sundew

Roy Harper is a DC Comics legacy character introduced in the Golden Age as the protégé/son of Green Arrow (Oliver Queen). Roy was the original Speedy and had an extremely close relationship with his adoptive father Oliver Queen throughout the Golden and Silver Ages. In 1971, DC released the "Snowbirds Don't Fly" storyline in response to Nixon's announced War on Drugs. This storyline was a PSA designed to show what not to do when a loved one (particularly a young adult child) is struggling with addiction. This story would change the trajectory of Roy's story and cemented his role as a recovered addict, a part of his character that has unfortunately come to be his defining quality rather than being part of his larger story. Roy is a single father to Lian Harper (his daughter with the assassin Jade Nguyen/Cheshire), and has a sibling bond with family members Connor Hawke, Mia Dearden, and Emiko Queen. Roy's origins have always been connected to America's Indigenous Peoples and later comics have cemented their role in his life with his having been adopted by the Diné/Navajo as a young child before being adopted by Ollie in his teenaged years. Roy has had multiple mantles over the years, from Speedy, to Arsenal, to joining the Justice League of America as Red Arrow - but in every iteration is he the very image of a hero.

Reading list (with totally legal links) under the cut!

wip..

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x f!reader

Summary: The Justice League members think Batman is in love with Bruce Wayne's wife.

Pretense was part of the uniform, one of the many accessories that came with being married to Bruce Wayne. There was the public smile, the attentive nod, the light laugh at jokes that were more networking than humor. There was the practiced patience of standing beside Gotham’s favorite billionaire philanthropist while donors praised his generosity and reporters angled for the most flattering shot.

Central City was no different.

The exhibition hall glittered with glass, an architectural marvel overlooking the bay. Artifacts rotated slowly under museum lights, historical pieces saved from war zones, sculptures donated by impossibly wealthy patrons. All of it in the name of charity. All of it surrounded by security that looked impressive enough to reassure civilians, but flimsy enough that you felt Bruce’s hand rest a fraction more firmly at the small of your back as you walked.

You leaned slightly toward him. “You look tense.”

Bruce’s smile didn’t falter. His eyes, however, tracked the exits, the balconies, the structural beams overhead. “Occupational hazard.”

“You’re not on duty tonight,” you murmured. “You’re allowed to relax.”

His mouth curved, barely. “I’ll try.”

He looked unfairly handsome in his tailored black suit, hair brushed back, cufflinks catching the light. The tabloids had long since moved on from calling him Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. A couple of years married, and the narrative had softened. Settled. Reformed. Lucky.

They were not wrong about the lucky part.

You accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server and turned to watch a small knot of people arguing amiably near a display case.

Bruce squeezed your hand once, quick and grounding, before letting go as someone approached to greet him. You listened to the polite exchange with half an ear, already cataloging the room the way Bruce had taught you, without ever meaning to. Old habit.

You were reaching for another sip of champagne when the lights went out.

For half a heartbeat, there was only confusion. A collective intake of breath. Then the alarms screamed to life, harsh and metallic, and the floor shuddered beneath your feet as something heavy struck the far end of the hall.

People began to panic.

“Bruce...” you started, already turning toward him.

He was gone.

Not vanished in a puff of smoke or a blur of motion but absent nonetheless. The space beside you where he had been was suddenly empty, and your pulse spiked with a familiar mix of irritation and resignation.

Of course.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it. The display cases along the walls shattered as masked figures dropped in from the ceiling, weapons humming with energy you very much did not want to be near. Someone screamed. Security scattered like startled birds.

You set your champagne down carefully on a nearby table and straightened your spine.

Fine. Showtime.

You moved the way Bruce had taught you, calm and efficient, guiding people toward the exits, keeping your voice low and steady. “This way. No running. Watch your step.”

The air crackled, and suddenly there was a red blur tearing through the hall, lightning snapping at his heels.

“Okay!” Barry Allen’s voice echoed, far too cheerful for the circumstances. “Everyone stay calm, we’ve got this under control...whoa!”

A green construct slammed into the floor, blocking a blast aimed at a cluster of civilians. Hal Jordan hovered above them, jaw set. “You guys pick the worst places to rob.”

The villains snarled back, emboldened but clearly unprepared for two members of the Justice League.

You allowed yourself a brief exhale. Good. Backup.

Then the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

It wasn’t literal. It was presence.

A shadow detached itself from the far wall, resolving into something tall and armored and unmistakable. The cape unfurled like a living thing, and suddenly Batman was there, moving through the chaos with terrifying precision.

Barry skidded to a stop mid-run. “Uh. Hi?”

Hal’s eyes widened. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Batman didn’t answer. He never did, not when it wasn’t strictly necessary. He disarmed one attacker with brutal efficiency, sending them sprawling, then pivoted seamlessly to shield a group of fleeing civilians.

Your heart did a small, treacherous flip.

There he was. In his other skin. Cold, unyielding, myth made flesh.

And then his head turned, and the white slits of his cowl locked onto you.

Everything else receded.

He crossed the distance between you in seconds. He stopped just close enough that you could see the faint scuff marks on his armor, the subtle rise and fall of his chest.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

The voice was different. Deeper. Filtered. But you heard what lay beneath it all the same.

Concern.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

He scanned you anyway, gaze flicking over you with a thoroughness that would have looked invasive if anyone else had been watching closely enough. His gloved hand hovered near your elbow—not touching, not quite, but ready.

Behind him, you could practically feel Barry and Hal’s eyes widen.

Batman nodded once. “Stay behind me.”

“As if I wouldn’t,” you murmured, just for him.

Something in his posture eased. Just a fraction.

He guided you toward the nearest secure exit, positioning himself so that his body blocked you from the worst of the chaos. A blast went off somewhere to your left, and he shifted instinctively, cape flaring to shield you.

Barry’s jaw dropped. “Is...is he…being gentle?”

Hal squinted. “Is that Bruce Wayne’s wife?”

Barry blinked. “Yeah?”

Batman stopped at the edge of the hall, where emergency lighting cast everything in stark red shadows. He turned to face you fully.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll clear the rest.”

You reached out without thinking, fingers brushing his armored forearm. The contact was brief, easily missed, but his hand closed over yours for a heartbeat.

“Be careful,” you said softly.

His thumb pressed once against your knuckles, hidden from view. “Always.”

Then he was gone again, swallowed by smoke, vengeance personified as he tore back into the fray.

You leaned against the wall and let yourself breathe.

From your vantage point, you watched Barry and Hal regroup, their expressions oscillating between focus and bafflement as they fought alongside Gotham’s Dark Knight. The villains were subdued quickly after that, no one was stupid enough to stick around once Batman had joined the party.

Within minutes, the hall was secure.

Emergency responders flooded in. Civilians were escorted out. The adrenaline drained from your system, leaving you pleasantly tired.

Batman reappeared at your side as if summoned by the thought alone.

“Still all right?” he asked.

You smiled. “Told you. Hard to scare me.”

A huff of something like amusement escaped him before he could stop it.

Barry stared.

Hal stared harder.

Batman inclined his head to you. “You should rejoin your husband.” Then he straightened, already retreating behind the mask. “Excuse me.”

He disappeared into the night as efficiently as he’d arrived.

The moment he was gone, Barry rounded on Hal, eyes bright with excitement. “Did you see that?”

Hal crossed his arms. “Oh, I saw it.”

“You think...”

“I think,” Hal said slowly, “that Batman has a thing for Bruce Wayne’s wife.”

Barry made a face. “No way. He’s not...he wouldn’t...she’s married.”

“So?” Hal shot back. “Since when does having principles mean you don’t have feelings? Did you hear his voice? He sounded like he was one bad day away from writing poetry.”

Barry snorted despite himself. “Batman doesn’t write poetry.”

“In the Batcave,” Hal said darkly. “Crying. Surrounded by bats.”

Barry hesitated. “He does always get weird when Bruce Wayne comes up.”

“Exactly!” Hal jabbed a finger in the air. “Brooding vigilante hates billionaire playboy who somehow landed a smart, self-made woman and settled down. Classic.”

Barry glanced toward you, then back at Hal. “You think he’s been pining?”

“I think he sees her face on billboards and charity galas and tells himself it’s fine,” Hal said. “It’s not fine. Look how miserable he is all the time. I've always wondered what's wrong with him.”

Barry winced. “That’s…kind of sad.”

“Juicy, though.”

You returned to Bruce Wayne not long after, finding him emerging from a different corridor, tie loosened, expression carefully arranged into concern.

The night ended the way these things always did: with sirens fading into the distance, reporters swarming like carrion birds, and Bruce Wayne reappearing at your side with a perfectly calibrated expression of concern.

You took his arm as cameras flashed.

“Mr. Wayne,” someone called, breathless with excitement. “Can you tell us how it felt to have Batman personally assist in evacuating your wife?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His hand rested warm and steady over yours.

“We’re grateful no one was seriously injured,” he said smoothly. “That’s all that matters.”

You smiled on cue, letting the attention roll off you. Somewhere behind the press barricade, you caught a glimpse of red and green disappearing into the night.

You didn’t see the looks they exchanged.

Barry Allen had replayed the footage in his head at least a dozen times by the time he and Hal Jordan regrouped on the Watchtower.

Not the fight. Not the villains.

The way Batman had moved toward you.

“Tell me you noticed it too,” Barry said, pacing. “Because I feel like I hallucinated that.”

Hal leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “I noticed.”

“He didn’t even hesitate.”

“Nope.”

“And the voice...”

“Way too soft.”

Barry grimaced. “It was…intimate.”

Hal scoffed. “Don’t say intimate.”

“I’m saying intimate.”

Hal’s jaw clenched. “He had his hand on her elbow like...like he was afraid she’d disappear.”

Barry stopped pacing. “Okay, now you’re making me sad.”

“I’m making me angry,” Hal shot back. “He’s always lecturing us about boundaries and civilians and keeping emotion out of the job, and then he pulls that?”

“Maybe it was just...” Barry hesitated. “Concern?”

Hal stared at him. “For one specific civilian. Who happens to be Bruce Wayne’s wife.”

Barry rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean…Batman doesn’t exactly like Bruce Wayne.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Hal said. “Every time Bruce Wayne’s name comes up, he shuts down like someone insulted his mother.”

Hal leaned forward. “He hates him.”

“Because...”

“Because Bruce Wayne has everything he can’t,” Hal said flatly. “Charm. A public life. A wife who looks at him like that.”

Barry swallowed. “You really think he’s in love with her.”

Hal didn’t answer immediately.

Then: “I think he’s been in love with her for a long time.”

They decided, very reasonably, they thought, to investigate.

Not in a creepy way.

In a professional way.

Batman didn’t appreciate it.

They found him in the Batcave satellite hub on the Watchtower, reviewing holographic schematics with his usual grim focus.

“Hey, Bats,” Barry said brightly. “Got a minute?”

Batman didn’t look up. “Make it quick.”

Hal exchanged a glance with Barry. Showtime.

“We were just curious,” Hal began, casual to the point of falsehood, “about why you were in Central City.”

Batman’s fingers paused over the controls. Just for a fraction of a second. “Unrelated investigation.”

“Right,” Barry said. “Totally. Makes sense.”

Silence stretched.

Barry pressed on, gently. “So, uh…Bruce Wayne.”

Batman’s shoulders went rigid.

“What about him?” Batman asked, voice cool.

“You’ve worked with him before,” Barry said. “Charity stuff. Gotham initiatives. Just wondered what you think of him.”

Batman turned slowly, cape whispering against the floor.

“Why.”

It wasn’t a question.

Hal raised his hands. “No reason. Just small talk.”

Batman’s gaze flicked between them, sharp and assessing. For one awful moment, he wondered if this was it, if Superman had finally said something, if the walls were closing in.

“Bruce Wayne is irrelevant,” he said briskly. “And his personal life is none of my concern.”

Barry blinked.

Hal’s mouth twitched.

“Got it,” Barry said quickly. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

“Then don’t,” Batman snapped. “Focus on the mission.”

He turned back to his work, dismissing them.

They left.

The moment the doors sealed behind them, Hal let out a low whistle.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “He hates Bruce Wayne.”

Barry winced. “Or he’s jealous.”

Hal shot him a look. “That’s worse.”

The final nail went in a week later.

Batman was supposed to be reviewing mission reports, metahuman sightings, arms trafficking, things that mattered.

Instead, when Barry breezed by unannounced, he found Batman standing utterly still in front of a floating screen.

On it: you.

You were mid-interview, seated elegantly at a Gotham charity luncheon, hands folded in your lap as you spoke about education reform and community rebuilding. You smiled when the interviewer laughed, eyes bright, posture composed.

Batman hadn’t realized anyone was behind him.

Barry followed his line of sight, then froze.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

Batman shut the screen down instantly. “This is not what it looks like.”

Barry didn’t move. “You were watching Bruce Wayne’s wife.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “I was monitoring public coverage.”

“Of…her?”

“She is frequently present at high-risk events,” Batman said, defensive now. “Awareness is prudent.”

Barry’s voice softened. “You don’t watch anyone else like that.”

Batman said nothing.

Barry left without another word.

That night, he found Hal.

“He watches her interviews,” Barry said.

Hal’s eyes went dark. “Of course he does.”

Barry sank onto the couch. “That’s…that’s really rough, man.”

“Rough?” Hal scoffed. “It’s inappropriate.”

Barry frowned. “I think it’s just sad.”

Hal rounded on him. “He’s Batman. He’s always on us about professionalism. And now he’s pining over a married civilian?”

“Unrequited love isn’t a crime.”

“It’s a scandal waiting to happen,” Hal snapped. “Bruce Wayne’s wife? You know what the media would do if they even suspected something?”

Barry hesitated. “He’d never act on it.”

Hal crossed his arms. “You sure about that?”

Barry looked down. “I just think…being Batman in Gotham is already hell. Loving someone you can never have on top of that?”

Hal didn’t soften. “He doesn’t get a pass just because he’s miserable.”

They cornered Red Robin a few days later.

Tim Drake landed lightly on the Watchtower platform, mask still on, clearly expecting a briefing, not an interrogation.

“Hey,” Barry said, trying to sound friendly. “Got a question for you.”

Tim stiffened immediately. “About what?”

Hal smiled in a way that made Tim’s instincts scream. “Bruce Wayne’s wife.”

Tim’s head snapped up. “What about her?”

Barry raised his hands. “Easy. We were just wondering...have you ever met her?”

Tim’s spine went rigid.

You flashed through his mind instantly: the way you’d insisted he eat more, the way you’d sat with him after nightmares, the hand on his shoulder that had felt safe when nothing else did.

“She’s a great woman,” Tim said sharply.

Hal’s brows shot up. “So you do know her.”

Tim realized his mistake too late. “I mean...I don’t know her well.”

Barry tilted his head. “But Batman does.”

Tim hesitated.

Batman’s orders rang loud and clear in his head.

Protect the mission. Protect the secret.

“I’m still pretty young,” Tim said finally, carefully. “Batman…knows her better than I do.”

Hal’s eyes gleamed.

Barry’s mouth fell open. “He talks about her to you?”

Tim bristled. “That’s not what I said.”

But it was too late.

Hal laughed, sharp and triumphant. “Oh, he pines.”

Barry groaned. “Oh my god, he pines so hard he’s briefing his sidekick about her.”

Tim stared at them, baffled and increasingly alarmed. “You’re reading way too much into this.”

Hal clapped him on the shoulder. “Kid, you’ll understand when you’re older.”

Tim watched them walk away, unease curling in his stomach.

Somehow, impossibly, they had come closer to the truth, and still missed it entirely.

Back in Gotham, you poured Bruce a cup of tea and kissed his temple as he passed you, already slipping into shadow.

“You look tense,” you murmured.

“Just work,” he said.

You smiled, unaware that half the Justice League was currently convinced your husband spent his nights in the Batcave, brooding over you from afar: a tragic, noble fool in love with Bruce Wayne’s wife.

The universe had an impeccable sense of timing.

On the one day the Justice League was away, negotiating a fragile ceasefire on a red-skied planet whose sun hummed wrong in human bones, you were scheduled to speak in Metropolis.

Bruce hadn’t argued. That alone should have warned you.

“You’ll be fine,” he’d said, calm in the way that always meant he was anything but. “Metropolis is one of the safest cities on the planet.”

You’d smiled, adjusted his tie, kissed him. “I’ll be surrounded by reporters and security. What could possibly happen?”

He hadn’t smiled back.

Lex Luthor struck fifteen minutes into your panel.

It started with the lights.

They dimmed, not out, just low enough to make people uneasy. The massive screen behind you flickered, your face fracturing into static before resolving into a familiar, smug expression.

Lex’s.

The audience gasped. Security surged forward.

You didn’t move.

“Good evening, Metropolis,” Lex purred, his voice amplified and everywhere at once. “And good evening to Gotham’s most beloved philanthropist by marriage.”

Your jaw tightened.

Somewhere across the galaxy, Bruce Wayne felt his blood turn to ice when he received a distress message.

Batman didn’t hesitate.

Protocols shattered. Priorities reordered with brutal clarity.

He fired off encrypted signals faster than conscious thought.

Nightwing. Red Robin. Batgirl.

Immediate response. Metropolis. Luthor. She’s there.

The reply pings came back almost instantly.

On my way. Already en route. I’m five minutes out.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

By the time a jet tore through Metropolis airspace, the city was already in chaos. Lex’s private security, augmented, armored, overconfident, had locked down the perimeter around the conference center.

Nightwing dropped in from above, escrima sticks flashing. Batgirl disabled the building’s internal systems. Red Robin coordinated evac routes, his voice steady even as his eyes scanned for you.

For one suspended second, the world narrowed to the sight of you standing there: unhurt, furious, very much alive.

His shoulders sagged, just barely.

“You all right?” he asked.

You nodded. “Lex talks too much.”

Lex was apprehended within the hour.

The aftermath, however, was messier.

Hal Jordan arrived late.

Too late to be useful. Too late to feel anything but sidelined.

Lex was cuffed, the civilians safe, and Gotham’s vigilante family standing shoulder to shoulder like they’d planned this for weeks.

Hal hovered above the scene, incandescent with irritation.

“Oh, come on,” he snapped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He called the League so they could watch it live.

Batman didn’t look at him, only at the footage.

“…Okay,” Barry said slowly. “That feels excessive.”

Hal descended, fists clenched. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

Batman finally stepped into the camera's view. “If you have something to say...”

“You called your entire crew,” Hal cut in. “For one civilian.”

Barry frowned. “A very important civilian.”

Hal shot him a look. “She’s not League. She’s not military. She’s not even in Gotham.”

Batman’s voice went cold. “Watch your tone.”

“Oh, so now you care about tone?” Hal snapped. “You’re always lecturing us about professionalism, about emotional distance. And then you pull this? This is getting out of hand.”

Batman didn’t argue.

That only made it worse.

They didn’t confront him that night.

They started following him instead.

Hal didn’t even feel bad about it.

Batman thought he was alone, back in the Watchtower’s auxiliary hangar, exhaustion finally settling into his bones.

He activated a secure line.

Hal slowed his breathing. Barry stilled time just enough to listen.

Batman’s voice, unguarded and low, carried easily.

“I just needed to hear your voice.”

Barry could not believe his ears.

“I know it’s late. I won’t keep you.”

A pause. Softer.

“I wish I could see you.”

Hal’s jaw clenched.

Another pause. A faint exhale.

“Who cares about that. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Barry swallowed. “Oh no.”

Batman closed his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly. “I just…missed you.”

The line disconnected.

Silence slammed down.

Barry stared at Hal, horrified. “That’s…that’s really bad, right?”

Hal’s face was thunderous. “He’s trying to seduce her.”

Barry’s voice wobbled. “What if she doesn’t know?”

“Then it’s worse.”

They argued until morning.

The intervention was a disaster.

They cornered Batman in the briefing room the next day, both of them grim, resolved, utterly convinced of their moral high ground.

“This stops now,” Hal said without preamble.

Batman stared. “Excuse me?”

Barry folded his arms, clearly uncomfortable. “We heard the call.”

Batman froze.

The blood drained from his face so fast Hal nearly missed it.

“You were listening,” Batman said carefully.

Hal took that as confirmation. “So you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you’re emotionally compromised,” Hal snapped. “That you’re pursuing a married civilian.”

Batman stared at them.

Actually stared.

“…Are you insane?”

Barry winced. “He’s not denying it.”

Batman’s voice dropped to something lethal. “Explain. Slowly.”

Hal launched into it: every look, every moment, the call, the words. The imagined affair. The impending scandal.

Batman listened in silence.

Then he laughed.

Once. Sharp. Disbelieving.

“You think,” he said slowly, “that I’m trying to get Bruce Wayne’s wife to cheat on him.”

Hal crossed his arms. “You said ‘I miss you’.”

“I did say that.”

Barry’s eyes widened. “You...”

Batman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because she’s my wife.”

Dead silence.

Barry’s mouth fell open.

Hal stared. “No.”

Batman looked up, eyes blazing. “Yes.”

Barry whispered, “Oh my god.”

Hal shook his head. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

Barry’s brain visibly rebooted. “You’re…Bruce Wayne.”

Batman didn’t confirm it.

He didn’t have to.

The room tilted.

Hal sank into a chair. “So all of that...”

“...was me,” Batman said flatly. “Being worried about my spouse.”

Barry groaned, hands over his face. “We thought you were a tragic creep.”

Hal stared at the floor.

Batman’s mouth twitched despite himself. “I noticed.”

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Summary: After being hired to watch a "totally-not-a-ninja" Damian Wayne, you end up putting a masked intruder in a chokehold, only to realize you’ve just tackled his older brother, Jason Todd. What starts as a traumatic home invasion misunderstanding turns into a permanent job as the only person capable of handling the Wayne brothers’ chaos (and headlocking them when necessary).

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

story idea by: @whotookcry

The Wayne Manor gates swung open as your beat-up Honda Civic pulled through. Even after three visits, the sheer size of the estate still made your jaw drop. You'd grown up in a Gotham apartment where you could hear your neighbors' conversations through paper-thin walls. This place looked like it had a zip code all to itself.

You grabbed your oversized tote bag from the passenger seat, checking its contents one more time: craft supplies, three different types of candy (you'd learned Damian had opinions about candy), your tablet loaded with age-appropriate movies, a first aid kit (always prepared), and your phone charger.

The front door opened before you could knock, revealing Bruce Wayne in an impeccably tailored suit that probably cost more than your entire semester's tuition.

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne," you greeted cheerfully, hefting the tote bag higher on your shoulder. The weight of it was already making the strap dig into your skin. "How is the little guy?"

Bruce's expression shifted, something you'd started to recognize as his "about to lie" face. His jaw tightened just slightly, and his eyes didn't quite meet yours. "His leg is definitely fractured. Biking accident."

You nodded sympathetically, even though something felt off about the explanation. Damian Wayne was probably the most coordinated ten-year-old you'd ever met. The kid moved like a tiny ninja. But wealthy people and their kids did extreme sports all the time, right? Probably some fancy bike on some dangerous trail.

"Don't worry, you enjoy your time out. I'll take over from here!" You patted the bag. "I brought plenty of easy-going activities and snacks. He's going to love it!"

Bruce's shoulders relaxed slightly. "You're the best. Thank you again for coming on such late notice."

"Anytime! Now go! Don't be late for your date."

"Not a date," Bruce said quickly, too quickly, his ears going slightly pink.

"Mmmhmm." You walked around him and patted his shoulder for good luck, grinning. "Sure it's not."

"I'll be back before midnight!"

"Okay! Have fun!" You called as he headed out. The door shut with a heavy, final sound that echoed through the cavernous entryway.

Right. Time to find one grumpy pre-teen.

The manor was always slightly intimidating when it was this quiet. Your footsteps echoed on the marble floors as you made your way through the giant foyer toward the family room. You'd learned the layout on your previous visits; this place was like a maze, but you were getting better at navigating it.

"Damian?" you called out.

"Oh great. You again." The response came from the family room, dripping with pre-teen disdain.

You found him sprawled on the leather couch, his right leg propped up on a mountain of pillows, encased in a medical boot. He was wearing what looked like expensive lounge clothes and the most annoyed expression a child could muster.

"Oh, don't be like that! Just think of it as a sleepover!" You dropped your bag on the coffee table with a heavy thunk.

"I'd rather not."

This was familiar territory. Last time, it had been a "broken wrist" (from "falling off a horse" that you were pretty sure the Waynes didn't own), and Damian had been just as thrilled about having a babysitter. It had taken approximately one movie and two bags of Hot Cheetos for him to warm up to you.

You sat down next to him, careful not to jostle his leg, and grabbed the remote from the coffee table. "What do you want to watch tonight?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, I think you liked The Hunger Games series last time. Hmmmm, I think we stopped on the second movie?" You started scrolling through the Wayne's extensive streaming library, which had literally everything.

Damian was quiet for a moment. Then: "Already finished the series... It was adequate."

You bit back a smile. That was Damian-speak for "I loved it and watched all the movies immediately after you left."

"Did you watch the new movie?"

His head whipped toward you so fast you thought he might hurt his neck. "New movie? It doesn't stop at Mockingjay Part Two?"

"Oh, you are so in for a ride." You laughed, navigating to the menu. "The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. It's a prequel about President Snow when he was young."

Damian's eyes actually lit up, though he tried to hide it. "I suppose that could be... interesting."

"We may need popcorn. I will go fetch us..." He started to stand, clearly forgetting about his injured leg.

"Woah, woah, who's taking care of you right now? Me!" You gently pushed him back down. "You stay yourself right there! I'll go make some. I also brought different types of candy." You gestured to your tote bag. "You decide what you want while the previews play, and I'll go make popcorn."

"I'm not useless," Damian said, and there was something vulnerable in his voice that made your heart squeeze.

"I didn't say that. I'm saying you're being... pampered tonight."

He considered this, his expression thoughtful. "Hmm. That doesn't sound... bad."

"Perfect! I'll be right back!" You hurried around the couch as he started digging through the tote bag with his usual intense focus.

"Swedish Fish? Is this prison?" you heard him complain from the other room, and you had to stifle your laughter.

The kitchen was one of your favorite rooms in the manor, all sleek, modern appliances and gleaming countertops. Alfred, the butler, kept it impeccably organized, which made finding things relatively easy once you knew the system.

You found the microwave popcorn in the pantry (because even billionaires ate microwave popcorn, apparently) and popped a bag in. While it started popping, you searched for a bowl.

Thump thump thump.

You froze, hand on a cabinet door. That sound had come from the front of the house.

"What was that?" You turned back and hurried out of the kitchen toward the foyer, your heart starting to race. "Damian, was that you?!"

"No?" came the confused reply from the living room.

The thumping came again, followed by scratching sounds, right at the front door.

"Probably some feral cat," you muttered, trying to calm your racing heart. Gotham had a lot of strays. That had to be it.

You started to turn back to the kitchen when you heard it: the distinct creak of the front door opening.

Your blood ran cold. You were sure you'd heard it lock behind Bruce.

"Who locked the damn door?!" A voice, deep, male, annoyed. "I... who the fuck are you?!"

You spun around to find a man standing in the doorway. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a leather jacket and... your brain struggled to process this, a red helmet. Like, a full face mask. Like something out of a sci-fi movie or a...

Oh god. A robber. A home invader. There was a child in the other room.

Training from your self-defense class kicked in before rational thought could stop you.

"WHO ARE YOU?! I'M CALLING THE COPS!" you screamed.

"What?!" The man took a step back, clearly startled.

"DAMIAN! CALL 911 NOW!"

And then you lunged.

Your self-defense instructor, a sixty-year-old woman named Martha who could throw men twice her size, had drilled one thing into your head: if you're going to fight, commit fully. No half measures.

So you committed.

You hit the intruder low and hard, using your momentum to knock him off balance. He let out a startled "OOF!" as you both went down, but you managed to get your arm around his neck, locking him in the headlock Martha had made you practice fifty times in class.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" the man choked out.

He was strong; you could feel muscles tensing under his jacket as he tried to break free, but you had leverage and the element of surprise. You squeezed tighter, using your body weight to keep him down as he fell backwards on top of you.

"DAMIAN, GRAB MY PHONE ON THE COFFEE TABLE!" you yelled, maintaining your grip even though your arm was already starting to burn.

"GET OFF ME! JESUS C-CHRIST, HOW ARE YOU SO STRONG?!" The masked man coughed, his fingers scrabbling at your arm.

You heard the distinctive thump-slide-thump of Damian's medical boot on the floor. He appeared in the foyer, moving slowly, his expression one of mild curiosity rather than fear.

"What is going on in here?" he asked, like he'd stumbled upon something mildly interesting rather than a home invasion in progress.

"Don't worry! I got the robber restrained. Call 911. I can hold him until they get here." You tightened your grip for emphasis, and the masked man slapped the floor like he was tapping out of an MMA fight.

"Tell her I live here! Fuck!"

You blinked. The voice sounded... young? And kind of desperate in a way that didn't match the threatening appearance.

Damian's expression shifted into something you'd never seen before: a slow, sly smile that made him look positively devilish.

"Oh no! A robber! I'll go call the cops now," he said, his tone completely deadpan.

"DAMIAN!"

Wait.

"Brother?" You asked, your grip loosening slightly in shock. You looked down at the man you had pinned. "Brother?!"

"YES! BROTHER!" the man wheezed.

Damian's smile widened. "Adopted."

You released the man immediately, scrambling backward on the marble floor. "Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Mr. Wayne didn't mention anyone else would be home since Mr. Alfred was on vacation!"

The man (Damian's brother?) pulled off his red helmet, revealing a face that was indeed young, probably early twenties, with a white streak in his dark hair and the most annoyed expression you'd ever seen on a human being.

He rubbed his throat, glaring at Damian, who had settled himself on the loveseat across from you both, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"How is your neck?" you asked anxiously, still sitting on the floor. "I'm so, so sorry. I thought you were... I mean, you came through the door wearing a mask and..."

"I'll survive," he grumbled, though he wouldn't meet your eyes. You could practically see his ego bruising in real-time. "I was just caught off guard."

That was definitely a lie. You'd taken him down pretty effectively, and you could tell it was bothering him.

"Sorry," you said again, trying not to smile at how sulky he looked.

"He's fine. Can we watch the movie now?" Damian asked, already grabbing the remote.

You stood up, brushing off your jeans. "Of course!" You moved back to sit beside Damian, pulling the blanket over both of you, trying to pretend your heart wasn't still racing from the adrenaline. "So... what's with the mask?" you whispered to Damian before pressing play.

He shrugged, glancing over at his brother, who was staring down at the red helmet in his hands like it had personally betrayed him. "He's... weird."

"Oh!" You decided not to push it. Rich people were eccentric. Maybe the helmet was... a fashion statement?

The opening credits of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes started playing, the haunting music filling the room. You'd positioned yourself on the couch with Damian on your right, his injured leg propped up on the coffee table, the bowl of popcorn between you.

Jason, you'd learned his name when Damian reluctantly made introductions, had claimed the other end of the sectional, as far from you as possible while still being in the same room. He'd changed out of his jacket and was now in a t-shirt and jeans, the helmet abandoned on the floor like evidence of his humiliation.

"Wait, this is about Snow? Like, the bad guy?" Jason asked about ten minutes in, his first words since the incident.

"Yep. When he was eighteen," you confirmed, offering him the popcorn bowl. Peace offering.

He took it, still not quite looking at you. "Weird concept."

"Just wait," Damian said, his eyes glued to the screen. "Father mentioned this was based on a book. I ordered it. It should arrive tomorrow."

You grinned. "Of course you did."

As the movie progressed, something shifted in the room. Jason gradually relaxed, getting drawn into the story. You noticed him lean forward during the intense scenes, his earlier embarrassment seemingly forgotten.

"She's going to betray him," Jason muttered during one of Snow's scenes with Lucy Gray.

"Shh, no spoilers," you said, even though you'd seen it before.

"I'm not spoiling. I'm predicting. He's already showing narcissistic traits."

"You're not wrong," you admitted.

Damian, meanwhile, had unconsciously migrated closer to you, his head eventually dropping onto your shoulder somewhere around the halfway point. You carefully adjusted the blanket to make sure he was warm, trying not to disturb him.

"He's not usually like that," Jason said quietly, noticing. "Affectionate, I mean."

"He was like this last time too," you whispered back. "I think when he's hurt, he lets his guard down a bit."

"Huh." Jason studied his little brother for a moment, something soft crossing his face. "Bruce usually brings in trained security when Alfred's gone. You're the first actual babysitter."

"Is that why you looked ready to fight when you came in?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I wasn't expecting anyone. Usually, Bruce tells us if someone's going to be here."

"Clearly didn't expect you either, based on the whole..." you gestured vaguely at your throat, miming a chokehold.

Jason's ears went red. "Yeah. About that. Where'd you learn that?"

"Self-defense class at Gotham Community College. My instructor is a tiny woman who could probably take down half the rogues in Arkham."

"Sounds like someone I'd like to meet."

By the time the movie's climax hit, you were surprised to find you'd relaxed too. Jason had migrated closer at some point, leaning against the arm of the couch near you, offering commentary that was actually pretty insightful.

"See? Told you she'd betray him," he said during the ending.

"You called it," you admitted. "Though I maintain that Snow was the real villain all along."

"Obviously. The series makes that pretty clear."

"I liked it," Damian mumbled, drowsy. "Though the ending was unsatisfying."

"That's kind of the point," you said. "You're not supposed to feel good about how it ends."

"Hmm." Damian's breathing was starting to even out. "Can we watch the first Hunger Games again? I want to see it after knowing Snow's backstory."

"Sure, buddy. Tomorrow though." You looked at the clock on the wall: 11:47 PM. "Your dad's going to be home soon."

"He's always late," Damian mumbled, already half-asleep.

Jason snorted. "True."

You must have dozed off.

One moment you were checking the time, the next you were blinking awake to the sound of soft footsteps. The TV had gone to the screensaver, and the room was lit only by its ambient glow.

You couldn't move. There was weight on your chest. Damian had fully sprawled across you at some point, his arm thrown over your stomach, fast asleep. And you were leaning against...

Oh.

You were leaning against Jason, your head on his shoulder. He was completely conked out, his head tilted back against the couch at what had to be an uncomfortable angle.

"Well, well," came a quiet, amused voice.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, looking far too entertained for someone who'd just come home to find his son's babysitter in a cuddle pile with his children.

You tried to sit up without disturbing Damian. "Mr. Wayne! I'm so sorry, we were watching movies and everyone just kind of..."

"It's fine," he said, and he actually smiled, a real one, not the fake one he used for the press. He moved into the room, carefully adjusting the blanket to cover both you and Damian properly. He even reached over and adjusted Jason's head to a better angle, preventing what would have been a killer neck cramp.

Then, to your complete mortification, he pulled out his phone.

"Mr. Wayne, please don't..."

Click.

"That's a keeper," he muttered to himself, looking at the photo with a soft expression you'd never seen on Bruce Wayne's face before.

You felt your face burn. "I'm so sorry, I should have stayed awake..."

"Don't apologize. This is..." He gestured at the scene, his sons peaceful and comfortable, the remnants of your movie night scattered around. "This is good. They need normal. They need someone who treats them like kids."

"Even Jason?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

Bruce's expression flickered with something complicated. "Especially Jason." He pocketed his phone. "Though I have to ask, Alfred left me a very interesting message about an attempted home invasion?"

You winced. "About that..."

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows and the smell of fresh coffee.

For a moment, you were completely disoriented. This wasn't your apartment. The couch you were on was far too comfortable. And there was still a small human using you as a pillow.

"Good morning."

You turned your head, carefully, so as not to wake Damian, to find Jason standing in the doorway with two mugs of coffee.

"Morning," you croaked, your voice rough from sleep. "What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty. Bruce left a note saying you should stay for breakfast before you head out." He handed you one of the mugs. "Black coffee. Wasn't sure how you take it."

"Black's perfect. Thank you." You took a grateful sip. "Also, I'm still really sorry about last night."

Jason sat down on the ottoman, cradling his own mug. In the morning light, without the mask and the attitude, he looked younger. Tired. "Don't be. I should have announced myself better. Or, you know, used the door like a normal person instead of picking the lock."

"You picked the lock to your own house?"

"Lost my key three months ago. Keep meaning to get a new one." He shrugged. "Plus, it keeps me sharp."

"That's..." you tried to find the right word. "Eccentric?"

"That's one word for it." He grinned, and it transformed his whole face. "Though I gotta say, that takedown was pretty impressive. Where'd you say you learned that?"

"Gotham Community College. Self-defense class. My instructor always says 'size doesn't matter if you have technique and the element of surprise.'"

"Smart woman." He studied you over his mug. "You're not freaked out? About all this?" He gestured vaguely around the manor.

"About what? The giant house? The mysterious injuries? The son who comes home wearing a mask?"

"All of it."

You looked down at Damian, still sleeping peacefully against you. "Honestly? I grew up in Gotham. I've seen weirder. And whatever's going on with you guys, it's clear Bruce is trying his best. So are you. That matters more than the weird stuff."

Jason was quiet for a moment. Then: "You're alright. For someone who put me in a headlock."

"You're not bad yourself. For a home invader."

He laughed, a real laugh, loud enough that Damian started to stir.

"Mmph. Too loud," Damian mumbled, burrowing further into your side.

"Come on, demon spawn. Breakfast time," Jason said, reaching over to ruffle his brother's hair.

Damian swatted at him. "Don't call me that."

"What should I call you? Tiny terror? Miniature menace?"

"How about just Damian?" you suggested, trying not to laugh as the two brothers devolved into bickering.

Bruce had left a note on the kitchen counter:

Help yourselves to anything in the fridge. Back by noon. - B

Jason immediately started pulling out ingredients. "Pancakes okay?"

"You cook?" you asked, surprised.

"Someone has to, or these heathens would live on cereal and takeout."

"Father makes adequate breakfast," Damian protested from his seat at the kitchen island, his leg propped up on another chair.

"Your dad's scrambled eggs are like rubber," Jason said flatly. "Don't even try to defend them."

You bit back a smile as you helped gather ingredients. "I can help."

"You're the guest," Jason said, but he didn't protest when you started measuring out flour.

The kitchen filled with the sound and smell of cooking, pancakes sizzling on the griddle, coffee brewing, and Damian providing running commentary on everyone's technique.

"You're supposed to wait for bubbles before you flip," Damian instructed.

"I know how to make pancakes, demon spawn."

"The heat is too high. They're going to burn on the outside and be raw in the middle."

Jason pointed the spatula at him. "One more word and you're getting cereal."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

You laughed, flipping your own pancake perfectly. "Boys, boys. There's enough breakfast for everyone to be right."

"Thank you," Damian said primly.

"Though Jason's right about the heat," you added.

"Betrayal," Damian muttered, but you saw him hide a smile.

As you were getting ready to leave, bag packed and jacket on, Bruce pulled you aside.

"I wanted to thank you," he said. "For last night. And for how you handled the... situation with Jason."

"I'm just glad I didn't actually hurt him," you said, still embarrassed.

"I think his ego was the only casualty." Bruce's expression turned thoughtful. "Look, I know you usually come on an as-needed basis, but I'd like to offer you something more regular. Alfred's getting older, and with his sister in London being ill, he's going to be away more often. The boys clearly like you. And you're one of the only people who's treated them like normal kids while also being able to handle..." he gestured vaguely, "unexpected situations."

"You want me to be a regular babysitter?"

"More like a part-time household assistant. Help with the boys when I'm at work, make sure they're fed and supervised. Especially Damian, he needs someone responsible here when he's recovering from..." Bruce paused, "activities."

You thought about it. The pay would be good. Bruce Wayne didn't do anything halfway. And despite the chaos, you genuinely enjoyed last night.

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course. Take all the time you need." He handed you an envelope. "That's for last night. And here's my personal number if you have questions."

You opened the envelope in your car and nearly drove off the road. Bruce Wayne had paid you three times your normal rate, with a note:

Hazard pay for the unexpected home invasion. - B

Your phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

This is Jason. Got your number from Bruce's phone. Sorry again about scaring you. PS - Your headlock game is strong. If you ever want sparring tips, let me know.

Then another text, this one from Damian:

Father gave me your number. The new Hunger Games book arrived. We should read it together next time. If you are coming back. Which would be acceptable.

You sat in your car, looking up at Wayne Manor, and realized you were smiling.

requested | by 🎨💚 anon pairing | kyle rayner x fem! reader summary | when his own lie comes back to bite him in the ass, kyle scrambles to find a way to keep up the charade

He's really going to do it this time, Kyle tells himself, as he works up the nerve to knock on your front door. He'd been pacing back and forth in the hallway for twenty minutes now, trying to formulate some sort of script so he doesn't seem like a total blithering idiot.

Raising his hand, knuckles just shy of brushing against your front door, Kyle freezes once again as his mind blue-screens.

Shit. What was he going to say again?

Oh, what was he thinking? He couldn't do this. He'd just have to get the guardians to assign him to some sector far, far away from Iego and the grand wedding ceremony that had started this whole debacle. Or he'd feign having caught some deadly disease, highly contagious, wouldn't want to get anyone else sick.

wc : 2.2k ish || like & follow for more :3 || masterlist

summary : Kyle broke up with you because he believed dating a civilian put you in too much danger as Green Lantern. He quickly realizes he was wrong and misses you deeply. CW : nada! Mention of H*L.. (love u). Enjoy!

a/n : i fear ive always been a Kyle Rayner girlie and i dont think i can change that. Yes he’s an artist idc (not proof read sorry…) & (yes i know he lives in nyc or la but i like coast city and dont care if it exploded or wtv)

The rain in Coast City fell in steady sheets, turning the streets into mirrors of neon and streetlights. You hurried under your umbrella towards your apartment building, grocery bags swinging from one elbow, the other clutching a coffee that had already gone lukewarm. Six months. It had been six months since Kyle Rayner - your boyfriend of two years - had sat you down in the living room of the place you shared and told you it was over.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he’d said, green eyes haunted. “You’re a civilian. Every time I put the ring on, I’m putting a target on your back. I thought I could keep you safe, but I can’t. Not really. You deserve someone who can give you a normal life.”

You had argued. You had cried. You had told him that love wasn’t about safety - it was about choosing each other anyway. But Kyle had been stubborn, convinced that his life as Green Lantern made any relationship with you too dangerous. He moved out the next week, leaving behind a half-empty closet, the smell of his cologne on the pillows, and a hole in your chest that still ached on quiet nights.

You told yourself you were moving on. You had a new routine: work at the graphic design firm, evenings spent sketching or binge-watching shows, occasional dates that never quite felt right. But every time you saw a streak of green light across the night sky, your heart still lurched.

Tonight was no different.

You fumbled with your keys at the building entrance when a familiar voice called your name from behind.

“Hey… wait up.”

You froze. That voice. Warm, a little hesitant, with the slight California drawl that always made your stomach flip. You turned slowly.

Kyle stood under the awning a few feet away, soaked to the bone despite the fact that he could have easily shielded himself with a construct. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, green eyes bright even in the dim light. He wore a simple black hoodie and jeans - no ring visible, but you knew it was there, tucked away on his finger or in his pocket.

“Kyle,” you said, keeping your voice neutral even as your pulse raced. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted his weight, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen the man who regularly fought cosmic threats. “I… I needed to see you. Can we talk? Please?”

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to slam the door in his face and protect the fragile peace you’d built. The other part - the part that still dreamed about his laugh and the way he used to draw silly cartoons on your coffee cups - wanted to hear him out.

“Five minutes,” you said finally, unlocking the door. “That’s it.”

He followed you inside, dripping water onto the lobby floor. The elevator ride up was silent and awkward, the kind of silence that used to be comfortable but now felt loaded with everything unsaid.

Inside your apartment, you set the groceries down and turned to face him, arms crossed. “Talk.”

Kyle ran a hand through his wet hair, leaving it sticking up in every direction. “I was wrong.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a start.”

“I mean it.” He took a step closer but stopped when you tensed. “Breaking up with you… telling you it was too dangerous… I thought I was protecting you. I convinced myself that if I kept you at arm’s length, the universe couldn’t use you against me. But the last six months have been hell. Every night I fly patrol, I look for you in the crowds. Every time I see something beautiful, I want to show it to you. I miss your laugh. I miss the way you steal my hoodies. I miss waking up and seeing your sketches on the kitchen table. I miss you.”

Your throat tightened. You turned away, busying yourself with putting away the groceries so he wouldn’t see the way your hands shook. “You made your choice, Kyle. You said a civilian and a Lantern couldn’t work. You said it was too dangerous.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I still am. But being without you is worse than any fear. I thought pushing you away would make me a better hero. Instead it just made me a lonely idiot who can’t stop thinking about the person he loves.”

You paused, a can of tomatoes halfway to the shelf. “Loves?”

Kyle stepped closer, stopping just out of arm’s reach. “I never stopped. Not for one second.”

The silence stretched again, heavier this time. You finished putting the groceries away, then turned to face him fully. He looked miserable - eyes red-rimmed, shoulders slumped in a way that didn’t suit the man who wore a power ring like a second skin.

“What do you want from me, Kyle?” you asked quietly.

“I want a chance to fix this,” he said. “I want to prove that I was wrong. That we can make it work. That I can be your boyfriend and Green Lantern without putting you in a glass box. I’ll do whatever it takes. Grovel. Beg. Build you a construct castle if you want. Just… let me try.”

You studied him for a long moment. The earnestness in his eyes was the same one that had made you fall for him in the first place - the artist who saw beauty in everything, even in the middle of chaos.

“One date,” you said finally. “No Lantern stuff. No grand gestures. Just you and me, like normal people. If it feels right… we’ll see.”

Relief washed over his face so strongly it almost made you smile. “One date. I can do that. Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You nodded. “Seven. And Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be late.”

He grinned - the first real smile you’d seen from him in months—and disappeared in a swirl of green light before you could change your mind.

The next evening, you waited in your apartment with a mix of nerves and cautious hope. At exactly 6:58 p.m., there was a knock at the door. When you opened it, Kyle stood there in a button-down shirt and dark jeans, holding a single sunflower - the kind you used to buy together at the farmers’ market.

“No constructs,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “No ring. Just me. And this.” He offered the flower with a shy smile. “I remembered you like sunflowers because they always turn toward the light.”

You took it, fingers brushing his. “It’s perfect. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere normal,” he promised. “No alien invasions. No world-ending threats. Just dinner and a walk.”

He took you to a small Italian place downtown—the same one you used to go to on lazy Friday nights. The hostess recognized you both and gave you the corner booth without comment. Kyle pulled out your chair, then sat across from you, looking adorably out of place without his usual confident swagger.

Conversation started awkward but gradually warmed. He asked about your work, about the new series you were sketching, about the stray cat that had started hanging around your fire escape. You asked him about his latest art show (he’d had one last month and hadn’t invited you - something he apologised for profusely). He told you about the latest Guardian lectures he’d been ignoring and how Hal had been giving him grief about “moping like a lovesick puppy.”

By the time dessert arrived - tiramisu shared with two forks—the tension had eased into something almost like the old comfort.

“I was an idiot,” Kyle said suddenly, setting his fork down. “I thought love was about keeping you safe from my world. But the truth is… my world is brighter when you’re in it. Even when it’s dangerous. Especially when it’s dangerous. You make me want to be better - not just as a Lantern, but as a person.”

You reached across the table and took his hand. “I was scared too. Scared that one day you wouldn’t come back. But pushing each other away didn’t make it hurt less. It just made everything lonelier.”

He squeezed your fingers gently. “I don’t want to be lonely anymore. I want to come home to you. I want to draw with you on the couch at 2 a.m. I want to fly you to Paris for breakfast if you’re craving croissants. I want all of it - the good days and the scary ones - as long as we face them together.”

Your heart ached with how much you’d missed this version of him - the vulnerable, open Kyle who wore his heart on his sleeve instead of behind the mask of Green Lantern.

After dinner, he walked you home, hands brushing occasionally but never quite holding. At your door, he stopped, looking nervous again.

“I know one date isn’t enough to fix everything,” he said. “But I’m willing to keep trying for as long as you’ll let me. No pressure. No expectations. Just… me, trying to be the guy you deserve.”

You studied him for a long moment. The man who had broken your heart to protect you and was now standing in the rain asking for another chance.

“Come inside,” you said softly.

His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The moment the door closed behind you both, the careful distance you’d maintained all evening dissolved. Kyle pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, voice thick. “Every single day.”

You held him just as tightly. “I missed you too.”

He kissed you then - slow and deep and full of six months of longing. His hands cupped your face like you were something precious and fragile, even though he knew you were strong enough to stand beside a Lantern. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he said simply. “I never stopped. Not for a second.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back. “Even when I was angry. Even when it hurt.”

That night you stayed up talking until the early hours - about the fears that had driven you apart, the hopes that could bring you back together, and all the little things you’d both missed. Kyle told you about the nights he’d sat on rooftops drawing your face from memory. You admitted you still kept one of his hoodies hidden in the back of your closet because it still smelled like him.

When you finally fell asleep curled against his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around you, Kyle stayed awake a little longer, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmured into the quiet dark. “Not unless you ask me to.”

The next few weeks were a careful, beautiful rebuilding.

Kyle showed up at your door with coffee exactly the way you liked it. He left little construct doodles on your windowsill - tiny glowing hearts and silly cartoons that made you smile when you woke up. He took you on dates that felt wonderfully ordinary: picnics in the park, movie nights on your couch, late-night drives along the coast with the windows down and music playing too loud.

But he also let you into his world in small, safe ways. He showed you the watchtower from a distance, describing the stars he’d visited. He introduced you (cautiously) to some of the other Lanterns via video call, proudly calling you “the best part of my life.” And when danger inevitably found its way to Coast City, he made sure you had a secure way to contact him and a plan to stay safe without feeling sidelined.

One night, after a particularly close call where he’d had to fight Sinestro with the rest of the Lanterns, Kyle appeared at your window, ring glowing faintly as he hovered outside.

You opened it immediately, pulling him inside. He was bruised and exhausted, but the moment he saw you, his whole face softened.

“I’m okay,” he said before you could ask. “But I needed to see you. Needed to know you were safe.”

You tugged him toward the couch, making him sit while you fetched the first-aid kit. As you gently cleaned a cut on his cheek, he caught your hand.

“I was wrong,” he said again, the same words he’d said the night he came back. “I thought keeping you away would protect you. But the truth is… i think you make me stronger. Knowing I have you to come home to makes me fight harder. Makes me smarter. Makes me want to build a future instead of just surviving the present.”

You set the kit aside and straddled his lap, cupping his face in both hands. “Then stop trying to protect me by pushing me away. Let me stand beside you - in whatever way works for both of us.”

He nodded, eyes shining with emotion. “I will. I promise.”

Then he kissed you - deep, grateful, and full of the love he’d been holding back for months. His hands settled at your waist, gentle and reverent, as if he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you again.

That night you fell asleep tangled together on the couch, Kyle’s ring glowing softly on his finger like a promise. For the first time in six months, the future didn’t feel terrifying.

It felt like coming home.

a/n : oh my god writing like some corny corny shit makes me laugh so hard I love life

@fancy-possum © 2026. All work belongs to me and I have not used ANY ai platform to ‘enhance’ my writing. I do not consent to my writing being tweaked, reposted on other platforms, translated or fed into ai. FUCK AI.

“this is my hear me out”: shows picture of human reader after another gladiatorial combat, all messy, tired, filthy and most definitely covered in whatever blood of the creature

and the comments are either

yautja.No1: you fool, your “hear me out” is supposed to be something diabolical. like xenomorph or something

ooman_fvcker: i’m hearing you out

galacticalmenace: that ain’t a “hear me out”. that’s a “hold me back”

Can You Hear It Sing?

batboys x reader

Clark Kent x Reader

Conner Kent x Reader

Includes: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Conner Kent, and Damian Wayne

Synopsis: When you were assigned to interview your boyfriend in the cowl, you figured he would play the “tall, dark, and brooding” role. You were so wrong.

Word Count: 8313 (I need to be sedated)

A/N: 23 HOURS, okay i figured this one would win based on the numbers, but just imagine I am magic and summoned it out of the air. This one is like… my new child, so I hope you all like it as much as I do! ❤️

Fatson loves... BURGER!

Fatson loves... ROBIN!

cw: fem!reader, slice of life

You're sitting in one of those circular booths. You preferred it because it keeps you close to Wally. Your head resting on his shoulder, his hand on your thigh, thumb moving in slow circles.

Your boyfriend rattles off his order—a huge one that has the waiter scribbling frantically while giving Wally concerned glances. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do. Almost.

After what feels like forever, the waiter turns to you. You lift your head. "And for you?"

"Um…I'll have a burger and…" Slowly, you turn toward Wally. "Hey, baby, can I get extra fries and a Diet Coke?"

Wally does a double-take, his green eyes sparkling with worry as he stares at you. His lips curve downward, making you want to kiss him until he smiles.

"…You can get whatever you want?"

"Okay, thank you," you say cheerfully. Wally's hand on your thigh stills. Turning back to the waiter, you add, "I’ll have two fries on the side and a Diet Coke, please."

The waiter furrows his brows and nods. "Right…It’ll be out soon." He lingers for a brief second, as if unsure whether he should leave you with Wally.

Once the waiter is out of earshot, Wally takes your hand nervously. A small crease forms between his brows as he looks at you properly.

"What's going on?" he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His attentiveness warms your heart.

You press your lips together, fighting a smile. "Nothing, I was just asking if I could order more."

His face falls, and you immediately soften. Wrapping your arms around his bicep, you mutter, "It was a joke. Stop looking at me like that. I just wanted to see how you’d react."

He stares at you, shoulders dropping, and forehead smoothing over.

"You're a cruel woman, y’know that? How else did you think I’d react, baby? Asking me for permission…You want extra fries? You get extra fries. You want to burn the city down? You burn—"

He stops, thinking for a moment. "Okay…don’t do that, please. I’d have a lot of paperwork to deal with."

"Aww, I was looking forward to that."

"Baby, what did I just say about not needing my permission?" he scolds lightly.

"You're making this way more complicated than it needs to be," you tease.