#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

[multific]

Blood and Honor

Yautja x Reader (Teen!Version)

Summary: Your half-Yautja son, now fourteen, has grown restless, his defiance turning to violence.

The tension in your home had been brewing for months, thick and stifling like the heat before a storm.

Your son, fourteen years old and strong beyond his years, had begun to reject your authority.

His Yautja blood demanded dominance, yet he was still so young, so lost between two worlds, too human for the clans, too Yautja for the human life.

And he took it out on you.

“Do not test me,” you warned, voice firm yet calm, as you stood between him and the entrance to your home. He had been pushing, lashing out, knocking things over when anger overtook him.

The child who once clung to you with gentle claws now stared at you with defiance burning in his golden eyes.

“You are weak,” he snarled, his mandibles twitching, muscles coiled with restrained rage. “You do not command me.”

The words cut deeper than you expected.

Your chest ached, not with fear, but with heartbreak.

He didn’t understand.

You weren’t trying to control him, you were trying to protect him. From himself, from the world that would not see him as either human or Yautja.

Before you could respond, his patience snapped.

With a roar, he lunged.

The impact sent you stumbling backwards. Clawed hands found your arms, squeezing too hard, too rough.

Pain seared up your side as you struck the stone wall, your breath knocked from your lungs. And then, before he could strike again, your mate was there.

With terrifying speed, the massive Yautja tore his son away from you, the sheer force of his grip making the boy yelp.

He slammed him against the ground, one knee pressing down hard against his chest, and his own mandibles flared in warning.

“You dare raise your hands against your mother?” his voice was a deep, rough growl, shaking with barely restrained fury. “You disgrace yourself.”

Your son thrashed, but he was no match for his father’s strength.

“She is weak,” the boy spat again, struggling beneath his father's weight. “She does not deserve my submission.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before your mate struck him, not in anger, but with the force of a teacher delivering a harsh lesson.

A sharp cuff to the side of the head, enough to disorient, enough to humble.

“Then you are not worthy of her.”

A stillness fell over the room, suffocating in its weight. Your mate remained crouched over your son, his claws pressing down against the boy’s heaving chest.

“She carried you,” he growled. “She bled for you. She has tended to your wounds, fed you when you were too weak to hunt. She has taught you more than your own kind would ever allow.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

His golden eyes darted to you, still pressed against the wall, a hand clutching your bruised side.

His hands trembled as if he were only now realising what he had done. The scent of your pain filled the air.

Your mate leaned in close near his son’s face, his voice dangerous and unwavering. “You are Yautja. You are human. But you are not a beast. And if you ever dishonour your mother again, you will know the true weight of my wrath.”

The boy stilled beneath him. His breathing came faster, uneven.

You could see the conflict in his young face. He was so much like his father, too much.

And then, he let out a choked sound.

He had never cried before. Not once. Even as a small child, he had held his pain close, refusing to cry as his Yautja blood demanded restraint.

But now, with his father towering above him, with you still clutching your bruised ribs, shame broke him.

“I-” His voice cracked. He turned his head, his claws digging into the floor. “I did not mean-”

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

The hurt sat too heavy in your chest, not just from the bruises but from the knowledge that he had truly tried to harm you.

Your mate stood, towering over his son as he motioned toward you. “It is not me you must answer to.”

Slowly, painfully, the boy sat up.

He glanced at his father, then at you.

He was still just a child beneath all that defiance, beneath the fangs and claws.

He dragged himself forward on his knees, head bowed, a sign of submission, of shame.

“I hurt you.” His voice was quiet now, hoarse. “I did not mean it. I…” His hands clenched against his thighs. “I only wanted to prove myself. But that is no reason to hurt you.”

Your fingers twitched at your side. He looked so small then, despite his size.

Despite his strength.

Your mate did not interfere. This was between the two of you.

“I don’t like being hurt,” you said at last, voice softer now, but firm. “I don’t like when you look at me and see weakness instead of love.”

The boy flinched.

His claws scraped against the stone floor. “I do not think you are weak,” he admitted, eyes still lowered. “I think… I do not know what I am.”

Your chest tightened. You moved forward, ignoring the sharp sting in your ribs, and reached out. Your fingers cupped his cheek, pulling his gaze to yours. His golden eyes were wide, uncertain, still glassy with held-back tears.

“You are mine,” you whispered. “You always will be.”

A sound escaped him, raw and aching.

He surged forward before you could say anything else, arms wrapping around you, claws trembling against your back.

He buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he used to when he was small.

Your mate let out a deep, approving hum from behind you, watching as his son desired your comfort. A lesson learned, a bond reforged.

As you stroked your son’s back, his body shaking from the weight of everything, you knew this moment had changed him.

For the better.

And for the first time in months, peace settled over your home once more.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hellooo! I don't know if you've done a prompt/story like this yet but can I request where Oscar's daughter (who's around 4-5 years old) attends the bahrain gp (her second time attending after the Australia one) and he dedicates his pole position and win to her. (Because she thinks he lost the aus gp when she first attended) You don't have to make this but yeah. Also I love your stories so much!! 🫶🏻🩷

A win for her

The sun over Bahrain was just beginning to dip, bathing the paddock in that golden-orange haze that made everything feel just a bit more cinematic. The roar of engines had long since settled, but the energy was still buzzing in the air. Oscar stood on the podium, champagne bottle in hand, soaking in the cheers. He could barely hear them, though. All he saw was that little face in the crowd.

Wide brown eyes, pink earmuffs, and a tiny race suit with his car number stitched across the back—his daughter was practically bouncing in Lily’s arms.

He hadn’t planned to get emotional, but the moment he saw Yn lift her little hand and wave—just like she had done in Melbourne weeks before—his heart squeezed.

Back in Australia, she had been so excited. Her first Grand Prix. She’d worn the little team cap with pride, marched through the paddock like a seasoned pro, and sat in the garage with wide eyes, whispering “Go, Papa!” every lap. And then, when he hadn’t won, she had cried. Not out of anger or entitlement, just... heartbreak. She thought he had lost. Really lost. As if not finishing first meant he hadn’t even tried.

Tonight, Oscar had made a silent promise to himself: You’re gonna win this one. For her. So she knows.

And he did.

Before the Race/ Qualifying

“Papa, Papa, is your car gonna be faster today?” Yn asked as she clutched Oscar’s hand, her tiny fingers curling tightly around his.

They were walking through the paddock, just hours before lights out. The team garage loomed ahead, mechanics bustling around like ants with coffee in one hand and tools in the other.

Oscar glanced down at her. “I think so, sweetheart. I gave it a good pep talk this morning.”

“Did you really talk to it?” she asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Of course I did. I told it that if it makes it to first place, I’ll buy it ice cream.”

Yn gasped. “Cars can eat ice cream?”

He knelt in front of her, brushing a strand of her dark hair out of her face. “No, but they like it when you promise silly things. Makes them go faster.”

She giggled, leaning in for a hug. Oscar scooped her up and twirled her, the heat already rising in the desert air, but he didn’t care. Holding her close, even for a few seconds, felt like magic.

Lily caught up to them, holding a tiny water bottle and a team fan. “Alright, Yn, let Papa get ready. We’ve got your seat in the garage, remember?”

Yn pouted but nodded. “Okay. But tell your car to go really, really fast, Papa.”

“I will,” he said, setting her down gently. “And hey—if I win, it’s because of you, alright?”

She beamed, the kind of smile that could melt asphalt. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Qualifying was intense. The desert heat had dropped, but the track was still slick, and everyone was on edge. Radio chatter buzzed in Oscar’s ear as he pushed lap after lap, chasing milliseconds like they were gold dust.

And then—pole.

The garage erupted.

Oscar barely registered the cheers, his eyes immediately scanning the front row of the paddock. There she was—Yn, on Lily’s hip, fists in the air, shouting, “PAPA WON!” even though it was just qualifying.

When he came back to the garage, the first thing he did was kneel in front of her.

“You did it!” she squealed, nearly leaping into his arms.

“Well, not the race yet,” he said, laughing. “But it’s a really good start.”

“Did your car like the ice cream idea?” she asked seriously.

“It loved it.”

On Sunday, it was lights out, and away they went.

Oscar’s focus narrowed like a tunnel. Nothing but the car, the corners, the strategy. He could hear the team in his ears, feel the pressure behind him, but in the back of his mind—just beneath the surface—was Yn.

Every lap he completed, he thought of her watching. Every corner he nailed, he imagined her clapping. Every time he defended a position, he could see her tiny fingers balled into fists, eyes glued to the screens.

Lando was close behind for most of the race. The team warned him over the radio: “You’ve got two-tenths on him, keep it clean.” But Oscar wasn’t racing Lando.

He was racing a four-year-old memory. The image of his daughter crying quietly on Lily’s shoulder in Melbourne.

Not this time, sweetheart.

When he crossed the finish line, the radio exploded.

“Oscar, you’ve done it! P1, Bahrain Grand Prix winner!”

He couldn’t respond right away. His throat was thick with emotion.

Finally, he clicked the button. “This one’s for my daughter,” he said, voice cracking. “She thought I lost last time. I didn’t. But this time—this time, I won it for her.”

The podium ceremony passed in a blur—champagne, fireworks, confetti. Oscar’s eyes were constantly searching for Yn.

When he finally made it back down, he barely had time to take his helmet off before she was running toward him.

“PAPA!” she shrieked, arms wide.

He dropped to his knees just in time to catch her.

“You won!” she shouted, gripping him as tight as her little arms would allow. “You really really won!”

Oscar pulled off his gloves, pressing his forehead to hers. “I told you, didn’t I? We just needed one more race.”

She sniffled, and he realized she was crying again—but this time from happiness.

“I knew your car would like the ice cream,” she whispered.

He laughed. “Me too.”

Lily came over with a soft smile, pressing a kiss to Oscar’s cheek and smoothing Yn’s wild hair. “She hasn’t stopped talking since you crossed the line.”

“She deserves a spot on the team,” Oscar said, standing and carrying Yn in his arms. “Race engineer, team motivator, part-time sorceress.”

“Full-time car whisperer,” Lily added.

Oscar looked down at the girl in his arms. “Wanna join the post-race press conference?”

“Yes!” she yelled.

Lily raised an eyebrow. “She’s joking.”

Oscar shook his head. “I’m not.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[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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[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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[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Our Little Dragon

Summary - She battles through excruciating labour, consumed by pain and fear, desperate for her husband's presence. As the chaos around her intensifies, his calm arrival becomes her only solace. In the midst of agony, their shared strength will shape their future.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Childbirth, strong language

Word count - 2397

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Daemon! Where is Daemon?!" I cried, my voice breaking, as I clutched the collar of the handmaiden standing before me. Her wide, terrified eyes met mine, but I could barely focus on them. 

A surge of pain ripped through my body, and I moaned, doubling over as another contraction tore through me like a blade.

The girl recoiled from my grip, her hands trembling, and instinctively took a step back. "I do not know, Princess," she whispered, her voice quivering with fear.

I looked around the room, the faces around me blurring in my vision, but their voices grew louder, muddled, a cacophony that only fed the storm of rage rising inside me.

I was drowning in pain, in fear, and in helplessness. My stomach was like a battleground, each wave of agony tearing through my body, but I was determined.

With a growl of frustration, I staggered to my feet. But before I could take another step, several hands reached out to steady me, pulling at my arms, my shoulders, as if they could contain me. 

As if they could control this fury, this pain.

"Back. Away. Now!" I roared, my voice laced with command. I clutched my swollen belly, my body trembling under the weight of another contraction, and my breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. 

The room swirled around me, but I couldn't focus on them. I needed him. I needed Daemon.

Each breath felt like a betrayal, my own body fighting against me, my mind warring with the impossible task of bringing life into this world. 

I had wanted this—had prayed for it—but no one had told me it would feel like this... like breaking into pieces, shattering and trying to put myself back together.

"Find me my fucking husband!" I howled, my forehead pressing against the bedpost, my body quaking with the intensity of it all. 

The frantic movement in the room seemed endless, people darting about as if they could make a difference.

"Princess, perhaps you should lie back down," Nysah, my most trusted handmaiden, murmured gently, her voice calm, almost too calm in the midst of the chaos. 

She stepped closer, her face etched with concern, her hands hovering as if unsure of what to do.

But I didn't want comfort. I didn't want softness. All I wanted was him.

I turned my head, my gaze fierce, and shot Nysah a look that could have withered stone. 

"Nysah, you have served me for eight years. You know me better than anyone in this room. And for that reason alone, I haven't already thrown you out of this chamber," I snapped, my voice low and cold, dripping with the weight of my frustration.

She frowned, taking a step back, and I felt the ache in my body intensify. The contraction was unrelenting, but so was my need to find him. To feel his arms around me. Daemon...

The door to the chamber creaked open, and the room fell into an almost eerie silence. Everyone froze. The air seemed to hold its breath as a figure stepped into the doorway—Daemon.

His presence was immediate, commanding, but there was a certain ease about him, as if he were strolling through a casual afternoon, not amidst the chaos of a woman in labor. 

His eyes flicked over the room, landing on me with an expression that bordered between amusement and concern.

He raised an eyebrow as he took in the scene. "Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with that unmistakable smirk. "Yelling at everyone, are we, my fierce little wife?"

A quiet, collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room as the tension lifted with his words. His command over the situation, even with the chaos around us, was palpable. 

For a moment, I almost hated him for it—he was always so calm, so unruffled—but the sight of him steadied me in a way nothing else had.

I could barely stand, my body racked with another wave of pain, but Daemon was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around me with that familiar strength, his touch grounding me. 

His hand pressed gently to my back, guiding me back toward the bed with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before.

As I sank back onto the soft sheets, the sharp, biting pain eased for a moment, and I allowed myself a deep breath. 

But then, the words slipped out before I could stop them: "Where the fuck were you?"

Daemon's lips quirked, a light laugh escaping him as he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. 

"Relax, love," he said, his tone warm but teasing. "I was just out retrieving an egg for our little one."

I blinked at him, my mind struggling to make sense of the absurdity of it all. 

"An egg?" I repeated, incredulous, a bitter laugh almost choking me. "How nice. While I feel like I'm being ripped apart from the inside, you're out egg hunting?"

Daemon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he sat beside me on the bed, brushing more strands of hair from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. 

"You know I would never leave you if I thought you didn't need me," he murmured, his voice softer now. "But I wanted to ensure that our little dragon has a dragon of their own."

His words, simple yet filled with such affection, made my chest tighten, even as my body screamed with pain. He always had a way of making the impossible seem so... effortless. 

I wanted to snap at him, to remind him that I was the one who had to endure this agony, but in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to.

Instead, I simply closed my eyes, letting the sound of his voice soothe the chaos in my mind. If he could make light of it all, then perhaps I could, too. But only just a little.

"You're insane," I whispered, my hand reaching for his, gripping it tightly as another wave of pain rolled through me.

He laughed again, low and rich, and squeezed my hand. "And yet, I still make sure you're never alone in the madness, don't I?" 

His eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to mine.

"You're right," I muttered, my breath shaky but steadying. "You do have a way of making everything better."

Daemon smiled, brushing a final kiss across my brow, his voice a soft promise in the midst of the storm. "Just wait, my love. Soon, we'll have a dragon of our own to raise."

The hours seemed to stretch on forever, each one a new battle as the pain intensified, waves crashing over me relentlessly. 

I couldn't tell where one contraction ended and the next began—only that my body felt like it was being torn apart, stretched and strained beyond its limits. 

Yet through it all, Daemon remained at my side, unwavering. His presence was a steady anchor in the sea of chaos, his hands never leaving mine, his voice constantly soothing.

"You're doing wonderfully," he whispered each time I gasped for breath, his fingers gently stroking my palm. "My fierce girl, keep breathing."

His words were a balm, though they did little to quell the fire burning inside me. But I clung to him, to his quiet confidence, because it was the only thing keeping me from losing myself entirely to the pain. 

When the pressure built again, and I could feel the moment coming closer, I wanted to scream at him—ask him why this was so difficult, why my body had to go through such torment to bring our child into the world. 

But I knew he was feeling it too. 

His worry was barely hidden behind his calm demeanour, his eyes darting to the door as though expecting someone to burst in at any moment or perhaps hoping for something that might make it easier for me.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived.

I cried out as the final contraction ripped through me, my body tensing, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I squeezed Daemon's hand so hard I thought I might break it, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. His eyes never left mine.

"Almost there, love," he murmured his face inches from mine, his voice a low murmur against the deafening noise of the room.

And then, with one final, soul-shattering push, everything shifted. I felt her—a tiny, warm life slipping into the world. 

I breathed in ragged, exhausted breaths as the handmaiden placed her on my chest, her small, wriggling form warm and soft against my skin.

Daemon's hand gently brushed my damp hair from my face, his voice barely a whisper. 

"It's a girl," he said, his eyes wide with awe as he looked down at the tiny creature in my arms. "A little dragon."

I gazed down at the baby in my arms, her face red and scrunched in that unmistakable newborn way. She had tufts of silver hair, her tiny fingers already clutching at the fabric of my gown. 

Her eyes were still closed, but there was something so perfect about her, so fragile, so ours, that I couldn't help the tear that slipped down my cheek.

"Daeneys," I breathed softly, the name slipping from my lips as if it had always been there, waiting for this moment. It felt right, the name resonating deep within me. 

Daeneys. She was our little flame, our legacy.

Daemon smiled, his hand brushing over her tiny head. "Daeneys," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as though the weight of the moment was finally settling over him. 

He leaned down, kissing my forehead gently, and I could feel the quiet pride radiating off of him. "She's perfect, my love."

I nodded, blinking back tears, my exhaustion making everything feel hazy and distant, but there was a fierce joy in my chest that no pain could ever erase. 

"She is," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "She's ours."

Daemon carefully reached over, taking Daeneys gently from my arms. His hands were steady as he cradled her, and I watched in awe as he looked down at the tiny girl in his arms. 

There was a look in his eyes—so full of wonder, so full of love—that I had never seen before. It was the look of a father, and in that moment, I knew he would be everything for her.

"She's going to be a great woman, just like her mother," Daemon said softly, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips as he looked up at me. 

His voice was warm, full of pride, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes as if he knew the future ahead of us would be as full of challenges as it was of love.

I laughed weakly, the sound soft and unsteady as I watched him with our daughter. 

"Let's hope she doesn't inherit my temper," I joked, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace settle in my chest, the weight of the pain slipping away.

Daemon's laugh was low, filled with affection as he brushed his thumb across Daeneys's tiny hand. 

"If she has your temper," he said with a wink, "she'll be a force to be reckoned with."

I watched as Daemon cradled our daughter with a tenderness that left me breathless. It was then that I realized: this little girl, our little Daeneys, was not just the beginning of something new for us. 

She was the bridge between two worlds, a little dragon who would carry both our legacies, and perhaps even forge her own path. 

A new chapter had begun, and I couldn't wait to see what it held for us.

Daemon leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "I promise you, she'll never be alone. Not while I'm here."

I nodded, my hand slipping into his as I watched him with our daughter. It was over. The pain, the uncertainty—it had all led to this perfect moment.

Daemon moved gently as if the world might shatter if he moved too quickly. 

Cradling Daeneys in his arms, he carefully walked toward the small cradle beside the bed, where the freshly acquired dragon egg lay. Its smooth, cool surface gleamed softly in the dim light, an unspoken promise of the future. 

He placed Daeneys down, her tiny body nestled comfortably in the soft blankets, and for a moment, he stood there, gazing down at both her and the egg with a look of profound pride.

I shifted in the bed, exhausted but unable to tear my gaze away. 

My heart swelled as Daemon reached out to tenderly adjust the blankets around Daeneys, making sure she was settled, her small chest rising and falling with each breath. 

His hands were careful, deliberate, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace of this moment.

Then, slowly, he turned his eyes to me, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. "She's perfect," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as he looked from our daughter to the egg in her cradle.

I nodded, my heart full, my body still heavy from the hours of labour. "She is," I whispered, my voice hushed, reverent.

Daemon stepped back a bit, just enough to take in the sight of the two things that would forever tie us together—the tiny, fragile girl who had changed everything, and the egg beside her, a symbol of the future we would build for her.

He glanced down at Daeneys, then at the egg. "One day, our little dragon will have her own dragon," he said, his tone light, yet full of a quiet certainty. "She'll grow into her name."

I smiled, watching the two of them—Daemon, so sure, so steady, and Daeneys, so fragile yet full of promise. 

I could already see the strength in her, the legacy we would build for her, and I knew without a doubt that she would carry it forward in ways we couldn't even imagine yet.

Daemon brushed a hand through his hair, still gazing down at the cradle, his fingers brushing over the egg. 

"Our little dragon and her dragon," he repeated, his voice soft, almost a vow. 

And for a fleeting moment, the world outside that room faded away, leaving just the three of us—Daemon, me, and our daughter—and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. 

Proud, unbroken, and with a future ahead that no one could take from us.

A/n - Not my fav tbh I didn't really know what direction it was going until I finished so it may be a bit all over the place.

[slutforvoldy]

“ DRIVEN TO YOU. ” ( kimi antonelli ! )

SUMMARY: the reader swore that she will never fall for a driver—but fate has a way of forcing you to break the rules you made to protect your heart.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: enemies to lovers, lots of banter, chaotic timeline, mentions death, mentions crashes

pairing: kimi antonelli x female!reader

FLASHBACK – EIGHT YEARS AGO Abu Dhabi Grand Prix – Final Lap

THE WORLD WAS on its feet.

The sky was painted in orange fire and smoke as the sun set over Yas Marina, casting long shadows across the pit lane. Your fingers curled around the armrest of the VIP paddock seat, knuckles white.

"Dad’s gonna win," You whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the roar of engines.

And he was.

He was flying down the straight, purple sectors lighting up the timing screen. His name is in bold gold. Your heart raced as you clutched the little plush your dad gave you before every race.

Then came the scream.

Not yours. The tires. The engine. The crowd. The silence.

The screen flickered and cut to the on-board camera. Then off.

“Red flag! Red flag!”

You stood, too stunned to cry.

The car had flipped—rolled once, then twice, before slamming into the barriers. Sparks. Fire. Smoke.

You didn’t remember how you got to the hospital. Only the cold sterility of the waiting room. Your mother holding you too tight. Reporters outside. The security trying to keep them out.

And the doctor. White coat, clipboard. Words you couldn’t understand until your mom collapsed into sobs.

He didn’t make it.

Your father. The world champion. Your hero.

Gone.

You were only ten. Too young to lose him.

That was the moment you made the promise.

I’ll never love another driver. I won’t love anything that can be taken from me like that ever again.

Never again.

PRESENT DAY — MONACO

“You’re coming,” Ollie insisted, holding the door of the Haas motorhome open like it was a threat.

“I’m not.”

“You owe me. I was there for your university showcase, remember? Now you show up for my FP1 debrief.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m your best friend.”

“Same thing.”

Reluctantly, you followed him inside. The scent of rubber, adrenaline, and overpriced coffee clung to the air. You tried not to look too long at the cars—especially not at the one with “ANTONELLI” written in bold on the side of the W16.

That was the other problem.

Kimi Antonelli.

Ollie’s best friend. The new golden boy at Mercedes. A name with pressure carved into it and a future brighter than the sun. And a complete pain in your ass.

Both of you had met once. That was all it took to decide you couldn’t stand each other.

FLASHBACK — A FEW MONTHS AGO

Your memory of your first encounter with Kimi still made you cringe. You were just a shadow in the paddock, trying to stay out of the way, when Kimi had walked up to you, all confidence and arrogance wrapped in a Mercedes jacket. His piercing gaze had swept over you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. And, of course, that’s when you opened your mouth.

“Seriously, who are you? Some kind of new poster boy for Mercedes?”

He had laughed, his eyes glinting with mischief. “No. I’m just the guy who’s going to take your precious Ollie down a peg.”

“Right. Like that’s gonna happen.”

You didn't mean to sound so dismissive, but something about him rubbed you the wrong way—his smug attitude, the way he carried himself as if he was already the champion of F1.

“I’m Kimi, by the way,” he said, extending his hand with a sly grin.

“I don’t care.”

He had chuckled and dropped his hand, unbothered. “Well, you’re cute when you’re mad. You should smile more.”

You stared at him, speechless, and muttered, “I hate you.”

The smirk never left his face. “Likewise.”

PRESENT DAY

You didn’t look up when he entered the lounge, but you felt him—like static in the air.

“I know that glare,” he said, grabbing a water bottle. “Who pissed you off this time?”

“You, probably.”

“I haven’t said a word yet.”

“Exactly.”

He sat across from you, stretching like a cat who knew he was being watched.

“Take a shower, Antonelli. I can smell you from here.”

He smirked. “Care to join me?”

“In your dreams.”

“You’re not denying it’s your dream too.”

“I’m denying everything about you.”

“You always do.”

You groaned. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why everyone fawns over you. You’re not that good looking, alright?”

“So you admit I’m good looking?”

“What? N-no. Never.”

“Too late. Already heard it.”

“You’re impossible...” You started. “It’s impossible not to hate you.”

“It’s impossible not to hate you,” he mocked in a voice that made you throw a cushion at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to murder me but also like… you want me.”

He paused, just for a second, eyes flickering over your face. “That’s oddly specific.”

You stood abruptly. “I need air.”

“Running again?”

“No. Leaving, because you’re unbearable.”

“You sure it’s not because you like me?”

You froze in the hallway, heart lurching. “I don’t like you.”

He stared at you, gaze unreadable. “You sure?”

“You piss me off.”

“You intrigue me.”

“Go to hell, Antonelli.”

“I’ll save you a seat.”

BARCELONA — A FEW DAYS LATER

At Barcelona, the media pen was buzzing with post-race chatter, and you were standing impatiently, waiting for Ollie to finish his interviews. But before you could zone out, a familiar voice broke through the crowd.

Kimi, leaning against a nearby wall, smirked as he crossed his arms. “Didn’t know the devil followed races now.”

You didn’t even glance at him, eyes still fixed on the chaos around you. “Didn’t know children were allowed in the paddock.”

He took a step closer, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “You’re cute when you’re mean.”

Your patience snapped. “Yeah, well, I’m cute when I punch people, too.” Without waiting for his response, you spun on your heel and stormed off, your heart racing. You didn’t look back, but you could practically feel his smirk following you.

MONTREAL – A FEW WEEKS LATER

A few weeks later, while you were both waiting for their drivers’ meeting in the paddock, Kimi leaned casually against the wall, watching the bustle of activity around them. You stood nearby, focused on your phone, trying to ignore him.

Kimi’s voice cut through her concentration. “You know, if you ever want any advice on how to look less miserable, I’m your guy.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Oh, right, you’re the expert on looking happy while being an arrogant prick.”

He grinned. “It’s an art, really.”

“Yeah,” You said with a sharp exhale. “A sad, sorry art.”

Kimi’s smile only widened. “Maybe I like making you mad. Makes you more fun.”

You glared at him. "I’m not here to entertain you, Antonelli."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Too bad. You’re way more entertaining when you’re pissed off.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice teasing. “But you still don’t hate me enough to leave.”

SPIELBERG – A FEW DAYS LATER

During Free Practice, you and Kimi were both standing near the track, watching the cars zoom by. Kimi, ever the teasing presence, couldn’t resist.

“You know, you look better when you’re focused on something other than me,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I wasn’t aware I was ever focused on you.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he replied, a mocking tone in his voice. “But I’m pretty sure your mind just doesn’t shut up about me.”

“Oh please,” You shot back, “My mind’s too busy thinking about more important things than your annoying face.”

Kimi chuckled, leaning closer, his voice lowering slightly. “Well, I don’t mind being the thing you think about, even if it’s only in passing.”

You groaned, knowing he was trying to get under your skin. But as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t help but notice how distracting he was at that moment.

That night, after another grueling FP3 session, you found yourself standing outside the garages, the chill of the night air cutting through your jacket. You were exhausted, but you needed a few moments to breathe before heading back to your hotel.

But you hadn’t expected to see him.

But there he was, leaning casually against the wall, his Mercedes jacket unzipped, his arms folded.

“Thought you’d run off already,” he said, his voice carrying the same playful tone as always.

“I’m not running. I’m staying away from you,” you replied, your voice sharp.

He raised an eyebrow. “Still mad I beat Ollie in qualifying?”

You couldn’t hold back the frustration anymore. “God, it’s not about that,” you snapped. “You always think it’s about you.”

Kimi straightened, stepping closer. “What is it really, [L/N]? Why do you hate me so much?”

“I hate Formula 1. I hate you.”

There was a pause—a heavy silence that lingered like a storm cloud. He couldn’t have expected your words to cut so deep.

“Why?” he asked, his voice quieter this time. “Did your ex used to race or something?” He chuckled

You froze. His words hit too close to home. Your body trembled as the memories came rushing back.

“My dad was a driver,” You said in a raw whisper, barely able to contain the emotion. “He died in a crash. I watched it happen. That’s why I hate this world. And you—” You shook your head, blinking furiously to hold back the tears. “I swore I’d never love anything that could be taken from me like that.”

For a moment, there was no sound. Just the rush of blood in your ears.

Kimi took a small step forward, lowering his voice. “I didn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t have known,” you whispered back.

“I’m sorry,” Kimi said, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. It doesn’t change anything,” You said, wiping your face.

And then, as if to put distance between the two of you, you crossed your arms and said, “By the way, nothing is gonna change between us because of this, okay?”

His gaze softened, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because they both knew everything had changed.

They hadn’t spoken about that night.

Not in Silverstone, not in the messages Kimi never sent, and certainly not now—walking past each other in the paddock like nothing had changed. But it had.

You felt it every time he looked at you.

It wasn’t hatred anymore. It wasn’t even annoyance.

It was knowing.

Knowing your grief. Knowing the promise you made. Knowing how close he was to breaking it.

And worse? You were letting him.

That terrified you more than the memory of the crash.

Ollie had finished P5. Kimi took P2. You found yourself in the back of the paddock, waiting for Ollie, when you saw Kimi approach—sweaty, still in his fireproofs, a towel around his neck.

“You came,” he said, not smug for once. Just surprised.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I came for Ollie.”

“Right,” he said, stepping closer. “You always hang around where I am, for Ollie.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. “I’m not here for you, Antonelli.”

“Sure you’re not,” he said softly, and for once, there was no edge.

Just something warm. Dangerous.

You looked away. “You still drive like a maniac.”

“You still look at me like you want to throw something.”

“I usually do.”

But the banter had lost its bite.

SPA – A FEW WEEKS LATER

After the red flag incident at Spa, you found yourself back in the garage, trying to shake off the trembling feeling you got from seeing the crash footage. Your hands were still shaking, and you kept your head low, hoping no one would notice. But Kimi noticed. He always noticed.

As you turned to leave the garage, Kimi followed you, his footsteps purposeful and steady. He caught up with you just outside, where the noise of the race seemed to fade, and there was only the sound of breathing.

"You good?" His voice was low, almost careful.

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure of how to explain the way the sight of the crash rattled you. He waited, not pushing, but not walking away either. It was a rare moment for Kimi—showing concern without making a joke.

“I’m fine,” you finally muttered, but the words felt weak.

“You’re lying.” His bluntness was almost comforting. Kimi wasn’t one for small talk or pity. He was straightforward, and there was something about that honesty that made you want to open up.

“I don’t... I don’t like seeing crashes,” you admitted quietly, almost as if you hadn’t intended to say it out loud. “It reminds me of... something.”

Kimi didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he stepped a little closer, his expression unreadable.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked simply. No teasing, no sarcasm—just a genuine offer to listen.

For a split second, you almost said yes, but you swallowed the words. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "I just need some air."

Without another word, Kimi simply nodded, respecting your space. But there was a subtle softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. A quiet understanding made your chest tighten.

Kimi found you again in the paddock the next week. And the next. Every time, a little softer, a little less like a contest.

He’d offer you a water bottle after a tough session, like he cared but didn’t know how to show it. He’d pass you a jacket when you stayed too long in the cold, only to have you stare at it with suspicion before you wrapped it around your shoulders.

None of these moments were confessions. But they were becoming something.

One evening, after another sweaty FP3 session, he handed you a bottle of water. “You look like you’re gonna faint.”

You stared at him, not blinking. “And I suppose that’s a you problem?”

“You sure?” Kimi smirked. “’Cause I’m concerned.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And I suppose you think I’ll just melt into your arms now?”

“Maybe.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Get lost.”

In another night, when Ollie left to debrief with his team, Kimi found you lingering in the garage. Alone.

“Stay in here too long, and you’ll freeze to death,” he said, throwing a jacket over your shoulders.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kimi shot back, eyes avoiding yours. “Just—take the jacket.”

You didn’t respond, but for the first time, you didn’t push it away.

Eventually, the boundaries between hate and something else got thinner.

You would never admit it but truth be told, you liked him in ways you couldn’t explain—especially when you remembered the promise you made to yourself. So you hated him instead.

Sometimes, you pass each other in the paddock tunnels, and Kimi would mutter something under his breath — usually sarcastic, occasionally sincere — and you’d snap back with something equally sharp, but neither walked away fast enough.

There was the time he stood behind you in the coffee queue and, without asking, added an extra sugar to your cup before handing it over like it was no big deal. “You always forget,” he said, without looking you in the eye. You didn’t remember ever telling him how you liked your coffee.

Another time, you tripped over a cable while backing up from a chaotic post-race moment, and Kimi instinctively caught you by the waist, steadying you. His hand stayed there longer than it needed to. Long enough that when he finally let go, her skin still felt warm.

There were more moments like that. Subtle, unspoken exchanges chipped away at the distance between them. Like when he unexpectedly stood next to you, post-race. Neither of you spoke, but just having him there—his quiet presence beside you as both of you pretended to ignore the world around you—was enough. It was different than before. More comfortable. More... real.

You tried to ignore the growing feelings that you couldn’t quite shake off. It was stupid. You hated him. You had to. He was an F1 driver. He lived a life that was dangerous and unpredictable. He reminded you too much of what you had lost, what you had sworn to never let back into your life. And yet, with every passing day, it became harder to deny the pull between the two of you.

You still hated him. But there was something else, too.

Something you couldn’t name yet, something you weren’t ready to confront.

After a tense week of press events and interviews, you and Kimi found yourselves in an unusual situation: standing on the roof of the Mercedes garage. It was late, the stars bright against the clear sky, and the bustling noise of the paddock below felt far away.

Kimi was leaning on the railing, his eyes on the horizon. You stood next to him, still trying to figure out why you didn’t feel like pushing him away.

"What's your deal?" you asked, your voice breaking the silence.

He didn’t look at you, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "What do you mean?"

"You’re not the same," you said, unsure if you even meant to say it aloud. "After that day, you're... different."

Kimi let out a slow breath, then finally glanced at you. “I didn’t expect you to break down in front of me, you know. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t notice things.”

You shrugged, feeling the familiar guard come up. “I don't need your pity.”

But Kimi shook his head. “You don’t have to act tough all the time. It’s alright to let people help.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for the first time in a long time, the walls you'd built up felt a little thinner. He didn’t need to say anything more. Kimi was never one for comforting words, but somehow, his presence was more than enough.

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered, but the way you said it was different this time—softer.

Kimi raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like you need it?”

You didn’t answer, but for a brief second, you allowed yourself to lean closer, just a fraction. He didn’t pull away.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, the admission more vulnerable than you ever intended it to be.

MONZA – A FEW WEEKS LATER

You were in the Haas hospitality lounge when it happened. Watching from the screen.

Lap 27. Wet track. Cold tires.

Kimi was fighting for P3. Fast, aggressive, typical Kimi. Then—

The slide.

The barrier.

The silence.

Yellow flag. No movement from Car 12.

“No,” you whispered.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as the screen cut to the crash angle. His car crumpled against the wall. Debris was scattered across the track.

“No,” you said louder, this time running.

Ollie shouted after you. People turned. Cameras clicked, but you didn’t care.

You were already sprinting toward the medical center, soaked by rain, panic building with every step.

Not again.

Not him.

Please, not him.

You burst through the doors of the medical center, breathing heavily. You almost stumbled when you saw him sitting there, his helmet off and looking slightly dazed but not seriously hurt. Relief flooded through you, and you rushed to his side.

He looked up, eyes unfocused for a moment, before he smirked. "You came to see me?"

"Don't get used to it," you muttered, your voice betraying how shaken you were. "I just—"

"Yeah," Kimi interrupted with a teasing grin, "You care. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone."

“I thought—” your voice broke, tears spilling. “God, I thought you were gone.”

He stood, pain shooting through him, but he moved anyway. “Hey, hey, I’m okay.”

You clutched his arm, sobbing, forehead against his chest.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were. “I just... I couldn’t lose someone else,” you whispered, barely audible.

Kimi's smirk softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your arm. "You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere."

For once, the teasing was gone. He wasn’t making light of the situation, but instead, offering something far more genuine: reassurance.

The quiet tension between them melted, and in that moment, for the first time, you let yourself relax.

“I should’ve stayed away from all this,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I told myself I would.”

“I know.”

“I swore I’d never fall for a driver. Never again.”

Kimi fully turned to you, his gaze steady. “But you did.”

Silence.

Then, barely audible: “Yeah.”

A breath. His thumb brushed against your face.

“I was scared of you,” you admitted. “You reminded me of everything I lost.”

“You still scare me,” he said. “You made me feel things I wasn’t ready for.”

“I don’t want to lose you like I lost him.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You won’t. But even if—if that day comes—I’d rather have you now than regret never letting you in.”

A tear slid down your cheek. You didn’t wipe it away.

“You make it really hard to hate you.”

“I’ll take that as progress,” he said with a small smile.

You sniffed. “By the way, nothing’s changed. I still hate you.”

He laughed softly. “Of course you do.”

But they both knew.

Everything had changed.

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x reader x Variants!Mark part 3

Warnings: AFAB Reader, Heavy Pregnancy, Psychological Distress, Possessive Behavior, Multiversal Variants, Angst, Horror Elements, Slight Yandere Themes, Escalating Tension, Action, Desperate Escape Attempt

The fight exploded around you, Mark throwing himself at his Variants with a ferocity that was both desperate and determined. The room became a blur of movement—fists flying, bones cracking, grunts of pain filling the air. But no matter how hard Mark fought, they were relentless, overwhelming him with sheer numbers and experience from lives he hadn’t lived.

One of them, his eyes burning with something primal, managed to strike Mark hard across the jaw, sending him stumbling. Another followed up with a brutal punch to his ribs. Mark barely had time to recover before another Variant grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the wall.

You screamed. "Stop! You’re going to kill him!"

"He’ll live," one of them muttered. "But he needs to learn he can’t keep you from us."

Your stomach clenched—not just from fear, but from the growing tension in your body. The baby was reacting to your distress. You clutched your belly, trying to steady your breath, but the panic only made it worse.

One of the Variants, the one who hadn’t yet laid a hand on Mark, approached you carefully, like a predator cornering prey. "You need to come with us. This isn’t safe for you, love. Look at what he’s making you go through. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this."

"Don’t touch me!" You spat, stepping back, but your legs felt weak.

He sighed, shaking his head. "You don’t get it, do you? We’re not trying to hurt you. We’re trying to fix things. In so many worlds, we never got to have this. We lost you, lost them. But now we have a second chance."

Another Variant, one with a cruel glint in his eye, scoffed. "You keep talking like that matters. We all know the truth. Having her like this, carrying our child, is proof she belongs to us. We don’t need her love. We just need her."

The horror of his words settled deep in your bones, but you had no time to react before Mark roared in rage. He broke free, slamming his head against the Variant holding him, then twisting out of another’s grip. He didn’t hesitate—he lunged toward you, grabbing your wrist.

"Run!" he gasped, dragging you toward the door.

But you barely made it two steps before one of the Variants cut you off, his speed too great to match.

"You can’t run from us," he murmured, tilting his head. "And you shouldn’t even try."

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Mark was trying, but he was exhausted, and you—pregnant and vulnerable—were nothing more than an easy target. The realization made your stomach turn.

You couldn’t escape. Not like this. Not without a plan.

Your breath came fast as your mind raced. If you kept resisting, they’d hurt Mark. If you didn’t… you’d be at their mercy.

"Please…" Your voice trembled. "Don’t hurt him. I’ll—I’ll go with you. Just let him go."

Mark’s grip on you tightened. "No! Don’t—"

One of the Variants chuckled, pleased. "See? She’s reasonable. She understands this is inevitable."

"You son of a—" Mark lunged, but the moment he moved, a Variant grabbed you. His grip was tight, almost reverent, as he pulled you close, shielding you from Mark’s fury.

"That’s enough," the Variant holding you murmured. "No more fighting. We’re leaving."

You struggled, panic rising, but his hold was unyielding. Mark’s eyes burned with helpless rage, and for the first time, you saw it—the fear that he was losing you.

The Variants had won.

And you were being taken.

part 4

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 6✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ A new variant appears?♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Broken Convergence‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 12k+ [Part 6] ☆ TW: fluff ☆ Author's Note: Hi everyone. Sorry for the late update; I went to Knotts Berry Farm and got hella sick. People really need the decency to cover up when coughing (￣へ￣）Anyway, I wrote this chapter with a fever, lol, I hope y'all like it! ––––––––––––––

Omni had only a split second to react. His enhanced senses detected the threat before the sound reached his ears—a rush of air, the crack of wood splintering, and the unmistakable scent of rage. The muscles beneath his red and white suit tensed as years of combat training took over, his jawline hardening with determination.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD OMNI—!"

In one fluid motion, Omni slipped his mask back over his eyes, concealing the vulnerability he'd shown only to Y/N moments before. The black lenses obscured the conflict in his blue eyes as he covered her body with his own. His massive frame enveloped her completely, shielding her from the incoming assault. The mattress springs groaned in protest as he shifted his weight, his arms creating a protective cage around her smaller form.

Mohawk Mark burst through the doorway, the wooden frame exploding into splinters that scattered across the cabin floor like deadly confetti.

His blue and black suit was torn in places, smeared with dirt and blood—evidence of the destruction he'd been wreaking across the planet. His signature mohawk was disheveled, strands of dark hair falling across his forehead like jagged shadows. His eyes blazed with unrestrained fury, pupils constricted to pinpoints as he caught sight of Omni hovering protectively over Y/N.

Mohawk's lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing teeth clenched so tightly that a vein pulsed visibly at his temple. The purple-blue line throbbed beneath his skin in time with his racing heartbeat, a visual indicator of his barely contained rage.

"I KNEW IT!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. The veins in his neck stood out prominently, his face flushed dark with rage until it matched the crimson of his blood-splattered suit.

 "Sneaking off to have her all to yourself!"

He launched himself at Omni, his body becoming a blur of motion. His fist connected with Omni's forearm as the red-suited variant blocked the attack with mathematical precision. The impact sent shockwaves through the cabin, rattling the remaining windows and knocking dust from the ceiling beams. The sound was like a thunderclap contained within the small space, reverberating off the walls and assaulting Y/N's ears.

Despite Omni's protection, Y/N felt the vibration of the impact jolt through her body. Mohawk's knee drove into her abdomen as he collided with Omni, reopening the barely-healed wound in her torso. Her vision exploded with white-hot pain, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as fresh blood soaked through her bandages. The warmth of it against her skin was instant and alarming, a stark contrast to the chill that began to spread through her limbs.

Mohawk's momentum carried both him and Omni through the opposite wall, their bodies tearing through the aged wood like it was paper. Splinters and debris showered the forest floor as they tumbled outside, uprooting trees as they grappled, each impact reverberating through the ground like thunder.

Y/N curled into herself, clutching her reopened wound. Crimson seeped between her fingers, warm and sticky against her skin. The copper scent of her own blood filled her nostrils, making her stomach twist with nausea. Her breath came in short, pained gasps as she tried to focus through the haze of agony. Beads of cold sweat formed on her forehead as her face contorted with pain, her brows drawing together and lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

"Damn it," she hissed through gritted teeth, her pupils dilated with shock. The wound from Prisoner's rusted pipe strike had never fully healed, and No-Mask's hurried medical work hadn't been enough to prevent infection.

As a man-made Viltrumite, she lacked the immunity to disease that true Viltrumites possessed. The infection had been festering beneath her skin, weakening her from within. She could feel it now—the unnatural heat radiating from her wound, the subtle but persistent throbbing that extended beyond the immediate injury.

The cabin creaked ominously around her, the structural integrity compromised by the variants' violent exit. A section of the roof had already partially collapsed, sending dust and debris raining down onto the bed. Y/N's eyes darted around the deteriorating structure, fear flickering across her features as survival instincts finally kicked in.

Outside, the battle intensified. Mohawk pounded his fist into the ground where Omni had been a millisecond before, the impact creating a crater six feet wide. The earth itself seemed to scream in protest, fracturing and buckling under the force of his rage.

"She's not yours!" Mohawk bellowed, throwing a punch that connected with Omni's jaw. The sound was like thunder, the shockwave rattling what remained of the cabin's windows. His eyes were wild, pupils constricted to pinpoints, lips pulled back in a snarl that revealed clenched teeth. A thin line of saliva stretched between his upper and lower lip as he shouted, his rage turning him feral. "None of us get to have her if all of us can't!"

Omni absorbed the blow, head snapping to the side before he recovered, his movements calculated and precise despite the fury of Mohawk's attack. Unlike his opponent, Omni's face remained a mask of calm, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, the only evidence that Mohawk's blow had landed. He wiped it away with mathematical precision, not a wasted movement in sight.

"You don't understand what's happening," Omni stated, his voice level despite the situation. He dodged another punch, the air whistling as Mohawk's fist passed inches from his face. His body moved with fluid grace, each dodge and counter-strike executed with perfect efficiency. "She needed protection—"

"Protection?!" Mohawk laughed, the sound hollow and manic as he grabbed a nearby tree, uprooting it with terrifying ease. Soil and roots dangled from the massive trunk as he hefted it like a bat. Muscles bulged beneath his torn suit, veins standing out in stark relief against his skin. His eyes glittered with cruel amusement. "Is that what you call fucking her while she's injured? Some protection!"

Y/N felt heat rush to her face at Mohawk's crude accusation, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and indignation. The cabin creaked ominously around her, the structural integrity compromised by the variants' violent exit. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling, a section of which had already partially collapsed.

Something primal stirred within her—self-preservation that had lain dormant under the collar's suppression. With desperate concentration, she focused on the power that had been denied her for so long. The sensation was like electricity coursing through her veins, uncomfortable yet exhilarating. Her muscles trembled with the effort, her face contorting as she pushed against her limitations, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched.

The energy within her built slowly at first, then with increasing speed—a tingling at her core that spread outward to her limbs. It was like rediscovering a part of herself that had been amputated, painful in its return yet undeniably right. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, fine hairs standing on end as power surged through her.

With a strained grunt, Y/N launched herself toward the hole Omni and Mohawk had created. Her flight was wobbly, unpracticed—she ricocheted off the remaining wall, crying out as the impact sent fresh waves of pain through her torso. Blood trickled from the reopened wound, drops falling like crimson rain to the ruined cabin below as she corrected her trajectory and burst through the opening just as the cabin's roof collapsed with a deafening crash.

Dust and debris billowed outward, enveloping her in a cloud of particles that stung her eyes and choked her lungs. She coughed violently, each spasm sending darts of pain through her reopened wound. Her flight faltered, her concentration wavering as she struggled to stay airborne.

Outside, the battle intensified. Mohawk and Omni clashed in midair, the sound of their collisions echoing like cannon fire. Where Mohawk fought with wild, erratic movements fueled by emotional rage, Omni moved with precision, each strike calculated for maximum effect. Trees splintered and fell as they used the forest as their battleground, neither willing to yield.

"JUST FUCKING DIE!! She's MINE!" Mohawk roared, his voice cracking with emotion. His eyes were wild and unfocused, the veins in his forehead prominent as he drove his fist toward Omni's face. Sweat beaded on his brow, flying off in droplets with each violent movement. His mohawk had become completely disheveled, hanging limply to one side. "I found her first!"

Omni deflected the blow with efficiency, his expression composed despite the fury blazing behind his mask. His jawline remained tense, only the slight flare of his nostrils betraying his emotional state as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Every movement was a study in controlled power, not a single motion wasted.

"Your claim is irrelevant," Omni replied, his voice cold and even. His eyes narrowed behind his mask, assessing Mohawk's weaknesses with clinical precision. Each word was delivered with perfect speech as if he were discussing a scientific theory rather than fighting for the possession of a woman. "You're too volatile, too unpredictable. You'll get her killed."

Y/N hovered uncertainly above the destruction, her limbs heavy and uncooperative as she struggled to maintain altitude. The forest below was being systematically destroyed, a mirror of the greater devastation they'd been inflicting on the planet before she had entered their lives. Massive trees lay uprooted, their ancient trunks splintered like matchsticks. Craters scarred the earth where superhuman blows had connected, the once-lush landscape now resembling a war zone.

"Enjoying the fight, my little warrior?" a silky voice whispered in her ear.

The whispered words caressed her ear, warm breath tickling her neck. Y/N flinched violently, her concentration breaking as she faltered in the air. The almost imperceptible scent of expensive cologne mixed with something darker, more primal, invaded her nostrils. Her stomach lurched as she began to fall—only to be caught by strong arms that pulled her firmly against a solid chest.

Sinister's hold was both gentle and possessive, his yellow and black suit vibrant against the blue sky. His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes—eyes that burned with an intensity that made her breath catch. The scent of sulfur and something darker, more primal, clung to him as he pressed his nose against the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply like a predator committing its prey's scent to memory. His breath was hot against her skin, raising goosebumps despite the fever burning through her.

His entire body stiffened, the smile freezing on his face. When he pulled back to look at her, his expression had transformed into something dangerous, the mask of charm slipping to reveal the predator beneath. His pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the iris as his nostrils flared, drinking in her scent with animal intensity.

"Why does Omni's scent cover you so completely?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. His fingers dug into her arms, not enough to bruise but enough to demonstrate the barely leashed strength he possessed. The veins in his neck stood out prominently as he struggled to control his reaction, pulsing visibly beneath his skin. 

"He was watching you… What exactly happened between you two in that cabin?"

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but Sinister's grip shifted, one hand moving to cup her face. His thumb and forefinger pressed against her cheeks, squeezing until her lips puckered slightly. A drop of blood welled at the corner of her mouth where her split lip reopened, the metallic taste coating her tongue. His touch was paradoxically gentle despite the power behind it, his fingers warm against her fever-chilled skin.

"Why him?" Sinister whispered, his face close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. Something vulnerable flashed in his eyes, a momentary glimpse of raw pain before it was swallowed by possessive fury. The muscles in his jaw worked beneath his skin, tension radiating from his body. 

"Why not me? I would have protected you just as fiercely. I would have worshipped you more thoroughly."

His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, wiping away the blood. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted sharply with the tension radiating from his body. His pupils dilated as he stared at the smear of crimson on his glove, his breathing becoming more ragged. He brought the blood-stained finger to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the crimson smear. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the metallic taste of her. When they opened again, they were darker, hungrier.

"Release her, Sinister."

The commanding voice cut through the tension like a knife. Viltrumite Mark hovered several feet away, his pristine white uniform a stark contrast against the smoky sky. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his face a mask of disapproval, eyes cold with barely restrained anger. Unlike the others, Viltrumite Mark carried himself with an almost regal bearing—shoulders squared, chin raised, every inch of him radiating authority.

"This doesn't concern you, old man," Sinister snarled.

His grip on Y/N remained unyielding, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her suit where it clung to her fever-dampened skin. The heat of his body radiated through the material, creating a cocoon of warmth that simultaneously comforted and alarmed her. His arm snaked possessively around her waist, resting just below her wound. The subtle pressure sent lightning bolts of pain through her abdomen, yet there was something intimately protective in the way he held her—like she was something precious he'd lost and miraculously found again.

Viltrumite Mark's expression hardened, the muscles in his jaw flexing beneath his skin like steel cables being pulled taut. Afternoon sunlight caught in his eyes, illuminating the amber flecks hidden within the depths of brown, giving them an almost supernatural glow. A subtle twitch appeared at the corner of his right eye—the only visible indication of his growing anger.

"Everything concerning her involves all of us," he stated, his voice dropping an octave, the words vibrating with barely restrained fury.

He moved closer, each step measured and precise, the pristine white of his uniform a stark contrast to the destruction surrounding them. The devastated forest stretched like a wound across the landscape, with uprooted trees, and shattered earth testament to the variants' earlier battle. The distant smoke of burning cities hung on the horizon, a grim reminder of the chaos they had unleashed upon this world.

"You will release her. Now." The command hung in the air, heavy with authority.

"Or what?" Sinister's lips stretched into a smile that was all teeth, gleaming white against his tanned skin.

His eyes never left Viltrumite Mark's face, challenge radiating from his posture—from the defiant tilt of his chin to the ready tension in his shoulders. His body coiled like a spring, prepared for conflict, fingers digging minutely deeper into Y/N's flesh. The small indentations would surely leave bruises, and violet shadows to mark his possession.

"You'll fight me? Go ahead," he taunted, his breath hot against Y/N's ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "But remember who bleeds if I drop her."

"Stop it," Y/N said, her voice stronger than she expected.

She pressed her palms against Sinister's chest, creating a small space between them. The firm muscle beneath her fingers tensed at her touch, his heartbeat pounding against her palms like a war drum. Her eyes flashed with determination despite the pain etched into the lines of her face, fever making her skin glow almost luminescent in the filtered sunlight that pierced through the swirling dust.

"I'm not a prize to be fought over," she declared, each word precise and cutting.

Both variants looked at her with surprise, clearly not expecting resistance from her in her weakened state. A bead of sweat traced its way down her temple, a testament to the infection raging through her system, yet her gaze remained steady and defiant.

Viltrumite Mark recovered first, his expression softening fractionally. The harsh lines around his mouth relaxed, though the tension in his powerful frame remained. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly, becoming less threatening while still maintaining his authority—a predator choosing to retract its claws, but only momentarily.

"Of course not," he agreed, inclining his head slightly. The gesture was almost courtly, a curious formality amidst the apocalyptic landscape. "You are far more valuable than any prize. Which is precisely why you should not be manhandled by this—" his lip curled with distaste, "—degenerate."

Sinister's laughter erupted, sharp and brittle like breaking glass. It bounced off the ruined landscape, echoing in the unnatural silence that had fallen over the devastated forest.

"Such hypocrisy!" he spat, the words dripping with contempt. "You fucking smell her too, don't you?"

He leaned in closer to Y/N, his nose brushing against the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. The intimate gesture was performed with deliberate provocation, his eyes remaining fixed on Viltrumite Mark, gleaming with malicious amusement. 

His lips, warm and soft, grazed her pulse point—not quite a kiss, but something more possessive, more primal. Y/N couldn't suppress the involuntary shudder that rippled through her body, her traitorous nerves responding to his touch despite her better judgment.

"Tell me, old man," Sinister continued, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that seemed to caress her skin, "does it burn you up inside knowing he got to her first? That she chose that cold, calculating bastard over the rest of us?"

Viltrumite Mark's nostrils flared as he took in the scene, his enhanced senses confirming what Sinister had said. The scent of another variant on Y/N's skin was unmistakable—the unique pheromonal signature of Omni lingering on her like an invisible brand. His expression hardened, the lines around his mouth deepening as his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek.

The white of his uniform seemed to glow in the afternoon light, immaculate despite the chaos around him—a visual representation of his attempt to maintain control, to rise above the base instincts that drove the other variants.

"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. His gaze fixed on Sinister, misinterpreting the situation. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking with the tension. "You think you can claim her? Mark her with your scent like some animal?"

Sinister's lips pulled back in a sneer, his arms tightening protectively around Y/N. For all his antagonism, there was something genuinely defensive in the way he held her now as if shielding her from judgment.

"Are you blind? I just fucking told you it wasn't me," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. The vein in his temple pulsed visibly with each heartbeat, his anger a living thing beneath his skin. "It was Omni. The so-called perfect, logical Mark couldn't keep his hands to himself."

Viltrumite's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed to slits. His carefully maintained composure cracked, revealing a glimpse of the fury beneath. The perfect stillness of his body was more threatening than any movement could have been.

"Liar," he snarled, launching himself at Sinister with blinding speed.

Sinister released Y/N just before impact, sending her tumbling through the air as he met Viltrumite Mark's charge. The collision sent shockwaves through the atmosphere, the sound like a thunderclap as the two variants grappled midair. Their bodies moved so quickly they became blurs of yellow, black, and white, punctuated by the explosive sounds of their blows connecting.

Y/N struggled to stabilize herself, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. The infection was spreading rapidly, sapping her strength with each passing moment. Her vision blurred, the world tilting dangerously around her. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her skin flushed with fever despite the chill in the air. The edges of her sight darkened, threatening unconsciousness as her body fought the invasive infection.

Below, the battle had escalated. Omni and Mohawk had noticed the new conflict and were now involved in a four-way brawl that tore through what remained of the forest like a tornado. Trees snapped like toothpicks under the force of their blows, the earth itself cratering with each impact. The air vibrated with the concussive force of their combat, dust and debris swirling in chaotic patterns around the fighting variants.

Most of the forest had been uprooted, leaving a desolate wasteland punctuated by splintered stumps and massive trees embedded in the earth like javelins. Boulders had been pulverized into dust, the very ground scarred and cratered by their supernatural strength. The destruction was systematic and complete—a microcosm of what they had been doing to the entire planet.

Y/N watched in horror as the variants tried to tear each other apart. All because of her. All because each believed she belonged to them alone. Her heart raced, pounding against her ribcage as if trying to escape. The stitches in her side pulled with each labored breath, blood still seeping through the bandages to stain her clothing.

"Stop!" she cried, her voice lost in the cacophony of destruction. Her face contorted with desperation, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Please, stop!"

Mohawk, his face twisted in a feral snarl, ripped a massive tree from the ground and hurled it at Omni. The red-suited variant easily dodged, the improvised projectile sailing past him toward Sinister and Viltrumite.

Both variants moved in unison, avoiding the missile without breaking their combat rhythm. Viltrumite punched the tree as it passed, splitting it in half. One section continued its trajectory, spinning wildly through the air.

Directly toward Y/N.

Under normal circumstances, she would have easily evaded the danger. But weakened by infection, disoriented by blood loss, and out of practice with her powers, Y/N found herself frozen in place. Her muscles locked, her mind blank with sudden panic, eyes wide with terror. The fever clouding her thoughts slowed her reactions to a crawl, leaving her hovering helplessly in the path of destruction.

The massive tree trunk hurtled toward her, and she couldn't move.

Time seemed to slow. Y/N watched the projectile approach, oddly detached from the reality of her impending doom. She could see the rough texture of the bark, and count the rings in the exposed wood where it had been torn from the earth. She could make out individual leaves still clinging to its branches, trembling in the disturbed air. She could hear the whistle of air being displaced as it approached, feel the subtle change in pressure against her skin.

"NO!" The cry came from multiple throats at once, a chorus of horror as all four variants realized her peril simultaneously.

They moved as one, abandoning their fights to converge on Y/N. Four blurs—red and white, blue and black, yellow and black, pure white—streaked through the air, racing against the projectile threatening to end her life.

Omni reached her first, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her aside. His body was solid and warm against hers, his grip secure yet careful to avoid her injury.

 The scent of him—clean, masculine, with undertones of sandalwood—enveloped her, familiar from the night before together. For a moment, despite the danger, her body responded to his proximity, remembering the gentle yet passionate way he had touched her in the cabin.

Sinister appeared a fraction of a second later, his body positioned to shield her from impact. His back pressed against her front, creating a protective sandwich with Omni behind her. The heat of his body seeped through her suit, his powerful back muscles tensing as he prepared to take the brunt of the impact. There was something achingly vulnerable in his willingness to use his body as a shield for her—this man who had helped destroy her world.

Viltrumite Mark and Mohawk arrived in the same instant, each grabbing part of the tree trunk, their combined strength bringing it to an abrupt halt mere inches from where Y/N now hovered in Omni's protective embrace. The wood splintered under their grip, sap oozing from the fresh breaks like amber tears.

The sudden silence was deafening after the chaos of battle. All four variants were breathing heavily, not from exertion but from fear—fear for her safety. Their eyes were wide, pupils dilated, faces drained of color at how close they had come to losing her again.

Y/N stared at the tree trunk still held in Viltrumite Mark and Mohawk's grip, her heart hammering against her ribs. The blood drained from her face as shock set in, leaving her pale and trembling, her lips bloodless and parted in silent terror. 

For a moment, she couldn't process how close she'd come to death. Her mind struggled to reconcile the violence around her with the protective circle now forming.

A hot flush spread across her cheeks as she realized the intensity of their gazes. Each variant looked at her with fierce protectiveness—Omni's eyes burned with determination behind his mask, his jaw set tight; Mohawk's wild gaze was tempered with genuine fear, his usual sneer replaced with concern; Sinister's face showed naked possessiveness, his lips slightly parted and breath ragged; and Viltrumite Mark's regal features were softened by relief, his eyes reflecting a pain born from past loss.

Omni's arm tightened around her waist, careful to avoid her injury. "Are you alright?" he murmured in her ear, his voice low and urgent as his hot breath fanned over one side of her face.

Despite the mask covering his eyes, she could see the concern etched into every line of his face—the tight set of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, the tension around his mouth. For once, his voice held a tremor of emotion, breaking through his usually perfect control. The hand at her waist moved in a small circle, a subtle, unconscious caress that sent warmth blooming through her despite her weakened state.

"I—yes," she managed, though her voice shook as badly as her limbs. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her weak and disoriented. Blood continued to seep through her bandages, the crimson stain spreading wider across the fabric. The world spun around her, fever and blood loss taking their toll. She leaned heavily against Omni, no longer able to support her own weight.

Mohawk and Viltrumite Mark discarded the tree trunk, letting it fall to the devastated landscape below with a thunderous crash. The four variants formed a protective circle around Y/N, their previous animosity temporarily forgotten in the wake of her near-miss. Their bodies created a wall between her and the world, a barrier made of flesh and bone and superhuman power.

Y/N looked at each of them in turn, seeing the intensity in their eyes, the tension in their faces, and the mix of possessiveness and genuine concern that animated their features. It was overwhelming, this circle of identical yet different men, all focused solely on her. Each face was the same, yet each expression was unique—Omni's controlled precision, Mohawk's volatile emotion, Sinister's predatory charm, Viltrumite Mark's regal authority.

"This is ridiculous," she said, her voice steadier now despite the blood loss making her light-headed. Her eyes flashed with defiance, fever giving them an unnatural brightness. "You're fighting over me like I'm some... some trophy, but none of you bothered to ask what I want."

The variants exchanged glances, a mixture of guilt and stubbornness on their faces. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that crackled in the air like electricity. For a moment, no one spoke, the only sound was the distant crash of falling trees damaged in their battle.

Mohawk was the first to break the silence, a bark of laughter escaping his throat. The sound was harsh and abrupt, startling against the sudden quiet. His blue and black suit was torn in places, revealing tanned skin beneath. Dust and debris clung to his signature mohawk, dulling its usual sharp silhouette.

"Well, sleeping beauty, what do you want?" he asked, cocking his head to one side, his mohawk flopping slightly with the movement.

There was genuine curiosity beneath his usual bravado, his brown eyes searching her face intently. A drop of blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, tracing a path down his temple like a crimson tear. His gaze flicked briefly to Omni's arm still wrapped around her waist, a scowl darkening his features.

"Because from where I'm standing, it looks like Omni already staked his claim." The accusation hung in the air, loaded with resentment and jealousy.

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks, painfully aware of how she must appear to them—Omni's scent on her skin, her lips still swollen from his kisses, her body cradled protectively against his. She felt Omni's grip tighten almost imperceptibly around her waist, a silent claim that contradicted his seemingly logical demeanor. His thumb moved in a small, soothing circle against her side, the gesture intimate and possessive.

"I don't belong to anyone," she stated firmly, though her voice lacked some conviction as she remained in Omni's embrace. Her chin lifted defiantly, eyes flashing with feverish intensity. "Not the GDA, not Cecil, and not..." she hesitated, her eyes moving from one variant to the next, lingering on each identical yet distinct face, "...not any of you."

They all pause, as the air around them seems to wobble, particles shifting in an unnatural pattern before turning to normal…

She sighed ignoring it as a bitter laugh escaped her lips. The sound was hollow, edged with pain and frustration. "Without the collar, I don't serve a purpose for any of you. I'm not a weapon, not a tool to be used and discarded." The words burned in her throat, raw with emotion. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles white with tension.

Viltrumite Mark's expression softened almost imperceptibly. The hard lines around his mouth relaxed, his eyes warming with something akin to tenderness. The white of his uniform caught the late afternoon light, giving him an almost angelic appearance that belied the destruction he had helped cause.

"You misunderstand," he said, his voice gentler than she had ever heard it. 

"We used the collar as just another means for us convincing ourselves there was a logical approach to keeping you alive. Now without it, our claim still stands,” he hums softly.

“We don't seek to own you or use you. We seek to cherish you." A flicker of vulnerability crossed his usually stoic face, a glimpse of the man beneath the regal exterior. "Each of us lost you once. We cannot bear to lose you again."

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Y/N's eyes widened slightly, the sincerity in his voice striking something deep within her. Before she could respond, another voice cut through the moment.

"Can't we all just have her?" The question came from behind them, unexpected and startling.

All heads turned to see No-Mask hovering several yards away, his expression unusually thoughtful. Unlike the others, his face was still fully visible, allowing Y/N to see the earnestness in his eyes, the slight uncertainty in the set of his mouth. His face was somehow softer, more open than the others, lacking the hardened edge that years of wearing a mask had given them.

Without the barrier of a mask, his emotions were laid bare—confusion, desire, hope all visible in his expressive features. The late afternoon sun gilded his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the depths of his unguarded eyes. There was something disarmingly honest about him that made Y/N's heart flutter despite her condition.

"What did you just say?" Sinister's voice was dangerously soft as he regarded No-Mask. His body tensed, readying for another potential fight, the muscle in his jaw jumping with tension.

"I mean, she's clearly important to all of us," No-Mask continued, his expression thoughtful. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was both nervous and thoughtful. 

"Fighting over her is just going to get her killed." His eyes darted to Y/N's wound, concern evident in his gaze. "Look at her—she's already suffering because of our conflict."

Another figure appeared beside him, drifting lazily through the air. Prisoner Mark, his burned face twisted in a permanent sneer, his eyes roving over Y/N's body with unconcealed interest. The scar tissue pulled his lips into an asymmetrical grimace that might have been a smile. Light glinted off the metal restraints still attached to his wrists, remnants of his imprisonment that he wore like trophies.

"I mean, she's got three holes," he drawled, his voice rough and gravelly from smoke damage. 

"But we can make it work." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the movement slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving Y/N's body. The crude suggestion hung in the air, made all the more disturbing by his casual delivery.

Disgust and revulsion flooded through Y/N, her stomach churning with nausea, her upper lip curling in distaste. Yet beneath her revulsion, there was something else—a flutter of confused interest as no one seemed to disagree with Prisoner's statement. The silence from the others was deafening, their lack of objection more telling than any words could have been.

She looked up at Omni, his hands still loosely around her waist. His face betrayed nothing, but the tension in his body told a different story. The muscles beneath his suit were coiled tight, his breathing carefully controlled. She thought she had built a connection with him in the cabin during their half-night together. She thought he saw her differently, as more than just a replacement for the Y/N he had lost. But now, surrounded by these men who all wore the same face, she wasn't sure anymore.

The realization hit her like a physical blow: Why were all these men so obsessed with her? Was it truly her they wanted, or the memory of the women they had lost? Was she nothing more than a ghost to them, a shadow of women long dead?

She needed to get away. Away from these men who looked at her like she was a prize to be won, a possession to be claimed. Away from the conflicting emotions they stirred within her—the disgust and the attraction, the fear and the longing.

With a desperate surge of strength, Y/N pushed Omni away and fled, pushing her weakened body to its limits as she shot through the air. The wind whipped past her face, cooling the fever heat of her skin. Below, the forest blurred into a sea of green, the destruction caused by the variants' battle a dark scar across the landscape.

Freedom was within her grasp. She could escape, could find somewhere to hide until she'd recovered enough to—

Strong hands closed around her waist, halting her flight so suddenly that the air was knocked from her lungs. Looking back, she found herself staring into Mohawk's face, his expression unexpectedly gentle despite the harsh lines etched around his mouth. The setting sun backlit his signature mohawk, creating a halo effect that softened his typically menacing appearance. Tiny beads of sweat glistened along his temples, catching the golden light. His jaw—usually set in a perpetual sneer—had relaxed, revealing a vulnerability she hadn't seen before.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice firm but gentle. His hands were steady on her waist, his grip secure without being painful. "Not in your condition."

Unlike the other variants, Mohawk wore his emotions openly on his face. The harsh lines around his mouth had softened, and his perpetually furrowed brow had relaxed. His eyes—those deep brown pools flecked with amber when caught in the right light—held a desperate intensity that made her breath catch. Behind the typical hardness of his expression lurked something raw and unguarded. When he looked at her, the snarky mask slipped, revealing not just desire but a terrifying depth of obsession.

Even now, as he held her suspended in the air, his thumbs absently traced small circles against her sides. The sensation sent shivers across her fevered skin, conflicting emotions of comfort and unease battling within her.

"Let me go," Y/N demanded, her voice weaker than she intended. She struggled against his hold, but her strength was fading rapidly. The infection was spreading, her temperature rising dangerously. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, trailing down her temples in rivulets that caught the dying sunlight like diamond tracks. Her skin flushed an alarming crimson, hot to the touch and stretched taut across her cheekbones. "I don't belong to any of you!"

"No, you don't," Mohawk agreed, surprising her. His voice cracked slightly, betraying his emotional state. The hand not supporting her waist came up to brush a sweat-soaked strand of hair from her forehead. His calloused fingers felt blessedly cool against her burning skin.

"But you need help. You're dying, Y/N. You are not a Viltrumite like the rest of us... you are man-made." His eyes dropped to her wound, where fresh blood was seeping through the bandages, the crimson stain spreading in a grotesque blooming pattern across the fabric. The metallic scent of her blood hung in the air between them, sharp and alarming. "Your body can't fight this infection without help."

The blunt assessment stopped her struggles. She knew he was right—could feel her body failing, the infection burning through her defenses like wildfire. Without proper medical care, she wouldn't survive much longer. The fever was clouding her thoughts, making her limbs heavy and uncooperative. Her vision blurred at the edges, reality wavering like heat rising from desert sand.

"Why do you care?" she asked, her voice small and vulnerable. She searched his face, looking for deceit, for hidden motives. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across his features, highlighting the tension around his eyes, the tiny scar at his jawline she hadn't noticed before. A muscle jumped erratically beneath the skin of his cheek, betraying his carefully controlled emotions.

"I'm not your Y/N. I'm not any of your Y/Ns." Her voice cracked on the last word, raw emotion breaking through. "Why can't any of you just see me for ME?!"

Mohawk's expression softened, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his eyebrows drew together in an expression of heartbreaking honesty. "No, you're not," he acknowledged.

His eyes revealed everything he couldn't say. As she looked into their brown depths, she saw beyond the anger and violence that defined him—saw the obsession simmering beneath. 

Mohawk wasn't just attracted to her; he was consumed by her, possessed by her very existence in a way that bordered on terrifying. There was love there, yes, but twisted and desperate, born from loss and madness.

"But you're still Y/N. A different version, perhaps, but still the woman we all loved—in our own ways, in our own worlds." He faltered, struggling with words that didn't come easily to him. "Fuck it, I can't... Fuck," he mumbled, his composure cracking further.

His hands came up to her face, moving slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. Y/N glared at him but remained still, allowing his touch. His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against her fevered skin, calloused thumbs brushing across her cheekbones with a tenderness that seemed out of place amidst the destruction surrounding them.

The physical contrast was striking—his massive hands, capable of ripping trees from the earth and punching through concrete, now cradling her face as if she were made of spun glass. She could see the dirt embedded beneath his fingernails, the scrapes across his knuckles from the earlier battle, the slight tremor that betrayed his emotional state. Each point where his skin touched hers became an anchor in her fever-hazed world, electric and alive.

Mohawk's eyes revealed everything he couldn't say. She could see the microscopic dilation of his pupils as they fixed on her face, the slight moisture gathering at the corners, the way the afternoon light caught the amber flecks within the deep brown. Tiny blood vessels mapped the whites of his eyes, evidence of exhaustion and stress. His lashes—longer than she'd noticed before—cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinked.

He traced the contours of her face as if memorizing them, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly—like he was touching a ghost he'd never expected to see again. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, the touch feather-light yet sending shockwaves through her system. 

The pad of his thumb was rough, calloused from years of violence, yet his touch was exquisitely gentle.

"Please... fucking please, I waited so long..." he whispered, his voice breaking with need, quivering with a vulnerability that the cocky Mohawk would never normally allow anyone to hear. 

His eyes dropped to her lips, darkening with desire, his breath coming faster, stirring the loose strands of hair around her face. "Let me."

“I know Omni got to kiss you first... to hold you first... but I need this more than I've ever needed anything…” His expression spoke volumes, raw emotion written across features usually set in arrogant lines. The late afternoon sun caught in his eyes, illuminating the desperate yearning there—a silent plea that went beyond mere desire.

Despite everything—her anger, her confusion, her illness—Y/N found herself nodding, a barely perceptible movement. Mohawk leaned forward slowly, giving her time to change her mind. His lips brushed against hers, gentle and questioning at first, then with growing hunger as she didn't pull away.

He growled against her lips, a primal sound that vibrated through her core. He spoke against her lips. At this moment, nothing else existed—not the destruction below, not the other variants flying towards them, watching, not even the infection ravaging her body. There was only this connection, this single point where past and present converged.

The kiss deepened, his lips warm and insistent against hers. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he drew her closer. The slight scratch of his stubble against her skin added to the sensory overload, a delicious friction that contrasted with the surprising softness of his lips. Mohawk kissed with none of his usual aggression, instead with a desperate yearning that spoke of years of loneliness.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open briefly during the kiss, catching glimpses of his expression—eyes closed in concentration, brow relaxed, the harsh lines of his face softened by something akin to peace. When his eyes opened to meet hers, she saw naked adoration in them, dreamy and unfocused with desire. His lips, usually set in a hard line or cruel smirk, were soft against hers, moving with a gentleness that belied his brutal nature.

Despite his obvious hunger, he held himself in check, fighting the urge to deepen the kiss further, to run his hands over her body. She could feel the restraint in the tension of his muscles, in the careful placement of his hands—one at her waist, one at her nape, both trembling slightly with the effort not to crush her against him.

Y/N found herself responding, her hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the thunderous beating of his heart beneath her palms. The solid warmth of him was like an anchor in a storm, steadying her as fever and desire made her head spin. His suit was damp with sweat and smooth against her fingertips, the powerful muscles beneath twitching at her touch. For a moment, the world around them faded—the destruction, the other variants, her illness—all of it receding as she lost herself in the passionate fire of his kiss.

He gently pulled her flush against him, a soft gasp escaping her as their bodies connected. The height difference between them meant that his evident arousal pressed against her stomach rather than her hips, the prominence of his bulge impossible to ignore even through his full-body suit. Glancing down briefly, she could see where the fabric stretched taut, a small dark stain spreading at the tip where his excitement had overcome even the containment of his uniform.

His response to her was primal and unashamed, his body reacting with an honesty his words couldn't match. Each small sound she made—each gasp and sigh—elicited a corresponding groan from him, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into her own. He mumbled incoherently against her lips, soft words meant only for her, desperate professions intermingled with curses.

"Oh god," he whispered against her mouth, the words half prayer, half profanity.

The moment was shattered by a growl of rage.

Y/N and Mohawk broke apart to find the other variants surrounding them, faces twisted with jealousy and possessiveness. The passionate moment dissolved into tension as four pairs of identical yet distinct eyes locked onto them with tangible fury.

Omni's usually composed features were dark with fury, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. The perfect order of his appearance had fractured—his hair disheveled from the earlier fight, a vein pulsing prominently at his temple, his breathing uncharacteristically ragged. What made the display so shocking was how completely it shattered his carefully maintained facade of control. 

Sinister's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits behind his black lenses, his shoulders rising and falling with each rapid breath. His gloved hands opened and closed reflexively at his sides, the leather creaking audibly with each movement. The smirk that typically adorned his face had vanished, replaced by a thin-lipped expression of pure rage. Unlike Omni, Sinister made no attempt to hide his emotions—his jealousy radiated from him in almost visible waves.

Viltrumite Mark's jaw worked silently beneath his skin, the muscle jumping erratically at the hinge. His white uniform, though still immaculate compared to the others, bore smudges of dirt and debris from the earlier conflict. His eyes never left Y/N's face, something possessive and dangerous lurking in their depths.

No-Mask's reaction was the most naked, his face contorted with undisguised pain and betrayal. Without the barrier of a mask, every emotion played across his features in high definition—the shock, the hurt, the jealousy. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, as if the sight of Y/N in Mohawk's arms had robbed him of speech. A flush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks crimson with emotion.

HI gaze dropped momentarily to the prominent bulge in Mohawk's suit, the wet spot at the tip of his erection visible to all. No-Mask's expression shifted from pain to embarrassment to anger in rapid succession, his own body responding involuntarily to the sight of Y/N's flushed face and swollen lips.

Sinister caught the direction of No-Mask's gaze and let out a bark of laughter, the sound brittle and sharp. "Getting a little excited there, Mohawk? Can't say I blame you." His tone was deliberately casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his own jealousy. 

"Though I prefer a more... private approach to these matters." Despite his mocking words, there was an undercurrent of pure rage in his voice.

As soon as the other variants approached, Mohawk's arm tightened around Y/N, his moment of vulnerability disappearing behind a sneer. The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken tension as the others formed a loose circle around them, hovering like sentinels in the devastated sky.

Omni's face was a study in controlled panic. While his posture remained rigid and his movements precise, his jaw muscle twitched beneath the skin, a hairline fracture in his perfect composure. The corner of his left eye spasmed minutely, and a vein at his temple pulsed in rhythm with his accelerated heartbeat. His breathing was deliberately measured, each inhale and exhale carefully calibrated to maintain the illusion of calm while his eyes, behind his mask, never left Y/N's face.

"I thought we forged something unique in the cabin," he stated, his voice carefully neutral despite the accusation inherent in the words. "Was that a lie?"

Sinister's head tilted slightly forward like a predator tracking wounded prey. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening in the afternoon light. The corner of his mouth curled upward in a half-smile that never reached his eyes—eyes hidden behind black lenses that reflected Y/N's own pale face back at her.

"Don't act so surprised, Omni," he taunted, his voice silky with malice. "Did you think she would be satisfied with your clinical approach to pleasure? Your calculated touches and precisely timed kisses?" He moved closer to Y/N and Mohawk, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face with unexpected gentleness. "She needs passion, fire... not your cold logic."

No-Mask couldn't contain his panic, hovering several feet away, hands opening and closing at his sides. His eyes were wide and wild, darting between Y/N and the blood seeping through her bandages. The crimson stain had grown significantly larger during the brief kiss, the fabric now saturated to a disturbing degree.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Viltrumite Mark snarled, his regal composure shattered completely. His pristine white uniform stood in stark contrast to the chaos of his emotions, the fabric rippling as his muscles tensed beneath. His usually authoritative demeanor had given way to something raw and urgent. "She's dying, and you're all fighting over who gets to kiss her next? Are your dicks controlling your brains now?"

The crude phrasing from the typically dignified Viltrumite Mark shocked them all into momentary silence. He no longer hovered regally above them but had descended to their level, hands clenched into fists at his sides, jaw set in a hard line.

"You need medical attention," Omni stated, his voice steady despite the worry evident in his eyes. A single bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, disappearing beneath the edge of his mask. His hands opened and closed at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking softly with each movement. "The infection is spreading rapidly. If we don't act soon, you'll die."

"So what?" Y/N challenged, her voice brittle with pain and defiance. She pushed away from Mohawk, her movements uncoordinated and weak. Blood had soaked through her bandages completely now, the fabric dark and heavy against her skin. The metallic scent hung in the air around her, sharp and concerning. Her eyes burned with fever, pupils dilated and unfocused as she swept her gaze across all of them. "Why should I trust any of you? You came here to destroy my world, to kill everyone!"

The accusation hung in the air between them, sharp and undeniable. The devastation below—uprooted trees, cratered earth, the distant smoke of burning cities—stood as mute testament to her words. From their elevated position, they could see the destruction that stretched to the horizon—forests flattened, roads cratered, and buildings reduced to rubble. In the distance, several pillars of smoke rose from what had once been thriving communities, now reduced to ash and debris.

Silence fell over the group, heavy with unspoken guilt. It was Sinister who finally broke it, his usual swagger absent as he spoke.

"Because we lost you once," he said, his voice low and controlled, though something in it wavered ever so slightly. He didn't remove his black lenses, but the set of his mouth—usually twisted in a cruel smirk—had softened into something almost vulnerable. "All of us, in different ways. And it broke us."

He gestured around at the assembled variants, his movements precise and measured, lacking their usual predatory grace.

"Look at what we became without you. Monsters. Killers." He paused, a smirk returning to his lips as he added, "Well, I was always a killer. Enjoyed it, too. But the others..." He let the implication hang, eyes hidden behind his black lenses but his meaning clear.

He floated closer to Y/N, his approach cautious, as if afraid she might flee again. When he stood before her, he did something unexpected—he took her hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against her skin as his thumb traced gentle circles on her wrist.

"I know you're not her—not my Y/N," he said softly. "But when I saw you, something inside me that died with her came back to life." His free hand hovered near her face, trembling slightly before he let it fall away, as if he didn't trust himself. "I can't lose that again. I can't go back to being just an... empty fucking killer without you."

"Planet shit doesn't fucking matter!" Mohawk's voice cracked with emotion, the smooth veneer he usually wore shattering like glass. He pushed forward, hovering closer, his face contorted with an emotion too complex to name. Sweat beaded along his hairline, causing strands of hair to stick to his forehead in dark, damp tendrils. His gaze never left Y/N's face, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. The prominent bulge still strained against his suit, a visible reminder of their interrupted kiss.

"The main point is—" He stopped, struggling to find the right words. In a movement both desperate and gentle, he pushed Sinister out of the way to take her hands in his. Sinister's face darkened with anger, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he was forced aside.

Mohawk looked deeply into her eyes, his own intense and sincere. The pupils were so dilated that only a thin ring of color remained visible, black swallowing brown in a visual representation of his emotional state. A muscle jumped in his jaw, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His expression mirrored the vulnerability he'd shown during their kiss—raw, unfiltered emotion that he'd never allow anyone else to witness.

"We won't fucking lose you again," he added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that seemed to caress her skin like a physical touch. The sound vibrated in the air between them, intimate despite their audience. His grip on her hand tightened fractionally, not enough to hurt but enough to convey his desperation. "Even if we have to share you. We can find a way to work it out."

The last sentence hung in the air, loaded with implications that made Y/N's stomach flutter despite her condition. Mohawk leaned closer, his breath warm against her face as he uttered a final promise, the words carrying the weight of an oath: "You will love us, Y/N... Love me..."

The declaration sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with her fever. There was something in his tone—a certainty, a devotion—that both frightened and thrilled her.

Before she could respond, the air around them seemed to wobble, particles shifting in an unnatural pattern. 

The variants tensed, sensing the disturbance—a tension in reality that they'd felt earlier but had ignored in their confrontation. Now it returned, stronger and more insistent like fabric being stretched to its breaking point.

With a sound like reality tearing, a black portal materialized twenty feet away in the air. The edges crackled with dark energy, ribbons of shadow writhing around its circumference like living things. From its depths, a body was thrown—no, hurled—into their midst.

Darkwing crashed to the ground with a sickening thud, his body a broken, bloody mess. His costume was in tatters, revealing flesh beneath that was more wound than skin. One arm hung at an unnatural angle, clearly ripped backward if not worse. The other appeared to be barely attached, held to his body by thin strips of muscle and costume fabric. His mask was half torn away, revealing a face so bruised and bloodied it was barely recognizable as human. Through split and swollen lips, he drew rattling breaths, each one sounding more painful than the last.

From the portal stepped a figure that radiated casual cruelty—Lensless Mark. His uniform was tattered and ripped, his face and hands spattered with blood. Unlike the other variants, his mask resembled that of a luchador, lacking the traditional goggles and giving his face a strangely naked quality despite being covered. His lips were curled in a smile that held no warmth, only satisfaction at the suffering he'd caused. Areas of his suit were torn at the pecs and abdomen, revealing tanned, scarred skin beneath.

"How touching. The monsters have found their beauty," he drawled, his gaze sweeping over the assembled variants before landing on Y/N.

All heads turned to face him, bodies instinctively shifting to place themselves between Y/N and the newcomer. The protective formation happened without discussion or planning—a unified response from men who moments ago had been at each other's throats.

"So this is what's been keeping you all distracted," he continued, his gaze roving over Y/N's body with interest. Unlike the others, there was no warmth in his assessment, only a cold calculation that made her skin crawl. "I was wondering where everyone disappeared to after I got trapped in there. NO fucking help came for me. "

His appearance shocked the other variants. They had believed him dead, pulled into the shadowverse by Darkwing. Their expressions reflected their confusion and growing concern. With the war still ongoing and so few of them remaining after the brutal fighting, Lensless's return was an unexpected complication.

"What did you all call her? Y/N?" he mused, his head tilting as if considering the name. "Hmm. Yes. Rather mundane, isn't it?"

"This doesn't concern you," Omni said, his voice icy as he shifted to partially block Y/N from Lensless's view. His body language was pure protectiveness now, all traces of his earlier jealousy subsumed by this new threat.

Lensless laughed, the sound sharp and without humor. "Oh, but it does. Angstrom is looking for all of you. The final phase is about to begin." His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he focused on Y/N again. 

"Though I must say, I'm curious about what makes this one so special that you'd take a detour from our true mission."

In a movement almost too fast to follow, he appeared directly in front of Y/N, brushing past the protective circle of variants. His gloved hand reached out, gripping her chin and tilting her face up to his. His touch was neither gentle nor especially rough, simply... clinical. His thumb pressed against her lower lip, forcing it down slightly as he examined her face like a specimen.

"Awww I don't see it," he pronounced, his voice tinged with disappointment. 

"She looks like any other human to me. Fragile. Breakable." His grip tightened fractionally, enough to make Y/N wince. "Already dying from a simple infection. Pathetic."

The attack came from all sides at once.

Mohawk's fist connected with Lensless's jaw, the impact creating a sonic boom that shattered what few intact tree branches remained below. The punch sent Lensless spinning backward, a spray of blood arcing through the air from his split lip.

Before he could recover, Sinister appeared behind him, driving a knee into his spine with such force that Y/N could hear the vertebrae crack. The blow arched Lensless's back at an unnatural angle, his mouth opening in a silent scream of pain.

Omni and Viltrumite Mark moved in perfect unison, like dancers who had rehearsed for years. Omni struck high, his calculated punch landing precisely at the junction of Lensless's neck and shoulder, targeting the cluster of nerves there. Viltrumite Mark struck low, his fist driving into Lensless's solar plexus with enough force to expel all air from his lungs.

The combination of blows sent Lensless plummeting toward the devastated forest below. He crashed through three massive oak trees before hitting the ground with enough force to create a small crater, dirt, and debris exploding outward from the impact site.

No-Mask circled around, waiting for his opportunity, his face set in lines of determination rarely seen on his usually expressive features. He hovered above the impact site, ready to intercept if Lensless attempted to flee.

Y/N hovered, forgotten in the chaos of battle, her condition worsening by the second. The world tilted and spun around her, fever making everything blur at the edges. She pressed a hand to her wound, feeling fresh blood seep between her fingers. The warmth of it was alarming, spreading across her abdomen in a widening stain.

Below, the battle had expanded, the variants using the devastated landscape as both weapon and battleground. Mohawk tore a shattered tree trunk from the ground, hurling it at Lensless with enough force to level a building. The makeshift projectile whistled through the air, trailing leaves and splinters in its wake before Lensless dodged at the last second. The trunk embedded itself in the hillside behind him, quivering with the force of impact.

Omni calculated his trajectories, using precision strikes to herd Lensless into Sinister's path. Each punch was measured and deliberate, not seeking to cause damage but to manipulate Lensless's movements. Where Lensless dodged one blow, he found himself in the path of another, Omni's strategy becoming clear as Lensless was forced closer and closer to where Sinister waited.

Viltrumite Mark moved with regal fury, each blow causing sonic booms to ripple through the air. His white uniform was a blur of motion, seeming to be everywhere at once. Unlike the others, his attacks held nothing back—each punch and kick was delivered with the full force of his Viltrumite strength, intended not to subdue but to destroy.

Despite being outnumbered, Lensless held his own, his childish laughter echoing across the battlefield as he taunted and dodged. His fighting style was unpredictable, and chaotic, making him difficult to pin down. Where the others fought with purpose and strategy, Lensless fought like a child pulling wings from insects—with casual cruelty and evident enjoyment.

"You're all pathetic!" he called out, evading another coordinated attack. His voice carried across the battlefield, high and mocking. 

"Pining after a ghost! She's not even the same woman you lost!"

His words struck deeper than any physical blow could have. For a moment, hesitation rippled through the attacking variants, a half-second of doubt that Lensless immediately exploited. He surged upward, breaking free of their formation, and shot directly toward Y/N.

"Let's see how quickly you forget her when she's gone for good," he snarled, his hand reaching for her throat. The afternoon sun glinted off his gloved hand as it stretched toward her, fingers curled like talons.

Time seemed to slow. Y/N watched him approach, her body too weak to move, her mind oddly clear despite the fever. She could see every detail of his face as he neared—the hatred in his eyes, the cruel twist of his mouth, the tiny scar that bisected his right eyebrow. She could hear the panicked shouts of the other variants as they raced to intercept him, too far away to reach her in time.

In that moment of perfect clarity, something shifted inside her. The power that had been dormant since they'd removed the GDA collar flickered to life, responding to her desperate need. Energy surged through her veins, temporarily burning away the fever's fog.

As Lensless's hand closed around her throat, Y/N's eyes began to glow with an inner light. The blue-white radiance started at her pupils, spreading outward until her entire eyes were luminous pools of energy. Power radiated from her in visible waves, her hair lifting in an invisible wind, strands floating around her face like a dark halo. Her skin took on an ethereal glow, veins beneath the surface illuminated with the same blue-white light that consumed her eyes.

Her hand shot up, gripping his wrist with strength that belied her condition. Her fingers—moments ago weak and trembling—now closed around his arm with crushing force. The material of his suit compressed beneath her grip, the bones of his wrist grinding together audibly.

"Not today," she whispered, her voice resonating with newfound power. The sound seemed to come not just from her throat but from the air around them, as if reality itself amplified her words.

The energy exploded outward from her body in a concussive wave, sending Lensless flying backward with such force that he created a trench in the earth when he landed. The ground split open beneath the impact, dirt and rock spraying outward like water from a broken dam. Trees that had survived the earlier battles were flattened in concentric circles from the epicenter of Y/N's power.

The other variants braced themselves against the blast, shielding their eyes from the brilliant light emanating from Y/N. The wave passed over them, powerful enough to push them back but not to harm them—as if her power somehow recognized them as not-enemies.

For a moment, she hovered above them all, radiant and terrible, her body still suspended in the air by her own power. The infection that had been killing her was temporarily burned away by the energy coursing through her system. Her wound glowed from within, the damaged tissue knitting itself back together visibly, the process accelerated to a speed visible to the naked eye.

Beneath her torn clothing—the fabric of her suit shredded across her abdomen, exposing the smooth skin beneath—they could see muscle and tissue regenerating. The deep gash that had been leaking crimson life across her stomach closed before their eyes, angry red flesh knitting together with pulsing blue-white light. The tattered edges of her suit fluttered in the energy field emanating from her body, occasionally revealing glimpses of the curve of her breast where the fabric had been torn diagonally across her chest. The legs of her suit, stained dark with blood and dirt, ripped low on her hips, frayed and revealing a sliver of skin just above her hipbone.

The variants watched in awe, their identical faces transformed by different shades of the same emotion—wonder mixed with desire, concern tangled with reverence. The setting sun cast them all in amber light, highlighting the tension in their jaws, the dilation of their pupils, the parted lips as they struggled to comprehend what they were witnessing.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the power faded. The light dimmed, starting with her skin, then her veins, until finally, her eyes returned to their natural color. The glow receded like a tide pulling back from the shore, leaving Y/N looking small and vulnerable once more. Her eyelids fluttered, exhaustion replacing the momentary strength, and she began to fall.

Five figures moved as one, racing to catch her. The air crackled with their passage as they broke the sound barrier, converging on Y/N's falling form from different directions. They reached her simultaneously, each grabbing a part of her with careful strength—Omni supporting her shoulders, his gloved hands cradling her with gentle precision; Mohawk at her waist, his fingers splayed possessively across her exposed midriff; Viltrumite Mark securing her legs, his normally stoic expression softened with concern; Sinister cradling her head with uncharacteristic gentleness, leather-gloved fingers threading through her hair; and No-Mask hovering protectively above them all, his unobscured face displaying every nuance of his worry.

As a unit, they descended to the forest floor, moving in perfect coordination despite their earlier antagonism. They touched down on a relatively undamaged clearing, gently lowering Y/N onto one of the few untouched patches of soft grass left. The setting sun painted the scene in gold and crimson, the long shadows of the men stretching across Y/N's still form like protective fingers.

Omni knelt beside her, his pulse quickening beneath his uniform as his fingers sought the pulse at her neck. The skin there was soft and warm against his fingertips, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat a counterpoint to his own racing pulse. 

"It's steady," he reported, relief evident in the softening of his shoulders. The usually immaculate lines of his uniform were marred by dust and blood, a physical manifestation of the cracks appearing in his carefully constructed facade. 

"The wound is healed on the surface, but the internal damage may remain. Her fever has broken, but she's severely dehydrated and exhausted."

"What the hell was that?" No-Mask asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at Y/N's unconscious form. His hand hovered near her face, not quite touching, trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. Unlike the others, his unmasked face revealed every emotion—awe, desire, fear—all written clearly in the widening of his eyes and the tension around his mouth. A smear of dirt marked his left cheek, a bead of sweat tracing its way down his temple. 

"I've never seen power like that from any Y/N in our universes."

"The GDA must have modified her differently in this reality," Viltrumite Mark mused, his regal stance betrayed by the concern in his eyes as they remained fixed on Y/N's face. His white uniform, normally pristine, bore the marks of battle—a tear across the chest, a smudge of dirt on the shoulder, droplets of blood spattered across the fabric. The sun caught in his hair, turning the brown strands gold at the edges. 

"Perhaps removing the collar didn't just free her from their control but unlocked abilities they were suppressing."

"Who gives a fuck about the how," Mohawk interjected, pacing restlessly nearby. Each step left an impression in the soft earth, his movements jittery with excess adrenaline. His signature hairstyle, usually maintained with meticulous precision, now lay partially flattened on one side, giving him a lopsided, almost vulnerable appearance. A bead of sweat traced the sharp angle of his jaw, disappearing beneath the high collar of his suit. "Did you see what she did to Lensless? One fucking touch and she sent him flying like a rag doll."

A grin spread across his face, carving deep lines around his eyes that crinkled with genuine joy rather than his usual cynicism. He gestured expansively, his gaze never leaving Y/N's still form. "My—our girl's got teeth."

His expression softened as he knelt beside her, one gloved hand hesitantly reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. The touch was feather-light, his fingertips lingering on her temple with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his usual brutality. "She's more than just a pretty face. She's fucking magnificent." The admiration in his voice was tinged with possessiveness, his eyes darkening as he added, "And she's ours."

"She's not out of danger," Omni cautioned, his hand resting lightly on Y/N's forehead. Though cooler than before, her skin still held an unnatural warmth beneath his touch. A muscle in his jaw twitched with suppressed emotion, a hairline crack in his usually perfect control. 

"That power surge likely depleted what little reserves she had left. She needs proper care, not just field medicine."

A groan from the nearby trench reminded them that Lensless was still a threat. The sadistic variant was pulling himself from the ground, blood streaming from multiple wounds. His suit was torn across the chest and abdomen, revealing muscled flesh beneath, scored with deep gashes that oozed crimson. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheek mottled with bruises. Blood dripped steadily from his split lip, splattering onto the churned earth beneath him in a rhythmic pattern. Despite his injuries, his visible eye gleamed with manic intensity, and his lips were twisted in a grin that spoke of insanity rather than humor.

"You think this changes anything?" he called, staggering to his feet. Each movement was labored, with evidence of broken bones and internal injuries. Blood dripped steadily from his fingertips, pattering onto the churned earth beneath him like macabre raindrops. His chest heaved with each breath, a wet rattle suggesting punctured lungs or broken ribs. Still, he straightened, defiant even in defeat.

"She'll die, just like all the others. And you'll all go back to being the monsters you truly are," he taunted, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. The crimson spatter formed a grotesque pattern at his feet, shining wetly in the dying light. "We still have a mission to complete! Fuck this world and its beings. Angstrom is waiting for us!"

Mohawk's expression darkened, shadows gathering in the hollows of his cheeks as a savage smile spread across his face. "You know what? I'm going to enjoy this." He cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the quiet forest. His body tensed, muscles bunching visibly beneath his suit as he readied for the kill.

"Go," he said to Omni without taking his eyes off Lensless. "Take her to the meeting point with Angstrom. I'm done with this piece of shit."

Omni hesitated, looking down at Y/N's pale face. For once, indecision was written clearly in the set of his shoulders, the tension around his mouth. The evening light caught the moisture gathering in his eyes, transforming them into pools of liquid amber behind his mask. A single tear escaped, tracking a clean path through the dust on his face before falling onto Y/N's cheek—a glistening diamond against her flushed skin.

"Don't die," he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. The kiss was feather-light, almost reverent, his breath warm against her skin, carrying the scent of aftershave and something uniquely him. His fingers brushed her cheek, lingering as if trying to memorize the texture. "Please."

With that, he was gone, streaking through the sky with Y/N held securely against his chest. His arms formed a protective cage around her, one hand cradling her head against his shoulder while the other supported her back. The wind whipped past them, ruffling her hair and cooling her fevered skin.

The remaining variants turned as one toward Lensless, spreading out to surround him. The setting sun cast long shadows ahead of them, turning four figures into monstrous silhouettes against the devastated landscape.

"Four against one?" Lensless laughed, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson smear across his cheek. The sound was wet and choked, bubbles of blood forming at the corners of his mouth. "Hardly seems fair."

"Good," Sinister replied, his smile all teeth, sharp canines gleaming in the dying light. His eyes were cold behind his black lenses, his posture deceptively relaxed even as his fingers flexed in anticipation. 

"We don't play fair anymore."

–––––––––

As Omni flew with Y/N toward their destination, her eyes fluttered open briefly. Sunlight filtered through clouds, casting dappled patterns across her face as the wind tousled her hair. Despite her condition, a small smile curved her lips as she looked up at him, raising a hand weakly to touch his face.

"You're crying," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rush of wind. Her fingers, warm and gentle, traced the damp trail on his cheek, sending shivers down his spine.

"No, I'm not," he denied automatically, his usual defenses kicking in even as another tear escaped to contradict him. The droplet caught the light, transforming into a prism for a heartbeat before the wind whisked it away.

Y/N's smile widened slightly, her hand weakly reaching up to touch his cheek again. Her fingers came away damp, glistening in the sunlight. Her lips, still tender from Mohawk's earlier kisses, parted slightly as she whispered, "Liar."

A laugh escaped him, the sound rusty from disuse. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the tension in his jaw easing for the first time since they'd arrived in this universe. 

"Just stay with me," he urged, tightening his hold on her slightly. Her body fit perfectly against his as if designed as his missing piece. "We're almost there."

"Will you share?" she asked, her voice fading as consciousness began to slip away again. Her eyelids grew heavy, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks like butterfly wings. "With the others?"

The question caught him off guard, making him falter slightly in his flight. "What?"

"Will you share... me? Can you all... love me?" Each word seemed to cost her tremendous effort, her eyelids growing heavier with each syllable. Her fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his suit, holding on as if afraid he might vanish.

Omni was silent for a long moment, considering. The idea of sharing her with the others—his other selves—went against every possessive instinct he had. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin as he battled with himself. And yet... if the alternative was losing her entirely...

"Yes," he finally said, the word feeling strange on his tongue. His voice softened as he added, "If that's what you want."

The admission sent an unexpected warmth through him. The knot of tension in his chest—a constant companion since he'd lost his Y/N—loosened slightly. Perhaps sharing her was the only way any of them could truly have her. Perhaps, in this fractured reality, they could find a new kind of wholeness with her.

Their Y/n.

–––––––––––––––

I'm losing motivation for this story (Even though I already had the whole storyboard written out). (っ- ‸ - ς), But I'll PULL THROUGH! Let me know if you guys are interested in more plot and perhaps smut later on in the story. Quite literally, maybe even the next chapter...

I'm really trying to include 'love' for all the variants. let me know if you want another or specific one to be included more.

Lensless Mark = No Goggles Mark

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

[holyblonded]

champs | stargirl

pairings: barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you put everything on the line to win

warnings: injuries

notes: this is slightly rushed!

The media believed you liked winning because of your rather out of the ordinary celebrations or as she told the team to call it, her "celly's". Like when you scored the goal against Chelsea last year during the UWCL, you took a Carla's camera and ran around the pitch with it leaving you with a yellow card. That same game she copied Sam Kerr's backflip celebration after scoring a hattrick, although Sam Kerr laughed it off.

Your most iconic was the previous year's  Champions League when you threw yourself over the barrier to celebrate with fans resulting with a penalty and a fine that got you grounded by Alexia right after the game. Safe to say fan's were quite excited for what you had in store for the final game against Lyon.

But the real reason you enjoyed winning was your York Peppermint Patties. After every game you won, you rewarded yourself with the sugary delight, often sharing with her teammates.

Leading to here. You panted as you crept around the midfield, sweat ran down her temple as the Lyon midfielder— freshly subbed in and clearly around your age— shadowed your every step.

Smirking through your heavy breaths, you crouched down so you could be heard. "Nervous?"

The midfielder didn't respond, keeping her gaze fixed on the war near the goal. You tilted your head, her smirk growing. "Need it in French? Êtes-vous nerveux?"

The girl finally glanced tour way, her eyes sharp but unsure. However, as soon as your piercing gaze locked onto hers, the girl flinched, quickly redirecting her attention back to the play.

You chuckled low and cocky, placing your hands on your hip. "Don't worry, pretty. The game will be over soon and then you can be crying in my arms."

Your taunt hung in the air as Ingrid intercepted a pass on the edge of the midfield, she expertly threaded the ball forward to Estelle.

The roar of the crowd swelled as your boots met the ball. Your first touch was smooth, sending it rolling just ahead as you broke into a sprint. The Lyon midfielder was hot on your heels, desperate to make up for her lapse, but your speed and determination were unmatched.

Wendie Renard, towering and commanding, closed in from the left, her long strides devouring the distance. Your chest tightened—this was no ordinary defender. Renard was a wall, a fortress standing between her and glory.

You feinted right, dragging the ball with you, and Renard shifted instinctively. At the last second, you cut left, your movement sharp and decisive. Renard lunged, her foot stretching toward the ball, but you had already slipped past, the faintest brush of contact grazing your jersey.

The goal loomed closer, the keeper poised and ready. You raised your head, scanning for an angle. A Lyon defender made a desperate slide from behind, and this time, she was too close.

You unleashed a shot just as the defender's cleats caught her ankle. The ball soared, curving impossibly fast and high. The keeper dove, her gloves brushing air, as the ball slammed into the top corner of the net.

The crowd erupted, but you crumpled to the ground, clutching your side as searing pain radiated through your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your vision blurring as the world around you spun.

The referee's whistle shrieked as teammates and medics rushed toward you. You gritted your teeth, trying to push yourself up, but the pain was too much.

"Holy shit. Can you hear me?" The pretty midfielder asked as you let out a cry of pain. "Stay with me the medics are on the way."

The Lyon defender smugly walked away only to be met with Irene and Marta arguing with her. Even Renard began to scold her. You laid out on the ground, hands covering your face as Lucy and Alexia slide by your side, making the Lyon midfielder leave. Pina and Patri off to the side having a heated conversation with the ref.

"Star! Star! Can you hear me?" The voice of Lucy Bronze asked the sixteen year old.

"No puc respirar (I can't breathe)," You groaned in Catalan moving your hands from your face to forehead to look at your teammates. Your attempt to sit up was unsuccessful as both Lucy and Alexia kept you down.

"What? No medics! I am fine! Please Lucy," You begged the Englishwoman who could only sigh. Your eyes snapped over to Alexia. "Ale?"

"No, Estrelleta. You took a bad fall and you need a concussion test. Tinc el peu avall (my foot is down.)"

Lucy and Alexia helped you to your feet, allowing the medics to take over and take you off the field. Claps went around the stadium as you were taken to the back and the Lyon defender was given a red card and kicked out of the game.

"Jonatan please. I'm all cleared. My ribs are wrapped, I am fine. Please let me back in," You begged. You could feel tears start to form in the back of your eyes as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

Jonatan shook his head. "No, Estrella. I can't risk you getting hurt, again you know that."

"I don't care about that. Please let me play. I want to win. I need to win. Por favor. Por favor. Let me play," Your desperately pleaded. You were sure the waterworks would start soon the more you begged.

Jonatan let out a string of cusses under his breath before taking a glance at your pleading eyes. "Go warm up."

Your face lit up, ripping the bib off and warming up. After the substitution, you were applauded as you jogged your way back onto the pitch. You were quickly approached by a skeptical Alexia, "Why are you here? You need to be resting."

"I'm all cleared, don't worry," You told the woman who had stepped into a maternal figure in your life.

"If I hear you wince or believe you are in an ounce of pain, you ware going to sit out. ¿Comprende? (understand)" Alexia threatened before the ref whistled, signifying the start of the game.

In the 78th minute, Patri intercepted a Lyon pass in the midfield and quickly tapped the ball to Alexia. The Barcelona captain turned with grace, her eyes scanning the pitch before spotting your sprinting down the left flank.

"Estrelleta! Hacer la carrera (make the run)!" Alexia shouted as she threaded a precise through ball into space.

You accelerated, your speed and agility allowing you to reach the ball just before it rolled out near the sideline. You glanced up, seeing Aitana darting into the box, pulling defenders with her. Using the distraction, Estelle cut inside, weaving past one Lyon player before lofting a high cross toward the far post.

The ball hung in the air as defenders scrambled to reposition. You didn't stop, charging into the box yourself. Wendie Renard tracked back, her towering frame ready to challenge, but you was quicker, timing your movement to perfection.

As the ball dipped toward the penalty area, you leaped, twisting your body mid-air. Your head connected with the ball cleanly, sending it rocketing toward the top corner. The Lyon keeper stretched desperately, but the header was unstoppable, flying just out of her reach and slamming into the back of the net.

For a moment, the stadium seemed to hold its breath, and then the crowd erupted in a deafening roar. You landed hard, clutching your ribs briefly as the adrenaline surged through your body. You staggered to your feet and ran toward the sideline, arms outstretched as you grounded yourself, ready to launch into the crowds, only to be stopped by the arms of Keira Walsh with your teammates flooding around you in celebration.

"Star! That's what I'm talking about! Amazing work, Kiddo!" Lucy shouted, clapping you on the back and kissing your forehead.

Even Alexia, despite her earlier skepticism, pulled you into a quick hug. "Well done, Estrelleta. But take it easy, okay?"

Your smirked through the lingering ache. "Easy is boring."

Minutes later, Barcelona regained possession near the midfield, and you found yourself on the ball. You glanced up, scanning the pitch, before spotting Aitana making a darting run toward the box.

With a deft touch, your flicked the ball past the defender and took off, your strides long and determined. A Lyon midfielder closed in, but you held your ground, your ribs screaming in protest as you pushed forward.

At the edge of the box, you caught Aitana's eye and played a perfectly weighted pass through the defense. The ball sliced the air, bypassing two defenders, and landed precisely at Aitana's feet.

Without breaking stride, Aitana struck the ball low and hard. It zipped past the Lyon keeper and into the bottom corner of the net.

Another eruption of cheers filled the stadium as Aitana turned and pointed directly at you before running over to sweep you into her embrace.

"That pass was magic," Aitana said, her grin wide.

"What can I say? Just doing my job," You replied, wincing slightly as you tried to catch your breath.

Alexia jogged over, her stern gaze softening. "You're on fire today, Estrelleta. But remember what I said."

You nodded, your determination undimmed. "We're not done yet."

The game wore on, but your contributions had tipped the balance. Barcelona held their lead, inching closer to victory with every passing second. The final whistle blew, indicating Barcelona's victory.

Before you knew it, you were swept off your feet by Frido who kissed your forehead in celebration before placing you down. You watched in awe both your teammates and fans across the stadium celebrate the win. You laid on the pitch breathing a sigh of relief, simply soaking it in.

"C'mon stjerne (star)," Ingrid called out, offering her hand to help you up. She wrapped an arm around the young one's shoulder as she lead you to the stage. "It's award time."

You were forced to the front by the veterans of the team, cheering when Alexia lifted the trophy in victory. Everything felt so surreal, especially after being the Best Young Player of the League.

But, the one thing you enjoyed after a game was routine. After signing and meeting fans, you made your way towards where Alexia stood with Eli and Alba at the barriers.

"Oh! Nena meva! Ho has fet molt bé avui, estic molt orgullós de tu! (Oh! My little girl! You did so well today, I am so proud of you!)" Eli exclaimed as she pulled you to the barrier and laid a kiss on your cheek then forehead. She settled her hands on your cheeks as you smiled brightly.

"Realment?" You couldn't help but smile and Eli continued to pepper your face in kisses.

"Realment." She confirmed before Alba snatched you into her embrace.

"És millor mirar que Ale a aquesta edat (You are better to watch than Ale at this age)," Alba teased which lead to her getting pinched by the midfielder.

"Nena, I forgot," Eli's hand came out from her pocket showing a square, silver package with blue writing. "Here, you won."

You beam as Eli places the silver-wrapped York Peppermint Patty into your hand, her warm smile matching your own. The cool foil feels almost sacred in your grasp, the culmination of every ounce of effort you poured into the match.

"You didn't forget," you murmur, touched, turning the small candy over in your fingers. It's just a treat, but to you, it's so much more—a tradition, a reward, a sign of love.

Eli chuckles and presses another kiss to your temple. "How could I forget? You're my little champion. You deserve it."

Alba leans over, eyeing the patty. "Think I can have a bite?"

"Not a chance," you reply immediately, clutching it protectively to your chest.

Alexia finally steps over, crossing her arms with a mixture of pride and exasperation written across her face. "Of course, the only thing you sprint faster for than a trophy is chocolate," she teases, shaking her head.

You unwrap the foil carefully, the rich minty scent already making your mouth water. Taking a triumphant bite, you close your eyes, savoring the cool, sweet flavor that always tastes better after a win.

"Worth every bruise," you say, grinning as the chocolate melts in your mouth.

Eli pats your cheek affectionately. "Don't forget to share with your teammates."

Your grin widens mischievously. "What teammates?" you joke, stuffing the rest of the patty into your mouth before anyone can protest.

Alba laughs, shaking her head as Alexia sighs.

"Estrelleta, you're impossible."

You shrug, feeling the last bit of tension from the game melt away. "I'm not impossible. I'm a winner."

Alexia ruffles your hair, and Eli wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you all stand together, watching the confetti rain down around the team. The trophy gleams under the stadium lights, but in this moment, it's the warmth of your family-your real family- that makes the victory perfect.

[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

[wosospacegirl]

https://x.com/barcacomio/status/1916523453164785667

omg this is soooo kika and r coded omg even during all the chaos there's only one person they want to be with

The final whistle had barely blown before the pitch dissolved into chaos.

Blue and red flags waved from the stands, players sprinted in every direction, and the small crowd roared with the kind of electricity only a Champions League semifinal win could summon.

But even in the flood of movement and noise, Y/n’s eyes searched for only one person.

Kika.

She spotted her near the sideline, propped up on crutches, her right leg still in a brace.

She was laughing–of course she was–cheeks flushed, clutching a tiny Barça flag like she hadn’t just watched the game from the bench. Like she hadn’t spent the past weeks in physio, forcing a smile through the frustration.

Y/n groaned under her breath. She could already feel her blood pressure rising.

Unbelievable.

Without thinking, she cut across the pitch, dodging teammates and cameras until she was in front of her. Arms crossed.

Frown locked in place.

“Kika,” she said, firm and unimpressed.

Kika’s head snapped up, and for a second, her entire face lit up. Like Y/n was the only person she'd been waiting to see.

“Y/n!” she chirped. “Did we just make it to the final or what?”

Y/n didn’t respond. She was already reaching out, steadying her by the elbow. “You’re not supposed to be on the pitch.”

Kika blinked. “But--”

“You promised you would rest,” Y/n continued, narrowing her eyes at the brace. “You should be sitting down.”

“I was sitting,” Kika said sweetly. “But then you guys started winning--I got excited.”

Y/n sighed and pulled her into a careful hug, muttering, “You’re the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

Behind them, chaos spun on–flags, hugs, victory cries–but for Y/n, everything else faded away. 

Kika was here. And for now, that was all she cared about.

“You’re the one that carried us today,” Kika whispered, her voice soft, nose brushing Y/n’s cheek.

“I just did my job,” Y/n muttered, cheeks pink.

“You did a very good job, then.”

Y/n was about to grumble something sarcastic when she caught the way Kika’s expression shifted. Her lips trembled slightly. The shine in her eyes wasn’t just excitement anymore.

“Hey,” Y/n said gently. “What’s wrong?”

Kika blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s nothing. I just... I didn’t think I would get to see this. Not like this.”

Y/n’s chest tightened. She pulled her in closer.

“You should be playing,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry you can't, meu bem.”

Kika shook her head. “Don’t get mad. I’m still here. I got to see the team, you--it's just a lot to take in, I'm still very proud of you guys.”

Y/n's arms never loosened. She held her like she was afraid to let Kika go.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” Y/n said softly, then paused, realising how stiff and clinical it sounded coming out of her mouth. Her face warmed. “I mean--crying’s allowed. Like, you have full permission. From me... I mean, you can cry, and I’ll comfort you. No panic. Totally normal.”

Kika let out a wet little laugh into her shoulder, her fingers curling tighter into the fabric of Y/n’s kit. “You’re such a robot sometimes.”

“Yeah, well,” Y/n grumbled, shifting slightly to shield herself better from the press of cameras. “But I just made it to the final of the Champions League, so I think it’s ok..”

And just like that, Kika laughed again, brighter this time–but still tucked into her shoulder.

It wasn’t dramatic–it was the kind of crying that came from relief, from months of holding it all in.

“I love you,” Kika whispered.

Y/n closed her eyes, her voice barely above the noise of the crowd. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know. Me too.”

They stood there in it, in the mess of joy and exhaustion and all the things they weren’t quite saying.

And then–

“KIKINHA!”

Y/n flinched as a familiar voice pierced the air. Her head turned slowly, almost like she already knew what was coming.

Alexia came charging toward them at full speed, eyes wide and sparkling with victory. She didn’t stop before she reached them, launching herself into a full-body hug like crutches weren’t a thing that existed.

“We did it!” Alexia shouted, practically bouncing. “I told you we would win this one for you, Kika!”

Y/n stood there, stone-faced. “Yes, of course. Ruin our moment. Thank you, Alexia.”

Alexia just grinned wider. “You’re welcome,” she said cheerfully, still latched onto both of them.

Kika laughed, still breathless, her eyes rimmed pink from crying, but so full of light. She was taking it all in.

And even Y/n, grumpy, overprotective, completely in love, couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

“This is the worst day of my life,” she muttered, hopelessly squished between a beaming Alexia and a teary, laughing Kika.

But she didn’t let go.

Not of Kika. Not for a second.

..

Sorry, this is small, I got like zero energy to write anything remotely worth reading.

[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

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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