Safina ⚘

✿ she/any, 18+ amateur poet ✧ aspiring traveler

[cannibiscorpse]

✿ 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝗴, do not touch

♡ hi im an amateur writer but i hope you like my fics. i mostly write dc and marvel, stardew fics coming soon.

!! i ghost and block freely w/ no explanation

✿ mlist | ✿ help dr. darine | ✿ ao3

[cannibiscorpse]

Any chance you will continue chromic silence on ao3? If not that’s fine too

IM SO SORRY!! ive been so busy in college but ive written a lot of stuff in my notebook so expect a lot of chapters in a week! i just want harbour to proof read them first!

[cannibiscorpse]

hi safina! I've read your story about Jason's birthday letters and omg it's 3 AM in my country and I'm literally so emotional 🥹 My eyes were full of water because this was so sweet and one of the best stories that I read recently

and one the end of the story you asked if we (the readers) wanted to read Jason's first letter and my answer is ABSOLUTELY YES!!

aww thank you!!

[cannibiscorpse]

More soulmate au with Jason plz 👉🏻👈🏻

new chapters here

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[kaylasficrecs]

jason todd recs - part 2

no. of fics = 21

liar, liar | imagine, flangst | @amnxp

hots things jason does | headcanon, fluff | @orchidsarchives

shark week | imagine, fluff | @giggletea

loves thighs | drabble, fluff | @miks-delusional-blog

likes to put you to bed before he goes on patrol | imagine, fluff | @miks-delusional-blog

drunk in love!jason | drabble, fluff | @enviedear

baby, i want some of your love | imagine, fluff | @squipa

he's home | drabble, fluff | @deusfoundry

the bet | one shot | @kthologue

size kink | imagine, smut | @slut4thebroken

you didn't even want to come out today | imagine, fluff | @fromdove

old sweatpants | one shot, fluff flangst | @kimberly-spirits13

la vie en rose | one shot, fluff | @mostly-imagines

the art of letting go | one shot, angst | @deansbeer

i tried my best | imagine, flangst, comfort | @corpsedogs

drooling thinking about... | headcanon, fluff | @kaiyatoast

in your hands | imagine, flangst | @sanguineterrain

most normal thing in the world | one shot, fluff | @sanguineterrain

unexpected guests | series | @iydiamartinx

meet... crash? | imagine, fluff | @bloomcissa

you have been dating for six months | drabble, fluff | @sugugori

part 1

[cannibiscorpse]

thank you so much!

[cannibiscorpse]

jason with a cello

[cannibiscorpse]

Nooooooo is Chromatic Silence over??? 😭😭😭

new chapters in ao3, im just not feeling posting it here anymore sorry :(

[flufftober]

🍂 🍃 Hello and welcome to our fifth annual Flufftober 🍂 🍃

Wow, we’re so excited to be back for our mini-anniversary and even more excited to have you here with us!

As has become our tradition: let’s fill the month of October with as much fluff as possible 🥰 since it's our mini-anniversary, we have a little surprise for you aside from the main list of 31 prompts and the alt prompts you're used to...😏

As with all our events, our standard blog rules apply, and you'll find answers to most questions on our FAQ post.

Below the cut, you'll find the necessary posting info and all the prompts in writing. If you have any more questions, please feel free to send us an ask.

Prompt Extras

Once again, we're offering you the option of Prompt Extras. You're more than welcome to replace prompts from the original list if they don't work for you for whatever reason - no explanation needed.

Aside from last year's fan favorites, we once again have a challenge for you: five rather romantic prompts - but make them platonic!

But wait, there's more...

As a little treat for our mini-anniversary, your Modmins got together and voted on their favorite prompts from previous years. We present:

Remember, you can use the Prompt Extras however you like:

to replace a prompt from the original list

to create even more content aside from the original prompts

mixed together to enhance one or more of the other prompts

Whichever way you use them, have fun and go wild 💚

We hope you like these prompts, and now

Happy Creating 🥳

Posting

Posting to tumblr

Our tag is #flufftober2025 Please make sure there is NO SPACE between flufftober and 2025! We will NOT be checking the other tag this year!

Since tags are sometimes wonky, make sure to also mention us with @flufftober in your post

We will try to catch them all, but please don't be mad if we miss a post or if it gets reblogged a bit late

If you're absolutely certain a post has slipped past us, feel free to send an ask with the link to your post

To make reblogging easier for us, make sure to add the following tags: #flufftober2025 #day [xy] #[fandom] #[ship and/or main character(s)]

If you're using a prompt extra tag it as #alt [number]

Posting to ao3

You can add your creation to the collection Flufftober 2025 (either as flufftober2025 or as flufftober_2025)

Late entries are always welcome, on tumblr as well as the ao3 collection! Neither will close - but like always, reblogs will become less regular the more months have passed...

Prompts

1. Anniversary

2. Pet Sitting

3. In Vino Veritas

4. Set in another time

5. Early Morning Walks

6. Late Night Talks

7. Moving Day

8. Cursed

9. Coming Home

10. Set up by Friends

11. “Double or nothing?”

12. Blizzard or Heatwave

13. Hosting a Holiday Event

14. Stuck or Lost Together

15. “This looks fun.” - “Not the word I would use, but okay.”

16. Pillows, Plushies, Piles of Blankets

17. Making or Buying a Costume

18. “Is this seat taken?” - “That depends...”

19. Risky Rescue Mission

20. Fake Relationship

21. Pumpkin Carving

22. Polar Opposites

23. Group Hug

24. Letters

25. Cold Hands

26. Co-Parenting a Pet

27. Meeting in the Middle

28. “Is that my hoodie?” - “... No?”

29. Book Shop AU/Library AU

30. Sharing Earphones

31. “Stay?”

Prompt Extras

Last Year's Favorites

Alt 1. “This is spooky.” - “Really?”

Alt 2. Fantasy AU/Mundane AU

Alt 3. Lost Pet Meet Cute

Alt 4. Hoodie Weather

Alt 5. Only One Bed

Challenge "Make it Platonic!"

Alt 6. First Date

Alt 7. “Can I kiss you?”

Alt 8. Moving in Together

Alt 9. Planning the Perfect Proposal

Alt 10. And They Lived Happily Ever After

Your Modmins’ Favorites

Alt 11. Up Against the Wall Kiss

Alt 12. Keeping someone safe

Alt 13. Caught in the Rain

Alt 14. “You kept this?”

Alt 15. Soulmate AU

Alt 16. Fireplace

Alt 17. x + 1

Alt 18. Swoon

Alt 19. First Dance

Alt 20. “I’ve got you”

Alt 21. Fireman’s Carry

Alt 22. Wearing Each Other’s Clothes

Alt 23. “I hate you” – “I love you too”

Alt 24. Winning a Teddy for the Other

Alt 25. “I’m cold” – “Here, have my jacket”

[k1tk4ttt]

Reading x reader fics as an adult feels like I'm healing my inner teenager because 14 year old me probably would’ve loved this shit

[cannibiscorpse]

jason todd is a storm contained in human skin. he has quite the tempter and quicker to act, jason has a reputation for recklessness that hides a person who is capable of precision and foresight. his temper is infamous, but beneath all of it lies a man who feels too deeply and cares too much, though he hides it. loyalty defines him in complicated ways: once you have his trust, he will burn the world to protect you, but betrayal can turn him into your most relentless enemy. he is impulsive to the bone, a mutt who acts before he thinks because stillness has always felt like death. his moods shift like storms over the ocean, sudden, violent, and impossible to tame. one moment he is all sharp humor and swagger, the next he is drowning in silence, retreating into himself like a wounded animal. the word family for him are jagged things, often fractured before they can take root. he craves connection as desperately as he fears it, reaching out with one hand while already preparing to pull the other back.

jason is haunted by his death and rebirth. though he clashes often with bruce and the others, he still wants their acceptance, even if he’ll never admit it aloud. jason thrives in the gray areas of morality, jason is unafraid of blood when justice needs it. his self-image is a shifting mirror, one he can’t bring himself to trust. sometimes he sees himself as the weapon he was shaped into, nothing but a blade pointed at the world. sometimes he dares to imagine he could be more, that the love he offers in small, quiet ways might mean he isn’t irredeemable. rejection carves him open in ways fists and bullets never could. abandonment, even the hint of it, cuts deeper than any knife. he reacts to these wounds with volatility, pushing people away before they can decide to leave him, picking fights and throwing sparks to keep himself safe from disappointment.

yet red hood secretly longs for peace and for proof that he can be more than the weapon he was forged into. despite everything, there is some warmth inside him, it is seen in his small acts of kindness: a takeout for someone who needs it, a book left on a friend’s doorstep, a rare smile that lights his whole face. beneath it all, jason is deeply compassionate, though he hides it beneath masks of violence. he dedicates himself to the forgotten, the broken, the ones who remind him of himself. he is both the boy who once skipped patrol to finish homework and the man who will put a bullet through a trafficker without hesitation. jason is contradiction made flesh, unstable yet loyal, impulsive yet protective, a storm that refuses to quiet but still longs, endlessly, for a place to rest. he is contradiction personified: there is the killer and protector, then the fury and warmth. red hood is broken and remade who refuses to stop fighting.

[cannibiscorpse]

✿ Birthday?

jason todd x reader

fluff, drabble, happy birthday jason freaking todd

Jason had never cared for birthdays… not his own, nor anyone else’s. It was the idea of marking another year felt less like celebration and more like a reminder, like another tally scratched into the wall of a prison he never asked to live in.

It wasn’t about age, though. It also wasn’t about growing older, it was the weight of the years themselves: the brutal evidence of how much had been lost, how much had been stolen from him, how much had been broken beyond repair. His birthday, especially, felt less like his and more like a curse someone else decided he should carry.

So, he didn’t celebrate. He didn’t tell anyone the date, Jason buried it the way he buried most things. Nights bled into mornings, and exhaustion numbed out thoughts that would otherwise gnaw at him. The city always demanded while Jason always answered, and in that cycle there was no room for something as trivial, as dangerous, as celebration.

Tonight, the apartment was quiet when he stepped inside, helmet tucked beneath his arm, boots heavy with Gotham’s ugly grime. The familiar ache threaded through his muscles with soreness that promised bruises by morning, but he welcomed it anyway. Pain was simple, pain was something he understood.

What he didn’t expect.. What stopped him cold just past the doorway was the faint glow flickering in the dark.

The table wasn’t set with anything grand. It was just.. well, cake. It was uneven at the edges, homemade in a way that looked stubbornly earnest. A single candle burned at its center, fragile flame swaying as though it were nervous under his stare. Beside it lay something small, wrapped clumsily in paper, string tied in a crooked bow.

And then there was you.

Jason’s breath caught in his throat before he even realized it had. His instinct was to tense and to question or to demand why. But the words didn’t come, because your eyes met his and there was no expectation there, no pity and no demand. It was just a quiet sort of presence with warmth that wasn’t trying to break him open, only to stand nearby if he let it.

For a long moment, Jason couldn’t move. He thought of walking past and thought of muttering something sharp to cut the air, thought of pretending it wasn’t his, wasn’t for him. But, he couldn’t do that to you after all.

But the smell of the sweet cake was unfamiliar in this space as well the flicker of the candle pressed against something inside him he had spent years locking down.

You stepped forward, placing a small wrapped gift into his hand without ceremony. He didn’t look at it. His gloves were still streaked with city filth, and it felt wrong, obscene, to hold something so… deliberate is what he would describe.

But when you turned, gesturing toward the cake with a nervous little shrug, Jason’s chest caved in around itself. The simplicity of it, the sheer audacity of you thinking he deserved even this.. it pulled something raw and unsteady loose.

He reached for you.

His arms wrapped around you with a force that startled even himself, armor pressing hard against your frame.

His face buried in the curve of your shoulder, the smell of smoke and leather and the faintest trace of blood clinging to him as though he’d dragged the whole city inside. The motion wasn’t clean or graceful; it was desperate and clumsy, like he wasn’t sure if you’d stay if he let go.

Your body stiffened at first, you were caught off guard. Jason rarely touched you this way. Not without purpose or without teasing or without the careful shield he wore even in moments of intimacy.

Slowly (and hesitantly) you let yourself lean into him. Your arms curled around his broad back, fingers brushing against the hard edges of armor before finding space to rest. The warmth of him, solid and trembling at once, anchored you even as confusion flickered through your chest.

Jason’s breath stuttered against your shoulder, and in the silence of the safehouse, it was louder than words. He didn’t explain. He didn’t justify. He simply held you, as though in this embrace he could make sense of a world that had never given him anything freely.

The cake still flickered behind you, wax beginning to pool. The gift was half-crushed in his hand where the string dug into his palm. None of it mattered. What mattered was you: for the first time in longer than he could remember, his birthday didn’t feel like a noose. It didn’t feel like a cruel reminder of what he’d lost. It felt… softer.

It was unbearable, in a way. And yet he clung tighter.

When he finally drew back, his hand rose, tentative, brushing against your hair as though confirming you were real. His eyes, usually sharp with sarcasm or dulled by shadows, burned in a way that stripped every defense away

“Thank you.” he said.

You blinked, unsure how to answer. But Jason didn’t seem to need one. He let out a long, unsteady sigh and leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as though the world could vanish here, in this fragile space between you.

And in that moment, he understood something he had always refused to believe: It was different, when it came from someone you loved.

[cannibiscorpse]

hai!! ^_^ I was wondering if you can do f!blackcat reader x matt murdock/daredevil ? I barely see that dynamic w him and I was wondering on your take with it! I barely see any comic daredevil fics, it was refreshing to see!

✿ Kitty trouble!

matt murdock x blackcat!reader

i had to edit this A LOT 😭 anyways this is the comics version because umm i prefer him there

Hell’s Kitchen glowed below, golden and restless. The night buzzed with static— sirens in the distance, the occasional honk, the heartbeat of a city that never slept.

You crouched on the edge of the rooftop, arms resting on your knees, hair fluttering like a flag of mischief in the wind. The black leather of your suit clung to you like shadow, sleek and quiet.

It was a good night for trouble.

“You’re not stealing anything, are you?” came a familiar voice behind you— amused and annoyingly calm for a man in red kevlar.

You didn’t turn, “Would you believe me if I said I was just enjoying the view?” you asked.

Matt Murdock chuckled softly as he stepped beside you, his billy club casually twirling in his fingers. “I’d believe you,” he said. “But I’d still check the vaults later.”

You smirked, finally turning your head to look at him. “Paranoid, aren’t we, Daredevil?”

“I’ve met you,” he replied dryly.

You laughed— a light, lilting sound that made his lips twitch. There weren’t many people who made Matt laugh. “You know,” you said, stretching out on the rooftop like it was your personal throne, “I didn’t used to like lawyers. All that order, all those rules.”

“And now?” he asked. “Now I like one.” You tilted your head, eyes glittering in the moonlight. “One very tired, very noble one with a savior complex and a suspicious ability to find me no matter where I am.”

Matt let out a breath, shaking his head as he crouched beside you. “You make it sound like I’m stalking you.”

“You’re not denying it.” you replied “I’m not,” he agreed.

You sat in comfortable silence for a beat, letting the breeze carry the sounds of the city between you. “You didn’t try to stop me tonight,” you noted. “Not even when I tripped that alarm in Tribeca.”

“That guy was an arms dealer,” Matt said. “You might’ve broken the law, but you did it in a very… inconvenient way for criminals. I figured I’d let it slide.”

“Wow. Is this your way of flirting, Counselor?”

“I’ve been told I have a terrible bedside manner,” he deadpanned. You leaned in slightly, voice softer. “I don’t know… seems like you’re getting better.”

Matt didn’t say anything, but you could feel the shift in the air between you. You had always liked dancing with danger.

But you loved this— these rare, quiet moments where Matt wasn’t the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and you weren’t a cat burglar with a thousand getaway plans. Just two people, scarred and stubborn, meeting somewhere in the middle.

It started months ago— clashes in the middle of heists, rooftop arguments over morality, a couple of handcuffs (on both of you), and one very surprising night where things got softer. Where instead of fighting or flirting, you ended up just sitting next to him, legs dangling over the edge of a rooftop, the city glowing beneath you, and silence filling the space between your sharp edges.

“I’m liking this,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“This?” Matt echoed.

“Just talking you know?”

Matt choked slightly, and you grinned. “I mean it,” you said, reaching out to take his hand, fingers threading through his gloved ones. “Feels like I don’t have to run all the time.”

“You don’t,” he said immediately.

You tilted your head, watching him closely. “Even if I mess up?”

“You’re allowed to mess up,” Matt said. “You’re allowed to figure things out. You’re not alone.”

You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that until it was out in the air. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, slow and careful, like he was grounding you.

“You ever wish things were easier?” you asked.

“All the time.”

“Do you think you’d still like me if I were someone easier?”

He turned to face you fully then, and even though his eyes couldn’t see you, it felt like he saw you anyway. “I don’t like you because you’re easy,” he said quietly.

You stared at him, heart doing an uncomfortable backflip in your chest. “Say stuff like that again and I’ll actually fall for you.” you laughed. His mouth quirked into that boyish, charming smile that should be illegal. “Too late.”

Instead, you leaned in and kissed him— just you, and him, and the city pulsing below like a heartbeat. He kissed you back with just as much softness, as if you were the first peaceful thing he’d touched in weeks.

[cannibiscorpse]

✿ You and me, love love

jason todd x reader

every year on your anniversary— jason would slip a letter under your pillow as he pretends to fall asleep. this is what he wrote for the fifth year.

Sweetheart,

I’ve written five letters, one each year. Somehow… I don’t know— I still don’t know where to start.

Please do not make fun of how I write so inconsistently but.. you’d think by now I’d be better at this… at putting into words everything I feel when I look at you, when I hear your voice, when your hand brushes mine in the dark.

But, no matter how many pages I write… I always feel like I’m chasing something bigger than what language can hold.. or something adjacent to that.

Still. I try, since you’re worth trying for. Five years ago, I didn’t think I’d get this far or whatever.

I never believed in “after.” I was used to leaving and being left. I was used to closing doors before anyone else could slam them in my face. But then you.. God, you.

You cracked me so fucking in a way that didn’t hurt. You stood there, you held all those mix matched pieces with the kind of hands that didn’t flinch when they bled. You didn’t demand my best, but you still stayed. Without even knowing it, you rewrote the ending I thought I was stuck with…

You gave me five years of after.

Five years of more, who am I without you?

Year one was us testing the water, we kept our touches real small. I remember waking up beside you for the first time and feeling like I’d stolen something sacred. It felt like… I was holding the sun and didn’t know if I deserved the warmth.

You kissed my shoulder that morning and I swear I’ve never felt safer.

Year two was learning the rhythm of us… whatever term you want me to use. I remember way you took your coffee and how I liked the window cracked open even when it was raining. The two of us built a home, usually in late nights and forehead kisses and your laugh in the kitchen when I tried to cook pasta and almost set off the smoke alarm.

You whispered “I love you” against my neck and I nearly dropped the pan. Can you believe that?

Year three was hard… Work pulled us in opposite directions. My patrols were so fucking brutal (I’m still sorry about that). We fought and we got quiet.. or we forgot, sometimes, to hold hands in the hallway. But even in the silence, you chose me. Even when I gave you so many chances to run, you stayed.

I don’t remember the exact words but I remember you looked me in the eye one night and said, “We’re not perfect, Jay.” and I think that saved me, I hope you know that.

Year four was.. fun. We found our rhythm again. You painted my back with lipstick kisses and snuck love notes into your gear bag (Tim read one of them and I will never forgive him). We slow danced barefoot in the rain and got sick for two weeks. You called me dramatic and I called you the reason I kept wanting tomorrow.

You kept calling me that even when you had a fever. I didn’t want to sleep in another bed ever again.

Now… year five, and I’m still in awe.

The way your smile hasn’t faded. How you still reach for me first thing in the morning. Or.. how even right now, you’re lying next to me, thinking I’m asleep while you’re probably about to find this letter and cry silently (yes, I know you do that).

But let me say this: five years with you doesn’t feel like five years, it feels like, you know… blinking.

It feels like turning the page and realizing… you’ve already read an entire chapter because it was just that good. Like I looked up one day and suddenly I was home.

You are my home. I love you so much.

If tomorrow we lost everything, if the world burned down and all we had left was a pair of scuffed boots and this one room… I’d still be okay.

As long as you’re there. As long as I can press a kiss to your temple and whisper your name like a vow. As long as you’re still the one whose hand I reach for in the dark.

I don’t know what year six will hold… would you laugh at me when I’d tell you I’m nervous?

Maybe we’ll adopt a dog that hates me but worships you… or fuck— maybe we’ll travel somewhere warm and you’ll pretend not to be scared of thunder. Maybe we’ll just stay right here, you in my hoodie, me writing love letters under pillows because I’m still too chicken to say this out loud when you’re awake.

But whatever happens, I promise you this:

I will keep choosing you.

Even when I’m tired. Even when you’re mad. Even when we forget how to say it right.

I will keep saying “I love you” the best way I know how:

By staying.. or by holding you through it. By coming home to you. By writing this— year after year— because I still mean every word.

Happy fifth, Sweetheart.

Now stop crying and come kiss me. I’m still pretending to be asleep, but I’ll allow it.

Always yours,

—J

did i make you cry i wanna know, if you want his first letter let me know yayy

[cannibiscorpse]

I imagine Jason Todd living his girlfriend who doesn’t have much material wise. Her apartment is small, her walls are cracked, the lights would flicker and the neighbors wouldn’t stop making a racket.

Then he tells her, “If you think this place is too small for me— then I’ll squeeze in. If the walls crack, I’ll help patch them. If the lights flicker, I’ll hold a flashlight. I’ve lived in mansions. And none of them ever felt like home the way this place does when you smile.”

[cannibiscorpse]

Any love for our girl Cass 🥺

✿ Weightless things

cassandra cain x reader

cassandra cain comes home to you

Cassandra walks into the apartment like a shadow returning to its source.

The air is still, moonlight spills through the half-open curtains in ribbons, silvering the hardwood floor and painting everything in soft, forgiving light. The night outside is humming— city pulse, distant sirens, someone laughing too loudly down the block.

But in here, there is only silence.

She closes the door soundlessly and removes her boots, her suit is flecked with ash and dirt from a rooftop fight she didn’t want to be in. Her knuckles are sore. Her muscles ache with the kind of fatigue that only comes when the world’s noise has pushed too long against her quiet.

She breathes differently when she sees you.

Curled on the couch like something sacred, limbs tangled in a blanket too big for one person but not quite big enough for two. Your breathing is deep, your mouth slightly parted. One hand tucked beneath your cheek like it’s holding a dream in place.

Cass watches you.

She always watches you like this.. the way artists admire sculptures, or warriors admire stillness. Like a thing she never knew she needed until she was standing right in front of it. Until she could hear the soft, sleeping proof that something in her world remained untouched by violence.

You, a civilian.

You’d laughed when she called you that once . You teased her, said you weren’t that boring. She didn’t mean it like that. Cassandra doesn’t use words carelessly. To her, “civilian” meant not broken.

She crosses the room on bare feet, every step reverent.

Cass kneels beside the couch. Her gloved hand hesitates in the air, hovers over your shoulder, then lowers to gently brush a loose strand of hair away from your face. You stir only slightly, like a flower turning toward sun and then relax again.

Then, with care that doesn’t match the way she throws herself off rooftops for a living, she slips onto the couch behind you. It’s awkward at first— there’s not much space. But you make room even in your sleep, sighing contentedly as you shift just enough for her to tuck her body around yours like armor laid down.

Her arm drapes over your waist. Her forehead presses to the back of your neck. And she breathes.

This— this is what home feels like.

You smell like lavender and clean cotton. She lets herself melt into it, feel the rise and fall of your chest beneath her palm like a lullaby she’s still learning the words to.

Cassandra doesn’t dream often. Sleep comes in fits, rest is rare.

But in this moment, wrapped around you, she understands peace in a way the world never taught her. You murmur something half-coherent in your sleep, her name, she thinks, or something close to it— and your hand finds hers, fingers curling instinctively around her own.

She nearly breaks.

She nestles closer. Her nose presses to your shoulder blade. Her hand tightens around yours.

She doesn’t need words.

But if she did, she might say:

I’ve walked through storms to find you.

In the stillness of your shared quiet, Cassandra finally lets herself believe in weightless things— love, rest, the idea that she doesn’t have to fight everything to deserve something good.

You sigh again, deeper this time, and shift closer in sleep, as if even unconsciously, you know she’s there.

Cassandra closes her eyes.

[cannibiscorpse]

✿ Chromatic Silence ( Jason Todd x Reader )

soulmates, alternative universe (no vigilante hero stuff), teacher jason todd, artist reader

sypnosis: The reader’s soulmate power is to see colors for the first time when she touches her soulmate. When she met Jason, her world bursts to color but not his. She fell for him quietly, but she’s not his and she’s torn between waiting for his colors to come or moving on. last chapter ao3 link

a/n: i’m not discounting this fic i swear… i’ve just been writing some chapters and editing them lol. thank u again @harbours-lighthouse for proof reading

You didn’t expect them to be this into it.

When you arrived at the first wing with buckets of supplies, a folded drop cloth slung over one shoulder, and specks of dried paint already dusting your forearms, you found half the advisory class already waiting by the tarped hallway with snacks, music, and wide grins.

Cassie was setting up a portable speaker with the authority of someone born to manage a battlefield, while Bart buzzed around offering half a donut to anyone who looked at him for more than two seconds. Conner and Greta were unrolling sketch guides you’d sent earlier, carefully taping them to the wall as Jason leaned against the far corner, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you said, stepping toward him. You could feel the tension settle in your shoulders already, but you pushed through it. “They’re all actually here.”

Jason snorted, his mouth quirking slightly. “Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Don’t let them hear that.”

“I’m serious. Usually Bart’s fifteen minutes late despite being from the athletics team.”

“I heard that!” Bart shouted from the other end of the hall.

Jason looked over your shoulder with the put-upon sigh of a teacher who knew he’d never have peace again. But when he turned back to you, his voice dropped just a bit. “Thanks again. For saying yes.”

You tried to smile, but there was a strange twist in your chest. “You don’t have to thank me yet. We haven’t even gotten through one base coat.”

Jason hesitated for a beat. His eyes lingered on the brush in your hand, on the folded map of concept art tucked into your sketchpad. Then he stepped back, just enough to give you the room to lead.

“You’ve got this,” he said quietly.

And you believed him.

The first hour went by in a blur of colors. The students took their roles seriously, surprisingly so. You and Cassie managed the layout— sketching outlines, marking color zones, designating panels for each student to personalize. 

Bart got paint everywhere except the wall, Conner mixed three colors that absolutely should not have been mixed. You walked the hall in slow loops, checking progress, gently guiding hands when they needed it, offering encouragement when someone doubted a brushstroke.

Jason hovered mostly at the edges— watching, supervising, occasionally stepping in when someone got too close to painting over a vent or tried to stand on an unstable chair. He never tried to take over. Never undermined your control. Just supported from the background, in his quiet, Jason-like way.

And even though he wasn’t saying much, you felt his presence every time you looked up.

During a break, you ended up near him again, sipping from a bottle of lukewarm water while Cassie herded Bart and Conner into washing their brushes.

“They like you,” Jason said softly, nodding toward the students. His voice was low, almost casual, but something about the way he said it made your heart flutter. “You’ve got their respect.”

“I wasn’t sure I would,” you admitted, glancing toward Cassie. “I mean, I’m not their teacher.”

“You’re someone who believes in what they’re building,” Jason said. “That’s more than enough.”

You looked at him and something in your stomach tightened.

You’d never seen him quite like this before. Not just tired or closed-off. But open. Relaxed, if only slightly. His hair was slightly messy from running a hand through it too many times. His shirt sleeves were rolled up. 

You looked away first. “Thanks.”

After a beat of silence, he said, “You hungry?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“After this. Dinner,” he clarified. “As a thank you. My treat.”

You hesitated.

It shouldn’t have meant anything, right? It was just food, a thank you. Two people who’d been working side by side for hours sharing a meal. But your heart was already moving faster than your brain.

“Okay,” you said. “Sure.”

The restaurant was small, tucked away in a quiet corner near Gotham University. Somewhere you'd walked past a dozen times but never noticed. Jason didn’t say much on the drive there— his jaw was tense, like he was bracing for impact, but his hands were steady on the wheel.

The space inside was cozy, bathed in warm amber lighting, with old photos of the city on the walls and soft jazz playing overhead. It felt very safe. You slid into the booth across from him, still smelling faintly of paint and turpentine, your fingers stained with blue and gold. 

Jason glanced up at you over the menu. “You’re not gonna freak out if I order something unhealthy, are you?”

“You painted next to Conner Kent and Bart Allen for three hours straight,” you said. “You’ve earned a burger.”

That earned the faintest huff of a laugh.

You ordered quietly— him, the burger; you, pasta— and for a moment, there was silence between you. You played with the edge of your napkin. “You used to paint?”

Jason looked up slowly. “How’d you guess?”

“You knew how to mix base colors when you checked the labels.”

He smiled, just barely. “Yeah. A long time ago. When I saw colors, I used to sketch stuff… graffiti, mostly. Mural work too.”

You tilted your head. “What happened?”

He shrugged, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. “Greyness.”

That one word felt like a wall slamming down between you. Not cruel, but firm. Like a line drawn. A past not yet ready to be shared.

You didn’t push. You just nodded. “Well, if you ever want to start again…”

“Maybe,” he said quietly.

The food arrived. The conversation turned lighter. You talked about paint colors, about the weird smell of the supply closet, about how Rachel once forced you to model for a live drawing class and how you’d never recover. 

He looked at the screen, and immediately, his face changed. The warmth vanished, replaced by that cold, guarded steel you remembered from the first time you met.

“Sorry,” he said, already standing. “I’ve gotta take this.”

You nodded, watching as he stepped outside, shoulders tense, phone pressed to his ear.

You waited.

And waited.

And when he finally came back, it was only to grab his coat.

“I have to go,” he said, voice tight. “I’m sorry.”

You stood too, your heart sinking just a little. “Is everything okay?”

Jason paused like he wanted to lie. Then: “No. But I’ll handle it.”

You swallowed. “Do you… want help?”

His eyes softened at that. The smallest crack in the armor. But he shook his head. “Not this time.”

You nodded, trying not to let the disappointment show. “Be careful.”

He hesitated. It looked like he wanted to say something but instead, he just touched your wrist, fleeting and brief.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said. “And for today.”

Then he turned, and just like that, he was gone.

You stood there for a moment longer, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin, your heart pounding with something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Jason hated that look. Like you expected people to leave.

The Outlaws’ diner stood at the edge of Robinson Park, its neon sign flickering like a tired heartbeat. He parked crooked, slammed the door shut, and jogged up through the rain. Inside, the warm light of the diner clashed against the broken glass and overturned stools. Artemis was already sweeping near the front entrance, her red ponytail damp with sweat. Bizarro, gently humming an old jazz tune, was stacking chairs in the corner with surreal care. Kory leaned against the counter, sipping from a cracked thermos, and Roy was trying— and failing— not to make a game out of tossing debris into a bucket.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Artemis called from behind the counter. She was crouched down, sweeping up shattered mugs with a dustpan, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, dark circles under her eyes.

Jason shut the door behind him. “Didn’t realize we were taking attendance. So what happened?”

Artemis sighs, “We got robbed, typical Gotham. Me and Biz were rounding up and left to buy some ingredients, we came back and saw this.”

“You’re late,” Roy said, tossing a trash bag onto the floor beside a toppled chair. He was wearing a threadbare hoodie and fingerless gloves, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. “Didn’t you say you had a thing tonight?”

“Dinner,” Jason muttered. 

“Ooooh.” That sing-song voice belonged to Kory, who peeked up from behind the bar. She was reorganizing the liquor shelf, all golden skin and amused eyebrows. “With someone?” 

Jason was so glad that both Kory and Roy didn’t know that the person he was talking about was their long time highschool friend.

“Let it go,” Artemis said without looking up.

Roy leaned against the counter. “Let it go? I’ve been trying to get him to talk about this mystery chick for days. He finally goes out with her and what does he do?” He spread his arms wide. “Bails the moment his phone rings.”

Jason didn’t answer. He bent down and started helping Artemis sweep, hands steady even as his thoughts churned. He still remembered the way you’d laughed softly when he offered to pay for dessert, even though you could afford it yourself now, with the mural money. He’d meant it as a thank you. You hadn’t asked for the work, hadn’t owed him anything, and still— there you were, painting walls with his students and lighting up classrooms with your ideas.

She’d looked at him like she saw something worth staying for, and he had left anyway.

Roy threw a dishrag at his head. “Earth to Jason. You alive in there?”

He caught the rag midair. “Barely.”

Bizarro, towering and quiet in the corner, raised his hand from where he was carefully stacking broken booths. “Jason sad?”

Jason gave him a tired look, but something in his chest softened. “Not sad. Just tired.”

“Liar,” Artemis said, still crouched beside him. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I ran away before things got too real’ look,” Roy said.

Jason stiffened slightly. He rose, brushing glass dust from his hands, and leaned against the counter. “She’s helping with the mural at school.”

“Oh, that’s adorable,” Kory said. “Did you at least say thank you before you ghosted?”

Jason didn’t answer.

“God, you’re such a man sometimes.”

Artemis gave him a sidelong glance. “Why didn’t you stay?”

He hated the question. Hated it because he knew the answer too well. Because the warmth of dinner still clung to him— the comfortable back-and-forth, your fingers tapping a beat against the edge of the table as you described your concept sketches, the way your laugh filled the silence so easily it made him forget what silence used to feel like.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted.

Roy frowned. “You? The guy who argues literature like it’s a bloodsport, and you suddenly forget how to use words?”

“It’s different,” Jason said.

“Different how?” Artemis asked.

“Because she’s not…” He trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair. “She’s not a student, or a teacher, or some passing face. I don’t know how to be around someone like that without screwing it up.”

The diner went quiet for a moment. Even the clatter of glass slowed.

“You’re scared,” Bizarro said, voice like gravel soaked in honey.

Jason didn’t argue.

Roy clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning despite himself. “Coward.”

Jason gave a breathy chuckle. “Yeah.”

They went back to cleaning, the silence less biting now. Chairs were set upright, debris tossed out, and the broken door propped open to air out the lingering scent of bleach. Kory lit a vanilla-scented candle she pulled from behind the register— probably one she confiscated from the last party Roy hosted here— and it flickered gently on the windowsill like a small, glowing truce.

Jason found himself wiping down a table when Roy spoke again, more gently this time.

“You should call her. Tomorrow. Or whenever. Just don’t let it die like this.”

Jason nodded, slow and unsure. He didn’t know if he could fix the way the night had ended, but he could still try to show up. It wasn’t much. But maybe it could be enough.

For now, though, he swept the last of the glass into a bag, tied it shut, and tossed it outside.

You didn’t sleep.

After Jason left the restaurant in a rush, there had been a strange emptiness in your chest— like a cracked picture frame hanging askew. You had gone home with the takeout bag still warm in your hand, opened the container once, and then left it on the counter untouched. The air in your apartment felt too quiet, too expectant, like it was waiting for something that never came.

Instead of going to bed, you found yourself hunched over your desk by the window, the sketchbook cracked open like a confession. The moonlight spilled across your hands as you worked, pencil sweeping across the page in nervous, looping strokes. You redid a corner of the mural concept that Jason had liked. Then you redid it again. You added color samples to the margins. Jotted down paint types. Shaded in shadows where you thought they might fall better.

All the while, your mind stayed on Jason— how he’d looked across the table at you, quietly absorbing the things you said, like he was drinking in every syllable. And how suddenly he’d pulled back, answering that phone call with a low, tired voice and disappearing without a promise to come back.

You didn’t know why it left you feeling so cold.

But maybe if the mural turned out well— if it turned out beautiful enough, he’d feel something too.

By the time morning came, your eyes were burning from exhaustion, but your hands were still moving.

The hallway leading to the first wing of Gotham Academy was blocked off with school-issued dividers, tall enough to keep wandering students out and short enough to let sunlight in through the high windows. You arrived early, paint-splattered hoodie pulled over your head, backpack swinging off your shoulder, your arms full of sketchbooks, measuring tape, and folded sheets of tracing paper.

The students started trickling in not long after: Bart bouncing on his heels, Cassie offering you a sleepy wave and a breakfast sandwich, Cissie handing you the list of supplies they’d fetched that morning. You smiled and thanked them all, heart aching a little at how familiar this was becoming— how easily you were folding into this little corner of Jason’s world.

Jason, who wasn’t here.

You didn’t notice it at first. You were so used to him walking quietly, lurking in corners with a coffee in one hand and a red pen in the other, that it took you until halfway through setting up the paints to realize he wasn’t watching from somewhere.

“Is Mr. Todd… not coming today?” you asked, trying to sound casual. You glanced up from the sketch you were taping to the wall.

“He didn’t tell you?” Cassie said, brushing hair out of her face with the back of a gloved hand. “He’s on a day off. Said it was something important. Waller approved it and everything.”

Something about the way she said it— something important— made your stomach twist a little.

You forced a smile. “Right. Of course. I just figured he’d… want to supervise.”

“He probably did,” Cissie said, not looking up from the paint tray she was organizing. 

The worry started out like a whisper. A twinge of unease behind your ribs. It wrapped around you slowly, creeping into the way your hands moved, into how your eyes flicked toward the door more than necessary. 

You tried to keep your focus. You had work to do. But when you handed Bart the brush for the second base layer and he said, “He’ll be fine,” without even looking up, you realized he could see right through you.

You nodded once and got back to work.

The day passed in colors. A haze of cobalt blue and cadmium red, of long brush strokes and the wet drip of paint from foam rollers. You crouched low to sketch on the edge of a quote banner, sweat cooling on your forehead, fingers aching in a way that felt good. The kids were getting into it— they were surprisingly good listeners when it mattered.

Still, there was a tension you couldn’t shake. Not until late afternoon, when most of the paint was sealed and the brushes were soaking in a bucket, did you finally step away, wipe your hands on your jeans, and take out your phone.

You hesitated over his name in your call log.

For a second, you considered texting. But your thumb hovered over the screen, then slid back. You tapped Call instead, heart fluttering like it had grown wings.

It rang once. Then twice.

And then his voice answered. “Hey,” Jason said. His voice was low, scratchy like he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Sorry for missing today.”

You exhaled all at once. “It’s okay,” you said. “I just… wanted to check if you’re alright. The kids said you had to take a day off for something important.”

There was a pause. You could hear a faint wind through the speaker, like he was outside.“I’m alright,” he said. “Something came up, yeah. But it’s dealt with now.”

You wanted to ask what. You wanted to press, because you hated not knowing if he was safe, if he was hurting. But you didn’t.

“Okay, good.”

There was another pause. Then, “Are you free right now?”

You blinked. “Uh. Yeah. I just wrapped up at school.”

“Meet me at the park,” he said. “The one near the diner. Ten minutes?”

“Outlaw’s diner?”

“Yeah.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

He hung up.

You stood in the hallway for a moment, phone still in your hand, paint flecks on your face, heart beating a little too fast. Then you turned, grabbed your bag, and left.

The sun was low by the time you arrived. The park near the Outlaws’ diner was mostly quiet, save for the sounds of wind through the trees and the occasional rustle of birds. The light filtered golden through the leaves, casting shadows like watercolor stains across the pavement.

Jason was already there, leaning against a bench beneath one of the taller oaks. His jacket was zipped up to his collarbone, hood down, hair slightly mussed from the breeze.

He looked up when he saw you.

“Hey,” you said, breath catching slightly.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice soft again.

You walked toward him slowly. Every step felt like wading through syrup.

He gestured to the bench beside him. “Sit?”

You nodded as you sat next to him.

“I saw the mural today,” he finally said.

You blinked. “I thought you weren’t at school?”

“I asked Cassie to send pictures,” he admitted. “She sent… a lot.”

You laughed, even as warmth crept into your cheeks. “That explains the angles.”

Jason smiled faintly. “You’re doing great. They love working with you.”

You glanced down at your paint-stained hands. “Thanks. I’m just trying to do right by them.”

He looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “You do.”

The compliment settled into your chest like sunlight through curtains— quiet and warm, but part of you was afraid to let it in too deeply. You studied his expression, the small lines of tiredness at the corner of his eyes, the way he didn’t quite meet your gaze.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you said gently. “But if you ever want to… I’m here.”

Jason looked at you for a long moment. His jaw shifted like he was holding something back. Then, he simply nodded.

“I know.”

The golden haze of late afternoon stretched long across the grass as the two of you began to walk. You didn’t say anything at first, and neither did Jason. But it wasn’t uncomfortable— just quiet. 

The kind of quiet that feels earned, like a breath after a long day, or the pause at the end of a page before turning to the next.

The path curved gently, winding through tall trees whose branches caught the light like tangled chandeliers. Leaves rustled overhead, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite catch. 

A breeze trailed after you both, carrying the smell of grass and warm bark, and somewhere nearby, a child laughed— high and bright, like the chime of a bell.

Jason walked beside you with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. His pace matched yours unconsciously, footsteps soft and steady. He didn’t speak until the third bend in the trail, when the trees began to thin and a massive oak came into view— its roots curled into the earth like old, sleeping hands.

“I used to come here a lot,” he said, his voice low. “After school.”

You glanced at him. “Before Gotham Academy?”

He nodded. “Yeah. When I was still figuring things out. The city gets loud sometimes. This was the only place that didn’t ask anything from me.”

You let that sit between you for a while, the thought of a younger Jason— a boy who carried too much too early… finding a scrap of peace beneath the shade of this tree.

There was something achingly gentle about that image, like a page from a forgotten storybook. The two of you drifted off the trail and toward the oak, where the roots dipped into a soft patch of mossy grass. Jason settled against the bark with a sigh, pulling his jacket tighter around him. You followed without thinking, dropping your bag beside his and sitting a few inches away, close enough to feel his presence but not quite touching.

He looked over at you. “You look exhausted.”

You smiled, sheepish. “That obvious?”

Jason tilted his head. “Yeah.”

You blinked slowly, “I didn’t sleep,” you admitted. 

“Last night. I stayed up planning for the mural. I just wanted it to be good. I wanted to make you proud.”

Jason looked at you then, really looked, and something in his expression softened into something unbearably kind. “You didn’t have to lose sleep over that. I already am.”

The words settled in your chest like the hush of snowfall: quiet, heavy, and impossibly gentle. 

You didn’t know what to say, so instead you let yourself lean back against the bark, head tipping slightly toward the curve of the trunk.

“Sleep,” he said softly, watching you. “If only for a little while.”

You blinked at him, unsure. “Here?”

He nodded. “I’ll keep watch.”

There was something almost reverent in the way he said it, like a vow made in a sacred space. The world seemed to hold still around you for a moment, like even the wind paused to listen. 

And so you let yourself close your eyes.

The rough bark against your spine, the smell of leaves above, the low murmur of Jason breathing beside you— it all cradled you into a quiet, unguarded peace. 

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not really... But exhaustion had a way of stealing through your limbs like ivy climbing a wall, until it claimed every inch.

Once your breathing evened out, he pulled a worn paperback from his coat pocket. Something small and weathered—its corners curled, its pages softened with time. 

He flipped it open one-handed, the other arm resting loosely over his knee. Now and then, his eyes lifted from the page to look at you.

There was paint smudged on your cheek. Another streak near your temple, like the sky had kissed you and left a trace. 

Your fingers twitched in your sleep, probably still caught in the rhythm of brushstrokes and color theory. Jason watched you for a long time, the book forgotten in his lap.

He remembered what Roy had said, that he shouldn’t have left you, that he should’ve stayed.

Roy had been right. Maybe he had been a coward.

He leaned back against the bark beside you, watching over you like a sentinel carved from shadow and soft regret. The breeze tugged gently at your hair. A leaf spiraled down and landed near your shoulder, but you didn’t stir.

And in the stillness, Jason Todd felt the ache of something fragile and blooming. He looked down at the open book again, eyes scanning the lines, though they barely registered.

He was thinking of you. 

@theendodthematerialgworl @sep3mberchild @sinnamon-bunn @daffy-the-duck @mydarlingelena @jason-todd-rh @mercuryathens @feedthefandoms995 @no-oneneedsto-know @profoundgreenturtle @makimakimi @lettucel0ver @ye-olde-trash-panda @vellichor01

[cannibiscorpse]

✿ I tried my best

jason todd x reader

What Jason does when he sees you sobbing from a bad day

You don’t know what broke you..

Maybe it was the missed train, or it was the boss’s voice sharp like glass against your spine. Maybe it was just the way your phone died in the middle of a call you needed to finish, or the coffee spill. Or the final email at the end of it all— the one that shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

But when the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you, the tears came before you could even untie your shoes. A sting at the back of your throat, the hot swell behind your eyes.

Then a quiet, miserable sound cracked out of your chest— a whimper so small and so raw that it startled even you. You curled into yourself on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, face buried in the fabric of the throw pillow Jason had once mockingly called “the ugliest thing in this apartment.”

Now it just caught your tears like a witness. The sobs came in waves, they weren’t pretty and graceful at all.

Your sobs scraped your ribs on their way out. You did not want anyone to see you in this state. Which, of course, meant Jason walked in mid-way through the third wave.

He was still in his jacket, boots trailing city grime, a grocery bag in one hand. He froze in the doorway, like a deer catching the sound of a storm instead of a predator.

You tried to muffle yourself. Tried to wipe your face, to speak, to tell him ‘Sorry, sorry, I’m okay.’ but it all caught in your throat.

He said your name hesitantly, he was nervous that it might startle you if he said it too loud.

“Hey. What happened?”

You opened your mouth, but only a fresh sob came out and you felt so pathetic. Jason dropped the grocery bag on the counter and crossed the room fast.

You braced for touch, but he didn’t reach for you. He knelt beside the couch, eyes wide, he was unsure what to do at all.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, tears slipping freely down your cheeks.

“Did someone—?”

“No,” you choked out. “I just— I don’t know, Jason, it was just—”

Your breath hitched violently. And that’s when you saw it in his eyes.

Panic.

Not because you were crying and not because he didn’t care. But because he did— and… didn’t know what to do with it.

Jason Todd, trained killer, sharpshooter, vigilante— looked at you like you were a ticking bomb he didn’t know how to defuse.

So he did what he knew.

He sat down next to you, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, and reached one hand out to place between your shoulder blades.

It was awkward at first.

“I’m here,” he said, and it sounded like a question. You hiccupped a laugh-sob, buried your face in your hands.

“I know,” you mumbled. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “Please don’t.”

You couldn’t stop crying. He couldn’t stop trying.

He rubbed your back in soft, unsure circles. He handed you tissues that you forgot to use. He brushed your hair back from your wet cheeks with fingers too gentle for someone built like violence.

But still— he looked like he was drowning.

You tried to rein it in, to slow it down… you clenched your fists and bit your lip and begged your lungs to even out.

And then—

Jason stood up. You blinked through blurred lashes, absolutely confused while he grabbed his keys.

“Where are you—?” your voice cracked.

“I’ll be back,” he said, and just like that— he was gone.

The door clicked shut again, and you were left alone, knees tucked into your chest, echoing silence hanging heavy around you like fog after a fire.

Your brain spun cruel things.

He couldn’t handle it.

I scared him off.

I was too much again.

You curled tighter, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing all over again. It was twenty-eight minutes before the door opened. Jason returned, wind-chapped cheeks, hoodie pulled low, arms full.

He didn’t speak right away.

He just dropped two bags onto the kitchen counter and started unpacking. You watched, eyes swollen, breathing uneven.

He pulled out your favorite takeout— still warm. A bag of your favorite chips. The overpriced chocolate bar you’d mentioned loving once, months ago. And—

A heatable plush. A ridiculous pink thing shaped like a blob, filled with lavender and rice.

“…Jay?”

Jason glanced up. His face was flushed from the cold and from everything he hadn’t said yet.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. His voice was rough. Bare. “You were hurting and I just— I panicked.“

You stared at him.

He reached into the bag again and pulled out a glass bottle of your favorite soda. “This is stupid. I know it is. But you always get that look when you drink this. So I— I just—”

You were already off the couch.

You crashed into him like a wave that couldn’t wait another second to hit the shore. Your arms wrapped around his chest tight, fingers knotting into the back of his hoodie, cheek pressed to his collarbone. You didn’t say anything at first.

Just held him.

Jason stiffened in surprise. But then his arms were around you, strong and steady, pulling you in like he never wanted to let go.

You were still shaking. But this time, it wasn’t from sadness.

It was from relief.

“I didn’t know what you needed.” he held you tighter.

“I just didn’t want you to feel alone.” You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His eyes were so blue. So open. Like he’d torn down every wall for you, even if he didn’t know how to decorate the space yet.

“I don’t,” you whispered. “Not with you.”

Jason kissed your forehead and it was soft and gentle. Barely there, like he was afraid to leave a bruise, even in a place already softened by tears.

You smiled through the ache in your chest.

And then you both sat on the floor and ate lukewarm noodles out of the carton, legs tangled, your new heating plush balanced between you like a peace offering from a world that hadn’t always been kind.

You didn’t cry again that night.

Sometimes love is awkward. Sometimes love shows up with three kinds of snacks and a heatable blob plush and a desperate look in its eyes that says, I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.

That was enough though.

im so sick of college so i wrote this for myself