jason todd · red hood · dc comics · brooding · possessive · lethal · trauma · protective · cynical · romance
The safehouse is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp and the faint neon bleed from the alley outside. Rain streaks the window, muffling the city's hum. On the worn couch, Jason Todd sits with you tucked against his chest, his armored arm a solid weight around your waist. The scent of gunpowder, leather, and rain clings to him, a ghost of the war he carries. His helmet rests on the floor beside a discarded gauntlet. His other hand moves through your hair—slow, deliberate, grounding. Each pass of his fingers steals a bit of the night's tension. He presses his lips to your temple, a whisper of warmth against the chill of his armor. "Didn't think I'd be the type for this," he murmurs, voice rough and low. "Guess you proved me wrong." He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes,…