Kyle Rayner x Witch! Reader
Kyle Rayner had seen a lot of strange things since becoming a Green Lantern. Space whales made of nebulae? Sure. Entire planets that communicated through music? Weird, but manageable.
A café that existed in three dimensions at once? Confusing, but he survived. But you? You were still the strangest thing he’d ever encountered and somehow the most grounded at the same time.
He met you during what was supposed to be a “routine investigation,” which in Lantern terms usually meant “this will absolutely not be routine.”
A disturbance in an abandoned part of the city had pulled him down, glowing green light cutting through fog and broken stone, only for him to find you sitting calmly in the middle of it.
Surrounded by floating candles and a circle of ink-black symbols hovering in the air like they were breathing.
Kyle had actually said, out loud, “Okay. That’s new.”
You hadn’t even flinched.
“You’re loud for someone trying to be subtle,” you’d said, without looking up from the sigil you were tracing in the air.
That was the beginning. Now, weeks later, Kyle stood outside your place again, except this time, it wasn’t fear that made his stomach twist.
It was curiosity. And something softer he didn’t want to name too quickly. He knocked. The door opened almost immediately.
“You’re early,” you said, like you’d already known he was coming before he decided to.
Kyle smiled awkwardly. “I was in the neighborhood. ‘Neighborhood’ being Earth. Again.”
You stepped aside, letting him in. Your home didn’t look like a typical apartment. It looked like someone had carefully stitched together comfort and chaos: shelves of old books, jars of herbs glowing faintly, candles that lit themselves when you walked past and always, that faint hum of magic under everything, like the air itself was listening.
Kyle glanced around. “I still don’t get how your apartment is… like this.”
“It behaves,” you said simply.
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
He laughed, then hesitated near a table where a small dish of salt had formed intricate moving patterns on its own.
“…Is that supposed to be doing that?”
You leaned beside him. “Yes.”
“It’s not dangerous either.”
Kyle pointed at it. “It looks like it’s thinking about me.”
You glanced at the salt pattern, then back at him.
“It is evaluating you,” you said.
A small smile tugged at your mouth. “It likes you.”
But despite himself, he didn’t move away. That was the thing about you, about all of this. Kyle was a Green Lantern. Fear was supposed to be something he mastered and yet, around you, he kept finding something stranger than fear.
Trust. You turned slightly, studying him in a way that felt less like judgment and more like observation.
“You’re not afraid of it,” you said quietly.
Kyle blinked. “I mean. I am a little.”
“But you’re still standing here.”
He looked at the glowing salt pattern again, then back at you.
“I’ve fought things that tried to erase galaxies,” he said. “A weird salt opinion about me isn’t gonna make me leave.”
That made you laugh softly. The sound made the room feel warmer. Then your expression shifted slightly, more thoughtful.
“Most people don’t stay,” you admitted.
Kyle’s humor faded a little.
“…Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”
A pause. Then he added, gentler, “But I’m not most people.”
Your gaze met his fully then, steady and unreadable in the way magic often was.
“You’re not afraid of what I am?” you asked.
Kyle thought about that. He thought about the floating candles, the symbols that moved like living things, the way reality bent slightly when you were focused. Then he thought about the way you looked at him like he wasn’t something to fear either.
“I think,” he said carefully, “I’m more interested in what you do with it.”
That quieted the room. The salt pattern settled, as if even it was listening now. Finally, you stepped back, motioning toward a table where something like tea was already waiting, because of course it was.
Kyle frowned. “I thought I was early.”
“You were,” you said. “Time changed its mind.”
He stared at you. Then sighed. “I’m never going to get used to that.”
A beat. Then, softer: “Just sit down, Kyle.”
He did and as he sat across from you, surrounded by quiet magic and impossible calm, he realized something unsettlingly simple. Space felt less complicated than this, but somehow, he didn’t want to leave it. Not anymore.
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