you would start saying it to him as a joke, giving him a mock salute and a “yes, sir” to everything he said to get a reaction out of hal
truth be told, hal would usually hate it if anyone called him that. it made him feel older than he was, and the last time he’d ever heard the term ‘sir’ being thrown around was his time in the air force.
but something about a term so authoritative and assertive leaving those pretty lips of yours definitely got out a reaction from hal— just not the way you thought it would be
“yeah? you like it, angel?” hal panted, his hips repeatedly meeting the flesh of your ass and sending ruthless thrusts over and over with a grunt. “yeahhh i bet this pretty ass you do. milkin’ my dick dry, huh?”
your sounds were like melodies to him, muffled by the way your face was buried in the pillow. but still, you nodded frantically in the pillows. “uh huh— mph! so good, yes” you moaned before another thrust was sent to your pussy, but deeper and rougher.
“yes what? fuuuck” a moan slipped out of his lips, throwing his head back and gripping on your hips so tight you were sure there would be nail marks later. your pussy was taking him so well it made his head dizzy.
“say it again for me, baby. yes--" thrust. “what?” thrust.
“s-sir. yes sir.” you gasped mindlessly over and over, gripping onto the sheets and only focusing on how deep yet rough hal was in you. and to him, the lewd sounds of his cock dragging in and out of you mixed with your broken chants of “yes, sir” were music to his ears
“that’s right. that’s. fucking. right” hal groaned, lowering his chest to press on your back and lifting your head up to bring your lips into a messy, heavy kiss as he murmured in the kiss.
“shiiit, attagirl. gettin’ tighter minute by minute. you wanna cum for me baby? hm?”
“yes sir! yes sir— mph! please, wanna cum, sir — fuck! hal! haaaal!”
reverse cowgirl with you made hal more feral for you than he already was
i mean, can you blame him? he had front row seats to your ass repeatedly bouncing back from his hips, that arch from your back that made hal hit places in your pussy you didn’t know existed. that man was literally mesmerized by the grip your walls had around him, the lewd clap! clap! clap! sounds and some of your own bouncing off the walls. the entire thing was enough for him to get hard again
“haaal” you moaned, his hands on your hips pulling you back to bury more of his cock from behind, the rhythm of his length pulling out before slamming back in your pussy all at once was a feeling that made your cunt throb. “t-too much!”
“almost there, angel. you’re doing— so well” hal grunted with a thrust, eyes glued on how his cock was snug in you as he was leaning on the headboard. his military tag was hung on his neck, the intensity of his thrusts making the chain slightly bounce off his chest. “say my name from those pretty lips one more time”
with the way his thumbs were pressing on your back for more of your arch without moving his hands from your hips and his heavy balls slapping on your cunt, it didn’t take much for hal’s name to leave your lips like a chant
and god, it entered his ears like a melody he couldn’t get sick of.
hal bit his bottom lip to hold back a satisfied grin before a groan slipped out from your walls getting tighter and tighter. “cmon baby, give it to me” he panted, giving your ass a light smack of encouragement with the back of his hand.
the action made you whimper and clench around his cock tighter as a response, a choked moan leaving hal’s lips. “fuuuck, you’re gonna milk me dry at this point”
in short, you were a sight for sore eyes— a sight that hal jordan will never get sick of
—————————————————————————
masterlist!
(a/n: projects and work are KICKING my ass ugh and i only have two reqs left from the 2k event :(( will get to it over the weekend, promise! )
hal jordan and you accidentally switch bodies only for him to find out all the chronic pain you have ╱ 4.7k words. not sexual content but there's a boner, crack, bi hal jordan getting hinted ˚.✦
Of course, it was Hal's fault. It's always Hal's fault. His recklessness, his smugness and his cocky ass trying to look cool with a fucking ring that glows in the dark.
You've got paired up with him on a mission in a planet too far away from Earth to go for anyone with another powers. You and him were the perfect pair for the mission, if it wasn't for your personalities.
Always clashing, always bickering. Hal know exactly how to put you on your nerves and you know exactly how to piss him off. Every moment of the mission was an argument between you two.
Too busy arguing that you didn't even pay attention to how different that planet was, how purple-ish and dusty. Soon enough, both of you were covered in that weird purple dust that acted as an atmosphere there.
Even using Hal's powers to protect you from it, it made your nostrils close and have a terrible cough.
Luckily enough, you found a tiny cave to retreat before parting. If you weren't fighting, you would've admire how beautiful the cave was, how some icy-looking sticks were hanging from the ceiling and how good it smelled there. But then you find a cave lake with some milky-like water, with a cute pinkish color that you were too attracted to check out.
If only both of you didn't sink your hands inside the lake. If only you wouldn't have slapped Hal after a stupid comment. If only you wouldn't have fallen asleep instantly. If only, if only, if only.
You wake up first.
Not because you're a morning person (God knows you're not) but because your body feels... wrong in the best way possible. No ache in your lower back from that old training injury. No dull throb in your left knee that always flares up when the temperature drops. Your shoulders don't feel like someone's been using them as a punching bag for a decade. You stretch, and it's effortless, like your joints have been freshly oiled. Even your skin feels smoother, warmer, alive in a way it hasn't since your early twenties.
You blink up at the jagged ceiling of the cave, the icy stalactites catching faint violet light from outside. Then you look down.
Green. Lantern ring still glowing softly on your finger. Green suit hugging muscles that are definitely not yours. Broad chest. Strong thighs. Hal Jordan's stupidly perfect everything staring back at you from your own borrowed reflection in the milky-pink lake water.
"Oh... fuck me," you whisper, voice deep, unmistakably his.
A groan—your groan, but pitched lower and angrier—comes from the other side of the cave.
You turn.
There you are. Or rather, there your body is. Curled on its side, one arm wrapped protectively around the ribs like it's trying to hold itself together. Sweat already beads on your forehead. The face (your face) is twisted in pain, eyes screwed shut, breathing shallow and ragged.
Hal-in-your-body tries to push himself up on one elbow and immediately hisses through clenched teeth.
"What the fu—argh—shit! Why does everything hurt?!" His voice cracks on the last word. "Why does my—your—fuck, why does this body feel like it got hit by a truck and then the truck backed up?!"
He finally manages to sit, one hand braced on the stone floor, the other clutching at your (his now) sternum like he's having a heart attack.
You stand, and Jesus Christ the difference is obscene. No protest from your spine. No click in your hip. You feel strong. Powerful. Like you could bench-press a starfighter without breaking a sweat.
Hal's eyes (your eyes) finally focus on you. They go wide.
Then wider.
Then he screams.
Not a manly yell. Not even a startled shout.
A full-on, blood-curdling, horror-movie shriek that bounces off every stalactite in the cave.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! WHY AM I TINY?! WHY DO I HURT IN PLACES I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW COULD HURT?! WHY DO MY KNEES FEEL LIKE THEY'RE FULL OF BROKEN GLASS AND REGRET?!"
He scrambles backward until his back hits the cave wall, panting, wild-eyed, looking at his (your) hands like they've personally betrayed him.
You can't help it.
You laugh.
It's deep, rolling, Hal's laugh coming out of Hal's throat, and it only makes him more frantic.
"Don't—don't you dare laugh in my body, you asshole! This is your fault! This is definitely your fault!"
"My fault?" You gesture at yourself (at him). "You're the one who said 'c'mon, touch the creepy alien water, it'll be funny.'"
"I said it sarcastically!"
"You still touched it!"
"Because you slapped me first!"
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Hal. Focus. We're body-swapped. On an alien planet. With no backup for at least seventy-two hours. And your body," you gesture down at yourself "feels fucking incredible. Like I could run a marathon and then fight a war. Meanwhile you look like you're about to pass out from existing."
He glares up at you from your own exhausted face. "I have chronic pain, you dickhead. I have old fractures that never healed right. I have scar tissue in places scar tissue has no business being. I have—God, do you ever sleep? Why are my eyes so dry? Why is there a knot the size of a fist under my left shoulder blade?! Why are you still a superhero? HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?"
You crouch in front of him and for once you don't have to hide the wince. Because there is no wince.
"...I didn't know it was that bad," you say, quieter.
He looks away, jaw tight. Your jaw. "Yeah, well. You don't exactly advertise it. And you sure as hell don't complain about it."
A beat of silence. Just the soft drip-drip of condensation from the stalactites and the faint hum of the ring on your finger.
Then Hal mutters, "Your tits hurt."
You blink. "Excuse me?"
"They're... sore. Like, all the time. And your period is coming. I can feel it. It's like your spine is trying to secede from the union. Why didn't you warn me?!"
You stare at him. Then you start laughing again; helpless, wheezing, doubled over with Hal Jordan's lungs.
He throws a pebble at you. It bounces harmlessly off your chest.
"Stop enjoying this!"
"I can't help it!" you manage between breaths. "You're me right now and you're whining about my period like it's a war crime!"
"It feels like one!"
You wipe your eyes (his eyes) and sober up just enough to offer him a hand.
You and Hal spend the next few hours combing the cave system, or at least trying to.
You move ahead easily, Hal's body responding like it's been custom-built for this: sure-footed, strong, no hitch in your step even when the ground slopes sharply. The ring on your finger hums contentedly, as if it's happy to be worn by someone who isn't constantly fighting it with stubbornness.
Behind you, Hal stumbles every few steps. Your body protests loudly at every uneven rock, every dip, every breath of cold air. He keeps one hand pressed to his (your) lower back like he's trying to hold the spine in place. His face is pale, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed against the pain that's become background noise to you but is screaming symphony to him.
You find what looks like an ancient carving near the back wall: swirling symbols etched into the stone, surrounding a depiction of two figures touching hands over a pool that matches the milky-pink lake exactly. One figure glows green; the other... doesn't. Below it, more symbols that might be a warning, or instructions, or a grocery list for all you know.
"Think this is it?" you ask, tracing the lines with a finger.
Hal limps up beside you, leaning heavily against the wall. "Maybe. If we reverse whatever we did. Hands in the water again? Slap each other? Yell 'I wish I was me again' really loud?"
You snort. "Worth a shot. But last time we did that we passed out for hours. If it doesn't work, we're stuck like this until the extraction team shows up."
He nods, grim. Then winces as he shifts weight. "Jesus. How do you walk around like this every day? I feel like someone replaced my skeleton with rebar that's been bent wrong and then welded back together."
You glance at him. Really look. The sweat on your forehead, the way your shoulders hunch protectively, the shallow breathing. Things you've learned to ignore.
"I manage," you say quietly. "Always have."
He doesn't respond right away. Just stares at the carving, then down at his hands, flexing the fingers like he's testing if they're still attached.
You both kneel by the lake's edge again. The pinkish water ripples gently, reflecting your swapped faces back at you: Hal's sharp jawline and cocky smirk on your frame; your tired eyes and stubborn set to the mouth on his.
"Ready?" you ask.
He hesitates. Longer than he should.
"Hal?"
“No.”
Hal’s staring at you with your own eyes gone wide and shiny and determined in a way you’ve only ever seen when you’re about to do something monumentally stupid.
“No?” you repeat.
He takes one step back. Then another. “I’m not giving it back.”
You blink. “What are you not giving back?”
“Your body.”
A beat.
“WHAT? WHY?”
“CAUSE I DON’T WANT TO!” he yells, throwing both arms out like he’s declaring war on the universe.
“You hurt all the time! All the time! And I just spent half a day in here and I already want to set myself on fire! Your spine feels like it’s been through a woodchipper! Your hips click like a broken castanet! There’s a spot behind your left shoulder blade that’s been personally holding a grudge since 2017! I’m not sending you back to that! I’m keeping it! You can have this one!” He jabs a finger (your finger) at your chest. “It’s fine! It’s great! You’re welcome!”
You stare at him. He stares back. Your own face is doing the stubborn pout you hate seeing in mirrors.
Then he bolts.
He tries to, anyway.
He spins on your heel, takes three frantic steps toward the cave mouth (your shorter legs pumping, your bad knee buckling halfway) and you’re already moving.
Hal’s body covers the distance in two strides.
You scoop him up, one arm around your own waist, the other hooking under your own knees like he weighs nothing. Because to this body, he doesn’t.
He flails. “PUT ME DOWN!”
“Nope.” You pivot, still holding him bridal-style. “You just tried to steal my chronic pain like it’s a collectible Funko Pop. We’re talking now.”
He kicks. Your own foot connects harmlessly with Hal’s rock-hard thigh. “This is kidnapping! In my own body! That’s—that’s identity theft! Body theft! Theft theft!”
“You’re the one who said ‘I’m keeping it’ like we’re arguing over the last slice of pizza.”
He goes limp in defeat, head lolling back against your (Hal’s) shoulder. “I hate you.”
“You literally just tried to heroically sacrifice yourself to spare me pain. That’s the least Hal Jordan thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Shut up.”
You’re both breathing hard now. Him from the sprint-that-wasn’t, you from laughing so hard Hal’s perfect abs are cramping.
Then—because the universe has a sick sense of humor—the momentum carries you both forward. Your foot catches on a slick rock. You stumble. Hal yelps. And the next thing you know you’re both crashing to the cave floor in a tangle of limbs.
He lands on top of you.
Face-to-face.
Your body sprawled across Hal’s chest.
His (your) forehead smacks gently against Hal’s perfect jaw.
For one long, horrified second neither of you moves.
You can feel your own heartbeat—fast, thready, familiar—hammering against Hal’s ribcage.
He can feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, annoyingly heroic—thumping under your cheek.
You both freeze. Suddenly you feel something creep in your legs.
"What—what is that?"
Hal pressed his lips together tight. "Oh my god, you are having a boner!"
"I'M HAVING A WHAT?"
"Why are you having a boner right now, woman, I barely even touch you!"
“I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS!” you yell, shoving at his shoulders. “It just HAPPENED! I didn’t—I don’t—I’ve never—how does it even DO that?!”
He scrambles backward so fast he nearly falls into the lake again, hands flying up like he’s warding off evil spirits. “Get it away from me! Put it back in its holster!”
“It’s not a fighter jet, Hal! I can’t just—” You gesture wildly downward. The movement makes everything worse. The traitor in Hal’s pants gives an enthusiastic twitch like it’s personally offended by the rejection. You slap both hands over it like you’re trying to smother a live grenade. “STOP. MOVING.”
Hal’s jaw drops. Your jaw. The betrayal is visible. “Are you—are you palming my boner right now? In front of me?!”
“I’M TRYING TO MAKE IT GO AWAY!”
“By SQUEEZING IT?!”
“I DON’T KNOW HOW THESE THINGS WORK!” you shout, voice booming off the stalactites. “I’ve never had one! It’s like someone parked a steel pipe in my crotch and now it has its own opinions! It’s weird! It’s hot! It’s—why is it throbbing like it has a pulse?! Is this normal?!”
Hal buries your face in your (his) hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of secondhand embarrassment while inhabiting the body of the most repressed person in the galaxy.”
“I’m not repressed, I’m just normal! Female normal! We don’t get,” You make a helpless up-and-down gesture at the general pelvic region. “flagpoles! This thing has a mind of its own! It’s like it heard we were arguing and decided ‘yes, this is the moment’!”
Hal peeks through your fingers. “Did you… think about anything? Like, sexy thoughts? Because that’s usually how—”
“I WASN’T THINKING ABOUT ANYTHING SEXY!” Your volume hits new personal records. “I was thinking about how much I hate you and then we fell and now it’s—it’s awake! And angry! And I don’t know how to turn it off!”
Hal wheezes. It comes out high-pitched in your throat. “You’re panic-boning. You’re having a panic boner. In my body. Because we wrestled. This is the most heterosexual crisis I’ve ever been in.”
You groan and flop backward onto the cave floor, arms splayed, staring at the ceiling like maybe the stalactites will take pity and drop on you.
“It won’t stop,” you say to the universe at large. “It’s just… there. Staring at me. I can feel my own heartbeat in it. That can’t be right. That’s not supposed to happen.”
Hal crawls over cautiously, like approaching a live explosive and peers down at the situation like he’s doing damage assessment on a crashed jet.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Okay. Deep breaths. For both of us. You need to… distract it. Think unsexy thoughts.”
“Like what?!”
“Taxes. Your grandma’s feet. The time you walked in on Batman eating a banana.”
You try. You really do.
The traitor does not care about Batman’s potassium intake.
“It’s getting worse,” you report, horrified. “It heard Batman and now it’s… saluting harder.”
Hal makes a noise. “This has to be karma. I’ve spent years being smug about my equipment and now it’s betraying me via you.”
You sit up on your elbows, glaring at him with his own perfect green eyes. “Fix. It.”
“I can’t fix it from in here! You’re the one wearing it!”
“Then tell me what to do!”
He throws his hands up. “Cold water! Punch something! Recite the Green Lantern oath backward! I don’t know! I’ve never had to talk my own dick down from a ledge before!”
You glance at the milky-pink lake.
“Don’t you dare,” Hal says immediately.
You’re already moving.
“NO!”
Too late.
You scoop a handful of the glowing water and dump it straight into Hal’s crotch.
The cold hits like a slap from God.
The boner shrieks (metaphorically), retreats and basically yeets itself into hiding so fast you almost get whiplash from the deflation.
You gasp. “It’s gone! It’s gone. Holy shit, it’s gone.”
Hal stares at you, mouth open, your own face doing the most perfect fish-out-of-water impression you’ve ever seen.
“You just… baptized my dick in alien lake water.”
“Desperate times,” you mutter, wiping your hand on Hal’s perfect thigh like you can wipe away the memory.
A long silence.
Then Hal starts laughing. Helpless, wheezing, holding your sides like they’re going to split open from the force of it.
You join him.
You’re both cackling like lunatics on the floor of an alien cave, one of you cradling recently traumatized genitals, the other cradling recently traumatized pride, and neither of you can breathe.
“I hate this planet,” he mumbles between laughs.
“Same.”
When the laughter died, your stomachs were sore from laughing, he turned to you, and said, in a quieter tone:
“…I meant it, though. About not wanting you to hurt anymore.”
You swallow. Feel Hal’s throat work.
“I know.”
Another beat.
“But you’re still giving me my body back, asshole.”
He groans. “Fine. But only because if we stay swapped any longer I’m gonna have to deal with your period and I draw the line at wearing a tampon.”
You snort so hard Hal’s nostrils flare.
“Yeah, I'm also terrified of them.”
You both stay exactly where you landed, sprawled on the cool stone floor like two drunks who forgot how gravity works. Hal is propped against the wall now, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them like he’s trying to protect your ribcage from further betrayal. You are flat on your back a couple feet away, one arm flung over your eyes, the other hand still resting suspiciously close to the crotch region like you’re guarding against future mutiny.
The cave is quiet again except for the occasional drip from the stalactites and the soft, almost smug hum of the ring on your finger.
Hal breaks the silence first.
“So,” he says, voice scratchy in your throat. “On a scale of one to ‘we are never speaking of this again,’ how embarrassed are you right now?”
You don’t move your arm from your face. “I just gave your dick an ice bath in alien holy water because it decided to jump just from a touch of you. I’m at eleven. Maybe twelve.”
He snorts, which sounds unfairly cute coming out of your own mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m currently hosting what feels like the world’s angriest uterus and I’m pretty sure it’s plotting my murder. We’re even.”
You finally lower your arm and roll your head toward him. Hal’s eyes (your eyes) are doing that thing where they look tired and amused at the same time. It’s weird seeing your own expression aimed back at you like a mirror with attitude.
“You really were gonna keep my body,” you say. Not accusing. Just stating it.
He shrugs one shoulder, then immediately regrets it when your bad shoulder twinges.
“I mean. Yeah. For like… five dramatic seconds. Thought maybe if I suffered in your place for a while you’d finally take a goddamn vacation. Or at least stop pretending Advil is a personality trait.”
You stare at the ceiling. “That’s the stupidest, sweetest thing anyone’s ever tried to do for me.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m taking it back the second we figure out how.”
“Deal.”
A pause. Then he nudges your boot with his (your) foot.
“Hey.”
“What.”
“Be honest. How’s my body treating you?”
You flex your fingers, roll your shoulders, feel the smooth glide of everything. No grinding. No popping. Just power, coiled and waiting.
“Like I stole someone else’s cheat codes,” you admit. “I could probably do a backflip right now and not immediately regret every life choice.”
He makes a low, appreciative noise. “Told you. Prime real estate.”
You smirk—his smirk, cocky and devastating. “Yeah, but the dick's kind of high-maintenance. Keeps trying to salute at the worst possible moments.”
Hal groans and drops his forehead onto his (your) knees. “Lets not mention your girlboner ever again.”
You laugh again, quieter this time. It rumbles deep in Hal’s chest and feels… nice. Too nice.
He peeks up at you through your own lashes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe a little.”
“You’re literally wearing my face and you’re flirting with me in it. That’s next-level narcissism.”
“Says the guy who just tried to body-jack me out of chivalry.”
“Chivalry,” he repeats, tasting the word like it’s suspicious. “Is that what we’re calling reckless self-sacrifice now?”
“Only when it’s stupid and hot.”
He freezes.
You freeze.
The cave somehow gets quieter.
Hal clears your throat. “Did you just—”
“Nope.”
“You said ‘hot.’”
“I said ‘stupid and hot.’ There’s a difference.”
He slowly pushes himself up a little straighter, wincing as your spine reminds him it exists. “So you think sacrificing myself to spare you pain is… hot.”
You sit up too, elbows on your knees, leaning forward. Hal’s body moves like it was born for dramatic leans.
“I think you being willing to suffer chronic pain for me, even for five seconds, is the most Hal Jordan thing you’ve ever done. And yeah. It’s… objectively attractive.”
He blinks at you with your own eyes. They look huge and startled and maybe a little glassy.
Then he laughs. “You’re hitting on me in my body. While I’m wearing yours. This is the most fucked-up foreplay in the history of the universe.”
You grin, all teeth and confidence. “You started it. You said my tits hurt like you were doing me a favor by noticing.”
“They do hurt. I’m doing heroic work right now just sitting here.”
“Mm. My hero.”
He rolls your eyes so hard you’re worried they’ll get stuck. But the corner of your mouth (his mouth now) twitches upward.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters.
“Takes one to know one.”
Another stretch of quiet. Not awkward, exactly. More like… charged. Like the air before a storm you both know is coming.
Hal finally speaks again, quieter. “When we switch back… you’re gonna let me help. For real. Not just ‘here’s a heating pad, bye.’ I mean actually let me carry some of it. Even if it’s just yelling at you to take a day off.”
You study him through Hal’s perfect vision. The stubborn set to your jaw. The faint worry lines you pretend aren’t there. The way your hands are clenched like you’re still bracing for impact.
“…Maybe,” you say.
He narrows your eyes. “Not maybe. Say yes.”
You sigh, long and dramatic in his lungs. “Fine. Yes. But only if you admit you were trying to flirt with me five minutes ago when you said my body was ‘fine’ and ‘great’ like you were selling me a used car.”
Hal’s cheeks (your cheeks) go faintly pink.
“…Shut up,” he mumbles, looking away.
You laugh again, softer.
He glances back at you, small crooked smile on your lips. “You’re still sitting there looking like a goddamn action figure. It’s unfair.”
“And you’re still sitting there looking like you’re about to fight the entire universe for me. Also unfair.”
He huffs. “We’re idiots.”
“Certified.”
A beat.
Then, because apparently neither of you can help it:
“…Wanna try the lake thing?” he asks.
You glance at the pink water. “Only if we agree: no slapping, no running, no boners, no attempted body theft.”
“Deal.”
You both stand; him slowly, carefully, you like you were poured into the suit this morning.
He holds out your hand.
You take it.
“On three,” you say.
“One,” he answers.
“Two.”
You both look at each other, one last stupid look.
“Three.”
Hands plunge into the water together.
Nothing happens.
Of course nothing happens.
You both groan in perfect unison.
“Figures,” Hal mutters.
You squeeze his hand (your hand) before letting go.
“…Guess we’ve got another seventy-two hours of this.”
He smirks with your mouth. “Guess we do.”
The pinkish glow from the lake paints everything in surreal light, like the whole cave decided to turn romantic without asking permission. Your hands dripping, shoulders almost touching. The failed ritual hangs between you like damp air.
Neither of you moves to stand.
Hal lets out a long, slow breath that makes your chest rise and fall in a way you’re not used to seeing from the outside. He’s staring at the rippling surface like it personally owes him an apology.
You tilt your head toward him.
“How awkward,” you say, voice low and rough in his timbre, “will it be to kiss you while you have my face?”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink right away.
Just turns slowly, your own eyes meeting Hal’s eyes. They look… unguarded. Tired. A little amused. A little terrified.
“Very awkward,” he answers immediately, like he’s been waiting for the question. His voice cracks halfway through, your voice doing that thing it does when you’re trying not to sound affected. “Like… kissing a mirror that kisses back. And also has my stupid smirk. And also might bite.”
You huff a laugh through Hal’s nose. “Romantic.”
“The height of romance.” He shifts closer anyway. One careful inch. Then another. Your bad knee protests the angle and he winces, but doesn’t pull back. “Also, full disclosure: your lips are chapped. I can feel it. You need to stop biting them when you’re stressed.”
“You’re literally me right now. You don’t get to body-shame me.”
“I’m giving constructive feedback. From the inside.”
You roll his perfect eyes. “Noted.”
Silence again. Thicker now. The drip-drip from the stalactites sounds louder, like the cave itself is holding its breath.
He swallows. You watch your own throat work.
“Would you?” he asks, quieter. “If it wasn’t awkward. If we weren’t… this.” He gestures between your swapped bodies with a vague wave of your hand. “Would you want to?”
You study him. Really study him. The stubborn tilt to your own mouth. The faint flush creeping up your neck that you usually hide under collars or sarcasm. The way your lashes dip when you’re nervous, like right now.
“Yeah,” you say. Simple. No sarcasm. No deflection. “I would.”
His breath catches.
Then he laughs, soft and shaky. “Goddamn it. Of course you’d say that when I look like this. When I feel like roadkill and you look like a recruitment poster.”
“You still look like you,” you tell him. “Same eyes. Same stupid stubborn expression. Same ‘I’m about to do something reckless for someone I care about’ face.”
He looks down at the water. Then back up at you.
“Fuck it.”
He leans in first.
You meet him halfway.
It’s not graceful. Your heights are wrong (his borrowed body is taller, broader) so you have to duck a little while he has to tip his head back. Your noses bump. His (your) chapped lips catch on Hal’s smoother ones.
There’s a second where everything feels hilariously, mortifyingly off: the wrong jaw angle, the unfamiliar pressure of stubble against your own borrowed skin, the way your heartbeat (his heartbeat) is suddenly thunder in both chests at once.
Then you both adjust.
And it clicks.
His hand finds the back of Hal’s neck, fingers threading into short hair that feels like yours but smells like his shampoo. Your hand cups the side of your face, thumb brushing over the cheekbone you’ve hated in mirrors for years.
It’s still awkward. Of course it is.
But it’s also warm. And careful. And stupidly tender.
You pull back just enough to breathe. Both of you breathing hard through the wrong lungs.
Hal speaks first, voice wrecked in your throat. “That was…”
“Very awkward,” you finish for him.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Then, quieter: “And really fucking good.”
You grin. “Told you this body is fucking amazing.”
He groans and drops his forehead harder against yours. “Shut up. I’m having an identity crisis and a sexuality crisis at the same time. Give me a second.”
You chuckle, low and warm. Your free hand slides down to rest over his still pressed to your cheek.
“Take all the seconds you want,” you murmur. “We’ve got seventy-two hours.”
He huffs a laugh against your mouth. Then kisses you again. Slower this time. Less bump, more deliberate.
hal wore his green lantern ring on his middle finger on his right hand. a symbol of his duty, the power he holds, and the mantle of the greatest green lantern of all time.
but ever since the two of you finally tied the knot and got married, he now wore the wedding on his left hand. two rings, two hands, one man. one represented everything he was before you, and the other represented everything he is now and forever, with you.
hal wore it proudly anywhere and anytime, showing off the fact that he was happily married, not to just anyone— but you. the only time he ever rarely took it off, was when he had duties as green lantern. he’d put it away somewhere safe, as taking it to the battlefield was too much of a risk for him to take. and when it came to you, he promised himself that he’d never take any unnecessary risks.
and not only did he admire the wedding ring on his hand, but your hand too. he’d link his hand with yours, thumb absentmindedly brushing the ring in circles. hal would have you outstretch your hand, just so he could see the sun catching your ring beautifully.
he also wanted you to wear the ring in public, too. so he wouldn’t have to worry about other guys approaching you and that they’d know that you’re off limits. he also let you pick the ring— and it made him feel as if he’s carrying a piece of you with him wherever he goes, just because you picked it.
tw: cursing, other than that though just fluff.
pairings: boyfriend!hal jordan x female reader.
"Shit!" You winced as you dropped your spoon back into your bowl of soup, softly fanning your lips.
Hal looked up from his dinner, looking over at you. "Are you okay, sweetheart? What happened?"
You sighed as you softly touched the pads of your fingertips to your lips. "I'm fine. I just burned my lips on the soup. I didn't realize it was that hot."
He let out a soft chuckle as he got up out of his chair, circling the kitchen table to stand in front of you. He squatted down in front of you, gently running his hands up and down your thighs. "I'm sorry, babe. I should have warned you that it was still pretty hot."
"You did this to me!" You playfully accused as you pointed your finger at him.
"And I will regret burning your perfect, pretty, kissable lips for the rest of my life. Not a day will go by that I won't feel guilty for this." He looked up at you with with puppy eyes. "How can make you forgive me for this horrible act?"
"Kiss it better?" You asked with a small giggle.
"Now that I can do." Hal said with a big grin as he leaned up to press a soft, loving kiss on your lips. He groaned into the kiss before pulling away. "God, I could never get tired of those pretty lips."
summary: in hopes that it will help you decompress from work, you've taken on jogging at your local park in the evening. after a brief misunderstanding, you find that you might end up with something better.
It’s a Thursday just after dusk, and you lace up your shoes for the nightly jog routine you’ve adopted since starting your new desk job. The air is cool, tinged with the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. You slip on your headphones, the low thump of bass greeting you, and ease through a series of stretches, each muscle uncoiling after hours spent seated. Tonight you’ve chosen the tougher loop, craving the burn in your lungs to counterbalance the frustration that builds whenever you recall your bumbling coworkers.
You step off the pavement and onto the winding trail through the park. Overhead, amber streetlamps cast long shadows between the trees. In the distance, a youth soccer match drones on under floodlights, the shouts and cheers slicing through your music. Along the edges, families gather up strollers and blankets, their voices mingling with the distant hum of cars on the nearby road.
Rounding the first bend, your feet strike the gravel with a steady rhythm. You sink into the warmth of your playlist as crisp wind rustles the branches overhead, and you taste it on your lips. Spring is just beginning to settle in.
A few minutes later, you sense you’re not alone. The hairs on your neck prick. You glance over your shoulder and spot a lone figure—tall, silhouette rimmed by lamplight—matching your pace a dozen yards behind. His jog is smooth, unhurried. You study him for a moment: dark hoodie, hands tucked low. Nothing overtly threatening, yet your stomach twists.
You push off a little harder, picking up speed as gravel sprays behind you. You tell yourself the park is public; other runners aren’t unusual. Surely he’ll veer off or slow down. The night feels too open for stealth.
But around the next bend, there he is again, only closer. You sense his presence in your peripheral vision, a quiet thud of his steps mirroring yours. A flash of lamplight glints on something in his raised hand, causing your pulse to throb in your ears.
Panic flares. Your mind races through possibilities: a taser’s barrel, the cold edge of a knife, maybe a cloth soaked in knock-out gas. You can almost feel his intent drawing tight around you; the pack of adrenaline in your veins makes your heart hammer like a drum.
You surge forward, planting each stride heavier, angling toward the park’s center where a handful of late-stayers still linger. Someone will hear a scream. Branches whip at your arms, and your lungs burn, but you welcome the pain. You hear him accelerate too, the soft crunch of his shoes behind you growing louder, closer, his heat brushing past you in the chill air, and you pray one of those scattered families or stray joggers looks back in time to save you.
You know this is your chance to get one on him, and you quickly whirl around and deck him in the face, making his head turn and something drop out of his hands.
Your something, actually. Or rather, your apartment building pass that lets you go home, you know, something very important.
He bent over, pressing both hands to his knees, blinking at you through the shock. “Jesus,” he managed, voice muffled and thick. “You decked me.”
Horror dawns on you as you realize his intentions were innocent. Your hands flutter in the air between you, mortification heating your cheeks. "Oh god, are you okay? I'm so sorry—I didn't—it's just that I've been binging these murder documentaries lately and I thought—"
He straightened, rubbing his jaw, lips twisted in amusement that softened the swelling. He watched you for a moment, measuring you, then burst into a laugh that was bright and unreasonably forgiving. “No harm done,” he said, still grinning despite the bruise already blooming under his skin. “I guess I deserved that for chasing you through a public park in the dark.”
You tried to laugh, but it snagged in your chest. “I just—there’s been a lot of—” You hesitated, unwilling to say the words true crime out loud, as if it would curse you further. “I’m really sorry. That was… not the appropriate response.”
He shrugged, stooping to pick up the fallen pass, holding it out to you between two knuckles. “You sure about that? Looked pretty appropriate from here.” He smiled again, a full, crinkled smile that made his eyes wrinkle at the corners, and you found yourself smiling back in spite of yourself.
You accepted the pass, the moment of physical contact both transactional and jarring. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.” You shook your head, half in disbelief, half in apology.
“It’s okay. I’m Hal. Hal Jordan.” edges of humor softening his tone. “But honestly, I respect a woman who can defend herself.” He extended his hand, this time in a gesture of truce instead of transaction. Tentatively, you shook it, feeling the heat of his skin and the steadiness of his grip.
You stood there for a moment, both at a loss, the park suddenly feeling much smaller and much stranger than before. The voices of the families and teens filtered in, grounding you, and you found yourself exhaling the last of your panic.
“I really am sorry,” you said again, quieter this time. “I guess I’m a little jumpy.”
He grinned, gently massaging his jaw. “If it makes you feel better, I get it. The world’s a freakshow these days. I’d have done the same.”
You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe you hadn’t just made the local neighbor news by the morning. Still, you managed a shaky laugh. “Let me buy you a coffee sometime. Or an ice pack.”
He tilted his head, considering. “Deal. But only if you let me walk you the rest of the way home. For safety’s sake.”
You hesitated, then nodded, the tension draining from your shoulders. Together you started down the path, the thud of your steps gentler now, less adversarial. The park was almost empty; even the soccer kids had gone, leaving scattered cleat marks and candy wrappers in their wake.
“So,” you said, finding your rhythm beside him, “what’s your story, Hal Jordan? You always chase women down in the dark?”
He chuckled. “Only the ones who drop their security passes. And only if they outrun me, which, by the way, is impressive.”
The conversation unspooled, awkward at first, then warming. You learned he’d moved from Boston, that he liked running at night because it made him feel less like a lab rat on a treadmill. He learned you’re also new to the area and that your family was a state away, that you missed your old apartment but not your old roommate.
By the time they reached your street, the panic of the earlier encounter had faded into the kind of embarrassment that made for a decent anecdote, rather than a sleepless night.
At your door, you paused, turning the pass over in your fingers. “Thanks again,” you said, voice soft enough that you doubted he’d hear it.
He did. “Anytime. Just next time, don’t hit so hard? Well, you should if you think you’re in danger again, just try not to hit me.”
You smiled, genuine this time, and offered a small salute. He returned it, then jogged off into the dark.
Inside, you collapsed against the door, the rush of safety and shame colliding in your chest. You reached for your phone to text your best friend, to confess the story before someone else could twist it. As you typed, you realized your hands had finally stopped shaking. The park outside was silent, empty, and for the first time all week, you felt something like relief.
You made a mental note to delete your true crime podcast queue, or at least to stop listening after sunset. Maybe, too, you’d give Hal a chance. If nothing else, you owed him a decent cup of coffee.
You slept better that night, the world outside your window shifting from a threat to a possibility, your dreams bright with the memory of running not from, but toward.
a/n: two months late, and cut short, but here it is, since i promised to clear out my drafts for my birthday! idk what it is about hal that i almost always have a difficult time finishing stories with him. i wanted to write about a morning date, and maybe you taking care of him once you see you really got him good, but that's not what happened, so sorry about that!
thank you for all of your love and support, and thank you so much for your likes, comments and reblogs. i hope you have an incredible day, i love you, and here's a kiss from me to you! 😘💕
Requested by Anonymous: friends to lovers with Hal Jordan with accidental kisses
Pairing: Hal Jordan x fem!reader
Summary: After accidentally kissing your friend Hal Jordan, you're saved by Green Lantern and realize that your relationship is special.
Warnings: one trauma joke ab Hal's dad, fluff, reader is injured by a villain that hasn't been in a comic in over a decade, panic attack, many kisses, kind of a 3+1 fic
Word Count: 3.5k+ words
Masterlist | DC/Hal Jordan Masterlist | Request Info
“You’re late,” you muse when you hear your front door open.
“I know,” your best friend Hal replies. “There was a crash at work, and I couldn’t get out on time.”
You stop what you’re doing, drop the wooden spoon from your hand into the bowl, and turn slowly to face Hal. He hides a smile at your reaction; you can tell because his cheek hollows when his tongue presses against it.
“Are you okay?” you inquire.
Hal lets his smile appear as he replies, “I’m sorry.”
“Answer the question, Hal.”
“I’m fine,” he assures you, walking into the kitchen to hold your arms. “Everyone is fine.”
Nodding, you turn away from him and feel his hands slip from you. When you first met Hal, you worried every time he mentioned work. Test flying planes and experimental aircraft is not the safest job in the world, but Hal is good at it. So, over the years, you’ve learned to trust him more. As a result, you worry less. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear about bad things, though, and the thought that it could have been him who crashed clouds your mind.
“What did you do today?” Hal inquires as he shrugs out of his jacket.
“Not much,” you answer. “Cooked a full meal for you and then thought you stood me up, so, the usual.”
Hal rolls his eyes at your teasing, then tosses his jacket onto a nearby chair and returns to your side.
“Thank you,” he says. “And I mean it.”
“Do you not usually?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.
Hal tilts his chin in thought, then admits, “Depends.”
“Hey when you fly tomorrow, be sure and check the ignition sequence and do the gyro calibrations.”
“Stop trying to talk shop with me,” Hal pleads. “How ‘bout you tell me about how you do your hair or something, anything less painful.”
“You’re just mad because I know more about flux capacitors than you.”
Hal groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. You laugh beneath him as you turn the knob on the stove to turn the burner off.
“If you’re done being dramatic, can you grab the plates?” you request.
“Dramatic?!” Hal exclaims. “I have never, not once in my life been dramatic. Not since 1993, at least.”
“Trauma jokes aren’t always funny, Hal,” you chide, “but that one wasn’t bad.”
“I bet you’d laugh at the Flash’s trauma jokes,” Hal murmurs as he reaches over your head to get two plates from your cabinet.
“Hey, I need to go shopping this weekend, wanna come with?” you invite as you serve yourself and Hal.
“As riveting as that sounds, I already have plans,” Hal deadpans.
“Okay, I’ll ask my neighbor to tell me how the jeans fit.”
“On second thought,” Hal interjects, turning toward you with his finger raised.
Shaking your head, you place Hal’s plate by the seat that has become his and sit beside him. He’s your friend, but teasing him about hanging out with other people – other men, specifically – riles him up in a way you can’t resist.
A crash sounds in the distance as you take the first bite of dinner, and within ten seconds, Hal’s phone chimes. He taps the screen, reads the message, and looks up at you with an apology ready.
“Go,” you say, smiling. “I’ll pack up the leftovers if you get off work again any time soon.”
Hal sighs and pushes up from his seat. He leans toward you to kiss your cheek, but you turn toward him at the last minute, expecting him to wish you a sarcastic farewell, and your lips meet. Time freezes, and all you can feel or think of is Hal’s lips against yours. Friends kiss sometimes, right? you think rather than let yourself realize how right it feels.
You exhale and move back, keeping your gaze on Hal’s widened eyes as he clears his throat. His hand is flat against the table and only inches remain between you.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I didn’t know you were-“
“Going for your cheek, yeah,” Hal finishes. “Sorry.”
“Uh, be- be safe, okay?” you stutter. “We’ll talk.”
“Later, yeah, we’ll talk later,” he agrees, walking backward toward the door.
“Hal, wait,” you call.
He stops, and his brows raise as he leans toward you.
“Your jacket,” you remind him, pointing to the back of the chair.
Hal shakes his head and murmurs, “Oh, right,” as he snatches it up. “Bye.”
After he leaves, Green Lantern flies across the sky, and you raise your fingers to your lips, forgetting about dinner.
It was accidental, you remind yourself. Pull it together; he was going for your cheek. Like a friend. Because that’s what you are.
Days after your accidental kiss, you exit your bedroom with one thing on your mind: Justice League-themed breakfast drinks. You aren’t sure why Coast City’s most popular tea and coffee chain decided to create teas and coffees based on superheroes. After scrolling through too many copycat recipes last night, you want to try one.
The television in your living room is on, though you don’t remember leaving the volume on. Shrugging, you enter the kitchen and look through your cabinets to gather ingredients before you open the fridge.
“… A spokesperson says Ferris Aircraft pilot Hal Jordan ejected in time and no one was injured,” a reporter says. “There will be a press conference Friday afternoon regarding the company’s future and the Air Force’s decisions on acquiring the latest Ferris technology.”
You push the fridge closed and look into the living room. Someone moves in the shadow of the television light, and your heart thumps harder in your chest. They move toward the doorway, and you raise a carton of milk as the shadow moves something between their arms.
As he steps into the kitchen, Hal pulls his shirt over his head, then immediately raises his hands in surrender.
“Put the milk down,” he requests slowly.
“What-“ you begin before your eyes drop quickly to Hal’s exposed chest. “You- the-“
“Deep breath,” Hal advises. “Can I finish putting this shirt on without getting hit by that milk?”
You swallow and lift your gaze back to Hal’s face. He smiles and grips the bottom of his shirt to yank it downward.
“You look disappointed,” he muses. “Want me to take it off again?”
“Shut up,” you grumble, setting the milk on the counter. “You didn’t tell me you had to eject from the plane.”
“It was an accident,” he responds. “That’s all.”
“You…” With your eyes on the counter, you say, “You’re a good pilot, Hal. This kind of stuff isn’t supposed to happen to you.”
“It happens to everybody,” he reminds you. “I’m fine, I promise. Now, what are you making?”
Your mind clears, something which occurs often when Hal is around, and you turn toward him. Crossing your arms over your chest, you say, “I don’t think I want to tell you.”
“Ooh,” he breathes out, smiling as he leans against the counter beside you. “It must be embarrassing.”
“You know, you’re missing some really good cartoons, and I think Channel 7 is showing-“
“You think you’re funny,” Hal interrupts, dropping his head against his shoulder.
“I think I’m adorable,” you correct. “And I’m not telling you what I’m making because you’ll make fun of me.”
“Me? Make fun of you? I’d never.” Hal shifts so his weight rests on his hip, propped against the counter, before he adds, “That’s what friends are for.”
“Friends, right,” you murmur, twisting the food coloring package so you can see it.
“Can I have one?” Hal inquires.
“I’m not making them,” you say through a laugh. “Not until you leave. You do still have a home, right?”
Hal looks around, then says, “This place is pretty homey, and I distinctly remember you saying, ‘Make yourself at home, Hally-Wally.’”
You lift one brow and point out, “I have never – and will never – call you Hally-Wally.”
“Let’s make a wager,” Hal announces.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious.”
Hal doesn’t say anything else. He looks at you, so you sigh and ask, “What wager?”
“If I win, you make us whatever you're wanting to make. If you win, you get to pick something to call me for a week – appropriate, inappropriate, stupid, whatever you want.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Wait, what’s the wager? What are we doing to win?”
Hal smiles. “We’re going to fight.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh,” Hal says, moving back as if surprised. “I didn’t realize you were scared.”
“I’m not scared, I just know you’d win.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the confidence, but we have to do something.”
“No, we don’t! You can just go home.” After you say it, you realize you don’t actually know why Hal is in your apartment. Or why he was changing clothes in your living room.
“C’mon,” Hal whispers. “Live a little.”
You sigh and rub the side of your palm gently across your forehead. “Fine. But if I win, you have to take me on another desert drive.”
“Deal,” Hal says, extending his hand.
“And do donuts,” you add.
Hal nods, and you take his hand. After he shakes it once, Hal uses your joined hands to pull you forward. As you fall toward the ground, you grab Hal’s arm with your free hand and bring him down with you. On the floor of your apartment, you move your shoulders, attempting to get out from underneath Hal. You knew before you agreed it would be hard, if not impossible, to defeat Hal in a fight. Granted, it’s not a real fight, and there are no rules, so you move your hand to Hal’s side and dance your fingers along his serratus anterior.
“No,” Hal grunts, jerking sideways.
You roll with him, landing against his side and pushing up onto your elbow. Reaching across his chest, you try to pull his other arm across him, but Hal fights against your movement. He leans away from you so you reach higher. When Hal leans up, planning to hook his leg between yours to flip you once more, his jaw brushes against yours. You stop, and Hal slows. His lips press against the corner of your mouth, and yours are on his cheek because of the angle caused by your failed roughhousing. How you accidentally kissed Hal twice in one week isn’t clear, but the world around you seems to slow.
“Sorry,” you whisper against his cheek.
“My fault,” he answers, unconsciously moving his lips against yours.
You lean back onto your heels and wait for Hal to sit up.
“Call it a draw?” he inquires, reaching forward to straighten your shirt.
“I’ll, uh, I can make the drinks,” you offer. “If you want to stay.”
“Sure,” Hal says with a nod. “And thanks for telling me it’s a drink.”
You stand and walk toward the kitchen. “It’s the Green Lantern latte.”
Hal smiles as he watches you go, wondering if he’d be pressing his luck by asking if you like Green Lantern or are just thirsty.
The Ferris Aircraft cafeteria is never busy. You visit Hal at work a few times a month or so, usually over lunch, and you’ve never seen more than twenty people in the space at one time. Today, you ignore the other people sitting at the wing-shaped tables and watch the door. Hal texted that he was running late and you have a joke ready to go about how much time he spends admiring himself in the mirror.
When the door swings open, however, your smile drops. A large, dark-haired man dressed in a blue and gold overcoat enters the cafeteria with an umbrella hooked over his wrist.
“Live and let live, people!” he yells, cracking his knuckles as he looks around the room. “Anyone in here been struck by lightning?”
No one answers, and the man shakes his head. He points at a Ferris Aircraft employee using his phone beneath the table, and a lightning bolt extends from his pointer finger. The phone sparks before it falls to the floor, and a woman whimpers as she sinks in her seat.
“I suggest you start talking,” the man demands. “If you’re staying quiet to save your life, there is no need. I’m not here for you, I’m here for them.”
He points to the flight control tower and a black storm cloud forms above it.
“What do you want?” someone asks.
“Carl Ferris designed an indestructible fighter jet. I want the prototype.”
“It was destroyed!”
“You really believe that?” he challenges.
The room falls silent, and his jaw tenses. The sky outside darkens, and thunder rumbles loudly, rattling the tables and chairs. Gripping your seat, you watch the man.
“That kind of thing can’t be safe,” you call. “It wouldn’t be easy to find, if it even exists anymore.”
Turning toward you slowly, the man muses, “You seem to know a lot about it.”
“Just-“ you interrupt yourself with a swallow. “Just common sense, I think. It sounds dangerous and there’s so many regulations on military-grade weapons.”
“Then use that common sense to tell me where it might be.”
“I have no idea; I don’t even work here!”
“So, you don’t fly?”
“No.”
The man runs his tongue over his top lip. “I’m Major Disaster. What’s your name?”
You whisper your name, and he walks toward you, leaning against the opposite side of your table.
“Lightning strikes are dangerous. The last one I felt wiped parts of my memory, made it harder to do what I’m good at-“
“Villainy?” someone interjects flatly.
You keep your eyes on Major Disaster, but he turns quickly.
“Green Lantern,” he seethes. “It’s too late. I know what I deserve, and I’m going to take it.”
Green Lantern shrugs, then says, “No, you’re not.”
Major Disaster points to you and says, “She can’t fly.”
“Neither can you, if memory serves,” Green Lantern replies. “Although, I guess yours doesn’t, does it?”
Green Lantern flies out of the way of a sudden lightning bolt. As the sky becomes pitch black outside, several employees run toward the exit and into the hallway.
“I know who you are!” Major Disaster roars.
“You knew who I am, Paul,” Green Lantern replies. “Still just causing chaos. Not quite the life you wanted, huh?”
Major Disaster stops suddenly and turns toward you. You scramble off your seat, but Major Disaster extends his arms toward you, and a strong gust of wind pins you against the wall.
Green Lantern forms a transparent green train and knocks Major Disaster off his feet, but the hurricane-force wind continues to hold you in place.
“You want a plane, you’re going to have to build it yourself,” Green Lantern growls as he kicks Major Disaster to keep him down. “Clear the sky and I’ll let you walk out of here with your dignity.”
Major Disaster laughs and leans against Green Lantern’s foot. “What dignity? How am I supposed to build a plane that stands up to what I can do?”
Green Lantern looks at you and notices that you’re struggling to breathe with increased pressure on your chest. Major Disaster uses his loss of focus to knock Green Lantern off of him and onto one of the tables.
“You can fly, GL,” Major Disaster says, his coat fluttering in his created breeze. “I can fly. She can’t. So, I’ll give you a choice. Help me find my plane, or she takes a little flight.”
“I don’t make deals with psychopaths, Paul,” Green Lantern replies, holding his ringed hand out before him.
Major Disaster clicks his tongue, then sweeps his arms from right to left. The wind holding you in place shifts, and the glass windows shatter before you’re tossed out of them. Carried up on a wind vortex, you scream and wave your hands wildly, attempting to find anything to catch yourself with.
Major Disaster yells as he Green Lantern shoves him into the concrete runway, then silences. He loses consciousness, and his weather clears. The sky shines a bright blue, the clouds fade over the horizon, and the wind holding you up calms in a single breath. Suddenly, your yells of fear turn to a continuous, terrified scream as you freefall toward the earth. Your head spins as your chest heaves, though your lungs feel completely devoid of oxygen. Closing your eyes, you anticipate you’ll never open them again, but warm arms wrap around you, and you stop. You move quickly, pressing one hand against the firm chest you’re being held against.
Opening your eyes, you see Green Lantern holding you and lowering slowly toward the ground. Your breaths remain short and uneven, and when he drops one arm to set you on the ground, you cling to Green Lantern like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded – literally and figuratively.
“Hey,” he murmurs, keeping one hand around your waist as the other moves to the back of your head. “Uh, miss? Take a deep breath.”
“He- I-“ you stutter before struggling to take another breath.
“C’mon, focus, breathe with me,” he encourages.
You shake your head, too panicked to even consider watching his breaths to imitate them, and he tightens his grip on you.
Without much thought, he pulls you against him. Green Lantern kisses you, and with your lips pressed firmly to his, you forget about the fear and the panic and freeze at the sudden attention.
He pulls back almost immediately, apologizes, asks if you’re okay, waits for you to nod, and then flies away. You turn, panting for breath, and watch the green streak fade into the blue sky.
“Hal Jordan,” you whisper before you run toward the approaching police cars.
Hal paces on a rooftop, tapping his fist against his forehead as he thinks. He replays the kiss, sees the look in your eyes again, and berates himself for ruining everything. You froze when Hal kissed you because he overstepped and didn’t think. He was running on adrenaline, relieved that he caught you and needed you to breathe, but there were other ways to deal with all of those things. It wasn’t an intentional kiss, even if the feelings behind it were.
“Stop accidentally kissing your friends, Hal,” he tells himself. “Friend! Singular. Don’t make this a habit or Barry will never let you live it down.”
Hal’s ring grows brighter, and he sighs before he follows its beckoning call.
“Green Lantern!”
Hal turns away from his incapacitated foe and says, “I’m sorry.”
You don’t reply, running toward him. He apologizes again as you near him, but you remain silent. When you reach him, you slide your hands up his chest and onto his shoulders. He holds your waist and watches you.
“Are you-“ he begins.
You kiss Hal, interrupting his question and changing everything. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed him, but it’s the first time you’ve meant it and done it on purpose to show him how you feel. Hal is your friend, but you’ve felt more for years, and after kissing Green Lantern today and feeling the emotions behind how he touched you, you’re sure this is the right thing to do.
The accidental kisses made the world still but this kiss is different. Hal raises one hand to your cheek, moving with you as the world shatters. You only know Hal in this moment, and he is all you will ever want or need.
Hal pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for once in his life, Hal stays quiet.
“Let’s make a wager,” you whisper.
“You already know my secret identity, what could we possibly bet?”
“I think there’s a lot more options now that we aren’t friends who kiss on accident.”
“Oh, we’re lovers now?” he jokes.
“I do have a crush on Green Lantern,” you reply with a smile.
“He might like you, too.”
“Might?!” you repeat incredulously. “That’s how it is?”
Hal shrugs, and a green light flashes on your wrist before a charm bracelet appears. The links are decorated with little planes, green gems, coffee cups, and a heart.
“That’s how it is,” he says.
“What now?”
Hal smiles and holds you against his side as he pushes off the ground and shoots upward into the sky. You wrap your arms around him tightly, focusing on Hal rather than Coast City growing smaller beneath you.
Hal lands in the desert, where his car is parked, and his suit disappears.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. “Again.”
“On accident?” you ask, stepping toward the car. “Because I was wrongly distracted when we were fighting for drifting in the sand.”
Hal disappears, and you raise your brows before you feel him standing behind you. He puts his hand on your waist and turns you to face him before he kisses you again.
Bonus:
“Wait, you’ve been Green Lantern this whole time?!” you ask, stepping back from Hal.
“Not the whole time,” he replies, his brows pinching.
“I was worried about you crashing a plane, but you can fly,” you accuse, pushing both hands against his chest.
Hal catches your wrists and points out, “I was worried about you crashing too. Call it even?”
