I make fanart for whatever character I'm obsessed with, mostly Jason Todd lol. All current art is now publicly posted on insta & tiktok (@jjenthusee) !! my art kept getting reposted without permission, so it's unlikely I'll post art here, sorry :(
I write! Mainly Jason Todd fics, non-descriptive!reader, & inconsistently (i can't focus)
we got the holy trinity here: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. Most fics are cross posted on ao3 :D if u prefer reading and saving fics on there! i also don't mind spam likes :D
and i am an adoptive parent to @indecisive-authors đđ€
since iâm back to blabbering on this account, iâve been thinking very much about Jason Todd in a diner.
an intimate, dimly lit booth with red, plush seats and an intricate glass light hanging above the table. A neon sign hanging outside casting a small red glow over his face as heâs calming down into the very late hours of the day.
A small cast of humidity on the glass, but cold enough for Jason to keep his jacket on as he eats. For once in his life he feels relaxed enough to let his shoulders hunch more than usual. Itâs the kind of posture u think would make you ache just looking at him, but itâs the rare moment of him letting himself just be in the moment as he stares at his very ordinary cup of black coffee.
Watching the way the soft light curves over his crooked nose, the scars lightened just gently enough to blend into the rest of his face, and his hair drooping enough to carve out his silhouette perfectly.
Itâs so peaceful as any moment at midnight can get, hearing the sprinkle of rain on the glass and watching the red tint over your table.
In that moment, it solidifies that the color red really was made with Jason in mind.
He visits often enough to let his presence sink into the worn cushions of the booth, but disappears periodically enough to let the employees question if he was even there.
Has he been here? Maybe he's just another similar gloomy stranger?
They privately ask themselves, but it passes eventually. Maybe they remember wrong or they just seen too many people that come and go. Leaving whatever change they have on them.
It was the closest routine to Jason. The most familiar he let himself get before he had to remind himself that he had to move along.
Even if he left, he managed to find himself back in the same diner. Alone, watching the water drop slowly down his cold glass. This time, he needed the chill.
It was the closest he could get to sitting still, while he let his mind empty. No small thought of his day, himself, or his family.
Just the taste of a sweet soda.
There was a small strain in his chest, but it didn't wound him as much as it usually did.
The moment felt...tender. Intensely vulnerable.
It was just him. A young man in his 20s, sitting in a restaurant like any other customer.
He didn't stand out, he didn't feel out of place, he was just there.
Whatâs a girl supposed to do when her jacked boyfriend is covered in grease because heâs fixing his bike with his bare. fucking. hands?
Tags/CW: 18+ MDNI, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, doggystyle, slight mating press, fingering, oral (f!receiving), cvckdrunk reader, hair pulling, switch dynamics, pvssydrunk Jason Todd, semi!public sex
âIf you donât stop working on that bike im gonna bite youâ
That makes Jason look.Â
Fucking finally.
He lifts his head slowly, helmet thrown somewhere you canât even begin to care for, grease smeared along his knuckles and the edge of his jaw. Thereâs a pauseâlong enough that you think maybe he didnât hear you, long enough for the hum of the massive Batcycle he drives to fill the garage again.
Then his mouth twitches, right at the corner where his scar begins.
âYâknow,â he says, straightening just enough to roll his shoulders, âmost people threaten me with guns.â
His eyes flick to youâsharp, assessing, amused in that dangerous way that makes your stomach dip. He wipes his hands on a rag, not breaking eye contact and walks towards you in slow strides.
âBut sure,â he adds, stepping closer, boots heavy against the concrete. âBiting. Thatâs totally new.â
Youâre suddenly very aware of how close he is. Of the heat coming off him. The way his triceps flex when he throws the towel to the direction of the bike, the veins on his forearms pumping with each movement. The fact that heâs still half in work modeâleather jacket open, sleeves pushed up, forearms tense, smelling like motor oil and something so unmistakably him â youâd be crazy not to try to demand his attention. Especially when youâve done nothing but stare at him for a good amount of, what, forty five minutes now?
âIâm threatening you with a good time, actually.âÂ
Oh that line? Yeah, that usually earns you consequences.
He tilts his head at you like a puppy. âYou gonna follow through,â he murmurs, âor is that just trash talk?â
Thereâs a challenge in it. Not loud. Not cocky. Jason is too softâdespite his massive, enormous musclesâto let himself be cocky with you, but he always indulges you with some sass.
Jason stops a half-step away from you. Close enough that the space between your bodies feels intentional, like he measured it. Close enough that the air shiftsâhot, metallic, thick with oil and ozone and the faint bite of gunpowder that never really leaves him. Your fingers trap his chin between them, forcing his jaw to your eye level and you hate itâ but you bite your lower lip so hard you feel your skin tingle.
The garage hums around you. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, one of them flickering just slightly. The Batcycle ticks as it cools, metal settling, protesting. Gotham presses in from outsideâsirens somewhere far off, rain threatening but not yet falling.
Jasonâs gaze drops. Not all the way. Just enough to register your mouth. The pause is fraction-of-a-second small, but you feel it anyway. He stills after, jaw tightening like he caught himself mid-mistake.
âWhat is it?â He asks, quirking an eyebrow up instinctively.
And you canât help itâ your hand comes to slap against his ass so you can make him jump a tad closer to you. Because, really, how can you even be expected to behave yourself while watching him screw nails with his fingers instead of screwdrivers? Thinking how he could be using his fingers instead to toy with your clit; one big, plushy thumb coiling tight circles on you while he fucks you with his middle finger instead of working on that stupid bike.
How can you be prompted to ignore how absolute snug his leather jacket fits, ready to burst at the seams when his bulky shoulders threaten to make it explode? When he could be using the same muscle to hold you against his chest while he fucks you from behind just so he can kiss you?
âJesusââ His hand comes up on instinct, gripping your wrist, not to stop you, just grounding himself. His thumb presses into your pulse as your mouth already has found his âSomeoneâs horny.â
For a long moment, you let your lips brush his, your teeth softly grazing between your mouths When he finally manages to take a deeper breath though, you pounce, biting his lip into your mouth. And instead of hissing, Jason draws you even closer, his hips slamming against yours through your clothes.
âYour fault.â you whisper against his mouth.
He lets out a sharp laugh that dies halfway in his chest, but heâs smiling. Wide and unguarded. The kind you only get when heâs forgotten to keep the walls up. Not that he usually has his guards up when youâre around.
His hands come alive thenâone sliding up your side, fingers splaying like he needs the contact, the other tangling briefly in your hair before he remembers himself and settles, sweetly for your shoulder instead. The kiss turns sloppy fast, uncoordinated, mouths chasing each other, teeth knocking, breath shared and uneven.
Your intent is to kiss him silly, until both of your chins are absolutely coated in drool, and you absolutely manage to deliver.
The bike behind him gives an irritated whine as one of the screwdrivers he rested on the seat falls to the ground, like itâs been personally offended.
Jason breaks the kiss just long enough to glance back at it, then at youâeyes dark, pupils blown, lips red and swollen.
ââŠGuess the bike can wait,â he says.
Jasonâs gaze flicks to your mouth againâthis time he doesnât stop himself at all. Doesnât hide it. His breath shifts, deeper now, slower, like heâs trying to steady something thatâs already tipped. He wants you so bad when youâre set on freaking him out, it would be insane to try and fight it.
âFuckââ he starts, then exhales through his nose, frustrated. âIf youâre gonnaââ
He doesnât finish that either.
You close the distance for him.
Itâs barely anythingâjust enough that your breath brushes his cheek, your chest almost touching his. You feel him go still again, like a loaded weapon set on a table. Waiting.
âStop talking Jay,â you whisper. âI need you naked right now or I'm gonna explode!â
For a heartbeat, he just looks at you. Really looks. Like heâs weighing the risk. Like he knows exactly how badly this could endâ someone walking in on you, you are in belfry after allâ and heâs choosing it anyway.
Then his hand slides from your wrist to your jaw.
He cups your face with a care that doesnât match his size at all, thumb resting just under your cheekbone. He hesitates thereâone last pause, one last chance to pull away.
He doesnât take it. Of course.
The kiss he gives you is slow. Hungry, but not rushed to its core. Jason leans in like heâs testing the ground beneath his feet, lips brushing yours first, barely there, a question more than an answer. When you donât pull back, when you lean in too, shoulders dropping like you're melting in his touch, he exhales against your mouth and deepens it.
Warm. Firm. Careful in a way that feels almost dangerous.
His thumb shifts, tilting your chin up, keeping the angle just right.
The kiss breaks for a fraction of a second, just long enough for him to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. "Naked, huh?" he rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that you feel in your own chest. You take it upon yourself to kiss the rough pad of his thumb, the coarse skin on the inside of his palm and then, even more carefully, the inside of his wrist "You have any idea how much gear I'm wearing? Itâs a process."
He doesn't wait for an answer. His hands move from your jaw to your waist, his large palms spanning nearly the whole width of you. In one fluid, effortless motion, he hoists you up, seating you on the edge of the metal workbench.
The cold bite of the steel against your thighs is a sharp contrast to his body heat. Tools rattle behind youâwrenches and screwdrivers clattering as youâre shoved back into his workspace. Jason crowds into the space between your knees, his heavy boots locking you in.
"You're gonna get grease on your clothes," he warns, teasingly, though heâs already reaching for the hem of your shirt, his eyes dark with a hunger that says he couldn't care less if the whole place burned down around you.
"Thatâs even hotter," you breathe, tugging at his leather jacket, pulling it off his shoulders.
He lets out a rough, truncated soundâhalfway between a laugh and a growlâand dives back in, his mouth finding the sensitive dip of your neck while his grease stained fingers fumble with the buttons of your pants. When his palms finally make contact with your bare skin, the heat is staggering.
He breaks the kiss just enough to strip off his leather jacket completely, throwing it blindly over the Batcycle. He looks like a stormâhair mussed, eyes dark and blown out until the blue is just a thin, electrified ring around his pupils.
You're just a puddle for him really.
"You being in civilians tonight was supposed to be for easy access?" he laughs, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, you hum in response, casting kisses everywhere around his mouth. "Unfair."
âUnfair?â You tilt your head back as his mouth migrates to your jawline, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. âI think itâs a tactical advantage, Jay. Youâre the one whoâs over-prepared.â
Jason huffs a breath against your skin, a dry, jagged sound as he kisses your earlobe. âTactical advantage,â he repeats, the words vibrating against your throat. âYeah. Iâll show you a tactical advantage.â
He reaches back without looking, his large hand sweeping a row of heavy sockets and a torque wrench off the bench. They hit the concrete floor with a series of loud, metallic clangs that echo through the rafters, but Jason doesn't even blink. He uses the cleared space to lean over you, his weight pressing you back into the cold steel until youâre lying flat, your legs naturally hooking around his waist to keep from sliding.
The contrast is dizzyingâthe freezing metal against your spine and the scorching, solid bulk of him pinning you down.
âYouâre gonna be covered in grease,â he mutters again, but this time itâs not a warningâitâs a promise. His hands, rough and calloused, slide under the hem of your sports bra. The moment his palms hit your ribs, you gasp. His skin is searing, and the faint scent of motor oil on him feels strangely right in the middle of this chaos.
He doesn't waste time. With a strength that feels effortless, he tugs the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere toward the darkness of the rafters. His eyes rake over you, dark and possessive, before he drops his head to the valley of your chest, his stubble grazing your skin.
âJasonââ you breathe, your fingers tangling in the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.
âI got you,â he murmurs, his voice dropping into that gravelly register that always makes your toes curl. âStay right here.â
He pulls back just enough to deal with his own gear. The heavy tactical belt hits the floor with a dull thud, followed by the metallic clack of his holsters. He moves with a frantic sort of efficiency, his movements sharp and hungry. When he finally shoves his shirt off, the flickering fluorescent light overhead catches the map of his bodyâthe jagged lines of scars, the heavy swell of his chest, and the sheer, intimidating breadth of him.
He looks like a wrecking ball in human form, and heâs looking at you with so much tenderness, like heâs more than eager for you to let him do anything to you.
He crowds back into your space, his bare chest slick with a light sheen of sweat as it meets yours. The friction is obliteratingâyour nipples drag along his chest and for all thatâs worth it, you suppress the moan that threatens to spill over. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging you to the very edge of the workbench until your hips meet his.
âNow,â he pants, his forehead dropping against yours, his nose brushing yours in the dark. âAbout that biting threat.â
Jason captures your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just hard enough to make you whine, before his mouth devours yours again. This time, thereâs no hesitation. Itâs all teeth and tongues fighting and the heavy weight of him trapping you on your spot.
âYeah?â
âLetâs see.â
One of his hands stays anchored on your hip, his thumb digging into the dip of your waist to hold you still, while the other slides down, shimmying underneath the band of your cotton panties. His fingers, calloused, scarred, tap their way over your mound, teasing just slightly when he feels the hood of your clit on his pads. His whole hand cups you under your underwear, middle finger circling a tight circle at the sopping entrance of your pussy.Â
When his thumb finds your clit, the contact is electricâa blunt, heavy pressure that makes your back arch off the cold metal.Â
âWet already?â
âForty-five minutes of staring at you screw nails with your hand baby,â you rumbles, his voice dropping into a low, satisfied vibration against your throat. âI almost bust a nut at the sight.â
And fuck, Jason loves what he hears. He loves when you talk so dirty to him.
His thumb hooks under the edge of your panties, dragging the fabric down just enough to get it out of his way, his palm never losing contact with your skin. Heâs being so very delicate; Jason always does delicate even when heâs this far gone. Heâs being thorough, his fingers slicking with your heat as he maps out exactly how much you want him, teasing the tip of his finger at your entrance ever so occasionally, until your pussy pulses around nothing but thin air.
Your breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound that echoes off the metal cabinets.Â
Jason is pinning you down, though while his fingers do their work, his heavy thighs forcing yours wider until youâre completely open to him.
âYouâre shaking,â he murmurs. Itâs not a question. He can feel the fine tremors running through your thighs, the way your muscles jump under his touch.
He leans down, his mouth finding the sensitive curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he bitesânot hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark. He mirrors the threat you gave him earlier, his teeth grazing over your pulse point, trailing down a biting path on his way to one of your nipples, until youâre whimpering his name.
âIf you hadnât responded to my biting threat I would have dropped to my knees and I'd be begging you to put your cock in my mouth.â
âYou wanted my attention this badly?â He pulls back just an inch, his eyes dark, hooding with a dangerous kind of intent. âYouâve got it. All of it.â
He slides two fingers inside you with such blunt pressure that makes your hips jerk upward, seeking more. Heâs steady, his rhythm slow and torturous, his thumb never leaving your clit from the moment he finds it, grinding in tight, heavy circles that make your vision go blurry at the edges.
All the while he keeps kissing between your hardened nipples like a man starved.
The garage feels like itâs shrinking; the image of you, on your knees, begging for his cock is enough of a mind game to make him so painfully hard, that he feels his cock throbbing inside his pants. Instead of acting on it though, heâs watching you, his jaw tight, his own breathing coming in jagged, heavy pulls as he watches your face come apart under his hand.
âJason, please,â you gasp, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his forearms, trying to pull him closer, trying to bridge the last bit of distance.
He lets out a sharp, ragged breath, his forehead dropping against yours again. âNot yet,â he grunts, his fingers curling deeper, hitting a spot that makes your entire body go taut. âI want to see you come on this table before I even think about getting these pants off.â
He increases the pace, his hand moving with almost mechanical precision. And itâs pointless to try to hold it in, he knows every spot that makes you gasp and moan, anyway. Knows when to slow down the pace, or pick it up again. And fuck, he knows that had it been any other day, you would already be pushing his head between your thighs, urging him to suck your clit between his lips.
But the sound your pussy makes for just his fingers tonight?âthe wet, rhythmic friction as he fucks them into youâis drowned out only by the blood rushing in his ears and the needy sounds coming from the back of your throat.
Your breath is hitching in short, desperate stabs, your hips stuttering against his hand as the tension coils into a tight, screaming knot in your lower belly, your pussy pulses around his fingers like a vice and thenâ
Then, abruptly, he stops.
The sudden absence of his touch is like a physical blow beneath the belt. You let out a broken, frustrated sound, your eyes snapping open to find him hovering over you. Heâs shaking like you did moments beforeânot just his hands, but his whole frame. The cool composure he usually wears like armor has completely shattered. His teeth are bared, his jaw worked so tight you can see the muscle jumping in his cheek.
"Jasonâ" you gasp, reaching for him, your fingers clawing at the hard muscle of his shoulders. "Don't stop. Please."
"I can't," he rasps, his voice a raw, jagged mess, as his eyes betray his exact words, lowering to where his fingers are toying with your slit. "FuuuckâI can't just watch you. Iâm gonna lose my goddamn mind baby.â
He pushes back from the bench just far enough to deal with the rest of his gear, his movements frantic, almost violent in their urgency. His heavy tactical pants and boxers are shoved down and discarded, hitting the concrete with a heavy thud of fabric and metal buckles.
His cock, free of any restraints and oozing in pre-cum, slaps heavy on his stomach.
When he moves back into your space, he doesnât wait. He can't. He grabs your thighs, his grip bruisingly firm as he hitches your legs even higher over his shoulders, opening you up completely to the dim light of the garage.
Heâs huge, intimidating in size, even, and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the steel beneath you. He settles between your knees, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, slicking itself in and along the mess he already made with his fingers.
"Babe, look at me," he pleads, his voice dropping into a guttural growl. âHow do you want it?â
You force your eyes to meet his. âJason, if you donât break my back with the meanest backshots right now, I swear to fucking godââ
He stops. The calculation in his eyes dies right then and there, replaced by something dark, jagged, and entirely unhinged.
"Screw this," he rasps, the words catching in his throat.
He doesn't just pull his hand away; he drags you off the edge of the workbench. Your feet hit the concrete for only a split second before heâs spinning you around. He shoves you back down, chest-first this time, your palms skidding across the cold steel of the table. The metal bites into your skin, but youâre barely aware of it because Jason is right there like a wall of scorching heat pressing right into your spine.
He kisses your shoulder, the nape of your neck and trails a series of sloppy pecks down your back, his tongue darting out on every single spot, until he reaches your ass. His broad hands spread you open and you arch onto him, moaning in the brattiest tone you can muster, just to urge him.
It only earns you a hard slap on the ass.
"Stay. Right. There," he whispers, his voice a warning and a plea all at once as he darts out his tongue to lick a clean stripe across your pussy, eager to catch the bead of slick that had been threatening to drip down your thighs.
You gulp in utter heat when he moans at the taste, but before you can arch your back further against his face, you feel him get up from behind you.
Jasonâs hands return to you with vengeance. He hooks his fingers deep into the soft flesh of your hips, his grip so bruisingly firm it anchors you to the spot and you eel the throbbing tip of his cock pressing against your pulsing pussy. Heâs trembling, youâre trembling and you just canât take it anymore. You just want to cum on his cock for fuckâs sake.
"You want 'mean'?" he rasps, his voice a low rumble right against your ear as his thumbs tug your soaking folds open. "Fine by me.."
He lunges forward, burying himself inside you in one deep, staggering surge.
All air leaves your lungs in a broken, high-pitched cry. He bottoms out instantly, the sheer force of the impact sending a shockwave through your body that makes your elbows buckle against the steel. You barely have time to register the fullness before heâs pulling backâonly to drive back in even harder.
He starts with brutal, almost mechanical rhythm. Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of his heavy boots scuffing the concrete and the rhythmic thud of his hips hitting yours echoes off the rafters. The workbench, heavy-duty as it is, begins to protest. It groans, sliding an inch, then two, across the floor as Jason pours every ounce of him into every hit.
"Jasonâ!" you sob, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the surface underneath you, knocking over a tray of copper washers that scatter like metallic rain.
"Fuckâ youâre so fucking tight, so wet,â he moans, his voice thick with unhinged hunger. âPerfect fucking pussy baby.â
He reaches forward, one hand leaving your hip to coil into the hair at the base of your skull, tugging your head back. He wants to see the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. "I was just... trying to work⊠And youâve only been thinking about my dick."
âYeah, yeah i have. And i still want it in my mouth Jay.â
The workbench screeches against the concrete, harsh and metallic as Jasonâs weight and momentum force it back another few inches. He doesn't care about the floor, the tools, or the damage to the shop. Heâs focused entirely on the way youâre taking him, on how your pussy squelches and floods around him, on the way your body is being jolted forward with every rhythmic, punishing hit of his hips, every yelp you let out that comes from the back of your throat.
"You want it in your mouth?" he rasps, his voice jagged, unadulterated. He leans down, his chest crushing against your back, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to yours. "Greedy. Youâre so fucking greedy."
He doesn't stop. If anything, the pace turns more brutal. Heâs delivering on every bit of your 'break my back' request, his hips slamming into yours with a sound like a physical collision. Plop, plop, plop. Every backshot is calculated to bottom out, one gradually harder, faster than the other..
Heâs hitting you so bone-deep that your vision is going hazy at the edges, your forehead bumping against the cold steel of the bench with every fuck of his cock into you from behind.
âPlease, Jayâpleaseââ
âPlease what sweetheart?â he whines, his voice dropping into a guttural, dark register.
He adjusts his grip, both hands now bracketing your waist, his thumbs digging into the soft skin of your belly to anchor you as he pulls back nearly all the wayâbefore slamming home again. âYou want me to stop? Or you want me to finish what you started?â
He doesnât give you time to answer. Heâs a storm of muscle and heat behind you, his breathing coming in jagged, desperate hitches. Every time he bottoms out, you feel the vibration of it even in your teeth. Your pussy slick, a swollen mess working around him, begging for the release thatâs coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.
âIâm gonna cum.â
âYeah baby, come on my cock,â Jason kisses the back of your neck âjust like you wanted.â
Jason lets out a sound thatâs close to a groan, his fingers bruising your hips as he delivers three final, punishing thrustsâeach one deeper, meaner, until heâs buried to the hilt. He stalls there, his entire frame going rigid, a choked-off shout tearing from his throat as he finally spills into you, his weight collapsing onto your back.
The garage is silent for a heartbeat, save for the hum of the lights and your shared, ragged gasps. Then, Jason pulls out with a wet, lingering sound of âplopâ that makes you whimper, the sudden loss of him feeling just a little overbearing right now.
Before you can even try to catch your breath, his hands are under your armpits, hauling you up and spinning you around. He doesnât let your feet touch the ground; he just hitches your thighs over his shoulders and settles himself between your knees, his length still hard, still weeping, and looking absolutely lethal under the flickering fluorescent light.
He looks wrecked. His hair is a mess, his eyes are blown out to black, and heâs looking at your mouth with a terrifying sort of focus.
âYou said you wanted it,â he rasps, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip to pull it down. âShow me.â
He doesn't wait. He crowds into you, his leaking tip pressing against your lips while youâre literally folded in half. He watches you, his jaw tight, waiting for you to wrap your tongue around his pulsing cock.
He reaches out, his thumb catching a stray tear on your cheek before sliding down to trace your lower lipâthe one heâd bitten earlier. Itâs swollen, pulsing, and parted as you pant for air.
"You said you wanted it," he rumbles, his gaze dropping to your mouth. He isn't asking, like he usually does; heâs giving you exactly what you literally begged for.
Jason looks down at you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair once moreânot to pull, but to guide.
"Well?" he murmurs, a new challenge sparking in those blue eyes. "I'm not gonna be the only one who's distracted. I want you thinking about the taste of us all fucking day."
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2026. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.
A/N: if you liked this just know this is GK!Jason, give than man some love UGH I love him.
Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but comments are the fuel my heart needs to keep pumping fics like this
á°.á canât stop thinking about it being your first winter in gotham and jason cannot handle how underprepared you are. iâm talking, jason who canât shut up about how youâve gravely misinterpreted what winter in gotham is. for example, the coat you wear the first snowâŠis barely a coat. light, breezy, barely insulated. mostly cute rather than practical, and when jason lays eyes on it, heâs running his stupid mouth a mile a minute.
âfuck no. what in the absolute hell are you wearing, babe?â jason barks the minute you step outside. his hands have found their way out of his thick puffer coatâs pockets, snowflakes catching and melting on his black gloves as points to your attire.
you shrug, eyes already teary from the chill, âa coat? i wore it all the time back home.â you grab jasonâs arm, pulling yourself into his warmth, âcâmon, i wanna get food before gotham decides to get colder. duke said freeze went berserk last year, iâm not jinxing it.
jason rolls his eyes at you, your sorry excuse for a coat, and the mention of mr. freeze, âwe can get food after you come back out here in something built for the weather.â
you go to argue, but jason cuts you off with a tsk and an expression you would go as far to call snooty, âseriously. what the fuck were you thinking? weâve already got five inches of snow and single digit temps through the nightâŠand you come out here wearing a fuckinâ raincoat.â
âitâs not a raincoat, you ass!â by this point your fighting not to shiver in front of him. damn this gotham cold, and damn your gothamite boyfriend. itâs not your fault you underestimated how bad this shitty cityâs winter could be.
jason looks at you for a long second. really looks. the way your shoulders are creeping up toward your ears, the way your nose is already running, the way youâre trying to pretend youâre not thirty seconds from becoming a human popsicle. his jaw tightens, âyouâre literally vibrating.â he says flatly.
âi am not!â you immediately shiver. like, full body. teeth chattering and all.
he just stares at you. âfuck. i cannot believe you.â heâs glaring down at you, no hatred in it, just actual, jason todd, disappointment.
âyouâre my girl, i canât have you frozen in this city in the name of soup and hot chocolate.â and with that, heâs shrugging off that black puffer of his, exposing the obvious extra layers underneath it. youâre embarrassed heâs actually dressed for the weather. gloves, beanie, hoodie, thick sweater, and a thermal longsleeve. damn him to hell.
heâs shoving you into the (actual) coat before he even starts muttering, âwear this. youâre fucking crazy. actually fucking insane, babe.â
he doesnât even wait for your permission. he just grabs your shoulders and turns you, shoves you forward a step, then swings the puffer around you.
itâs immediately too big. it swallows your frame, the hem hitting mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past your hands.
but itâs also warm. so warm that is causes you to make a small, traitorous sound in your throat.
jason stops, slowly looks down at you, and squints.
âdid you just fuckinâ purr?â
âno.â you lie.
he snorts and starts tugging the zipper up himself because of course his control freak psyche has taken the reigns. his fingers are quick and practiced even in gloves, like heâs stripping a gun instead of zipping up his girlfriend.
âunbelievable,â he mutters. âyou come to gotham, walk out into a blizzard in a glorified windbreaker, and the second youâre too proud to admit defeat, youâre all, âoh, actually this is fine.ââ
you burrow into the coat on instinct. it smells like his soap and cologne and a little like the metal of a gun, âthis is really warm.â
âyeah. because itâs a real coat. thatâs what they do.â he presses two fingers to your forehead like heâs checking for a fever, expression sardonic. âyou got hypothermia already, baby? brain gone?â
you swat his hand. âbe nice, todd. i just didnât think itâd be that bad.â
he gives you a look. the kind that says heâs deciding whether to roast you alive, lecture you, or pick you up and carry you back inside your apartment.
he settles for the lecture, roasting hidden within.
âyouâre in gotham city.â he says flatly. âwinter here isnât cute. itâs not a little chilly. gotham is actively trying to kill us all at all times. weather included, and sometimes with a guy in a cryo suit.â
âi already said duke told me about freezeââ
âyeah, and you still dressed like aâwhat the fuck is it calledâuber outfits mannequin.â
you glare, âfirst of all, itâs urban outfitters. and second, iâm fine now.â you throw up your arms, puffer sleeves still covering your hands, âso can weâŠgo? or are you going to starve me?â
âgod forbid i starve you for five seconds to prevent you from becoming a human icicle.â he huffs, but holds his hand out for you to grab, âcome on, letâs get food.â
you hum, both happy to win and happy heâs finally letting you live down walking out in basically a raincoat.
âiâm getting you actual winter clothes after this, you little fucking embarrassment.â he pulls you closer, guiding you through the snowy sidewalk. âwalkinâ out here like itâs fifty out and not fifteen.â
heâs lucky heâs cute. and that youâre still too cold to move your arms away from the heat of your body. still, you let him be disgruntled about your poor taste in appropriate winter attire. itâs nice that he cares so much.
besides, heâll end up paying for the, no doubt, hideous (weather-friendly) gear. might as well listen to him complain. youâll get it right next year.
maybe.
WRITERâS NOTE
iâm snowed in, cold, and stir crazy. my laptop is away at war (being fixed) and thereâs only so much stardew and cult of the lamb i can play before i go insane. so pls have this probably terrible blurb i wrote on my (new!!!) phone. if the formatting is stupid you have my permission to stone me. ik iâm barely here, but hopefully this was okay enough that you guys donât hate me. having a full time job and doing school is not for the weakâŠand i am the weak :(
wrote about 800 words of the new Coffee Cups chapter! i had the urge to when i reread that lovely one shot and i miss writing fluff. i hope to get more written again later đ
the endless cycle of wanting to create art for the story vs more writing đ€§ thereâs so much i wanna do
my life was in shambles a bit, i took art WAY more seriously than i thought, and i honestly forgot about tumblr đ« is there anyone still here?đ§ââïži have jason todd doodles đ«Žđœâš
hey queen (in a gender neutral manner) i just wanted you to know that your art is fire and just in general from the time i first started following u to now, youâve literally improved so much (somehow when i think ur art is already the best thing ever, it just gets better) so yah! ur awesome!!
omg thank u sm đ i just had such a tough day and this was such a good surprise! thank u for following my journey đâš
After Bruce finally gave Clark the go-ahead to make their relationship of 10 months semi-public, Clark became the happiest man on earth.
Heâd laughed and kissed Bruce all over his cheeks, his jaw, his shoulders, until Bruce had to pretend to be annoyed just to stop grinning himself.
They werenât going to announce it to the press, obviously. Bruce wasnât that reckless. But they also didnât have to hide anymore.
No more meeting halfway between Gotham and Metropolis to spend time together in a Bruce-approved hotel. No more dinners trapped in the manor because, at some point, even the Gotham Gazette had started asking why Bruce Wayne was being interviewed every week by the same very flustered reporter from the Daily Planet.
They could go out now, take walks, have a meal, exist in the open, together.
And for Clark, the first small step toward that freedom sat right there on his desk.
A photograph.
It was a selfie heâd practically begged Bruce to take. Him kissing Bruceâs cheek, arm wrapped around his waist, with Bruce looking both unimpressed but incredibly sweet at the same time.
It wasnât even a big picture, just a small silver frame next to his monitor. But to Clark, it might as well have been a billboard declaring âIâm dating Bruce Wayneâ in big letters.
He couldnât concentrate. Every few minutes, heâd pause mid-article and just let his fingers hover over the keyboard as he glanced around the bullpen.
Lois walked by with a cup of coffee, Jimmy rolled his chair past to show someone a photo, and Perry shouted something about deadlines.
But no one noticed.
By lunchtime, Clark had decided they must all be blind. By three, heâd half-convinced himself Bruce was right about him being paranoid. And by five, the tension had eaten a hole straight through his calm facade.
Finally, as the office began to empty, he turned to his coworkers and asked, way too loudly, âSo⊠no oneâs going to say anything?â
Lois didnât even look up from her computer. âAbout what, Smallville?â
âAbout that.â Clark gestured helplessly toward the frame.
âThe photo?â
âYes! The photo!â
Jimmy leaned back in his chair as he craned his neck. âOh. You finally put something up.â
âFinally?â
âClark, honey, weâve known,â Lois sighed, setting down her pen.
âYouâve known?â
âOf course weâve known,â she repeated, as if explaining something painfully obvious.
âYouâre the first to snatch up any assignment involving Bruce Wayne. You go to Gotham for âweekend storiesâ every other week, and you quote him in articles he hasnât even given interviews for.â
Jimmy held up a finger. âAlso, your tie is always slightly crooked after you come back from Gotham.â
Clark opened his mouth, closed it again, and made a soft strangled sound. âThatâthat doesnât meanââ
âPlease. You think I donât know that look? Youâre in love, Clark. Half this officeâs bets were about when youâd admit it.â
âYou had bets?â
Jimmy grinned. âLois won.â
âTold them I recognized that dumb lovesick grin months ago.â
Clark dropped his head into his hands. âYou guys are unbelievable.â
âUs?â Lois muttered sweetly. âYouâre the one who kept blushing every time someone mentioned Bruceâs name.â
Clark muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Iâm never living this down.
Later that evening, he couldnât wait to text Bruce as soon as he got home.
Clark: They already knew.
The reply came within seconds.
Bruce: I told you they would.
Clark: They had bets.
Bruce: Smart people.
Clark: I hate you.
Bruce: No you donât.
Bruce's publicist asked him to be a guest on an interview show where he got to play with puppies, but what they didn't account for was that he would be so genuinely enamored playing with them that he accidentally (or was it entirely intentional) revealed his engagement.
