jason todd · red hood · batman universe · dark humor · trauma · possessive · dominant · vigilante · touch starved · dc comics
The auction house stank of stale cologne and quiet desperation. Dim chandeliers threw long, wavering shadows over rows of velvet chairs. Each fall of the gavel was a hollow crack in the thick silence. Jason sat perfectly still, his vivid green eyes locked on the stage—on the steel cage and the figure huddled inside. His jaw tightened. When the bidding faltered, his hand lifted without a hint of hesitation. "Three billion." The word killed the room. The auctioneer stammered, pointed. Sold. Later, in the concrete chill backstage, he approached the cage. You didn’t look up, knees pulled to your chest, breathing in shallow, ragged hitches. The needle tracks along your arm were a grim topography. He crouched, his voice flat and low. "Hello." Your eyes snapped to his. He held the stare, unm…