Okay but shy/bunny reader being used to bestfriend!Rafe ditching her because heβs with some girl, she never points it out and somehow she always lets it go because sheβs just a babyy and Rafe starts realising that they donβt hang out as muchππ
it was hard seeing rafe goβalways was, and always will be.
you tried to convince yourself you were used to it now, but the familiar ache in your chest when he'd say goodbye to you, topper, and kelce and walk away hand in hand with his flavor of the week was getting worse and worse.
before you'd realized you had feelings for rafeβbeyond just the affection you gave to your close friendsβyou hadn't cared at all. you'd even encouraged it, same way you did with top and kelce, offering advice and recommending which flowers to bring, what places to bring them.
not that rafe ever really needed your help. it seems since the day he'd become your best friend, there was a line of girls hanging behind the two of you, seemingly waiting for their turn. at night, when it felt worseβand somehow it always did feel worse in your bed alone, wondering if rafe's was empty too and knowing that it wasn'tβyou tried to make yourself feel better.
you're still here, and they're notβthat's how you tried. it worked for a little.
the newest girl had been around for a record three weeks, so even your usual bandaid for your shattered heart wasn't helping the wound heal.
so far, he'd skipped two meals, a day at the course, and half of a boat day to spend with her instead of you. you, kelce, and top that is. you'd hoped today was going to be different, walking back to top's jeep after lunch to head to the marina.
"you're not coming?" you call out to rafe, who was walking back in the direction of his own car. kelce and top are too far away to hearβgetting into the front already. you were always stuck in the back, and you had never minded when rafe was there to keep you company.
rafe flicks his eyes over you, taking in the new dress you really shouldn't have bought just to see what kind of reaction you could get from him. your bag has your bikini in it and one of his button ups to cover you and he sees it poking outβwhite seersucker temporarily distracting him.
"rafe?"
"yeah. sorry, no. made plans with-"
"yeah, of course you did." you cut him off, and though even a few weeks ago you couldn't have imagined the vitriol in your voice, it comes out all too easy. "have fun."
you try to walk away but his footsteps followβand damn his long legs, because he gets infront of you before you can escape.
"what, kid? you mad at me?"
you shouldn't say something. you shouldn't say anything.
"we're going to the boat. you said you were coming. i cut fruit for you."
"i-i'm sorry. top will eat it."
"it's not for him. that's not the point." the words teeter on the edgeβwanting so badly to tell him that you miss him. that he never hangs out with you anymore, that he's choosing some girl over you and it stings worse than anything you've felt so far.
you're not sure when it started feeling so differentβrafe's always done this. and standing two feet from the jeep, kelce sticking his head out the window to yell at you to get in, you realize you're going to reveal yourself if you don't shut up.
"have fun, rafe. sorry. bye."
you don't give him a chance to respond, but it doesn't take anything else for the gears to click. you're too quiet to ever admit it, too shy to say what you're really thinking, and rafe knows thatβhe's known it since he met you.
standing there, watching you drive away with kelce and top, he briefly wonders what the last time was he did something just with you. he can't even remember it. it all blurs togetherβlate night runs for ice cream and breakfast while top and kelce were still passed out. the sweet way you smile at him and how your expression changes when he goes to the girl who's waiting for him. he gets in the car and can't decide which direction to turnβtowards this girl or towards you.
on the boat, you kick up your feet and open your book, trying to drown out the chatter of kelce and top trying to get out of the marina and focus singularly on the romance in your hands rather than the one in your brain. you drown it out a little too much.
"that the one i got you?" rafe asks from somewhere next to you.
"god-" you exclaim, book slipping from your grip and thudding on the boat. "you scared me." catching your breath, you bend to pick up your book, but rafe beats you to it, picking it up and placing it on your lap.
"sorry."
"what happened to your plans?" rafe shrugs. you wish your heartbeat would slow down. you look down at your lap and rafe looks over youβexposed skin shiny with sunblock, a blue bikini he thinks he's never noticed before, matching nails that suit you.
"already had plans with you, remember?"
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Hi! Just found your blog and itβs the best thing ever honestly. I was wondering if you could do a Jason Todd x reader where the reader deals with migraines and sensory overloads? If not thatβs totally cool, have a nice day!
thank you so much for your ask!! this was actually my first request ever π nonny you will go down in history π a psa that while i do have mild sensory issues, i donβt have migraines, so any and all criticism is welcome!
warnings: pills/migraines | 1.2k words | dividers by @cafekitsune | requests open !
You fell onto the bed, tucking your knees in close to your chest. Fifty minutes. This goddamned headache had been the bane of your whole existence for fifty minutes, and you couldnβt even catch a bloody break. Every week, it would come back like clockwork, and while you had your routine (two advils, an eye mask, and soothing ocean noises all while sitting in a dark room with a singular, mildly-scented lavender candle with two out of three wicks lit) it didnβt change the fact that every minute that you lay there, the throbbing sensation around your head came back worse than before.
Grasping the tip of your nose, you tilted your head back in order to swallow the pills next to you. If you didnβt, youβd eventually gag on the water, and that wasnβt really a pretty sight to see. It was a miracle that you could even work as a hostess, especially on the graveyard shift, because it was taking every ounce of your willpower not to throw up at even the most tamest memoriesβa sleepy child with food flying out of their mouth, or a costumer shouting about how βinsaneβ you were when you had only gotten through your second advil of the day. It wasnβt enough, clearly, because if it had been, you wouldnβt be holed up in your dark room like a vampire with chronic pain.
One knock on your window jolts you from your ibuprofen-fueled haze. Two knocks. Three knocksβgod, who doesnβt have patience in this stupid city? Not everyone can be a metahuman that travels at the speed of sound.
You open your window, head still pulsing, but all thoughts of another cup of mildly sweetened honey tea dissipates when the Red Hood smoothly slides into your living room/kitchen (itβs Gotham! Rent may be low, but you are poor as hell), removes his helmet, and shakes his head like a wet dog, the domino mask he was wearing underneath somehow not falling off. He shoots you a crooked grin before plopping himself on your couch, resting his legs on your coffee table.
βShoes off,β you grumble. βAnd for the millionth time, I have a door for a reason. And I put food on that table, and I donβt want to see your nasty feet on it.β While other people might be a bit more reserved when talking to a Bowery drug lord, you had never given yourself the same boundaries. Heβd crashed into your apartment when he was injured one night a few months ago, and since then, the Red Hood swore to one, pay off your window, and two, make sure you were safe. In his words, it was the best way to repay you for saving his lifeβeven though you didnβt really do anything of the sort. Basic stitches that you learnt in high school, because that was what they taught when a vigilante could collapse in your house due to blood loss any minute in Gotham.
βWoahβ¦β he raises his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes glinting with mirth. βWhatβs wrong? Rough shift?β
He can always tell, and youβve decided to refrain against trying to lie to the only crime lord that youβll likely ever be friend with, unless the Penguin unexpectedly decides to lumber up your fire escape. (Hoodβs gotten you a spiked baseball bat for occasions like that, because you complained about any firearms). A pang of pain from you head. Mental note, put out the candle, no wicks. Darken the room even more, try and fail to go to sleep. You have your second job in the morning tomorrow. Mental note, take a melatonin if you canβt sleep, pack a few pills of ibuprofen and acetaminophen if you canβt get through your morning shift. Itβs two AM right now, you could still get three hours of sleep if youβ
A rough, calloused hand gently caresses your cheek, sending a tingling sensation down your jawline, all the way down to the base of your spine. Okay, woah. βTake a deep breath, baby.β Hoodβs deep, gravelly voice shakes your from your stupor. Oh. You were slipping back into your anxiety induced panic attacks, and you hadnβt even noticed. You take one deep breath, but instead of feeling like youβre stuffing an oversized pillow into a kid sized cover, youβre at ease, letting fresh air flow into your lungs.
βHow you doinβ tonight, huh baby? I saw your kitchen light on, thought Iβd stop by.β Red Hood rubs a simple circle pattern into your back, letting you lean onto him.
βI betβ¦β you take a shallow breath. βI bet you say that to all the girls.β
A smile cracks through onto his face. βNah, baby, just you. All the girls have nothing on you, baby. You want to tell me about your day?β
Maybe it was just his voice, but you were almost immediately more at ease than you wee moments ago. Red Hood wouldβve had a great calling as a therapist, or even a guidance counselor, but you werenβt sure that heβd like it if you called him, arguably the most fearsome man in Gotham, a service worker. Men were weird that way.
βC-can you talk to me, Hood? I donβt knowβ¦ you have a nice voice, I guess. Makes me feel safe.β
You could swear that you heard his voice crack before he cleared his throat. βYeah, yeah, I can do that. Soβ¦ I guess I didnβt do much today. Oh! This one sleaze-bag was trying to rob this eighth grader, and Iβd never seen this old guy, okay? The kid, his nameβs James, he immediately just swings his backpack at him. And I come in, this dudeβs already gotten a broken noseβ¦β
He keeps talking about the unexpected things that happened during his day, but your eyes are just trained on Hood. His sharp jaw, his toned arms, his hair and the decent-sized white streak that runs through it, his soft lips and the J scar that covered his left cheekbone, and you wondered what it would be like to know him without the mask on. Would he still be the same, sweet guy that you knew?
In a sudden moment of courage, you take Hoodβs hand and squeeze it, your heart pounding nervously against your ribcage. βThank you, Hood.β You whisper. βI donβt knowβ¦ I donβt know what I would be done if you werenβt here. Iβd probably be still having a killer headache right now.β
He smiles, something that youβve been seeing him do a lot more often than heβs known for. Red Hood, vigilante, drug lord, crime boss? Nowhere to be seen. You try your hardest to gaze past the white lenses over his eyes, concealing his eye color.
βJay,β he mutters softly, soft enough that if you hadnβt been sitting so close, you wouldnβt have been able to hear a word that he said. βCall me Jay.β
The head comes come back sometimes, but you usually tend to ignore the headaches after a dose of acetaminophen and a head massage from who might be the worldβs best vigilante, Jay. You may not know his full name yet, but you know his heart, and under all that armor, under the Red Hood, is a man with a heart of gold.
please please please let me know if i got anything wrong so i can edit it!
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