hal jordan putting you on sex ban after you shaved your pussy ˚.✦
The gasp he lets out after parting your legs is too loud and too unnecessary. “What is this?” he asks, taking one finger and touching the outline of your pussy lips like he’s scared.
“It's my pussy. You’ve seen it a hundred times,” you tell him, supporting your body on your forearms and dropping your head back with a groan. “Can you do something, you idiot?”
He’s blinking and breathing fast. “Nope. No, no, no, no... baby, where is the hair?”
You lift your head again just in time to see his green eyes go wide like dinner plates. His mouth opens but nothing comes out except this weird strangled sound. He looks terrified, heartbroken even.
“Hal,” you start, trying not to laugh because this is ridiculous, “I just shaved. It’ll grow back.”
He pulls his hand back like your smooth skin burned him. “I don’t care! You killed my favorite bush.” Hal looks down at your cunt again, frowning his eyebrows. “Aren’t you cold?”
You groan loudly, flopping back to your bed. You’re so wet it’s definitely dripping on the bed sheets and your stupid boyfriend is being stupid, as always.
“Just eat me out, Hal!” You hit his shoulder, trying to push his head back between your legs but he’s evading your cunt like it’s radioactive.
“I can’t eat your pussy like that!”
You sit up so fast the room spins for a second. “Excuse me? You can’t?” Your voice comes out way higher than you meant it to, all squeaky with pure outrage. “Hal, I have been dripping for you since you walked through the door. I’ve been thinking about your mouth all damn day and now you’re telling me no because I shaved? Are you serious right now?”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking guilty but also stubborn as hell. His eyes keep flicking down to your bare pussy like he can’t decide if he wants to cry or run away. “It’s just… wrong. It feels naked. Like I’m doing something illegal or whatever. I need the bush, baby. It’s soft and it smells like you and I like burying my face in it. This…” He waves a hand at your smooth folds, “this is like eating a bald cat. Creeps me out.”
“A bald cat?” You grab a pillow and smack him right in the face with it. “You absolute asshole! I spent twenty minutes in the shower making sure it was perfect and you’re comparing my pussy to a hairless cat?”
Hal ducks the second swing, laughing a little even though he still looks traumatized. “I’m sorry! But I can’t do it. Not until it grows back, at least a little fuzz. I need something to tickle my nose when I’m down there.”
You stare at him, mouth open, thighs still spread wide like an invitation he’s refusing to accept. Your clit is throbbing so bad it almost hurts and he’s seriously putting you on a sex ban over pubic hair? “So what, I’m just supposed to suffer now? Walk around horny as hell while my boyfriend throws a tantrum because I wanted to try something new?”
He nods like that’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “Sex ban until it grows back, sorry baby, I have morals. You can still suck me off if you want though. That’s fair.”
You throw the pillow at him again, harder this time. It bounces off his chest and lands on the floor. “Fair? You think that’s fair? Hal, if you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I’m going to… to…” You can’t even finish the threat because your brain is too busy short-circuiting from frustration and need. Your hips twitch on their own, chasing nothing but air.
Hal leans in and kisses your knee instead, all soft and sweet like that’s gonna fix anything. “It’ll be like a week, maybe two. Just let it grow a bit. Then I’ll eat you out so good you’ll forget I ever said no.”
You flop back again with the most dramatic groan you can manage, arms covering your face. “I hate you. I actually hate you so much right now.”
He chuckles and crawls up your body, careful not to brush against your poor neglected pussy. His lips find your neck, whispering against your skin. “You love me. And you’ll love me even more when the bush is back and I’m making you scream into the pillow for hours.”
You peek out from under your arm just to glare at him. “A week and a half. Not a day more. And if you even think about teasing me during that time I’m shaving again out of spite.”
Hal grins, that stupid crooked smile you usually can’t resist. “Okay! But no more surprise baldies, let a guy prepare next time.”
You shove his face away, but you’re already smiling a tiny bit under all the outrage. “You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, kissing your palm when you try to push him again, “I’ll make it up to you. Just grow the bush back, baby.”
You sigh, long and defeated, thighs squeezing together because the ache isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “You owe me so many orgasms when it’s back. Like, world record amount.”
“That sounds perfect, baby,” he whispers, already settling beside you like he’s ready to cuddle through your horny misery. “Now come here and let me hold you while you suffer. It’s only fair.”
You grumble the whole way into his arms, but you go anyway. Because even when he’s being an idiot about your pussy, he’s still your idiot. And deep down, part of you is already counting the days until that little bush grows back and he finally buries his face where you need him most.
“I’m home, honey!” HAL JORDAN says, stepping through the door with a relieved expression, happy to finally be home with you. Before he can open his arms, though, you’ve already thrown yourself against him.
He leans against the wall for support and, freeing one arm from your tight grip, he gently ruffles your hair. “Missed me?”
You notice it immediately: the tease so full of love, almost a statement rather than a question. It makes you roll your eyes and, at the same time, want to smile in the truest way you know how.
“Come on, you were counting the minutes. Just be honest,” he insists, fingers threading through your curls as his lips brush your nose, trailing down your cheek, but stopping just short of your mouth.
You stare at him for a few moments, hoping he'll give in — it doesn't happen. Of course not. You're facing the strongest will in the universe; it’s up to you to give in.
It's a small whisper, a “yes, Hal, I missed you” made just for him. He smiles, and you can’t help but mirror him.
“I know you did,” he murmurs against your lips, finally kissing you. His ring glows, illuminating your hair in the Lantern’s green, and you feel him melt a little, just a little.
summary: when you, a teenager just trying to get by, stumbles upon a glowing green ring, your life changes forever. after meeting the rest of the green lanterns, you finally have a family of some sorts.
pairings: (ALL PLATONIC) green lanterns x teenage!reader. other teenage heroes x reader.
warnings: alchohol, drugs, and violence mentioned.
dividers by: @/cafekitsune and @/toxisyddy
a/n: for papa @suigenerisisadiva (who probably forgot about it since it’s been so long). also, i was researching blue lanterns and apparently mrs. claus is one?? like, santas wife???
main masterlist. dc masterlist
- you didn’t live in the nicest area. your mom disappeared when you were a toddler, and your dad spends half his time drinking, and the other half drunk.
- so, you’ve learned your own way through the streets. you know which particularly nasty spots to avoid. you know what time to be safely inside for. you know which doors to be quiet going past.
- it isn’t all lonely, because there’s a few kids living in your building. some of them your age, some of them younger. some of them older, but you try to avoid those. you like helping the younger kids, since you have no siblings of your own.
- your life, albeit not exactly comfortable, is pretty much normal. until a day that changed your life forever.
- you were walking down an alley, your guard up as usual. You heard a group of boys ahead, their voices mocking and teasing.
when you got closer, you saw one of them holding a younger boy by his collar, one of his glasses lenses cracked. you didn’t recognise the smaller boy, so you guessed that he didn’t live alone here.
“Search his pockets.” One of the older boys told his friend. “Let’s see if mommy or daddy gave chum some spare change, hm?”
the smaller one struggled and shook his head a little. “i was just looking for my ball.” he said, as if that would do anything. “i was playing with it and it- i kicked it too hard. I-“
“Oh, you were just looking for your ball.” The older boy drawled out, smirking. “Why didn’t you say so? We would’ve helped you.” But they didn’t let go of him.
You thought about your options. You could just walk past, nobody would blame you. You don’t fancy being beaten up today, especially not sticking up for a posh kid. And maybe you were a little bit scared of the older kids. they were bigger than you! Messing with the wrong people can have continuous consequences. It was only when one of the boys behind clenched his fist that you spoke him.
“Just let him go.” You said, in the steadiest voice you could. The boy turned to you.
You knew him. Classic don’t-mess-with-me guy. You don’t exactly blame him though. Most of these kids parents are addicts or other problems. Hurt people hurt people.
The smaller boy opened his mouth to presumably call out to you, but you caught his eye and shook your head. His words won’t help him.
“C’mon, just leave him go. He just wanted to get his ball back.” You say again, taking your hands out of your pockets.
The boy scoffed. “Why don’t you just run along? Hm? Go on, go on home and make yourself a nice lunch and forget about it, alright?”
You hummed for a second before shrugging. “Nah. See, I don’t enjoy eating when I know there’s a bunch of bullies living around me.”
“Living around you?” He laughed. “Sorry, princess, are we not good enough neighbours for the missus?”
You sighed. “Why don’t you just pick on someone your own size?” You looked around before smiling a little. “Or you all just so weak the only person you can beat up is an eight-year old?”
“Oh, I’ll show you who I can beat up.” He took a step towards you before being met with a strong kick to the groin.
“You bitch!” Another kick. Always kick ‘em while they’re down, kids.
The other boy let go of the smaller kid, moving towards you. You grabbed a trash can lid, unsure what you could do with it exactly.
“I suggest you take your friends old advice and run along to home.” You said, sussing out what you knew about this boy. “Or i’ll tell daddy about that little bag of white powder i saw you buy yesterday that I can guess you’re hiding in your room from him, huh?”
The boy stopped. After considering his options for a second, he obviously decided that an eight-year old boy and malnutritioned teenager wasn’t worth the bigger consequences of things. He leaned down for a second to grab his groaning friend before they walked off, muttering about you’d “be sorry soon.”
You rolled your eyes before turning to the small boy. You lowered the trash can lid and extended a hand to him. “You alright?”
He took your hand to get to his feet, nodding his head. “Thank you.” He was already wiping his glasses lens with the bottom of his jumper in vain. “Thanks a lot, really. You just came out of nowhere and-“
“Yeah, alright.” You said. “I just didn’t want them to turn around to me when they were done with you.”
“Well, thank you.” He looked up at you. “Uh, I did actually come here looking my ball-“
“Kid, I guarantee you that the ball isn’t worth it.” You said shortly. “Just ask your parents for another one. And also to fix those.” You pointed to his glasses.
He pushed them up further on his nose, before nodding at you again, making them fall back down. “Thank you.”
“Alright.” You said, a bit sheepish. How many times had this kid thanked you? “Go run back out now.”
The boy nodded again, thanked you again, before dashing back into the brighter part of the street. You watched him go until he found a woman with a worried expressed. You watched him tug on her skirt, her turning around before grabbing his face and hugging him. You watched them walk away together.
You hated pity parties.
As you turned to walk back to your shitty house to make a shitty sandwich with shitty cutlery, a green light caught your eye. Usually, you tend not to go looking through your neighbours trash (it can be very disturbing), but you’d never seen anyone’s trash glowing before. You reached behind the black bag to pick up a ring, shining green so bright that it hurt your eyes.
You looked at it for a second before sliding it on your finger. Perfect fit. For a second, you stood there, before feeling a growing pain in your chest. Your hand clutched your heart for a second as you gasped for air, about to call out before the feeling completely went away. You breathed hard, staring at the ring.
“What the . . .” you said slowly, unaware as to what you just signed yourself up for.
- you hid it in your pocket, thankful that it had stopped glowing green, and brought it inside. you considered bringing it to a pawn shop for a bit of money, but something told you this was much more powerful than any amount of cash.
- you brought it to a pawn shop anyway. as you stood outside, it started making a loud beeping sound that made a few passer-by’s give you a concerned look.
flustered by the unwanted attention, you tried to quickly muffle it in your pocket but the thing was insistent to not go inside that shop.
through trial and error, and many reassurances to strangers that you were fine, you found that the beeps slowed down when you went in one direction, and sped up when you went the other.
you had never owned a metal detector, but you knew that’s how they worked. maybe this thing was some sort of gold-finder, ready to bring you luck. so, you went in the direction it started beeping the fastest.
after walking for an hour or two, the ring led you to a nice area, and then to a fairly clean apartment building. you slipped in through the door, walking up the stairs unnoticed.
you’re now almost 100% sure that the ring has a mind of its own because it seems to be pulling your legs in front of a door you’ve never seen before. and you don’t remember being the one to raise your wrists and knock on it.
a man in his late 20s with brown hair and brown eyes opens the door. he’s wearing casual clothes, but they’re clean. you’re suddenly very aware of your second hand clothes and the smudges you didn’t have the chance to wash off yet.
“you aren’t the pizza guy.” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“no.” you shake your head. you two stare at each other. you aren’t sure what to say. ‘sorry about this. but this ring brought me here and i have no idea what to do with it. you believe me, right? i’m not crazy, right?’
“uh. so, can i help you or-“ but he cuts himself off when he sees your finger. the familiar silver band with the lantern logo on it. he guesses you haven’t figured out how to disguise it yet.
he gives you a look. “where did you get that?”
“it sort of got me-“
“Look, just get inside.” He says quickly, taking a quick glance around.
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Um, hello? Stranger danger? There is no way I’m stepping into an apartment with a full grown man who I’ve never met before.”
He rolled his eyes. “You knocked on my door.”
“Because the freaky ring told me to!” You defended.
“You wanna learn more about the ring?” He said. “I got answers. Well, some answers. And, trust me kid, it’s way bigger than anything you can imagine.”
“Prove it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Prove you know about the ring.” You said, unyielding to any traps that would end up in you being on the news.
The man paused for a second, as if wondering how his life actually got to this point. Then he gave in and showed you his five fingers, one of them wearing a plain silver band.
You raise your eyebrows. “That looks nothing like my ring. For all I know, that could be a cheap thing you bought at the shops.”
“You can disguise it, genius.” He told you. “God, I’m going to have to teach you everything, aren’t I?”
“Everything about wha-“
“About being a . . .” he lowered his voice. “a Green Lantern. Can you please just come in? If John knew I was talking about this in the middle of the hall . . .”
Your eyes widened a little at the words ‘Green Lantern’. You, like so many other people your age in America, were a fan of the Justice League. Nobody would blame you for getting excited.
“You’re telling me you’re . . .” You breathed out, beaming. “You’re Green Lantern? Like, the Justice League Green Lantern?”
“Could you say it any louder?” He hissed sarcastically, eyes darting around again.
“No way!” You exclaimed. You ran past him into his apartment, having all the confirmation you needed with that conversation.
So, Hal introduced himself to you and gave you a brief overview of his own backstory and how the ring found him.
- Hal helped you with the basics of the ring. Like how to present it as a normal silver band. When you complained that you prefer wearing gold (as if you could be that choosy), he sighed and showed you how to make it gold.
“It’s all about willpower.” He repeated. “It’s what the ring represents. It’s what it means.”
- but then he took you to meet the other Lanterns. You were pretty excited about the whole thing. It was a whole new life for you, and you now had a group of people to call friends? family? it’s still in the workshop.
- the whole group acts more like siblings than anything.
- when you first join, a couple of members are concerned about you due to your young age. teenage heroes and vigilantes aren’t unheard of, but not many of them have to leave home for days on end in the middle of space.
but you quickly showed them that you aren’t a helpless baby, and instead just need a bit of training like every Lantern did when they first started. your strength doesn’t stop the teasing though.
- “(Name) agrees with me!” Kyle fights his corner, throwing his hands up.
“Ah, but does their opinion really count here?” Guy shrugs. He taps his head before saying, “their brain isn’t fully developed yet. They aren’t as wise, you see.”
- you get along with jessica the quickest. she’s an anxious girl, but with a kind heart and a hatred for violence. it’s hard to hate her.
whenever you have a question or worry about being a Lantern, and might be too embarrassed about it, it’s always a safe call to talk to her. she’s the last person to make fun of anybody. she also struggled with being a Lantern because of her agoraphobia, and will always offer a kind word.
- you and kyle bond over thinking of new constructs to make. you both always try to think of things to combine before willing it into existence. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
- one of your favourites is kilowog. the guy puts on a tough persona, but you’re convinced he’s a big softie underneath. whenever he’s training you all, you’ll appear at his side wagging your finger at the person he’s currently berating.
“yeah, come on poozer!” you’ll chime in with, flashing him a smile before he grumbles at you to return to your place.
he tries his best to show you the hard parts of being a Lantern, and the horrors you’ll eventually have to face. he stays serious, but he doesn’t object when you throw yourself onto him, sitting on his shoulders.
you think of your dynamic like terry and jake from brooklyn 99. he thinks of it like a guy and an annoying teenager he has to deal with. but you know that if you ran up to him and jumped, he would drop his coffee mug to catch you.
- you and guy aren’t allowed to be together for a mission without a third person. you two instantly both have the maturity of a ten year old when together.
- guy showed you how to make the middle finger hand thing form the ground (like in Superman 2025), and now you do it every chance you get.
- sometimes you do it to batman (behind his back because you’re actually quite scared of him)
- speaking of Superman 2025 (james gunn hire me), when lex monkeys come out with their online hate, you’re already setting up different accounts to respond. you teach guy how to do it to.
“okay, now type ‘K’.” “K.” “now ‘Y’.” “Y.” “and now ‘S’.” “S. what does this abbreviation mean?” “it means ‘keep yourself safe’.” “oh, good!”
- you two ragebait the other lanterns together.
- you constantly use brainrot that the others don’t understand.
“did you eat?” “i slayed.” “what? i’m asking if you had lunch?”
“(Name) is late. Hal, have you tried contacting her?” “I texted her, and she replied with ‘s-y-b-a-u’.”Does anyone know what that means?”
and if you ever encounter Star Saphhire while with Hal, you’re shrugging before looking at him, “you can switch up on her all you like, but the face card never declines.”
- you help out with young justice whenever you have a spare couple of days on Earth.
Hal brings you to Mount Justice to introduce you. when you get there, Batman and Robin are already discussing something in the common room.
“Hey Spooks.” Hal announces both of your presence, making the other two males look in your direction. Batman gives you nod, and Robins lips quirk upwards.
“Green Lantern,” Batman acknowledges Hal, before looking at you. “and . . .?”
“Green Lantern.” You answer for him. Batman just closes his eyes for a moment.
Suddenly, you feel a gush of wind beside you before another teenage boy is standing in front of you. he has red hair and green eyes, with freckles decorating his face.
“new member?” he speaks fast, already shaking your hand. “cool! you probably already know, but I’m Kid Flash.”
and then the rest of the team are called to meet you. you learn everyone’s names, they learn yours,
“So,” Conner comments. “you’re Green Lanterns sidekick.”
you narrow your eyes. “i’m not anyone’s sidekick. i’m my own hero.”
Hal ruffles your hair, grinning. “i don’t take sidekicks anyway. don’t want kids ruining my image.”
Connor doesn’t say anything, but he gives you a small nod. he knows what it’s like to be a mini version of someone but also wanting to be completely different to them.
- while you may not be a consistent member, you prove useful on the missions you do participate in. wally in particular enjoys taking advantage of your powers.
“can you please create some soda? i’m gonna die of thirst soon.”
“wally, there’s soda in the fridge.”
“but that’s so far away!”
- whenever you watch a sci-fi/space show (like star wars, star trek, or interstellar), you love pointing out inaccuracies. even if the movie has every fact down to a T, you’d still point your finger and start with an “actually-“. everyone else hates it. you’re convinced they appreciate the personal insight.
- your new life is different to anything you’ve ever known. but you can say it’s better in so many ways. it isn’t perfect. you see things that nobody your age should, have to fight people when you should be in bed at home. but you aren’t alone anymore. you have a whole group of people you can sling your arms around. a whole group of people like you who are there ready to catch you if you stumble.
mentions: 1k event, established relationship, fluff fluff fluff, might be ooc im so sorry
(first time writing kyle bear with me also I KNOW this concept of kyle is so overused but im such a fiend for it leave me alone)
🎧 -- wahdon by fairouz
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people talk about art as if its something distant. to them, they see the art that made it— hung in museums, framed behind glass, signed by names well known in the art world. but art was never really meant to stay there, to stay under the perfect lighting and hung in white, bland walls— it was messier than that, more personal
it lives in half-finished sketchbooks, created by the hands whose sleeves were stained with paint. it was experienced in the way someone would tilt their head to get a line just right. when someone created a piece, it wasn’t because they had to. it was because they were trying to capture a feeling they didn’t know how to keep in any other way but in one they knew well— art
and that was the kind of art kyle makes. unlike other ‘art lovers’, he doesn’t care about legacy or popularity. to him, art isn’t about being remembered by the world, but by remembering things by the artist themselves— moments, places, people
to him, that was you
unlike his filled up sketchbooks which had random drawings and sketches of anything kyle thought interesting — intergalactic architecture, a random flower out in the park, doodles he’d draw when he was off planet and bored— there was another sketchbook that he never dared to play around with, filled with drawings that took more time and care than others, filled with sketches of you
it would be random moments— you laughing with your head tilted, you mid talking with lips slightly parted and eyes bright, you sleeping peacefully with the sheets below your waist and the sun hitting your bare back, you. you.
kyle never showed anyone this sketchbook, not because he was embarrassed. but because this felt different than all his other works, like something that didn’t belong to anyone else, like something that was his, something for his eyes only to see
these weren’t just drawings; these were moments he didn’t want to lose— moments that he got to witness.
and that’s probably why he kept it hidden. because if anyone asked, he wouldn’t know how to explain why every page looked like you, why every expression was memorized— why, out of everything in the universe, he couldn’t have drawn, he kept choosing the same person. he chose you
“how’s it looking?” you teased with a smile, lying on top of kyle’s chest as both of you were in bed and under the sheets, legs tangled with one another. his sketchbook— all filled with you— was propped up as he was sketching you. he gave up trying to hide it from you after you accidentally found it while cleaning through the closet
he huffed out a quiet laugh, one hand resting absentmindedly against your bare back while the other keeps moving his pencil across the page, his sketchbook levitating thanks to his ring.
“it’s coming along” kyle murmured, eyes still on the page. did he really use his ring so he didn’t have to hold the book to hold you close? yes, yes he did
“that’s not an answer”
“that’s the only answer you’re getting”
“rude” but there was no bite to your voice
"patient” he corrected, a faint smile tugging on his lips as his pencil kept moving. you just huff softly but settle against him anyway, your chin on your hands that were lying on his chest as your eyes were fixed on him. whenever he drew you, he was quieter and more concentrated— as if making sure not a single mistake came
“..should i fix my hair?” you asked quietly, making kyle hum a no. “just stay like this. you’re perfect” he murmured almost absent-mindedly to himself, but his cheeks blushed slightly and his sketching paused after realizing what he just said, then slowly resuming.
and to his demise, you caught his words with a small blink before your smile slowly stretched into a smirk
“kyle rayner—"
“—dont—”
“—did you just call me perfect?”
his face got redder up to where his ears started to get color, staying silent because he didn’t trust his tongue anymore. and his confirmed, flustered silence made your smirk turn to a grin.
“you’re enjoying this too much” kyle finally said, but in a mutter as you hummed, trying to act oblivious. “i have no idea what you’re talking about” you responded sweetly
and when he stops sketching and finally looks at you, his brain almost short circuited— because you’re right there, all warm and snug, lying on his chest with those teasing eyes and amused look that didn’t bother hiding the love you have for him
that alone made kyle’s gaze soften almost instantly, almost mesmerized by your eyes
“…perfect” he whispered to himself, almost dreamily— not realizing that he said it again. and this time, you didn’t comment or tease kyle. your grin just faded into something gentler into a smile that felt like it was only reserved for him— because it was.
you were kyle’s muse, and you were someone that he would never get tired of drawing over and over again. because no sketch could feel enough— not when every version of you still felt new to him, not when you were still the image that stayed with him the longest.
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masterlist! ⤷ 1k event !
(a/n: last patron drink!! ty to all the mooties who participated ily all sm <33)
Debrief: Kyle gets home from an intergalactic mission and his first stop is to the florist, then to you.
Case Notes: your order has arrived, @itachisrealm, enjoy your bouquet!
The key turns in the penthouse lock at an hour when Gotham’s skyline looks like a circuit board, the stars blinking and the dark sky brooding.
He slips in, quiet, a duffel slung over one shoulder, and a bouquet cradled in the other arm like it might bruise if he breathes wrong.
The flowers are lush and bright. Pink peonies, in full bloom. Stargazer lilies tipped in white with pink streaks, speckled like they were flicked with paint from a brush. He’d stood in the little corner florist on Burnley for twenty minutes debating the exact shade of peonies because if he’s going to cross galaxies to make it home to you, he can at the very least pick complimenting flowers for his girl.
Kyle Rayner, intergalactic peacekeeper, terror to cosmic warlords, standing there like, “No, no, she likes the ones that look like they’re fluffy and cloud like?”
You’re at the kitchen island, laptop open, heels kicked off, hair half up and half falling. Dog napping peacefully at your feet, who only lifts his head for a moment to see who’s entering before laying his head back down with a huff.
You don’t look up immediately. You know it’s him. When you do turn, your expression does the thing. The thing he flies across sectors for. Even if it’s only a short break at home.
Your whole face softens, then brightens, then breaks into that smile that makes his heart skip a beat.
“You’re home,” you breathe out, pretty eyes staying on his face.
“Last I checked,” he says, setting the bouquet down like an offering to a particularly intimidating goddess, “No extradimensional parasites followed me, again. I triple-checked.”
You step into him before he can finish the sentence, arms sliding around his waist, face tucking into his neck. He exhales into your hair like he’s been holding that breath for lightyears.
He presses his chin to the top of your head his voice soft and warm as he murmurs softly,“Missed you, angel.”
“You saw me on holo-call yesterday.”
“Doesn’t count. You were yelling at Dick off-screen.”
“He was being annoying, he deserved to be yelled at.”
He laughs into your temple. Then you pull back just enough to see the flowers. And there it is again. That smile. Wider this time, and softer.
“You went to a florist before you came home?” You ask, eyebrow quirking as you look at him.
“I may have intimidated a man named Carl about peony freshness.”
“What a hero.” You say in a playful tone, and he grins.
“I contain multitudes of heroism.”
You take the bouquet carefully, like it’s something sacred instead of something he probably overpaid for. You bring the peonies to your nose first, inhaling, long lashes fluttering against your cheekbones as your eyes close.
Kyle watches like an artist studying light, taking a mental picture of the sight to sketch out later.
He knows you don’t need them, the flowers. He knows that when he came back from his first long mission after the two of you started dating, and just showed up empty-handed, you’d nearly tackled him into the couch anyway. That your love language is presence. That you’d be just as happy if he materialized with nothing but exhaustion and a story.
But he likes this. He likes the ritual. The stop at the florist after weeks in deep space. The deliberation over petals. The knowledge that somewhere between Oa and Gotham, he thought about how stargazers make you smile like your entire being is made of sunshine.
“You didn’t have to,” you murmur, your eyes opening to find his face.
“I know.”
You set the bouquet in a vase by the window where the city lights catch the pink, Peonies like soft fireworks and Stargazers like constellations that decided to visit earth.
When you turn back, you’re studying him now.
“You’re tired,” you say gently.
“Little bit.” Kyle says admittedly
“You eat?”
“Do space ration bars count.”
“They do not.” You take his hand and tug him toward the couch. He drops onto it with theatrical exhaustion, sprawling dramatically.
“I risk my life across sectors,” he sighs, one arm thrown over his eyes, “And this is my reward. Domestic supervision.”
“You love domestic supervision.”
“I do.”
You sit on the edge of the couch and lean down to kiss him. Slow and familiar. His hand slides to your waist automatically, thumb brushing along your side. When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his.
“Missed you. You staying long?” you ask softly.
“Not going anywhere,” he replies, “Earth’s got the best gravity.”
You snort, “That was terrible.”
“I’ve been in space for three weeks. My material’s rusty.”
nighttime is a gateway to a different reality. past seven o’clock, the evening sky opens, and with it the stars descend into visibility, covering the world as you know it in a diamond-studded veil. hues of all sorts mix and run across it like a borderless field, and you’re not an artist, but it sure does look beautiful, and you ache to create something to commit it to memory.
you may not be an artist, but kyle is. you wonder how he feels now, because if this awakens an inkling of creativity within you of all people, he must be itching to grab a pen and a sketchbook at the moment.
from your balcony window you gaze out into the skyline, searching for him as if you somehow had the ability to. if you could see him, you’d fashion him the evening star in your head, glowing green or white, depending on the day. when you’re too tired to continue, you head to bed. maybe your attempt tonight, like it has been recently for all of these few days, is futile once again.
kyle rushes back after he’s done with today’s tasks. new york city, buried in its slumber, is oblivious to green lantern as a flurry of energy follows behind him, until he’s back in a dingy apartment that’s only maintained by you. this whole week he’s conjured up his sketchbook and pencil with the ring, drawing you more than fifty times— which is a new record, according to hal. the strokes to form your features and the shading of your face under the sunlight have been ingrained into his brain like second nature. he’s passed through the stratosphere, and now by air planes, skyscrapers and the like. from his ring he constructs a bouquet of flowers— they’re the ones you love, save for the fact that it’s completely green and would disintegrate once kyle willed it to.
“hey, honey,” he goes, landing on the balcony.
“hi.”
kyle holds the flowers out. “here, for you.”
“oh, my favourite,” you smile. constructs are translucent, so when you keep a petal between your index and your thumb, you can see through the bouquet.
“couldn’t get you the real ones, though.”
“the real ones aren’t my favourite anymore,” you say, “it’s these ones, specifically.”
his heart overflows with adoration at that, nearly bursting. “sorry I was gone so long. I didn’t get to tell you, but something came up, and I had to be gone for a few days, I—”
“it’s okay. I’m happy you’re back,” you reply, “by the way, I told them to extend your deadline because of a family emergency, so I hope that’s okay with you. —oh, and I was about to sleep. are you tired?”
he glances around. the kitchen counter is all pristine and clean, his and your room tidied and the bedsheets freshly washed.
“no, no I’m okay,” he says, voice instantly getting softer, “thanks for taking care of everything,” he continues as he kisses your forehead, “you should go rest. I’ll handle whatever else is left in the morning, I promise.”
“you don’t have to promise anything,” you comment, “if you don’t know if you can keep it, it’s okay. being a hero is important.” gently, you pull him into a tender embrace, until the two of you are swaying from side to side a little, languidly and smoothly, and the ring changes him from his uniform to the shirt he was wearing a week ago. he strokes your hair. for the past week he’s been green lantern, a hero, a soldier, a member of the corps and the justice league, and now all he is is a man who wants to be home. a man who’s happy he’s returned to you now.
“is it tiring, having to pick up after me like this?”
you shake your head. “not in a bad way. it makes me feel exhausted, but I still want to do it. you come back at night when I’m asleep and leave in the morning when I’m barely awake, but I can understand. they say that when things are sparse you appreciate them more, so you just become more precious to me.”
“but if it tires you out—”
“then you can help me do it tomorrow. I’m not going to leave,” you reassure him, “not now. I don’t think I will until you want me to, because I’m taking the chance that you feel the same way. to me that’s what this is about. so always remember that I’ll stay here.” you turn your head, looking up at him, boring into his eyes, sweet and brown like chocolate. “—hey, that was good. I think I summed it up pretty succinctly. it was good, right?”
“yeah,” he agrees, “it really was.”
his hand slides down to the small of your back, rubbing it over with his palm. “I love you.”
“I love you too, kyle. let’s go to sleep.”
tomorrow, he’s going to stay. he’ll go pick up the clothes from the dry cleaners, and then he’ll draw until he makes his deadline. he’ll coax you back to sleep when you wake up, and kiss your eyelids when you do. he’ll ride the subway and hold the handle wishing it’s your hand in his, then he’ll come back and make sure there’s breakfast ready on the stove for you.
when he was younger, he would have ruined it in some way— jumped to conclusions, taken you for granted, or something. he’s in his thirties now, and he hasn’t felt his hand without the weight of the ring or the burden of green lantern in ages. you’re his respite from all of that. and in the past, he wouldn’t have wanted to keep you chained, would have let you go somehow.
now he’s different, perhaps wisened by age or by being with you, someone akin to a steady stream of water, ever stable and calm. it’s good for him, and now he knows that it’s not the time to let you go. he knows he can change, to be more fluid the same way you are, to hold on to you and mold himself into someone who can support you and not shackle you. you said not to make promises, so he won’t. the last one he makes is the only one he needs, the one he’ll always keep. that he’ll always be there for you, that you’re all he ever needs these days.
the next morning he leaves the bed only to start cooking in the kitchen. not to set out into the galaxy, or to the watchtower, or to oa. just to the kitchen in your tiny shared apartment, or to his workstation so that he can get his next paycheck. his fingers brush through your hair a little, and the callouses from his pencil and art supplies graze against your cheek and lip. you’re still asleep.
he decides he’ll save the money in the bank (he guesses age has taught him how to be a little smarter with money, too) for the right time to spend it on you or on buying a better place. then when things are settled enough, he’ll finally be able to put that ring on your finger.
for now, though, he’s satisfied that he has this. so he’ll do everything to show you that; to make sure that you feel just as lucky.
some notes about this short piece
I actually like kyle a lot. he’s my favourite green lantern and probably my second favourite dc character of all time. however, I haven’t actually read a lot of his stuff.
right now I’m reading his 90s issues, and they’re really fun to read. but I’ve also read kyle rayner and the omega men, and I’m not sure if it’s ooc or not, but there was such a big gap in personality from his 90s comics and the omega men. I wanted to touch it on it a little, which was what I mentioned here.
still, although this piece may be ooc, I hope you enjoy it either way. I enjoyed writing it a lot, and I really do love kyle
SUMMARY: a little trip to the kitchen when you wake up in the middle of the night in the wayne manor
content warnings: none! pure fluff, bruce is only mentioned here, dick grayson appearance!
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When you wake up, the air feels dense around you, it’s unreal how quiet it is when there’s three people in the bed. Bruce is warm where his body presses into yours, his broad frame curled in toward you, his head is tucked beneath your chin, hair slightly damp with sweat and you can feel the brush of his breath against your chest.
Hal’s arm is thrown over Bruce’s waist, slung there with the possessiveness of a man who falls asleep hard and doesn’t care how he lands. His hand twitches every so often, fingers curling in reflex, their legs are a messy tangle beneath the covers, bare skin brushing yours, all of it soft and so impossibly safe.
And yet your body hums with something restless. A thread of energy running beneath your skin. Oh, you’re just thirsty.
Carefully, you begin to peel yourself away. Bruce makes a low sound, a little hitch of breath, but doesn’t wake. Hal stirs faintly, his arm tightening for just a second, his body registers the shift even if his mind doesn’t. Then he exhales and slackens again, his face turning toward Bruce’s shoulder.
The floor is cool beneath your feet. You move quietly, grabbing the sweater draped over the nearby chair, one of Bruce’s, oversized and worn in soft at the collar, and shrug it on. The familiar scent wraps around you.
The hallway outside is drenched in shadow, long and stretching. You pass guest rooms with doors cracked open, the study door left slightly ajar and descend the sweeping staircase with the caution of a practiced ghost. Wayne Manor at night is another thing entirely, grand and echoing, but cloaked in something secret and old. The kitchen is dark, but you know where the switches are. You flip on the under-cabinet light. You pad to the fridge and open it, grabbing a bottle of water.
And then—
“You’re not who I thought you'd be.”
You start.
You hadn’t heard a sound before. Not a step. Not a breath.
You turn.
And find him already watching.
Perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, small and unnervingly still, is a boy. Barefoot, wearing flannel pajamas too big for him, sleeves falling past his wrists. His legs swing just above the floor, one hand curls around a glass of chocolate milk, untouched. The other taps against the counter, quiet but steady.
Dick Grayson.
Ten years old. Too small for the weight he carries and too sharp for someone who still counts his age on fingers. He’s looking at you, not even afraid or curious. You study each other across the island. Why isn’t he blinking? You set your glass down slowly.
"Could say the same about you."
He shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, but I live here.”
You nod, letting a breath slip out of you. “Fair enough.”
The silence after that isn’t really awkward, he’s observing you, trying to understand you and why are you in his house so late.
“You always up this late?” you ask, keeping your voice soft.
“Only when the dreams are weird.” He finally takes a sip of his milk. His nose wrinkles, it’s clearly gone a little warm, but he drinks anyway. “This one had fire. I wasn’t afraid, but it was loud.”
You watch him closely. “Sounds like a lot.”
He tilts his head, still studying you “Bruce doesn’t bring people home. Not like that.”
“Like what?”
He gestures, small and vague. “Like… you and Lantern. You’re not just people. You’re something else. He lets you touch him.”
His words are quiet, barely shaped, but they hit you well. It’s hard for you and Hal to realize how important you two are for Bruce, how special you should feel because he lets you sleep in his bed all together.
“He trusts us,” you say.
Dick frowns, thoughtful. Turning it over. “I don’t think he knows how.”
You nod slowly. “He’s learning.”
His legs swing once. “He gets really quiet when he’s sad. I used to think that meant he was angry. But now I think it just means he doesn’t know how to ask for help.”
You press your lips together, feeling something in your chest shift. “Maybe that’s why we’re here,” you say, voice low. “To remind him he can.”
Dick nods once, finally understanding you. “I think he likes when you make him laugh. His face changes.”
You smile. “He has a nice face when it’s not scowling.”
“Don’t tell him I said that,” Dick says quickly, mock-serious.
The corner of your mouth twitches. Then you’re interrupted by footsteps. Hal appears in the doorway, rubbing one eye, hair a chaotic mess and wearing one of Bruce’s robes he found on the floor and put on mid-yawn. He blinks at the two of you.
“Huh,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “Thought I dreamt that part.”
“You didn’t,” you reply, nodding toward Dick.
The boy lifts his hand in a casual wave. “Hi.”
“Hey, kiddo.” Hal ambles toward the fridge, moving without any grace as he pulls out another cold bottle of water. “Midnight meetings now?”
“Dream protocol,” you say, the words hanging like a secret between the three of you.
Hal cracks the cap on his drink with a quick twist. “Solid.”
Dick watches him from his stool, head tilted slightly in that curious way only kids can pull off. “You’re the loud one.”
Hal freezes mid-sip, the bottle hovering near his lips, then slowly raises an eyebrow in a dramatic way. “Excuse me?”
“You have loud footsteps.”
Hal chuckles, setting the bottle down on the counter with a soft clink. “I have very confident feet.”
Dick stares at him a moment longer. Then nods, approving. “Makes sense.”
You hide your grin behind your glass, the cool rim pressing against your smile as warmth spreads through your chest. The way these two bounced off each other was something else.
“You are loud, tho,” you add to the conversation with a smirk.
Hal leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders. “Says the one who climbed Bruce like a tree six hours ago.”
Dick sips his milk again, blank-faced. “I’m a child.”
You blink. Hal blinks.
“Do you… know what that means?” Hal asks, his eyes narrowing just a fraction.
“Nope.” Dick grins. “But it made you shut up.”
You lose it, a sharp bark of laughter that echoes off the kitchen walls and fills the space with something light and alive. Your shoulders shake as you try to keep it quiet, but it bubbles out anyway. Hal just glares up at the ceiling, his jaw tight but the corner of his mouth twitching like he might laugh too if he let himself.
Dick slides off the stool, wiping his hands on his too-long pajama pants with a little swipe. “I’m gonna go back to bed. You guys are weird, but… good weird. Bruce needs that.”
You watch him disappear down the hall, the shadows swallow him gently and his footsteps barely making a sound on the old floor. He pauses at the doorway, turning back just enough for you to catch the soft outline of his face in the low light.
“Don’t leave,” he says, voice smaller now, carrying that fragile weight that tugs right at your heart.
You and Hal both nod, the motion instinctive and full of promise.
“Promise,” you reply, your words steady even as emotion swells in your throat.
Then he’s gone. The hush returns, settling over the kitchen like a soft blanket, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge and the distant creak of the old manor settling around you. Hal exhales, runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in an effortless way that somehow makes him look even better.
“That kid’s either going to save the world or set it on fire.”
“Probably both.”
You drain your glass, the last drops of cool liquid sliding down your throat as you set it aside. Hal leans into you gently, shoulder to shoulder, solid and warm against your side. A silent question passes between you in that touch, full of comfort and understanding.
“Ready to go back?” he whispers.
You nod. “Yeah.”
You leave the kitchen together, side by side, steps silent on the old stone floor. Past the still portraits that look with painted eyes, the long drapes swaying just a little in the night breeze, the glint of moonlight on glass casting pale silver patterns across the halls. Back up the stairs, through the sleeping hush of a house far too big and too full of ghosts, where every shadow seemed to hold a story you were only beginning to learn.
Back to the bed.
Back to Bruce.
a/n: dick grayson yay!!!! he's so cute and tiny here he only need one popcorn
older!hal jordan x fem!reader. your boyfriend picks you up at university. (reader is 25-26 hal in his late 30s)
Your friends were always making fun of you, asking you about your "secret boyfriend" or about that "imaginary boyfriend of yours". Because, yes, you talked about Hal quite a lot. But you didn't parade your boyfriend around frat parties or study sessions obviously.
After a study session, you stayed talking outside of the library with some of your friends. They were at it again, teasing you mercilessly about your “mystery man.”
“Oh, come on,” Sarah said, flipping her hair dramatically. “You’re telling me Mr. Perfect exists, and we’ve still never seen him? I’m starting to think you’re making him up. What’s his name again? Hal? Sounds like a comic book character.”
“Very original,” you shot back, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your grin. “He’s real, okay? He’s just… busy. A lot.”
“Busy being a figment of your imagination,” Jake chimed in, nudging Sarah with a smirk. “What’s he do, anyway? You said he’s a pilot or something? Like, what, crop dusters? Uber for skydivers?”
You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh. If only they knew Hal Jordan was a test pilot and, oh yeah, the Green Lantern, wielder of a power ring that could reshape reality itself. But you weren’t about to spill that tea.
“He flies planes, Jake. Not crop dusters. Real planes. You’d probably pee yourself if you saw one up close.”
“Pfft, sure,” Jake said, waving a hand. “I’ll believe it when I see this guy. Until then, you’re dating a ghost.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but a low, throaty rumble cut through the air, stealing everyone’s attention. Heads turned. Your heart did a little flip. There, pulling into the lot, was Hal, astride his sleek black motorcycle, the engine purring like a contented panther.
He was wearing that bomber jacket. The worn leather one that hugged his broad shoulders just right, the same one that made him look like he’d stepped out of a movie. His aviators glinted in the sunlight as he killed the engine and swung a leg over the bike, his movements smooth and infuriatingly confident.
Your friends froze, their banter dying mid-sentence. Sarah’s jaw was practically on the pavement. Jake blinked, looking like he’d just seen an alien.
“Is that…” Sarah started, her voice trailing off.
“Yup,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual, but the butterflies in your stomach were doing cartwheels.
Hal pulled off his helmet, shaking out his dark hair, and flashed you that lopsided grin that never failed to make your knees weak. He sauntered over, completely ignoring the gawking crowd of undergrads around you.
“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice low and teasing, the nickname a private joke that always made you blush. “Ready to ditch this popsicle stand?”
You laughed, handing him your bag. “You’re late, flyboy.”
“Blame the skies,” he said, winking. “Had to take a jet for a spin. You know, saving the world, one Mach 2 at a time.”
Your friends were still staring, and you could practically feel their brains short-circuiting. Hal’s eyes flicked over to them, and his grin turned mischievous.
“These the ones who think I’m your imaginary boyfriend?” he asked, loud enough for them to hear.
You groaned, cheeks heating. “Hal, don’t—”
“Oh, I’m definitely doing this,” he said, stepping closer to your group. He leaned against a nearby lamppost, all casual charm, and sized them up like he was sizing up a rookie pilot. “So, what’s the verdict? Crop duster? Stunt pilot? Or…” He smirked, pushing his sunglasses down his nose to peer at Jake. “Uber for skydivers?”
Jake sputtered, turning red. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, boy,” Hal said, chuckling. “I’m just messing with you. Gotta keep the fans entertained, right?” He glanced at Sarah, who was still staring like she’d been hit by a stun gun. “You okay there, princess? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Sarah snapped her mouth shut, muttering something incoherent. You covered your face with one hand, torn between embarrassment and amusement. Hal was eating this up, the showoff.
“Alright, alright,” you said, grabbing his arm. “You’ve had your fun. Can we go now?”
“Not quite,” Hal said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
Before you could react, he tugged you closer, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your face. Then he kissed you, like a man possessed. It was deep, unapologetic and hot enough to make the air around you feel like it was burning. You melted into him, your hands fisting in the leather of his jacket.
Somewhere behind you, Sarah let out a strangled squeak. Jake coughed like he’d swallowed his own tongue. Hal didn’t seem to notice, or care. When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed yours one last time, and he smirked, his eyes locked on yours.
“That real enough for you, kid?” he murmured, just for you.
You were too flustered to form words, managing only a nod. Hal chuckled, brushing a strand from your face.
“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the bike. “Let’s get outta here before your fan club starts taking pictures.”
You glanced back at your friends, who were still frozen in various states of shock and awe. Sarah’s eyes were wide as saucers, and Jake looked like he was rethinking his entire life.
“Uh… see you guys later?” you offered weakly.
They didn’t respond. Hal handed you his spare helmet, and you climbed onto the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. The engine roared to life, and as Hal peeled out of the lot, you couldn’t help but laugh, the wind whipping through your hair. You caught one last glimpse of your friends, still gawking, and you knew they’d be talking about this for weeks.
“So,” Hal called over his shoulder as you sped down the road, “how much you wanna bet they’re gonna start begging you for an invite to meet me properly?”
You grinned, pressing your cheek against his back. “Not a chance. You’re my secret weapon, Jordan. No sharing.”
He laughed, the sound warm and reckless. “That’s my girl.”
