SFW Alphabet W/ Aventurine Plz? 👀

early morning

pairing: jason todd x gn!reader

summary: you comfort Jason on a bad morning.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, fluff

wc: 0.6k

A part of Jason still couldn’t believe he was here to see it. The light filtered through the blinds, revealing your sleeping face just barely peeking out from under the blankets. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the quiet sounds of your snores breaking up the silence in the room.

Your face, so entirely at peace– he didn’t want to disturb it by getting up to brush his teeth or start on breakfast. So, Jason settles into the pillows still pushed up against the headboard, and gazes down at his scarred hands.

So much he’s had to learn, to have drilled into him, by Bruce or plenty of others worse than him. Emphasizing how to cope with the unexpected. How to be ready to throw an opponent off guard no matter what advantage they may have. But here, lying next to you in your shared room, he’s unsure. How is he supposed to face the peace, the quiet,  the happiness?

He’s fine. He feels completely safe, most definitely for the first time in years, if not his entire life. So why does his chest feel so tight, like any sudden movement would have him unraveling?

You blink awake then. If Jason didn’t know better, he’d think you were able to hear his thoughts. But your face is pinched in concern, only trying to make sense of why your partner seems so tense this early in the morning.

“Hey,” you start, reaching a hand to place on his shoulder.

Jason fights the instinct to push it off, and instead chooses to savor the warmth. “Morning. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” you look outside, the blinds doing nothing to curb how bright the sun has become. “I was going to wake up soon, anyway.”

He doesn’t say anything, eyes shifting back down to coast across the scrapes of his legs instead of facing you.

“Jason, is something wrong?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s great, actually. I’m here, I have everything I need…” he flicks his gaze up to yours. “I have you.”

You scoot closer to him, draping your other arm across his other shoulder, hugging him from behind. Your head behind his own, gently nuzzling the back of his neck. He can feel the heat of your skin through your sleep shirt, completely enveloping him, and he has the sudden urge to cry. 

Just as you start kissing down his neck, making your way down his vertebrae, you hear his shudder of breath. You place you head on his shoulder and slowly turn to face him.

He’s closed his eyes by now, trying to keep the tears at bay for long enough to convince you he’s fine. He’s sure it’s not working by how your hand is running against his jaw and cupping his cheek.

“Jason, look at me.”

He’s almost shivering, but he manages to open them again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong, it’s just… It’s a bad day.”

You go back to hugging him, then. Both of your arms completely wrapped around him as you slowly pull him back to laying comfortably in your bed. You spoon him from behind and you listen to his breathing slow, then quicken, then slow again as he falls back asleep in your arms.

Some words to use when writing things:

winking

clenching

pulsing

fluttering

contracting

twitching

sucking

quivering

pulsating

throbbing

beating

thumping

thudding

pounding

humming

palpitate

vibrate

grinding

crushing

hammering

lashing

knocking

driving

thrusting

pushing

force

injecting

filling

dilate

stretching

lingering

expanding

bouncing

reaming

elongate

enlarge

unfolding

yielding

sternly

firmly

tightly 

harshly

thoroughly

consistently

precision

accuracy

carefully

demanding

strictly

restriction

meticulously

scrupulously

rigorously

rim

edge

lip

circle

band

encircling

enclosing

surrounding

piercing

curl

lock

twist

coil

spiral

whorl

dip

wet

soak

madly

wildly

noisily

rowdily

rambunctiously

decadent

degenerate

immoral

indulgent

accept

take

invite

nook

indentation

niche

depression

indent

depress

delay

tossing

writhing

flailing

squirming

rolling

wriggling

wiggling

thrashing

struggling

grappling

striving

straining

Lt. Simon Ghost Riley

cod masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist

☁️ = fluff || ⛈️ = angst || 🔥 = sexual content

Ghost Kiss Headcanons ☁️

NSFW Alphabet 🔥

Rumbling (GN!Reader) ⛈️☁️

Ghost + Price Comfort GN!Reader With Scoliosis ⛈️☁️

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” ⛈️☁️

Downpour (GN!Reader) ☁️

Emergency Contact (GN!Reader) - Part 2 ☁️⛈️

July 2023 Smut Prompt Masterlist 🔥

Frozen Fingertips (GN!Reader) - Part 2 ⛈️☁️

Soft Moments: Ghost Edition (GN!Reader) ☁️

Sub Moments: Ghost Edition (GN!Reader) 🔥

Under The Surface (GN!Reader) ☁️⛈️

Need It (GN!Reader) 🔥

Migraines (GN!Reader) ☁️

Keychain (GN!Reader) ☁️⛈️

Sick Moments: Ghost Edition (GN!Reader) ☁️

The Soul Series (GN!Reader) ☁️⛈️🔥

summary; you’re completely out of line and every form of leadership you’ve had have thrown you out because you won’t fall into line, and you’re concerningly disobedient. that isn’t even addressing your morality. you face two choices: follow orders or face dishonorable discharge.

Based on that little blurb you reblogged can I request the batfamily finding out that Jason has a girlfriend by him rummaging through the stuff in his pockets?

They're like dang dude what do you have in there? and it's all hair ties, lip stick, and a recipe for two 💕

-🍬

oh I love a good “Jason hides his lover from his family only for it to get revealed dramatically” fic and now thanks to you, nonnie, I get to write one!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include canon typical injuries, sibling violence, and slight hints at the batfam’s more traumatic interactions. this is mostly a good ol’ batfam fic, because reader is only alluded to, but I really like it. sorry I made it angsty for a sec there, I just can’t resist the Dynamics™️.

Jason should’ve known better. Really, he should’ve. Taking on Killer Croc alone? A fool’s mistake, but he was just too stubborn to say yes when Bruce asked if he’d like some backup. So now here he is, loopy in the Batcave after Waylon absolutely rocked his shit.

“‘S not even that bad,” he slurs.

The fact that he trips on his own feet and nearly faceplants before Bruce catches him says otherwise.

“Sure it’s not, Jaylad. Let’s get you to the medbay,” Bruce grumbles, worry creeping into that stone cold exterior.

“I’m fine, old man. Lemme jus’ go home,” Jason whines.

He’s met with a grunt that firmly negates his request.

“You can stay in your room tonight,” Bruce says.

“Not my home. Wanna go home,” Jason mumbles as he drops onto the medbay bed.

If Bruce’s face drops a bit, if guilt and sorrow flash across his eyes? Well, Jason’s too concussed to notice. Bruce just nods and begins to assess any other injuries Croc may have left on him. When he reaches for the collar of the Kevlar top, Jason flinches away from him so hard that he slams into the wall behind him. It’s only when Bruce realizes that he’d brushed his fingers against the scar on Jason’s neck that he realizes why. His heart sinks and he can’t even look at his son. His shame doubles when he hears a trademark sigh of disappointment from behind him.

“C’mon, Littlewing. Let’s get all of this off you,” Dick says gently as he pushes past their father.

Jason doesn’t flinch when Dick starts to remove his gear. In fact, the presence of his older brother sets him at ease.

“I told ‘im I had it covered, Dickie. He didn’t fuckin’ listen,” Jason complains.

“Yeah, had it so covered you’re concussed in the family home?” Dick teases.

“What the fuck, Richard?” Jason groans before breaking out into giggles.

“How hard did Waylon hit him?” Dick jokingly asks Bruce.

“There’s no fractures, but the contusions are appearing rapidly. Jason’s lucky that’s all he got.”

Dick stares blankly at Bruce. He goes to open his mouth to retort that he was kidding, then decides it’s not worth his effort. Tim thinks it is, though.

“Wow, for a guy that’s chronically online for vigilante reasons, you still know nothing about the internet,” Tim laughs as he wanders into the medbay and flops down on the bed next to Jason’s.

Bruce ignores the teasing and catalogs all the injuries that are revealed to him as Dick strips away Jason’s tattered gear. There’s plenty of lacerations on his torso and likely some on his back. A few are deeper but nothing they’ll need to call Leslie for.

“Or maybe your jokes just aren’t funny, Timothy” Damian says haughtily as he sits himself next to Jason.

The thirteen-year-old tries to put on a mask of indifference, but it wavers when he spots the gash on the back of Jason’s right shoulder.

“Akhi, in what world did you think apprehending Waylon Jones alone would go well for you?” Damian scolds.

Jason narrows his seafoam eyes at Damian and lowers his voice.

“Ya really wanna talk about apprehending people alone, demon spawn?” he taunts lightly.

Damian’s eyes widen and he drops the subject because no, he actually does not want to talk about that on account of the fact that he tried to bring in Clayface alone two weeks ago and nearly got immortalized as a clay statue until Jason swooped in. The two of them had scrubbed his Robin suit within an inch of its life to try and hide the excursion from Bruce. It worked; only Alfred noticed the faint hint of clay in the threads of the cape and all he’d done was sigh and shake his head.

Jason’s gear is fully removed and his head is starting to clear a bit, wooziness replaced by a hammering pain in his temples. The headache masks any pain he would feel from the stitches being placed in his back, though he also suspects that those are less painful because Damian is doing them.

“Your technique is gettin’ better, y’know?” Jason whispers, the compliment unheard by the other three men bustling around the room.

The hands stitching him up freeze and he can imagine the look of surprise on Damian’s face even without turning around.

“Thank you,” he mutters. “I think it will be useful for future endeavors.”

Jason smiles to himself. He knows the kid wants to be a doctor, and he thinks it’s a damn better fate for him than whatever Bruce or Ra’s could’ve planned. The silence that settles over the medbay is peaceful, only broken by the sound of clacking computer keys or the zipping of evidence bags. Then, like an unholy boom of thunder, comes the voice of Tim Drake.

“What the hell is all this?”

Jason’s head whips to the side and he sees Tim rummaging through the pockets of his tactical pants. He goes to scramble off the bed and feels the harsh pull of thread that was mid-stitch through his skin.

“Mind your fuckin’ business, replacement!” Jason shouts.

He grabs a pillow and chucks it at Tim’s head, but he just ducks and continues to empty Jason’s pockets. The contents that spill out on the sterile tray are…perplexing to say the least. Two lip balms (one tinted red), three scrunchies (one black and two red), a grocery list with the word strawberries and a woman’s name underlined, a recipe for chicken stir fry with enough for two portions, and one single soft chocolate chip cookie lay unexplained in the harsh white light of the medbay.

If looks could kill, Tim Drake would be dead and buried six feet under.

“What part of mind your fuckin’ business did you not get?” Jason growls, glaring daggers at the nineteen-year-old.

“Holy shit, he’s got a fucking girlfriend!” Tim exclaims.

The pillow hits him square in the face this time. All four sets of eyes turn to him with varying emotions. Shock is evident in the forest green of Damian’s gaze, smugness and vindication in the icy blue of Tim’s, panic and guilt in the ocean blue of Dick’s, and some weird mix of sadness and fondness in the gunmetal blue of Bruce’s eyes that Jason doesn’t want to think about for too long. The acrobat quickly moves across the room and sweeps all the belongings off the tray and back into the pockets of the tac pants. He grabs Jason’s gear from Tim and hands it back to its rightful owner, who clutches it to himself protectively.

“Don’t make assumptions, Tim,” Dick says. “Civilians leave stuff on us all the time.”

It’s true. They’ve all come home with someone’s forgotten work badge or piece of jewelry before. The oddest thing was when Bruce had a Hello Kitty keychain stuck to the end of his cape. Jason casts a subtle look of gratitude at Dick for trying to give him plausible deniability. Not that it works. Tim stares not at Dick, but through him with his pale eyes in a way that makes a chill run down the spine of the eldest son.

“You knew already? How?” Tim asks incredulously.

Really, he’s a bit miffed that he hadn’t figured this out already. He has contingency plan files on each member of his family (himself included) and he had not a clue that Jason might be in a relationship.

“Drop. It. Now.” Jason warns.

Tim doesn’t consider it until he sees Jason’s fingers twitching in the direction of the butterfly knife on his belt. He doesn’t need another scar from Jason shanking him. Well, at least not today.

“Fine. Whatever. But if I have to bring Bernard here for Thanksgiving, then you have to bring,” and he pauses to remember and recite the name on the grocery list, “home too.”

He knows he’s pushed it when Jason lunges at him, dragging Damian and a threaded suturing needle behind him. Tim barely jumps out of the way in time to avoid a punch to the jaw.

“Robin! Knock it off!” Bruce barks.

It’s almost comical the way all four of his boys freeze in place. It is slightly less comical the way they all proceed to glare at him.

“Fuck it,” Jason grumbles as he settles back on the bed for Damian to continue stitching his wounds. “Just get these done so I can go home.”

“Home to his girlfriend,” Tim murmurs.

“I will fuckin’ slash your throat again, you second-rate fuck!”

Bruce lets out one long suffering sigh. He doesn’t know you yet (a quiet part of him hopes he may one day be allowed to) but he already feels sorry that you’ve been roped into all of this. He feels even more sorry when the butterfly knife flies past his head and buries itself into the wall inches from Tim’s neck. Really, what is he going to do with these boys?

Kenma finally understand

Kenma: Did you just flirt with me?!

Kuroo: For like six years, thank you for understanding

---

You Say Goodbye to Soap (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content warnings: Verbal child abuse, she/her reader Word Count: 3.5k

Service Dog Johnny Part 19 (full part list here)

Simon doesn’t do crowds. 

Well, he does them, he’s just on pins and needles the whole time. He turns into something granite and hyper-aware, covered as much as he can be with a medical mask and long sleeves, so you try not to force him through it too often. Sometimes though, there’s a good reason for suffering.

“Fuck you,” Johnny mutters, arms crossed while you both watch your boyfriend seamlessly plink through targets, with that mini rifle tucked tight into his shoulder. “Right prick.”

“Eight out of ten is still really good,” you remind him. Johnny only missed the first two targets, and that’s understandable considering the carnival air guns can’t possibly be accurate.

“Used my go to sight the weapon, is what he did. I’m goin’ again.”

You’re not entirely sure that it’s possible to aim a gun just by watching someone else shoot it, but then again, Simon is finishing up the last target right now, dead center.

“C’mere, you.” Your man motions you over with a jerk of his head, handing the pea shooter back to the bored worker. 

Simon watches your face as you hurry over to him, as if your delighted smile is all he wanted in the first place. You quickly scan the prize options as his hand settles against the curve of your lower back. Unicorn… cat… sloth… raccoon… teddy bear. 

You choose the pillow-sized raccoon because it’s fluffy, and it reminds you of Simon before he washes off his eyeblack. 

“Thanks,” you chirp, hugging your prize and stepping out of the way for Johnny’s turn. 

“Someone had to pick up the slack,” Simon mutters, turning his eyes to the determined set of Johnny’s shoulders.

Horrified, you shoot him a look that conveys, ‘You’d better shut the fuck up, or else.’

Plink. Plink. Good start. 

“Better hurry up, Johnny,” Simon drawls. “Too slow, you’re gonna miss it.”

“Simon,” you hiss at him, only to observe a devious light in his eye while he pretends he can’t hear you. 

Plink, plink, plink.

“Two, ten, seven, reload,” Simon barks. “Oh look, Graves is here.”

“I’ll fawkin’ kill ye,” Johnny growls against the stock, nailing the last few targets in rapid succession. 

Your face is burning by the time Johnny sets the gun aside. Of all the days for Simon to antagonize him, why does he have to pick this one? You’re not even sure there will be another chance to see Johnny after today, and instead of minding the delicate balance of things, your boyfriend’s decided to stomp all over it. 

Yet somehow, you seem to be the only one concerned. Johnny merely spares his friend a passing glare before turning back to the prizes, selecting a sparkly unicorn for himself. 

“Do you want me to carry that for you?” you offer with a shocked laugh.

He hugs it against his chest. “Aye, when I’m good and dead. No one’s separating me from my unicorn.”

Right. Okay, then. 

The sun has just gone down, and taken the last of the warmth with it, so you thread your fingers in with Simon’s and look around for things to do before the nighttime crowd fills the park.

“What kind of rides do you like, Johnny?”

He winks at you over the fluffy rainbow mane. “Fast ones.”

“Bloody hell,” your boyfriend sighs. “I’m gonna be stuck holding the toy shop for the pair of you.”

“We can take turns,” you suggest. “Look, this one’s the biggest roller coaster they have. You and Johnny go, before the line gets too long.”

Simon doesn’t disagree, but he starts squinting up at the ride the closer you get to it, as if he’s inspecting the track for defects. You’re just about to reach for the unicorn Johnny’s passing to you, when Simon makes a grunt of disapproval. 

“Fuckin’ back brace on him, I’m not going.”

Sure enough, one of the workers is gingerly crossing the platform to unstrap riders, while encased in a turtle shell of a brace. 

Johnny scoffs. “Didn't break it on the ride, you dobber.”

“Fuck are we supposed to know that?” 

“He’d be dead then, wouldn’t he? Puddle on the pavement.”

“No one is dying on these rides,” you insist, snatching Johnny’s toy. “It’s perfectly safe.” 

Simon smoothly plucks both animals from your grasp. “Seeing as you’re not worried, you and Johnny go.”

Okay, well, now you’re worried. 

You find yourself spectacularly stuck next to Johnny in that stuffy queue leading up to the platform, feeling like a total idiot for getting so easily conned into it. Why couldn’t you have thought of an excuse to avoid this? You only suggested the ride to give the guys a chance to have fun together without stepping on anyone’s toes, and instead you’re left scrambling for small talk. 

It’s not that you don’t want to be alone with Johnny, it’s just that you weren’t expecting it to happen so suddenly. You were perfectly fine with using Simon as a buffer for the night, and never bringing up that whopping pile of confusion until Johnny was at least willing to open up a little. But now he’s alone with you, acting fairly happy and normal, as if he never walked out that door. 

Is that what he wants? Is this going to turn into some horrible game of evasion, where he wanders back into your life and you’re forced to pretend nothing ever happened, and just hope he doesn’t do it again? Can you live like that?

You tried winging it before. You never made him explain himself to you or communicate, and all it did was blow up in your face.  

“So why’d you pick the raccoon?”

You blink yourself out of your thoughts, focusing on his face in the cheery glow of Christmas lights. “Oh, um. They’re cute. And I guess I like wild animals.”

For some reason Johnny laughs at your genuine answer. “Makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know what it means.” He rests his elbows back on the steel railing and gives you this irritating smirk, so you roll your eyes in return. Okay, Flirt MacTavish. Nice to see you again, it’s been a while. 

Thankfully the line moves forward right when you need it to, and you sidestep his teasing eyes to poke your head around the beam and scan the waiting area for Simon.

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you whisper. “Look.”

His body presses to your back as he looks over your shoulder, and is greeted by the same sight you are — Simon, with one enormous plushie wedged under each arm, engaged in apparent conversation with some random, gray-haired grandma. You can’t see his mouth moving behind the mask, but he’s inclining his head the same way he does when he’s talking to you. 

“She’s stealin’ your man, hen.”

“Let her. He likes the attention.”

The stuffed animals have absolutely shattered his carefully constructed standoffishness. They’re like a beacon of cuteness, inviting in questions and curious looks, and honestly it serves him right for abandoning you to Johnny like this. You hope he’s suffering, but from the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, you kind of doubt it. 

Finally you get buckled into the ride next to Johnny, and the nerves you have about him give way to your more pressing fear of heights. When was the last time you rode in one of these things? All of a sudden the pattern of loops spreading across the open air in front of you look a lot more serious than they did from the ground. 

“Don’t let Simon see you scared,” Johnny says, nudging your shoe with his. The ride starts forward with a reverberating clunk, clunk.

“I’m not,” you lie. 

“Hold my hand then, or you’re full of shit.”

That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but you mold your palm around his and squeeze it tight, right before the drop. 

Holy shit.

Johnny wasn’t kidding about liking fast rides. He whoops and laughs through most of it, and you’re not sure if it’s the actual rush that’s getting to him, or your terrified shrieks. The loops hit rapidly one after another, and you just try to hang on as you pass through your threshold of fear and beyond. By the time you finally hit the end of the ride, your heart is slamming in your chest, and Johnny’s hand seems to have permanently fused with yours. 

As the ride cars slowly chug up that loud conveyor belt to the platform, you unlock your spine and glance over at your friend to make sure he’s all in one piece. 

He’s gorgeous. Ruddy-cheeked from the cold, breathlessly grinning at you, as if he’s exactly where he wants to be right now. Beautiful, human, completely impenetrable and emotionally closed-off.

It makes you want to hit him. 

You’d go to town on his stupid chest if you could, punching and slapping those perfect muscles on up and down his shoulder. You want to scream in his ear until he understands how much pain he’s put you through, because maybe then this hold he has on you would finally release. If you burned all your bridges and told him never to come back, maybe you’d stop wanting him quite so fiercely. 

Because even after all of that, you do want him. You want to own him. You want to ruin him. You want him like Veruca Salt stomping her foot and shrieking, ‘Daddy, give him to me!’

You want your heart to connect with his, and that craving is so intense that you’re almost jealous of anyone who’s ever deeply known him. Jealous of Simon, who always seems to understand what Johnny’s thinking before you do. It feels wrong, existing so close to Johnny and not touching, not staring, not knowing. 

Not allowed to know. 

This was all a mistake. A combination of oversights from all three of you, until you’ve reached this point of pain that was so, so preventable.

Johnny leans towards you as you pull your hand away from his. “Hungry?” 

The line for the concession stand is annoyingly long. You’re waiting here by yourself because you really needed some space to clear your head. You mentally repeat your food order to yourself, as if it won’t evaporate out of your brain the second you step up to the window.

Three pretzels, two cheeses, two hot chocolates, and do you have any hot tea? 

You’re being idiotic about Johnny. Look at them over there, holding a conference at the picnic table with two stuffies propped up next to each of them. How could you dare be jealous of the most important friendship Simon’s ever had? You’d have to be some kind of selfish monster to deny either of them that comfort. 

Three pretzels, two cheeses, two hot chocolates, and do you have any tea bags, and packets of sugar?

You just weren’t prepared for how unsatisfying this night would be. You’re giving Johnny space, and Simon’s giving you space, and it all makes you want to cry. 

“I hope you’re fucking happy.”

Your heart begins to race, hearing those words spat with such hate from somewhere behind you. Instinctively you twist your face around in search of the threat, hoping it’s just some old person berating a server who will never have to see them again. But no, it’s much worse.

An older man sits across from a boy who looks to be about nine, his lip curled up in contempt as he stares the kid down.

Looking away, the boy mumbles something you don’t catch, but the man doesn’t even let him finish before sneering, “You’re a pansy, is what you are. ‘Fraid of a little roller coaster. Don’t know why I bother taking you anywhere nice like this, when you’ll just wimp out.” 

Outrage pushes blood to your face, as you glance back over at Simon. He’s too far away to hear what’s going on, still shooting the shit with Johnny. It’s just you and the couple in front of you who seem to notice, the woman giving you an exasperated look, and the man determinedly staring straight ahead. 

You know that tone of voice. That kind of disrespect has is etched into your bones, and you know exactly what it leads to. It’s the voice Simon grew up with, the one he has in his head every day, and has to convince himself to ignore. 

Helplessly you take another step forward in line, watching the boy in your peripheral vision when he at last decides that the tirade is over, and raises his head. The direction of the kid’s sad gaze shouldn’t surprise you, but it does, as he peers over at your two soldiers across the way. 

You look as well, wondering what he sees. Two large men, built strong enough to hurt anyone who talks down to them? Friends who are comfortable with each other, happily performing for no one? Or maybe he’s seeing the innate self confidence they have, to be able to hold their heads high while lugging around stuffed animals in public. It’s almost a display of power, if you look at it through the boy’s eyes. Or at the very least, it’s freedom.

Maybe it’s because you know about Simon’s childhood. Or maybe it’s your own memories growing up that flood you with righteous anger, the firsthand knowledge of how it is to live in fear. How the wrath of your ‘trusted adult’ is absolutely inescapable at that age. You know that weight. You can see it on that boy’s shoulders, suffocating him. 

You know what, you’re going to say something. You’re not going to just turn your head away, like that man in front of you. You’re going to walk right up to that awful dad and chew him out, for your sake and for the sake of every kid who’s ever had to listen to words like that. 

Clutching your purse tighter and squaring your shoulders, you’re just mustering up the anger you need to go through with it, when— 

“Next in line? Next in line?”

“Oh, uh…” you step forward, trying to remember what you came here for. “Do you have… pretzels?”

The worker gives you a deadpan look and gestures over to the very obvious display of soft pretzels under heat lamps. 

“O-okay, yeah, two of those, please. No, wait, three, and cheese.”

“Three pretzels and cheese,” the guy recites, giving you the total. 

You’re obviously not going to cuss anyone out while holding a bushel of pretzels, so once you’ve paid you stuff your wallet back into your purse, and head towards your table to unload. 

“Can’t believe there’s no smoking here,” the horrible man grumbles as you pass by, fishing into his pocket. “Go get your old man a Coke, and don’t be keeping any change.”

The hatred churns in your chest but you keep walking, certain that you’re about to get your revenge. You’re a marginally attractive person, and you’re here with a couple of meatheads who can squish pretty much anyone. There’s no risk involved, you can just unload, and that man… will… take it out on the kid. 

Simon gives you a puzzled expression when your face falls, as soon as you reach them. 

It’s useless. There’s not a single thing you can do for that boy. Any way you tear down his father would only result in him getting the punishment for it. 

You’re just as stuck as ever, helpless and stupid and no one important, same as you were as a child. You might as well still be that little girl, realizing that nothing you could ever do would make the adults in your life see you as human. 

All you are is taller now, with tits.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks, as you push his pretzel over to him. 

“Um…”

They’re both concerned now. Dammit. 

Your gaze drops to the sparkly unicorn, its horn twinkling in the lights. 

“Johnny?” you prompt, blinking at him while your form your thoughts. 

“Hmm?” 

You rest your hand on the head of his unicorn, tugging at the ear. “Can I have this? For keeps? Will you give it to me?”

He blinks rapidly in surprise, glancing down at his prized plushie. “Yeah, alright. Sure.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you scoop both animals up into your arms and head straight for the boy’s table. 

“Excuse me,” you chirp, giving that disgusting man your most sunshiny smile. “I got these prizes here, and I just can’t take them home. They won’t fit in my car. Would you like to have these?” You turn your eyes on the boy for the last question, hopeful. 

He doesn’t look at your face, just darts his eyes to his dad, and then to the unicorn. 

“Tryin’ to run a hustle?” The man asks suspiciously.

“Nope, they’re free! Just hoping you could help me out.”

The boy glances over at Simon and Johnny, and the man says, “Aww, why not. We’ll take the brown one, don’t need no girl stuff.”

“Oh, come on,” you practically flirt, setting both animals on the bench. “Can’t you take both? I’d really appreciate it.”

Yeah, you’re laying on the charm for the old guy. You’re crooking your shoulder up and smiling a little saucy, and you don’t even feel bad about it. You have tits now. 

“Well, alright,” he allows, seeming pleased to have you begging him. 

“Thank you so much.” You finally bend down a little towards the boy, who hasn’t looked at you at all. His brown eyes lift hesitantly to yours. 

“I’m very happy,” you tell him honestly, “that these guys got to go to someone really special.”

You leave before anyone can change their mind. You just turn right around and prepare to explain why you just Robin Hooded Johnny’s special—

Smack, slosh.

Instead of the clear path back that you thought you had, you run right into someone’s body, and frigid wet instantly coats your thighs.

“I’m so sorry!” the girl gasps, as you both stare down at your legs, completely saturated in some cold, fizzy drink. 

“I— it was my fault,” you stammer, brushing droplets off the bottom of your coat. “I’m sorry.”

You’re so frozen in shock that it’s not until Simon materializes next to you that you even think to move away from the puddle. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, “let’s get you home.”

What? Home? 

A breeze runs through the place then, and you shivery violently at how frigid it feels when your leggings are soaked. You do have to go home. That’s the only option. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell Johnny, when Simon’s hand on your elbow urges you to start walking. “I didn’t mean to… for it to be like this.”

“Ehh, it’s alright.” He offers you one of the pretzels he’s carrying. “There’ll be other times.”

No, there won’t. You had this one opportunity to prove to him that you should be in his life, and instead of doing what you needed to do to secure that, you were awkward and you stole his unicorn and you made everyone leave early. This was a disaster.

Fuck, don’t cry. You cannot cry right now. 

You stop up your tear ducts through sheer stubbornness, numbly traversing the park and passing all the things you never got to do. 

You’re a ruiner, you didn’t even get to talk with Simon tonight, just made him stand around everywhere you went and not have any fun. 

Don’t cry. 

By the time you make it back to your car, the only thing keeping the tears at bay is the surface tension on your eyeballs. You’be got patches of frostbite on the front of each thigh, and even your hair feels a little sticky from stray droplets of soda. It’s the most you can do to just mutter an excuse to Simon, and escape into the back seat of your car to strip off your leggings. 

As soon as you’re alone in that quiet, frozen car, the tears come. Silently they stream down your face, bringing with them the rising tide of your own inadequacy. The guys’ voices are a low hum from somewhere outside while you yank your shoelaces undone and fail to come up with a single glimmer of hope. 

There’s nothing you can do. You did your best, and it wasn’t enough. 

One shoe off, you’re forced to stifle a sob with your hands, as you come to the painful realization that you have to say goodbye to Johnny. Not just tonight, but in your heart. You’ve been clinging to that control, the idea that if you just perform everything perfectly, you can decide the outcome of the relationship. 

But that’s false, you know it now. No amount of flawless behavior will make him love you, if it’s not meant to be. 

The side door opens before you've managed to make progress on the second shoe, the task of removing your leggings now utterly cast to the side with the flood of emotion. 

You already know it’s Johnny, even before he scoots himself into the backseat with you and wraps you up in his warm arms. Somehow you can tell even without looking, but you know it for sure when you bury your wet face into his shoulder and get a lungful of his scent. 

“I missed you,” he says.

Next Part

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

Sharing a new interactive Tsukishima Kei x Reader fanfic, where you play as Reader! It works just like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure.

Title: Strawberry Shortcakes

Description: You're going to karasuno, and a fateful meeting with one particular tall blond has changed the course of your life's boat…

Author credit: Kanan

Link to play: https://glimmerfics.com/stories/d885cd2c-strawberry-shortcakes

May I request Aventurine going through a lot after his girlfriend broke up with him out of fear? He barely eats, he can't sleep, and keeps having dreams if her. One night, he goes to her house and, after a long talk (with lots of tears), they get back together.

A/N : Anonnn why are you so mean to him :((( *proceeds to write a 2,5k words long worth of tormenting Aventurine* also this might turn darker than what you were expecting so please do mind that you shouldn't read it if you don't feel comfortable!

Warning (please read) : I gotta be honest this is pretty fucked up, please MDNI, probably graphic, self loathing, self blaming, insecurity, alcohol, drugs, detailed description of self destruct, obsessive behaviour, psychological trauma, manipulation, slight mindbreak, happy ending

You, leaving him in the middle of such a lovely day surely wasn't in his schedule back then. You came to him that afternoon, eyes swollen and your figure trembling like crazy. He had just finished his paper before he stood up abruptly, heading straight to the door of his office where you stood there unmoving. 

.・゜゜・

“What happened to you, dear?! Let's get you some water-” He was about to bring you out of his office before you quickly shook your head. You held the hem of his fancy coat to prevent him from going anywhere. 

“I have something to say,” He stays right in front of you, his Sigonian eyes focusing on your pitiful state. 

“Let's end it here.” Aventurine cannot believe what he had just heard. 

“End what, to be exact? If it's the movie site subscription you've mentioned last week, then we can upgrade it to-” You throw him a troubled expression, as if unsure of yourself but your speech says otherwise. 

“End this relationship. I can't keep up with you, Aventurine. Whether it is a space I needed or if this whole relationship is just not working, it could be both.”

“Wait- you can't be serious! Let's talk this through,” his confident tone breaks in an instant, his lips quivering. He tried to hold your hand in his, but you pulled it away from him. You whispered a small ‘no’ before turning your body to leave him. 

“Was it me?” you feel horrible for him but it's for the best. You continued your step as he followed right behind you like a lost puppy. 

“Please, you can tell me anything! Is it my wrongdoing? Just tell me- I won't get mad, I can fix it! Look, just stay here for a little longer and let's try to figure something out- is it my gambling addiction? Or I could erase more of my upcoming schedule to spend more time with you- wait, no, is it that you're mad at me for always teasing you? Was it the way I rarely came home on time- am I too overbearing? Do you not like anything from me- point it out to me-” Words poured out of his mouth like waterfall, his head feels heavy and his thought is a jumbled mess. Aventurine tried to recall anything in his memory that might make you sick of him. He tried to make a reason within his coherent thoughts to pinpoint on why you might leave him so suddenly. The man had his own concerns towards how he feels like he isn't doing enough for you. After all, you're his everything. He'd do anything, anything to keep you by his side and he meant it. Aventurine trusted you with his whole life so whatever came out of your mouth, he would do it without any hesitation.

The moment you stopped on your tracks, his mouth immediately went shut. 

“It's not you, Aventurine. It's not your fault and I hope you understand. So please… stop following me, okay?” 

.・゜゜・

Since then Aventurine felt like his whole world had been flipped upside down. He stands right where you told him to stop following you, not moving an inch even after you were long out of sight. His buzzing phone inside his coat didn't move him a bit as if he's a mere wax statue. He can't feel his legs. Or feel anything at all at this point. Only when his assistant came to grab him back on track, he reluctantly left his previous spot. 

Calling him a goner was an understatement. 

This man is beyond salvation. The first few days of your absence were still tolerable as his brain is still digesting your departure. His consciousness thinks that you're still around and he can bump on you anytime. That very small habitual thing kept him at bay for such a short time and by the time he realized that you're not coming back for good, he snapped. 

Aventurine tried his best to keep his work on time, traveling here and there, managing things as usual, but it gets too much real quick. It's his job, isn't it? 

Truthfully speaking, his life was such a mess before you came and you've made him human in every possible way. You were so close, he loved you so much, you loved him so much, every day passed with you was always better than before. Ahh… Aventurine needs to get this stinging wound off his chest if he needs to do anything. He's too scared to call you, or to text you, even. He was sure that the sole reason why you left him was himself. He cannot possibly burden you further, no? You've been so so generous to even spare your heart for him. To shower him with your attention you gave him. Even if you were to strip his wealth off him, he wouldn't think it'll be enough for him to repay your deeds for every system hour you waste on him. 

It was always like this. The moment Aventurine comes home to his supposed shared apartment, he frantically rummages through your closet to grab… anything you've left there. He pulled one of your comfy shirts with care to bury his face in it. He's glad that it still has your lingering scent. How long has it been? One week? Two weeks? He can't even count. He tried to cope so hard without you but he doesn't even have the strength to actually reach out to you in fear of pushing you even further from him. If he's being rational and, as you said before, gave you space, surely there are still chances? 

Aventurine plops himself to his bed, not even caring about changing his clothes. He hugs your clothes close to him while he's inhaling it like his life depends on it. Well, his life might be. Your remaining scent was the only thing that can calm him down to actually sleep. At least even with your usual spot beside him vacant, where he cannot examine your peacefully sleeping face anymore, he still has some part of you left with him. 

So what happens when he doesn't have any more things revolving around him? 

Aventurine tried to find any remaining clothes or items you left to might still have your scent in it only to find none. He bit his own lip, hard. His head is getting dizzy. Maybe he still has those homemade jellies you've made inside his fridge! He brings himself to the kitchen only to find none. Ah, right, when did he last eat a decent meal? He didn't know. He has been savoring the remaining things you've cooked inside the fridge. He often came home late so you've managed to make some meals that'll last some time being frozen or kept. He had been only eating off it when he really, really needed it. When will he actually get a taste of your cooking again? Even as a gambler, he wouldn't dare to guess. 

He groaned in frustration at the fact and fell down to his knees. His head is hammering so bad he feels like he needs to take it off him. 

So what will he do if there's nothing left? 

Aventurine stumbles his way to the cabinet he rarely touches with you around him. A full bottle of vodka could probably help him. He chugged the whole thing carelessly, anything to get him off this lonely feeling. His head felt like it was full of knots which kept him from forming any rational solution. He should start to consume those cheap pills that helped him through his early IPC days. Whatever it is inside it, it helped him through things. Maybe if the dosage isn't enough he could use a more potent one. Anything to keep his brain working. He can’t at least lose his job, right?

To those who have seen Aventurine a lot, they will notice how his form deteriorates so quickly. His skin got paler, eyes unfocused, and his seemingly permanent business smile was barely there. No one is there to actually keep an eye on him. Even his oh so silent bodyguards got concerned about him. They’re probably worrying about their paychecks, but it still counts doesn’t it? Man doesn’t even get to sleep, he just continues drinking and drugging himself until he passes out. The amount of time passed while he’s unconscious should be enough to count as sleep hours. It will be bad if this keeps on, but Aventurine couldn’t worry less. As long as his work is done, right? 

Everyday he looks at his one and only pinned chat. Your contact. There has been no single chat coming from you, so he assumes that you really did leave him for good. You don’t even use any single credit inside the banking app connected to his account. Did you delete it off your phone? You probably did. He knows too well that your presence in his life cannot be bought with any amount of credit possible. Aventurine didn’t want to bother you, he really did, but he has been long past his breaking point. He types on your chat, hands trembling so wildly over such simple text.

“Help me”

—

Everything felt like a blur. The moment you agreed to help him, he flew to your place in an instant. Aventurine knocked your door desperately, only for you to open the door shocked at his miserable state. You pulled him to your couch. No words were exchanged until you came back to him with some water and snacks. 

“I need you back,” His voice shakes, hands too unstable to do anything. He can finally see you again. You shushed him, not wanting him to talk before taking some of the drink you gave him. What happened to him?

“I can’t keep this going- please, tell me what I did wrong, I know I’m not the most flattering lover, but if there’s anything I can do to have you back- I’ll do it” his words are frantic, fat tears threatening to fall from his eyes. You feel like a knife just stabbed you right in your heart. Was it you who made him like this? 

You sit beside him, hugging his trembling form. He quickly reciprocates your gesture, his tears finally spilled as he sobbed at the feeling of your warm embrace. You didn’t know it’ll be this bad.

“You did nothing wrong, my dearest… Aeons, what happened to you?”

“Then why did you leave me…?” It was a complicated story, really. Seeing him in such a pitiful state wouldn’t be a proper time to explain everything. You stroked his back to soothe him, opting to offer him some meal to at least let him recover first. He nodded eagerly at the suggestion. It’ll be a cute sight to see him clinging to you, refusing to leave your side while you walk around the house to prepare him some dinner. If he wasn’t this utterly traumatized. 

You managed to let him eat to the fullest and take some shower while changing to one of your oversized shirts. He looked so happy you couldn’t imagine what happened to him during your absence. You took him to your bed, Aventurine is now nice and clean. 

“So now you’ll tell me?” He asked you, looking so innocent in contrast to the state he came here earlier. You sighed, positioning yourself beside him. 

“I would, but seeing your concerning eyebags, I think it’ll be better if you sleep first?” He thought about it for a moment. You sensed his hesitation so you opened your arms for him. 

“I promise I won’t leave you. You trust me, don’t you?” and that sealed the deal, he jumped right to your embrace. It didn’t take him long to sleep in your arms. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The moment he woke up, seventeen hours later, you were sitting next to him while scrolling through your phone. Aventurine couldn’t be more happy. Seeing him now awake and refreshed, you wasted no time to answer his questions. 

Apparently a certain group of IPC executives were giving you misinformation about how he loathed your presence, as if he was forced to keep you beside him, but he was too occupied with work so he couldn’t really do anything about you. They said that it would be better if you initiated the breakup. Your presence had made him less productive, too many unnecessary leaves, and you’re one of the reasons why he always came home late. They said that it was because he doesn’t want to see you so early during nighttime. You wanted to shrug the idea off but they had a point. He always came back late. And they do spend more time with Aventurine than you are. They worked together since you haven’t met him. You wanted to trust Aventurine for not being such a person, but with how you know him, he is great at masking his expression. He can control his appearance as he wishes like an autopilot and you’re sure to think that he could’ve done it to you too. 

Every lie they told you was perfectly tailored to the point you actually believed them. Hence why you looked so bad when you came to his office that afternoon, you were contemplating with yourself as well. The moment you’ve left him, there are no chats from him, which on your side confirms that he is indeed sick of you. You wanted to ask him about how he’s doing but you didn’t want to burden him. You’ve been using his credits for your needs as he asked to, the amount of gifts and dresses he gave you weren’t a laughable amount. You’ve done so little compared to him, and to have people he’s close to shoving the fact that you’ve been nothing but a hassle to him? Not to mention how powerless you are compared to them to actually do something about it. Mind Breaking. 

A long silence enveloped the both of you as you finished your side of the story. It could’ve been prevented by a vocal communication, but he wasn't to blame you for whatever happened. He could feel his rage form at the thought of you, going through such layers of manipulation just for being there beside him. But who is he kidding, of course lots of people would pay a hefty sum of credit to watch his downfall. Now with things clear from your side and his, Aventurine knows where to collect his next debt.

To be honest I am quite surprised that I haven’t receiving any yandere aventurine asks so I might do one myself later <3 If you want to support me please tip me on ko-fi so I can buy noodle packs HEHE, or commission me (I can do any hyv characters! I have other fandoms as well, you can just ask away) and Thank you for reading!

jason todd x reader

warnings — mentions of size/body image, jason being insecure… and also sexy. also this is unedited as per usual. other than that, nothing!

a/n; im gonna bite his bicep like that’s all i have to say. enjoy <3

JASON TODD is huge.

the man is over 6 feet of pure muscle so it doesn’t matter how tall you are, he’s bigger than you and he’s very aware of it.

when he’s red hood, being so large is a tactical advantage. he feels strong and in charge and practically unbeatable.

when he’s jason, he feels uncomfortable and noticeable and that’s the last thing he wants or needs. he doesn’t stop working out, because not only does he need something physical to relieve his stress, but he also can’t afford not being jacked as fuck. how the hell else is he supposed to be as scary as he is as red hood.

instead, he overcompensates by wearing darker colours, slightly oversized hoodies, not always standing up at his full height. it doesn’t do that much, the sheer size of him is a little hard to fully hide, but it makes him feel a little better.

when you come into the picture, things slowly start to change.

every time he hugs you, it’s instantly a mood booster for you because of how safe it feels with his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the world for a few minutes. the way you sigh and melt into the hug has him smiling, a little shyly, as he holds you closer.

whenever you need him to get you something off a high shelf, he happily obliges and loves feeling useful. more than that, he loves how you always thank him by gently running a hand down his chest. “what would i do without you?” you say, sincerely, because you know he needs to hear it sometimes. and when you drop a kiss to his forearm as he sets the object down, he’s suddenly glad that he’s taller than you and he starts standing a little straighter.

the first time you hold up his hand against yours to compare sizes, you find yourself grinning at the difference. jason finds himself thinking about how small your hand is instead of how large his own is. and when you interlock your fingers with his, that’s all he’s focusing on.

sometimes, when your eyes are locked on your phone as you’re walking the busy streets of gotham and letting jason guide you around with your hand in his, he’s having to grab your waist to stop you bumping into someone or something. “careful,” he mutters, but his mind has gone blank and all he’s thinking about is his large hands around your waist and his pulse is racing. he feels like a creep until you turn around to give him a sheepish smile and thank him, placing your hands on his to keep them around your waist. he doesn’t miss the way you’re glancing down and biting your lip.

with jason around, you never have to do any heavy lifting, but of course you’re going to try sometimes. when you buy a cute new coffee table and it arrives when he’s out on patrol, you physically can’t wait to open and buid it. that bit is easy enough, but you find yourself cursing when you realise you stupidly built it on the other side of the room. “uhm, what do you think you’re doing?” jason asks, leaning in the doorway, red hood helmet in between his arm. you’re breathing heavily, arms pinned awkwardly at your sides as you were trying a new approach of throwing your body weight against the table to shift it. you slump, looking up at him with a pout.

“it’s heavier than i thought,” you admit. jason crosses the living room in two giant strides.

“you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he says, lifting the entire thing with both hands on either side and effortlessly placing it in front of the couch. he looks at you for approval in case you want it elsewhere and finds that you’re staring at him, slack jawed. he frowns, crossing his arms over, vigilante suit still on. “what…?”

“that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say, shamelessly. he grins, shaking his head at the way you’re completely serious, but the blush on his cheeks gives him away. “no, seriously, you need to run before i pounce on you.”

his favourite thing is your habit of falling asleep on him when you’re watching tv and he often needs to pick you up to take you to bed. sometimes, you start to stir, halfway to the bedroom and you sleepily blink up at him before wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “you’re so strong,” you mumble against his shoulder, your voice soft with drowsiness. jason’s heart clenches.

jason starts standing at his full height just so he can see you craning your neck to look at him, giving him the excuse to lift you up onto the counter which often results in you wrapping your legs around his waist and engaging a make out session.

he starts to wear t-shirts instead of large hoodies when he goes to the gym, just so he can hear you wolf whistle as he walks to the door, running over to kiss him goodbye and giving his biceps a squeeze.

day by day, jason finds himself more comfortable with just being him. and he’s even happier than he gets to be himself with you.

a/n cont.; the red hood mask stays ON during sex