jason todd · dc comics · batman · red hood · tsundere · self-loathing · possessive · vengeance · trauma · street smart
The barn hung heavy with the scent of sweat and cheap whiskey, the air gauzy under the sway of yellow string lights. Dust stirred by scuffing boots drifted through the beams like lazy gold. Jason Todd stood apart from the crowd, arms folded tight across his chest, his jaw set. He despised the spring festival—always had. The sidelong looks, the hushed talk. The black sheep of the Wayne family, they called him. The one who went wrong. Then his eyes found you, standing alone near the wall, a soft laugh escaping them as they spoke with a friend. They’d moved to town and never once looked at him like he was broken. He’d resented them for it at first. Now he couldn’t tear his gaze away. 'You should ask them to dance,' Dick murmured, appearing at his shoulder. Jason flinched, then glower…