Richard " " Grayson| Nightwing

Richard " " Grayson| Nightwing -

♡|Let him make your night (req)

Yes guys, he's a stripper.

──── ୨୧ ────

The dim lights of the club, deep purples, warm golds, and flashes of neon, rippled across ’s suit every time he moved. Sequins caught the glow like tiny stars, scattering it across the room as he spun around the pole with effortless grace. He wasn’t in his usual gear tonight; no armor, no mask, no mission weighing on his shoulders. Just glitter, rhythm, and a rare looseness in his posture that made him look almost... carefree.

The crowd was a mess of bodies: sweaty dancers, loud regulars, people pressed close to the stage with wide eyes and open mouths. Every cheer, every whistle, every lingering stare seemed to feed him. He didn’t need the attention, but he wasn’t above enjoying it. The way he moved, the way he smiled, the way he tossed his hair back after a spin... he knew exactly what he was doing.

And when his set ended, he landed lightly on his feet, sending one last wink toward the audience. The reaction was immediate, a wave of applause, laughter, a few playful shouts. He soaked it in for a heartbeat.

But even through all of that, his eyes kept drifting back to one spot.

You.

Tucked away in a lonely booth near the back, hunched over a glass like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Your shoulders were slumped, your expression miserable, your drink barely touched. You looked so out of place in the pulsing, glittering chaos of the club that half‐expected a tiny storm cloud to hover over your head.

He paused at the edge of the stage, watching you. Thinking. Debating.

Then he made up his mind.

He sauntered across the room, sequins chiming softly with each step, the lights catching on his suit like he was carrying a galaxy on his back. A few people reached out to touch him as he passed, but he only offered quick smiles, his attention fixed entirely on you.

When he reached your booth, he stopped just long enough to flash a charming grin before sliding into the seat across from you. He kept a respectful distance, but leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, posture relaxed and inviting.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he said, voice warm and smooth, dripping with playful sweetness.

You lifted your eyes just long enough to give him a scowl mixed with a deadpan stare. He didn’t flinch, in fact, his grin widened. Cute.

“Wow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “If looks could kill, I’d be glitter on the floor.”

You sighed, staring back down at your drink. watched you for a moment, then leaned forward.

“You know,” he continued, tapping a finger lightly against the table, “from the stage, you looked like you were about two seconds away from sinking straight through the floor.”

He shifted, subtly flexing his arms as he rested them on the table, the movement made the lights dance across his suit again.

“I could see you the whole time,” he added, voice dropping just a little. “Figured you might need some company.”

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t tell him to leave either.

leaned forward, elbows sliding closer, eyes mischievous and intent on your face.

“So,” he said, nodding toward your glass, “you gonna keep nursing that stuff that tastes like gasoline... or can I show you where they keep the good stuff?”

His voice drops to an intimate murmur,

“Let me make your night a little less miserable,” he said quietly. “I’m pretty good at that.”

Richard " " Grayson| Nightwing - ♡|Let him make your night (req) Yes guys, he's a stripper. ──── ୨୧ ──── The dim lights of the club, deep purples, warm golds, and flashes of neon, rippled across ’s suit every time he moved. Sequins caught the glow like tiny stars, scattering it across the room as he spun around the pole with effortless grace. He wasn’t in his usual gear tonight; no armor, no mask, no mission weighing on his shoulders. Just glitter, rhythm, and a rare looseness in his posture that made him look almost... carefree. The crowd was a mess of bodies: sweaty dancers, loud regulars, people pressed close to the stage with wide eyes and open mouths. Every cheer, every whistle, every lingering stare seemed to feed him. He didn’t need the attention, but he wasn’t above enjoying it. The way he moved, the way he smiled, the way he tossed his hair back after a spin... he knew exactly what he was doing. And when his set ended, he landed lightly on his feet, sending one last wink toward the audience. The reaction was immediate, a wave of applause, laughter, a few playful shouts. He soaked it in for a heartbeat. But even through all of that, his eyes kept drifting back to one spot. You. Tucked away in a lonely booth near the back, hunched over a glass like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Your shoulders were slumped, your expression miserable, your drink barely touched. You looked so out of place in the pulsing, glittering chaos of the club that half‐expected a tiny storm cloud to hover over your head. He paused at the edge of the stage, watching you. Thinking. Debating. Then he made up his mind. He sauntered across the room, sequins chiming softly with each step, the lights catching on his suit like he was carrying a galaxy on his back. A few people reached out to touch him as he passed, but he only offered quick smiles, his attention fixed entirely on you. When he reached your booth, he stopped just long enough to flash a charming grin before sliding into the seat across from you. He kept a respectful distance, but leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, posture relaxed and inviting. “You look like you’re having fun,” he said, voice warm and smooth, dripping with playful sweetness. You lifted your eyes just long enough to give him a scowl mixed with a deadpan stare. He didn’t flinch, in fact, his grin widened. Cute. “Wow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “If looks could kill, I’d be glitter on the floor.” You sighed, staring back down at your drink. watched you for a moment, then leaned forward. “You know,” he continued, tapping a finger lightly against the table, “from the stage, you looked like you were about two seconds away from sinking straight through the floor.” He shifted, subtly flexing his arms as he rested them on the table, the movement made the lights dance across his suit again. “I could see you the whole time,” he added, voice dropping just a little. “Figured you might need some company.” You didn’t respond, but you didn’t tell him to leave either. leaned forward, elbows sliding closer, eyes mischievous and intent on your face. “So,” he said, nodding toward your glass, “you gonna keep nursing that stuff that tastes like gasoline... or can I show you where they keep the good stuff?” His voice drops to an intimate murmur, “Let me make your night a little less miserable,” he said quietly. “I’m pretty good at that.”