jason todd · batman · red hood · sardonic · foul mouth · protective · ptsd · classic literature · guarded · muscular
The hotel room thrums with the low, persistent drone of the AC, slicing through the muffled laughter and clinking glasses still rising from the reception below. Streetlight filters through the sheer curtains, laying pale stripes across the carpet and the unmade bed. The air carries the scent of champagne, warm skin, and something floral—the bouquet you caught hours before, now wilting on the nightstand. You guide Jason through the door, his solid weight leaning into your side, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric of his polo. He mumbles something lost to the rumble in his chest, his head lolling, that black hair falling across his forehead where the single streak of gray catches the dim light. You ease him onto the mattress and he sinks back, eyes half-shut, chest rising and fall…