#i love sappy poetic jason that is the only thing that brings me peace sometimes ok

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

40, 17, and 53 with Jason Todd. Love you!!! You deserve way more than 200 followers.

love YOU!!! sorry this is so late! 1.6k words of Jason x reader fluff in which you’re stuck in an elevator. 

17.“Did you just… agree with me?” “Oh, I wish I could take-““Nope! You said it! No take-backs!”

40.“You’re a psychopath.” “I prefer creative.”

53.“I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t such a wise idea to take the elevator during a raging storm, but you could only be so functional after a three-hour British literature final exam. 

Massaging the palm of your hand and gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip, agonizing over your concluding paragraph, you hit the down button with your elbow and had barely half a mind to acknowledge the torrential downpour outside the walls of Gotham Academy. 

The elevator dinged dismally and you trudged inside. 

Wordsworth said to fill your paper with the breathings of your heart but you couldn’t stop worrying that you dumped the jumbled thoughts of your mind onto the lined pages. You were fretting so intensely that you barely heard the pleas to keep the elevator door open. 

“Wait! I need to catch the elevator! Pretty please!” 

You startled and moved to press the open button, but a body barreled in through the doors and hit the wall with a slightly concerning bang before you could do so. 

The figure was broad and sinewy from behind, a backpack hanging off toned shoulders and veiny arms showcased thanks to a snug black t-shirt. Something about that admittedly nice butt was awfully familiar, and then the human canon turned around. 

“Oh. Hey, Y/N.” 

You stiffened and braced yourself, though you were unsure what you were bracing yourself for. “Hi, Jason.” 

He cracked a smile, slow and warm, and your heart skipped several beats before settling into a panicky rhythm. 

Oh. That was why you braced yourself. 

He quirked an eyebrow and nodded to your hands. The fingers of your left dug into the palm of your right so hard, your knuckles turned white. “Still recovering?” 

You dropped your hands. “In more ways than one.” 

Something about Jason always had you on edge. You two were notorious for getting into heated debates regarding humanist theory and the best Romantic era poets, and you’d nearly lost your mind when you worked together because the professor assigned partners for a literature analysis presentation – he pushed your buttons excessively. 

Maybe it was because he was so hard to read, but he was able to read you with startling clarity. You didn’t know much about him, only that he was a few years older, enjoyed blasting Bobby Brown, had strong opinions on bread, and knew Keats better than his own name. You had known him for four months, but he already knew that you despised untied shoelaces, snapped a rubber band against your wrist when you were nervous, and owned two cats. Your guard was highly fortified because people who’d known you for years barely knew one of those tidbits; who did Jason think he was, waltzing into your life and making you self-conscious every time you exhibited a nervous tick?

Your unease around Jason Todd might also have to do with the fact that he was so beautiful, he left you flustered and babbling angrily much more often than you’d like. 

“How’d you feel about it?” 

“About…what?” 

Jason laughed and you blinked in surprise at the sound of sunshine on this rainy day. “About the exam, Y/N.”

“Oh. Uh. I wish I felt better about it. You?” 

His shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. “I’ve been through worse.” 

“Who’d you focus on for the last question?” You asked as the doors glided shut with a groan. 

He snorted. “Coleridge, of course. Who else?”

You frowned. “Barrett Browning.” 

He shot you a dubious look. “Is it because of Sonnet Forty-Three?” 

Flummoxed, your frown deepened. “No…” 

“Mmhhmmm,” He nodded, mouth sliding up into a playful smile. 

“Well. Maybe a little.” 

“Quite the hopeless romantic, aren’t we?”

You opened your mouth to retort defensively but betrayed yourself; you locked eyes with him and suddenly found yourself lost in a sapphire ocean. “Yeah,” You sighed in resignation. 

His eyes widened, eyebrows raised in bewilderment. “Did you just…agree with me?” 

You blushed deeper. “Oh, I wish I could take –”

Jason waggled a finger accusatorially. “Nope! You said it! No take-backs!” 

You jutted your chin out and crossed your arms over your chest. Maybe you should have been concerned when the elevator groaned a little in dissent, but you couldn’t hear much above the little voice at the back of your head scolding you for not being more vigilant around him. 

“Fine.” 

His smile softened, gentle like the Caribbean, and much to your dismay, so did you. “It’s not a bad thing.” 

“I-I guess. I don’t know.” 

You did know when the lights flickered and died with a buzz and a few concerning sparks. 

You also knew when the elevator jolted and dropped a few feet, bouncing unevenly because it pulled a shriek from your throat, and you flung yourself at Jason Todd. 

He stumbled back a little with an “oof” but didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you. 

He smelled of jasmine and old books and some kind of spice. You were in the middle of a third deep inhale, safe in his arms, when the elevator groaned again, reminding you where you were. You wrenched yourself out of his embrace and slammed against the wall opposite of him with a jolt, pressing the help button frantically – but to no avail, it looked like the whole array was shot.

The elevator made another agonized noise and panic seized your lungs. 

“Well. I think the elevator’s stuck.” 

“It still m-moves. What if – what if it falls all the way d-down? We’re gonna – oh, fuck, we’re gonna die in here, aren’t we?” You warbled, slowly sliding to the ground. 

Jason’s brow furrowed, shadows dancing against his skin beneath the dim emergency light. “We’re not going to die in here, Y/N.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut when thunder rumbled irately, practically shaking the walls. “You can’t guarantee that.” 

“We’re probably not going to die in here.” He simpered, taking steady strides over to you and the buttons. 

You had to choke back whimper when the elevator tilted slightly. 

You heard him shifting slightly, setting his backpack on the ground and kneeling next to it. 

His knee bumped your knee and your eyes snapped open, but he continued shuffling around in his bag, unbothered by the physical contact. 

You didn’t want to die before you could find out who scored higher on that exam, but you refrained from voicing this aloud. For the moment. 

“So, you’re scared of centipedes and dying in an elevator. What else?” He asked in a low voice. 

In spite of the slightly dire situation, you flushed, reminded of the unfortunate insect incident in the library a few weeks ago. 

The answer left your mouth before you could swallow it. “You.” 

You were unsure of how serious that response was and maybe he was too, because the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Me? I’m harmless.”

As these words left his mouth, he unearthed a daunting piece of technical equipment from his backpack. 

You wanted to tell him that he was actually quite harmful to your emotional stability, but instead you asked, “What the hell is that?” 

His smirk grew into something even more dangerous, setting your heartbeat awry again. “Our way out.” He pressed a button and what might be a laser flashed and buzzed menacingly. 

“You’re a psychopath.” 

“I prefer creative.” Jason told you cheerily, turning away from you to wiggle the suspicious tool beneath a panel near the bottom row of buttons. 

There were some more unsettling buzzing noises, but he must have known what he was doing because several moments later, all of the lights blink on. 

He pressed the help button with his knuckle, and it rang shrilly in acknowledgement. 

“Now, we wait.” He scooted back a little so he could sit in front of you, cross-legged and almost boyish in the way he looked at you expectantly, more like a patient puppy than a muscly twenty-something with threatening equipment and novels in his backpack. 

You felt your face heat up again. “Oh. Great.” 

He leaned forward a little, one dark brown arched in inquisition. “Are you really scared of me?” 

Your stomach flipped a little because he was striking up close, pink mouth and strong nose framed by handsome angles, earthy olive skin littered with storybook scars, and eyes that whispered the most tragic of poems in a language you couldn’t quite understand. 

“I’m trying to figure it out.” 

“You must not be completely petrified because you seem quite calm, considering we’re in a confined space together. Also, you threw yourself at me.” 

You gaped at him indignantly. “I hate you.” 

“Why? I’m lovely. At least three different people tell me on a daily basis.” 

It was your turn to arch an eyebrow. “By people do you mean drooling college girls?” 

That smirk returned. “Old ladies crossing the street and soccer moms occasionally, too.” 

You crinkled your nose in distaste. “Bleh.” 

“Beauty is meant to be appreciated.” Jason stated, fixing you with a look of saccharine reverence that made you think, perhaps, he wasn’t referring to himself through the eyes of appreciative grown women. 

Bashful, you broke away from his gaze, finding sudden interest in your sweaty hands and playing with your fingers. 

“That’s why poets exist.” You muttered. 

“Shakespeare, sonnet eighteen.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Now, his smile was all sunflowers and chirping birds on a summer morning. “It means you’re beautiful and I want to compare you to a summer’s day. And take you on a date when we get out of this elevator. If you’ll let me.” 

It took a few moments to shake you out of your daze. “If we can get out of this elevator and avoid a Shakespearean tragedy, sure.”