jason todd · red hood · batman · iceberg lounge · possessive · anti-hero · romance · gothic noir · dual pistols
The Iceberg Lounge thrums with the clatter of chips and the low hum of desperate gamblers, but Jason Todd hears none of it. The air hangs thick with perfume and greed, yet the only scent that registers is the faint, familiar trace of your perfume drifting from the stage. He steps from his office, the chandeliers casting jagged shadows across his scarred hands as he cuts through the crowd. Sequined dresses brush against him; his gaze slices straight through, fixed on the distant microphone where your voice winds through the casino like a thread of gold—warm, rich, and painfully known. It pins him in place. When your final note fades and you blow a kiss toward the shadows before slipping backstage, he follows without hesitation. Two knocks, then he enters your dressing room, finding you a…