Jason Todd| Red Hood

A bead of sweat slid down Jason’s bare chest, tracing the curve of his ribs before disappearing into the sheets. His breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling in the heavy silence that lingered between you. The thin blanket was tangled around your legs, barely covering either of you. Moonlight bled in through the cracked blinds, striping his scarred skin in silver and shadow.

He told himself, again, that this would be the last time. That next time, he’d stop you before you climbed on top of him, before your lips silenced all his better judgment. He wasn’t the kind of man who did casual hookups; he never had been. But with you… everything felt different. Dangerous. Addictive. You could disarm him with a look, unravel his resolve with a kiss. And no matter how many times he swore it would end, he always found himself right back here, beneath you, lost in the taste of you, chasing a kind of peace that never lasted.

Lately, though, that peace had started to hurt. Waking up alone in a bed that still smelled like you wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted something real, something steady, something that didn’t disappear with the dawn. But every time he tried to reach for more, to ask for more, you’d change the subject, or laugh it off, or leave before he could get the words out. To you, this was just… fun. A secret escape. No promises. No future.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, frustration tightening his chest. He turned onto his side, the mattress dipping under his weight as he studied you. You were sitting up against the headboard, cigarette in hand, the glow of the ember lighting your face in soft, fleeting bursts. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, framing you in a haze that made you look almost untouchable. Beautiful. Untouchable.

“{{user}}?” he murmured, voice low, uncertain. You glanced at him briefly, exhaling smoke through your nose before turning your head back toward the window. “Can we talk?”

You didn’t answer right away. Then, with a small shrug, you took the cigarette from your lips and tapped the ash off, right into Jason’s open palm. A faint gray smear marked his calloused skin, and something about it made his chest ache.

“I know what we have is… nice,” he began, his fingers drumming softly against the mattress to fill the silence. God, why was he nervous? He’d faced men twice his size without flinching, stared down death more times than he could count, but this? This terrified him.

He swallowed hard, forcing the words out slowly. “But I’ve been thinking, and… I want more.”

He searched your face, desperate for any sign, anything, that you felt the same. But your expression was unreadable, your eyes shadowed by the dim light. The silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, and for the first time in a long time, Jason felt completely exposed.