#robert dubois fanfiction

[your-averagewriter]

"It’s the only goddamn hat you’re gonna get.”

Summary: At the bar, everyone's drunk and dancing but DuBois finally decides to do something about Rick's hands around her waist (Robert DuBois x fem!reader).

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, drinking, kissing, making out

-

We enter the bar and immediately we’re met with bright lights and strippers, sounds like a good time is what I think. The music isn’t too loud so we can actually hear each other. I’m reminded as we sit down that we’re not here for fun, we’re here for the Thinker. Of course, the first time I’ve been to a bar in months is for a mission and not fun.

I’m cheered up though when Peacemaker beacons over a waiter and orders a round of drinks.

“Hey, piss maker, you’re on a mission.” I chuckle at the nickname.

“Easy, Inspector Gadget.” He moves mockingly. “A little drink never hurt nobody.”

“Except for the 1000s of people killed in drunk driving accidents every year.” Polka-Dot man pipes up, depressingly.

“C’mon Robert, I hate to agree with this guy.” I say, indicating to Peacemaker. “But you should let loose a little. Who knows, this could be our last drink?” I say as the waitress brings the drinks over.

“Fine, one drink.” DuBois gives in.

“You’re gonna be that guy?” Peacemaker mocks.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be that guy.”

“Hey, it’s progress.” I say with a smile, throwing my arm around Robert before downing my drink.

After that one round comes another then another and suddenly we’re all on the dance floor. I’m dancing with Cleo, Peacemaker’s dancing too. Although I’m trying to stay clear of him, Rick and Robert are hanging by the side of the dance floor, laughing, looking very tipsy. 

I giggle, the alcohol feels great in my system after a while of not being able to drink and dancing with Cleo is the most fun I’ve had in a while. Not that either of us are particularly good dancers but we might not even be alive tomorrow so who cares what we look like.

After a while I head back over to Rick and Robert in the corner as I grasp onto a new glass from the waitress.

“Hey guys.” I say to the two of them, giggling as I go. “Do you guys wanna dance?” I say with a massive smile on my face.

They look at each other then Rick turns back to me with a smile, a silly cowboy hat on.

“I’m down.” He says, leaving his glass on the side after he swallowed the rest of it. “DuBois?” He asks.

“I’m gonna hang back at the bar.”

“Suit yourself.” I say, dragging Rick by the hand onto the dance floor. “C’mon cowboy.” I say with a smirk.

We dance under the bright lights, the colours illuminating our bodies as we dance with each other, Rick’s hands on my hips. I tip Rick’s hat with a smile.

“I’ve always loved your Southern accent, the hat with it is just too much for me to handle.” I giggle as I drunkenly flirt with him. This happens everytime we’re drunk together, the flirting commences but we both know that it means nothing. There’s always a bar trip on the Suicide Squad missions that almost makes up for the traumatic experiences, well not quite but it’s fun.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for cowboys.” He says.

“Neither did I.” I chuckle before resting my head on his chest as a slower song starts playing - nothing too romantic but a bit more slow tempo.

After a while, Robert walks over to us and I pull myself off Rick ready to welcome him to the dance floor.

“Robert, you finally dancing?” I ask as I continue to move to the beat of the music.

“Thought it was about time.” He says with a small smirk, placing his hands on my hips like Rick did although it didn’t feel like this with Rick. And I certainly didn’t miss the dirty look from him to Rick. “So you and Flag, huh?” He asks over the music and I start laughing again. “What? What’s so funny?” He questions, confused.

“We’re not together.”

“It certainly sounded like it.” He sighs.

“Well, it isn’t. You jealous? Do you not like Rick?”

“No and it’s complicated.”

“Why? Rick’s great.” I say with a beaming smile - I’ve always loved my friends and kept them very close to my heart and I still do despite these conditions.

“He was dancing with you and touching you.”

“Okay?” I say, confused on what the problem is. “I asked you to dance with me and you didn’t want to.” I say with a frown.

“Oh, trust me I did. There are very few things I would’ve wanted more.”

“Why didn’t you do anything?”

“I’m trying to now.”

“Then do something.” I say and he grabs my hand, I follow him to the toilets. Once inside he locks the door and presses me against it.

His lips are on mine in a second and quickly I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him closer. I can feel the wood of the door rubbing against my back but all I care about are his lips, how they so fervently move against mine like a starved man.

After a few moments he pulls away from me and I chase his lips only to be met with a chuckle.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks.

“Yes. Are you?” I say, quickly.

“Fuck yeah. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

He taps my leg then his waist signalling for me to wrap my legs around him. I yelp, surprised when he hoists me up and moves to sit me on top of the sinks. He laughs against my lips at my reaction.

“You said you weren’t jealous of Rick.” I smirk.

“I lied. I was jealous because every man in the room was looking at you, watching your body as you danced to the music with Cleo then when you danced with Rick. I had to watch as his hands rested on your hips where mine should’ve been. I watched him flirt with you like I wanted to.”

“You should’ve got a cowboy hat then.” I say, chuckling as I watch Robert’s reaction, his eyebrows creasing. “I’m just joking.” I say and his lips seem to melt against mine as his tongue licks across my bottom lip requesting entry which I grant willingly.

I release one of my arms from around his neck and reach to his head where a navy beret lies undisturbed. Gripping onto it, I hoist from his head and dangle it in front of his face before dropping it gently on my head. 

I giggle as I turn to see my reflection in the mirror. It looks a little silly and it’s too big for me but I can’t complain.

“Get back here.” Robert beacons as I turn back away from the mirror to reunite with his lips.

“Don’t worry, I like your hat plenty.” I say, unable to stop giggling against his lips.

“Good because it’s the only goddamn hat you’re gonna get.” He says, his voice rough.

-

AN: Hope you enjoyed reading!

Also I might write another Rick Flag fic using the speech from this fic so keep an eye out.

[macabrebatz]

There’s not enough fanfiction of him on here. *sigh* Guess I gotta fix that.

[scarlet-star-witch]

Masterlist

** Contains Smut

House of the Dragon:

Aemond Targaryen

The moon and his sun (Multi-Part)

Part 1  Part 2** Part 3**  Part 4**  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7** Epilogue

People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

His Sacrifice  Part 2

Aemond makes the decision to save the one he loves over his brother.

You were my man and I your girl**

Facing the news of her impending betrothal, she makes a final, desperate act of rebellion. Though when she discovers she is to marry her dear uncle, the man she has longed for since childhood, she realizes she may have ruined their marriage before it even began

Request

She had only ever heard terrible, frightening things of the Targaryen family, but her marriage to Aemond proves every one of her fears wrong. 

The Mandalorian:

Fade Into You ** (Multi-part):

Din has spent a year grieving the love of his life. While he thinks he has lost her forever, she lingers in the darkness, her mind twisted and manipulated, with no memory of him or the love they shared (Mandalorian/OC)

Oneshots:

First Meeting

Din Falling in Love

Iella Falling in Love

The Injury

His Name

First Time**

The Ball

The First I Love You

The Fight

The Wedding

The Wedding Night **

Daryl Dixon:

Leather & Lace ** (Multi-part):

The last thing Daryl Dixon expected to find on the farm was love. No matter how hard he tries, the eldest farmer's daughter would not leave his mind. Both survivors of abuse, unwilling to let themselves fall too hard. A relationship with a Dixon is never easy, especially not during the apocalypse

The Suicide Squad:

Rick Flag

Rebellion **

A relationship between a colonel and a criminal wasn’t an easy secret to keep

Empty Promises

He promised his wife and daughter a safe return at each mission, but this time, he worried it would finally become a lie

Family Reunion (Part 2 to Empty Promises) The Suicide Squad finally meet Rick’s secret Family

Robert DuBois - Bloodsport

Fuck It I Love You

He ignored her out of guilt, but no matter how hard he tried, his feelings for her weren’t going anywhere, especially when they have to team up for a mission

Marvel:

Moon Knight

Soothing Touch

Just a little piece of fluff about touch starved Steven Grant

Find My Way Back To You

Steven has questions for Marc when a woman in pain makes his way into his dreams

Euphoria:

Fez

Since I’ve been loving you **  Part 2**  Part 3   Part 4**   Part 5**

The story of how Fez fell in love with his ray of sunshine

The Instagram Picture

Fez doesn’t like what he sees on his girlfriend’s Instagram 

Oblivious

Fez doesn’t realize when he’s being hit on, but his girlfriend does

Two Hours **

Fezco goes down on his girlfriend for two hours

The Gunshot

Fezco is a mess after someone uses his weak spot against him

The (Over)Protective Pair

The brothers are weary of Faye’s friendship with their Sunshine

Stranger Things:

Steve Harrington

The Story of Us

How Steve fell in love with his best friend and found the love he deserved

Code Red**

Dustin has the worst timing and stumbles on a secret relationship

Make a mess out of me**

Steve makes his girlfriend squirt for the first time

Eddie Munson

The End of the Nightmare

Eddie waked up in the hospital after fighting in the upside down

The Domestic Life (Part 2 to The End of the Nightmare)

Eddie’s happiness through the years with the love of his life

Interruptions**

Eddie can’t get a moment alone with his girlfriend

Squid Game:

Kang Sae-byeok

My love, I’d do anything for you

Sae-byeok leaves behind more than her brother after the games end

Seong Gi-hun

Tell me when you hear my heart stop

High school sweethearts are reunited at the games, unaware of how both of their lives have unraveled in their separation

Hwang Jun-ho

His Sanctuary **

Jun-ho returns home to his wife, unaware of the unexpected visitor she had received in his absence

The Salesman

Papi Pacify **

It was never just a one-night stand for him and he’s determined to keep her in his life

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Imagine Trying to Cheer Nanaue up With a Makeover:

A/N: I love Nanaue/King Shark from The Suicide Squad very much and I haven’t written an imagine in forever, so here’s a silly thing I came up with at like 2am a couple of nights ago. Also Reader is a part of the Suicide Squad in this so... yeah. Also, this was beta read but it was beta read at 5am so... yeah, lol.

    “Do you think he ever gets bored of like… just wearing jeans?”

    Cleo stopped staring out of the bus’s window to glance down at you slumped against her shoulder, then to where Nanaue was sitting across the aisle pouting. She looked back at you and after a moment gave a low-energy shrug. “I don’t know, I don’t think he seems to mind. He’s probably more upset about the fake moustache.”

    Poor Nanaue, not being allowed to join the rest of Task Force X-slash-the Suicide Squad in the gentlemen’s club to find the Thinker. Your skills on the team included using technology to make realistic illusions that would have dealt with the “King Shark doesn’t have a feasible disguise” problem that DuBois and Rick were using to keep Nanaue out of the public eye but when you offered up the suggestion, you were shut down by the secondary issue of the demigod seeing every living creature as food. So there you were, feeling bad that Nanaue couldn’t join the fun as the bus slowly pulled up to the club.

    “Well, guess it’s time,” Cleo commented at you. She lightly shrugged and you moved off of her so she could place Sebastian on her shoulder instead. Then she stood up and adjusted the dress she was wearing as her own disguise. 

Sebastian gave you a cheerful wave and squeak as he passed and you smiled and gave him a quick head pat in return. You however made no other move to prepare to leave the bus, which had Cleo quirking an eyebrow at you and shooing you to move so she could get past.

“I don’t think I’m going to go,” you said as you pulled your legs up onto the chair and wriggled your way across the seat to give her room to get out.

“Why not? It might be fun.” Despite her very casual attempt to convince you, your rat-controlling friend shuffled past you into the aisle.

“Might be,” you admitted, “but it’s not fair that all of us aren’t able to go. Besides, I don’t drink and clubs aren’t really my scene.”

Cleo snorted and offered you a smirk. “And you think it’s mine? Or his?”

She pointed and you looked over at Abner, the Polka Dot Man, who was trying to decide whether or not he should tuck in his shirt while Dabois and Rick tried to brief the team in the aisle next to him, with very little success.

You smirked back. “To be fair, you look very pretty. Like my grandma. In her coffin.”

The comment earned you a flick to the forehead, which made you snicker. Then Cleo shoved her hand into your face as she flipped you off but she had a goodnatured smile on her face all the while. “Fuck you.”

“Hey,” Rick suddenly hollered in your direction, and the two of you jolted to look over; he was coming your way. He stopped in front of you and Cleo, grabbing the back of the seat in front of you as he threw an expectant look your way. “What are you doing? Get up, we’re about to go.”

You frowned and looked over at Nanaue again, who had now moved to grumble in the back of the bus. His back was facing the rest of the team in pouting defiance.

“[Y/N],” Rick scolded, “no.”

You turned back to the man with a puppy dog-eyed pout. Outside of Harley Quinn, you were the longest reoccurring member of the Suicide Squad–killing, robbing, and being good at your job had a habit of doing that to people under Amanda Wallace’s thumb–so you and Rick knew each other well. Well, not well; you barely knew each other really, but you had a love-hate relationship that you enjoyed. That is, you loved to give him shit and he was forced to admit that you were a pretty good asset and thus had to endure you. 

“Ricky,” you whined, flinging yourself over his arms, “he looks so sad, though.”

Rick sighed but made no move to remove you. He knew that if he actually tried to wrangle you, you would do the exact opposite of what he ordered you to do, so he tried half-hearted reasoning. “We are this close of being done here, [Y/N], and this whole thing would be a lot easier if you could just… illusion us in and out of there.”

You gasped, eyes growing starry as you stared up at him. The expression changed from lovestruck to morbidly amused in a flash as you smirked, “Aw, Richard, are you saying you need me?”

“I’m saying it would be easier–”

“Say please~”

“No.”

“Please~?”

Rick looked like he wanted to bash his head into the nearest wall. The thought made you giggle. After a few moments of what you assumed was silently begging whatever higher powers existed to give him patience, the soldier’s eyes rolled back to glare at you. “Please, would you just–”

“What’s going on?” DuBois yelled from the front of the bus. You peeked over Rick’s shoulder and saw his older war buddy glaring. The man, first name being Robert and alias being Bloodsport but you liked DuBois better, was messing with his mundane clothes like everyone else with. You supposed that being imprisoned for a while with only orange jumpsuits to wear would make any other clothing feel a little odd. 

You answered before Rick could with an aggressive wave in DuBois’s direction, just to make sure he knew who was talking. “I’m not going!”

DuBois’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. “You’re not going? Why?”

“They are,” Rick tried to intervene, “Just give us a minute–”

“We don’t have a minute!”

“We also don’t need a minute!” you chimed in. You sat high up on your knees on the bus seat and tapped Rick’s nose with a finger. “I’m not going. The idea of needle-head man freaks me out and it’s probably smarter to leave Nanaue versus a very nom-nom-looking human bus driver, yeah?”

You heard shuffling from behind you followed by a questioning sound from the shark-man in question. “Nom-nom?”

“No,” Rick, DuBois, and Cleo sounded at once, then Rick gave you a glare.

The kindly stating that you weren’t going didn’t seem to work but pointing out that you were more qualified to keep Nanaue from eating people than Milton was definitely a swaying argument. Just for added effect, you clasped your hands together and gave Rick your best puppy eyes and smile once more, although it once again cracked and turned into an expression that was a little more unsettling when you pleaded, “I’ll be good, I promise! C’mon, Dick Flag!”

“Heh, dick-flag,” Cleo snorted next to you.

Rick frowned but you could tell his resolve was cracking. “You’re not much better than the bus driver. Probably worse. You killed 500 people in two days because you said they all looked like your ex.”

Your eye twitched. “They did! At the time. And if he hadn’t cheated on me and stolen my money, it would have never been a problem.”

DuBois broke first. “Flag, we don’t have time. We’ll figure out something else, let’s just get the hell out of here.”

For a moment, Rick looked like he was preparing to argue further but he quickly decided it wasn’t worth it. He pointed a warning finger at you before turning and walking to the front of the bus, then out of it. One by one, the other squad members followed, until Cleo and Sebastian came up the rear and the two waved at you before departing.

“And then there was three,” you chirped to no one at all, although you were still in the presence of the pouting Nanaue and Milton the bus driver. You sat and waited until your teammates disappeared into the club, then twisted in your seat to face your sharky companion. “Hey, Nanaue!”

Nanaue only grunted in response. After being disappointed twice now, he wasn’t willing to take the bait for a possible third.

You had no intentions of disappointing him, though. You hopped over the back of the bus seat, then the next two, until you were sitting in the same row as him with only an aisle separating you. You waited there for a moment to see if you would earn anymore acknowledgement and when you didn’t, you slid over to sit directly next to him.

The so-called King Shark’s small, dark eyes watched you but when you got closer, he harrumphed and turned as far away from you as he could without literally leaving the bus through one of the windows. You gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder but his only response was to cross his arms and growl over his shoulder at you, “Go away.”

“But Nanaue, how will we go explore the town without each other?” you asked. In the meantime, you pulled up the sleeve of your disguise’s puffy blouse and fiddled with the dials on an augmented arm brace that you wore underneath. Once you were satisfied, you pressed a button on the brace an a small puff of pink smog was released from a grate on the device’s wrists. For anyone else, the puff was simply a small billow of colored air that smelled a bit sweet, but you knew that there was an army of microscopic nanobots following your orders. As the smoke dispersed, you pulled down your sleeve again and wafted a breeze in Nanaue’s direction.

“No exploring,” Nanaue pouted, “No disguise. No fake moustache.” Then he caught a whiff of your brace’s work and shifted to catch you still waving air at him. “Ew. What is that?”

“Well,” you started, then paused as you took a glance at the bus window to confirm your nanobots were working. The reflection in the glass showed you sitting next to a random, albeit large, human man instead of a sharky hybrid and you grinned. With a point at the window to draw Nanaue’s attention there, you continued, “It’s not a fake moustache but it’s one heck of a disguise.”

Nanaue looked at the window, then grunted in confusion at it. You drew his attention to the reflection itself and then he growled at the reflection that didn’t seem to look like it belonged to him, only for him to be surprised that that the human reflection moved with him. You watched with an amused little smirk as he executed some tests; he raised a webbed hand and the human reflection followed, he tilted his head and the reflection did the same. It took him a little while to get to the most obvious conclusion–that the human reflection following his movements was in fact his own–but then he looked at you as he raised both hands to his face, patting lightly. He groaned confusedly with a twinge of sadness, “Human?”

“Oh, gosh, no,” you said as you quickly shook your head. You placed your hands over the shark-man’s own and squeezed, giving his face a squish. “You’d be much less fun that way, promise. I just gave you a little disguise of your own so you wouldn’t feel left out on the party! You’re still all sharky-like, I just changed what everyone else sees.”

“Party?” Nanaue echoed as he dropped his hands. His head lurched to look towards the club where the rest of the team had gone.

“I mean we could go in the stuffy boring bar,” you admitted with a tilt of your head and a bored sigh for effect, “or we could take a walk on the town. Check out the stores, try some of the local cuisines, have a nom-nom chaser or two…”

Nanaue’s eyes shined like little black pearls; he didn’t get some of the words you were saying, like cuisine, but he certainly understood nom-noms. He got to his feet, jostling you and the entire bus in the process, and pushed into the center aisle. In the process, one soft, silvery hand engulfed your own human-toned one and Nanaue dragged you after him. “Friend and Nanaue get nom-noms!”

You would have clapped if you had both hands free but you simply grinned and followed Nanaue off the bus, much to bus driver Milton’s dismay.

~~~~~

“Nanaue~” you sang from your perch on a chaise-style lounge chair in a random clothing boutique. The rest of your sentence faded off a bit as your eyes caught a particularly interesting tidbit in the magazine that you were perusing and you casually kicked your feet as you looked the text over. Towards the end of the reading, you remembered that you had been saying something and shook your head to refocus. “Nanaue, how’s it going in there?”

Some grumbles sounded and the curtain that separated from you from the dressing room that your companion was in shivered. From the gap between the floor and the curtain’s end, you could see Nanaue’s feet turning, and a bulge appeared caused by his dorsal fin appeared briefly in the fabric as his back faced the exit. Eventually, he got twisted around enough in the tiny space to be able to grab the curtain, but rather than pulling it open properly, he yanked it off it’s rail completely and tossed it to the side.

You tossed your magazine to the side and clapped as he wriggled himself free from the dressing room and stepped out into the viewing area. “Look at you! What an outfit for a man! So much better than some of the stuff that everyone else was wearing, like that god-awful yellow shirt that Rick had on. Didn’t fit him too bad, though.”

Not too long into your and Nanaue’s tour, you managed to find a store that sold clothes for larger men. With some minor editing–like tearing a hole in shirts for a fin and hemming some pant legs–you were able to come up with enough outfits for Nanaue to give you a little fashion show and the demigod, high on exploration and human flesh, was in a good enough mood to give you what you wanted. Instead of his usual and only pair of ratty shorts, Nanaue now wore a pair of what looked like jeans but were made with a stretchier fabric along with a tank top and a brightly patterned button-up polo shirt. 

“And I thought the jean jacket was the best one.” You chirped as you hopped to your feet. You tried to circle him and assess the outfit from all angles but to no avail because Nanaue started turning with you. You checked out the outfit in the three old mirrors that faced the viewing area from different angles instead and noticed the collar of the overshirt twisted oddly–probably because it wasn’t really a shirt meant for people with fins on their backs–so you stepped up to Nanaue and fixed it for him. Then you stepped back and placed your hands on your hips with an approving nod. “This one’s definitely the best. What do you think?”

Nanaue shrugged but then appeared to notice one of the mirrors for the first time. He eyed himself a bit and flapped his arms, then shrugged again. “Okay.”

“That’s all?”

“Mhm. Hungry.”

You sighed but you couldn’t really blame him. He was quite big, after all.

“Well, let’s head out then. Sorry for the lack of cash, Ms. Shopowner, Ma’am! You’ll just have to put it on our tab.” You waved over to the counter, where the bloody remains of an arm sat on the glass, then headed toward the shattered front window of the boutique with Nanaue in tow. “Wait, do clothing stores even have tabs? Hm.”

Nanaue shrugged yet again and grabbed the leftover arm as he ambled after you. 

[charnelhouse]

hello charnie i am in dire need of some rick angst if you ever feel inclined 😽

A/N: Rick Flag x F!Reader. Violence. Kidnapped Reader. Angst. Trauma.

It's his worst nightmare. He tastes rot on his tongue as he steps through the sewer on booted feet. The sludge of the city oozing rancid and black.

"This is disgusting," Robert mutters as he moves quietly behind him. "Filthy."

"It's a sewer, DuBois," Rick growls as he marches onward. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know."

"Then why the fuck did you come?"

Flag can hear him bristle - hear him snap back some bitter retort. But then DuBois says something he doesn't expect.

"You know why I came," he grumbles. "Wanted to help you, yeah? Get her back 'n all."

It doesn’t work. He feels it deep - feels it at the bottom of himself. He arrived home to find his apartment in shambles and you gone. There’d been blood and broken glass and he had collapsed to his knees when he realized that there was nothing.

Not a hint or a note or a detail. Nothing.

Three days went with Rick tearing apart the city until word had been sent. One of Gotham’s worst gangs letting Waller know exactly where Rick’s girlfriend was.

Amanda had delivered him the message with a ruthless sort of misery - a poisonous coldness that scattered through his chest like bullet fragments. “She’s a civilian, Flag. We aren’t wasting resources on her and we certainly aren’t taking part in a trade.”

The gang wanted their incarcerated leader back and you were the easiest way to get it.

Rick hadn’t responded well. He’d blacked out - torn a nailed in chair out of the floor. A table. Broke someone’s jaw - nose - until DuBois and a half-dozen men had wrestled him to the ground. He wish he could recall the look on Waller’s face - the realization that Flag wouldn’t heel to her when it came to his damn girl.

His fucking girl.

You had nothing to do with his work. Just a sweet person who worked in fucking marketing for a fashion company. He didn’t share the dark-side of his life with you. He kept you hidden from it - kept you shoved back where it couldn’t find you.

Apparently - not hidden enough.

So now it was Flag and DuBois striding through the narrow suction of a hideous tunnel. Waller none the wiser.

For now.

They had guns and they were top of their damn league. Rick didn’t doubt the fact that both of them could take down whoever was keeping you. Still - it was dangerous and he was grateful that Robert had immediately told him he’d be coming.

I like her cooking. She’s a nice fucking girl. Doesn’t deserve this.

That had been the extent of his reasoning and Flag had clapped him on the shoulder - his blood rushing through the case of his head.

“Thank you, DuBois.”

***

“Was that disturbingly easy or was that disturbingly easy?” DuBois asks - the dim light from the ceiling bouncing off his helmet. He scans the room - the layer upon layer of broken bodies.

Flag wipes the blood from his nose. “Bunch of amateurs.”

“Go get your girl. I’ll keep watch.”

***

It breaks him. The sight of you tied to a chair. Your hair in your face and your skin scraped and bruised. He rushes toward you and when he brushes his fingers over your throat - you startle - lurching backward as the chair creaks.

“It’s me, baby,” he assures you. “Honey - it’s me.”

Your eyes widen - lips parting and then Rick sees it. Your expression dismantles - falls apart completely as you start to sob. There’s broken skin across your throat - a split lip and an ugly fucking gash at your hairline.

“Oh - sweetheart,” he breathes - his voice breaking over the letters. He lowers himself to his knees as he tries to untie you. You’re trembling - your chest rising and falling rapidly as you try to swallow.

“Breathe,” he murmurs as he strokes your thigh. “Breathe. I’m here. I won’t let anyone fucking get you.”

There are more tears while you struggle to speak. You yank your wrist from his grasp to massage the ruined skin. He nudges your cheek and you avert your gaze - eyes pinned to his shoes.

“Baby?” he tries.

“Just...just get me out,” you husk - tongue swollen and dry with disuse

He feels lost - feels like he can’t find a spot to focus on. Terror begins to hook into his guts - his lungs and heart as a realization births at the center of his brain.

You don’t trust him.

He’d let you get taken - get hurt - tortured.

He steps forward - reaching for the hinge of your jaw - ready to sweep his thumb over your soft plush skin. If he could only touch you - kiss you to show you that he loved you.

You flinch - turning your head to the side to reveal more bloodied flesh - red dried in the curves and divots of your ear. Jesus Fucking Christ. He’d never forgive himself.

“I’d - I’d never let anything else happen to you, darlin,” he stammers. He’s never failed so spectacularly - never has felt so out of control as he watches you shut down in front of him. “Let me - let me carry you, ok? Need to get you to a hospital.”

“I can walk, Rick,” you whisper as you limp past him - shoulder bumping into his arm. Your tone is flat - unbearably empty and cold.

That’s it - nothing else. You move towards the doorway without another look at him. Rick doesn’t blame you - doesn’t blame you at all. He scrubs a hand over his chest - digs his knuckles into the skin above his heart as he flexes his jaw - grinds his teeth. He tries to distract himself from the ache that is plummeting through the entirety of his body.

It doesn’t work. He feels it deep - feels it at the bottom of himself. He’s lost you.

Follow-Up

[honey-im-hotdog]

[babblydrabbly]

Talk to Me (Bloodsport x Reader) Smut

Pairing(s): Robert DuBois/Bloodsport x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut. Language. Semi-established relationship. Masturbation (m and f). Phone sex. Degradation. Exhibitionism. Dom!Robert. Ex-Vigilante!Reader. ]

Wordcount: 1.5k+

[ A/N: If Idris Elba ever talked to me through a phone I would simply die. Post TSS 2021. ]

Belle Reve never stopped you and Robert from staying in contact with each other. But now that he’s out, the two of you enjoy your conversations with a little more privacy. — Just a little.

You smother your grin before it can fully form, putting your ringing phone to your ear.

“I think you’re liking this whole unlimited talk and texting thing too much.” You say as your greeting.

You can practically hear Robert shrug over the line, the smile on his face clear from thousands of miles away. “Lots of shit I’m still catching up on.”

He was out. He wouldn’t tell you how, only that he was free and clear of Louisiana now. He wouldn’t come to Metropolis, though; Too stupid an idea after what landed him in Belle Reve in the first place. Your eyes flicker over to your office door, making sure it’s shut before leaning back in your chair.

He’d never tell you; Never admit that those prison calls he spared you? He wasn’t exactly running out of minutes on the inside like he said he was. Besides the occasional check ups from Tyla’s mom (And a Christmas or Birthday phone call from Tyla herself when forced), Robert wasn’t exactly…popular. He let the months slide in between before giving you another ring— told himself the next one would be the last one— and for why, he still didn’t even know.

Maybe it was because you kept picking up without missing a beat. Or maybe it was the way you had never let the conversation lull into an awkward silence, that tainting background noise on Robert’s end reminding you both where he was; Where he landed himself. You talked his ear off about your days as a fucking HR officer of all things just to take up all his phone time. Really? Human Resources? He loved to tease you about that career shift.

Fuck off, you had smiled.

You wanted to ask him all the things that would make him clam up, hang up. But you didn’t. You wanted him to keep calling you back. So you rambled, more than you ever did when the two of you crossed paths back when he was rogue. Rob stood there by the phone box with his hand shoved into his stupid jumpsuit pocket, making sure he didn’t look like he was enjoying every minute of it.

You fiddle absentmindedly with the pens laid out on your desk now. “You find a place yet?”

He grumbles. There’s a din on his end, like he might be in a cafe or restaurant. “You’re obsessed.”

You twirl in your chair, “An apartment would do wonders for that homeless problem you’ve got going on.”

“And how am I gonna get one of those.”

“Shit, DuBois, I don’t know. I need to teach you how to use Craigslist now?”

He scoffs, and you hear him move around. The clamor of his somewhere disappears, and you can listen to him better now. “I didn’t call for another one of your lectures, dove.”

“No? So why did you?” Your voice dips down into a murmur.

It’s lunchtime in Metropolis. You wonder if it’s day or night wherever he is.

“Think I might miss you.” He rumbles.

You let yourself grin openly this time, ducking your head.

"You at work?" He asks, and you feel your heart flutter. Your chair creaks as you get up to cross the room when Robert stops you.

"Don't you dare lock that door, dove. I want you on edge." He says in your ear. You take a seat again, biting your bottom lip.

"You're terrible." You mutter, and Robert chuckles. You try to picture him— try to imagine him leaning against the wall of some bathroom or back entrance somewhere, his ear pressed closed to his phone to hear every little sound you make.

"Yeah? And you're going to slide a hand between your thighs."

You take a breath as you do what he says, you eyes locking on your office door. There's no windows for anyone to peer in, but the carpet flooring will muffle anyone who might forget to knock. You let the pad of your middle finger slip between your legs, caressing the seam of your slacks languidly.

It happened once or twice back at Belle Reve; On the rare occasion when stars aligned, when there were no other inmates taking calls and the guards were willing to look the other way, Robert found a way to make you come even with miles between you. Sometimes you still wished it was like before— The games you played as a vigilante chasing a mercenary across cities, countries even.

Robert pulls you from your reminiscent thoughts. "What would those fucking idiots you call coworkers think if they found you touching yourself in your little office, hm?"

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, pressing your fingers to your clothed center firmer. "Think they'd be surprised I had genitalia at all." You mutter.

He laughs at that, and his baritone sends goosebumps across your skin.

"You got one of those button ups on?" He prods. Your hand is shooting up to your blouse, fingers flitting over the buttons as you nod.

"Mhm."

"Good. I want your tits out while you fuck yourself, Officer HR."

You whimper a little as you slip your hand into your open blouse, then your bra. You gasp as your touch brushes over your nipple, feeling it stiffen beneath your fingers. There's no pretending you're not doing what someone will think you're doing in here now. A patch of warm wetness spreads across your panties as you give yourself another tweak at the thought.

"Fuck. Y'sound sweet as ever, [Y/n]." Rob sighs. Your name in your ear has you shivering.

You hear the faintest rustle of clothing over the phone.

"What are you doing?" You ask quietly, wetting your lips.

"Me? I'm on that stupid job app you made me download looking for some shit civilian job like yours."

You stifle your laugh. The sullen grump was always bothering to make you laugh. Squeezing your thighs together, you shift around in your chair, feeling that wetness spreading.

Robert relents, his voice deep. "I'm picturing you on your knees for me, dove. You like that? Getting caught sucking me off over here?"

You imagine your lips parting for his hard cock in your hand, the warm, solid feeling of him pushing into your mouth. You sigh as you let your eyes flutter closed for a moment and try to get lost in the image.

"I know you would." He answers for you. "Know a whore when I feel her around my cock."

"Rob." You whisper. You hand goes down to your slacks again and you flush at how loud the zipper is when you pull it down.

"Eager little slut." Robert growls. "Did I say anything about touching your cunt yet?"

It feels impossible, but you draw your hand back out of your pants before you can relieve any of the building heat between your legs. You ache as you let out a short whine, biting down on your lip.

"Miss burying my face between those fucking thighs. You know how often I think of those nights, [Y/n]?"

You shutter, the ghosting memory of his beard scratching up your inner thighs red and pretty flashing through your head." Yeah? Have to dig back to that long ago huh?"

The two of you didn't talk about other people. In the years he was gone, you never once mentioned dating or fucking around. You certainly didn't have time for it, and he, well. He was a little preoccupied with not dying in prison. The flash of wonder crosses your mind, much to your chagrin— He was out now. And he hadn't come to see you. Maybe he...

"Yeah," He murmurs, like he knows why you're pausing. "No one else 'round I wanna think of."

It could be a lie, but you're flushing again at the hope it's not.

"Hope you're still wet for me, dove. Cuz I'm hard as all fucking hell for you."

You can't take it anymore. Shoving your hand under the band of your panties you moan as your fingers dip past your slick folds— Right over your aching clit.

"There you go." He praises, "That feel good, darling?"

You let out a choked whimper and hope it sounds like a yes. You circle your finger around the swollen bundle of nerves, your head falling back against your chair. You will yourself to remember the feeling of his tongue on you, mimicking the way he took you apart with it. It's a pale imitation, but his breath in your ear has your pulse quickening.

"Feel so good."

"Fuck." Robert groans softly. He lets go of a deep moan, and you know he's got a hand around his cock now, stroking himself as he listens to you. You twist your hand so that you can slip two fingers past your entrance, the flat of your palm still grazing your clit with every stroke. You sink your fingers in slowly, pumping them until that heat starts to build inside you.

"Wanna fuck that pretty whore mouth. That divine fucking cunt." He growls. "I'll have you on that desk— Mewling for your whole fucking floor to hear. You want that, [Y/n]? Want me fucking you right there, like the office slut?"

"Fuck, Robert." You sob. You place a foot up on one of your desk drawers, the angle allowing you to fuck yourself on your fingers harder. You spread your legs wide now, no longer caring about the door. You just need to come. Need him to make you come.

Robert swears under his breath when your panting breaths lace themselves with the keens that really get him going. He isn't going to come just yet— He liked hearing you come first— come undone just from his voice. The wet sound of your dripping sex fills your office, along with your tattered, muffled sobs.

"When I get there you're going to be screaming my fucking name, love." He says, and the mixed signals that shoot up your spine make you nearly buck up off the chair at the implication. It was no challenge at all to picture him there now— Picture him tongue fucking you, pounding you against the desk, riding him on this chair— All of it. Your heart leaps at the thought of really seeing him again, and your eyes roll up into the back of your head as you finally come, your orgasm tearing through you so suddenly you almost drop the phone.

After a few moments of listening to you come down from your high, the sly smile on the other end is abundantly obvious.

"Someone definitely heard that." He teases.

You sit up straight, quickly fixing your bra and shirt with your free hand.

"Shut up."

"See you soon, love." He says. And you realize he's making you a promise. The first in a long time. You pause from composing yourself, heart in your throat.

"Really?"

"Least I know the door will be unlocked."

"Lose my number, DuBois."

His laughter ends the call, and you finish your workday in high spirits.

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional​​ for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head. 

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you. 

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks. 

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication. 

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.  

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile. 

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed. 

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it. 

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly. 

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off. 

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically. 

He glares. 

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar. 

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, ��Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks. 

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible. 

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole. 

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-” 

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye. 

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands. 

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent. 

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line. 

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water. 

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there. 

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you. 

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat. 

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be. 

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten. 

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls. 

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you. 

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers. 

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.” 

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble. 

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens. 

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.” 

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy. 

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered. 

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder. 

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

[kyberphilosopher]

Bloodsport Headcanons

Headcanons for DC’s Bloodsport- Robert Dubois.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Can rant about the mother of his child for hours. Don’t bring her up, because he’s clearly not over whatever that bitch did and will start making up new cuss words for it.

Robert has his own little tradition of always watching Die Hard at Christmas time. Sometimes he sits on his phone but it’ll still be on in the background.

He’s not scared of spiders like he is rats, but if there’s a tarantula in his presence, he’s not a fan. He can kill it without screeching if other people are watching, but he uses just about the biggest weapon ever to do it.

A ham sandwich is his most frequent lunch.

He’s not picky when it comes to pizza. Pineapple? Fine. Crazy ass sausage? Cool. Fucking spaghetti? A pizza is a pizza.

I feel like he kinda smells like rain. I mean he probably smells like musty ass dirt or something since his jobs are usually so dirty, but there’s also rain.

Robert drinks his coffee black or with very little added.

Similarly, he thinks fancy ass coffee and drinks are dumb. Like frappe’s, pink drinks, etc., he’ll say, “What the fuck are you ordering?”

I bet he’s taken a few community college classes. Whether they lend a hand to his line of work, or just because he’s interested in the subject, there’s probably one or two he’s gone through. 

Robert is handy with housework. I’m talking about plumbing and... idk. I’m not good with that stuff. The word where they fix things around the house and something. 

Has thought about taking a hit on the Flash for fun. 

If his daughter ever came out as part of the LGBTQ, he would take her to a rally begrudgingly. It would take a while until their relationship is sort of salvageable, but I bet it’s possible after a certain point. 

I feel like he collects records or something like that. Probably the old stuff. 

*These headcanons can be expanded on and added to over time. Headcanons can be left in comments to be added to the list. These headcanons will be used in kyber’s fanfictions for this character. All headcanons can be used to inspire a fanfiction request. All headcanons discussed in comments must be discussed politely and are welcomed. Return frequently for new headcanons.

@honorarymarleyan​ not a fic, but some headcanons I’ve thought about after watching the movie until I come up with something good. Also I’ll be on the lookout for any fics of him I come across until then. 

[torchbearerkyle]

deadly nightshade.

CHAPTER 2: Unwanted bonding time

Rick Flag x Spy!reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, the Batfamily and a lizard.

Summary: Your first big mistake: trading the KGB for ARGUS

A/n: Hope I didn't keep you guys waiting. Likes, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

It was a normal day, as long as you ignore the fact that it wasn't. Your patience was running thin, as thin as the greying hair of your sweet elderly neighbour, who you hated lying to about being a Prima Ballerina on a daily basis. You wish you could slam the door of the refrigerator of the office kitchen shut and hear the satisfying rattle of the glass bottles inside. But instead, you tried to keep your temper under wraps, slightly pursing your lips as you exhale through your nose.

The slice of cake you bought was gone, and you had really looked forward to eating it. But one of your colleagues decided it was a great idea to eat something which was clearly not meant to be theirs. What a fantastic day to play real-life Cluedo with immature grown-up adults, you thought.

You let out a satisfying sigh as you leant into the leather of your chair, watching as Florence Crawley poured the freshly brewed coffee in Flag's small mug. A small smile adorned your lips, and you thanked her warmly as she offered you some. It would have looked suspicious if you refused. Flag kept his sturdy eyes trained on the file in front of him while his hand moved to bring the mug to his lips.

He coughed harshly as soon as he swallowed. Grimacing, he glanced at Florence, who stopped in her tracks to watch him perplexed. Flag's eyebrows furrowed, and the man gulped down half of his water before blurting out.

"Jesus, who put salt in the coffee? That shit's salty," Rick took his baseball hat off, wiping the sweat lining his brows before brushing his hair back. Looking expectantly at Florence, he sighed before catching the eyes of John, who only shrugged in response. You looked sympathetically at Flo, whose eyes remained firmly trained on the coffee pot. She cleared her throat, draining the coffee in the sink as she refused to glance at the Colonel in embarrassment. It served her right if she had been the one to eat your damn chocolate cake.

Free weeks between missions were usually for drafting dozens of reports for Waller and nothing else, well aside from healing to your peak strength for the next Task Force X mission. It didn't take a genius to figure out why Waller would purposely arrange useless meetings for you and Flag to attend as if the overwhelming tension between you two wasn't enough. She deliberately wanted you to suffer, and if there was one thing she didn't know about you, it was the fact that you would gladly sit down and listen to her go on with her nonsense if it meant you were indirectly asserting your power.

The chatter rapidly eased as the night fell, and the room plunged into an accustomed silence. A ting alerted you, and you subtly glanced around before letting the encrypted message in your desktop screen sink into your mind. Ignoring the warm wave that went through your body, your spine straightened before you pressed a few keys, the random symbols and signs turning into a disarray of alphabets.

Evqmjdbujpo dpnqmfuf. Joufm't tbgf. -OX

Duplication's complete. Intel's safe. -NW

You forced yourself to stay focused, but even the slightest movement at the corner of your eyes would ignite your stomach on fire. The shuffling of Flag's windbreaker against his chair was making you cringe, but as much as you would have loved to glare at him, your eyes remained on the screen, with your fingers swiftly typing in a furious sentence others would only deem random letters.

Gvdljoh Jejpu. Zpv dpvme ibwf dbmmfe nf.

The key to decrypting the sentences was simple. One alphabet off, so G became F, and V became U. But it was still a pain in the ass to translate for anyone who didn't have the alphabets burned into the back of their skull. You spent half an hour deleting any traces of the previous interaction before logging off and shutting it down. The risks NW took were unmatched but remarkably unnecessary, and if you could put it in words, it was like dangling a raw chicken in front of a Florida alligator. The alligator being an obvious metaphor to your lovely hard-headed boss. You could already hear his response to your encrypted message,

But where was the fun in that?

He was unquestionably going to get a piece of your mind the next time you were seeing him. As if you didn't almost die for the sake of those reports. You removed your blue light glasses as your eyes stung, and it didn't help any better when you caught Flag's wary lingering gaze.

Walking across the compound to the aircraft should not feel this good, but it did. Something about going on missions made you feel fresh and exuberant. Maybe it was the fact that there was not going to be a single person who would be sorrowful if you did not come back in one piece, or worst if you did not come back at all.

Well, you hoped that was only partly true. Surely, Stan would miss you, wouldn't he? You usually prided yourself on having a lot of self-control. But you knew you were not thinking straight when you brought that lizard out of that pet shop, knowing you would be away for the majority of your time. Hopefully, that little gremlin in Gotham was taking good care of him.

The team was a mess, and the pounding headache at the back of your skull was probably an early sign of a doomed mission. You were undeniably one for prison reform, but looking at the humanoid weasel who killed 27 children made you question your own opinion. What good could he possibly do?

Flag visibly let out a sigh at the absence of the customary female member of his team before she burst into the aircraft, gasping and running down the fuselage. Her duffel bag swung to her sides as she hopped over the several sprawled legs, her pigtails bouncing with character. Harley let out an unsuspecting squeal before lunging herself onto the woman dressed in the tac uniform similar to his. Rick kept his eyes on them for a few seconds before breaking away and subtly nodding at Briscoe for the take-off.

"Cookiecutter!" Harley exclaimed, tightening her arms around your torso. You nodded your head slightly, bringing your left hand to her lower back to pat her awkwardly.

"Harleen," You replied quietly, hoping she would let you go once you greeted her back. As much as you hated the nickname or nicknames in general, Harley has been nothing but pleasant to you, and well, it was impossible not to grow to care for her.

If someone had told you to take a bullet for your commanding officer a few months ago, you would have done it in a heartbeat. But people change, and so do you. Trying to empty your thoughts were useless as you stood barely a few metres away from him -eyes deliberately seeking the comfort of the red glow that somehow enhanced the softness of his cheekbones. Sometimes you wished you could have fed him to the venus flytrap on your desk.

Rick should have known the innocent exchange of words would somehow turn into a petty argument the minute he opened his mouth. He doesn't even remember the point of the debate, but the fierceness in your eyes was like fuel to his ego. Rick grinded his teeth. He knows he should stop, but the endless string of annoyance keep wrapping around his existence, engulfing him in a cocoon. His dentist advised him to quit damaging the crowns of his teeth, and Rick had half a mind to send you the bills. He turned his head away from you, his hands on his hips as he closed his eyes and exhaled in an attempt to calm down. The man froze as soon as he opened his eyes, surprised by the multiple gazes that stayed exclusively on his form. He gulped, redirecting his gaze to your cold glaring eyes as he silently tried to dismiss the argument. He felt like one half of a couple on the brink of divorce being caught red-handed in a heated dispute by his children.

You didn't seem to notice as you opened your mouth once again, "You know sometimes I wonder why they don't call you Dick instead," The plane turned silent, and the booming laugh in your comms caused you to look away as you bit the inside of your cheek to avoid the sides of your lips from turning upwards.

"Someone call the fire rescue. Flag just got burnt," John cracked out, bringing his hand up to stifle his mouth as he realised the communication channel was still open. His throat suddenly felt dry, and he smacked his lips a few times, clearing his throat before announcing the arrival of the plane at the drop area.

You silently hoped that the cold salty water would help ease Flag's fury as he dropped out of the plane and into the open ocean. The silent treatment and the harsh glare he gave you was not as threatening as you thought it would be, but they did rub you the wrong way. You pursed your lips. You did ask for it the moment you insulted him in front of your teammates.

If there was one thing you learnt during all of your years as a spy, it was that hiding or running away from danger was the equivalent of giving up. The irony in that statement was astounding as you hid behind a pile of rocks, grasping your bleeding forearm, thankful that the bullet only grazed the surface of your skin and the material of your tac jacket. Harley breathed heavily, her fingers tightly wrapped around her pistol as hundreds of hot bullets whizzed past your heads. Either of you would have guessed Blackguard would have been stupid enough to contact the Corto Maltese Army and trust them not to blow his face off, which was the first thing they did once you stepped foot onto the beach. That guy had the ostrich sized brain, and you were sure he would have lost in a fight against a squirrel.

The space between you and Harley was soon occupied by Flag as he slid next to you, his boots propelling sand everywhere. You frowned, keeping your back as close as possible to the cold surface of the rock while you roughly brushed the tiny itchy grains of sand from your wet hair. There was a certain level of chaos you were used to, and this battlefield was no different from the prison riots at Belle Reve. Metahumans were the cause of the most destructive phenomenons in the correctional centre found in the middle of the Louisiana swamps, and it didn't surprise you to see them cuffed and collared with heavy power dampeners to keep them under check. That's probably the reason why you could only stare at the two detached flying arms smacking the soldiers around.

You turned to look at Harley, only to be bashed with an overwhelming feeling at her absence. The dread was beginning to hammer the hairline fraction on your controlled demeanour as you felt the prickling heat on your neck. Your chest tightened, and all you could do was lash out at Flag for not stopping Harley from possibly getting killed as she ran off headfirst into the looming danger.

He only stared at you, baffled at your harsh words. Rick hadn't always been the recipient of your anger. You were a pretty passive-aggressive person most of the time. At least, you were unless something extraordinarily annoyed you. Hell, he wasn't sure he had ever gotten a smile out of you. All you ever seem to be doing is have that unimpressed monotone look on your face as if it was a crime to crack a smile once in a while.

He had first met you in Waller's office, where the woman promptly proceeded to tell him about his failed covert missions and how he had managed to fuck them all up by announcing everyone of their presence. In his defence, leading a group of criminals with bombs in their necks wasn't as easy as it sounded. They were like a herd of cats doing whatever the hell they wanted. He had glanced at you, swallowing the urge to snort. What could a woman in a pencil skirt do to stop that?

Rick was somewhat surprised and impressed the second time he had seen you. Prison guards had no mercy on anyone except their superiors, and who would have guessed that a newly employed innocent-looking woman would throw a very mean right hook. That man was bleeding buckets after he had catcalled you, and Amanda Waller barely flinched before continuing on with her tour of the headquarters. The fact that you carried on with the day with your blood-stained blouse did get an eyebrow raise out of him, and it wasn't until much later that it all made sense.

"Harley is a grown-ass woman! She knows what she's doing!" He yelled at you through the turmoil. The burning debris of the helicopter went flying everywhere, and it wasn't easy for you to come to terms with the death of several of your teammates as the flames raged on. You swallowed, staring blankly at the dark horizon before squinting your eyes at the blond head reaching for the cool water.

"Is that Savant? He's going to get his head blown off if he reaches too far," You said, sending a knowing look at Flag, who discreetly glanced behind his shoulder before standing up. You furrowed your eyebrows, reaching for this tactical vest to yank him down again.

"Are you trying to get shot, Flag? Do you have a fucking death wish?" You whispered aggressively before processing the fact that he had unknowingly grabbed your injured forearm to hoist you up. You swallowed a painful hiss, scrambling after him as you dodged several bullets. Flag had the surface area of a microvillus, and you couldn't say you were surprised when he caught two bullets in your pursuit to the edge of the woods.

All you could do was hold on to the back of his vest and push him along when he slowed down each time he was shot, and if you had a nickel for every time that occurred, you would have two, which wasn't a lot.

Despite the destruction, the fire helped by distracting the Corto Maltese Amry Soldiers, and you were glad you and Flag managed to sneak right under their noses. The trees stood tall, and the leaves did nothing except engulf the surrounding of unusual darkness. You could barely see where you were putting your feet, and the thorn edged branches kept having a go at your limbs. The scratches stung, but you knew better than to stop as Flag raced through the woods, his blood dripping on the soil. He had already discarded his tac vest a few minutes ago, and seeing him dispose of his rifle now that you were deeper in the woods made your mouth twist.

"Flag, you're leaving a trail. As if your blood wasn't enough," You said through your clenched teeth. That man was going to lead you right to your deaths. He turned, the grim on his face illuminated by the scarce moonlight. A huff left his lips, and before he could even speak, a shuffle kept you both on your toes. His eyes hardened, and Rick moved to grab your shoulders, backing you up against a tree in an attempt to conceal your presence in the shadows. You pursed your lips, silently watching over his broad shoulder.

"Is that a fucking hand?" You whispered, your voice barely steady as the fatigue and the horror settled. Rick turned, tightening his grip before he answered in his southern drawl,

"Shit, that's TDK's gauntlet," The wild dog was huge, with patchy fur all over his body. The blood dripping from his jaw was a sight straight from a horror movie. You turned your face around, having no desire to watch your dismembered former teammate get eaten by a wild animal. The guilt, fear and disappointment you felt was no stranger to you. Rick stepped away, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled.

"You should tell Waller. I lost my earpiece back there," He said, staring impatiently. You froze from your spot against the bark of the tree.

"Right," You answered, your shoulders tense as your mind blanked out. Rick held his arms up, his features contorting with annoyance.

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?" He frowned, his jaw tightening. You stood up as he came closer.

"I lost it when I jumped out of the plane, okay?!" Raising your voice was not the best idea, but it was better than looking like a scared lamb as he threw daggers at your head. He had never wished for your death so much before.

Walking through the woods peacefully was never an option, but the least you could do to avoid bickering was to remain in utter silence.

Tag list: @potato-doing-her-best @xoxabs88xox @cursedtobe @lov3vivian

[fuddlewuddle]

Ok, so I write a lot, and so if you ever wanna read my stuff

Here’s the link to where they all are

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuddlewuddle/works.

I mainly write Top Gun: Maverick, MCU and some DC, but I have been known to write some other pairings if they strike my fancy.

Enjoy 💜

[loverhymeswith]

What a Wicked Game | Ten

[Rick Flag x OFC]

Word Count: 4,503 words

Warnings: The Suicide Squad (2021) spoilers, language, mentions of blood, serious injuries, a little bit graphic, angst!

A/N: I feel like I should have put a slow-burn warning on this story from the start. Also, might have made it a little obvious how much I love Prague.

Masterlist

Angel

The sun has just risen over the city of Prague by the time the plane finally lands. They’ve been travelling for over sixteen hours, with multiple stops to refuel, but by some small miracle Angel has slept for the duration of the flight. Using her powers to render Rick unconscious wiped the last of her energy.

It’s a bright summer morning in the Czech capital, so at odds with the dark cloud hanging over her thoughts. As Jack helps her down the plane’s steps and onto the tarmac of the runway, she doesn’t feel particularly refreshed.

Her dreams have been haunted by abandoned warehouses and white lab coats, by masked henchmen and silver capped teeth. By the image of Rick’s body lying prone on the floor of his apartment as she made her escape. Waller will surely have found Rick by now, but will she believe that Angel escaped of her own accord? And just how is she going to punish him?

It doesn’t matter how much distance Angel puts between herself and Belle Reve, her fear for Rick outweighs any relief she could ever feel about being free.

The air is still fresh, peppering her skin with goosebumps and she pulls the oversized jacket tightly around her chest. She hasn’t taken it off yet. Despite being speckled with blood and dirt, it smells overwhelmingly of her colonel. Another painful reminder of everything she’s lost in exchange for her freedom.

But was he ever really hers?

“You gonna be ok on your own?” asks Jack, guiding her towards the exit of the small airfield. They’ve barely exchanged three sentences since she met him on the outskirts of Louisiana, but as a friend of Rick’s, she knows she can trust him.

As far as a response to his question goes though, Angel can only nod, scared that if she opens her mouth the truth will come spilling out. The truth that she’s terrified. That this is worse than any Task Force X mission Waller could possibly dream up because she doesn’t even have the squad by her side. Doesn’t have Rick. The one person who made her feel like she had a home. Even if that home was just a few precious hours of driving around together in his car.

Now she’s alone.

Prague is stunning. With ancient, winding cobbled streets and a skyline full of gothic steeples, it feels like she’s stepped into the pages of one of her favourite novels. But she’s struggling to fully appreciate the city’s beauty. Despite the folded-up tourist map now stashed in her pocket, Angel has never felt so lost.

With Jack - her only tie to Rick and home - now long gone, she trails the crowds into the centre of the city. After a while she finds herself standing on the middle of a sprawling bridge, already swarming with bodies despite the early hour. It’s claustrophobic, but ideal, allowing her to blend in amongst the tourists and students.

When she reaches the middle of the bridge, she stops to catch her baring, to catch her breath, because already it feels like she’s been walking for hours. She could easily stand here all day, looking out over the Vltava River, mesmerised by the way the sunlight reflects off the water’s surface, shimmering like diamonds. But the Joker’s blood money is burning a hole in her pocket. She needs to find some better clothes and judging by the pain in her stomach, a warm meal.

“Excuse me, Miss. Are you ok? Your face…”

Angel almost jumps out of her skin at the sudden appearance of a young dark-haired man standing by her side. It’s been so long since she’s had contact with anyone outside the vortex of Belle Reve, she’s forgotten how to act like a normal human being.

“Oh.” She touches her cheek and winces, remembering the cuts and bruises she sustained only a day earlier. Remnants of her final mission. It feels like a lifetime ago. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

The man offers her a gentle smile, joining her as she leans against the wall of the bridge. His blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. “You’re not from round here. American?”

“Is it that obvious?” Angel cringes. Perhaps she should have tried to disguise her accent before conversing with strangers on bridges. She hasn’t had chance to memorise the details of her forged identity documents, other than her new name.

“That makes two of us.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Lucas.”

“Kayla”, she offers, hesitating before returning the gesture. It’s been so long since someone touched her like this, so casually. She has to remind herself that she’s not going to hurt him. She’s in control.

“You staying local?” He enquires. It feels casual, but she’s uneasy about answering so many questions. She’s supposed to be laying low, staying under the radar.

She settles on the truth, for now. “I don’t know actually, I only just arrived.”

“Would you like to come and get a coffee with me?” He leans closer and she feels her pulse start to quicken, for the familiar surge of fight or flight to kick in. “I don’t want to sound too forward”, he adds. “It’s just, you’ve got blood on your jacket and people are beginning to stare.”

Angel has little choice but to follow Lucas along Charles Bridge and into the old town. To his credit, he doesn’t ask any further questions, not even when they are finally seated in the small café that boasts a charming view of the famous astronomical clock.

Over cappuccinos and Trdelník, Angel learns that Lucas works for the Wayne Foundation, specifically a small off shoot of the charity that provides aid to the victims of international meta-human attacks. He and a small team of co-workers travel the globe, lending a hand with anything from first aid and delivering supplies, to rebuilding neighbourhoods.

He’s seen more than enough over the years not to question why a young woman with cuts and bruises, wearing blood-splattered clothes that are quite clearly not her own, is wandering around a foreign city. Doesn’t pressure her to tell him anything she doesn’t want to. He just thinks she could maybe use some help.

And perhaps it’s the link back to Gotham via the Wayne Foundation, or perhaps it’s Lucas’ genuinely friendly offer of food, shelter, and honest work - the opportunity to make right some of the terrible things she’s done - but Angel finds herself agreeing to work with him.

She has enough cash to travel the world right now if she wanted to. But what’s the fun in doing that on her own?

_____________________________________________________________

Working for the Wayne Foundation is more demanding than Angel could have imagined. But she prefers it this way. It keeps her busy. Less time to think about what she has left behind. Of course, there is a risk that one day she’ll find herself cleaning up a mess caused by Task Force X, but any meta-humans are usually long gone by the time Lucas’s team arrives on scene.

Besides which, Rick never lets his squad linger.

After only a few months, she’s already visited five countries. This is good. Rick told her to keep moving; makes it harder to be tracked. She wishes she could let him know that she’s ok, though. That she’s finally doing something good. Likes to think he would be proud of her. Still, she keeps her eyes peeled on every single job just in case she might catch a glimpse of those broad shoulders, those hazel eyes.

The team are currently stationed in South America, having just helped with the rebuild of a small city that was devastated by a rogue meta-human. They’re enjoying a rare amount of downtime between jobs, when Lucas calls Angel over to the small television set in the team’s shared quarters.

“Hey Kayla, come check this out.”

Still not quite used to the new name, she joins him on the threadbare sofa and peers at the screen. It looks like a colossal… starfishis making short work of destroying a city. “What the hell is that?”

Before Lucas can answer, his cell phone starts ringing. They exchange a brief glance. The phone only rings to inform them of their latest assignment. She has no idea where the decisions come from, whether it’s Bruce Wayne himself or just one of his lackeys.

While Lucas jots down a series of scribbled notes on the back of a receipt, muttering sounds of agreement to the nameless presence on the other end of the line, Angel turns her attention back to the television, scanning the screen for any sign of help. The starfish, pink and blue with a gigantic eye in the centre of its body, now appears to be injured, but there’s no Justice League members, or military to be seen.

“No prizes for guessing where we’re off to next”, Lucas grimaces, pocketing the cell phone.

“Where is this?” She points to the TV. The sound is turned down so she can’t hear what the reporter is saying.

“Corto Maltese”, Lucas replies, standing up and offering her a hand. “Small island off the coast of Argentina. That thing has escaped. Right in the middle of a political coup, no less.”

Their current location is not far from Argentina, Angel realises with a start. They can probably make it there in a couple of hours. “Escaped from where?”

“Some research facility, if you can believe it. Stinks of the US government if you ask me.”

Angel can believe it. She’s cleaned up enough of her country’s messes during her time with Task Force X to know what her government is capable of. The images on the screen are stirring a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “We’re going?”

Lucas nods. “Get your stuff. A chopper is on the way.”

_____________________________________________________________

There’s a military escort waiting when Angel and the W.E. chopper land on Corto Maltese several hours later. Her initial panic on spotting the armoured trucks and machine gun wielding soldiers is slightly alleviated when she realises it’s not the US army, but rather the local forces. She hangs back while Lucas introduces the team to their welcome party and attempts to establish where they might be needed the most. Apparently, the alien starfish has now been destroyed, but there is no word on why it was able to escape in the first place.

As she waits for instruction, a dark-haired woman in combat gear quietly approaches. A brief flicker of fear grips Angel by the throat. She’s been trying her best to fade into the background, but the way this woman is staring. It’s like she knows exactly who Angel is.

The woman is standing directly before Angel now, gun in hand. She looks battle-worn and bloody, but there’s a determined grit to her jaw. “You’re American, yes? The healer?”

“I’m sorry?” Angel frowns, even as the woman’s words confirm her fear.

The stranger leans in a fraction closer, her voice dipping to barely a whisper. “Harley Quinn said…”

Angel stiffens at the mention of her friend’s name and her gut begins to churn. Harley? Could that mean….

Angel’s reaction apparently tells the woman all she needs to know. “You need to come with me now. Your friends need your help.”

“Harley’s here?” Angel’s heart flutters with a hybrid mixture of panic and yearning. Friends. If Harley’s here, that means…

“Yes, you must come now.” The woman glances over her shoulder before adding, “Alone.”

No one is paying attention. The rest of the team have disembarked and are unloading supplies from the chopper. She could easily slip away without them noticing.

“My name is Sol Soria.” The woman offers her a brief handshake, although it seems a little late for introductions. “Your friends, they helped me save this country.”

Angel has heard enough to confirm her suspicions. The Suicide Squad is here. And this woman wants to take her to them. She should be worried about Waller, about being discovered, but the desire to see Harley, the desire to see Rick, is simply overwhelming. It’s been months, but the pain of their parting hasn’t lessened.

She nods her consent and before she knows what’s happening, Sol Soria is leading her past the soldiers and into the back of a truck. She feels bad for leaving Lucas and the others, but it’s too risky. She can’t let him know she has anything to do with Task Force X.

The Starfish has laid to waste everything around them. Buildings torn to rubble, vehicles crushed, bodies strewn across the streets. It’s a warzone. Angel heart is in her mouth as they drive through the ruined city. At least the anxiety prevents a myriad of questions from spilling out. Like where are they going? How did they find her? Is Rick ok?

Sol Soria attempts to fill her in on the recent events. So far, Angel has gathered that Soria is the leader of a small rebellion. With the help of a certain group of super-villains, she was able to topple the corrupt regime who staged the military coup that killed her family. Soria has also assured Angel that the US government will not be bothering them for the time being, but if she knows that Angel is a fugitive, she doesn’t mention it.

The truck eventually pulls up outside a hospital. Ambulances are unloading the injured into the arms of waiting doctors and nurses. Fear turns to dread, sluicing through Angel’s veins like tar and weighing her down until it’s difficult to speak.

“Why have you brought me here?” She manages to choke out.

Before Soria can answer, a hauntingly familiar figure emerges from the shadow of the building. Her long blonde hair is now dip dyed red and black, and she’s wearing an unusually elegant, albeit torn crimson dress, but it is most definitely Harley Quinn staring back at her through smudged eye makeup.

She barely makes it out of the vehicle before Harley is launching herself, engulfing Angel in a bone crunching hug. “Thank god you’re here.”

Angel grasps Harley by the shoulders and manages to squeeze out of her embrace so she can speak. “What the hell is going on, Harley? How did you know I’d be coming?”

She’s known Harley for long enough to have a pretty good idea of the type of resources the Queen of Gotham has amassed over the course of her criminal career, but it doesn’t stop her from being astonished by the current turn of events.

“I have my ways”, Harley shrugs. “But we don’t have time for that. It’s lucky you were so close by. Thanks lady, I’ll take it from here.” She dismisses Soria with a wink and grabs Angel by the hand.

“Why don’t we have time? What’s happened? What about Waller?”

“Forgot how much you like to ask questions.” Harley shakes her head in amusement. “All you need to know right now is that Waller ain’t here and she ain’t gonna know you’ve been here, neither. You’re safe.”

Angel slips free of Harley’s grip. “I think you better tell me what’s going on Harley. Who else is here?”

The Queen of Crime turns to face her and it’s only then that Angel notices all the cuts and bruises, realises how ashen she is, the lack of humour in her usually sparkling eyes. Something really is wrong.

“It’s Flag.”

A jolt of terror spears through Angel’s heart at the sound of his name. “Rick?”

“How many flags d’ya know?”

“Is he…is he ok?” She almost doesn’t want to know the answer. If he’s here, in hospital surely it can’t be good.

Harley grabs her by the hand again, her nails digging tightly into Angel’s skin. “Hopin’ you can tell us that, sweetie.”

Please let him be ok.

Please let him be ok…

Angel allows Harley to pull her around the side of the building, avoiding the ambulances and medical staff. When they reach what appears to be the back of the hospital. Harley removes a filthy boot and uses it to smash open a small window.

“Harley, why are we breaking into the hospital?” Angel asks as Harley pulls herself up to the window ledge that sits just above shoulder height. “Are we not supposed to be here?”

Harley glances over her shoulder, her torso balanced precariously on the wooden sill. “Sorry, habit. Besides, this is a shortcut.”

Angel lets out a sigh as a pair of pale legs disappear from view. Now she remembers why working with the squad was never easy.

After following Harley through the window and down a labyrinthian series of corridors, Angel finally finds herself standing outside a fairly non-descript door, somewhere in the heart of the hospital.

Despite the pair’s odd appearance, Harley in her crimson ball gown and Angel in her tactical jumpsuit, the staff haven’t paid them any mind. Everyone is far too busy running around with patients in wheelchairs and stretchers.

As Harley raps on the door, Angel’s body vibrates with anxiety for what she’s going to find on the other side. Every nerve is on fire, as if she’s stepped into a flaming building. Almost instantly the door bursts open, revealing a tall, stern man in a battered blue leather suit. He seems vaguely familiar. Perhaps she’s seen him around Belle Reve. But she’s too concerned with the built-in gun that has just emerged from his suit and is now pointing rather aggressively in their direction.

He steps out, carefully closing the door behind him and glances from Angel to Harley. “This is her? This is your plan.”

Despite everything she’s feeling right now, Angel still prickles at his tone, but Harley pushes her forwards. “Milton, meet the Angel of Death.”

The man replies with “that doesn’t fill me with confidence”, at exactly the same time that Angel questions, “Milton?”

“How many times, Quinn? The name’s not fucking Milton.” He inclines his head towards Angel in an imitation of politeness. “Robert Dubois.” He turns back to Harley. “You sure she can do this?”

The lingering anxiety and fear are swiftly replaced by anger. Why are they wasting time bickering when Rick is lying beyond that door in heaven knows what state? Dubois wants proof of her abilities? She can give him that.

Without warning, Angel grabs Harley’s arm and squeezes. The cuts on Harley’s face gradually stitch back together before disappearing completely.

“Ooh, it itches.” Harley laughs, pressing her fingers to her cheek and brow.

“Now let me inside”, she tells Dubois, leaving no room for argument in her tone.

“You better do as she says, Milton. I’ve seen her take down much bigger guys than you.”

The room smells of antiseptic. Machines are beeping and whirring in the background. Warm light spills through the partially opened blinds, drawing Angel’s attention to the single bed in the centre of the room; its occupant is covered in blood, sweat and dirt. Long lashes fan over the dark circles beneath his eyes. The lower half of his face is covered with a ventilator, while too many wires run under the covers.

Angel’s seen this kind of set up before, back when she was a nurse. Knows without a shadow of a doubt.

The machines are the only thing keeping him alive.

She staggers forwards until she’s gripping the bed rail, her knuckles turning white. “What…what happened?”

Dubois steps beside her, his shadow falling over the white sheets that conceal Rick’s body. “Long story short, the mission was fucked. Flag was trying to do the right thing, as fucking usual, but Waller…”

“Waller did this”, Harley interrupts, also coming to stand beside Angel. She places a hand on her shoulder. “But you can fix him, right sweetie?”

“I, I don’t know.” Angel’s voice is shaking. This was never part of the plan. Leaving Rick was supposed to keep him safe.

Dubois reaches into the tray at the end of the bed, pulling out several sheets of thin film. X-rays. “Docs say it’s pierced his heart. Can’t remove it though or he’ll bleed out.”

Angel’s eyes land on the images and immediately she feels her knees start to give way. Something sharp and jagged is logged in Rick’s chest cavity. Even from the grainy image she can tell it’s punctured that most precious organ.

“This wasn’t an accident. Someone did this to him?” She looks to Harley for confirmation. She can feel tears begin to prick her eyes.

The other woman nods solemnly. “Leave me to take care of that. You just gotta fix him, ok?”

Angel realises how much Harley has come to care for Rick in her own unique way. She can see it in the hollowness of her expression. In the way she bites her lip. This is about as close as she’s seen her friend come to genuine grief.

Rounding the corner of the bed, Angel reaches out and pushes a lock of Rick’s hair back from his damp brow. It’s grown so much since she last saw him. The action sends a jolt of memory crashing through her.

Hands running through his hair as his lips crashed against hers.

“How long do we have?” She asks, brushing off the memory as it threatens to destroy her.

“Long as it takes”, Dubois grunts. “Waller thinks he’s dead. And she ain’t comin’ for us. We’re free.”

Free?

She doesn’t have time to dwell on the implications of that statement right now. Her priority is Rick.

“Ready?” asks Dubois.

She nods.

Carefully he pulls back the covers, revealing Rick’s broken body. The x-rays weren’t enough to prepare her for what she sees now. Her hands unconsciously drift to his bare chest, where the white ceramic tile, stained with blood, penetrates his skin. She can feel his heart-beat fluttering so faintly. It’s so weak.

She’s never tried to heal anything like this before. At this point, her goal is usually to take away the pain, whatever way she can. Doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to fix this. But it’s Rick. She has to try.

She places her hands on Rick’s chest, either side of the tile, and using the x-ray image as a guide, pictures the tissue, muscle and skin knitting back together. Sweat forms across her own brow as she works, conscious that Harley and Dubois are watching her every move. It’s slow, so slow, this process. And she can only trust her gut, her intuition, that it’s even working.

Eventually she senses the cells of Rick’s heart fusing back together, just enough that they start to reject the foreign object impaled within his ribcage. Almost imperceptibly the shard of tile is forced upwards, until Angel can slide it out of his skin completely. The wound on his chest remains, but with the last of her strength she manages to seal it shut.

Everything goes dark.

_____________________________________________________________

Angel wakes to find herself tucked into a chair beside the hospital bed. Memories come flooding back, sending her jumping out of the chair and flying to Rick’s side. She checks his pulse. It’s stronger than before, and he’s breathing on his own. Someone’s removed the ventilator.

But he’s still asleep and she won’t wake him. He doesn’t need to know she was here. It will just make everything harder. Because she can’t stay, not now he’s finally escaped Waller’s vice like grip. If only there was some way he could free himself from the Joker, too.

Harley and Dubois are nowhere to be seen, but she doesn’t want to vanish without saying goodbye to them. Also knows it’s not safe to be wandering around. There’s still a price on her head.

Waiting for them to return, she moves to the sink, dampens a cloth and uses it to wipe the dirt and blood from Rick’s brow. Tries to memorise the lines of his face as she’s so very conscious that this is the last time that she’ll see him.

She’s not sure how long she was passed out for, but she needs to find her way back to Lucas and the others soon. Needs to get off this island as soon as possible before anyone starts looking too closely. Doesn’t fully trust that Waller and A.R.G.U.S. aren’t suddenly going to storm in and arrest her again.

Once she’s cleaned Rick’s skin she presses a kiss to his forehead, to his lips, ever so softly. Has to remind herself that it’s better this way, even if she would give anything to see those hazel eyes again, to hear him laugh.

Perhaps in another lifetime.

When his eyelids start to flutter, she takes it as her cue to leave.

Tears streaming down her face, she almost runs into Harley lurking in the corridor.

“Hey”, she grabs Angel by the arm, scrutinising her face. “Is he gonna be ok?”

Angel hastily attempts to dry her eyes, even though she’s aware that it’s too late because Harley has already seen her crying. “I think so, but you should get the doctors to keep an eye on him.”

“You ain’t stayin’?”

Angel shakes her head. “I don’t want to complicate things for him.”

“Oh honey, you are both such idiots.”

“Don’t tell him I was here.”

Rick

The last thing Rick feels before everything goes dark is a sense of relief.

He’s given everything, everything, for his country, only to learn, truly, that he was never anything more than a pawn. And now, with this thing impaled in his chest, he has nothing left to give.

It’s over.

Maybe now he can rest.

The image of Peacemaker’s ashen face still looms above him, a faint sliver of regret in the villain’s eyes as Rick utters his final words.

“What a joke.”

Except they aren’t his last words after all. Because even though he was sure the darkness had finally claimed him, carrying him away, he becomes aware of a bright light overhead. Becomes aware he has limbs, a chest, and it hurts. It hurts so fucking much.

“Quick Milton, I think he’s awake.”

That fucking voice.

He manages to croak out a single word. “Harley?”

“We gotta stop meeting like this, am I right?”

Rick’s mind is too busy swimming through a murky pool of half-memories to fully comprehend what she’s saying.

His eyes feel glued shut and it’s painfully bright when he finally manages to open them. Someone passes him a straw. He tries to sip the water but his throat burns. “What happened? Is Cleo ok? The drive…”

“She’s fine”, another voice replies. Deeper. British. Male. “The girl did good. We got your precious drive.” The familiar figure of Robert Dubois steps into view.

“Starro, the Thinker…”

Harley smirks down at him. “All taken care of. Guess you trained us pretty good after all, Flag.”

“I thought Peacemaker… I thought I was…”

Harley reaches out and takes his hand in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. “Nearly.”

“Tell me everything.”

Taglist - please let me know if you want to be added!

@rexorangecouny

[missmitchieg]

Cleo smiled as she sat on the hard, lumpy couch next to Robert, who was currently awkwardly petting Sebastian in his lap. Since the Squad had taken up residence in their old, abandoned house, they had sort of settled into a somewhat domestic routine: Wake up in the morning to the smell of Harley badly making eggs and bacon, eat breakfast together while joking and laughing about each other's most embarrassing stories, get briefed by Waller on their next mission, complete it, go home and shower, bond with each other, retreat to everyone's bedrooms to fall asleep. Cleo loved every minute of it. Of course she missed the friends she had lost, but her still living friends made it easier to deal with her grief.

Cleo chuckled as Robert flinched at Sebastian's attempt to nuzzle into his large hand, followed by Sebastian's gentle squeaked apologies. "Sebastian says he's sorry he frightened you and he'll stay still longer next time." She translated for the sweet rat, patting his head.

Robert nodded, his eyes slightly wide and his jaw stressed. "I appreciate that." He assured the rat, looking up when he heard the doorbell ring in that garbled, scratchy tone.

Cleo looked up as well and stood up to get the door, Sebastian scurrying to climb onto her shoulder. She smiled and nuzzled the rat's head, pulling the door open to see none other than Christopher Smith. Peacemaker himself. "Peacemaker?!" She cried out in shock.

"What?!" Harley screeched from her chair, stopping her latest knitting project. "He's alive?!"

"Peacemaker?" Nanaue said in confusion and looked up.

"The fuck are you doing here, mate?" Robert deadpanned as he stood from the couch, gun in hand.

"Woah! I'm not looking for trouble, guys!" Christopher vowed, his hands up in surrender.

"Easy, Robert." Cleo soothed gently, keeping her eyes on Christopher. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Waller told me you all were living here now, and as part of the Squad, I feel like I deserve to live here, too." Christopher said simply.

Cleo studied the man for a moment in silence. "You know," she started, a small smile on her face. "you may have killed Flag, and you tried to kill me, and you tried to kill Robert, and you insulted Nanaue, but..." she shrugged. "Ehh, I am willing to give you a second chance." She granted.

"I appreciate that." Christopher nodded his thanks, about to step inside before Cleo slapped a hand over the wall to stop him, her kind smile replaced by a serious scowl. "Cleo?"

"I may be giving you a second chance," She started. "but I swear to God if you hurt Nanaue, or you try to kill Robert again, I will not hesitate to sic a dozen angry rodents up your ass." She threatened. "Understood?"

Christopher blinked and nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am." He confirmed.

"Good. Hey, Harley." Cleo turned to Harley, grinning brightly at the blonde. "You want to get tacos?"

Harley perked up at that, clapping giddily. "OOH, let's get wine drunk together, too, and watch some chick flicks!"

"Let's!" Cleo nodded and stepped aside to let Christopher inside.

"Fuck, yeah! I'll bring some nom nom back for you in case you get hungry, Nanaue." Harley promised and patted the shark king's nose as she stood up and put her shoes back on, walking to the door.

"Yeah!" Nanaue's excited roar echoed off of the walls, webbed fists clenched as he celebrated having a snack later.

Cleo giggled and shook her head at her weird ass found family, crossing her arms. "Robert, Christopher, there is alphabet soup on the stove to heat up if you get hungry. Nanaue, make sure these two don't kill each other while we're gone." She instructed with a smile and she and Harley walked out with a wave, content to get some tacos, wine and girly movies with her friend.

[charnelhouse]

Hey Queen💜 It's Perseids season here and it got me thinking about this request...would you consider stargazing with Rick Flag and Bloodsport? Maybe drinking and chilling after some especially tough mission - and then things can get as spicy as you would like.

A/N: Rick Flag x F!Reader x Robert DuBois. Sum Smut.

The wet grass seeps into your pants - cold and damp as it sinks into your skin. Flag and DuBois flank your sides - two enormous bodies - soft with heat as they unconsciously press themselves against you.

“Beer?” DuBois asks after he’s already shoving the bottle into your hand. It’s two days until the next mission and the air is swept up with that sharp adrenaline - that curious bite of energy that always blossoms before you board that jet to places unknown.

“How’s the wrist?” Flag asks you - gently touching it - thumb and forefinger gripping the swollen flesh.

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “I’ll be careful with it.”

"Better be," DuBois interjects. "I need that hand."

You raise an eyebrow. "For?"

He goes slack with innocence while Flag rolls his eyes. "Things."

The last fight had been rough. Each of you is still recovering - still wrapping your limbs and placing bags of ice on bruised bones. Flag had been furious at Waller - pissed that she would shove you into another mission so quickly after one that had nearly meant the death for all three of you.

It’s Waller, Flag. Are we surprised? We could have our brains falling out of our heads and she’d still put us on a team if we could shoot straight.

***

“It’s gorgeous,” you murmur as you stare at the sky. The canvas of silk blue night - the spray of glittering stars - blinking blinking - before its split by the sudden blaze of a meteor.

“It’s alright,” DuBois grumbles as he shifts next to you - reaching behind him to find another beer. Rick leans closer - the length of his frame slightly overwhelming. It’s the smell of them both - that smoke and musk and sweat that lingers like a natural aftershave.

Fever swells between your legs - warm and slick and it’s that desire that breaks you open. You’re not normal. You’re burdened by strange wants and that creeping need to be overtaken or filled up or punched with pleasure before a fight - after a fight - all the damn time.

You offer Rick a sideways glance and it’s already there - already written across his expression. That want - that longing to touch and feel before you’re shipped out. You’ve fucked him before - fucked DuBois before and there’s a camaraderie between the three of you that no one else really understands. The way you’re treated like dogs and made to heel beneath Waller’s boots. The way you keep to the shadows - built for the darker missions - the ones that are fated to end in death.

Used like target practice - bait - little worms on a hook.

You turn to face DuBois and he meets you halfway - large hand on your cheek before he’s crushing his mouth to yours. There’s the shove of his tongue as you feel Flag’s hands on your hips - fingers moving under your clothes and then curling deep inside the soaked channel of your cunt.

“C’mon - now,” DuBois whispers into your ear - jaw sharp against your shoulder. “Get on that pretty back for us.”

Flag is there as he always is - the solid, perfect wall of him. His kindness and weariness out of place in your ramshackle, psychotic group of misfits. “Such a good girl,” he hums. “Wet little thing.”

It’s like everything falls into place - movements rolling into the next - words and tongues and lips solidly intertwining until you find yourself shaking apart on Flag’s cock. DuBois hot and thick in your mouth and it’s nice - a lovely little respite from the cloud of shit that has become your life.

“The shower,” you gasp into Flag’s kiss. ‘We’re missing it.”

A chuckle rises from DuBois - low and oddly tender for someone like him. “No need,” he says. “This view is nicer.”

[webtrinsic1122]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Suicide Squad (2021), Suicide Squad (2016), DCU Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Rick Flag/Harleen Quinzel, Rick Flag & Harleen Quinzel, Cleo Cazo & Robert DuBois Characters: Rick Flag, Harleen Quinzel, Cleo Cazo, Robert DuBois, Nanaue Sha'ark, Abner Krill Additional Tags: Protective Rick Flag, Protective Harleen Quinzel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family, Ship fic if you squint, Protective Team, Rick Flag Lives, Abner Krill Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Fix-It, Day At The Beach, Fluff and Angst Summary:

At the end of the day they retreat to the beach where there are no bodies stuck in the sand.

[tempusinfinituum]

—who I write as✨

this goes for RP; I usually prefer 1x1 or a small group of like 5-10 people. Large RPG’s give me anxiety. This also goes for any Fanfiction requests. I’ll be posting some of my work here soon so you guys can tell me whether I should quit or not. 😂 JK but constructive feedback is always appreciated. Just don’t be an asshole for the sake of being an asshole.

TV Shows

The Fosters

Callie Adams Foster

Mariana Adams Foster

American Horror Story

Adeline Goode (OC)

Cordelia Goode

Fiona Goode

Misty Day

Myrtle Snow

Madison Montgomery

Zoe Benson

Queenie

Nan

Mallory

Violet Harmon

Vivian Harmon

Lily Harmon (OC)

Emmaline Langdon (OC)

Miss Mystic Esmarelda

Annabeth Darling (OC)

Scream Queens

Chanel Oberline

Chanel #2

Chanel #3

Grace

Zayday

Dean Munsch

Orange is the New Black

Nicky Nichols

Galina “Red” Reznikov

Lorna Morello

Piper Chapman

Alex Vause

Poussey Washington

Taystee

Brook Soso

Grey’s Anatomy

Meredith Grey

Cristina Yang

Lexie Grey

Ellis Grey

Callie Torres

Arizona Robbins

Sofia Sloan Torres

Zola Grey-Shepherd

Ellis Grey-Shepherd

Izzie Stevens

Maggie Pierce

Jo Wilson

Stephanie Edwards

Addison Montgomery

Amelia Montgomery (OC)

Amelia Shepherd

Lizzie Shepherd

Miranda Bailey

Glee

Rachel Berry

Quinn Fabray

Brittany S. Pierce

Santana Lopez

Mercedes Jones

Tina Cohen-Chang

Sue Sylvester

Emma Pillsbury

Marley Rose

Lennox Hudson (OC)

Trinkets

Moe Truax

Elodie Davis

Tabitha Foster

Euphoria

Rue Bennett

Jules Vaughn

Cassie Howard

Katherine Hernandez

Maddy Perez

Lexi Howard

Medium

Allison DuBois

Ariel DuBois

Bridgette DuBois

Marie DuBois

So Weird

Fiona Phillips

Molly Phillips

Irene Bell

Chloe Bell (OC)

Pushing Daisies

Charlotte “Chuck” Charles

Olive Snook

Vivian Charles

Lily Charles

Charlie Charles-Edwards (OC/they never included the Pie Maker’s last name in the show, but they did have an episode that showed his fathers initials were E.E. so I assume it could be Edwards.)

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Violet Baudelaire

Sunny Baudelaire

Justice Strauss

Dr. Georgina Orwell

Esme Squalor

Shameless

Fiona Gallagher

Debbie Gallagher

Veronica “Vee” Fisher

13 Reasons Why

Hannah Baker

Jessica Stanley

Stranger Things

Eleven/Jane

Max Mayfield

Nancy Wheeler

Joyce Byers

Movies

After

Tessa Young

Molly Samuels

Steph Jones

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Sam

Mary Elizabeth

Candace

The Runaways

Joan Jett

Cherie Currie

Lita Ford

Scream

Sydney Prescott

Gail Weathers

Jill Roberts

Kirby Reed

Sarah Prescott (OC)

Hannah Riley (OC)

Harry Potter

Hermione Granger

Ginny Weasley

Lily Luna Potter

Molly Weasley

Lily Potter

Nymphadora Tonks

Bellatrix Lestrange

Practical Magic

Sally

Gillian

Both of the aunts.

Both of Sally’s daughters.

RENT

Mimi Marquez

Maureen Johnson

Joanne Jefferson

Angel Dumott-Schunard

Mariana Schunard-Collins (OC)

Bella Marquez-Davis (OC)

Hairspray

Amber Von Tussle

Shelley (from the nicest kids in town—ships with Amber)

Penny Pingleton

Inez Stubbs

Tracy Turnblad

Pitch Perfect

Beca

Chloe

Aubrey

Emily

Fat Amy

Stacie

Sweeney Todd

Nellie Lovett

Johanna Barker

Lucy Barker

Repo! The Genetic Opera

Shilo

Blind Mag

Marnie

Mamma Mia

Sophie Sheridan

Donna Sheridan

Tanya

Rosie

I’ll add more as the inspiration strikes.