Four-year-old Callie Di Laurentis has spent her entire life growing up inside Briar college raised by teenagers. Most kids know playgrounds and daycare. Callie knows locker rooms, ice rinks, team buses, study sessions, and college lectures. She lives at the hockey house, and while Dean is her dad and loves her more than anything, the truth is that it takes a village to raise a child—and the Briar hockey team has become hers.
John Dutton had spent years helping his friend in social services by taking in troubled teenage boys. Usually they were seventeen or eighteen, old enough to work as ranch hands and old enough to understand the rules. Some stayed a few months, some stayed for years, and a few became family. So when his friend called one afternoon and told him she had a placement, he barely looked up from his paperwork. That was until she said, “It’s a fourteen-year-old girl.” John immediately said no. A ranch wasn’t a place for a little girl, especially one coming out of foster care. But his friend kept pushing. “She’s one of the hardest workers I’ve ever met. She’s incredible with horses, and before you ask, yes, she can outwork half the boys you’ve taken in.” John still wasn’t convinced. Then her voice softened. “John… this kid’s life has been harder than any fourteen-year-old girl’s should ever be.” A week later, Y/N stepped onto the Yellowstone with a battered duffel bag over her shoulder, a split lip, fading bruises around her neck that looked suspiciously like fingerprints, and a look in her eyes that said she’d learned a long time ago not to expect kindness from anyone. She wasn’t shy, either. Within an hour she’d argued with Rip, rolled her eyes at Beth, and informed John that if he expected her to sit around doing “girl stuff,” he could send her right back. What nobody expected was that the tiny foster kid knew horses better than most of the ranch hands and could ride bulls like she’d been born doing it. The first time the bunkhouse saw her stay on a bull longer than a grown man twice her size, they completely lost their minds. After that she became everyone’s little sister whether she liked it or not. Since there wasn’t really a place for her in the main house, she stayed in the bunkhouse. The ranch hands pretended not to care, but before long there was always an extra plate saved for her at dinner, someone making sure she had a jacket when it got cold, and somebody watching out for her whenever she disappeared into town. Beth became viciously protective almost immediately. The second she realized Y/N apologized for everything and flinched whenever voices got too loud, something in her snapped. Rip started teaching her everything he knew about ranch work, pretending it was because she needed training when really he was checking on her every chance he got. John fought getting attached harder than anyone, but it became impossible. He started asking where she was when she missed dinner. Started watching rodeos if she was competing. Started introducing her as “one of ours” without even realizing he’d done it. Then one night, long after everyone thought Y/N had settled in, Lloyd knocked on the door of the main house looking unusually serious. When John, Rip, and Beth sat down with him, Lloyd rubbed a hand over his face and said quietly, “That kid ain’t okay.” The room immediately went still. Lloyd explained that he was usually awake later than everyone else in the bunkhouse and had noticed something. Y/N almost never slept. Night after night she’d lie awake staring at the ceiling for hours. And when she thought everyone else was asleep, she’d curl up facing the wall and cry silently into her pillow. Not loud enough for anyone to hear if they weren’t paying attention. Not dramatic. Just quiet little tears from a kid who’d spent her whole life learning not to bother anybody with her pain. Beth looked ready to kill someone. Rip’s jaw clenched so hard Lloyd thought he might break a tooth. And John just sat there staring at the floor. Because suddenly all the hard work, the stubborn attitude, the smart mouth, the bull riding, the early mornings—it all made sense. She wasn’t strong because life had been easy. She was strong because she’d never had another choice. And from that moment on, the Duttons stopped treating Y/N like a temporary placement and started treating her like what she’d quietly become: their daughter, their kid, their family. The funny thing was Y/N didn’t even notice it happening at first. She didn’t notice John worrying when she was late, or Beth buying things she claimed she’d “accidentally” picked up, or Rip checking every horse she rode before she got on. But everyone else did. Because somewhere along the way, the toughest family in Montana had fallen completely in love with a fourteen-year-old foster girl who arrived with bruises around her neck and a broken heart, and none of them were ever letting her go.
Y/N has been part of the Inner Circle for centuries, long before Feyre Archeron ever arrived in Velaris. Born Illyrian like Azriel and Cassian, she earned her place through sheer skill, becoming one of the Night Court’s most trusted spies and one of the few warriors capable of keeping up with the Shadowsinger himself. She and Azriel have spent decades side by side—training together, bleeding together, and disappearing on missions that should have gotten them both killed. Somewhere along the way, the line between partners and something more became impossible for anyone else to ignore. Around the rest of the world, Azriel is quiet, intimidating, and nearly impossible to read. Around Y/N, he is different. His shadows constantly curl around her wrists and shoulders, seeking her out the moment she enters a room. His hand is almost always resting on her waist, her shoulder, or the small of her back, guiding her through crowded rooms without even thinking about it. He leans close when he speaks to her, his rare smiles reserved almost entirely for her, and she is one of the only people who can draw teasing remarks from him. Cassian claims Azriel follows her around like a lovesick idiot. Mor agrees. Rhys finds it endlessly amusing. Even Amren occasionally looks up from her book to tell them to either get together or stop making everyone watch the slowest courtship in Prythian’s history.
3-year-old Y/N doesn’t remember much about the world before it ended. Orphaned and completely alone, she’s spent most of her short life surviving however she can. Stubborn, fearless, and determined to do everything herself, she never expects to find a family again.
For years, John Dutton had an arrangement with an old friend who worked in social services. Every now and then she’d call about a teenage boy who needed somewhere to land—a kid aging out of the system, a troubled ranch hand in the making, someone who needed structure and hard work. The Yellowstone had become a place for those boys to find a second chance. So when his phone rang one afternoon, John answered expecting the same conversation he’d had dozens of times before.
Y/N had been part of the walking dead group for so long that she wasn’t simply one of them anymore—she was family. Everyone loved her, trusted her, and had become fiercely protective of her in their own ways. Rick trusted her beside him when things went bad, Glenn could always make her laugh, Maggie treated her like a sister, Carol adored having her around, and even the people who didn’t say much showed how much she mattered through the little things they did for her. But nobody was closer to Y/N than Daryl Dixon. They had been inseparable for years, and somewhere along the way their friendship had turned into something that looked suspiciously like marriage. Daryl was ridiculously, almost embarrassingly, affectionate with her—at least by Daryl standards. He was always touching her. His arm would automatically wrap around her waist when she stood beside him, he’d pull her between his knees while he sat against a tree, he’d rest his chin on her shoulder while she was doing something, tuck her against his chest while they slept, hold her hand while they walked, brush dirt from her cheek with his thumb, or simply keep a hand resting on her thigh whenever they sat together. If they were sitting around the fire, Y/N was practically guaranteed to end up tucked against his side with his arm around her. He’d pull her closer without even thinking about it, absentmindedly rub her back, play with her hair, or press a sleepy kiss against her forehead before going back to whatever he was doing. He wasn’t like that with anyone else—Y/N was simply the exception to every rule Daryl had. He loved her more deeply than he knew how to explain, and everyone could see it. The biggest problem was whenever Y/N went out alone. Even though she was an incredibly capable survivor and had proven herself countless times, Daryl absolutely hated letting her leave without him. The moment she announced she was going on a supply run, his entire mood changed. He’d immediately ask where she was going, who she’d be with, how long she’d be gone, and whether she really needed to go. He’d try to convince her to let him come, and when she insisted she could handle herself, he’d reluctantly help pack her supplies while muttering under his breath. Then he’d watch her leave, standing there with his arms crossed and an increasingly worried expression, pretending he wasn’t terrified. The longer she was gone, the more restless he became. He’d repeatedly check the road, sharpen his knife for the third time, ask Rick if they’d heard anything, and snap at anyone who suggested he relax. And the second she finally appeared in the distance, Daryl would visibly relax before immediately walking toward her, pulling her into a tight hug and holding her against his chest for several seconds longer than necessary. He’d grumble about her taking too damn long while simultaneously checking her arms, face, and body for injuries, and Y/N would just smile because she knew exactly what he was doing. The whole group knew too. They’d watched Daryl slowly become softer around her, watched him learn to accept affection because she gave it to him, and watched Y/N become the person who could calm him with nothing more than a hand on his arm. They were each other’s safe place in a world where almost nothing was safe anymore. And while neither of them had ever bothered putting an official label on their relationship, everyone else had already decided they were married. They shared everything, slept together, fought like an old couple, worried about each other constantly, and Daryl loved her with a fierceness that made it painfully obvious that, apocalypse or not, Y/N was his person—and he was hers.
Captain Wade Grey announces that the Mid-Wilshire station is receiving an experienced transfer from another LAPD division. Everyone expects a grizzled veteran with fifteen years on the job, especially after Grey casually mentions that the officer has already earned commendations, specialist certifications, and a reputation for handling some of the city’s toughest cases despite being so young. When the doors open and an impossibly young woman walks in carrying a single duffel bag, the bullpen falls completely silent. She looks fresh out of high school. Then Grey introduces her simply as Officer Y/N L/N and reminds everyone that although she’s transferring in with an impressive service record, she’s still a patrol officer like the rest of them—not their superior—and she’ll be working alongside them. The disbelief only grows when they learn she’s nineteen. Almost overnight the whispers begin. She’s too young. Too small. Too pretty. She couldn’t possibly have earned her record. Some officers assume the department fast-tracked her, while suspects openly laugh when she tries to arrest them. They all stop laughing once they see her work. She stays unnervingly calm under pressure, notices details no one else catches, can talk down victims and volatile suspects with equal ease, and has instincts that have saved officers’ lives more than once. She never brags, never corrects people, and never mentions where she transferred from or why someone so highly regarded would willingly leave. The only person who knows the full story is Grey, and he isn’t telling anyone. He simply watches the others slowly figure it out for themselves. Despite everything she’s accomplished, Y/N is painfully independent. She arrives before everyone else, leaves after everyone else, never takes sick days, never complains when she’s hurt, and somehow always manages to dodge every personal question with a joke. She doesn’t celebrate birthdays, never mentions family, and goes home to an apartment so empty it barely looks lived in. Without realizing it, the precinct begins filling those empty spaces. Nolan starts making sure she’s invited to every barbecue, movie night, and holiday because the idea of her spending them alone makes him uneasy. Lucy constantly drags her out for coffee, insists on celebrating her birthday even after Y/N claims she doesn’t have one, and becomes the sister she never had. Bradford pretends he’s only correcting her tactics, but he’s the first person to step between her and anyone who underestimates her, and the first to quietly ask if she’s eaten after a double shift. Angela starts fussing over every scrape, bruise, and skipped meal, calling her “kid” with the same exasperated affection she’d use on a younger sibling. Jackson becomes her safe place, the one person who can make her laugh after awful calls, while Sergeant Grey gradually slips into the role of the father she never had, checking in after difficult shifts, defending her without hesitation, and quietly keeping an eye on her even when she insists she’s fine. Before long, the entire station has developed an unspoken rule: nobody messes with Y/N. They don’t even notice how protective they’ve become until one afternoon a notorious repeat offender is dragged into the holding cells after a violent arrest. The second he sees her across the bullpen, all the colour drains from his face before a cruel smile spreads across it. “Well, if it isn’t little—” he begins, using a nickname that makes Y/N freeze for the briefest fraction of a second. Her expression hardens instantly. “Don’t,” she says quietly, sharply enough that even he stops talking. He only smiles wider, clearly recognising her from somewhere she’d spent years trying to forget. The exchange lasts barely five seconds, but it doesn’t escape the precinct’s notice. Nolan sees the fear she buries almost immediately. Lucy notices her hands shaking once she thinks no one’s looking. Bradford catches the way she positions herself so the man can never get behind her. Grey watches her file with a troubled expression that tells everyone he knows far more than he’s ever admitted. Y/N insists it was nothing and refuses to answer a single question, but for the first time since she arrived, the station realizes the fearless nineteen-year-old they all adore came from somewhere unimaginably dark—and whoever she was before she became Officer Y/N is still looking for her. From that day on, the protectiveness goes from instinct to obsession. Nobody lets her interview dangerous prisoners alone, someone always walks her to her car after late shifts, Nolan starts checking she got home safely without ever admitting it, Lucy keeps spare clothes and snacks in her locker “just in case,” Bradford quietly retrains everyone on backup procedures with Y/N as the example, and Grey makes it clear to the entire station that anyone who comes after one of his officers—especially his kid—will have the whole precinct to answer to.
Callista Winters has lived with the Guardians for so long that none of them can remember a time without her. Found abandoned as a toddler on a forgotten moon with nothing but a strange celestial marking glowing on her wrist, she was taken in by the Guardians and raised aboard the Milano. Nobody knows which god abandoned her, only that her powers are far too powerful for an ordinary child. Callie can teleport herself—and sometimes others—across short distances in flashes of silver-blue light, making her invaluable during missions despite her age.
Thousands of years ago, Y/N was a young goddess, spirit, or magical being. During an ancient war, she was placed into an enchanted sleep to save her life.
It’s set in the boys of tommen universe after th end of keeping 13, and the lynches are living at the kavenghs house after th fire. A new girl starts at tommen, she’s very tough and stubborn and is from a very rough part of town like where BHS is and on her first day she walks in and looks super out of place in her second hand tommen uniform and her bright blue eyes that look sad. On her first day she walks onto campus and the core 10, Johnny, Shannon, Joey, aoife, gibsie, Claire, Lizzie, hughie, feely all see her looking out of place
Absolutely! If she’s 9–10 years old, Mulan and Shang would be extremely protective of her. After everything they went through in both the first and second movies—the war, battles, near-death experiences, and years spent fighting for peace—they’d never want their daughter facing the same dangers.
At a young age, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff believed that somehow everything would work out. Then an unexploded bomb tore through their apartment, killing their parents and leaving only the twins and their two-year-old baby sister behind. Overnight, the fifteen-year-olds became everything to the little girl—the only family she had left, and the only people she trusted.
Set in the rugged, unforgiving world of Yellowstone, where loyalty is earned, power is protected, and mercy is rare, this story follows Y/N—a 4-year-old girl no one was meant to notice. Barely more than a toddler, she is small, quiet, and used to being overlooked, her world shaped by fear long before she could understand it.
