: ♥︎ doll notie note . . . sorry it took me too long I HAD TO REWRITE THE OLD R*FE VERSION AND I ENDED UP CHANGING A LOT OF STUFF LOL
Dick never thought that falling in love would force him out of his comfort zone. Yes, he knew that falling for a model would be tough, but being on that pink carpet, surrounded by the blinding flashes of hundreds of cameras, was something that wasn’t on his to-do list for 2025. Possibly anyone would die to be in that spot, but there was something in the pit of Dick’s stomach that made him feel uneasy—and for someone who had spent his teenage years at fancy galas faking smiles, that was something new. It was obvious, Dick was more nervous about that runway than his own girlfriend.
He adjusted his tailored blazer as he stepped out of the sleek black car, trying to ignore the noise around him. The crowd buzzed; paparazzi shouting, people screaming behind velvet ropes, and influencers posing. Dick’s stomach did a little flip, not from the chaos but from the thought of her. Y/N. His Y/N.
“Dick Grayson! Over here!” A reporter’s voice cut through the din. Heads turned, cameras swiveled.
Dick flashed a polite smile, years of Bruce training kicking in, but his heart wasn’t in it. The flashes popped like tiny explosions, catching the sharp angles of his jaw.
“Dick, you here for the models? Got your eye on anyone special?” The interviewer, a woman in a sequined dress, shoved a microphone toward him.
Dick’s smile turned lopsided. “I’m here for my girl. She’s walking today,” he said, carrying that easy confidence that made people lean in.
The crowd cooed, a ripple of “awws” and whispers.
“Y/N Y/L, right?” another reporter piped up, scribbling furiously.
Dick just nodded. He didn’t need to say more.
The thought of Y/N kept him grounded as he waved off the cameras and slipped inside.
The runway stretched like a glossy pink blade through the darkened hall, flanked by rows of seats filled with celebrities and fashion insiders. Dick found his seat near the front, close enough to feel the heat of the spotlights. His fingers tapped his knee, a nervous habit he’d never quite shaken. She’s gonna kill it, he thought, a grin tugging at his lips. He had seen her practising her walk for months, and she got this.
The lights dimmed, the music swelled, and the show began. Models strutted out, but Dick barely noticed them. He could only think about his girlfriend, eager to see her model.
His eyes were locked on the runway, waiting.
Then she appeared...
Y/N stepped into the spotlight, and Dick’s breath caught. She was a dream, the dream, in a red lingerie set that hugged her curves in such a way that made his mouth go dry, even her hair was perfect, cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. She looked like a damn angel, and it wasn’t because of the huge wings that looked like they belonged on a mythical creature, it was her, her presence that stole the room. Her walk was perfection, each step deliberate yet playful, her hips swaying with a confidence that said she owned every inch of that place.
Dick’s heart thudded. God, she’s stunning.
She was every bit the angel, but to him, she was more. Halfway down the runway, she spotted him. Her eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, the world shrank to just them. She blew him a kiss, followed by a wink that sent a jolt through him. The crowd cheered, thinking it was part of the show, but Dick knew it was for him.
His grin widened, pride swelling in his chest. That’s my girl.
The rest of the show blurred by.
Y/N’s second walk, in a black lace set with smaller, sharper wings, was even bolder—her steps a little sassier, her smile a little brighter. Dick couldn’t take his eyes off her. Heat prickle at the base of his neck when he focused on Y/N’s final pose.
As the applause roared and the lights came up, Dick was already moving. He’d spotted a staff member earlier, distracted and fumbling with a lanyard and with a quick sleight of hand—old circus tricks never failed—and the card around his neck was his. He slipped through a side door, the lanyard dangling around his neck, and navigated the chaotic backstage.
Models rushed past, laughing and calling to each other, while staff darted around with clipboards and headsets. Dick kept his head down, his instincts guiding him through the maze of racks and mirrors until he saw her.
Then she turned, and her eyes widened, a startled gasp escaping her lips.
Y/N stood near a vanity, still in her black lace lingerie, laughing with another model. Dick’s throat went dry. The delicate lace hugged her curves, the sheer fabric catching the dim backstage lights, and for a moment, he forgot how to move. She was breathtaking, every inch of her radiating that effortless beauty that had first drawn him in.
“Dick?” Her voice was a mix of surprise and delight, her hand flying to her chest. “What the—how’d you get back here?” Her gaze dropped to the staff lanyard around his neck, and a giggle bubbled out. “Did you steal that?”
Dick grinned, closing the distance between them, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with sneaking past security. “Couldn’t wait to see you,” he said. “You were… wow. You were incredible out there.”
Her cheeks flushed, but before she could respond, he gently took her hand, tugging her toward a nearby door marked “Private.” He didn’t like how exposed she was back here, how many eyes were on her—he wasn’t the jealous type but God, he wanted her all for himself.
The small room was filled with spare props and folded chairs, the air cooler and quieter. He closed the door behind them, and then he couldn’t hold back anymore.
He kissed her, soft at first, then deeper, his hands finding her waist, the lace of her lingerie cool under his fingers. She melted into him, her arms looping around his neck, her lips tasting faintly of cherry lip gloss.
“Careful,” Y/N teased as she pressed a hand to his chest. “This lingerie’s worth more than your car, Grayson.”
Dick’s hands still resting on her waist, fingers tracing the edge of the lace where it met her skin. “Don’t care,” he murmured. He pulled her closer, the heat of her body against his making his pulse race.
The backstage noise field the place, a reminder of how thin the walls were, how close they were to being caught. That thought only made his blood run hotter.
Y/N’s laugh was soft, but it melted into a gasp as he kissed her again, harder this time, his lips claiming hers with a hunger he couldn’t rein in. She matched him, her hands sliding under his blazer, nails grazing his back through his shirt. The wings shifted slightly, feathers rustling, and he couldn’t help but think how perfect she looked, his angel, radiant and reckless, right here in his arms. He backed her against a cluttered table, the edge digging into her hips, and she let out a little moan that sent a shiver down his spine.
“Dick,” she whispered, “we’re gonna get in so much trouble.”
“Let ‘em try to stop us,” he growled, his hands roaming now, slipping under the lace to find the soft curve of her ass. He lifted her onto the table, her wings spreading slightly to balance her, and the sight of her perched there, legs parted, eyes heavy with desire, made his throat tight. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice raw. “My pretty angel, stealing the whole damn show.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away, her gaze locked on his as she reached for his belt. “Call me your angel again,” she said, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth.
“My pretty angel” he shot back, helping her undo his belt with a speed that betrayed his impatience.
His pants hit the floor, and he stepped between her thighs, the lace of her lingerie brushing against his skin. He could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric, and it took every ounce of control not to tear it off right then. Instead, he slid his hand up her thigh, fingers finding the edge of her panties.
“Wanna make you mine,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “Wanna fill you up, make sure everyone knows you’re my angel.”
Her breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping her as his words hit home. “Dick,” she said, her voice trembling with want, “you’re gonna ruin me.”
“Yeah?” He grinned as he pushed the lace aside and slid a finger along her slick heat. She was already wet, and the discovery made him groan low in his throat. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, adding another finger, curling them just right to make her arch against him, her wings trembling. “So ready for me, aren’t you?”
Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in as she rocked against his hand. “Yes,” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. “Want you, Dick. Want all of you.”
That was all he needed.
He hooked his fingers into the delicate waistband of her panties, yanking them down her thighs with a rough tug, the lace catching briefly on her skin before pooling at her ankles. He nudged her legs apart, positioning himself between her trembling thighs. The table groaned under their combined weight, but he didn’t give a damn.
The world outside could burn for all he cared.
He gripped his throbbing cock and guided it to her slick entrance, pushing into her with one slow thrust that stretched her open. The way her tight, wet heat clamped around him made his vision blur, a guttural “Fuuuuck, baby” tearing from his throat. His hands dug into her hips, fingers bruising, the scratch of her lace bra against his bare chest igniting a primal spark in his gut. “You’re so fucking tight. So goddamn perfect.”
Her moan was loud enough to make him freeze, the distant murmur of the backstage crew suddenly too close for comfort.
“Shh, angel,” he growled, a grin curling his lips as he gently clapped his hand over her mouth, fingers splayed across her soft lips. “You scream like that, and everyone’s gonna know how much you love this cock.”
Her eyes widened, pupils blown with lust, no trace of fear—just a wild thrill that mirrored his own. She nodded, her breath hot and ragged against his hand, and then her tongue darted out, licking a slow stripe across his palm. The sensation shot straight to his cock, making it twitch deep inside her, and he bit back a groan, tightening his grip just enough to muffle her sounds. His thumb grazed her lower lip, smearing her lipstick, and she melted into his control, her hips rolling to meet his deepening thrusts.
Her surrender, her absolute trust, drove him fucking wild.
He fucked her harder, each thrust so brutal that the table rocked beneath them. Her wings trembled with every slam of his hips, feathers brushing the table’s edge, and he couldn’t stop the words spilling from his mouth.
“Wanna fill you up,” he panted, sweat dripping from his brow. “Wanna pump you so full of my cum, you’re dripping for days. Wanna see you swollen, carrying my kid, everyone knowing I fucked you raw.”
The image—her, round, marked by him in the most primal way—sent a jolt through him, his balls tightening as he teetered on the edge.
Her muffled moans grew desperate, her nails raking down his back, leaving stinging trails that only fueled him. She loved it; he could feel it in the way her pussy clenched around him, the way her eyes rolled back when he pressed his hand tighter over her mouth, cutting off her cries.
The thin walls barely muffling the obscene sounds of their bodies slapping together made his blood sing. Footsteps echoed outside, a voice calling for someone, and his heart pounded, not with fear but with the reckless thrill of it.
“You’re mine,” he rasped, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “My pretty little angel, taking my cock so fucking well.”
She came first, her body convulsing around him, her pussy spasming so hard it nearly pulled him under. Her muffled screams vibrated against his hand, her wings shuddering violently... that snapped his control. He buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside her, thick cum filling her, breeding her, making his vision white out with pleasure.
They stayed locked together, panting, slick with sweat and cum, the world outside a faint hum.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the haze. “Hey! This room’s off-limits!” a voice barked.
Y/N’s eyes widened, but a stifled giggle escaped her, her cheeks flushed with because of the sex and adrenaline. Dick eased his hand from her mouth, pressing a finger to his lips with a grin.
“Stay quiet, angel,” he murmured, helping her off the table, his hands lingering on her thighs as she adjusted her lingerie. He yanked his pants up, tucking himself away, while she smoothed her hair, her wings somehow still intact.
“Think we’re busted?” she whispered.
“Not if I can help it,” he shot back, grabbing the stolen lanyard and looping it around his neck like he owned the place.
He cracked the door open, flashing a charming smile at the staff member, a harried woman clutching a clipboard.
“Sorry, got lost looking for the bathroom,” he said with that charm that could melt anyone. She blinked, thrown off, and didn’t push it, just waved him out.
Dick walked out of the backstage, a smug grin plastered on his face, his mind already replaying every second of what just happened inside that backstage room.
ꗃ ˖ ࣪ 𓂃 ✦ TOXIC!CHRIS X ITGIRL!READER FINE SHIT ROLLING LOUD BLURB
bass shakes the ground beneath them and neon lights flicker across the crowd as music blasts through their ears. you move with the rhythm, effortlessly— like it was second nature to your body and chris bops his head to the music, closely behind you with his hands gripping your waist, attempting to catch all that ass you threw on him.
“chill out, ma” he mumbles in your ear.
you knew eyes were on you, they always were and you ate that shit up. chris also knows your doing this on purpose, giving them a show, making them wish they were him or visvirsa.
“y’tryna piss me off baby?”
you slyly giggle and look back at him over your shoulder, her eyes glazed up sharp. “why, is it working?”
weed and alcohol coursed through your body, building up the courage on your chest. chris got possessive and needy when he was drunk, you got reckless and horny.
bad decision were just itching to be made and leave it up to you to always spice shit up.
rolling your hips all over your man, arms warped around his neck and suddenly the flash on someone’s camera catches the glow of your bronze skin under the bright lights, making chris’ jaw clench and fingers dig into your hips.
you lean back, pressing your ass against him harder, finding the bulge in his pants with ease. “awe, don’t tell me y’jealous baby,” you pouted your lips and teased at him.
“nah,” he grips your chin turning your body toward him and pulling you impossibly close. “jus’ think it’s funny how y’think i don’t know what y’doing.”
you bit your lip through the smirk on your face as you feel your body tingle and heat rush through it, so dizzy you thought you might stumble. “what are w’gonna do about that huh?”
you were wearing his patients out so fucking thin right now. he’d been trying to control himself all day— but it got harder by the the second and the weed made it no better. you were challenging him, seeing how far you could go until he cracked and he almost had you, but his lust was just so much stronger when it came to you.
before you even had time to think chris had you by the wrist, pulling you through the crowd, weaving through all the sweaty bodies until the music became nothing but background ground noise and bass that thumped in your chest.
he hardly had you against the wall before your pulling him down, consuming his lips with your own like a woman starved. the kiss was sloppy and desperate, too much teeth and too much tongue but so much desire for affection.
you taste like liquor and something sweet, and he’s so gone. chris claws at your thigh, hiking it up around his waist while his other hand stations around your neck. “mph..chris”
your making those pretty little noises he likes in his mouth and your lips are slick and swollen, lip liner entirely smudged off and saliva smeared on the sides of your mouth, but you can’t stop, your body won’t let you.
chris barley pulls away, his swollen pink lip getting caught in your teeth before he presses his forehead to yours. his breathe is uneven, panting for air, whimpering for your touch. “wanna get y’home— fuck m’pretty girl s’good.”
“mmh.. don’t wait baby, do it now, d’wanna wait,” you tugged on his hoodie, wishing it would fall right off his body. suddenly a camera flashes in the distance and gasps could be heard from a few feet away.
neither of you bothered to look at the source, you just throw your head back a laugh while chris looks at you with a knowing expression.
“oh you love this shit, huh?”
you giggle against his lips and resume your messy kisses, the thought of adding to the pile of scandals, the world seeing how sexy you and your boyfriend were— it felt so good, too good.
yourusername
♫ playboi carti · fine shit
liked by, christophersturniolo and others.
yourusername talk of the town 😘
— view all 3,749 comments —
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I'm back again w my obsession w pathetic!Lorenzo ✌️😗
Because he so so so obessed that it's comical. There's us strutting down the halls very nonchalant n behind us is Lorenzo trailing after us like a puppy with heart eyes while other students stares like wtf ain't u an asshole who tf is this
"how has your day been?"
"let me carry that for you sweetheart"
"youre gorgeous today as well"
"please, I need a kiss or I might die"
"did you like the flowers this morning?"
"one date, one date is all I ask for"
And he's yapping and whining our ears off and blocking our way and we feel a headache growing and side eye his stupid pretty face and tell him to behave and fck off
And then the mf, cheekily but trust he's so serious, goes "I'll be a good boy and behave if you give me a kiss" xx
GRRRRRRRRRRRRR RAHHHHHHHHHHHH 😼
- 🎹
OMGGG BABES IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I GOT BUSY CHEATING IN MY CLASSES AND THEN MY BEST FRIEND MOVED AND NOW MY LIFE IS KINDA IN ORDER SO YAY!! how are you love??
Also!!!
lorenzo is literally our dog like???? Hes following us around shopping and pulling the cashier aside to tell her to charge only his card for whatever you and your friends buy. Literally buying your love.
Its a constant “cmon just one date. Just one time, thats all i ask” and a constant “no” but damn does he keep trying.
He’s trying extra hard all the time now. In class, on the pitch, just making himself nicer. We do not care(we kinda care)
Lowkey he sends his friends after you to try and coax you into dating him. He loses his marbles after one of them comes back with a lipstick kiss on their cheek(we were feeling quite devious and silly!!)
He’s downright pathetic for us, annoying the living shit out of us before we finally snap, holding his chin and glaring down at him, demanding he knock it off.
And his pathetic little whine and “yes, ma’am… anything for you”
Nd holllyyy shit does that do something for me- i mean us- i mean ITgirl!reader. I mean i hate lorenzo fuck that guy
: ♥︎ content WARNING : dick grayson × itgirl!reader, teasing, sexual tension, subjective.
: ♥︎ summary : Y/N watches her boyfriend fix a kitchen ceiling leak, but her attention drawn to his muscular physique as he works shirtless.
Dick had insisted on fixing a stubborn leak in the ceiling of her pristine kitchen himself. A problem she didn’t even notice until he pointed it. Now, she leaned against the kitchen island, he eyes were fixed on Dick, and though she tried to focus on the task at hand, her attention kept drifting to the way his body moved. Dick was perched on a stepladder, a toolbox open at his feet, his navy t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders as he wrestled with the pipe above. Every twist of the wrench made his biceps flex, the muscles in his forearms cording under his tanned skin. His abs, visible through the taut fabric, shifted with each movement, a ripple of strength that made her mouth go dry.
She didn’t know why she was so fixated today—maybe it was the way the morning light caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, or maybe it was something primal, stirring in her core. Whatever it was... it was making her hyper-aware of the heat pooling between her thighs.
“Baby, can you grab the pliers?” Dick called, his head tilted back as he peered into the ceiling’s exposed plumbing. She snapped out of her reverie, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“Right, pliers,” she muttered, hurrying to the toolbox, her movements a little too quick, betraying her distraction. She handed them up, her fingers brushing his, and the brief contact sent a jolt through her, her pulse quickening.
He worked for a few more minutes, grunting softly as he tightened a fitting, his body stretching in a way that made his shirt ride up, revealing the chiselled V of his hips.
Y/N bit her lip, her gaze locked on the play of muscle, her thoughts spiraling to how those same muscles felt under her hands, flexing as he fucked her into oblivion. Another drip of water splashed onto his shirt, soaking the fabric, and Dick cursed under his breath.
“This is getting ridiculous,” he said, setting the wrench down and peeling off his shirt in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the counter.
A small, involuntary moan escaped Y/N’s lips, so soft Dick didn’t hear it over the clank of tools. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching as she took in his bare torso—broad chest, sculpted abs, a faint trail of dark hair leading into his jeans. The sight of him, sent a rush of heat through her, her panties growing damp as her arousal surged. She shifted, pressing her thighs together, trying to quell the ache, but it only intensified.
God, she was flushed.
Her skin tingling, her body screaming for him in a way that felt almost feral.
Dick glanced down, catching her staring, and a slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “You okay down there?” he asked.
She swallowed, forcing a smile as she handed him a rag when he asked for it, her fingers trembling slightly. “Just… enjoying the view,” she managed, her voice a little too husky.
He chuckled, finishing the repair with a final twist of the wrench, the dripping silenced at last. He climbed down, wiping his hands on the rag, his abs flexing with the movement. Her gaze followed, her cheeks now a rosy pink, her body betraying her with every passing second.
She grabbed a cold soda from the fridge, handing it to him as he stepped off the ladder, her fingers brushing his again.
“Here,” she said, her voice softer, almost breathless. “You earned it.”
Dick popped the can open, taking a long chug, his throat bobbing in a way that made her want to lick the sweat from his skin. He lowered the can, his eyes narrowing as he caught the flush on her cheeks, the way her pupils were dilated, the subtle squirm of her hips. He got closer to her, and then he inhaled, his grin turned downright predatory.
He could smell her. Her sweet, musky scent, proof of how wet she was for him.
“You smell so good,” he groaned, “you’re making it real hard to stay focused.”
She bit her lip, her robe slipping off one shoulder as she stepped closer, her voice a whisper.
“I need a shower,” she said, her eyes locked on his, and then she attempted to rush towards the bathroom. “I’m… a mess.”
Dick’s gaze darkened, his soda can hitting the counter with a clink. “I’ll join you,” he said, chugging the rest of the drink in one go before tossing the can aside immediately. No way he was letting her walk away from that.
content. Dick Grayson × ItGirl!Reader, ghosting, fighting, mentions of wound, kinda toxic behaviour, teasing.
For days, she’d heard nothing from Dick.
No calls, no texts, not even a whisper.
The silence was deafening, a contrast to the nights they’d spent tangled in her silk sheets. She was used to commanding attention, but Dick’s absence left her adrift.
Was he ghosting her? The thought stung.
She’d tried calling, her messages piling up unanswered, each one a stab at her pride.
Finally, she stormed to Wayne Manor, her crimson stilettos clicking like gunfire on the polished floors. Bruce met her in his study, his eyes unreadable as she paced.
“Bruce, where the hell is he?” she demanded. Her tailored black coat hugged her curves, but her elegance was undercut by the raw edge in her tone. “Dick’s been AWOL for days. He’s not answering, and I’m not someone he can just ignore.”
Bruce leaned back in his leather chair, his expression a mask of calm that only fueled her irritation.
“Dick’s… complicated,” he said carefully. “He’s dealing with things you might not understand. Give him time.”
“Time?” she snapped, her hands fisting at her sides. “I thought we were past games, Bruce. If he’s done with me, he should have the guts to say it.” Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the hurt beneath her anger.
Bruce’s gaze softened, but he offered no answers, only a cryptic, “He’s not done with you. Trust me.”
It was no comfort.
Y/N left the manor feeling more lost than when she’d arrived, the weight of Dick’s absence pressing heavier on her chest.
Back at her penthouse, the elevator ride felt endless, her reflection in the mirrored walls showing a woman who looked more vulnerable than she’d ever admit. She hated it. Because deep down she knew she was catching feelings for Dick.
She stepped into her living room, and there he was—Dick Grayson, sprawled on her sectional sofa like he belonged there, his leather jacket tossed aside, his dark hair tousled, and a faint smirk playing on his lips.
“Doll,” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.
“You asshole!” she yelled, her purse hitting the floor with a thud as she stormed toward him. “Where the fuck have you been? Days! No call, no text, nothing! Do you think you can just ghost me like I’m some random hookup?”
Her fists flew before she could stop herself, pounding against his chest.
She was a vision of fury.
Dick caught her wrists gently, wincing slightly as her last hit landed on his shoulder.
“Y/N, stop—ow, shit,” he grunted, and that’s when she saw it: a white bandage peeking out from under his black t-shirt, stark against his skin.
Her breath caught, her hands freezing mid-motion.
“What… what happened to you?” Her voice softened, worry overtaking her rage.
Without waiting for permission, she tugged his shirt up, her fingers brushing the warm, hard planes of his abdomen. Dick didn’t resist, letting her lift the fabric to reveal the bandage taped across his shoulder, a faint bruise blooming around it.
Her eyes widened, her heart lurching. “Dick, what the hell?”
He sighed, his playful demeanor fading as he met her gaze, his deep blue eyes heavy. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
She sank onto the sofa beside him, her anger dissolving into a knot of concern. “Talk, then. And don’t you dare lie to me.”
Dick ran a hand through his hair, the weight of his secret settling between them.
“I wasn’t ghosting you. I was dealing with—shit, this is harder than I expected,” he let out a breathy chuckle and then took a deep breath, eyes meeting hers. “I’m Nightwing,” he said finally, the words blunt but loaded. “The vigilante. That’s why I’ve been gone. I was… handling things. A gang war in Blüdhaven got messy, and I took a hit. Couldn’t exactly call you from a rooftop firefight.”
Y/N stared, her mind reeling. Nightwing.
The masked figure who swung through shadows, taking down criminals. She’d seen the headlines, the blurry photos, but to think it was Dick—her Dick, left her speechless. Shock hit first, her lips parting as she processed the double life he’d kept hidden. But then, something else stirred, a spark of intrigue, a flush of heat at the thought of him in that sleek blue-and-black suit.
“You’re… Nightwing?” she repeated. “You’ve been out there dodging bullets, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to,” he said, leaning closer, his hand brushing her knee. “But it’s not exactly first-date material. I didn’t want you caught in my world’s crossfire.”
She laughed, her fingers grazing the bandage again, softer this time. “Your world? Dick, I’m from Gotham. I grew up dodging worse than crossfire.” Her eyes searched his, and the shock began to melt into admiration.
The image of him as Nightwing, all muscle and menace under that mask, was doing things to her she hadn’t expected.
“You’re out there saving people, and you thought I’d run? Do you know how fucking hot that is?”
Dick’s brows shot up, a slow grin breaking through his fatigue.
“Hot, huh?” He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. “Most people would be pissed I kept it from them.”
“Oh, I’m pissed,” she said as she shifted closer, her thigh brushing his. “But I’m also… curious.” Her fingers trailed down his chest, lingering at the hem of his shirt. “Nightwing. That explains the stamina, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled, pulling her onto his lap despite the faint wince from his shoulder. “Careful. I’m still healing.”
“Then let me take care of you,” she murmured, her lips grazing his jaw, her anger forgotten.
WHEN DID YOU GET HOT ♡ Dick Grayson . . . is a surprise that Dick Grayson is no longer the scrawny boy from her childhood. How was it possible he was so... tall?
: ♥︎ doll notie note . . . couldn’t get this off my head
Returning to Gotham after years abroad felt like stepping into a half remembered dream—one laced with both glamour and ghosts. Y/N glided through the crowd, her presence commanding attention yet softened by her warm smile. She air kissed old acquaintances, but beneath her poised exterior, a flutter of nerves danced in her chest. Gotham always had a way of pulling her back, stirring memories of her childhood; galas like this one, where she’d sneak petits fours with a certain boy who couldn’t keep up with her long legs.
She found Bruce near the center of the ballroom, his broad shoulders and practised charm anchoring the room. He was older now, silver threading his dark hair, but she still saw him as the man who would carry her to pick stray kittens.
“Y/N, you’ve grown,” he said as he took her hand, “Gotham’s missed you.”
Y/N laughed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Gotham’s doing fine without me, Bruce. But I’m not here to reminisce—I want to talk about your foundation. I’ve been working with animal shelters in Paris, and I’d love to fund a new initiative through the Wayne Foundation. Something for Gotham’s strays—shelters, adoption drives, maybe a mobile vet clinic.”
Bruce’s lips curved into a smile. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still all heart. Let’s set up a meeting—Alfred will love the idea, too.” He paused. “You really have grown. I remember you dragging Dick around these events, teasing him mercilessly about his height.”
Her cheeks flushed at the memory, and she swatted his arm playfully. “Oh, don’t remind me. Poor Dick—I was awful.”
Her eyes drifted across the room as she spoke, catching a figure by the cocktail bar. Her breath hitched. The man stood with confidence, his dark hair slightly tousled, his tailored black suit clinging to a frame that was… impossibly broad. His back was to her, but something about the way he moved sent a jolt through her. Her jaw slackened, her champagne flute tilting slightly in her hand.
Bruce followed her gaze, his smirk barely concealed. “You know,” he said, “there’s someone here who’d love to see you.”
Y/N blinked, tearing her eyes from the stranger. “What? Who—”
But Bruce was already guiding her through the crowd, his hand light on her elbow. Her heart raced, her mind scrambling to place the man who’d caught her attention. As they approached, the stranger turned, and the world seemed to slow.
Those piercing blue eyes, that grin—Dick Grayson.
But not the awkward boy she’d known.
This Dick was a man.
Towering at least six feet, his shoulders filled out his suit jacket, the fabric straining slightly against muscles that spoke of years of discipline and strength. His jaw was sharper, his cheekbones more defined, and the boyish charm she remembered had matured into something dangerously magnetic.
Bruce stopped, gesturing between them. “Y/N, I believe you remember Dick Grayson?”
Y/N’s lips parted, her carefully curated composure slipping. “Dicky?” she blurted. “Is that you?”
Dick’s grin widened, and before she could process it, he stepped forward, enveloping her in a hug. His arms were solid, and strong, the kind of strength that made her acutely aware of every point of contact. She caught the faint scent of cedarwood cologne as her cheek brushed his shoulder, and her mind blanked for a moment, registering the sheer mass of him.
This was not the scrawny kid she’d towered over at 12.
This was… something else...
“Y/N,” he said, pulling back to look at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still stealing the show, I see.”
She laughed, a little too loudly, trying to shake off the heat creeping up her neck. “And you—look at you! When did you…?” She gestured vaguely at his frame, her hand flapping like a lost bird. “When did you get so… tall?”
Bruce chuckled, clapping Dick on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. Don’t scare her off, Dick.”
With a knowing glance, he melted back into the crowd, leaving Y/N and Dick alone.
Dick gestured toward the balcony, and Y/N followed, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The cool night air hit her as they stepped outside, sending a shiver through her body. She leaned against the railing, trying to focus on the city lights, but her eyes kept drifting to Dick. He’d shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the balcony, and his white dress shirt hugged his frame in a way that was unfair.
The fabric stretched across his biceps as he gripped the railing, and she swore she saw the muscles in his forearm flex as he shifted his weight. Her mouth went dry, her thoughts spiraling.
Could he lift a car with those arms?
The question popped into her head, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing at herself.
“So,” Dick said, oblivious to her inner turmoil, “Paris, huh? Runway queen, cover star, the whole world at your feet. I’m not surprised, but I’m impressed.”
Y/N forced herself to focus, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s been a wild ride. But Gotham… always pulls me back. What about you? Still flipping around?” She kept her tone light, teasing, but her eyes betrayed her, lingering on the way his shirt clung to his chest.
He chuckled, leaning closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Something like that. Though these days, I’m more about keeping Blüdhaven in one piece. Gotham’s still home, though.” His gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw the boy she’d known, the one who’d sneak her extra desserts and trip over his own feet trying to keep up with her.
Her mind, however, was elsewhere. She was staring at his arms again, imagining them lifting something impossibly heavy. The image was so vivid, that she didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until the words slipped out. “I bet you can.”
Dick paused mid-sentence, his brows knitting together. “Wait, what? Bet I can what?”
Y/N’s eyes widened, heat flooding her face. “Oh! Uh, nothing!” She waved a hand, her bangles jingling as she tried to backtrack. “I just meant… um, you could probably… handle anything. You know, Blüdhaven, Gotham, all that.” She forced a laugh, sipping her champagne to cover her mortification.
The glass was empty. Perfect.
Dick tilted his head. “Y/N Y/L, are you flustered? That’s a first.” He stepped closer. “Care to share what’s got you so distracted?”
She swatted his arm, the contact sending another jolt through her as she felt the solid muscle beneath his sleeve. “Oh— I’m just… jet-lagged.”
chris and itgirl!reader have a slow morning in milan 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒／ ⋆ ۪
chris’ lips danced all around your neck, placing sweet and gentle kisses of comfort. “how ya’ feelin’ mama?”
his words scattered out with his kisses and the soft rasp of his voice soothed your brain. you sat in bed with your body tucked away into chris’ side, warm tea in your hand as the sun seeped into the room and the italian breeze flowed through the curtains.
“ya’ nervous?” the kisses didn’t stop as you nodded your head and took a sip of your tea.
“i’m so scared” you breathed out at the feeling of his lips brushing over your sensitive skin so lightly and tilted your head, allowing full affection to your neck.
he felt bad for you, couldn’t stand to see you all anxious when you should be celebrating your success. you were walking for prada in a few hours after having a delayed flight and running off of five hours of sleep and he could tell it was getting to you.
he sensed the tension in your body and made it his personal mission to relieve all your stress. he felt it in his dick too, nothing else would give him the pleasure of pleasing you.
“i know baby” after grabbing the mug from your hands and placing it on the nightstand, chis slowed down his kisses, eventually sucking your neck. he positioned himself hovering over you and his hand softly messaging your tits. “don’t worry bout’ none of that shit ma”.
“mm—we have to get ready s-soon” you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth while chris rubbed circles around your buds and pulled you close.
he pushed your tank top over your head and immediately connects his mouth to your tits. “take some beep breaths f’me baby”
you do what he says.
you close your eyes and take some deep breaths. pushing the thought of having hundreds of people staring at you all judging and having different perceptions of you and let chris’ lips consume you completely, the warm and plush-like feeling only traveling lower and lower.
and just like that chris was nose deep in your pussy, leaking all over his face. “mmm—ooh, chris”.
looking down you seen chris lapping desperately at your pussy, making sloppy mooches around your clit, his tongue teasing in just the right spot and his gaze already waiting for you. “just relax f’me baby…fuck! you’re s’good”.
your hands flew to his hair as your back arched off of the hotel mattress. you had a clear view of chris’ head rolling in circles, while his tongue stutters at your clit.
he groans into your pussy, feeling his dick twitch at the sight of you using his face for your own pleasure, grinding and pressing down into his mouth. “ya’ like that baby?” he murmured while trying to catch his breath. “keep riding m’face just like that ma”
squealing and gasping with pleasure your legs were wrapped around his neck, feet pointed and teetering little kicks as chris builds you up to your orgasm.
“ugh, fuck chris—eating me s’good…i’m gonna cum”
he whimper at your praises and bucked his hips against the bed, precum leaking from the tip while you blessed his ears with your sweet cries.
his right hand grabs your throat and his left leaving indents in your hip. his head shook like crazy from side to side and you both went dizzy from the friction and pleasure.
“that’s it pretty girl—cum all over m’face”
you feel that coil in the pit of your stomach, the heat that rises and eventually gets too hot, all of that came crashing down on you, letting out a high pitched moan as you dripped from chris’ nose and chin
chris sighs, “love this fuckin’ pussy” he gives you one more kiss on your puffy clit before climbing back to you, kissing your lips slow and sensual. “love you”
he connected your foreheads staring into your eyes, you staring back at him. you whisper, “i love you too baby”, rubbing the hair on the back of his neck.
“listen, if you don’t wanna’ walk then you won’t” he says softly and brings his hand to the side your your face. “i’d say you’re a fuckin’ dumbass, but whatever ya’ want, we’ll do it”
you cracked a tired smile, “you’re bein’ so sweet, wish you were like this all the time—”
♡ WHO . . . is the kind of person who remembers the names of everyone on set, from the makeup artists to the interns.
♡ WHO . . . believes clothes are a language, a way to express individuality and connect with others. Despite her fame, she’s often spotted grabbing coffee in sweatpants or chatting with fans on the street.
♡ WHO . . . is known for mixing high fashion with accessible pieces, making her looks aspirational yet achievable. She shares tutorials on recreating high-fashion looks on a budget and hosts live Q&As.
♡ WHO . . . is obsessed with the history of fashion, often referencing iconic designers like McQueen or Schiaparelli in her IG captions. She’s a champion of sustainability, frequently collaborating with eco-conscious brands and promoting secondhand shopping.
♡ WHO . . . loves visiting art galleries, reading classic literature, and practising yoga to stay grounded amidst her hectic schedule. She’s also a foodie, often sharing her attempts at cooking on her IG Stories.
♡ WHO . . . has a habit of doodling outfit ideas in a leather-bound sketchbook she carries everywhere. She’s superstitious about wearing something red before every major runway show for good luck.
content: nightwing , handyman, call me your angel , when did you get hot ,
