#garth x reader

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.

You nodded, “We are locking a door this time.”

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Jason Todd:

“Jay,” you whine, tugging on his hand to slow him down. 

He stops in his tracks, a brick wall of muscle, and turns to face you. “What’s going on?”

“...my feet hurt.”

He cocks a brow, glancing down at the shoes he’d definitely warned you about before leaving the house. “Uh huh?”

You only nod, hot embarrassment creeping in as you basically admit what he already told you. You shuffle awkwardly in your shoes, hoping to get some relief from the way the edges of your shoes are rubbing against the backs of your ankles.

And despite how badly he wants to say ‘I told you so’, he bites his lip. He can’t bare to see you in pain like this and that cute, somewhat odd looking shuffling you’re doing only pains him even more.

Jason hums, kneeling down in front of you, “come on, then.”

You’re quick to lean against his back, wrapping your arms around the width of his shoulders and letting his arms hoist your legs. Jason rises easily to his feet, hopping slightly to adjust you on his back.

You squeeze his shoulders, planting a kiss to the side of his face. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Roy Harper:

The sweltering heat of the day only makes your feet hurt even worse, each step making you wince. You wipe the sweat off your brow and stop in your tracks, Roy following suit.

“Everything alright?” He cocks his head to the side, red hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

You frown, “my feet are starting to hurt.”

He offers you an incredulous grin, giving a half-hearted glance down to your feet. He hadn’t said anything when he’d picked you up this morning, but he’d thought it: those are not the shoes to wear when you’re going to be walking as much as you are today.

He laces his fingers through yours, tugging you along to a nearby bench and forcing you to sit. “Here,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder and digging through it.

You watch him rummage through the backpack before pulling out a pair of sneakers that are very much not his size. You blink, “are those?”

“For you,” he holds them out. “Figured you might want them.”

You’re speechless as you kick off your old shoes, Roy handing you a pair of clean socks. You pull them over, your feet instantly soothed by the absence of your shoes, before gently pulling on your sneakers.

You look at him with teary eyes, “how could you possibly know I’d need these?”

He shrugs, grinning cockily. “I just know things, babe.”

Wally West:

“My feet hurt.”

Wally stops in his tracks, hand tightening around yours. “Hm,” he smiles, “I wonder why?”

“My shoes I think…” 

He glances down, looking at the exact shoes he’d told you would hurt your feet with all the walking you’d be doing today. Still, they were cute and they matched your outfit, and you’ve never been one to listen very well to Wally, anyway.

He sighs, dropping to his knees on the pavement in front of you.

“Walls, what are you—”

You’re silenced when he lifts one of your feet to the top of his thigh, untying the laces of his sneakers. The switch is so fast you hardly notice it, your own feet feeling relieved when they’re placed in the warm comfort of Wally’s much too big sneakers.

He doesn’t even hesitate before he shoves his feet into your shoes. It’s awkward and it can’t possibly be comfortable with the way his ankles are hanging off the back end of your shoes.

“Are you sure?”

“As long as you’re not in pain, that’s all I care about.” He rises to his feet, doing a little twirl for you, “besides, I feel like a baddie.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, rising on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. “You are a baddie.”

“Damn straight.”

Victor Stone:

The ground outside the bar feels uneven beneath your feet, making you rock on your heels and cause your already painful shoes to rub even harsher on your heels. You wince, stopping in your tracks.

Victor stops the second you do, whirling around on you with concern in his eyes. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“My feet hurt,” you mumble out, leaning against him to stand on one foot, rubbing the back of your ankle. “It’s fine.”

His brows knit together, arms crossing over his broad chest. It very much is not fine, not when you’re practically limping.

You recognize that defiant look on his face instantly, opening your mouth to say something when all of a sudden he lifts you into his strong arms. 

“Vic!”

“What?” He says, half-hiding his smile, “I just like sweeping you off your feet.”

You let yourself relax against his chest, breathing a sigh of relief at the lack of pain in your feet. “Mhm?”

He kisses the side of your head, resuming his walk down the street like nothing happened. “Mhm, makes me feel like your knight in shining…chrome.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, enjoying the warmth he brings to the cool summer night. His arms feel safe to you, like the most natural place in the world. You lean in, kissing at his jaw.

“My hero.”

He flexes a muscle playfully, offering you a wink. “You know it.”

Garth:

You’re limping. It’s the first thing Garth notices when he meets up with you at the boardwalk, the grin on his face fading just a little. You’re shuffling awkwardly, walking on the balls of your feet like anything else will cause you pain. 

You smile when you see him, immediately throwing your arms around him. “Garth!”

He wraps his own arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Hi, baby.”

You pull away, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the way your heels rub against the backs of your shoes. It burns, and it’s definitely going to give you some nasty blisters later.

His brows furrow together. “You’re in pain.”

You shrug, “it’s just my shoes.”

Just your shoes? Garth shudders, he’s in pain just looking at you. 

He laces his fingers through yours, shaking his head. “Come on.”

You let him drag you down the boardwalk strip, past all the souvenir and food shops and into the air conditioned hut of a store that mainly sells bathing suits, towels and flipflops.

“Go, pick out a pair.”

“Garth, it’s fine.”

He levels you with a serious look, “I’m not gonna be able to rest until I know you’re not in pain so please, just pick some out.”

And you give in like you always do, examining the shop wall and settling on a pair of comfortable looking sandals. Before you go up to the counter to pay, Garth snatches them from your hand, paying for them before you even have the chance to say no.

Outside, he kneels down in front of you, replacing your uncomfortable shoes for the nice, cozy flip flops he’d just bought for you.

He pats your foot gently when he puts it down. “There, all better.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “Thank you, baby.”

dc masterlist | navigation

ROY HARPER: to me, he's like the epitome of 'i love you, but i'm going to fuck you like i hate you' and because of that he usually has you in positions where he can get a great view of your ass. he loves the more intimate, front-facing positions (esp when he's desperate and in need of reassurance of some kind), but more often than not you're in doggy or at least in any position that allows him access to your ass. like his hand will be on your ass at all times if possible.

if you're into it or open to try, he would so love to eat your ass out too, enjoying both your pussy and ass as if he were a starved man—and, because i love him, he'd cum from this alone. if you're not as open to anal in any way, he'd still love to eat you out from behind, leaving bite marks on the fullness of your curves and thighs, and spreading your ass cheeks a part just so he can memorize the way your body reacts to him. in general, i think he really gets off on watching the way your body moves and responds to him, regardless of if it's your moans getting louder at the way he tongues your clit or if it's your back arching and ass pushing back to meet his thrusts; it's just intimate how no matter how rough or soft he's being, your bodies move in such unison. even in casual everyday moments of domesticity, he would just playfully and lovingly squeeze your ass in passing and relish in the little ways you react to him. you could be pouring yourself some coffee in the morning or making yourself breakfast when roy would just pass by and cop a quick feel, causing you to giggle or slightly jump at the sudden touch you weren't expecting. i think he would just love that you love him very presently and openly

HAL JORDAN: he's honestly not that much better than roy here, but because of his complex relationship with gender and sexuality, he wouldn't be as open to anal like roy is, not at least until he's older and post-spectre. he'd still absolutely love any position that allows him access to groping and touching your ass. whether that be having you on your hands and knees with your face pressed firmly into the mattress while one hand grips your hip and the other palms the fullness of your cheek, or having you in reverse cowgirl he's really just indulging and admiring the view. outside of sex, he would also just take every opportunity to touch you; instead of his hand resting on your waist, his would just exist on your lower back and slowly inch its way down, probably and most likely resting his hand in the back-pocket of your jeans while you're both out at a bar for the night

OLIVER QUEEN: never met a socialist that wasn't an ass man! but tbh he's a closeted ass guy to me, one with a solid pr team to make him seem like he's a tits guy but the minute you're alone with him, he's feeling you up! i also just feel like he's so incredibly intimate and romantic about it too, like he's not just into your ass but incredibly in love with your back and how your body is shaped so perfectly, how the pathway of your spine and the contours of your flesh create one of the most delicate curves in the universe. and have you ever noticed how similar one's back can be to the spine of a bow? mechanically not the same, but metaphorically, analogously, i think ollie would find himself immensely in love all the same in how he would, in an effort to offer you a back massage after a grueling week, end up gently kissing his way from the nape of your neck to the very end of your spine all while softly massaging the fullness of your ass before finally pressing kisses there too. you'd probably laugh and giggle and sigh and hum at his declarations of love pressed to your skin like this but it's just music to his ears

also recency bias, i can't not think of @mick-is-asleep's fic and just the concept of him absolutely admiring your back and ass as you ask him to help zip up your evening wear or even have him help clasp your necklace for the night's gala—it's probably the only thing that keeps him sane throughout the event as well as the prospect of getting to undress you once home.

VIC STONE: i think he would know how to appreciate your body regardless, but yeah this man loves your ass. he would absolutely find any and every excuse to pick you up and toss you over his shoulder, and somehow his hand would be conveniently placed on your ass—for stability, he'd assure you. vic is generally pretty playful when he can be, so i don't think he would shy away from pinching and lightly slapping your ass in passing, or even just resting his hand on you as you're laid across his lap watching a movie together. but, vic is also a very competent and intelligent person, he knows exactly when to lock in and that's often during sex; even, if it's on the sillier side, he's still very much focused on teasing you for your pleasure. if you're into spanking, he'd definitely lean into that for you, but largely he's incredibly gentle with his touches—even when he's roughly palming and massaging the flesh of your ass before dragging his thick fingers along your walls

GARTH OF SHAYERIS: he's such a lover boy that if you genuinely asked him 'ass or tits?' he'd probably say your eyes. and he wouldn't be wrong to say that because i think he would genuinely be so in love with your eyes, and just every aspect of you. he's very middle-ground about this though because in the bedroom, where he would prefer any position where he can see your face (again, because of your eyes!), he would very much give a lot of attention to your chest, kissing a fevered yet delicately wet path from your lips down your jaw and neck until his lips are wrapped around one of your nipples, gently sucking before he eventually kisses his way back up to your lips. but outside of the bedroom, in those domestic moments where you're both cuddling on the couch and your head is laying on his chest, his hands would just be resting on the curve of your ass. he's just overall very gentle and tender with his affection (and his mouth)

DICK GRAYSON: perhaps this is also recency bias as i still have @patientofarkhamasylum's amazing fic on my mind, but while everyone does think dick would be an ass man, i think he finds much more comfort and love with his face pressed against your chest. like sarah mentioned in her fic, i think listening to your heartbeat would be incredibly grounding for him especially as things get hectic and out of control for him on patrols or cases—regardless of if it's bludhaven, gotham, or titans-related. there is something so deeply calming about falling asleep—a thing that dick actually rarely does!—with your breasts as his pillow, whether that be in bed or on the couch. i can also see him seeking out hugs like this after grueling cases, after moments where he feels like a failure clad in black and blue (in bruises and design); the idea of coming up to him at his messy desk with water in hand, knowing he probably hasn't had any since the morning, only to have him turn to you with that boyish, tired smile of his before gently pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you as his head rests on your chest, beautiful eyes looking up at you with the wonder you always look at him with before he closes them to concentrate on matching his breathing to your heart's beating. he'd probably also sneak a hand underneath your shirt and unclasp your bra if you were still wearing one at that point in the evening, just so that he can be closer to you (and you'd probably have to stop him from trying to take your shirt off too, at least while the windows to his apartment are wide and open)

and for the same reasons, i think he'd very much prefer sexual positions and acts where you're both facing one another: he's a very sentimental romantic at his foundation so there aren't many positions he favors that you're facing away from him (except for when you're riding his face ig), but these positions, like missionary or lotus, just allow him to also massage and play with your breast as he's balls deep inside you with his tongue down your throat. he generally just likes to have his hands on you in some way, both in and out of the bedroom, because being intimate with your partner like this is something that means so much to him; it's a little overwhelming how all-consuming his presence can be when you're together, but he just loves the closeness, loves being grounded while simultaneously suspended by your presence, your love, your everything

CLARK KENT: this is a guy who actively memorizing heart beats of the people he loves, i really doubt he wouldn't want to bury his face between your breasts and just listen to your heart sing. i think he would also just enjoy pressing kisses down your sternum and relish in the comforting feeling of your heart beating against his lips. clark would also find himself staring at your chest, it's not something he intentionally does though. you can be stretching at your desk after a great writing session late in the evening at his apartment, your tank top riding up slightly and the upward pull of your arms bringing your breasts together, and clark would just stare at how lovely you look like this, even if it's momentary, even if you've already put your arms down and caught the direction of his eyes placed right at your chest. or, as you're both trying to be intimate, you'd take off your shirt and his breath would hitch as if he hasn't seen you in this particular bra before, as if he hasn't seen and loved your breasts before. you'd point it out every time with a giggle and he'd be a blushing mess about it, apologizing like he did something wrong and blasphemous by just looking as if you aren't straddling his waist and staring right at his own chest too..

BRUCE WAYNE: so like he's definitely not beating the breeding kink allegations. i really do believe his happy place is sucking on your tits where i think he could genuinely spend an entire round marking your chest as he moans and pants onto your flesh while his fingers curl inside your core until you're cumming and clenching on them (and ofc he'd cum just from sucking on and biting your nipples) but here's the thing about bruce wayne: he's going to deny and abstain from his wants, desires, and yearnings, especially if it brings him even a smidge of happiness. this is a guy who often doesn't allow himself to be happy (e.g. mask of the phantasm monologue), so while he would absolutely love to spend hours or the rest of his life buried between your breasts and kissing, sucking, biting, and playing with your flesh and nipples until you're forcing him off of you (and even then, he'd beg for five more minutes which would turn into another five minutes, etc. etc.) he really would not let himself indulge unless it was solely for your pleasure

but.. even then,. he's so so clinical with sex—or, maybe not so much as clinical as he is strict in a weirdly intense and try-hard sense. the strictness really only applies to him because, to be honest, this is a guy who grades himself and his performance in bed. so, while he's doing things for your pleasure, like sucking and kissing your tits, you'll start to notice—esp if you've been intimate with him more than like three times—that he's like timing himself? that the way his tongue is moving across your nipples is oddly methodical before he moves to your other breast and does the exact same thing. it's not like it's bad but you can tell he's trying very very very hard to at least get a passing grade, except he's the one grading himself so the highest grade he's ever going to get is like a C.

that being said. if he ever allows himself to go nuts and be happy..best sex of your life. and if you're able, you'd probably end up pregnant

EXCEPTIONS / DEVIATIONS:

JASON TODD: i really do think jason is much more into thighs (and your arms!) something that his hands just naturally gravitate towards while lounging together on the couch or even while cuddling in bed. there is something very lovely to him about your thighs, and i can see him planting the most delicate kisses up and down the expanse of your thigh before he finds himself kissing your clit and tonguing at your entrance, his hands, of course, still holding onto the fullness of your thighs.

but for the sake of this spectrum, he would lean more towards tits simply because whenever you ride him, with one of your hands holding onto the headboard and another on his shoulder for stability, he can't help but take one of your breasts into his mouth and tongue at your nipple. he'd be incredibly sloppy and noncommittal with it though, as he can't pay attention for too long with how you're squeezing around him; he's just a mess underneath you, always, moaning and panting hot breath and pleads to your chest while his hands bruisingly grip your thigh and hip

You're one of the most capable people he's ever met, strong, reliable, smart. Pretty, his mind so helpfully supplied.

You might not have been part of the Titans with him, preferring to work alone most of the time, but Wally trusted you wholeheartedly. He trusted you could look after yourself. If anyone could make it through an apocalyptic event, it was you.

Still, for every second that passed and Wally didn't catch a glance of you, his anxiety grew.

Where were you?

He sees Dick start to approach him, undoubtedly to check up on him, but Wally can't take it anymore. Mentally, he writes a note to apologise to his best friend later, but first, he needs to find you.

He tries your comms several times, the dread reaching a crescendo in his being with every failed attempt to contact you, every street he runs through that's bare of your person.

Wally's about five seconds from calling for a League-wide search party when he finally stumbles across you. He's by your side in an instant, heart hammering in his throat and tears threatening to well in his eyes and spill down over his cheeks.

You're slumped unconscious, eyes closed and sickeningly still as you lie on your side, cheek pressed against the grimy alley floor. He calls your name, nearly sobbing in relief when his fingers find the faint but steady thump of your pulse.

Dust, debris and blood cover your person until he can barely make out the colour of your suit, nor can he locate the source of the blood or even if it's yours.

He doesn't dare move you, wary of potential neck or spinal injuries, but his hands still frantically search for injuries. Distantly, Wally's aware that he's calling for help, but he can barely hear the sound of his own voice outside the blood thundering in his ears.

It's with panic threatening to swallow him whole and one shaky hand cupping your cheek that you come to, voice hoarse like you'd been chewing on gravel.

"Wall—" you break into a hacking cough that leaves you gasping for air, each pained sound striking Wally like a physical blow, "Wally?"

"Yeah, it's me, honey. Don't— don't try and speak, just stay still. Help's on the way, okay?" His voice is as shaky as he feels, but he tries his best to hold it together, for you.

"Honey? That's'new," You hummed quietly, eyes slipping closed again, body unintentionally relaxing with the knowledge that Wally was by your side.

"I'll call you whatever you want, just keep those pretty eyes open for me, yeah? Where are you hurt?" He tries to keep his voice level, professional, like he's done hundreds of times before. But this isn't one of those hundreds of times— this isn't some stranger in front of him now— it's you.

"Side. M'side." You whimpered, raising a shaky hand to your ribs, pulling your hand back to showcase the crimson blood staining your glove.

"That's— ok, just let me—" He pulls our hand away, replacing it with his own, pressing down on the wound even when you cry out in pain..

"I know, I know it hurts, I'm so sorry, baby."

"M'so tired, Wally." Your words come out closer to a whine, a half-aborted sob catching in your chest from the concoction of pain and fear swirling in your veins.

"I know, I know you are, just—" His chest rattles with a cry of his own as his thumb rubs soothing circles over your cheek, "just hold on, help's nearly here, just a few more seconds."

You're worryingly silent, prompting Wally's chest to start heaving in panic again, "hey, hey, hey, eyes on me, remember?"

"Wally?" you rasp, hazy eyes focused on him as best you can in your condition, "I really like you. M'sorry we didn't have more time."

"Don't you dare. Don't— don't give up." He pleads, tears sliding free from his waterline and soaking his mask.

"We—we have time, all the time in the world. Just please..." Wally trails off, words failing when he realises you can't hear him anymore.

"No, no, no, no. Please. Please don't do this to me." He hauls you into his arms, burying his face in your neck as he rocks back and forth.

"Flash!" Suddenly, there are hands gripping his arms, prying him away from you, even as he screams and thrashes.

"No, what are you doing? She needs me! Let me go!"

"Flash, Flash, calm down. Wally!" His vision clears enough to register that it's Dick standing in front of him, gripping his cheeks and forcing Wally to focus on him rather than you.

"Dick, I—she—" He stammered, unable to hold the sobs at bay any longer.

"I know, buddy, but she's going to be ok."

"Promise?"

Dick hesitates a little; he knows he shouldn't, but Wally sounds so small, looks one step away from shattering completely, "I promise. Look, they're taking her to the watchtower, let's get you cleaned up and then we'll go see her, ok?"

"ok."

The second Wally gets to the watchtower, he's speeding to the infirmary, settling into a chair at your bedside and refusing to leave. Even when Dick tries to get him to clean up, the best he can manage is a wet wipe over the speedster's face like he's cleaning up a messy toddler.

"Wally, seriously, she wouldn't want you to—"

Dick's attempt at an intervention goes out the window the second you let out a small groan and your eyes start to flicker open. Wally's on his feet instantly, chair scraping across the floor as he leans down to cup your face.

"Mm, Wally?"

"Yeah, honey, I'm here. I'm right here." He let out a relieved laugh, tears welling in his eyes again.

"I feel like shit, don't let me do that again." You groaned, and Wally's laughter turned somewhat hysterical.

You'd never get the chance to. You'd be lucky if he ever let you out of his sight again.

GARTH

He's exhausted. Beyond exhausted, really. His entire body is one big ball of pain, and all Garth wants to do is collapse face-first onto the nearest surface and sleep for a month, at least.

Roy claps him on the back, but Garth barely hears a word he says, too busy scanning his surroundings, hoping to catch even a glimpse of you.

Finally recognising Garth's not paying the slightest attention, Roy pulls back with a concerned look. "Hey man, you good?"

"He's looking for her." Donna wriggled her brows suggestively, letting out a giggle as Garth's cheeks flushed pink.

"Who?"

"You're so oblivious." Donna rolled her eyes, shoving Roy for his obliviousness and giving Garth the opportunity to escape.

Donna wasn't exactly wrong. Instantly, he's on the lookout for you, pushing through the crowd of heroes and rubble until he finds himself in a park of all places.

The space is somehow mostly untouched by the carnage, the soft, green grass tickling the soles of his feet that mindlessly carry him through the park. It's quiet, peaceful, the sort of place you'd gravitate towards, probably the reason he'd ended up there.

You were similar in that vein, outsiders. Even with the Titans who'd become his family, Garth still often felt just a twinge off kilter, like he didn't quite belong.

Yet you never made him feel like that. If anything, being in your presence was the most he'd ever felt at peace, like he was where he was supposed to be.

You were special, you were—

The sight of a familiar glove, lying across the ground in his peripheral vision, has Garth's heart stopping. Adjusting his trajectory, his panic crescendos as he rounds the tree blocking his view, only to find you curled up against the roots.

Dropping to his knees, he calls your name desperately, tears already welling in his eyes as his hands cradle your face.

"Mm, Garth?" You grumble hoarsely, blinking lethargically up at the hulking mass of panicked man suddenly in your sunlight.

"You're... You're ok?" He exhales, heart still pounding against his chest in panic, threatening to burst from his chest.

"Wha? 'Course I am."

"I thought—" Garth swallowed shakily, "I saw you lying here and I thought you were hurt, or—"

"M'fine." You reassured, bringing a hand up to hold his, "just tired. S'been a long day."

"So you decided to what? Take a nap on the ground here?"

"Exactly." You nodded sagely, like you couldn't see a single thing wrong with your decision.

"You couldn't make it to a bed anywhere?" He sighed exasperatedly even as his gaze turned fond.

You're already shaking your head, eyes sliding closed again as you relax against the grass. "Too far. Now shhh, it's sleepy time."

With a swiftness and strength belying your rampant exhaustion, you've managed to pull Garth down into the grass next to you, swinging a leg over his hip and snuggling into his chest.

His poor heart, already run ragged from the scare you'd unintentionally given him, starts hammering against his rib cage once more. Muscles rigid and tense, it takes Garth a few minutes to calm down, hesitance lacing his movements before he eventually wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer.

You don't speak again, but you let out a pleased-sounding hum at the gesture before your breathing evens out, and you fall asleep on his chest just like that.

He's a little envious of how simply and quickly you succumb to sleep, when, despite his own exhaustion, Garth doubts he could get a wink even if he wanted to.

Not that he's too upset with the prospect. For now, Garth's more than content to let himself enjoy the moment, memorising the feel of you in his arms and, for the first time, truly allowing himself to imagine a future full of moments like this.

KORIAND'R

The threat is neutralised, the fight long over, but Kori can't combat the nervous, frenetic energy buzzing beneath her skin.

She can't find you.

You always check in, even if you're dead tired and on the brink of death itself, you always manage to contact her, to let her know you're ok. But it's been hours since she heard from you, and even as she tries her best to quash the negative thoughts, Kori feels as if she's on the brink of a breakdown.

It wasn't like you were in separate parts of the globe either; you'd been fighting alongside the Titans in Bludhaven, slipping seamlessly into the team dynamic even if you weren't technically a member yourself.

Were you alone? Hurt? Scared?

She knows she shouldn't entertain such thoughts. You were probably fine, likely held up doing your part to help in the aftermath. You always were.

Still, that anxious, uneasy pit in her gut grew until it weighed on her like a physical burden. Kori's aware she's spiralling, that she needs to slow down and take a breath, but she just can't.

Not when you could be dead. You could be dead, and she'd have been none the wiser. You could have died, alone and in pain and —

"Starfire!" At the call of her name, Kori turns, "There's someone trapped under the rubble here!"

She's moving before Roy finishes speaking, forcing herself to push all thoughts of you to the side. Right now, someone needed her help, someone—

Kori's knees falter, causing her to stumble a little as Roy exclaims in shock.

When had she landed?

She'd been flying, that much she remembers, but then Kori had seen the arm poking out from beneath the slab of concrete wall. Even covered in dust and coloured a sickening grey, Kori could recognise the pattern of your suit.

A wail builds in her throat, and suddenly she's flinging slabs of cement like they weigh nothing.

When had she moved?

Her hands were tearing through the wreckage with a single-minded focus, an agonised sob wracking her frame as the debris cleared enough for her to see you.

"Oh shit," Roy whispered in the background, before he too was moving, sliding to his knees beside a hysterical Kori as the alien pulled your limp form into her arms.

"Oh shit," he hissed again, when the form of a small child you'd evidently been shielding with your own body was revealed.

Miraculously, the kid stirs seemingly completely unharmed, peering up at Arsenal as the archer swoops him up easily, scanning for injuries as he heads for the improvised medical tent.

"Raven, Kori needs you." He grimly calls, trying to put aside his own grief for the sake of the child you'd sacrificed yourself for.

That's how Raven finds Kori, wailing into your hair as she clutches your body like you'll evaporate if she relaxes her grip even a fraction.

"Kori, I'm..." Raven trails off, resting a consoling hand on her friend's shoulder, only to pause in surprise when she doesn't quite feel the nothingness she expected from you.

"Kori! Kori, she's alive!" Raven exclaimed, already conjuring her magic, kneeling opposite you and the distraught Tamaranean.

Kori's too far gone to hear a thing Raven says, her cries turning to soft sniffles when you suddenly lurch in her grasp, bursting into a fit of hacking coughs.

"What—What happened?" You wheezed, sluggishly attempting to orient yourself.

"You were squished." Kori half laughed, half sobbed. "Raven unsquished you."

You take a few moments to register her words, letting the oxygen flow into your aching lungs. "You know, if this is the reception I get after a life-threatening injury, maybe I should do it more often."

"Don't even joke about that!" Kori hissed, tears still marring her cheeks, before she leaned down to kiss you, pouring every ounce of love and desperation into the action as you melted against her.

So worth it.

DICK GRAYSON

Dick's pretty sure something in his arm is broken, if the dull ache that's steadily increasing and the limb's uncooperative nature is anything to go by.

He's never been more thankful for the adrenaline coursing through his veins, especially when he's still searching for you; he can't afford to be waylaid by something as meagre as a broken arm.

"Help!" A small voice catches his and every hero in the vicinity's attention, but Dick's the closest, and instinct has him moving to the little girl's side in a blink.

She’s hysterical, holding onto her baby brother as they both blubber out words Dick can hardly decipher. Taking her hand, Dick lets the girl lead him through the streets as fast as her little legs can take her.

"S’all my fault!" She hiccuped, "She got hurt saving us."

Before Dick can ask for my information he catches sight of what she means. It’s you. Slumped against a wall with a sickening amount of blood staining your side. He can’t tell if you’re breathing and you don’t even flinch when he frantically calls your name.

Scooping the girl and her brother up in his arms, Dick quickly closed the distance, setting them to the side as he checks your pulse.

It’s clinical, robotic movements that are second nature to him by now. Even then, there’s a minute tremble to his hands as Dick mentally prepares himself for the worst.

At the feel of gloved hands on your face and neck your eyes spring open, dazed but still alert enough to recognise the man crouched in front of you.

Dick nearly swears in relief before he remembers the little audience sniffling at his side.

"Nightwing? What… where are the kids? Are the kids ok?" You try to sit up, looking around in alarm as Dick firmly tried to keep you in place.

"They’re here, they’re both fine, not a scratch. Why don’t you worry about yourself for once?" He tries for casual but misses the mark so spectacularly that even in your near delirious state you can hear his concern.

"I look that bad huh?" You try to joke, only to wince at the stinging tug on your injuries.

"Never, you’re as gorgeous as always." The conviction in his voice takes you aback, leaving you speechless as your sluggish mind fails to articulate a response.

You’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, of the gentle way his hand cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing absentminded circles into your skin.

Leaning into his touch, your eyes slip closed without your permission, a wave of exhaustion consuming you, weighing down your leaden limbs.

"Hey, none of that now. Keep your eyes open, you hear me?" Dick snaps, shaking you slightly when you fail to comply with his demand.

"M’sorry birdie." You hum mournfully, unable to even open your eyelids that suddenly feel heavier then ever, "m’trying, m’just so…tired…"

"No! Don’t you dare give up on me. You’re ok, you’re gonna be ok, you’re —" His voice tapers off, as tears suddenly blind his vision and his chest constricts.

He’s vaguely aware that the little girl beside him has started to cry again, but Dick can’t even find it in himself to comfort her, not when he’s barely holding it together himself.

A firm hand clasping his shoulder brings him back from the brink of a complete panic attack and Dick turns to stare frenzied and wide eyed at Star Sapphire.

"Nightwing, I can heal her, but I need you to calm down."

"You can?" He doesn’t dare get his hopes up but already his breathings started to come easier as he stares at the heroines determined face.

"I can, but I need you to focus on your love for her."

Had she been anyone else Dick would’ve scoffed, but it’s easy enough to comply with the request.

Loving you comes as easily as breathing to him, if anything, he’d be unable to not focus on his complete and utter adoration.

Dick watches with bated breath as Carol’s hands hover over your side, a bright pink light caressing your form as she sets about healing the damage you’d sustained.

Your eyes flicker open, alert and confused as you crane your neck to stare at Star Sapphire and then him and Dick nearly sobs with relief, pulling you into a desperate hug that has you squeaking.

He holds you gently, unwilling to exacerbate and lingering injuries, but tightly nonetheless as he buries his face in your shoulder.

"I nearly lost you." He croaks, "You nearly —"

"Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?" A little voice suddenly interrupts him, and Dick pulls back swiftly, suddenly aware of their audience, cheeks flushed slightly.

"What?"

"The pink lady says you're in love. I think you should get married and have babies." The girl nodded knowingly.

Dick takes a few seconds to ponder her words before turning to you with a grin, "Well, you heard her."

You roll your eyes, but your face is unbearably fond as you place your hands on his neck. "Take me to dinner first"

She Just Wants Attention by @/renniev - kyle rayner x batsis!reader

College au part 2

Ramen & Love by @luviery - roy harper x batsis!reader

Both of you are idiots in love who just yearn, instead of confessing.

Slow Morning by @ghxstrobins - garth of shayeris x reader

Night To Remember by @twentytomidnight - john stewart x reader

You get swept off your feet

Guy being jealous by @/twentytomidnight

I like em ugly by @citrine-starz - guy gardner x fem!reader

Guy Gardner is terrible at gift giving, but this years gonna be different.

My father’s hands by @that-dumb-bunny - dad!hal jordan x daughter!reader

Where The Lights Almost Stay by @purplespiritimagines - clark kent x reader

at a fleeting, neon-lit carnival, you and clark wander through sugar-sweet air and quiet moments that feel bigger than the night itself. somewhere between rigged games and a ferris wheel pause above the city, something soft and steady begins—something that might outlast even the disappearing lights.

Stephanie Brown yearning headcanons by @aria-lacrimosa

Unbelievable by @utopeian - dick grayson x fem!reader

Dick Grayson is not just “some guy”, he's your very dramatic boyfriend

I’m With The Band by @starfires-comet - dick grayson x fem!reader

you’re dick grayson’s long-term girlfriend, but when you try to get backstage at one of his shows, the security guards refuse to believe your relationship is real.

This life, I’m afraid (may be built on love, after all) by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels - bruce wayne x reader

Sleeping habits headcanons by @cherryvvave - multi character

Includes: Bruce Wayne, Diana of Themyscira, Dick Grayson, Hal Jordan, Kara Zor-El, Roy Harper, Talia Al Ghul, and Zatanna Zatara

Lightning by @sozzoe - kara zor-el x alien!reader

drinking with her on a distant planet.

Barry’s not a fan of horror movies by @froggibus - barry allen x reader

Gas Station Sushi by @fluentmoviequoter - barry allen x fem!reader

Barry is late for yet another date. His idea to make it up to you is a little unconventional. Luckily you love him, not just his speed or his ideas.

Chips by @stcrgazerlily - barry allen x reader

you notice your boyfriend is always hungry, so you start carrying chips around

Damian Wayne and bff!reader text messages by @thesuperiorrobin

Clark Kent (Superman)

You inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg and chocolate filled your nose. “It smells divine Clark.” You applauded, stretching backwards to remove the remaining tension from your muscles.

“It’s one of my Ma’s old recipes, if I told you it I’d have to kill you.” The pot clanged, as he teased you with that brilliant pearly white smile of his.

“A man who’s kind and can cook.” You mused, “I’m the luckiest person on Earth.” Happily you returned his smile, only half kidding. Clark had ruined all men for you, he was the type of guy that Hallmark movies would pretend that a city girl would fall for. You used to think they were all so stupid, now you were willing to risk it all for a man who made exceptionally good hot cocoa.

“I can hear you thinking.” Clark commented, his smile slightly softer now.

You automatically deflected, not wanting to reveal the depth of your feelings for him. “Oh can you? I didn’t realise my boyfriend had psychic abilities. You should apply for the Justice League.”

Clark’s ears tinged red, “No, not for me.”

“No?” You thoughtfully replied, “I think you’d be a great super hero- you’re so kind and empathetic. If I needed someone I’d call you.” The admission cost you nothing, instead it removed a weight from your shoulders you didn’t even realise was there.

“Really?… I appreciate that.” He strode over to you and clasped your hands in his, allowing you to see the vulnerability on his face. At first you used to tell Clark that wearing his emotions on his face was a weakness. Now you realised it was his armour.

The mystery hot drink he was making bubbled away on the stove, slowly fracturing the moment. “Alright my hero, go make us our drink before you accidentally burn the apartment down.”

Garth (Tempest)

The fire popped and crackled, as you flicked a page in your book. Outside the temperature was near zero degrees, with ice threatening to rear its head. Yet, it was nice and cosy in the room, between the fire place, blanket and Garth’s head resting on your lap, all your winter woes faded away.

“This is nice.” He absentmindedly murmured, his thumb brushing small circles on your hip.

A small, fond smile graced your lips, “That’s because it’s quiet and you love tranquility.”

“Yes,” Garth semi-reluctantly agreed, “But I’m also here with you.”

You paused for a second, moved by his earnestness, meanwhile his thumb was still continuing those maddening patterns. “That’s sweet of you.” You uttered softly, extracting one of your hands from the book you were reading, to caress his forehead.

Garth’s eyebrows furrowed, “Hey, that tickles.” He weakly admonished.

“Aww you look so cute.” Gleefully you exclaimed, causing Garth to frown.

“I am the heir to an underwater Kingdom-“ He began that familiar line, as you placed the book onto the coffee table with a dull thud.

“Yes and a very cute one.” You teased, at his deepening frown (bordering on a pout now) you helpfully added, “But super scary too."

Garth quietly chuckled, while shaking his head. “You're quite something.” His remark was tinged with awe and the blanket slipped slightly as he sat up. “Now I expect some praise if you want me to keep you warm."

“Oh I can praise you all night.” You cracked with a grin, delighting in the way his cheeks burned red.

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

“It’s cold.” You deadpanned for the millionth time that night. Crouching on the rooftop, you attempted to move your legs, but you could swear they were frozen to the floor.

“I know.” Batman replied again, this time slightly more terse with his fists clenched in frustration.

“Is there not anywhere else we can do this stakeout from?” The wind fiercely blew just then, whipping ice cold air like throwing knives into your face.

“No.” This time he actually growled.

“So you don’t have a back up plan? Aren’t you the contingency plan guy?” He bristled at your increasingly rude questioning, yet it appeared he wanted to be the better person and rise above your persistent challenging. Silence once again filled the pitch black night, the wind died down slightly and the stillness- “I literally can’t even feel my toes, aren’t you cold?"

Slowly Batman turned his head, tension coiled within him like a snake preparing to strike. He said each word slowly, as though he was forcibly modifying them before they came out his mouth to hide his frustration. “You. Are. Cold. I. Understand.” Was he gritting his teeth too?

“I feel like you don’t though,” You instantly replied and his scowl deepened, “You have all your bullshit armour that’s probably suited for the Artic, I don’t."

Batman turned back to watching the brick building his tone dismissive, “That’s your fault. You should have prepared better.”

“This was not marketed to me as a stake out gig. You just told me and I quote, ‘I have a lead on the arms dealing case’.” You felt slightly tempted to mimic his voice, but even you knew when you were pushing your luck.

He pushed a single, long huff from his nose, like a bull who’d seen red. Then he shockingly shifted slightly closer to you and lifted up his cape. The quiet invitation stunned any further snarky comments you could make. For the first time that night, you kept your mouth shut and gratefully shuffled underneath his cape. The warmth that hit you was immediate and immediately relaxed half your bones.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“Shut up.” Batman reprimanded, but not without a small smile on his face.

Wally West (Kid Flash)

“It’s totally gonna snow this year babe, I can feel it.” Wally punctuated his words by tapping on the window, almost as if he could will the rain outside to turn into freezing snow.

“It hasn’t snowed in Central City for like 2 years.” You gently reminded him.

“No it snowed last year!… A bit.” Wally scratched the back of his neck, the chill bringing a pink tinge to his cheeks.

“Uh huh, that little dusting of snow for one night, which melted come morning.” Despite you skepticism, that memory brought a small smile to your face.

Wally had insisted on taking you outside, even when the ‘snow’ was just a fine dusting, like powdered sugar on a cake. The golden street light illuminated you two as you waltzed in the winter wonderland. Every few seconds he was stepping on your toes, yet the warm grin he’d given you held a special place in your heart. The phantom pressure of his forehead resting against yours resurfaced and if you close your eyes for long enough, you could remember the exact shade of green his eyes were.

When you opened your eyes again, Wally was gazing at you softly. “What are you thinking about?” He asked so gently, as though he knew exactly which memory had granted you such joy.

“That I hope it snows again this year.”

Kyle Rayner (Green Lantern)

“Kyle, this spot is freezing.” Your mouth barely moved as you made your complaint and you took great care to ensure that your posture remained straight. The wind whooshed once again against the shut window, making its presence salient. Unsure if the tingling feeling in your legs was from splinters, the cold or from sitting in the same place for so long, you shifted slightly where you perched on the wooden ledge.

“Not too much longer babe.” Kyle reassured, a strand of his hair falling endearingly over his forehead, while his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration.

“Mhm.” Disbelief coloured your tone, but you chose to stay quiet; after all, you had the best boyfriend in the World, who else was going to draw a portrait of you just to encapsulate your ‘divine beauty in the midnight of winter’.

Allowing the silence to fill the room, you cast your mind back to when Kyle had proposed the idea of this to you. “Tell me again.” You commanded, mimicking the way a princess would command her royal painter.

“Tell you what?” He retorted with a coy smile.

“Why you want to paint me.” Your stated, tensing in anticipation.

Kyle paused his breathing for a moment, keeping his eyes on the canvas and using broader brush strokes as he spoke, “Because you’re beautiful. When you smile at me, it feels like the sun rising on a cold winter morning- you light up my life. Especially after Alex, everything was just cold and lonely, you brought with you a warmth in your eyes that told me I’d finally made it home.”

The mention of Alex made your breath hitch, Kyle seldom mentioned her, but you knew why. To hear that you’d made his life more bearable after that tragedy, warmed your heart in a different way- it was like satisfaction and pride mixed into one.

Kyle tutted and then reached forward- tucking a stray hair back behind your ear. The contact made you tense further, as you tracked his eyes movements across your face.

After taking a moment to assess and see if everything was the way it was meant to be he nodded.

“Perfect.” An easy smile graced his face as he stood back. “No moving!”