#look at Hal's mask!!

[cerealboxlore]

I caved in and bought another art commission recently for Captain Marvel :D

The artist is @thefruitloop-chan here on tumblr! They are so nice and amazing to commission ❤️ (loop if you see this it's me from twitter!)

I asked for the commission to be based off a scene from MHA and a scene from @wolfsbanesparks work "Split" on Ao3 that reminded me of it. 1000% worth it.

[hijinxinprogress]

The JL keeps trying to stop Captain Marvel from talking to the media (and it’s not working)

The jl held a meeting about marvel’s conduct with cops bc he got a little too excited and suplexed a cop completely fucking forgetting he’s a 7ft buff ass man (the video goes viral for months) and the press is having a fucking field day with this bc ‘Captain Marvel Hates The Government!’ ‘Justice League Member, Captain Marvel, Shows His True Colors…?’ ‘Fawcett Superhero Attacks Civilian!’ ‘Captain Marvel Sends Police Officer to ICU!’ ‘Philadelphia Hero Puts Public Servant In Coma’ and shit like that is on the front page of every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid for the next eight months at least

so they’re like ‘hey you gotta say something! The people think you hate the us government esp the police!’ and he’s just sitting there confused before he says very slowly and clearly ‘But I do…I fucking despise them’

Barry and Hal are fucking losing it bc this is the guy that says ‘darn!’ in the heat of battle and has said on multiple occasions ‘Well, that’s not very nice, now is it?’ to opponents that destroy worlds for fun

like this guy still tries very hard not to make faces at the broccoli on his plate in front of the jl (and fails)

this guy hears a yj member or even the very adult titans cussing and going on the longest rant bc ‘I’ve not heard such foul language in all my years-!’ and what’s this ‘‘I’m an adult’ nonsense?? I’m older than Ravens grandfather 🤨 When you get to be my age-’

they’re all so pissed when they hear him cussing like a sailor playing video games on cyborgs phone the next day and he’s playing fucking temple run at that

[danothan]

in my beautiful mind, barry allen is a golden retriever that needs a slow feeder dog bowl to eat

[johnbottoms]

I think the dcamu's biggest flaw isn't that they choose some of the worst storylines to make into movies . I think it's bc they're so fucking ugly

ew

[roger-that-palidan]

I love him so much, I named one of my Red Dead Online Horses after him.

[freefallintothevoid]

Whenever Bruce can't do something as Batman he sends one of his kids in the cowl. Literally any of his kids. To deal with having to wear the cowl, they turn it into a game: will the justice league notice that Batman isn't the person under the mask?

Spoiler alert, they don't.

Somehow, the league never notices when it's not Bruce under the cowl, or at least that it's not the same person they all know.

Like never.

______

Hal: Hey Bats, you look taller today.

Jason, determined not to lose: hm

Hal, sensing danger and immediately backtracking: uh, that's not to say you don't usually look tall, I mean you just look taller today, um did you change your ear thingies?

Jason: *Batglare intensifies*

Hal: uh, I'm just gonna go

_______

Aquaman: you've been quiet this whole meeting, Batman, even for you.

Cass, currently wearing shoulder pads and absolutely insane platform boots: *a fim huff of breath*

Aquaman: right sorry, I forgot you were dealing with another mass break out from Arkham this week, you don't need to stay for the whole meeting. We know you probably know everything already anyway

Cass: *nods*

_____

Flash: Morning Batman. *zooms past*

Duke, absolutely befuddled:

Duke, quietly into his comm: you'd think the speedster would have the time to notice

The several batkids on the other side of the line: *laughing hysterically.*

Dick, wheezing: just do the thing where B tucks the lower half of his face into his cape like he's Dracula. You're doing great.

Bruce, from somewhere in the cave, actively giving up on the assumption that his coworkers have at least one working braincell between them: stop comparing me to Dracula, Dick

[nomaishuttle]

i donot know why im breaking out so bad... augjhhh

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Five.

Barry sped into his seat. The chair rocked with the sudden occupation and settled just before the monitor flicked over from the Justice League logo to Batman’s face.

Barry leaned over to Hal. “Is it just me or is he extra scary all large up on the screen like that?”

“I don’t know,” Hal whispered back with a smirk. “I think the glare loses something.”

“Hum. You know, I don’t think he’s actually glaring yet. I think that’s just the pain,” Barry decided.

The fact that Batman wasn’t at a hundred percent was obvious. Instead of his usual heavily armored suit, he was in some sort of under shirt that definitely wasn’t made for heavy fighting. More startling, he was in a domino like Nightingale wore rather than his full cowl. The edge of a white bandage was stark against his neck.

“Oh come on, don’t say that,” Hal whined, though kept it low enough for only Barry (and nosy Supermen) to hear. “That’s just depressing. Spooky shouldn’t be down and out like that.”

“You know he’d be here in person if he wasn’t, and I mean,” Barry said with a little gesture towards the screen.

Whatever Hal was going to say got put to the side as Wonder Woman stood.

“Obviously, the last mission was a hard one,” she said, as if Batman being too hurt to come in person wasn’t example enough of that. “I believe we can all agree that going over the facts to make sure we are either better prepared for the next threat like this or can even prevent it is wise. Batman, if you will—”

Wonder Woman cut herself off with a bemused smile as she looked at the screen.

There was someone else on the display with Batman. The League couldn’t clearly see the person what with the lighting and camera angle, really they were hardly more than a shadow, but that wasn’t too important. What caught Barry’s attention, at least, was the look on Batman’s face.

It was soft.

Maybe they could just see more without the usual cowl but Batman was looking at the person like Barry had never seen the man look at anyone else.

Batman’s mouth moved, but there was no sound. Still it was obvious that he let out one of his little huffs of air before he leaned forward to accept a water bottle and something else. Medication, Barry guessed, by the way Batman knocked it back. He shook his head once before he glanced back at the screen.

Instantly his face schooled into his normal stoic mask. It was so quick a transformation that if Barry hadn’t seen the soft look himself he wouldn’t have believed it ever existed.

The other figure moved off screen as Batman unmuted. “My apology, apparently I was over due some medication. My husband is a little… pushy about that.”

A loud snort of laughter came off screen.

Batman glanced briefly that way.

“Holy shit, Batman has a husband?” Barry whispered.

“Wild, right?” Hal murmured back.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

A Day in Life

Synopsis: A day in your life while working as the Justice League's assistant. Also, they are all yanderes for you and it's Valentine's Day.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader

Tw: 18+ just because of a mention of Superman misusing his X-Ray vision and the mention of hooking up, aside from that, this is pretty SFW; Flash and Green Lantern are a little delusional; Hal Jordan is pushy; Batman is probably a little out of character (and I’m ashamed to keep it that way) bc I can't see him giving anyone flowers as Batman, just as Bruce Wayne; Mentions of them all secretly stalking you; This League members are Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash (Barry Allen), Green Lantern (Hal Jordan; John Stewart is mentioned), Aquaman and Martian Manhunter; I wrote too little about Martian Manhunter, Aquaman here because I don't know much about them; Wish I had more ideas for Wonder Woman’s interaction here too cause I love her; My crush on Hal is very obvious; Reader doesn't struggle much against them but they're also pretty tame; The physics in flying and running at super speed might be wrong but this is comic book science so it's wrong either way; English is not my first language.

Word count: 1,6k

Requested? No.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

The zeta tube flashes and the AI voice announces the arrival of Flash. Your heart goes fast.

— Hey, (Y/N)! — In a flash, he's in front of you. — Happy Valentine's Day! — You tear your eyes off of your schedule on your tablet and see him holding a rose towards you.

— Oh, hey, Flash… — You reply a little tense. — Thank you… You didn't need to. — You hesitantly take the rose from him and whilst your attention is on staring at the flower and holding back a grimace, you miss the glint in his blue eyes. His blush is covered by his mask. His mind seeks for something to say before you decide to break the momentary silence. — You're really sweet, it's great to have a friend like you! — You make sure to exclain, the tone a notch higher, trying to make your point come across. Flash’s face falls.

— Uh- I- Actually- — His speech gets cut off by the zeta announcing Superman. Before you can have a heart attack, the boy scout also zooms in front of you, this time your hair blows back with the wind. He must've come flying.

— (Y/N)’s heart is pounding, what are you doing, Flash? — Superman alternates between looking at your face worriedly, then your chest, then glaring at the speedster by his side.

— What? Nothing! — Flash looks wide-eyed at Superman. Then his mind clicks and he looks at you again. — Wait, what? Your heart is pounding? Is it… Is it because of me?! — You see the dazed look on his face coming to the surface again. Oh boy.

You casually make the effort to take a breath you didn't know you were holding and make your heart go down. You hate when Super uses his X-Ray vision on you. You can never be sure when he is doing it, but why else would he analytically stare specifically at your body when he is worried about you? Also, that time when you commented with Sarah from the kitchen’s crew that you forgot to do your laundry and went to the Watchtower without underwear. Seconds later, Superman appeared in the doorway, looking startled and flustered, ears red. Although he pretended to have just arrived at the tower and you and your friend chose to ignore your embarrassment that your boss with superhearing might have chose that exact moment to focus his hearing on only the places around him, including your too intimate conversation, you still caught him red handed sneaking glances specifically at your hips, and he hurriedly exited the room after that. At the time, you had just recently started the job as the Justice League’s assistant. After that you were a lot more aware.

After a while you realized you had a reason to be.

Superman was glaring at the rose in your hand and Flash was daydreaming while looking at your face when the zeta flashed again and you snapped out of it fast enough that by the time you started talking, your mind didn't pay attention to who had just arrived.

— Hm, no. It's just you fast people are always catching me off guard. — Flash deflates and- Is he pouting? Bro. Superman lights up and looks at you again.

— Oh, sorry, (N/N), we always forget about that. — The alien chuckles while rubbing the back of his head.

— Superman. Flash. — You and Flash jump, but Superman, not surprisingly, doesn't react and just follows you three and looks behind the two heros in front of you to the one with the gruff voice that just arrived.

Flash groans and Superman just rolls his eyes, you can see that while trying to peak past the men’s towering frames blocking you. You don't have to guess much though, because they make space for the newcomer and you suppress a tired sigh at seeing Batman making his way to you with a gigantic arrangement of flowers that covers his entire torso, arms and head, only his bat-ears, legs and cape being visible.

— (Y/N). Those are for you. — Color me shocked. Before you can try to start thinking about how you are gonna take this absurdity anywhere, vengeance speaks. — I'm gonna leave it at your desk.

— Hmhmm. Thank you, Batman. — You refused to watch his retreating form and let any member of your yandere harem think you actually have an interest in any of them and look down at your tablet again. The action makes you remember the rose you're still holding and you hurriedly walk away from the two nutcases stuck glaring at the third and go to his side. — Actually, take this with you. — You stick the rose amongst the rest of the flowers and before any of them can say anything else, you get out of the room.

You take a deep breath. Since the League’s weird obsession started seemingly around a year ago, you had a whole crisis over it. The pay was good, and it increased even more when they took this insane liking to you, so it's not like you could just quit like it was nothing. Besides, it's the Justice League, you could run from the fucking planet and they would still find you. It's easier to adapt.

You go on with your routine for a few minutes until you bump into a neon green brick wall. Scratch that, it's just Green Lantern’s chest.

— Hey, cutie, I was looking for you. — Your eyes widen when the space cop suddenly holds you by the shoulders, pushes you against a wall, then lets you go just to keep his two muscular arms on each side of you, trapping you and keeping you close to his frame. Ugh, the Lantern with brown hair has always been the more touchy one. You miss the one with dark skin and common sense.

— Need me for something? — You hold a groan with the limitless possibilities of how he could use that sentence to be crude, but you just wanted to get rid of him. He smirks.

— I was wondering if you were free today and would like to go on a date with me later… — He knew you were free. You knew he knew you were free. Every time you have a date (and you never told them) the League seems to get more on edge and suddenly your workload increases. Tsk, you hate them. Unfortunately, you love nice things even more.

You raise an eyebrow.

— I don't even know your name. — You point out, maybe that would make him give up, but he just shrugged.

— I could tell you, trust is a fundamental part in any relationship.

— Is a date a relationship? Also I don't think Batman would like that. — Any of that. He cocks his head to the side and his beautiful hair moves down.

— Cutie, you don't have to worry about Spooky. And I don't want to just hook up with you, you know that. Now just stop playing hard to get and-

A golden light catches your attention, it could be a miracle, but it's just Wonder Woman's lasso wrapping around the lantern's neck and pulling him away from you. Unfortunately, she tied a it in a way that the action wouldn't strangle him or break his neck.

— Ugh, men really have no boundaries. — The amazon rolls her lasso back and takes a step towards you, keeping said man sulking behind her while analyzing you. — Forgive my friend, (Y/N). He grew up in a barn. — The stunning demigoddess smiles at you.

Ugh, if she wasn't just as crazy as the rest of them you would happily swoon over her.

— Right. Well, I have to go. — You turn your back to them and take fast but casual steps away from them and the empty hallway. It never fails to scare the shit out of you and give you goosebumps whenever one of them catches you alone in one of those, and the competition between them for your heart somehow makes you confident enough that if there are at least two of them, no harm will come to you.

You clear your throat. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. The martian should’ve arrived by now and you don't doubt he reads your mind 24/7 when he’s close enough.

You’re about to turn a corridor when you spot Aquaman poking his head in a room, looking for something, it's probably you, only his body is visible and he can't see you.

You hold a groan and run as quietly as possible away from him without him noticing, remembering the time he ranted to you about seahorses being the most romantic fish species, with monogamous mate bonds for lifetime, and all the times he promised to show you Atlantis one day and make you rule his people by his side.

A few minutes later when you look at the clock, you know by that time they're all already in their meeting and not wandering around, desperate for a crumb of your attention. To confirm that, you open the camera’s feed that not many had access to and idly check their presence in the meeting room. Your stomach churns seeing your figure in one of their monitors, the others displaying normal missions info. Of course they would follow you around through the cameras, because that's just as important as discussing wars and crisis in Earth countries and other planets.

You passively shut the screen when you finally get to your office, in which you avoid staying until you absolutely have to, or the coast is clear enough to, otherwise it's the most obvious place for them to force an interaction with you.

You look up and your shoulders drop in defeat at the sign of too many flowers, gifts and letters from each member of the League.

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DC Taglist:

@wandalfnation

[blueboybot]

A Lantern's Light

This time it isn't Batman, Superman or even Wonder Woman that has a secret child. Rather, it is none other than our resident Green Lantern, Hal Jordan.

Memory holds knowledge and within that knowledge holds power.

Maybe Star Sapphire and Green Lantern did manage to live a happy life before everything went to ruins.

When Danny unexpectedly gets saved by Hal they both stop, just looking at each other...

_____________

Danny should've been faster. He saw the fight, he knew how close they were and yet he didn't think to use one of his many ghost powers to get far away. Now he was about to be crushed by a giant piece of apartment building. It won't kill him but it was sure going to be a mess on the streets and that will bring more attention to him than he wants.

Before the giant piece of stone could do its job a green light encased it, not exactly like the ecto-green he saw with other ghost, and stopped it from making him the human pancake he was destined to be, green slightly poisonous syrup included. When the stone was put aside Danny was able to see the hero Green Lantern.

Now Danny has only ever seen the man on tv or far away while the other fights and even then he didn't pay him much interest. But now that he was here, now that he was so close to him Danny felt something. His core, his soul...it knew this man, it new Green Lantern.

"Hey kid you need to go this place isn't safe...for...you..."

__________

Hal is a lot of things.

A test pilot who worked for Ferris Aircraft.

A member of the Green Lantern Corps working with other Green lanterns and venturing out into parts of space that he thought was never possible for him.

A member of the Justice League where he fights alongside other heroes, taking down any evil that threatens the earth and making sure it is a safer place for its inhabitants.

But.

There was a time when he was blessed with a miracle and became a father to the cutest baby in the world. His baby boy that he took almost everywhere with him, playing with him and watching as those blue eyes lit up with enough joy to power a house.

Hal doesn't like to think about those memories now, they always came accompanied with the sound of thunder, rain, screaming and crying. He lost everything that day and he was sure he'd never see those eyes again.

So why...why were they looking back at him?

__________

Danny did not know what was happening to him right now and he was a bit scared. Him and Green Lantern have just been there staring at each other, not saying anything, just staring.

Green Lantern touched the down on the ground and very slowly started walking towards him. Danny couldn't find it in himself to move, he was paralysed and it wasn't completely with fear.

When he was close enough enough Green Lantern looked down at him, not in the arrogant way, almost as if he didn't realize how short Danny would be. Danny was in a bit of awe of how much bigger and more muscled the man looked up close, the way his masked eyes looked as if they almost glowed. Despite all of this Danny didn't feel any of the fear one should when a man this big corners you, rather, he felt safe.

Green Lantern reached out his hand to hold the side of Danny's face softly and he melted into the touch. This feeling of safe and comfort was almost too much, he hadn't this way in a long time, not since he had to run and leave everyone and everything he loved behind. He didn't even realize he was crying.

A loud boom shook the ground they were standing on and Green lantern turned around, it was all that was need to break whatever weird spell was on Danny. Using his invisiblity to stay out of sight he took off, using flight to fly far away from Green Lantern.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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[solar-wing]

⚣ Hal Jordan: NSFW Alphabet 🟢⚪

⚣🟢⚪️ A/N → Welp, you guys wanted more Green Lantern content (and lowkey, I did to), so Merry Christmas! Honestly, I'm quite shocked at how much came out of this. But then again, Hal just has a way of getting to me...🫦welp...enjoy!

⚣🟢⚪️ Word Count → 12K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🟢⚪️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

– Hal Jordan may swagger into the bedroom with the confidence of a man who’s saved the universe countless times, but his aftercare is where the duality of his character shines. Post-climax, he’s all about keeping the mood light, tossing out cocky remarks like, “Admit it, that was the best you’ve ever had, right? I mean, I did just blow your mind.” The grin on his face says he’s half-joking, but the glint in his eye says he’s fishing for confirmation. His ego loves knowing you’re thoroughly wrecked—and let’s face it, he probably did live up to the hype.

– But under the smug exterior lies a man who takes aftercare just as seriously as the main event. Hal knows how intense he can get during the act, with his relentless stamina and the sheer physicality he brings to every round. He doesn’t just leave you sprawled and dazed; he makes sure to check in, his large hands trailing softly over your skin as he murmurs, “Too sore? Need me to grab anything?” He’ll tease, of course—“Didn’t think you’d be able to keep up with me, but you did good.”—but it’s all part of his way of putting you at ease.

– Hal’s attentiveness extends to cleaning up the evidence of your activities, a task he approaches with the same confidence as everything else. Whether it’s a towel to wipe down your body or an exaggerated groan as he gets out of bed to find a spare blanket, Hal doesn’t let you lift a finger. He’ll even run a hand down your thigh as he tucks the covers around you, his lips quirking into a smirk as he whispers something entirely inappropriate, like, “Bet you’re still feeling me there, huh?” His playful arrogance is almost endearing—almost.

– The vulnerability he hides so well emerges in quieter moments. If you’re spent and too blissed out to move, Hal will gather you against his chest, still warm and slick from your shared efforts, and stroke your hair absentmindedly. He’s careful not to make a big deal of it—he doesn’t want you realizing how soft he can be—but his touch is deliberate, grounding you as you come back to earth from whatever peak he just sent you to. He might even whisper, voice husky, “You looked so good back there, you know. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

– But if you call him out for being sweet or overly attentive, the cocky mask slips back on in record time. “What? I’m just making sure my partner’s in one piece,” he’ll quip, though the pink dusting his cheeks betrays him. Still, it’s clear he relishes these moments just as much as the action itself, even if he hides it behind his usual bravado.

– Hal’s aftercare is as intense and satisfying as the main event: a perfect blend of teasing, tenderness, and the kind of care that only comes from someone who pays attention to every detail—even if he’d never admit it outright.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

– When it comes to Hal Jordan, there’s no denying that his favorite body part is... well, all of him. And honestly, can you blame him? Hal’s Green Lantern suit—skin-tight and sculpted perfectly to his frame—shows off every inch of his physique in painstaking detail, from the broad expanse of his chest to the sharp definition of his thighs. The suit is formed by his willpower, after all, and Hal has no intention of leaving anything to the imagination. He’s fully aware of how good he looks in it and takes every opportunity to remind others, whether it’s through a smirk or a playful, “Can’t help it if the uniform does all the work.”

– If pressed to choose, though, Hal would probably say his favorite parts are the ones people notice first: his arms, chest, and back. His arms are undeniably impressive—thick and corded with muscle, the result of years spent as a test pilot and Green Lantern. He loves how they look when he’s lifting or holding you, the subtle flex of his biceps drawing attention without even trying. “Bet you can’t keep your eyes off these, huh?” he might tease, flexing just enough to make you roll your eyes (and blush).

– His chest—a feature that somehow manages to look both approachable and commanding. It’s broad enough to provide comfort when you lean into him, yet strong enough to carry the weight of his responsibilities. And let’s be real: Hal definitely notices when your eyes linger there, even if he pretends not to. He’s the type to smirk and say something ridiculous, like, “Careful, I’m starting to think you’re just here for the view.”

– His back, though, is what really sets him apart. It’s not about sheer size but the way every movement highlights the smooth, lean strength he carries. Whether he’s flying, creating a construct with his ring, or throwing a playful glance over his shoulder, his back tells its own story. It’s graceful and functional, a reflection of the precision and control that define both his role as a Green Lantern and his daredevil tendencies. He relishes the way your hands linger there too and is especially smug about the fact that his back is just as enticing when it’s bare, a fact you’ve undoubtedly confirmed more than once.

– And while Hal would never openly talk about it, his manhood absolutely makes the list. Of course, he’s proud of that too—he’s Hal Jordan, after all—but he’d rather let his partner be the one to sing its praises (and trust him, he loves hearing those praises). Still, when it comes to the parts of him that draw attention first, it’s the show-stopping combination of arms, chest, and back that take the spotlight. After all, what’s the point of saving the universe if you can’t look damn good doing it?

– Now, as far as you and Hal’s favorite part(s) on you, it’s all about your hands. As a man who thrives on touch and connection, he’s completely enamored by the way your hands look on him. There’s something intoxicating about how they feel clasped in his during a quiet, intimate moment, or the way they roam over his arms, chest, or back when things heat up. He lives for that tactile worship, his ego swelling every time your fingers linger on his muscles, tracing the contours of his body like you’re mapping out uncharted territory. – And when he’s carrying you—whether it’s out of danger or into the bedroom—he’ll revel in how your hands instinctively cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders or trailing down his back.

– But here’s the thing: Hal isn’t just a sucker for your hands—he’s an unapologetic ass man through and through. It’s practically written into his DNA. That skin-tight Green Lantern suit of his? It’s not just for show. Every inch of him is pressed flush against you when he’s feeling bold, and he loves nothing more than sidling up behind you, his front teasingly snug against your back. His gloved hands will inevitably slide down to cup you, pulling you closer as he murmurs something utterly shameless into your ear, like, “This is my favorite view. Don’t you think the suit was made for moments like this?”

– Hal doesn’t just stop at appreciating the visual—oh no, he’s tactile to the core. He’s constantly finding excuses to touch, grab, and admire every curve. Whether it’s a teasing slap as you walk by or his hands firmly gripping your hips while he’s pressing you into a wall, Hal’s all about staking his claim. And let’s not forget the sheer amusement he gets when he’s grinding against you, letting you feel exactly how worked up he’s gotten just from the sway of your hips or the way your body fits against his. He’ll chuckle low in your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he says, “You know, it’s really not fair how good you look in that. What are you trying to do to me?”

– But it’s not just a physical thing for Hal—it’s the reactions he draws out of you that really get him going. He loves watching your body respond to his touch, the way your muscles tense or relax under his hands. And when you let out a breathy moan or arch into him? That’s game over. He’ll double down, his lips trailing across your neck as his hands roam freely, all while whispering praises and downright filthy promises of what’s to come.

– For Hal, your body is a playground, and he’s intent on exploring every inch of it. But there’s something about the way you fit so perfectly in his arms—how your body molds to his—that makes him wonder if his ring knew exactly what it was doing when it chose him. And if that thought doesn’t make you blush, well, his hands slipping lower as he asks, “Mind if I take another look?” certainly will.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

– When it comes to Hal Jordan, let’s just say he’s a shooter—and an impressive one at that. Hal’s release is intense, a reflection of the passion and energy he pours into everything he does. You’ll know exactly when he reaches his peak because it’s overwhelming, almost explosive. The first few shots hit with purpose, leaving no doubt that Hal’s body is working overtime to ensure you’re thoroughly marked. He’s not just a Green Lantern; he’s practically a human firework in bed, and trust him, he’s proud of it.

– As for volume? Oh, Hal’s got you covered—literally. One load from him is enough to leave you a sticky, heaving mess, dripping with evidence of just how thoroughly he’s claimed you. It’s not a small amount either; Hal’s stamina translates directly into how much he can produce, and let’s just say his reserves are far from empty. You might even tease him about how much there is, only for him to smirk and fire back, “What can I say? I’m thorough.”

– The potency of his seed is no joke either. Hal’s the kind of guy who doesn’t half-ass anything, and that includes what his body produces. It’s thick, warm, and unmistakably him—a perfect mix of his raw masculinity and the relentless willpower that fuels him. He’ll revel in the sight of you completely covered, running his fingers through the mess he’s made and murmuring something utterly filthy, like, “You wear me so well, you know that? Might have to keep you like this for a while.”

– If you prefer things a little cleaner, though, Hal’s just as happy taking things inside. He loves the idea of filling you to the brim, of leaving you so full that you feel him even after the moment’s passed. And when you shift or move afterward, feeling the evidence of him still lingering inside you? That’s enough to send him into another round. He’ll press a hand to your stomach, grinning devilishly as he whispers, “Still feel me, don’t you? Don’t worry—I’ve got more where that came from.”

– With Hal, it’s never just about the act itself—it’s about the aftermath too. He loves seeing the aftermath of his passion, whether it’s the mess he’s left on your skin or the way your body trembles in the afterglow. And if he has his way, he’ll make sure you’re carrying the memory of him long after the moment’s over, in every possible sense of the word.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

– Hal Jordan’s dirty little secret? He gets off on the thrill of being caught. As fearless as he is in the field, there’s something about pushing the boundaries of propriety in his personal life that really gets his heart racing—and other parts of him too. The idea of sneaking away with you during a high-stakes mission or ducking into a secluded corner of the Watchtower for a quick, forbidden rendezvous? That’s his personal kryptonite.

– What makes it scandalous is just how close he’s come to being discovered. Hal has a habit of taking risks, from pulling you onto his lap in the pilot’s seat of his fighter jet to whispering filthy promises into your ear when you’re supposed to be focused on a meeting. And while he’d never let anyone else catch a glimpse of what’s his, there’s something about the risk of Superman walking in mid-act or Batman figuring out what’s really going on in the supply closet that sends a jolt of adrenaline straight to his core. He’d laugh it off if anyone accused him—“Me? Do something like that? Nah, you’ve got the wrong guy.”—but the flushed ears and cocky grin would give him away.

– The most shocking part of all? Hal keeps a personal collection of mementos from his riskier encounters: a photo snapped in secret during an especially steamy moment in the cockpit, or a pair of boxers he swiped from you after one of your more passionate nights. – – – Tucked away in his locker or hidden in his apartment, these little trophies remind him of just how good it feels to have something no one else knows about—something only he and his partner share. If the League ever found out, Hal would play it cool, but deep down, the thought of being confronted about it would absolutely mortify him... in the most thrilling way possible.

– For Hal, it’s not just about breaking the rules—it’s about bending them just enough to keep things interesting. And if that means taking a few risks to satisfy his insatiable desire for you? Well, that’s just part of the fun.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

– Hal Jordan might be a cocky flirt, but don’t let the snarky remarks from his teammates fool you—when it comes to experience, he’s far from lacking. Sure, he might have heard a jab or two about his supposed performance (thanks, Diana), but Hal’s not the type to let those comments get to him. In fact, he thrives on proving people wrong. Beneath his overconfident exterior is a man who knows exactly what he’s doing—and takes great pride in leaving his partner breathless, satisfied, and craving more.

– Hal’s history of flings and encounters isn’t just about notches on the bedpost; it’s been a training ground for him to perfect his craft. He knows how to read your body like it’s a flight manual, mapping out every sensitive spot and memorizing exactly how to bring you to your knees. His touch is electric, like the constructs he wields, and he’s not afraid to get creative—pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while his other works its magic, his mouth leaving a trail of heat down your neck. Hal is a man who studies his partner, and by the time he’s done with you, he’ll have your every moan, gasp, and shiver committed to memory.

– And let’s be real—Hal is absolutely the type to let his mouth run before the action even starts. He’ll tease you relentlessly, his voice dropping to a low, seductive drawl as he leans in close, murmuring things like, “You sure you’re ready for this? I don’t do anything halfway, sweetheart.” It’s not just a promise; it’s a warning. Because once Hal gets started, there’s no stopping him until you’re trembling, spent, and begging him for mercy.

– His rhythm is as smooth as his piloting skills—precise, confident, and utterly relentless. Hal knows how to pace himself, starting slow to build anticipation before ramping up into a rhythm that leaves you seeing stars. And when he hears you lose control? That’s the moment he turns it up even more, using his strength and stamina to push you further than you thought possible. Hal doesn’t just take you to the edge—he shoves you over it, holding you steady as your body writhes beneath him.

– But the real kicker? Hal gets off on the aftermath just as much as the main event. He loves seeing you absolutely wrecked, skin flushed, legs shaking, and lips swollen from his kisses. He’ll grin down at you, smug and satisfied, as he brushes his thumb across your jaw and murmurs, “Told you I was good. Don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” And he means it. Hal’s stamina isn’t just impressive—it’s almost unfair. One round is never enough for him; he’s determined to make sure you’re as thoroughly claimed as possible, inside and out.

– For Hal Jordan, sex is an art form, and he’s a master of his craft. He doesn’t just want to satisfy you—he wants to ruin you for anyone else. And judging by the way you’ll still feel him long after he’s done, there’s no doubt he succeeds every time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

– For Hal Jordan, sex isn’t just about intimacy—it’s a performance, a chance to show off exactly what he can do, and trust him, he’s got the moves to back up his bravado. Hal thrives in positions where he’s in control, his strength and endurance on full display, and where he can quite literally see the effect he’s having on you. Here are his absolute favorites:

1) Standing Carry: Hal loves nothing more than showing off his strength by picking you up and taking you wherever he pleases. Wrapping your legs around his waist, he holds you effortlessly, one hand supporting your back while the other grips your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him. He loves how you gasp when he moves with purpose, his hips slamming into yours as he presses you against a wall—or, if you’re really lucky, carries you straight to the bed without ever breaking rhythm. His smug grin is practically glued to his face as he growls, “See? Told you I’d take care of you. You just sit back and let me handle everything.”

2) Plank Position: Hal has an almost stubborn need to prove his stamina, and this position is all about endurance. With you lying beneath him, your legs wrapped around his hips, Hal supports himself on his forearms or hands, driving into you with a controlled, steady rhythm. He loves the full view of your face, watching every reaction as he angles himself just right to pull moans and gasps from your lips. Bonus points? The way his body flexes above you, his arms and chest on full display as he leans down to murmur dirty praises in your ear, “You feel that? Only I can make you like this.”

3) Missionary (With Legs Over His Shoulders): Hal’s favorite twist on the classic. With your legs draped over his broad shoulders, he gets deeper than ever, watching with smug satisfaction as you arch and cry out beneath him. He thrives on the intimacy of it, how close he can get to your face to see the full effect of his thrusts. And if you grip his biceps or claw at his back? That’s just icing on the cake. He’s not shy about reminding you how good he’s making you feel, whispering things like, “No one else can fuck you like this, can they?” as he picks up the pace to leave you breathless.

4) Standing From Behind: Hal is all about leverage and control, and this position lets him put both on display. With you bent over in front of him—whether it’s against a table, a bed, or even the nearest wall—Hal takes full advantage of the angle to hit all the right spots. His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you back against him with every thrust, while he murmurs filthy things like, “You feel that, don’t you? Tell me how good it feels, baby.” He’s absolutely the type to catch sight of himself in a mirror mid-act and smirk at the view—because let’s face it, the sight of him owning you so thoroughly is just too good to resist.

5) Seated Position: This is Hal’s go-to when he’s in the mood for something slower but no less intense. Sitting back in a chair—or more likely, the cockpit of a jet—he pulls you into his lap, letting you ride him while his hands roam freely across your body. He loves the control this position gives you while he leans back to enjoy the view, guiding your movements with firm hands on your waist or thighs. And if you falter, he’s quick to take over, thrusting up into you with a wicked grin as he mutters, “Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got more in you than that.”

– For Hal, it’s not just about the position itself—it’s about how much effort he can pour into it, how much he can make you feel. Whether it’s holding you up with ease, driving into you with relentless precision, or leaving you utterly wrecked in the aftermath, Hal’s favorite position is always the one that lets him prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that no one else can even come close.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

– Hal Jordan is the king of cracking a joke at the most inappropriate moments, and the bedroom is no exception. He thrives on keeping things lighthearted and fun, even in the filthiest of moments. Expect a cheeky comment like, “Careful, don’t get addicted,” when he’s going down on you, or a smirk and a playful, “That all you’ve got?” when you’re clawing at him for more.

– If something unexpected happens—like an awkward slip or an overly enthusiastic move—Hal doesn’t just roll with it; he makes it part of the fun. He’ll laugh, kiss you breathless, and say something ridiculous like, “Guess we’re trying out the blooper reel tonight.” But don’t let his humor fool you—Hal’s still relentless in his focus on making you come undone. He just thinks it’s more fun when you’re laughing and moaning at the same time.

– And if you ever try to match his banter mid-act? Oh, he’s all in. Hal loves a partner who can keep up with his sharp tongue, turning your playful remarks into fuel for his dirty, teasing retorts. But don’t be surprised when he shuts you up the fastest way he knows how—with his lips, his hands, or a deep, calculated thrust that leaves you too wrecked to respond. “That’s better,” he’ll say with a grin, “Guess I’m the funny one after all.”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

– Hal Jordan is the type of guy who keeps things just well-groomed enough to look effortlessly sexy without seeming like he’s trying too hard. His hair on top? Always a little tousled, like he just stepped out of a fighter jet or rolled out of bed (and let’s be honest, half the time it’s probably both). Thick, dark brown, and naturally wavy, it’s the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through—whether you’re pulling him closer during a heated kiss or grabbing a fistful while he’s buried between your legs.

– Now, when it comes to body hair, Hal keeps it natural but tidy. His chest and stomach are dusted with just the right amount of dark hair, enough to highlight his rugged masculinity without going full-on lumberjack. He doesn’t wax or shave it entirely, but he trims enough to keep things neat—because he knows you love running your hands over the ridges of his abs and feeling the soft, fine hair beneath your fingertips. And trust him, he loves it too, especially when your nails scrape over his skin just enough to leave marks.

– As for below the belt? Oh, Hal’s definitely a “clean it up but keep it real” kind of guy. The carpet absolutely matches the drapes—a deep brown that’s just as rich and inviting as the rest of him. He trims it down regularly, ensuring there’s no jungle to navigate, because Hal’s all about making things as inviting as possible. He’s the type to smirk and say something cheeky like, “You like what you see? Took me a whole five minutes to get it just right.” But the truth is, he puts in just enough effort to make sure you’re as comfortable and distracted as possible when you’re exploring down there.

– And while he might not admit it out loud, Hal secretly loves it when you pay attention to his hair—whether it’s tugging on the strands during an intense moment, raking your fingers down his chest, or pressing your lips to the soft trail leading below his waist. It’s those little touches that make him feel completely irresistible—and trust him, with Hal Jordan, that’s exactly how he wants you to feel.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

– Hal Jordan may come across as cocky and overconfident most of the time, but when it comes to intimacy, there’s a side of him that’s deeper, softer, and entirely devoted to making you feel like the only person in the universe. Sure, he starts things off with his trademark smirks and filthy teasing—murmuring things like, “You ready for me to blow your mind?”—but the moment things get serious, Hal pours every ounce of his focus into you. For him, intimacy is about connection, and he’s determined to make sure you feel every bit of his passion.

– Hal’s not afraid of getting close—really close. He’s the type to hold your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kisses you deeply, making you forget the world outside. His eyes stay locked on yours whenever possible, dark with lust and affection as he whispers against your lips, “You’re so perfect like this, you know that?” And while his words are hot enough to melt you, his actions speak even louder. Every touch, every movement is deliberate, designed to pull you deeper into his orbit and remind you that in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

– He’s surprisingly patient too, despite his usual impulsive nature. Hal takes his time exploring every inch of you, memorizing the way your body responds to his touch. He’ll kiss a slow, tantalizing path down your neck, across your chest, and lower still, pausing to murmur against your skin, “I could spend all night right here, you know.” And if you shiver or moan in response? That’s all the encouragement he needs to keep going, to push you higher and higher until you’re completely undone.

– But Hal’s intimacy doesn’t stop at the physical. He’s just as intent on making you feel seen—like you’re the center of his world. He’ll whisper things that make your heart skip a beat, like how stunning you look beneath him or how he’s never felt this way with anyone else. And while he might throw in a cheeky comment here or there to keep things light, his softer side shines through in the way he holds you close, his hands roaming your body like he never wants to let go.

– When you’re completely spent, trembling and dazed from his relentless attention, Hal will wrap you up in his arms and press kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. He’ll murmur something cocky but sweet, like, “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? And I’m not done yet.” Because for Hal, intimacy isn’t just about the act—it’s about leaving you so overwhelmed with pleasure and love that you never question how much you mean to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

– Hal Jordan may radiate cocky, overconfident energy, but even he has his moments of pure, primal need—when there’s no one around to satisfy him, and his hand becomes his only option. And trust this: Hal doesn’t half-ass anything, not even when he’s jerking off. It’s a performance for one, and he makes sure it’s just as intense and satisfying as if you were there to help him out.

– When Hal gets in the mood, it’s usually quick and unplanned—a flash of a memory from a heated moment with you, the way your body felt against his, or the sound of your breathless moans replaying in his mind. He’ll grip himself firmly, his strokes starting slow as he leans back against whatever surface is closest—a couch, his bed, hell, even the cockpit of his jet if it’s been that kind of day. His teeth catch on his bottom lip as he imagines your touch instead of his own, and it doesn’t take long for him to get lost in the fantasy.

– Hal’s not quiet, either. He groans low and deep, his breath hitching every time his hand squeezes just right or his thumb grazes the sensitive head. He’s filthy, too, muttering your name under his breath along with fragments of the dirty things he wants to do to you. “Fuck, baby, you’d look so good on your knees for me… God, I can’t stop thinking about how you’d take me, begging for more—just like that.” His free hand trails down his abs or grips his thigh, needing something to hold onto as his pace picks up, faster and harder with every stroke.

– Hal’s fantasies are vivid, too, and they only fuel the intensity of his release. He imagines your mouth on him, your hands gripping his hips, or the way your body trembles beneath him as he takes you apart piece by piece. When he comes, it’s explosive—hot ropes of cum spilling over his fist and onto his stomach, his head tipping back as a guttural groan escapes his lips. He doesn’t stop immediately, either, riding out every wave of pleasure with slow, teasing strokes until he’s spent and panting.

– And afterward? Hal’s the type to chuckle to himself, wiping his hand on the nearest towel or his discarded shirt before muttering something cocky like, “Damn, you’ve got me wrecked, and you’re not even here.” But deep down, it only makes him crave the real thing more—because as satisfying as it is to take care of himself, nothing compares to having you there to help him finish the job.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

– Hal Jordan isn’t just adventurous in the skies—his tastes in the bedroom are just as daring and varied. He’s got a few kinks that keep things interesting, and he’s more than happy to indulge them with the same cocky, confident energy that makes him irresistible. Here are five of his favorites:

1) Dominance and Power Play: Hal lives to be in control, and nothing gets him off more than seeing you submit completely to him. He loves the way you melt under his touch, letting him take the reins as he orders you exactly how to move, what to do, and when to let go. His commands are firm but laced with filthy praise, like, “That’s it, baby. Keep those legs spread just like that for me—don’t move unless I tell you to.” And when you follow his lead perfectly? Oh, he rewards you in the best ways possible, leaving you shaking and begging for more.

2) Worship and Praise Kink: Hal’s ego is as big as the universe, and he loves it when you make him feel like a god. Whether it’s kissing and licking your way down his chest, whispering how amazing he feels inside you, or simply moaning his name like a prayer, he thrives on being the center of your attention. His favorite? When you’re on your knees, eyes full of need as you take him into your mouth, only to hear him groan, “Fuck, you look so good like that. I could watch you worship me all night.”

3) Exhibitionism and Risky Encounters: Hal gets off on the thrill of being caught, and he’s not shy about suggesting public or semi-public escapades. Whether it’s pulling you into a closet on the Watchtower, sneaking a quickie in the cockpit of his jet, or taking you against the nearest wall at a party, he craves the adrenaline rush that comes with pushing boundaries. He’ll chuckle wickedly in your ear and say things like, “Think anyone can hear us? Let’s give them a show they won’t forget.” And the more you squirm, the harder it is for him to hold back.

4) Overstimulation and Edging: Hal loves to draw things out, teasing you until you’re a writhing mess beneath him. He takes his time, pushing you to the brink over and over again, only to pull back just before you fall apart. His hands, mouth, and even his Green Lantern ring become tools in his arsenal, all designed to make you beg for release. He’ll smirk down at you and say, “Come on, baby, you can take more. Let me see how far I can push you.” And when he finally lets you come? It’s so intense you’ll feel like you’re floating in zero gravity.

5) Marking and Claiming: Hal’s possessive streak comes out in the bedroom, and he loves leaving his mark on you—bruises from his grip on your hips, bite marks on your neck, or the feeling of him dripping out of you long after he’s finished. He’ll revel in the sight of you wearing his marks, leaning down to kiss them tenderly before growling, “Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to.” And when he’s filling you to the brim, his hands pressing against your stomach to feel just how deep he is? That’s when he’s completely in his element, making sure there’s no doubt in your mind—or anyone else’s—that you’re his.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

– For Hal Jordan, location isn’t just about where—it’s about how risky and how hot the situation can get. As a man who thrives on danger and excitement, he’s not content with keeping things confined to the bedroom. Hal’s favorite locations are as bold and daring as he is, each one chosen to satisfy his craving for adventure while pushing your limits in the most delicious ways.

1) The Cockpit: As a test pilot and Green Lantern, the cockpit is practically Hal’s second home—and he loves nothing more than breaking the rules in the very place that defines him. Whether it’s in a grounded jet during a late-night hangar visit or mid-air with the autopilot engaged, Hal gets a thrill out of having you straddle him in the pilot’s seat. His hands grip your hips as he whispers, “Bet you’ve never joined the mile-high club like this before.” And the thought of anyone catching you in the act only spurs him on, his thrusts matching the intensity of the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

2) The Watchtower (Semi-Public): There’s something undeniably thrilling about sneaking away with you aboard the Justice League’s headquarters, finding a secluded room or corner where you almost won’t be discovered. Hal loves pinning you against a wall, his body shielding yours as he murmurs into your ear, “Think Batman’s got cameras in here? Let’s give him something to watch.” The sheer audacity of it drives him wild, and he makes it a point to leave you trembling and breathless before you both return to the team meeting like nothing happened.

3) Against the Wall (Anywhere): Hal is a firm believer that walls were made for pushing you up against, and he doesn’t care where it happens—as long as he can have you. Whether it’s in a dark alley, the side of a building, or even a shower stall, Hal takes full advantage of the position. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he presses you against the cool surface, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. And if someone’s nearby? Even better. The risk of getting caught only makes him move harder, faster, whispering filthy things like, “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”

4) The Lantern Construct: Has no one ever even considered the perks of being a Green Lantern? Unlimited creativity with your constructs! Hal loves creating a glowing green bed, chair, or platform in the middle of nowhere—a floating masterpiece designed just for you. Whether it’s high above the city skyline or deep in a secluded forest, Hal revels in the freedom of taking you wherever and however he wants. His cocky grin says it all as he murmurs, “Only I could pull off something this good, right?” And when the glowing green light illuminates your body beneath him? That’s a memory Hal will never forget.

5) The Beach (Under the Stars): Hal may love risk, but he’s not against a little romance either. Late at night on a secluded beach, he’ll lay you down in the sand, the sound of waves crashing in the background as he makes love to you under the stars. His cocky attitude takes a backseat to his more tender side, though he still can’t resist murmuring things like, “Bet you’ve never had someone fuck you under the Milky Way before.” The mix of intimacy and raw passion is enough to leave you breathless, completely captivated by him.

– For Hal, location is all about adding excitement and variety to the experience. Whether it’s somewhere bold and risky or a place steeped in intimacy, he makes every moment unforgettable—just the way he likes it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

– Hal Jordan isn’t a hard man to arouse—his cocky confidence and thrill-seeking nature mean that just about any situation has the potential to set him off. But there are a few things in particular that really get him going, driving him to the brink of control as he works to take you apart piece by piece.

1) Challenge: For Hal Jordan, there’s nothing more arousing than a challenge—whether it’s your confidence daring him to step up, or his own insecurities lighting a fire under him to prove he’s the best. Hal thrives on the thrill of competition, and when he feels the need to silence his inner doubts, that sharp edge of desire takes over. He pours every ounce of his energy into you, determined to leave you utterly wrecked, your body trembling and your voice hoarse from screaming his name. It’s about staking his claim, making sure you know, without a doubt, that he’s unmatched. For Hal, the challenge isn’t just about winning—it’s about proving, again and again, that he’s the only one who could ever leave you begging for more.

2) Jealousy and Possessiveness: Piggybacking off that, naturally, this is something that also riles up the Green Lantern just as much. Hal is competitive by nature, and nothing stokes his fire quite like the thought of someone else eyeing what’s his. A passing comment, a lingering glance, or even a harmless laugh shared with someone else is enough to set his possessive streak ablaze. You’ll know he’s jealous when his touches become rougher, his kisses more demanding, and his voice drops to a growl as he pulls you closer, whispering things like, “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.” He won’t stop until you’re screaming his name, every moan and shiver a reminder of exactly who you belong to. Pinning you down, his voice will drop to a low growl as he thrusts into you relentlessly, whispering filthy promises like, “No one else could ever fuck you like this. Say it. Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.” He doesn’t just want to hear it—he needs to, each word soothing the flicker of insecurity hidden beneath his cocky exterior. But it’s not just about jealousy—it’s about staking his claim, proving to you and himself that, without a doubt, he’s unmatched.

3) Clothing (or the Lack Thereof): Hal has a thing for how you wear—or don’t wear—your clothes, especially when your frame contrasts with his. Catch him off guard lounging in nothing but his Green Lantern shirt, the hem barely covering your hips, and he’ll be on you in seconds, his hands sliding beneath it as he growls, “You trying to kill me? This looks better on you than it ever did on me.” Or tease him with a snug outfit like a tailored suit or a good crop top paired with some short gym trousers that hugs all the right places, and he’ll spend the night failing to keep his hands to himself, his touch lingering on your back, waist, or hips as he mutters, “You know I can’t focus when you look like that.” But the real killer? Watching you undress, piece by piece, until he can’t take it anymore. He’ll pull you into his lap, his big hands gripping your hips possessively as he murmurs against your ear, “Keep going—I want to see everything. And don’t think for a second you’re getting away with teasing me like that.”

4) The Thrill of the Moment: Hal thrives on adrenaline, and it’s no different in the bedroom. The idea of sneaking away during a party, finding a secluded corner at the Watchtower, or even stealing a moment during a mission sets his blood on fire. He’ll push you up against the nearest surface, his lips on your neck as he growls, “We shouldn’t be doing this here... but damn, I can’t stop myself.” The rush of being somewhere you shouldn’t be, coupled with the risk of getting caught, makes everything ten times hotter for him.

5) Your Reactions: At the end of the day, Hal lives for your responses. The way your body arches into his touch, the sounds you make when he hits the right spot, or the way you moan his name when you can’t hold back anymore—those are the things that drive him wild. He’ll do anything to pull more reactions from you, murmuring things like, “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you—don’t hold back.” The louder and more desperate you get, the harder Hal goes, fueled by the knowledge that no one else can make you feel the way he does.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

– Hal Jordan might be open-minded and adventurous, but there are some hard limits he won’t cross. Anything involving cruelty or humiliation is a firm no for him—he’s here to build you up, not tear you down. He also draws the line at anything that takes away your ability to give enthusiastic consent; the thought of you not being fully into it kills the mood instantly—unless we’re talking a Yandere situation or even something like the scenario from “Love’s Punishment." And while he thrives on teasing and pushing boundaries, anything that genuinely hurts or scares you is off the table. “I want you to feel good, not afraid,” he’ll say, his voice soft but firm. At the end of the day, Hal’s all about mutual pleasure, trust, and making sure you’re as satisfied as he is.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

– Hal Jordan? Oh, he’s all in when it comes to oral—both giving and receiving. His cocky confidence extends to the bedroom (or wherever you’re lucky enough to find yourselves), and oral play is no exception. Hal knows exactly how good he looks when your lips are wrapped around him, and he’s not shy about telling you. His hands thread through your hair, his grip firm but never forceful, guiding you with murmured praise like, “That’s it, baby—fuck, you’re so good at this.” And the way his hips occasionally buck into your mouth? Pure reflex, a testament to how much you’ve got him unraveling.

– Hal lives for the visual: the sight of you on your knees, your smaller frame between his thighs, taking him inch by inch while his head tips back and a groan escapes his lips. The stretch of your mouth around him alone is enough to push him close to the edge, but he prides himself on his willpower. He’ll hold himself back as long as possible, savoring every flick of your tongue and the way your hands work in tandem, his breaths coming out in shallow gasps. But don’t mistake his stamina for disinterest—if you keep going long enough, the sight of you combined with the pressure building inside him will eventually win out. And when he comes? It’s hard and fast, his grip tightening as he spills into your mouth, his voice rough as he groans, “Fuck, just like that. Don’t stop—take all of it.”

– As much as Hal loves being on the receiving end, giving head—pole or hole but hole may be his preference—is where his competitive streak and ego really shine. He loves the idea of reducing you to a trembling mess, completely at his mercy as he takes his time exploring every sensitive spot. He starts slow, his tongue swirling and teasing, pulling you to the brink before backing off just to hear you beg. And when he finally decides to let loose? Hal is relentless, his lips, tongue, and fingers working in perfect sync to drag you over the edge. He thrives on the sound of your moans, the way your hands clutch at his hair, and the sight of your thighs trembling beneath him. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice muffled against your skin, “Give it to me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

– Hal’s ego ensures he’s very skilled—he’s fully capable of bringing you to a mind-blowing orgasm with just his mouth, and he takes immense pride in doing so. It’s not just about the end result for him; it’s about the journey, the control, and the satisfaction of knowing he’s the one who left you completely undone. Whether he’s giving or receiving, Hal makes oral play an unforgettable experience, one that leaves both of you gasping for more.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

– Hal Jordan’s pace depends entirely on his mood—and yours—but no matter the tempo, he’s all in. When he’s in the mood for something slow and sensual, Hal turns the experience into an art form. His movements are deliberate, calculated, and unbearably teasing, designed to make you feel every inch of him as he drags out your pleasure. He’ll keep his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, his body pressed flush against yours as he whispers, “You feel that? Every single stroke? Yeah, I’m not stopping until you’re begging for it.” He thrives on the way your body arches into him, his hands gripping your waist to keep you right where he wants you.

– But when passion overtakes him—or if you’ve been teasing him all day—Hal shifts into a much rougher, more relentless gear. His thrusts are deep, hard, and fast, each one landing with enough force to leave you gasping, your nails digging into his back or shoulders for support. He loves hearing you cry out his name, the sound driving him to push even harder as he growls, “Come on, baby. Take it. I know you can handle it.” Hal’s stamina means he can keep this up for as long as it takes to have you completely undone, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

– What makes Hal so intoxicating is how easily he switches between the two. He’ll start slow, teasing you until you’re clawing at him to go faster, only to smirk and say, “Patience, sweetheart. We’ve got all night.” And then, just when you think you can’t take another second of the teasing, he picks up the pace, his body driving into yours with enough intensity to leave you seeing stars. Whether it’s slow and torturous or fast and punishing, Hal’s pace is always designed with one goal in mind: leaving you completely wrecked by the time he’s finished.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

– Hal Jordan lives for quickies. The thrill of sneaking in a fast, filthy session when you’re both supposed to be somewhere else? It’s practically tailor-made for him. Whether it’s dragging you into an empty room at the Watchtower, pinning you against a wall in a dimly lit alley, or pulling you into the cockpit of his jet for a little “pre-flight stress relief,” Hal knows how to make every second count.

– There’s no buildup with him during a quickie—he’s on you the moment the door closes, his hands everywhere as he growls, “We don’t have much time, so spread those legs for me. Now.” His pace is relentless, his thrusts hard and fast as he works to get both of you off before you’re caught. He’s not shy about talking dirty, either. “You’re so tight—fuck, I’m not going to last long with you clenching around me like that,” he groans, his breath hot against your neck as his hips slam into you.

– Hal loves the risk, the danger of being caught. It’s not uncommon for him to smirk and whisper, “Think anyone can hear us?” as he covers your mouth with his hand to stifle your moans—or maybe he doesn’t cover it at all, daring you to try and stay quiet as he fucks you so hard your legs give out. His cocky streak shines through even in these rushed moments, and he’ll make sure you know exactly how good he’s making you feel, muttering things like, “Damn, look at all that pre-cum, baby. Stop trying to pretend you don’t love this as much as I do.”

– And if you can’t finish in time? Oh, that only makes Hal more determined. He’ll adjust his grip, angle, and pace until he feels you trembling around him, pulling you over the edge just in time for him to finish inside you with a low, guttural groan. When it’s over, Hal is already straightening his uniform or pants, smirking as he watches you try to catch your breath. “What? Don’t look at me like that,” he teases, running a hand through his hair. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

– For Hal, quickies aren’t just about release—they’re about the rush, the adrenaline, and the satisfaction of leaving you wrecked and barely able to walk while he’s already back to business like nothing happened.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

– Hal Jordan isn’t just comfortable with risk—he thrives on it. Whether it’s in the air or in the bedroom (or somewhere far less private), the thrill of danger lights him up like nothing else. He loves the idea of pushing boundaries, crossing lines, and taking you to places you’ve never dared to go. And when the stakes are high—when there’s a chance someone might walk in or overhear? That’s when Hal gets truly reckless, and his need for you becomes uncontrollable.

– His favorite risks are the ones that make you squirm with both nerves and arousal. Pulling you into an empty meeting room on the Watchtower, pinning you against the door as he growls, “Think Batman’s gonna hear this? Good. Let him know who makes you scream.” Or finding a quiet spot on a rooftop during a mission, bending you over the edge while his lips press against your ear, murmuring, “Don’t look down. Focus on me, baby.” The added element of danger, the risk of being caught or seen, only makes him harder, his thrusts more desperate as he chases the high of knowing he’s taking you right where he shouldn’t.

– And Hal doesn’t just stop at the usual locations. If there’s a way to push things further, he’s the first to suggest it. Creating a glowing green construct in the middle of the sky, high above the city, where anyone looking up could spot the faint light and realize what’s happening? That’s exactly the kind of risk Hal craves. He thrives on the way your smaller body trembles beneath him, your moans carried on the wind as he smirks and mutters, “You’re so fucking loud. Think they know what we’re doing? Good.”

– It’s not just about location, either—it’s about power and control. Hal loves when you trust him enough to let him take charge in situations that feel downright dangerous, like fucking you on a moving jet or in the back of a parked car in broad daylight. His confidence is contagious, his hands steady as he grips your hips and whispers, “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. Now hold still and let me ruin you.” And if you hesitate or shy away from the risk? Oh, that only makes him more determined to convince you, his voice dripping with lust as he adds, “Don’t be scared, baby. I’ll make it worth it.”

– For Hal, risk isn’t just about breaking rules—it’s about making you feel alive, your heart racing as much from fear as from the way he’s fucking you senseless. Every gasp, every whimper, every desperate moan you let out only fuels his need to push further, harder, leaving you completely undone and breathless from both the pleasure and the adrenaline rush.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

– Hal Jordan’s stamina is, quite simply, superhuman. Whether it’s his time as a test pilot, his duties as a Green Lantern, or the sheer force of willpower that drives him, Hal has the energy and determination to keep going long after most would’ve given up. And in the bedroom? That same relentless spirit shines through, making him the kind of lover who doesn’t just satisfy you—he completely wrecks you.

– One round with Hal is never enough. He’s insatiable, his body still humming with adrenaline even after you’re left trembling and breathless beneath him. He’ll grin down at you, brushing the hair from your face as he murmurs, “Tired already? Come on, baby, I know you’ve got another in you. Let me see it.” And before you can protest, he’s moving again, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with the same intensity as before, determined to pull even more moans and cries from your lips.

– Hal doesn’t just rely on physical stamina, though—it’s his mental focus that makes him unstoppable. He thrives on the challenge of seeing how far he can push you, how many orgasms he can pull from your trembling body before you’re a shaking, incoherent mess. His cocky smirk only grows wider every time you beg him to stop, to give you just a moment to catch your breath, and he leans down to whisper, “Not until I’m done with you. And I’m nowhere near done.”

– Even after he’s come hard and fast, Hal’s recovery time is impressive. He barely needs a moment to regroup before he’s ready to go again, his hands already roaming your body as he growls, “I can’t get enough of you. You’re too good for me to stop now.” It’s that endless drive, that need to keep proving himself, that makes Hal unstoppable. He doesn’t just want to satisfy you—he wants to leave you so thoroughly used and spent that you’ll still feel him the next day.

– And even after the physical part is over, Hal’s stamina carries into the aftercare. He’ll hold you close, his hands tracing lazy circles over your skin as he murmurs sweet, filthy praises in your ear, already planning how he’s going to take you again the moment you’re ready. For Hal Jordan, stamina isn’t just about lasting long—it’s about making sure you’re left completely and utterly satisfied, no matter how many rounds it takes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

– Hal Jordan isn’t the kind of guy to keep a drawer full of toys—why would he, when he’s so confident in his ability to satisfy you all on his own? His ego practically demands it. “You don’t need anything extra when you’ve got me,” he’ll say with a smirk, his hand sliding down your body to emphasize his point. But despite his pride, Hal’s no prude when it comes to spicing things up, and if the opportunity to use a toy arises, he’s more than willing to give it a try—especially if it’s going to make you moan louder or come harder.

– The kicker? Hal’s cocky streak means he’d absolutely get a silicone toy molded after himself. Whether it’s a gag gift or something he genuinely thinks you’d enjoy, the thought of you using him even when he’s not there is enough to make his blood run hot. He’d hand it to you with that signature smirk and say something like, “I figured you might need this for the nights I’m saving the galaxy. Just make sure to tell me which one feels better—me or the toy.” And if you tease him about it later? Oh, that’s only going to push him to prove there’s no comparison.

– When it comes to using toys on you, Hal’s enthusiasm is unmatched. The moment he sees how much they turn you on, he’s hooked. His favorite? Vibrating toys that he can use to tease you mercilessly, watching as you squirm and gasp under his control. He’ll press it against your most sensitive spots, holding it there until your body arches off the bed, only to pull it away at the last second with a low chuckle. “What’s wrong, baby? You can’t handle it? Guess I’ll have to take over myself.” Hal’s skillful hands and mouth might leave the toy feeling like second-best, but the combination of the two? That’s a recipe for complete and utter destruction.

– And if you ever decide to surprise him by bringing a toy into the mix yourself? Hal won’t be able to hide how much it turns him on. He loves the thought of you taking control for a moment, guiding his hands or showing him exactly how you want to be touched. But don’t think for a second he’ll let you have the upper hand for long. Hal’s all about reclaiming control, using the toy to push you even further until you’re gasping his name and gripping his arms, completely at his mercy.

– At the end of the day, Hal doesn’t rely on toys—but he’s more than happy to use them if it means making you fall apart in ways you never thought possible. And let’s be honest: the smug satisfaction he gets from watching you come undone, whether it’s his hands or his molded toy, is more than enough to keep him experimenting.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

– Hal Jordan is the definition of unfair in the bedroom. Teasing you until you’re a whimpering, desperate mess is practically a sport to him, and trust him, he’s a champion. He thrives on making you beg, dragging things out until you’re trembling beneath him, clutching at his arms or shoulders and gasping, “Hal, please.” And even then? He doesn’t let up. Instead, he smirks down at you, his fingers trailing maddeningly close to where you need him most as he murmurs, “What’s that? I didn’t hear you. Say it louder, sweetheart.”

– Hal’s favorite game is edging—pushing you right to the brink before pulling back, over and over again, until you’re practically crying with frustration. His hands, his mouth, his Green Lantern ring—everything about him is designed to drive you insane. He’ll kiss and lick his way down your body, his lips brushing over sensitive spots but never quite giving you the pressure you need. “You’re so sensitive here,” he’ll muse, his voice low and smug as his fingers ghost over your thighs. “I bet I could make you come just from this. But I think I’ll wait. You look too good like this—needy and desperate for me.”

– He’s not just unfair with his teasing—his stamina and control make him downright cruel at times. Hal can hold himself back for what feels like an eternity, watching you squirm and arch beneath him as he keeps his thrusts slow and deliberate, just enough to make you moan but not enough to push you over the edge. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he’ll whisper, his lips brushing your ear. “Not yet, baby. I want to see you beg for it first.” And when you finally do? That’s when he snaps, pounding into you with all the intensity he’s been holding back, leaving you breathless and trembling as he grins and mutters, “See? Wasn’t that worth the wait?”

– And let’s not forget his playful side—Hal’s smug remarks only make the teasing worse. If you try to take control or rush him, he’ll pin your wrists above your head, his grin infuriatingly wide as he murmurs, “Oh, you thought you were in charge tonight? Cute. Let me remind you how this works.” He doesn’t just tease; he turns it into a performance, loving every second of your frustration and the way you eventually melt under his touch.

– For Hal, being unfair isn’t just about the power trip—it’s about making sure you fall apart completely, begging for release until he’s ready to give it to you. And when he finally does? You’ll be too wrecked to care how long it took—you’ll just know it was worth every second.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

– Hal Jordan is not the type to keep quiet during sex. Subtlety? That’s for someone else. Hal’s the kind of lover who wants you to know exactly how good you’re making him feel, and he’s not shy about letting it show. From the low, guttural groans that rumble deep in his chest to the sharp gasps and growls that escape when you squeeze around him just right, Hal’s sounds are as intense and raw as the way he takes you.

– When you’re going down on him, he’s especially vocal, his head tipping back as a strained, “Fuck, baby, just like that,” falls from his lips. If you hit a particularly sensitive spot, he won’t hold back a loud, desperate moan, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips buck uncontrollably. He’s not afraid to be loud, and honestly? He gets off on the idea that someone might hear him losing control because of you.

– But Hal’s not just about his own sounds—he lives for yours too. The louder you get, the more it fuels him, driving him to go harder, deeper, until your cries and moans fill the room. He’ll mutter filthy things in your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he growls, “Come on, sweetheart, let me hear you. I know you’ve got more in you.” And if you try to stifle your sounds? Hal will take it as a challenge, doing everything in his power to pull those desperate, uninhibited noises from you. “Don’t hold back,” he’ll command, his grin wicked as he thrusts into you harder. “I want the whole damn building to know who’s making you scream.”

– When Hal finally comes, it’s loud, unrestrained, and raw. His groans morph into a broken cry, his voice rough and hoarse as he gasps your name like a prayer. Even in the aftermath, his breaths are heavy and labored, interspersed with occasional murmurs of “You’re too fucking good, you know that?” as he pulls you close.

– For Hal, volume isn’t just an afterthought—it’s part of the experience, an auditory testament to the pleasure he’s giving and receiving. And trust him, whether it’s your sounds or his, he’s making damn sure you both leave the room with hoarse voices and no doubt in your mind about how good it was.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

– Wouldn’t it be funny if Hal had a secret kink for doing it in zero gravity. Like, the man’s job–outside his actual job, that is–literally involves him being in space majority of the time. Like…take him off-planet, and the man is in his element, turning the vastness of space into his personal playground. He discovered it the first time he created a floating green construct bed with his ring, pulling you into his arms and realizing how much fun it was to move without gravity’s constraints. Now, it’s one of his favorite things to do during his time away from Earth and if you’re able to come along with him.

– The lack of gravity only amplifies the intimacy—and the filth. With no weight to hold you down, Hal takes full advantage of being able to flip and reposition you however he pleases, all while murmuring dirty praises like, “Look at you, floating here like you were made for me. Bet no one else could fuck you like this.” His hands and body keep you perfectly balanced, one arm pulling you tight against him as he thrusts into you in deep, deliberate strokes that leave you breathless. And the way your smaller frame moves so effortlessly in his grasp? Oh, that’s just another power trip for him, and he loves every second of it.

– The best part for Hal, though, is how gravity—or the lack thereof—makes everything feel more intense. Every touch, every thrust sends you spiraling, your moans echoing in the silence of space as his cocky grin grows wider. “Don’t hold back, sweetheart,” he’ll growl, “No one’s around to hear you but me.” And when you finally come undone, your body trembling and weightless in his arms, he’ll hold you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmurs, “Told you space sex was the best. Ready for round two?”

– For Hal, the thrill of zero-gravity sex isn’t just about the novelty—it’s about taking something ordinary and turning it into something unforgettable, just like everything else he does. And trust him, once you’ve experienced it, you’ll never look at Earth sex the same way again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

– When it comes to Hal Jordan’s cock, let’s just say it lives up to his cocky personality—impressive, commanding, and damn near unforgettable. Hal is absolutely a grower, though, which feels almost like an ego flex in itself. He might look average when soft, but the second things heat up? He’s packing more than enough to make your breath hitch. By the time he’s fully hard, he’s sitting at 7.5 to 8 inches in length, thick enough to leave you gasping as he stretches you wide with every thrust.

– His girth is substantial but not overwhelming, perfectly balanced to hit that sweet spot between pleasure and a delicious burn. He’s slightly thicker at the base, tapering just enough to make the first few inches feel like a challenge before he slides the rest of the way in, the stretch leaving you clawing at him and gasping, “Fuck, Hal, you’re so big.” And trust him, he lives for those words—there’s no greater turn-on for him than watching you struggle to take all of him, your body trembling as he pushes you to your limits.

– Hal’s cock has a very slight upward curve, enough to hit all the right spots with devastating precision. He knows how to angle his hips just right, making sure that every stroke leaves you moaning his name. The head is prominent and slightly flared, giving you an extra stretch as he slides in and out, the sensation almost too much to handle. He’s circumcised, the skin smooth and warm under your touch, and you’ll notice the faint veins running along the shaft, adding just enough texture to make every thrust feel even better. And trust him, he knows exactly how to use it. Every thrust is calculated, designed to leave you trembling and clinging to him for more. “You like how deep I’m hitting you?” he’ll growl, his cocky smirk widening as he drives deeper. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

– He’s circumcised, with a flared head that’s perfectly shaped for dragging along your most sensitive spots, leaving you shuddering with every stroke. The veins running along his shaft aren’t overly pronounced but enough to add texture that sends sparks through your body when he slides into you. The skin is smooth, warm, and a natural, slightly darker shade than the rest of his body, adding to the raw, rugged appeal of him.

– Hal takes pride in how clean and well-kept he is, always making sure he’s trimmed and ready for action. His scent is faintly musky but not overpowering—just enough to drive you wild when he’s got you pressed close, your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock sliding in and out of you with an almost unbearable rhythm. And when he’s fully hard, the weight and heat of him in your hands or against your body is enough to make your mouth water.

– For Hal, his cock isn’t just a part of him—it’s a weapon, and he wields it with the same confidence and skill as he does his constructs. He knows exactly what he’s packing, and he’s damn proud of it, using it to make sure you’re screaming his name long before he’s finished with you. And trust him—once you’ve had Hal, nothing else will ever compare.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

– Hal Jordan’s yearning is nothing short of all-consuming. When he wants you, he doesn’t just feel it—he’s overtaken by it, his every thought consumed by the need to have you, touch you, and claim you as his. It starts with a slow burn, a lingering glance that turns into an unrelenting hunger. Once that fire is lit, Hal doesn’t hold back, his need for you dripping from every word, every touch, and every shameless groan as he pulls you closer.

– Hal is the type to obsess over every detail of you when he’s caught in his longing. The way your body feels pressed against his, the sound of your breath hitching as his lips trail down your neck, the way your smaller frame fits perfectly beneath his. The sight of you—clothed, half-dressed, or completely bare—is enough to send his mind spiraling, his cock already straining against his pants as he mutters, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

– His yearning can be subtle at first—lingering touches, his thumb brushing over your wrist, or the way his hands grip your hips just a little too firmly. But when it boils over, Hal becomes utterly insatiable. He’ll pin you against the nearest surface, his lips crashing into yours as his voice drops to a desperate growl: “I need you. Right now.” His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing it, his grip firm yet reverent, as though touching you is both a privilege and a necessity.

– Hal’s yearning isn’t just physical—it’s deeply emotional. Beneath the cocky smirks and teasing words lies a man who craves connection, who wants to feel you shatter under his touch and know that he’s the reason. He lives for the way you cry out his name, for the way your body responds to him so perfectly, as though you were made just for him. And when you whisper his name in that breathless, needy tone? It drives him to the brink, making his yearning shift into something primal and raw. “Say it again,” he’ll growl, his lips brushing your ear as he grinds into you. “Tell me you need me as much as I need you.”

– For Hal, yearning is more than just desire—it’s a burning ache that only you can quench. And when he finally has you? He pours every ounce of that longing into the way he touches you, moves inside you, and whispers filthy praises into your ear. Because for Hal Jordan, nothing is more satisfying than turning his yearning into your undoing.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

– After an intense session, Hal Jordan is the type to pull you close, his broad chest pressed against your back as his arm drapes possessively around your waist. He’s not the quickest to fall asleep—his mind tends to wander, replaying every sound and reaction he pulled from you like a highlight reel. But once exhaustion catches up with him, he’s out cold, his breathing steady and his grip on you firm, as if even in sleep, he refuses to let you go. And if you’re still awake, don’t be surprised if he murmurs something smug in a half-asleep haze, like, “Told you I’d wear you out,” before pulling you even closer and drifting off completely.

☀️ | Hal Jordan/Green Lantern | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[zylev-blog]

Danny was pissed. He was chilling in the Speedforce, waiting on his dad—the Flash—to show up when he felt something shift around him. He exited the speedforce to find that the timeline had changed again, and he had been written out of the timeline. He technically was a time anomaly now, and didn’t exist. So he talked to Clockwork, a ghost he’d gotten to know extremely well after Danny’s creation.

Danny was a clone of the Flash and Green Lantern(Hal Jordan) as part of an experiment that Lex Luthor had taken prior to cloning Superboy. Lex had wanted to know if the power ring was able to transmit anything genetically (it couldn’t. It was a wearable weapon, not a genetic thing.) but Danny had inherited Flash’s superspeed, so he wasn’t a complete loss. Danny wasn’t sure if he looked more like either man, considering they both wore masks. He had brown hair and green eyes. Beyond that, he tanned well, was tall for his age, and packed on muscle far easier than the Flash did. He hadn’t ever seen either man out of the costume.

After a talk with Clockwork, he decided he was just going to force his way back into his Dad’s life. Both of them, if possible. He arrived years before his creation by mistake, right near the start of the Justice League. By his estimates, the team had only been formed for a year before he’d arrived. It was strange; he both didn’t exist and was from the future. He guessed that it was around nine years before his birth, and since he was technically six months old, he was 9 years in the past. Thinking about this was going to give him a headache.

The Justice League was severely mistrustful of each other. They didn’t go out of their way for teamups, didn’t have weekly meetings, and almost pretended if the other members didn’t exist. The most recluse of them was Batman, of course. If any hero set foot in Gotham, they were booted out before they even got to downtown. Danny highly suspected Batman had the entire city on camera. The situation was weirding him out more than before. What had happened to the team?! He was used to everyone being one big family, and even the sidekicks having their own teams… speaking of sidekicks, why was Robin so small?! Wait a minute, that wasn’t the third Robin that he was used to, that was the first Robin! Baby Nightwing!

Thankfully for him, he still had his costume on this entire time as he zipped around the country, spying on the younger members of the Justice League. It was surreal watching everyone try to capture him, but he wasn’t going to be caught that easily!

Eventually his presence forced the Justice League into another teamup. Batman laid the trap out, and Flash lured him into it. The plan was so beautiful that he didn’t even realize it was a trap until he was caught in it. Green Lantern took off Danny’s mask, and for the first time, he looked at his fathers without a mask. They didn’t make the connection to him right away. It wasn’t until Wonder Woman’s lasso made its way around his wrist that the truth finally came out.

“Who are you?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Oof , hard question—ow ow oww—I’m being honest!” He struggled against the lasso as it started to burn him. “My designation was Dn-y, I go by Danny, though. I’m a clone.”

“Of who?” Batman demanded.

“Flash and Green Lantern.” The lasso was glowing brightly, indicating that he was telling the truth.

“How did you escape?” Flash asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He was trying to think about how to phrase the whole time traveling—timeline erasure thing when the lasso started to burn him again. “Ow ow! Sorry, I’m thinking! Ow! Turn down the settings on that thing, holy shit—okay, okay.” He winced, his words coming out in one breath as he quickly talked, “What do you know about time travel?”

Diana’s eyebrows were rising. “How are you able to resist the lasso for so long?”

“I’m not really resisting it.” He answered, noting the obvious deflect of his last question, “I just-oww—okay! My mind moves too fast for me to put into words sometimes and it makes me stop to think about it, but like, I’m not good at controlling the speed in which I speak all the time—owww make this thing stop burning me! I’m speaking honestly!”

Diana revoked the lasso, and he rubbed his wrist where his costume was starting to singe. He was still trapped in an anti-speedster prison, so it wasn’t exactly like he was going anywhere anyway.

“Why were you asking about time travel?” Batman asked.

“Based on the crickets chirping I heard earlier, that leads me to believe you guys haven’t had any experience in it yet.” He leaned against the wall of the prison, wincing as it shocked him with electricity. “Seriously? How paranoid are you, Batman?” He rubbed his shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting with you people, but I feel so attacked right now.”

“So we have experience with it in the future?” Superman piped up.

“Yeah?” His tone of voice equated to a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I ask what you knew if I wasn’t from the future?”

“How far in the future are you from?” Green Lantern asked.

“Nine years, maybe close to ten? Timelines are weird. I’m technically six months old, but at the same time I’m sixteen. Cloning is odd, but I was like, the first clone ever, so I don’t really have a basis for this sort of thing, if you catch my drift.” He shrugged. He seemed like he talked a lot more than the heroes did, but he didn’t know if that was because he was a chatterbox, or because they weren’t comfortable in each other’s presence. Either way, the silence was odd to him.

“How did you end up here?” Batman asked.

“Honestly? I don’t fully know. Don’t give me that look, Diana! I’m telling the truth.” He added quickly as Diana fingered her lasso again. “All I know is one minute, I’m chilling in the Speedforce, and the next, the timeline is changed and I’m nine years too early for my birth. You’d think the timeline would at least have the decency to spit me out in my own year, but nooo, it wanted to—“

“What’s the Speedforce?” Superman interrupted.

He tilted his head at Superman’s question, then turned to the Flash. “How long have you had your powers?”

Flash shifted uncomfortably. “Two years.”

“Oh boy.” Danny’s green eyes widened. “You don’t know anything about them, do you?”

“I do know things!” Flash deflected, “My suit doesn’t catch on fire anymore! I can run up to Mach 2! I can get from either end of the country in thirty minutes!”

He groaned loudly. “Oh no. Oh no.” He chewed on his thumb, trying to recall everything he’d learned about his powers from his Flash. While he hadn’t learned his or Green Lantern’s identity yet, he knew almost everything about their hero personas and a lot of personal information. They were just worried of the Cadmus connection and didn’t want their identity to fall into the wrong hands if they still could see inside of Danny’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Diana asked.

“Okay.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, making it spike up. “Hypothetically—“ he cut himself off as Batman glared at him. “Okay, totally real, but uh, Flash, let’s just say that I’m faster than you right now. A lot faster.”

“How much?” Flash took a step forward, obviously curious.

“From what we can tell, I’ve topped out at Mach nine.” He responded with a dry laugh, “But your speed was still a lot faster than mine. You’d never tell me what it was. I’m still growing though, and I’m getting faster. I’m able to beat my precious time by almost double each time we test. But my situation was complicated, and things were happening, and it was a mess.”

“Like what?” Superman asked.

“World war three. I think?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that he had picked up from Green Lantern, “Things got complicated. That’s why I was going to wait for…” his eyebrows scrunched together as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “It was you!” He turned to Flash. “You!” He jabbed a finger at the speedster. “You set this up! You set ME up!”

The heroes took fighting stances, but Superman took a step forward, blocking them from Danny. “What are you talking about?”

“Okay okay.” He was trying to calm down his anger, but he had been told by Green Lantern in the past that he had inherited the man’s anger issues. “Let me start at the beginning. This is going to be a long story, you might want to take a seat.”

Nobody moved, but everyone was tense.

“Or not. Okay. So my creation starts with Lex Luthor.” He noticed Superman stiffen. “He used me as his trial, if you will. Once he got a successful attempt at cloning—me—he moved onto his real target. Cloning Superman.” Danny’s green eyes hovered onto Superman’s blue ones. “He was successful.”

“What happened?” Superman’s voice was unnaturally quiet.

“Well, at first, Conner wasn’t showing that he had all the powers of Superman. So Lex tossed him aside and tried again. The second attempt was more successful than the first. But cloning Kryptonian dna was hard, I guess.” He shrugged. “The second clone lacked basic emotions. Empathy, remorse… it made him the perfect little weapon for Lex. But eventually, the clone’s anger and Lex’s greed got to a point of no return. Lex was elected President of the United States and uh…you can probably see where this is going, right? While the fighting hadn’t like…’officially’ started,” He used his fingers to create air quotes around the word ‘officially’, “Things were getting tense. See, we couldn’t take the clone down because Lex had wrote out the Kryptonite deficiency out of his weakness. And the clone had all the strength of Superman and none of his remorse…”

Superman looked pale. “I see.”

“So Flash and I came up with a plan.” He turned back to his father, “We were going to travel into the next dimension for help. From what we could tell, that dimension was full of god-like beings, and one of them actually helped me out earlier! But for a lot of them, they ask for a price for their help. But anyway, Flash and I were going to take our case to the King and plead for help. I was waiting for Flash when the timeline reset and I found out that not only did I not exist, but I was nine years too early.”

“What are you going to do now?” Green Lantern asked.

“Dunno,” His voice dropped as the reality hit him. He wasn’t going home—his home didn’t exist anymore.

[chaoticallyfluffy]

I want more of the JL acting like normal celebrities.

Batman and Chappel Roan working together on a competitive cooking show against teams of Kylie Jenner and Danny Devito, Kanye West and Kesha, Taylor Swift and Superman, etc. They are a surprisingly good team who work together great. They end up winning the whole thing and a bunch of wholesome memes start trending about the two of them adopting you after your awful parents kicked you out. Superman and Taylor Swift are surprisingly a TERRIBLE team. They’re disqualified because they never finished cooking their meals as they were too busy arguing. They are memed to be the parents who kicked you out and desperately need a divorce.

Wonder Woman going on a survivor-like reality show about a bunch of celebrities stuck on an island together and all the contestants are whining about things like “My hair is so frizzy and Chad is SO hot, I don’t want him to see me like this omg” While Diana has already chopped down multiple trees, used the wood to make a cabin for everyone, hunted a wild boar which is currently roasting over a campfire she also made with the leftover sticks and leaves, and cracked the coconuts from the tree. The rest of the show is mostly a normal reality show. The other contestants never have to lift a finger and can peacefully gossip and have drama while being well fed, housed, and hydrated. The only real difference is that every few minute the camera switches to Diana wresting a grizzly bear or catching fish with her bare hands.

The masked singer where there’s a person in a colourful parrot costume singing on stage and everyone has to guess who it is. People have guessed many celebrities like Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne, or even Lex Luther, but they mostly guessed famous singers because the guy is GOOD and there’s no way he doesn’t sing professionally. He sang songs like “Party in the USA”, “Call Me Maybe” and “Never Gonna Give You Up”. People were going crazy trying to figure out who he is. The time finally comes for the reveal. The man slowly takes off his parrot head and... it’s Batman. The crowd goes wild.

The Flash (Barry) and Green Lantern (Hal) make a podcast and spend the entire time going on long rants about their respective interests. Flash talks about forensic science and chemistry for an hour while GL hums in interest or asks questions every once in a while. After that GL rambles about airplanes and engineering for another hour while Flash enthusiastically nods and adds in related stories every so often. Twitter diagnoses them with autism.

Captain Marvel has a TikTok account where he posts himself trying suggestions from his fans. Some of his most popular videos include him juggling a bunch of chainsaws (perfectly, btw), pranking JL members, bedazzling Mr Minds prison jar with fake crystals and speech bubble stickers that make it look like Mr Mind is saying things like “I’m DUMB”, and his most popular by far, citing The Santa Clause rules to Black Adam and convincing him that since he killed his father technically that makes him his new dad (the horror stopped Black Adam in place mid battle, giving Marvel the perfect opportunity to punch him in the face. The punch has been slo-mo’d and memed to oblivion). His Batman mandated PR team has been begging him to stop for months but in response he posts himself TikTok dancing (terribly) in front of a green screen in the background showing an image of the emails while asking for more suggestions.

If anyone has any ideas like this or fics to recommend plz tell me In the comments, I love the Justice League just casually being celebrities.

[pardonmybunion]

So this @laurenillustrated artwork and all the vintage-dream-casting at @hotvintagepoll got me thinking: if Scooby Doo were a thing in the 1890s, then a few years later it would be a NATURAL for silent Hollywood. So who do we cast in Hal Roach’s hit 1915-1919 series of Scooby Doo live-action comedy shorts?

Shaggy and Scoob are both easy, because look, here’s Charley Bowers! He always plays chaotic pottering-around-with-machinery types, which is exactly the vibe that 1890s Shaggy gives, and he does so with a surrealist slapstick edge that’s perfect for the material. On top of that, Bowers is a pioneering stop-motion special effects artist—so he can also be our lead animator, and the rapport between live-action Shaggy and his animated Scooby will be delightful.

Like Shaggy, Velma has to have a certain slapstick quality (“Where are my glasses? I can’t see without my glasses”), so it’s lucky we have Alice Howell—nicknamed “the female Charlie Chaplin” by the tiresome people who use that type of comparison. The point is, she can give Velma the bookish self-possession suggested in the 1890s look, AND also run through a gajillion doors in a wacky hallway chase culminating in a spectacular pratfall.

(Mabel Normand is another contender, but her acting style seems a couple notches too naturalistic for Scooby Doo. I definitely see her directing a bunch of the shorts though.)

Fred needs to be both a conventionally hot manly-hero type and a bit of an idiot, so hello Reginald Denny! This British actor emigrated to Hollywood in the early 1910s, became a comedy star, and played himbos so well that he was still playing them into the 1960s. He’s even in the Adam West Batman movie as the naval hero Commodore Schmidlapp, who’s so ditzy he doesn’t realize he’s been kidnapped by the Penguin.

Daphne is a fun one—let’s assume that by this point, Pearl White is tired of all those straight-up action serials like The Perils of Pauline, and wants to do a spoof for a change. With silent comedy shorts there’s always a chance the plot will wander away and leave the individual gags running the store, and White brings enough tension and gravitas to prevent that situation and keep things moving. At the same time, since she favors action roles, she can easily match the dynamism of Bowers, Howell, and Denny.

And that’s to say nothing of all the silent actors who could appear in bit parts on their way to fame. Maybe the gang tears the mask off the ghost, and discovers it’s an early-career Buster Keaton?

[bet-on-me-13]

Ellie isn't allowed to travel alone Anymore

So! Ellie was raised in a Lab by a Genuine Bonefied Supervillain. She was raised to be a Villain as well, so her Moral Conpass is a little skewed.

Sure she *mostly* knows what is right and wrong from Danny's quick lesson before her Adventure around the Country, but she still has trouble separating what is moral and what is not from time to time.

So it's really no surprise that the moment she left Amity Park she somehow ended up being branded a Villain.

Look, it's not her fault she didn't know not to attack the flying guy in Blue Spandex when he approached her! One of Danny's biggest warnings shen she left had been Stranger Danger! She did what any 12 year old girl would have done when approached by a strange Older Man!

Its also not her fault that her powers (being Magic based), managed to affect him! She didn't even use her full power! (She maybe should have kicked him in a different place tho...she hopes he wasn't planning on having kids...)

So she did what her instincts told her to do. She took any money he had on him and ran the hell away!

It wasn't until she was 2 cities over when she saw a newspaper titled, "Little Villain Girl Mugs Superman in Broad Daylight!", that she realized she may have screwed up...

After that, she really had no excuse.

She knew that she probably shouldn't have kept Mugging the Heroes who approached her, but she wasn't a Fenton for nothing! Her Family Motto had always been "Commit to the Bit", and she was gonna stick to it!

So when the Fast Red Guy tried to tie her up, she phased off all his clothes and took off with his money (not the mask, she knew enough not to take that off)

And when the Grumpy Bat Guy tried to corner her with some weird papers he pulled out of his Belt, she just distracted him while her clone picked his pockets and made off with the wheels of his Car. That one made her a pretty penny!

The flying Green Guy was fun, his attacks were just throwing Ghost Candy (pure willpower) at her. He did stop doing do after she nicked his fancy talking Ring however, but it was fun while it lasted

Then she came across a Orange Fish Guy, and he actually seemed nice enough. But she was committing to the Bit, so she took the fancy Trident he had and sold it at a nearby Pawn Shop for some extra cash. He would probably be able to find it, that's why she chose a nearby location.

All in All, her Adventure had been really fun! So she decided to visit Amity Park again to tell Danny all about it!

...

Aquaman walked into the meeting room of the Watchtower, a very frustrated look in his eye.

Barry spoke up first, "Oh! I know that look in your eye! She got to you too didn't she!"

Arthur just glared at Barry for a second before walking over to his Chair, sitting down with a thump. "She is certainly a tricky child."

"What did she take this time?" Clark asked.

"..mttrident..." Arthur grumbled out quickly.

"What was that?" Asked Barry with a twinkle in his eye. He heard it, but he wanted everybody else to know.

"She took my trident, Okay!" Arthur shouted out.

"I feel ya man." Responded Hal, "At least with me she threw it back at me when she realized it wasn't making 'candy' anymore. What did she do with yours?"

"She sold it at a Pawn Shop!" Arthus yelled in frustration, "She managed to steal one of the most Powerful Magical Weapons in the world, the Symbol of the entire Atalantean Royal Bloodline, and she sold it and a Pawn Shop!"

"...how much did she get for it?" Asked Hal.

At this, Aquaman just collapsed to the table and groaned.

...

Alternatively she could have just kept all those things, and gradually built up a collection of all the JLA's most treasured possessions.

She has Supermans Wallet, not very important to him but it was her first mugging

She has Batmans Utility Belt (trackers removed) along with his Tires

She took Flashes Costume Ring (his civilian clothes still stuck inside)

She took Green Lanterns ring as well, but unfortunately it managed to escape after a few days. It was feisty.

And her crowning Jewel is the Trident she took from Aquaman.

(She avoided WW, cause she likes her too much to steal anything from her)