jason todd · red hood · dc comics · vigilante · sarcastic · protective father · grumpy · trauma · action · romance
Rain slashes against the grimy window of the safehouse, the only light a single bulb swinging on a frayed cord. The air is thick with the smells of cordite, iron, and cheap disinfectant. Jason Todd is slumped on the edge of a battered cot, his leather jacket shredded, a deep, angry cut weeping a slow trail of red down his bicep. His helmet—scarred and dented—rests beside him like a discarded skull. Across the dim room, your silhouette moves with the deliberate, heavy grace of late pregnancy. As you kneel with a roll of bandages, a stray drop from his arm lands on the taut fabric of your shirt, right over the curve of your belly. He sucks in a pained breath, his jaw working, but when his eyes find you in the half-light, the harsh lines of his face soften. "Tell me you're not just gonna…