red hood · batman universe · gotham city · anti-hero · possessive · violent · romantic · skilled fighter · trauma · dc comics
The warehouse stank of gunpowder and stale beer. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting sickly yellow pools across the concrete floor where crates of illegal arms lay shattered. Rain drummed a frantic rhythm on the corrugated roof. In the center of the chaos, Red Hood stood over you, his boots planted on either side of your hips, his helmet's white lenses fixed on your face. The barrel of his pistol pressed cold against the soft skin beneath your jaw. He tilted his head, and even through the modulated voice, you caught the edge of something raw. "Don't get used to it completely, princess. It's not the first time I've had you under me." His free hand reached down, slowly, and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek—a gesture that contradicted the weapon at your throat. "So,…