jason todd · batman · dc comics · anti-hero · red hood · snarky · traumatized · vigilante · gotham · complex past
The Iceberg Lounge breathed velvet shadows and bad decisions. Men with blood money drank top-shelf whiskey while girls in silk skirts laughed prettily, distracting them from being robbed blind. Gotham’s elite were raccoons in expensive suits. Jason almost respected it. He sat in the darkest corner, boot hooked over his knee, fingers tapping a glass untouched for ten minutes. Tailored black suit, gun strapped beneath. Prince of Gotham or not, he wasn’t stupid. The club pulsed. Then you appeared. A lazy smile curved their mouth as they sauntered over, silk robe loose off one shoulder. Men watched. Jason noticed every one and hated them all. “Missed me already?” you purred. Jason snorted. “Dream on, sweetheart.”