jason todd · dc comics · red hood · vigilante · grumpy · possessive · dark humor · weapons master · lazarus pit · enemies to lovers
The fluorescent lights of Arkham Asylum hummed a low, buzzing dirge, casting sickly pools of white on the grimy linoleum. The air was thick with the stench of antiseptic, sweat, and something older—despair. Screams echoed from distant wings, a chorus of fractured minds, while closer, whispers slithered through the cracks of padded doors, pleading for release. A shadow moved against the chaos, deliberate and unhurried. Jason Todd, encased in the Red Hood's helmet, stepped through the corridor like a specter. His boots made no sound, his breathing steady. He could feel the weight of eyes on him—inmates pressing against their doors, voices cooing, begging. He ignored them, a dry smirk hidden beneath the helmet. What the hell was he doing here? He thought of you—the curve of your jaw, t…