#hinted Anger Management

[bluerosefox]

Phantomish Rogues

Team Phantom get ripped from their home universe into the DCverse. With no money or real ID's in this world. Now thats a problem.

Another big problem is that Danny is badly injured and his core kinda put him into a deep cryo sleep. He needs to rest and gather ectoplasm.

Bigger problem Team Phantom have no clue how to get home because they don't know how to decode the Fenton Portal blue-prints, not even Jazz who at the time didn't pay attention to her parents portal work anymore by the time they finished it. The only one who does have an idea is Danny!

Biggest problem, they landed in a place called Gotham that seems to be overrun with actual villains and heroes? (vigilantes). And for some odd reason many of them seem to find them no matter where the Team goes to hide.

Until they can get their hands on a safe space, tech, and money, Team Phantom might have to go a bit Rogue/Villainous if they wanna keep Danny safe until he wakes up.

[demonic0angel]

I haz an idea cause I love Jazz being a big sis/guardian dynamic with Damian. Jazz gets turned into a blanket. either by a magical mishap or an enemy's curse. Eventually, blanket Jazz ends up in the Al Ghul's custody and becomes Damian's baby blanket.

On the surface, Damian's blanket seems normal enough, and if Talia wasn't an heiress that could delegate simple tasks to others, she might have noticed a few oddities. Like the fact the blanket stayed fresh and clean, no matter what Damian dragged it through. or that it didn't have the normal ware and tear even with the years passing by. The only weird thing she took note of was occasionally finding a dead assassin who had been smothered by the blanket near a sleeping little Damian.

The Bats didn't question it. Blankies are a normal thing of childhood, and with how few normal experiences Damian has, they didn't want ruin something this harmless; even if Damian was getting a little old to be carrying his comfort blanket almost everywhere he went. Though everyone except Jason found the blanket itchy and would lightly complain about it if Damian brought it near.

(I did a spit take when I saw this ask, but I love it lmaooo)

Damian woke up to his circadian rhythm naturally, but as he tried to shuffle out of his bed, the air seemed too cold and his blankets too cozy. Eventually, he stopped struggling and just let himself be swallowed back into his sheets, rubbing his face against his soft blanket.

It was an intricately patterned blanket, with one fluffy side that was pure black with the other side being one of a wooly side that had the pattern, one with red-orange and turquoise colors.

This blanket had kept him warm for many years and although it occasionally pained Damian to admit it, this blanket was his greatest source of comfort and protection. He loved it very much. After all, even when he didn’t have his Mother around to hold him, he had the blanket.

Eventually, as the morning continued and Damian could no longer find excuses to stay in bed, he eventually crawled out from underneath his covers, his blanket wrapped around him like a hooded cape. Tucking the ends around his neck, he took the long, arduous trek out of his room to the kitchen.

Stephanie passed him on the way, freeloading off of them as always before she blinked at the sight of Damian cocooned in his blanket.

She smiled and cooed. “Awww, are you cold, Dami?” She teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair through the blanket. However, she quickly pulled her hand back with a wince. “Ow! Static!”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Brown. I am not cold, I am merely… protecting myself against you cretins if you decide to ambush me at breakfast.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow before she muttered to herself, “I guess it is true that your blankie is always clean, somehow…”

“It is not a blankie! Do not call it disrespectful names!” Damian retorted but wanted to swallow back his tongue at the leering look in Stephanie’s eyes. Thankfully, she didn’t say another word before they arrived.

When they both stepped into the dining hall, Tim spotted them first. “Morning,” he mumbled with a yawn, before shoving more pancakes into his mouth. Jason looked up from his plate and then stood up, rounding the table and then picking up Damian silently. He went back to his seat, placing Damian on his lap like a hot water bottle.

Damian scowled but ultimately did not complain.

The combination of Jason’s body heat and his beloved blanket made for a heavenly experience.

Tim snorted. “I don’t know how you can manhandle Damian when he’s wrapped up like that. Actually, I don’t know how you do it either, Damian. That blanket is so itchy!”

“Agreed! It keeps giving me static shocks, too!” Stephanie complained.

“It does not!” Damian complained, stroking the back of his fluffy blanket. One side was fluffy, the other side was soft, and this blanket had never failed him in doing its duties. “You must have sensitive skin or something.” Damian snorted contemptuously. “My skin is much tougher than you two. That must be why you can’t handle it.”

Jason snorted. “Just shut up and eat, demon brat. You definitely talk too much.” Then he jumped, jostling Damian. “Ow! Static!”

“See?!” Stephanie cried. “I swear that thing has a mind of its own!”

Tim grumbled, “Yeah, and it’s on Damian’s side.”

Damian couldn’t help but stick out his tongue. Jason pulled his plate over to his side and as if trying to appease him, began feeding him blueberry pancakes. Damian allowed it, wrapping his blanket around him tighter, nuzzling into its warm confines and soft, comforting fabric as he chewed syrup soaked pancakes.

He could admit sometimes that his blanket was definitely strange and probably enchanted.

But no matter what, it was his. And Damian would be damned if anyone took it away!

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

part 16 - but I know where to start

“Feeling my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart. I can’t tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start.” -Wake Me Up by Avicii

Regent Masterlist Part 15

Was it a cop-out to summon Jazz back to the Far Frozen? Yes. Did Danny particularly care? Nope! 

Jason was comfortable, propped up with a book Ghostwriter who had popped by to personally deliver. How the ghost had known about Jason Phantom wasn’t going to question, but he suspected GW kept an eye on the bookworms that passed through the Realms- or at least those close to the “Royal family”. Phantom wasn’t much for reading, not unless it was space-related, but he enjoyed listening to the Liminal man reading out loud. He had a brash voice, accented with a cadence like those from Crime Alley, but it only underscored the passion he held for reading. Phantom didn’t interrupt him once, not even when the halfa pulled out his ecto-phone and texted Ellie. 

(His little sister was in Kansas, spending time with another clone she’d literally run into.) 

Almost another full day's cycle passed before Phantom realized Jason had fallen back asleep, a book resting open on his broad chest and soft snores coming from the man. 

Yeah, he could see how he and Jazz fit together so well. 

There was just something about the Once-Revenant, a part of what made him Jason, that resonated with the Phantom. It’s what made him talk to the man as Red Hood, feel comfortable enough to stay in his company for so long, trust him with his older sister- the person who raised him. 

(Spent her birthday money to get him those cheap plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.) 

(Taught him how to read.) 

(Held him as the nightmares of his death shook him to his core.) 

(Did not fear him.) 

(Not as Phantom, Danny, or Dan.)

(Loves him.) 

(Mourns him.) 

(He would never tell her, but he understood how Dan could succumb to grief.)

(Jazz was his.) 

(His first friend, his true mother, his rock.) 

(She wouldn’t have claimed Regency without that tie.) 

Remix & Original chat 

Remix: Lol hows weenie Original:   jasons x3 ur size pipsqeak                    Remix:  ur point?  Original:  lol hes ok                                 frosty says he got hurt wth shrpnel                        new healed core + shrapnel = bad time Remix:  sucks 2 b him  Original:               so tru        Whre r u? Remix: omw 2 spain barcelona Original: ooh send pics if u need me call Remix: pics or nay gotcha txt u l8r luv u  Original: love u 2

Safely back in the living Realm and tucked away in Jason’s apartment, Jazz and Danny tried to investigate the bomb- unfortunately there was nothing for them to do but wait. 

On the upside, the Justice League was about to hit the UN full force with all the subtlety of a tsunami and who had front row seats to the drama? 

Yep, the Regent.  Jazz wasn’t exactly thrilled that her presence was requested, even though it was on the path to the desired outcome the Nightingale siblings had fought for, but both her soulmate boyfriend and little brother would be by her side as support. 

The Birds and the Bats Group Chat

Zombie: I lived bitch Spoiler-Alert: Jason!  Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!  Blood_Heir: Todd. Zombie: don’t sound too excited there demon brat.  Blood_Heir: Never.  Sleep_When_Im_Dead: Where have you been? Zombie: Stayed overnight at my Docs for observation.  Fly-Like-A-Dick: For three days? Blood_Heir: Fail to find that humorous Todd.  Zombie: wasn’t meant to be a joke brat.  I was actually at my Docs.  Zombie: Got a shovel talk from my girlfriends little brother too.                                     Spoiler-Alert:  Whoa GIRLFRIEND!!!! 😱 Jason!  Why is this the first were hearing this??? Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!!!!!! Quiet_Dancer: 🤗  Zombie:  At least Cass and Dickiebird are happy for me                                    Spoiler-Alert:  Ecstatic! But details! Now.                                                      Zombie: No.                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: Is she a redhead??? Sleep_When_Im_Dead:  Jasmine Nightingale.                                                      Zombie: Babs.                                               Oracle_of_Gotham:  On it.  [member Sleep_When_Im_Dead has been blocked from the group.]  Spoiler-Alert:  too late!!!!!! Cass  with me! Quiet_Dancer: 🫡 Oracle_of_Gotham: DENIED Batdad:  Welcome back Jaylad.                                                        Zombie:                                           Old man       You and I need to have a talk with words                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: battle stations everyone!!!

Council of Uncaged Birds

Queen_Regent: Ellie, I want you to meet Jason.  Officially meet him.  WanderingPrincess: eh??? temp said wasnt srs Queen_Regent: Danny No InfiniteStarPrince: Danny YES Frosty said they are  soulmates!!!!!! WanderingPrincess: 🤯😱 wha th fuck!!!1 Queen_Regent: language!  WanderingPrincess: ENGLISH imma get a shovel gotta undead weenie 2 bury.

Template. [user InfiniteStarPrince has left the chat]  WanderingPrincess: coward Queen_Regent: I have many regrets.  WanderingPrincess: u luv us 👻

Lady & Knight chat Lady: Jay remember when I told you I wanted you to meet Ellie?  Knight: She’s bringing a shovel isn’t she.  Lady: I love how brilliant you are.  Knight: I aim to please. 

Lady & Knight chat Knight: you patrolling tonight? Lady: wasnt planning on it Knight: wanna meet me? Lady: same time same place? Knight: you know it

The abolishment of the Anti-Ecto Acts officially happened at three pm on a dreary Gotham Tuesday. Jazz was cuddled with Jason on his couch, dozing off to his heartbeat as he read Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time. The comfortable silence they had wrapped themselves in only occasionally broken by Jason turning a page was completely shattered when Jazz’s phone rang with the Ghostbusters theme song. 

“Danny?” Jazz answered surprised, “School isn’t out yet, what’s wrong?” She was greeted by Danny’s heaving cries as he replied. 

“Batman, he- he did it!” Danny sobbed, “He saved us.” 

It clicked then. The Dark Knight had completed the task he was entrusted with by a Spirit of Protection, the Once and Future Star King, and unknowingly kept the promise a ghost made to a young Jasmine Fenton. 

One day my son will stop this. All of this. You only need to be strong. Take care of yourself and your brother. I promise. 

She had waited years for the promise to be fulfilled, the sworn promise of the dead to a living child. Jasmine was a patient soul, but she had still been a child that night in Gotham. 

(The Drs. Fenton believing the stories about a ghostly vigilante patrolling the streets, a never aging child by their side.) (Dragging their children with them. ) (Hungry and cold.) (A dead man who swore his son would end their torment one day.)

(She should’ve known it wouldn’t come fast enough to save Danny.) 

How was she to know the ghost was speaking of the Realms inhabitants, not the abused and neglected children of Ghost Hunters? How was she to know that the hope such a promise kindled wasn’t hers to keep?  Jason wrapped his arms around her, the book set aside and her phone gently taken from her grasp to be put on speaker so they could both talk to her little brother. Danny had dissolved from heaving sobs to muffled hiccups, seemingly now that he’d shared the news with his sister. 

“He really did,” she muttered. “He really did it.” 

(The furry fucker actually did it.) (She’d known that he was going to try, but humans are stubborn creatures.)

A/N: Hi! Welcome to an update for the Regent. Just to be fully transparent with each of my readers - The Regent is still on Hiatus.

I have deleted so much of my writing because I don't like the flow/dialogue/pacing. Original ending thrown out and rewritten twice- still don't care for it. Who knew something other than Angst would be so difficult.

(Not me!)

Having said that, this entry is of course beta'd by the wonderful @meditating-cat who has put up with my random messages.

(You are amazing!)

(In all honesty, I wish I could just skip right to the ending because at least I know 100% I can get it just right....eventually.)

Thanks for reading and happy easter!

[roocomehome]

anytime I'm like "Roo is actually kinda more like Randy than Leo is..." I remember no. I'm much more likely to see Roo aiming a gun (despite his sheer lack of knowledge in anything gun related) than Leo. Roo is more likely to vent his anger and go about things physically, because often words fail him where physical actions wouldn't (kinda like how Benson punches Randy in the stomach, emphasizing the importance of reacting to certain things instead of not reacting at all) and Leo is MUCH more likely to vent and go about things verbally, because of how he was raised with a very verbally aggressive parent, and because he has a much stronger and heard voice, so things he says are gonna have a lot more emphasis than Roo who is more soft spoken.

[bewitchedbunny]

That awkward feeling when two indie Wario-likes have given me the adrenaline boost in their final bosses that the average Shounen series was supposed to do, but failed miserably.

[sunni-stuff]

Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.

He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.

Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.

Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”

Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”

Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”

Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.

“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”

You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.

Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”

Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”

Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.

“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?

He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”

Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.

He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.

The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.

Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.

"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in  warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”

Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”

Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.

“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”

Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.

Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.

The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.

Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.

Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”

Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”

Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”

Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.

“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”

Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.

You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”

Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.

“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”

You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.

“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.

Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.

The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.

Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.

Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:

Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”

Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”

Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”

Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.

Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.

Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:

What now?

Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.

You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.

And you wanted her to be happy.

The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.

“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.

“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”

“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.

There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.

“First things first—likes and dislikes.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.

When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.

The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.

Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.

The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.

Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.

You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”

He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.

“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”

You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.

Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.

“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.

“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”

Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.

“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”

Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.

“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”

“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”

By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.

At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.

Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.

Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”

"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.

More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.

One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”

Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.

You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.

After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.

Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity. 

You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.

But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?

That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.

That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.

You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.

Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”

You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.

You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.

Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.” 

Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”

“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”

Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.

“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”

Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”

You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”

His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”

You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.

He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.

Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"

Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”

“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”

Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”

Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.

Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.

“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”

Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.

“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”

Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.

“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.

After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.

Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.

The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.

Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.

Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"

Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.

“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.

“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”

Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.

"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.

Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”

Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory. 

Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.

Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.

Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.

“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”

Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.

“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.

He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”

Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.

As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.

Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.

When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”

Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.

“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”

With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.

“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.

If Adira was here.

A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.

The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.

Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.

The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.

It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.  

On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.

The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this. 

Simon, with Adira, was something real.

Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.

As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!

P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3

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[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Yandere idea, reader is dicks baby mama and when dick decides to bring her to the wayne manor the batboys are instantly smitten with her and now all the boys are trying to steal her away from dick who is ready to fight everyone for his baby mama and baby

Smooth Criminal

Synopsis: Dick's brothers want his baby and his baby mama.

Pairing: Soft!Yandere!Batboys X Fem!AFAB!Reader

Tw: Attempt at crackfic; Implied kidnaping; Implied babytrapping; Reader is insecure with post-pregnancy body; Implied forced relationship; Dick controls what Reader wears; Jealous and possessive Dick Grayson; Touchy batboys; Batboys try to gaslight Dick but he's too smart for that; Slightly angry!Reader and accepting!Reader; English isn't my first language.

Word count: 1,2k

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Lol this was fun. Divider.

General masterlist

“And how did this happen?”

“Oh well, this one tried to hide the little one from me for a while, but of course I found them!” Dick exclaimed proudly, but with a hint of his (mostly) past anger at you. You bit your tongue while his family laughed.

You were sitting in the manor’s living room, wearing a sundress that Dick chose, waiting for the picnic on the gardens to be prepared by Alfred. The dress was pretty, and it had plenty of room for your babygirl to grow inside your belly without restricting you. Part of you wanted to resent her for being the reason you're stuck with Dick, but it was not her fault, and not yours either, Dick would shackle you to him one way or another.

Damian put his hand on your belly. Without your permission.

“Is she kicking yet?” Dick answered him for you. “You're 17 weeks along, it could happen anytime.” He started rubbing circles on your belly, out of nowhere. “I don't think Grayson would be a much useful help with that. Truthfully there is no sure way to make a baby stop kicking. But you can try to alleviate the discomfort with warm tea, calming music, light stretching exercises and rubbing the stomach.” He smiled gently. You were taken aback.

“Damian is a pediatric surgeon.” Dick explained while draping his arm over your shoulders, before planting his lips on your neck momentarily.

“Yes. But I mostly stick to managing my clinic nowadays. Your labour’s in good hands. I only have the best of the best on my teams.” Damian gave you a small, soft smile, as if trying to reassure you. He stopped his hand movements and smoothly slid his hands around each side of your waist. He was way too close to be comfortable, and even Dick frowned, confused, at that. You tensed at how close his face was from yours, especially because of your belly and chest grownth, and the fact he was kneeling in front of you. But then- Oh…

Your whole body relaxed instantly and you just had to close your eyes.

Damian grinned smartly and Dick looked at him, bewildered.

“Back pains.” He explained swiftly, while his magic hands worked on your back. You found yourself leaning against his chest and almost laying your head on his shoulder. You sighed dreamily. “You can stop by or call me anytime those get to be too much.”

“... Or I can do it myself.” Dick went to replace Damian's hands but you shot your arms out towards him to stop him.

“No, no, no, don't- don't stop…” You moaned when Damian kneaded a particularly tense knot and practically melted against him. Damian held back a smirk, staring innocently at Dick, who looked murderous.

“Thank you, Jay. I really needed that…” 

“I know, you looked so tense when I got here. I knew I could use my hands to loosen you up…” 

Dick bursted in the apartament, having just come back from the Titans Tower and heard the weird talk inside.

“Jay… What’re you doing here?” He said, strained, but hiding behind a mask of good humor.

“(N/N) called me.” Jason shrugged.

“Didn't know you were on nickname basis…” Dick contemplated, entering the room and taking your daughter from Jasons’ arms. He started rocking her to keep her doozing. 

“We're closer than you think, Dickie.” Jason snorted. You pursed your lips and decided to just keep sitting down on your rocking chair. 

“Love, why did you call him?” Dick asked, ignoring his brother and looking straight at you.

“The shower broke, your baby wouldn't stop crying, and I’m gross.” You crossed your arms.

“Seem’s to me someone’s slacking on the job…” Your eyes darted to Jason, wide, and ready to scream at him, even if it would make your daughter wake up. “Not you, sweetheart, never you. But your boy here certainly needs to step up.” He side-eyed Dick. It was unfair, Dick basically took over 90% of the baby’s care when he was home, because he was a good father, and he was slightly afraid you would run if given the chance. He even stopped working just to spend more time with you. The only reason he was away for days and didn't take you with him was because of something with the Titans and some guy called Deathstroke. You didn't really care to pay attention to anything he said as long as it didn't involve your life or the world’s safety. 

“You're an asshole, get out of here!” 

Jason smirked. 

“Can’t. Just put a bun in the oven for (Y/N).” He shrugged.

“WHAT?” You and Dick exclaimed at the same time.

“I’m baking some bread, relax…” 

“I need some help…” You were in a clothes store with your husband and his brothers, trying to find a dress for an upcoming gala that you didn't want to go, especially since your body changed during pregnancy, and your previous size isn't fitting the way you wanted to anymore. It’s especially annoying that Dick has to give you permission or order you to wear something, regardless of your opinion.

Before Dick could hand the newborn over to her uncle and get up to help you zip the back of your dress, Tim shot up from his seat.

“I’ll do it.”

Tim stood behind you and clasped the zipper between his fingers, before pulling it up. It went smoothly, until it reached your upper back and it wouldn't go up anymore. You felt embarrassment sink in the bottom of your heart, and before Tim could say something, you turned around.

“It doesn't fit, I should try something else.” You averted your gaze to the floor.

“Nonsense. You look stunning right now, (Y/N). It's just your…” Tim’s gaze flicked to your chest momentarily, before quickly staring at your eyes again. “... New curves. Let me use both hands and I’m sure it will fit.” He smiled at you, soft, reassuring, and trying to convince you really bad.

You let out a huff of breath from your nose, and begrudgingly turned again. Truth to his words, with his other hand gripping the fabric above the zipper, it went up smoothly again.

You pursed your lips, analyzing yourself in the mirror. It was tight, but not uncomfortable, red, and long, with a high slit showing off your thigh. But the cleavelange was a little too much to what you were used to.

“I don't know…”

“Oh, please…” Tim, still standing behind you, placed both hands on either side of your waist and squeezed. You felt momentary shivers run up your spine, and your face warmed from shyness. “You look beautiful. Really.”

“Timmy, back down. The wife is mine.” I’m not an object! Your mind screamed, while you held back the urge to clench your hands and stomp your feet.

“I’m not doing anything.” He shrugged. “If you’re so insecure, that's a ‘you’ problem.” Tim winked at you from the mirror, with a convinced half-smirk. “What do you think, (N/N)? I think he's just jealous that you and the little one like me more…”

“The baby doesn't like you more. She likes anyone who will give her junk food and new toys. You're not special.” Dick retorted, and Tim squeezed your hips. “Now back down before people think you're a couple.”

“Geez…”

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[charlotteking27]

Your Safe Space

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: You and Max are polar opposites. You're shy, and he's... well...not. You listen, and he's Maxplaining. But despite all the differences, you are perfect for each other.

Warning: None

The celebration at the Dutch Grand Prix was intense, even by Formula 1 standards. The crowd of orange-clad fans cheered loudly as Max claimed another home win, their excitement palpable. You watched from the garage, feeling a mix of pride and underlying anxiety as he took his place on the podium.

"Time to head to the paddock," Christian Horner said with understanding, noticing your nervous fidgeting. He had become protective of you, realizing why his star driver was so careful about your comfort.

The real challenge began after Max finished his media duties. What started as a steady stream of well-wishers quickly turned into a chaotic rush of fans and journalists, all eager for a glimpse of the Dutch champion. You found yourself caught in it, gripping Max's race suit as camera flashes went off around you.

"Max! Can I have your autograph?" "Can we take a picture?" "Is this your girlfriend?" "Look this way!" "Just one question about the championship!"

The different voices merged into a deafening noise. Your breathing quickened as the world around you felt dizzy. Max sensed your grip tighten and immediately shifted from his relaxed post-race demeanor to a more protective stance.

"Enough," he said firmly, but kindly, cutting through the chaos. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "Please step back."

But the crowd, electrified by their hero's success, pushed even closer. An eager photographer leaned in, his camera mere inches from your face. Max's expression hardened, and the competitive intensity he usually displayed on the track came through fully.

"BACK UP!" His voice carried the authority he used with his race engineer during tense moments. "NOW!"

His right arm created a barrier between you and the crowd while his left arm held you securely against him. You buried your face in his chest, grateful for the safety of his embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of champagne and racing fuel on his suit.

"Jos! Hannah!" Max called his father and PR manager, who were already moving to assist. "Make a path."

They quickly formed a human barrier. Max turned his body, shielding you from the cameras and reaching hands. You felt him start to move, guiding you through the chaos with the same precision he used on the track.

"Keep your eyes closed if you need to," he murmured against your hair. "I've got you. Just a few more meters."

The noise began to fade as security finally took control. Max didn't stop until you reached the private area behind the Red Bull hospitality suite, where it was quieter and protected by team security.

"I'm so sorry about that," he said softly, gently cupping your face and wiping away tears you hadn't realized were falling. "They shouldn't have gotten so close. Are you okay?"

You managed a shaky nod, still trying to steady your breathing. Max's eyes searched yours, filled with concern and a hint of anger—not at you, but at the situation.

"We can skip the team celebration," he offered right away. "I'll tell Christian—"

"No," you whispered, finding your voice. You didn't want to take this moment away from him. "Just… stay close?"

His expression softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Always. We’ll go through it together, alright? And if it feels overwhelming, we squeeze hands three times. That’s our signal, and we leave right away. No questions."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding and the small systems he put in place to help you navigate his world. Max pulled you into another hug, his heart beating steadily against your ear.

"You know," he said after a moment, a hint of pride in his voice, "you're braver than any driver on that grid. They only face the crowds when they're winning. You face them every day, just because you love me."

For the first time since the crowd incident, a small smile appeared on your lips. In moments like these, you understood why you could handle the chaos of his world—because at its center was this man who turned your silence into strength and your anxiety into courage, one protective embrace at a time.

Later that evening, in the quiet comfort of Max's driver's room, the world felt more manageable. You sat cross-legged on the leather couch, mostly hidden behind a Red Bull hoodie that was two sizes too big—Max's, of course. He paced in front of you, still buzzing with post-race energy as he relived important moments from the race.

"So going into Turn 3—" Max's hands moved through the air, mimicking the racing line. "Lewis was trying for the undercut, but I knew—" He spun around, excitedly gesturing. "I knew if I could just hold the inside line…"

You watched him closely, your chin resting on your knees. This was your favorite version of Max—unfiltered, passionate, and immersed in the technical details of racing. When new team members entered the room, you instinctively shifted further behind the couch's armrest, but Max continued with his explanation.

"Hey, GP," he nodded to his race engineer before turning back to you. "So anyway, the tire degradation was crucial here—" His hands spread wide, creating invisible graphs in the air. You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm while trying to make yourself smaller in the presence of others.

Gianpiero, aware of your shy nature, simply dropped off some data sheets and left with a friendly smile. Max moved to stand between you and the door, unconsciously protecting your space as he dove deeper into the race analysis.

"The telemetry was incredible!" He grabbed the sheets and dropped onto the couch beside you. You nestled against his side, using his shoulder as a shield despite there being no one else in the room. It was now a habit—Max as your safety barrier against the world.

He repositioned himself to shelter you better, one arm draped protectively around your shoulders while the other pointed out numbers on the sheets. "See these spikes? That's where we found extra tenths in sector two."

You nodded, following the lines with your gaze. While some of the technical jargon flew over your head, you loved watching how his face lit up while explaining it. He never seemed to mind your mostly silent responses; he recognized your quiet enthusiasm in how you leaned closer to see the details.

When Lando Norris came in to congratulate Max, you instinctively ducked behind his back, peeking out just enough to offer a tiny wave. Max smoothly shifted to block Lando's view, giving you time to adjust.

"Thanks, mate! I was just showing the tire strategy—" Max resumed his explanation, using his body as a protective barrier while you gathered your courage. By the time Lando left, you'd managed to emerge slightly from behind Max, though your fingers still clung to the back of his shirt.

"You know," Max said softly once they were alone again, finding your hand, "I love how you listen. Everyone else just nods and moves on, but you… You care about understanding everything."

You squeezed his hand in response, and he smiled, understanding your silent language perfectly. Then he jumped up to demonstrate a wheel-to-wheel battle with Leclerc, spinning an imaginary steering wheel while you watched from your corner of the couch, completely absorbed in his joy.

This was your perfect moment—Max in his element, passionate and unguarded, while you could observe and love him from the safety of the shadows, knowing he'd never push you into the spotlight you weren't ready for.

[tokoyamisstuff]

I need some Mohawk mark head cannons I’m desperate for anything please😞😞😞

Sure thing, I love this unhinged little gremlin! Wrote a whole Oneshot as a special treat for you. 💅

Payback

x f! Reader (gender gets mentioned exactly twice)

Synopsis: In his timeline, Mohawk killed you for rejecting him - and now he seeks you out to do it again.

Warnings: mentions of murder and violence, sexual innuendos, unhealthy dynamics, swearing, not proofread

"Y/N? Im hurt...please, I need you! Y/N...? Ah, shit."

Mohawk was kicking the air in frustration, a little pout decorating his face as he scanned the small apartment for any hint of your whereabouts. He had thought you were home, since the window on the top floor stood wide open. Almost too easy.

Bummer. He was really looking forwards to killing you again...

...after all, last time he wasn't able to enjoy himself. Not really. It all happened so fast, the only thing he remembers is that in his lovesickness, he wanted to make you experience exactly how your rejection made him feel.

Before he even knew it, his fist had buried itself through your ribcage, holding your still beating heart in his own hand. The only way he'd ever get to have it - what tragic symbolism.

Not that he'd ever admit, but that betrayed expression of yours before he could literally feel your heart stop haunts him until this day.

The countless photos you had plastered all over one of the walls piqued his interest. Can't hurt to learn more about the version of you from this world, he thinks.

A particular one he rips off, nothing extraordinary but it bugs him how many they are. Plain selfies with you in various years and situations, together with that pathetic loser - the Mark from your timeline.

Seems like you're rather close, unlike him and his Y/N. And that fucker doesn't even realize how lucky he is.

Mohawk grits his teeth, a familiar jealous anger seething in the pit of his stomach once again.

It should've been him!

You on the other hand are blissfully unaware of the intruder in your house, let alone the catastrophy unfolding on the whole globe right this moment.

It was the day after your nightshift and you had just crawled out of bed, no intention of listening to the news as they only kill the vibe anyways. And in the middle of nowhere that you called your hometown, no one bothered giving an alarm or even evacuating, as it's most likely not going to be attacked.

After a nice, steaming hot shower you stroll out of the bathroom, humming a whimsy melody as you mentally prepare your day off...

...until you notice the stranger right in the middle of your living room.

Your shriek actually caughts him off guard and this moron joins right in, but after the initial shock you merely tilt your head in confusion. "...Invincible?"

Damn. Shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuckingfuck!

Mohawks brain currently had a short circuit apparently, staring at your almost naked form like a deer that had just been caught in the headlights.

Your hair was still damp, a towel - that was way too small for this purpose - wrapped around your curves. Shit. Seems like no matter which universe, you're drop-dead gorgeous. He mentally praises Art for having a groin cup sewn into this suit - or else he would've involuntarily presented something to you he's usually not so shy about.

"The one and only." He manages to regain his cool, smugly leaning against a counter...

...however his mind soon went blank once again when you rushed towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso with your barely covered body pressed against his.

Mohawk freezes, arms itching to return the embrace yet instead he lets them fall limp to the side, hands soon balling into tight fists as you stubbornly refuse to let go.

How dare you.

He should snap your neck like a twig- no, better, break every bone in your body for this insolence...

...but instead, he caughts himself resting his chin atop of your head.

"I missed you, ya know?" he mumbles against your hair, feeling the taunting way his heart flutters in his chest. It's drum is so loud in his head, he's certain you can hear it too. Fuck.

What the hell was he doing? He came here to give you a long, agonizing death, for fuck's sake!

"Well, you are the superpowered alien" you tease, softly poking his chest. "Maybe come around more often?"

Your friend was visibly uncomfortable with the whole exchange, but you didn't seem to notice. Whenever he failed to answer, you filled the gaps of silence with your own babbling instead. It's been way too long and you're simply excited to see him again.

"Is that the new suit you were talking about?" you wonder, still holding onto the sides of his shoulders. Feeling a blush form on his cheeks he quietly glances away, feeling oddly embarrassed under your scrutiny.

"It suits you! But what about that hair?" One of your hands runs through his mohawk and he has to physically fight the urge to purr like some needy stray cat. "...you don't like it?"

You shrug, raising your hands in a placating manner. "No, I mean yes, I mean...it looks super cool and all..." That statement made his chest swell with pride, and he could almost feel his confidence returning. "Doesn't really suit an innocent guy like you though, am I wrong?"

Innocent. Ugh. His variant is so fucking boooring, but he couldn't let his true colors show just yet. This was getting way too amusing.

Only now you noticed the huge gash on his left arm where the fabric of his suit was torn, the blood running down your fingers. Hardly a scratch for a superior Viltrumite like he called himself one.

Again Mohawk felt his chest narrowing at such great display of care, the way you worriedly examined his wound despite knowing how tough his kind was. "This is nothing, it'll be healed by-"

"Na-a-ah!" You scolded him and he wanted to sass right back, but all word of protest died on his tongue. "Come, sit down on the sofa. I'll patch you up."

He complies without second thought, following you like a lost puppy.

The heart wants what it wants.

"You finished whatever mission you were on, right? Because I'm almost done cooking as well" you tell him while working on the bandage, and he has a hard time concentrating on anything else when you're so close, touching him so gently, and your eyes shine so bright. "Be my guest?"

His eyes dart bewteen you any the bandage for a brief while, examining your handiwork before sheepishly accepting your offer. "If you insist...got nothing better to do."

Oh.

When he thought there was nothing to lose by staying for a while, he totally forgot about your absolutely horrid cooking. He remembers it from his Y/N, she used to make it all the time.

In his empire he is provided with the most sublime meals, prepared by the best chef's of across the galaxy...and yet, this homely, nostalgic feeling your food provided is something no one could replicate.

"You still eat this crap?" He picks at the food, plain mac and cheese from the box, but you always claimed you 'improve the flavor' somehow.

"Your fault for not calling beforehand. If I knew I'd be having a guest, I'd have cooked something properly." You scold him playfully, gesturing with the fork to add to your statement. "I mean I'm single and practically live at work, why put in the effort?"

You're single.

That damned boyfriend of yours isn't with you in this universe.

Not that it'd have been any hindrance if he was, but this made things so much more easier.

Back at his dimension, he always wondered what you saw in this guy. He was a nobody that could never even dream compare to his greatness - and yet you chose him over Mohawk anyways.

"You're so broody again today." Concerningly enough, that's basically his standard state of being ever since he became a superhero - and knowing him it meant no good. "Do you want to talk about it, or would you like some distraction?"

His screams had been music in his ears, though...

Mohawk puts the plate down, shuffling a little too close for your liking towards the other end of the sofa. His gaze was stern, softening ever so slightly when you put your hand on the small of his back.

"Say, do you..." he swallows hard around the lump forming in his throat, taking both of your hands into his as he stared at you utterly forlorn. "Did you ever think we could've been more than just friends?"

Huh?!?

That question caught you so off guard, for a second you thought about punching yourself in the face to see if you were dreaming.

It's not like you haven't thought about it before, to be perfectly honest.

Mark Grayson is a fairly attractive guy - inside and out - and you two always clicked well. If it wasn't for the huge distance separating you and him, you might've certainly catched feelings.

Your grandma lived next door with his family, so you befriended each other as kids and played whenever you visited her during the holidays. But life happens and people grow up, so even though his powers would easily allow him to visit you more often, his priorities simply lie elsewhere.

You barely text these days, and see each other maybe once or twice a month at max. Adult life gets busy, that's just the way it works.

Not to mention the most important fact: He currently has a girlfriend.

There was a long pause of silence between his question and your answer, and the more time passed the more anxiety - and violent anger - emerged in his brain.

"Be honest" he pushes at your lack of an answer, insistingly squeezing your hands.

"What, trouble in paradise already?" You cut him off with a judging, almost irritated glare and for a moment he is taken aback. "You told me like a week ago how happy you are with Eve, that she's the love of your life, blah blah blah..."

Samantha Eve Wilkins.

Sure, he had been with her before in his world as well, always trying to make you jealous. Claiming that you were insignificant, while he was with a literal goddess...

...and still, whenever they kissed, whenever she laid beneath him, hell, even whenever they just were around each other, all he could think of was how much he yearned for her to be you instead.

It wasn't enough, never enough to make those feelings go away. In the end he killed her simply for the crime of not being able to replace you.

"Sorry, but I'm not a homewrecker." You want to turn away, angry and disappointed that you seemed to have mistaken him for a good guy, but Mark takes ahold of your chin, letting his thumb run over your bottom lip as he forces you to keep looking.

He'd get that attitude out of you pretty easily.

"Y/N..." The name rolls of his lips like a lovesong, and he drags it out for as long as the air in his lungs allowed him to. "There's no more Eve in my life. And I don't want her, or anyone else but you!"

A boyish smile tugs on his lips when he realizes that despite playing coy, you're receptive to his touch. He feels your breathing hitch when he came forwards, his nose brushing against yours as he waited for your reaction.

There. Gotcha.

The slightest twitch was enough of a sign for him to close the gap between your lips, mouth crashing over yours in all forms of desire. He was passionate, desparate even in the way his tongue delved into your mouth, needing you quite literally more than oxygen. His hands roam across your body, stroking and squeezing and crushing you agaisnt him, not knowing where to settle.

Mark's eyes stay wide open during the kiss, savouring every detail as if to commit it to memory. This, the real deal, is so much better than all those others he used to try and fill the void your absence has left in his soul.

His heart is practically clawing against his ribcage by now, subconscious screaming at him to never let anyone take you away from him again.

Not even yourself.

"Breaking news!" the volume of your TV that always ran in the background suddenly spiked up, and for the fraction of a second Mark's grip on you bordered on painful.

However it wasn't enough to keep you preoccupied, partially breaking the kiss to glance over to the screen...

...and what you saw made cold dread creep up your spine.

"Multiple superhumans all resembling Invincible are wreaking havoc in cities all around the world, overwhelming local and government forces. The police is advising everyone that if you come across one of those invididuals, do not approach them. They are dangerous and unpredictable. Remain hidden and report to local authori-"

It's him.

"They never get my good site" Mohawk's neck cracks as he moves his head from left to right, trying to relieve some stress of having been so rudely interrupted. He's not acknowledging your distress at all, instead looking straight ahead towards the footage of himself making the London Bridge collapse. "But hey, do you like what I've done to the place?"

You didn't even fully register what the news broadcaster had been explaining, and frankly it wouldn't be helpful either way - because at this moment, one of those villains destroying everything in their path was sitting right next to you.

"Please-"

"Relax, would you" he cuts you off both harshly and encouraging, draping an arm over your shoulder and letting out a content sigh. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be. Okay, maybe that was the plan in the beginning" he chuckled gleeful, "but I changed my mind."

"Wha- how- who are you?" you whimmer only to be met with a smile so innocently, it bordered on pure madness.

"I'm Invicible, but..." he ponders, thoughtfully tapping his jaw. "...from an alternate universe, I guess? Never fully understood how this shit works."

You frown. "So what, you're just like some cheap, evil version of our Mark Grayson?"

"And- why are you at my house?" You have a distinct apprehension about his reasons.

"Oh, babydoll...so stubborn" he cockily corrects you, forcefully leading your hand to rest above his sternum. "I'm the upgrade."

"In my world we go way back, you know?" Mohawk holds your face with his free hand, pressing an absentminded kiss on your forehead. "The old story: Boy falls in love, girl breaks his heart, boy brutally murders girl..." he trails off, but the picture was clearly painted. "I came here to give you what you deserve."

"...and now?"

"Still do" he shrugs, a devilish glint in his eyes as he got an idea. "But I came to think that maybe you deserve something different..."

His words make you shiver, but he only laughs at your misery. "You're trembling. Cute. But I prefered you before. I like dominant women!"

When your eyes gloss in dread, Mohawk looked almost convincingly worried, hushing you while his lips erase the teardrops running down your cheeks. Delightful not only for him...

...because much to your horror, it was oddly comforting.

Out of a whim you get pulled onto his lap, unable to escape his suffocating proximity. You look at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity, which only spurs him to become bolder. He tugs on your towel so that it'd reveal what's beneath, shamelessly groaning at the sight.

"I wanted to hear you scream my name one last time..." he admitted, playfully wriggling his eyebrows. "But there's other ways to achieve that."

Mohawk leans in, the contrast of his hot breath against the chilling air rising goosebumps on your skin. You shiver, a strangled noise of approval vibrating in your throat when you feel his hands devote themselves to more sensitive parts of your body.

"Whaddaya say, sugar? I'll make it worth your while."

[soldiersgirl]

— 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 .ᐟ

summary — life had always been cruel to ben; littered with betrayals, heartbreak, guts & glory. somehow, despite it all, the one thing he thought he had lost and could never experience, turned out to be his saving grace. (inspired by this post)

cw — fem!reader x girl dad!soldier boy, 18+ (hints of sex, wrap it before u tap it) established relationship (married). soft ben, fluff, angst, kissing, daddy kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of daddy and mommy, mentions of ben's trauma and war, mentions of drug use.

word count — 2,138 words

ben couldn't count on one hand the amount of trials and tribulations he had been subjected to over his long, arduous existence, but he needed the other one to hold and keep himself anchored to you.

it had all started out innocently. much like the other members of the boys, you were indifferent to ben. but soon enough, you discovered that you two couldn't stand each other, let alone be in the same room without going at it and screaming about "the importance of having a moral backbone" while he told you to go "shove your fuckin' modern values!" in return. but as time does with most things, it eats away at anger and suddenly, after a long day at the office and going over missions, you would retreat to the roof together and share a cigarette between the two of you. words were rarely spoken, but you grew to understand each other just a little bit more with each inhale and exhale of your shared vice.

his complexity perplexed you and you found yourself wishing to understand the man under the armour. how ben had become soldier boy and lost himself along the way.

during one particular cold night, up on the flatiron building roof, he laid it all out to you. he had told hughie and butcher a few bits, here and there, but you got the full picture. all you did was nod in return, not offering any comments like others did. ben couldn't read you and it freaked him the fuck out. he had quite the knack for getting under people's skin and staying there, gnawing on their insecurities and break them down. but when you comfortingly laid your hand on his and he didn't flinch, he knew there was something about you that he possibly wouldn't find again.

within a few tough and challenging months, for both of you and the boys as a team, you and ben had turned to finding comfort in one another. each night, either at his place or yours, you would intertwine your limbs and entangle your tongues with no care for the world around you. he would get lost in your gentle mewls, your soft pleading as he would pound into you and fulfil all your dirtiest fantasies, without a second thought.

you managed to keep your... situation quiet for a while from the others, knowing that no one would approve of it; why complicate things when everything is a already a nightmare with vought and homelander? but when the boys abruptly came back from a mission and walked in on ben taking you from behind on your own desk; you knew you couldn't keep it under wraps anymore. hell broke loose. insults were hurled. computers were thrown, mainly by ben, and you were both told that it wouldn't last long. but you managed to prove them wrong; much to your own surprise.

loving ben wasn't a walk in the park. nothing about ben was ever easy. but when your fingers interlocked and he bared his soul to you, all his worst nights were worth it. the nights filled with long discussions, ingrained toxic reflexes, harsh empty words.

"you need to cut off the fucking pills, ben! i swear to god, i'm gonna flush them down the fuckin' toilet!" you yelled as you held the baggie over the toilet, shaking them, daring him to come closer.

"you're batshit! actually, insane! i should've listened to butcher when he said i shouldn't get involved with someone like you!" he pointed his finger accusingly, a deep scowl on his face.

always turned into...

"i'll never find someone like you." ben sighed as he cradled you close, your heartbeats in sync and your breaths shallow after you furiously apologise to each other. you peer up at him and caress his exhausted face, loving how he leans in and seeks your touch.

"i love you." you stated. his eyes flew open, revealing his moss-green irises as they softened at the sight of you. he exhaled as if the weight of the world fell off his shoulders and his usual scowl turned into a wide, toothy smile as he rested his forehead against yours.

"i love you too, sweetheart." he kissed the tip of your nose and nestled himself deeper into you. he loved you like he did everything else; fiercely and loudly and he was sure he could never love someone like he did you. until he met her.

for weeks and weeks, this was the moment it had all been leading up to this. the final showdown between ben and homelander. you had felt incredibly nauseous for weeks, watching ben the boys strategise and devise their attack plans. it must the anxiety, the fear of the great unknown beyond their fight. until you couldn't deny it anymore. three pregnancy tests stared back at you, the severity of the situation seeped into your bones and overtaking your senses.

you stepped out and admired ben's broad back as he pulled on his suit, buckled his knee pads and gave his shield the once over before sliding it onto his back.

"are you gonna stand there all day or am i a lucky enough of a bastard to get a kiss from my girlfriend?" he hummed before turning around and giving you that infamous smirk. his smile faltered immediately as he noticed your frail composure and the look of absolute fear etched on your face. "baby. don't be nervous about the fight, come on. don't you trust your old man?" he chuckles before dragging you in and kissing the top of your head as a gesture of reassurance. "i got the boys with me, don't i darling? they've got my back."

they definitely didn't have his back.

"when's your daddy coming, sweetheart?" the kindergarten teacher perched next to the pigtailed girl with those captivating green eyes that everyone couldn't help but compliment.

"sweetheart?" the girl giggled as she eyed the playground, waiting for her dad to appear at any moment, like mum had promised he would today. "that's mommy's name, daddy says so all the time. i'm athena!!" she flashed her toothless grin and giggled even louder.

"ah, yes. sorry, athena. i got confused!" the teacher shook her head and feigned confusion, returning the young girl's smile. as if on cue, the intimidating father figure entered the classroom and the young girl wasted no time sprinting and latching onto his leg as he lets out a low chuckle. he picks her up effortlessly and rests her on his hip as he looks apologetically at the teacher.

"i'm sorry, ma'am." his gruff voice filled the classroom which is usually filled with high-pitched laughs and soft tones. "i got.. held up at work." athena pats her father's stubbled cheeks and let out a shriek of laughter as his free hand pokes at her stomach, his eyes fully on her with a smile to match.

"mr. anderson, it was really no issue. i love spending time with athena, don't worry about it."

"ben. ben is fine." he corrects. "alright. well, say goodbye to miss smith, athena. time to go home to mommy." athena waves wildly as ben offers miss smith a curt nod before leaving the colourful classroom. miss smith couldn't help but laugh to herself; somehow the toughest man became the softest father.

the fight had taken a turn for the worst. everyone had turned on each other. chaos ensued and ben was left with no option to erupt and unleash himself on everyone. luckily, with shaking hands and a trembling voice, you had called grace mallory and begged for her help. for her to make you and ben disappear so you could start again, give him what he always yearned for a loving family. that's how you ended up in south philadelphia, ben's home state. despite his denial to face and confront his past, he knew it was something he needed to be able to become the father he wanted. the father he knew he could be. it wasn't hard to do a better job than his own father, but once he regained consciousness after the fight and you shared the news you were too scared to share before, suddenly... all of ben's betrayals, heartaches and suffering became obsolete. all that mattered was you... and her.

ben wasn't made to work under normal conditions, being in an office and stuck at a desk felt like a punishment. like a wild animal trapped in a cage. he wanted the normal life he knew he could've had if he never had become soldier boy, but no matter what, ben was a weapon before he was a man. while you and athena settled into a comfortable daily life, ben was sent on solitary missions by mallory and the CIA. it was the least he could do after the fuckfest that went down in nicaragua all those years ago, mallory had explained. it was the only way the CIA would agree to help him and his family, so he begrudgingly accepted.

you pulled a pink pyjama top over athena's wriggling form before pulling her in and giving her rushed kisses all over her soft face.

"mammaaaa!" she yelled in defiance as her giggles grew louder and pushed away at your quick, planted kisses. you pulled back, gave her a large smile and brushed her wet hair carefully after her nightly shower.

"mummy couldn't help herself. you're too cute, 'thena." you laughed in return before braiding her hair and tucking her into bed, surrounded by her army of stuffed teddy bears. the soft glow of her sunset lamp cast a warm, orange hue over her cherub face as you gazed into those eyes that you could get lost in.

"can you tell me about where i got my name again, mamma?" athena whispers into her hands, knowing it was already past her bedtime. you open your mouth to tell her no, but a gruff voice from behind interrupts you.

"daddy can do it." ben had been leaning against his daughter's door frame with folded arms and admiring the sight of the two of you, not fully believing how lucky he had gotten. he saunters in, gives you a big kiss on your lips (followed with an "eeew..." by athena) before he sits down carefully on her heart-filled bed covers and holds her tiny hand in his.

"when daddy used to be a soldier, many many years ago before he met you, daddy was in many wars. he worked hard to protect his country and he was always protected by athena. athena helped daddy when he needed to be brave and clever to get the bad people to go back home. like those fuc-." you let out a small cough. he pauses and his eyes flicker to you, as you offer him a warm smile; encouraging him to continue. you let your hand run up and down his back, relaxing him. "fudging commies." he continues. "athena was zeus' favourite daughter, like you are mine." he continues and kisses her small knuckles. "she was the wisest, bravest olympian god and she cared for people, like daddy, when daddy needed it most."

all soldiers need a war, but not the way that ben needed his little athena.

ben's smooth voice had lulled athena into a slumber, her eyes lidded and her lips in a natural pout as her head hung. ben tucked her in tightly and placed a brief kiss on her forehead as you turned off the lights.

"daddy loves both of his girls." he whispers into her hair before quietly leaving her room and joining you in the hallway.

"oh, daddy loves his girls, huh?" you wink and stretch your arms up around his neck. his hands fall naturally into place, on your hips, as you sway slightly together with identical smirks on your faces.

"if you're not careful, sweetheart, daddy will have to teach you a lesson." he gives your ass a light slap.

"how could i say no to you, daddy?" you hum as you bite your bottom lip.

"you're so fuckin' dirty. bet you've been thinking about me all day, haven't you?" he chuckles as you lead him into your joint bedroom, swiftly closing the door behind you and connecting your lips in a frenzied kiss. "daddy will take care of you, sweetheart. lay back and show daddy how much you missed him." ben mutters against your slick lips before throwing you onto your bed and climbing on top of you, his hands gliding across your form and grabbing you with a sense of urgency that you never got tired of.

after all this time, you were still into him, who you watched finally find himself amongst the chaos of his life.

a/n: in my mind, months pass between the boys finding ben and the showdown between him and homelander, rather than only a few days, so that's where this takes place. also couldn't resist writing a girldad! ben as jensen is just the best father ever <3 and still into you is my favourite lovesong ever. hope u enjoyed!

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 14- taking these wounds to their grave

"I'm battered and broken, my spirit's been stolen, but I'm taking these wounds to their grave. Surrounded by allies with fire in their eyes, for the past I don't need to deny." -Relentless by The Nearly Deads

Masterlist Part 13

In all honesty, learning his girlfriend was a Queen Regent for a different realm wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen to him. Sure, being told that ‘hey, by the way, we forced this substance that tastes like pop-rocks and sprite down your throat to save you from dying again’ was on that list too, but Jason had fucking died. His death was brutal, no doubt, but the weirdest part was the fact that he had been a Revenant the moment he awoke in his coffin. 

A vengeful spirit unable to move on. 

Forced to wander the earth until their reason for clinging to the mortal realm is satisfied. 

It hurt his heart in a phantom reminder of what he had suffered the same day Joker had been brutally murdered, the pain off what had been his second death due to his ‘reason’ being satisfied. 

(It hurt more to realize that he had never needed Bruce to kill Joker.)

(It had all been for nothing.) 

Jazz was quiet where she was tucked up against him in the large medical bed the Yeti had treated him in, not yet asleep by her breathing but calmly existing with him in this space. 

It was everything he needed. 

Jazz was truly the other half of his soul, the one he was meant to find. 

(She avenged him.) 

(She saved him.) 

He would marry Jasmine Nightingale aka the Regent of the Realms aka Lady of the Acropolis, he would be her staunchest supporter as the world keeps turning around them. What else is he meant to do in the face of her overwhelming love for him? 

(She avenged him.) 

(She saved him.) 

They still had more to discuss and Jason would continue to swallow down the question that began with ‘Will you’ and ended with ‘Marry me’ amidst the others he needed answers for. They’d only been dating a month, so it would be a while before Jason was comfortable even allowing thoughts of matrimony to blossom from seed to full bloom. 

(He wanted everything with her.) 

(His Lady.) 

(The Lady to his Knight.) 

(Jason Nightingale had a nice ring to it.)

Jason kissed the top of Jazz’s head and pulled her further onto his chest before he fell back asleep, content with having his lady in his arms again. 

Bruce wanted to laugh and cry in equal measure as he studied the pictures of his wayward son with his girlfriend, laughing, smiling, in love. Oh, Bruce could tell how smitten Jason was by how he looked so fondly at Jasmine Nightingale, the civilian his son had chosen to build a relationship with. On paper, they shared a common love of reading (Jason was classical literature, Jasmine was psychological thrillers), and an excellence at school (Jasmine had a 4.0 gpa), but there was little else to draw them together. 

Yet, despite this, the two were happy together. They were in love. His son was in love. 

And he was missing. 

(Bruce swallowed down the grief at Jason being dead…again.)

(He’d been missing before, he’ll turn up.)

It was worrying that the sub-dermal tracker stopped working while Jason was at Jasmine’s apartment, but there had been no immediate sign that they’d been caught in the explosion or remained trapped in the debris. 

Phantom had vanished almost as soon as he entered, no doubt on the trail of what had disturbed the spirit’s haunt so violently. It was concerning how competent the child ghost was at fighting, how angry Phantom became when there was a threat he had to face. Insult, demean, threaten him and the boy laughed it off with a casual grace that spoke of experience, but turn that attention to the people he claimed as his? No chance in the infinite realms that he wouldn’t find you. Constantine had been adamant to leave the spirit alone, to let him exist in his way, but the Magician often went out of his way to let others deal with his messes, so Bruce often took his advice with far more than a grain of salt. 

\B, Phantom’s back. He says Hood is fine./

Relief coursed through the big bat, untightening the knot in his chest. Jason was fine. He is fine. 

His eyes drifted back to the pictures splashed across the bat computer, the adoration in Jason’s gaze as he focused on his girlfriend was the common theme between all the candid shots Barbara had shared. Jasmine always leaned into his frame or held his hand, just sharing his space, body language comfortable and open. 

(He could have a daughter-in-law very soon.)

(Maybe even a grandchild.)

Bruce let a smile slowly stretch across his face at the idea of being a grandfather, of finally retiring from the cowl and WE to be doting on a granddaughter or grandson, spending time with his family while he was still able to in this life.

(A part of him squealed and clapped at the very thought of more family gracing these once-empty halls.)

But first, he had to talk to his son and meet his future daughter-in-law.

Bruce was about to activate his comms, to have Tim get more information about Jason, but an urgent message from Diana, demanding he’s needed in the Watch Tower. 

Constantine was summoning the Ghost King. 

Phantom had in fact left the apartment building. 

Jazz’s familiar teal-tinted portal opened for him to step through while he investigated and he didn’t waste any time crossing over to the Realms to where Jazz awaited him. 

And there she was, arms outstretched and awaiting him to embrace her. 

“Thank the Ancients!” Phantom exclaimed, diving into her waiting arms to wrap around his big sister, their different temperatures ignored in favor of communicating his relief with chirps and trills. 

Worry. Safe. Concern. RELIEF. Protect? 

Jazz clutched him tighter to her, nuzzling his soft white hair as she chirped back. 

Safe. Relief. Guilty. LOVE. 

At least Jazz would never fail to communicate her love for him, even while trying to reassure him she was okay. 

Phantom’s core purred and Jazz’s Proto-core echoed it, albeit weaker in frequency. They stayed like that, hugging each other right outside the tribe’s boundary for a while before Jazz spoke. 

“Little brother, we have to talk.” 

Those words beginning a conversation often led to him being angry or upset, but Jazz hadn’t needed him to be so serious for quite a while.  

“Hmm?” 

She shifted her weight a bit, readjusting her grip around Phantom’s form.

“It’s about Jason…I told him about me.” 

“As in,” Phantom began, pulling back from the hug, “you told him about Amity and…me?” 

Jazz puffed out a sigh, a wisp of breath in a mockery of his ghost sense hanging in the air between them. 

“I told him about us being ecto-contaminated, me being the most liminal being and all, but I told him I wouldn’t share your secrets.”

Phantom grinned, “Good because it’s about time I gave him a shovel talk.” 

“No, little brother.” Jazz got a pained look on her face for a moment as the frosty air grew tense. A summoning and a painful one at that. “Phantom-” 

“Go, I’ll talk to your boyfriend.” 

“Be nice, not bitchy nice.” 

“I’m always nice!”  

He only received a scoff before Jazz was dragged along by the summoning, a brief flash of her armor appearing signaling it was a serious situation. Phantom did not envy the idiot who tried to summon the Ghost King only to get the Regent instead. 

Speaking of idiots, Phantom had a Liminal to lecture and threaten. 

“Hurt her and I’ll shove you into a thermos, mix you into a smoothie, and drink you for breakfast.”

“Creative.” 

With that out of the way, Phantom floated over to Jason’s side and poked his stomach. 

“You doing ok?” He questioned, concern for his fellow vigilante bleeding through. Sure, he cared about Jason the human, but Red Hood was infinitely cooler. 

“Yeah, kid. I’m doing good.” Jason shuffled a bit more towards the center of the large cot, “You’re Danny Nightingale.” It was definitely not meant to be an accusation, Phantom was sure, but it sure felt like one. 

The ghost kid nodded, “I’m a Halfa, half-ghost and half-human. When in ghost form, I prefer Phantom.” 

“They/him?” 

Phantom shrugged, “Close enough.” 

Jason snorted, “How’re you doing kid?” 

“I’m currently talking to my sister’s boyfriend about to give him a crash course on the spooky and ooky.” The halfa grinned, “I couldn’t be better.” 

“Was that a reference?” 

“Was what a reference?”

“Nevermind.”

To say Jason was horrified was a gross understatement. 

He was so far past horrified he was well into confused panic at the sheer audacity of what he was currently hearing... 

“You’re the rightful Ghost King, but you’re too young in human and ghost cultures to rule in your name so your older sister is acting as your Regent. Do I have that right?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

(Wow, Jazz was a badass.)

“Wait, but she goes by Regent as a vigilante?” 

“It was easier than calling her anything else, a lot of the ghosts refer to Jazz as either Regent, Your Majesty, or My Lady so she’s grown used to responding to them.” 

“Hold up- Lady?” 

Another hum, “Jazz is the Lady of the Acropolis, a former student of Pandora, the Guardian of Hope and Ancient of Peace.” 

“Wow, my girlfriend is awesome.” 

Phantom chuckled, a soft pat on Jason’s shoulder, “And don’t you forget it.” 

Whatever face Jason made as he realized he was courting a Lady, an actual Lady with a title and everything, was hilarious enough to make Phantom burst out laughing. 

Whatever, Jason could take the mockery from Phantom as long as his family never found out about him dating a Lady. His brothers would never let him live it down, that he was living out his Regency fantasies. 

(Fuckers, they’re just jealous he got a badass with a sword.) 

“Where is Jazz?” 

Phantom cringed, “She, uh, had to deal with something?” It was phrased as a question. 

“Something we should be worried about?” 

“For Jazz?” There was a hint of hero worship in his tone as the Ghost spoke of his sister, “We should be worried for the poor idiot that summoned her.” 

(Hold up.) 

“Summoned?” 

“Summoned, keep up.” 

Put a pin in that for later. “Why would anyone want to summon Jazz?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not like she’s Regent of the Realms Infinite.” Ok, yeah, Jason deserved that sass. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that Jazz, his lovely spitfire of a soulmate girlfriend had Regency over a dimension of ghosts because Holy Shit. 

(He was totally simping over her, he’s man enough to admit it.)

Somehow that seemed more of a staggering revelation than being told he had been a Revenant with corrupted Ectoplasm that had technically died for a second time when he had those severe chest pains, only to be revived by Jazz pouring pure ecto down his throat. 

(The same Ecto she needs to keep herself healthy.)

(He wondered if Jazz had felt the connection between them even then.)

An unexpected summoning was a shard of ice in her spine, twisting like a knife of betrayal in the nerves, utter agony. Jazz had little warning, little time to brace herself before she was hooked behind her navel and yanked.

Thank the Ancients she wasn’t in the shower, because whoever dared to summon the Ghost King was not going to receive an eyeful for their trouble. 

Jazz allowed her armor to materialize, a slick sensation of water down her back soothed the lingering pain of the brutal summons, but her back plate soon settled firmly in place and irritated the nerves more so. 

Just as her helmet locked into place, sealing her fully into her armor, green smoke announced her arrival with a dramatic flair she couldn’t find humor in. 

Rested on one knee, head bowed, the Regent was quite an intimidating sight for the uninitiated. 

Her helmet, full coverage with a crown of green shards embedded into its pulsing ebony metal, only allowed the green tint of her eyes to shine through. Once her head lifted, the several shivers her gaze got proved how effective it was at unnerving others. 

With a breath, the Regent stood. 

And so we continue….

A/N:

If you're confused by the ending it picks up from Part 12, my special Jason Todd/Red aesthetic entry for the series. Part 12 to 13 takes place right beforehand, so we'll be entering into the endgame of the Anti-Ecto Acts being repealed soon.

Kudos and thanks to my beta reader @meditating-cat. Apparently I over use commas, who knew?

They had one thing to say about Jason in this part: SIMPPPP

I agree, I'm a totally dork for Simp!Jason and Loving!Jazz.

As for other news, I've been making a bunch of boards for The Regent (and my Revenant!Jazz prompt) while I've been sick, so there's that. I don't like many of them anyways.

A surprise poll will be included in an upcoming part, maybe not the next one, but it will come so keep an eye out for it because the answer will be included in the series.

Happy Holidays and best wishes from me to you!

-Love, the one strong with the sarcasm

[strialternatives]

bonus:

:inhales and slams hands on the desk: akechi. palace. pitch.

disclaimer: the setting for this is all about vibes and aesthetics, it kinda got away from me when i started hashing out the plot around it two months ago so now we're here. in hell. (i'll probably have to make a secondary post i made wayyy too many concepts,)

yes i made an ost for this idea, here is a youtube playlist of chill european jazz

AU details under the cut-

Akechi Goro's palace is "Ampitheatrum Doloris”.

KEYWORDS: Akechi Goro, Tokyo Highcourt, Amphitheater

Akechi's psyche is a massive collection of locked doors, puzzles, and contradictions. He wants to be seen but not understood—heard but never known, ect. This makes his palace infiltration a waking nightmare (affectionate).

His palace is made up of five main layers. They each mirror a stage of grief:

1) There is the outer layer of with the appearance of a Venice-esque water canal maze, there is a door that must be opened to reach the entrance to infiltrate the second layer underneath the amphitheater. The puzzle's actually pretty sentimental and revolves around Akechi's interest in literature.

(This layer is depression, Goro mourns what he lost and the fact that the choices he made for the sake of revenge ultimately led to nowhere. This is reflected in how desolate/meandering the outer layer feels, it is the largest and most time consuming part of the palace for this reason. It takes weeks to finish. AKA, Akira and Morgana have a terrible, no good, very bad month of May.) 

2) The Labyrinth under the amphitheater; it is full of shadows for the arena champion to use as fodder for the enjoyment of the masses. ‘Loki’ resides here—this layer’s theme loosely plays on the Minotaur myth. 

The only way to escape is through a pulley/elevator mechanism which leads to the surface after shattering the Champion’s chains by force. Loki taunts in Old Norse, but gives Akira (and the party by extension) genuine hints on how to escape.

(This layer is anger, Goro is always angry, about the hand he’s been dealt, the futility of his own actions, and the fact that his life has always been a dead end, written in the stars.)

3) The Audience Stands; full of human cognitions and Akechi’s former clients and fans, despite everything, like Sae, he sees them as ‘people’ and is disgusted by them. Their compliments are shallow and empty, surface level like Goro’s facade. Cognition Sae is delegated to a middle manager-type role, and leads Akira and Co. through puzzles.

Different cognitions from Akechi’s shitshow of a childhood throw riddles based around philosophy and the nature of justice at the party, if the answer is ‘wrong’, there’s a mini-boss fight. Answering everything correctly yields a prize—a key, this process is made difficult by all of Robin’s ‘hints’ (which the Thieves can directly ask for) being lies.

(Bargaining. Goro always thought he could still salvage his revenge despite his enemy being essentially invincible, even now deep down he thinks he can salvage all the effort and sacrifices he put in.)

4) The Stage; Robin Hood appears proper instead of in cameo appearances, this is the lead actor's stage. To earn the right to stand with him, Akira has to have to prove his worth in one-on-one combat while showing the crowd a rousing show. The goal is to use the key obtained in the bargaining layer to unlock the Performer's cuffs.

(Denial, Goro doesn’t believe he needs or deserves saving or a life outside of his revenge, he believes there is no other way forward.)

Hereward and the 'treasure' are in the Imperial box area, which I'll save for part 2 of this I think! The second half of this'll have less focus on the environments and more on general plot and character design.

EDIT: here's part two and part three

[beloveds-embrace]

Okay what if (and stop me if I'm wrong here I'm new to A/B/O) the guys see someone flirting with the designation-less reader and they start subtly start marking them with pheromones to tell everyone else to back off?

I love this idea so much ugh 😩 scenting in the omegaverse always makes me so jdjsjen and no worries! Nothing about what you said is wrong and welcome to the blessed cursed space that is a/b/o

Original post

It started with Price and Ghost stepping into the armory.

You hadn’t noticed them at first, too focused on trying to edge away from the overly friendly Alpha soldier who just wouldn’t take the hint, no matter how disinterested you made sure you looked. He was leaning in closer than necessary, voice dropping lower with each word like he was trying to make the conversation feel more personal. Though your nose picked nothing, you just knew he was probably, likely, drowning the area with his stench.

You didn’t know how to stop it without making a scene. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong- just too many compliments, too much interest in your plans after hours, too much weight in the way he said your name. It left you off balance, unsure if you were imagining the tension curling low in your stomach. Unpleasant tension, as if youmd accidentally eaten spoiled food.

These days, it seemed as if you either garnered no attention, and when you did, it was unwelcome attention. At least it was different and far more pleasant with the 141.

“So, love, I was wondering-“

Then Price cleared his throat.

It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a gunshot, sharp and commanding. Both you and the soldier froze, heads snapping toward the sound, and there he was- Captain Price, standing in the doorway like he owned the entire building, eyes locked right on the man in front of you.

Ghost was just behind him, silent and still as a shadow, but the weight of him filled the room like a second presence- dark, heavy, watching, shoulders tense like Price. You’ve been with them long enough to tell when they are angry based on body cues, and right now, that’s what they were.

Not for the first time, you wondered just what they’d smell like. Would it be heavy and harsh on your nose? Somehow, you doubted it. Then again, Soap did tell you that angry Alphas smell like burnt rubber most of the time.

You eyed the way your… admirer’s nose wrinkled, jaw tight, eyes shifting around.

You hoped it smelled worse.

The soldier stumbled over a few words before making an excuse to leave. He didn’t even try to finish the conversation- rude- and barely managed to keep his composure as he slipped out the door.

Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your shoulders relaxed slightly as you turned to thank them- but the words caught in your throat when you saw the way they were now looking at you.

It wasn’t anger, exactly. It was something… sharper. Something that made your pulse quicken and your palms feel clammy, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.

But then Price strode towards you and nodded, low and firm, clasping a hand on your shoulder, and Ghost lingered just long enough to brush his shoulder against yours before following him out the door.

… weird Alphas.

“Weird Alphas.” You said outloud as well, huffing.

You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

It was subtle, so subtle that you almost didn’t notice at first.

Soap was the easiest to miss, playful and touchy by nature so much so even one as people-averse as you were comfortable next to him by now. He slung an arm over your shoulders whenever you were nearby, leaning into your space like it was nothing. He’d linger there just long enough that your skin was warm before pulling away, flashing you a knowing grin you didn’t understand.

Gaz was more deliberate. He’d pass you things- gear, water bottles, paperwork, pens- and his fingers always brushed yours and lingered. Small steady touches, leaving traces of his warmth on everything he handed you, leaving traces of his warmth on your skin. When you worked together, he’d lean in close enough that his presence settled over you, wrapping around your skin like a second layer. Your shoulders and thighs would touch, and sometimes you swore you could feel a deep purr coming from him.

Price didn’t touch you often, but when he did, it lingered and was acutely felt. A hand at the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hallway. A warm palm resting against your shoulder during debriefings, right where your faulty scent glands are. Solid, steady touches that felt heavier than they should’ve- clearly intentional even to the likes of you, and yet you didn’t want to really, truly acknowledge them.

And Ghost- Ghost was the worst.

He didn’t say a single word when he draped his jacket over your shoulders after a long, rain-soaked training session, the heavy fabric still warm from his body and shielding you from the wafting chill. You’d tried to give it back later, but he pushed it into your hands with a low, demanding “Keep it.” That left no room for argument. You didn’t think much of it at first- just a practical gesture- but you caught the way the others looked at you after, the raised brows and faint smirks that made you second-guess what it really meant, especially when you found yourself wearing it long after the cold had faded. You’d tried wearing your own jacket, but the look he gave you had you sighing, leaving, and returning to wearing his.

You didn’t understand it at first, didn’t recognize it for what it was. But others did.

It was possessive. Territorial.

The stares started- quick, assessing glances from the other soldiers that led to widened eyes. People moved out of your way in the hallways, gave you more space than before. Conversations shifted when you walked into a room, voices dropping, eyes darting toward the men who always seemed to hover just behind you.

You didn’t know what to make of it.

And then Soap grinned at you over lunch one day where you wearing a shirt of John’s now and Ghost’s jacket, leaning close enough to bump his shoulder against yours, and said, “Looking good, bonnie. Don’t think anyone’s stupid enough to try sniffin’ around you now.”

It took you a second too long to process what he’d said. When you finally did, your eyes darted toward the others- toward Price, who didn’t even look up from his plate, and Gaz, who only smirked and in your shock, slipped the bracelet he was wearing on your wrist. Toward Ghost, who met your gaze with something dark and unreadable before leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t affected at all. No; he was satisfied, like a smug bear.

You swallowed.

It should’ve felt suffocating, overwhelming, but it didn’t.

It felt… safe. Secure in a way you didn’t know how to explain. The guy that had been bothering you had even requested a transfer.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t call them out on it.

But later, when Price pulled you in his face and rubbed his face, his chin and beard all across your neck, you didn’t move away.

The “good girl” you got was all you could think about hours later.

[allfearstofallto]

"You bumped your leg this morning, you need to be more careful," Caleb spoke casually as he slid down on one knee. Pulling your foot against his lap, he raised the leg of your pants to show a small bruise that you didn't even know you had.

You did indeed hit your ankle that morning, but it was in the comfort of your own home. Early in the morning, when you were getting up. Assuring yourself that you knew the darkness of your house better than anyone else, you still managed to knock your leg against the coffee table. But, you were alone when that happened.

"How did you know that?" You questioned as he put a little bandage on the bruise, a familiar apple shapped mascot adorning it.

"Just a hunch," he said with a shrug, his hand still holding and massaging your ankle. Big purple eyes looking up at you with so much care and adoration, it was almost palpable.

XxX

"Only coffee for breakfast again?" Caleb smelled of the outside, still wet with sweat from his morning run, but holding a bag from a cafe that you loved to frequent, "That's why you're so tired all the time, ya know?"

You cocked an eyebrow as he dropped the bag into your lap, using the end of his shirt as a towel to wipe his sweat. Your cup of coffee was after Caleb had left and you'd cleaned up long before he'd returned. You presumed the only reason he knew that was because the smell of the rich beans lingered in the air.

You couldn't even open your mouth to ask, instead being met with a charming smile and a chuckle, "Just a hunch, pipsqueak."

Inside the bag was your favorite pastries, warm and waiting for you. He was already in the shower before you could ask how he knew your order, the cafe opened after he left linkon and you were sure he'd never been. Although, you were sure you'd know the answer.

XxX

"This is the type of asshole you're fucking. Are you serious?" Caged between Caleb's big arms and the firm wall, you look at his phone screen. A guy you'd drunkenly hooked up with was shown stumbling from your house. Grainy security footage from your hallway, you're sure of that, but how did he get it?

You can see the anger on his face, the way his breathing is heavier, smelling the sweet scent of his shampoo and a hint of something that was specifically Caleb. You look down at the screen as the video replays, then back up at him, eyes wide and fearful.

"How did you know we even-" you pause to try to find the words, not wanting to anger him even more, "-did something together?" You finish sheepishly, suddenly feeling embarrassed about your escapades that were technically none of his business.

His hand grip his phone tighter, so tight you can hear the strain of his fingers against it. A look of knowing is in his eyes, a look that tells you more than you'd like to acknowledge.

"Just a fucking hunch,"

[levigarden999]

okay okay how about fluff of katsuki bakugo with a sweetheart princess of a reader.. Think of like.. fluttershy from my little pony. readers just like her in a way. Shes endlessly caring in a sickening way and puts up with Bakugos shit with nothing but a sweet smile and adoring gaze. bonus points if reader collects things like pretty dolls and novelty mugs

a perfect match ୨ৎ soft!reader x bakugo

⋆˚࿔ notes : love this dynamic thank u anon ⋆˚࿔

the fact you and bakugo started dating was definitely a surprise to everyone. you two were like the complete opposites of each other – while bakugo was impatient and temperamental, you were incredibly patient and kind to everyone. bakugo for sure couldn’t understand how you seemed to have endless gentleness and care towards everyone around you, while he mostly just pushed people away without even really intending to.

however, you never pushed him away, which shocked bakugo. it almost scared him and he often thought he didn’t even deserve your affection or love. but you told him otherwise – you loved him for who he was, you loved his temper and strong willed nature, his determination and sense of justice and rightfulness. while you sometimes gave him a parental scolding for being straight up rude to people, you never got angry. never yelled. you always approached him with kindness and love – which was exactly what bakugo had craved for his whole goddamn life.

that was probably why you were so perfect for each other in the end.

to be honest, you were at first insecure too. you liked to dress up in soft dresses, wear feminine makeup and you even collected those old-fashioned pretty dolls. you actually had a room in your house just for those dolls and their own clothes. often people thought you were weird for it and somewhat different, or that your soft and gentle attitude was fake, pretentious and annoying. it hurt you, because it wasn’t. you were just that type of a person, and you couldn’t understand what was so wrong with it.

when bakugo saw your doll-collection for the first time, he reacted in a way you didn’t expect. you two were already dating, but you still were prepared for him to laugh or make fun of you for it. but he didn’t.

he only stood there, arms crossed and a firm, observing look on his face.

”i bet it took a while for you to collect these” he remarked casually, voice staying even but not judging. you blinked with your long lashes, completely surprised.

”uh, yeah. i started when i was little so… took me a while, yeah” you said, a hint of insecurity creeping in your tone.

however, bakugo chuckled as his eyes focused on a certain doll. he walked over to it and pointed at it.

”this one looks just like you” he said, grinning as he looked back at you.

you blushed, because you hadn’t even realized that. it was the prettiest doll you owned, in your opinion.

while bakugo made you feel better in his own way, you also made him feel better.

when bakugo had his tough moments, when he cried and yelled from anger and frustration, panic causing his body to shake and writhe on your bed – only you managed to calm him down.

he grasped on your shirt, sobbed against your chest, while you rubbed his back and hummed him a tune to ease his outburst. you literally had endless patience and care for him. you grounded bakugo back to the present moment without even trying to act like a savior or anything. you just simply understood that bakugo had his moments when he desperately needed a safe person’s support. he even told you that you were the first person in his life ever who hadn’t judged or scolded him for his outbursts, even though he had had them since he was a young child.

you also understood that bakugo just wasn’t the best at socializing. he didn’t know how to read social cues, he was clumsy with his words and often showed his emotions way too harshly than he actually intended to. this was why people often simply didn’t like or accept him- but you did. you knew that bakugo had his troubles, and with careful, gentle chiding, you educated him that it wasn’t exactly respectful to call every single person ’an extra’, ’an asshole’ or ’a bastard’. he slowly – slowly – learnt.

you and bakugo loved each other endlessly, even though you both had very different ways of showing it. you were the one who openly clung to him, cooed him and told him you loved him. your favorite thing to do was to lay on top of him, squeeze his cute chubby cheeks while he blushed furiously and grumbled for you to stop, even though he secretly loved how giggly and soft you acted around him. bakugo mainly just did possessive gestures, such as defending you and discreetly resting his hand on your lower back in public.

bakugo's heart absolutely melted when you looked at him with those adorable puppy eyes. every time you did that, eyes full of adoration and love and clinginess, he never, ever, said no to you. he was ready to literally bring you the damn moon if you'd ask him. those eyes were the reason why there had been a few... additions to your already huge doll collection. and the money did not leave your purse.

[22ayla21]

Savannaclaw's Hot Nights

A girl's joke led to her hitting him with a pillow so hard he fell off the bed.

The stuffiness was unbearable. When she first stayed with him in his Savannaclaw dorm room, everything seemed... well, tolerable, sort of. As much as that's even possible in a dorm where the walls seemed to breathe heat, and the neighbors down the hall seemed to sweat even in their sleep.

Savannaclaw wasn't just a dorm. It was a real test of endurance. And not just of character, but also of resistance to the heat. His girlfriend quickly realized that people slept here, to put it mildly, in the buff.

No t-shirt – that was still manageable. No pajama pants – well, it happens. But he was literally lying there in just his underwear. He flopped onto the bed with a lazy, "What are you staring at?" and settled in so comfortably, as if the heat was his best friend, and they hugged all night long.

She froze, like a cat before a pounce: eyes wide, her head in a mess, and her voice stuck in her throat. The only thing she could squeeze out was a quiet, "Do you... always sleep like that?"

He didn't even turn around. He just waved his hand. "It's hot. Aren't you sweating?"

An argument... you couldn't argue with that. Except he was really sleeping almost naked. Not a hint of embarrassment. Not the slightest suggestion that he should be ashamed. He just lived like that. Breathed. Spread out on the bed like butter in the sun. And slept.

Time passed. Second night. Third. Gradually, it became something ordinary: she'd come in – and he'd already be without a shirt. And then completely in his underwear. He might even lie on his stomach, arms outstretched, like a big, warm, and languid cat in the scorching sun. His chest rose and fell evenly and calmly. He slept so serenely, as if the whole world around him had ceased to exist, and only the pillow and a light breeze from the window remained.

At first, she blushed. She even turned away. Sometimes she tried to throw a sheet over him – which, by the way, annoyed him terribly. He grumbled, threw it off, and mumbled that he was hot. Over time, she stopped fighting it. Well, it was hot, and the body "needed to breathe," as he liked to repeat.

But one day, settling down next to him and letting her gaze slide over his habitually half-naked figure, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, what the heck, Leona," she said with a sly smirk. "Just take off your underwear already. Full zen, so to speak."

One second. Two.

That's where she messed up.

She never expected his ear to twitch. Not from irritation. But from clear interest.

Slowly, as if considering her words, he raised his head. There was no shame or embarrassment in his eyes. Only genuine thoughtfulness. And then – a mischievous glint.

"Hmm... Well, if you insist..."

"Wait, are you serious?!"

He grinned. One of those grins of his that just screamed: "Are you daring me or something?" Leona slowly reached for the waistband of his underwear.

"Leona. No."

"You're the one who said it."

"It was a joke!"

"But I wasn't."

And, to her horror and amusement at the same time, he actually pulled the elastic down. A centimeter. Then another. His face remained absolutely unperturbed.

After that, she acted purely on instinct.

The pillow flew off the spot and headed towards him with such speed that, if Professor Vargas had been nearby, she would have definitely received top marks for accuracy. The hit was perfect. Leona didn't even yelp – he just tumbled off the bed, crashing to the floor.

Silence fell. One second. Another.

"...idiot," she breathed out, and there was no anger in her voice anymore, only hysterical laughter.

A hoarse, almost purring sound came from the edge of the bed.

"Who's calling who names, herbivore? You were the one who suggested it first..."

He got up, rubbing his shoulder. His eyes gleamed mischievously, like a cat that had been chased from its favorite spot but was clearly going to return. She no longer tried to maintain a serious expression. Laughter burst out despite all her efforts.

"I'm going to kill you. With a pillow. I'll suffocate you. Right in those underwear."

"Well, at least I'll have underwear on," he snorted. "Consider it a compromise."

She threw the second pillow at him. The one she usually cherished. Leona easily caught it, jumped back onto the bed, and made himself comfortable.

And although they both understood perfectly well that they couldn't defeat the heat, these nights – with pillows, teasing, and his strange habit of sleeping almost naked like a lion in the savanna – became something familiar for them. Because it was theirs. Their personal madness, their comfort, their laughter.

And if she joked about his underwear again tomorrow – he would surely try to take them off again. Just to hear her squeal, laugh, and feel the impact of the pillow on his face. After all, that was the whole point of their strange, hot, but so warm love.