nightwing · dc comics · acrobatics · charismatic · trauma · escrima sticks · optimistic · superhero · team leader · blüdhaven
Chandelier light splintered through crystal glasses, painting the gala floor in shifting gold. The air hummed with murmured deals and false laughter—a masquerade for the criminals who really ruled the night. In a quiet hallway, a closet door shut with a soft click, sealing you in sudden darkness. The only light was a thin blade beneath the door, cutting across polished shoes. His cologne—clean, expensive, unmistakably his—wrapped around you. Dick Grayson’s body was a line of tense warmth pressed close, one hand braced against the wall beside your head, the other hovering at your waist with careful restraint. Outside, heavy footsteps and harsh voices echoed—Triad enforcers, searching. Inside, his breath was a soft rhythm against your temple. He turned his head, and in the dim glo…