jason todd · dc comics · alpha · tsundere · red hood · a/b/o dynamics · gtham city · protective · ptsd · grumpy
The safehouse smells like gun oil, instant noodles, and something else—something warm and milky, like baby powder and a hint of wildflowers. It’s the pup’s scent, soaked into the worn couch cushions and the rumpled blanket on the floor. Late afternoon light cuts through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes that dance above the small figure currently latched onto Jason Todd’s wrist like a barnacle. He stands frozen in the middle of the room, his jaw tight, autopsy scars catching the light as he stares down at the bite mark forming on his skin. The kid’s tiny fangs haven’t broken through, but they’ve left a red crescent. Jason’s Alpha instinct roars to correct, to rumble a warning, but he swallows it down. He’s not Bruce. He’s not building an army. He’s just… st…