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practically-an-x-man · 1 year ago

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"What is a 'slay queen', and why did they just call me that?"

Prompt idea for you

Oooooh this is an Eris prompt if I've ever seen one

____ This Time It's Not So Literal

Word Count: 1.5k Content Warnings: none really, it's pretty cute ____

"This goes against everything I stand for," Eris grumbled, his fingers twitching for his spear. He didn't have it with him, regrettably, and their restless fingers found the fabric of their skirt instead.

"You look great, though," Rick offered, glancing down from their right side. Eris shrugged, fighting hard not to feel uncomfortable with the clothing.

She ran her hands down the front of her sundress, smoothing down the fabric. It was dark red, the color of old blood, and the fabric rippled loosely around her legs as she walked. His arms were bare, showing off their array of freckles and scars. At least it had pockets. He had a knife, only about three inches long and sheathed in a leather case, tucked into one of them.

God, he wanted his spear.

"A thousand years, and I've never worn a dress for longer than a few minutes," he muttered, "I guarantee it."

"I'll have to take your word for it." Rick said, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, "You don't like dresses?"

"It's not that I don't like them, I just..." Eris huffed, taking loose fistfuls of their skirt for emphasis, "How the hell are you supposed to fight in this? I mean, it's got movement, but there's just so much fabric. It gets in the way, someone could grab it... it's a hazard. It's just as bad as wearing a cape."

"Point of today's that we shouldn't have to do any fighting," Rick pointed out, "Besides, I'm sure you'll just cut that skirt off if we happen to run into something."

"Damn right I will."

"Besides, all I said was to pick a disguise," he added a moment later, "Why pick a dress if you don't want to wear it?"

"Because it's pretty," Eris sighed, taking an extra step to make the fabric ripple a little more dramatically, "And I didn't think it through at the time."

They were approaching a fountain, spitting jets of water high into the air, and Eris hopped up easily onto the low concrete wall surrounding it. If nothing else, it was a lovely day for espionage, and a lovely park to spend it in. The grass was green and the sun was high, and their dress seemed to shine like a jewel when it caught the right light. He kept finding Rick's eyes on him- much more than usual, for whatever reason.

She walked along the edge of the fountain with loose, casual steps, letting her eyes scan the scene ahead of her. Rick was squinting. Eris wasn't. Her eyes were a lot darker than his were, after all. She was built for bright summer days like this. Under the warm sunlight, her skin practically glowed.

"He's on the other side of the park," he said, his voice light and casual, "Down by the water. Feeding the ducks."

"Hm. Looks like we'll be having ourselves a little picnic, then," Rick replied, lifting the basket in his other hand, "If we want to be close enough to listen, that is. Good thing I came prepared."

"I'm starting to think this is all by design," Eris said, their smile flashing bright as they looked down at him. Standing on the edge of the fountain, it was one of the rare occasions she stood taller than him. The backsplash of the water sent a cool, gentle mist over her skin, and she allowed herself to bask into the feeling for a moment or two.

"Yeah? What design's that?"

"I think our target's a ruse." he said in the same faintly amused tone of voice, "I think you set this up so you could court me."

"It's a very real target, darlin'. Straight from Waller's list." Rick responded, glancing from Eris down to the other side of the park, "The fact that I opted to catch him here, though... alright, maybe that was me."

He lifted his free hand up to them, palm up in invitation. Eris just stared at it for a moment or two.

"Rick Flag, are you seriously suggesting I hold your hand?"

"We're s'posed to be a couple."

"We are a couple." Eris pointed out with a shrug, "By most modern definitions. Aren't we?"

"I mean we're s'posed to look like a couple." he corrected, though his fingers twitched like he was about to withdraw his hand. It did look a little awkward there, held up in an unacknowledged invitation like that. Rick shrugged. "I'll let go if it looks like there'll be a fight. I promise."

It was the same reason she wasn't very fond of hugs. One hand devoted to holding onto someone else's was one hand out of use in an emergency. Or even worse - not that they thought they were in danger of this with Rick - that someone could get a more dangerous hold on her, like a bear hug with a knife to her throat, with just a well-timed tug. Besides, he was on their right side- their dominant side. The side where her only weapon was tucked into her pocket.

It was... unsafe.

Eris sighed and placed her hand in his own. Rick beamed so brightly it looked like a second sun. It made something flutter deep within her.

Still holding Rick's hand, he hopped off the edge of the fountain and smiled at the way it made his skirt float out around him. His feet hit the ground, sandals scratching against the pavement, and they couldn't resist twirling themself around Rick's hand. It made their dress flare out, rippling like soft red flower petals on the surface of a pond.

"Slay, queen!" A passer-by called out, drawing Eris' eye. The stranger was tall, with multicolored hair and a panting terrier on a leash trotting out ahead of them. Eris' brow furrowed, and she tilted her head at the stranger, but they'd already shifted focus.

"Rick?"

"Hm?"

"What is a 'slay queen', and why did they just call me that?" Eris asked, rather bluntly. Rick let out a strained cough, poorly disguising a laugh.

"It's a good thing, doll. It, ah, it means they like your dress." he said, clearly biting back a smile, "That was kind of cute, that thing you did there."

Their expression darkened at his use of the word cute, but Rick seemed undeterred. He reached over, managing some kind of... maneuver that ended with his arm across Eris' shoulders, and lightly tugged her in against his side. It was far too smooth for him to be annoyed. The clever moves always got him.

"You're not allowed to be so charming, cowboy." they told him. They could feel Rick chuckle from beside them.

"Yeah? Why not?"

"It's... unbecoming of me."

"Unbecoming?" he teased, "I know you know more modern slang than that."

"Sometimes the old words work best." Eris pointed out, then twisted around to press their knuckle into the space between his ribs. It couldn't have hurt, but it made Rick squirm a little. "And you're changing the subject."

"Which is?"

"Which is stop it." she huffed, "I think you're starting to forget who I am."

"You are a thousand-year-old metahuman who claims to be war incarnate, and I believe it. You've got so much blood on your hands, you could make your own damn ocean. I didn't forget that, hon," Rick said, then shrugged, "I just don't care. Believe it or not, wartime, you're not the first bloodthirsty meta I've spent time with."

"You're gonna regret that when you get your throat slit before your fortieth birthday."

"I'm forty-three." he drawled, then fired her another bright grin, "And maybe I'll live to be ninety, and you'll be holdin' my hand at my deathbed when I kick it. You'd made a pretty last sight, doll, I gotta say."

Eris scoffed and ducked their head, refusing to let him see the way they flushed.

"I thought I told you to stop that."

"I thought you'd learned by now that I don't listen," Rick fired back, grinning at her. The sun brought out a few different colors in his eyes, their usual muddy gold-hazel blooming into a surprisingly vivid green around the edges. Eris held his gaze for a moment or two longer than she really needed to. She always thought he had such interesting eyes. Almost.... lion-like, in a way.

Rick's arm tightened around their shoulders in a bizarre little side-hug. Shit. He'd noticed the staring. He didn't seem to care, but he'd noticed.

"Where's the target?" Eris muttered, craning his neck to look past Rick's broad frame. He thought he saw a glimmer of amusement pass over Rick's face, but it was gone with the mention of the mission at hand.

"Still feeding the ducks," he replied, then lifted the basket still held loosely in his other hand, "Should we get on with our picnic, then?"

#rick flag: making war gods blush since 2014 #(or something like that i haven't decided what year they actually meet lol)#my friends!!!#answered asks #my ocs #oc eris #oneshot #ficlet #fluff #the suicide squad #rick flag #rick flag x oc #oc x canon

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just-aake · 2 months ago

Text

Endearing Entanglements

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You give Natasha a visit in Norway and remind her she has more friends to call on for help.

Warnings: fluff, implied sexual themes

Words: 1300

Pulling up to the safehouse, Natasha’s eyes narrow as she catches a faint trail of smoke curling from the trailer’s ventilation.

Instinct kicking in, she turns off the engine and quickly reaches for the gun stashed in the glove compartment.

She’s still on the run, and Rick isn’t due to check in for another week, which means the sign of someone else being here is a red flag she can’t ignore.

Sliding out of the car, Natasha moves silently. As she approaches the door, her grip on the weapon tightens as she takes a steadying breath.

With a practiced calm, she swings open the door, stepping inside swiftly with her gun raised. Her eyes dart across the room, scanning for any immediate threats.

But instead of chaos or an ambush, she’s met with the quiet, domestic sound of sizzling food.

Your back is to her, the scent of spices mingling in the air as you casually tend to whatever is cooking on the stove.

You don’t even flinch at her dramatic entrance.

“You should go freshen up, love. Dinner will be ready in ten,” you say, your tone easy and unbothered, not even sparing a glance in her direction, as though she hadn’t just stormed in with a weapon aimed at your head.

Natasha freezes, her suspicion warring with confusion. She sweeps her gaze around the small trailer once more, confirming that you’re alone, before finally lowering her gun with a disbelieving huff.

Her tension melts into exasperation as she holsters her weapon and crosses her arms.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

You chuckle softly, finally turning to face her. The spatula in your hand gestures toward the small, cluttered living space.

“I came by to drop off your package,” you reply, your tone light but with a teasing edge.

Natasha’s eyes flick to the black case sitting on the rickety table. She knows without opening it what’s inside—customized weapons and gadgets uniquely gathered and prepared for her.

Like you’ve done countless times before for her.

“I didn’t order anything,” she says skeptically.

“Hmm, you’re right. You didn’t,” you say with an exaggerated nod. “You called Mason instead. And he got you this…quaint little setup.”

The lights flicker as if on cue, emphasizing your skepticism about the condition of the safe house.

Natasha catches the faint jealous pout in your tone and sighs, moving closer until she’s leaning against the counter beside you.

“It’s nothing personal,” she murmurs, her voice softening. “I just needed something quick and discreet.”

Your lips twitch into a slight smirk as you turn to her. Without warning, you tug her closer, capturing her lips in a kiss.

You nip at her bottom lip in reprimand before pulling back, your eyes glinting with amusement.

“Love, isn’t that how most of our…entanglements end up?”

Natasha huffs a soft laugh, her smirk matching yours. Her hands find your waist, pulling you in closer.

“How much longer did you say dinner would take?”

Your grin widens as you turn off the stove, tilting your head closer to hers.

“All done,” you whisper against her lips.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Leaning back against the wall of the trailer, Natasha sits on the bed, a now reheated plate of food in her hands. She eats quietly, her mind half on the simple meal you had prepared and half on the intimate moments you and she shared earlier.

The room is still, save for the occasional flicker of the dim overhead light and the low murmur of your voice.

At the edge of the bed, you handle a phone call that interrupted your dinner with her.

“No worries, love, I can get it to you by then,” you say smoothly, your voice oozing charm as you multitask, the phone pressed between your ear and shoulder while you pull on your pants.

Natasha’s brow arches slightly at your casual use of the term of endearment. Setting her plate aside, she moves toward you.

“Have I ever let you down?” you continue your conversation nonchalantly, though, the slight tilt of your head indicates you notice her movement behind you.

Wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, she leans into you, her warmth pressing against your back. Without a word, she begins trailing soft, deliberate kisses along your bare shoulder, her lips lingering just enough to send a message.

For a split second, your voice falters, the smooth flow of your words disrupted. You clear your throat, attempting to maintain composure.

“I—I gotta go,” you murmur into the phone, your tone edged with faint exasperation as Natasha’s kisses continue. “Mmhmm, I’ll call back later with the details.”

You end the call quickly, sliding the phone onto the table before turning to face her.

Your expression is a blend of amusement and mock disapproval as you take her in. “Really?”

Natasha shrugs innocently, feigning ignorance as she murmurs against your shoulder, “I thought I was ‘love.’”

Your lips curl into a smirk, your brow quirking as you tilt your head to meet her gaze.

“Oh, are we making certain things between us exclusive now?” you reply, your tone light but carrying a playful challenge.

Natasha huffs a small laugh and rolls her eyes, pointedly ignoring your question as she leans back on her elbows, watching you with a small smile as you finish getting dressed.

After zipping up your jacket, you lean over the bed, running your hand along her bare legs before resting it on her thigh.

“I do have other clients besides you, you know,” you say, rubbing your hand in small circles before pinching her skin lightly, “Just like how you have other contractors.”

Natasha slaps your hand away with a scoff.

“Rick’s just a friend,” she says reassuringly.

You hum thoughtfully, your smirk widening.

“And you’re the only client I ever end up in bed with.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, unable to hide the flicker of satisfaction at your reassuring words.

Grinning, you pick up the black case from the table and set it on the bed.

“So…I guess that means we’ve come to an understanding.”

But Natasha’s smile fades as she pushes the case back toward you.

“I can’t take that.”

“If it’s about payment, I can give you a discount this time,” you offer, your tone playful. “Considering your…circumstances.”

“It’s not that.” Natasha shakes her head, her gaze dropping to the bed. There’s a moment of hesitation, a rare crack in her usual composure. Finally, she murmurs softly, “I don’t want to drag you into my problems.”

Your expression softens, the teasing edge replaced by something more genuine. You step closer, catching her chin lightly with your fingers, tilting her face up until her eyes meet yours.

“That’s sweet, love,” you say gently, your voice warm but unwavering. “But unfortunately for you, you’re my favorite client. That means your problems? They matter to me, too.”

Her lips part slightly, a breath catching as the weight of your words settles in.

You smile, a slow and reassuring curve of your lips, at the sight of the Black Widow so caught off guard by the care laced in your voice and tap her nose playfully in goodbye.

Before she can respond, you turn on your heel, heading toward the door.

Pausing in the archway, you glance over your shoulder, your silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from outside.

“Oh, and,” you add, your voice carrying a casual charm that hides just how much you mean it, “whenever you want an upgrade from this charming little safehouse, you know how to contact me.”

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you lock eyes with her one last time.

“Always looking forward to your call, love.”

And with that, you’re gone, leaving Natasha sitting there, a small, fond smile on her lips.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a little cute fluff before I get back into my series. thank you for reading!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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apocalypse-shuffle · 28 days ago

Text

CREATURE COMMANDOS (DCU - animated)

—

“A Call To Motion” or Going to Carnival w/ The Creatures Commandos (Creature Commandos x Fem!Reader)

| Headcanons

| CHARACTERS: FLAG, BRIDE, PHOSPHOROUS, NINA, G.I. (platonic), WEASEL (platonic).

| SFW, 18+, minors dni, mission, team dynamics, fluff, caribbean setting, dancing, referenced sex (TW: stalking, murder, animal death) - monster!reader & caribbean!reader

| 6k+ words (some of which is a 900+ word mini fic w/ Phosphorus)

RICHARD “RICK” FLAG SR.

Rick should absolutely not be allowing you to do this, but he can’t take his eyes off you anyway.

There’s something mesmerizing about how you move to the music around you, the island’s atmosphere seeming to have rejuvenated you significantly. It’s like you were made of the sun, it seeps into the pretty brown of your skin like a homecoming and the way you bask in its warmth and smile takes his breath away.

Flag is old and more than a little jaded, taking his breath away — let alone getting him to start waxing fucking poetic — wasn’t easy. Why, then, you’re able to do it without so much as trying is something he can’t mentally grasp.

He can’t be too mad when you’re still clearly doing your job, though. Even with you singing loudly to every single song. Flag doesn’t even want to know how you know the newer tracks at all, let alone well enough to not be missing any words and wining your waist in time enough to be hitting every single beat.

And he is watching close enough to tell. He tells himself it’s because you’re too much of a wildcard this mission — on this island — but he’s hardly convincing himself. Feigning ignorance is his best bet anyway, even if he is kind of worried about whether he’ll have to bury your headless body in an unmarked grave because you slipped away using familiar pathways you grew up trekking he had no chance of knowing.

Regardless, even with you being covered enough to hide the monstrous parts of your appearance, very little about the way you’re dancing leaves much for his imagination to do. The way your ass pops, the freedom in your movements, the surety in your performance, it’s all like catnip to him.

Even in tactical gear you’re still working him up. Even though you were one of his goddam charges and he was too old to be acting like his love struck son did with that June Moon chick, too old to be falling for a woman who gave him nothing but shit consistently and who’d tried to claw him to death on their first mission the first time you and him fought together.

You were a lot of other things too, however: the first one to save him from an explosion, the first to earnestly ask for his help despite how begrudging you’d obviously been, someone who let him rant about shit without telling the others, who lit up so fantastically at certain things it made him feel a little lighter himself, the woman outcasted from your place of birth that talked him into (ie: verbally tore him apart) finally going to visit Rick’s grave at his, and you’re accent was like fucking silk. So really, who could blame him if he was falling a little in love?

A lot of people, but he’s choosing to ignore that.

Really, there’s better things he could be watching so closely. G.I. was one, he was always one, and Eric was unpredictable and volatile enough Flag was convinced he needed to be watched even closer than Weasel. Or maybe he could even be paying more attention to the literal mission they were on, but still it was you who’d captured his attention the most.

After he catches himself and realizes he’s been ogling you silently for the better part of five minutes he doesn’t watch you as closely as he genuinely wants to. You’re both not dancing for him and are supposed to be working, he needs to get himself under control.

Rick wants to keep his eyes on you, though, and has definitely been letting himself get dragged along in this game of push and pull that you're playing with him.

Jesus fucking Christ if Waller could see him now…

Because of you making a point to stare him down, raise a brow, and then step into the collective mass of dancing bodies to wukup and jam and sing in a shadowy part of the area — getting even closer to where their primary target was throwing back shots surrounded by a wall of women, and basically daring Rick to stop you if he thought he was big and bad enough — Rick ends up taking his frustration out on everyone else on the team.

You’re taking risks, but he can’t deny that even in between your singing the intel you're giving him is good. Plus, you didn’t want anything major going down in your home island any more than Rick did; more so than he did, even. So all he can do is redirect his frustration at you not following his instruction and potentially putting yourself in danger.

Rick wishes he could feel half of what you’re feeling. That he could enjoy the music shaking his teeth and feel the freedom you clearly do in your movements and in being surrounded, however briefly, by your people even ostracized as you now were as a “creature”.

Instead of that he’s been tasked to lead. He might not have you back under control yet — he’ll get to wrangling you back into working if you don’t do so yourself, but he wants you to enjoy the reprieve for now — but he can nitpick the hell out of everyone’s positions until he’s got a cacophony of people bitching and groaning in his ears and his lips are twitching up into less of a frown as he keeps half an eye on you.

Though nothing gets him as close to smiling as when you finally deem yourself satisfied (or as satisfied as you’re ever going to get as a imprisoned woman who’ll never be able to go anywhere uncovered lest she incite a mob) and slide up to him. You don’t do anything so transparent as laugh or cheer, but you do grin at him — your pretty brown eyes nice and wild — and for a second Rick feels himself grinning back.

THE BRIDE

The Bride is the main recipient of your uncharacteristically excited rambling (or uncharacteristically happy grumbling, depending on your personality), but that soft spot she has for you keeps her drawn in to listening to you talk yourself breathless instead of doing her usual and sleeping through the flight to Waller’s next suicide mission.

After you land and the two of you have been left more or less alone while the others stick closer to and/or bother Flag, you tell her all about your plans to slack off a little this go around. How you’re going to milk as much fun out of the Carnival experience as you can before you’re forced to wheel yourself back in.

When you ask that Bride please just let you have a little fun and not tattle, she scoffs. For one, she’s not a fucking child, she doesn’t tattle. For two, she wasn’t your keeper, so long as you kept out of trouble and didn’t get in her way she didn’t care what you got up to.

Except she’d really really hate to see you popped, actually.

The Bride is a bit flattered that you thought to consider her in your plans and that you wanted to ask her permission. She still thinks you're an absolute fucking idiot to risk yourself over something so small, though, don’t get her wrong. Even if she’s got little to stand on with her judgement there.

As far as you’re concerned there was little point in taking these missions if you weren’t going to maximize your “freedom” from Blackgate while it lasted.

Honestly it had been just your luck that this week’s mission from Waller had sent you to this part of the Caribbean during Carnival at all. Even if it wasn’t where you were from, the island and her festivities would surely be enjoyable regardless.

That your main goal for the majority of the first and second nights was recon and observation was an even better plus. Now you didn’t even need to sneak off.

It doesn’t take long for The Bride to be reminded of why she’s kept away from sandy areas in the last several decades. Sand was a bitch to get out of her stitches.

While you’re doing recon Bride just disinterestedly watches you dance around her and drinks from the almost comically small glass of spiked slushie in her hand, little green paper umbrella and all. She has like seven of these and isn't even near tipsy, and for someone who is trying to get drunk that tendency of her metabolism is really getting irritating.

The fact she lets you near her at all isn’t permission in and of itself to stay by her while you act a fool. Bride tolerates your presence just fine on a regular basis, but that was it. When she sees you vibrating where you stand, softly singing along to familiar songs you haven’t heard in years while bouncing in place to the beat, and then gestures halfheartedly in front of her where people are jamming all while raising a brow at you, though, that’s permission. Hell, it’s practically an invitation.

One that you take her up on very vigorously at that. Nina might be shaking head at the two of you, but you can see her hiding a little giggle when you start playing around while you dance regardless. And if it gets a little scoff out of Bride then that’s just a happy bonus.

You’re not going to act like coming down here to have fun wasn't your main goal. The second you’re out of Flag’s sight you start blowing the mission off. Of course you keep a passing track of your targets, but with the mission only being about observing the assholes you think it’s only fair you get to do something entertaining enough that you don’t die of boredom.

You wukup not because you have to, but because you want to. And you do it near where Bride’s leant against the counter of a pop-up bar because you want to too; want her to notice you, maybe make a move.

After all you guys were in lock up, not a nunnery.

You pull out every trick in the book that still flatters your inhuman body, letting the soca beats flow through you like a woman starved all the while, and if it weren’t for Bride’s occasional grunts in reaction to something you’ve done you’d think it wasn’t having any effect at all.

Internally Bride is a lot more invested in what you're doing than even you can tell, and definitely more than the bloody mission you're on. She just makes a good show of seeming like she isn’t.

The only bearable thing about the heat that saw Bride ditching her jacket in the vehicle Flag drove them in was the salt twinged breeze blowing through the short buildings with their colorfully tiled roofs. The fact that you were showing as much skin as you could get away with due to the heat wasn’t lost on her either.

Bride finds a beauty in you she hasn’t seen in anyone since Victor. A beauty that’s brought back to life some of the bits of her that died with her creator, and brings technicolor back to the bits of her that turned dull and grey as Eric continued his relentless pursuit of her.

She couldn’t deny you your whims or resist your draw if she wanted to.

The way her heart speeds up when you crack a joke about a song’s lyrics or a singer's entrance, and how she has to bite her tongue so she doesn’t laugh too obviously. The full on blush she sports when you start dancing with some drunk man in a way he clearly likes but only look her way as you work your waist in his hold, and how she wants to snap all of his fingers and wrench his hands off of you. All of that lets Bride know she’s in trouble and you’re liable to be caught in a crossfire that's been brewing for over a century.

She’s going to have to push you away soon, but ‘soon’ didn’t have to be tonight.

It’s one of the world’s most dangerous games of chicken, working around Eric Frankenstein’s unwanted possessiveness of The Bride. You’re fully aware he’s watching you and Bride too, you just don’t give a shit. Voyeuristic jackass.

Part of you likes antagonizing him.

Revels in the fact that he can’t kill you as easily as he’d like and the fact that you and the man both know it. That you were barely asking for Bride’s attention and she was willingly offering it when years worth of groveling for her attention yielded nothing for him but a fist to the face.

Every time Victor Frankenstein’s Monster comes into view and Bride clocks him lurking (and trying to set you in particular on fire with his gaze) she scoffs and makes a point of putting her back to him and moving you in the process.

It probably makes Eric blue vex every single time The Bride touches you just enough to nudge you from his view.

Bride is more gentle than she needs to be when she steps in closer to you and uses her knee to nudge you in the hip — she does it so softly, in fact, that you don’t fully comprehend her urging you to the side, it’s so out of character with what you’re used to from her, and just move.

Bride is quite fond of how easily you move at her prompting, reluctant as she is to admit it. Still, after she gets you to move, she backs back up to give you space again.

You mourn the way she towers over you in those scant few seconds. Like how harmless it makes you feel, how wholly encompassed by her presence you are, how much of her undivided attention is on you.

Despite everything Bride likes to watch, and it’s clear you're putting on a show for her even though she can’t indulge either of your desires.

You are most definitely not as on high alert as you should be as you’re jamming and singing along to the live band them, but with Bride specifically at your back you couldn’t find it in you to feel unprotected. Bride was quick on the response, and there’d never been a time when you two were working together that she’d been laid out by a hit for long (especially if there wasn’t magic involved).

Bride notices how forlornly you stare at the women still in their colorful Carnival gear from the earlier parades and snags you a feather that matches the only accent color on your mostly all black uniform.

When you preen at her she grumbles to herself, brushing your thanks off, but you hardly let that stop you and start talking away about the importance of the feathers as you finally slip from the crowd to get back to work. And Bride let’s you.

You might want to fuck around with Eric’s self control, but The Bride knows what will happen and that’s a lot of the reason why she won’t show any obvious interest in you. Quite frankly it’s mostly the fact that you’re a woman that’s letting her have as much contact with you (and Nina) as she has because he hasn’t figured out that was an option Bride would go for, and she’d like to keep it that way.

In the end you all survive. Although, she has picked up a few more worries, most pressing being that you seem to enjoy egging Eric on and that she thinks smug looks quite sexy on you.

Once you’re all back in your cell block and she starts complaining about there still being sand in between her damned stitches she can’t help but grow a bit more smitten with you when you pull her grumpy ass to a bench and get to meticulously ridding her of any remaining granules.

‘Soon’ would have to wait another day more to come.

DR PHOSPHORUS | ALEXANDER SARTORIUS

Phosphorus wants to touch you so badly. He’s not blind, he can see all the ways everyone else is dancing together and he wants to get up underneath you like that, to feel your hips against his; for a second, honestly, he does consider it but he already knows what will happen so he doesn’t give in to the urge.

He’s not in any particular rush to get the shit knocked out of him today, or to honestly fight you.

It’s still decidedly entertaining to think about what he’d be doing if he could touch you though, if he could plant his hands on your hips without your flesh boiling beneath his touch cause he’s too excited to temper himself— and a little entertaining to think about what would happen if he touches you in reality, but really he can’t be blamed for mere curiosity. It couldn’t be helped.

Phosphorus likes you too much to actually want to hurt you anyway, just obviously not enough to stay away from you or stop managing to share close quarters with you (yes, even when you’re asleep).

He used to be far more considerate about things like that, he knows. Everything is just too distorted now, the man he was too purposefully forgotten to drag back up.

If he can’t touch you (even when his temperature control is stable) he figures he should at least be able to watch you as much as possible. The good thing about not having visible eyes, too, was that he could keep his gaze on you all the time and no one could call him out on it.

Phosphorus loves whenever you feel his gaze on you and turn your pretty head to glance around. Loves the little twitch of unease you give when you can’t quite figure out that he’s watching you out of the corner of his eyes, and just generally being able to catalog all your reactions and micro expressions to what’s going on around you guys without you noticing.

So you can imagine how much Phosphorus takes in his visual fill when you start bouncing in place while you guys are on lookout together; keeping the perimeter secure around your group of targets, making sure no one was unaccounted for, and the like.

You always operate particularly gingerly around him (so long as the mutation that made you into a monster didn’t make you impervious to long exposure to radiation) — an effect on you Phosphorous doesn’t fail to revel in; it makes him smile a lot when you tense around him, though you obviously can’t tell — and so he completely forgets about bothering to pretend he cares about the mission you’re on when you start tapping your finger on the handle of your weapon or tapping your hand on the side of your thigh.

If the tapping took him by surprise, then the way you start bouncing on the balls of your feet in time with the beat pounding around you makes him choke on nothing. You notice, and boy does he like the way it makes you startle, but the great thing about getting turned into the absolute freak of nature that he is now is that not having expressions for people to read makes them more likely to dismiss what his opinions on little things like being caught doing something mildly embarrassing might be.

You go back to ignoring him easier than most would assume and get lost back in your head when a song you clearly recognize starts playing and you start singing along. Automatically Phosphorus pays more attention to the punchy beats and slick lyrics, but it’s not his kind of music and there’s too much about the dialect he doesn’t understand so he dismisses it quickly as a ‘you thing’ and just raises his brow, smirking as he listens to you.

Even strapped securely in gear and covered in fur or scales or whatever your body’s still killer and a sight to behold when you finally start to move your hips. And when your ass starts to circle he isn’t ashamed to say he doesn’t look away.

Although your movements are subtle he’s enraptured anyway.

Everything about the way you’ve acted since you got to the Caribbean has been telling and after such a show Phosphorus kind of wants to know more. If only because it’s you and because he is bored.

It’s…rare for him to find himself legitimately interested in anybody anymore. Let alone the way he desires you, the way he wants to keep you. A lot of him doesn’t really want to succumb to that seeming howling need — the need to find connection in you, to touch, to possess. The parts of him he’d thought completely eradicated after his “incident” weren’t giving him much of a choice in the matter, though.

—

When he leans back into the wall behind him and its peeling colorful paint, he crosses his arms, gives up any pretense of caring about his mission parameters, and stares at your ass.

Wining your waist. That’s what you're doing if the punchy instructions to the song currently blasting through the night air are to be believed, and he likes it.

Phosphorus starts bouncing one of his legs some with the beat, too. In tandem with your sway and bounce.

He clears his throat.

“So, what’s all this for anyway?”

“…what…?”

At first when you turn to him it’s rather absent, you’re still noticeably trying to keep an ear out for the live bands and bask in the lively chatter surrounding you both from below. Once you clock his leant position and the angle of his head your mood shifts entirely, however.

You stand up taller, glaring, and Phosphorus shivers at all that undivided attention of yours trying to pin him in place.

It wouldn’t work. Far more intimidating people have tried to ‘put him in his place’ or have attempted even dumber shit like trying to ‘appeal to his humanity or humility’ before and it’s yet to work out for any of them.

Wouldn’t work with you either, didn’t matter how much he couldn’t get enough of those dark eyes staring directly at him. Part of him wants to pluck those pretty brown cognacs out to wear around a chain. He won’t, but your eyes were their own type of diamonds he desperately wanted to preserve in a collection.

“…Were you just staring at my ass?”

Phosphorus gasps, jerks himself upright.

He makes a show of acting like he’s about to refute you, like he could never. Like he’s about to go ‘that’s presumptive’ and give you shit about not considering the fact that he’s visually a glow in the dark skeleton. Walking, talking, and killing, sure, but still with no discernible features.

He puts his hand over his heart for a second and everything.

Really, though, he’s just giving you a performance so you keep glaring at him.

“Spit it out already,” you snap.

The walking radiation bomb laughs. He does wave his act off still, leaning forward just to watch you jerk away in response to heat he’s only mostly keeping at bay— you could technically touch him right now if you wanted, but Phosphorus isn’t holding his breath.

“Alright alright,” he says, laughing lowly to himself as he stuffs his hands in his pockets so he can shrug. “I was totally watching, you have a nice ass.”

There’s a herculean effort that goes into you not knocking him down two stories, he can see it in your body language.

“You’re going to stop watching,” you declare, the growl in your voice prominent.

He shrugs, gives less grief to you for ordering him around than he would anyone else still currently breathing, “Fair enough.”

Phosphorus would, however, absolutely be in mourning over it.

When you close in on him, Phosphorus lets his back flatten against the wall where he wouldn’t in any other situation. Let’s himself bend for you that tiny bit more. He wants to see what you’ll do. To know how far he can push you.

He smiles. You clearly don’t notice. He doesn’t mind.

You bare your teeth— they’re sharp and he suddenly wants to feel them breaking his irradiated skin, “What is it that you want, Doctor?”

Doctor. Jesus Christ, he’d moan if he didn’t know that��d really make you throw him off the roof.

Phosphorus didn’t have much of an attachment to his old professional standing, and for good fucking reason, but something about how your voice wraps around such a respectful moniker in reference to him always makes him a little lightheaded.

Head tilting, he holds a finger up to point back to the expanse of writhing bodies beyond the roof.

“Well I did ask earlier.”

The fact that you don’t buss him upside the head is more a testament to your own patience — and no doubt your ability to bid your time — and less so Phos’s powers, especially since he’s not even using them.

You do spend the rest of the time explaining Carnival to him, but he’s not really listening. Not to your words.

He gets the vibe that you’re aware of his actual disinterest for your answers considering your monotone delivery. The whole time it’s like you’re being forced to give a middle school presentation with a gun to your head and Phosphorus doesn’t even mind because what he’s focused on is the tones of your voice, the restless shift of your body when a song comes on you’d clearly like to be paying more attention to, how you force him pettily to focus on the actual content of your words as you explain emancipation and why everything is so goddamned brightly colored.

The fact that he’s stealing your attention makes him deliciously frustrated. Phosphorus stands there for most of the night and learns more than he cares to while basically preening under your gaze the entire time. Hell, he nearly melts into a puddle when his eyes wander (his head tilting in response) to one of your targets leaving the perimeter and you grasp him by the jaw tight enough to ache. Forcing his attention back your way like you need his eyes on you just as badly as he does yours.

He wants to touch you. Wants to massage the plush of your ass, and rub you to completion until he gets tears to spring in your eyes and he aches for more. Wishes for certain nerves back for the first time in forever just so he can shove himself down your throat and come undone without burning his way through.

Subsequently, however, he’ll have to settle for your passive aggressive lecturing and relishing in the blood splatter from the way you pop the head of you two’s wayward target.

He kind of loves it.

Pain at picking back up that emotion relative to someone else again be damned.

NINA MAZURSKY | MERMAID

Even despite the fact that you’re still working, Nina keeps feeling the need to remind you to stay on task or else you could meet your impending doom from the bomb implanted in your neck.

It’s a real bummer, you tell her to live a little.

Despite her words, though, Nina both loves the more water based mission and loves listening to you talk about the place you grew up in. She hangs onto your every word and every anecdote you make about how free everything felt back when you were home and about how much you miss the smell of the sea. Nina gets missing the water, it might not be life and death for you but she still understands being homesick (and the bone deep longing for certain environments).

If there’s anyone on the team you’re roping into dancing with you, it’s Nina. She definitely expresses her concern about disappearing from the outskirts of the crowd where Flag can’t see you and into an alleyway of sorts, but you suck your teeth and toss out that there’s trackers literally implanted in your bodies as you drag her away.

She bitches the whole time but never once resists your lax hold or walks back to her post once you let her hand go.

The sea creature only occasionally bumps into anyone or is bumped into herself, and apologizes excessively all while looking at you bouncing effortlessly between people and turning back to smile at her every once in a while.

The two of you get stares, there’s no avoiding it when you resemble creatures out of a horror novel, but most everyone is far too intoxicated to dwindle on your appearances as you find someplace less crowded and with a bit more privacy.

When you finally convince Nina to dance with you — after urging her to relax with soft looks as you project your voice over the music to talk her through it and hold out your hands for her to grab — she starts off slowly, cringing at herself as she tries to find the rhythm.

It’s hard when she’s watching your hips to do it, trying to copy how you move your waist without being reduced to a stammering mess. She gulps and blushes through it, her steps stuttering as she slowly catches on to your movements and starts engaging her waist in a circular motion to wine, her eyes wide.

It’s a thing of beauty watching Nina let herself go loose. It takes what feels like forever, but once she starts shyly copying your movements — less a wine, more a sway of her hips side to side — Nina glances up to you with a wide smile, lashes fluttering as she looks for your approval, and for a moment you feel faint.

The both of you have a great time, though. Giggling and dancing and playing around over the sounds of music and people. And with Bride keeping a lookout for you, you don’t have to worry about people stumbling on your or Flag cutting your two person party short.

Only one person causes any actual problem for you both that night, actually. The culprit: some woman who thought you were eyeing her dude as they were walking past you and Nina, too drunk to realize that your tree wasn’t one she wanted to bark up.

When she turns to call you out, yelps as her eyes widen in fear and then snaps out a startled call of “freak” you’re already rolling your eyes. Once her man starts trying to start some shit too, puffing up his chest and staring at you and Nina like you’re evil you figure you’re going to end the night pissed off too. It’s not you who shuts them down, though; no, it’s Nina who tentatively pulls you behind her and then starts clumsily chewing the couple out for being stupid presumptive assholes.

Eventually you end up having to knock them out, Nina letting out a squeak of surprise as they both crash to the ground. While Nina angry is really doing it for you and you’re flattered that she’s come to your defense, if they got any louder you’d get people’s attention and that was the last thing either of you needed.

Nina’s gloved fists are balled tightly once the couple is no longer an issue and you run your hands over them until she relaxes. She apologizes profusely, flushing, but you wave her off and make her flush worse when you compliment her on her mean streak.

After having watched Nina promptly pepper they raas you’d swear your pupils had turned into hearts if you didn’t know any better. It’s like Bride can see them anyway when she snorts and rolls her eyes at you two when ayo finally emerge from the alley to get back to work.

By the end of the mission Nina’s relaxed again, has acquired plenty of beaded necklaces that she’s bunched along her arms and desperately wants to try conch after watching it be prepared for fritters through a food truck's back window. The fried food itself wasn’t necessarily what she was interested in, though you did seem to enjoy the basket you snatched. Nina more so wants to get in the sea to taste them more sashimi style (but without the rice).

Nina also has to admit that she absolutely loves the availability of sea water right off of the house that was rented for the team to recuperate in.

When you sneak out to the beach just beyond your home base you’re in a bathing suit that makes Nina stutter and fully prepared to relax in the sand with a towel until the sun comes up.

Still, you relegate an hour or so to getting into the water with Nina. Marveling some at just how sure and competent she was in the ocean.

In the cover of night you guys can just exist without having to worry about people getting in your way. Can just freely be the ‘monstrous’ creatures you now are for this short amount of time.

Eventually everyone else trickles out of the house with similar ideas of enjoying the beach, even Flag, but Nina doesn’t mind. She just stays lurking in the water, her gums itching for blood in a way she can actually satisfy for once.

There’s no judgement in your eyes when she attacks a fish, your eyes just glitter and you move easily to share some sugar apple you plucked from a tree on your way back to base with her, wiping off the trail of blood coming from her mouth.

She lets you feed her the sweet creamy fruit, looking you in the eyes without the bowl as a barrier for once as her heart pounds a mile a minute in her chest. This is one of the better days of her life, and she tells you as much.

When you smile at her you're more captivating than the stars. When you tell her you're glad and that you agree, especially because she’s here with you, while running the pad of your finger over one of the fins atop her head she shivers and aches for a press of your lips to hers that’s way softer than a bite.

G.I. ROBOT

“Friend Y/n, is visibly excited; is it because there are a lot of Nazis where we’re going?” “—No! No, definitely not. There’s no Nazis there, G.”

Or, at least, not any you knew of (anything was possible and people came from everywhere). Certainly not enough people that were gonna be in the J’ouvert and Carnival crowds to justify letting G.I. get too excited about it.

G.I. doesn’t understand your excitement but he’s not going to begrudge you it or anything either.

In fact, I think G.I. would ask you questions about everything (so long as he saw you as a friend and not just as a handler of some sort).

You’re eager to answer him, eyes bright while you talk as you look him in the face. When he scans you and all signs point to you being happy G.I. feels a small sense of satisfaction at having helped.

When a group of people shove past you to get to the nighttime Carnival activities, you grunt as you’re checked and have to bite back the urge to yell at them and draw attention to G.I. and you. Instead you settle for glaring at them and cussing them out stink under your breath. Your irritation obviously doesn’t go unnoticed by G.I. — even if he wasn’t personally bothered by the shoves — and he offers to get rid of them for you if it will make you feel better. He shifts his hand into his usual embedded gun and all.

It’s such an insane thing to offer, but so true to the robot, that you snort and are knocked out of your angry ranting entirely. You redirect him after that, reaching up to fix the hood of his hoodie where it was pushed back and concealing his head back in its shadows.

G.I.’s eyes still glow red in the shroud of darkness and you tell him it looks sick as fuck before ayo go back to monitoring the parimeter as the rest of the team calls out updates about where the targets are.

After that you start back up telling him about the islands. You miss being home, miss the food, miss feeling the wind blow through your tight curls and dressing up in your feathers and jewels to ramp up and down while wukkin’ up your waist with no abandon. Hell, even now you can’t participate in Carnival and you fucking hate that.

G.I. doesn’t like how upset you are even if he can’t quite articulate how to help. Eventually he settles on asking why you can’t just dance while you’re with him since the music is loud enough to hear from your positions.

Reluctantly, you agree. Once you start dancing as you walk with him you’re far less grumpy though, laughing to yourself as you explain your moves to him while he silently studies you.

When you take one of his hands in yours while you’re patrolling in order to bounce his hand off your own to the beat, he only stares at you. He doesn’t object though and takes to inquiring about some of the more confusing (to him) lyrics in the songs and even starts humming along to the music with you as you dance around him.

He’s got the spirit.

You guys are dragged away before you can sneak off to the food trucks and food stands by the time the first leg of the team’s recon wraps up. To your utter mortification you can feel your lip quiver in your disappointment and keep to yourself more than usual the entire way back to home base, G.I. sitting beside you in the van.

It isn’t until you guys are parked outside the house you’re renting and you two are left in the van last that G.I. shifts and holds his hand out. In it sits a little cup of pastry and jammed fruit. And, yeah, the tart he’d snatched for you just came from his hand but you giggle and eat it anyway, moving to hug him from the side before you do.

G.I. can’t smile, but he does actively lean into your embrace and you take that as expression enough.

WEASEL

Because of the flight risk you present since the Commandos’ next mission is on the island you were born on during one of the busiest tourist days of the year, you’re stuck on Weasel Duty.

Even relegated to the van with him as you are, you’re still close enough (the target was using all the cuhruckle of Carnival as cover) to the festivities that you can hear the music clearly.

Weasel is fairly pleasant company all things considered, but you still throw a fit about being left with him and toss little glares at him every time a group of excited people pass close to the vehicle you're holed up in. It feels like salt being rubbed into a wound.

You want to kill something. Preferably Flag. Then you’d go for Waller.

All that frustration eventually coalesces into the burn of unshed tears in your eyes as you plop down on the floor with gritted teeth and push the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You were not going to cry right now. What the fuck?

Weasel rouses from where he’s squeezed himself into the corner furthest from you, making a small inquiring noise that you ignore.

He whines over your sniffling though, and shuffles over to you with his body still low to the floor while you’re too busy trying to beat your emotions back to notice.

He pokes at your hand with a clawed finger and you startle so badly you knock the back of your head into the metal wall.

Instead of running away his head tilts and his eyes squint in what you interpret as (possibly) sympathy.

Weasel sniffs. You sneer at him. He’s not scared enough to back off and only chitters in response.

It’s…weird. Weasel doesn’t smell or anything, but he is still effectively a naked human man covered in fur and you can’t stop yourself from squinting wet eyes at him as he lowers himself and curls up next to your leg on the van floor.

Weasel’s claws stay retracted the entire time despite your dubious looks. He just looks up at you with those ridiculously large eyes, his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he pants due to the heat.

There were laws against leaving dogs in hot cars, weren’t there?

All it takes is him nudging you with his nose and making another little noise to have you reaching down to scratch over his head. It makes his leg twitch like a dogs and it’s as endearing as it is fucked up.

It’s calming though and the soft content sounds he makes are nice. Allows you to be able to enjoy what little of your home you can bask in right then, the music mingling with the natural ambiance around you.

You definitely crack the windows though, it was too hot for that fuck.

In thanks (after everyone’s finished for the night) you sneak out with him to feed him goat. Live goat, obviously. Though you leave it at just the one for the stable owner’s sake.

The crack of bones and squelch of blood is tolerable mostly because you snapped the animal's neck before tossing it to him (otherwise the bleats would’ve given you away). The way Weasel peeks up at you from over the dead body, lower half of his face covered in blood, is even kind of cute. You’ll admit it, he wasn’t too bad.

Weasel does try offering you some meat off the things’ carcass but, face screwed up, you decline his offer with a short laugh.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! I want to write more stuff with The Bride, she’s so cool and there’s so many interesting character beats to delve into with her. I knew I’d love her.

I cannot fucking stand Frank Grillo, but Flag’s characterization is pretty fun to work with. I think Flag might just stay dead too, because in the comics “Frankenstein” (ie: Eric) is the leader of the team at times, but idk because we know Flag Sr. is supposed to appear in other shows and movies.

Also, listen, I don’t even like Dr. Phosphorus like that but playing around with his personality like this got away from me and I just started writing. Phos’s personality is taken from the episodes that have since come out, but with the last two episodes not out yet I am inferring certain aspects of his personality with only the scarce information from the 1x06 promo. Like, I think I wrote myself into liking him because then I was retroactively forced to reconsider him more closely and actually pay attention to his character.

The title of this is from the song “Movement” by Hozier; a decision I made after writing this and noticing how well the song fit, which is why this isn’t a lyric prompt type thing.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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kitkatpadywaks · 5 months ago

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Key: 🔥Smut - 💢Angst - ❤️Fluff - 💀Dark Themes - 💕Slow Burn - ❤️‍🩹Hurt/Comfort - ✔️Complete(Series) - ❌Incomplete(Series)

Last Updated: 10th December 2024

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🔥good girl by @willieverseetheland (Dexter Morgan x reader)

A New Moon by @happy74827 [Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

🔥i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air by @dexteri0us (dexter morgan x f!reader)

💀You are who you eat by @minawritesfanfic

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reveluving · 2 years ago

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It's missing Rick hours, so why not talk about Rick and (Y/N) (crazy) family fluff!

warnings: fluff & humour!

a/n: Dysfunctional but lovable family fluff >>> Hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I had fun thinking about it! Don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

check out my j. kinnaman m.list for more Rick content!

Do you guys remember the Dee Dee twins from Batman Beyond? I know they're supposed to be Harley's granddaughters but imagine if this takes place post-TSS events, and yes, Rick lives, okay?

He's always been—mf engaged to (Y/N) the second he woke up from unconsciousness and has lived together in a quiet lil' neighbourhood since.

But anyways!

I can't stop thinking about them being Harley's goddaughters or protégés instead, and one day, she begs you and Rick to take care of them for the week while away for a once in a lifetime gig.

“You listen to your aunt (Y/N) and uncle Rick while I’m gone!” She’d say, though, she should’ve known better than to think her own carbon copies, of all people, would listen.

I can just imagine you and the girls being joined at the hip, telling them stories from your days as a criminal, even if you’ve left that life behind. Rick’s the ‘grumpy uncle’ they love to annoy. But! They may be opposites, but the second someone talks bad about you?

Rick will see red, no doubt, but if he hears the girls discuss on how to get rid of the loud-mouthing pos, he wouldn't encourage it. But he sure as hell won’t stop them either—these are Harley girls we’re talking about; it’s not like they listen to him all the time. And, well, if they proceeded with whatever they had in mind, well, the bastard deserved it, didn’t he? Nobody really liked Mr Walker anyway.

What they'd do throughout the week their beloved aunt (Y/N) and uncle Rick, a headcanon:

Switching conversation topics when they're bored at the flower shop you work at. One second, it would be about the flowers, which, let's be honest, they're barely listening to, only to excitedly ask about what crimes you've done were the most memorable ones. Without the presence of customers, of course.

Pranking or scaring away any women who visits Rick's workplace solely for the purpose of gawking or flirting with the man, despite knowing he's married. A simple hiss or a quick display of the baseball bat they had with them ("We like playing baseball, don't we, Dee Dee?" "Yes, we do, Dee Dee!) and the visitor's out of the door!

Not once have you nor Rick seen these two play baseball.

They just really love their aunt (Y/N) and uncle Rick, okay!

BONUS: If you also have to babysit Bruce the hyena, the twins would sneak him out of the house at 3 AM, purposefully messing with Mr Walker's front yard and making sure he sees it. He didn't see the girls, however, so, when he tells his neighbours about a hyena on the loose, most of them just he was the one with the loose screws.

I initially thought Rick would work as a lumberjack, but, imagine if he was the sheriff of the neighbourhood?? Mr Walker calls him to complain about the hyena problem, obviously unaware of the culprits silently snickering at one another as they watch him desperately demand for 'justice'.

"Mr Walker, I personally don't think it's possible for a hyena to cross the city undetected for the sole purpose of terrorising just your garden," Rick responded calmly, though, he was unable to bite back the condescending hint in his words, "But, we'll look into it."

Once Walker's out, looking more stressed now that even the sheriff himself was looking at him funny, Rick would glance at the twins, raising a questioning brow at their futile attempts to look innocent before returning to his report.

"Good job." He'd say nonchalantly, and rather than looking peeved or disappointed, they spotted the small smile on his face. He didn't bother turning when they high-fived.

But other than the fact that he's been cockblocked since their arrival, and honest to God, it's been driving him nuts, they've made your and his days much livelier than the usual.

I can see it now; you're all watching TV, Rick holding you against him with one arm around you while he leisurely pets Bruce's mane with the other. Similar to the beloved house hyena, the twins sat on the floor in front of you, listening to them cheer for the antagonist and argue about what's for breakfast tomorrow.

Yes, the Flag's were quite the household, it seems.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

#— reve's reverie 🌹#is this idea in my drafts #maybe #missing rick hours #rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x female reader #rick flag x you #colonel rick flag x reader #rick flag fluff #tss 2021 #harley quinn #dee dee twins #delia dennis #deirdre dennis #dc #dc x reader

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justreblogginfics · 25 days ago

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I honestly love this trope for Rick Flag and you wrote it so amazingly!

“Ridiculously handsome” is exactly how I currently describe him because he really is ridiculously handsome ☺️😆

Different

Rick Flag x Reader

Plot: You were always at odds with a certain Colonel. Will Christmas change things?

Genre: PG-13, Colleagues/Neighbors/Enemies to Lovers (wow so many tropes in one haha) Christmas theme (again)

A/N: Big thanks to @the-slumberparty for letting me not forget my writing roots in times of writer’s slump/block! 2nd piece for sleepover event to hopefully end the year right. Enjoy and please reblog/comment!❤️

Prompt: “I never hated you. I just didn’t want you to know how much I liked you.”

***

“Motherfu-”

You yell in pain as the infirmary doctor at Belle Reve patches up your injuries. “Sorry, I wasn’t-”

The doctor waves away your apology nonchalantly. He brushes a strand of grey hair off his face before applying more iodine to the angry looking flesh on your knee. Hats off to him, he does quick and efficient work. The doctor sends you on your way with a month’s worth of painkillers and advice to rest.

“Thanks doc, but I don’t think that’s in Waller’s dictionary. At least not for us.”

He doesn’t refute your statement and simply prepares to see his next patient. Bag of medicine in hand, you limp to the office as quickly as you can. You want to get out of the penitentiary and lay in the comfort of your own bed.

You acknowledge Emilia and John who congratulate you on another successful mission. Even Amanda Waller, who you had to submit your report to despite being on the brink of death gives a subtle nod to the quick thinking that you displayed on the field. But knowing her, she probably was just happy that she could continue using her soldiers.

Including the ridiculously handsome Colonel who had marched into the shared office space, not sparing you a glance. He shoves his belongings into his bag and he is gone as quickly as he came.

You frown. You have no idea what’s his problem. Ever since your first day, it felt as if like he’s had it out for you. And the best part? For no good reason. He was civil with everyone. Everyone but you. He was downright rude and a jerk.

Emilia gives you an empathetic smile. The two of you leaned on each other, being one of the few females in an environment that wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. She comforted you after Rick blew your head off for almost ruining the mission when all you did was to rescue two innocent children in the crossfire.

“Cheer up! At least it’ll be Christmas soon. Things will be different.” She says. “Any plans?”

You shake your head. “Not that I can think of. I’m just lucky that I survived this mission.” You sling your bag over your shoulder and bid them goodbye. Emilia was right, at least it was that time of the year. Maybe things will be different.

***

It looks like the doctor had clearly outdone himself. Your injuries were healing nicely and you could even step outside your house for a jog. Dressed in your running gear, you leave your apartment and step into the pleasantly cold weather.

Making your way round the block, you arrive back at your apartment. You think about what you wanted to do next with the treasured free time that you have. Perhaps you’ll order in from that Korean restaurant, pull out a Disney movie and be a couch potato for the rest of the day.

Yeah, that sounded excellent.

Deep in thought about what you should pick from the menu, you don’t notice that one of the stitches from your more severe wounds snap, causing a patch of red to blossom at the side of your stomach. The lift dings, signaling that this is your floor. Thank god no one saw you. They knew who you were but most of your neighbors were under the impression that you were an outdoor educator.

Clutching the side of your stomach, you willed yourself to take the steps forward needed to get to your door. Easy does it, you think. Unfortunately, your vision starts to spot and the floor starts to shake. This unnerves your usually calm demeanor as your breathing quickens. As if it was an eternity, you reach the door. All you needed to do was to get the keys, unlock the door and-

And…

***

You blink, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. To be exact, your sofa.

How did you get inside? You can’t remember anything after the jog.

“You’re awake.” A familiar voice can be heard and a flop of messy blonde hair comes into vision. You don’t know how Rick Flag got into your house, let alone knew that you lived here.

“Rick?”

“Yeah, it’s me darlin.”

The name somehow wakes you up and you attempt to sit upright only for Rick to gently push you back down. “I just did your stitches for you. You don’t want to burst them again.” He tells you and your cheeks heat up. Rick did your stitches, which means he saw you- Stop it!

“How did you know where I lived? How did you even know I was coming back home?” You focus your attention on the important moments. “Are you stalking me? I could sue you for workplace harassment.”

Rick lets out a deep chuckle that has butterflies bursting in the pit of your stomach. “Yeah, you do that. Though I don’t think there’s any issue with me coming to this building seeing as it’s my home too.”

You let yourself process this. “Wait… you’re the neighbor from five-oh-two?” You wanted to mentally slap yourself in the face. No wonder Mrs Jenkins told you that neighbor five-oh-two was supposedly a private contractor. That he had weird, odd hours. That apparently you should have met him since you and him leave around the same time in the morning for work.

Rick smiles. “That’s me.”

You almost let your defenses down until you realized that it’s been eight months since you moved in here and you’ve met everyone on your level except one. Until now.

This reaffirms the fact that Rick Flag hates you for no good reason and has wants nothing to do with you outside work. Even if he is your neighbor. Fine. Two people can play that game.

“Thanks for fixing me up. I’m not sure why the stitch burst open but I’ll let Doctor Shaw know when I get back to work.”

Rick catches on to your sudden frostiness. His expression softens for a moment before it is replaced by the brooding look that you have grown so accustomed to. “Sure. Uh… have a good Christmas.”

That was oddly civil.

You nod stiffly, closing the door as he steps out your house.

You really need a glass of water.

***

Christmas. The time of jolly good cheer.

You walk down the shops that are adorned with bright lights and Christmas decorations, mood improving significantly.

Okay, the steak that you had for dinner also played a part in the great day that you had. You also decided to treat yourself, purchasing a lovely sweater. Bag in hand, you continue down the pavement. If only every day could be like this. Not throwing yourself into life or death situations, not having criminals as your field members, not having to deal with a tyrannical boss at work and most importantly…

Not having to see Rick Flag twenty-four seven.

Even if he may be disarmingly handsome and everything that you wanted.

A loud honk and bright flights come flashing at you and instead of ducking for cover, you stand there like a deer in headlights, as if waiting for the truck to hit you.

A hand reaches out and grabs you by the arm, pulling you back to safety where pedestrians continue on their way. You find yourself staring into the sea foam eyes of the Colonel who does not look pleased one bit. In fact, he looks positively seething with rage. Rage that was about to be directed at you.

“What were you thinking? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He grips you by the shoulder tightly and you would have swatted his hands away if you weren’t still recovering from the shock of it all. “Are you injured anywhere? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

You shake your head slowly and Rick sighs with relief. Apparently, he only just realizes what he is doing and removes his hands as if like he had touched something that he shouldn’t have. This annoys you and is also enough to tip you over the edge.

“What’s your problem?”

Rick’s brows furrow in confusion before his face twists in disgust. “Is this how you thank someone for saving you from almost being hit by a one ton truck?”

“No, this is me asking if you have a problem with me.” You refuse to back down. “Because it’s either you pretend to be worried or save me from a ‘rookie’ mistake I made on the field and proceed to humiliate me publicly!” You raised your voice. “If you hate me, make it clear. I can’t do anything about work but I can make myself disappear when we’re outside.”

You proceed to turn around to be on your way when Rick holds you by the wrist. He hangs his head, surprisingly defeated by your words. You want to twist yourself out of his grasp, but his sad golden retriever appearance is making it very hard for you to be the villain here.

“Please,” Rick pleads. “Stay.”

An internal you battle, you relent and let him take you to a nearby cafe. He insists on getting you something, so you order a simple hot chocolate to calm your nerves. You remain silent, waiting for what the Colonel has to say.

“I’m sorry.”

You cock your head to the side, unsure if you were hearing things after that truck almost ran you over.

“I didn’t mean to do all of that.” Rick starts. “It was unprofessional and very unlike me. It was just that-” He inhales deeply.

“When I see you throwing yourself in danger or being in danger… my mind stops working. I’m so scared that one day, things will go wrong and I’m left alone again.” He grips the handle of his mug tightly.

“Remember when you saved those two children?”

“How could I forget?”

“You were amazing for that. You were fearless and brave. That’s what I wanted to tell you. But my fear became the better of me and I hurt you instead.” Rick recounts bitterly.

“I never hated you. I just didn’t want you to know how much I liked you.”

Rick can’t bring himself to look at your reaction. Perhaps a peek and he sees that your mouth is hanging open slightly. Oh, he’s done it. He’s really blown this to bits. Perhaps he can file in a transfer when he gets to work - yeah, as if Waller would allow that. Perhaps death would be the best option.

“Then say it.”

Rick stares at you, dumbfounded. A small smile is etched on your lips. “Say it you big dummy.” You laugh this time and his heart skips a beat.

“Okay, maybe I’ll say it first. Get the ball rolling hm?” You add playfully, enjoying the look on his face. “I lo- oof!”

Rick knocks his chair over from standing up to fast as he makes his way to you, engulfing you in a big and warm embrace. You freeze but only momentarily before melting into his hug that smelled like cinnamon.

“I love you Y/N Y/S/N.” He says breathlessly before giving you what was possibly the most mind shattering kisses that you ever had.

The Christmas lights start to dance around each other and the music in the cafe plays a slow jazz song. People trickle in and out for a nice warm drink and you are content with how Christmas has played out today.

Christmas could be different after all.

#rick flag #rick flag x you #rick flag x reader #rick flag fluff #rick flag one shot #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag fanfic #rick flag imagine #rick flag imagines #suicide squad #dceu #joel kinnaman

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quin-ns · 10 months ago

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E = Explicit | * = Dark themes

Bullet Train

Tangerine x Reader

Crazy For You (E)

Summary: you sneak onto the bullet train to wish tangerine good luck in your own way

Safe House

Summary: lemon and tangerine break into your safe house, not expecting you to be there. it’s lucky that you are, especially for tangerine

DCEU

Rick Flag x Reader

Stay With Me

Summary: harley is sure colonel flag has a thing for you, but you’re not so sure. then, when the mission turns sideways and you get hurt, everything changes

Marvel

Eddie Brock x Reader

Fix It

Summary: venom is very grumpy when you leave after a fight with eddie, so he tries to help eddie get you back

Kang the Conqueror x Reader

Inevitable

Summary: you don’t know kang, but he knows you

Peter Parker x Reader

My Safe Place (is Next to You)

Summary: after being outed as spider-man, peter’s life has become a mess. he finds solace with you

Scream

Ethan Landry x Reader

Fake Blood (E)

Summary: spoiler: the blood isn’t fake. alone in your apartment after your friends had been attacked, you ask ethan to stop by. he does in an unexpected way and you get more than you bargained for

Whispers

Summary: request: “fluff w/ ethan Landry where he thinks she’s asleep so he whispers I love you…”

The Hunger Games

Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Always Forever (E*)

Summary: coriolanus finally lets himself acknowledge that he can’t stand to see you with anyone but him

Eventually (E*)

Summary: coriolanus could appreciate irony, but the one person he desires more than anything wanting nothing to do with him pushes him to new territory

Breaking Bad

Saul Goodman x Reader

Taking Care

Summary: after jesse beats up saul you help fix him up

The Boys

Soldier Boy x Reader

The Bet (E)

Summary: butcher leaves you to keep on eye on soldier boy and things become interesting when a deck of cards gets involved

<< back to main masterlist

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lacontroller1991 · 4 months ago

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Fluff/WhumpTOBER 2024

Whoop whoop, we're back baby! I am very excited for this years prompts!! Prompts taken from @flufftober and @whumptober

Most will be written in terms of female pronouns (if not from a first person perspective) as that's what I'm familiar with.

Day 1: Lost Pet Meet/Race Against The Clock: Edward Teller (Benny Safdie)

Day 2: "Left. Other left!"/Trust Issues: Deacon

Day 3: Favorite Scent/Set Up For Failure: Nick Valentine

Day 4: Market Day/Hallucinations: Modern AU Ernest Lawrence

Day 5: Acorn, Chestnut, Pine Cone/Sunburn: Cooper Howard

Day 6: Mistaken Identity/Not Realizing They're Injured: Robert MacCready

Day 7: Hoodie Weather/Only for Emergencies: Nick Valentine

Day 8: Chopping and Piling Wood/Sleep Deprivation: Ernest Lawrence

Day 9: "Don't do that!" "But..."/Obsession: Cooper Howard

Day 10: Bet, Game, Contest/Blow to the Head: Deacon

Day 11: Ingredients and Spells/Seeing Double: Deacon & Robert MacCready (ft Duncan and Shaun)

Day 12: "This is spooky." "Really?"/Starvation: Cooper Howard

Day 13: Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room/Alt:Secrets Revealed: Deacon

Day 14: Fantasy AU/Mundane AU/Left For Dead: Daryl Dixon

Day 15: "What are you wearing?" "It's laundry day!"/Childhood Trauma: Deacon

Day 16: Yes, No, Maybe/Necrosis: Ernest Lawrence

Day 17: Only One Bed/Nowhere Else to Go: Robert MacCready

Day 17 Alt Ending: Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Day 18: Bewitched/Revenge: Sole Survivor

Day 19: Yarn/Blood Trail: Nick Valentine

Day 20: Alt: "Wait, you love me?" "Always have."/Emotional Angst: Gordon Stevens

Day 21 *my birthday whoop*: Bonfire/Body Horror: Deacon and Robert MacCready

Day 22: Heirloom/Bleeding Through Bandages: Deacon

Day 23: Stormy Night/Forced Choice: Deacon and Robert MacCready (ft. Duncan and Shaun)

Day 24: Comfort Food/Radiation Poisoning: John Hancock

Day 25: Haunted House/Surgery: Modern AU Ernest Lawrence

Day 26: "I can't find it."/Nightmares: TBA

Day 27: Alt: "I hate it." "No, you don't."/Voiceless: Robert MacCready

Day 28: Lucky Charm/Denial: Rick Flag

Day 29: Time Capsule/Fatigue: Robert MacCready

Day 30: "Forever?"/Recovery: TBA

Day 31: Make a Wish/Asking for Help: Robert MacCready

If you guys would like to be tagged for any of these, please let me know!!! These will all be posted on AO3.

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sheena-is-a-punk-rocker · 1 year ago

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Sometimes a family is a girl, her pet rat, a traumatized soldier, and his feral girlfriend

Got a prompt over on AO3 that was basically just Sebastian being Rick's lil buddy and it turned into Rick and Harley accidentally adopting Cleo and Sebastian.

Rick jolts awake at the sound of a soft knock on the front door. He can just make it out over the sound of the torrential downpour that’s going on outside. The knock gets louder. Harley stirs beside him but doesn’t wake.

As a precaution, he grabs her baseball bat from the corner of their room and goes to answer the door. He cracks it open, bat hidden behind the door, and is shocked at what he sees.

Ratcatcher Two is standing out in the hallway, soaked to the bone and shivering. She’s got Sebastian the rat cradled in her hands.

Before he can say anything, Harley comes up and wraps her arms around him from behind. “Who’s at the door, baby?” she asks sleepily.

“Uh… It’s Cleo and Sebastian.”

“Hmm?” It takes a second for her brain to catch up but suddenly she’s wide awake and shoving him aside. “Oh my god! Get inside, hun, you must be freezing!”

Cleo sniffs and tells them, “I had to leave my living situation—it was becoming dangerous. We didn’t know where else to go. Sebastian figured out where you lived a while ago, Colonel Flag, since you saved him from Peacemaker.”

Sebastian waves from his spot in Cleo’s hands and Rick awkwardly waves back. It’s true that they’d saved each other back in Corto Maltese but it still feels weird to be waving at a rat.

He can hear water running and then Harley’s back. “C’mon, sweetie, let’s get ya into the shower so you can warm up. Towels are on top of the toilet and I got dry clothes for ya when ya get out.”

Once Cleo silently slips into the bathroom, she turns to Rick and says, “Baby, I love you but you’re absolutely useless right now.”

“Right, sorry. Lemme get the couch set up for her.”

Harley helps him wrangle a fitted sheet over the couch and stack several blankets and a pillow on top of it. Once that’s done he goes into the kitchen to make some quick breakfast sandwiches—his specialty. He even makes a tiny one for Sebastian.

He brings them out to the living room and he sees Cleo sitting on the couch with Harley. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms. He can hear her saying, “I had to get out of there. We were fine until it started raining and we couldn’t find anywhere dry to sleep.”

“Well you’re stayin’ here as long as ya need to.”

He sets the sandwiches on the coffee table and Sebastian immediately starts eating his but Cleo looks wary. “C’mon, eat up. You must be starving.”

She reaches for the sandwich and takes a small bite. “Thank you, Colonel Flag.”

“Please call me Rick.”

He goes to the bathroom to clean up the wet towels and hang up Cleo’s soaked clothes, figuring that she doesn’t want an audience while she eats.

Harley’s tucking her into bed on the couch when he gets back, Sebastian fast asleep on the pillow next to her head.

She creeps back over to him, flicking the lamp off and bathing the apartment in darkness. They stand there and watch the pair for a second. She leans against his side and sighs, “Can we keep her?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, we can keep her. C’mon, let’s go to bed, Harls.”

----------------

Cleo awakens slowly from the best sleep she’s ever experienced. It takes her a second to recognize her surroundings but then she remembers last night. She stumbles towards the sound of voices and the smell of bacon.

“Sometimes I wish I had two of ya,” she hears Harley say.

As she walks into the kitchen she vaguely registers the couple wrapped up in each other’s arms as Harley sips from a coffee mug. “Why do you want two Colonel Flags?” she asks sleepily.

Harley promptly spits her coffee all over Colonel Flag, which immediately wakes Cleo up. Had she said something wrong? He’s now blushing furiously, which just confuses her more.

“I’ll tell ya when you’re older,” Harley manages to wheeze out once she’s done coughing.

Oh. Oh! That explains a lot.

Colonel Flag excuses himself so he can change his shirt and Harley busies herself with getting a plate down from the cupboard and loading it up with scrambled eggs and bacon. She sets it on the table and says, “Dig in!”

Colonel Flag comes back with a dry shirt on and says, “Okay, so we’re all just gonna forget the last two minutes and focus on finding Ratcatcher Two here a place to live.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay, Sebastian and I will be okay on the streets again.” It’s really all she’s ever known besides the four walls of a prison cell.

“Fuck that!” Harley says. “Sweetie, we can’t in good conscience just let ya be homeless again.”

“Why?”

“You… you literally told me you got threatened with a knife yesterday, hun.”

“Oh well we’re not gonna go back there obviously.”

She’d been squatting at the old orphanage with a group of homeless teenagers and that had been working out fine for the last month. That is, until things turned violent when one of them got too high and had a bad trip.

She doesn’t argue this time when Harley insists that she needs to be off the streets and that she thinks there’s a few units available in their building.

-------------

Cleo trails behind the couple as they make their way down to the leasing office. Her heart is pounding and she’s trying to keep her breakfast down. She already knows she can’t afford a place in this building—she doesn’t even have a job. She’s been resorting to petty theft to stay afloat but hasn’t tried anything big like a bank robbery again. The last thing she wants is to get thrown in jail again.

The property manager—a balding man in an ill-fitting suit—eyes the three of them as they approach. Cleo hangs back in the corner while Colonel Flag and Harley stand there imposingly.

“So, here’s the deal,” Harley begins. “Our friend Cleo here is lookin’ for a place to live. Got any openings?”

He snorts. “Sure, but I highly doubt she can afford them.”

She can feel her face heating. He’s certainly not wrong. She clutches Sebastian tighter, who squeaks at her soothingly.

“How much?”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Nah, that ain’t gonna work. Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna rent a place to her for three hundred a month, no more than that.”

“Do you know how much money I’d lose if I did that? I’m already renting to you two assholes practically for free!”

“Ya say that like I’m supposed to give a shit. Listen, we’re the reason you don’t have more supervillains crawlin’ all over this place but if that won’t persuade you, I got a baseball bat with your name on it.”

The property manager pales and manages to stammer out, “Ah, I think I do actually have a unit. But, uh, it won’t be available ‘til next month.”

“Perfect!” Harley chirps. She turns to Cleo and throws her arm around her shoulders. “Looks like you’re stayin’ with us for a couple weeks!”

As they’re leaving the property manager’s office, Harley remarks, “Ya know, I think that License to Kill shirt I got ya for your birthday really helped our case.”

Colonel Flag sighs and says, “Harls, we really need to do laundry.”

“Not it!”

The couple continues to bicker about whose turn it is to do laundry as they make their way back to the apartment.

“I could do it,” Cleo pipes up from behind them. It’s the least she can do to thank them.

They immediately stop arguing and turn to look back at her. In unison, they say, “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

Harley elaborates, “You’re our guest, hun. We’re not gonna make ya do chores. Especially because it’s his turn to do laundry!”

Colonel Flag pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “Harls, we’ve been over this. I gave you a break last week because you were hungover. It’s your turn!”

“Most of it is your laundry anyway!” Harley whines.

“Because you keep stealing my shirts!”

“… Okay, ya got me there.”

------------------

Cleo wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when she knocked on Colonel Flag’s door. She wasn’t entirely surprised to see him living with Harley Quinn, after their epic love confession in the ruins of Jotunheim. What she was surprised to see was just how domestic the couple’s life had become.

Over the next few weeks she listens to them bicker like an old married couple about some of the stupidest things but she also sees the way Harley comes up behind Colonel Flag for a hug every night while he cooks dinner, and how she’s always making sure he’s taken his meds at bedtime, and the way he carries Harley to the couch when she’s complaining of cramps and just wants to lay on the couch and eat raw cookie dough all day.

He’s even carried Cleo to the couch once when she embarrassingly fell asleep at the breakfast table—she really doesn’t function well early in the morning.

She’d woken up with her head on Harley’s lap and the TV volume on low.

“Mornin’, sweetie! Sleep well?” she’d chirped, just as Colonel Flag was carrying her abandoned breakfast plate over to the coffee table.

Having been homeless or in prison her whole life, she essentially needs a crash course in being a functioning adult in society. She’s never opened up a bank account, learned how to cook, or had a job.

The first order of business is opening up a bank account, which Harley helps her do. Ten thousand dollars magically appear in said bank account the next day and Cleo doesn’t question it. It’ll give her a nest egg to live off of until she figures out the whole job situation—if she even wants one, Harley comments. Being a criminal is a perfectly respectable career, in her opinion. Cleo needs to think on it.

While Harley is dragging her all over Gotham to various stores so she can buy things for her new apartment and clothes and other necessities, Sebastian is having the time of his life with Colonel Flag. It warms her heart to see them interact. Sebastian helps with the cooking and every Friday they watch football together.

“Baby, we’re gonna borrow the d-bag truck. Where’re the keys?”

“Stop calling it that,” Colonel Flag deadpans, without even taking his eyes off the TV. He rummages around in his pocket and tosses the keys over his shoulder, Harley catching them easily.

“Why do you call it a d-bag truck?” Cleo asks as they make their way to the building’s parking garage.

The car they stop in front of is a massive black pickup truck, and suddenly the moniker makes sense.

They come home from furniture shopping three hours later to find the boys sulking.

“Did your sportsball team win?” Harley asks.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Sebastian squeaks indignantly in agreement.

It’s with a mixture of sadness and hope that she receives the keys to her new apartment on the first of the next month. This place has become home for her. She’s never felt safer or more cared for than she has in the last few weeks. She’ll miss watching movies on the couch with Harley and watching Colonel Flag and Sebastian cooking together. She’ll even miss the couple’s constant bickering about who’s responsible for doing laundry (somehow the answer always seems to be neither of them).

The sadness doesn’t last long though. She’s been moved in for two days when the couple shows up on her front doorstep, inviting her over for family dinner, as Harley puts it.

She ends up at their place every Tuesday and Saturday night for dinner going forward.

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