DC Kink!meme

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Since there doesn't seem to be any active DC kink!memes right now, I am making one. Be afraid.

1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work just as well.

2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for

Comments

Hal/Cowgirl fic 3/4

[anonymous]

Jillian knelt on the floor cradling her left hand against her chest and sucking air in through her teeth, willing herself not to be sick. Every heartbeat sent pain throbbing through her broken finger.

Standing up made her light-headed, nauseuous, so she let herself fall back to her knees and crawled/shuffled toward Highball, who lay on the floor of the cell in a boneless heap.

He groaned when she touched his shoulder, his eyes opening to dazed slits. " 'risia?"

"That was clever," she said. Because it had been. Even concussed and panicked and desperate, he had still not broken, had actually mocked them, pulling that sci-fi channel stuff about power rings and spacemen out of his memory or maybe even making it up on the spot. "Did you see his face? I thought he was going to have a stroke when you started in on that comicbook stuff."

"Lied," he slurred, his head lolling against her arm and his eyes falling shit again. "It works on yellow now. Everyone know how small our numbers are. It's not... not... everyone knows."

"Thank you," she said, knowing that he probably couldn't hear it, too far gone in whatever concussed delirium he'd retreated into. "For distracting them." Rape couldn't have hurt as much as torture. Would have been as bad as other things they could have done, but that didn't mean the thought of one of those men violating her didn't make her feel sick.

"Sorry I got you into this," he breathed. "Don't- don't tell Guy I told them anything. S'all lies anyway. Lies and things they already know. Just... don't tell Guy."

"I won't," she promised. Technically, you were only supposed to give your name, rank, and serial number, but POWs had done what Hal had done before, given their captors the names of comicbook characters or movie stars when asked for the identity of people in their units, said that they served under Captain Steve Rogers, that their wingmen were Peter Parker and Bruce Banner.

It wasn't until weeks later, after they' had been rescued and awarded medals, and she'd been sent back in to break up the Chechen splinter cell's encampment and been rescued from a mission gone disasterously wrong by Green Lantern -- by two Green Lanterns -- that she realized that Highball -- that Hal -- had not been making things up or borrowing information from some book or movie. Why he kept appologizing for getting her and Rocketman captured, insisting that he should have been able to save them all, that it was his fault.

Why, when a friend of his visited the three of them in the hospital after they were rescued and slid what she'd thought at the time was an Air Force Academy ring onto Hal's left hand, because all the fingers on his right were broken, he'd rolled onto his side and clutched his hand to his chest and made a noise that sounded supiciously like a choked off sob, while John flirted awkwardly with Jillian and they both pretended not to notice Hal trying not to cry.

damn you, comment limits -- cont'd part 4

Hal/Cowgirl fic 4/4

[anonymous]

She didn't cry until months later, in the therapist's office, when she tried to describe how she'd nearly throttled Hal during sex, his weight pinning her to the bed going from sexy to terrifying in an instant and filling her with the sudden need to getawaygetawaynownownow. Because it was letting those bastards win, just like Hal was letting them win when he kept the ring that wasn't an academy ring after all on while flying. She'd thought, when they had first met, that he wasn't afraid of anything.

She'd been wrong. He was afraid of letting people down, of watching his friends suffer and die, and she was afraid of hands that were too rough and being trapped and anything that felt even remotely like someone grabbing her hair. She let the darker blonde roots grow out, because even a hairdresser's comparatively gentle touch was too much, too similar.

After Star Sapphire had tried and failed to posess her, she had Hal fuck her in midair, suspended in a giant green bubble between their aircraft, and she went down on his afterward, and moved each of his hands to the side of her head, letting him hold her in place while she ran her tongue up and down the length of him, refusing to be afraid of the fingers in her hair.

After they landed, she went to the salon on base and got highlights put in. She only flinched once.