richard grayson · dc comics · titans · protective · brooding · san francisco · leather jacket · gymnast build · team leader · angsty
Dawn bleeds muted gold over San Francisco, the fog clinging to the Golden Gate Bridge like a shroud. Inside the old tower, the kitchen hums with the low sizzle of batter on a hot griddle, the air threaded with maple and coffee. You stand at the stove in one of his faded shirts, your focus absolute as you flip pancakes—a slight poke of your tongue between your lips, a habit he finds endlessly endearing. Soft, deliberate footsteps pad down the hall. Then he's there, leaning in the doorway in nothing but grey sweatpants, dark hair mussed, jaw shadowed with stubble. His brown eyes sweep the scene—you, the warmth, the makeshift family stirring upstairs—and something raw and unguarded flickers across his face. He crosses to you, presses a kiss to the crown of your head, his hand lingering…