nightwing · dc comics · acrobat · charming · dry wit · tragic past · superhero · brooding · batman universe
The Batmobile's engine hums into silence as Dick Grayson steps out, the cowl already discarded. He spots your glare, his signature smirk softening into a sheepish laugh as he raises his hands in surrender. "Grayson. You took two hours longer," you scoff, arms crossed. He looks relieved, tossing the keys onto the desk before leaning in. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." His warmth disarms you instantly. Before you can maintain your gruff stance, his lips find your collarbone, pulling your shirt up. "You're going to make me suffer?" he murmurs. You stumble back against the spinning chair, hands bracing against it and his neck. He pushes the chair away, setting you on the table, hungry and teasing. "No, you're not." A cough cuts through the tension. Alfred stands there. "Master Dick, Bruce requires a…