scott's canon boyfriend!

Dick Grayson (Roy):

Dick’s jaw drops when you walk into the bar, greeting your table of friends with a little wave before settling on Roy’s lap. Roy’s lap. His hand tightens around his glass.

The redhead raises his eyebrows, instinctively placing a hand on your hip to steady you. He tilts his head up, flashing you an easy grin. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say casually, grabbing his glass of ginger ale and sipping on it. 

In your peripheral, you can see Dick’s jaw clenched, fingers digging into his palms. Roy rubs his thumb in circles around your hip, ignoring the inquisitive stares coming from your friends. 

You watch as Dick downs his whole drink and forces a smile. A breath, and then he’s back to normal, making conversation with Donna across the table.

The night is normal after that, laced with jokes and easy conversation. It’s so normal you’re beginning to think Dick’s forgotten about your antics now that you’ve moved from Roy’s lap to the seat between them.

It’s when you’re on your way out of the bathroom that shit hits the fan.

“So, you and Roy?”

He’s standing in the small nook where the bathroom doors lay, looking at you expectantly. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles bulging out of his t-shirt.

You flinch at the sound of his voice, hand clenched over your chest in shock. You recover quickly. “Why do you care? We’re just friends, aren’t we?” 

“Friends? I—” He laughs incredulously. “Is this because of what I said?”

You scoff and shake your head, shoving past him only for him to catch you by the arm. 

“C’mon, don’t be like this,” he pleads. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You spin around to face him. “Then how did you mean it, Dick?” 

“I just meant that we aren’t dating.”

“So why does it matter so much to you if I flirt with Roy?”

He looks puzzled, brows knit together as he tries to find an answer for your question that doesn’t involve him confessing his feelings for you in the back of a bar. He doesn’t find one.

“I-I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, “we’re not just friends, alright? It was—it was stupid for me to say that. Just, please stop flirting with my best friend.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Good to know.”

You retreat to the bar, getting another drink, while Dick returns to the table. You give it a few minutes, letting him stew before making your way back.

You’re about to sit back down on Roy when Dick catches your wrist, tugging you towards him. You stumble, falling into his lap. Your eyes widen, looking up at him curiously.

“No chance in hell,” he mutters into your ear, “nice try.”

Roy flashes you a thumbs up under the table. Mission accomplished.

Wally West (Kyle):

Wally’s clenching his glass so tightly it might break. 

Standing in the corner of the bar, leaned against the wall and watching you dance with Kyle of all people, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to toss the glass at his head. It’s a tempting thought, Wally’s fingers wandering up the side of the glass.

It’s payback. He knows it is. He hurt your feelings and now you’re taking it out on him via grinding on Kyle. It’s whatever. He’s not going to fall for it. Whatever.

It’s when the song ends and you press yourself real close to Kyle, laughing in his ear about something he said, that Wally really loses it. One minute, Kyle has a hand on your hip, basking in the radiant sound of your laughter, and the next, you’re gone.

The cold night air is unforgiving, clinging to the sweat soaking your skin. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

You scowl at the redhead who dragged you out here. “What the hell, Wally?” 

He paces the alleyway in front of you, long strides casting dark shadows across the brick wall of the club. He has a hand in his hair, the other fidgeting nervously.

“Kyle? Really?” He laughs humourlessly, “he can’t even dance.”

“He dances better than you.”

Wally’s jaw falls open in offense as he clamps a hand over his chest. 

“Why do you care, anyway? We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, cause friends fuck the way we do.”

It’s your turn to be shocked, turning your head away from him to try and hide it. “You’re—” You take a deep breath, fighting the heat rising to your face, “you’re the one who said we’re friends.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just—just go and fuck Kyle!”

You shake your head. “We’re not fucking, Wally. We’re dancing.”

You turn away from him, starting to leave the alleyway to get back in the club. Still, you can’t help yourself. “But, now that you mention it…”

Wally’s in front of you before you’ve finished blinking. He’s breathing heavily, a dark look in his eyes. He presses closer to you, squeezing out all the space.

“Don’t,” he breathes, “fuck Kyle.”

Something in his tone tells you to tread lightly. Something in your core tells you to press him more.

“Yeah? And what if I d—”

Wally’s lips are on yours before you finish speaking, his hands settling into your waist like they belong there. They roam your sides, feeling every inch of you. His tongue slips into your mouth, marking his territory. 

He pulls away, looking at you seriously. “Come home with me, I’ll show you how friendly we are.”

Back in the club, Kyle smiles to himself. Your plan must have worked.

Roy Harper (Dick):

Roy almost faints when he walks in the living room, a necessary stop on his journey to grab a glass of water, and finds you and Dick snuggled up on the couch. He rubs his eyes, thinking this must be a result of a nightmare, but when the stars dissipate from his vision, the two of you are still laying there.

You’re face down in Dick’s chest, your head buried in his t-shirt. Dick’s laid down on his back, watching a movie while idly rubbing your back. It’s so domestic that it has Roy’s heart wrenching, his mouth suddenly dry.

Dick notices the redhead immediately, cheekily raising a finger to his lips to signal him to be quiet. He gestures to you with his eyes, putting emphasis on the fact you’re trying to rest.

Roy, with frustration bubbling up in his chest, does not give a fuck. “What are you guys watching? You look cozy.”

And just like that, your head is perking up, puffy eyes landing on Roy. There’s dried tears on your cheek, the skin around your eyes still wet and shiny from crying. Shit. 

“I didn’t—fuck, I’m sorry.” 

You push yourself away from Dick’s chest, untangling your body from his. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

Roy only nods, not wanting to say anything else and risk upsetting you. You lead him back to your room, the gesture so familiar it has your heart hurting.

“Literally what is your problem?” Your voice is thick with tears, “can’t you leave me alone? Since we’re ‘just friends’.”

“You’re crying,” is all that he says, evidently stunned by your disheveled state. “Is that why you’re crying? Because of what I said?”

“Does it matter?”

His voice cracks. “You’re sad, of course it matters.”

You avert your eyes, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. Drawing your arms around yourself, you take a big step away from Roy. Like that will be able to keep this conversation from happening.

“It hurt when you said that, Roy.”

“So you go and cuddle up with Dick?”

“Jesus Christ.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “he’s my friend. He was comforting me. And last I checked, according to you, friends do a lot worse than cuddle.”

He sucks in a breath. Touché. 

“You either care or you don’t, Roy. Make up your damn mind.”

“I care, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, “I care too much to see my best friend using you as a blanket.”

“But not enough to date me?”

He takes a deep breath and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to leave. If he’s going to storm out and leave you here and never speak to you again. Instead, he does something that surprises you even more.

He drops to his knees in front of you, looking up at you through his lashes. He says your name, reaching up for a hand. Reluctantly, you peel a hand from your shoulder and offer it to him.

“There is nothing I want more,” he says seriously, “than to be with you.”

Your vision blurs with tears. “You mean it? No more mixed feelings?”

He kisses the back of your hand. “Promise.”

Kyle Rayner (Guy): 

Kyle doesn’t think anything of it when you don’t respond to his good morning text. Barely even notices it when you choose to sit next to Guy instead of him. Forced himself to ignore the way you seemed glued to the ginger all day. But this? This—seductively biting your nail while rubbing a hand up Guy’s chest—cannot stand.

He stands in the corner and watches the two of you flirt, waiting for his time to interject. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, fingers clenched to his palms. Any minute now, there’ll be a lull in the conversation and he could pull you aside to talk this out. 

‘Any minute’ doesn’t come for at least another ten minutes, your rampant flirting with his partner only growing to annoy him more and more. He’s pacing now, twisting the ring around his finger.

“Jeez, Rayner, can you cut that out? You’re making me nervous.”

Guy’s voice grates on him, adrenaline pumping through his chest. Kyle forces himself to take a deep breath, to think reassuring thoughts and then—

“Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he wants.”

It’s something in your tone that sets him off, that has him creating a bucket of water and dumping it over the top of you and Guy. He’s barely even registered he’s done it until you’re turning on him with a scowl, looking like a wet cat.

“Really, Kyle?” You scoff, “real mature. I’m soaking wet.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You ignore Guy’s innuendo, rushing out of the room to go and dry yourself off in the bathroom. You’ve pulled off your shirt, holding it under the hand dryer, when the door swings open and Kyle’s coming in and stammering an apology.

He barely pays any mind to your half-naked figure, too busy talking himself in circles. “I don’t know what came over me, seriously.” He tugs off his sweatshirt, tossing it to you to cover yourself up. “I’m so sorry.”

You catch his sweater, your own ruined shirt dropping to the floor. “No you’re not.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“What do you want, Kyle?” You pull his sweatshirt over your head, “you say we’re just friends and then you get all weird and jealous when I try to move on. It’s bullshit.”

And Kyle’s at a loss for words because you look so fucking cute in his sweatshirt, hair still damp and messy from the water. 

“And you’re not even listening to me.” 

You shoulder past him, about to leave the bathroom when he suddenly grabs your hand and spins you around to face him. He says nothing, only tugging you into his chest and holding you tightly.

“I don’t want you to be with anyone else,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”

You nod slowly, letting his words sink in. And just as he’s pulling away, you squish your hand into one of your wet pockets, gathering the water and wiping it on the back of his neck.

Kyle cringes, loosening his grip. “I deserved that.”

Barry Allen (Hal):

Six laps. Barry’s done six laps of the planet, changed in and out of his costume in the bathroom, and eaten an entire burger in the time you and Hal have been playing pool. It’s not the game that bothers him, really. It’s the way Hal has his hands on you, bending you over the table and pressing himself into you.

The sight ties Barry’s stomach up in knots, the deluxe bacon cheeseburger he just devoured threatening to come up again. He sits back, watching the two of you play a game against Ollie and Dinah and trying to keep the jealousy from rising to his throat.

It should be him down there. Those should be his hands wandering too close to your chest. He’s about to take another lap when Hal’s crotch is suddenly flush with the swell of your ass and he can’t take it anymore.

One minute, he’s sitting on a bar stool and the next, the two of you are standing on a beach somewhere far, far away from Hal Jordan.

“Barry?” You frown, adjusting to your surroundings, “where are we?”

“...Brazil.”

“Brazil? I—why are we in Brazil?”

“Because Hal isn’t,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Because I need to talk to you.”

You blink. “And you needed to talk to me in Brazil?”

“Can you forget about Brazil for a minute?” He sighs, “can I—am I allowed to ask what’s going on between you and Hal?”

You burst out laughing. “Me and Hal?” “...yes? I don’t see what’s funny about this.”

You reach for one of his hands, kneading your thumbs over his warm palm. “Barry, nothing’s going on between me and Hal. What you saw—” You scrunch your nose, embarrassed, “I was trying to get your attention.”

“You always have my attention.”

“I don’t want to be ‘just a friend’, Barry,” you confess, looking at him through your lashes. “Friends don’t do the things we do.”

Realization dawns on his face, his lips tugging into a frown. “No, that’s not—I didn’t mean it like that. God, I’m an idiot.”

You think back to the conversation in question, wracking your brain to decipher what else he could’ve possibly meant by that wording.

He rubs a thumb over your cheek, leaning in until his lips are inches away from yours. “You could never be ‘just’ anything to me. You mean so much to me and I—”

You cut him off by kissing him, swallowing his words.

Hal Jordan (Bruce):

Of all the people Hal expected to find you flirting with, Bruce Wayne was the last on his list. Guy? Absolutely. Barry, Clark, Diana…he wouldn’t cross off the possibility. But Bruce? That would almost be as bad as if you were cozied up to J’onn himself.

You offer Bruce a radiant smile, resting a hand on his shoulder while he tells you and a few other stragglers from Oliver’s charity gala a story. You cling to his every word, nodding along eagerly.

Hal clenches his fist and raises his glass to his lips, downing the whiskey in one go. Adrenaline, or liquor, or maybe some unholy combination of the two rushes to his head. He finds himself stomping over to the little group that’s formed around Bruce.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he sidles up next to you and flashes the group a fake smile. “You guys don’t mind if I borrow y/n for a minute, do you?”

He’s already starting to tug you away when he’s met with resistance, Bruce’s other arm looped through yours.

“Actually,” he says, giving Hal an even faker, even shinier smile, “I promised I’d show everyone the pictures from my newest Gotham development.”

Hal yawns, addressing you directly. “You don’t really want to see that, do you?”

Bruce’s hand slides from the crook of your arm to the small of your back. A vein bulges in Hal’s forehead. His frown deepens when you pull yourself away from him, sidling up to Bruce.

“Actually, I’d love to see those photos, Bruce.”

Hal shrinks, defeated. He hates the sudden cold in your tone, he hates the way you barely regard him. Above all that, he hates how good you look on Bruce’s arm.

He slinks away to a far away corner, Barry waiting with a new glass of whiskey and a comforting pat on the back.

Hal finds you an hour later, half drunk with booze heavy on his breath. You’re just finishing up a dance with Bruce when the pilot saunters up to the two of you. You suck in a breath. Here we go.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Bruce looks at you, assessing every miniscule expression on your face in less than a second. He sizes up the pilot, a silent reminder not to fuck with you.

“Do you want a drink?” Bruce asks, posture much more relaxed talking to you. “I could use a drink.”

“Yes, please.”

And then he’s disappearing into the crowd, leaving just you and Hal.

“Really? Bruce?” 

You scoff at him, tensing when his hands find your hips and he guides you back onto the dance floor. “Keep your voice down, you’re gonna make a scene.”

“I’m not the one everyone’s been drooling over tonight.” His jaw tics, “of everyone, why Batman?”

“Bruce just wanted to help me take my mind off of things. Pissing you off was just an added bonus.”

He blanks.

“You can’t really be that dense, Hal.”

He thinks on it for a minute and you can practically see the exact moment the light goes off in his head. “Is this about what I said? The friends thing?”

Your silence speaks volumes.

“Why’re you so mad about that? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

You smile sweetly. “So you wouldn’t be mad if I went home with Bruce? I wouldn’t mean anything by it.”

His grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of your hips. He pulls you closer until his face hovers close to your ear, breath fanning over the side of your neck.

“I will cuff you to me right now. Don’t even joke.”

You intentionally step on his foot. “Admit it, then.”

“Why does it matter so much to you what we are?”

You groan, pulling yourself away from him and starting on your way back to Bruce. He grabs you before you get very far, pulling you back to him and locking his arms tighter than before.

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry, okay?” His gaze softens, “I didn’t mean it. Please, please do not go home with him.”

You kiss his cheek. “That’s what I thought.”

Oliver Queen (Hal + Dinah):

Oliver thought things couldn’t get worse than seeing you and Hal hug after winning beer pong. Oliver thought wrong. 

Seeing Dinah kiss your cheek, her arms around your shoulders while the two of you pose for a photo, feels worse than any injury he’s ever received. It’s no help that the two of you look so damn good together, it’s near unbearable.

Dinah pulls away but the slight shimmer of her lipgloss is still visible on your cheek. Oliver can feel the envy bubbling up inside him like magma in a volcano. He tries to focus on something—anything—else.

He looks to Booster Gold and Blue Beetle, playing something on Ted’s Nintendo. He looks to Guy, currently having a very intense conversation with J’onn who looks like he’d rather be doing anything else. 

It doesn’t work, he always finds a way to come back to you. Always. 

You and Dinah are now wrapped up in a conversation with Hal and Barry, the smile on your face glowing brighter than the sun. He should be there, standing at your side, talking proudly. Instead, he’s lurking in the corner, watching from afar and trying to pretend his blood isn’t boiling.

And then Dinah’s hand rests on the small of your back and he can’t take it anymore.

He clears his throat, approaching you. “I need to talk to you.”

No pleasantries, no sugarcoating it, nothing. He doesn’t even bother to hide his annoyed expression.

Dinah flashes you a knowing smirk, nudging you towards him slightly. “Go on.”

Ollie leads you away from your gathered comrades, from the overlapping chatter and swell of bodies. He’s just barely gotten you out of view when he’s slamming you against the wall and pressing his lips to yours.

He can taste the remnants of your dirty shirley temple, along with something that tastes suspiciously like Dinah’s usual lipgloss. He thumbs at your waist, slipping a leg between your thighs and pressing his chest further into yours.

You gasp, shoving him off of you. “Ollie, I—what—I—”

He’s breathing heavily, feet planted less than a foot away from you. His cheeks are pinkened from your impromptu makeout session, his beard just barely hiding how flustered he is.

“What was that for?” You frown, “there’s people around.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff in disbelief, “and you said you didn’t want anyone to know and that we’re nothing more than friends?”

“Fuck that,” he growls, reaching for you again. “You’re mine.”

Heat washes into your core, travels up your spine, floods your cheeks. You’re suddenly feeling lightheaded, unsteady on your feet.

“You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he admits. “Do you want me, or not?”

You sigh, beckoning him in. Defeated.

Guy Gardner (Booster):

Pretty much every hero you’ve worked with was confused by your relationship with Guy. It was clear the two of you had something going on, not that any of them were brave enough to inquire about it. No one thought too much about it.

That is, until you started cozying up to Booster Gold. As if Guy Gardner wasn’t bad enough.

Guy tried to ignore it. He really, really did. He tried to play it up to himself. At least this way he could see other people, too. He didn’t have to worry about hurting your feelings or dealing with jealousy. And yet, despite his sudden freedom, he couldn’t get you out of his damn head.

Maybe that’s what led him here, outside your house at two in the morning, banging his fist on the door.

Booster Gold answers the door, buttery hair disheveled and shirt nowhere in sight. “Hey, Guy.” He blinks, eyes shooting wide, “oh, shit.”

His jaw clenches, something snapping behind his eyes. Guy shoves past him, barrelling his way into your house. Booster rushes after him, trying to catch him before he slams open your bedroom door.

You wake with a start, rubbing your tired eyes to face your attacker. “Oh,” you say casually, sitting up. “It’s just you.”

Michael’s head pops over his shoulder. “I tried to stop him.”

“You tried your best, sir.” Skeets pipes up.

“Like you could,” Guy scoffs. “What the hell is he doing here, anyway?”

“Spending the night? What does it look like he’s doing?” Your response does little to quell the angry look on his face. Guy clenches and unclenches his fists.

“What are you doing here? I’m sure whatever this is could’ve waited til morning.”

He ignores you. “Are you guys fucking?” You laugh humorlessly.

Booster slinks away, “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

Your shoulders slump when you watch the familiar head of gold hair disappear back into your living room, presumably resuming his residence on your couch.

Guy crosses his arms, looking at you expectantly. “Well?”

“It’s none of your damn business, really.”

He closes the door behind him, stepping closer to you in the dark of your room. “Does he make you cum? I bet he doesn’t.”

“Jesus, Guy.”

“What? I’m just saying.” “We’re not fucking, for fucks sakes.” Your head is still fuzzy with sleep, “he’s crashing on my couch. We hang out sometimes. What’s the big deal? It’s not like we’re dating.”

He clocks the bitterness in your tone, the way your voice falters on those last words. A cheshire grin fights its way to his lips.

“So that’s why you’ve been so mad.” He’s standing at the end of your bed now, looking up at you, “cause I said we’re friends?”

“And what if it is?”

“C’mere.” Through the dark, you can just barely make out his hand gesturing you closer.

Despite your better instincts, you find yourself crawling towards him on the bed, kneeling just in front of him.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You’re really that upset about it?”

You can only nod.

He leans in, lips pressing against yours. You relax in his grip, letting the world fall away from you while he kisses you.

He pulls away, offering you a toothy grin. “Yeah,” he concludes, “still mine.”

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