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Notes from the Batcave: for ✨this✨ request! Enjoy the little Drabbles! ❤️
Again, all characters are of age in this writing.
We subscribe to the idea that Conner is Clark’s SON on this blog, keep that in mind.
Also… excuse me for not knowing but does Garth have a canon last name? I saw one from DC Superhero Girls that it’s Bernstein? But I didn’t see that on his official Wiki but I’ve not read his comics either 😅 lmk!
Dick Grayson
You’re pressed up against the library bookshelf, the scent of old paper and cedar varnish completely drowned out by the smell of Dick’s cologne and the way his lips move against yours. Slow, purposeful, and a little bit heated. His hands cradle your hips and when he smiles against your mouth, it’s all teeth and heat.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse.
“Yeah? Thought you liked making me wait,” you tease, fingers curling in his shirt to pull him closer somehow.
“I like kissing you more.”
You’re halfway to melting when 💥SLAM💥 The door bangs open.
“Hey, has anyone seen- oh my god, gross!”
It’s Tim. Holding a plate of what looks like cold pizza and looking personally offended to see his big brother pushing you up against an innocent bookshelf.
You and Dick separate like you’ve been hit with a taser, but not fast enough.
“Out!” Dick yells, pointing at the door, “Go!”
Tim groans and backs out, mumbling, “I’m burning my eyes. I hope you’re happy.”
Silence settles back in. You glance at Dick. He sighs. You both laugh.
“Well,” you say, stepping back into his arms, “now where were we?”
“I think my hands were… here.” His touch settles on your waist again. Your lips meet. This time deeper, hungrier. You walk him back against the bookshelf, knocking a book to the floor. He doesn’t seem to care.
And then… CREEEEAK.
“Master Richard-“
“ALFRED!” you both shout.
The butler blinks once, “Ah. I see. Carry on.”
He turns and closes the door like this is a Tuesday. Like you weren’t two seconds from climbing your boyfriend like a tree.
You groan, hiding your face in Dick’s neck, “We’re cursed.”
He laughs, the kind that shakes his chest beneath your palms. “Okay, okay. Let’s try somewhere else. Secret passage?”
“I thought you said those were only for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency,” he grins, grabbing your hand, “My sanity is on the line.”
Jason Todd
The couch creaked beneath you as Jason pressed you gently into the cushions, his jacket already discarded somewhere near the door. The scent of gunpowder and leather clung to him, mixed with the faintest trace of cologne you were pretty sure he only wore for you.
“You’re so lucky I didn’t get shot tonight,” he murmured against your jaw, lips trailing toward your mouth, “or I’d make you wait.”
“I am waiting,” you teased, your fingers curling into his shirt.
He kissed you hard, hungry, like he’d been holding back since the second he saw you. One hand gripped your waist, the other braced against the couch as your mouths met again and again, the rest of the world narrowing to heat and friction and the rasp of breath between stolen kisses.
Until, “Jason, did you eat the last protein bar?” Roy’s voice carried from the hallway like a death knell.
Jason froze with a groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“For the love of God, Harper,” he muttered.
“Dude, seriously, I was saving that!”
Jason raised his voice. “Check the top shelf! The one labeled ‘definitely not Roy’s snacks.’”
“That’s suspiciously specific.”
You snorted as Jason looked down at you, exasperated.
“I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered.
“I thought you were gonna kiss me again.”
“Oh, that I’m still gonna do.”
He dipped down, kissing you slow this time, with intent his hand sliding beneath your shirt, just enough to make you squirm-
“Hey, have either of you seen my-” Kori’s voice rang out, much closer than Roy’s had been.
You both sprang apart like guilty teenagers caught on prom night. Jason half fell off the couch, blinking as Kori appeared in the doorway in full costume, looking entirely unbothered.
She blinked at the two of you, “Oh. Am I interrupting?”
Jason opened his mouth. You cut him off.
“Yes,” you deadpanned.
Kori smiled warmly, “Lovely. I’ll be quick!”
She strode past, retrieving whatever it was from behind the kitchen counter (where of course it was), and disappeared without further commentary.
Jason stared after her, “I need to install locks. Or motion sensors. Or a laser grid.”
You laughed, tugging him back down by the front of his shirt, “Come on, Hood. Third time’s the charm.”
He leaned in again, this time slower, savoring it, lips brushing yours.
And just as things were heating up again, his hand back on your bare torso under your shirt, creeping up to your chest when- 💥CRASH.💥
Followed by, “I FOUND THE BAR! Never mind!”
Jason groaned and dropped his head into your shoulder again. “I give up.”
You smoothed a hand over his hair, laughing breathlessly. “You’re gonna have to fight for it, Todd.”
“Oh, I will.” His voice was low, dangerous, eyes gleaming as he lifted his head. “I’m just choosing violence first.”
And with that, he got up, stalking down the hall with murder in his eyes and vengeance in his step, leaving you breathless, annoyed, and way too turned on to function.
Round four was gonna be worth it.
Tim Drake
Batcave. 2:38 a.m.
You heard the faint hiss of the elevator doors before the Batmobile even pulled in.
Tim was back.
You barely had time to smooth your shirt and lean against the edge of the console before he climbed out of the vehicle, tugging his cowl off with one hand, hair flattened on one side and damp with sweat. There were faint bruises blooming on his jaw and forearm, and the scuffed suit made it clear tonight had been a long one.
He caught sight of you and slowed, “…You waited up.”
You shrugged, “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out face down in a pile of data reports.”
That got the ghost of a smirk, “Tempting, honestly.”
He dropped onto the steps with a groan, tugging off his gloves, one finger at a time. You crossed the floor, boots echoing lightly on concrete, until you were standing in front of him.
“Y’know,” you said, brushing your fingers lightly along the edge of a cut on his cheek, “you could take a break without needing to almost get stabbed for it.”
He caught your wrist gently, “If I took a break, I wouldn’t get this.”
He kissed your palm.
Warm. Soft. Slow. His eyes didn’t leave yours.
“Yes you would, baby.”
Then his hand was at your waist, pulling you down into his lap. You barely had time to laugh before his mouth was on yours, warm and insistent and a little too eager for how exhausted he was. But then again, Tim always made time for you. Even when he barely had time to breathe.
You fisted your hands in the front of his suit, fingers brushing the exposed part of his collarbone, and he hummed low into your mouth like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.
Until… “Red Robin. Status report.”
You both froze.
Tim’s head dropped back with a groan like the life had physically been sucked out of him, muttering to himself, “Bruce, please not right now.”
You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh as his comm lit up, “I said status report.”
“I’m alive,” Tim muttered, “Bleeding. Exhausted. Busy.”
You pressed a kiss to his neck while he talked, purely for the sake of distracting him.
Bruce didn’t answer. The comm cut off.
You grinned, “Think he knows?”
“He always knows.”
He kissed you again anyway.
This time, it was slower. Sleepy. The kind of kiss that tasted like relief and like adrenaline burning out. You let him take his time, fingers threading into his hair, guiding his mouth back to yours again and again until he was sighing into your skin.
“Missed you,” he whispered, “All night.”
“I can tell.”
He smiled against your mouth.
And then, “Hey Timbo, you down here? I need the- OH MY BAD, SORRY, DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING.”
Jason’s voice echoed through the cave like a gunshot.
Tim froze.
You buried your face in his shoulder and cackled as Jason’s retreating footsteps clomped back up the stairs.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Tim groaned, “This cave is cursed. I swear.”
“We could always make out with me somewhere less public.”
“We could. But I like the risk.”
“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Cause you seem frustrated with getting caught. Kiss me again and prove it though.”
And this time, this time, nobody interrupted.
Duke Thomas
The manor is quiet, for once.
You barely have time to drop your bag before Duke pulls you in, one hand still warm from holding his laptop, the other cupping the back of your neck like he’s missed you all day (which he has). His lips find yours before you can say hi, before you can even get your shoes off, and suddenly you’re pressed against the Foyer wall, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“You always taste like cherry gum,” he mumbles against your mouth.
“And you always smell like old books and trouble,” you tease, fingers slipping into the curls at the nape of his neck.
Duke smiles, then kisses you harder.
It’s slow at first, warm and lazy, the kind of kiss that feels like relief after a long day of lectures and lab notes. You tug him closer and he leans in like he’s going to melt into you, hand sliding down to your waist, lips dragging down to your jaw, and that’s right when…
“DUKE! You left your comm in the gym again- oh. Oh my god.” Steph’s voice cuts through the air like a record scratch.
You and Duke freeze.
“Cool. Super cool. Don’t mind me. I’ll just- walk backwards into the sun,” she mutters, already doing exactly that.
Duke groans and buries his face in your shoulder.
You burst out laughing.
“She’s never letting you live that down,” you say.
“She’s not even supposed to be here,” Duke grumbles.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re in the library, curled up together on the couch with your legs tangled and a soft, determined kind of silence between you. Duke kisses you again, slower this time, the kind of kiss that makes your pulse skip.
You shift to straddle his lap, sliding your hands under his hoodie.
“No interruptions this time,” you murmur against his mouth.
“Don’t jinx it,” he says, right before… ⚡️KSHHHHH⚡️ the intercom crackles to life.
“Hey Duke, B’s asking if you saw the security update for the east wing cams-“
Tim’s voice. Of course it’s Tim.
“TIM!” Duke shouts, glaring up at the ceiling like it betrayed him personally, “I’m Busy.”
“Oh. Are you…? Wait. Is someone else in the- okay. Yeah. Muting myself.”
Another beat of silence.
You look down at Duke, trying very hard not to laugh? “Should we just give up?”
His hands grip your hips like that’s a ridiculous suggestion, “We’ll just start over.”
You grin, leaning in again, “You’re nothing if not persistent.”
“And you,” Duke says, eyes gleaming, “are worth the wait.”
Even if you have to start over five more times
Damian Wayne
You barely heard him come in.
The manor’s too big for something like footsteps. But you knew the moment he was home, some weird sixth sense attuned to the feeling of him shedding his suit.
Still warm from the night, suit half unzipped, hair tousled from the cowl. Damian Wayne looks like trouble personified, bruised knuckles, tense shoulders, eyes sharp until they land on you. Then all that edge softens.
“Hi,” you say, like you weren’t waiting up curled under a throw blanket on the manor couch, fake watching something on TV.
He doesn’t waste time, “You should be asleep.”
“And you should be in bed instead of patrolling Gotham, but here we are.”
A flicker of a smirk. And then he’s there, standing in front of you. You tug him down by the collar of his suit and kiss him like you had missed him, Because you had. Because he made it home in one piece. Because this stupid city didn’t take him from you tonight. Because the only thing better than seeing Damian Wayne is kissing him after he’s been away.
It starts slow, his hands settling on either side of your face, like he’s grounding himself, but then it shifts. Deepens. His gloves hit the floor, forgotten. Your fingers find their way into his hair. He breathes your name like a prayer…
“-Hey, has anyone seen my- OH MY GOD.”
You both freeze.
Damian’s hand is on your thigh. Yours is halfway up his shirt, And standing in the doorway, looking like he’s stepped into something out of a CW show, is Jason.
He immediately turns around.
“Nope. Not my business. Carry on. Get protection. Bye.”
“OUT,” Damian growls.
Jason already is.
You collapse against the couch cushions, laughter bubbling out of your chest.
“He’s never letting us live that down,” you say.
Damian scowls, but his ears are red, “I’m murdering him tomorrow.”
“No, you’re not.”
A beat, then, “Fine. I’ll maim him.”
You laugh harder.
Ten minutes later, after Jason has definitely left the manor and you’ve made it upstairs (because Damian insisted this time you be somewhere lockable), you’re curled up on his bed, hoodie exchanged for one of his shirts. The tension returns, slow and electric. He kisses you again, longer, this time, hungrier.
“You were saying?” you whisper against his mouth.
“I believe I was trying to make up for lost time.”And he does. Until…
💥KNOCK KNOCK💥
“TT. If this is Todd again, I swear to-”
“It’s Alfred,” comes the most pointed British voice you’ve ever heard through the door, “Might I remind you that voices carry in this house. And that you still have a training session at 6AM?”
Dead. You are dead.
You and Damian both just lay there, staring at the ceiling like it has betrayed you.
“…Maybe we should try the Batcave next time,” you mumble.
Damian sighs, “Father’s bedroom has better soundproofing.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But he’s already pulling you back into him, “Third time’s the charm.”
Spoiler: it wasn’t. But fourth?
Fourth might be magic.
✨Everyone beyond this point is X Batsis!Reader 🙂✨
Kyle Rayner
You don’t run to the door when Kyle lands, but you rush there. It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of radio silence, off-world mayhem, and no Kyle to curl up against at night… And now, finally, he’s home, bruised, grinning, and still dusted with cosmic soot when he steps into the manor.
“You look like crap,” you murmur against his mouth when you kiss him.
“Love you too, babe,” he says, voice hoarse but teasing, arms locking tight around your waist, “Missed you.”
You pull him in by the collar, “Show me.”
The hallway’s forgotten the second his mouth is on yours. He tastes like peppermint gum and him, and it’s all too easy to melt into him, back hitting the nearest wall with a muffled thump. Kyle presses close, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip like he’ll lose gravity again if he lets go.
“This feels very PG-13 for the main hall,” comes a dry voice from the stairs.
You freeze.
Kyle groans into your shoulder. “Oh come on.”
“Hello to you too, Jason,” you deadpan, glaring at your older brother. “Go away.”
Jason raises an eyebrow, arms crossed, “I live here.”
“You don’t hover here,” you retort, lips kiss-swollen and hair askew. “Go haunt the armory or something.”
Kyle tries to recover with charm. “Hey man, good to see you-”
“Nope,” Jason says, already walking away, muttering, “You two need a closet or a room, or better timing.”
You and Kyle look at each other, sigh, and wordlessly bolt upstairs to your bedroom.
Take Two:
It’s better in your room. Door locked. Kyle shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his boots as you pull him toward the bed. This time, it’s slower, more savoring than scrambling. You kiss him like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him again. His hands skate under your shirt, warm and eager, and he lays you back on the comforter like he’s rediscovering gravity.
“I missed this,” he whispers against your jaw, “Missed you.”
You barely manage a soft, “Missed you too-” before someone knocks.
“Y/N,” Damian’s voice cuts through the haze, “Father wants to speak with you. Immediately.”
You both freeze.
“Tell him I’m busy,” you yell back, breathless and miserable.
“It’s about the intel from Kahndaq,” Damian snaps. “He says now.”
You cover your face with your hands, “I hate everything.”
Kyle falls back onto the mattress with a groan.
Attempt #3:
You sneak back upstairs after the meeting, practically dragging Kyle into the closest guest room. No interruptions this time. You lock the door, double check it, and all but pounce on him.
“Third time’s the charm?” he asks between kisses.
“I swear to god,” you murmur, hands in his hair, “if one more person interrupts us, I’m moving off-planet with you.”
“Deal,” he grins, pulling you flush against him. “We’ll find a moon. Just you and me. No Batpeople.”
Finally, finally, you kiss him deep and slow. And this time?
Nobody knocks.
Yet.
Roy Harper
The Queen family manor was massive, grand, and most annoyingly, filled with far too many people who never seemed to leave.
You and Roy had been doing your best to behave. For the first few hours of the visit, you even kept a respectable two feet of distance between you at all times.
Then you made the mistake of catching his eye in the hallway, smirking like the brat you were, and saying, “Race you to the guest wing.”
Neither of you ever made it to the guest wing.
Currently, you were pressed against the wall of one of the manor’s many reading rooms, Roy’s hand curled around the back of your neck as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you anchored as you grinned against his lips.
“Someone’s needy,” you teased between kisses.
Roy pulled back just enough to look at you with that cocky smirk, “You’ve been wearing that damn smirk all day. I’ve been dying.”
“Tragic.”
“Cruel.”
You laughed, and he cut it off with another kiss, deeper this time, rough with the promise of all the time you weren’t getting interrupted.
Right on cue, the door swung open.
“-Hey, has anyone seen my- OH MY GOD.”
You and Roy sprang apart like guilty teenagers, his hand still caught in your hair, yours awkwardly tangled in the front of his hoodie.
Oliver Queen stood in the doorway holding a mug and a deeply traumatized expression.
He blinked, “What the hell are you doing defiling my home like this?!”
You blinked right back, deadpan. “Having a book club meeting. You want in?”
Roy tried very hard not to laugh.
“Out! Both of you!” Ollie barked, pointing toward the hallway like the very offended dad he was, “At least try to wait until after dinner to corrupt my home-“
You tugged Roy out of the room with you, your cheeks burning but your grin only growing, “How’d you even know we were in there?”
“I live here! There are cameras!”
Once you were back in the hallway, Roy bumped your shoulder with his and murmured, “Worth it.”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You didn’t even get one good handful.”
“That’s because someone’s very distractible.”
“I’m not distractible,” you huffed, pushing him toward a quieter part of the house. “I’m just—”
“Obsessed with me?”
You shoved him into an alcove and kissed him silent.
This time, he didn’t hesitate, his hands went right to your hips and yours slid under his hoodie, fingers curling at his waistband.
“Mmm, see? Not distractible at all-“
“Daddy?”
You both froze.
Roy groaned softly. “No.”
You turned slowly to find Lian standing there with a juice pouch and the world’s most judgmental stare.
She tilted her head, “Were you trying to eat Auntie y/n’s face?”
Roy dragged a hand down his own, bright red.
“No, sweetheart,” you managed, trying not to laugh, “Your dad wasn’t trying to eat my face.”
Lian narrowed her eyes. “I’m telling Grandpa Ollie.”
She skipped off cheerily, juice pouch sloshing.
Roy exhaled heavily and rested his forehead against the wall, “I swear the next time we get a moment alone, I’m locking the damn door.”
You grinned, sliding your hand back into his. “Third time’s the charm.”
Conner Kent
The sun had long dipped below the Kansas horizon, the sky a wash of sleepy purples and golds. Inside the Kent farmhouse, the clatter of dishes and leftover pie talk faded into the background. You’d made it through the full post-Justice League/Wayne-Kent family dinner, keeping your cool despite the constant threat of someone (cough Damian cough) outing you and Conner as… well, not just friends.
Not that it mattered anymore. Dinner was done. Bellies were full. People were distracted. Conner gave you that look across the table, the one that said he was about two seconds from dragging you outside or upstairs, and you’d responded in kind with a subtle brush of your foot against his under the table.
So naturally, you’d found yourselves tucked away in the Kent family living room, the house dim and warm, everyone else elsewhere, and your back pressed against the couch cushions. Conner’s hands bracketed his weight, one on your waist, and the other on the arm of the couch. His lips hot and slow against yours as you tugged him closer by the collar of his flannel shirt. The kiss deepened, finally, and his hand slid down to your hip-
“Ugh, come on!” Jon’s voice sliced through the moment like a buzzsaw, “We read on that couch.”
You both jumped apart like guilty teenagers, which, okay, you technically were at 19, but still. Jon stood in the doorway with a bowl of ice cream and an expression of utter betrayal.
“Seriously?” he huffed, pointing his spoon at you like a weapon, “That is Ma’s good blanket. And my eyeballs are now cursed forever.”
Conner groaned, “Jon, it’s not that serious-“
“You wouldn’t want to walk in on me making out with someone on the couch, would you?”
“…Depends on who it was.” You snorted at Conners response.
“Gross. Stop. Nope.” He held up a hand. “I’m leaving before I lose more of my childhood. Carry on- far away from here.”
You and Conner shared a laugh as Jon retreated, muttering something about bleach and therapy.
Conner turned back to you, smiling sheepishly. “Okay, that was bad timing.”
“It’s fine. We’ll just go outside,” you whispered, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the back door.
You didn’t even make it two steps.
“What exactly are you two sneaking off to do?”
Clark’s voice was calm, Way too calm, and that same deep cadence dads tend to carry in their voice.
You froze mid-step. Conner stiffened beside you like he’d been caught shoplifting.
Clark stood near the kitchen archway, arms crossed, glasses still on but definitely unnecessary. The piercing look he gave you screamed Dad Mode Activated.
You tried, “Just… fresh air?”
“Uh huh,” Clark said, “Conner, remember what we talked about.”
Conner cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at his dad. “Yes, sir.”
“And you,” Clark added, turning to you, “Bruce was looking for you.”
You gave Conner an apologetic pat on the chest. “Rain check?”
“Please,” he said under his breath, following you with his eyes as you slunk off to the kitchen like a grounded cat burglar.
Clark turned to Conner once you were gone.
“I do have super-hearing,” he said mildly.
Conner just sighed, “Yeah. I got that.”
Wally West
The med bay was quiet.
Too quiet.
Well, quiet for now, until you pushed open the curtain to Wally’s corner and promptly straddled his lap on the exam table.
“Hey there, hero,” you purred, hands sliding over his shoulders, fingertips brushing a scrape on his neck that was already half-healed, “Nice work back there.”
Wally grinned, dazed and delighted, “Mmm, was it the part where I saved six scientists in under a minute or the part where I took a laser to the chest for you?”
“Definitely the laser,” you murmured, tugging his cowl off so you could see that golden grin properly, “Very dramatic. Very hot.”
You leaned in, just about to kiss him when,
“OH MY GOD, MY EYES-“
You jerked back like you’d been hit with a batarang.
“Roy!” you screeched as the archer dramatically threw his hand over his face from the med bay entrance, “What the hell?!”
“I thought you were injured!” he whined, “Bruce said you took a hit and needed stitches! Not- whatever the hell this is!”
“She’s fine,” Wally said dryly, tugging his mask back up and adjusting his seat, “We were just… post-mission decompressing.”
“With your tongue?!”
“Roy, leave or I swear to Zatanna I’ll set your quiver on fire.”
“…I’m going.”
You huffed as he slunk off, tossing a “Use protection!” over his shoulder.
Wally tried not to laugh, “Well, that was fun.”
Round Two.
This time you’d made it all the way to the Watchtower hallway, just around the corner from the Zeta tube. The place was deserted. The lights dimmed. Romance was in the air, or maybe ozone and burnt alien tech, but whatever.
Wally pushed you up against the wall with a soft thud, kissing you before he could even speak. He melted into it, hands on your waist, one of your legs hooking his hip like you were some swoony drama heroine. Finally.
And then…
“I see you’re still using Watchtower facilities for personal matters.”
You froze. You knew that voice.
Wally immediately went stiff. “…Sir.”
You didn’t even have to turn around to see the scowl.
Slowly, you stepped back from Wally, your face flushed,“Hi, Dad.”
Batman stood like a shadow at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, cape fluttering slightly despite the lack of wind. His tone was cold enough to ice over lava.
“This is a professional environment.”
“We’re off the clock!” you blurted.
He arched a brow, “That wasn’t the clock you were working on.”
Wally turned bright red. “We weren’t- we didn’t- I wasn’t even touching her-“
Batman’s glare intensified.
You grabbed Wally’s hand, “We’re adults. We were kissing. That’s it. Not even tongue this time!”
Wally made a wounded noise, “This time?”
Batman stepped forward, “Go home. Both of you.”
“But-!”
“Now.”
“…yes sir.”
Round three.
You were at the Manor this time. No more missions. No more Watchtower. No more Batman.
You kicked off your boots, still wearing your suit half-zipped. Wally sprawled on your bed like he owned the place, tugging you toward him with that same grin that had ruined your sense of self-preservation since you were sixteen.
You climbed onto the bed, lips brushing his, “If someone interrupts us this time, I’m going feral.”
“Noted,” he whispered, tilting his head.
You finally kissed him, deep and slow, your fingers threading into his red hair, and he groaned softly, pulling you closer. You didn’t hear the door open.
You did hear the growl.
“…Tt. This is disgusting.”
You ripped away from Wally with a snarl.
“DAMIAN?!”
The demon spawn leaned against the doorframe, completely unfazed. “Todd owes me twenty for this.”
You launched a pillow at his face.
“I HATE THIS FAMILY!”
Later.
Wally rubbed his cheek where the Bat-pillow had clocked him earlier, “Next time… we rent a cabin. Far away. No comms. No Bats.”
You nodded solemnly, “I just want to make out with my boyfriend without needing a tactical strategy.”
Garth
Your back hit the wall of the corridor with a soft thud, the metal panel cool against your overheated skin as Garth’s mouth claimed yours in a long awaited kiss.
You’d barely made it out of the mission intact, bruised, soaked to the bone, and running on adrenaline. Garth, with that infuriatingly calm Atlantean composure, had hauled you out of a crumbling lab, one hand on your waist, the other steadying your breathing. And now? Now he had one hand braced beside your head, lips trailing fire down your jaw, and you were, finally, finally-
“Yo!”
You flinched so hard you nearly headbutted him.
“Dick,” you groaned, already recognizing the voice before he rounded the corner. “Seriously?”
He blinked at the two of you, entirely unbothered despite your current positioning. “We’re doing a debrief in five. Try not to drown each other in spit before then.”
“Go away,” you snapped, glaring daggers at your brother. Garth chuckled under his breath, clearly amused.
Dick just gave a two-finger salute and sauntered off like he hadn’t just ruined your moment.
Take two.
You managed to find a quiet hallway on the opposite side of the tower. Post-mission gear off, hair damp from a rushed shower, heart pounding again for a very different reason.
Garth leaned into you, fingers brushing your jaw, his voice low. “Where were we?”
You barely got out, “Right about… here…” before lips met lips again.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, your pulse echoing in your ears. His hand slid down your spine, and then-
“OH MY GOD I’M BLIND.”
You screamed. Garth flinched. You both spun around to see Wally standing there with popcorn and a look of abject horror.
“Why does this keep happening,” you hissed under your breath.
“I’m just trying to reheat my snacks, I didn’t ask for a front-row seat to your mouth party!” Wally wailed, covering his eyes dramatically and bolting back the way he came.
Garth sighed and leaned his forehead against yours.
“Third time’s the charm?” he asked, smiling crookedly.
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