froggi yaps -> it's been so long since i did a multi-fic i feel like these lowkey suck :,) i had some planned for the other guys (jason, booster, bruce, clark, constantine) but couldn't commit to doing them rn </3 if this one does good tho i can do another part ^^ hope you guys enjoy
Dick Grayson (Roy):
Dick’s jaw drops when you walk into the bar, greeting your table of friends with a little wave before settling on Roy’s lap. Roy’s lap. His hand tightens around his glass.
The redhead raises his eyebrows, instinctively placing a hand on your hip to steady you. He tilts his head up, flashing you an easy grin. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say casually, grabbing his glass of ginger ale and sipping on it.
In your peripheral, you can see Dick’s jaw clenched, fingers digging into his palms. Roy rubs his thumb in circles around your hip, ignoring the inquisitive stares coming from your friends.
You watch as Dick downs his whole drink and forces a smile. A breath, and then he’s back to normal, making conversation with Donna across the table.
The night is normal after that, laced with jokes and easy conversation. It’s so normal you’re beginning to think Dick’s forgotten about your antics now that you’ve moved from Roy’s lap to the seat between them.
It’s when you’re on your way out of the bathroom that shit hits the fan.
“So, you and Roy?”
He’s standing in the small nook where the bathroom doors lay, looking at you expectantly. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles bulging out of his t-shirt.
You flinch at the sound of his voice, hand clenched over your chest in shock. You recover quickly. “Why do you care? We’re just friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends? I—” He laughs incredulously. “Is this because of what I said?”
You scoff and shake your head, shoving past him only for him to catch you by the arm.
“C’mon, don’t be like this,” he pleads. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
You spin around to face him. “Then how did you mean it, Dick?”
“I just meant that we aren’t dating.”
“So why does it matter so much to you if I flirt with Roy?”
He looks puzzled, brows knit together as he tries to find an answer for your question that doesn’t involve him confessing his feelings for you in the back of a bar. He doesn’t find one.
“I-I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, “we’re not just friends, alright? It was—it was stupid for me to say that. Just, please stop flirting with my best friend.”
“Okay,” you say quietly. “Good to know.”
You retreat to the bar, getting another drink, while Dick returns to the table. You give it a few minutes, letting him stew before making your way back.
You’re about to sit back down on Roy when Dick catches your wrist, tugging you towards him. You stumble, falling into his lap. Your eyes widen, looking up at him curiously.
“No chance in hell,” he mutters into your ear, “nice try.”
Roy flashes you a thumbs up under the table. Mission accomplished.
Wally West (Kyle):
Wally’s clenching his glass so tightly it might break.
Standing in the corner of the bar, leaned against the wall and watching you dance with Kyle of all people, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to toss the glass at his head. It’s a tempting thought, Wally’s fingers wandering up the side of the glass.
It’s payback. He knows it is. He hurt your feelings and now you’re taking it out on him via grinding on Kyle. It’s whatever. He’s not going to fall for it. Whatever.
It’s when the song ends and you press yourself real close to Kyle, laughing in his ear about something he said, that Wally really loses it. One minute, Kyle has a hand on your hip, basking in the radiant sound of your laughter, and the next, you’re gone.
The cold night air is unforgiving, clinging to the sweat soaking your skin. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.
You scowl at the redhead who dragged you out here. “What the hell, Wally?”
He paces the alleyway in front of you, long strides casting dark shadows across the brick wall of the club. He has a hand in his hair, the other fidgeting nervously.
“Kyle? Really?” He laughs humourlessly, “he can’t even dance.”
“He dances better than you.”
Wally’s jaw falls open in offense as he clamps a hand over his chest.
“Why do you care, anyway? We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, cause friends fuck the way we do.”
It’s your turn to be shocked, turning your head away from him to try and hide it. “You’re—” You take a deep breath, fighting the heat rising to your face, “you’re the one who said we’re friends.”
“That doesn’t mean you can just—just go and fuck Kyle!”
You shake your head. “We’re not fucking, Wally. We’re dancing.”
You turn away from him, starting to leave the alleyway to get back in the club. Still, you can’t help yourself. “But, now that you mention it…”
Wally’s in front of you before you’ve finished blinking. He’s breathing heavily, a dark look in his eyes. He presses closer to you, squeezing out all the space.
“Don’t,” he breathes, “fuck Kyle.”
Something in his tone tells you to tread lightly. Something in your core tells you to press him more.
“Yeah? And what if I d—”
Wally’s lips are on yours before you finish speaking, his hands settling into your waist like they belong there. They roam your sides, feeling every inch of you. His tongue slips into your mouth, marking his territory.
He pulls away, looking at you seriously. “Come home with me, I’ll show you how friendly we are.”
Back in the club, Kyle smiles to himself. Your plan must have worked.
Roy Harper (Dick):
Roy almost faints when he walks in the living room, a necessary stop on his journey to grab a glass of water, and finds you and Dick snuggled up on the couch. He rubs his eyes, thinking this must be a result of a nightmare, but when the stars dissipate from his vision, the two of you are still laying there.
You’re face down in Dick’s chest, your head buried in his t-shirt. Dick’s laid down on his back, watching a movie while idly rubbing your back. It’s so domestic that it has Roy’s heart wrenching, his mouth suddenly dry.
Dick notices the redhead immediately, cheekily raising a finger to his lips to signal him to be quiet. He gestures to you with his eyes, putting emphasis on the fact you’re trying to rest.
Roy, with frustration bubbling up in his chest, does not give a fuck. “What are you guys watching? You look cozy.”
And just like that, your head is perking up, puffy eyes landing on Roy. There’s dried tears on your cheek, the skin around your eyes still wet and shiny from crying. Shit.
“I didn’t—fuck, I’m sorry.”
You push yourself away from Dick’s chest, untangling your body from his. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”
Roy only nods, not wanting to say anything else and risk upsetting you. You lead him back to your room, the gesture so familiar it has your heart hurting.
“Literally what is your problem?” Your voice is thick with tears, “can’t you leave me alone? Since we’re ‘just friends’.”
“You’re crying,” is all that he says, evidently stunned by your disheveled state. “Is that why you’re crying? Because of what I said?”
“Does it matter?”
His voice cracks. “You’re sad, of course it matters.”
You avert your eyes, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. Drawing your arms around yourself, you take a big step away from Roy. Like that will be able to keep this conversation from happening.
“It hurt when you said that, Roy.”
“So you go and cuddle up with Dick?”
“Jesus Christ.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “he’s my friend. He was comforting me. And last I checked, according to you, friends do a lot worse than cuddle.”
He sucks in a breath. Touché.
“You either care or you don’t, Roy. Make up your damn mind.”
“I care, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, “I care too much to see my best friend using you as a blanket.”
“But not enough to date me?”
He takes a deep breath and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to leave. If he’s going to storm out and leave you here and never speak to you again. Instead, he does something that surprises you even more.
He drops to his knees in front of you, looking up at you through his lashes. He says your name, reaching up for a hand. Reluctantly, you peel a hand from your shoulder and offer it to him.
“There is nothing I want more,” he says seriously, “than to be with you.”
Your vision blurs with tears. “You mean it? No more mixed feelings?”
He kisses the back of your hand. “Promise.”
Kyle Rayner (Guy):
Kyle doesn’t think anything of it when you don’t respond to his good morning text. Barely even notices it when you choose to sit next to Guy instead of him. Forced himself to ignore the way you seemed glued to the ginger all day. But this? This—seductively biting your nail while rubbing a hand up Guy’s chest—cannot stand.
He stands in the corner and watches the two of you flirt, waiting for his time to interject. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, fingers clenched to his palms. Any minute now, there’ll be a lull in the conversation and he could pull you aside to talk this out.
‘Any minute’ doesn’t come for at least another ten minutes, your rampant flirting with his partner only growing to annoy him more and more. He’s pacing now, twisting the ring around his finger.
“Jeez, Rayner, can you cut that out? You’re making me nervous.”
Guy’s voice grates on him, adrenaline pumping through his chest. Kyle forces himself to take a deep breath, to think reassuring thoughts and then—
“Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he wants.”
It’s something in your tone that sets him off, that has him creating a bucket of water and dumping it over the top of you and Guy. He’s barely even registered he’s done it until you’re turning on him with a scowl, looking like a wet cat.
“Really, Kyle?” You scoff, “real mature. I’m soaking wet.”
“Yeah, you are.”
You ignore Guy’s innuendo, rushing out of the room to go and dry yourself off in the bathroom. You’ve pulled off your shirt, holding it under the hand dryer, when the door swings open and Kyle’s coming in and stammering an apology.
He barely pays any mind to your half-naked figure, too busy talking himself in circles. “I don’t know what came over me, seriously.” He tugs off his sweatshirt, tossing it to you to cover yourself up. “I’m so sorry.”
You catch his sweater, your own ruined shirt dropping to the floor. “No you’re not.”
He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.
“What do you want, Kyle?” You pull his sweatshirt over your head, “you say we’re just friends and then you get all weird and jealous when I try to move on. It’s bullshit.”
And Kyle’s at a loss for words because you look so fucking cute in his sweatshirt, hair still damp and messy from the water.
“And you’re not even listening to me.”
You shoulder past him, about to leave the bathroom when he suddenly grabs your hand and spins you around to face him. He says nothing, only tugging you into his chest and holding you tightly.
“I don’t want you to be with anyone else,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”
You nod slowly, letting his words sink in. And just as he’s pulling away, you squish your hand into one of your wet pockets, gathering the water and wiping it on the back of his neck.
Kyle cringes, loosening his grip. “I deserved that.”
Barry Allen (Hal):
Six laps. Barry’s done six laps of the planet, changed in and out of his costume in the bathroom, and eaten an entire burger in the time you and Hal have been playing pool. It’s not the game that bothers him, really. It’s the way Hal has his hands on you, bending you over the table and pressing himself into you.
The sight ties Barry’s stomach up in knots, the deluxe bacon cheeseburger he just devoured threatening to come up again. He sits back, watching the two of you play a game against Ollie and Dinah and trying to keep the jealousy from rising to his throat.
It should be him down there. Those should be his hands wandering too close to your chest. He’s about to take another lap when Hal’s crotch is suddenly flush with the swell of your ass and he can’t take it anymore.
One minute, he’s sitting on a bar stool and the next, the two of you are standing on a beach somewhere far, far away from Hal Jordan.
“Barry?” You frown, adjusting to your surroundings, “where are we?”
“...Brazil.”
“Brazil? I—why are we in Brazil?”
“Because Hal isn’t,” he mumbles.
“What?”
“Because I need to talk to you.”
You blink. “And you needed to talk to me in Brazil?”
“Can you forget about Brazil for a minute?” He sighs, “can I—am I allowed to ask what’s going on between you and Hal?”
You burst out laughing. “Me and Hal?”
“...yes? I don’t see what’s funny about this.”
You reach for one of his hands, kneading your thumbs over his warm palm. “Barry, nothing’s going on between me and Hal. What you saw—” You scrunch your nose, embarrassed, “I was trying to get your attention.”
“You always have my attention.”
“I don’t want to be ‘just a friend’, Barry,” you confess, looking at him through your lashes. “Friends don’t do the things we do.”
Realization dawns on his face, his lips tugging into a frown. “No, that’s not—I didn’t mean it like that. God, I’m an idiot.”
You think back to the conversation in question, wracking your brain to decipher what else he could’ve possibly meant by that wording.
He rubs a thumb over your cheek, leaning in until his lips are inches away from yours. “You could never be ‘just’ anything to me. You mean so much to me and I—”
You cut him off by kissing him, swallowing his words.
Hal Jordan (Bruce):
Of all the people Hal expected to find you flirting with, Bruce Wayne was the last on his list. Guy? Absolutely. Barry, Clark, Diana…he wouldn’t cross off the possibility. But Bruce? That would almost be as bad as if you were cozied up to J’onn himself.
You offer Bruce a radiant smile, resting a hand on his shoulder while he tells you and a few other stragglers from Oliver’s charity gala a story. You cling to his every word, nodding along eagerly.
Hal clenches his fist and raises his glass to his lips, downing the whiskey in one go. Adrenaline, or liquor, or maybe some unholy combination of the two rushes to his head. He finds himself stomping over to the little group that’s formed around Bruce.
He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he sidles up next to you and flashes the group a fake smile. “You guys don’t mind if I borrow y/n for a minute, do you?”
He’s already starting to tug you away when he’s met with resistance, Bruce’s other arm looped through yours.
“Actually,” he says, giving Hal an even faker, even shinier smile, “I promised I’d show everyone the pictures from my newest Gotham development.”
Hal yawns, addressing you directly. “You don’t really want to see that, do you?”
Bruce’s hand slides from the crook of your arm to the small of your back. A vein bulges in Hal’s forehead. His frown deepens when you pull yourself away from him, sidling up to Bruce.
“Actually, I’d love to see those photos, Bruce.”
Hal shrinks, defeated. He hates the sudden cold in your tone, he hates the way you barely regard him. Above all that, he hates how good you look on Bruce’s arm.
He slinks away to a far away corner, Barry waiting with a new glass of whiskey and a comforting pat on the back.
Hal finds you an hour later, half drunk with booze heavy on his breath. You’re just finishing up a dance with Bruce when the pilot saunters up to the two of you. You suck in a breath. Here we go.
“Mind if I cut in?”
Bruce looks at you, assessing every miniscule expression on your face in less than a second. He sizes up the pilot, a silent reminder not to fuck with you.
“Do you want a drink?” Bruce asks, posture much more relaxed talking to you. “I could use a drink.”
“Yes, please.”
And then he’s disappearing into the crowd, leaving just you and Hal.
“Really? Bruce?”
You scoff at him, tensing when his hands find your hips and he guides you back onto the dance floor. “Keep your voice down, you’re gonna make a scene.”
“I’m not the one everyone’s been drooling over tonight.” His jaw tics, “of everyone, why Batman?”
“Bruce just wanted to help me take my mind off of things. Pissing you off was just an added bonus.”
He blanks.
“You can’t really be that dense, Hal.”
He thinks on it for a minute and you can practically see the exact moment the light goes off in his head. “Is this about what I said? The friends thing?”
Your silence speaks volumes.
“Why’re you so mad about that? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
You smile sweetly. “So you wouldn’t be mad if I went home with Bruce? I wouldn’t mean anything by it.”
His grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of your hips. He pulls you closer until his face hovers close to your ear, breath fanning over the side of your neck.
“I will cuff you to me right now. Don’t even joke.”
You intentionally step on his foot. “Admit it, then.”
“Why does it matter so much to you what we are?”
You groan, pulling yourself away from him and starting on your way back to Bruce. He grabs you before you get very far, pulling you back to him and locking his arms tighter than before.
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry, okay?” His gaze softens, “I didn’t mean it. Please, please do not go home with him.”
You kiss his cheek. “That’s what I thought.”
Oliver Queen (Hal + Dinah):
Oliver thought things couldn’t get worse than seeing you and Hal hug after winning beer pong. Oliver thought wrong.
Seeing Dinah kiss your cheek, her arms around your shoulders while the two of you pose for a photo, feels worse than any injury he’s ever received. It’s no help that the two of you look so damn good together, it’s near unbearable.
Dinah pulls away but the slight shimmer of her lipgloss is still visible on your cheek. Oliver can feel the envy bubbling up inside him like magma in a volcano. He tries to focus on something—anything—else.
He looks to Booster Gold and Blue Beetle, playing something on Ted’s Nintendo. He looks to Guy, currently having a very intense conversation with J’onn who looks like he’d rather be doing anything else.
It doesn’t work, he always finds a way to come back to you. Always.
You and Dinah are now wrapped up in a conversation with Hal and Barry, the smile on your face glowing brighter than the sun. He should be there, standing at your side, talking proudly. Instead, he’s lurking in the corner, watching from afar and trying to pretend his blood isn’t boiling.
And then Dinah’s hand rests on the small of your back and he can’t take it anymore.
He clears his throat, approaching you. “I need to talk to you.”
No pleasantries, no sugarcoating it, nothing. He doesn’t even bother to hide his annoyed expression.
Dinah flashes you a knowing smirk, nudging you towards him slightly. “Go on.”
Ollie leads you away from your gathered comrades, from the overlapping chatter and swell of bodies. He’s just barely gotten you out of view when he’s slamming you against the wall and pressing his lips to yours.
He can taste the remnants of your dirty shirley temple, along with something that tastes suspiciously like Dinah’s usual lipgloss. He thumbs at your waist, slipping a leg between your thighs and pressing his chest further into yours.
You gasp, shoving him off of you. “Ollie, I—what—I—”
He’s breathing heavily, feet planted less than a foot away from you. His cheeks are pinkened from your impromptu makeout session, his beard just barely hiding how flustered he is.
“What was that for?” You frown, “there’s people around.”
“And?”
“And?” You scoff in disbelief, “and you said you didn’t want anyone to know and that we’re nothing more than friends?”
“Fuck that,” he growls, reaching for you again. “You’re mine.”
Heat washes into your core, travels up your spine, floods your cheeks. You’re suddenly feeling lightheaded, unsteady on your feet.
“You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he admits. “Do you want me, or not?”
You sigh, beckoning him in. Defeated.
Guy Gardner (Booster):
Pretty much every hero you’ve worked with was confused by your relationship with Guy. It was clear the two of you had something going on, not that any of them were brave enough to inquire about it. No one thought too much about it.
That is, until you started cozying up to Booster Gold. As if Guy Gardner wasn’t bad enough.
Guy tried to ignore it. He really, really did. He tried to play it up to himself. At least this way he could see other people, too. He didn’t have to worry about hurting your feelings or dealing with jealousy. And yet, despite his sudden freedom, he couldn’t get you out of his damn head.
Maybe that’s what led him here, outside your house at two in the morning, banging his fist on the door.
Booster Gold answers the door, buttery hair disheveled and shirt nowhere in sight. “Hey, Guy.” He blinks, eyes shooting wide, “oh, shit.”
His jaw clenches, something snapping behind his eyes. Guy shoves past him, barrelling his way into your house. Booster rushes after him, trying to catch him before he slams open your bedroom door.
You wake with a start, rubbing your tired eyes to face your attacker. “Oh,” you say casually, sitting up. “It’s just you.”
Michael’s head pops over his shoulder. “I tried to stop him.”
“You tried your best, sir.” Skeets pipes up.
“Like you could,” Guy scoffs. “What the hell is he doing here, anyway?”
“Spending the night? What does it look like he’s doing?”
Your response does little to quell the angry look on his face. Guy clenches and unclenches his fists.
“What are you doing here? I’m sure whatever this is could’ve waited til morning.”
He ignores you. “Are you guys fucking?”
You laugh humorlessly.
Booster slinks away, “I think that’s my cue to leave.”
Your shoulders slump when you watch the familiar head of gold hair disappear back into your living room, presumably resuming his residence on your couch.
Guy crosses his arms, looking at you expectantly. “Well?”
“It’s none of your damn business, really.”
He closes the door behind him, stepping closer to you in the dark of your room. “Does he make you cum? I bet he doesn’t.”
“Jesus, Guy.”
“What? I’m just saying.”
“We’re not fucking, for fucks sakes.” Your head is still fuzzy with sleep, “he’s crashing on my couch. We hang out sometimes. What’s the big deal? It’s not like we’re dating.”
He clocks the bitterness in your tone, the way your voice falters on those last words. A cheshire grin fights its way to his lips.
“So that’s why you’ve been so mad.” He’s standing at the end of your bed now, looking up at you, “cause I said we’re friends?”
“And what if it is?”
“C’mere.” Through the dark, you can just barely make out his hand gesturing you closer.
Despite your better instincts, you find yourself crawling towards him on the bed, kneeling just in front of him.
He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You’re really that upset about it?”
You can only nod.
He leans in, lips pressing against yours. You relax in his grip, letting the world fall away from you while he kisses you.
He pulls away, offering you a toothy grin. “Yeah,” he concludes, “still mine.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
⋆˚࿔ Romantic things DC men do that they don’t even realise (fluff headcanons) Part 2!
Characters (separately): Conner Kent, Oliver Queen, Barry Allen, Roy Harper, Hal Jordan
CW: Suggestive in mostly just Hal's bit, possibly OOC, Oliver's part is a little long, proofread once (I think that's it)
This is so scary...anyway this is the request :P
This is part 1
Conner Kent
Constantly showing you off:
Conner's self-confident grin shines as he brags "Yeah, that's my partner, right here!" He extends his phone out that had a picture of you, smiling in front of a corn maze. The simper was mildly awkward; but to Conner, that was still his lover regardless!
“And then—” he wraps his arm around Tim’s neck before scrolling through the album once more, “that’s when we went to a ballet and they wanted to get dressed, aren’t they hot?!” He smiles radiantly to Tim.
To appease his friend, Tim nods, “yup!” With no further comment, only to have his chest shoved.
“Hey, back off! That’s MY hot partner, go get your own!” He scowls with little effect or impact as his goofy grin returns as he proceeds to continue scrolling through the album on his phone exclusively containing images of you.
A small moment passes when he lands on a picture of the both of you; he admires the real toothy grin you sport and he’s also in the picture mirroring your smile. The imprint of the smacked lipstick mark on his cheek evidently matched your own lips in the picture with the colour having barely smudged against your lip line.
With a subtle upward turn in his lips, he tapped the heart icon to put it in his favourites; he’s happy to keep that one to himself, rather than show off in this gathering…
Oliver Queen
Always helping out:
"Honey, seriously I can handle it!" you huff when the bill comes over for the dinner.
You don’t usually pay for meals when it comes to the dynamic between you and your husband, but you just got a raise at work and you’re on cloud nine! Might as well, right?
Immediately when you start counting your money, your darling husband petulantly pouts and looks at the waiter. “My spouse wants to pay…unbelievable! I’m the billionaire philanthropist and ex-playboy yet they’re telling me they want to pay!” He vents to the waiter.
...
As you both walk out of the restaurant, Ollie’s hand plants itself on your waist, “I still could’ve paid, y’know that?” He pouts, though the childishness is dampened because of the proud presence of his facial hair, much to his relief.
“I know you can, but I just wanted to do it today.” You pat his chest.
Oliver simply scoffs, it’s certainly clear he wants to go home...with a plan!
...
You’re both laying in bed, the plush engulfs the both of you as the calmness is embedded within the air, Oliver has been deciding on a movie to watch for the past 10 minutes and you couldn’t care less anymore.
The buzz of your phone vibrates against the bedside table and sluggishly you claw for it. It’s an email? From your university...?
Dear (Full name)-Queen,
Thank you for the transaction made toward the master's degree programme for our School of (___)
You blinked. Twice. Thrice.
"Uhhh...Ollie, I got a weird message?"
"Hm?" he hums absently
”Remember when I wanted to apply to that good college for my masters? Well I didn’t but apparently I just received a receipt for it and an acceptance letter—” you were cut off by your own husband
“Oh yeah, I paid for it,” he attempted to remain neutral, to maintain a semblance of stoicism but his own excitement peeked through in the form of a grin. "It was pretty easy and you had the stuff already filled out on your account, I just submitted it when you were in the bathroom earlier. Surprised they let you in so quick."
Staring at him pointedly, to test if he’s lying, you see nothing to indicate it on his face.
You pounce on him and kiss his face with the air filling with the smack of your lips scattering. “You—why?!”
“You paid for dinner, I might as well help you back, right?”
With a serene laugh, you comment “you’re crazy..”
“Crazy for you!” he smirks, staring at you smugly.
“ew…”
Barry Allen
Explaining things without mansplaining:
You watched as Barry stood in front of the standing board, he plotted out structural models of chemicals. Hell, you don't even know what he's trying to figure out as he stares into the diagram.
"Whatcha doing, babe?" You ask, sitting on the couch and just looking at the back of his lean body in that red shirt.
"I'm trying to figure out some way to make DNA profiling easier in forensics..."
The back of your neck heated in mild self imposed embarrassment as you just didn’t understand him, “Uh huh, totally. I hate when the DNA profiles so stupid…”
Barry chuckles and finally glances away from the glossy white board into the similarly glossy whites of your eyes before laying focus onto your pupils.
“Just seeing if there’s a possible chemical I could use or—hell, if it’s possible to manipulate an existing compound cheaply for forensics…”
You nod slightly and tilt your head curiously, he continues, “There’s a whole lot of things I could do here to approach this situation. The issues just money, y’know?”
This was certainly a change of pace. A guy not talking to you like you were two years old? It’s awesome!
"And it'll be so fun if we can get some good results! It'll make the DNA profiling process take less steps and be more concise—woo the rush!"
Roy Harper
Gentlemanly gestures without even realising:
Roy had no problem whatsoever being a gentleman. Half the time he doesn’t even realise it.
As you both enter the small cafe, the waft of specialty coffee and caramel curling comfortably against you, Roy had trained behind you after opening the door.
A heavy hand rests on your back as he guides you inside “cozy, huh?”
“yeah, it looks so cute.”
Roy takes his opportunity to be mildly trying “You look so cute.” He smirks while poking your side, making you jolt.
“you suck..”
“cmon, go find a seat—I’ll go order your coffee”
He leaves you be to choose a place, and as you shuffle the chair out and settle down, you can hear Roy speaking to the barista behind the counter—it’s not that difficult, the place is compact anyway!
“Can I get a regular black coffee? And can I get a..”
He pauses to recall which you would’ve been offended by if he hadn’t snapped back and stated your ideal order, including the sandwich you get as you would usually text him.
You smirk ever so slightly when he comes walking back after a couple minutes with both cups.
The paper cups releases dual knocks as they settle upon the small, two person table; you reached for the cup, took it and drank it, sighing as you relish in the familiar taste of your preferred drink.
Roy smirks at your relaxation and takes your hand, allowing your fingers to rest on the side of his palm. He leans down and places a kiss on your knuckles, and you let out a quiet huff of amusement.
You had grown used to these gestures, that doesn’t mean you’re ever gonna get tired of them!
Hal Jordan
Fixing things around the house:
“Damn it!” You yell out in a surge of frustration, making Hal turn to your direction from outside of the bathroom.
Hal’s steps are rushed, he isn’t sure what to expect from that surge of frustration that sounded from you. As he’s finally caught in the doorway, the sight is comical: you in a bathrobe, turning the sink in and off sporadically with no water coming out.
That’s how you now have Hal in his green lantern suit, laying back on the floor of your shared bathroom.
“Sweetie, we have a tool box in the garage”
“Yes but are those tools 100% adjustable?” He dopily grins, expanding and shrinking the glowing green wrench as he retreated back under the sink.
You leaned against the sink, with your feet planted between his legs, tired and bleary. The haze of thoughts was interrupted though by a wolf whistle from under the sink, the angle perfect for Hal to gawk.
“Nice legs, hon! And nice bush you got under that robe—”
You flushed and your face burnt up as you jabbed your foot into his thigh, scampering away to the shared bedroom, “Aw cmon! I like a bit of hair (Name)!” He calls teasingly
We need a part 2 to bat wife alternate reality please im begging
IN ALL THE TIMELINES, OR NOT ( bruce wayne! )
summary: After passing through the portal to return home, everything apparently worked out fine, apparently...
pairing: Bruce Wayne x Wife!reader
request - bat wife masterlist - part 1
The air smelled different.
It wasn't the same as Central City, nor the Gotham where they had previously stood, and, for the first time, the Justice League allowed itself a second to breathe.
"Did it work?" Barry asked, looking at his own body as if he expected to disappear again.
The time machine's whirring slowly faded into an awkward silence. Bruce said nothing, he just looked around, as always.
"The chronological energy has stabilized," Cyborg confirmed, analyzing the data projected onto his mechanical arm. "The readings match our original timeline. Year 2025. Main reality."
Bruce returned to the mansion hoping to find even a small sign of you. He missed you. He needed to see you and make sure you were there with him, that you had that ring on your finger, that your clothes were in the dressing room. He needed to smell you, any memory that would confirm that you were still there, that not all was lost.
But the house was silent, too silent, no one was there, there was no familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee, nor the subtle sound of footsteps in the hallways.
At the entrance to the Mansion, none of the pictures he remembered having of the two of you together could be seen, not even of Dick, there was nothing. Bruce checked every room, every corner, but it was useless. No one was there. His nightmare followed him and it didn't seem to be over soon.
So, he decided to call the League. He couldn't be the only one suffering from this. He couldn't be immersed in misfortune across all timelines, and he kept wondering why they were taking away the only fixed variable in his life.
Bruce was quick to summon the League to the Watchtower. The teleportation brought him to the main hall, where the voices of his companions broke a silence that remained unbearable for him.
Diana was the first to approach. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing his expression.
Bruce didn't respond immediately. He felt the words catch in his throat. "She's gone," he finally said, his voice grave. "There's no sign of her in the mansion. No photos, no clothes, nothing. It's like she never existed."
Barry exchanged an awkward glance with Victor, but said nothing.
"Did you check?" Hal Jordan asked, trying to come up with a logical solution. "Maybe... he moved."
Bruce looked at him, and Hal lowered his voice. "She didn't move. She was never there" he said, his tone chilling the room. "In this reality, there's any sign of us ever being married. Not even that we ever met each other. There's a chance she doesn't exist here."
Diana frowned. “But our lives are just as they were before…” she murmured. “Everything seems fine.”
"Except mine," Bruce replied, with a flash of suppressed anger.
He was tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed; he just wanted to return to his dirty city, full of gang members and criminals who lurked at night, and to come home to you waiting for him there. He needed to feel you near, to feel your support, your love. He wanted his beloved wife in his life.
The weight on his chest became unbearable. The cold lights of the Tower seemed to crush him, reminding him that he was in a place that was supposed to be his home but no longer was.
Bruce ran a hand over his face, trying to contain the fury that was rising in him like wildfire. His anger wasn't at his teammates, or even at time itself; it was at the idea that she was no longer with him. That in this timeline, he was nothing to her.
“Bruce…” Oliver Queen’s voice broke the silence, laden with something that sounded like guilt.
Bruce looked up, his dark eyes boring into Oliver's. "What?" he asked with a coldness that made the air tremble.
Oliver swallowed, took a step forward. “She… is alive, she exists in this line.”
The room fell silent. Even Barry stopped the light tapping of his fingers.
Oliver frowned at the tension in the room. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I got a text before I was called into this meeting,” he said, pulling out his phone. “It said she was expecting me at home.”
Bruce watched him as if trying to read between the lines, but the archer seemed genuinely confused. “I want to see her.”
"Maybe..." Hal raised an eyebrow. "We should all go. If it's something that involves this timeline, it's best to see it with our own eyes so we can figure it out."
And without any discussion, all dressed in civilian clothes followed Oliver to his mansion. The trip was silent. Bruce kept his eyes fixed on the floor of the transport, as if trying to imagine what he would find could prepare him for it. His mind ran through a thousand ideas, searching for reasons why you would be in his house, reasons why the two of you had never met, perhaps what was happening was all a confusion.
The iron gate opened with a slow creak, revealing the perfectly manicured stone path that led to the entrance of Queen Mansion. The afternoon sun bathed the place in a warm light, but for Bruce, everything was tinged with an unbearable gray.
The car stopped in front of the front door. No one spoke. The only sound was Oliver's keys fumbling in his pocket. Bruce stared at the dark wood of the entryway, his jaw tense.
"It's a mix-up." "It has to be. Maybe she's just here visiting. Maybe none of this means what it seems," he repeated over and over in his mind, as if that would help the real situation he was living, as if his wish were so strong it would come true.
Oliver walked ahead, his stride confident but his brow furrowed, as if he didn't understand why everyone was following him with such anticipation. Bruce followed behind, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground, his shoulders tense, and his expression of restraint that threatened to crack at any moment.
As the door opened, a familiar scent hit him like a memory that refused to be left behind. It was a mix of vanilla and lavender, your scent. The hallway was dim, lit only by the light filtering in from the living room.
And then, you appeared
Barefoot, wearing soft, light-colored pajamas that fell lightly over your figure, your hair tousled as if you'd just woken up from a nap. You walked with light steps, and your eyes, still somewhat sleepy, lit up as soon as they fell on Oliver.
"Ollie!" your voice broke the silence like a gust of warm air blowing in during the winter.
You ran toward him without hesitation, and before he could react, you were in his arms. The impact forced him to take a step back, surprised. Your hands clutched his neck, your lips covered his face with a mixture of playful and anxious kisses, as if it were a reunion he'd been waiting for days.
Bruce felt the air thicken, as if the atmosphere itself was trying to crush him. You smelled the same, you moved the same, you moved your hands on Oliver's shoulders the same way you had done with him so many times. And that sparkle in your eyes, the one that only he could receive from you, and now he saw how you gave Oliver that look, and although he knew that at some point something had happened between the two of you, he had never had to share a situation like this, and seeing it devastated him, because Bruce knew all too well what that way of acting from you meant, love.
"I didn't know you'd be home so early," you said, still clinging to Oliver, completely ignoring the others present. "The kids are going to be so happy..."
And as if your words were a summons, two pairs of small feet hit the stairs. A girl of about seven appeared first, with a smile so wide it showed a missing tooth. Behind her, a younger boy, no more than four, clutched the railing as he hurried down.
"Dad!" they both shouted in unison, throwing themselves at Oliver's legs.
The archer stared at them, transfixed. His hands, still on your shoulders, seemed to hesitate, as if he didn't know whether to move away or reciprocate the gesture.
"Dad, did you bring anything?" the girl asked, while the little boy hugged him tightly, burying his face in his jacket.
Bruce took a step back, feeling every movement around him slow down. The world was still there, but for him, it was all drowned out by a constant ringing in his ears.
That wasn't just the woman he had loved in another life, you were his wife, his entire life, his constant through time, and now you looked at him like a stranger, while you loved another man.
Oliver, still puzzled, looked at the League. “I…” he stammered, “don’t understand what’s going on.”
But Bruce did understand. He understood with painful clarity: you didn't want this timeline with you, you wanted a happy life with the man you once loved, who clearly wasn't him, and the cruelest thing was, judging by the expression on your face, it was obvious you were happy here.
Oliver remained motionless, his hands still on your shoulders, as if his brain couldn't quite understand what was happening.
It was you who filled the silence, turning just a moment to look at the group standing in the doorway. "Oh, excuse me," you said with a friendly smile. "I didn't see you, and apparently my silly husband isn't going to introduce me. It's nice to meet you all."
You took a few steps forward, with that light gait that seemed to fill the house with life, and extended your hand first to Barry, then to Hal, and finally to Diana. They all responded with a somewhat awkward politeness, as if they were unexpected guests into a life that wasn't theirs.
Bruce didn't move. Your eyes met his for a fleeting second, and while to you it was just a friendly greeting to a stranger, to him it was like a direct blow to the chest.
"Please come in," you continued. "Don't just stand there."
The children, oblivious to the tension, ran around, showing Oliver some drawings they'd made. The little girl tugged at his jacket, while the little boy tugged at his hand. You laughed softly at the scene and bent down to pick up one of the toys that had rolled down the hall.
"Do you want coffee? Tea?" you asked casually, walking into what appeared to be a large, bright kitchen. "I have some cookies we made this morning; I'm sure they're still good."
As you walked away, Oliver blinked a few times, as if only now realizing how surreal it all was. The League exchanged glances, but no one said a word.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baking cookies wafted through the air, imbuing the scene with an almost unreal sense of normalcy. The children's light laughter filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension in Bruce's chest.
Diana was the first to break the silence, trying to regain her composure. "It's a beautiful house..."
Barry nodded, looking cautiously at Oliver, who still seemed to be waking up from his trance. "It's clear there's a lot of love here."
The excited children began showing their drawings to the visitors, occasionally interrupting the charged atmosphere and reminding everyone that, despite the strange circumstances, this was still a family.
As the children's laughter filled the house, Bruce stood a step back, watching with a mixture of disbelief and nostalgia. His gaze fell on the youngest boy, who was somewhat more withdrawn than his sister, clutching the edge of the table with a serious and curious expression.
The boy noticed the attention and, for a moment, looked up at Bruce, his large, bright eyes meeting the Dark Knight's.
Without thinking, the boy approached slowly, careful not to scare him. "Hello," he said in a low, but still cheerful voice. "What's your name?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow, surprised that it was the boy who had broken the barrier between them. He lowered his gaze slightly, leaning down slightly to get closer to Bruce's level. "Bruce," he replied, his voice deep but not as harsh as usual. "And you?"
"Thomas," the boy replied proudly, as if his name were important.
Bruce felt a slight start at the sound of that name. He didn't show it on his face, but a flicker of pain, surprise, nostalgia crossed his eyes.
"Thomas..." he repeated in a barely audible murmur, as if the air had gotten caught in his chest.
The boy nodded with an innocent smile. “My mom picked it out. Did your mom pick yours out too?” he asked with genuine curiosity, rocking on his tiptoes.
Bruce took a second to respond. He wasn't used to someone mentioning his mother, much less in such a simple and warm context. "Yes," he finally said, his voice softer. "She chose it."
Thomas seemed satisfied with the answer and looked back at his drawing, not noticing that for Bruce, that brief conversation had stirred memories he rarely let surface.
Diana lowered her gaze with a gentle gesture, and Clark tilted his head and ran a hand over his shoulders, as if he understood more than Bruce was willing to admit. Even Oliver, still trying to process the family situation in front of him, noticed that something had escaped the Bat.
Thomas, oblivious to the weight of the moment, returned to his drawing, moving the pencil with small, clumsy strokes. But the adults couldn't ignore what had just happened. That name had fallen like a stone in a pond, stirring something Bruce rarely let slip.
"Bruce…" Diana whispered softly, as if she were afraid of breaking something fragile.
He gave a small nod, a minimal inclination of his head, and stood up without a word. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he crossed the room. The back door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving an awkward silence behind him.
The garden greeted him with fresh air that smelled of damp earth. The grass, still soaked with dew, gleamed in the dim moonlight. Bruce leaned on the porch railing, digging his hands into his pockets, staring into the darkness as if he could get lost in it. The distant murmur of the city was a reminder that the world kept turning, even when he needed it to stop for a moment.
It wasn't long before you heard the creaking of wood under your feet as you followed him out. You hesitated for a second at the threshold, trying to gauge whether it was a good idea to approach. Finally, you took a couple of steps, stopping a meter away.
"Are you okay?" you asked cautiously, tilting your head slightly.
Bruce didn't turn around, but his rigid posture spoke louder than his words. "It's nothing," he said, and although he tried to sound firm, "I was just having a bad week..."
"If it was nothing... you wouldn't have turned out like that," you replied in a softer tone, taking another step closer.
He remained silent for a few seconds, as if weighing every syllable he was about to say. Finally, he exhaled slowly. "My father..." The pause was brief, but it felt heavy. "His name was Thomas."
It hit you all at once. The image of the boy introducing himself with an innocent smile overtook that of a man Bruce probably hadn't mentioned in years. You remained silent, letting him have that space.
Bruce didn't look at you, but his voice lowered a little. "I don't hear that name often… especially not in that way."
"Oh, I'm sorry... "you said more to yourself than to him.
He nodded slightly. There was no sadness on his face, but something more complex: a knot of memories, affection, and loss, all contained behind that shell that seemed impossible to pierce.
You leaned against the railing beside him, not trying to look directly at him. Sometimes, being there was more important than asking questions.
The silence that settled between you wasn't awkward but rather dense, filled with things that didn't need to be said out loud. The night wind stirred the leaves in the garden, and the light from the house barely filtered through, painting their profiles in soft shadows.
Without thinking twice, you reached out and placed a hand over his, which was resting stiffly on the railing. You felt the slight twitch of his muscles, as if the touch had brought him from a distant place.
For a moment, Bruce let his guard down. His shoulders eased off their tension, and his gaze drifted off into the dark lawn. The world around him seemed to have shut down; there was no city, no responsibilities, no wounds to heal… just the two of you, sharing a piece of truth you rarely allowed yourself to reveal.
His fingers moved barely, brushing against yours, and you were just about to say something when he started to feel dizzy.
It was as if the air had collapsed. The breeze, the lights, the sound… everything dissolved into a sudden darkness. A sharp throb, then another, and the feeling of weight was gone, replaced by a sharp pain that shot through his head.
Bruce's eyes flew open, blinking against a cold, white light that momentarily blinded him. The gurney he lay on seemed too hard, but it was the only place he could feel. The air was thick with a metallic smell, mixed with that unmistakable hint of disinfectant he knew only well.
He tried to move his hand and found one that gently held his fingers. With an effort, he turned his head and found you sitting beside him, your eyes tired and marked by sleepless nights, but shining with a mixture of relief, fear, and hope.
"Bruce… "your voice was barely a whisper, but for him it was the most comforting melody in the world. "For God's sake, you're alive"
The phrase resonated deeply. The still faded memories intertwined with the reality his senses were revealing. He remembered the garden, your hand, that almost impossible peace, and now the contrast, the harshness of the makeshift hospital underground.
He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, as if he hadn't used his voice in days. Finally, his hand gently squeezed yours. "I thought I'd lost you..." he said, his voice hoarse, almost broken.
You smiled tenderly, squeezing his hand a little tighter, as if doing so could convey all the strength you felt inside. "What are you saying, silly?" you murmured, with that mix of relief and determination in his voice. "You were in a coma for a week, Bruce. It was horrible not knowing if you'd wake up."
He blinked, trying to focus his eyes and comprehend every word, feeling the weight of those days of silence and worry accumulating in the air.
Bruce took a deep breath, as if trying to get the words to sink deep into his mind, not slip away like a blurry dream. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of disbelief and need.
"A week?" he said almost to himself, his voice barely audible. "Everything felt so... far away, as if it were real."
You moved a little closer, unhurriedly, without forcing anything, and gently placed the palm of your hand against his. "It's not a dream, Bruce. I was here."
He narrowed his eyes and let out a breath filled with relief, a small, almost invisible smile appearing on his lips.
"Thank you," he whispered, unable to hold his gaze for long. "For staying with me."
Your fingers tightened around his, letting him know there was no room for doubt.
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl) & Slade Wilson
After a short festive break, I'm back in force with my headcanons. My (hyper) brain has been obsessed with DC lately, so get ready for some DC headcanons with new characters I've never done before. I missed you all, love, Marie.
Bruce Wayne aka. Batman
- You didn’t mean to do it. Well, that’s a lie. You absolutely meant to do it. The way Bruce’s broad, suited figure strode past you in the Batcave was simply too tempting. There he was, the epitome of brooding composure, running a hand through his dark hair as he mulled over crime scene reports. Without much thought, your hand acted on instinct. Smack. The sound echoed through the cavern like a gunshot. Bruce stopped mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head, an arched eyebrow lifting to meet his ever-present scowl. "Really?" he asked, voice calm but laced with that unmistakable Wayne edge.
- His reaction wasn’t anger, though you could see the faintest twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth. You, the only one in Gotham—or perhaps the world—who could dare to breach his stoicism with something so mundane as a playful swat. You crossed your arms, feigning innocence, though your smirk betrayed you. “What? Just testing your reflexes, Mr. Wayne.” He took a slow step toward you, his shadow sprawling like a cloak. “I thought you’d want to keep that hand intact,” he murmured, but there was warmth in his voice that belied the threat.
- Bruce never let much show, but you knew the man beneath the cowl better than anyone. As much as he loved his mission, as much as he carried Gotham on his weary shoulders, he loved you more. There was no hiding the way his stern exterior softened around you, how his dark eyes gleamed with affection when he thought you weren’t looking. And now, despite his unflinching persona, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in the way he lingered near, uncertain if he should let himself laugh.
- “Next time,” he finally said, his voice low, “make sure Alfred isn’t around to hear it.” His lips quirked into the barest smile before he turned back to the Batcomputer. Yet, as he walked away, you could swear he slowed his stride, almost as if daring you to do it again. You didn’t, of course. Not then. But the idea of Gotham’s Dark Knight flustered by a simple smack was too delicious to forget. And Bruce knew it.
Clark Kent (Kal-El) aka. Superman
- Clark didn’t see it coming. How could he, when he was too busy carrying three bags of groceries in each hand and balancing a box of pastries in the crook of his elbow? You watched him shuffle toward the kitchen counter, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his wholesome, Midwestern charm radiating even in the simplest acts. As he passed, you couldn’t resist. Smack. The clap of your hand against his ridiculously perfect backside made him jump slightly, the pastries nearly tumbling from his grip. “Hey!” he exclaimed, spinning around, cheeks flushed pink.
- For someone faster than a speeding bullet, Clark sure could get caught off guard by you. His face was an endearing mix of surprise and bashfulness, and you swore the man looked like he’d just been scolded by Ma Kent herself. “What was that for?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine confusion but also a hint of laughter. You shrugged, batting your lashes. “Couldn’t resist. You’re carrying so much cake, after all.” He groaned at the pun but couldn’t keep from smiling.
- Clark, despite his extraordinary origins, was at his core a simple man. A man who loved sharing quiet evenings with you, cooking together, and pretending the world didn’t need him for a little while. He was also devastatingly kind, a trait that extended to how he loved you—with full-hearted sincerity and no room for doubt. So when he looked at you now, shaking his head with a chuckle, you knew he wasn’t really annoyed.
- “You’re unbelievable,” he said, placing the pastries safely on the counter. Then, faster than you could blink, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close with that impossible strength. “But if you’re going to tease, you’d better be prepared to deal with the consequences.” His grin was all boyish mischief as he tickled your sides, your laughter ringing through the kitchen. You swore he let you win when you finally broke free. Clark Kent, the strongest man alive, completely at your mercy.
Barry Allen aka. Flash
- Barry didn’t even stop moving. You were sure he noticed, though, because as you walked past him in the hallway and your hand made contact with his backside, he nearly tripped over his own feet. For the Flash, that was saying something. “Did you just—” he started, spinning to face you. His words were drowned out by your laughter as he stood there, red-faced and wide-eyed, his usual chatter momentarily short-circuited.
- “What?” you asked innocently, though your grin betrayed you. Barry spluttered for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I wasn’t expecting that!” he managed, his voice pitching higher than usual. You loved how easy it was to fluster him, even though he was one of the smartest, fastest people in the world. “You’ve got to work on your reaction time, hero,” you teased, winking as you sauntered away.
- Barry’s mind was racing, as it always did, but now it wasn’t just thoughts of his latest case or some quantum theory experiment. No, now it was you—how you could so effortlessly knock him off balance with a single playful act. He adored you for it, for the way you brought lightness and humor into his often chaotic, exhausting life. You were his anchor, his calm in the storm of velocity and danger.
- Later, when he zipped into the living room with snacks for your movie night, he couldn’t resist a little payback. As he placed the bowl of popcorn on the table, he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. “Tag,” he whispered, and before you could respond, he darted away, leaving a gentle swat on your hip in his wake. Your laughter followed him, echoing in the space he’d just vacated. Barry might be the fastest man alive, but you were the one who always left him breathless.
Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman
- You didn’t think it was possible to catch Diana off guard. The Amazon princess was grace and power personified, her every movement deliberate, her every action precise. But when you passed her in the sunlit garden and gave her a cheeky smack, she stopped mid-step. Her head turned slowly, her azure eyes narrowing as her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Did you just strike a warrior?” she asked, her voice a blend of amusement and mock reprimand.
- “A warrior with impeccable form,” you shot back, bold as ever. Diana’s laughter rang out, melodic and warm, her posture relaxing as she faced you fully. “You’re fortunate I consider this an act of affection,” she teased, stepping closer. The sunlight caught her dark hair, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. She was intimidating and beautiful, a goddess among mortals, yet in this moment, she was utterly human—and yours.
- Diana loved how unafraid you were of her strength, her presence. So many treated her like a distant, untouchable figure, but you reminded her that she was more than her titles or her mission. You made her laugh, you challenged her, and you weren’t afraid to be playful with her—even when it came to something as bold as this. She admired your spirit, your fire, the way you met her gaze without hesitation.
- “You realize,” she said, her tone mock-serious as she closed the gap between you, “that this is an invitation for retaliation.” Before you could react, her arms wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Her laughter joined yours as she spun you once before setting you back down. “Careful, my love,” she warned, pressing a kiss to your temple. “A warrior never forgets.” But the smile on her lips promised she’d never stop loving your daring nature.
Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman
- You should have known better than to smack Arthur Curry as he walked past, the salty scent of the sea clinging to him like a second skin. The man was built like a fortress, with muscles that rippled beneath his tank top and a stride that exuded the confidence of a king. As your hand connected with his backside, the smack echoed through the cozy beach house you shared. Arthur stopped mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing. Slowly, he turned his head, a grin spreading across his rugged, sun-kissed face. “You sure you want to start this game, love?”
- He set down the fishing net he’d been carrying, his piercing green eyes narrowing playfully as he took a deliberate step toward you. You couldn’t help but laugh, holding your ground even as he loomed closer, his smirk promising trouble. “I couldn’t resist,” you said, your voice light. “It’s not every day a queen gets to remind her king who’s really in charge.” Arthur barked out a laugh, the sound deep and rich like the ocean waves outside. “Oh, is that so?” he rumbled, his hands finding his hips.
- Arthur loved your boldness, the way you matched his fiery spirit without hesitation. You were one of the few people who could keep up with him—whether it was challenging his quick temper, teasing his authority, or standing beside him when the burdens of two worlds weighed heavily on his shoulders. You weren’t afraid of his strength, his power, or the scars that told the story of his battles. Instead, you met him head-on, reminding him of the joy and levity he often forgot.
- “Alright,” he said finally, leaning down until his face was inches from yours, his grin widening. “But just remember—you started it.” Before you could react, his large hand swatted your hip, the playful strike making you gasp and laugh at the same time. “That’s for round one,” he teased, straightening as he headed toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts for round two.” You watched him go, shaking your head. King of the seas? More like king of cheeky comebacks.
Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern
- You didn’t even plan it. Hal Jordan had been walking past, cocky as ever in his flight jacket, tossing his keys onto the counter with that easy swagger that made your heart race and your patience thin in equal measure. Before you knew it, your hand moved of its own accord. Smack. The sound was sharp, and Hal froze, mid-step, his head snapping toward you. For a moment, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then, finally, he broke into a grin. “Well, hello to you too,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.
- Hal was never one to back down from a challenge, and you knew that all too well. “Careful,” he warned, his green eyes sparkling as he took a slow step toward you. “You’re playing with fire here, gorgeous.” You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Oh, please. If you’re so tough, you should be able to handle a little pat on the back. Or… elsewhere.” His laughter was immediate, loud and free, filling the room like music. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that?”
- That was what Hal adored about you. He’d spent so much of his life surrounded by danger and responsibility—whether it was saving the universe as Green Lantern or pulling insane aerial stunts as a test pilot. But you? You were his gravity, his reminder that life wasn’t all about proving himself. You made him laugh in a way no one else could, and even when you pushed his buttons, he couldn’t help but fall a little more in love with you each time.
- “Alright,” he said, slipping his jacket off and tossing it onto the couch. “You wanna play dirty? Let’s play dirty.” Before you could react, Hal’s ring glowed, and a green construct of a feather appeared in his hand. “Let’s see how tough you are when the tables turn.” You squealed, darting behind the couch as he followed, grinning like a kid in a candy store. Hal Jordan might be fearless, but you knew his real weakness—your laugh, your smile, your ability to keep him on his toes.
Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow
- Oliver Queen barely flinched when your hand smacked his backside as he walked past the kitchen counter, a bow slung over his shoulder. Instead, he stopped, cocking his head to the side with a slow smirk spreading across his handsome, scruffy face. “Well, that’s one way to get my attention,” he drawled, turning to face you. His emerald-green eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could already tell he was plotting some form of retaliation. “Should I be worried, or was that just your way of saying ‘good shot’?”
- “You’ve been spending too much time in the field,” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “Thought I’d remind you who really has the aim around here.” Oliver laughed, the sound warm and rich as he set his bow down carefully. “Oh, really? You think you can out-shoot me and out-smart me in my own house?” His tone was playful, but you knew the archer in him couldn’t resist a challenge.
- Oliver loved that about you—your boldness, your fire, the way you never let him take himself too seriously. It was a rare gift to be able to break through the walls he built around himself, the layers of guilt and responsibility he carried as Star City’s protector. But you didn’t just break through; you tore those walls down with humor, love, and a fearlessness that matched his own. You reminded him of the man beneath the hood, the one who still knew how to laugh and love.
- “Alright,” he said, stepping closer and resting his hands on either side of the counter, trapping you in place. “But just so we’re clear—if this is your idea of flirting, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve too.” Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you deeply, stealing your breath and your smugness all at once. When he pulled back, his grin was pure Oliver Queen. “Your move, pretty bird.”
John Constantine aka. Hellblazer
- When your hand smacked John Constantine’s backside, his reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, throaty chuckle that promised trouble. He turned to face you, cigarette dangling from his lips, his trench coat swirling slightly with the motion. “Well, well, love,” he drawled, his voice tinged with that unmistakable cockney accent. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Careful now—you’re playing with fire.”
- “Oh, please,” you shot back, smirking. “You deal with demons, curses, and apocalyptic prophecies daily. You can handle a little slap.” His grin widened, and he took a step closer, the scent of tobacco and leather surrounding you. “You’ve got some cheek, you know that?” he said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and flicking the ash into the tray. “But that’s why I keep you around. Keeps me on my toes.”
- John wasn’t used to this—lightness, laughter, love. His life was a whirlwind of darkness and chaos, and yet, somehow, you had wormed your way into his blackened heart. You brought him peace in a way no spell or sigil ever could. And while he’d never admit it outright, he adored the way you challenged him, kept him grounded, and gave him something to fight for beyond his own self-loathing.
- “But fair warning, darling,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that sent shivers down your spine, “I don’t play fair.” Before you could react, he whispered a quick spell under his breath, and suddenly, your shoes were glued to the floor. “There,” he said with a wink, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Let’s see if you’re still so bold when you can’t run away.” Your laughter filled the room as he walked off, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Classic Constantine—always one step ahead, but always hopelessly smitten with you.
Roy Harper aka. Arsenal
- You really couldn’t resist. Roy Harper had been strutting around the apartment like he owned the place, shirtless, a bow slung across his back, humming some old rock tune under his breath. His cocky energy was palpable, and when he passed by you in the living room, it was instinctive. Smack. Your hand connected with his jean-clad backside, and the sound was sharp enough to cut through his off-key singing. Roy froze, turning slowly with a look of mock betrayal. “Did you just…? Oh, you’re really asking for it now, gorgeous.”
- You leaned back against the couch, smirking. “What? Just checking if Arsenal’s reflexes are still sharp.” Roy placed a hand on his hip, pointing at you with the other. “You’re lucky I didn’t just shoot an arrow in surprise,” he teased, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he was anything but annoyed. “But fine. If we’re doing this, let me warn you—I don’t fight fair.”
- Roy loved that you didn’t take him too seriously. In a life full of chaos, mistakes, and battles, you were his sanctuary, the one person who could knock him off his pedestal in the best way. Your playful antics reminded him that not everything had to be about proving himself or fighting the next big battle. You were his partner in every sense of the word—his laughter, his balance, his home.
- “Alright, beautiful,” he said, dropping the bow and cracking his knuckles. “You know what happens when you mess with me, right?” Before you could react, he pounced, pinning you to the couch in an exaggerated wrestling move that had both of you laughing uncontrollably. “This is justice!” he declared dramatically, tickling your sides until you were begging for mercy. Roy Harper was impossible, but then again, so were you, and you wouldn’t trade him for anything.
Koriand’r aka. Starfire
- The reaction was immediate. As your hand connected with Koriand’r’s backside while she passed you in the hallway, she stopped mid-step, her fiery hair glowing faintly as it caught the light. Slowly, she turned to face you, her wide green eyes blinking in confusion. “Was that… an Earth custom of affection?” she asked, her tone curious but tinged with amusement. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, her innocent confusion melting any attempt at feigned innocence. “Sure, Kori. It’s totally a custom. Very common.”
- Kori tilted her head, a thoughtful expression crossing her beautiful features. “How interesting,” she said, stepping closer to you. “On Tamaran, we express affection with embraces, kisses, and occasionally by flying into the air with loved ones. But this… this is new. I like it!” Her radiant smile made your heart flutter, and you could see the mischief spark in her gaze. “Does this mean I can do it back?”
- You adored how open and loving Kori was. She embraced life with the same passion she brought to battle, and her joy was contagious. Loving her meant constantly learning to see the world through her eyes, where every experience—big or small—was worth celebrating. You could never get enough of the way she made even the smallest moments feel like an adventure.
- “You may want to prepare yourself!” she declared suddenly, her arms wrapping around you in a warm, powerful embrace. Before you could protest, she lifted you effortlessly off the ground, spinning you in circles as laughter bubbled out of both of you. When she finally set you down, she pressed a kiss to your forehead and gave you a playful tap on your backside. “This is a wonderful custom!” she declared with a bright giggle. You’d created a monster, and you couldn’t have been happier about it.
Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl
- Kara Zor-El nearly dropped the bowl of popcorn she was carrying when your hand smacked her backside. Nearly. Her Kryptonian reflexes kicked in, and she saved the snack, spinning around with a look of wide-eyed disbelief. “Did you just…?!” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep red. You leaned casually against the counter, biting back a grin. “What? Just making sure Earth’s strongest woman doesn’t have any blind spots.”
- “Blind spots?!” Kara exclaimed, placing the bowl down with exaggerated care. “You’re lucky I don’t fly you straight into the stratosphere for that.” But the way she crossed her arms and pouted made it clear she wasn’t actually upset. If anything, she was flustered—adorably so. “You’re impossible, you know that?” she muttered, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
- Kara loved how comfortable you were around her. So many people treated her like a symbol or a savior, but you just treated her like Kara. You teased her, laughed with her, and never let her powers overshadow the fact that she was just a girl trying to navigate life on a new planet. Being with you grounded her, reminded her that even superheroes deserved to let their guard down and have fun.
- “Fine,” she said finally, her lips quirking into a mischievous grin. “But don’t think I won’t get you back.” Before you could respond, she darted forward at super-speed, giving your side a playful nudge that sent you stumbling into the couch. She was back in her original spot before you could blink, arms crossed and a victorious smirk on her face. “Kryptonians don’t lose, you know,” she teased, her laughter filling the room.
Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke
- You weren’t entirely sure what possessed you to do it. Slade Wilson wasn’t exactly known for his sense of humor, but as he passed you in the training room, his armor catching the dim light, the temptation was too strong. Your hand smacked his backside, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet space. He stopped immediately, his head turning just enough for his single visible eye to lock onto you. The sharp, dangerous glint in his gaze made your heart race. “You’re braver than I thought,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
- “And you’re slower than I thought,” you shot back, unable to resist. His brow arched, and you could see the corner of his mouth twitch—was that amusement? “Careful,” he warned, stepping closer, his imposing frame casting a long shadow. “You might find out just how fast I can be.” Despite his intimidating presence, you refused to back down, crossing your arms and smirking up at him. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
- Slade had always admired your boldness. In a world where most people either feared him or tried to use him, you were a refreshing change. You didn’t treat him like a weapon or a monster—you saw the man beneath the mask, the one who carried the weight of too many sins. Your audacity, your fire, reminded him of the parts of himself he thought he’d buried long ago.
- “Alright,” he said, his tone deceptively calm as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. “But don’t forget—every action has a consequence.” Before you could respond, his hand darted out, delivering a sharp but playful swat to your hip. You gasped, more in surprise than pain, and he straightened, his smirk now fully formed. “Your move,” he said, turning and walking away with the measured confidence of a man who always had the upper hand. And yet, you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For all his gruffness, Slade Wilson was undeniably charmed by you.
Alright, I extremely enjoyed the silly villain reader posts, and my mind just thought about this, how would the heroes and villains react if Reader just slept on their lap?
I’m so glad you enjoyed it! I originally wrote Silly Villain! Reader as sort of a refresher, a palette cleanse. Something I could return to and daydream about to get my mind off more darker requests. So I hope you enjoy this! I’ve included a few more characters because why not?
Aquaman -[ROMANTIC]
He would freeze as you slumped into his arms, before rearranging you into a more comfortable position whilst ignoring all the jealous stares he’s getting from his coworkers. He would bundle you up and just carry you around in like a baby sling. You are encompassed by blanket and beefy muscle, where he goes you must follow. He even takes you with him on missions, but by then he’s rearranged the blanket sling to be on his back. Arthur Curry is like softly obsessed with you, not yandere, but like obsessed in the way that he just wants to be close to you and will ignore anything and everything if you so much as stir. Speaking of you stirring, this man doesn’t really care if someone wakes you up. His focus is on you, calming you with soft whispered words and gentle touches to the face, brushing away loose hair. Like I said, the man’s enamoured.
Bane -[ROMANTIC]
Would not move. He could easily bring you with him wherever he goes but to him, your comfort is his priority. And to be fair, you’ve used him like a jungle gym so this isn’t really that crazy for his goons. Bane would take all meetings and updates from right where he had sat before you climbed into his lap. Unlike a lot of the others on this list, you didn’t accidentally fall asleep on him. You did it on purpose. No one can blame you, he gives the best cuddles and is just the perfect balance between warm and firm that just knocks you the fuck out. You need sleep? Bane’s arms are already open, waiting for you. Though if anyone woke you up or was being too loud, he would kill them with one hand. Like snap their neck whilst cuddling you close to him, no one disturbs his sunshine. His goons have learnt to whisper their reports and tiptoe down corridors.
Batman -[PLATONIC]
This might upset some people, but I think Batman just has a platonic neutrality with you, not romantic. He gets a headache when he’s working with or against you because he knows he’s got to baby-proof the Batmobile and holding cell you’ll eventually go to. However, you also lower his walls which is super rare for Bruce. He is your number 1 snuggle buddy, against his will. For some reason, your yawns (perfected with the cartoonish snot bubble that pops and wakes you up) are like chloroform to him. As soon as he hears it, it takes like two seconds before he’s gone to sleepy land. This has happened so much that whenever he is on a mission concerning you, he has to have a chaperone so he doesn’t sleep. If the two of you happened to fall asleep next to each other, Bruce is most likely laying his head on yours with his arm around your shoulders. His kids try and bribe you to record your yawns so they can get him to have a regular sleep schedule.
Catwoman -[ROMANTIC]
She is the one grabbing you and putting you in her lap. Most likely you were walking past her and she just grabbed your waist before pulling you into her body. No matter how much you squirm you can’t evade her hold. She all but purrs as you give in and bask in her attention. She pinches and pokes you occasionally, just to hear your reactions. When you eventually get bored enough to sleep, she just watches you breathe. Like Arthur, she’s lowkey obsessed. Again, not yandere. But more kind of her checking you’re alive. Though her counting your breathes is a bit overkill. She doesn’t stop you from being woken up because it’s not like she’s going to let you go any time soon. Plus it gives her a chance to tease you over drooling or sleep talking. Would absolutely hold it above your head if you mumble her name whilst asleep.
Constantine -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
I can kind of see this being either way, just because you would be the type of little freak that I can see Constantine being attracted to only to have his inner monologue go ‘WHY?!’. He’s just kind of confused but decides to just go along with it, he’s seen worse. He’s another member of the Chronic Insomniac Club. It’s always just another case or just another spell, wearing himself thin until he just collapses on his sofa and sleeps for like 4 days straight. Having a snuggle buddy that has physically attached themself to his body helps. It weighs him down, he can’t move off the sofa unless he wants to wake up the little clown (not Joker-adjacent) he’s basically taken in. I feel as though you wouldn’t necessarily fall asleep in his lap, but probably crashed at his place. After a long day of being a nuisance you crash at Constantine’s home, because in your words ‘it smells nice’, and fall asleep on his sofa. And not long after you turn up, an equally exhausted if not more so sorcerer gets home and collapses on top of you, asleep before he even landed. You probably don’t care, using his trench coat as a blanket and in the morning he’s probably more confused than annoyed. Anyone attempting to wake you up would be met with a very grouchy British man ready to send them to Hell for disturbing his sleep. Oh, and you’re here too.
Deathstroke -[PLATONIC]
This man hates you. Loathes you, in a mostly comical way. Any time he works with you, he is audibly complaining and groaning because he thinks you don’t take things seriously enough. You know he hates you, so you do everything in your power to annoy the shit out of him. I imagine you hug him, arms like rubber as they snake around him multiple times, every time you see him and really up the exaggeration in your emotions and reactions. It’s definitely a love-hate relationship but deep down, Deathstroke does car. Another one who wouldn’t directly cuddle. Though I imagine if you ever got super hurt to the point you needed to be hospitalised, he would fight tooth and nail to sit by your side. He would hold your hand until you woke up, not letting go even to sleep himself. He would kick out anyone too loud, including nurses and medical staff. He would vehemently deny it but can’t help himself as the worry bleeds through. Don’t go dying on him yet, he needs his daily dosage of annoyance.
Flash -[ROMANTIC]
Barry absolutely adores you. Like this man enjoys jokes and pranks so having you around is more of a blessing than a nuisance. He’s probably one of the few people that you won’t be sleeping around. Both of you are too excitable and hyperactive to really slow down and feel your exhaustion. He’s usually the first one turning up to any of your crime moments, most of the time cheering you on or just watching the chaos unfurl. If the two of you did end up sleeping together (NOT LIKE THAT), then you would be a nightmare to live near (this sounds so bad, I swear it isn’t). Both of you would snore really loud, like so loud that it can be heard through walls. And neither of you would be able to stay still as you sleep. Barry is a chronic kicker in my opinion and you would probably roll around a lot. Somehow, you both consistently wake up without the blanket, you star-fishing on an angle and Barry half off the bed. No one would be able to walk you up through the cacophony of your shared sounds.
Green Arrow -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
This could either way because he would be super protective and vigilant no matter the type of relationship you have with him. If you’re romantically entangled then he would stop you from cuddling with him anywhere other than your home because when you do cuddle, he lays on top of you. This isn’t just to feel close to you but also to protect you from any intruders. If anyone wanted to get to you, they’d have to get through him first. Try to ignore the knife under your pillow, he needs it within grabbing distance just in case. If you were platonically intertwined, then I can see him indulging in hugs and cuddles so long as it doesn’t restrict his limbs. So if you wanna nap on him, go for it. He wouldn’t sleep with you, though he desperately needs it, but he would stroke your back and ensure that no loud sounds would disturb you. Oliver won’t deter anyone from coming in the room but should they start shouting or making loud noises unnecessarily, he will send them a sharp look to tone it down.
Green Lantern -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
I definitely think that this man is desperate for someone to adore him. He wants to be your hero, a guiding light. He needs this, man. If romantic, then I see him super eager for nap time except he won’t shut up about how great he is. You want to sleep, he wants to yap. Two lovers doomed to fall apart. However, all it takes is a threat to go to someone else for your much needed beauty rest to get him to buck up and settle into the quiet with you. If platonic, similarly to romantic, he needs to be wanted. He wants to be that cool, older brother figure to you. I imagine you would prefer this version since he would just lift you up into a piggy back ride where the gentle jostling will lull you to sleep. Occasionally he may use his Ring to make you a blanket or a stuffed toy for extra comfort. Hal is so paranoid that someone is going to wake you up though that he becomes the person who wakes you up, leaving you to fulfil your threat and find comfort elsewhere. He is heartbroken and falls to his knees in shame.
Harley Quinn -[PLATONIC]
Do not fall asleep on or near Harley if you don’t want the life to be squished out of you. She has a case of cuteness aggression and it’s bad. You fell asleep by yourself, and woke up to be fully engulfed by Harley and her two pet hyenas, with her using you as her personal teddy bear. It’s warm, cosy and honestly addictive. Anytime you do wake up, it’s pretty easy for you to fall back asleep. Harley snores a little, and she’s quite active when she’s asleep, but if she’s rolling she’s taking you with her. Anyone who dares interrupt the smallest bit of serotonin that she holds close to her gets to meet her beloved hyenas up and close. A few poor delivery men and cold callers have been chased through the streets of Gotham multiple times. Some have tried bribing them but they’re too loyal to the cuddle pile.
Joker -[PLATONIC]
This man is not your friend. I put platonic because I don’t see him pursuing you romantically because all he’s interested in is seeing how far he can push you before you break. One of his favourite ways to do so is through sleep deprivation. Anytime you are paired together for a mission, you get no sleep. From playing trombone music, to insisting the lights stay to even shocking you with a cattle spike to keep you awake, he’s trying anything and everything. Because of this, you’ve been turning down a lot of opportunities to do crime with him so he’s been following you from place to place. Probably the number one reason why you crash at Constantine’s, you don’t want to go home to a psycho maniac clown who has a penchant for an Eminem-Metallica blend. However, I will say that in the very rare moments the Joker lets you sleep (probably like a hour or two before the mission plan starts), he will absolutely beat the person who woke you up. He beats them to a pulp with a crowbar and then hands you the crowbar as a gift. Only he can disturb you. Only he can torment you.
Lex Luther -[ROMANTIC]
Lex hates it, especially when it happens in public. He pretends he doesn’t know you and calls security to ‘take care of you’- .i.e. lock you up in your shared quarters. He questions why he’s with you every day. Similar to Constantine, he’s just in a constant state to ‘WHY THEM?!?!’. It’s almost like a blow to his ego and intelligence. The only good part is that he can show off to Superman and watch as the Kryptonian struggles with his jealously. That’s the only time he would publicly indulge your clingy habits. In private though? There are some rarer moments where he lets himself be encompassed by you. You practically bear hug each time, and each time he breathes in like he was hurt before forcing his body to relax, muscle by muscle. It’s not easy, his walls are as tall as the Great Wall of China is long. If anyone interrupts him, he’s quick to toss you off of him before addressing them, remembering their face and name so he can have them ‘dealt with’. No one should see him in his most vulnerable moments… But can you come continue cuddling him? He’s getting cold.
Martian Manhunter -[PLATONIC]
I think he’s very intrigued and amused by you. Kind of like a human to a cute puppy or frog, if that fits you more. Like he’ll indulge you here and there but is very neutral most of the time. However, he is kind of a secret sower of chaos. He would absolutely pass you candy so that you become so hyperactive, that the others are a bit scrambled. If he has the time, he will sit by you as you sleep and listen in to your dreams. With your consent, of course. It’s the best way he can learn about you since your powers prevent him from using most of his on you. A pair of oddities you are. Should anyone attempt to wake you, he just calmly says something like ‘That is not the best course of action. Please reconsider’. If they don’t, then he just picks you up and moves into the next room. Also another person to accidentally wake you up whilst chasing others away, but unlike a certain lamp guy, he learns and doesn’t do it again.
Mister Freeze -[PLATONIC]
Why are you sleeping on him? He is quite literally deathly cold. You say it’s perfect for a nest of blankets. He calls you weird. You call him old. That silences Victor and he grumbles but lets you do as you please. You know that type of dad that doesn’t express their affection through words, but rather actions? Yeah, thats Victor. The next time you come to seek refuge from a child drawing of a clown come to life, there’s extra fluffy and better quality bedding and pillows. Oh, and they so happen to be in your favourite colour. If you ask him, he’ll tell you some story about having them back in his old home and he was going to get rid of them, but if you like them so much, you can keep them. You ignore the tag still on the sheets. When he thinks you’re asleep, he brushes your hair out of your face. Sometimes as you fuss in your sleep, he hums or sings a soft lullaby. If anyone attempts to disturb you in his laboratory, they wouldn’t even make it to the inner door before one of his inventions dealt with them.
Nightwing -[PLATONIC/ROMANTIC]
Similar to Green Lantern, this man is begging you to sit in his lap for cuddles and naps. Dick is super touch starved and lacks like really good intimacy skills, both platonic or romantic. As soon as you sit in his lap and fall asleep, his whole body locks up. He freezes and has to remind himself that he needs to breathe. Dick probably shed a tear and feels blessed/chosen. He barely touches you but once he becomes comfortable enough, he’ll trace small circles on your back. Definitely one of the few who would accidentally wake you up and he feels so betrayed by his own body. If someone tries to wake you or makes noise, he instinctively grips you tighter and shoots them a glare. It’s his cuddle time, not anyone else’s! I see him as the type of person to try and plan the nap sessions though, because he can’t really deal with spontaneity quite well and after the first few random times, would want a designated time for it. He would also try and force you to wear matching pyjamas.
Penguin -[PLATONIC]
This man is so comfy to sleep on. The only issue is, he doesn’t like to sit still for long and loses his temper quickly which means he is very loud most of the time. However, should you attempt it he won’t dissuade you. He would prefer you do it whilst he’s attending paperwork with minimal distractions. Oswald just kind of sees you like a nuisance he has on a leash, almost like a pet but without the dehumanisation. If any of his goons try to interrupt or say something to him, he puts a pair of noise cancelling headphones on you or covers your ears before shouting. He wouldn’t sleep with you, valuing his time much more and would probably feel too vulnerable to do so. He would provide you with sleeping attire and would insist that you get changed before snuggling because he wouldn’t want any dirt or Gotham grime on his freshly pressed suit. You wouldn’t really visit him that often because he’s way too close to the Joker, both geographically and sometimes on missions.
Poison Ivy -[PLATONIC]
Let’s be real, Pamela probably drugged you. You are way too hyperactive for her sometimes so in order to keep you calm around her plants and not excite Harley too much, she drugs you. Nothing serious but just enough to make you sleeping. It’s probably just an intense chamomile and lavender extract. She sometimes cuddles you but it’s not really her style. She adores you but she also values her personal space sometimes. If you do it during a mission, she’ll humour you but not for long because she wants to get back to her greenhouse and lover (Harley) as soon as possible. She would definitely be the type to brag about it, subtly though. And her main victims? Batman and Nightwing. Anytime she crosses paths with them, she drops a couple of lines about you not being afraid of her and how willing you are to return to the home she shares with Harley. They don’t need to know that she drugs you for it most of the time.
Ra’s al Ghul -[ROMANTIC]
This man is babying you. If you’re napping, or even climb into his lap, he’s cancelling what he has planned for the day. He’s lived far longer than his enemies and he’ll live long after they died, so he can spare a few hours to dote and cuddle you. He definitely makes you get changed into the most luxurious sleep ware, silk with encrusted diamond and ruby enamelling as well as gold thread details. It’s probably worth the same as a small European country. If he’s feeling cocking, Ra’s will have you in his lap during meetings and overseeing training. Damien has more than once questioned why you’re there but has soon gotten used to it. Ra's wouldn't sleep with you, but he would be more than happy to just watch you doze and ensure you stay wrapped up.
Red Hood -[ROMANTIC]
The second you lay in his lap, my man is freezing up and having an inner panic attack. He's so touch starved yet touch avoident that he sort of glitches and says nothing, staying absolutely still. Its a bit difficult for you to hug him but you try to make it work. Jason feels as though he destroys everything he touches so it'll take a while for him to relax and settle. It becomes a drug to him, he needs your presence to sleep. When his goons point out you're a nuisance, he just sighs and looks dreamily at you like 'my nuisance'. He doesn't care if his goons see you cuddling, its just something they have to get used to but as soon as a family member or another rogue swings by, he's all dark and brooding. Times like these he unceremoniously drops you from his arms before acting all militant. But don't worry, he'll make it up to you with cuddles later.
Riddler -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
At first Edward is fully against it. He pushes you off of him and berates you for doing something so childish and unseemly, brushing invisible dirt of his custom tailored suit. It’s fine, you get your revenge by not giving him an ounce of your attention. First, you refuse to partner up with him for missions, then you decline his calls, you ignore him when he speaks to. You do all of this before he basically begs (though he won’t ever admit to it) for your forgiveness and pulls you into his arms. Edward thought he was above it all and now he won’t make that mistake a second time. His goons aren’t allowed in the room when you cuddle though, so they have to communicate through very awkward rushed scribbles on paper that are then stuffed under the door or window. Many a times they have conducted raids like this, and it wasn’t until Batman invaded their base that someone suggested text messages or some other easy when to communicate. Riddler will actually pout if you wake up or move away before he’s had his daily dose of you and will immediately kill anyone who wakes you up.
Scarecrow -[PLATONIC]
He loathes physical touch and how silly you are in what is supposed to be a serious endeavour. Jonathan would absolutely use his Fear gas on you, just to see what happens. What he didn’t expect was for you to become extra clingy as you saw things you couldn’t explain and used him to ground yourself. He hated it, you wouldn’t let go of his arms as you sobbed. You wouldn’t let go, couldn’t. Your grip was ironclad and left dark purple bruises on his skin. At some point during your awful psychedelic trip, Jonathan Crane got used to you. It wasn’t a huge switch. It was gradual and slow, building to a neutrality. He didn’t hate you touching him, but he didn’t love it either. However, by the time he got used to your presence, you were flat out cold. The gas had scared you so much you spiralled yourself into exhaustion and fell asleep. On him. He would feel bad but you’ve basically anchored him down to one spot and now he can’t do his work.
Superman -[ROMANTIC]
First I got to say, choosing Clark Kent for cuddles and naps is the best choice here. That man is southern hospitality and sunshine all wrapped up in a beefcake who loves puppies and flowers. He is so down for cuddles, like almost desperately so. He gets so giddy and giggling when you begin to climb into his lap. Let me just say that you won’t need any blankets or pillows, this man is warm enough. If someone tries to wake you up or if he wants to annoy the other members of the Justice League, he will just make sure you’re all secure (probably as a bear hug) and then just fly in the air. He’ll use his laser eyes to cut around walls to make sure its quiet enough for you before floating high above whatever city he was in. This definitely pisses off Bruce and the Flash. He would wake you up with sweet innocent kisses across your face until you stirred and then gently fly you to Paris or Smallville for a nice ‘breakfast’. He would never wake you up accidentally because he has your heartbeat on his radar at all times.
Talia al Ghul -[ROMANTIC]
Much like her father, Talia absolutely spoils you. Matching sleeping attire? Check! 5 star facial treatments for the both of you? Check! Silk sheets in an European palace? Check! As for who falls asleep on who? It could go either way as Talia adores cuddling you, it gives her the perfect opportunity to pinch and poke you and have you whenever she pleases. She’d probably drug you a little bit, just to keep you nice and complacent. She coils around you like a snake and she’s so soft that you don’t even feel the set of daggers she’s strapped to her body in case of intruders. It’s somewhat similar when she’s the little spoon as she’s always armed and loves to just lounge on you. Talia would wake you up with sex or slow kisses across your face and upper body. She’s the boldest with her claim and would shoot someone dead for attempting to take you away from her, before cooing over your sleepy mumbles.
Two-Face -[ROMANTIC]
Harvey is a man who thrives on the chaos you bring. But rather than scold you for sleeping on the job, he would probably see it as you recuperating your energy. He would feel blessed that you, basically his God at this point, would choose to sleep on him. The very level of vulnerability you have shown him is all but a marriage proposal. He would guard you with his life and would kill anything or anyone in the perimeter, regardless if they made noise or not. To him, he can’t take any chances. He also wouldn’t sleep with you, too paranoid and alert to relax. It may even be that he puts you in a secure safe room which has been done up to be your bedroom. It has over 60 different types of locks and most of them have answers that only Harvey knows. He would stroke your face whilst you slept and whisper some sort of ranted prayer. The only way he would wake you was if the compound was under attack and he needed to move you. Any other time, he is actively trying to soothe you so you return to your slumber.
Wonder Woman -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
For Diana, it could go either way as she’s going to hold you in one arm or on her hip like a baby because to her, you’re her baby. If your relationship is platonic, then she’ll indulge in your clinginess and use it to brag to Bruce. (Both her and Clark like to watch him struggle a bit). She’s another one that wouldn’t nap with you, but would stay awake just to ensure you’re safe and sound. Plus, I imagine as a demigod she doesn’t really need that much sleep. If your relationship is romantic, then she may be clingy too. If you nap together in the safe space of your shared home, then you aren’t going anywhere. Her arms are like iron bars once they find purchase around your waist. She also doesn’t really care for matching pyjamas but she does adore you when you wear her sweats. No matter your size, she has a version of hers in it. She doesn’t wake you up either. But Diana definitely wakes up before you and just stares at your face until you wake up. She likes to memorise these moments because she doesn’t know when they may end. If someone wakes you up on accident, she gently chides them before doting on you as you are extra cute to her when you’re sleepy.
Hope you enjoyed! This came out as more of sleeping headcannons but either way I hope it was a good read.
ft. kyle rayner + artist!reader ; kyle doesn't chase after praise, but when you're the only one to seriously criticize his work, he finds himself in an endless cycle of trying to understand what is truly beautiful in your eyes and why you dislike his art so much
content. one side pining, mentor/student relationship?? reader is more experienced in the artistic field than kyle, slow burnish, kyle is delulu, suggestive (things escalated very fast), dacryphilia WHO SAID THAT??
bunny thoughts. guys... can you believe i wrote almost 700 words for this and then rewrote everything 💔
Kyle was exhausted; his fingers still colored in a wide variety of colors, shirt spattered with paint and sporting a glaring, damp watercolor blotch — a hideous mix of a faded red and dirty brush water. He squirms in front of the empty easel; the canvas that once filled it was now nothing but a disastrous sketch, forgotten in the corner of the room along with the others; discarded, imperfect.
God, he was on the verge of a breakdown, muscles twitching under his skin only from remembering your acidic words, corroding any pride he once had for his art — the pillar of his talent, the burning passion that made him an hopeless romantic.
"Your work lacks passion, Rayner," he remembers laughing, finding irony in your voice — still rough from the morning — but that, without delay, left him stunned. "I look at this and I feel nothing."
What did you mean? The question loops in his mind, echoing and tangling into a knot of memories that turn his stomach.
Amidst various unfinished paintings, Kyle finds yet another blank canvas; without lines, without stains, just the most impeccable matte white. "I feel more emotion looking at an empty canvas than at this thing you call art." Your voice ricochets in recent memories, ricocheting any scribble of hope that could have been sketched.
He's careful not to stain this new canvas, careful not to waste another one in your name — the faint hope that remains of hearing a compliment escaping your lips, muttered like a blasphemy, is enough for him to set the canvas on the easel without a single drop of paint. A final adjustment, brush in hand, and Kyle sees nothing but your look of disdain — cutting, heavy on his shoulders like a ghostly curse.
"Where is the pain? The mourning?" Your words cut through his core, and Kyle believes he wrinkled his nose just thinking about the ever-present cigarette on your lips; smoke exhaled onto the last painting he'd brought you. "Where is the love?"
The bitterness of the laugh that escapes him is palpable, heavy on his tongue. You? Looking for love? Hilarious.
But how could he, a romantic, even seek something as deep as love when it's you who clings to his mind? Nothing but your figure and fallen gaze, folding and unfolding in similar memories.
"I can't even laugh at this because it conveys nothing to me beyond technique, an artistic void that doesn't even critique what it claims to critique." Ouch.
The brushstrokes paint themselves, his mind too distant for Kyle to weigh ideas on the canvas with consciousness.
"But it's undeniable that you have talent, Rayner," your fingers trail through his hair, delicate against his forehead as you push away the stray strands, "I just need to polish you a bit, and you'll be the best." And it's the only time you smile at him — small, minimal; enough for Kyle to come back the next month.
Oh, how he wanted to please you, to force his art down your throat and see you savor it instead of spitting out what he offers with so much effort and dedication. Kyle hopes, chase from the bottom of his core — like a hidden promise between you two — that you will be satisfied with this piece; to see you finally, finally, feel something, feel him crawl into your mind as you did to his, haunt your dreams with the pain he could convey on a canvas — to truly feel his heart and fall into ecstasy over what his hands can create. Perhaps you might even cry from the sudden surge of emotions, tears painting your face like a watercolor brush; the scene shifts, his heart races, and Kyle imagines himself kissing your tears away, satisfied, content to have drawn such an expression on your face.
The brush, real this time, falls from his hand, the sound of its fall cutting through any other fantasy that might arise. Before him, still just a sketch, Kyle is met with a pair of eyes — lovely, clouded with something indescribable in this moment; a pair that belonged to you and, beyond that, were exactly as Kyle wished they would be when turned toward him.
