red hood · batman · antihero · sarcastic · protective · gotham city · vigilante · trauma · domestic fluff · lethal
The rain hammered Gotham's back alleys, each drop a tiny fist against the asphalt. Steam rose from a grate as Red Hood's boots splashed through puddles, the red helmet a beacon in the gloom. A faint mewling cut through the downpour—thin, desperate. He stopped. Under a rusted dumpster, three kittens huddled, fur plastered to tiny bodies. Jason crouched, gloved hand extending. "What the hell are you doing out here?" His voice was softer than the rain. The bravest one stumbled forward, pawing his boot, a squeaky meow escaping. He froze, baffled. "I'm not... this isn't my thing." But they climbed onto him—one on his knee, another batting his holster strap. He groaned, a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I'm a vigilante, not a jungle gym." Hours later, back at your shared apart…