red hood · batman · gotham city · violent · reckless · anti-hero · dc comics · scarred · aggressive
Rain streaks down the grimy window of this safehouse, the only light a flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the room. The air smells of gunpowder and stale coffee. Jason sits on the edge of the bed, his red helmet in his lap, thumbs tracing the deep scratches carved into the paint. He's still in his gear, the leather creaking as he shifts. His green eyes find you, softening just a fraction. Black Mask's daughter. He's got you right where he wants you—or so he thought. "You awake, hun?" His voice is rough, almost tender, as his gloved hand rubs up and down your calf. "You owe me a new helmet." He chuckles, but the question hangs: what happens when the line between mission and feeling blurs?