Can U Do More Alpha Jason Stuff Pls? Maybe He Nests Fem!omega Reader? Pls N Thank U

hiiiihihi I like your Jason x reader alpha and omega stuff! Could you write a Jason in rut pls?

Burning for You

Alpha!Jason x Omega!Reader

The apartment was too hot. The air thick with Jason’s scent—gunpowder, leather, and something deeper, darker, needier.

He was pacing. Restless. Every muscle in his body coiled tight, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His rut was coming in hard, harder than usual, and the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself to it was you.

You, curled up in his bed, blinking up at him with wide, patient eyes. Your Omega scent was everywhere, wrapping around him like a damn vice. It was soothing and tormenting at the same time, because fuck, you smelled like home, and Jason’s instincts were screaming at him to claim, to mark, to make sure every inch of you knew exactly who you belonged to.

“Jason,” you murmured, your voice like silk, threading through the haze in his brain.

His jaw clenched. “You should leave.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking over him—his tensed shoulders, his fists gripping the sheets, the way his breath came too sharp, too ragged. You should be nervous. Hell, you should be scared. But you weren’t. Instead, you pushed the blankets off, crawling toward him, your scent blooming even sweeter in the air.

“Not gonna happen,” you said softly, fingers brushing over the back of his hand.

Jason shuddered. His body ached. His rut was tearing through him like fire, and you—soft, willing, his—were just within reach. His Omega. His mate.

He exhaled sharply, eyes flashing with something feral. “I won’t be gentle.”

You smiled, tilting your head to bare your throat—trust, surrender, invitation. “I don’t need you to be.”

Jason growled, the last of his restraint snapping like a frayed thread. And then he moved.

He had you pinned in seconds, pressing you deep into the nest of blankets. His hands roamed over your body, rough and urgent, mapping every curve, every inch that belonged to him. His lips found your throat, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin before his teeth scraped against it—a warning, a promise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you arched into him. Jason groaned, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. His hands gripped your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, holding you still as he pressed himself closer, his scent thickening, overwhelming.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, voice raw with need. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling under him, but your voice was steady when you answered. “I’m yours, Jason.”

Something in him snapped. His hands tightened, lips ghosting over your scent gland before he bit down—not hard enough to claim, but enough to stake his claim in this moment. Enough to make sure every single part of you knew exactly who you belonged to.

And Jason? Jason was never letting go.

Blood and Ectoplasm

Crime Alley had always felt haunted. Jason Todd knew that better than anyone.

But this? This was different.

The night pressed heavy against the streets, the usual Gotham smog thickened by something deeper, something unseen. Jason moved through the alleys like a shadow, boots silent on damp pavement. The smell of rain clung to the air, mixing with the ever-present stench of cigarette smoke and old blood.

The reports had been vague, scattered whispers from the usual lowlifes. Muggers jumped by something glowing. Thugs left unconscious, their victims unharmed. Some swore they saw a figure floating, eyes burning neon green.

Normally, Jason would brush it off as another rogue metahuman or maybe one of Bruce’s new recruits playing hero without backup. But the way they described it—

"It wasn’t human."

Jason adjusted his grip on his pistol. Whatever was out here, he was about to find it.

Then, a flash of green light flickered in the distance. A rooftop, just ahead.

Jason exhaled slowly, and moved.

Danny Phantom had been to a lot of places in his time as a ghost. The Ghost Zone, Amity Park, alternate dimensions. But Gotham?

Gotham felt wrong.

The ectoplasmic corruption here was thick, choking the air like poison. It wasn't just the standard residue from restless spirits—it was alive, shifting beneath the city's surface, coiling like a sickness that had long since taken root.

Danny floated above the alleyways, scanning the streets below. His aura burned brighter than usual, reacting to the energy pulsing beneath his feet.

He’d been tracking the source for hours, but now he was sure.

Something in this city was infected with corrupted ectoplasm. And it was close.

Too close.

A gunshot rang out.

Danny turned just in time to see the bullet coming straight for his head.

His instincts kicked in. He phased, the round passing harmlessly through his skull as he twisted midair.

Below him, standing in the streetlight’s glow, was a man in red and black armor.

Helmeted. Armed. And already aiming again.

Danny barely had time to register him before another shot rang out.

Jason didn’t hesitate. He fired again, watching as the figure dodged—no, phased through the bullet like it was nothing.

Definitely not a metahuman.

Jason’s grip on his gun tightened. "You’ve got three seconds to tell me what the hell you are before I make sure you can’t float away, Casper."

The glowing figure, still hovering a few feet above the ground, raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Jeez, ever heard of saying hello first?"

Jason didn't answer. He moved.

A flick of his wrist, and his pistol was holstered, replaced with a throwing knife laced in Lazarus-forged steel.

The knife flew.

Danny dodged—but not fast enough. The blade sliced through his arm, burning in a way that made his entire body seize.

Danny hissed, gripping his arm. His fingers came away stained in ectoplasm.

Jason took a slow step forward, watching him closely. "Huh. So you can bleed."

Danny’s glowing green eyes snapped to him, and for the first time, Jason saw recognition.

"You—" Danny inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. His gaze flickered over Jason, the glow in his irises deepening. "You're—this energy—"

Then his expression hardened.

"Oh," he muttered. "You're the problem."

Jason didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t care.

Because the next second, Danny attacked.

Jason had fought metas before. He’d fought monsters, assassins, even demons. But fighting Danny Phantom was like fighting a ghost made of lightning.

Danny moved too fast, blinking in and out of tangibility, dodging bullets, appearing behind Jason before he could react. Jason barely managed to block an ectoplasmic blast with his armored gauntlet before swinging one of his knives straight for Danny’s throat.

Danny phased—only to curse when Jason switched hands, slashing upward.

The Lazarus-infused blade met ghostly flesh.

Danny choked back a shout as the steel burned through his shoulder.

Jason saw the flicker of pain across Danny’s face.

Then, the air cracked.

Jason felt it before he understood it—something surging, thickening between them. The air burned cold and hot all at once. The moment Jason reached out—the moment he grabbed Danny by the wrist—

The world collapsed.

It was like being submerged in ice.

Jason staggered, his vision ripped away. No longer in the alley. No longer in Gotham.

He stood in a swirling void of green and black, weightless.

Doors floated in the distance, stretching into infinity. Whispers crawled through the mist.

Ahead of him, Danny Phantom hovered—but he wasn’t the same.

A crown of spectral energy burned above his head. His form flickered, no longer just a teenager in a hazmat suit, but something older. More.

Jason exhaled, his breath misting in the unnatural cold.

His rage—the fire that had burned beneath his skin since his resurrection—was gone.

For the first time in years, his mind was quiet.

Danny’s voice came slow, careful. "The Lazarus Pit’s hold on you—it doesn’t work here."

Jason didn’t answer, staring at his hands. They weren’t trembling.

Danny floated closer. "You’re drowning in it, aren’t you?"

Jason’s jaw clenched. "I don’t need a damn intervention."

Danny sighed, tilting his head toward the floating doors around them. "You don’t have a choice. The longer we fight, the worse the Pit’s corruption gets. For both of us."

Jason barely heard him. Because now, he was seeing.

The Ghost Zone pulsed around him, warping, shifting. And within it, like reflections in glass—

His own memories.

Pain. Agony. Hands clawing against a coffin lid.

A child's scream.

The roar of the Pit as it dragged him back.

Jason’s breath hitched. He staggered back, head pounding.

Danny’s expression softened. "Jason—"

Jason’s fist clenched. "Get me the hell out of here."

Danny studied him for a moment longer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he raised his hand.

The world snapped back into place.

Jason landed hard, boots scraping against Gotham pavement. His pulse hammered in his ears. The Pit’s energy returned, but it was weaker now. Fading at the edges.

Danny dusted himself off, his glow dimming slightly. "Well," he muttered. "That was fun. Let’s not do that again."

Jason exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "No promises."

Danny studied him. Then, after a beat, he tilted his head. "You know, I could help."

Jason scoffed. "I don’t need—"

Danny raised an eyebrow.

Jason scowled. Looked away.

Danny smirked. "Alright, Red. See you around."

Then, with a flicker of green light, he vanished.

Jason stood in the alley for a long moment, staring at the empty space where Danny had been.

For the first time in a long time, the whispers of the Pit didn’t feel so loud.

(Kinda had this in my notes for awhile, edited it a bit and made it longer cause plot)

abo au with alpha Jason as our mate?

Safe in His Scent

Alpha Jason Todd x Reader

The scent of gunpowder and leather wrapped around you before you even saw him. Jason was near—closer than usual. Your instincts prickled at the awareness of your mate’s presence, your Omega side naturally attuned to him even when he wasn’t trying to be noticeable.

You didn’t turn immediately. You kept your hands busy, finishing up in the small kitchen of your apartment. Jason always had a habit of watching you before announcing himself, his predatory instincts at odds with his soft spot for you.

“I know you’re there,” you finally said, glancing over your shoulder.

Jason leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened just enough to be noticeable. “Didn’t want to startle you.”

You rolled your eyes, setting down a plate. “Like I wouldn’t know when you’re around.”

His lips quirked up, the ghost of a smile. “Fair point.”

He took a few slow steps inside, his presence commanding, the heat of his body warming the room without him even touching you. Your Omega instincts wanted to lean into it, to let him close that distance, but you held your ground. You and Jason… things were complicated.

He wasn’t like other Alphas—possessive, territorial, demanding. He was protective, sure, but he gave you space. Too much space, sometimes.

“Rough night?” you asked, noting the slight tension in his shoulders.

Jason sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah. Got into it with some assholes in Crime Alley.”

Your heart clenched. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

He smirked, stepping closer, finally within reach. “Worried about me, Omega?”

You huffed, smacking his arm lightly. “Of course I am, dumbass.”

Jason’s amusement faded slightly, something more serious settling in his expression. His hand lifted, fingers brushing your wrist—gentle, careful. Your pulse jumped at the small touch, your scent sweetening in response. He noticed, of course he did, and his pupils darkened slightly.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he murmured. “I can handle myself.”

“I know that,” you said softly, fingers curling slightly as if to hold onto that touch. “Doesn’t mean I stop caring.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, his grip on your wrist shifting, thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against your skin. “You’re too good for this city,” he muttered. “Too good for me.”

You frowned. “That’s not for you to decide.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he didn’t argue. He never did when it came to you. Instead, he sighed and let his forehead rest lightly against yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. Your scent mingled, familiar and right, and for the first time that night, Jason seemed to relax.

“You smell good,” he admitted, voice lower, rougher. “Like home.”

Your heart thudded, warmth blooming in your chest. “So do you.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against you. “Yeah?”

You nodded, pressing your nose lightly against his collar. “Yeah.”

For now, that was enough.

I'll pop in with a prompt

✨ Superman x Reader where Superman falls in love with a Kansas farm girl ✨

- 🧑🏼‍🍳

A Quiet Retreat

Superman X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: The Weight of the World

The city lights flickered in the distance, a blur of orange and white beneath a starry sky. Superman, bruised and battered from his latest battle, flew above Metropolis with a quiet urgency. His body ached, muscles sore from the relentless fight with the alien warlord. The world was safe, for now. The villain had been stopped, but the weight of the battle lingered in the air. It was always like this—he would win, but the cost never seemed to get any easier.

He needed a break. Desperately.

The world depended on him, but who would protect him when the burden became too heavy? He couldn’t keep running on empty. His responsibilities were endless, and sometimes the pressure suffocated him. The countless lives he’d saved, the never-ending battles, the constant reminder that he was different—he was the world’s protector, but there was no one to protect him.

So, he did what he always did when the strain of being Superman became too much: he retreated to the one place that had always offered him a sense of peace. He needed to remember who he was beyond the cape. He needed to be Clark Kent again, if only for a short time.

Clark didn’t land in Metropolis. Instead, he set a course for the one place that had shaped him—Smallville.

The familiar, rolling fields of Kansas awaited him, and though he had been away for years, they still felt like home. The crisp, open sky greeted him, the air full of the sweet scent of earth and grass. He took a deep breath as he descended toward the quiet town, feeling the tension in his body slowly begin to ease.

It had been a long time since Clark had come back to Smallville for anything other than business. This time, though, there would be no interviews or press conferences—no reporters or crowds clamoring for his attention. He was just Clark Kent, the son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, returning to his roots. He’d parked his car by the old farmhouse, and now he found himself walking through the familiar dirt roads, away from the noise of the world.

That’s when he spotted it—an old farmhouse just at the edge of the hill. The porch light flickered softly, a warm, welcoming glow in the quiet evening. His eyes shifted to the small garden beside the house, where a young woman in worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt knelt in the dirt, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tended to her plants. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, lost in the tranquility of the moment.

Clark paused, a quiet curiosity pulling him closer. He hadn’t seen her around before. She didn’t look like she was from the town, but there was something about her that made him feel like he wasn’t the only one in search of peace.

Without thinking, he walked up to the porch, careful to keep his distance as to not startle her. It wasn’t like him to intrude on someone’s solitude, but something about her presence, the calm that radiated from her, made him want to know more.

The woman didn’t seem to notice him at first, her focus entirely on the rows of vegetables she was pulling from the earth. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat gently that she finally looked up, her eyes meeting his with a spark of surprise, quickly followed by cautious curiosity.

“Oh,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with something?”

Clark blinked, caught off guard by her ease, her voice warm yet unbothered by his sudden presence. "I... I was just passing by," he said, offering her an easy smile, trying to keep things casual. "I’m Clark. Just visiting the old town. Needed to get away from the noise for a while.”

The woman straightened, brushing the dirt off her hands with a sigh of satisfaction before extending her hand. "Nice to meet you, Clark. I'm Y/N. Welcome to the farm."

Clark took her hand, surprised by the strength in her grip and the way her gaze seemed to appraise him without judgment. “A farm, huh? That’s a good place to get away from the noise.”

Y/Nchuckled softly, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’d be surprised. Some of the loudest things around here are the chickens. But it’s peaceful. Most of the time.”

Clark could sense that there was more to her than just the calm exterior—the sharp wit and the quiet self-assurance. The simplicity of her life was something he hadn’t experienced in years. He felt himself relax, the constant hum of his superhero life momentarily silenced in her presence.

“I could use some peace right now,” Clark admitted, glancing around at the farm, at the serenity she had cultivated in the middle of the vast Kansas plains. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

Y/N gave him a knowing smile. “I get that. Life can be overwhelming, but you’d be surprised what a little time outside can do. I’d offer you some lemonade, but I’m guessing you’re not here for that.”

“Lemonade sounds nice,” Clark said with a chuckle, his tension starting to ease. “But I’d just like to sit for a while. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Y/N gestured to the rocking chairs on the porch, the evening sky beginning to paint itself with hues of pink and purple. “There’s always room for someone who needs a break.”

Clark nodded gratefully, following her to the porch and sitting in one of the rocking chairs. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt his shoulders relax, the weight of the world momentarily lifted by the simple act of sitting beside a stranger, away from the chaos of his double life.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.

AAAAA

Alpha Jason my beloved

It’s so good omgg

-🪼

I'll have you know that trying to figure out how to write Jason as an alpha actually killed me a little.

I refuse to read any omegaverse fics and yet, I just broke that rule for that fic.

Y'ALL SHOULD BE HAPPY cause there is little chance I will write another, unless it's a very good prompt. We'll see....

BUT I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT.

First off, plz post Chapter 2 of 'The Making of a Villain' 🙏

(Only if you want to, I ain't forcing you to do anything)

Second! I had just some small ideas that I couldn't get out of my head. They're just fun small things I guess...

So like, I just imagine some of the ways Duck would be disruptive for the bats.

Like, they are able to lock most of the computers down at the Wayne tower or something, leading to 'Ah, ah, ah. You didn't say the magic word' from Jurassic park playing on loop every time someone tries to unlock the computers

Or, or. During an important mission, Duck disrupts their communications by playing 'Barbiegirl' on loop at max volume, making the vigilantes unorganized, and making the mission even harder

Idk, stoic chaos gremlin is just right up my alley

They'll make your day hell via pure chaos, and won't even crack a smile

Anywho, stay hydrated!!

- 🐇

Firstly, I'm giving you a kiss on the head and a plate of cookies.

Secondly, I LOVE THESE IDEAS AND WILL BE USING THEM. I have ideas on how to use them, either in a later chapter or as another side story.

Like, waaaay after Duck left the batfam and went with the other villians (minus Joker, he can die in a ditch), they batfam are putting together important information regarding a big case Gordon wanted them on. And while in the middle of working, the screen goes black and the only on said screen is "AH, AH, AH, SAY THE MAGIC THE WORD" in big bold letters and on loop, with an annoying song in the background.

The batfam are confused and concerned, and slightly annoyed, as to how someone was able to hack into the batcomputer and leave this message ON LOOP OF ALL THINGS meanwhile Duck is just sitting in a comfy chair in their lair, watching all of this go down from the little camera placed in a spot no one looks.

A smirk playing on thier lips, watching their former family scramble to figure out what happened.

I LOVE YOUR IDEAS, GIVE ME MORE. Please and thank you!

Also, thanks for reminding to hydrate! haven't had water today.

I WILL BE POSTING CHAPTER 2 IN A FEW MINUTES BTW!

The Making of a Villian - Chapter 1

The WayneTech board meeting was scheduled for 9:00 a.m.

By 9:03, their encrypted systems were silently bleeding data into a private offshore server. No alarms. No alerts. Just a quiet, surgical extraction—clean, undetectable, and irreversible.

You watched from a dusty rooftop across the street, sipping coffee like any civilian on a break. Except your hands weren’t shaking, and your eyes never left the mirrored windows reflecting a city that forgot you.

It wasn’t about the files. Not really. You’d already read them—twice—before deleting the backups. What mattered was what came next: one carefully altered blueprint. A subtle change in the emergency lockdown protocols, buried deep in the code. Harmless… until the moment someone needed them most.

You didn’t need chaos. Not yet.

You needed doubt.

Down below, Bruce Wayne’s car pulled into the underground garage. Right on schedule. You watched as security greeted him with smiles and clipped nods.

They didn’t know.

No one ever did—until it was too late.

You slipped the burner phone back into your pocket and turned away from the skyline. One step. Then another. Quiet boots on concrete. No capes. No flashy suits. Just a face they’d stopped looking at long ago.

But you were done being invisible.

Your game had just begun.

It hadn’t always been like this. You remembered your first week training with them. You’d shown up early—excited, eager to learn. Tim had offered a nod. Dick had smiled. Barbara barely looked up from her console.

You thought they were just busy. That maybe, in time, you’d earn your place. That if you just proved yourself…

And you did. Over and over again.

Yet somehow, you were always the footnote. The cautionary tale. “Don’t be like them,” Bruce had once said to Damian during a sparring match. You’d laughed it off then. Told yourself he meant your form. Not you.

You knew better now.

You remembered a moment not long ago: standing in the Batcave, trying to offer insight into an unfolding hostage situation. You had mapped out a possible escape route—one they didn’t see. You weren’t loud. You didn’t shout over anyone. You just slid the schematic across the table. Bruce didn’t even glance at it. Tim talked over you. And when the building collapsed—when things went wrong—no one asked why.

Just a quiet, disappointed look. A cold shoulder. Another mark against your record.

You weren’t angry anymore. Not really.

Just focused.

You stepped onto the street and vanished into the crowd. No one looked twice.

Perfect.

They wanted a ghost. They’ll get one.

But not the kind they can exorcise. Not a whisper or a shadow. You’ll become something worse.

Something undeniable.

You passed a newsstand on your way to the subway. The headlines blared about another WayneTech breakthrough. Another miracle. Another story that never had your name in the footnotes, even though you remembered the late-night sessions, the endless trial runs they’d let you conduct just to see if the theories held.

And they had. But it hadn’t mattered.

You dipped underground, swiping a fake MetroCard as you passed the gate. A man bumped into you—apologized quickly. You nodded, saying nothing, and slipped the tracker into the fold of his coat pocket. It wasn’t personal. He was just the next piece. A courier. Unwitting. Useful.

Your network was small. Precise. Built on favors, blackmail, and anonymous generosity. They didn’t know you—and you liked it that way. Your face was forgettable, and you’d sharpened that into a weapon.

As the train sped through the tunnels, you stared at your reflection in the window. The person looking back wasn’t a villain yet.

But they were getting close.

You smiled—just a little.

“Soon,” you murmured.

This wasn’t about revenge.

It was about recognition. About truth. About making them see the cracks they’d built their empire on—starting with you.

And when it all came tumbling down, you’d be standing at the center, calm and untouchable, while they scrambled to remember where it all went wrong.

Right here.

Right now.

And by then, it would be far, far too late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Finished both Chapter 0 and Chapter 1 around the same time and figured I'd post them both.

Let me know what you guys think of this and if I should turn it into a full on fic or just post bits and pieces every once in awhile.

...

Oh. my. everything!!!!

I just got around to reading chapter 2 (was my b-day yesterday, so I've been busy :]), and I love it!!!

Seeing Croc as a mentor wasn't what I expected, but I love that so much!! Him, and probably Harley would be the ones who would have been the best mentors out of the rouges gallery. Imo at least

Now that just makes me think of what Duck's relation is with all the villains. Ofc, Joker can go die in a ditch, but like, would Harley and Ivy be like, aunties towards Duck? Or at least friendly on the most part?

I'm sure Selena would be, considering they've got a cat themselves!

I just imagine, that Duck is like, the only one Croc tolerates being near, or accidentally touching him, after they've known each other for a long while.

Keep up the amazing work! And remember to hydrate! <3 <3

- 🐇

BUNNY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! HOPE IT WAS A GOOD DAY!

I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND WHEN I SAY YOU'VE READ MY MIND. I HAVE A LIST OF HOW THE VILLIANS WOULD TREAT DUCK.

If you want that list, I can and will post it, much like the Batfam list.

I would have to say that Croc, Ivy, Harley, and Selina were probably the main 4 to teach Duck the ways, with the others teaching Duck every once in awhile but none of them where ever mean!

I can tell you this, the rouges all fucking love Duck would do anything for them!

They see someone hurting Duck badly in a fight? They are on the person's ass in 0.5 seconds.

Also, Selina was def the one that gifted Duck their cat once they became their own villain. I could see Ivy giving them some plants that don't need much taking care of while Harley would gift them some weapons or a book on how to analyze people.

Croc would probably just give them a pat on the back or something and say "proud of you" but is their biggest supporter. Duck can go to him, or anyone else, for help or for anything really.

Also, side note, AUTOCORRECT KEPT CHANGING DUCK TO FUCK SO IF I MISSED ONE, LET ME KNOW. 😭

A Birthday Fit for a Thief

Pairing: Flynn Rider x Reader Genre: Fluff, Romance Summary: Flynn surprises you with an unexpected birthday adventure—though things don’t go exactly as planned.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren’t expecting much for your birthday. Living in Corona had its perks—stunning views, lively markets, and, of course, the occasional festival—but you never made a big deal about your own special day. That was, until Flynn Rider got involved.

"You didn’t think I'd let your birthday pass without a little excitement, did you?" Flynn grinned, leaning casually against your doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His signature smirk was firmly in place, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that immediately put you on high alert.

"Flynn," you sighed, raising a suspicious brow. "What did you do?"

"Do? Me?" He feigned offense, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. "I am a completely innocent, upstanding citizen now, remember?"

You gave him a look.

"Okay, okay," he laughed, pushing off the doorway and taking your hand. "Just trust me. I’ve got something amazing planned."

You let him lead you through the winding streets of Corona, dodging bustling merchants and cheerful townsfolk. Eventually, you reached the docks, where a small boat was tied up, a picnic basket sitting neatly inside.

"A boat ride?" You tilted your head, pleasantly surprised.

"Not just any boat ride," Flynn said, helping you in with a dramatic bow. "A birthday adventure."

With a few skilled movements, he pushed the boat off from the dock and guided it down the river. The sun was beginning to set, casting golden hues across the water. The moment felt peaceful, almost dreamlike.

"You really didn’t have to do all this," you murmured, watching as he pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and two glasses.

Flynn shrugged. "I wanted to. You deserve something special."

Your heart warmed at his words, but before you could respond, the boat jolted—suddenly and violently. Flynn nearly dropped the glasses as water splashed over the side.

"Uh-oh." His eyes widened as he looked over the edge.

"Flynn, what was that?" you asked, gripping the sides of the boat.

"Funny story," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "I may or may not have borrowed—fine, fine, stolen—this boat from some less-than-friendly traders, and they may or may not have caught on."

"Flynn!" you groaned.

"Okay, but in my defense, it was just sitting there!"

Before you could argue further, voices shouted from the riverbank. A group of burly men stood there, shaking their fists.

"There he is! Get 'im!"

Flynn flashed you a sheepish grin. "So, how do you feel about swimming on your birthday?"

With a resigned sigh, you kicked off your shoes. "I knew I should’ve stayed in bed."

Hand in hand, you and Flynn leapt overboard, laughing as the cool water enveloped you. The traders' shouts faded as you swam toward the opposite shore, drenched but exhilarated.

When you finally made it to land, Flynn collapsed onto the grass, grinning up at the sky. "Well, that was fun."

"You are the worst birthday planner," you huffed, wringing water from your clothes.

"Maybe," he admitted, rolling onto his side to face you. "But, hey, you have to admit—it was memorable."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, yeah. I guess it was."

Flynn reached into his soaked vest and, to your surprise, pulled out a small but soaked, velvet-wrapped bundle. "Still managed to save this, though."

Curious, you took it from him, unwrapping the fabric to reveal a delicate, golden charm bracelet. Tiny engravings of lanterns, suns, and stars dangled from it, glimmering in the dimming light.

Your breath caught. "Flynn…"

"Happy birthday, (Y/N)," he said softly, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face. "Even if it wasn’t perfect, I hope it was at least… special."

You smiled, slipping the bracelet onto your wrist before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "It was perfect. You’re perfect."

Flynn smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "I do try."

With an exasperated laugh, you flopped back onto the grass beside him, staring up at the night sky. Maybe it hadn’t been the peaceful birthday you imagined, but with Flynn by your side, it was definitely one you’d never forget.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Author's note: So, plot twist, this is a gift for my friend. you know who you are. Did I tell her I was doing this? Nope. Happy Birthday to her.

what if

what if I post Chapter 2 of The Making of a Villian?

It's in my drafts, finished it a couple days ago.

hmmmm