Or: The one where you text your bf because you need ransom money
Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Wally West, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent and John Constantine
Warnings: No real warnings // Requested here by anon <3
Morph's thoughts: had so much fun making these. Just so you know Bruce's is the shortest just because i feel like being kidnapped would happen all too often lol just your usual wednesday afternoon.
The following series will have a total of 5 chapter, co-written by me and @vianawaits!
But there’s a twist. None of us know what the other is writing about until it’s posted. Confusing? For example, I start us off with chapter 1 but I don’t tell Ana anything about it. It could be set in regency or it could be isekai, but Ana will not know until the chapter itself is posted. Similarly, Ana will continue it on with chapter 2 without telling me anything! She could add plot lines, flashbacks, or change the course of the story and I won’t know till it’s posted! Finally, we work back and forth until the last chapter, where we actually collaborate to make it.
.⋆♱ NOTE ── the chapters i write will be posted on my blog, the chapters ana writes will be posted on her blog.
.⋆♱ CHAPTER 1 — @starr-jazz
(coming soon...)
.⋆♱ CHAPTER 2 — @vianawaits
(coming soon...)
.⋆♱ CHAPTER 3 — @starr-jazz
(coming soon...)
.⋆♱ CHAPTER 4 — @vianawaits
(coming soon...)
.⋆♱ CHAPTER 5 — @starr-jazz & @vianawaits
(coming soon...)
ᯓ★'s P.S. YALLLLL IM SO EXCITED FOR THISS AHHHH
don't forget to comment and reblog if you enjoyed!
← ゛masterlist ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆
taglist꩜ .ᐟ NO SPECIAL TAGLIST FOR THIS EVENT. EVERYONE ON MY REGULAR TAGLIST WILL BE TAGGED!
Steve Rogers/Reader, Frank Castle/Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Roy Harper/Reader, 1.8K
a/n: in response to an ask i received hehehe
cw: smut/implied smut/18+ONLY, nudity, public sex, ambiguous genitalia, gn!reader (features/clothing/genitalia not specified)
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Your partner discovers that you have a tattoo with interesting placement.
Marvel/Reader, DC/Reader (18+)
Steve Rogers:
You know that Steve's a traditional guy, even if time has opted to finagle with his chronological meter. That's why you were a little worried to undress in front of him the first time, to allow him to see what lie under the waistband.
You worried to see shock or disgust dart over the span of his face as he peeled the hem of your pants down. But you're not sure how to qualify this.
As his eyes drink in the words scrawled in calligraphic ink on the slope of your abdomen. With his hands knuckling over the tender flesh of your waist, his thumbs digging into the ample skin that is his to hold.
His eyes look with such dogged intensity over the words; surely he must have gleaned comprehension as to what it says. But still he remains silent. His eyes in intensive focus, his brow knitted, the color rising to the apple of his cheeks.
"Steve?" You ask, your voice in meeker fashion than it might usually be. "Is everything okay?"
He chuffs out a breath in drastic measure, one locked tightly away in the real estate of his ribs. When his eyes dart up to you, it's an act of restraint to keep your jaw from dropping open.
His pupils are so dilated in manner you've never seen before—his nostrils flared, his shoulders broadened as he leans over you. His broad fingers seem to curl in ravenous means over you, as though allowing you to escape is unthinkable right now.
"Eat me?" He asks, without any heat—his voice is tight with need, his eyes seem to draw wider in something dark and hungry. You can't help but squirm under that implacable grasp as he instinctively grinds against you, feeling the way that the bulge tenting in his pants rocks against you.
"Yeah," you respond, feeling far more vulnerable than you assumed nudity would offer. But the verbalization of the tattoo marked under your belly button usually inspires a variety of reactions.
And this—as Steve's eyes draw up to you, raking over the ink once more—this is certainly a reaction.
"I got it in college," you confess shyly as his eyes seem to go glassy as he surveys you; slinks his eyes down to the promised land. "Do you like it?"
"Do I like it?" He asks, and his voice is gentle but rugged with a heat that you don't know you've heard him use save in combat. His thumb soothes into you, but the action isn't entirely reassuring considering he looks like he's considering the message of your lettering.
"Yeah," you reply as you appraise him. As his hands urge down your thighs, summoning tactile afterimage as he sinks between your legs.
"Well, it wouldn't be gentlemanly if I didn't follow instructions when they were given to me," he answers—his breath over that sensitive spot that is roiling with need makes you gasp open-mouthed.
"Don't you think?" He asks—you have to knuckle your forefinger against the full of your lips to stifle the shudder.
"I agree." You say, teasing cant to your voice. And Steve smiles as he looks to get to work on the assignment you've given him.
Frank Castle:
You should have known better, wearing a shirt with such a high cut to the gym. But you hadn't known that he was watching you—even though you should have expected it.
The two of you were the only people in the room, and it was so every like him to keep an eye on someone he had a hankering for making out with after certain hours. You just hadn't made it to the stage where clothes came off—yet.
This is why you didn't expect him to come and find you after you'd hustled your way off the stairmaster, to ask for a moment of your attention in the lockers. This is why you're absolutely, entirely flummoxed when he turns you around, and with a shove neither gentle nor rough, pushes you up against the wall.
"Frank, what the fuck—"—Is all that you begin to voice—not that you're entirely unhappy with his actions, just surprised—when you feel his hand tug under the hem of your shirt and hike it up. Feel the cool air hit the tack of your exposed, sweaty skin—and feel the breath of his crude chuckle as he admires the cyber silygism in perfect symmetry just above the cleft of your ass.
"How come you didn't tell me you had one of these, honey?" He asks, and there's something almost offended, though it's overridden by the blatant lust taking prominence in his voice. Lust that is clearly indicated by the bulge that is pressing up against you, supplemented by the instinctive grind he makes against you.
"What—"—You say, but there's his hands that pull at your hips as he bucks his own into you. And shamefully, needfully, you moan at his touch.
"Woulda loved to get a chance to see this sooner, baby," He groans, and you feel the scrape of rough fingers over the ink documented on your skin. Feel another ejection of a sharp chuckle as his hands sink their grasp into you.
"You're seeing it now," You respond through gritted teeth, angling your head back to look at him—taking ample time to watch the way he makes a rugged smile look so good. How he's already making way to free you from all this unnecessary clothing.
"Whatcha gonna do about it?" You ask him, and the chuckle he makes is laced with a greed only matched by the clutch of his hands.
"Think I'm gonna enjoy lookin' at it while I fuck you, honey," He grits as you feel the press of his cock against you, already at full attention.
You think that you wholeheartedly agree with him.
Peter Parker:
It almost seems like Peter has lost all coherent thought as he stares at the tattoo that makes journey from your hip down to the flesh of your inner thigh.
His hand seems to ghost over it in stuttering motion as he admires it with the pads of those rough fingers, his mouth falling open in slack-jawed way. You don't know if you've ever seen him at a loss for words before.
"Peter?" You ask, as you watch the way his finger traces down the barrel of the revolver emblazoned on your skin in monochrome. Watch as his Adam's apple bobs in thick, delirious manner, before his eyes find yours. And then his brain seems to reboot, returning his ability for coherent speech.
"This—"—His hand skirts over the trigger of the tattoo, his eyes blown wide—"—This is so fucking hot."
"Yeah?" You ask, letting a little sly smirk play on your lips. "What do you like about it?"
"I like that it's on you," Peter says with immediacy—you can't help but laugh aloud, even as his cheeks begin to flush with emotion.
"I like that it looks so perfect on your soft skin," He says in more quiet meter, his hands touching you in reverent notion. "And the way that it makes me want to kiss there. Kiss—"
He swallows again and when his eyes finally track to you, you can barely keep your own gaze riveted to him. The way his hand is rubbing over the junction of your legs makes a punched-out moan slide easily through the grit of your teeth.
"—Kiss you everywhere." He says, and you watch as the pink of his tongue darts out to run over the full of his lips. Your mouth has never felt so dry watching him.
"Can I taste you?" He asks, and his voice is husked at this, his eyes in worshipful cant. As though he has yet to taste ambrosia and hungers for the privilege to do so, between your legs.
"You better," You grin at him. He makes a soft, breathy chuckle, staring down at you as he works his hand over you.
"Okay." He says. And like a man settling himself down to prayer, he lowers himself to pay tribute at your temple.
Roy Harper:
It's always a comparison game with him. How much you can keep up during training, how many enemies that you can take down in a match. How many times you can bring each other to the floor during a sparring session. Tonight's theme is tattoos.
Roy, of course, goes first—he shows off the impressive columns of his muscles, first showing the Navajo armband in its dark, symmetrical, precise lining. Then he takes time to show you the black scorpion with poised tail, the skull bearing crossbow with sheath of arrows. Allowing you to see the fine work that has been made with permanence into his skin.
You make sure to give admiratory glance and appreciative nod, and perhaps if your eyes linger too greatly on the way his muscle recoils and flexes with the movement before you show him your own—
Well, you decide to move along before your eyes tarry too long.
You show him dates commemorated, your American Traditional on your arm—he goes through the motions of staring with marked interest. But then he asks the question.
"Any others?" He asks. And you could say no, but you don't.
"Yeah, but you can't see that one." You tell him, keeping your smile coy as his own grows with curiosity.
"Oh?" His voice is low and affected now. "Why not?"
"It's under my bellybutton." You grin at the way his eyes flicker with interest. "Got it with my first paycheck."
"What's it look like?" He asks, and if he nears you on the couch, you don't shirk away at his approach.
"Says 'trouble below,'" you laugh, "And it hasn't aged well."
"Well, how'm I supposed to know," He inquires casually, "If you won't let me see it?"
"Because I get the feeling," You say as his arm inches across the back of the couch towards you, "That you won't just take a look."
"Well," He echoes his previous statement, "How can I be a fair judge if I can't get a feel for the situation?"
"Don't you mean a taste?" You ask—his laugh is sure, but his eyes speak something else to you.
"Why not both?" He asks, and the way that his eyes lance through you, searching for your approval like a hungry dog. You can't resist it.
"Only if you take me out to dinner after." You say, to which Roy makes speculative noise.
"Kinda odd, putting dessert before dinner," He says, his fingers notching their way to your waistband, closing in on the promised land, "But I guess we can switch it up."
"Yeah?" You ask, your voice light, airy, teasing as he begins to coax you out of your clothing. "How's that?"
"Guess I can give you dinner and a show, sweetheart," He says as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin he reveals. "We'll just get started with the show first."
As he presses a heated kiss to the sinew of your skin where the tattoo is imprinted—you certainly think he's on to something.
Summary: the JLI has noticed something...unusual about Guy Gardner as of lately (or, your early relationship as seen through their eyes)
Word Count: 1k
Content/CW -> gn! reader, some awkwardness, mostly wholesome
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> i am still sick as a dog however i wanted to get at least one fic out today so ;-; take some guy <3 hopefully its coherent...also pls go read tales of the green lantern corps: guy gardner
Something is wrong with Guy Gardner. At least, the League seems to think so.
Maybe he’s been possessed, or replaced with an alien, or maybe a series of ghosts visited him in his sleep and convinced him to be a better man. Whatever the reason is, there’s only one thing they agree on: it’s weird.
The first person to notice it, unfortunately, is Hal Jordan. He’s leaving the Watchtower, clocking out from an excruciatingly long patrol shift, when he notices something odd.
Guy Gardner, two cups of coffee in his sweaty palms, psyching himself up in the hallway. Hal blinks, head cocked to the side, wondering what could possibly make Guy Gardner of all people so nervous.
His answer comes in the form of you, settled into a chair with a book in your lap, oblivious to Guy’s arrival until he taps you on the shoulder.
“Guy, hey!”
He smiles, something awkward and strained. He thrusts a hand out to you, “brought you a coffee.”
You take it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling the sweet aroma. You grin ear to ear, “ugh, my favorite. How did you know?”
“You know me,” he shrugs, an attempt to remain nonchalant. “Guy Gardner knows things.”
You giggle slightly, taking a sip from your coffee. “You know, I’m starting to think you actually do.”
Guy blushes. Hal shudders. What parallel universe has he stepped into?
The next person to notice, unsurprisingly, is J’onn.
Guy Gardner’s been pacing the command deck all day, which in itself drew suspicion. He’s not one to hang around when he’s not on duty or doesn’t need something from someone. It’s especially unlike Guy to be pacing and nervously wringing his hands together like this.
J’onn observes him with sly sideyes and the occasional telepathic checkup, wondering what on Earth he could possibly be waiting for.
The answer comes when you stumble back into the Watchtower, soaking wet and shivering, Hal Jordan by your side. You shake off the water on your body like a dog, wrinkling your nose.
J’onn feels it before he sees it. The sudden relief, the dissolving anxiety in the room.
“That,” Hal mimics your motion, wet hair dangling in his face, “sucked.”
You laugh, “you think? I’m freezing.”
The two of you fall into the steady rhythm of smalltalk, discussing the details of your mission while simultaneously dripping water all over the floor. You’re so caught up in your conversation with Hal that you don’t notice Guy sidle up to you until he’s shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
It’s warm, perfectly comfortable over your wet and cold clothes and best of all, it smells like the cologne he douses himself in every morning. You tug it tighter around yourself and look over your shoulder at the man who gifted it to you.
“Guy?”
“Hm?”
“What’s this for?”
“Since you said you’re cold and all,” he shrugs, trying to keep it casual. “Can’t have you getting sick on me.”
Hal and J’onn exchange looks. What the hell is going on?
Guy catches himself. “Don’t want you shirking your responsibilities, leaving all the world saving to me. I got things to do.”
You see through the facade easily, see it for what it really is. You only smile and thank him, crossing your arms over your chest to thoroughly absorb his warmth.
Guy resists the urge to drape an arm over your shoulders. Hal resists the urge to gag.
The third victim of Guy Gardner’s new attitude is no other than John Stewart, who wasn’t even supposed to be here but was instead sentenced to it by the Guardians.
He’s tired when he arrives at Guy’s house, not willing to deal with the odd ecosystem Guy has created for himself. Still, he forces himself through the door and calls out for Guy, only to trip over his shoes.
Wait—not Guy’s shoes. Someone else’s.
John squints, examining the shoes that almost took him out. They’re too clean to be Guy’s, the soles still sporting some white where Guy’s would usually be worn down and dark in colour.
He calls out for Guy again, stepping further into his apartment and past the plant he’s somehow growing inside of an old boot. It would be impressive if John wasn’t so grossed out by the room around him.
His search of the apartment turns up empty until he comes across the barely open door to Guy’s bedroom, the room behind it enveloped in darkness. Hesitating, John pushes open the door and freezes dead in his tracks when he sees what’s inside.
He should’ve known. The apartment was slightly cleaner than usual, there was an extra pair of shoes at the door and Guy wasn’t answering and still, here he is. John can’t help but stare, slack-jawed at the sight in front of him,
Guy, laid on his side, his thick arms wrapped around your waist. Your waist. John wasn’t sure anyone on the planet would be willing to date Guy Gardner, least of all you of all people.
He rubs at his eyes and the sight of the two of you remains.
It’s then that Guy props himself up on one arm, shooting daggers towards John. “D’ya mind?”
John takes a big step back, shaking his head, still speechless. Guy tosses a construct pillow at him, John dodges.
“I’m just—I’ll text you.”
John spins on his heel, leaving the apartment more haunted than when he first arrived.
You’re walking the street with Guy, swinging your hand in his, that the question finally comes to your mind.
“Do you think people have been…weird around us lately?”
Guy squeezes your hand. “Why do you think that?”
“Just…everything. I mean, we spend all our time around superheroes. One of them is bound to figure it out at some point.”
Guy pauses, thinking back to the other day with John, and the week before that with Manhunter, and even before that with Hal. He shrugs his broad shoulders.
“No,” he smiles, “don’t think those dummies are gonna figure it out anytime soon.”
Liar.
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
Hi! Can I request fluff with Guy Gardner for neglect week, maybe something pre-relationship with the JLI noticing Guy being a lot softer and less abrasive with reader if that interests you. Love your work !! <3
thank you for requesting something so cute :,) i loved every sec of writing this, i hope you enjoy it!
Summary: the JLI has noticed something...unusual about Guy Gardner as of lately (or, your early relationship as seen through their eyes)
Word Count: 1k
Content/CW -> gn! reader, some awkwardness, mostly wholesome
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> i am still sick as a dog however i wanted to get at least one fic out today so ;-; take some guy <3 hopefully its coherent...also pls go read tales of the green lantern corps: guy gardner
Something is wrong with Guy Gardner. At least, the League seems to think so.
Maybe he’s been possessed, or replaced with an alien, or maybe a series of ghosts visited him in his sleep and convinced him to be a better man. Whatever the reason is, there’s only one thing they agree on: it’s weird.
The first person to notice it, unfortunately, is Hal Jordan. He’s leaving the Watchtower, clocking out from an excruciatingly long patrol shift, when he notices something odd.
Guy Gardner, two cups of coffee in his sweaty palms, psyching himself up in the hallway. Hal blinks, head cocked to the side, wondering what could possibly make Guy Gardner of all people so nervous.
His answer comes in the form of you, settled into a chair with a book in your lap, oblivious to Guy’s arrival until he taps you on the shoulder.
“Guy, hey!”
He smiles, something awkward and strained. He thrusts a hand out to you, “brought you a coffee.”
You take it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling the sweet aroma. You grin ear to ear, “ugh, my favorite. How did you know?”
“You know me,” he shrugs, an attempt to remain nonchalant. “Guy Gardner knows things.”
You giggle slightly, taking a sip from your coffee. “You know, I’m starting to think you actually do.”
Guy blushes. Hal shudders. What parallel universe has he stepped into?
The next person to notice, unsurprisingly, is J’onn.
Guy Gardner’s been pacing the command deck all day, which in itself drew suspicion. He’s not one to hang around when he’s not on duty or doesn’t need something from someone. It’s especially unlike Guy to be pacing and nervously wringing his hands together like this.
J’onn observes him with sly sideyes and the occasional telepathic checkup, wondering what on Earth he could possibly be waiting for.
The answer comes when you stumble back into the Watchtower, soaking wet and shivering, Hal Jordan by your side. You shake off the water on your body like a dog, wrinkling your nose.
J’onn feels it before he sees it. The sudden relief, the dissolving anxiety in the room.
“That,” Hal mimics your motion, wet hair dangling in his face, “sucked.”
You laugh, “you think? I’m freezing.”
The two of you fall into the steady rhythm of smalltalk, discussing the details of your mission while simultaneously dripping water all over the floor. You’re so caught up in your conversation with Hal that you don’t notice Guy sidle up to you until he’s shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
It’s warm, perfectly comfortable over your wet and cold clothes and best of all, it smells like the cologne he douses himself in every morning. You tug it tighter around yourself and look over your shoulder at the man who gifted it to you.
“Guy?”
“Hm?”
“What’s this for?”
“Since you said you’re cold and all,” he shrugs, trying to keep it casual. “Can’t have you getting sick on me.”
Hal and J’onn exchange looks. What the hell is going on?
Guy catches himself. “Don’t want you shirking your responsibilities, leaving all the world saving to me. I got things to do.”
You see through the facade easily, see it for what it really is. You only smile and thank him, crossing your arms over your chest to thoroughly absorb his warmth.
Guy resists the urge to drape an arm over your shoulders. Hal resists the urge to gag.
The third victim of Guy Gardner’s new attitude is no other than John Stewart, who wasn’t even supposed to be here but was instead sentenced to it by the Guardians.
He’s tired when he arrives at Guy’s house, not willing to deal with the odd ecosystem Guy has created for himself. Still, he forces himself through the door and calls out for Guy, only to trip over his shoes.
Wait—not Guy’s shoes. Someone else’s.
John squints, examining the shoes that almost took him out. They’re too clean to be Guy’s, the soles still sporting some white where Guy’s would usually be worn down and dark in colour.
He calls out for Guy again, stepping further into his apartment and past the plant he’s somehow growing inside of an old boot. It would be impressive if John wasn’t so grossed out by the room around him.
His search of the apartment turns up empty until he comes across the barely open door to Guy’s bedroom, the room behind it enveloped in darkness. Hesitating, John pushes open the door and freezes dead in his tracks when he sees what’s inside.
He should’ve known. The apartment was slightly cleaner than usual, there was an extra pair of shoes at the door and Guy wasn’t answering and still, here he is. John can’t help but stare, slack-jawed at the sight in front of him,
Guy, laid on his side, his thick arms wrapped around your waist. Your waist. John wasn’t sure anyone on the planet would be willing to date Guy Gardner, least of all you of all people.
He rubs at his eyes and the sight of the two of you remains.
It’s then that Guy props himself up on one arm, shooting daggers towards John. “D’ya mind?”
John takes a big step back, shaking his head, still speechless. Guy tosses a construct pillow at him, John dodges.
“I’m just—I’ll text you.”
John spins on his heel, leaving the apartment more haunted than when he first arrived.
You’re walking the street with Guy, swinging your hand in his, that the question finally comes to your mind.
“Do you think people have been…weird around us lately?”
Guy squeezes your hand. “Why do you think that?”
“Just…everything. I mean, we spend all our time around superheroes. One of them is bound to figure it out at some point.”
Guy pauses, thinking back to the other day with John, and the week before that with Manhunter, and even before that with Hal. He shrugs his broad shoulders.
“No,” he smiles, “don’t think those dummies are gonna figure it out anytime soon.”
Liar.
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
currently watching : succession season 4 finale (again lol)
current obsession : sakura haruno (all day every day)
currently reading : a dialogue — nikki giovanni and james baldwin (1973)
currently working on : with love, birdy (tim drake) + the summer i met the graysons (mark grayson x reader x dick grayson) + unnamed barbara gordon phone sex fic
last internet search : catfishing : the wikipedia guessing game (i take this very seriously btw)
Backstage was not the same without you; the whole staff felt it, even if Zatanna made it very clear that your name wasn’t allowed on their mouths anymore. “It’s a personal matter, and a personal matter shall not get in our way,” she stated after the breakup, an iron grip on her words while she dismissed the worried looks her crew gave her. “The show must go on.”
She gripped the edge of the polaroid, the picture of her life — your smile, so bright, and all because of her. When did it slip off her fingers? Maybe when the first spell left her lips, mending old fights and piecing together what carelessness pulled apart. A soft-spoken “er’ew enif, evol,” in the middle of the storm, and suddenly reality bent to obey her very words.
“Emoc kcab emoh.”
“Evigrof em.”
“I love you. Uoy evol em oot.”
It was so much easier that way — selecting only what was pleasing to the heart and pushing everything else away.
Until you found out, at least; then, everything became a mess. You yelled at her, your voice rising like thunder in the storm, and Zatanna's foundations trembled at the fear in your eyes; how much had she changed in you with a simple command from her lips? You could not find any answers in your memories — too treacherous, gaps blended into false certainties and everything was dubious.
So you flew. Before she could explain anything. Faster than she could mutter a new beginning.
“Zatanna? You have five minutes before you go on stage!” Her staff called from the corridor, the noise of the audience reaching her dressing room in the distance. Pulling a pen from the hat thrown on the dressing table, she traced destiny once more — a final patch and, God help her, everything would be alright again.
“Forgive me, my love,” she whispered to herself, sliding the pen across the back of the photo.
Ll’ehs tegrof tuoba em.
When Zatanna saw you in the audience that night, she smiled at you just like she had when you first met.
masterlist || based on this request || 1k event :3
The safehouse was quiet except for the soft hum of the city far below and the steady rhythm of Wally’s breathing against your neck.
You were both still in your suits — yours the sleek black and gold armor, his the bright red and yellow Flash suit, both scuffed and torn from the night’s chaos. A rogue meta-human had caused havoc in the Narrows, and you’d jumped in to help without thinking. Wally had been right behind you, as always — the fastest man alive, but never too fast to leave you behind.
Now, the adrenaline was crashing.
Wally had you pinned gently against the wall, not with force but with need. His hands slid under the edge of your armor, palms warm against your bare skin as he kissed you slow and deep, like he was still reassuring himself you were okay.
“You scared me tonight,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky. “Jumping in front of that energy blast like that. I know you’re tough, but… fuck, I hate seeing you hurt.”
You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy red hair. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. And you were right there to catch me. Like always.”
He groaned softly, pressing closer, hips rolling against yours in a slow, suggestive grind. The friction made your breath hitch. His hands roamed higher under your armor, tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the thin undersuit.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. “All mine. Even when you’re reckless.”
You shivered, arching into him. The safehouse felt smaller, warmer, the world outside fading as Wally kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands stayed respectful but possessive, sliding over your hips, pulling you flush against him so you could feel how much he wanted you.
“Wally…” you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access.
He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks down your spine. “Just a little more. Need to feel you. Need to know you’re really okay.”
You were about to pull him closer when the comms crackled.
“Batgirl? You copy? I’m in the area — saw the explosion. You good? I’m close to the safe house.”
Dick’s voice. Your older brother. Of course he’d check in.
You froze. Wally pulled back, eyes wide with panic and amusement.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Hide me.”
You shoved him toward the small closet in the corner, heart racing. “In there. Don’t make a sound.”
He grinned, ducking inside just as a knock sounded on the safehouse door.
You smoothed your hair, adjusted your armor, and opened it.
Dick stood there in his Nightwing suit, looking concerned. “Hey. You okay? Looked like a rough one.”
You forced a smile, leaning against the doorframe to block his view. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Wally helped me out. He’s… already gone.”
Dick raised an eyebrow, glancing past you into the room. “You sure? I can stay if you need backup.”
“I’m good,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “Really. Go home. Rest. I’ll debrief with Bruce tomorrow.”
He studied you for a second, then smirked. “Alright. But if you need anything, call. And tell Wally I said thanks for having your back.”
You nodded, cheeks warm. “Will do.”
The second the door closed, Wally tumbled out of the closet, laughing softly as he pulled you back into his arms.
“That was close,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Your brother almost caught us. Again.”
You laughed, melting into him. “You’re terrible at hiding.”
“Only because I can’t keep my hands off you.” His hands slid back under your armour, warm and teasing, tracing the curve of your waist. “Now… where were we?”
You kissed him again — slow, deep, full of relief and want. His hands roamed, gentle but hungry, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The night’s adrenaline mixed with the comfort of being safe in his arms, turning into something warmer. Softer.
Wally pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but tender. “I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you scare the hell out of me on patrol. Even when your brothers almost catch us. Especially then.”
You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. My fast, reckless, perfect boyfriend.”
He grinned, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the small cot in the corner. He laid you down gently, hovering over you, hands stroking your sides as he kissed you again — slower this time, savoring.
The safehouse felt like the only place in the world that mattered.
And in Wally West’s arms, with his heartbeat racing against yours and his lips soft on your skin, the chaos of Gotham felt a little farther away.
a/n : first fic in a while soz, I’m working on a lot of requests :3
you’ll always be that sunburn on me @froggibus - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
