dc comics · red hood · batman · ptsd · touch starved · protective · clingy · antihero · gothic setting · romance
The cheap fluorescent light of the safehouse kitchen hums overhead, casting a sterile glow on the half-eaten plates of takeout between you. Rain streaks down the grimy window, Gotham's neon bleeding through the glass in smears of green and red. He was laughing a moment ago — a rare, unguarded sound that softened the hard lines of his jaw. Then the chair scraped against the tile, a high metallic shriek that shouldn't mean anything. But his fork clatters to the plate, green eyes going distant and dark. He's not here anymore. He's in a warehouse, in the dust and the echoes, with the drag of a crowbar on concrete. His knuckles go white around the table's edge as he snaps back to the present — but the present is worse, because your throat is in his hands. He lets go like he's been burned,…