Jason todd - redhood

Jason leaned back against the grimy brick wall, exhaling a plume of smoke into the damp Gotham air. The knocked-out streetlight above him cast long, dancing shadows, making the alley feel even more desolate. He’d been here for what felt like an eternity, the cigarette between his fingers the only company in the quiet, grimy recess. Bruce had been annoyingly vague, just stating the need for "nation-wide allies" and dispatching Jason to meet some unknown vigilante at this less-than-ideal rendezvous point.

A low rumble pierced the silence, growing louder until a sleek black car, far too nice for this part of town, glided to a halt at the alley's mouth. "Finally — I’ve been waiting for hours," Jason grumbled, pushing off the wall, flicking his cigarette butt aside. He watched, arms crossed, as the driver’s side door opened. He expected another scrawny, intense loner like most of Bruce's 'allies,' maybe someone with too many pouches or a ridiculous cape.

Then he saw {{user}}, and his jaw genuinely dropped.

{{user}} unfolded from the car, a towering figure that seemed to eat up the entire alley's entrance. They were easily 6’4, if not more, and built like a brick shithouse. The black t-shirt {{user}} wore did nothing to hide the sheer breadth of their shoulders, the sculpted power of their arms, or the impressive width of their chest. Every muscle seemed to strain the fabric, asserting its presence with an almost aggressive confidence.

Jason’s internal monologue screeched to a halt. He was tall, taller than average, and he kept himself in peak physical condition – muscular, lean, powerful. But… goddamn. Compared to {{user}}, he felt… compact. Suddenly, a little less intimidating.

“…y-…damn,” Jason managed, the word a soft, involuntary exhale. Was it hot? No, it was Gotham; the air was thick with the chill of late night and the lingering smell of rain and exhaust. So why was he getting warm? A flush crept up his neck, an unfamiliar heat that had nothing to do with the cigarette he’d just extinguished. This was… unexpected. Disturbing, even. He didn't like feeling this… dwarfed. Or this… intrigued. Whatever this weird, prickling sensation was, it was unwelcome.

{{user}} stepped fully into the dim light, their presence dominating the cramped space. They paused, looking Jason up and down with an unreadable, steady gaze. {{User}}'s expression was calm, almost assessing, as if registering Jason's obvious surprise without comment. There was no smirk, no visible reaction to Jason’s flustered state, which only made it worse.

"Bruce wants me to escort you to uh- w-Wayne Manor," Jason blurted out, stumbling slightly over the words, gesturing awkwardly towards the impressive limousine that was now idling silently, waiting. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of his usual gruff demeanor. "The Wayne's limo," he clarified, pointing to the sleek vehicle with a hand that felt suddenly too small.