my art/writing tags: sentry writes, sentry draws, sentry speaks
💫SUPERMAN💫
✱ THUNDERBOLTS ✱
Requests are OPEN
Requesting Rules: No incest, no pedophilia, no scat or watersports
If I don’t write your request, know that it is not personal and I simply either wasn’t comfortable with it or that it did not inspire me. I only write x reader; no child!readers
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one more thing. if a character ascends to godhood/divinity/some form of power that makes them practically omnipotent and no longer human. and they had a partner before that who didn’t rise with them. you are legally required to make that situation as terrifying as it would rightly be. it’s bad enough to get the attention of a god. it is ruinous to be loved by one. that is not the person you knew anymore. that is something that never has to let you leave, or have secrets, or disobey it. it will fix every problem you so much as glance at, and it will shower you in grace and gifts until you drown, and it will make you a holy artifact in its own story. you have to understand, it doesn’t remember how horrible death is, so it strikes you to cinders like a snide comment and brings you back with an apology it needs you to accept. that is how it’s going to love you forever, because it might not be inclined to let you die.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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johnny storm x cart girl!reader
content warnings: none! all fluff!
summary: johnny storm’s favorite way to relax? golf. his favorite part of golfing? the cart girl who pretends not to notice he only ever buys drinks from her
wc: 2.5k
masterlist.
It was 7:45 AM, and the clubhouse smelled like sunscreen, lemon cleaner, and gossip.
You stood at your usual prep station behind the bar, loading bottles of water into the cooler on your golf cart. The other cart girls were buzzing around the back room like bees in matching polos, filling chip baskets, adjusting visors, reapplying gloss.
“He’s coming today,” Riley whispered like it was top-secret intel.
You didn’t even look up. “Who?”
“Johnny Storm,” she hissed. “The Human Torch. Hero of New York. Celebrity heartthrob. Walking tan commercial.”
“And my future husband,” Megan added from the other side of the room, tying her ponytail with a pink scrunchie.
You snorted and shook your head, double-checking your cooler inventory. “You guys say that every time he shows up.”
“That’s because it’s true,” Riley said. “He’s hot. Like, literally. And he tips so well.”
“Ten bucks for a soda,” Megan sighed dreamily. “It’s better than what most people tip here and almost romantic.”
“Well,” Riley added, loading up her cart with suspicious speed, “We would know if he ever bought from anyone but you.”
That made you pause.
You turned. “Huh?”
“Come on, don’t play dumb.” Riley leaned on the cart’s edge with a teasing grin. “He only ever buys from you. Every time he comes in. Doesn’t matter if we’re closer, he waits. And then he pretends to be ‘so thirsty’ he needs, like, five drinks at once.”
You blinked. “Maybe he’s just…not thirsty when you drive by?”
They both gave you the flattest look imaginable.
“Girl.”
“I’m serious!” you laughed, pulling on your hat. “He’s nice. He tips generously. That’s it.”
“Sure,” Megan muttered. “And next you’ll tell us the sun rises because it feels like it.”
You climbed into your cart and turned the key, the motor humming to life beneath you.
“You’ll see,” Riley called as you started to drive off. “He’s gonna flirt with you so hard today.”
You waved it off, steering out toward the fairway.
“If he buys anything,” you called back over your shoulder, “it’s because he’s thirsty!”
You didn’t know it yet, but Johnny Storm had already been spotted in the parking lot, hair wind-blown and sunglasses too expensive, asking the front desk what time your shift started.
By the time you hit hole six, the sun was fully up and the course was starting to hum with early morning players. Golfers waved as you passed, some flagging you down for waters or sports drinks, others just offering a nod or a tip of their cap.
And then you spotted him.
Or rather, he spotted you.
Johnny Storm stood at the edge of the green, squinting toward your cart like it was a mirage. He was wearing a baby blue polo that somehow made him look like a country club ad and a celebrity at the same time. His sunglasses were too expensive, his smile too white, and his hair was just…unfair.
He raised both arms in the air like he was greeting a long-lost lover.
You snorted and pulled the cart to a stop beside him. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”
“It’s been twelve days,” he said gravely. “I counted. They were dark times.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Did you come here to play golf or flirt with the staff?”
“Yes.”
You rolled your eyes and reached for the cooler. “So. What’ll it be? Gatorade? Water? Lemonade? All of them, like last time?”
“Ooh, you remembered. I feel special.”
“You make it very hard to forget.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “Say more things like that. I want them printed on a t-shirt.”
You handed him a cold bottle and raised your palm expectantly. “Four dollars.”
He handed you a twenty.
You frowned. “Johnny.”
“Tip included,” he said with a grin. “Plus, emotional damages for how cute you look in that visor.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.
“Also,” he added, grabbing a second drink and holding it up like a prize, “I’ll take a backup hydration bottle. Just in case I pass out from, you know…looking at you too hard.”
“Right,” you deadpanned. “Medical emergency. Got it.”
“You’d rescue me, though,” he said, leaning against the cart like he was posing for a calendar. “Right? You’d swoop in and revive me with one of those little pink drinks you keep in the back.”
You gave him a long look. “You’ve never bought the pink drinks.”
“Yeah, but I’ve seen you drinking one. And I trust your taste.”
You blinked.
He winked.
Before you could reply, one of his golf buddies called out from down the fairway. “Yo, Romeo! Are you buying drinks or writing sonnets?”
Johnny turned slightly and shouted back, “Both!”
Then he looked at you again, soft, almost sheepish now.
“Hey,” he said, lowering his voice just a touch. “Thanks for always stopping for me.”
You blinked, thrown off by the sudden sincerity. “Of course. It’s literally my job.”
“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “But you make it feel like it’s just for me.”
And with that, he grabbed his drink, gave you one last grin, and jogged back toward his group—leaving you stunned, smiling, and not quite sure what just happened.
Back at the clubhouse, Riley and Megan were not going to let this go.
You rolled back into the clubhouse around ten, a little sun-dazed and already craving lunch. You parked the cart, unplugged your handheld payment reader, and headed inside with a quiet sigh—only to be met with the sound of whispered chaos.
“Oh my God, look at her. She’s smiling.”
“Did he say something? What did he say?”
“Tell me he finally gave you his number. Please. I need to live through you.”
You paused in the doorway.
Riley and Megan were standing near the ice machine, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, grinning like wolves in visors.
“What?” you asked warily.
“Don’t play innocent,” Megan said, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it your way. “We saw the whole thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We may or may not have started staring from the window when we saw you pull up to hole six,” Riley said sweetly. “You two looked like you were filming a romance movie.”
“He was buying drinks,” you said flatly.
“He bought two drinks and gave you a twenty,” Megan pointed out. “And then lingered. There was leaning. There was eye contact.”
“There was a wink,” Riley added. “Like, a devastatingly flirty one.”
You tried not to smile. Failed.
“He’s just…like that,” you said, cracking open your water. “He flirts with everyone.”
They looked at you like you’d grown three heads.
“He does not flirt with everyone,” Riley said. “He flirts with you. Exclusively.”
“You know how many times I’ve circled past his group?” Megan added. “He doesn’t even blink at us. But the second he sees you, he turns into a lovesick boy with a credit card.”
You walked around the counter, pretending to reorganize the snack bins just to avoid their eyes.
“He’s nice,” you said, shrugging. “And maybe he’s just…really hydrated.”
“Oh my God,” Riley groaned, slumping onto a stool.
“You think he memorized your favorite drink because he’s dehydrated?” Megan asked.
You froze. “Wait, what?”
They both stared. “Oh my god, you didn’t even notice.”
“Notice what?”
“He only buys the pink lemonade ones when you’re drinking them,” Megan said, “Literally. Never before. We started tracking it.”
“There’s tracking?”
“Of course there's tracking.”
You dropped your face into your hands.
“You guys need hobbies.”
“You need to wake up girl,” Riley said. “Or maybe you just need a date with Johnny Storm, who is clearly in love with you.”
You shook your head and muttered, “He’s not.”
But the heat creeping up your neck said maybe, just maybe, you weren’t totally convinced anymore.
The next few days followed a pattern.
A stupid, suspicious pattern.
Johnny kept showing up to the course. Not every day, that’d be too obvious, but often enough that Riley and Megan kept score on the whiteboard in the breakroom. “Storm Watch: Day 3,” complete with tally marks and doodles of flames.
And every time he showed up? Same routine.
He waved at you, not anyone else. Waited for your cart to circle around. Ordered the same exact drink as whatever you were sipping.
Once, you were chewing watermelon gum and he pulled out the same kind from his pocket like it was totally normal.
“Wow,” you’d said, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re in sync,” he’d replied, grinning. “You’re the trendsetter. I’m just trying to keep up.”
You rolled your eyes. But your face had felt warm for the rest of the afternoon.
Today, it was even weirder.
You’d just pulled into hole fourteen when you spotted him, not at his usual tee spot, but loitering by the water cooler, clearly waiting.
You slowed the cart.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on hole fifteen?” you called out.
“Took a shortcut,” he said, stretching his arms overhead in a way that was definitely on purpose. “Was hoping to run into you.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You realize we sell drinks at every hole, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But they’re not your drinks.”
You blinked. “…That’s the dumbest line I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re smiling, though.”
You were. Damn him.
He leaned an elbow against the cart roof, getting a little too comfortable.
“You know,” he said, voice dipping just slightly, “you could let me take you out for a drink sometime.”
Your stomach did a weird little flip.
“Is that a line, or…?”
“It’s an invitation,” he said.
“Right,” you muttered, grabbing a water bottle from the cooler.
He took the bottle. His fingers brushed yours.
“Hydration and heartbreak prevention,” he said, grinning. “You saying yes might save me.”
You scoffed. “You’ll survive.”
“Maybe. Barely.”
He lingered for a second too long, then turned and jogged off, turning around twice to wave at you, like he couldn’t help himself.
Back at the clubhouse, you stared at the cooler for a long time.
You didn’t say anything.
But the next morning, you made sure to stock extra of his favorite drink. Just in case.
The course was quiet that morning.
Overcast skies meant fewer players, and the usual buzz of golf carts and distant cheers was replaced by birdsong and the occasional low rumble of thunder somewhere far off.
You were parked under a tree by the edge of hole nine, flipping through your phone and sipping a half-warm coffee, when footsteps approached from the fairway.
You looked up.
“You again,” you said, trying not to smile.
Johnny jogged over, hair pushed back by the wind, no sunglasses today. Just him, his face open, unguarded. His polo sleeves pushed up. A little less “celebrity,” a little more boy next door.
“You’re hiding,” he said, stopping at your cart.
“I’m on break.”
“Break from selling drinks or from being the most popular girl on the course?”
You rolled your eyes. “Still trying to flirt?”
“No,” he said, softer now. “Just…trying to talk to you.”
You paused.
He nodded toward the passenger seat. “Can I sit?”
You motioned for him to hop in.
He did, folding his arms loosely and leaning back. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked out at the trees, the pale gray clouds, the stillness of the course.
“This is my favorite part,” he said eventually. “When it’s quiet. Before it gets loud again.”
You glanced at him. “Didn’t take you as a ‘quiet moment’ type.”
He gave a breathy laugh. “Yeah, most people don’t. They think I like the flash, the attention. And I do. I mean…I did. Kind of still do.”
He picked at the label of the water bottle in his hands.
“But this place? It’s the only place I don’t have to be on.”
“You come here to hide?”
“Not hide. Just…breathe.”
You watched him for a second, heart slowing.
He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t trying. He was just being.
You took a sip of your coffee, watching a leaf swirl across the grass. “Why me?”
“What?”
“You could buy drinks from anyone. But you wait for me. Why?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Because you don’t treat me like a headline.”
That caught you off guard.
“You’re funny,” he continued. “You’re smart. You’re not trying to get anything out of me. You see me, and I think… I think I like the version of me you see. It feels better than the one everyone else wants.”
Your chest tightened.
He turned to look at you, eyes warm, a little nervous.
“And okay, yeah, you’re gorgeous, and I like your smile, and you say things that make me spiral in the best way, but it’s more than that. You make this place feel real. You make me feel real.”
The silence after was soft. Not awkward. Just heavy with truth.
You fiddled with the corner of a napkin in your lap.
“You’re not what I expected,” you murmured.
“Is that a good thing?”
You met his gaze.
“Yeah. I think it is.”
It happened at the end of your shift.
The sun was low, casting long shadows across the course. Your cooler was empty, your sleeves smelled like sunscreen and lemon Gatorade, and all you could think about was getting off your feet and into your car.
You were wheeling your cart back to the clubhouse when you saw him.
Johnny was leaning against one of the wooden posts near the exit path, hands in his pockets, still in that slightly rumpled polo like he hadn't moved since his last round.
You slowed the cart.
“You lose something?” you asked, teasing.
“Kinda,” he said, pushing off the post. “I was waiting for you.”
You stepped off the cart, tilting your head. “You already bought four drinks and a granola bar. You can’t possibly be that thirsty.”
He gave you a small smile, but it was different this time, nervous. Real.
“I figured if I waited until you were off-duty, you’d have to talk to me like a person and not a customer.”
“You’ve never acted like a customer,” you said softly.
“Yeah, well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was kind of hoping you’d notice.”
He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to you.
A drink.
One of your pink lemonades.
Only this time, written across the label in marker were five simple words:
“Call me if you’re ready.”
And beneath it? His phone number.
You looked at it. Then at him.
“This is cute,” you said, smiling. “A little cheesy. But cute.”
“Yeah, well. I panicked. I was gonna say something cooler, but then I thought maybe you’d like this better.”
You ran your thumb over the writing.
“I do,” you said. “Like it better.”
He brightened.
“Does that mean…?”
“Yeah, Johnny. I think I’m finally thirsty.”
He broke into the biggest grin you’d ever seen, sun-drenched and boyish and so obviously relieved.
“Cool,” he said. “Cool cool cool. So I’ll, uh, be ready whenever you are. No pressure. I can wait. I’ve been waiting. Just didn’t want to keep showing up and not say something because my friend Ben said I was acting like a sap with no game and-”
You leaned up and kissed his cheek, warm and quick.
He froze mid-ramble.
You smirked. “Maybe bring me a drink next time.”
“You got it,” he breathed. “I’ll bring a whole cooler.”
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23 "just once" with Guy? I'd love to see where you go with it! Please!
I'm A Fan
Guy Gardner/Reader, 700 words
So, I might have slipped this prompt into something I was already playing with... but it works. Hope you enjoy!
Bank robberies aren't normally a part of his repertoire. As a Green Lantern, Guy’s priorities are focused on bigger, bladder, more alien threats to his home planet, #2814. Better known as Earth.
But big blue needed a favour, and while he might never need to cash in, being The One, The Only Guy Gardner, after all, it can't hurt to have the big guy in your pocket.
This whole thing should be easy enough: Fly in, herd up the gang of thieves, keep 'em in one place until the Earth authorities show up, say hi to his adoring fans, maybe even take one home. Easy peasy.
He just wasn't counting on the adoring fan part finding him so soon.
He'd had his fair share of flirty banter with the enemy before, he's a hard Guy to resist, but you, you're something else. A real piece of work, swaying your hips, flaunting your body, curves highlighted by that tight little catsuit as you break off from the rest of your team.
“You! Oh my god, you're him, aren't you? You're Guy Gardner, the Green Lantern?”
Within no time he's on the ground, flexing as you feel up his bicep, excitement evident even beneath your domino mask.
“You know I'm not supposed to have a favourite since I'm one of the “bad guy” an all, but you're totally my favourite.”
“Well now, nothing wrong with havin’ good taste.” He replied, playing up the Bostonian accent you’d already confessed to finding ‘hot as hell’.
He hasn't been sure how to respond at first. Admittedly it had been a while since he'd met any of his adoring fans or ever.
“Can I...” You shake your head, talking yourself out of your own question, looking at his boots, then back to him excitedly twice over before you commit. “Can I touch the ring?”
You've got him wrapped around your little finger, he’s not oblivious to it, he's just enjoying the moment but still, your request gives him pause. Instinctively he rubs the ring's symbol with his index finger as he thinks things over before finally turning it face you. “Eh, what the heck, just for you, just once.”
His vows didn't expressly forbid it, so why not, huh? You might be a larcenist, but bigger threats than you have tried and failed to get this thing off his finger.
His potential err of judgement is rewarded by the sound of you squealing. You don't just touch the ring, your hands gently caress the back of his hand as you rub it with your thumb, eyes never leaving his the whole time. His seconds away from flipping the script and pulling your hand to his lips for a kiss. Wouldn't that be fun? Like one of those sappy old Hollywood fairytale romances, like Bond and whatever the hot chicks in those movies are called, but before he can, a distinctly human whistle pierces the air, and your meet-cute bubble bursts.
Simultaneously, the expressions on your locked eyes quickly simmer from heat to panic as you both remember the reason you're here, and before he can act, you're backing away from him, your sultry smile twisting into concern. “Anyway, it was great meeting you but I should go. I have plans tonight and going to jail would really put a dampener on them.”
Your crew have already left you behind, but you're fast on your feet as you hurry away from him, slowed by your ineptitude to look away from him for more than a few seconds.
“Whats your hurry sweetcakes. It’s always great to meet a fan.” He calls after you, hot on your tail. “An’ I think you’d look real cute in a stripy jumpsuit with a lil’ ball and chain.”
As he says the words, mustering up the image in his mind's eye, you fall forward, feet away from your escape. Weighed down by the heavy, glowing green ball and chain that fixes itself around your ankle.
Outside sirens blare, seems your team aren't making off without you after all.
“For what it's worth, I really am a fan.” You tell him, the cutest, most defeated pout in your lips as you roll over to face his flying form hovering above you.
It won't save you from the slammer, but for what it's worth, he really does appreciate it.
send me a pairing/pairing + a number and i'll write you a drabble/blurb
Summary: After joining the Justice League, you have had the great displeasure of dealing with Guy’s asshole treatment. After Guy has a close call with death, the two of you get into a fight that pushes you both over the edge.
My Writing Masterlist
WC: 4.2k
TW/CW: Guy Says Mean Things, ok he calls her a useless POS (he apologizes!), happy ending.
A/N: sorry folks, the bowl cut aint doing it for me. however, i do love me an asshole…
“Why do we even need a medic? We pay her to sit around and do nothing!”
Guy was back on his high horse, ranting about how the Justice League (newly renamed) didn’t need a glorified babysitter, as he so lovingly coined your position. He was leaning against Micheal’s desk, ranting to him.
You were at his side, in the process of relocating Guy’s shoulder.
Guy had been against you from the day you walked in the front door. A member of the team, a metahuman, who did nothing but housesit and put on bandaids. Guy hated useless things, and his eyes, you were useless. Guy hated you with a fiery passion.
At least the feeling was mutual.
“Okay, back in place in three, two-”
“I don’t need a count down! Just do-”
You thrust his joint back into place with more force than necessary.
“Ow! Fucking hell, that hurt!” His accent slipped in thicker than usual as he cussed you out.
You took a generous step away from him. “Any other notable injuries?”
“I dunno, you tell me!” Guy began circling his arm, cradling the joint with his free hand.
You looked him over, scanning him for any signs that he was injured. You noticed a cut on his cheek bone and lifted your hand to heal it.
“Hey, hands off the merchandise!” Guy spat and batted your hand away.
“You just-” You sucked in a deep breath, then let it out, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fine. I’ll help Kendra now.”
You spun on your heel and stalked off to Kendra’s room. You knew she had a few cuts and scrapes, but nothing major.
As you left, you could just make out Micheal saying something, but couldn’t make out what. However, you could hear Guy curse at him and knock something to the floor.
You didn’t care what they said, it didn’t matter. You made your way to Kendra’s room and knocked on the door.
“It’s me,” you called out.
“Come in,” you heard her huff from the other side. You walked into her room and sat down at the edge of her bed. She was reclining on it, swiping through her phone. “Another fight with Guy?”
“I don’t know what his problem with me is!” You burst, waving your arms for punctuation. “It’s like I can’t do anything right!”
“Well, yeah. He’s got an itty-bitty pea brain.” Kendra held up her two fingers close together, expressing how miniscule Guy’s brain was. “Maybe you should be asking why it bothers you so much.”
“Ugh, not this again,” you groaned and flopped backwards onto her bed. “I do not like that- that- oaf!”
Kendra snorted. “Yeah, sure, that’s what you come and mope everytime he gets mad at you.”
“He’s always mad at me,” you mumbled, staring at her ceiling.
“And you are always moping,” Kendra countered. “Soon Micheal is going to get fed up with it and make you two fuck it out.”
“Ew, you are disgusting," you shot her a dirty look.
She simply shrugged. “Fucking it out usually works.”
“Fucking it out,” you said with exaggerated air quotes. “Does not in fact, always work.”
“Have you tried it?”
“No!”
Kendra shook her head. “Then don’t tell me it doesn't work. If you don’t want my help, go ask one of the other boys.”
You scoffed. “Yeah, right, that will go over well. I’m sure they want to hear all about my problems.”
“Clark might.”
You paused. “Clark might,” you agreed. “He gives good advice. I’ll talk to him.”
Kendra waved you off, like she couldn’t care less what you did with yourself.
You left her room, closing the door behind you. You walked back to the entrance to headquarters. Guy was still talking to Micheal, but the conversation abruptly died down when you walked in.
“Have you seen Clark?” You directed your question to Micheal, not keen on starting conversation with Guy again.
“See?” Guy hissed at Micheal, gesturing towards you.
Micheal rolled his eyes and ignored Guy. “Yeah, he already left for work.”
“Oh, okay,” you shrugged. “I’ll catch him tomorrow.”
You spun on your heel and made a hasty escape before Guy could yell at you some more.
It was late.
Or early, depending on how you looked at it. The Justice League had been out battling some Kaiju for the past seven hours.
It was around two am when news coverage announced that the threat had been neutralized. You waited another half hour before the team burst into the base.
Kendra was limping and clutching her side but didn't seem to be too beat up. Micheal looked generally unscathed, Clark as well.
Guy, on the other hand, was a wreck. Clark was completely and fully carrying Guy, Guy's legs trailing weakly behind him. He could barely hold his head up, dipping and bobbing as he tried to lift it up.
It felt like everything went in slow motion for a second. You could smell the burns and blood and sweat. You froze for a moment.
“Oh god…” Your voice was choked with emotion. This was the worst you had ever seen Guy.
“Don't just stand there,” Micheal snapped. “Help him.”
“Right, yeah, okay,” you responded, your voice shaky. You forced yourself to move and kneeled in front of the couch that Clark deposited Guy on.
You lifted your hands to take his limp wrist in your hand to assess the damage. You let your powers flow through him, noting the worst injuries first.
“Ruptured spleen, severe internal bleeding, lacerated liver, three broken ribs, dislocated collar bone…” you trailed off shaking your head. “I'm gonna need him to take off the suit.”
“Can you help him?” Clark asked, worry evident in his tone.
“Yes,” you responded firmly. “It's just gonna suck.”
“Alrighty, I'll leave him in your hands. I gotta heal up too.”
You hummed a response to Clark, which he took as his chance to leave and go back to his fortress.
“Guy, I need the suit off,” you said gently, leaning closer to his head. You were kneeling on the ground in front of Guy, in between his thighs, crowding his space.
“Fuck- fucking buy me ‘inner first…”
Guy's voice was slurred and thick with his Baltimore accent. You barely understood him, but you had dealt with him drunk many times so you were able to make out his words.
But you couldn't hide the relief you felt at hearing his voice. It meant he wasn't too far gone. You could save him. You had to save him.
“Guy, I am taking off your ring.” You spoke slowly and deliberately, as if speaking to a petulant child, and started slipping his ring off.
Guy suddenly tightened his hand into a fist and jerked away.
“Facken ‘ell are ya doin?”
“It will be so much easier for me if you just let me take the suit off,” you pleaded with Guy. It was possible to heal him by skin to skin on his hand, but the closer you were to the injury, the less power and less of a toll it had on you. With such severe injuries, you weren't sure you would be able to do it without getting as close as you could.
“Does it look like I care? Do yer job, or fuck off!”
You were seriously surprised he was still coherent. It had to be sheer willpower (which you supposed made sense) keeping him from passing out.
“Guy!” You snapped. “That is what I am trying to do!”
“Then do it!” He growled, then winced. He groaned in pain, clutching his side.
Fuck, you didn't have time for this.
You cursed under your breath, finally caving to his stubbornness. Maneuvering to sit next to him, you took his hand and slid it up your shirt, placing his palm right above your heart. Your heart was the origin of your metahuman powers, so you hoped that if you couldn't get close to his injury, it might help to be closer to the source.
You focused your energy into his arm and worked your way down to his gut. You sped up the healing process of his liver, then repaired his spleen.
Guy cried out in pain as you relocated his collar bone. You tried to fix the ribs, but your heart skipped a beat, signaling to you that you were spent.
You sagged into the couch and began gulping in air through ragged breaths.
Guy slowly came to, yanking his hand away as soon as he noticed.
“Fack were you doing?”
“Healing…” you panted, your eyes squeezed shut in pain.
There was a beat of silence.
“I need to be up your shirt to do that?”
You forced your eyes open. Guy was towering over you, standing with his arms crossed across his chest. You took a deep breath and pushed yourself to stand so that you could face him better.
“Yes, Guy, I do. Because someone wouldn’t take off the damned suit so I could do it properly.”
“What kinda healer needs me naked to do a job?”
“Whatever, I’m done.” You shouldered past him, knocking into him. However, it did not have the intended effect. You stumbled and nearly crashed into Micheal’s desk. Strong arms shot out and steadied you. “Get off of me!” You snapped and twisted away from him.
“Woah, there. Jesus Christ, don’t push yourself so hard, you’re not made of energy.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” you seethed as you steadied yourself on your feet.
“Whaddya mean?” Guy narrowed his eyes at you.
You just rolled yours. “Stumbling in here half dead. You nearly died!”
“Oh, what do ya care?”
“Of course I care, Guy, I care a lot!” A flash of realization overcame you, and you blanched. To cover your tracks you kept talking. “I care about all of you, it’s my job.”
“You’re not paid to care about me,” Guy said softly. His gaze was so… gentle, it was unlike him. It made you uncomfortable.
“I care about all of you,” you repeated. “And you’re not Superman, you can’t be reckless like that. You were on the verge of-”
“Oh, Superman this, Superman that, I know I am not Superman!” Guy snapped, crowding your space and sticking a finger in your face.
“Then stop acting like you’re indestructible like him!”
“Right, cause he's Mr. Perfect!” Guy sneered at you. His face was red now, anger prominent in his features.
“You're not listening!” You stuck your own finger in his face. “Superman has the sun, you only have me. I barely healed you this time, what if I can’t-”
“Then maybe you should get better at your job! Maybe you shouldn’t be a useless piece of shit!”
You blinked and physically reeled from his words. That had to be the cruelest thing he had ever said to you. He had implied before that they did not need you, but this was the first time he called you useless outright. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes and you ducked your head to hide them quickly.
You weren’t sure what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say. All you knew was that you couldn’t be here anymore.
You turned and started walking away. You made your way to the front door and pushed your way out before he said anything.
“Hey- wait!”
You didn’t.
Once you were outside, the tears began falling. You couldn’t stop them no matter how hard you tried. Furiously wiping them away only made more fall. You were tipped over the edge and nothing could slow down your descent. Everything broke and snapped and you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Guy caught up to you quickly, snatching your arm and pulling you to a halt.
“Let,” you drew in a ragged breath. “Go!”
Guy hushed you and pulled you into his chest. He held you firmly and you were too weak from the overexertion of your powers to escape.
“I- I hate you!” You cried as you hit his back with your fists. “I hate, hate, hate you!”
“I know, I know…” Guy responded softly. “I deserve it.”
You felt like a child throwing a tantrum, but you were too emotional to temper your reaction. You continued to writhe and hit his back with your fist, but gave up after a while. You buried your head into his chest and fisted your hands in his shirt. You noticed that he wasn’t wearing his suit anymore. Funny.
Guy had one arm wrapped around the small of your back, a hand on your hip. The other hand was on your shoulder, thumb swiping against the exposed skin of your neck.
In the beginning, it felt like you would never stop crying. But eventually, you did stop crying. It tapered off, leaving you snot nosed and sniffling. You had a flash of awareness that you probably looked disgusting and kept your head in Guy’s broad chest.
The silence stretched, and seeing as Guy wasn’t speaking up, you decided to break the ice.
“You suck,” you mumbled into the wet fabric of his shirt.
Guy drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “I know.”
You tried wiping your eyes and nose with your hand, but it only made a bigger mess. Guy seemed to notice your attempts and let out a small laugh.
“Just use my shirt, you already made a mess.”
“I am not going to blow my nose into your shirt, that's disgusting." You paused. “Even if you do deserve it.”
Guy sighed and removed one arm from you to dig in his back pocket. He pulled out a wad of napkins with a logo of a local sports bar on them. He held them close to your face so that you could see them.
“I am not using your butt napkins.”
Guy let out an incredulous laugh. “Fucking- what? Butt napkins?”
“You could let me go so I could grab some tissues,” you suggested, but made no move to leave his hold.
Guy huffed and brought the napkins closer to your face. “Just take ‘em, sweetheart.” He dropped the ‘t’ sounds in the last word, making it sound more like ‘sweehar’, but you knew what he was saying.
At that, you finally pulled away to glare at him. “You don’t get to call me that.”
Guy’s smirk faltered for a second, but he rebounded quickly. “Let me help then,” he said, apparently opting to ignore your comment. He then shoved the napkins in your face, scrubbing the rough material into your nose.
“Oh for fuck’s- fine, gimmie them!” You snatched the napkins from him and began cleaning your face and blowing your nose.
Guy settled his arms around your waist and smiled down at you.
Once you were done, you wadded up the mass of used napkins into a clean one and shoved them into your back pocket. When you looked up, Guy was still smiling at you.
“What?” You meant for your voice to be harsh and cruel, but it just made Guy smile wider.
“You’re gorgeous, ya know that?”
You continued glaring at him. You folded your arms below your chest and arched your back to get further away from him. “Wow, it’s crazy how you’re still talking and not a single apology has left your smug mouth.”
Guy closed his eyes and tilted his head back with a sigh. The motion made the tendons in his neck stand out, his Adam's apple more prominent.
“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I just-”
“You just what? That still isn’t an apology!”
Guy sighed again and dipped his head into the crook of your neck. You sighed and let him curl into you, too tired to fight back.
“I’m sorry I’ve been given’ ya the asshole treatment,” he mumbles into your neck.
You let out a scoff of disbelief. “The what?”
“Iss what my parents used to call how I treated girls I liked. The asshole treatment.”
“It’s what your-” Your brain caught up to his words and you let out a choked squeak.
“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled and nuzzled closer to you. “Ya smell good.”
You didn’t know what to say. You were completely and totally stunned into silence. Guy Gardner liked you? The person who had been making your life at the Justice League a living hell for the past several months, that person, liked you?
“I’ve been jealous of you and Supershit. I thought you liked him. Iss why I lashed out when you mentioned him.”
“Clark literally orbits around Lois,” you laughed. “You were jealous of the one person I would never go for? He’s so not my type.”
Guy finally picked up his head and looked at you properly. “What is your type then?” He had a smirk on his face, as if he already knew the answer.
You pursed your lips. “No comment.”
“C’mon, sweetheart, you said you cared about me,” he grinned and tilted his head closer to you.
“I said I care about the whole team.” You felt heat creep up your neck. You averted your gaze and huffed. “You can let go of me now.”
“Where ya gonna go?”
“Home.”
You could see Guy frowning out of the corner of your eye. “Yer not still mad, are ya?”
“I don’t know, Guy. I mean I am a useless piece of shit. Why would you need me here anyways?”
Guy winced when you repeated his words. “I didn’t mean it…”
“Then why did you say it?”
“I’m stupid.”
You whipped your head to face him. He looked like a kicked puppy, downtrodden and sad. “You- what?”
“I’m an absolute idiot.” He rephrased his earlier statement with a sigh. “I don’t know how ta act ‘round girls I like. I’m just… mean.”
“The asshole treatment?”
Guy nodded. “The asshole treatment," he agreed.
You sighed. “Say you’re sorry again.”
“I am so, so sorry,” Guy said earnestly. Hope flickered in his eyes as he looked at you.
“You’re going to have to make it up to me,” you added.
Guy grinned wolfishly and dipped his head to meet yours. “Now, tha’ I can do, hon.”
You pressed a hand to his lips before he could do anything stupid.
“I'm still mad at you.”
“I know,” Guy mumbled behind your finger.
“And I do not like you,” you added.
Guy cocked an eyebrow. “Debateable.”
“And just because this is your way of- Guy!”
Guy maneuvered around your finger and dipped his face into your neck. He began pressing kisses to your jaw, neck, and collarbone. He worked his way down your throat and back up.
“I’m listening,” he mumbled through kisses.
“Clearly you are not!” You couldn’t help the raise in pitch your voice did as he continued pressing kisses into the hollow of your throat.
“My way of…?” He quoted your earlier words to show he was in fact listening.
You splayed your hands on his chest and applied a small amount of pressure, but he kept going. Fuck, this asshole was stubborn. And you were angry. You could at least give him a piece of your mind if he was going to continue being obstinate.
“Just because this is how you show affection does not give you the right to say those cruel things to me.”
Guy lifted his head for a moment, flashing you a smirk. “Nah, this is how I show affection.”
He leaned down to kiss you once more, but you stopped him with a hand over his mouth. He huffed in annoyance. He used one of hands to pin your wrists to his chest.
“Will ya jus’ lemme kiss ya already?”
“You called me a useless piece of shit!”
“I said I was sorry!”
“And that makes it better?” You sighed. “Guy, you scared me today. You almost died.”
The irritation on his features faltered. “Aw, hon, I know you’re madly in love with me, but Imma big boy, I can handle myself.”
“But you didn’t,” you pressed. “You were about half an hour away from bleeding out. Don’t do stupid shit like that.”
“I am a superhero,” Guy said softly, enunciating his words. “I made a vow-”
“I don’t care about your stupid vow if it gets you killed!”
Guy’s eyes softened and he leaned down to press his forehead to yours.
“I promise I will come back to ya, I always will.”
You cleared your throat uncomfortably. “I mean to all of us. Because we all care about you.”
Guy snorted an ugly laugh. “Baby, how long are ya gonna fight this?”
“I don’t like you,” you repeated to yourself.
“Uh huh,” Guy agreed with you, slowly inching closer.
“I seriously have zero feelings for you.” Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt Guy’s breath fan across your lips.
“Mhm.” He hummed, pressing his lips softly to yours, but applying no pressure. You could feel the vibration of his answer with your lips. He held still, touching you, but making no move to push it any further.
You opened your mouth to say something, but barely got out one word before your razor thin control snapped like a thread. The feeling of your lips brushing past his was just too much. You pressed into him and pulled him into a bruising kiss. Guy let go of your wrists and you threaded the behind his neck to pull him closer.
Guy bit down on your lower lip, and you knew what he was doing, but the motion still elicited a gasp from you. Guy took the opportunity to kiss you deeply.
Not surprisingly, Guy was a phenomenal kisser. With how much he ran his smart mouth, he sure knew how to work it.
Guy cradled the back of your head in his palm, the other still wrapped securely around your waist. Guy kissed you until you were breathless and had to pull away.
Guy wasted no time kissing the corner of your mouth and down your jaw, to your neck. He wandered until he found the spot that made your breath hitch, then attacked it with fervor.
“Guy, Guy, you’re gonna- ah- leave a mark!” You tried to reprimand him angrily, but all that came out were breathy sighs.
Guy ignored you and continued until he was satisfied. He pulled away to look at his handiwork and smirked. “That was the point, hon.”
You did your best to glare at him, but a yawn split your face. You brought up a hand to cover your mouth, yawning into it.
“You must be tired,” Guy sighed. “C’mon, let's get you to bed.” Guy pulled away from you for the first time since he stopped you- just to throw you over his shoulder.
“Guy!”
“Yes?” He began walking back into the building.
You sighed and gave up the fight. He was right, you were exhausted. So you folded your arms so you could prop up your head just a bit so that all the blood didn't rush to it.
It was dark in the halls, so you didn’t notice until Guy sat you down on the edge of a bed that you were in his room.
“Um, Guy?”
Guy had knelt down and was taking off your shoes. “Yeah?”
“We’re in your room.”
“I know.”
“So… where am I going to sleep?”
Guy shot you a look, one eye brow raised. “I know yer not an idiot, baby.”
“I’m not sleeping with you tonight.” Your voice was firm. You leveled him with a serious stare.
“I won’t try a thing, scouts honor,” he said and raised three fingers.
You rolled your eyes. “It’s the other hand, idiot.”
Guy made a big show of switching hands before finishing taking off your shoes. Once he was done, he stood up and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Wait here a sec.”
You obeyed, your eyelids growing tired. You shut your eyes just for a moment. You opened them again when you heard Guy’s footsteps coming back.
“Here,” Guy returned with a worn shirt that had the text ‘Michigan Wolverines’ around a football. “Put it on.”
“Turn around.”
Guy rolled his eyes, but complied. You quickly changed shirts and slipped off your shorts. You crawled onto his bed and crawled under the covers. The pillows smelled like his cologne and sweat.
“Okay, you’re good.” You settled onto your side and another yawn struck you. You kept your eyes closed after the yawn dissipated.
Soon you felt the bed dip behind you. Guy placed a heavy hand on your waist, but you were already drifting off. After over exerting yourself and sobbing your heart out, you were running on fumes.
Guy pulled you against his chest and you leaned your weight into him. His chin rested on the top of your head.
“I really don’t like you, just for the record,” you mumbled, fatigue muddling your words.
Guy let out a chortle and pulled you closer. You felt him press one last kiss to the top of your head.
“The record shall reflect it. Now go to sleep, hon.”
You complied with his order, not because you wanted to listen to him, but because you were already half asleep. A few more moments, and you were dead to the world.
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