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#its called a coping mechanism and sometimes you gotta turn your mind's clock back 6 months to give all your feelings a place to go.
citrinesparkles · 10 months
Text
cold hands
jason todd x gender neutral reader. 789 words. notes: i started this in december i swear it was seasonally appropriate at the time warnings: n/a
he scooped your hands into his own, cupping them together and bringing them to his face smoothly.
he caught your eye with a small smirk. you knew him well enough to know he wasn't really smug- he was looking for your reaction, a silent is this okay wrapped up in his confident expression. the large, colorful lights strung across the shop front you had stopped in front of were reflected in his eyes, but he was focused entirely on you.
you slipped your thumb out of his hold and ran it over his own.
jason took it for the invitation it was and exhaled heavily over your frigid fingers, looking down to them.
you, though? you kept your gaze right where it was.
he was beautiful, you thought. a strong jaw and handful of faded scars were contrasted by the softness of his eyes, his red (garnet, you remembered him saying with a little self-aware grin, not red- that was a work color, and you weren't work) knit hat bringing out the green in them. he was bathed in an orangey-pink from the décor behind you, and you almost wanted to pull a hand back to take a picture.
almost.
"i'm buying you some damn gloves," he muttered without heat, laughter buried in his tone as he gently massaged your fingers.
"and put my personal hand warmer out of a job?"
"he's creative. he'll find another one."
you let out a small huff of laughter, the sound turning to fog between the two of you. you pulled your hands out of his grasp- earning a raised eyebrow- and pushed forward to take hold of the front of his jacket, gently pulling him into kissing range.
as always, he adapted almost instantly. "see?" he asked quietly, his palms finding your hips. "a new job opened up pretty quick."
"shut up," you mumbled fondly, pressing your lips to his.
the warmth in your chest absolutely erupted, the sweet, familiar feeling of his lips- of his presence- making your heart and mind go the same sugar-sweet shade of pink.
"i love you," you pulled back to whisper firmly, grip tightening on his jacket just to give some of the oomph in your veins somewhere to go.
you felt his chuckle under your fists and against your lips, like the bassline of your favorite song with the dial all the way up, rattling through the floor and into your ribs and threatening to turn you giddy. "i think that means i'm doing alright at my new job."
"you're doing wonderfully at your new job."
not much would be worth opening your eyes from such a spell, but you found that his smile made the list: crooked and fond and beautiful and somehow it was aimed at you.
"think i can clock in for another shift?" he asked lowly, playfully, sending another wave of butterflies through your system. they left quickly, replaced by a feeling of belonging, of home, of peace.
"yes," you answered simply, trying (and failing, judging by his little laugh) to keep your eagerness under control. "you should."
so he kissed you again, holding you close. sheltering you from the chill of gotham in the dead of winter. reflecting warm lights onto you and chasing shadows away. turning every beautiful, poetic thought you'd ever had about him into something literal and visible and tangible and not having a single clue.
--
so he kissed you again, basking in the affection in your eyes and letting it warm him straight to his bones. begging his mind to save the image of you bathed in orange and pink and magic, looking at him like he was even close to that kind of beautiful, tugging him towards you like there was nowhere else on the planet you'd rather he be.
and he tried to hold you as softly as you deserved, bringing a hand up to cup your jaw and tilt your head slightly and cherishing the way you immediately, confidently leaned into his touch like you trusted him to keep you upright.
it felt like someone cracked a glowstick where his heart should be.
no- that was too vivid, too harsh. this was like a candle, warm and steady and breathing and alive. this was something to look to in the dim and the dreary, something by which he could read; something to warm his hands over, something to turn to when the storms rolled through and the power failed and left him in the dark.
you were something to turn to in the dark.
he decided, then and there, pressed against your coat and your lips and your warmth, that you were getting the nicest gloves he could get his hands on.
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