Jason didn't have the best childhood. Being an orphan and not having anyone there for him, but who would've known he would have a child. A daughter at that. A baby girl that most people would probably raise hell for. Others probably treating like the absolute princess of the world.

Jason knew you deserved everything that he didn't have. From clothes, down to toys and little fun hobbies to get you into when you were older. Jason honestly didn’t see himself being a father. His fling was only something to hit and leave. A simple session with nothing afterwards. But then she got pregnant, and she told Jason—who wasn’t really gonna step in until you were born. Where was your mom, though? Once she had you, she’d left you with Jason. Turns out she didn’t want you or Jason.

Jason wasn't the best, but for you, he'd try hard. So, here he was, trying to do your hair but ultimately struggling. Why did you have to be born with a headful of hair? So curly and full of life. It frustrated Jason. The rubber bands kept popping, you’d cry and flinch when the comb tugged at a certain knot or tangle, and Jason would have to hold back from throwing everything across the room. This was not his calling at all.

“God dam--dang it." He growled, throwing the bows across the room. He made sure to fix his habits of swearing. Next thing he’d know you’d probably be running around saying shit or fuck out of pure joy, no thought behind it. Jason sighed and got up, picking the bows up and sitting back down with you in between his legs. “Okay, one more time.” He said, solely to himself as he tried to put the bow properly in your hair, watching as it stuck for five seconds then sprung up into his eye. “That’s it!” He growled and threw the bow. “You look prettier without the bow.” He huffed and looked down at you. You’d been gnawing on a teething ring the whole time he was struggling with your hair. Oblivious to the trouble he was having.