juneyjubilation

[juneyjubilation]

Cracking: Entry 8

The night was quiet, but Baylen’s mind was anything but. They sat hunched over, eyes darting between the clock and computer. The graveyard shift was always long, the silence stretching on for hours with nothing but the hue of the fluorescent lights and the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Baylen sat at the desk, drumming their fingers against it with one hand while they held their face with the other. They glared at the monitors displaying the overnight schedule for the following week. He had read the list of names and times at least 8 times over but it was one of the days where nothing made sense to them. 

13 missing people, 6 murders, and 3 attempted kidnappings all in the local area. Each name lingered in his mind like a plague, too many of them close to home. His childhood neighbor was found dead in her home, a member of Adrian’s mock trial group from uni went missing after class, Enzo’s cousin survived an attempted abduction just a few days prior, and a classmate from Alex’s alumni culinary school had been bludgeoned to death in an alleyway… That was just to name a few. 

The local news played softly from his phone’s speakers, the anchors droning on about the newest victim in this crime spree. A 22-year-old woman vanished without a trace. Just like the others. Another missing person, another name to add to the growing list. Perhaps, he was just simply too paranoid - but everything seemed to be connected and centralized on this crew, his crew.

Baylen slid back in his chair abruptly, wheels squeaking as the chair nearly toppled over with his movement. Lanky legs climbed over the arms of the meek office furniture, heading the short distance for the filing cabinets. A list repeating in his brain, ’My dance studio ID, Adrian’s resume, Alex’s employee of the week award with their picture, Vesper’s driver's license, Enzo’s customized lighter with an image of him and Dante on it, a letter from Wren’s parole officer’. He had hoped that maybe it had been him who had lost the items, not that something… more nefarious was going on. He hoped to soothe his worries, to soothe the angst building up in his chest. 

But Baylen knew better, he knew he had never touched his employee's belongings and he knew even more so that he never removed his ID from its secured clip on his satchel. 

This wasn't the first time something had gone missing, nor was it the first time it involved someone from his crew. A twisting ache took root in his chest—was all this more than coincidence?

Could this all just be a prank gone wrong? A misguided attempt at a joke by one of his staff? The thought crossed their mind, momentarily easing the tightness in their chest. Baylen’s gaze fell on the employee schedule tacked to the bulletin board. Each name stared back at them, accusing and guilty. Adrian, Alex, Vesper, Wren, Enzo, Dante… Could one of them be behind this?

But even as Baylen tried to rationalize the situation, a small voice in the back of their mind wouldn't let them shake the feeling that something was off. The doubts lingered, the unanswered questions still gnawing at their consciousness.

But at the same time, they couldn't afford to alienate their staff or create a hostile work environment based on mere suspicions and coincidences.

Baylen's mind was a battlefield, the logical side warring with the paranoid.

Could they really trust their staff completely? Could they be certain that there wasn't something more sinister at play?

Perhaps it was the fact that Baylen knew Wren spent two and half years in prison for committing a felony, but his opinion was relatively low on them. That and the fact that Wren somehow managed to show up late to each and every single one of their shifts despite living the closest out of everyone on staff. Wren was… Baylen’s opposite in every sense of the word; eager, boisterous, dramatic, and always late. Baylen did not understand how someone could be so excited about life whilst simultaneously sleeping their shift away in the booths. He wished they’d do it again though so he could finally fire them.

Baylen was rather fond of Alex, in the way a person would be fond of a kicked puppy - pity is the feeling he would akin the emotion to. Alex spent their life in fear of everything, anxiety coming as easy as breathing for them. In the beginning of their relationship, Baylen had hoped to do anything to alleviate their suffering, but after a few years of trying Baylen simply accepted that nothing was going to make the chef less scared. Alex was the ‘mouse of the house’, hearing all the gossip from customers and crew alike - and was the most unbiased source of information, Baylen always knew who to go to when something went missing. 

Vesper… Vesper was aloof and chaotic, but truly always meant the best. At least Baylen thought they did. Though their music taste was ass and their serving skills were questionable at best, Baylen had no real reason to dislike them. However, he did wonder what they were doing with all that time they hid away in the walk-in. They were full of life and vivacious, bringing all of themself into everything they did.

Although Adrian was one of the older members of Baylen’s staff, he couldn’t help but view them as ‘just a kid’. Adrian took up the mantle of all the little tasks that no one else wanted to do and would laugh it off and say that they were the host with the most going on. Baylen wouldn’t have time to make the schedule if it wasn’t for them, and for that, he was grateful to have them around. 

Enzo was one of the two people Baylen had ever spent time with outside of work. Enzo often melted into the background of any conversation, only chiming in with small deadpan comments at the best moments. He was quiet, and calm in comparison to the chaos of the rest of his coworkers. Though on the occasions they hung out outside of work it was usually mediated by Dante’s more exuberant personality. Baylen thought he was cool, in a weird quiet kind of way.

The absolute bane of Baylen’s existence, Dante Martinez, plagued not only his work life but his personal one as well. That is not to say that Baylen didn’t enjoy the line cook’s company, quite the contrary actually, Dante balanced him out. Dante’s aloof, yet passionate personality kept Baylen’s erratic thinking at bay through a method of keeping everyone on their toes. He was a person who would drive for hours to pick a friend up after they spin out into a snowy ditch, but also the type of person to hang up on Baylen the second they ask him to follow the menu. Dante was… Annoying. Baylen liked that.

Baylen’s mind raced as they considered each of their staff members. Wren, Alex, Vesper, Adrian, Enzo, and even Dante - none of them seemed likely to pull a prank like this. Wren was too laid-back, too content to sleep through their shifts to put this much effort into a joke. Alex was too anxious, too worried about causing problems to deliberately misplace important items. Vesper was chaotic, yes, but they had a good heart and meant well. Adrian was too responsible, and too dedicated to their tasks to sabotage the crew. Enzo was too quiet, too content to blend into the background. And Dante… well, Dante was a wildcard, but even he wasn’t above being a team player when it mattered most.

No, this was something else entirely. Something more sinister, more calculated. It all seemed to point to a deeper issue, a dark truth lurking beneath the surface.

Baylen tried to shake off the dark thoughts, the paranoid suspicions that swirled in their mind. They took a deep breath, forcing themselves to focus on the logical, the rational.

"It's just a bunch of coincidences," they muttered to themselves, trying to convince their own mind. "Stuff goes missing all the time in a place like this. People lose things, misplace them. It doesn't have to mean anything."

They were trying to convince themselves that everything was fine, that there was nothing to worry about. But the nagging feeling in the back of their mind wouldn't go away, the suspicion that something was off, something was wrong.

"Wren's always late, that's nothing new. Alex is anxious, of course they'd know about everything going on. Vesper's just being Vesper, living their best life. Adrian's always picking up the slack, that's who they are. Enzo's quiet, that's their thing. And Dante... well, Dante's Dante. None of them would do something like this on purpose."

Baylen ran a hand through their hair, trying to smooth down the errant strands that had come loose from their usual style. "I'm just being paranoid. Overthinking things, as usual. It's not like there's some grand conspiracy or anything. People just lose stuff sometimes. It happens."

Maybe Baylen was just reading too much into things, allowing their paranoia and fear to cloud their judgment. It was just a bunch of silly coincidences, nothing more. There was no need to jump to conclusions or accuse anyone of wrongdoing.

The cool air from the vents ruffled Baylen's hair and he shivered, even though the office wasn't cold. His gaze flickered to the various items his coworkers had left strewn around the office, intimate mementos left as a testament to their own lives.

He let out a heavy sigh, his head dipping into his hands. He felt like a fool, for the worries he harbored, but as the minutes wore on, the doubts swelled. How could so many things, belonging to so many people, just disappear without a trace? A faint sense of invasion, of being watched, prickled at the back of his neck. It was maddening, the inability to pinpoint the source.

The dingy envelopes and folders that held his coworkers’ personal information stared back at him. He gripped the drawer face, his knuckles white from the pressure. The manager’s mind wandered to the upcoming staff meeting where he’d have to address the issues with the missing items. A dull ache, a nagging worry, had been lingering at the back of his mind for the last few days, but he’d dismissed it as paranoia.

Mind, body, and soul; Baylen was weary and drained. Every fiber of his being felt as though something was horribly, horribly wrong. Too much was happening in a much too small time frame, and all that he could think of was work. Each morning after work he would go home with the intention of sleep, only to lay awake staring at the ceiling trying his best to piece together where the fuck did my ID go?

The simple dance studio identification card was of no true significance, he could always replace it, but it was the principle of it that set his nerves on edge. He had no proof, no concrete evidence that someone had taken his ID, yet his heart raced, and the air grew thick around him. He ran his hand through his hair, as he bit his bottom lip and his jaw ticked. The sensation of someone watching him, of someone invading his personal space, crept up his spine.

As Baylen leaned back, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. The list of missing items had only added to his buzzing internal monologue, and he found himself staring at the scattered papers on his desk, trying to piece together the puzzle that seemed to have no clear picture.

Their eyes darted around the office, landing on the various personal items and memos left decorating the space by his employees. Each one seemed to hold a story, a hint at the truth Baylen sought. But try as he might, he couldn’t find a common thread that tied them all together.

The weight of responsibilities pressed down on Baylen, the need to understand his surroundings and keep the store running smoothly a constant burden. But with each passing day, every missing item, each new disappearance, that burden felt heavier and heavier. The faint hum of the ancient AC unit did little to drown out the pounding of their heart.

The calendar, a looming presence on the wall, was taunting him with its unwavering ticking of days. Each passing second carried with it the fear of more odd occurrences. Baylen felt like a man on the bow of a ship, watching as an iceberg grew ever closer.

Slowly, the thought took form in his head, an unwelcome guest that refused to leave. A shiver ran down Baylen’s spine despite the stuffy heat of the tiny office. They pushed themself back, legs unsteady, and began to pace like a caged animal. Back and forth, back and forth, his long legs eating up the space between the desk and cabinets. Each time he passed the calendar, the dreadful reminder seemed to mock him. His heart raced as he conjured the thought that it was more than just his ID. It had to be his coworkers, they were up to something. Baylen knew it.

Baylen couldn’t fathom why his staff would hide these things, or why they’d all come up missing at once. His train of thought was spiraling, deeper and darker, and the more time that passed with Baylen alone in the dingy cramped office, the more he began to believe that something dreadful was looming over the horizon. 

The thought alone made their chest tighten.

Baylen’s pace picked up, shoes clicking against the linoleum as they circled the desk chair like a shark. Their eyes shifted every which way, perking up at any unexpected noise. The scuff of a shoe outside the door made them freeze, their heart leaping into their throat. Just Dante, they told themself. But the dread still grew, twisting his guts into knots.

Bayleyn’s mind raced, matching the pace of his legs as they paced the cramped office space. The missing items gnawed at them, a constant thorn in their side. He couldn’t stand the lack of order, the unknown variables. It went against everything they stood for as a manager, as a person. Organization, control, knowing where everything and everyone was at all times - that was Baylen’s world. And now, that structure was crumbling around them.

The more they thought about it, the more worked up they got. Their breaths quickened, chest tightening with each passing minute. He could feel the panic rising in his throat, digging its claws around his neck and pressing down on his chest. The need to solve the issue felt all-consuming.

Baylen’s gaze darted around the room, looking for each personal item like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. Adrian’s resume, Alex’s award, Vesper’s license… All missing. Vanished into thin air. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Unless…

The thought crept into Baylen’s mind, insidious and unwelcome. What if it wasn’t just a coincidence? What if their coworkers were involved somehow? The idea made their stomach churn, but they couldn’t shake it.

Their heart pounded in their ears, the blood rushing like a freight train. Baylen could feel the paranoia taking hold, the walls of the office closing in. They needed air, they needed to clear their head. But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not while he was on the clock. Not until he figured this all out.

Baylen’s eyes darted to the clock, the minutes ticking by in agonizing slowness. Each second felt like an eternity, the weight of the unknown pressing down on their chest. They needed to focus- to think rationally. But with each passing moment, each unanswered question, Baylen felt themself slipping further into the recesses of panic that filled his lungs.

Frustration reached a boiling point. Baylen’s mind was a whirlwind of intrusive thoughts and compulsions. They needed order, they needed answers, and they needed to make sense of all the variables.

With a huff of frustration, Baylen surged to their cabinets, charging over to the towering cabinets that lined the far wall. Fingers curled into fists, they yanked open the first drawer, sending a cascade of manila envelopes and crumpled papers scattering to the floor. “Fuck!” he breathed, the curse echoing off the walls. He didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time for his own damn paranoia. But they couldn’t shake the feeling, the gnawing certainty that something was very, very wrong.

Baylen tore through drawer after drawer, a one-person tornado of fury and desperation. Files scattered, folders ripped, the very air crackling with tension. They tore through each drawer, fingers scrabbling for anything that might give them a clue. Pay stubs, tax forms, old memos - it all went flying, littering the floor like confetti at a party no one wanted to attend.

Baylen’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, their chest heaving with each ragged inhale. They couldn’t find what they were looking for, couldn’t make sense of any of it.

They were looking for something, though they weren’t sure of what. A clue, a sign, anything to prove they weren’t connecting the dots between completely unrelated incidents. 

But there was nothing. Just the same old papers, the same damn files they’d seen a thousand times before. Baylen’s hands shook as they slammed the last drawer shut, the metal clanging like a gunshot in the too-quiet room.

They whirled around, gaze landing on the desk. The computer, the phone, the scattered knick-knacks from their coworkers. With a heaving breath, they slammed their fist against the metal edge of the desk, the sound clanging loudly through the office, echoing off the walls and making Baylen jump. 

Baylen dropped to their knees, crawling forward on all fours. They didn’t care how they looked, didn’t care about the dirt and grime coating his clothes. All that mattered was finding the truth, finding the answers they so desperately needed.

They tore through the contents of the bottom drawer, fingers digging through the dust and debris. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

A low, keening sound escaped their throat, a mix of frustration and despair. They had failed. Failed to keep the store running smoothly, failed to protect the items of his coworkers, of his friends. Failed at everything he had set out to do.

Panting, they rounded the desk and dragged himself back to his feet, hands gripping at the edges like a lifeline. The chair scraped against the floor as they dragged it out of the way, not caring about the screech of metal on linoleum.

Nothing came up, other than a frustrated groan that bubbled in his chest. His hands came to his face, calloused fingertips pressing to his temples before dragging down the length of his jaw. The thud of his back hitting the wall was audible, as was the drag of him dropping weight down the length of it. His legs took up a majority of the managerial office’s length, crammed between the popcorned wall and metal desk. A shaky breath left him as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

They couldn’t take it anymore, the office was nothing short of a disaster, the once pristine and neat workstation now in shambles. Papers littered the floor in a fashion that mirrored a tornado, only to be joined by the mess of drawers that had carelessly been left pried open in a desperate search for answers. 

The shadows of the office seemed to grow longer as Baylen remained sprawled against the wall, mind racing with dark possibilities. They slowly dragged their hands down their face, fingers shaking ever so slightly as they tried to reign in the spiraling thoughts. The silence was oppressive, only broken by the occasional creak of the old building around him.

They pulled themself together and up off of the floor. Baylen took a look around as he breathed in a shaky, tense breath. Baylen’s search led him to his own desk, pawing through the open drawers once more. He barely blinked when he began to uncover what he had hidden under the clutter there. His eyes fell on the worn-out notebook with a coffee ring on the cover, his fingers dancing over the binding. Wordlessly, he flipped the journal open to the most recent entry - marked by a dingy pencil stuffed between the pages. Written in their scribbled mess of handwriting, Baylen had jotted down notes that seemed to compile their thoughts.

Missing Items:

ID

Resume (A.)

EOTW Award (A.)

DL (V.)

Lighter (E.)

Parole Letter (W.)

Suspicious Activity:

D, seems paranoid

A.(foh) absent

W. quieter

E. brash

V . acting strange

A.(boh) showing up late

The page was crumpled, with a long tear on one side, and flecks of torn edges scattered around the drawer. Baylen’s frantic search had not only taken a toll on the office, but on his notebook itself. The notes were a list that summarized Baylen’s current worst fears and concerns; the evidence of his paranoia.

Baylen’s head throbbed, vision blurring at the edges as the panic built to a crescendo. They needed a plan. They needed answers. They needed…

Baylen’s knees buckled and they found themself sinking against the side of the desk. Their back dragged down the adjoining wall until they were hunched with their forehead to their knees, breath coming in ragged gasps. Their hands were shaking, trembling so violently that their knuckles had turned white. Baylen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, the suffocating fear.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Time had lost all meaning in the suffocating confines of the office. Slowly, incrementally, they began to regain some semblance of control. Their breathing steadied, hands stopped shaking quite so badly. Baylen knew they couldn’t fall apart. Not here, not at work. Crying was an off-the-clock activity. 

They needed air, they needed to clear their head. Standing with shaking knees Baylen let out a slow breath as they turned and moved to open the door. Before he was even able to lift his arm, the door swung open with a black scuff mark branding itself on the paint. 

Baylen jumped back as the scowl of his line cook, Dante, entered his view. Before he could question Dante’s actions their vision was quickly blinded by a cardboard box being thrown at their head. Shielding themselves from a possible bump on their head they held their arms above them as the box ricocheted off of them. They looked back at Dante in bewilderment as he slammed the door behind him, shutting the two in the confined space. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He hissed as he looked at the disheveled state of his boss, “I can hear you from the walk in. Which means the customers right outside the door can hear you, and I am not in the mood to have day shift down our fucking throats in the morning because some Karen heard you breaking down in here! I've had a migraine all day and Alex just called your cell saying he’s in the ER right now for the same shit.” 

Baylen was still in a state of shock with their mouth agape as his employee stuck their finger in her face. “Listen man. Whatever is going on with you, we have to man the fuck up. Enzo doesn't get in till 8. Alex called off and I have not heard shit from Wren,” Dante placed his hands on Baylen's shoulders looking him deep in the eye with intensity. “Lock the fuck in.”

Baylen's bewilderment still had yet to sway as he looked down at his line cook. Dante's eyes were bloodshot and sunken in either from the migraines coming back in crashing waves or his culinary finals that had been picking away at his sleep. His facial hair was scruffier than usual and made him look more like a high-school dropout than the talented cook she knew. Baylen gently placed their hands on Dante's shoulders as they began to slowly nod, “You're right…you're right. I'm sorry.” Shrugging off the younger man's hands they pinched the bridge of their nose as a heavy sigh fell from their lips. “Everyone has lost something recently and for some reason in my mind I connected it to all the bullshit that’s been happening in town. I don't think I'm crazy in thinking something weird is going on but I guess I just…” Baylen sighed again as they covered their face with their hands and groaned into their palms. “It's fine. It's whatever.” Pulling their hands away they looked back down at their coworkers with an awkward smile. “But in good news, we found your polaroid. It was in the back lot of the parking lot near the dumpsters. I don’t know how it got out there but thankfully we don’t have to waste any more polaroid film on your ugly ass.” Baylen snorted at their own joke as they placed their hand on Dante's head, playfully shoving him out of the way as they headed for the door. 

Dante only grunted at the action, glaring at Baylen as he strode out of the office and onto the main floor of the restaurant. Orange light bathed the diner as the setting sun peeked past the tall river birch trees that lined the edge of the woods. The night had just barely begun and Baylen was already exhausted from his own worries, woes, and fears that hung over his head like a gray cloud waiting to storm. For the most part, the building was empty. The only ones left were the few remaining day staff either leaving for the night or waiting for the other night staff to come in to take over so they could go home, nothing too out of the ordinary. That was life at the Wafflehouse; nothing out of the ordinary. So why did everything in the past weeks feel so off? It just didn’t make sense to Baylen, someone who had been working at that very location for most of his young adult life. Why did everything feel so wrong now? Why did it seem the world was starting to close in on him and target his crew?

A sharp poke to the side snapped Baylen out of their train of thought. They looked back down at Dante with a frown. “You're doing the thing again,” the younger man whispered as he walked past the manager and behind the counter to the on-duty cook, dismissing her for the night. Looking back at Baylen one last time, Dante mouthed a ‘you okay?’ to them, his face scrunching in concern as he stared. Baylen took a slow deep breath in as he placed an awkward smile on his face as he gave the line cook a little nod before turning around and making his way back into the office, shutting the door behind him.

Dante stood there, momentarily staring at the wood a before scoffing and going back to his honorary duty of cleaning the day staff's leftover bullshit. The boy couldn't fully wrap his head around fully on why Baylen was so worried about the Wafflehouse. Specifically when the entire town was practically on lockdown. It was Appalachia; people going missing wasn’t unheard of. After Dante had moved down from Michigan when he was young he practically heard every tale of axe murderers, skinless men, and horrors beyond comprehension coming from past the thicket of the woods.

Reaching for the cleaning rag, Dante threw water across the warm stove before pouring soap on top to begin his preparation for the usual weirdos that walked in. At least Tim, Brian, and Cody were still safe and well, that brought comfort to him as he scrubbed at the grease and burnt egg the day shift refused to clean themselves. The new frequent customers had also been catching Dante's eye with their strange behavior and unique attributes, but it was no place for Dante to comment on when he had prominent scars of his own across his face.

For now at least, Dante focused his mind on upcoming events that left a heavy feeling in his heart`. His mind had been so clouded with new recipes and techniques that he had forgotten about his own life and needs. Topics that were rudimentary to his person and his routine.

The topic that seemed to flood his mind today was what he was actually going to do for his birthday. Looking back on his previous birthdays, he knew three things for sure:

He would get a phone call from his dad thanking him for turning into the son he had always wanted.

His mother would call and they’d both cry on the phone together over how much they couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving so he could spend a week with her in Michigan.

Cody would knock on his door once he got home from work, they'd sit on the couch and share a bong while watching Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and Cody would give him some small gift that he made last minute.

It happened like clockwork around this time of year, but by god did Dante cherish it. It brought a sense of comfort and familiarity that he didn't often get from his hectic schedule, so the little things really did matter to him. Trying to balance work and school was never an issue for him, but remembering to take his medication between the chaos of the two? That was the real struggle.

       After enough elbow grease and TLC, the stove was finally to Dante's liking. He took a step back and admired his work. One task down out of the laundry list the assholes working before left behind as a shit sandwich for him to devour. Throwing the towel down into the cleaner bucket next to the sink he turned around to take in the rest of the dishevelled store only to meet wide icy blue eyes and a scarred face to match. 

“FUCK!” Dante yelped, fumbling backwards and catching himself from falling on his ass from the ledge of the stove. 

Jeff snickered as he looked at the bumbling fool trying to collect himself.

“Scare ya’? Sorry. I have a tendency to do that to people.” He sat back on the stool before smirking, “Y’know. The whole face and all.”  He held up a finger and circled it around his face, highlighting the gnarly scars as if they weren’t blatantly visible. 

Dante held a hand over his heart as he glared at the man in frustration and annoyance.

“Dude, not fucking funny,” Dante spat through his teeth as he stood tall again and huffed out a sigh. “What can I get for you?” 

Jeff shrugged as he leaned his elbows on the counter and swivelled around in his seat. “Dante, right? Heard through the grapevine you're a culinary student. How much I gotta pay you to make me something good off the menu? I've had prison food for far too long and I want a little treat.” Jeff's eyes crinkled in amusement as he waited patiently for Dante's response. 

Dante squinted at the man for a moment, trying to gauge what bullshit he was trying to pull. He knew he shouldn't exactly trust anything this Jeff guy was saying, especially if he and Wren had been buddy-buddy in prison. 

          “You want something savory or sweet? I can only do so much cuz our shipment truck doesn’t come in til tomorrow,” he spoke, crossing his arms over his chest and peering down at the delinquent. 

Jeff's grin widened as he leaned back and blew out a breath. “Damn, I get options? I'm really getting spoiled now. Gotta thank the gossip that I found this place then.” 

Dante's eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull but quickly halted that in its tracks as he adjusted his sunglasses. “Yeah, yeah. Now whatcha want?” he grumbled. 

        Jeff reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled bill. “A little bit of both? Listen, man, I wanna feel like I'm dining like a king. After years in the slammer, I just want a nice hot meal ya’ know?” He slid the bill across the counter. “Charge me what you want. Take the rest as a tip.” 

Dante eyed the bill for a moment before cautiously taking it into his hand and unravelling it. His eyes practically bulged out of his head as he stared at the fifty-dollar bill before looking back at Jeff. 

A coy smile spread across the man's face as he raised his hands defensively, “I'm feeling generous and I know you’ll whip up something good.” 

Dante eyed the man up and down once more before nodding his head and sliding the bill into his pocket. “Coming right up,” he mumbled before adjusting his glasses and walking over to the sink to clean his hands. Quickly scrubbing and drying his hands, he walked back to the stove and began his concoction. Walking back and forth between the fridge and the counter he began to tune his surroundings out as he mechanically worked on Jeff's meal. The sizzle of the grill was white noise to him and the chopping of garnish was second nature. 

He was in his zone until the man behind him opened his mouth again.

“Sooo… How long have you known Wren?” He asked as he sat on the stool twiddling his thumbs. 

Dante didn't even pause as he tossed water and sugar into a pan to coat the strawberries. “A bit now,” he answered, “They aren't exactly the talkative type.” 

That was putting it lightly. Truthfully, even though Wren did do favors for the night crew, trying to get them off their phone and do their job was a fucking nightmare. Yeah, helping out with a ride was one thing, but when they vanished during a dinner rush it was kind of hard to ignore. 

           Jeff only nodded. “Hey, can I get some coffee?” His shoulders were slumped and he eyed the manager's door as Dante turned around, placing a mug in front of him before pouring a freshly made cup for him. 

The background hum of the kitchen brought a comfortable silence between the two as Dante slaved away at the stove to make a decent meal for the criminal.  

“I looked you up on the internet the other day.”

Dante's blunt statement cut through the silence like a skilled butcher's knife carved a pig. Jeff choked on his drink before he nervously wrapped his hands around the mug, knuckles turning bone white as his body tensed with every nerve on edge. 

“Yeah?” The stiffness in his voice was undeniable. 

Dante only hummed as he casually flipped a pancake in the pan. “Yep.”

Jeff swallowed as his eyes became glued to the counter, and he spat through gritted teeth... “So… what? You think I'm some lunatic?”

Some nerve Dante had to bring up the gruesome crime of killing over a dozen people whilst the killer sat behind him waiting for food. 

“Am I supposed to think of anything else?” Dante retorted, looking over his shoulder. His piercing gray eyes peaked from the side of his glasses and sparked a burning fire of spite deep in Jeff's chest. 

“But,” The cook turned his attention back to the grill. “Against my better judgment, I want to know your side of it. Because from what I can tell, compared to what the news reports and chat boards say– your skin isn’t fucking geisha white and your face doesn’t look like that annoying cat from Alice in Wonderland.”  

Jeff glared daggers at the back of Dante’s head for a moment before turning his fiery gaze to his coffee. His own scarred, burned, and loathed reflection glared back at him. “Why do you wanna know so bad?” he sneered. Dante listened to the man's frustrated tone, noting how familiar it sounded. It reminded him of when he first met Baylen all those years ago. A familiar twang and flow with the way his tongue flicked over certain vocabulary, or how he articulated his words when he had first moved down to this shitty little town from New York. When it came to Jeff, it was so similar but not quite the same; unique in its own way. The memory of the past brought a smile to Dante’s lips momentarily, before it was quickly snuffed out for his normal, neutral expression. 

The cook shrugged. “What can I say? I love a good sob story. A boy freshly moves to a neighborhood, then stabs a kid the next day and breaks another kid's wrist. It’s brutal, but it doesn’t add up. Not to mention your younger brother taking the fall for you.” Dante began plating the food with delicate precision, “Let's not forget those same kids jumping you weeks later and doing all of…” Dante turned around and waved his hand in Jeff's general direction. “That. To you. Then once you finally get out of the hospital and your brother gets taken out of juvie, you just so happen to kill not only your family but your neighbors and her two little friends as well. All in one night.” Dante took the plate in his hand and slid it across the counter in front of Jeff as he leaned forward, getting into the man's face. “That don’t add up to me. So, let's talk.” 

Jeff stared down at the massive pile of food set before him with his jaw slack. Pancakes with candied strawberries delicately placed on top with dollops of whipped cream cheese, with a side of a picture-perfect omelet. The chef really did go above and beyond for a murderer; perhaps trying to butter up Jeff in order to get some juicy details that the media never did. Jeff quickly grabbed the fork and began cutting, tearing, and shovelling the man's masterpiece down his throat like it would be taken away from him at any moment. Dante’s face twisted in disapproval and disgust as he stared at the deplorable display of gluttony, watching the man destroy his hard work and leave the counter looking like a warzone.

“Fine,” Jeff said bluntly after swallowing a large bite of omelet. “Since yer twisting my fuckin’ arm I’ll tell ya’.” Rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck, Jeff straightened his posture as he looked between Dante and his meal. “For starters, the newspapers and those true crime junkies got it wrong; Lui is my older brother. The only reason they said he was younger than me was because I had one hell of a growth spurt outta nowhere.” Reaching over, he chugged down the last of his coffee before shoving the mug in Dante’s face expectantly. Dante raised a brow before snatching the cup and haphazardly pouring more of the liquid into the cup. With the same attitude used against him, Dante shoved the mug back into Jeff’s direction, coffee sloshing from the side and leaving dark puddles that reflected the two annoyed men. “Go on,” Dante muttered as he rested his hand against the counter, leaning into Jeff's personal space with no care. “I’m all ears.”

“Back the fuck up, will ya’?” Jeff hissed, shoving a rough and ridged palm against Dante’s face and pushing him back. “I’m workin’ on it.” Jeff's glare was harsh, but the cook's demeanor didn’t seem to waver. Back in prison, a single glance from Jeff's bloodshot and scarred eyes would send everyone running for the hills, but here was this asshole punk pipsqueak not even wavering at his attitude or insults. Dante thrummed his fingers methodically against the marble patiently waiting for Jeff’s attitude to cease its unnecessary continuation. 

“Secondly, it didn’t happen the day after we moved in. Lui and I had been there for months with Randy and his fuckin’ goons breathing down our next every goddamn day. Obviously, my brother took the fall for me when the cops came knocking, that part’s true. The trial was stupid… but lack of evidence, conflicting testimony, and unreliable statements don’t mean much when the parents of those lil’ shits were whispering and paying off the jury behind closed doors,” Jeff's face was a flurry of loathing, resentment, and regret as he recalled the memory. Sitting in the witness stand and repeatedly insisting that Lui didn’t do it, all while watching his parents show obvious favoritism towards him over his brother.

The buzz of the fluorescent lights filled the silence between the two like a liminal symphony, adding more fuel to the awkward and tense fire. Jeff’s glare travelled from Dante’s form to the manager's door once more. “You here by yourself?” He grumbled, the quiet harshness of his tone making it sound more like a cryptic threat rather than a question. Dante hummed before his own gaze landed on the closed door as well. “Why? You gonna skin me next?” Jeff scoffed, breaking his harsh gaze from the wood back to the marble of the counter. “Fuck off, yeah?” he hissed venomously as he took another swig of his coffee. When done, he slammed the mug down. “It wouldn’t be me to slice you up. I just got out of jail. I don't wanna go back.”  The sentence felt like a double meaning. A promise and a threat. Something both genuine and sinister in just that one statement. 

The silence between the two was as thick as the syrup left outside on shipment nights. Jeff's glare would normally send a shiver down the spines of inmates that dared look in his direction but sitting before Dante he didn’t even flinch. Jeff only rolled his eyes and went back to chewing his food as his mind spun with ideas of what the line cook could be thinking. 

“I didn’t mean to kill my parents.”  Jeff's voice broke the silence between them as he stared into his coffee cup. The memory seemed to weigh down on the man as his resented reflection looked back at him. “I was so messed up on those meds and the quacks didn’t look too deep into what was rattlin’ inside my fuckin’ head maybe things could be different.” His voice seemed to quiver for a sliver of a moment before he straightened his back. Clearing his throat he turned his glare back to Dante with the same sharpness as before. “That enough for your nosey ass?” Venom practically dripped from his lips as he spat his question at Dante. Dante only stared before grabbing the pitcher of coffee and refilling Jeff’s cup in silence. The silence only irked Jeff more as he sat stewing in his own misery waiting for something- anything- to be said by the other man. “You know you sure have a fuckin’ way of getting information outta people. You should be a fuckin’ cop.”

“I hate cops,” Dante said bluntly as he leaned against the counter. “I don’t trust ‘em. Plus you know.” He gestured to himself. “Cops don’t exactly like me either.” He reached over and grabbed his own coffee mug and poured himself a cup. Bringing it to his lips the porcelain clanking against his snakebites as he took a long silent sip. “As for your life story? I was just curious. You seemed interesting.” He only shrugged once more before walking away from the grill and to the other side of the counter. 

Jeff’s glare hardened as he looked down back at his meal as Dante sat next to him. “You know i could tell ya’ fuckin’ manager ‘bout this.” 

“Go ahead,” Dante half-laughed as he swished his coffee in his mug. “He won’t give a fuck. Lord knows even he can’t fucking stand me.” Jeff only grunted as his gaze went to the sturdy wooden door of the manager's office. The man's eyes darted between Dantes relaxing for and the only blockage obscuring his vision of Baylen. “So whats his fuckin’ deal?” He mumbled, pointing a scarred finger to the manager's office. Dante's head lazily lolled to the side looking to the direction in which Jeff was pointing. “Who? Baylen? He's the manager here.” 

Jeff rolled his eyes, frustration and annoyance dripping from his very being. “Yeah I know he's your manager but like…what's his deal, ya’ know, like why is he hidin’ in there while you're out here?” Dante only looked lazily at Jeff before taking a long calm sip of his coffee. “Baylen works himself up over little things. Finds dots to connect that really shouldn't be connected.” He adjusted his posture.

“Usually I can just talk him down from it but recently it's been getting to his head. I'd offer him my meds but I know he'd slap the shit out of me if I did.” He chuckled at his own joke. Dante turned his gaze to Jeff once more. “But that's about all I can say. I don’t need you poking around and freaking him the fuck out even more.” He flashed a yellowed grin at the man before sitting up. “Enjoy the rest of your meal.” He hummed before getting up from the seat and heading to the freezer leaving the man to his own devices. 

As Dante walked away Jeff hollered at him. “Hey! You should be more careful around these parts now. Maybe ya’ manager is on to something.” Jeff smirked at the line cook. Dante opened his mouth to argue back but his words died in his throat as Baylen opened the door to the office. Baylen looked to the left and frowned as he placed his gaze on the delinquent. The sound of porcelain on floor tore his attention away as he looked to find Dante on the ground picking up fragments of his broken necklace. “This is the 3rd one this week.” The man grumbled as he scooped the larger portions in his hands before walking into the back. 

Baylen, ever the help, only watched before looking back at Jeff with a suspicious gaze. The man only smirked and gave the manager a little wave before finishing up his meal. “Compliments to the fuckin’ chef…” He mumbled before rising from his seat. “See you ‘round, Blondie.” 

Baylen opened his mouth preparing to demand what the fuck he meant by that, but he was already gone and out the door before he could get a word in. Baylen was only left standing there like a man who missed the last bus home, a million questions running through his mind of what would happen and what to do, but for now, only silence filled the restaurant. Just another day he supposed. It was going to be a long night.

The first hints of dawn crept through the Waffle House’s windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Baylen’s oxford shoes scuffed against the tiles, each step deliberate and weary. The night’s chaos still lingered – papers scattered in the office from his frantic search, his thoughts just as frazzled. 

Dante moved behind the counter, his movements mechanical. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a stark contrast to the darkness that had consumed their night. He glanced at Baylen, noticing the manager’s tense shoulders. “Coffee?” Dante’s voice broke the silence, more of a statement than a question.

Baylen couldn’t nod fast enough, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The silence hung heavy until the familiar jingle-jangle of the front door’s chime cut through the restaurant’s morning stillness.

It was a familiar face who entered first, Brian, his leather jacket and tan-ish yellow hoodie slightly damp from the morning dew. Tim trailed behind, their usual morning rhythm unchanged despite the night’s underlying tension. The door closed with a soft thud, breaking the restaurant’s momentary trance.

“Morning,” Brian called out, his gap-toothed smile breaking through the tension. He guided Tim to their usual spots at the counter, their movements practiced and comfortable– a stark contrast to the stress Baylen’s mind had faced just hours prior.

Dante’s hand was already moving, grabbing their standard mugs before they could even ask. Tim’s eyes flickered between Baylen and Dante, something unreadable passing between them. The weight of unspoken thoughts pressed against the morning’s quiet calm.

As Brian settled into the stool, his eyes immediately locked onto Baylen. “Looking a bit rough this morning, pretty boy,” he drawled, using the nickname Dante often teasingly threw around.

Baylen rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His heterochromatic eye– one steel gray, one a deep amber– caught the morning light. “Rough nights tend to happen when you’re cleaning up everyone else’s messes,” he retorted, leaning against the counter. Dante snorted behind them, muttering, “Here we go again,” as he poured the coffee.

Brian’s gap-toothed grin widened, “Want me to kiss it better?” The line hung in the air, part joke, part genuine flirtation. Time beside him rolled his eyes, used to this constant back-and-forth. 

As Brian’s flirtatious banter continued, Dante dramatically rolled his eyes and turned away, physically recoiling. “Oh my god,” he groaned, exaggeratedly grimacing. “Can we not do this right now? It’s barely six in the morning.”

He grabbed a nearby rag and started aggressively wiping down the already clean counter, muttering under his breath. “Gross. Absolutely gross. I do not get paid enough to witness… this.”

The last word was drawn out with maximum teenage-like disgust, his pierced lips curling in an over-the-top expression of revulsion. His black-framed glasses slid down his nose as he continued his performative cleaning, clearly trying to block out Baylen and Brian’s flirtatious exchange.

Tim chuckled beside him. “Real mature, Dante.”

“Mature?” Dante shot back. “I’m protecting everyone’s dignity.”

Brian’s laughter and Baylen’s retorts faded into background noise, blending with the soft clinking of coffee mugs and the hum of fluorescent lights. Brian’s laugh occasionally punctuated the quiet, his hand brushing against Baylen’s from across the counter as they exchanged coffee and casual touches. Baylen’s dimple piercings caught in the light as he smiled, a rare moment of genuine softness.

Dante paused mid-wipe, catching the expression. It was the first time in weeks he’d seen Baylen truly relaxed– no paranoid scanning of their surroundings, no tension in his shoulders, just a simple, unguarded moment of joy.

Something in Dante’s chest loosened. There you are, he thought, watching his friend’s rare moment of peace.

Tim’s voice pulled him back. “Dante?”

“Hm?” Dante’s eyes flickered back, professional mask sliding instantly back into place.

“Your culinary finals are coming up?” Tim asked, breaking the silence. His fingers traced idle patterns on the lip of the coffee mug.

Dante grumbled, adjusting his glasses. “Pastry practical. Chef’s been riding my ass about my chocolate tempering technique.” He leaned in, a conspiratorial tone lilting in his voice. “Between you and me, I couldn’t give less of a shit, I’m going to nail it anyways.”

Tim’s laugh was dry, more of a huffed breath. “Confidence of youth.”

“Experience of practice,” Dante countered, flipping a towel over his shoulder with practiced ease. “I’ve been working these techniques since I was seven. Learned more in my landlord’s kitchen than most people do in culinary school.”

Behind them, Brian’s laugh was punctuated by Baylen’s softer chuckle– a background melody to their conversation.

Tim studied Dante. Something calculating lived behind his casual observation. “Landlord’s kitchen, huh? Sounds like there's a story there.”

Dante’s hand paused mid-wipe. Most people would’ve pushed, but Tim’s tone was more observation than interrogation. “Needed somewhere stable,” he said finally. No elaboration, just a statement.

Tim nodded. No prying, just understanding. “Stability’s hard to come by.” The comment hung between them, loaded with unspoken meaning. The recent missing persons, the town’s growing tension, the weird shit happening at the diner. Tim wasn’t asking. He was acknowledging.

“You see a lot,” Dante said quietly. Not a question. An observation.

Tim’s eyes– sharp, knowing– met Dante’s. “Sometimes seeing is safer than speaking.” Behind them, Dante was faintly aware of Baylen and Brian’s soft chatting; it provided a normal backdrop to this very abnormal conversation.

Tim's eyes flickered briefly to the window, then back to Dante. “Especially when… certain people might be listening.”

Dante caught the deliberate glances Tim threw around the restaurant, he noted the man frequently doing that– watching. 

Dante had long ago categorized Tim as perpetually paranoid– the type who was always watching, always calculating. He’d noticed how Tim never seemed truly relaxed, how his body was always angled to see every entrance and exit. Yet here he was, sitting openly at the counter, a clear compromise. Dante knew it was for Brian’s sake– Tim might be watchful, reserved, and constantly scanning the room, but he was also fundamentally loyal. Protective, Dante supposed.

The man’s back was stiff, positioned so that while he sat in the most exposed part of the restaurant, he could still track every movement. Not out of comfort, but out of a deep-seated need to ensure Brian’s safety.

Dante understood that kind of vigilance. He’d seen it before– in his mother’s eyes, always scanning rooms before they entered, always positioning herself between her son and the world, always making sure she could see every possible exit after… well, after.

The soft jingle of the front door broke his reverie. Day shift had arrived.

Elsie entered first, her tight strawberry blonde curls bouncing with each step. At 4’11, she was dwarfed by the restaurant’s space, but her presence filled the room. Her big pink glasses were perched high upon her nose, matching the pastel pink accessories that adorned her uniform sweater. Freckles danced across her caramel skin, accompanied by a dimpled smile when she gave a cheerful wave.

Hadley followed, all punk-rock edges and lanky limbs. His shaggy black hair fell across dark eyes that surveyed the restaurant with a practiced coolness. He moved with the ease of someone who’d worked too many morning shifts.

Anton brought up the rear– A walking contradiction. Scars traced his face, a glass eye catching the fluorescent light, his curly hair was a wild contract to his precise movements. Dante had long ago stopped trying to figure out exactly where in the store Anton worked. The answer seemed to be: everywhere.

“Good morning!” Elsie chirped, her voice a stark contrast to the night shift’s subdued energy. Relaxation eased over Dante. Shift change. Time to fade into the background.

Brian and Tim exchanged a quick glance. Without a word, they began gathering their things. Tim’s half-full coffee mug was abandoned, and Brian’s plate was only partially cleared. As quickly as they’d settled in, they were moving towards the exit, their practiced rhythm speaking of long-established routine.

The bell chimed as they left, leaving behind only the warmth of their presence and a wad of cash on the counter.

Baylen stretched, his long frame unfolding from behind the counter. “Another night done,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Dante grabbed his jacket, sliding his arms into the worn bomber jacket that he’d owned for years. The back door beckoned, the morning light already cutting through the restaurant's interior. Outside, their vehicles awaited– Baylen’s practical Subaru parked neatly beside Dante’s well-loved truck.

“Hey,” Dante said, keys already in hand. The morning air was crisp, promising a day of potential. “We’ve both got tomorrow off, right?” Baylen raised a brow as he rounded his car to the driver’s side. “Yeah?”

Dante’s fingers drummed against his truck’s door handle. He’d been watching Baylen’s increasing paranoia, the way tension seemed to live permanently in his shoulders. “Wanna do something tomorrow?” The question came out casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern. “Get you out of your head for a bit.”

It wasn’t really a question. It was an intervention, wrapped in the guise of a casual hang-out.

Dante's fingers drummed against his truck's door handle. "Wanna do something tomorrow?" The question came out casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern. "Get you out of your head for a bit."

Baylen paused, keys halfway to the Subaru's door. He considered for a moment - the weight of the past few nights, the scattered papers in his office, the missing items, Jeff's appearance. His shoulders, always tense, seemed to soften slightly.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Sure. Been a while since we've hung out." A beat. "Should we invite Enzo?"

The suggestion was classic Baylen - always thinking about including the crew, always trying to maintain some sense of normalcy even when everything felt like it was unravelling.

Dante's lips quirked. "Yeah, sure. You need a break from... everything."

Baylen nodded, something grateful and tired in the gesture. He slid into the Subaru, the car settling around him like a familiar embrace. The driver's side door creaked - an old, well-known sound.

Dante watched him for a moment, making sure Baylen actually started the car. Their vehicles stood side by side in the morning light, a quiet testament to their unspoken understanding.

The Subaru's engine turned over. Baylen raised two fingers in a half-wave, half-salute.

Dante responded with a nod, climbing into his own truck. Another night shift done. Another day of waiting.

(Authors note: hey guys! happy new year! Sorry we haven't posted in a whole year! a lot has been going on recently while writing this story. One of our co-writer has disappeared out of no where and we're trying to put the story together with what little drafts they've left us. It's kinda cryptic but we're working extra hard to get you guy some content out! Thanks for sticking around and reading anyways! Lets hope for a better new year! -Mod Bat & Mod Faun)

[juneyjubilation]

hey guys

sorry for the lack of posting! i'm still taking requests but im just not writing things that come to mind right now because im writing a novel right now :)

thank you all for your support! and i will absolutely still be writing here, i just need requests!!

[juneyjubilation]

Hi there 👋,

My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future. 🕊️🇵🇸

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

my heart goes out to you and everyone in palestine 💛

[juneyjubilation]

it's my two year anniversary on this silly account.

yippie!

[juneyjubilation]

eddie munson thought from my brother

"he was a shameful fan of elvira. he probably had a cardboard cutout of her hidden in his closet because he's ashamed of his obsession. he loved that woman." eddie died in 1986, elvira's first appearance was 1981.

[juneyjubilation]

Peter Parker x Reader

jealous + first kiss :) At the Daily Bugle, you and Peter are a reporter and photographer, and form a strong working relationship while exposing corruption. Betty, a new reporter, creates tension between them as she flirts with Peter. Your jealousy surfaces, leading to an tense argument. but y'all makeup and kisth.

. . .

You and Peter sat across from each other at your shared desk, going over the latest scoop. The room was dimly lit, the only sound was the rustling of papers and the occasional clacking of a keyboard. As you and Peter Parker worked late into the night at the Daily Bugle, the tension between you thickened with each passing moment. The story you were working on was a big one, exposing corruption within the city's police department. The pressure was tangible, and it wasn't just from the deadline.

The tension between you had been building for days, fueled by the constant proximity and the way your eyes met whenever you thought no one was looking. But the daggers that Betty Brant, the newest reporter and former secretary of J. Jonah Jameson, threw your way didn't help matters.

"Peter, I think we should focus on this angle," you suggested, trying to maintain professionalism.

Peter, his eyes locked on the documents, hesitated before nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I think you're right," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You could feel Peter's gaze on you as you typed away, your fingers flying over the keyboard. You knew that he had feelings for you, and the same was true for you. But the presence of a new reporter, the sultry and alluring Betty Brant, had thrown a wrench into your burgeoning relationship.

Peter couldn't help but notice the way Betty flirted with him, the way she leaned in close, brushing her chest against his arm. But at least for now, you had him all to yourself.

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes as you scrolled through the latest batch of documents Peter had sent over. "Okay, let's see here," you muttered, your voice low and thoughtful. "The mayor's office is definitely involved in this cover-up. But we need to find a way to link them directly to the police department."

Peter leaned forward, his eyes shining with excitement. "I think I can help with that," he said, pulling up a file on his laptop. "I managed to get my hands on some internal memos that show the mayor's office was pressuring the police to keep quiet about the corruption."

You leaned forward, your heart racing. "That's fantastic, Peter," you breathed. "But we need to be careful. If we publish this without concrete evidence, we could be in for a world of trouble."

Peter nodded, his jaw set in determination. "I know. But I think I can help with that too. I've been going over the financial records, and I found some discrepancies that could link the mayor's office directly to the corrupt officers."

You reached out, your hand brushing against Peter's as you took the laptop from him. "Let me take a look," you said, your voice low and husky. "I want to make sure we have everything we need before we go to print."

As you scrolled through the files, your fingers brushing against Peter's for a moment, you couldn't help but steal glances at him. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck.

You and Peter were in the midst of a heated discussion about the latest developments in your story. The tension between you was palpable, and you could feel the electricity between you as you worked together.

Just as you were about to make a breakthrough, Betty Brant's voice cut through the air, shrill and insistent. "Peter Parker, can I see you in my office for a moment?" she called out, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Peter's eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you saw a flash of annoyance. But he stood up, brushing off his jeans, and followed Betty out of the room. You watched them go, your mouth tightening in annoyance.

You waited for a few moments, tapping your pen against the desk impatiently. Finally, you heard the door open again, and Peter walked back in, a look of irritation on his face.

"What was that about?" you asked, your voice low and even.

"I don't know, she just needed to talk to me about something," Peter shrugged, his voice dismissive. "Don't worry about it."

You narrowed your eyes, your annoyance simmering. "About what?"

Peter frowned, clearly not understanding your sudden anger. "I don't know, she didn't say. It was just a quick conversation."

You crossed your arms, your eyes flashing. "Did she say anything about me?"

Peter blinked, confusion etched on his face. "No, why?"

"I thought so," you muttered in a huff, turning back to your work.

Peter's confusion deepened. "What's wrong?"

You didn't respond, your jaw clenched. Peter sighed and walked over to where you were sitting, his hands on your shoulders. "Hey, what's going on? You're acting really weird all of a sudden."

You shrugged him off, your frustration boiling over. "Just drop it, Peter."

Peter's hands fell away, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "No, come on. Talk to me. What's going on?"

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Peter's face fell, and he looked at you with a mixture of confusion and worry.

"Look, I know we've been working really closely together, and I know there's something between us," he said, his voice gentle. "But I don't understand why you're acting like this. Did I do something wrong?"

Peter's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You couldn't meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. Suddenly, the tension between you seemed to crack and crumble, leaving only raw emotion in its wake.

Peter stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. "Vienna, please," he whispered. "Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You felt the heat of his body against yours, the strength of his arms as he pulled you close.

"Peter," you breathed, your voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry. I...I didn't mean to snap at you."

Peter's arms tightened around you, holding you close. "It's okay," he murmured. "I know you're stressed. But please, tell me what's going on. I want to help you."

You bit your lip, trying to find the words. "It's just... I don't know, being around Betty all the time, the way she looks at you, it's..." You trailed off, shaking your head. "I don't know, maybe I'm just tired or frustrated."

You kept going, your voice trembling as you spoke, "I mean, this story is important, and we're under so much pressure. It's just a lot, and I guess it's getting to me.” You continued to ramble, your words spilling out in a jumbled mess. "I mean, I know it's not fair, she's just doing her job, but... I don't know, maybe I'm just tired and tense from work. I've been putting in a lot of long hours, and I'm probably just imagining–!”

Peter's lips crashed against yours, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks. The kiss was tender, yet insistent, as if he was trying to reassure you that everything would be alright. You melted into the embrace, your thoughts scattering as your heart raced.

For a moment, everything around you faded away. The dim lights of the office, the sound of the city beyond the walls, all of it ceased to exist. All that was left was the two of you, sitting at your stupidly small desk in the middle of the empty newsroom.

Your hands were still on the edge of the desk, and Peter's hands were still on your face, but it was as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

You could feel his breath on your lips, hear the slight catch in his chest as he pulled away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just couldn't help myself."

Your heart was still racing, your skin flushed with heat. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the strength of his arms as he held you close. It was as if you were the only two people in the world, lost in a moment of pure emotion.

Peter leaned in again, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. You could taste the salt of his tears on your tongue, the hint of coffee and chocolate on his breath. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and desire, of two people who had been dancing around each other for too long.

As you pulled away, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw emotion that you had never seen before. It was a look that told you that he was just as lost as you were, just as unsure of what to do next.

But at that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the two of you, standing in the middle of the Daily Bugle, lost in a world of your own making.

. . . bonus! . . . “so… betty huh?” “oh, shut up.”

[juneyjubilation]

Meet-Cute with Me!

About Me ♥

Juniper/Juney/June/Juju… whatever you like

She/They

I am 22 years old.

Pisces-Aquarius cusp, Leo Rising, Taurus Moon <3

What I'm Currently Writing For ♥

Detective Comics

Dick Grayson

Barbara Gordon

Jason Todd

Tim Drake

Stephanie Brown

non x reader ships/dynamics;

 joyfire (jason todd/starfire/roy harper)

dick grayson x starfire

barbara gordon x dick grayson

stephanie brown x tim drake

tim drake x bernard dowd

batfamily (PLATONIC! FAMILIAL! AHHHH!)

selena x bruce

Marvel

Peter Parker [TASM, Ultimate, & MCU]

Bucky Barnes [TWS, comics]

Chainsaw Man

Aki Hayakawa

What I'm Currently Listening To ♥

Scrapper n' Sharpshooter In my feels

Follow Along with these Tags ♥

out of "character" content! drafts/drabbles/headcanons! completed writings! gaming content!

[juneyjubilation]

Childhood Friends to Lovers - Dick Grayson x Reader

Dick Grayson and you, childhood friends who grew up together as circus performers, finding yourselves in a secret relationship. The road to love was not an easy one, but the two of you finally took the leap and admitted your feelings for each other. Now, you both have to navigate the challenges of keeping your relationship a secret, all while trying to protect each other from the dangers that come with being a part of the superhero world.

Oh boy this one got long. I hope you all enjoy :) 

. . .

You were a child when you first met Dick Grayson, the only son of John and Mary Grayson, the Flying Graysons, a family of trapeze artists who performed in a traveling circus. You were a member of the Aerial Silks act, and it was there that you first laid eyes on the young Dick, swinging through the air with a grace and skill that left you in awe.

Dick was a few years older than you, but as the years went by, you found yourself spending more and more time with him. The two of you would often sneak off during performances to explore the circus grounds, and you both shared a love for the thrill of the spotlight.

As you grew older, your relationship blossomed into something more, and you both found yourselves falling in love. You were the aerial silks performer, and he was the trapeze artist, and together, you were unstoppable. You were the perfect couple, the childhood sweethearts who had grown up together and found love in the most unexpected of places.

The day Dick Grayson was supposed to debut for the crowd was one that would forever be etched in your memory. It was a day of excitement and anticipation, as the circus crew of Haly's Circus prepared for the night's performance. You could feel the energy in the air, everyone buzzing with excitement for Dick's big moment.

You watched from the side of the stage as the Flying Graysons took their positions. Dick's parents, John and Mary, were in their element, the trapeze swinging gently between them. The crowd roared with approval as the music started and the act began, the Graysons' movements fluid and precise.

But then, in a heartbeat, everything changed. A sickening snap echoed through the tent, and the trapeze jerked violently, sending John and Mary plummeting towards the ground. You couldn't move, frozen in horror as you watched Dick's parents fall, their hands desperately reaching for anything to save them.

The silence that followed was deafening, and in the chaos that ensued, you frantically searched for Dick. You found him sitting on the ground, his face buried in his hands, sobs wracking his small body. Cops and CPS workers swarmed around him, their voices a blur as they tried to make sense of the tragedy.

In the midst of the chaos, you saw Bruce Wayne, the billionaire owner of the circus, standing off to the side. He looked devastated, his eyes fixed on Dick as he approached the boy. You watched, your heart breaking, as Bruce took Dick into his care, promising to look after him, to give him a home and a family.

You didn't know what the future held for Dick that night, but you knew that your lives had been forever altered by the cruel hand of fate. All you could do was hope that Bruce Wayne would take care of the boy you held so close to your heart.

. . .

And the world spun on, despite the loss of Mary and John Grayson. The days kept going, even without the sunshine that Dick Grayson had become for you. For a long time after that night, the world seemed bleak and colorless.

That was until you began to paint, desperate to try and mimic the vibrancy of the circus you once knew.

It was a surreal moment, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as you looked at your creations. They were a far cry from the aerial silks you used to perform with, but they were just as beautiful in their own way.

The art gallery was abuzz with activity, the chatter of people mingling with the soft strains of classical music. The room was filled with an eclectic mix of people, dressed in their finest, all gathered to witness the unveiling of your art.

Your paintings were the centerpiece of the event, displayed on the walls in a tasteful arrangement. The room was dimly lit, spotlights highlighting each piece, allowing the vibrant colors to pop and draw the eye. A mix of abstract and realistic, your art told stories of love, loss, and the beauty of the world.

You stood by the entrance, greeting guests as they arrived, your smile warm and inviting. Your hair was styled in loose curls, framing your face, and you wore a dress that matched the vibrancy of your art.

Servers moved through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, while in the corner, a jazz quartet played softly, the music adding to the festive atmosphere.

The buzz of conversation grew louder as the night wore on, the room filled with the sounds of people enjoying themselves, appreciating the art that you had poured your heart and soul into. It was a night of pride and accomplishment, a testament to the journey you had taken from a child performing in a circus to a renowned artist.

Amidst the sea of people, a familiar person stood out, his tall frame and sharp features making it easy to pick him out from the crowd. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized who he was. Dick Grayson, your Flying Grayson, the boy who had once been your everything - now grown. His dark hair was neatly styled, and he wore a well-tailored suit that hugged his lean, muscular frame.

He looked different now, older and more worn, but there was still that spark in his eyes that you remembered so well.

As you watched him, you were struck by the familiarity of his movements, the way he carried himself with an air of confidence and purpose. Even after all these years, there was something about him that drew your gaze, a spark that still lingered in your heart.

Dick's expression was serious as he moved through the crowd, talking to people with the ease of someone who was comfortable in any situation. A part of you ached, knowing that this was the man you once shared your dreams with, the boy who had lost so much, yet still managed to stand tall.

In that moment, as your eyes met from across the room, a jolt of recognition coursed through you, a reminder of the connection that still lingered between the two of you. Dick's eyes widened slightly, as if he recognized you too, and then he smiled, a genuine and warm expression that sent a shiver down your spine.

You found yourself drawn to him, making your way through the crowd, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. As you approached, you could see the relief and happiness in Dick's eyes, and for a moment, it was as if no time had passed between the two of you.

As you approached Dick, you couldn't help but smile, your nerves settling as he greeted you with a warm hug. "It's been too long," he murmured, his voice a familiar comfort.

You laughed, your eyes meeting his as you pulled back, taking in the sight of him. "It has been," you agreed, your heart fluttering at the closeness. "But it's good to see you."

Dick nodded, his expression turning serious for a moment. "I've missed you," he admitted, his voice low. "I never got to say goodbye, after... everything."

Your heart clenched, the memories of that fateful night coming back to haunt you. "I missed you too," you whispered, your hand reaching out to touch his. "I never stopped thinking of you, wondering if you were okay."

Dick's eyes softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I'm okay," he reassured you. "I've had a lot to deal with, but I'm okay."

You nodded, understanding the weight of the words. "I'm glad," you said, your voice sincere. "I'm glad you're okay."

Dick's smile grew, and he released your hand, gesturing to the art around you. "This is amazing. I'm not surprised, though, you've always had a talent for bringing stories to life."

You beamed, proud of your work and grateful for the compliment. "Thank you, Dick. It's something I've always loved, and now, I get to share it with the world."

He nodded, his gaze taking in the art around you. "You're making your mark, just like you always said you would."

"And you've done the same," you pointed out, nodding to his suit. "You're a successful businessman, and I've heard whispers of an up-and-coming philanthropist in Blüdhaven?"

Dick's smile turned wry, and he looked away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. 

"Yeah, well, some things change, and some things stay the same, I guess." Dick replied, his voice holding a hint of nostalgia. "And now, here you are, the rising star of the art world."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I never thought I'd be standing here, in a fancy gallery, with my paintings on the walls," you admitted, gesturing around the room.

Dick's eyes sparkled with admiration. "You've come a long way. I'm not surprised, though. You always had the drive, the passion."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thanks, Dick. It's good to see you again, to know that you're still out there, doing your own thing."

He nodded, leaning in closer. "I've missed you," he whispered, his voice soft and sincere. "And I'm glad I ran into you tonight."

You felt your heart skip a beat, the intensity of those words making your breath catch in your throat. "I'm glad too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The two of you stood there for a moment, lost in each other's gaze, the years that had passed seemingly melting away.

Dick's hand reached out, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "Let's catch up," he suggested, his smile drawing you in. "There's a lot to talk about, a lot of time to make up for."

You nodded, your heart pounding as you took his hand. "Yes," you agreed, the promise of rekindling your friendship and exploring the newfound feelings between you both filling you with excitement and anticipation. "Let's catch up."

The two of you stood there for a moment, the connection between you palpable. Then, Dick glanced at his watch, his expression turning apologetic. "I should get going," he murmured. "I have somewhere I need to be."

Your heart sank at the thought of him leaving, but you nodded understandingly. "Oh…" you said, your voice soft, trying to not let on how tightly disappointment gripped your heart.

Dick's smile was apologetic as he turned to leave, his hand lingering on your arm before releasing it. "I'm sorry. I really wanted to stay and catch up, but duty calls," he said, his voice tinged with regret.

You nodded, understanding that he had responsibilities he couldn't ignore. "It's okay," you reassured him, your heart aching at the thought of him leaving. "I'm glad you were able to come, though."

Dick's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something there, something that made your breath catch in your throat. Then, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

You had thought you’d gotten over your silly childhood crush on Dick Grayson, but you couldn't help but watch him go, your heart aching with a mix of love and longing.

As the night wore on, the crowd began to thin, leaving you to mingle with the remaining guests and art critics. The soft strains of jazz continued to play, the room bathed in the warm glow of the spotlights, highlighting your artwork.

Suddenly, the mood shifted, the atmosphere growing tense as a group of thugs, armed with guns, burst through the doors. The room erupted into chaos as people scrambled for safety. You found yourself pushed against a wall, your heart pounding in your chest as the thugs rounded up the remaining guests, including you and five others.

The leader of the group, a burly man with a scowl, approached you, his gun pressing against your temple. "Don't move, or your friends die," he growled, his voice laced with menace.

You didn’t know these people, but that didn’t matter. You weren’t going to condemn these people to death over your art.

The other thugs herded the rest of the hostages into the center of the room, their weapons trained on the group. The once-festive atmosphere had been replaced with the heavy scent of fear and adrenaline.

One of the thugs approached the art, his eyes gleaming as he studied the pieces. "Let's see what kind of loot we have here," he said, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

As the heist unfolded, you could do nothing but watch, your mind racing as you tried to think of a way to escape the dangerous situation. The once-celebratory event had turned into a nightmare, and all you could do was hope for a swift resolution.

Just as the thugs began to load your artwork onto a waiting truck, the sound of a zip line echoed through the gallery. A dark figure swooped down, landing gracefully in the middle of the chaos.

Nightwing.

The thugs' eyes widened in surprise as he disarmed one of them, sending him stumbling backward. The other thugs, realizing they were in over their heads, started to panic, their guns wavering.

Nightwing moved with preternatural speed, his batons flying through the air, striking his targets with precision. The hostages, including you, watched in awe as he took down the thugs one by one.

The leader, sensing defeat, made a desperate move towards you, his gun raised. Nightwing was quicker, his escrima stick connecting with the man's wrist, sending the gun skittering across the floor.

The thug was subdued, and Nightwing turned to the others, his eyes dark with determination. "Everyone, stay down," he ordered, his voice firm but calm.

As the thugs were rounded up, Nightwing made his way to the hostages, helping them up. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, you felt a spark of recognition.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

You nodded, still shaken by the ordeal. "Yeah, thanks to you," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

Nightwing offered you a reassuring smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "Glad to be of service," he said, his voice brimming with the same intensity you remembered from your childhood.

As Nightwing helped the other hostages, your thoughts raced, piecing together the evidence from the encounter. The smile, so familiar and warm, the way he moved, with the grace and agility you remembered, and the way he had flown in on a zip line - the very same way you'd seen him do tricks in the circus.

Your heart began to race, the realization dawning on you. It couldn't be. But as he turned back to you, his eyes meeting yours once more, there was no denying it.

Nightwing was Dick Grayson.

The boy you'd once shared your dreams with, the man you'd reconnected with earlier that evening, was now standing before you in his crime-fighting persona. The shock and delight mingled, leaving you reeling.

As the last of the thugs were subdued and the night grew quiet, Dick's gaze returned to you, his expression softening as he noticed your trembling form. He approached you, his hands gentle as he guided you away from the chaos.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and soothing. "That was quite a scare."

You nodded, still trying to process the events that had just unfolded. As you looked into his eyes, you couldn't help but notice how familiar they seemed, how much they reminded you of the boy you once knew.

You glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot. As you were sure the coast was clear, you leaned in closer to him, your voice dropping to a murmur.

"Dick," you said, your words barely audible. "That's you under that mask, right...?"

Dick's eyes widened slightly at your whispered question, a flicker of surprise and a brief flicker of panic crossing his features. He hesitated for a moment, before nodding begrudgingly, his voice dropping to match yours in volume. "Guilty as charged," he replied, his voice low and incredulous, "how’d you know?"

You smiled, your heart pounding with excitement. "Because I know you, Dick Grayson," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of awe and amusement. "And I know that only you could pull off a stunt like that."

Dick's smile grew, his eyes softening as he looked at you, the tension he'd been holding on to dissipating. "I guess I can't keep everything a secret from you," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of nostalgia.

You nodded, your heart swelling with a sense of pride and affection. "No, I guess not," you agreed, your hand reaching out to touch his arm.

The two of you stood there, lost in each other's gaze, the chaos of the night fading away. The reunion of old friends, turned into something more, as you realized that the bond between you transcended time and circumstances.

Dick's hand reached out, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek, just like it had earlier that evening. "Let's catch up," he suggested, his smile drawing you in. "There's a lot to talk about, a lot of time to make up for."

. . .

Days after the heist, you found yourself sitting in a small, dimly-lit café, the warmth of a steaming cup of coffee enveloping your hands. The room was filled with the soothing sounds of a jazz quartet playing in the background.

You glanced up as Dick entered, his dark eyes meeting yours across the room. He approached your table, his smile brightening the space around him.

"Hey," he said, taking a seat opposite you. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

"About last week?" you asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Dick chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "Well, that too. But there's something else I need to discuss with you."

You nodded, your curiosity piqued.

"Look," Dick began, his voice low and serious, "this life, it's dangerous. I can't have anyone I care about getting hurt because of me."

Your heart clenched at his words, understanding the weight of his responsibility. "I understand," you replied, your voice soft. "But what about us?"

“We need to keep… this a secret, at least for now. It's for your safety," Dick hesitated, his expression pained. "I know. It's a lot to process."

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "I'm scared," you admitted. "Scared of what this means, of what it could put you through."

Dick's expression softened, his hand reaching out to brush against your cheek once more. "I know," he said. "And I'm scared too. But I don't regret a moment of that night. I don't regret being here with you."

"The connection we share means too much to me, you mean too much to me," Dick continued, his voice filled with conviction. "And I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. But for now, we need to keep this between us."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and love reflected there. A lump formed in your throat as you nodded, accepting the reality of the situation.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice wavering. "Let's do this."

Dick's smile was tender, his thumb brushing against your cheek once more. "Thank you," he said, his voice low and filled with gratitude. 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, your hands brushing against each other, a silent promise of the love and commitment you shared, despite the secrets that bound you. Together, you'd face the challenges that lay ahead, trusting in the bond that had brought you back together, stronger than ever.

. . .

You sat in a bustling café, your eyes scanning the room as you sipped your coffee. Your heart raced with anticipation, knowing that Dick would be joining you soon. The coded message had been clear: "Meet me at the park with the red bench, our table will be the one with the most books."

A few minutes later, you spotted Dick entering the park, his eyes scanning the area as he approached. He took a seat at the designated table, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he pretended to leaf through one of the books.

You made your way over, your heart pounding in your chest. "Mind if I join you?" you asked, feigning innocence.

Dick looked up, his eyes brightening. "Not at all," he replied, his voice low and filled with mirth. "Unless you're here for one of these literary masterpieces."

You laughed, taking a seat opposite him. "No, I'm afraid not," you said, your voice just as low. "I was just looking for a nice, quiet place to read."

You both settled into your roles, chatting casually about books while your hands brushed against each other under the table. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the sweet thrill of secrecy.

As the afternoon turned into evening, you and Dick continued to share stolen moments, laughing and reminiscing about old times. The park's red bench was now a symbol of your forbidden love, a beacon of warmth amidst the chaos of your lives.

In this public, yet private, space, the two of you could be free, if only for a little while. The coded messages and secret rendezvous were a testament to the depth of your feelings, a shared secret that only you and Dick knew.

. . .

You stood in the kitchen of your modest apartment, the scent of garlic and rosemary wafting through the air. The meal you were preparing was simple, yet hearty, perfect for a quiet evening at home.

The doorbell rang, and you quickly made your way to answer it. Dick stood on the other side, his smile warm as he stepped in. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble," he said, his voice low and filled with gratitude.

"Oh, come on," you replied, playfully swatting his arm. "I enjoy cooking. Plus, it's not every day I get to have a superhero over for dinner."

Dick chuckled, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I'll try not to disappoint," he said, helping you carry the dishes to the table.

The two of you settled in, the silence in the room punctuated by the sounds of cutlery clinking against plates and the occasional sip of wine. As you ate, you found yourselves slipping back into easy conversation, the familiarity between you like a comforting blanket.

After dinner, you moved to the living room, curling up on the couch together. You watched a movie, your legs intertwined and your heads resting against each other, the world outside fading away.

Later, as you lay in your bed, your arms wrapped around each other, you felt safe and content. The intimacy of the evening provided a stark contrast to the danger and excitement that defined Dick's life as Nightwing.

In these moments, the two of you could simply be, enjoying the simple pleasures of being together. The quiet moments, the stolen kisses, the whispers of love and affection that passed between you.

The private dinners, the intimate nights shared in each other's homes, were a balm for your souls, a sanctuary from the chaos that surrounded you.

. . .

You sat in front of your laptop, the screen glowing as you opened up the encrypted messaging app. You had to be careful, you couldn't let anyone see your communication with Dick. It was a risk, but one you had to take if you wanted to keep your relationship safe.

You typed out a message, your fingers flying across the keys. "Hey, I miss you. When can we meet up next?" you asked, your heart pounding with anticipation.

A few minutes later, a response popped up on your screen. "I miss you too. I can make it tonight at 7 pm. Meet me at the usual spot," Dick wrote, his words a promise of the love and passion that you both shared.

You smiled, your heart swelling with happiness. You couldn't wait to see him, to be in his arms again. You quickly typed out a response, your words filled with longing. "I'll be there. Can't wait to see you."

The two of you continued to communicate, your words flowing back and forth between you. You talked about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company. The encrypted messaging app provided a safe space for you to express your love and affection for each other, without fear of unwanted surveillance.

As the night wore on, you found yourself getting ready for your meeting with Dick. You put on your best outfit, your heart fluttering with excitement. You knew that you had to be careful, that the world around you was dangerous and unpredictable.

But in this moment, you didn't care. You just wanted to be with Dick, to enjoy each other's company. The world could wait, but your love for each other couldn't. You knew that you would do anything to keep your relationship safe, to protect it from those who would try to tear you apart.

. . .

You and Dick sat in a dimly lit corner of a crowded restaurant, your eyes locked on each other as you whispered. "So, what do you think?" Dick asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I think it's perfect," you replied, your smile brightening the space between you. "We'll say we met through work, that I'm a consultant for Wayne Enterprises."

Dick's eyes widened, and you could see the gears turning in his head. "And I'm pretty high up in the ranks," he added, his voice filled with mirth. "Everyone knows how I'm always looking for new talent."

You chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Exactly. It'll be believable, and it'll explain our frequent meetings."

A waiter approached, and you both ordered your meals, your hands brushing against each other for a brief moment. The world around you blurred, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your secret.

After the waiter left, you continued to discuss the finer details of your cover story. You decided that you would occasionally be seen working late hours at Wayne Enterprises, giving the appearance that your professional relationship was genuine.

Dick, always the strategic planner, suggested that you could be seen at charity events and fundraisers, further solidifying the façade. You agreed, your heart swelling with gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

As the night wore on, the two of you continued to enjoy each other's company, always mindful of the world around you. You knew that you had to be cautious, that the truth of your relationship couldn't be revealed.

. . .

The opulent ballroom was filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet. You and Dick stood together, your eyes locked on each other as you navigated the sea of people.

Dick's arm rested lightly on your waist, a gesture that was both protective and casual. It was a perfect display of your professional relationship, one that you had worked diligently to craft.

As you chatted with a group of people, you noticed a man eyeing you with interest. He approached, his smile charming and disarming. "Excuse me, miss, but I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. You're simply stunning," he said, his voice smooth and seductive.

Your gaze flicked to Dick, and you could see the trust and understanding in his eyes. You knew that you had to handle this situation with discretion, without revealing anything about your true relationship.

"Thank you," you replied, your smile warm but distant. "Unfortunately, I'm with someone tonight. But perhaps another time?"

The man's smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. "Of course, another time. It was a pleasure to meet you," he said, bowing slightly before moving on.

You turned back to the group, your heart beating with gratitude for Dick's unspoken support. The trust and discretion that you both shared were the backbone of your relationship, allowing you to navigate the complex world around you.

Throughout the evening, you and Dick continued to mingle, always mindful of each other's whereabouts. You exchanged subtle glances, your eyes filled with love and understanding.

You and Dick stood side by side, watching the crowd as you sipped your champagne. "I thought for sure he was going to try to hit on you," you said, your voice low and filled with amusement.

Dick's eyebrows shot up, and he let out a deep laugh. "Really? Why would you think that?" he asked, his voice equally as low.

You shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Well, you're the one who's usually surrounded by women," you said, your voice light and teasing. "I thought you were just taking a break from all the attention tonight."

Dick's laughter filled the air, his eyes sparkling with humor. "Oh, I'm always getting attention," he said, his voice filled with amusement. "But I guess I'm just too used to it to notice."

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Well, it's a good thing I'm here to help you fend them off," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Dick chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. "I'll definitely take all the help I can get," he replied, his voice filled with mock seriousness.

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man who stood before you. "Well, you'll always have my attention," you said, your voice soft and filled with emotion.

Dick's expression softened, and he lowered his champagne glass. "I know," he whispered, his eyes filled with love and adoration. "And you'll always have mine."

The two of you continued to talk, your conversation peppered with quiet humor and playful jabs. You reveled in the simple pleasure of being together, the world around you fading away as you basked in each other's company.

. . .

Outside of Dick's inner circle and your closest friends, very few people would know about your relationship. You both took great care to maintain your cover story, ensuring that your interactions appeared professional and casual.

Dick's staff at Wayne Enterprises would know you as a consultant, a frequent visitor to the offices, and an occasional guest at charity events. They'd see you working late hours or having meetings in Dick's office but would assume it was all part of your professional relationship.

Similarly, your friends might notice that you often hang out with Dick but would be told about your professional connection.

Both Dick and you were careful to avoid any actions that could be misconstrued as intimate or compromising. You would always have a plausible explanation for your whereabouts and interactions.

The only people aware of your true relationship would be those you trust explicitly, such as Dick's closest confidants or your dearest friends. They would understand the importance of keeping your relationship a secret and would respect your desire for privacy.

In essence, you had created a web of intricate lies and half-truths to protect your love. It was a delicate dance, but one that the two of you had mastered, ensuring that your relationship remained a secret, shielded from prying eyes.

[juneyjubilation]

Aki Hayakawa x AFAB!Reader

Background info: You’re a devil hunter in a different division than aki. You have been in a relationship with aki hayakawa, for years. You were injured on a job, but during the hospital stay after the attack you find out you are pregnant. 

. . .

You had been cooped up in a hospital bed for around four hours now, and you were still trying to process the news the nurse had delivered to you with such gentleness and care. The words had hit you like a freight train, leaving you reeling and disoriented.

"P-pregnant?" you had stammered, your mind struggling to comprehend the revelation. "But... how? We... we haven't... we're not even married!" The panic had gripped your heart, your breathing quickening as you tried to make sense of the impossible.

The nurse had smiled kindly, her expression understanding. "It happens sometimes, even without planning. And you're not alone. Many women find out they're pregnant unexpectedly."

You had nodded, but your mind was still racing, thoughts jumbled and chaotic. Devil hunters didn't have families, or so you thought. The life was too dangerous, too unpredictable. And yet, here you were, pregnant with Aki's child.

The nurse had patted your hand reassuringly. "You'll be okay. The doctors will monitor your health and the baby's. And you'll have plenty of time to adjust to the news."

You had nodded, but the motion felt hollow, the reality still sinking in. You were a devil hunter, and now you were pregnant. It was the last thing you expected, and yet, it was happening. And you had no idea how to handle it, no idea how to tell Aki.

. . .

You lay in your hospital bed, your body still healing from the wounds you'd sustained on your latest mission. The room was quiet, save for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your vitals. You'd been through worse, but this time, you couldn't help but feel a new sense of vulnerability.

The door to your room opened, and in walked Aki, his stoic expression a familiar sight as he closed the door behind him. The lead of Public Safety Special Division Four was your partner, your lover, and your rock. His presence alone brought a sense of calm to your usually tumultuous life.

"Hey," he said softly, moving to your side. He took your hand, his grip strong and comforting. "How are you feeling?"

You smiled weakly, grateful for his concern. "Better, I think. The pain's subsiding."

Aki nodded, his gaze flicking to your bandages before returning to your face. He was always so attentive, his worry for you evident in every action. You loved that about him, the way he took care of you, even when it seemed like you were the one who usually had to protect him.

As Aki sat down in the chair beside your bed, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew you couldn't keep the news to yourself any longer. You owed it to Aki to be honest, to share this life-changing event with him.

"Aki," you began softly, your voice shaking. "There's something I need to tell you."

Aki's gaze met yours, his expression concerned but attentive. "What is it?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I... I was examined earlier. The nurse said something... something about me being pregnant."

Aki's eyes widened in surprise, his stoic mask slipping for a moment before he composed himself. "Pregnant?" he repeated, his voice a mixture of shock and disbelief.

You nodded, your heart in your throat. "I know, I know. We haven't talked about starting a family, and we're not married. But... it's real."

Aki's silence stretched on, his gaze locked onto your face as he processed the news. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, the implications of this revelation weighing heavy on him.

Aki's eyes remained fixed on yours, his expression unreadable as he processed the information. The silence stretched on, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft hum of the machines around you.

Then, slowly, a smile began to form on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and wonder. "A child?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're going to have a child?"

You nodded, your heart swelling with love for this man who had just been dealt another blow by the world. Aki had lost so much - his parents, his little brother, so many comrades and friends. And yet, here he was, staring at you with a smile on his face, his eyes shining with hope and possibility.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks - Aki had been given a second chance, a chance to have a family again. And it was all because of you, because of this unexpected, unplanned pregnancy.

Aki's hand tightened around yours, his grip strong and reassuring. "A child," he repeated, his voice filled with wonder. "We're going to have a child."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for giving me this chance, for giving me a reason… a chance at a–..." he choked up, closing his eyes before he could say ‘a family’.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he held you.

Aki's worry and protectiveness resurfaced, instincts taking over as he pulled back to look at you, his expression a mix of love and pure stress and worry. "Hey, wait a second," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "You're hurt and in the hospital, and you're pregnant? Are-? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with love for Aki as he slipped back into his protective role. "I'm going to be okay," you reassured him, your voice steady. "The doctors have been monitoring me, and they've taken precautions to make sure both the baby and I are safe. The nurse said everything seems to be progressing well."

Aki's shoulders relaxed slightly, but his expression remained tense. "I should've been here," he admitted, his voice filled with self-reproach. "I always thought we had time, that we could plan this. But now... I should've been more attentive."

You reached up, placing your hand on his cheek, your eyes meeting his. "You couldn't have known... Hell, I didn't know," you reminded him, your voice gentle. "You're here now, and that's all that matters. We'll figure this out together, Aki."

Aki's expression softened, his features relaxing as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, his hand still holding yours tightly. "We'll be okay," he murmured, his voice shaky as he tried to convince himself of that. 

"We're okay," You whispered back, your heart filling with love and hope as you looked into his eyes. 

Together, you would navigate the unknown waters of parenthood, of being a family in a world that was often cruel and unforgiving. The two of you would face the challenges that lay ahead, ready to embrace the future and build a family, a life that was yours and yours alone. The world outside the hospital room might be chaotic, but within the confines of those walls, there was peace, and there was love. And in the end, that's all that truly mattered.

[juneyjubilation]

Peter Parker x Reader

in which, peter parker has to break up with you, but he finds himself repeating the day over and over again. He loves you a lot, but in order to protect you from his secret life as spider-man he’s convinced himself he has to. So he finds himself breaking up with you over and over again in a time loop.

no mentions of reader gender, use of 'reader' or y/n!

. . .

You and Peter were sitting in a cozy corner of a bustling café, the clinking of cutlery and murmurs of other patrons providing a pleasant background noise. The air was thick with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods.

Peter's eyes met yours, his face a mix of nerves and warmth. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shifted in your seat, feeling a flicker of concern. "Is everything okay?"

Peter took a deep breath, his hands fiddling with the edge of the table. "I've come to a decision. I think we should take a break, maybe see other people."

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion clouding your mind. "A break? But why?"

Peter hesitated, his gaze dropping to his lap. "I... I can't tell you everything, and I think it's only fair that you know the whole truth about me."

You reached across the table, your hand gently gripping his. "Peter, what are you talking about? I trust you, and I want to be there for you, no matter what."

He looked into your eyes, the pain etched in his expression. "It's not that simple. I'm protecting you, from me."

You pulled away, a lump forming in your throat. "Protecting me? From you?"

Peter nodded, his voice strained. "I can't put you in danger. I have to protect you from my life, from the things I do."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stood, your voice shaking. "I understand, I guess. I wish you'd trust me."

You left the café, your heart heavy as you made your way home. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth you'

You left the café, your heart heavy as you made your way home. The outside air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth you'd felt moments before.

. . .

The next morning, Peter woke up, the events of the previous night heavy on his mind. He got dressed and went about his day, only for his thoughts to replay everything: the date, the breakup, and the heartache.

Peter sat at his small, cluttered desk, his eyes fixated on his phone. He scrolled through the messages, his heart sinking as he came across the familiar text. It was from you, confirming your date for the morning.

His breath hitched, the realization dawning on him. This was the same day. The time loop had started again.

He reread the message, his fingers trembling as he typed out a response. "I'm sorry, I think we should talk. Let's meet at the café instead?"

As he sent the message, a sense of dread settled in his chest. He knew what was coming, the inevitable breakup, the heartache, and the loneliness.

Peter leaned back in his chair, the weight of his secret bearing down on him. He wanted to break free from the loop, to find a way to share his life with you, but he couldn't risk your safety.

The clock ticked on, and he knew he had to face the day, to walk through the motions once more, hoping against hope that somehow, some way, he'd find a solution.

For now, he could only brace himself for the emotions that were about to unfold, the pain of breaking your heart, and the guilt that came with it.

Peter paced back and forth in his apartment, his mind racing as he tried to come up with the perfect words to break up with you. He sat on the couch, his eyes fixating on the wall as he thought through each sentence, each phrase, each word.

He was confident that the previous day had been nothing more than a strange dream, a figment of his imagination. The deja vu he felt was just his mind's way of reminding him of the importance of the conversation ahead.

Peter took a deep breath, standing up and walking over to the window. He stared out at the city, the sun casting a warm glow on the glass.

He sat back down, his thoughts still swirling. He'd try again, this time with a different approach. He'd be more understanding, more empathetic, but still firm in his decision.

He got up and walked over to the door, his hand on the knob. He turned, his eyes meeting the mirror, and a sense of calm washed over him. He had this. He could handle this.

He took another deep breath, and opened the door, stepping into the hall. He walked downstairs, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind focused on the words he'd rehearsed.

He arrived at the café, and his heart sank. There you were, waiting for him, a smile on your face. He took a deep breath, and walked over, his hand reaching out to take yours.

He looked into your eyes, and the words he'd rehearsed flew out of his mind. He couldn't do it. He couldn't hurt you like that.

He pulled you close, his heart racing, his mind reeling. He couldn't break up with you. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

He knew he had to tell you the truth, to share his secret with you. He couldn't keep it hidden any longer. He couldn't keep you from the danger that surrounded him.

He took another deep breath, and pulled you closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to tell you. He knew he had to.

… nevermind, Peter was a chicken and he knew it.

Peter's grip on your hand tightened, the weight of his secret and the fear of revealing it to you crushing him. He couldn't bring himself to share his life as Spider-Man, to expose you to the dangers he faced every day.

Choking back his emotions, he took a step back, his voice trembling. "I... I can't do this. I'm sorry. I think it's best if we part ways."

The words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on both of you. You stared at him, confusion and heartbreak etched on your face.

Peter's chest ached as he watched the emotions flicker across your features, regret and guilt gnawing at him. He knew he was making the wrong choice, but the fear of losing you to his world was too much to bear.

He stood, turning away from you, his heart heavy. "I'll always care for you. I'm sorry."

You watched as he walked away, the reality of the situation sinking in. Peter's footsteps faded, and you were left alone, your heart shattered, and your mind reeling.

. . .

Peter jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest. The familiar sensation of dread washed over him, and he realized he was trapped once more. The time loop had started anew, and he was destined to relive the same day, the same heartache, and the same fear.

He sat up, his eyes falling on his phone. The screen displayed a message from you, bubbly and cheerful, asking if he was ready for your date.

His stomach churned as he read the message, the same words that had greeted him the past two mornings. He knew what was coming, the inevitable meeting, the breakup, and the crushing loneliness that followed.

Peter leaned back, his mind racing. He couldn't let this happen again. He had to find a way out, to break the cycle. But how? He couldn't risk your life, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

As he dressed, he felt a mix of anguish and dread. He knew the day ahead would be just as painful as the ones before, but he couldn't let that deter him.

He stepped out of his room, the familiarity of his surroundings weighing heavily on him. He'd have to face the day, to go through the motions once more, hoping against hope that this time, things would be different.

Peter took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the room, committing to memory every detail, every object, as if this would be the day he'd finally find a way to break free from the endless loop.

Peter made his way to the café, the streets eerily familiar, as if they were etched into his memory. The buildings, the people, the sounds—everything was exactly as it had been the past two mornings.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he steeled himself for what was to come. He couldn't let this day end the same way as the previous ones. He had to find a way to change the outcome, to prevent the heartbreak that awaited both of them.

As he entered the café, the same scent of coffee and pastries wafted through the air. The murmurs of other patrons filled the room, and he saw you sitting in the same corner booth, your smile brightening as he approached.

Peter's heart sank, but he squared his shoulders, his resolve growing stronger. He sat down across from you, his voice firm and determined. "I think we need to talk," he began, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You looked at him, your smile faltering, and he could see the worry in your eyes. "Is everything okay?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Peter hesitated, his grip on the table tightening. "I've come to a decision. I think it's best if we take a break, see other people."

The familiar sense of confusion and hurt flashed across your face, and Peter's heart ached. But this time, he wouldn't falter. He had to protect you, and that meant being strong, even if it meant breaking your heart.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but Peter held firm, his gaze unwavering. He knew this was the only way to keep you safe.

Your hand gripped his, your voice shaking as you stood. "I understand, I guess. I wish you'd trust me."

Peter released your hand, his heart heavy as you left the café. He knew the rest of the day would unfold as it had the previous two times. The breakup, the heartache, and the lonely walk home.

Maybe this time... it would be different.

. . .

Peter awoke once more, the weight of the time loop bearing down on him. He'd tried to change the outcome, to alter the course of the day, but it had ended the same as before.

He sat up, his mind whirling. He had to find another way. He couldn't keep living this loop, this cycle of pain and heartbreak.

He dressed and left his room, his steps heavy as he walked through the familiar halls of his apartment. Peter's eyes darted around the room, the weight of the time loop pressing down on him. He had to find a way to break free, to end this cycle of pain and heartbreak.

Peter tried to break up with you in different ways, each time hoping for a different outcome. He'd tried being gentle, kind, and understanding. He'd tried being firm, assertive, and direct. He'd tried being distant, avoiding you altogether, hoping that time would ease the pain.

In one loop, he tried to avoid the date altogether, but you tracked him down, and he broke the news in a park. The tears streamed down your face, the hurt etched in your eyes, a sight that tore at his heart.

In another loop, he tried to distract you, taking you to a fun event, hoping the excitement would soften the blow. But the truth still had to come out, and the pain was no less intense.

Each loop, Peter's heart shattered, the guilt and sorrow weighing heavier with each passing day. He couldn't bear to lose you, but he couldn't bear to put you in danger either.

He tried to explain, to justify the pain he was inflicting, but the words fell flat. He tried to be honest, to share his secret with you, but the fear of losing you to his world kept him silent.

He tried to be strong, to be brave, but the tears he'd held back for so long finally broke through, and he wept in front of you, the weight of his guilt overwhelming him.

He tried to be kind, to be gentle, but the words he spoke still cut deep, and you walked away, heartbroken, leaving him alone with the echoes of his regret.

He tried to be understanding, to be empathetic, but the pain he caused still lingered, and he couldn't bear the thought of repeating the cycle again.

He tried and tried, but the outcome remained the same, the heartache and the guilt, the pain and the sorrow.

. . .

Peter woke up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw the same text on his phone, the same message from you, asking if he was ready for your date.

He leapt out of bed, his anger and frustration boiling over. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't keep living this loop, this endless cycle of pain and heartache.

He decided to take a different approach, to break the cycle before it even began. He changed into his Spider-Man suit, his mind racing with the plan.He stormed out of his apartment, his mind racing as realized he couldn't break up with you again. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

As he swung through the city, he spotted you walking towards the café. He swooped down, grabbing you in his webs, and lifted you into the air. His free arm tucked around you, shouting over the whooshing of wind, “hang on tight!”

You screamed initially, the shock of being grabbed from the street overwhelming, and your eyes widened in shock, your heart raising in your throat as Spider-Man whisked you away. The cityscape blurred below as he swung between the highrises of New York City.

You screamed initially, the shock of being grabbed from the street overwhelming, and your eyes widened in shock, your heart raising in your throat as Spider-Man whisked you away. The cityscape blurred below as he swung between the high-rises of New York City.

The buildings below grew smaller and smaller, and you couldn't help but laugh, the exhilaration of the experience washing away your initial fear.

Spider-Man landed smoothly on a rooftop, the Empire State Building looming behind him. He released you, and you stood there, catching your breath, your heart pounding in your chest.

He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and fear. He began with your name - speaking it like a prayer on his tongue, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "I can't do it anymore. I can't keep living the same day over and over. I need to tell you something, something I've been trying to avoid for too long."

He reached up, his hands fiddling together nervously. "I'm Spider-Man. And I don't know what else to do but tell you."

"I'm Spider-Man," he repeated, relieved to be finally saying it to you, his voice husky with emotion. "I've been trying to find a way to tell you, to share my life with you, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing you to this world."

"I don't know what else to do but tell you. I need you to know the truth, even if it means losing you." He waited, his breath catching in his throat, his heart pounding as he watched your expression. This time, he wouldn't let fear dictate his actions. He'd be honest, and he'd face the consequences, no matter how painful the outcome. 

But to his surprise you didn’t scream at him, nor did you demand he bring you back to the cafe so you could break up for good…

In a move that was so distinctly you, you reached out for where his mask tucked into the neckline of his suit. You pulled the mask up to uncover his identity, a small smile playing on your lips. "Peter... You idiot," you said, shaking your head and furrowing your brows, your voice filled with affection. "Why would you being Spider-Man change anything? Why would I love you any less?"

You reached for his neck, pulling the mask up to uncover his identity, a small smile playing on your lips. "Peter... You idiot," you said, shaking your head and furrowing your brows, your voice filled with affection. "Why would you being Spider-Man change anything? Why would I love you any less?"

Your eyes met his, your expression softening as you reached out, taking his hand in yours. "I always knew there was more to you than just Peter Parker. I could see it in your eyes, the way you took in the world around you. But now I know you have a valid reason for missing so many dates and plans."

Peter's heart swelled, relief flooding through him as he realized his fears were unfounded. You didn't recoil at the revelation, didn't turn away or show fear. Instead, you embraced it, accepting him as both Peter Parker and Spider-Man.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he squeezed your hand, the weight of the time loop lifting from his shoulders. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I've been so scared."

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a gentle kiss, your arms wrapping around him. "We'll figure it out together," you promised, your voice firm and reassuring.

Peter breathed in deeply, the world around them coming into focus once more. The time loop was broken, the endless cycle of pain and heartache shattered.

He looked into your eyes, his heart full of love and gratitude. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Peter could see a future with you, a life filled with both joy and challenges, one he was eager to face by your side.

. . . bonus! . . .

“hey pete?”“yes, baby?”

“what did you mean by you couldn’t keep living the same day over and over?”

“please don’t mention it.”

[juneyjubilation]

Tim Drake x Reader

woah woah, so many posts in one night! here's a SFW A/B/O fanfic. because i like the premise of that world, but i don't always wanna write ruts and heats. so heres beta!tim drake x omega!reader. . . .

Two years of emails, texts, and video calls had led you to this moment, standing at the arrival gate in Gotham's airport. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you scanned the crowd for Tim Drake, the man you'd grown to love through your digital connection.

You'd always been hesitant around alphas, their scents too overpowering, but Tim, as a beta, was different.

As the crowd of passengers grew, you suddenly spotted him. Tim's dark hair was styled in a messy fashion, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. He wore a black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his muscular forearms.

Your heart raced as you pushed through the crowd, your eyes never leaving his.

The real-life aroma of Tim enveloped you, and you found it just as comforting as you'd imagined. A wave of relief washed over you, knowing that the man you'd fallen for online was the same one standing in front of you.

Tim's strong arms wrapped around you, hugging you close. "I've missed you, more than I thought possible," he whispered in your ear, his breath warm and reassuring.

Pulling away slightly, you smiled up at him, feeling more alive than you ever had. "I've missed you too, so so much," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion.

As you pressed your face into Tim's neck, the comforting scent of coffee brewing, linseed, and charred leather filled your senses, making you feel safe and at ease. It was a comforting aroma, the epitome of a beta's scent, and you found yourself craving more of it.

As you rubbed your face against him, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement within your inner omega. The urge to mark him, to leave your scent on him and claim him as your own, was overwhelming.

You rubbed your cheek against his neck, leaving a scent of your own behind, a mix of sweet floral undertones and a hint of musk. Your inner omega was practically doing the happy dance, knowing that you were now able to claim your beta. 

God, *your* beta! The thought alone was so exciting.

Tim chuckled, his arms tightening around you. "You like my scent, huh?" he asked, his voice low and amused.

You pulled back, your eyes meeting his. "I love it," you replied, your voice filled with emotion. "It's comforting, familiar, and just... home."

Tim's expression softened, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'm glad you like it," he whispered. "I've always wanted to be your home, your safe haven."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you knew in that moment that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[juneyjubilation]

Jason Todd x Brazilian!Reader

this is for @veenus777, who commented they wanted a jason version to this! so here it is. . . .

The vibrant colors of the city and the infectious rhythm of samba stir something deep within him, a curiosity he can't ignore.

As you show him around, Jason is captivated by the historical landmarks, such as the Selaron Steps in Lapa, the Christ the Redeemer statue, and the beautiful architecture in the historic city center. He's particularly fascinated by the way history is interwoven with the present, the layers of time visible in the worn cobblestone streets and the juxtaposition of the old and the new.

In your relationship, Jason's intense nature is balanced by your charm. He's protective and fiercely loyal, much like a guardian angel, always watching your back and making sure you're safe. You, on the other hand, have a calming effect on him, helping him let go of some of his past traumas and find solace in the present.

Jason's sense of justice aligns perfectly with your values, making it easy for you to support each other in your endeavors. You both share a love for adventure, and the two of you often find yourselves exploring the nooks and crannies of the city.

Being in a relationship with Jason means embracing the duality that defines him. One moment you're laughing together, enjoying a caipirinha and the warm Brazilian sun, and the next you're diving into action back in Gotham, side by side. . . . bonus! . . .

The sun had begun to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange as you and Jason stood atop the Selaron Steps. The sun's rays kissed the tiles, making them glisten like precious gems.

"I've never seen a sunset like this," Jason remarked, his voice low and gravelly.

You smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist. "It's the magic of Rio, a city that captures the heart and imagination."

Jason turned to face you, his gaze intense. "You've shown me so much, Brazil and of yourself. I'm grateful to have you as my guide."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss. "And I'm glad you're here, Jason, it means a lot… having you actually here with me," you whispered, your heart swelling with affection.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, pressing you against him. Jason wasn't great at relaying his thoughts and emotions verbally, but he'd always let you know in the little ways that he needed you near him.

Hand in hand, you watched the sun sink below the horizon, the city below bathed in the warm afterglow of the sunset. As the stars began to twinkle in the inky night sky, you knew that in each other's arms, you'd face whatever challenges awaited, hand in hand.

Together, you'd navigate the winding paths of life, finding adventure and love in the most unexpected places. Side by side, you'd laugh, fight, and explore, forging a bond as unbreakable as the tiles beneath your feet.

[juneyjubilation]

Hey! Can you write a platonic Barbara Gordan x reader where she as Batgirl saves r from a gang and Barbara takes r under her wing and becomes an older sister figure to R?

thank you so much for the request! i love writing as babs, steph, and hope to expand eventually to cass! this was a blast to write, i hope you enjoy it!

no explicitly stated gender for reader, no use of 'reader' or y/n! hope you enjoy :) . . .

You were making your way through the dark, deserted alleyways of Gotham after a long day at work, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of a warm bath and a good meal. Unbeknownst to you, a group of local thugs had taken notice of your solitary trek.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called out from the shadows, his voice laced with a predatory edge. "Mind company on your walk?"

You froze for a moment, your heart beating faster as you realized you were in trouble. You couldn't call for help; your phone was in your bag, and any noise would only attract their attention.

"I'm fine, thank you," you replied, trying to sound confident and unruffled. "Just trying to get home."

You continued walking, your pace quickening, but the men didn't take the hint. One of them stepped in front of you, blocking your path. "Ain't nobody asks for your permission, sweetheart."

Your heart was in your throat, but you refused to show fear. Instead, you pulled out your keys, holding them like a weapon. "You should really rethink your approach. I'm calling the police," you lied, fumbling with your phone.

But, you knew GCPD - you knew that they wouldn’t come for a call like this.

"That's funny, because I don't see a phone in your hand," another man pointed out, moving closer.

You knew you had to think fast. You feigned a laugh and dropped your bag, letting it spill its contents. "Oh, right, it's in here. One second."

While the men were distracted, you grabbed your phone and pressed a fake number, holding it to your ear as if making a call. "Hello? Yes, I'm in an alley near 3rd street. I need help, please."

The deception bought you precious seconds. You started backing away, your eyes darting around for an escape. One of the thugs lunged for you, but you were ready. You swung your bag, hitting him in the face with enough force to stagger him.

"Get her!" he yelled, rubbing his nose as you sprinted in the opposite direction.

You heard them running behind you, their footsteps echoing through the alley. You ducked into another narrow passage, hoping to lose them in the maze of shadows.

Out of seemingly nowhere, a figure in black and yellow appeared, her form a blur as she leaped from a rooftop, landing gracefully in front of you. Batgirl.

"Get out of here," she ordered, her voice calm but commanding. Her body moved with preternatural grace as she engaged the gang of thugs, her batons cracking against their skulls with surgical precision.

You hesitated for a moment, watching in awe as the Dark Knight's protégé took on the men, her movements fluid and efficient. But Batgirl's sharp tone snapped you out of your reverie.

You turned and ran, your heart pounding in your chest as you followed the sound of the skirmish. You knew better than to linger, but the adrenaline coursed through your veins, urging you forward.

When you peeked around the corner, you saw Batgirl standing triumphantly over the defeated gang members, her batons twirling in her hands. They were out cold, their weapons discarded on the ground.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she approached you.

"Yes, thanks to you," you replied, flashing her a grateful smile. "Thank you for coming to my rescue."

Batgirl nodded, her face hidden behind her cowl. "Stay safe, and remember, Gotham never sleeps."

With that, she turned and vanished into the night, her cape flowing behind her like a bat's wings. You watched her go, a sense of relief washing over you. In a city full of darkness, heroes like Batgirl offered a glimmer of hope.

You continued your journey home, your mind whirring with excitement. You'd seen Batgirl in action, and it was a sight you'd never forget. In the chaos of Gotham, she was a shining beacon, a symbol of hope in this god forsaken city.  

. . .

Months had passed since your first encounter with Batgirl, but the memory of her heroics still lingered in your mind. It was a chilly night when you found yourself walking through the same alleys, your thoughts consumed by work-related stress.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar figure, this time engaged in combat with a group of thugs. Batgirl was as graceful and fierce as ever, her batons a blur of motion as she incapacitated her opponents.

But then one of them reached behind his back and pulled out a gun, aiming it at Batgirl's back. Your heart leaped into your throat, and without thinking, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small taser you kept on your keychain.

You stepped forward, your hand shaking as you pressed the trigger. There was a bright flash, and the thug let out a yelp as the current coursed through his body. He dropped the gun, and you quickly kicked it out of reach.

Batgirl spun around, her cowl concealing her expression. "Thank you," she said, her voice a mix of surprise and gratitude. "That could have gone from bad to worse."

The thugs were now all subdued, their weapons scattered on the ground. Batgirl approached you, her hands outstretching to shake yours.

"I owe you one," she said, offering you a grateful smile.

. . .

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn into Batgirl's world, a world of shadows and secrets. You'd spend long hours training with her, honing your skills in combat, stealth, and agility.

Batgirl showed you the ropes, her patience and expertise making you feel like you were part of something greater. You watched as she transformed from a skilled fighter into a master strategist, her mind working in ways that left you in awe.

It was then that she introduced you to her other persona - Oracle. Sitting in her state-of-the-art command center, she navigated through an intricate network of surveillance systems, databases, and communication channels.

You watched as she coordinated the efforts of Gotham's vigilantes, her voice calm and authoritative. Oracle's knowledge was vast, her intellect unrivaled. She was the brain behind Batgirl, the driving force that kept Gotham's heroes connected and informed.

In the beginning, your role was small, helping her monitor the city's security feeds and relaying crucial information to Batgirl and the others. But as you grew more adept, she began to trust you with more responsibilities.

Together, you'd track down criminals, plan raids, and decipher complex codes. Oracle's wisdom and Batgirl's combat skills made for a formidable duo, and soon, you found yourself becoming an integral part of their team.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. You'd learn to navigate the city's underbelly with ease, your confidence growing with each successful mission. Batgirl became more than just a mentor; she was a friend, someone you could rely on in the darkest of times.

You'd share stories, laughs, and the occasional cup of cocoa as you worked side by side. The mysterious Batgirl you once knew was replaced by a woman who had become a pillar in your life. You'd come to understand her motivations, her passion for justice, and her unwavering commitment to protecting Gotham.

Together, you'd embark on daring missions, taking down notorious criminals and bringing peace to the city's streets. As you grew stronger, both physically and mentally, you'd begin to take on more significant roles in their operations.

Your friendship with Batgirl grew stronger, and you found yourself becoming a part of their extended family. Batman, Nightwing, Robin, and the other heroes would occasionally drop by, and you'd grown to understand them, and their motives behind the caped crusade they’d taken on.

You'd learn to embrace the duality of your new life, balancing your day job with your nocturnal escapades. Each day brought new challenges, new enemies, and new opportunities to grow.

Under Batgirl's wing, you'd blossom into a capable and confident vigilante, always ready to defend the city she loved so dearly. Together, the three of you formed a formidable team, a force to be reckoned with in Gotham's endless battle against crime.

And as the night sky lit up with the glow of the Bat-signal, you'd stand tall, ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead, grateful for the opportunity to serve under Batgirl's guidance and learn the ways of Oracle. In the city of shadows, you'd found your place, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

. . . bonus! . . .

One evening, as you both sat in the command center, going over the latest intel, Barbara turned to you, her eyes serious. "There's something I need to tell you," she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, wondering what she could possibly mean. You leaned forward, your curiosity piqued.

"I know you've seen me as Batgirl and Oracle, but there's another part of me you haven't met," she continued. "I'm Barbara Gordon, and I'm the daughter of Gotham's police commissioner."

Your eyes widened in surprise. She was revealing her true identity, a huge display of trust in you. You'd always known there was a mystery behind the woman in the cowl, but this was more than you'd ever anticipated.

"I'm honored you trust me with this secret," you replied, your voice shaking slightly. "You've become a friend, someone I respect and admire. I promise to protect your secret with my life."

Barbara smiled, a genuine, heartwarming expression that revealed a side of her you'd never seen before. "Thank you. You've proven yourself time and time again, and I know I can count on you."

The revelation brought you closer, a bond forged in the crucible of trust and shared purpose. From that moment on, you knew you'd always stand by Barbara Gordon, Batgirl, and Oracle, ready to defend Gotham and the secrets of those you'd grown to hold dear.

Together, the three of you continued to work in the shadows, a testament to the power of trust, friendship, and the unwavering pursuit of justice. And as the night sky lit up once more with the Bat-signal, you'd stand tall, ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead, grateful for the opportunity to serve under Barbara's guidance. In the city of shadows, you'd found your place, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

[juneyjubilation]

Hii. I am brazilian and I was thinking if you could write some headcannons of Dick w/ a Brazilian!reader. I think he would be obsessed with brigadeiro and coxinha. I also think he would love 90s Brazilian music and start learnings Portuguese so he could talk to you and your family when he visit Brazil.

(AHHH I HOPE THIS IS OKAY! i had to research Brazilian culture a bit and i got lost in a rabbit hole. i hope i did okay by you 💛)

. . .

You showed him the beauty of your culture, the vibrancy of Rio de Janeiro, and the charm of the small towns nestled in the mountains. He loved knowing you, every quirk, every dream, every fear, and everything that helped you become the person he loves so much.

Dick found himself drawn to the parts of you that were uniquely Brazilian - the way you spoke, the way you danced, and the way you embraced life. He watched you cook, the passion you put into your food, and the way your eyes lit up when you shared a new dish with him.

He learned Portuguese, not just for the practicality of communicating with you, but because he wanted to know the language that shaped your thoughts, your experiences, and your identity. Dick reveled in the complexity of your culture, the blend of indigenous, African, and European influences, much like the mosaic that you were.

He loved how your culture seeped into his life, the music that now played in the background of his thoughts, the food that nourished his body and soul, and the people who welcomed him with open arms. Dick cherished every moment he spent with you, immersed in your world, and falling more in love with you and your culture with every passing day.

. . .

You stood on the balcony of your apartment, the sun setting over the city, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. Dick, your partner, approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Minha amor," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned to face him, your eyes meeting in a loving gaze. He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss. The warmth of the day lingered, mirroring the warmth that flowed between you two.

Dick pulled back, his hand gently stroking your cheek. "I've been thinking," he said, his voice soft. "My Portuguese is still not up to par, but I've been practicing every day. I want to be able to speak to your family, to understand the language that makes you who you are."

[juneyjubilation]

(in addition to how the batboys help you through your break up) Damian overhears you talking about it and offers his support. ‘his support’ being hunting down your ex and giving them ptsd. at least he asked!

i love that kid so much

thank you for this addition

[juneyjubilation]

i got some comics today :))

btw i'm working on the fics in my ask box, i've just been wallowing in bed after my breakup.

[juneyjubilation]

platonic bat boys (dick, jason, and tim) and how they help you through a breakup.

(i am personally going through it.) (please send help my heart hurts.)

Dick, ever the listener, takes you aside on a long walk. He doesn't try to fix your problems or give unwanted advice. He's been through too many breakups of his own, and understands that doesn't help. Instead, he simply lets you talk, nodding and supporting you as you pour your heart out. By the end of the walk, you feel lighter, as if the weight of your heartbreak has lessened.

Jason, contrary to his brash exterior, surprises you with his gentleness. He invites you to his garage, offering you a chance to punch a few bags. The physical exertion helps you release some pent-up emotions, and as you wipe the sweat from your brow, Jason hands you a cold drink. The distraction and companionship help ease your pain.

Tim, with his analytical mind, offers a more intellectual approach to comfort. He prepares a spreadsheet detailing the pros and cons of your relationship. However, the exercise isn't meant to berate or criticize. Tim uses the data to help you understand the reasons behind the breakup, providing a clearer picture of the past. This newfound clarity empowers you to move on.

Each of them, in their own way, creates a safe space for you to grieve and process your emotions. They stand by you, shoulder to shoulder, as you navigate the aftermath of heartbreak.