Felt like drawing a friend's OC. I really wanna try to be more active. I just don't have any idea of what i wanna draw, and nothing i do turns the way i want, lol.
THIS IS FOR EVERYNYAN. MEN WITH MAKEUP. WOMEN WITH MAKEUP. NONBINARY PPL WITH MAKEUP.
men who do makeup..r..like. so hot. sorry..not sorry..
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･
Jason Todd was many things—an ex-Robin, a vigilante, a walking, talking trauma case—but a guy who let someone put makeup on him? That was where he drew the line.
At least, he had drawn the line. But you had this look in your eyes, that mischievous little sparkle that made it real hard to say no.
“Come on,” you pleaded, holding up a fluffy makeup brush like it was a weapon of mass persuasion. “Just let me do a little bit.”
Jason crossed his arms. “I’m not gonna look like a clown, am I?”
you gasped, placing a hand over your heart in fake offense. “How dare you. I would never make you look bad.”
He squinted at you. “Uh-huh.”
You scooted closer, eyes shining. “Please?”
Jason sighed, already feeling himself caving. “Fine. But if I look ridiculous, I’m making you watch all my shitty old Westerns shows with me.”
You grinned. “Deal.”
And that was how Jason Todd, Gotham’s brooding menace, ended up sitting on the edge of the bed while you happily went to work on his face.
At first, he felt stupid. you started with some primer and foundation, muttering about “undertones” and “coverage” while he sat there like an idiot. Then came the contouring—something about sharpening his cheekbones, which he thought was unnecessary because his cheekbones were already sharp enough to cut glass.
Then you moved to his eyes.
“This is where the magic happens,” you declared, pulling out an eyeshadow palette.
Jason groaned. “I swear to God, if you give me rainbow clown eyes—”
“Shhh,” you hushed him, dusting warm brown and reddish shades onto his lids.
Jason stayed quiet after that, mostly because the feeling of the brush against his skin was oddly relaxing. You blended, added a bit of shimmer at the inner corners, then pulled out the eyeliner.
“Keep still,” you warned.
Jason tried to keep still, but the moment you got close to his eye with that little black pen, his survival instincts kicked in.
You huffed. “You stare down thugs with guns on a nightly basis, but this is where you flinch?”
“It’s a reflex,” Jason grumbled.
you rolled your eyes and cupped his jaw, gently tilting his face. “Look up.”
He did. And maybe—just maybe—he liked the way you were touching him, all soft and careful like he was something delicate.
Once you finished the eyeliner, you moved to mascara. Jason blinked too hard the first time, getting some on his eyelid. You scolded him, wiped it off, and tried again.
Then came the final touch—the lips.
Jason narrowed his eyes as you picked up a tube of lipstick. “No bright red,” he warned.
You rolled your eyes. “I know. Trust me.”
You picked a deep, natural shade and carefully applied it, your thumb tilting his chin to keep him still. When you pulled back, you studied him, eyes wide with satisfaction.
“…Holy shit,” you muttered.
Jason frowned. “What?”
“You look really good.”
Jason snorted. “You’re supposed to say that. You did the makeup.”
“No, but like—really good.” You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera so he could see.
Jason expected to look ridiculous.
Instead…
Oh.
The guy in the reflection wasn’t some overgrown crime alley stray. His skin looked flawless, his cheekbones more defined, his blue eyes sharp. The eyeliner made them pop, the mascara darkened his lashes just enough, and the lip color—damn.
He turned his head slightly, raising a brow. He looked—
“…I look hot,” Jason muttered, genuinely surprised.
You burst out laughing. “I told you!”
Jason kept staring at himself, tilting his head like he was studying a piece of art. “…I look like I could scam rich men out of their fortunes.”
You snorted. “You totally could.”
Jason leaned closer to the mirror. “This is bullshit. Why does this work?”
You smirked, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Because, babe, I’m the one who did it.”
Jason gave you a sideways glance. “…So you’re saying if I let you do this every time, I could be the prettiest crime-fighting menace in Gotham?”
You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”
Jason hummed. “Huh.”
He turned back to the mirror, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.
“…So how do I take selfies?”
Jason stared at his reflection, turning his face slightly to the side, then back. His sharp jawline looked even sharper under the contour, the dark eyeliner made his blue eyes pop like something out of a painting, and the lip color—deep, natural, and just glossy enough—gave him a dangerous kind of charm.
You watched him with barely contained laughter, chin resting on his shoulder. Oh, he was eating this up.
“So,” you drawled, watching his expression shift between admiration and disbelief. “What do you think?”
Jason exhaled through his nose, tilting his head again like he was analyzing a priceless artifact.
“…I look like I scam rich men for a living,” he muttered.
You grinned. “And you’d be good at it.”
Jason let out a soft, amused scoff, still not looking away from the mirror. You could see the way his brain was working—turning over the fact that he, Jason Todd, could be pretty in a way he hadn’t really considered before.
His fingers brushed over his jaw. “This is bullshit.”
You snorted. “What’s bullshit? That I made you look hot?”
“That it works,” he grumbled, squinting at himself like the makeup had personally betrayed him. “I mean, I expected to look like some try-hard clown, not—” He gestured vaguely at his face. “—whatever this is.”
“A masterpiece?” you supplied helpfully.
Jason shot you a look, but there was no real bite to it. He was too busy admiring his reflection.
You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera, holding it up. “Wanna take some selfies?”
Jason hesitated. His instinct was probably to say no, but you could see the little flicker of consideration in his eyes.
“…If you send them to Dick, I’ll throw your phone off a building.”
“Duh,” you said, like that should’ve been obvious. “These are for us. For documentation. For history. For—”
Jason rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.
“…Fine.”
You gasped dramatically. “Did the Jason Todd just agree to take selfies?”
“Shut up and take the damn picture.”
You beamed and held the phone up, making sure the lighting was just right before snapping a couple of shots. Jason barely even tried to pose, but he didn’t need to—his natural sharpness, the way he glanced sideways at the camera with that slight, lazy smirk, made him look effortlessly cool.
After a few shots, you checked the photos, grinning. “Okay, but you actually look so good.”
Jason leaned over, eyes scanning the images. His expression softened for just a second before he covered it up with faux nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just saying that ‘cause you did the makeup.”
“No,” you said seriously, nudging his arm. “I mean it. You’re gorgeous, Jay.”
Jason blinked, caught off guard. He cleared his throat, looking away like you hadn’t just turned him into putty with one sentence. “…You’re so full of shit.”
You just grinned.
“Alright,” Jason sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “Time to wash this off before I start getting ideas.”
You gasped. “What kind of ideas?”
Jason smirked, standing up and flexing dramatically. “I dunno. Maybe I should start conning rich old ladies.”
“Oh my god.”
“I could be Gotham’s prettiest crime lord. Make Bruce’s life a living hell.”
You laughed, standing up with him. “I knew this would go to your head.”
Jason slung an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your fault, babe.”
And yeah—maybe it was your fault. But looking at Jason now, with his newfound appreciation for just how good he could look, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.
Jason wasn’t one to fuss over things like makeup. Sure, it had turned out better than expected—hell, he’d even admit (to you, and only you) that he looked good—but after a few selfies and some teasing, he was ready to wash it off and go back to his usual, rugged, Gotham-worn self.
At least, that was the plan.
You, however, had different ideas.
Jason stood in front of the bathroom mirror, rolling up his sleeves as he turned the sink on. His reflection stared back at him—still sharp-jawed, still intense-eyed, but softened just a bit by the expertly blended makeup you’d applied. He reached for a towel when, suddenly—
SMOOCH.
A pair of lips landed on his cheek, warm and deliberate.
Jason froze. “What are you—”
SMOOCH. Another one, this time dangerously close to his jaw.
“Babe—”
SMOOCH. SMOOCH. SMOOCH.
He turned just in time for you to attack with another kiss, smacking your lips dramatically against his face. Jason stumbled back against the sink, hands bracing himself as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to keep him in place.
“Alright, alright!” he laughed, hands coming up to ward you off. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
You grinned up at him, smug as hell. “Just appreciating my work before it all goes to waste.”
Jason gave you a suspicious look, but when he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand—his eyes widened.
A bright red lipstick stain smeared across his knuckles.
He turned back to the mirror.
Oh, shit.
There were marks everywhere. Little red imprints covered his cheeks, his jawline, his nose, and—he rubbed his lips together, realizing you’d definitely gotten him there too. His mouth was slightly smudged, like he’d either been thoroughly kissed or had just finished robbing a bank with Harley Quinn.
Jason looked back at you, you looked way too pleased with yourself.
“Are you serious?” Jason groaned, rubbing at his face. The lipstick refused to budge.
“Very.” You crossed your arms, proud of your masterpiece. “I think it suits you.”
Jason ran a hand down his face. “I look like I got mauled by a very aggressive valentine.”
“You look loved,” you corrected sweetly, batting your lashes.
Jason exhaled through his nose, staring at you like he was this close to enacting revenge. Then, with zero warning, he grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up onto the bathroom counter.
“Jay—”
You barely had time to react before he pressed his face all over yours—cheeks, nose, forehead, even down to your neck—rubbing against you like a damn cat.
You squealed, trying to push him off. “Jason, no—!”
“What?” he murmured, voice smug and low against your ear. “You don’t wanna match?”
You huffed, knowing damn well he was transferring all those lipstick marks onto your face. When he finally pulled back, he took a second to admire his work.
You glared at him. “You’re an ass.”
Jason smirked, running his thumb over your now-stained cheek. “You love me.”
You tried to look annoyed, but the way he was looking at you—smug, sure, but with that soft glint in his blue eyes—made it impossible to stay mad.
You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah.”
Jason chuckled, leaning down to press a much gentler, slower kiss to your lips. This time, neither of you cared about the mess.
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