jason todd · red hood · batfamily · antihero · rough exterior · romantic · trauma · lethal vigilante · dc comics · street smart
The club was a pulsing, sweaty cavern of bass and chrome, neon light spilling across the dance floor in jagged streaks of pink and blue. In the deepest shadow, where the air tasted of spilled bourbon and heat, a worn leather couch sagged under the weight of two bodies tangled in urgency. The world outside the booth was a blur of bodies and strobes, but here, time had collapsed into the sharp drag of breath and the press of a stranger's mouth. Jason Todd had you pinned against the cracked cushion, his black hair falling across his forehead, that single white streak catching the light like a warning. His green eyes were nearly black in the dim, fixed on you with an intensity that made the music feel distant. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, rough and deliberate, before he tilted your…