#and he is none the wiser and never will be

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle from Hell (1)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Nancy is with Jonathan; Steve is still in love with Nancy; You're in love with Steve; Eddie's in love with you; Robin just wanted to have a movie night but everyone is making it weird.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; drinking; Robin literally just trying to live her life but her friends are all idiots

A/N: I'm going to let y'all decide who our reader ends up with for this one- please let me know who you think our reader should pick! I think this will be another 5 part series. Please let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs and hitting up my asks are always so so so appreciated.

This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI

It was always Nancy. No matter what it always came back to Nancy. It happened over and over and over like a broken record. Like a glutton for punishment, you always went back for more thinking to yourself this time it’s going to be different. Squished on the lumpy loveseat with Robin, you watch Steve as he watches Nancy. You were pathetic and you knew it. Hopelessly in love with someone who’d never in a million years look at you the way he’s looking at her.

Eddie sits on the floor between your legs with his back rested against the front of the couch as you aimlessly braid his hair. You run your fingers through his hair, carefully navigating through the tangles. You pull strains and weave them together without needing to think about it- you’ve done it a million times before. Eddie would let you do whatever you wanted, he loved the feeling of your hands in his hair. He’d lean his head back as far as he could manage, and shoot you an upside down smile. It always made you giggle before you would use your palm to gently put his head back into place. 

It was quite a sight for Robin, like the most fucked daytime drama never written, if she knew how to read the room and pick up on the very obvious clues before her. Steve, her platonic soulmate and best friend, pining over his ex-girlfriend while you, her other best friend, pine over Steve and all the while Eddie, Steve’s roommate and your other best friend, pines over you. It was enough to make her sick. All the while, Nancy is completely oblivious as she checks her watch, waiting expectantly for Jonathan- her actual boyfriend- to arrive. Despite the mess before her, Robin was none the wiser. 

She knew Steve was still hung up on Nancy, because he never shut up about her during their shifts. However, you felt you kept your lovesick crush on Steve under pretty good wraps. Unfortunately, Eddie was so preoccupied with you that he felt it every time your eyes were on Steve or he’d witnessed all the small things you’d do that convinced him you actually liked Steve. 

He’d watch as you couldn’t make eye contact with Steve, looking everywhere but him when he spoke. He’d watch the way you’d steal glances at him when you thought no one else was looking. He’d see the way you’d take a deep breath to compose yourself when you’d see Steve looking at Nancy. The same way you’d break your own heart looking around for Steve, he’d be doing the same looking at you watching him. 

You’d watched one too many movies where the guy realizes the right girl all along was his best friend. You thought if you were patient, Steve would realize he’d been in love with you the whole time and he never realized it. If you’re there for him in his times of heartbreak, he’d see that you’re so much better for him than anyone else. He’d see you, really see you, and know you were the one who was always there. 

“This movie doesn’t make any sense,” Robin said suddenly before reaching for the bowl of popcorn at the coffee table.

“Anthony Michael Hall is making a robot girlfriend because he can’t get girls,” Steve explains, coming off a little perturbed that Robin was talking during the movie again. 

“They could’ve just asked out a couple of more girls- they didn’t need to let their end all be all be two girls with boyfriends,” she continues and Steve scoffs. He couldn’t believe he was really about to have a debate on realism with Robin right now over fucking Weird Science. 

“This’ll actually happen one day,” Eddie muses and is met with four heads whipping around to give him the same weird look. “You’re telling me that like fifty years from now, no one will have this figured out? AV geeks are desperate enough- Ow!” You’d hit him playfully on the back of the head. 

“You’re not one to criticize anyone for being desperate, Munson,” Steve chuckles and Eddie promptly flips him off. “You don’t exactly have them lining up for you either.”

“It’s been a pretty dry few years yourself King Steve,” Eddie mocks, and you see Steve crack his knuckles nervously, hating the conversation going down this road. No one meant for it to happen, but now you’re all wrapped up reflecting in your own loneliness that the mood of the evening was almost completely dampened. 

“Can you guys be quiet,” Nancy chastises, “Some of us are trying to actually watch the movie.”

“You cannot be serious?” Robin giggles, “It’s a stupid movie, Nance.” 

The night took a weird shift. Jonathan did eventually stroll in and Nancy was understandably hurt that he was so late. He pulled a kitchen chair over to sit next to where Nancy sat but she promptly decided to ignore him, silently stewing instead of causing a scene. Steve recoiled back into his own head- Eddie’s King Steve comment affecting him more than he thought it would. He watched Anthony Michael Hall and kept wondering if this would be his fate- no bitches. Had he really been that guy to have peaked in high school and then is destined to end up alone?

Steve’s comment towards Eddie made him also get lost in his own stream of self deprecating thoughts. He knew Steve was joking- but there was truth to it that made it sting. Eddie didn’t have a lot of experience with girls, most girls- hell including the one he was actually in love with- wanted really nothing to do with him. He wasn’t that guy. Girls didn’t look at him like that like they looked at Steve- how you looked at Steve. It made him jealous and sad and made him feel so painstakingly lonely despite being in a room full of his closest friends as you played with his hair. He could scream. 

And as usual, you preoccupied yourself with Steve- thinking about what Steve could be thinking about or watching the way Steve anxiously rubbed his palms against his jeans. Was Steve thinking about Nancy? Maybe, just maybe, you could catch him looking at you, even if just once. Maybe Steve would get up and go to the kitchen, and it could be an opening for you to check in with him since he’s seemed off tonight. You felt hopeless. 

Robin just assumed most people were quiet because they genuinely were watching the movie, but she realized something was wrong when she was the only person laughing. It couldn’t be that she was the only one who wanted to crack jokes or laugh at this godforsaken movie. She eventually caught on to something brewing in the air amongst her friends and it was incredibly unsettling. 

“GOD! I can’t take it anymore!” She exclaims, and everyone jumps. “What is wrong with everybody tonight? You all are acting so effing weird and I can’t stand it.” 

“Everyone’s fine, Robin,” you offer, trying to diffuse the tension. She shooks you a look. A “do you think I’m fucking stupid” look that could kill. Fair enough, you think to yourself. 

“Clearly something is wrong,” she reiterates. Annoyed with Nancy, Jonathan takes the bait and casts the first stone. 

“I don’t know,” Jonathan muses, looking at Nancy before letting out his irritation, “Might have to do with the fact you hang around with your ex all the time- and it’s clearly obvious he still has feelings for you.” 

Nancy gasps, offended that Jonathan would bring a fight that they’d had before into the room for everyone to comment on. Jonathan knew how Steve felt, and Nancy’s refusal to acknowledge his concerns on numerous occasions has finally made Jonathan hit his breaking point. He needed her to realize that he wasn’t jealous of Steve- but Steve was jealous of him. Nancy denied that Steve still held feelings for her. She was actually oblivious. 

“Steve and I are just friends!” Nancy insists, “I have told you that and told you that! It’s like you don’t trust me!”

“I don’t trust him!” Jonathan emphasizes. “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, he still likes you and you still keep hanging around with him when you’re supposed to be with me, Nance.”

“I am with you! I’m your girlfriend, not his,” she snaps. “Steve, come on, please tell him he’s being ridiculous.” 

Most unfortunately, Steve stutters. He hesitates and fumbles, and couldn’t lie fast enough. The pregnant seconds where he’s at a loss for words tells Jonathan everything he needs to know. It doesn’t feel good to know he was right. 

“Sounds about right,” Jonathan scoffs.

“It’s not her fault-” Steve tried to interject. 

“Stay out of it Steve,” Jonathan sighs, “please.”

This fight was not about Steve, and everyone knew it. This was about Jonathan, and the way he hurt when Nancy dismissed his feelings. It was about how she didn’t take his concerns seriously or ever was willing to talk about it. He was sick of being dismissed as paranoid or jealous. He knew Nancy had no idea how Steve felt, but it wasn’t an excuse to inadvertently gaslight him when he knew something felt off. 

“I’m going home,” Nancy says, sitting up suddenly in hopes of making a swift exit to save her pride. 

“Nope!” Robin interjects, “We aren’t done. I’m not letting any of you leave until all of it is out in the open. I can’t go on like this. You guys are my best friends and we are working all of this shit out.” She takes a steady breath and Nancy surprisingly sits back down calmly. “So props to Jonathan for getting the ball rolling,” Robin quips, “let’s actually keep talking things out, yeah?”

“Steve?” Nancy looks at him, and she looks hurt. She feels so betrayed- like all of the times they’ve spent together as friends has been a lie. A ruse to win her back- she feels lied to and like she’s simultaneously lost a friend in the same breath. It guts her. She’s too stunned to even know what to say. 

Steve keeps his head down, too ashamed to look at anyone. He holds his head in his hands. You watch him intently, you absorb all his hurt like a sponge. You keep your gaze on him, wanting to reach out and comfort him. You look like a puppy who's been hit on the nose with a newspaper and Eddie scoffs. 

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Munson?” Robin turns, picking up on Eddie’s disgust. He shakes his head and avoids her knowing gaze. Fuck it, he thinks to himself. 

“I’m fucking pissed,” Eddie announces, standing up. The braid you were in the process of making slowly unravels as he moves. He looks to you and then to Steve. “I’m not even pissed at anyone, I’m just stewing in my own self-hatred because I’m in love with her.” Eddie points to you dramatically, not even realizing how much he’s revealing as his emotions get the best of him. “But she’s so in love with you,” Eddie points a finger at Steve, “That she doesn’t even notice me.”

“I don’t even blame anyone- of course you love Steve, you know? It just fucking sucks because I watch you and you’re always watching him and you keep hoping he’s going to see you and he never does. Meanwhile, I’m so in love with you that it physically hurts and I can never tell you because you’re my best friend and Steve is my best friend. And if you like her back, Steve, you should go for it. I can’t even put myself out there cause scenario one, I lose you,” Eddie gestures to you. “Scenario two- Steve gets his head out of his ass and you two finally get together. I lose both of you, because I can’t put myself through watching someone I’m in love with be with someone else. Or scenario three- you and I do get together and I’m all in- I swear to god, I would be all fucking in. But would you ever even love me as much as you’ve loved him? I don’t know.” 

It’s your turn to be stunned. For the first time, Steve’s looking at you and it’s not at all what you hoped it would be. You recognize the look in his eye, it’s the same way Nancy was just looking at him. Pity. You know then and there that Steve never once thought about you the way you hoped he secretly did. It was all made up in your head. Eddie looks defeated, and mortified all at the same time. He shocked himself at his outburst. He’d always been one for dramatics but never at your expense. He feels so guilt ridden that he could shrivel up and let the world swallow him whole. 

“I, uh, need to get some air,” you say. You grab your jacket from the hook and slide on your shoes in one fluid motion. “I’ll be back,” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as you left Eddie and Steve’s apartment. You can’t help as the tears stream down your face uncontrollably. It’s one of those cries where it’s so hard you can’t even make noise as it takes all of your breath away. You’re practically doubled over in the midst of a panic attack when Eddie finds you leaning against the building. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he says earnestly, “That was so fucked up. I am so, so sorry. That wasn’t fair to you, that was such a shitty thing for me to say.” 

You manage to nod to let him know you heard him, but you’re blubbering and you’re still struggling to get your breath back. Hiccuped breaths finally catch up to you and you feel your lungs slowly begin to refill with air. The night’s cold air helps to clear your sinuses in one big breath. You wipe your face with the sleeves of your jacket. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet. 

“Steve is so lucky,” Eddie says after another few moments of silence. “To be loved by you?” He chuckles, taking a lean on the wall next to you. “Lucky bastard,” he jokes, and you manage a forced smile through the tears. “Must be the best damn thing in the whole world and he doesn’t even realize it,” he continues more seriously. “Well, until now, when I ruined everything,” he finalizes, sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it either,” you mumble, “God, what Steve was doing to me- I was doing to you? Fuck.” 

“Fucked up, right?” he teases. “How’s it feel, heartbreaker?”

“Really, really shitty,” you settle on and he laughs. 

“Yup,” he agrees, making a pop sound at the end. “Really, really shitty. Indeed.” 

“God, I wasted so much fucking time,” you admit to yourself. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly, helping fix the collar of your jacket. It was tucked in because you put it on so fast and didn’t bother to fix it. “That I wouldn’t be able to trust you with Steve or whatever if we hypothetically got together or whatever- it was just a really, really ugly insecurity that bubbled up. If after this all blows over and you don’t completely hate my guts, and maybe by some miracle you wanted to give us a chance, I wouldn’t hold your feelings for Steve over you like that.” 

“Did you mean it that I’d lose you?” you ask, looking to him. He shakes his head. 

“I was talking out of my ass,” he admits, “I was emotional and just letting my frustration get the better of me. I won’t stop being your friend if you don’t like me back.”

“I’ve been doing that already,” he jokes and you swat his arm. 

“Not funny,” you grumble, but you can’t find it in you to actually be upset. 

“I don’t want an answer from you now,” he says, shifting back to a serious tone, but you can hear how nervous he is. “But if and when you get over Steve, and you realize I’m not that bad to look at- maybe you and I could go out sometime. I’m putting the ball in your court. I just want you to be happy. If you end up with Steve, I’m your best man. You end up with me, I’ll work my hardest every damn day to make you so fucking happy. No matter what, I will be your friend. You aren’t losing me.”

“Thank you,” you smile, and you pull him into a hug. You finally start to feel okay again. You feel like you could get over Steve, but then you remember that everyone inside is waiting for you- including Steve. The anxiety begins to stir and you can’t imagine facing everyone now after all of this. 

“I got you,” Eddie whispers, taking your hand, “We’ll go back together.” 

Eddie’s held your hand a million times before, but it wasn’t until now that you realize how well your hand fits in his. You shake your head to erase the thought from your mind for now and try to relax. The walk back up to the apartment is much longer than it’s ever felt before.

No one says anything when you both come back. You and Eddie kick off your shoes and he helps you take your jacket off. You sniffle, and quickly take your seat back on the loveseat. Eddie slips into the kitchen and grabs a six pack from the fridge. He holds it up like a fish he’s just caught triumphantly. 

“I think we all need one, yeah?” He jokes and he diffuses the tension as everyone agrees in tandem. He pulls them apart from the plastic ring, tossing them out. He throws you a wink when he tosses you yours and you can’t help but smile. 

“Can I just say,” Robin says, “Had I known you all were upset about actually serious stuff- I wouldn’t have opened this can of worms. I thought you were just pissed at each other about the comments about not getting laid.”

Nancy and Jonathan must have made up while you were outside because instead of separate seats, Jonathan sat on the living room chair and Nancy was perched on his lap. Steve was just watching you. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Nancy was there. He was fixated on looking at you. He was taking in everything about you like he was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time. 

Fuck, if you weren’t beautiful, Steve thinks. He always knew you were, but he never really thought about it until now. Even after crying, you just look so pretty. He’s pained knowing he’s caused you so much pain. He looks to Eddie and feels jealousy rise irrationally. He’s jealous of Eddie for realizing how perfect you were before he did. It’s so fucking petty and he knows it. Eddie’s had all this time to adore you, while he’s squandered it following around Nancy like a simp. He’s loved you and lost you in the same fucking night.

“Let’s keep going,” Eddie jokes, trying to make light of the situation, “Air out more grievances- Buckley, you need new shoes. Those fucking chucks are abhorrent- please, get new ones. They are why your back hurts all the time.” 

“Okay, Mr. Same White Reeboks Since Senior Year,” she taunts, feigning offense to his jab. “Keep my converse out of your mouth!”

“I have boots now,” he says, pointing to the leather boots by the door. “Much more metal.” 

“Cause it’s fucking January, Eddie,” Robin says with a laugh, “Of course you’re wearing fucking boots.”

“Yet you strolled into my house wearing Converse,” he says walking over the the floor and pointing at Robin’s worse for wear Chuck Taylors. “It was snowing this morning, Robin! Please, as your friend- please let ME get you new shoes.”

“You can pry those shoes off of me when I’m dead,” she raises her voice. The lighthearted air has returned to the evening. It felt like it had been salvaged for now. Everyone seemed to be feeling better, except Steve. As the world began to pick up again, he was paralyzed- burdened with the knowledge of your feelings for him and knowing he might be too late to do anything about it. Was it?

PART TWO

[maybanksmusings]

JUNO : spencer reid

synopsis ; a slow day in the bullpen leaves the team recreating the viral sabrina carpenter tiktok trend in a fit of boredom.

includes ; spencer reid x fem!reader, the team ( mostly derek let’s be real ) teasing spencer, suggestive language, flustered boy genius.

“sweetness, if you don’t turn that damn phone down,”

derek scolded from across the bullpen, the tiktok audio on your phone distracting him from procrastinating.

“sabrina carpenter, right?”

emily spoke up, nodding your direction once she’d taken in the sound.

“that’s the ‘have you ever tried this one’ thing, right?”

you nodded, turning your screen towards her. it was a funny take on the trend, a girl making a fist with the caption ‘when my boyfriend pisses me off’ with the iconic line in the back.

apparently that’s all it took to get derek on side.

“hold on now, ever tried what exactly?”

“it’s a line in her song juno, it’s a sex joke.” you clarify, locking your phone and abandoning it back on the desk.

from the corner of your eye you see spencer squint in confusion “i don’t get it..”

derek lets out a loud laugh, earning a glare from both you and emily “of course you don’t, pretty boy.”

“the singer says the line and does a . . . pose.” emily explains vaguely, obviously expecting spencer to catch on.

he doesn’t.

“yo, reid,” derek calls with a grin “you ever try this one?” he sends a wink in the others direction, acting like he was twirling a lasso as part of the bit.

both you and emily laugh, understanding exactly what morgan meant. however, your resident genius is still left none the wiser.

“..that doesn’t really clarify anything..” spencers tone is apprehensive, like he’s really trying to get the joke but it’s falling flat.

“prentiss, we all know about your little sin to win weekends,” derek teases, nodding toward spencer “maybe a real life girl will help him get it.”

emily scoffs “god no.” you think her rejection is going to be as straight forward as that, but you could practically see the lightbulb above her head when her eyes land on you “how about a real life girl his own age?”

derek speaks up before you get a chance to protest, seeing your reaction and anticipating your response “c’mon, princess, i’ll even do half your files”

that’s all the persuasion you need, besides, it was all in good fun. no harm, no foul. right?

you thought for a minute, trying to decide what would be the least inappropriate thing to do before standing, taking a little over half your case load and dropping it onto dereks desk.

trying, and failing, to keep your giggles to yourself, you looked across the bullpen at spencer who had been watching your every move.

“have you ever tried this one?” as you quoted the song, you leant over your desk and sent a wink your coworkers way, trying your best to not join in on emily and dereks laughing.

finally, it clicked, and spencers face turned a bright shade of red. his eyes flicked around the bullpen in an attempt to stop his mind wandering, but it wasn’t really working.

“pretty boy, i never seen you speechless” derek taunts, finding great amusement in his friends flustered state.

there’s a beat of silence from spencers side of the office before he clears his throat and shuffles awkwardly in his seat. looking anywhere but at the rest of you.

“yeah, i get it now.”

“oh, we know.” emily teases, flicking a rubber band his direction.

you’re still leant over your desk, only now your face is buried in your hands in an attempt to dampen your fit of laughter.

“do i even want to know?”

hotch’s voice from his office door snaps you all back into serious work mode, you stumble over yourself to get back into your seat.

“don’t worry about it, sir.”

[twistedpink]

REQUESTS OPEN THIS IS A JOYOUS DAY. can we get some childhood friend riddle

ugh you’re the bestttt

Riddle has been one of your best friends since childhood, and his infamous life chart will always feature you. You dreaded any alternate universe where you’d been sick that day or Trey had liked you a tad less and not invited you- but you’ve mellowed out over the years, and there’s no point worrying about what could’ve happened when you’ve got your very own teapot tyrant <3

Riddle keeps every photo you’ve taken together in an album that he’s kept under his bed for years,, It’s only proper to cherish his friends!

Childhood crush!Riddle has had you in his closet wayyy too many times to count, and he swears it’s not his fault!! You’d been a very rebellious middle schooler and a talented wall climber, Ms.Rosehearts had been none the wiser when you’d sneak over for a late night game of cards or to fill him in on school drama (even if he was half asleep and telling you off). He’d even describe you as heroic back then, hanging both legs off the opening of his wardrobe in preparation for his mum popping in- Saving him from the monotony. He misses that more than you’ll ever know, things were so simple back then..

Poor Riddle still remembers the scoldings that his mother gave him during those times, but even his lashing out was never enough to keep you away <3 She’d point out your flaws or reputation, and in response you’d take turns flattening every bush you could reach- Not that she knew it was you. With some clever misdirection you’d avoid her rage easily enough, and though Riddle didn’t approve he couldn’t bare to ban you from the property.

Childhood crush!Riddle that’s your favourite housewarden,, you never stop talking about how cool he was in freshman year, so observant and know-it-allish <3 Trey has nightmares of the day that you challenge him for his seat, and he doesn’t even want it that bad!! He just has to defend it because he knows how much you’d rub it in his face, and he’s not taking that :)

Riddle will always be yours no matter how your paths diverge when you get older. He’s committed to preserving your playground promises and paper rings, so long as you’ll still be there for him at the end of the day. It might be a childish dream to stay together, but he’s always had ambitions to share a home with you. He’s just waiting for the right time to make your little slice of heaven a reality, and you might get it early if he gets to write the rulebook <33

[taelophone]

Bitter ʚɞ ⸝⸝⟡⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: Liquor . Jealousy . Annoying/Disrespectful friends . ｡⋆A/N: A lil palate cleanser before I gear up to write the most filthy creation to hit my table <3

You made a conscious effort every day to be the best version of yourself, biting your tongue, minimizing conflict, and stepping into your bigger shoes whenever you felt yourself nearing slipping off the chain.

But it was hard when your boyfriend was so highly regarded— attractive in all his right and kind enough to keep men and women orbiting him in silent lovelorn. It was hard to stay calm and collected when it seemed like every other day there was a new woman begging for a slice of his confectionery attention.

Luigi, however, was none the wiser. Every new face with a warm smile pulled a fresh coat of hospitality, his arms stretched wide with welcome to every face that seemed to spark interest.

There’s nothing wrong with being friendly, really. But there’s only a certain amount of flirty comments and forced physical interaction you can witness before the bitter citrus burns your parotids.

Like now.

You had dragged your homebody boyfriend out for the day, claiming a need for oxygen and socialization in the form of what was supposed to be an intimate little get-together between you and a couple of your friends. What you hadn’t expected was for friends to bring other friends.

Not that you were mad! After all, the more the merrier. What started as a small house chill became a quiet gathering for drinks and charcuterie, courtesy of Helena’s last-minute catering cancellation. 

The issue began to bubble to the surface when one girl, in particular, began to take a sudden interest in your boyfriend. At first, you dismissed it, recognizing that your boyfriend was a rather interesting individual.

So instead of fussing and pouting, you chose to remove yourself from the situation before it boiled over. Your faith lay in Luigi, trusting him enough to know he would never shatter that faith.

But it still stung.

The blaring buzz of bitter envy sounded through your ears like a bunch of barmy bees. The light tap of her backhand on Luigi’s shoulder, her eyes sharp on the man in front, fixated on the goal of love.

“No! Oh my gosh, no! That’s not true, you’re literally so strong. Like, I can see your muscles,” she gasped, pinching the side of his bicep with feigned disapproval woven in her flattery.

The first crack in your resolve. Porcelain, but far from perfect.

“Haha, yeah, uh—? Sorry, I think I lost my girlfriend..?” He said, frantically whirling his head around the kitchen in search of your familiar silhouette. 

“Aw, you ditching me? Runnin’ off to your ball n’ chain?” She mused, paired with a chuckle that seemed way too enthusiastic to be anything less than what she thought was the truth.

“Ha…haha, no. I just really miss my girlfriend” he chuckled. Breathy and uncomfortable, a clear warning sign of nearing his limit. “But it was nice talking to you!”

“Of course! Find me later, I’ll give you my number. I’d love to talk more” she offered with a pat on his broad shoulder.

And with that, he fought back a mildly confused arch of his brow before traversing through the sea of people in pursuit of you. What a strange experience…at least she’s friendly.

He shimmied his way through the hallway, taking a brief moment to admire the little intricate archway connecting the kitchen and the living room. It was a warm Tuscan brown, perfectly made with a nice round arch—nice.

He found you a couple of feet away from the kitchen, arms crossed in defiance with a hefty glass of some white wine you had been swirling around in its brandy balloon. A warm smile engulfed his features as he sat down next to you, one that was quick to fade when he felt the icy cold aura that radiated from your stone face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, pinching his brows together with innocent confusion.

You sighed, a puppeteered smile creeping up on your face; one that failed to meet your eyes with venomous twinkles. 

“Nothing. Totally fine,” you huffed, rolling your eyes as far as they could go in such a short amount of time.

“No, c’mon, don’t do that…” he said, a flicker of desperation and annoyance crossing his features.

“Go talk to Mindy, maybe she’ll help you understand what’s wrong” you blurted, sharp and pointed with intent to harm.

He sighed, putting down his little can of beer on the coffee table. An elbow came to rest on his knee, propping up his head by his chin as he stared at you.

He was never really the type of man who liked beating around the bush and much less when people around him did it, but he was making an effort for you. With open ears and a heart full of affection, he tutted his disapproval but tugged you closer to him by your shoulders.

“Oh, my jealous baby…” he cooed, a cocky grin forming on his face as he sweet-talked you into cavities. “So worked up…did I make you jealous? I’m sorry, my love.”

“Stop that…” you huffed, leaning away from his touch with crossed arms.

“You poor thing must’ve been so lonely without your terrible wretched boyfriend,” he teased, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you into his lap to pepper gentle kisses to your head.

“I’m…” Kiss! “So…” smooch! “Evil!” Smack! “How will you ever forgive me?”

“Luigi, stop!” You breathed out in between quiet giggles, pink bubbly bashfulness bubbling under your cheeks as he garnered the many sympathetic and supportive eyes of people around you. “You’re making a scene!”

“I’m not afraid to show my wife I love her” he fired back with a wet and almost grotesque kiss to your neck that would have sent the average child into a spiral of gags and barfs.

“Okay, okay, enough!” You laughed, pushing his wandering lips away from your neck and jaw. “I forgive you!”

“Good. ‘Cuz you’re the only one I have eyes for here. Sorry I made you feel jealous, I didn’t know how to shake her off me” he smiled.

And the night carried on with the clinking of wine glasses, sports banter piloted by 5 ex-frat boys with lopsided caps, kisses and smooches from the lovebirds, and occasional grumbles from a very grumpy, stood-up Mindy.

[grimesbunny]

when you sleep

cw dubcon. somnophelia. unprotected piv. dirty talk. prison era. secret relationship. not proofread idc.

the exhaustion festering inside rick’s bones takes the form of something more heady once his eyes adjust enough in the darkness to make out your sleeping form. clad in just his shirt and your cotton panties, rounded, plump flesh peeking out just enough to feel purposely teasing. it takes everything in him to constrain his groan, cock quickly filling the front of his blood stained pants. you’re none the wiser— turned away from him on your stomach as slow breaths cause your chest to rise and fall rhythmically.

gently, he reaches over your figure, brushing your wild hair behind your ear to get a better look at your pretty face. the lack of ponytail or braid leads him to presume you fell asleep on accident, probably succumbing to restlessness after having been waiting for him all night. that thought is what has him reaching down to palm at his bulge.

“my sweet girl.” he coos lowly. his voice sounds gravelly to his own ears after having spent the majority of the journey back to the prison in silence. “so beautiful, aren’t you?”

it’s as if a magnetic force brings his lips to your cheek, his calloused hand to your hip. cant help himself.

the bed dips under the weight of his knee, sliding it where one of your legs is perched off to the side. his warm hands feel you up innocently at first, sculpting the dips and crevices of your pliant body. reveling in how soft. . . how alive you feel. “missed you so much. missed touchin you.”

his inhibitions falter the longer he sits there, hovering over you. breathing you in. he lets his hips fall slightly to catch the friction of your ass against his hard on.

“god.” he laughs out in disbelief at himself. “feel that baby? feel me throbbin for you in your sleep?”

he looks up for a reaction, any indication that you’re somehow consenting and enjoying this, because he doesn’t know if he can just stop here. he pins his hands on either side of you for leverage as he bucks into you. the side of his brain nagging at him for how perverted he’s being is overtaken by the part that’s chanting desperately for more.

“drive me crazy. make me need you so bad, don’t even have to try.” he grits out the misplaced blame, his thrusts becoming more deliberate. he’s chasing his own high, using your unconscious body to get off. humping you like a dog in heat.

one particularly rough thrust jostles you slightly, making you shift in your sleep. rick doesn’t stop, not even when a soft groan slips out of your mouth. not even when you blink awake.

“rick? is that you?” the mixture of confusion and innocence in your voice only spurs him on, his breathing growing heavier by the second.

“shhh, it’s me, baby.” he places another kiss onto your cheek, soothing your hair out of the way in attempt to comfort you. maybe coax you back to sleep. his lips trail down to your shoulder, the snap of his hips never faltering. “so soft, honey. how’s it that in a world like this, you still feel so fuckin soft?”

your next words sound more clear, more awake. you turn to look at him in the dark. his hair falling over his forehead, still fully clothed and unshowered from the run. the lustful glint that has turned his eyes almost completely black. “what’re you doing, rick?”

“i know, i know. fuck.” he’s sympathetic, even as his hand travels up your shirt. as it trails along your stomach, as it gropes the fat of your breast. you gasp, your own hand coming to weakly circle around his bulging bicep. as if you could ever fight him off. “can you feel how hard you made me?”

you don’t respond verbally, because rick doesn’t count whimpering into your pillow as a response, but you push your ass back to meet his thrusts, still meek from sleep. he groans out, long and throatily and low, a proud grin etched onto his lips.

“there’s my girl. d’you miss me too?” his breath tickles the shell of your ear, followed by a rougher kiss to your jaw. “waiting for me to get home and take you?”

you nod as best you can in your position, letting yourself bask in the pleasure of having him pressed against you. you’re leaking, soaking the spot where your groins connect. rick has to reach down and feel it.

“sure feels like you missed me.” he chuckles, cocky. the rough pads of his fingers dip into your panties from behind, sliding along your slippery folds. “fuckin’ say it.”

“missed you s’much, rick.” you whine through delirium and pleasure, bucking down into his hand involuntarily. “was getting worried.”

“poor thing. gonna make it up to you.” he hums absently. too lost in the feeling of you. your puffy mound, the scent of your hair. he dips a thick finger into your spongy entrance. “look at that, always open up nice and easy for me, huh? could slide right in.”

you instinctively clench around him at that. your thighs threaten to close— they would if it weren’t for the way his knee has rooted in between them. “yeah? want me to stuff this little pussy?”

you manage to squeak out your confirmation and he removes his hand, but the sound of his belt unraveling behind you is enough to make you whimper in anticipation.

“yeah, you need it just as bad as i do.” he states. he takes a pillow from beside your head, lifts your hips with one hand and slides it under you in one swift motion. it’s a position he’s taken you in several times, but neither of you have gotten used to just how deep it sends him. and it’s one of those nights where he needs to be as deep as possible, breach uncharted parts of you. “don’t you?”

you feel his spongy, thick tip press against your entrance in the dark and squeeze your eyes shut. he’s painfully hard at this point, and it takes every last bit of resilience from rick not to shove himself inside and pound your cervix until it’s bruised. of course, you would take whatever he gives you without complaint. but he’s not a barbarian.

“oh— mhm. need you, rick.” you confirm, though it feels like you’re speaking through cotton with how exhaustion and pleasure are playing tug of war inside you. it’s far from a lie. you need him in more ways than one, much like how the rest of the group needs him.

only this part of it, the one saved for when the two of you are alone, spoken through silent glances and subtle touches throughout the day— this is sacred. just between you.

“you’re gonna get me, honey.” he knees your thighs farther apart to make room and eases his way in. his ego soaks up your gasp at the intrusion, the stretch.

it winds him too, sends him toppling forward and landing with his hands pinned on either side of you for stability. he’ll never not marvel at how warm and tight you are inside, sucking him in like you never want him to pull out. it’s almost gotten you pregnant more than a few times.

“yeah, that’s it.” he groans, careful not to wake anyone in your cell block. the heavy weight of him envelopes you from behind, pressing you uncomfortably into the prison mattress. your bones are sure to be sore and bruised from it tomorrow, but all you can focus on is his voice, his breathing, his scent— his cock. filling and stretching you so nicely. curving enough to slot inside your stomach.

he’s grunting out strings of praises into your ear — “so fuckin’ perfect. takin’ care of me…” — and all you can manage out are mindless mewls, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. he doesn’t warn you before he cums inside, just fucks into you rapidly until you feel the warmth blossoming in your abdomen. it momentarily snaps you out of your entranced state, and you attempt blink back at him.

“rick, did you—”

“couldn’t find condoms, baby. i tried.” he sounds completely unfazed. he kisses your cheek one more time before he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. “go back to sleep.”

and with that, he rolls over next to you. it’s not seconds later that you hear snores falling from his mouth. you try your best to ignore the feeling of his come leaking out of you and close your eyes as you snuggle up next to him, knowing he’ll be out of your bed long before anyone else wakes up in the morning.

[galaxymagitech]

Bleeding Heart

For @jasontoddweek2025 — Day 1

Drive | Time Travel | The Batmobile Tires

Summary: Jason may have escaped the traffickers that caught him, but he promised the other children that he’d save them too. Fortunately, Jason has a plan. Unfortunately, that plan involves attracting the attention of a dangerous vigilante by stealing his tires—and then bargaining for the trafficked children’s lives.

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Child Trafficking, Fear of Rape/Non-Con (none actually occurs)

You can read it here or on AO3!

Jason’s ribs ache as he twists the tire iron, the remnants of a harsh beating. At least, Jason thinks, I’ve still got my wits about me. He’d shielded his head well, when the traffickers punished him for his disobedience. Although, given the sheer insanity of Jason’s current plan…it actually wouldn’t be that shocking if he did have a concussion.

Jason could run. It would be the smart thing to do. He could run and never look back. Spend a fitful night in his hideout, tossing and turning with guilt-ridden dreams, and then wake up and go back to eking out a living, slightly wiser than he was two weeks ago.

But Jason had promised. He’d held Fatima’s small, chubby hands in his own as the other children crowded around him. He’d sworn that he would do everything he could to keep them safe. He hadn’t sworn he couldkeep them safe. That was a longshot, and even Jason knew it. But he had promised to try. And anyway, Jason knows he could never live with himself if he left the others to their fates.

His mom always said he opened himself up too wide, that he was a bleeding heart. This must’ve been what she meant.

Carefully, Jason removes the second tire and begins to roll it away. He’s hiding this one in a different location from the first, in case Batman has already spotted him. No matter what, Jason has to keep his leverage, or he won’t even get an audience with the Batman.

See, everyone knows that the foster system is shit. Everyone knows about the trafficking rings, knows that children go missing from the group homes, knows not to go to certain shelters lest you disappear. Everyone knows, and Batman has never lifted a damn finger to stop it.

Not shocking, really. Batman, like the cops, exists to protect the rich. He never patrols Crime Alley. And well, everyone’s seen Robin’s costume—Batman obviously doesn’t care about stuff like this.

So Batman’s not gonna listen to Jason screaming for help unless Jason makes him listen.

The tires aren’t just an elaborate ploy for attention, though. They’re also leverage and—most terrifyingly—an audition.

Batman has no reason to break up the trafficking ring that, until a few hours ago, had held Jason captive. Jason will offer the location of the tires in exchange for Batman saving the other children, but he knows that won’t be enough. Not when Batman could just as easily beat the information out of him. As much as Jason postures, he knows that he’s a child—his bones snap so easily.

But Robin got old and disappeared. That means there’s a vacancy. By stealing Batman’s tires, Jason will show that he has the skills and courage to fill that position. And spunk. Robin has argued with Batman publicly enough that Jason knows Batman must like that.

Jason doesn’t want to be Robin. But it’s certainly a better deal than he’d get if trafficked. And if Batman breaks up the trafficking ring, everyone will know Jason squealed. Snitches don’t get stitches—they get days of torture and then a cold, wet grave at the bottom of the harbor. Working as Robin, at least, would keep Jason alive.

After stashing the second tire, Jason returns to the Batmobile, kneeling down and beginning to detach the third tire.

Only—

Jason freezes. Someone’s right behind him.

“Well…come to finish the job, boy?” The low, deep growl echoes through the alley. Jason looks up at the shadowy form looming over him and tries his very best not to tremble in fear. This is the plan, he reminds himself. “You’re going to give me back my tires,” Batman orders.

He hasn’t started beating Jason yet, so that’s a good sign. A sign that he’s willing to talk, that he’s at least somewhat…amused. Jason’s grip on the tire iron tightens. “You—you have to hear me out first,” Jason says.

Batman stares at Jason for a moment. He’s clearly not used to being contradicted by kids who aren’t Robin. “How about you return my tires, and then we talk.”

Talk. Yeah, right. Jason doubts there will be much talking involved, unless you count talking with your fists. “No,” Jason insists. “You help me, and then I’ll tell you where the tires are. Or else you’re never finding ‘em.”

Batman steps forwards. Jason begins to step back, but instead forces his left leg to remain still, turning what was a retreat into a solid fighting position. If he wanted, he could swing the tire into Batman’s stomach or knee with a decent amount of force and then run. Fat lot of good that would do, though, now that Jason has the Bat’s attention.

Well, that’s what he wanted, isn’t it?

“Help,” Batman echoes, white eye-lenses narrowed. Jason’s heard people say the Bat’s a demon, but he never believed them. Up close, Jason can see the man’s jaw, a hint of the human face beneath the cowl. No, he’s no demon. But Jason is jaded enough to know that men are far worse than any of the demons in his stories. Jason can’t banish Batman or trap him in a summoning circle or escape him with the right words. He has nochoice but to bargain—and since Jason has only a couple of tires and himself to trade away, he’s not optimistic about ending this negotiation with his own safety assured. “What do you need help with?”

Jason swallows. “There’s a trafficking ring. They got me, took me to the warehouse down on Fifth and Rupert. I escaped, but the others are still there. If you get them out, I’ll tell you where your tires are.”

Jason knows that the offer not enough. He expects Batman to reject it, to threaten Jason, to say that the only thing Jason will be getting in exchange for the location of the tires is his life.

But instead, Batman nods, expression blank. “Tell me everything.”

“They’re moving everyone at 1 AM.” It’s not one yet, Jason knows, but that’s only a few hours away. This plan was thrown together in desperation. “I was in there with fourteen other kids, but I think they’ve got more. Some of them were older, teenagers, but there were—some of them were really little.” Fatima couldn’t have been more than eight. “They’re moving people in trucks from some catering company.”

Batman nods. “Anything else?”

Jason tries to remember, but his thoughts are scattered by fear. “They’re tied up with the White Shark somehow,” Jason adds, eventually. He doesn’t know how, but…

Jason hangs around the working girls on one of the corners a block away from his hideout. They remind him of his mom, just enough that he can gain some small measure of comfort from their presence, and they trade information with him. But Jason had spent too long with them, and he’d been noticed. Their pimp, a member of the White Shark’s gang, had made Jason an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Jason had refused.

That hadn’t worked out well for him, obviously.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Batman says. “I’m going to fix this, I promise.” He pulls some weird gun thingy out of his utility belt, and for a single, fleeting, wonderful moment, Jason thinks that Batman is about to leave him here. It’s probably fair, to trust that Jason won’t run. Most kids would be too terrified. But Jason has guts—probably too much guts, to be honest—and he’ll run at the first opportunity. With those two tires, Jason can buy a ticket out of Gotham, can find another city where the White Sharks can’t track him down. And then, in four words, Batman sends Jason’s hopes crashing down. “Wait in the car,” he orders.

Jason’s gaze flickers to the nearby alley. He could still run. But…he’d get caught, and then Batman wouldn’t save the others. “Okay,” Jason says quietly. He lets Batman open the door to the passenger’s seat and sits down, knowing that he’s probably dooming himself. As Batman fires a some sort of metal cord from his gun—is that a grappling hook gun?—Jason hears the locks on the car door click shut.

Breathe, he reminds himself, aware of how his breaths are turning shallow. Just…breathe, Jason. Batman is going to help them. Batman is going to get them out.

For a price. A price that has to be more than just the location of the tires. And because Jason didn’t get a chance to make his offer, he has no idea just what that price will be. Or if he’s willing to pay it.

(He is, though. Willing to pay it. If it means that Fatima and Amy and Lucia and Yael get out, get saved, Jason is willing to pay the price. Could Batman see that in Jason’s eyes, when he tried to bargain for the other children’s lives?)

(Stupid bleeding, bloody heart.)

It strikes Jason instantly, the thing he was forgetting. The place where the traffickers beat Jason for trying to protect Beth, the place where kids disappeared to and sometimes didn’t come back. It was hidden in a nearby building connected to the warehouse by an alleyway. Batman won’t find it on his own. And by the time he returns to the car, the traffickers will have already triggered the evacuation. All the kids there will be gone.

And Jason can’t let that happen.

He has to get there and tell Batman. Now. But he’s locked into the car.

Jason climbs into the driver’s seat, but that door’s locked from the inside. He swings his tire iron at the windshield, but it doesn’t even crack. Desperately, Jason mashes at the buttons on the dashboard, but none of them do anything at all.

Maybe he can lower the windows? But no, trying that doesn’t do anything either.

Wait. The Batmobile has got to have an eject button, right? All the super cool cars in movies have eject buttons. And if Jason was designing a super cool car—and the Batmobile definitely fits that description—he’d make the eject button work even when the car was turned off. Never know when you need an escape route.

Crawling into the legroom, Jason squints and begins to inspect the passenger seat. And sure enough, he finds it, a small red button clearly labelled ‘eject.’ Jason sits in the seat, reaches down, presses the button, and shoots through the roof.

Literally. A metal sphere folds around Jason and the seat, the roof opens up, and Jason goes flying out. He rolls and rolls and rolls and, just as he thinks he’s about to vomit, the sphere unfolds, depositing Jason on the sidewalk. He stumbles and pukes right by a dumpster.

For a moment, Jason is struck by the sheer shock at what he just did.

And then he remembers why he needed to escape the Batmobile and takes off running.

***

Never let it be said Jason doesn’t know how to make an entrance.

He originally planned to wait outside the warehouse and tell Batman before the man tried to go back to the car (and then slip away in the middle of the ensuing fight). But Jason can’t help but watch from one of the high-up windows as Batman destroys the monsters who hurt Jason and the other kids, who planned to sell them like cattle. Justice in Crime Alley is rare. Plenty of people who have hurt kids never see the consequences. But today, these men do.

It's not enough. It’s not nearly enough. It shouldn’t be just these men. It should be all the traffickers, all the abusers, all the rapists. And Jason can’t help but notice that Batman never lands the killing blow.

But it’s something. It’s more than Jason ever thought he would get. 

And so, when Jason watches one of the few remaining traffickers break the catwalk away from the wall, watches Batman get taken by surprise and collapse under the wreckage, watches the trafficker aim his gun and line up the shot—

Jason can’t help it. He finds himself moving before he even makes a conscious decision. One second he’s watching from the window, and the next he’s sliding down the catwalk’s remaining metal support like a fire pole.

Jason is under four and a half feet tall, doesn’t even come up to Batman’s chest. But he takes the trafficker completely by surprise. Jason aims a kick at the man’s arm, forcing him to drop his gun, and then socks him hard enough in the jaw that he stumbles away—straight into the recently-recovered Batman’s fist.

“What are you doing here?” Batman growls. “I told you to wait in the car.

“There’s another building,” Jason explains breathlessly, resting his hands on his knees and breathing raggedly like he just finished a sprint. “Where kids disappear. You have to—you have to rescue them too.”

Batman nods sharply. “Where?” Out of the corner of his eye, Jason spots one of the traffickers twitching his hand towards his gun. Batman follow’s Jason’s gaze, walks over, and steps on the man’s wrist until there’s a sickening crack. Jason grins. He recognizes that man. He would taunt them, gleefully tell the younger children exactly what would happen to them, like he got off on their terror. Probably did.

Jason leads Batman into the alley, then points at the building where they took him to punish him for trying to protect the others.

“Stay here,” Batman orders. “I mean it. You’re untrained, and they’re armed.”

Jason nods. He looks back at the warehouse, where the traffickers are still unconscious, zip-tied and waiting for the cops. They’ll get off lightly. They might not even be punished at all.

Jason can fix that.

Batman grimaces, following his gaze. “I took out those criminals, but the children are still trapped. Go and get them out. And don’t go through the main room, or you could get yourself killed.”

Jason lowers his head and nods. He wants to walk through the warehouse’s main room and shoot the traffickers in their foreheads one by one. That way, they’d never touch another child again. But, Jason reminds himself, Batman is only bothering to rescue these children because of Jason’s deal with him. Otherwise, he would’ve rescued them long ago. If Jason doesn’t follow orders, one of the little kids could end up as the next Robin instead.

So, Jason goes straight to the shipping containers where he and the others were kept. One by one, he opens them. He was right—there were a lot more children than he thought. Around fifteen per container, and seven containers—

Jason’s gonna be sick. Again.

He focuses on the kids.

“It’s okay,” he tells them. “You’re safe, now.”

“Are you Robin?” A boy asks Jason. He’s probably a little older than Jason, maybe thirteen or fourteen, but he looks at Jason in wonder.

“No,” Jason says. “I’m one of you.”

Jason has just finished helping the kids out of the last container when Batman arrives. “The police will be here shortly,” Batman says. Some of the kids tremble. “Commissioner Gordon will be there. I trust him. He’ll make sure you’re all safe.” That helps a bit, but not enough. Batman frowns, and then kneels down by a young boy—maybe ten or so. Only two years younger than Jason, but it feels like a world of a difference. Jason resists the urge to throw himself in-between Batman and the child. “What is your name, son?”

“Luke,” the boy says shyly.

If Jason squints, Luke almost looks like Robin. Batman won’t try anything right now, Jason reminds himself. Not with all the kids watching. Plausible deniability has its limits, after all. “You’re safe now, Luke,” Batman says. “I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Luke asks. Batman holds out his pinkie, locks it with Luke’s, and pinkie promises.

“I have to go now,” Batman says. “But you’ll be in good hands.” He turns to leave. For a moment, Jason feels himself relax.

And then Batman places a hand on Jason’s shoulder and he flinches, hard. Right. Jason still hasn’t told Batman where his tires are. And then, there’s the rest of the unspoken deal.

Batman steers Jason out of the warehouse, into the street. “You did well,” he says. Batman���s voice has lost some of its growl as he talked to the children. Jason isn’t sure what to make of that. “Now, son, where are those tires?”

Jason leads Batman to the tires’ hiding spots, the man’s gauntlet burning on his shoulder like a brand. It’s all in your head, Jason lies to himself. It’s just your shoulder. Give him the tires, and then you’re free. Give him the tires, and it’s over. (It’s never gonna be over. Not until Jason escapes or dies, and he’s betting on the latter.)

“Different hiding spots,” Batman notes. “Clever. What did you say your name was, again?”

Jason didn’t say. But Batman’s asking, and Jason can’t just not answer. “Jay,” he says, grudgingly. Harder for Batman to hunt him down again with a nickname.

“Jay…”

Jason swallows, shrinking beneath the hand on his shoulder. “Todd.” There. Might as well throw in his middle name while he’s at it. “Jason Peter Todd.” He tries to straighten his shoulders and say it proudly—it’s the name Mom and Dad gave him, after all—but he doesn’t think he succeeds.

Batman watches as Jason reattaches the tires. He goes twice as slow, the pressure causing his arms to tremble. It doesn’t help that his chest aches terribly with every twist of the iron. But Jason finishes, stepping back to let Batman see his handiwork. “Where are your parents, Jason?” Batman asks. His hand is on Jason’s shoulder again. Jason can’t run.

Jason summons up the last bit of bravado he has left. “I dunno where my dad is. Probably doing time again. Or maybe he’s just fucked off and died already. Wherever he is, I don’t care. And my mom’s—she got sick.” Batman just stares at him. “She died,” Jason clarifies.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Yeah, right. Watching Jason carefully, Batman opens the passenger-side door of the Batmobile.

“Why don’t you ride with me?” Batman says, stepping aside and holding the door open.

It sounds like an offer, but it’s more of an order. Jason doesn’t have his tire iron on him to surprise Batman, and he’s too exhausted to run properly. So, he ignores the way his instincts scream runhidefight and sits down in the Batmobile. Batman sits next to him and starts driving.

“Who’s taking care of you?” Batman asks, after the car has pulled onto the road.

Jason knows where this conversation is going. It’s hurtling downhill like a runaway trolley. And Jason can’t divert it, because he already did. He pulled the fucking lever like an idiot, and that’s what got him here. He doesn’t even regret it, he’s that dumb. Because the other kids got out, at least temporarily. They have a chance. The ones that have parents have a chance, at least. “I take care of myself.”

“You’re a child,” Batman says. “You’re not safe on the streets. That’s how the traffickers got you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but even that is half-hearted. “We’re in Gotham. Everyone knows foster care’s just a front for trafficking.”

“That’s not true.”

Jason crosses his arms. “I’m twelve, not two. You don’t gotta lie to me. You go in, you disappear. I spent a month there, okay? I know how it is.”

“I…see,” Batman says quietly.

“Yeah. So you can stop with the fairytale bullshit. No way I’d end up in a ‘decent home’ in the foster care system.”

Batman is silent for a moment. And then, he smiles. The image strikes fear into Jason’s bones. “Don’t bet on it,” Batman says, “…Robin.”

Jason’s stomach turns. He doesn’t—he doesn’t want—he’d thought—he just wants to be safe.

But this had been the plan since the beginning. This was something Jason had been prepared to sacrifice. He just—

It doesn’t matter. The others got out, and that’s enough. And Robin gets to help. Batman may not protect Crime Alley, but Jason as Robin sure can. He’ll be able to listen to all the children whose screams go unheard. That’s worth whatever hell Batman will put him through.

So, Jason forces a smile onto his face. “Robin?” He asks, trying to project enthusiasm. To his own ears, he sounds ill.

But to Batman, he must sound excited, because the man smiles. “Robin,” Batman confirms.

And in the passenger seat, Jason’s heart pumps and pumps and pumps until his body drains of blood.

[aritsukemo]

Invisible Scars | Multiple Characters

Summary: In which the night before leaves you traumatized and causes your emotionally constipated/emotionally reserved friend to seek you out.

Warnings: Purposely vague descriptions ahead ( no names are mentioned besides yours ). Reader killed someone and is negatively reeling from it. Blood is mentioned but nothing seriously descriptive. All that said, read at your own risk!

A/N: I got the idea to write this after scrolling through @creativepromptsforwriting's sideblog and finding this prompt. I plan to tag characters who come to mind, but this is really an open drabble so feel free to imagine whomever you see fits! :D

Tagging: @nursedflowers and @saioratral

The high-pitched screech that bounced off the walls was a sound one would typically associate with tea at it's boiling point or maybe a hotpot screaming to be eaten. One thing that certainly would not have come to mind was a running faucet—specifically one that ran water so hot that it made even the durable metal cry out in pain.

The incessant shrieking, as annoying as it was, didn't faze the girl who sat before the sink. It was as if the noise was never there...which actually wouldn't be that far off from the truth.

In reality, she couldn't hear a thing aside from the same bloodcurdling screams.

Her hands worked as if they were trying to create a fire. They slide together at blinding speed, rubbing against one another so hard that a few more minutes of it would surely cause a tear in the skin of her palms.

Part of her wished that would actually happen.

A knock on the door sounds followed by the mellow hum of her friend's voice as he called from the other side, "Y/n. Are you still in there? It's me."

Heavy silence replaces her much needed answer, and if it weren't for the faint sound of running water, he would've been none the wiser in assuming she wasn't in there. Since that wasn't the case, however, he had no other choice but to try again.

"Y/n," He calls only for the same result. He then tries a third time, "Y/n!"

Silence. He sighs. Guess he has no other choice.

"Forgive the intrusion," With that gentle request serving as a small warning, he takes his time to twist the knob, giving her more than enough time to make herself presentable if need be as he swung the door open at a turtle's pace and peered inside.

As he suspected, she was standing at the sink, her back facing the door and preventing him from seeing what she was doing—not that he needed to. The steam, the running water, the uncomfortable sound of her hands sloshing together and sounding like two blades clashing...it all gave him an inkling of what was happening.

But how long has she been doing this for? He was almost to scared to ask. Almost.

"You've been in here for a while now," He said, and unlike his usual tone, his voice was dipped in uncharacteristic gentleness and sounded rather withheld. It was as if he was being held at swordpoint, and even then, it was surprising to hear him sound that way.

Maybe if she was paying attention she would've heard it and teased him about it. Possibly cracked a joke or two about him finally growing soft enough to warm up to her after all these years.

But instead he received silence and that scared him more than any enemy he's has faced in his lifetime.

"Hey," He called out again, but this time more sternly. He also didn't give her nearly as much time to answer. Not that she likely would.

"You can stop now. I doubt your hands are that dirty.." He's slow with his steps, closing the distance bit by bit, "Hell, by now, your hands are probably cleaner than mine."

She doesn't move, flinch, or do anything that would acknowledge that his words had reached her. It was as if she was in a trance, put under a spell of some kind or was a victim to some hypnotism caused by unknown means.

In a sense, what was happening right now was kinda like that.

In the matter of a minute or so, he's close enough to reach out for her delicate wrist. He does just that, but not too long after he snatches his hand away. He then paused, looking at his hand before looking back up at her with horrid shock gleaming off his hues.

This water was hot. Really hot. Hotter than any water boiled for food or tea.. He's surprised that the droplets don't just evaporate as soon as they leave the faucet.

"You don't feel that?" He leans in, getting closer to her face as his brows furrow, "Does that not hurt?"

He already knew the answer—of course it did—but the fact that she wouldn't answer him struck a nerve and in the end he finds himself grabbing her roughly by the wrist and snatching her away from that molten lava altogether.

He shuts off the water quickly after that, putting the annoying whistling it produced to an abrupt end. It seemed only then that the trance she was put under was broken and she was finally able to think and move for herself again.

As he lets go of her wrist, she finds herself opening her palms and staring down at them. She stares for a long while. Just opening and closing her palms repeatedly and rubbing her fingertips together, as if she was examining a foreign object.

The skin of her palms looked as if she had ran them across a rough surface for an hour; puffy with an angry hue of red to them.

They were a deep shade, just like... She clenches her teeth. He's quick to notice.

"If this is about the other day.." He began, his words dying in his throat as he watched as she flinched away at his very words.

He knew this would happen in the end. He tried to warn them all but nobody wanted to listen to reason. They sent this fragile glasswork into that cage of knives and sharp fangs without a care in the world and left him with the job of mending anything that was broken back together.

It truly irked him. More than something like this usually would.

"If... If you were in my shoes yesterday.." She began slowly and quietly, and despite her voice sounding like a mouse's squeak and a part of his blood boiling at the sound of it, he bit his tongue and held back his snapping comment.

Right now was not the time to be reckless. Too hard of a hit—or any pressure at all really—would cause his dear friend to shatter into a million pieces and he can't have that. How would he be able to fix her up in that condition?

"If you were me last night, if... If you had your weapon to that person's throat. ...If they begged you through their sobs and reduced to a blubbering mess...going on and on about how they needed to live.." She pauses, whether that was because she noticed how her voice grew more and more unsteady with every word she spoke or the fact that her hands had begun to tremble was unknown to even her. It seemed that at this point she was unsure of, well, everything.

And at that point, her friend saw no better of a time than to take a risk and speak his mind.

"If you plan to continue on to ask me if I would've still killed them than let me spare us both the time; I would in a heartbeat."

She laughs at him, her giggle sounding like a sick bird trying to sing. It should be comforting to here despite it's raspiness. After all, despite it not sounding exactly like her usual laughter, it's a miracle she's able to laugh at all. He should be sighing out of relief that she still seems to be gripping onto her sanity enough to find humor in such a dank situation.

But he couldn't, and all because of the simple fact that he had grown used to her sounding so full of life. It was truly a pity.

"I suppose that was a silly question of me to ask you of all people."

In all this time, he's noticed she hasn't looked up from her hands once. It was unnerving to see her like this, but there was nothing he could truly do about it. He could direct her attention elsewhere, sure, but that wouldn't stop the swarming of her thoughts or reduce her heightened awareness of what was once staining her hands and forearms. And, it surely wouldn't halt the constant loop of that incident from playing in her mind—that moment of her taking a life with her own hands, in a quite grotesque way at that.

Her mind was stained just like her skin and just like how she couldn't truly rid herself of the grimy feeling of blood sticking to her skin no matter how hard she scrubbed, he couldn't wipe her mind of what happened. They were both truly powerless.

But he had to do something. Now that they've gotten her foot out of the door, she has to walk through it. There's no backing out of this, she knew this when she went on that mission yesterday. There was no way but forward. He knew that better than anyone.

"Nevermind what happened, come on," He slides his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and dips down to the upper part of her back where he gently pushes her in the direction of the door, all as he tells her, "You should get off your feet and actually rest. You'll need it for tomorrow.."

For the first time that night, she glances up at him. It was for a mere moment, but that quick second was all he needed. Her eyes..were like a starless sky; completely devoid of it's usually glimmer of life. It was as if he was staring at a solider who's spent the last decade at war.

Truly astounding how such a look was formed just after a single night.

Wordlessly, she allows him to push her in the direction of the door as if she weighed nothing. She walked slowly, and as she did she looked back down at her clean, reddened hands. Her eyes sinking even more as she does.

She finds herself wondering if the blood she felt would ever go away—if it were possible that her palms would be capable of ever being truly clean again—and that led her to softly murmur to the only one she could think of turning to; her companion and partner in crime, him.

"Does it.. Does this ever get better?" She asks to which she receives probably the heaviest sigh she's ever heard in her life. It tells her all she needs to know but does little to quell the turmoil in her heart. It has her questioning if she'll be able to handle the path forward. If she'll reach the end or go insane halfway through.

Whatever happens, she finds herself praying that she'll be able to walk this path hand in hand with someone who's treaded this gravel before.

..And it so happens that a person like that is leading her to her bedroom right now. How convenient.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[aceinthefreakinspace]

Pride Month Asepc Headcanons Day 1

Oswald Cobblepot - Gotham (2014-19) - Asexual

We're kicking off Pride Month with Oz since I'm currently in the middle of my Gotham rewatch and I can't get this off my mind. It's more technically semi-canon, but I just had to include him.

Relatable moments:

Telling his mom he "doesn't date" due to aceness in an allo world + other outside factors just generally combining to not wanting to yet. Soon followed by, despite this, catching feelings for a friend and it ending with said friend getting a gf about the time feelings were to be confessed (my situation thankfully didn't end in murder. it actually just ended in nothing happening since I never said anything since no murder happened haha)

Queer mother-figure that helped in formative years (that is the only way my softball coach is like Fish tho lolll)

Wearing ace flag colors subconsciously literally all the time

Fed up with straight people's drama

I, too, would adopt a slightly violent child from an orphanage on my own (I love Martin so much)

[lucabyte]

Happy PMD Red is on NSO day. Sadly I don't think King the Skitty and Muse the Cyndaquil will be returning to finish up their adventure regardless.

[joenhead]

Posting my favorite frog freak so I don’t completely disappear like a plastic bag floating through the wind

I miss my frog,,,boy,,why u so cutesy

[guangshi-091305]

You know what's sad about Wei Wuxian's death? Its not that a bunch of people disliked him and said 'die bitch!'. No. The thing with Wei Wuxian was that he had to die. There was no other way.

Wei Wuxian was kind, selfless, paid his debts and favours as deserved, cared about people, used his skills and cultivation for good of as many as he could, didn't shy away from danger or back down in the face of injustice. He was, in short, the very definition of what a cultivator should be. And that's why he had to die.

If he lived, corruption would have decreased and ended over time. If he lived, civillians and younger cultivators would've realized their rights and how they shouldn't take bullshit from clans. If he lived, next generations would've realized that rules and traditions were just constraints set to keep them under strict control and from realizing they didn't need all those useless elders after all. The system would've changed, no one would've tolerated all this extortion, corruption, nepotism, power imbalance, crimes that were swept under the rug due to the committers being influential. Absolutely no one.

And all that would've been caused by the existence and actions of one man. Wei Wuxian.

So how do we deal with that? We nip the evil in the bud. First use his horrible treatment at the hands of Jiangs as a base to show that yes, he's bad, his martial family treated him that way and they know him best. Then cutting off his allies by skewing their perception about him and his intentions. Then by sowing fear into hearts of allies and civillians. And then leading a siege to cleanse the world of 'evil' so that their bullshit won't be discovered or put a stop to even centuries later. So that his end would serve as a warning to anyone who wishes to rise against evil and corruption, as an unspoken threat to anyone who cared for people and their duties for real.

And it worked. It worked spectacularly. Anyone defying the rules was punished, anyone saying anything similar to Wei Wuxian's? Anyone trying to do real good or anyone following in his path was deemed evil. Their torture and murder were never even acknowledged, yet the rumours were spread to discourage others from trying. Even people who didn't follow his footsteps and chose to be righteous of their own accord didn't live to see the results of their goodness (Nie Mingjue, Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen etc) and if they did, no one found out and they were forgotten quickly (Mianmian).

It worked so well that every harm that befell on anyone, whether it was from the gods or from someone playing god and taking advantage, was attributed to the Yiling Laozu's evil ways. He was dead, yet everything that went wrong was his fault. Your marriage didnt work out? Wei Wuxian was behind this, I am sure. There was a flood that destroyed years worth of your hard work? Sounds like the Yiling Laozu. You had a cough because you ate something cold in the winter? Pretty sure the evil Wei Wuxian is behind it, he has various very evil tricks up his sleeve. That Monster!

He was all-powerful, a man who didn't bend to the whims of gods or wills of mortals. Someone who could defy everyone if he woke up in the mood to.

The propaganda and brainwashing worked so well that people never stopped to ask themselves the question: If Yiling Laozu was truly so powerful, how did he get defeated by a bunch of corpses? How did the Ghost General, his most powerful weapon, get killed by a few dozen cultivators?

And thinking of that is depressing as fuck because he died solely so the rich could get richer, the evil and corrupt could advance in their evil ways (Jin Guangyao, Xue Yang) and everyone could stay on their carefully curated bubble of bliss with none the wiser about their deception, manipulation and bullshit about bloodlines and traditions (Jiang Cheng, The Lans, Jin Guangshan, etc).

[turtleblogatlast]

I find it interesting that Leo tells Raph that Raph was Mikey’s age when he first went out alone because it’s fun to draw the conclusion that Donnie and Leo were not that age when they themselves first went outside.

Sure, they likely could have just ventured out at the same time as their brothers and Leo just chose to focus on Raph to make his point, but given Donnie and Leo’s respective personalities I can absolutely see them just leaving anyway at a much younger age.

[skitskatdacat63]

Misc lore drop day 3/?

Before and throughout Vettonso's marriage, Fernando is constantly making up paranoid escape plans or planning ways to fake his death. But Seb keeps unknowingly bringing him back from the brink, usually just by virtue of his honesty or earnestness, which Fernando has a reluctant soft spot for.

For example, before they take their actual wedding vows, after like a hundred random feasts and celebrations and such, Fernando is like: "Alberto. Here's the plan. You cause a distraction, and I'll escape in these monk robes I got smuggled in!" But at that very moment, he receives a missive from Seb, something along the lines of "I know we've had our struggles and disagreements up to this point, but I really think we can make this marriage work!" Fernando's just hitting the wall like, god damn it, I cannot resist this earnestness.

Fernando is like, I'll pretend to die while eating this dessert, and then I can escape! But then Seb is starry eyed eating his cake, like, "Good heavens, Fernando! Is this cake not immaculate! I do believe it is the best cake I hath ever sampled!" And he can't bring himself to ruin Seb's enjoyment 😔

[theflyingfeeling]

Olli has such big, sad Bambi eyes I don't know what to do with myselllffffffff 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[tchaikovskaya]

I could/should elaborate when I’m not falling asleep as I am rn but like. I feel like for the people who you “mourn” who have died young and/or suddenly who you knew only in passing, or only casually interacted with, or were once close to but in the years between then and their death you barely spoke, etc etc etc, you arent actually mourning them or their presence in ur life (and now palpable absence) (supposedly) but just what it means to be a human on earth who has to grapple with inevitable loss and the immense weight of what a Person is and their footprint on everyone they interact with that is fleeting even tho there are several billions of us on the floating rock but none of those billions of lifetimes are ever overlapping 100%…. sigh :/

[dylawas-reblogs]

One thing I do look forward to about in-person work for the first time in four and a half years, even if it's 28 miles of travel both ways right during the worst winter months, is I can't be my father's free Chore Servant when he's too busy (read: disorganized and lazy) to sort things before he leaves for the day