Ferrari crew, who had been quietly watching the whole interaction, exchanged smiles and soft chuckles. The sight of their star driver being so soft with his little girl was almost too much. Even in the chaos of a race weekend, moments like this felt like magic.

Angela scooped Yn up into her arms, rocking her gently as Lewis stood up and adjusted his helmet. "You were amazing, Yn," Angela whispered. "Dad’s going to win with your good luck."

"He will?" Yn asked, eyes wide with wonder.

"Of course," Angela assured her. "Because you helped."

Before climbing into the car, Lewis turned back toward them. With a smile, he sent Yn a playful blow kiss.

YN's eyes lit up, and with a delighted giggle, she clapped her hands together, catching the invisible kiss. She held her closed fist to her heart, looking up at Angela proudly. "I caught it!"

Angela kissed the top of her head, swaying gently. "You did so good today, sweetheart."

The engines roared to life, the vibrations filling the garage as Lewis rolled out onto the wet track. But for Yn, the loud noises didn’t matter. She was too busy watching her dad, knowing deep down that he would win, because her good luck kiss was the most powerful thing in the world.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: I hope you all enjoyed this little piece. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Gloomy

Synopsis: Finding solace and warmth in your chambers with your constant and only companion, Ser Aemond. Warnings: None (yet), Domesticity, Aemond and Princess Growing Closer, Realizations, Fluff PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: Aemond's love language: Acts of Service (and maybe touch)

“Is my sister inside? It’s our time for supper,” The prince questioned as Ser Aemond stood outside of your chamber doors, finally obliging you with a moment of privacy as you tried to regain composure after your mother’s outburst. “The princess does not wish to be disturbed,” He relayed your wishes, looking upon your brother to deduce if the prince was aware of your mother’s treatment of you. He had witnessed the queen’s harshness— how she almost laid a hand on you and how you had flinched as you had expected such cruel actions. He began to wonder how many times your mother had been so cruel to bestow upon you such behaviors and if others were aware of it, and if they were, why they had not hindered her. 

“Oh… is she well? Is her injury bothering her once more? Shall I fetch the maester?” The prince fretted, and Aemond was half-convinced that your brother had no clue that such heinous happenings had occurred as he witnessed his concern for his sister. “She did not say; all she said was she wished not to be disturbed,” Aemond answered, not certain if he should be the one to say what had transpired just hours before. The prince parted his lips to speak, but a loud clap of thunder echoed through the castle, catching the two men’s attention and startling a princess who tried to sleep her sadness away. “Very well, I’ll have her maid send her supper— and I think it’s best if you return to your post inside her chambers… my sister is quickly frightened by thunder; she would want companionship.” The prince advised, and Aemond nodded, wholeheartedly obeying the prince’s orders. 

Aemond opened the door to your chambers, his gaze immediately moving towards you, who lay in your bed, clutching your pet cat in comfort as another roar of thunder came. “Princess, it’s alright,” Aemond said, announcing his presence. “I hate storms,” You suddenly said as you braced yourself as a flash of lightning shone and was accompanied by another clap of thunder. “Your brother had mentioned,” He hummed, turning to the candles that flickered from the wind and to your balcony as heavy drops came pouring down. Unlike you, Aemond found monsoons quite comforting. 

A knock sounded out, and Aemond opened your door to reveal your handmaid who brought your supper. As your mother had promised, the sweets were kept from you, noting the absence of your usual dessert from the tray. You moved to the common area of your chambers, looking with disinterest at the food brought for you. “You must eat, princess,” Aemond said as you only stared at your supper, the once steaming meal growing tepid. “What’s the point? There is no confection at the end of it,” You sighed, running your finger through Theodore’s fur to soothe yourself. Aemond sighed, shaking his head. “You still need nourishment,” He countered. “Skipping one meal will not be the death of me, Ser Aemond.” You sighed, further pushing away the plate. 

Aemond pursed his lips, watching your desolate frame. He observed your tear-stained cheeks, your swollen eyes, your cracked lips, and the mere sadness in you that was a stark difference from your actuality. “You staring me down would not make me eat this meal,” You sighed as you burned from the gaze of your knight’s lone eye. Aemond blinked, growing conscious of your awareness of his stare— he did that quite often as of late, and he began to wonder if you were aware of it the other times, and if you were, why had you not told him or at least reacted? As a gust of wind came once again, you sighed, “Good night, Ser Aemond.” You say, moving to stand to tuck yourself and Theodore in your bed. “Good night, princess,” Aemond nodded. 

“Are there no custard tarts?” Aemond asked the cook. After his quick meal, he rushed to the kitchens in order to sneak away some sweets that your mother deprived you of. You had skipped your supper the night before and even your meal that morning; it was noon, and Aemond deduced that you still would not eat, concerning him. “The queen ordered that we cannot make them for a month— a shame since the princess truly enjoys them,” The cook sighed as she stirred the food she was preparing. Aemond turned to the window; the sun that they usually looked upon to tell the time was hidden by thick, dark clouds. Aemond turned to what his hands were carrying: a few pieces of lemon cake that he acquired just for you. You were not keen on them, but he had naught a choice since those were the only desserts he could find. “Could you not make at least a small batch? I’m certain the queen will not come to know,” He whispered, trying to convince the cook. 

“Ha! You are asking me to get myself in trouble,” the cook said. “There are other sweets by that table— mustn’t be picky, Ser,” The cook added, thinking it was Aemond who wanted the sweet treat. “It’s not for me… it’s for the princess,” He whispered, further trying to convince the cook. The elderly woman raised a quizzical brow and rested her hand on her hip. “The queen has banned her from eating desserts… but I’m certain you know how much she loves them. She won’t eat her meals unless she has a sweet treat at the end of it,” Aemond informed, the cook nodding in understanding as it did sound like something that you would do. 

After a moment, the cook sighed and gave a nod. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do… but in the meantime, take the creams and berries cake instead— the princess does not like the lemon—but you could give her the candied ones atop of it,” The cook said, pushing towards Aemond a few a hefty slice of the cream and berries cake, the knight bundling it into a cloth as if it were contraband— and perhaps it was. 

Aemond returned to your chambers, relieving the knight who watched over you as he had his quick meal. You turned to your newly returned knight as you sat across your untouched meal for the afternoon. “You cannot convince me to eat this,” You sighed, startled as another clap of lightning came. Aemond turned to look upon the sky as he threaded closer to your place. It would seem the weather was controlled by your mood. Your light that often shone upon them grew dim and cold, and so did the sun. “Really?” Aemond questioned, slowly unwrapping the sweets he brought for you. You nodded, but your gaze was caught by the cream and berries cake, and candied lemons your knight had brought you. You moved to take hold of the sweets, but Aemond was quick to steal them away before your hands could grab them. “Your meal first, princess,” He smirked as you had no choice but to eat. You nodded eagerly, eating your meal as fast as you could, as you were already craving the sweets Ser Aemond so kindly acquired for you. 

“Thank you, this is very sweet of you.” A smile finally came to your lips, and Aemond nodded, contented to finally see a speck of joy in your eyes. It should be concerning how easily your mood was altered by just mere sweets, but Aemond could not be wholly concerned as it provided him with an easier way to cheer you up. “You’re welcome, princess,” He nodded. “I’m guessing my Mother had ordered them to stop making custard tarts,” You say as your knight observes you savor the treat he smuggled into your chambers. “She has. How do you know that?” He questioned, watching you slowly eat the cake and candy, prolonging it. “Well, she knows that’s what I enjoy the most.” You shrugged. Aemond could not hinder the frown that came to his face. “That’s quite… mean,” he commented, but you breathed out an unamused laugh. “That’s how she administers her punishments… once when I was a child, she grew cross with me, and in consequence, she sent home some of the court members whose daughters were my friends as my punishment.” Aemond’s frown deepened. “That’s why I am often alone… the other girls my age grew scared to befriend me because their family might face the same fate.” 

“Did you not tell the king?” Aemond questioned, moving closer to you just in case you would need comfort once more. “I tried to, once. I waited for him in his study, but Mother caught me, and that only made her angrier so I never attempted to do it again,” You said, acting as if you were not bothered by it, hoping your feigned emotions on the subject would eventually turn true. Aemond sighed, not knowing what to do; he had the sudden urge to throw his arms around you, his only attempt at comfort because he never had the right words, but the knight restrained himself as he tried to push down and repress his realizations made only a few days before because he knew what he felt must be ignored— that it was perhaps only brought by the unfamiliarity of someone genuinely caring for him. He had to remind himself that your treatment and kindness were nothing out of the ordinary— that if it were any other person in his place, you would offer the same kindness you so graciously bestowed upon him. He had to convince himself that he was not exceptional, though it was only you who could tell him otherwise. 

When night came, your brother returned to your chambers, but you once again refused him entrance, Ser Aemond standing outside your door to wait for the prince to relay your wishes. The prince sighed and shook his head, not entirely privy to what had fully transpired between you and your mother. “Had she at least eaten?” Your brother questioned Ser Aemond. “She has, my prince,” Aemond confirmed. “Really? I heard mother had disallowed her to consume sweets— she never eats her meal without the promise of it,” He muttered. Aemond could only stay silent as the prince began to be bewildered about your behavior. “Am I truly not allowed inside?” Aemond stared at the prince in question— with his station higher than his and yours, he could do whatever he pleased and push past the knight, but still, your brother was gracious enough to respect your wishes. “She only said she does not wish to receive anyone,” Aemond answered. “Very well,” the prince sighed before walking down the hall, Aemond waited for a moment before he once again returned to his post inside your chambers. 

“Do you have siblings?” You suddenly questioned as your knight entered, closing the book you read to turn your full attention to Ser Aemond. “I do, princess,” he answered curtly, but your expectant gaze left him no choice but to explain further. “I have two brothers and a sister,” He added, and you nodded. “Are you the oldest?” You asked, but you quickly regretted your question as you remembered that Ser Aemond came from noble birth and only became to be a knight since he was set to inherit nothing, the plight of a child who was not meant to be the first. “No, princess, I have an older brother and sister,” He replied, ignoring your lapse. “Oh… what are they like?” Aemond questioned as you tried further to get familiar with your knight. If it were any other person, he would ignore their prying, keeping his familial matters to himself, but he observed you, toying with your hands in anxiousness as the persistent storm only grew; he could not be so cruel as to deny you of conversation that would distract your mind. 

“They’re… there. I was not particularly close with any of them growing up.” He informed, “But I must say that I do have a slight favor to my sister— my brothers and I never particularly saw eye to eye.” Aemond did not expect a small, sad smile to come to your lips. “I’m sorry about your brothers… but I must admit I envy you, for you have a sister,” Aemond did not even realize it; it was a force of habit as he threaded closer to your sitting frame. “I’ve always wanted one— whether she is younger or older than me; it did not matter because at least I would have had a constant companion.” You smiled sadly, “You would like her— my sister Helaena. Your tempers are very much alike.” Aemond informed, and that only widened your somber smile. 

As days proceeded, your mood and the weather never returned to their sunny, cheery state. However, Ser Aemond did provide you with some comfort in not letting your demeanor grow worse. It had been a week since the sun last shown upon them and since you last stepped foot out of your chambers. Aemond was not certain if he liked the ordeal or should grow wary of it. With every day passed, it was only you and him, a sense of domesticity forming between the two of you to the point your knight no longer resisted when you would offer him to sit or find respite, and Ser Aemond even began to have his meals with you, so that you would not feel so isolated and lonely. He was as well successful in convincing the cook to make you your favored custard tarts— you were eternally grateful for your knight, for no one beside him had dared to go against your mother’s orders. You had the urge to embrace him, to show him how grateful you were because you feared that your words were not enough, but you knew your knight would not care for such gestures, so you settled to giving his hand a grateful squeeze to relay your thanks. The action only brought heat to you and your knight, who were still left cold by the absence of the sun. 

Aemond glanced outside your window, which overlooked the gardens that were starting to flood from the constant rain. The flowers you loved so much did not even bloom because they missed the warmth of the sun, and he wagered your gentle touch as well. “Will you truly not leave your chambers?” Aemond asked, now unable to stomach to see you still glum. Though he enjoyed the moments it was just the two of you hidden in your room and away from the scrutinizing eyes of the court, he could not be so cruel to let you continue on with such melancholy consuming you.

“What’s the point? I cannot go to the gardens. I cannot have my afternoon tea and treats; I cannot even paint my useless landscapes, for the fog would not leave.” You sighed, toying with a feather that Theodore tried to take hold of, distracting yourself as you distracted your pet from boredom. “You could go to the library,” Aemond suggested, turning to the towering bookcases that rested on one side of your room. “What for? I have books here,” You answered. “You could go to the prince… I’m certain he has missed you; he had come twice today,” He added, and you only shook your head, having no wish to be in the presence of anyone besides Ser Aemond. 

“What about the jesters and performers? I’m certain that they are still here— you could command them to perform a show to entertain you,” Aemond pursed his lips as you shook your head once more. “Their material is trite— I have seen all that they can do,” 

“You cannot stay here forever,” He said, “And why not? Is it not the custom to lock princesses up in their towers? Who am I to break such traditions?” Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose,  confused about whether he should be amused or concerned. He moved forward to get closer to you and implored you to leave your chambers, as he made himself believe that the inclement weather was because you stayed in your chambers and stewed in your sadness. As Aemond reached you, the door of your chambers was forced open, and he was quick to draw out his sword and tuck you behind him, the shock making you cling to the cloak of your sworn protector. When the two of you set eyes on the interloper, both of you let out a relieved sigh. 

“You have been hiding here for a week! Enough now!” Your brother boomed. You frowned and still hid behind Ser Aemond, who cautiously sheathed his sword, his hand itching to take hold of yours as a sort of comfort. “I do not want to— and I do not wish to speak to you nor see you!” You said, still clutching the cloak of your knight that smelt of him—the mixture of mint, spice, and leather bringing you an odd sense of comfort. Your brother let out an exasperated breath and ran his hand through his face. “Ser Aemond— could you step outside for a moment?” The prince requested, and usually, Aemond was quick to oblige such orders, but you tightly clinging to him made him forget all of his duties. “No! I want him to stay,” You countered, glaring at your brother as you peeked up at him through Ser Aemond’s shoulder. Aemond bit the inside of his cheeks at your words and how you moved your hand to cling to his arm. 

“Sister— you have been here for a week! The court is starting to wonder and be concerned by your absence, and I no longer have half-truths to offer Father when he questions your absence during supper! Come now,  I can even convince Mother to remove her ban on sweets!” He tried to convince you, but you were not persuaded, for your knight was more than generous to acquire for you the sweets you loved, and the peaceful moments with Ser Aemond were more than enough to let you stay in your chambers for a prolonged period of time. “No!” You said stubbornly. Your brother’s agitated gaze turned to your knight, imploring him to convince you as well. He had come to learn that Ser Aemond did have a way to persuade your stubborn mind. Aemond blinked, not liking his station between you and your brother, not certain as to which side he should take. 

There was a silence that befell the room, and you finally removed yourself from behind your knight. “If that is all— you can leave. You cannot convince me otherwise. I will leave my chambers once I wish.” You said civilly, gesturing towards the door for your brother to exit. The prince had no choice but to. The look in your eyes told him that you truly could not be convinced. You rested your uninjured arm on your chest and huffed, stomping towards your feathered bed in frustration, leaving your knight to return to his post and make him miss the arguments he would have with his own brothers. 

Night came, and you and Ser Aemond sat before the hearth, playing a round of cards. You two had grown a routine since your first day of locking yourself in your chambers. It was a rare occurrence that your knight forgoes his duty and obliges you with his companionship, but you were grateful for it. “You win again?” You sighed in disappointment as Ser Aemond had a small smirk rising on his lips. He tried to let you win some rounds, but his competitiveness got the better of him. And he must admit, he quite liked the pout on your lips every time you would lose. Aemond took the cards in your hand to shuffle it and begin a new round. He purposefully let your fingers brush to feel the familiar heat whenever they touched. 

You bit your lip as you felt the familiar flutter in your heart and heat rise to your cheeks whenever your skin touched. You turned to the fire to hide it from your knight, and as your room was enveloped with silence, the door being forced open caught your attention once more. Aemond quickly stood, ready for an attack, but it was only your father, the king; the knight quickly bowed and placed further distance between the two of you. “You have been in hiding for a week,” Your father stated, his gaze flying to you, then to the cards on the floor, and then to your knight, who still bowed. 

“I have no wish to venture outside— they might force me upon a lord once again.” You said in truth, keeping the true reason for your hiding to yourself, though you knew your knight assumed it was because of your argument with your mother; it was not. It was not the first time she said such hurtful words to you; in truth, you had gotten quite used to it. Your father sighed, moved to you, and assisted you to stand just so the two of you could sit on your settee. Aemond moved silently towards the door. He felt like he should be stationed outside, but he could not do so just in case your father had the same reaction as your mother. 

“You need not fret about such matters, my darling,” Your father comforted you as he came to know of your mother’s outburst in your chambers a week ago. Ser Aemond stoically stood by the door as a witness,  a protector, and, if need be, a shoulder to cry on as you were once again distressed about the matters of courtship— your knight finding some relief in your reluctance. “But mother—“ Your father hushed you. “Though lord Dumont’s house does hold a hefty influence in the kingdom, you forget, we are still the rulers of it,” Your father said lowly, trying to comfort you, his confidence in his station effortless and edging into smug. “Mother and brother are insistent on me meeting my suitors, but father… I do not wish to get married yet or be betrothed!” Aemond breathed out in relief as he heard your words. 

“I know, my darling, I know. And you must not let them get to you— you have my word, I will not force you upon a betrothal until you are truly ready, pay no mind to your mother and brother. I still have the final word— and you will not be married until you wish it to be,” he smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead as you gave him a smile. “Thank you, Father,” You said in relief. “And mother anbd brother?” You questioned as he stood. “Your mother has been wanting to see you married off the moment you were born,” He admitted, his heart lightly pinching at the devastation in your eyes. “And your brother only does her bidding.” He added, cupping your cheek. “I’ll handle them. As long as I live, you will not marry until you wish— if you want, you could be a spinster and be in my care forever,” Your father smiled reassuringly, as he, too, was not ready for the day you shall be taken from him. “Now, I hear the cooks made cacao pie. Shall I send you a piece? Or perhaps two?” He questioned, glancing towards your knight, who he came to learn had always been by your side. That Ser Aemond was the one to break your habits of escaping and even became your companion, for everyone in court never had the courage to grow close to you as they feared your station. You smiled a true smile and nodded, watching as your father went towards your knight, who straightened his stance. 

“I commend you, Ser Aemond. May you not falter from your duty,” The king said lowly, clapping the knight’s shoulder before he exited the room. When the door closed, Aemond turned to you, and all the melancholy you harbored disappeared as your lips finally regained your constant small smile. Aemond swallowed thickly as the conflicting emotions in him battled. He had to force himself to remove his gaze from your frame as the look in your eyes made his knees weak. Aemond turned his eye towards the window, the thick dark clouds departing, and finally, the light of the sun that refracted to the moon finally shinned down the kingdom; just as he wagered, the weather improved the moment your mood did. 

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

“…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.

[novaursa]

hello

Can I have a fem!twin sister Jace, Where she always knew that Hardin was her father and she really loved him, but Daemon kinda take her as her heir and daughter.

She got engaged to Aemond but after Lucerys death they cancel it and during the war she don’t know what side choose. She really love her « husband » but her loyalty goes to the black (maybe because of daemon)

She ride Cannibal and goes to the battle of rooks rest but Aemond and Vhagar can’t attack her.

Idk how you can end it but I’m sure you can do it 🫶🏼♥️

Cursed in Flames

- Summary: You face Aemond at Rook’s Rest. And Dance of the Dragons is never the same again.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 3 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The news reaches you like a shadow across the sea, darkening the horizon of your mind with its terrible weight. You are standing on the cliffs of Dragonstone, watching the waves crash against the rocks far below, when you hear Daemon's footsteps approach. The air is filled with the scent of salt and storm, and the sky above is a heavy gray, mirroring the turmoil in your heart.

You do not turn to look at him immediately, sensing the gravity of what he is about to say. You have always known Daemon’s stride—deliberate, commanding, yet with a subtle grace that betrays his Targaryen blood. It is the same stride he had when he came to you as a child, kneeling before you and whispering tales of dragonfire and ancient Valyria, the stories that shaped your dreams and nightmares alike. But this time, there is something else, a tension in his movements that you have rarely seen, a tension that makes your heart clench in your chest.

"Your brother," Daemon begins, his voice as cold as the wind that whips around you, "is dead."

The words slice through you, sharper than any blade, and you feel the ground beneath you sway as though it, too, has been struck. For a moment, the world stops. The roaring of the waves, the howling of the wind, all of it fades into a deafening silence that drowns you. The image of Luke—sweet, gentle Luke—flashes before your eyes. His bright smile, his laughter that could fill even the darkest of days with light, now extinguished.

You finally turn to Daemon, your eyes wide with disbelief, as if willing him to say it is a mistake, a cruel jest. But Daemon’s face is set in stone, his violet eyes hard and unreadable.

"Aemond," he continues, his voice dropping to a low growl, "killed him. Vhagar devoured Arrax. There was nothing left."

A gasp escapes your lips, and your knees threaten to buckle. The storm inside you breaks free, a torrent of emotions—grief, rage, betrayal—rushing through you all at once. You clutch your chest, as if trying to hold your heart together, but it is no use. The pieces are already shattered, scattered to the winds.

"Aemond," you whisper, the name a curse and a lament all at once. The man you were once betrothed to, the man who had once held your hand in a secret alcove of the Red Keep, who had once whispered words of love and promises of the future—he is now a stranger, a monster. How could he? The question rings in your mind, but there is no answer, only the hollow echo of your heartbreak.

Daemon watches you carefully, his expression unyielding. He has never been one for softness, not even with you, his niece whom he raised as his own daughter. But there is something in his gaze now, a flicker of something almost akin to sorrow. He steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm, steadying.

"This engagement is null," he states, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Aemond is no longer your betrothed. He is an enemy of our house, an enemy of yours."

You nod, though your mind is barely able to comprehend the words. The engagement had meant something once, a bridge between the two branches of your family, a hope for peace. But that hope has been dashed upon the rocks like a ship in a storm. There is nothing left but the wreckage.

"He was once... everything to me," you confess, your voice trembling. "How could he do this, Daemon? How could he kill Luke?"

Daemon's eyes narrow, a flash of fire in their depths. "Aemond is a creature of rage and pride, blinded by the lust for power and vengeance. He cares for nothing but his own glory, his own twisted sense of honor. Whatever feelings you thought he had for you, whatever feelings you had for him, they are ash now."

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the sob that threatens to escape. But it is futile. The tears spill over, hot and bitter. Daemon pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms a cage of protection and power. He has never been one to coddle you, but in this moment, he offers you the only comfort he knows how to give—his strength, his presence.

"We will make them pay, all of them," Daemon murmurs into your hair, his voice dark with promise. "For Luke, for our family. This war will not end until the debt is paid in full."

You nod against his chest, the pain in your heart hardening into something colder, sharper. Aemond’s face lingers in your mind, the way he looked at you when you were children, the way his eyes darkened with something more when you were older. But that is all it is now—a memory, a ghost of a past that no longer exists.

You pull back from Daemon, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. Your heart still aches, but there is a new resolve in you, a determination to survive this, to fight for your family, for Luke.

“I will not forget,” you say quietly, your voice steady now. “But I will not let it destroy me, either.”

Daemon nods, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Good. We Targaryens are made of fire and blood. Remember that.”

As you stand there, the wind whipping through your hair, you let the words sink in. Fire and blood. That is what you are, what you have always been. The storm may rage on, but you will not be broken by it.

Cannibal’s distant roar echoes through the skies, and you lift your chin, feeling the fire within you begin to burn anew. Aemond may have taken Luke, but he has not taken your will, your strength. You will rise from these ashes, stronger than before. And when the time comes, you will face him—Aemond, the man who was once your betrothed, now your enemy—and you will show him what it truly means to be a Targaryen.

The wind bites at your face as Cannibal’s wings slice through the cold air. You’ve always felt most alive in these moments—when you are at one with the beast beneath you, the two of you merging into a single entity of power and purpose. You are no longer just the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra and the secret of Harwin Strong; you are a force of nature, the rider of the wildest and most feared of dragons. Cannibal roars, a sound that shakes the sky, and you cannot help but feel a grim satisfaction as you see Rook’s Rest below, knowing what is about to unfold.

Aemond Targaryen waits, hidden in the clouds atop Vhagar, the ancient dragon’s formidable presence a weight on the horizon. Aegon is beside him, perched on Sunfyre, whose golden scales glitter like a false promise in the pale daylight. They expect Melys, Rhaenys's scarlet queen, but what they get is something far more dangerous. Something personal.

Your heart beats a war drum’s rhythm in your chest as you approach, hidden by the sun behind you. They don’t see you coming, not at first. And when they do, it’s not Aegon who reacts but Aemond—his shock visible even from the distance. You can imagine his single eye widening, his lips parting in disbelief.

"It cannot be…" he breathes, low enough that only Vhagar might hear him. His thoughts spin in confusion and regret, the memories of what you once were to him clashing with the reality of the battle about to unfold. He’d thought you were lost to him, that the broken engagement was a final, irreparable severing of your fates. But now, here you are, as fierce and untamable as the dragon you ride.

Cole signals Aegon, and the elder brother does not hesitate. Aegon gives Sunfyre his head, and the golden dragon surges forward with all the arrogance and bravado his rider commands. The roar that splits the sky is not just from the dragon, but from Aegon himself, taunting, dismissive.

"Come to burn, have you?" Aegon shouts over the wind. "You’ll find this fire too hot!"

But you don’t respond with words. Cannibal lets loose a torrent of flame, a blackened blaze that reeks of burnt flesh and bones long devoured. The sky darkens with the ash of it, and Aegon’s confidence flickers like a candle in a storm. You feel the heat radiating off your dragon, the primal joy of the hunt thrumming through your bond.

Aemond watches, frozen in place. "Aegon, no!" he shouts, but his voice is swallowed by the roar of dragons and the rush of wind. He can only watch as the two dragons clash.

Cannibal is a creature of nightmares, his blackened scales absorbing the light, making him seem as though he is forged from shadow itself. He dives at Sunfyre with feral speed, his jaws snapping inches from Aegon’s arm. Sunfyre counters with a blast of flame, but Cannibal’s agility is unmatched. He twists in the air, dodging the fire as if it were a mere inconvenience.

Sunfyre is beautiful, a dragon that could have inspired a thousand songs. But beauty is no match for brutality. Cannibal rips into Sunfyre with a savagery that leaves you breathless, his claws tearing through the golden dragon’s wing, nearly severing it from his body. Aegon’s scream echoes in the heavens as he struggles to keep control, the pain of his dragon searing through their bond.

"Aegon!" Aemond roars again, urging Vhagar to move, but his dragon hesitates, sensing his rider’s turmoil. Vhagar is the mightiest of dragons, older than the rest, her wisdom far beyond Aemond’s years. She feels his conflict, the war inside him, and it makes her pause.

You see Aemond’s struggle, the way his grip tightens on Vhagar’s reins, the way his gaze locks onto you even as his brother is mauled in the sky. For a moment, you wonder if he will join the fray, if he will strike you down as he did Luke. But then his eye meets yours, and you see something unexpected—fear, not of you, but for you. The realization sends a cold shiver down your spine, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

Cannibal snaps his jaws around Sunfyre’s neck, dragging the dragon down toward the ground. They crash through the trees, Sunfyre’s scream a thing of agony as he thrashes, desperately trying to free himself from the relentless assault. Cannibal’s fire ignites the forest below, turning the world into a hellscape of flame and shadow. Sunfyre’s golden scales are marred with blood and soot, his body a broken thing beneath the ferocity of your dragon.

Aemond watches in horror, his mind torn between duty and something far more dangerous—his heart. "Vhagar," he murmurs, "we have to stop this…"

But Vhagar, ancient and wise, does not attack. She circles above, watching, waiting. She feels the bond between her rider and the girl who should have been his wife, and she knows this is a battle not just of dragons, but of souls.

Finally, with a roar that shakes the heavens, Vhagar descends. Her massive form blots out the sun as she lands, the earth trembling beneath her weight. She crashes into Cannibal with all the force of a falling star, but she does not strike to kill. Instead, she pins Cannibal beneath her, her jaws snapping inches from his throat. The wild dragon thrashes, but Vhagar’s strength is unmatched. She holds him there, a warning, not a death sentence.

You feel Cannibal’s fury, his frustration, but also his grudging respect for the older dragon. The battle is over, for now. You sense Aemond’s hesitation, the war raging within him as he prepares to dismount.

But he doesn’t move, not yet. He looks down at you, at the girl he once loved, the girl he might still love, and his world tilts on its axis.

For the first time since the Dance began, Aemond Targaryen does not know what to do. And as Vhagar holds Cannibal pinned beneath her, you both realize that this battle was never just about dragons.

It was always about you.

And it always will be.

The ground rushes up to meet you as you leap from Cannibal’s saddle. The impact is brutal, a shockwave of pain that ripples through your body as you hit the earth with a resounding thud. The air is forced from your lungs, and for a terrifying moment, you can’t breathe. You gasp, struggling to draw in even a sliver of air, your vision darkening at the edges. But you force yourself to move, to push through the pain. You cannot afford to be weak now, not with him approaching.

Aemond’s boots crunch on the scorched ground as he strides toward you, his expression unreadable. You see him through a haze of pain, your vision slowly clearing as your breath comes in ragged gasps. Instinctively, you push yourself up, your muscles screaming in protest, but you will not be caught helpless. Not by him. 

Before you can fully regain your footing, Aemond’s arms are around you, capturing you in a firm, unyielding embrace. His chest presses against your back, his grip like iron as you struggle against him. The more you thrash, the tighter his hold becomes, but he doesn’t hurt you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, soothing murmur in High Valyrian, a language that wraps around you like a soft cloak.

"Beloved, be still in my arms," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Calm down." 

The words are tender, almost loving, and they cut through your panic like a knife. His grip doesn’t loosen, but it no longer feels like a prison. Instead, it’s a strange comfort, his presence grounding you as your breath slowly returns to normal. The fight drains from your limbs, leaving only the exhaustion and the ache of what’s just happened.

When you finally stop resisting, Aemond’s grip eases, and he gently turns you to face him. You expect anger, fury even, for what you’ve done to his brother. But as you look into his eye, you find something else entirely—uncertainty. He stares at you as if you’re a puzzle he cannot solve, his usual confidence shaken.

"Aegon…" His voice is rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounds like regret. "You just struck down the King."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of what they mean. Aegon Targaryen, the King, your uncle—his blood is on your hands now, as much as Cannibal’s. But you feel no guilt, only a cold, burning anger that flares to life at Aemond’s accusation.

"Like you killed Luke," you snap back, your voice laced with venom. The shadow of your father, Daemon, looms large in that moment, his defiance, his unyielding spirit echoing in your words. "You think I care for your brother’s crown when you stole my brother’s life?"

Aemond’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile forming as he watches you, admiring the fire in your eyes. It’s as though he expected this from you, and it pleases him to see you still have that flame burning within. He takes a step closer, his expression softening into something dangerously close to affection.

"Always so fierce," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that is meant for you alone. "Just as I remember. Just as you’ve always been."

You can’t decide whether to move away or to stay rooted to the spot. His presence is overwhelming, intoxicating, and despite everything, a part of you aches for the connection you once shared. Before the bloodshed, before the war tore you apart. But the uncertainty gnaws at you, and you remain still as he reaches out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Even now, I find myself drawn to you," he admits, his tone almost wistful. "Your strength, your fire... It’s what made me want you then, and what makes me want you now."

His words lull you, and despite yourself, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease. There is something in his voice, something genuine, that pulls at the frayed edges of your heart. But before you can fully comprehend what is happening, a shout cuts through the moment.

"My Prince!" Ser Criston Cole’s voice is sharp, commanding as he approaches. His armor is still bloodied from the skirmish, his face set in a stern mask. "Seize her! She is an enemy, a traitor to the crown!"

Aemond stiffens, the tender moment evaporating like mist in the sun. He turns to face Cole, his expression darkening as he steps protectively in front of you. 

"I will do no such thing," Aemond says coldly, his voice hard as steel. "She is mine."

Cole looks shocked, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Prince Aemond, this is treason. The girl—"

"Is to be my wife," Aemond cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We will wed in the tradition of Old Valyria. She will be my queen."

Cole’s face pales, his eyes darting between you and Aemond as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. "This is madness," he insists, his voice rising with urgency. "The council will never accept it. The people—"

"The people," Aemond snaps, his patience wearing thin, "will accept what I tell them to accept. And if they do not, they will burn for their defiance. As will anyone who dares stand between me and her."

The threat is clear, and Cole flinches, realizing the seriousness in Aemond’s tone. He knows better than to challenge a dragon when its fire is so close to the surface. But still, he tries once more, his voice lowering in an attempt to reason with his prince.

"Think of the consequences, my prince," Cole urges, almost pleading now. "This could tear the realm apart."

Aemond’s gaze never wavers as he replies, his voice chillingly calm. "The realm is already torn apart. If it must burn, then it will burn with us as its rulers."

You watch the exchange with a mix of awe and dread. Aemond’s declaration sends a shiver down your spine, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. He’s serious—deadly serious. And in that moment, you realize there’s no escaping the path that has been set for you.

Aemond turns back to you, his expression softening once more as he reaches out to take your hand. His grip is firm, but not forceful, as though he’s offering you a choice, even if you both know that choice was taken from you the moment you leapt from Cannibal’s saddle.

"Come," he says softly, his voice a stark contrast to the fury he directed at Cole. "Let us finish what was started so long ago."

You look up into his eye, searching for some hint of deception, some sign that this is all a cruel trick. But all you find is resolve—and something else, something that looks very much like hope.

Before you can answer, Vhagar releases Cannibal, the great dragon rising from her position with a low, rumbling growl. Cannibal stirs, but he does not attack. Instead, he rises slowly, his eyes locked on Vhagar as he acknowledges her strength, if not her dominance. There’s a truce in the air, fragile as gossamer, but for now, it holds.

Aemond squeezes your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. "Together," he murmurs, his voice filled with a dangerous promise. "As it was always meant to be."

And as you stand there, caught between what was and what will be, you realize that there is no turning back. Not for you, not for Aemond, not for the realm. The dance is far from over, and now, it will be danced to a different tune—a tune of fire and blood, of love and hate, of destiny and defiance.

And you will dance it with him, until the very end.

[animamii]

Fuck Yo Man! | Toji Fushiguro

"see imma killer, but i got feelins',

i catch you widdem i jus might kill him"

the origin story of lockedup!Toji and y/n; inspired by Fuck Yo Man by King Von

✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧

Toji's jaw was clenched tight, eyes narrowed as he eyed down some target he didn't give two shits about. It was just another job and he desperately needed money. Rent was definitely due. From a distance Toji watched the guy, some scruffy looking fella with dirty blonde hair, enter the liquor store. He knew how this game was played—watch, wait, strike. The moment presented itself when they slipped up, moving careless like they forgot they were at war. He could see the guy through the windows, walking through the aisles and grabbing a soda before he heads to the counter near the entrance. It was now or never.

Toji, dressed in a black hoodie over his usual fitted black tee, sauntered with that usual sag in his step, gun clutched inside the band of his sweats. His eyes dart back and forth as he pulls up his hood, cautious for any witnesses or passersby. At this time of day, the streets were empty. The bell above the liquor store’s door jingled softly as Toji stepped inside, shoulders squared, gaze sharp. Dim fluorescent lighting made the store look hazy, with the stale scent of cheap booze and cigarette smoke filling the air. The cashier, a younger guy with tired eyes, barely looked up from his phone.

The blonde guy was at the counter now, pulling crumpled bills from his pocket. Toji had done this a thousand times before; fast, clean, no loose ends. His grip tightened around the handle of his piece, still tucked into his waistband. He took one step closer—then everything went to hell.

The guy turned at the last second, eyes widening in recognition, and Toji knew—he knew. Before Toji could even pull the trigger, the blonde swung first. The soda bottle in his hand shattered against Toji’s temple, sending shards of glass and sticky liquid dripping down his face.

Toji barely flinched.

With a grunt, he grabbed the guy by his collar and slammed him into the counter. The cashier yelled, diving under the register as Toji yanked his gun free and pressed it against the guy’s ribs at an angle.

"Stupid move," Toji muttered, more annoyed than in pain.

The guy’s breath hitched, his hands trembling and eyes blown wide with fear. Toji had done enough jobs to know when someone was about to beg. But he had no patience for it.

He pulled the trigger; the muffled pop of the silencer was the only sound before the blonde crumpled to the floor. The moment stretched, heavy, thick with something unspoken. Then... Sirens.

"Shit."

Toji turned on his heel, feet already moving before his brain fully caught up. He burst out of the liquor store and onto the street, his heart slamming against his chest. The flashing red and blue glow of patrol cars lit up in the distance, their engines roaring closer. His rushed jog had now turned into a full sprint, breaking his neck to look back every few seconds to see just how close the cops were to being on his ass.

"God, forgive me. I know I'm wrong, but please, get my ass out of this situation..." Was all he could think.

His breath came in short, sharp bursts, forehead damp with sweat as he ducked into an alleyway, vaulting over a trash bin. The sirens wailed louder. His legs burned. He knew this part—run until you can’t, then run some more. But even Toji knew he couldn’t outrun the entire city. Jumping over a metal fence with practiced ease, he went back to his rushed jog. Chest heavily rising and falling with each pant of a breath, he tried to find somewhere to duck off to.

That’s when he saw her.

A girl. Standing just outside a rusted apartment door, watching him with something eerily calm in her eyes. For a split second, neither of them moved. Then she did the unthinkable. She lifted a hand. Beckoned.

"Boy, come on."

Toji hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he was moving, slipping past her and into the dimly lit apartment. She shut the door behind him, sealing him away from the chaotic mess that he had created outside. He was breathing heavily, dripping with sweat and his mind racing as he looked at the floor. When he looked up, she was staring him down, arms crossed. She looked at him in silence, studying his face for a second.

"Do you still got your pole?"

Toji glanced at the gun in his grip, then back at her. A slow, amused half smile curled on his lips.

"You already know."

The apartment was small, warm white lighting coming from one of those tall lamps that are always stationed in a corner. The faint scent of something floral lingered in the air—maybe perfume, maybe detergent. It didn’t matter. Toji wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on her. The girl stood a few feet away, arms crossed with her head tilted slightly as she looked him over. Her expression was unreadable, but she wasn’t panicking. No fear in her eyes. That alone was enough to make Toji wary.

"You gonna keep standing there bleeding on my floor, or you gonna sit your ass down?"

Toji exhaled, finally registering the sharp sting on his temple where the bottle had cracked against him. He reached up, fingers coming away sticky with half-dried blood and soda. Half of his face was covered in blood, mixing with the sweat that made his hair cling to his forehead.

"Mmcht," he muttered, finally pushing himself off the wall and walking further into the room, gun still loosely gripped in his hand. She didn’t flinch, just nodded toward the couch.

"First aid kit’s under the sink," she said casually, as if she hadn’t just pulled a total stranger off the street and let him into her home.

Toji dropped onto the couch with a grunt, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, leaving behind exhaustion and the faint buzz of leftover tension. He let his head fall back against the cushions, chest still rising and falling from the chase.

"You do this often?" he finally asked, cracking an eye open to look at her. That's when he finally took in every detail. She adorned a cut wife beater tank top, snug against her body. Toji noticed she wasn't wearing a bra either, her nipples softly protruding through the textured white fabric. He also noticed how snug the printed boxer shorts she wore were, showing off the cute shape of her booty. A gold anklet was wrapped around her left foot, and she was barefoot.

"Do what?" she replied, grabbing the kit from under the sink.

"Pick up bloody strangers off the street."

She snorted. "Only the interesting ones."

Toji huffed a quiet laugh, watching as she sat down on the coffee table in front of him, popping open the first aid kit. He could have done it himself—he wasn’t new to patching up wounds—but he let her take over, watching her carefully as she dabbed at the cut on his forehead with an alcohol pad. It immediately stung, Toji hissing and instinctively jerking back.

"Oh, don’t be a baby," she muttered, gripping his chin and forcing him still.

Bold. He liked that.

"You don’t even know what I did out there," he said, watching her through half-lidded eyes. Toji started to soak even more details about her, the way her hair fell. The feeling of her acrylic nails as they propped his chin up to look at her. The way her lips were slightly parted as she focused on cleaning up his wound. The little things.

She didn’t stop, didn’t even hesitate. "Don’t need to."

That made him pause. His whole life, people only did things for him out of fear, out of money, out of necessity. But she? She had nothing to gain. No reason to help him. And yet, here she was. Quite honestly Toji was confused, she must've had a few screws loose to have let a bleeding man who was running from the cops into her home.

"You crazy or somethin’?"

She smiled, a soft puff of air leaving her lips, "Maybe."

Silence settled between them as she continued cleaning him up, her fingers brushing against his skin, surprisingly gentle despite the sharpness in her gaze. Toji wasn’t used to softness. Not in the life he lived, not in the world he knew. And yet, here he was—sitting on a stranger’s couch, letting her clean him up like it was just another Tuesday. His body finally started to relax, the weight of the day's events sinking into his bones. The adrenaline had done its job, but now, it was slipping away, leaving behind something heavier. The warmth of the apartment felt foreign against his skin, too safe, too still.

"You got a name?" he asked, his voice rough and low.

She didn’t look up from her work, just nodding and carefully placing a bandage over the gash on his forehead. "I do."

Toji smirked at that, tilting his head slightly. "You gonna tell me?"

She finally met his gaze, lips curving just a little. "What do you need my name for, mystery man? You ain't plannin’ on stickin’ around, are you?"

Toji chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. She had a point. He didn’t even know why he was still here. He should’ve been plotting his next move, figuring out how to lay low for the next few days. And yet…

"I'd like to know the name of the person who saved my ass," he said simply. She seemed to consider that, eyes scanning his face as if deciding whether or not he was worth the answer.

"Y/N."

Toji let the name roll around in his head for a second. It suited her.

"Toji," he offered in return, looking directly into her eyes as if this were a regular meet cute. He started to think back to when he was running, praying to God. In his twisted head he started to think, this is an angel sent from God himself.

"Well, Toji, you should wash your hands of any residue or whatever then get some rest. I’d say you’re safe for now, but who knows how long that’ll last." Getting up from the coffee table, she goes to throw away the soiled cotton pads.

Toji snorts, "You always this welcoming?"

"Only when fate drops a half-dead man at my doorstep," she smiles, washing her hands in the kitchen sink, "Bathroom is down that hall to the left."

Nodding, Toji finally gets up from the couch, his body now aching from the lack of adrenaline and strain from every fucking thing. Turning on the bathroom light, he takes in his surroundings. Girly face washes and makeup. Loose hair ties and bobby pins. A gold nameplate of yours written in cursive font. Cute. His large, calloused hand pumps the foam soap, peach bellini. He continues to look around your bathroom as he lathers his hands.

That's when he starts to notice... little things. Things that didn’t quite add up.

Toji had been in plenty of women’s places before, enough to know the usual setup—perfume on the counter, a few hair products, maybe a scented candle or two. But this? This was different. The towel on the rack was damp, like it had just been used. The toothbrush in the holder wasn’t alone—there was another one. Slightly worn down, like it had been used regularly. His eyes flicked to the razor in the shower, the one next to the pink one. A man’s razor.

His jaw tightened. She lived with someone.

Toji stared at himself in the mirror, water still running, hands resting on the edges of the sink. His reflection looked like hell—hair all disheveled, bruises forming on his cheek bone where the bottle had hit him, exhaustion settling in his eyes. But his mind wasn’t on himself anymore. It was on her.

Why the hell had she helped him? Was she just reckless, or was there something more? With a slow exhale, he turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel, drying his hands. He didn’t like walking into a situation blind. He especially didn’t like walking into someone else’s mess.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he caught sight of her in the kitchen, tying her hair up as she rummaged through the fridge. The overhead light cast a warm glow on her skin, and for a split second, she looked… normal. Like this was just another night in her home.

But Toji knew better.

"You live alone?" His voice came out casual, too casual.

Glancing at him over her shoulder, the faintest smirk tugs at her lips. "Why? You worried?"

Toji didn’t answer. Just leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

She pulled out a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap before taking a slow sip. Her eyes stayed on him the entire time, like she knew exactly what he’d been thinking about in that bathroom.

"Nah," she finally said, licking a drop of water off her lip. "I don’t."

Toji’s grip on his forearm tightened.

"You expecting them back tonight?" His voice was level, but it lingered with an underlying cautiousness and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

She tilted her head, watching him. Measuring. "No," she said after a beat, placing the bottle on the counter. "Not tonight." Toji studied her, the way she held herself, the way she wasn’t scrambling to explain or reassure. She wasn’t afraid. Not of him. Not of whatever situation she had going on.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of Toji’s lips, something dark and amused settling in his gaze. "You always this reckless, or just gotta thing for strays?"

Leaning against the counter, she crossed her arms over her chest, still unfazed. "Maybe I just like a little chaos."

Toji huffed out a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his sweat damped hair. Yeah, she was crazy. Or stupid. Maybe both. But there was something about her, something that kept him from walking right out that door. His fingers absentmindedly traced over the grip of his gun before slipping it back into his waistband. Eyes flickering to her again, watching the way she swayed slightly on her feet, relaxed. Comfortable.

Like she wasn’t standing in front of a killer. Like she wasn’t fully aware of what she’d just let into her home.

"You should be more careful," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as he stepped closer, his presence taking up more space in the tiny kitchen.

She didn’t move, didn’t shrink away. Just held his gaze with that same, unreadable expression. "You gonna be the one to teach me a lesson?"

Toji’s smirk widened, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. "I don’t think you’d survive that, sweetheart."

Something flashed in her eyes—challenge, maybe amusement. "You’d be surprised what I can handle."

Toji wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion settling into his bones, some leftover adrenaline still thrumming through his veins, or just the sheer absurdity of the situation. But he found himself shaking his head with a smirk, exhaling a slow breath.

y/n moved with ease, walking past him to grab something from a drawer. Toji took the opportunity to let his eyes trail over her again, memorizing little things he hadn’t noticed before. The way her stack of gold necklaces caught the dim light, the curve of her waist, the slow, deliberate way she moved—like she had nothing to fear. Like she knew exactly who she was letting into her space.

The apartment was small, but cozy in a way that felt lived in. Not just a space, but a home. It was a foreign concept to Toji, who was used to cheap motels, dingy safe houses, and places he never intended to stay in for long. But this place—it smelled like vanilla and a hint of tobacco, had blankets thrown haphazardly over the couch, a mug half-filled with cold tea on the counter. It had warmth. A thing he didn’t deserve yet found himself sinking into.

"You wanna tell me why you were out there bleeding all over the damn sidewalk?" she asked, not looking up as she pulled out a joint and a pack of cigarettes. Flicking open the carton's top, she sticks it out to offer him one.

Toji tilted his head, amused as his fingers fish for a cigarette out of the box. "You really wanna know, or you just making conversation?"

She popped the joint between her lips, using one hand to bring a pink patterned clipper lighter up to the tip to light it. The cherry of the joint started to glow a faint red as she inhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded as she studied him through the curl of smoke.

"You don’t gotta tell me," she said, finally exhaling, "but I figure if you’re hiding out here, I should at least know if I gotta start packing a bag."

Toji gave her a lopsided grin, shaking his head. "Ain’t got nothing to do with you, sweetheart. Just a job gone messy."

Her gaze flickered to the gun still tucked at his waist, her expression once again unreadable. "Messy how?"

Toji took his time lighting his cigarette, taking a slow drag before answering. "Client wanted someone gone. I made sure they were gone." He exhaled the smoke, watching her reaction. "Problem is, someone else was watching. Cops got there quicker than expected."

She simply hummed like he’d just told her the weather. "Unlucky."

Toji huffed a laugh, smoke coming out of his nose. "Yeah, somethin’ like that."

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Toji leaned back against the couch, letting the weight of the day press into his bones. His temple still throbbed from the broken bottle, but the bleeding had stopped. God the things he'd do for a perc right now.

"You ain’t scared?" he finally asked, wondering how a tiny girl like her could be so nonchalant with a six-foot-two criminal sitting in her living room.

She met his gaze, something slow and knowing in her eyes. "Of you?" She let the question hang for a moment before shaking her head. "Nah."

Toji exhaled another cloud of smoke, deep blue eyes watching her closely. "Why’s that?"

She tapped the joint's ashes into her heart shaped ashtray that sat on top of the coffee table, leaning forward in the seat perpendicular to the couch, elbow resting on her thigh. "Cause if you wanted to kill me, you’d have done it already."

Toji chuckled lowly, licking his lips. "You sure about that?"

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. "Yeah," she said simply.

He stared at her for a long moment, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. She was right, of course. If he had planned to kill her, he wouldn’t have wasted time talking. Wouldn’t have let her patch him up. But there was something about her.

Knocking him out of his thoughts, the wailing of sirens blares through the air. Bright white lights flashing through the curtains of the front windows. Both of them look towards the front door, silent. Guess it was the kind of situation that called for an all-night search.

"Well, looks like you're stuck here for the night."

Toji let out a slow exhale, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he glanced toward the window. The red and blue lights cut through the thin curtains, casting eerie shadows across the walls. He should’ve felt trapped, on edge. But instead, he found himself oddly calm.

"Shit luck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair before taking another drag of his cigarette.

She didn’t look the least bit concerned as she took another slow pull from her joint, watching him through half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, well," she exhaled a stream of smoke, "guess that means you’ll be getting real comfortable."

Toji chuckled under his breath. "Seriously though, you got a few screws loose or just got a soft spot for trouble?"

The corner of her lip quirked up as she leaned back into the chair, joint snug between her two long acrylic nails. "Wouldn’t call it soft. Just got good instincts."

Toji hummed, tilting his head. "That so?" His cigarette sat tucked between his pink lips, and she could see the sharpness in his canines as he spoke.

"Mmhmm." She tapped her ashes into the ashtray again, her gaze steady. "And my instincts tell me you’re not as reckless as you act."

That caught Toji’s attention. His smirk faltered just slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied her. Most people assumed he was all brawn, no thought behind his actions. But her? She saw something else.

"That what you think?" he mused.

She nodded. "You wouldn't have made it this far otherwise."

Toji let her words sit between them, a strange mix of amusement and curiosity stirring in his gut. She wasn’t wrong. He’d survived this long because he was careful, calculated—even when things went south. But what did that mean for right now? He should’ve been looking for an exit, planning his next move. But instead, he was still here. In her space. Letting the sirens wail outside without so much as a flinch.

She stubbed out what was left of her joint and stood, stretching her arms over her head before giving him a lazy glance. "Couch pulls out into a bed," she said. "Sheets are in the closet. I’d offer you my bed, but I don’t know you like that."

Toji let out a low chuckle. "Yeah? And yet, you let me in your house."

She shrugged, turning toward the hallway. "Like I said—good instincts."

Toji watched her disappear into the dimly lit hall, the scent of smoke and vanilla lingering in the air behind her. He exhaled, leaning his head back against the couch.

Yeah. He was stuck here for the night. And maybe… he didn’t mind.

✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧

omgeezyyyy I had so many different ways I wanted lockedup!Toji and y/n to meet I can't choose!! But I fckin love this song and I'm a sucker for sampling a song for a fic. I miiight write other versions of y/n meeting Toji but I just hadz to write this!!

alsoooo I wanna make this a multipart this is just part oneeee

tags ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ @psoycy @yourname-exee

[kodasmind]

BAD BLOOD RETURN

An: that match was a mess so I tried to make it better (keyword tried)☹️☹️

Rhea Ripley x Reader

The lights inside Atlanta’s State Farm Arena flashed in rhythm with the roaring crowd. The air was electric, buzzing with excitement as the main event at *Bad Blood* was underway. You were hidden backstage, watching from the shadows as the ring became the stage for a brutal battle between two of the fiercest competitors in WWE—Rhea Ripley and Liv Morgan. This was no ordinary title match; it was laced with tension, betrayal, and bad blood, stretching far beyond the championship Liv had around her waist.

You hadn’t been seen for weeks, rumors circulating about your injury after a backstage attack. No one, not even Rhea, knew you were in the building tonight. The plan was simple: wait for the right moment to strike. You had a personal stake in this fight, and you weren’t about to let Liv have the last laugh.

The match was already chaotic from the start. Liv, quick and scrappy, darted around Rhea’s raw power, using her agility to avoid heavy strikes and counter when she could. Rhea, meanwhile, stalked her like a predator, throwing Liv into the ropes and slamming her to the mat with authority. The audience was eating it up—every near fall, every reversal, had them on the edge of their seats.

And above the ring, Dominik Mysterio, Liv’s new ally after his betrayal of Rhea, hung in a steel cage. He’d been a thorn in Rhea’s side ever since their fallout, constantly inserting himself into her business, stirring the pot between her and Liv. Tonight, the cage was meant to keep him from interfering, a symbolic punishment for all his past sins. But knowing Dom, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

The turning point came in the middle of the match. Dominik, ever the opportunist, had somehow managed to jimmy the cage door open. The crowd noticed first, gasping in surprise as Dom’s legs flailed helplessly, his body dangling halfway out of the cage. He was stuck, suspended like a piñata, swinging back and forth in the air. The absurdity of it sent ripples of laughter through the audience.

Rhea, catching sight of the spectacle, paused mid-move. Her icy glare turned upward, locking onto Dominik with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Her lip curled into a wicked smirk. Liv, taking advantage of Rhea’s distraction, attempted a roll-up from behind, but Rhea kicked out immediately, sending Liv crashing to the mat.

The referee backed away, confused by what was happening above, but the crowd’s attention was now split between the ring and Dominik’s embarrassing predicament. Rhea, with her eyes still glued to Dom, rolled out of the ring. She stormed to the timekeeper’s area, tossing aside chairs and searching beneath the ring until she found her weapon of choice—a kendo stick.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Rhea marched toward Dominik, who was still dangling awkwardly from the cage. He had just managed to free himself, his feet now barely touching the top rope, when Rhea arrived. She cracked the kendo stick across his back with a satisfying *thwack*.

“Happy birthday to me!” she yelled, a wicked grin on her face as she raised the stick again.

Dom howled in pain, trying to scramble out of the way, but Rhea hit him again for good measure, sending him tumbling out of the cage and onto the floor, clutching his back. The crowd loved every second of it. Dom, who had tried to be the puppet master of this entire feud, was now reduced to a laughingstock.

But Rhea wasn’t done yet. She tossed the kendo stick aside and slid back into the ring, focusing her attention back on Liv. Liv, who had recovered from the earlier slam, met Rhea head-on, launching herself off the ropes with a flying crossbody. But Rhea caught her mid-air, showing off her raw power, before slamming Liv down with a vicious spinebuster.

The momentum shifted back in Rhea’s favor as she stalked Liv around the ring, each strike landing harder than the last. Every time Liv tried to mount a comeback, Rhea shut her down with brutal efficiency. It looked like Rhea was about to end it, lifting Liv for her signature Riptide finisher.

And then, the unexpected happened.

Raquel Rodriguez, and the crowd roared in surprise(yes I know it was quiet😭😭). Raquel had been out of action for weeks due to an injury, but it was clear she was back with a vengeance. She stormed down the ramp, her towering presence unmistakable. Rhea’s focus shifted, her eyes narrowing as she watched Raquel approach the ring with murderous intent.

Before Rhea could react, Raquel slid into the ring and charged at her, leveling her with a massive boot to the face. The referee, distracted by Liv, didn’t see a thing. Raquel wasted no time, raining down blow after blow on Rhea, targeting her midsection with vicious forearms and kicks.

Liv smirked from the corner, nodding in approval as Raquel continued to assault Rhea. The referee, still conveniently distracted, had no idea what was happening behind his back. Rhea, who had been dominating the match, now found herself outnumbered and overwhelmed by Raquel’s ambush.

That’s when you made your move.

Sending the crowd into a frenzy. No one had expected you to return tonight, least of all Liv and Raquel. You sprinted down the ramp, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your veins. The element of surprise was yours, and you weren’t going to waste it.

Sliding into the ring, you tackled Raquel to the mat, throwing punch after punch as the crowd roared in approval. Raquel, shocked by your sudden appearance, scrambled to her feet, but you were relentless. You hit her with a series of forearms, driving her back into the corner.

Raquel, furious, swung at you with a wild right hand, but you ducked, narrowly avoiding the strike. Her fist, however, connected with Rhea, who had just staggered to her feet. Rhea crumpled to the mat, and the referee, finally turning around, saw the impact.

It all happened in a blur. The referee called for the bell, signaling the end of the match. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and boos as the referee declared Rhea the winner by disqualification. Liv, meanwhile, celebrated on the outside, clutching her championship with a smug grin. She hadn’t won the match, but she had kept her title, which was all that mattered.

You stood there, chest heaving, as Raquel glared at you from across the ring. The two of you exchanged heated words, the tension palpable as the crowd chanted for more. Rhea, slowly recovering from the blow, rose to her feet, her eyes flicking between you and Raquel.

Despite the chaos, despite the DQ finish, Rhea had come out on top—at least in spirit. You helped her to her feet, the two of you standing tall as Liv and Raquel retreated up the ramp. This was far from over. The battle lines had been drawn, and the war was just beginning.

Rhea smirked at you, her eyes gleaming with a mix of gratitude and amusement. “Took you long enough,” she teased, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth.

You shrugged, a smirk of your own forming. “Had to make a grand entrance, didn’t I?”

The two of you shared a brief, silent understanding before turning to face the crowd, arms raised high. Tonight was just the beginning. There would be more battles, more betrayals, but for now, Rhea stood victorious, and you were by her side, ready for whatever came next.

[caracalla-dondus]

The Arena

Pairings: Caracalla/wife!reader, Caracalla & daughter

Summary: Caracalla brings his daughter to her first gladiator match.

Author's Note: I don't mention the daughter's age but she's probably in the toddler age range.

~~~~

The sun blazed high over Rome, casting its golden glow over the crowded expanse of the Colosseum. The deafening cheers of the crowd echoed a thunderous sound that seemed to shake the very stones of the arena. Dust and the scent of blood filled the air, and the clash of steel rang out below, where gladiators battled for glory or survival.

In the imperial box, beneath a shaded canopy, sat the ruling family. Caracalla lounged on his golden chair, his eyes bright with excitement. Beside him, his wife reclined gracefully in her seat, dressed in a flowing stola with gold threaded into her hair. But it was the smallest figure between them that held their attention, their little Severa, experiencing her very first gladiator match. Geta had mentioned that perhaps it was too soon for her to attend but Caracalla would hear none of it, too excited at the idea of sharing something he enjoys so much with his daughter.

She was seated between her parents, her tiny hands clutching tightly at her father’s arm, her eyes wide and unsure as they darted from the battling men to the roaring crowd, an unfamiliar sea of faces in the stands. The sounds were so loud, so strange, that her little shoulders trembled, and her bottom lip quivered.

Caracalla, noticing, softened his usual boisterous tone. "What is it little one? Are you frightened?" His voice, warm and oddly tender, but also filled with confusion at the idea of his daughter not enjoying such a show.

Severa's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes wide. "Loud…" she said quietly, her small fingers curling into the fabric of his toga. “It's scary.”

His wife glanced over with a soft smile. “It’s all right little one,” she said smoothly, brushing a stray curl from Severa’s cheek. “No one will harm you. You’re with us.”

Caracalla, ever eager to share his pleasures with his beloved daughter, tried to make her see the thrill. “Look,” he said, pointing to the sands below, “Do you see them? Those men are fighting to be champions. Only one will survive.” His voice carried a child's excitement. “The people cheer for the entertainment they provide. And soon you’ll understand that it’s more than just a fight. It’s a fun game.”

But Severa still didn’t share his enthusiasm or see the appeal. She flinched at the clash of swords, the grunts of pain, and the excitement of the crowd when a gladiator fell and she closed her eyes when blood began soaking the sand. Her tiny hands clutched tighter at her father’s arm, and a fearful whimper escaped her.

His wife’s brow furrowed slightly. “Perhaps she is too young,” she said, her voice touched with concern. Their daughter was always a more sensitive child, easily scared by little things.

But Caracalla, ever the child at heart himself, was undeterred. “No,” he insisted, his arm instinctively curled around the trembling child. “The first time is always the hardest. I cried the first time too.” He said matter of factly.

His wife arched a brow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You cried?”

A sudden forlorn expression overtook Caracalla for a moment. “Yes and my father called me a disgrace for it.” His voice dropped, and for a brief second there was something despondent about him, something sad and lost in miserable memories. But then it vanished as quickly as it came and was replaced by that familiar boyish charm and smile. “But I learned and Severa will too.”

Severa’s lip wobbled as another roar shook the arena. She turned her face into her father’s chest, her soft voice muffled by his toga. “Don’t like it.”

Caracalla, his excited heart softening, exchanged a glance with his wife. With a sigh of disappointment, he pressed a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. “All right my little one,” he said, his voice lowering into a rare, protective murmur. “No more. I suppose you don’t have to watch.”

He lifted Severa and sat her on his lap and faced her away from the arena, shielding her from the spectacle. One arm wrapped securely around her small form, and his other hand summoned an attendant. “Bring her something sweet: dates, honey cakes. Whatever she wants.”

His wife watched the exchange and felt a warmth bloom in her chest. “You’re soft for her,” she teased lightly, though there was no mockery in her voice, only a sweet observation.

Caracalla, his lips brushing his daughter’s curls that looked so much like his own color, smirked. “Soft? Perhaps.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “But only for her.”

The rest of the match passed with the emperor’s daughter nestled safely in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, the terrifying world beyond fading away under his protection. And though Severa’s first visit to the arena had been a frightening experience, she felt safe. Because she was with them: her father, her mother, and that was all she needed.

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I wrote this fic because I wanted to show Roman parents being like "lol why is our toddler not amused by men getting murdered violently right in front of her??".

I meant to include more uncle Geta in this but he ended up only getting mentioned once because I wanted to keep this a short fic and I wasn't sure how to involve him more in this little scene.

I found the name Severa when I was browsing 'Roman female given names' on Wikipedia. It reminded me of Caracalla's father's name being Septimius Severus and idk why but it kinda feels in character that Caracalla would for some reason name his child after his abusive father. I also almost named her Antonia instead because the real Caracalla took on the name of Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Augustus when he became emperor and I think movie!Caracalla would definitely name his child after himself in some way lol. I did not include her full name in the fic but in my mind it would be something like Septimia Caracallia Severa.

so TLDR: I put too much thought into this Roman name that I will probably only use once unless I decide to write more short stories about Severa