pichutan

20:51

jason todd x reader

summary:

"cause it's 12:51 and i thought my feelings were gone but im lying on my bed thinking of you again"

20:51

jason todd x reader

summary:

"cause it's 12:51 and i thought my feelings were gone but im lying on my bed thinking of you again"

꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ drunk!jason todd x fem!reader, fluff, talks of pregnancies, art by ciricearts

“Sweetheart, we’re gonna have a baby?” he mumbles, lifting your shirt to press messy kisses up your stomach. You’re not sure where he got this idea from. The two of you have never talked about kids, mostly because you’ve been afraid to bring it up.

You learned early on that the future was something you didn’t mention around him. Every time you made an offhand comment about a ring, or how cute babies were, you’d see his shoulders tense, his throat bobbing.

Now, at his words, your heart beats wildly in your chest. “Uh…”

“I hope she has your eyes and your nose and your pretty smile,” he slurs.

“Jay, what are you—”

He cuts you off when his nose brushes your stomach softly. “Our baby,” he adds. 

When he looks up at you, his blue eyes are glassy, cheeks dusted in pink.

You can’t bring yourself to shatter the moment. Especially not when he’s looking at you like that.

“That’s…nice, honey,” you hum, fingers threading through his black curls, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

He sighs like a puppy. “You feel nicer.”

Your lips curve up at that. "Come on, let's get you to bed," you whisper as you try to pull him up.

But the man's too stubborn. He stays rooted and grunts in disapproval. 

"Not done talkin' to her," he tells you, arms wrapping around your hips.

“her?” you repeat softly. “How do you know it’s a her?”

"Father's intuition," he says like it should be obvious. 

You laugh and he pouts when he feels your shoulders shaking. "You really want a baby?" you ask him. 

He tilts his head. And he's never looked so unguarded before. 

"Wanna give you everything." 

Maybe in the morning you'll find the courage to ask him again. But for now, your expression softens. You don't know what to say, so you kneel with him and throw your arms around his neck. He smells like gunpowder and leather, and this time a tang of alcohol clings to him. 

he’s always smelled like home.

"Princess?" he whispers.

"Yeah?

"what're we naming her?" 

Instead of replying, you just hug him tighter.

masterlist

Well, hate was a strong word, but in the moment it felt accurate to what he felt towards the creature.

The creature that was currently in HIS spot. Again.

The feline seemed to always know just when he ached to bed near you, to feel your embrace and want to never let go. It was like it had a second sense for it.

The first occurrence was the other week. Work had been really demanding of you, taking up nearly your entire day. For once Jason had decided to take a break from Red Hood so that he could take care of you instead. He deep cleaned the house, began on a candle-lit dinner, prepared a nice hot bath to soothe your surely aching muscles, all of the works. 

Yet, once you got home, instead of being able to greet you with a melting kiss, that damn cat instantly ran up and took your attention. Your tired, distant eyes lit up at the sight of your beloved (NOT Jason fyi…) and you instantly began cooing. You picked up the cat who seemed to somehow be smirking in Jason’s general direction and focussed all your attention on it. You didn’t even glance in his vicinity, instead just walking to the couch to plop down and snuggle all your exhaustion into the feline.

The second time was only a few days ago. You and Jason were having your annual movie night and he was feeling extra clingy that day. It had been a long day for him and he was simply dying to feel your hands in his hair. So, he began his coordinated attack. A hand hold here. An arm wrapped around your shoulders there. Even a nose nuzzle for crying out loud! However, just when he was about to take his rightful place on your lap, the furry demon took its chance to intercept him and take his spot. 

And of course, with how infatuated you were with the thing, you immediately forgot about your lover, your boyfriend, your soulmate right next to you. As if he was nothing but a spec of dirt in the presence of your child.

And finally to now, the last straw.

Patrol was a bitch. A horrible, hideous bitch. Bruises felt as if they marked every part of his being, he got a particularly nasty cut on his temple that took forever to deal with, and he had numerous tears all along his uniform that he dreaded having to fix. All he wanted to do was change into his pajamas and fall into bed with you. That’s all he wanted, not too hard of an ask right?

Wrong.

Dead wrong.

Massively wrong.

There, right in his rightful place beside you where you were curled up, lay his greatest foe.

Puursephone.

God he hated that name, but you just couldn’t help yourself when you first got the damned thing.

She laid sound asleep with you curled up all around her, your hand resting on her chubby side from when you were petting her before sleep took you away. The creature was snuggled up below your chin, nuzzling it in whatever hellborn dreams it must have been having. 

Jason could do nothing but stare, for he’s played these games before. If he tried to remove the beast from your grip you would wake up whining, and he couldn’t have that. Yet, he refused to share a bed with the competition.

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY you love him, but it wasn’t enough.

WORD COUNT 925

WARNINGS angst, hurt/no comfort, maybe ooc but yolo

A/N i also love writing angst, it’s so fun. this was inspired by some lyrics of the cure from olivia rodrigo’s new album ;)

Jason was never the same.

He wasn’t that same happy kid who was failed by everyone he’s ever known. Not the same kid who looked up to his big brother and hoped to be as cool as him one day. Not the same kid who kicked evils in the butt in a costume. Because that kid was dead.

Now was a man, or a hollow shell of one.

A man who had so much love that had turned into anger and hatred. A man who didn’t know who he was anymore. A man who looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize his own face. Not with the scars. Those were practically the only thing he saw.

He saw someone who died by the Joker’s hands. The same criminal that was running free. The same criminal he couldn’t bring himself to kill.

But then he met you.

You worked at the library he often visited because books were the only thing grounding him. For a while reading brought him the stability he needed in order not to lose his shit. And for a while you were as well.

Jason saw you and couldn’t look away. Not that he wanted to. He just couldn’t help but stop and admire how beautiful you looked while doing your job. The little things he noticed about you from across the room.

It killed him since he figured he was out of your league. So he settled for watching you from a safe distance. Just until he got the courage to talk to you. Or at the very least tell him off because he was being such a creep.

But to his surprise, you asked him out. You noticed his stare a million times. He wasn’t as discreet as he thought he was.

By the fourth date, you officially became girlfriend and boyfriend. Jason figured having your love would heal him. That he’d feel no more pain. No more suffering. No more losing his sanity.

Over a matter of months you were at his apartment more than your own. You didn’t mind, you loved being there with him. He made you food, cuddled and pretended like he didn’t want to even though he did, laugh at your terrible jokes, even reading his favorite book to you.

The year mark hit and you told Jason you loved him. He knew it for a while but hearing you say it out loud didn’t relieve him like he thought it would.

It only made the hole in his heart contort into something ugly. But he pushed that away. Because you loved him and that was all the mattered…right?

Nights were spent curled up in each other’s arms. You barely had to say anything because the silence made up for it. You thought that was a good thing.

While you were loving him out loud, he was internally spiraling.

If you loved him as much as you said you did, why is he feeling this way? Why isn’t your love curing his pain? Why is he still feeling pain? Why aren’t you helping? Why isn’t your love enough?

Everything went downhill after that.

You were on your way to his apartment, packing a bag because you planned to stay a few days when you got a text from Jason.

Don’t bother coming.

That confused you more than anything. You texted him back only for him to leave you on read. So you called him only for the phone to go straight to voicemail.

You texted and called him before going over to his apartment. You knocked on the door for what it felt like hours until he opened it, just a crack. He refused to let you in and that pulled at your heartstrings.

You asked him about the text. Jason looked at you long and raw before slowly closing the door. You panicked and immediately started knocking and calling out to him again.

He didn’t answer you.

Days passed and you decided to give him some space. Maybe that’s what he needed. You’ve been spending some time very close and it was time for some distance. You expected that.

What you didn’t expect was Jason showing up to your apartment two weeks later and arguing with you. You were so confused because he kept talking about a cure and your love for him.

“You were supposed to be the cure.”

“You were supposed to heal me!”

“Why’s your love not enough?!”

You questioned it but he refused to answer them. You begged and pleaded for him to tell you something, anything. You loved him more than anything and seeing him like that was crushing your heart.

“What are you talking about?!”

But he wouldn’t open up to you. You assumed didn’t trust you. But the truth was that he didn’t trust himself. Not when was damaged goods.

By the end of the argument you both were in tears. No longer a couple. No longer lovers. Just two people not really understanding each other.

You sank to the floor, crying your heart out. You didn’t understand, not entirely why the love of your life broke your heart.

The worst part was that you didn’t even care about your pain. You just wanted to know what was hurting him so much he questioned his love for you. And now you’ll never find that out.

Jason watched you, torn between wanting to console you and wanting to walk away. But he couldn’t make his feet move towards you so he left entirely.

He had now realized you’d never be the cure.

That there was no cure.

than anyone in the fucking world.”

He'd mutter under his breath, two hands wrapped around the skinny twig of a willow tree prepared to snap it in two. He sounded half-joking as he spoke the wish, embarrassed that he's desperate enough to try wishing for your love instead of asking you out like a normal person.

But if there was even a slight chance it would work, he'd do it. He'd do anything for you.

A snap. The 'one wish willow' broke apart in his hands. Two smaller pieces now in his grasp promising him that his wish would come true.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────────────

jason todd x reader fluff, jason’s a loverboy through and through, suggestive and yeah might be straight ass tho but here it is

Jason Todd was contemplating his life choices.

He was sitting in the middle of his living room on a kitchen chair with a towel wrapped around his shoulders to catch the water droplets falling from his dripping wet hair and he was contemplating his life choices.

Would he have chosen not to have met you? No, never any doubt about that. He can barely breathe without you.

But in this moment he was questioning exactly how much he loved you.

Or rather vice versa since you were the one holding a pair of scissors to his face.

“Jay I’m telling you, I watched a video online I know how to do it!” You said again, voice bordering on whiny because of how long you’ve been trying to convince him.

He had been complaining about his hair getting longer for weeks now. Weeks.

𝜗ৎ “𝓟𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.”

part one here

Summary: Jason’s on a sex ban— or quite literally, a complete touch ban!

warnings: whiny, pathetic Jason.

Jason Todd was an absolute idiot, there was no denying that. But he was a very desperate idiot. And he was willing to do anything if it meant you’d touch him again. You see, you’d put him on a complete sex/touch ban for three entire weeks, and well? Jason was not taking it well.

By day twelve of the three-week sentence, the fearsome Red Hood had effectively ceased to exist. In his place was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-fifteen-pound disaster who was entirely losing his grip on reality.

Jason didn’t do things by halves. When he was a crime lord, he took over the East End. When he was an Outlaw, he traveled through space and time. And when he was put on a strict ban by the only person who held his entire heart in her hands, he turned into this absolute menace of compliance.

The apartment had never been cleaner. It was, quite frankly, terrifying.

When you walked through the front door after an exhausting shift, you didn't just smell the familiar scent of Gotham rain and Jason’s expensive cologne. You smelled lemon verbena. You smelled freshly bleached tile

You stepped into the kitchen and paused. The countertops were sparkling so intensely they practically caught the light. Every single dish was not only washed, dried, and put away, but the spice rack had been meticulously alphabetized. Even the labels on the canned goods were facing perfectly forward.

And there, standing by the stove, was Jason.

He was wearing a pair of dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a tight, sleeveless black compression shirt that showed off every single rigid muscle, and scar, across his broad back. And the sight normally should’ve been enough for you to jump onto him, He was currently plate-stacking three different Tupperware containers of custom-marinated chicken breasts, a batch of freshly roasted vegetables, and a pot of handmade gnocchi.

The moment the lock clicked, Jason didn’t just look up. His entire body snapped to attention. His dark eyes locked onto yours with this frantic, high-alert energy that reminded you of a stray puppy.

He didn't break the rules. His large, heavily calloused hands clamped firmly onto the edge of the kitchen island to physically anchor himself in place, but his broad shoulders slouched instantly into a pathetic, pleading posture.

"Hey," he said. His voice was incredibly rough, a deep, gravelly rumble that sounded completely worn out, like he hadn't slept in a week— which he hasn’t. How could he without your hugs and kisses?. "I made dinner. I made the gnocchi from scratch. The way your grandma does it, with the potato-to-flour ratio you like. And I prepped your lunches for the next four days."

You set your bag down, looking at the sheer volume of food, then at the pristine kitchen. "Jason... did you scrub the baseboards?"

"Yes," he blurted out, shifting his weight from one heavy foot to the other, his eyes tracking your every movement with an agonizing level of pining. "And I ran the vacuum over the carpet three times to get the lines perfectly straight. And I picked up Lily’s toys and sanitized every single block with baby-safe wipes so she doesn't ingest any rogue bacteria. I did it all."

"Wow," you murmured, leaning against the counter. "You've been busy."

"I'm losing my mind," Jason confessed, his voice dropping into a soft, intensely whiny pitch that would have shocked anyone who had ever seen him pull a trigger. He let go of the counter, taking one agonizingly slow step toward you, but stopping exactly two feet away to respect the boundary. He looked down at you from under his dark lashes, his jaw tight, his white streak of hair falling messily across his forehead. "Babe. Sweetheart. Light of my life. Look at me. I am literally vibrating. I haven't slept in forty-eight hours because every time I close my eyes, I just think about how I'm not allowed to hold you."

"It's only been twelve days, Jay," you teased, crossing your arms and fighting the massive smirk tugging at your lips.

"Twelve days is two hundred and eighty-eight hours!" Jason groaned, a loud, muffled sound of pure misery escaping his throat as he dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Do you know what I did last night? On patrol? I didn't even break any noses. A guy tried to mug a tourist in an alley, and instead of hurting him I settled on throwing him into a dumpster. I'm broken. You've broken the Red Hood."

He dropped his gaze back to you, his chest rising and falling in a heavy, desperate exhale. He slowly sunk downward, dropping his massive, muscular frame right onto his knees on your kitchen tile. He looked up at you from the floor, his hands resting on his own thighs, completely and utterly humbled.

"Please," Jason pleaded, his gravelly voice cracking slightly as he looked up at you with wide, desperate eyes. "Look at me. I'm on my knees. I'm saying the words. I'll be a good boy, sweetheart. I swear to God, I'll be the best boy you’ve ever had. I’ll never let Roy inside a three-block radius of this building again. I’ll make him sign a legal waiver. I’ll personally rewrite Lily’s vocabulary list. I will literally do anything.”

You looked down at him, your heart melting just a little bit at the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of Gotham’s most dangerous vigilante begging for his life on your kitchen floor.

"Are you begging, Jason Todd?" you murmured, stepping half an inch closer.

"Yes! Yes, I am absolutely begging, I have zero shame left," he whispered frantically, his dark eyes instantly tracking your movement, glowing with a sudden, fierce spark of hope. He leaned forward slightly, though he kept his hands firmly on his knees. "I don't even need the whole thing. Just a deal. Let me negotiate. A partial payout. Five minutes of cuddles on the couch. You don't even have to move. I will just lie there like a giant, silent weighted blanket. I won't use my hands. I'll tuck them under my chest. Just let me smell your hair, babe. Please."

"Just cuddles?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A kiss," he corrected instantly, his voice taking on a thick, desperate edge as he looked at your lips. "One kiss. Short. Sweet. Clean. Well, maybe not entirely clean, but just *something*. My lips are falling off, sweetheart. They’re dying. I'm a dying man."

You let out a soft laugh, finally breaking your resolve. The sight of him on his knees, completely devoted, utterly whiny, and entirely yours was too much to resist. You reached out, your fingers gently sliding into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

Jason practically shuddered at the touch, a low, ragged sigh breaking from his chest as he immediately leaned his face into your palm, his eyes closing in pure, unadulterated relief.

"Alright," you whispered, running your thumb over his sharp jawline. "The ban is suspended. Just for tonight."

Jason didn't even wait for you to finish the sentence. He surged up from the floor, his large, powerful arms instantly wrapping around your waist and lifting you completely off your feet. He pulled you flush against his broad chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a deep, shaky inhale.

"Oh, thank God," he mumbled against your skin

He didn't waste a second moving you to the living room, collapsing onto the couch and pulling you down on top of him. He was a man possessed by pure, desperate compliance, his massive frame sinking deep into the cushions until he was completely flat on his back, using his own chest as a platform for you.

"Rules," he breathed out, his voice a rough, scraped-raw whisper against your hair. He immediately tucked both of his massive, scarred hands flat underneath his own chest, pinning them between his body and the sofa cushions. He looked up at you from the pillows, his jaw open slightly, his eyes wide and completely glazed over with absolute devotion. "Look. Hands are away. I’m not moving 'em. See? Good boy."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled out of you, leaning your weight fully against his chest. Even stripped of his weapons and armor, Jason was a solid wall of muscle, but right now, he felt completely pliable beneath you, his entire body relaxing into a soft, heavy puddle the second your warmth pressed into him.

"Very good boy, Jay," you murmured, tracing a slow line down his cheekbone.

Jason practically whimpered at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his face aggressively into your palm, chasing the friction of your skin like a man dying of thirst. "More," he pleaded, his voice cracking, entirely unbothered by how pathetic he sounded. "Babe, please. Just keep doing that. Left side of my jaw. Right there. Oh, God."

You smiled, leaning down slowly until your lips were just a fraction of an inch away from his. You could feel the frantic, heavy thump of his heart hammering against your ribs, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The fearsome Red Hood was completely paralyzed under your gaze, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he waited for permission.

"Can I?" he whispered, his dark eyes snapping open, staring at your mouth with a hunger that was almost frightening, yet he didn't move a single muscle to take it. "Please, sweetheart. Just a little bit. I’ve been so good for you."

"Go ahead, Jay."

The second the words left your mouth, Jason didn't lunge—he just reached up with his face, his lips meeting yours with a soft, trembling reverence that completely dismantled the tough-guy persona. It was a deep, heavy, agonizingly slow kiss, full of the built-up tension of the last twelve days. He drank you in like oxygen, a low, needy vibration rumbling deep in his chest as his lips parted against yours, begging for more without his hands ever leaving their pinned position beneath him.

Hunhbknhjnkk oh my goodness this man he’s so fine wtf

Like college au and like reader is like swamped with work and is so stressed and Jason is just there, not helping with their assignments cuz there’s a certain way they want their assignments done and they’re kind of ocd so she’s always cleaning something before doing their assignments. And when their soing their assignments she looks absolutely exhausted. And when he’s talking to em, they give the most shortest and unenthusiastic answers, when they are usually really hyper. And Jason doesn’t like that at all. But they can’t not do it. But Jason forces em to stop? You can kind of tweak with how you want this to end but I want it to be fluffy and cute and caring and intimate, cuz that’s how I feel rn💔💔

Study Break

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason knew something was wrong when you didn't greet him at the door.

Normally, you'd be there the moment you heard his key in the lock—bouncing on your toes, talking a mile a minute about your day, your classes, the weird thing your professor said, the drama in your study group. You were sunshine personified, his complete opposite, and he loved that about you.

But today, the apartment was silent except for the sound of frantic typing coming from the living room.

He found you at the coffee table, surrounded by textbooks, laptop open, three different colored highlighters scattered across your notes. Your hair was in a messy bun, and you were wearing the same hoodie you'd had on when he left this morning.

"Hey, baby," he said, dropping his backpack by the couch.

"Mm," you hummed, not looking up from your screen.

Jason frowned. You usually at least looked at him. "You eat today?"

"Mhm."

"That's not actually an answer."

"Had a granola bar."

"That was seven hours ago when I left for class."

"Then I ate." Your fingers never stopped typing, your eyes never left the screen.

Jason moved around the coffee table to get a better look at you. There were dark circles under your eyes. Your leg was bouncing—that anxious tic you got when you were stressed. And your desk...

"Did you reorganize your textbooks again?"

"They weren't in the right order."

"You reorganized them yesterday."

"They still weren't right." Your voice was flat, exhausted. So different from your usual animated rambling.

Jason crouched down beside you, trying to catch your eye. "How long have you been working?"

"Since you left."

"Babe, that's seven hours."

"I have three papers due this week. Two exams. A group presentation that my group hasn't done anything for so I'm basically doing it alone." Your typing got more aggressive. "And I can't—the citations aren't formatting right and I need to—"

"Okay, okay." Jason gently closed your laptop.

Your head snapped up, and for the first time since he'd gotten home, you actually looked at him. "Jason, I need to—"

"Take a break."

"I can't."

"You can. You will." He nodded toward the kitchen. "When's the last time you had actual food? Not a granola bar. Real food."

"I don't have time—"

"That's not what I asked."

You slumped back against the couch, and he could see how exhausted you were. "Yesterday? Maybe? I don't remember."

Jason's chest tightened. "Baby..."

"I know. I know I need to eat and sleep and take care of myself, but I can't." Your voice cracked slightly. "I have too much to do and if I stop I'll fall behind and I can't fall behind because my scholarship requires a 3.5 and I'm barely maintaining it and—"

"Hey." Jason moved to sit beside you, pulling you against his chest. "Breathe. Just breathe for a second."

You tried. He could feel you trying to take a deep breath, but it came out shaky and uneven.

"I can't stop," you whispered. "I have too much to do."

"I know. But you're running on empty right now. You're not going to do good work like this."

"I don't have a choice—"

"Yeah, you do. You can take a break. Eat something. Rest for an hour. Then come back to it with a clearer head."

"But—"

"No buts." Jason pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm not letting you destroy yourself over schoolwork."

You were quiet for a moment, and Jason could practically hear you trying to argue with his logic. Finally, you mumbled, "The apartment's a mess. I need to clean before I can focus."

Jason looked around. The apartment was spotless. You'd clearly been stress-cleaning again—everything was organized, dusted, perfectly arranged.

"Babe, the apartment is immaculate."

"The books aren't alphabetized."

"They don't need to be alphabetized."

"Yes they do. I can't focus if they're not—"

"That's the anxiety talking." Jason tilted your chin up so you had to look at him. "I know you want everything perfect. I know you need things organized a certain way. But right now, you need to take care of yourself more than you need alphabetized books."

Your eyes were getting watery. "I'm so tired, Jay."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

"But I can't stop. If I stop, I'll fall behind. If I fall behind, I'll fail. If I fail—"

"You're not going to fail. You're one of the smartest people I know." He brushed a strand of hair from your face. "But you're also human. And humans need food and rest and breaks."

"I don't have time for breaks—"

"You're taking one anyway." Jason stood up, holding out his hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Kitchen. You're eating. Then you're taking a nap."

"Jason, I can't—"

"Yeah, you can. And you will. Because I'm not watching you run yourself into the ground." His voice was firm but gentle. "You take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you for a bit."

You stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment. Then, finally, you took it.

Jason pulled you to your feet and immediately noticed how unsteady you were. When's the last time you'd slept? Really slept, not just passed out at your desk for an hour?

In the kitchen, he guided you to sit at the small table while he rummaged through the fridge.

"I'm making you an actual meal," he said. "And you're going to eat it. All of it."

"I'm not that hungry—"

"Your stomach literally just growled."

You slumped in your chair, watching him move around the kitchen. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

"You have your own work—"

"Which can wait. You're more important."

He could feel you watching him as he pulled out ingredients for grilled cheese and tomato soup—comfort food, easy on a stressed stomach, and your favorite when you were overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly.

Jason turned to look at you. "For what?"

"For being like this. For not being fun right now. For—" You gestured vaguely at yourself. "—whatever this is."

"Baby, no." Jason left the food and came to crouch in front of you, taking your hands. "You don't have to apologize for being stressed. You don't have to apologize for being human."

"But you came home and I didn't even say hi. I just sat there like a zombie—"

"Because you're exhausted and overwhelmed. That's not something to apologize for." He squeezed your hands. "I love you when you're bouncing around talking about everything. And I love you when you're stressed and tired and can barely form sentences. You don't have to perform for me."

Your lip was trembling. "I just feel like I'm failing at everything. School, keeping the apartment clean, being a good girlfriend—"

"You're not failing at anything. You're dealing with an unreasonable workload while trying to maintain impossible standards for yourself. That's different."

"But—"

"No buts. You're allowed to struggle. You're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to not have everything together all the time." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Now sit there and let me take care of you."

He went back to making food, and you sat quietly, watching him. After a moment, you said, "The books really should be alphabetized though."

"They're fine how they are."

"But they'd be better if—"

"Sweetheart, I love you, but you're not alphabetizing books right now. You're eating and resting. The books will still be there tomorrow."

You made a small sound of distress, and Jason turned to see you picking at your cuticles—another anxiety tell.

"Hey." He came back over, gently taking your hands to stop you from hurting yourself. "Talk to me. What's really going on? This is more than just a busy week."

You were quiet for a long moment. Then, quietly: "I'm scared I'm not good enough. That I'm going to fail and lose my scholarship and have to drop out and then what was the point of any of this?"

"Baby—"

"And I know that sounds dramatic, but I can't shake the feeling that if I just work hard enough, if I just stay organized enough, if I just do everything perfectly, then I'll be okay. But there's always more to do. Always something else to clean or organize or study. And I'm so tired but I can't stop because if I stop—"

Her voice broke, and Jason pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

"You don't have to be perfect," he said into her hair. "You don't have to do everything alone. And you don't have to earn the right to take care of yourself."

"But—"

"No. Listen to me." He pulled back enough to look at her. "You're brilliant. You're hardworking. You're going to graduate and do amazing things. But none of that matters if you burn out before you get there. You need to take care of yourself. Not as a reward for finishing your work. Not after you've earned it. Just because you're a person who deserves care."

You were crying now, silently, tears streaming down your face. "I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to turn off the part of my brain that says I need to keep working."

"That's okay. That's what I'm here for. To remind you that it's okay to rest. To help you take breaks when you can't do it yourself." He wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You don't have to do this alone anymore."

"What if I fail?"

"You won't. But even if you did—which you won't—you'd still be the same amazing person you are right now. Your worth isn't determined by your GPA."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. "I'm really tired, Jay."

"I know, baby. I know." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Eat something. Then we're getting you to bed."

"But my papers—"

"Will still be there after you sleep. I promise."

The sandwich and soup were ready a few minutes later. Jason sat across from you, watching to make sure you actually ate. You picked at it at first, but once you started, you seemed to realize how hungry you actually were.

"Better?" He asked when you'd finished about half.

"Yeah," you admitted. "I didn't realize how hungry I was."

"That's because you've been running on anxiety and caffeine. Which, by the way, how much coffee have you had today?"

You looked away. "...I don't want to answer that."

"That many, huh?"

"I needed to stay focused—"

"Babe, I love you, but you're cut off. No more coffee today."

"Jason—"

"Nope. You're going to eat, you're going to hydrate with actual water, and then you're going to sleep. Those are your only three tasks for the rest of the evening."

"But my homework—"

"Is not more important than your health." He reached across the table to take your hand. "I know it feels urgent. I know your brain is screaming at you to keep working. But you're not going to produce good work in the state you're in. You need rest."

You squeezed his hand. "Will you stay with me? While I sleep?"

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere."

After you finished eating, Jason guided you to the bedroom. You tried to protest one more time—"I really should just finish one more page"—but he was having none of it.

"Nope. Bed. Now."

"You're very bossy when you're in caretaker mode."

"And you're very stubborn when you're in self-destruction mode. We all have our flaws." But he was smiling as he said it.

You changed into comfortable pajamas while Jason pulled back the covers. When you climbed into bed, he slid in behind you, pulling you against his chest.

"I can feel you thinking," he murmured after a moment.

"I'm thinking about citations."

"Stop thinking about citations."

"I can't. They're formatted wrong and I need to—"

Jason gently turned you to face him. "Hey. Look at me."

You met his eyes, and he could see the exhaustion there, the anxiety, the stress.

"I know your brain won't shut off. I know you're thinking about everything you have to do. But right now, in this moment, you don't have to do anything except rest." He brushed his fingers through your hair, gentle and soothing. "I've got you. You're safe. You can let go for a bit."

"What if I can't fall asleep?"

"Then I'll stay here with you until you do. However long that takes."

"You have your own work—"

"Which can wait. You're my priority right now."

You buried your face in his chest. "I don't deserve you."

"Yeah, you do. You deserve someone who takes care of you when you forget to take care of yourself. You deserve someone who sees you struggling and doesn't let you do it alone." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "You deserve rest, sweetheart. Let yourself have it."

You were quiet for a moment, and then Jason felt you relax slightly against him.

"Thank you," you whispered.

"Always."

He kept running his fingers through your hair, a steady, soothing rhythm. Your breathing was starting to even out, your body finally releasing some of the tension you'd been carrying.

"Jay?" Your voice was sleepy now.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can you... can you tell me something? Just so my brain has something to focus on besides work?"

"What do you want to hear?"

"Anything. Just talk to me."

So Jason did. He told you about his day, about the ridiculous argument two students had in his literature class, about the new coffee shop that opened near campus that he wanted to take you to. He told you about the book he was reading, about his plans for the weekend, about how Alfred had called to check in and sent his love.

He talked until your breathing deepened, until your body went fully slack against his, until he was sure you were asleep.

Even then, he stayed, one arm wrapped around you, the other hand still gently stroking your hair.

He'd stay as long as you needed. Would cancel his own plans, postpone his own work, do whatever it took to make sure you got the rest you needed.

Because you took care of everyone else. You worked yourself to exhaustion trying to be perfect, trying to meet every expectation, trying to prove you were worth the space you took up.

The least he could do was take care of you in return.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand—probably a reminder about an assignment. Jason reached over and silenced it, setting it face down.

The work would still be there tomorrow. But right now, you needed this. Needed to rest, to recharge, to let someone else carry the weight for a while.

And Jason would carry it gladly.

For as long as you needed.

You slept for four hours.

When you woke up, it was dark outside, and Jason was still there, scrolling through his phone with one hand while the other stayed wrapped around you.

"Hey," he said softly when he felt you stir. "How are you feeling?"

You took inventory. Your head didn't hurt anymore. The anxiety that had been a constant knot in your chest had loosened slightly. You felt... better. Not perfect, but better.

"Less like death," you admitted.

"That's an improvement." He set his phone aside, giving you his full attention. "Hungry?"

"A little."

"I'll make you something. But first—" He cupped your face gently. "—how's your brain? Still racing?"

You thought about it. The urgent panic had faded. You could still feel the stress lurking at the edges, but it wasn't overwhelming anymore.

"Better," you said. "Still stressed, but... manageable."

"Good. That's good." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You needed that rest."

"I know. I just—it's hard to let myself stop."

"I know, baby. But you did it. You rested. And the world didn't end. Your assignments are still there, but so are you. And you're in a better state to actually tackle them now."

You realized he was right. The fog that had been clouding your brain for days had lifted slightly. You could think more clearly, could actually envision a path forward instead of just panicking.

"Thank you," you said. "For making me stop. For taking care of me."

"Always. That's what I'm here for." He smiled. "Well, that and to be your extremely handsome boyfriend."

Despite everything, you laughed. It felt good to laugh. "Extremely handsome, huh?"

"Devastatingly so. It's a burden I bear."

You kissed him, soft and grateful and full of love. When you pulled back, you were both smiling.

"Come on," Jason said, getting up and pulling you with him. "Let's get some real food in you. And then, if you're feeling up to it, we can work on your assignments together. I'll keep you company, make sure you take breaks, force-feed you snacks."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. Besides, I already finished my work while you were sleeping. Might as well put my free time to good use keeping my girlfriend from self-destructing."

"You're too good to me."

"Nah. You just deserve to be taken care of." He pulled you into the kitchen, keeping your hand in his. "And lucky for you, I'm extremely good at the whole caretaking thing."

"My hero," you said, but you meant it.

Because he was. Not because he saved you from villains or danger, but because he saved you from yourself. From the voice in your head that said you had to be perfect, had to keep working, had to earn basic care and rest.

Jason reminded you that you were enough. Just as you were. Stressed, tired, imperfect, and all.

And that was worth more than any A on any assignment.

"I love you," you said.

Jason turned, pulling you into his arms. "I love you too. Even when you're a stressed-out mess who reorganizes books at 3 AM."

"It was one time—"

"It was three times."

"Okay, three times. But in my defense, they really needed to be organized by genre and then by author—"

"You're lucky you're cute."

You buried your face in his chest, smiling. "I really am lucky. To have you."

"We're both lucky," Jason corrected. "Now come on. Food first, then we'll tackle your homework together. And I promise, I'll make sure you take breaks."

"And if I forget?"

"Then I'll remind you. As many times as it takes."

And he did.

Over the next few hours, as you worked on your assignments, Jason kept his promise. He brought you snacks. Made you stand up and stretch every hour. Forced you to take a real dinner break. Distracted you with stupid jokes when you got too in your head.

And when you started spiraling again—worrying about formatting, about citations, about whether your arguments were strong enough—he was there to ground you.

"Hey. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be done."

"But—"

"No buts. You're doing great. Your work is good. And even if it wasn't, you're still worth more than your GPA."

By midnight, you'd finished two of your three papers. The third could wait until tomorrow. You were tired, but it was a good tired. The kind that came from actual productivity instead of anxiety-fueled panic.

"Bed?" Jason suggested.

"Bed," you agreed.

This time, when you climbed under the covers, you fell asleep almost immediately. Safe, cared for, and loved.

And Jason stayed right there beside you, keeping watch, ready to catch you if you started to fall again.

Because that's what love was.

Not just the big gestures or the grand declarations.

But the quiet moments. The gentle reminders. The steady presence that said: I've got you. You don't have to do this alone.

And you didn't.

🍷 brother's best friend ☆⋆

⤷ part of my 𝟐𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓

.⋆♱ EPITAPH sleepover in the wayne manor with a side quest of making out with your secrret boyfriend. 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐒𝐕𝐏

.⋆♱ CAUTIONS NO SMUT but suggestive make out sesh

.⋆♱ COFFIN CONTENTS forbidden romance—bother’s best friend trope, to me this isn’t age gap but technically would be cause dick is older and if she’s dick’s friend—anyway, reader bakes? idk man. make out against a door (second time i’m writing one LOL)

.⋆♱ A STARR'S WHISPERS um ive never baked like ever im making this up as i go LMAO anyway hes so fine

“Dickhead, where’s the—Oh. Hi.”

Jason’s voice softens, levels out to conversational tone when the image of you pops up onto his retinas instead of his older brother, walking and working around the Wayne kitchen like it belonged to you.

There are only three people who are ever allowed into the Wayne Manor kitchen. Alfred, obviously, the one that ran the place like the Navy. After too many blotched cooking ‘experiences’ and ‘travesties’, almost everyone else was banned from in there for anything other than basic activities.

Jason should not have scars!

and look i get it, people think the look is cool, and there is something to be said about treating someone like a monster BECAUSE of obvious scarring, arguably it falls in the category of prettiness is equal to goodness and therefore godliness (especially in the american context), BUT the whole point of jason's story is ERASURE.

his legacy, his story, his pain, his traumas, all of it is GONE. in the eyes of other people, jason is virtually an irrational blank slate who is supposed to be filled in by the people around him, he is what they SAY he is. everyone has been allowed to dictate how they view him, how his story was told, what happened to him in that warehouse -- ALL. OF. IT.

jason does not OWN a single part of his own trauma. it is someone else's, it's dick's, it's bruce's, it's joker's shining moment -- it's not jason's.

he doesn't have the scars, or twisted limbs, or the physical disability that would come with his torture. all he has is the memory of it, what he KNOWS happened and no proof other than his own words, and that's why he keeps YELLING about it. why he keeps DEMANDING to be heard because they cant SEE what happened to him.

he is aware he doesn't look so much like the kid that died, but that's HIM and he should get to decide how HE feels, what HIS death and torture meant, and NO ONE lets him and it's so easy to ignore because there's no physical proof on his body that he went through it.

jason's whole story is about grappling with the inescapable while everyone pretends nothing happened to HIM, like it just occurred to some version of him he has no access to.

but he CAN.

he IS that kid, and that kid deserves to be heard, to be stood up for no matter how many times he's silenced.

a jason with scars is harder to erase, is harder to pretend is separate from the tragedy that occurred, a jason with scars is NOT the jason we know.

and playing into him being covered in scars is actively playing into his erasure because he shouldn't nee to be covered in scars to be BELIEVED.

he shouldn't need to be covered in scars to be HEARD.

jason todd who is so desperate to be loved that he doesn't even recognize it in himself. he's been starved of it for so long that when it finally comes, he doesn't know what shape it's supposed to take.

so his first relationship is the wrong kind. someone who runs hot and cold, who pulls away and shuts him out and treats him like an afterthought. and jason stays. not because he doesn't know better but because at least someone wants something to do with him. even if it isn't good. even if it hurts.

at least it's something.