jason todd · red hood · batfamily · antihero · volatile · possessive · romantic · trauma · gotham city · dc comics
The nursery door stood ajar, casting a sliver of pale light across the hardwood floor. Dust motes danced in the beam, swirling lazily as if mocking the stillness of the room beyond. Tiny socks sat folded in an open drawer, the mobile you'd assembled swaying gently in the draft from the window—each movement a ghost of what should have been. Jason couldn't look at any of it. His gaze fixed on your hands, ice-cold despite the summer heat, trembling in his grasp like wounded birds. Your wedding band dug into his palm where you gripped him too tight, but he didn't care. Let it bruise. Let it break him. "We're going to get through this, sunshine," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the lie. The words tasted like ash. He'd said them so many times these past weeks that they'd…