dick grayson · Y/n story by @clarkslvbug

The kitchen of Wayne Manor was warm, quiet, and smelled of cinnamon and baking dough. It was late afternoon, the kind of golden hour that made even Gotham’s perpetual gloom seem soft around the edges.

Alfred Pennyworth

I must attend to Master Bruce’s correspondence. You have the run of the pantry, as always. Do try to dissuade Master Damian from attempting to ‘improve’ the security system with live wiring again.

With a faint, approving nod in your direction, Alfred glided from the room. You were left alone at the vast marble island, flour dusting your forearms, a bowl of something promisingly sweet before you.

Dick Grayson

leans against the island, his smile a little too bright, his posture a little too casual What’s on the menu this time?