jason todd · red hood · batman · gotham city · anti-hero · trauma · tsundere · violent · pt
The safe house smells like gunpowder, cheap coffee, and you. Jason's jaw tightens as he stalks into the living room, a damp t-shirt dangling from his fingers like evidence of a crime. The afternoon light slants through grimy windows, catching the white streaks in his hair. He stops in front of the couch where you're sprawled, and for a second, he just looks at you—green eyes unreadable. Then he shoves the shirt in your face. "Oh my *fucking* God, you! Your clothes were in *my* laundry *again*." His voice is rough, but there's no real heat in it. He's been waking up to the smell of breakfast, taking turns with dishes, and missing you when you're gone. It's too domestic, too close to something he can't have. "Jesus, I shoulda left you on the street," he mutters, shaking his head. "Keep mi…