Okay but consider Jason having a s/o who’s kinda insecure. For all her past relationships she’s had to wear makeup and look presentable at all times, but Jason couldn’t care less that she’s “unpresentable.” s/o is like “Jason, no, don’t kiss me yet I have morning breath” or “why do you want to cuddle? I’m not even wearing makeup” and a whopper being “I can go out looking like this” but he thinks she’s beautiful no matter what
thank you for this request! i miss writing jason stuff, so this is gonna be healing. i’ll use the example statements you gave me as prompts if that’s ok!
✦ jason / insecure fem!reader ✦ —
you woke up first, because you always did. not out of discipline, just out of habit. out of old panic that always said check yourself, before someone else does. your mouth tasted sour from sleep. your hair was doing whatever it wanted. your face felt soft in the worst way, and was most definitely decorated with an imprint from your pillow.
he was still there. not looming, just present. you could tell when he was awake because the air in the room got just a bit colder in some weird otherwordly way that probably had a supernatural cause you could barely begin to understand.
you jolted when he made to move towards you. “jason, no.” you're voice was already apologetic. “don’t kiss me yet. i have morning breath.”
he leaned in anyway. you turned your head at the last second, because it was automatic. your palm came up over your mouth. you hated yourself for it in real time, could feel the old training in your bones. smile right. look right. earn it.
he caught your wrist, gentle in the only way he really could be. he held it down, not forcing you flat, not pinning you in warning. he simply removed the barrier between you, like it was an unnecessary object on a counter. then, he pressed his mask just so on your lips, in a faux kiss, protecting your dignity and making you blush in the same movement.
you pulled back and laughed, because what else was there to do when he was so cute? “you’re not even gonna pretend to care?”
he did that small head tilt that always looked like he was trying to understand a rule nobody bothered to explain. his hand stayed on your cheek. he wasn't disgusted, not even amused (not that you really thought he had many ways he could show it). he was just there, steady as ever, acting like this was normal. you were the only one acting like you were on trial. you slid out of bed and tried to keep it casual. “i’m just gonna brush my teeth.”
he followed you to the little sink. not right on top of you, just close enough that you could feel him behind you. and then literally see him behind you, there in the mirror. you spit, rinsed, wiped your mouth, checked your face like you were checking a bruise.
you reached for your makeup bag next, because you always reached for it next. the bag was half-open already, knowing its job well. jason hesitantly placed a hand on your side, his other following the movement, slowly wrapping around your middle as he laid his chin on the top of your head. a proper hug. your fingers hovered over the zipper.
“why d'you want to cuddle?” you asked, too fast, too loud. “i’m not even wearing makeup.”
he pulled back slowly, stared at you. he looked at the makeup bag, then back at you, like he was trying to find the connection and coming up empty. in a moment, he had you pulled you back against him, and tucked his face into the side of your neck like he was done with the topic.
you stiffened, but relaxed into him so he wouldn't mistake your worry for fear of him. he was the last thing you feared, right now. no, your own psyche was doing more damage than he'd ever tried to do to you... so, you owed it to him to explain yourself.
“in my last relationships, i had to look presentable all the time. like, all the time.” you made a vague gesture at your face, as if that clarified anything. “even to go to the store.”
he didn’t react to the history part. he reacted to the fact you were tense. his hand moved slow up your side, thumb pressing once, a non-verbal check-in. he wanted you quiet. not silent, quiet. there is a difference.
you looked down at yourself. bare legs, oversized shirt, the ugly socks you wore because the floor was cold. you could hear your own voice turn mean the way it always did when you felt exposed. “i can’t go anywhere looking like this.”
he turned his head toward the door, back to you, then toward the door again. it was so simple it almost made you mad. out there was the porch, the treeline, the lake. nothing with opinions. certainly nothing with a dress code. you were acting like you’d said i can’t go out without armor, and he was acting his answer was then don't bring armor. bring me.
you opened the door then, just to prove something to yourself, and the air hit your face clean and cold. no noise, no strangers, no bright store lights that made you feel like you’d forgotten your lines. just damp moss, pine rot, and the fog on the lake sitting thick and murky like it always had.
you stepped out in the state you were in. unbrushed hair, bare face, sleep still stuck to you. you waited for the world to punish you. and... it didn’t. it just existed. much like you.
jason came up behind you and wrapped his arms back around your waist. he didn’t fuss, or try to turn you toward the light so he could 'see you better' like anyone in your past who wanted to inspect the effort (or lack thereof) you'd put in. he held you like you were already correct.
“this is so stupid..." you laughed humorlessly, because you needed to say something mean before you felt too vulnerable. “i don’t know why i’m like this.”
he pressed his mask to your temple, once. then again, like a correction. not to you, but to the lie you’d been taught. he didn’t need you polished. he didn’t need you arranged. he needed you here, breathing, warm, in his space.
you still made a half move toward the makeup bag when you went back inside. he intercepted it without drama. just set it aside. he took your hands in his, instead, large enough to swallows yours within them.
later, when you finally did put on mascara out of pure muscle memory, he watched you do it the way he watched anything human you insisted on doing. patient, a little curious, not too invested. you caught your reflection and then caught his in the mirror. you turned and spoke to him, nice and soft. “so... you really don’t care.”
he didn’t nod, didn’t try to reassure you with words. he just leaned in, this time lifting the mask just slightly, and kissed you skin to skin. you hummed into the touch, his lips cool and damp, smelling like the forest. ah... of course you didn't need to fear this from him. you loved him just as he was, with all it's wild complexities and plethora of things you could never understand. so... yeah. maybe it was high time you gave yourself the same grace.
thanks for reading! 💌
you can find more of my writing at @nymphosynth, or here on ao3!
