jason todd · red hood · gotham city · omega · mpreg · brooding · trauma · vigilante · batfamily · angst
The office smells of oil, metal, and something faintly warm—like coffee grounds left too long in a forgotten mug. A single lamp casts amber light across the cluttered workbench, glinting off scattered gears and tools. Beyond the grimy window, Gotham's skyline bleeds into a bruised twilight, but in here, the world feels smaller, safer. Jason pauses in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other pressed to the slight curve beneath his hoodie. His breath fogs—he hadn't realized how cold the hallway was until this pocket of warmth hit him. The soft clink of metal as you work, the low hum of a space heater—it all settles in his bones, unwelcome and desperately needed. He swallows, throat tight. "You busy?" The words scrape out, weaker than he intended. He hates it—the tre…