sundari

19 | i write fics (not very well) | super shy. yeah :D | profile is a wip

[carnicer01]

Guy Gardner commission for @avariceconsumes on tiktok!

[sun-da-ri]

hehe (≧∀≦)ゞ, he's so pretty <3.

[twentytomidnight]

d((ick))rider for dc

Superboy Prime/Reader, 652 words

a/n: people want superboy prime? YA GOT EM

cw: SMUT/18+only, cockwarming/edging, reader loves mess, ambiguous genitalia, gn!reader

masterlist ao3 requests

PREVIEW:

He's a stickler for getting his trivia right—even if it means you make him suffer. Superboy Prime/Reader (18+)

“What issue did Batman premiere in?” You ask, allowing the smile to breach the careful composure of your face. You can feel him chafing under you, his fingers scrabbling into the nuance of the chair’s arms, scraping the fine leather.

“Detective Comics—”—He shucks in a taut inhale of air as you work your hips in tantalizing display, letting him admire how nearly seated you are on him—“—Issue #27.”

“Very good,” you reply in sly bearing—and then you slide down so that you’re fully seated on his cock. The moan, wanton, broken—perfect—tears through him in delicious means.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He hisses through his teeth; his hips work to try and milk more of the way your walls flutter and clench around him. But he knows the rules. No touching, or the game is off.

“What year?” You ask him casually, acting as though he isn’t stretching you beyond belief, filling you so perfectly. You're nothing but committed to the bit, humming a casual tune as you angle your head back, to take ken of how he looks.

Oh, he looks ruined—eyes glassy, face red with flush taking heated bloom, mouth open as he exhales tight, punched-out gasps. You hum a laugh against the full of your pursed lips; you're waiting for an answer.

“Fuck—”—He shores up willpower to return back to coherent thought. “1938—wait—”

“I’m afraid that’s not correct, Mr. Kent,” you turn away from the sight of the devastation darting over his face, “Guess I'll just stay put where I am.”

And so you do, letting your ass sit perfectly on the spread of legs, dormant for the meantime. His cock practically twitches inside of you, a despairing gasp as he realizes his error.

“No, please—”—he groans; you can feel the way his nails shred the fabric he clutches to. So close, but so far—and he can’t even touch you. This must be driving him crazy.

You continue to play the game, keeping still as you feel him come apart underneath you. “What year did Green Lantern premiere?”

You hear him begin articulation of an answer—and then he draws up short.

“Alan Scott—”—His breath catches as you move your hips—“—Or Hal Jordan?”

“Good catch,” you grin back, turning back so you can catch a glimpse of the relief break over his face. “Hal Jordan.”

“Oct—October 1959.” He gusts, ebullient even in his flustered triumph. “Please, baby—”

He doesn't even need to finish his plaintive request of you; you’re slow, torturous, deliberate as you draw yourself up his cock with the clench of your thighs. Feel the velvet spread of him as he glides out of you—and then the taper of him as you ease yourself back down.

“Oh, fuck—”—You can tell his head lolls back on broken swivel, a more base, needful noise expresses as he feels you swallow him up—“—Fuck, you’re perfect—”

You can't resist: it’s so fun seeing him broken like this. You ease yourself up by degrees before settling back down onto him, the glide of him perfect. And the stuttering, wanting gasp he makes, all the better.

“Fuck!” His cry is broken into whimper. “You’re gonna make me come, baby—”

“Isn't that the point, Mr. Kent?” You tease back slickly; another backwards glance lets you see how undone he is. How he breathes open-mouthed to admire the sight of you taking him so well.

“Not—not this fast—”—He grits his teeth as you grind on him, torturing him further in this game of his own making.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep asking questions,” you smirk, growing still once more; inspiring ragged groan from him. “What issue does Jimmy Olson premiere in Superman?”

Even in silence as he thinks, you can tell Clark isn’t long for this. You bite down your smile. You just love trivia night.

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[broke-stargirl]

he's terrible (i say lovingly)

[luvmailing]

to help a collective headache.

「 tws + notes: gn!reader, unedited, duo energy that could read as platonic or romantic, reader is a member of the JL, reader gets called "babe" 」

↳ ft. guy gardner

author's note: i realized a lot of my writing ends up No Pronouns and technically gn. that being said, i did write w/ fem!reader in mind but. no descriptors! will be trying my bestest to correct that, i gotta learn how to achieve it better in the whole second person thing. anyway! anon how did u know weezer was my weakness...

It's like the entire Watchtower sighs a breath of relief when you finally show up.

"Took ya long enough!"

Guy is the first one to greet you — as usual — with a hearty slap on your back and a grin. You give him a nudge to his side in return, earning a little chuckle from the man who is all too eager to be in your personal bubble.

"What can I say? I do the job and I do it well," you reply.

The adrenaline is starting to wear off from the previous mission you'd just completed, a familiar soreness settling into your overexerted muscles. It's been a long ass day. But in spite of your newfound exhaustion from a task that dragged far longer than you had expected, you're able to shoot a smile back. Guy has a way of lifting your spirits, even when you're actively battling the urge to collapse.

The sweet sentiment about Guy is not shared by the rest of your superhero colleagues — who have been stuck dealing with him in your absence. You'd have to be an idiot to not recognize how obnoxious he can be. He's hot-headed, abrasive, annoying, but somehow, you put up just fine.

It's true, Guy's not for everyone, but you'd lovingly call him "an acquired taste." Others would say that "unrelenting pain in the ass" fits him better. Potato, potahto.

You stretch your arms over your head, knowing damn well that no amount of stretching would mitigate the ache in your body that you were sure would follow soon.

"I need a drink," you groan.

Before you can make a move to leave, Guy slings his muscular arm over you — not an odd occurrence between the two of you. In fact, you lean right into his side without question.

"The one you've been savin' in the Watchtower fridge?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow up.

"Uh… yes?"

"Drank it."

"Guy! What, like — all of it?!"

The shameless shrug of his shoulders tells your everything.

"How was I s'posed to know? Didn't have your name on it," he replies casually.

"IT LITERALLY DID!"

"He's your problem now," Batman mutters over to you as he passes. For a moment, you had forgotten that the two of you weren't alone around here. You and Guy shoot each other a look, falling into a lapse of silence. The glare that you give him doesn't last very long — not when he's giving you that stupid smirk.

"Looks like my problem owes me a drink," You laugh, tilting your face ever so slightly closer to his. He's unsure if you know that you could get absolutely anything in the world with that look on your face, all bright eyed and giggly — it doesn't take long for Guy to relent, at least.

"Whatever y' say, babe."

— ♪

Pretty Fly (for a White Guy) – The Offspring ↳ "you know, it's kinda hard just to get along today / our subject isn't cool, but he fakes it anyway" Buddy Holly – Weezer ↳ "i don't care what they say about us anyway / idon't care 'bout that" Give Me Novacaine/She's a Rebel – Green Day ↳ "is she trouble like i'm trouble? / make it a double twist of fate or a melody"

[twentytomidnight]

this super-hangover needs a superman

Clark Kent/Reader, 862 words

a/n: a request that is also long overdue, enjoy :)

cw: mentions of previous drinking, established relationship, Clark is an angel, reader is a goof, gn!reader

masterlist ao3 requests

PREVIEW:

Clark always comes to the rescue in your time of need. Clark Kent/Reader

“Clark,” you moan weakly, a shade pathetically from the edge of the couch, “I think—I think I’m not long for this world.” 

Clark only offers you a gentle smile as he continues to work at the task most insistently demanding his attention: making breakfast.

Damn him for looking so perfectly unruffled, with hair tousled, ruddy smile that sits with faint flush on the apple of his cheeks so well. Damn him for being so angelic as the smell of sunny-side up eggs and toast and bacon sizzles all in separate pans. 

“It’s just a hangover, honey,” Clark says in tender fashion; there is no shade of reprimand or judgment for how hard you went in the paint last night. All there is, is a degree of love that he always bears for you, that he carries in the breadth of those cornflower baby blues. 

“Why did I agree to drink with Kara?” You groan. The act of lifting your hand to cover your face in dramatic fashion saps the marrow from your bone, the willpower from your body. You consider writing your last will and testament to your husband. 

“She’s really persuasive when she wants to be,” Clark tries to smother his smile on your behalf, but it still bleeds through. You’re too busy in the throes of post-alcoholic despair to truly trouble yourself with the lilting tease. 

“What was I thinking?” You ask to nobody in particular save the grim reaper looming over your body, ready to shuffle you off this mortal coil. 

“You were thinking,” Clark’s voice draws in proximity to you—a glass of orange juice with mouthwatering condensation floats into view, “That you could go toe-to-toe with a superhuman that isn’t near red kryptonite.” 

Clark is the picture-perfect husband; he’s delicate as he nudges you up onto his lap, as he persuades you to take a few healthy sips of OJ.

In the comfortable atmosphere where you languish to die, the smell of food wafts over to you; rather than curdle your stomach, it smells like the manna of heaven just out of reach. 

“Clark?” You ask weakly as you finish rehydrating the shriveled body that once was named you. He looks down at you, smile growing, thumb stroking up and down the slope of your cheek. 

“Yeah, honey?” He asks in soft, suffused tempo. You can only lean your head helplessly into the solace of his palm, admiring the heat that is salve to the pain resounding through your temples. 

“Is Kara…” You wet your lips with what little moisture you can spare, managing a croak. “Is Kara as fucked up as I am right now?” 

“Do you want the truth,” Clark says as he settles down the cup on the coffee table, “Or do you want me to lie?” 

“Lie, please,” You return back in hoarse diction; your husband performs valiant deed by keeping a neutral face. 

“She’s miserable,” Clark lies without missing a beat; if you didn’t know better, you would consider him telling the truth. “I’ve never seen her so hungover.” 

“Good,” You let your eyes draw closed, “Good.” 

“I have to get up to finish cooking,” Clark murmurs back, his knuckle taking careful knead of your temple: you make gusty, relieved sigh. How is this man so damn perfect? “Are you gonna be okay if I do that?” 

“I think so,” You whimper back—you accept the press of Clark’s lips against yours, firm and buoying and yours. You desperately miss the physical afterimage as he pulls away, as he guides you back down to lie of your own volition on the couch. 

“I’ll be back,” He promises. The sound of him walking back to the stove is both inspiring and heartbreaking.

The two of you reside in the ambience of food still marinating in butter, the smell of grease that will hearten you back to life. You do your best to complete your first impressive feat of the day, and manage another swallow of OJ without spilling a drop. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” You ask quietly—you hear the clink of silverware as Clark nears with two plates belching welcome steam, carried aloft in the flex of those perfect biceps.

You get ample view of them as he settles them down on the coffee table, resumes the position of nursing you back to health. 

“Nothing, baby,” He reassures you, “You’ll be fine again by later today.” 

“You promise?” You ask blearily, with the demeanor of the martyred saints. Again, he performs spectacular feat by resisting a laugh; he only nods as he worries his hand up your cheek. 

“I promise,” He says. “You want me to feed you?” 

You nod, benevolent even at your lowest. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” 

Clark proffers a fork, buttery hashbrowns speared on the end. “I ask myself the same thing every time I look at your pretty face.” 

“I owe you my life, Kent.” You say, and then open your mouth.

“I love you too,” He chuckles; the kiss he presses to your forehead is the first of many, as he takes care to resuscitate you back to life. 

divider and banner made by me :)

request:

i'm going to fucking yell. i think i deleted it when i was trying to take the screenshot of it. it was about what dc men would be best for a reader with headaches/migraines. im so sorry you can throw bricks. but hey at least this is in a pretty font right guys right? ok ill see myself out

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[sun-da-ri]

loved your fic! It was so cute! Also are you British? I’m guessing so by some of the wording but that’s not a bad thing! I loved it !

ahhhh, i'm glad you enjoyed it !! your words mean a lot to me, friend (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)𖹭. literally me rn:

and, yesyes, i am british > ˕ <マ. i'm very aware that some of the words i use are specific to british english—or even just my regional dialect, e.g. settee, ginnel, etc. if there's any words or phrases i use that don't click for you, then please ask. i'm always happy to answer <3.

[sun-da-ri]

⠀⠀🪽 ˵ two kids, too young & dumb , guy gardner . ໒꒱ !

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀︶𝄄 ͝ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀︶ ͝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ׅ⠀ ︶𝄄 ͝

𓏵𓏵 . summary : guy gardner x reader. (past) hurt/(present) comfort | you and guy broke up during your high school days. what happens when you randomly happen upon him over a decade later? is your relationship salvageable, or have the years and distance truly ruined it?

𓏵𓏵 . wc : 7.7k

𓏵𓏵 . cws ++ info : 18+ / MDNI. eventual smut, cunnilingus, fingering. reader's first time receving the former. reader mentioned wearing a bra, and having breasts and a pussy, but is described using gn! terms. flashback.

𓏵𓏵 . a/n : i'm so tired of having to repost this. may the higher powers of tumblr give me reprieve. fellow dc fans, pls befriend me. i'm vv shy, but really want dc moots on here, esp guy gardner and general green lantern fans, hehe <3. if i forgot anything, then i forgot, i'm not touching this again. goodnight (it's 15:00). @twentytomidnight, sorry if i filled your notifs from my previous (re)posts of this, friend. . .

inspo: 2 kids by taemin.

HUMMING quietly along to the music in your earbuds, you place a jar of instant coffee into your trolley. Grocery shopping is one of your favourite times of the week. The routine that comes with buying more or less the same items weekly, and the ability to shut off most of the world as you plug your earphones in and go about your day. Your footsteps as you walk from item to item feel like a dance to the song playing in your ears, a dance that only you can understand. The regularity and calm that comes with the mundane task is something you hesitate to admit you desire. Really, how many people out there would say they enjoy performing chores? There’s very rarely anything that can ruin it. Traffic jam? No problem, you’re in no rush. Product out of stock? It's happened before, you'll live. However, what—or rather who—you’re not prepared to see on a random Wednesday afternoon is the figure of someone so painfully familiar yet distant. And as much as you would love to wish you were wrong, there is no doubt that this is Guy Gardner. The sight halts you in your tracks. You swear your heartbeat stutters. How long has it been since you set eyes on him last? At least 15 years, surely? The words exchanged on that bitter day still ring in your head loudly.

You and Guy met in freshman year Maths. High school, a period often referred to as the spring of one’s life, a time of growth, fresh beginnings, and the blooming of flowers amongst other things. You recall it clearly, being lined up at the back of the room alongside your new peers. Your nerves were acting up at the prospect of meeting unfamiliar people, the mere thought would make your stomach churn. Noticeably different was the classroom to others in the building. Unlike all of the others’ white walls, these were a saturated blue. You preferred that room to the others, the bright colour would always boost your mood. With a shrill voice, the teacher announced for everyone to acquaint themselves with their seat partner. After all, you would be sitting together for the rest of the year. It would be certainly disadvantageous if you didn’t get along well, right? Upon having learnt that you had been seated beside Guy at the back of the classroom, you were unsurprised to discover that he was a delinquent. You had often been placed next to misbehaving students in previous classes; the teachers hoped your intellect, punctuality, and goody two-shoes personality would rub off on them. Whether it was an effective method or not is still up for debate.

Unlike your prior experiences with ‘bad’ students, Guy was remarkably co-operative—albeit it did take a while for him to familiarise himself with you. If he didn't understand something during class, you'd patiently explain it to him with a whisper, and it didn't take long for him to hunt you down to help him with his assignments. At first, you couldn’t comprehend why a student who has no qualms with sparking fights and truanting would go the extra mile to complete homework, something you assumed to hold slight importance to him. Guy claimed it was due to having better things to do than be in detention. Although when you started dating, it became clear he was attempting to spend more time with you. The idea that you had piqued his interest so early on was astonishing.

And so, that leads to the fated question of: how did you guys end up together? You can't remember the exact moment it clicked for the both of you. What you do recall however is Guy’s lingering glances on you day after day during your focused explanations to problems that he likely was only half-listening to. The burn of his gaze on your skin as you basked in a waterfall of his attention. Whilst he was distracted and working on his homework, you gave Guy an equally intense stare, scanning the faint permanent furrow of his brows. Why was he always so angry? It must be exhausting. Through that though, you noticed his genuine dedication to the tasks, a present determination that regardless how hard it is, he would get through to the end. It was an admirable but sometimes hidden quality, yet all the same, it was one of the main reasons you found yourself falling for him at the age of fifteen. Whenever you finished your explanations, Guy would immediately avert his gaze, pretending—badly at that—that he was distracted by something else in the room. You couldn’t say much for yourself however, and eventually, there was this silent agreement that it was a game of whoever was caught first.

One day, when you had finished your explanation, you noticed Guy was still staring at you. A new phenomenon, or had he just zoned out conveniently right where you were? You subtly shifted, so your head was no longer in his direct line of sight. Nope, his eyes were definitely following you.

“Uhm, Guy?” You implored him to say something.

“Do you like me?” The question was sudden. Well, that was definitely a way to start a conversation.

“I mean—” You spluttered for a moment, the demand caught you off-guard before you managed to compose yourself. “Yeah. Do you… like me?” You posed the question.

“Mhm, so we’re dating then?”

“I suppose so…” Oh, how naive the both of you had been to matters of love back then. It was simple in your minds, if two people liked each other like that, it meant they were dating, and so you nod in reply.

“Okay, cool.”

“Cool.” You both nodded awkwardly, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that this was the first romantic relationship either of you would be entering. You had to physically stop yourself from wringing your hands thanks to nerves, but at the same time, were struggling to meet Guy’s gaze. With a herculean effort, you manage to make eye contact. Smiling shyly at one another, you both suddenly burst out laughing, dissipating any remaining tension.

Being the optimist that you are, you had high hopes and the relationship was thankfully steady sailing for the first year. Guy would sometimes pull you into his trouble, nothing genuinely malicious but he loved a good prank. And, you would pull him in the opposite direction at other times. Guy had some bad days, everyone noticed them. He would come over to your house after having skived school the whole day with a concerning black eye or the hints of a bruise that you could make out only through the subtle winces when he stretched his torso too far. You wished so badly to know what the cause was, to be able to share that burden on the shoulders of two people instead of one, but Guy would only ever shut you down if you even expressed any desire to know. It wasn’t something he wanted to share, and you couldn’t force him to. The moods that came about from these events led to Guy starting a lot more fights. This only increased by junior year, where Guy was truanting almost every week at this point, and only having more and more run-ins with the police thanks to the sheer amount of brawls he was getting into on the streets. Fortunately, Guy was still the same old one you'd known since freshman year when he was with you, but that didn't mean you didn't fret over him all the same. Over those two years, the early stages of your embryonic love bloomed into something firm and steady that the both of you could fall back on when things got too hard. Lord knows you needed that just as much as Guy sometimes.

However, everything came to a head when Guy was called to the principal’s office over the tannoy early one morning, you’d both walked to school together that morning so you knew he was present at the very least. A few of the kids in your class had cast a knowing glance at you, most people in your year knew of your relationship with Guy. They didn’t really understand how such opposite people could click with one another, but then at the end of the day, neither of you cared about other’s understanding so it made little difference. When your English class came around—one you shared with Guy that year, he was absent. That was… odd. Whilst Guy had a knack for truanting, he would always attend all of his classes if he arrived that day, having been an all or nothing kind of person. So the sight of his absence unnerved you ever so slightly. It would be fine, though. You could just call him to meet up at your house or another one of your mutual hang out spots.

When the final bell rang for the day and the teacher finally dismissed you, you didn’t hesitate to text Guy to meet up at the spot in the woods you both often frequented. It was a quiet and relaxing spot that you introduced him to a year ago, and you could tell he had grown fond of the place from how often he dragged you there, whether that be to talk, to make out, or to sit in silence as you both did your own thing.

Upon arriving at the location, you found Guy already there sat on the grass. Shoulders hunched and back against a tree as he picked at pieces of grass one by one.

“Hey,” you greeted him, “you weren’t in English today. Did something happen?” You casually delivered the words, figuring it was little to be worried about.

“Guess you could say that.” He muttered, his gaze still fixed on the grass before him. The vagueness of the statement didn't sound suspicious whatsoever.

“What is it?” You had begun to demand impatiently. “Guy, I swear to God if this is another stupid prank you’re playing on me—”

“I got expelled.” The announcement was sudden. “They kicked me out for good.”

It would be completely silent were it not for the gentle breeze ruffling the leaves around you. You were unsure how to react. It’s not exactly like this was unexpected, rather it was a long time coming. As much as you were a good influence on Guy, you knew inevitably his inability to change his ways would catch up with him.

The lack of a response on your end forced Guy to lift his gaze to you. “Say something then.”

“Well, can’t you just enrol into another school? Baltimore isn’t exactly sparse of them.” You threw out the suggestion as if it’s the obvious choice.

Having shook his head, he tossed the clump of grass that he’d collected aside and stood up, dusting his pants off. “Not going to, I’m done with school. It’s a joke.”

Maybe it was because school was the way you and Guy met in the first place, maybe it was because it was where you spent a good amount of your time together, but the concept that Guy was willing to give up what you felt was such an important part of—if not the reason for—your relationship so easily sent a foreboding feeling of dread through you. Surely, you meant more to him, right?

“What about your diploma? Don't you want to go to college? Get a degree?” You laughed nervously.

“And, do what with it? I'm good, thanks.” Guy scoffed.

The condescending tone changed that sentiment of dread and pain to a bitter anger targeted at Guy. “What? So you just plan to waste your life doing nothing?” You snapped.

“Whoa, what's up with you—? Just because I'm not interested in impressing mommy and daddy like yourself?” Guy retreated to the offensive, putting on a whiny voice as he mocked you for your beliefs and aims.

“My reasons don't fucking matter if they're getting me somewhere. How are people supposed to stick around and help you, if you don't even seem like you want to help yourself?!” A flock of birds had flown off a tree and away from the volume of your voice.

”Well, leave then. No one asked you to stay for this long. You’re clearly too good for me, for this whole town, matter of fact.” Guy’s tone was suddenly lax and indifferent, his face shut off from expressing any emotion. He did that a lot when he felt the claws of vulnerability slowly closing around him. A prey trying to ward off its predator, that's how Guy treated emotions in those days. “Go on, see if I care.”

Although you knew his words were purposefully trying to aggravate you, it didn't stop them from making you feel sick at the notion of Guy having targeted your deepest insecurities, and there was some doubt deep inside you that thought the words true. You'd realise later that the shock was similar to the one you'd feel whenever your life was sliding out of view. And, to be fair, to seventeen-year-old you, the rupture of your first relationship probably was a life-altering event at the time. Guy didn't look up as you left, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from begging you to stay if he did.

Since that day, neither of you spoke nor even glanced at one another. You blocked Guy’s number, and avoided parts of the town you knew he frequented. Before you knew it, you graduated high school, and left to an out-of-state college after receiving a scholarship.

The sight of Guy resurfaces those bittersweet memories that you’re certain you'd managed to bury. Anxiety courses through you, anxiety and fear. Fear that he’d never want to set eyes on you again after the way your last interaction together ended, and regard you with detest instead. Fear that even if there was no loathing in his gaze, you would see only indifference in those green eyes of his that you used to adore when he was distracted. Fear that there’s now a firm line drawn between the two of you that severed any intimate connection you once held. And so, with those emotions dictating your next move, you back out of the aisle with the precision and silence one could only attribute to a spy, feeling very much like an alternate universe James Bond. Yet even that doesn't stop Guy's head from lifting, no longer focusing on the products on the shelf, as he turns his head in your direction. It feels as if your heart plummets to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Dreads surfaces like a wave, demanding to be felt in every molecule of your body.

Guy's gaze is on you, unable to recognise but only for a moment as he processes the sight in front of him. It's not difficult for Guy to identify you. Despite 16 years having passed since your last encounter, you've not changed a great deal. Yes, your hair is styled differently, no longer straightened as you used to be so adamant on doing. You look… older, more mature and comfortable in your own body. And, matter of fact, so does Guy, sporting a confident and lax posture. A few scars may litter his face here and there now but it's him, that you can say for certain.

If this were a film, Guy’s next move would be to drop the shopping basket in his hand, and engulf you in a hug as he tells you how badly he missed you. But, alas, you're no longer naïve enough to believe that hopelessly romantic drivel. Surprisingly however, Guy's expression transforms to one of pure astonishment and awe once he realises who exactly you are. As if he's been blessed by a divine being, Guy whispers your name under his breath like a prayer.

“Wow…” His breath is stolen away from how stunted your appearance has left him. “Wasn’t expectin’ to run into you.” There is comfort in the thought that neither of you anticipated this. Comfort in knowing that, if anything, you can at least indulge in this shared experience to form some imaginary connection with Guy.

“Oh, uh—” You are unprepared to actually interact with him and frantically pluck out an earbud. The concept of ever talking to Guy again had not come to mind; you were so sure you'd never cross paths with one another, that that is what fate had in store for you, and yet here he is. One hand tightens around the handlebar of your trolley as you think of what to say next.

“I live around here.” You reveal without thinking twice. “Not right next to the shop, like. I mean, about twenty minutes away.” The unnecessary correction, that does nothing to improve your delivery, leaves you feeling like a bumbling idiot. Why would Guy think you live next to the shop when there are no buildings in the vicinity? The shop is quite literally just off the road connected to a motorway. “Yeah. Anyway, uhm, I should get back to my groceries! I've got… stuff, later.” A lie, of course—and a shit one at that. Regardless, it's the best you've got, and you slowly back yourself and your trolley away, keeping a stiff smile on your face—like a prey keeping its eyes on its predator as it goes to escape—as you attempt to extricate yourself from this awfully awkward interaction.

“Wait—!” The sound stops you in your tracks. “Would you wanna catch up? There's some things we should probably talk about. Only if you wanna. Or even if you don't, we can talk about anything. I just— I wanna talk to you.” Guy’s voice quiets down to a mumble when admitting his desire. “Not now, since you're busy ‘n all. But, maybe I could get your number?” His expression is painfully hopeful to the point that you want to accept his request without even thinking it through. This was not what you were expecting when leaving your home earlier today. A second chance, is that what this is?

You remind yourself that you could just leave right now, ignore Guy's words and continue on with your life as if this encounter never happened, as rude as it would be. You could, and would, if you could somehow convince yourself that some part deep inside of you didn't still love him, still cherish those memories from so long ago. And so, you don't leave. What you do however is keep speech to an absolute minimum as you unlock your mobile, not wishing to make a clown of yourself once more. Handing the device to Guy, your fingers faintly brush against one another and you feel what you can describe only as something akin to what you imagine an electric current running up your arm would feel like.

Enthusiastically, Guy unpockets his own mobile and—wow, were his hands always that big? With observant eyes, you subtly stare at him whilst he's distracted with his task. Hm, this feel familiar, you think to yourself. And, that familiarity prompts you to compare the Guy in front of you with the Guy you had known all those years ago. Taking the time to indulge in the visual of his figure, the first thing you notice is the stark change in his build. Gone is the scrawny kid you'd initially known him as, and here is a grown man, his shoulders now broad enough to fill out his t-shirt completely. A few stray pieces of stubble decorate his jaw, and when he speaks, you spot a missing tooth. What's the story behind that one? You find yourself wondering. That is still unmistakably a bowl cut on his head though, you suppose there are some things people never grow out of.

Having finished exchanging numbers, Guy hands your phone back. “Thanks, I'll message you later then.”

You nod in acknowledgement, and no sooner than that do you both say your farewells and excuse yourselves.

Beginning to depart, you feel butterflies in your stomach, the flutter of each wing raising your optimism levels little by little. Before you can get too far though, you're stalled once more by the sound of Guy's voice calling out to you yet again. What could he possibly have to say now?! You turn around as calmly as humanly possible, and raise a brow in question.

His face is the same colour as that of a strawberry. At first, you're concerned, but then you recall that Guy blushes very easily and very deeply, which explains his current complexion. Approaching him with slow and careful footsteps, you inquire as to whether he's okay.

Keeping his gaze averted, Guy blurts out the following so quickly that you almost don't catch it, “I missed you. Alright, see you.” Immediately after, he departs with such speed from the aisle, shopping basket in hand, that you aren't even able to get a word in edgewise. And, even if you wished to, this new knowledge rooted you to the ground, leaving you momentarily paralysed. All this time, you were convinced that Guy's words from that day held true. The doubtful part of you took control and affirmed that you meant little to him, that he didn't care if you stayed or left for these past sixteen years. This revelation changes a lot.

You don’t expect Guy to message you so quickly, the notification popping up on your mobile at 20:18 the very same day of him asking when and where you’d like to meet makes you double-take, making sure that your delusions that not taken you over to the point of imagining him messaging you. You turn your mobile off, then on again. The notification burns its way into your brain, but you stop yourself from opening it straight away, not wanting to seem too eager to reply.

Half an hour later, after distracting yourself with a few chores, you find your way back to your phone, and begin to berate yourself for acting like a teenager with their first crush. You’re both grown adults now for goodness sake, Guy wouldn’t—or hopefully shouldn’t—care about the speed of your replies. You let him know that he can meet you on the coming Sunday around noon at a cafe that you intentionally choose thanks to its close proximity to your flat.

On the day, you arrive earlier than the agreed time, partially out of habitual nerves and partially thanks to the pervasive desire to be prepared for everything. You find yourself overthinking this proper reunion with Guy—because let’s be honest, that brief encounter at the shop doesn’t really count. Since agreeing when and where your reunion would be, neither of you had sent the other anymore messages. You presume Guy is probably busy with his own life, his job, his friends, his hobbies, all of which you are not a part of. And, when you try to open your messages to re-read the messages, determine for the umpteenth time if this is real, you find your hands jittering, so the idea of sending a message is unfathomable. Sipping on a decaf and scrolling on your phone to appear absentminded, you spot that recognisable figure in your periphery, and glance up to see Guy raising his hand in a waving gesture.

“Hey, you made it.” He greets you casually with a lax smile, and sits down. A waitress approaches him not soon after, and after having his order taken, he zones back in on you. His eyes feel as if their burning into your skin with each second that passes as he properly takes you in after all these years. “You’re lookin’ good.”

“Oh, really? Thanks!” Your reply is far too loud and far too quick, and you feel yourself cringing at it. Oh, come on, you cannot look like an idiot again. Maybe he meant it as a general comment. Comes the thought, and cough to get a hold of yourself. “So, how’ve you been? I didn’t know you lived here too.” That’s true to say the least, you were under the assumption that Guy would still be living in your hometown doing… well, you weren’t sure about that, but he seemed dead set on staying there when you last spoke.

“Been meanin’ to get out of Baltimore for a while now. I moved a few weeks ago. Haven’t got round to gettin’ to know the local places, what with being busy gettin’ everythin’ settled ‘n’ organised.”

“I can show you around.” You blurt out suddenly. “If you want, that is.”

Guy pauses, surprised by the offer, before flashing you a toothy grin that brings out the crow’s feet around his eyes, and your heart stutters over itself at the sight. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks. What are you doing now, anyway?”

“I’m a teacher, actually.” Your announcement comes with great pride. “Studied English Literature at uni, got my degree and teaching qualifications. Ended up teaching high school English. S’pose you could say I went full circle.”

“Sounds like you like it a lot, teachin’ can be stressful.” Is that a hint of fondness you could hear in his voice?

“It is fun! Feels like I’m doing something good for others, and it reminds me a lot of our time in high school.”

The flash of emotion—pain?—passing across Guy’s face doesn’t go unnoticed by you at the mention of high school, is that the only way you two can look back on that time now? However, it’s wiped quickly when the waitress returns with his order. He thanks her before she retreats to her other tasks. With her gone, Guy turns his attention to you completely and lets out a breath, you could feel sympathy in his gaze.

“Listen about that day… ‘m sorry. I’m not gonna try ‘n’ excuse what I did, because what I said to you was horrible. There’s no arguing that. I had problems, and I attacked you just because you wanted to help me. That wasn’t right. I should’ve never said what I did. I regret it every time I remember. I’m sorry it took me so long to screw my head back on and apologise to you.” The volume of Guy’s voice levels down to that of a whisper, his expression distraught and voice sincere and restrained. You can tell this has been haunting him for a while. Part of you feels relief at the notion that you weren’t the only one plagued by that day.

“It’s—” You begin, wanting to wipe any trace of guilt Guy has, before remembering that you need to stick up for yourself. You wring your hands underneath the table. “Well, it wasn’t okay. Some of the things you said I still find easy to believe today.” A sharp intake of breath from opposite you. “But, I’m not going to pretend I was a saint. I said things that didn’t help the situation either.”

“Maybe, but you shouldn’t have had to feel like I was your responsibility.”

“I didn’t feel like that, or well for the most part, anyway.” You correct him gently. “I genuinely wanted to do it out of goodwill and love for you. I s’pose, in part, I didn’t like the idea of failing, and became frustrated by that. Have you… gotten help, by the way?” You tread the topic cautiously.

“Yeah, I did. Helped me unlearn a lot of my, uhm well, ‘harmful behaviour’, they called it. I'm not gonna say I don't get angry anymore, because I do. I don’t think that anger is ever goin’ away. But, I know how to manage it better.” Guy’s calm voice puts you at ease, and you find yourself feeling as if no time has passed at all between you two.

The moment is consumed by silence before Guy breaks it. “I meant what I said before I left on Wednesday, you know?”

You raise a brow, racking your brain in an attempt to remember what he'd said.

“I missed you.” Guy says it so simply as if it doesn't shatter your worldview. The one truth you'd believed these past 16 years had been suddenly shredded; Guy Gardner does, in fact, care about you. You look off to the side, needing to focus on something else as you swallow back tears.

“I missed you too.” You're embarrassed to be so forthright with him, but if Guy can do it then you'd like to try to, at the very least.

The reunion goes as well as any reunion can. Things are still awkward here and there, but you trust it's a natural occurrence of not having interacted with Guy for years. You both however continue to meet up, a fortunate series of events thanks to you keeping your promise of showing Guy around the town. During this, you find yourselves drifting back towards one another, almost to the proximity that you had once shared. Your current relationship is akin to watching an ice cube melt in real time, a slow and steady process that, at first, appears to be making no developments, but once you notice the change, you’re already at ease around one another.

A few months have passed since that reunion, and you and Guy have found yourselves meeting up regularly just to hang out, often at one another's flats. Falling into the same old conversations and activities that you used to partake in, the stark difference now being how much you've both matured and grown. During your moments together, there are instances where it feels as if you've been in contact these past 16 years. But then, they pass as quickly as they come through one of you bringing up events or people that the other isn't familiar with. It's as if the portcullis has been slammed shut, preventing you and Guy from entering each other’s castle of memories. A sense of loss at your absence in the other’s life. You suppose that might be why you find yourselves constantly drawn back together week after week, day after day. To make up for lost time that can never be returned.

One chilly night, you invite Guy to accompany you to your flat after having eaten dinner out together. The sky is dark and dreary, the yellow light shining down from the surrounding streetlamps being the only thing to improve the atmosphere. Your footsteps fall in line as you match each other’s pace, you'd like to think that your heartbeats have matching intervals too. Chatting idly, a sharp gust of wind blows, launching a bag in your direction. You dodge it easily, and you and Guy giggle over the idea that the bag was purposefully planning your demise. To any other passerby, you would appear to be a couple retreating back to the warmth and comfort of your shared home. The chemistry between you is ever present, that is undeniable. You feel it in every gaze, every touch of your fingers making the briefest contact, in your banter, and in sharing a past that no one else will ever know the full experience of.

Having eventually arrived at your flat, you and Guy make for the settee, your knees pressed comfortably against one another as you continue to chat and exchange jokes. You find yourself slipping into your smart arse self once more, and Guy reverting to his overly confident persona like always.

The atmosphere changes quickly however once you notice Guy’s lingering gaze on your face, more specifically your lips. Even when you finish speaking, he doesn’t lift his gaze.

“Guy?” An attempt to catch his attention. The sound manages to cut through whatever fixation he’s stuck in, and he rips his gaze away from your mouth and up to your eyes.

“Yeah?” You spot his tongue darting out to wet his own lips.

An amused huff escapes you. “At least try and make it a little less obvious.” Grabbing his collar, you waste no time pulling him in for a kiss, one that is quickly reciprocated. Guy’s lips are soft, albeit slightly chapped. You have noticed he has a habit of biting his lips when in deep thought, an oddly endearing habit. Your waist is like a handle, perfect for Guy to grab and pull you flush against him as he hungrily kisses you back—you see the passion hasn’t left him even after so long, your teeth clashing as a result of your mutual enthusiasm. Running out of breath, you take the chance to push Guy so his back is against the armrest of the settee, and straddle him. It’s a delicious sight, finally being able to feast upon the visual of him underneath you, surrendering to you. The awe in his eyes as he looks up at you as if you’re some divine being that can decide his fate right now. Guy is at your mercy, and yet captivated by you all the same.

He whispers your name with the same reverence he used that day you saw each other again for the first time. How long ago was that now? There’s one notable difference this time, though; he wants you in a way that he feels no shame in expressing. And, it’s all you can do not to kiss those now red lips that would definitely be bruised by morning at the pace you’re going.

“Yeah?” Your attempt at a controlled tone falters, and the tension between you feels as if it’s one drop away from spilling over the brink. Guy’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and an urge to bite it springs to mind.

“If we—” Guy’s complexion takes on the same colouring as a strawberry as he struggles to pose his request. The following words come as a rushed mumble as he runs his hands down his face, pausing over his mouth. What a shame, you were enjoying the view of his lips all red and plump thanks to you. “Hah, I don't know what you're doing to me.”

The admission sends heat rising to your own face, you swear you can hear the blood rushing inside of you, pumping at the prospect of what could happen this evening.

“If we what?” You purse your lips as you sense a giggle rise within you at Guy's nervous behaviour. “Feels like we're still awkward teens who don't know how to talk about sex.” Because that was the truth of the situation, wasn't it? You no longer recognise the exact grooves and freckles on Guy's body, could no longer match the feel of Guy's lips and body against you now to the boy you had once known.

Regret paints Guy's expression, “I’m sorry that we lost so much time.” Could he read your mind, or are you just so in-tune with one another’s emotions? Can he read the micro-expressions on your face, the small twitches that hint at your mood as well as you do him? “If we go further than kissing, is that alright?” His eyes contain such a desperate hope, and you find yourself sucked deep into them, before being brought back to Earth. “Please?” Guy’s begging now. You never thought you'd see the day. His thumb strokes the curve of your hip over your clothes, and he has to stop his other hand from wandering too much until you give the green light.

“Thought you'd never ask.” You reply with pure glee, wasting no time to dive in for another kiss. Your lips are desperate and firm against Guy’s. This is what you’ve been missing out on all these years, you think to yourself. He bites your lower lip harshly, and then swipes a tongue against it to soothe any pain. The gesture leaves you melting in his arms like putty. Your mouth opens ever so slightly at the motion—an instinctual reaction as if you were made for this moment—and that’s all the permission that Guy needs before his tongue finds its way between your lips and mingling with your own. The saliva coating both tongues leaves for the most obscene sounds, and in most situations, you’d be mortified. Yet it matters little to you when the experience is so pleasant.

His hand slides down to wrap around your thigh. You're fairly proud of the thickness and size of your thighs, to the point of it being your favourite part of your body, so to see Guy’s hand easily engulf half of its perimeter when your own hand doesn't even cover the full front of it leaves you internally gawking. His other hand snakes underneath your shirt, the direct skin to skin contact sets off a fire in you, and you experimentally grind against Guy’s crotch. You hear his breath hitch, but the gesture is welcome as his lips slip down to your jaw and neck, needily kissing and biting at the flesh—you’re going to enjoy admiring the marks come morning. Guy’s hand that's wandering under your shirt teases its way upwards, and he runs a finger along the hem of your bra.

He has to force himself to pull away from you just for a moment, and, God, what he’d do to not have to do that. “Wanna move to your bed?” As much as the rough brute Guy often comes across as, he would like your first time with him to be comfortable. It means too much to him, and you as well, to give you anything less. And despite the burning desire to have you for himself right now, a settee is just not able to meet that requirement.

“Mhm.” Your positive but impatient response alerts Guy that you also don’t want to separate yourself from him, from those lips that tasted faintly of the energy drinks he loved to have, from those hands that you wouldn’t mind holding onto you forever, but you have to remind yourself that it won’t be long. When you go to stand, suddenly a pair of hands grasp your thighs and lift you up into Guy’s hold. Your legs wrapping around his hips tightly. A surprised sound escapes you as you look down at the motion, clenching your firsts around Guy’s shirt with both hands in fear of being dropped.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I can hold you.” He whispers, the light brush of his breath on your ear makes your stomach do a flip, and he carries you with ease towards your bedroom whilst he connects your lips once more. It seems you’re not the only one who enjoys kissing the other person, the thought softens your insecurities ever so slightly. Laying you down on your bed, Guy crawls on top of you, it’s almost as if you hadn’t even moved rooms from how little the atmosphere has changed, and you once more fall into the song and dance of making out. In quick time, Guy’s shirt is splayed on the floor alongside your own as you tug at his trousers.

“Someone eager?” Guy teases you in the quiet of the room.

“Don’t act like you don’t feel the same.” You shoot back, what would appear to the average person as casual playfulness is in reality a search for validation. Did Guy want you as much as you wanted him? If there’s anyone that knows you well however, it’s him, and he presses a soft kiss to the side of your mouth.

“You got me there.” He admits with a chuckle, and before he can say a word more, you pull him in for another kiss. His hands work their way to your bra, and his ability to undo the clasps without looking astonishes you. Guy’s lips trail down, squeezing one breast with one hand and circling the nipple of the other with his tongue before licking a long stripe across the whole breast. Your hand grasps his hair, and scratches at his scalp faintly. Guy’s mouth travels down to your stomach, biting lightly at the soft belly fat, which causes you to laugh in surprise and try to swat him away. He pins your wrist down with his free hand, and begins to tug at your trousers and underwear.

“Raise your hips, buddy.” He mutters.

“Could you not call me buddy when we’re half-naked and making out?” Your nose scrunches.

“What? Don't like being my buddy?” You can hear the hint of a restrained smile in his voice.

“Guy.” You groan at his absurdity.

He pulls the last of your clothes down with one swift motion, the cool air of the room hitting your core suddenly. Filled with embarrassment, you try to close your legs out. Guy’s not having any of that though and grabs your thighs with both hands, pushing them open. “Don’t hide the view from me.” The ghost of his breath makes contact with that private space, and you’re aware of just how close he is to it.

“Wait— you don’t plan on, uh, eating me out… do you?” You ask hesitantly.

“Why not? Are you not into that?”

“No, no. It’s just… I’ve never had anyone do that to me before.” An awkward laugh escapes you.

Guy raises his head to lock eyes with you. “Never?” The shock on his face looks comical. “I can fix that.” He suggests. “Fair warning though: once you get a feel of my tongue, everyone else is gonna feel mediocre to you.” Guy promises with a tone that can only be described as cocky.

“Try your best, Gardner. We’ll see about that.” You tease, knowing the words would only fire him up more.

Guy doesn’t hesitate, licking a careful stripe between your folds from the bottom to the top of your opening. You let out a strained cry of pleasure. Then, his tongue finds your clit, and that’s where you feel it most. You tighten your grasp on Guy’s hair, pursing your lips to hold back whines as Guy circles the tip of his tongue around the bud, before darting down inside of you once more. With his left hand, he spreads your right leg wider, and you hadn’t even noticed you were beginning to close them from the pleasure of his tongue’s ministrations. With his free hand, he rubs your clit slowly, painfully slowly. And, you realise his ploy. He wants you to ask him.

“G— Guy, gasp, don’t tease me. Come on.” You whine, your moans mixing in with your speech to sound like a church choir to his ears. Guy’s head lifts up, and you spot the sheer fluid coating around and on his mouth. One was most definitely his saliva, and the other… you can feel yourself tighten at the realisation that it’s your wetness.

“Tell me then. Go on, what d’you want?” He encourages you. His eyes roam your body as he continues stroking around your bud, waiting patiently for you to give in and ask him. Heat rises through your body as you breathe deeply, and Guy notices the faint hints of red painting your chest in the low light.

“Want your… you know.” You mumble as quietly and quickly as you're hoping to get away with it.

“Want what?” Guy’s tone borders on sadistic. It feels as if you're a donkey chasing a carrot on a stick.

“Fuck me.” You blow out an exasperated breath. “You know what I mean.” You say through gritted teeth.

“I’d love to fuck you, but I don't think that's what you're talking about.” What you’d love to do is wipe that cheeky smile off of his face.

“Want your tongue instead of your fingers… to make me cum.” You whisper with the most confidence a mortified person could muster.

“See, that wasn't so hard.” Guy slides his hand from your stomach round to your waist before lovingly squeezing it.

He eagerly dives back to his task, his tongue touching those sensitive places. Feeling the vibrations running through you as he hums in approval, you try and tighten your legs only to feel Guy’s strong grip halting you. Compared to before, he's sped up considerably so, and his saliva offers the perfect friction as the obscene sounds echo around the room, mixing with your deep breaths. Guy inserts two finger into the tight space of your entrance.

“So tight.” He whispers between his ministrations, and your thighs clench as you let out a shy whine. Guy's fingers get to work to loosen you somewhat, and the presence of his fingers filling you so much on top of his tongue’s magic sent a tingling feeling through your lower abdomen and legs.

“Guy— I think—” You begin to ramble out in panic and try to sit up, wanting to warn him before you accidentally squirt all over his face. “I'm gonna—”

Guy doesn't even react to your words, the only sign he heard you being his grip tightening around you so you don't move as he speeds up his movements.

“Wait— Guy— I can’t hold it—” Your voice becomes desperate before your mind suddenly goes blank with ecstasy, shouting Guy’s name, and you faintly recognise the feeling of yourself squirting. What you do not recognise however is Guy's tongue lapping up the fluid like a dog that has found water after experiencing extreme thirst. Your leg twitches in Guy's grip as he collects the final drops, licking his lips as if he's finished a gourmet meal. His jaw is completely soaked.

“That any good?” He asks with an overconfident grin, crawling up and kissing you. The taste of yourself on his lips feels so taboo. As much as you want to deny it, you're not sure if you've ever experienced bliss in such a complete form before.

“I s’pose so.” You admit gruffly.

“Aw, don’t humble me.” The tone of Guy’s voice is playful, he knows you’re lying. He stands, and you take the time to admire him in all his shirtless glory.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Guy throws out the tease so casually, and a part of you really would love to capture the moment permanently. You feel heat rush to your face and avert your gaze at being caught indulging, staring at the ceiling and admiring whatever shade of off-white it is. He huffs out a laugh, and shakes his head. “Little late for bein’ embarrassed, don’t you think?”