“What the hell are you doing in my bathroom at 3am?”
“Bleeding out, obviously. Why else would I be on my nemesis’ bathroom floor? It’s not even clean.”
A/N: A brief intermission from Reporter!Reader fics... trying this out. Requests open for Adrian Chase, especially Adrian Chase x Reporter!Reader. Message me to be added to the Vigilante taglist, and read all my Vigilante fics here!
Injury - Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Antihero!Reader
You lived alone.
No roommate, no pets. Hell, your friends barely ever visited.
...Which is why you were so confused - and concerned - to hear what sounded like an adult man wandering through your small apartment at 3 am.
Trying to stay calm, you rose out of bed, pulling your mask over your face - the one usually reserved for your outings as a superhero - and gripping a small knife. It wouldn’t do much, you knew, but you hated guns.
You gathered all your courage, and burst through your bathroom door, holding your knife on your would-be attacker-
Disappointed to see it was none other than your nemesis, Vigilante, collapsed on your bathroom tile.
“What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?”
“Bleeding out, obviously. Why else would I be on my nemesis’ bathroom floor? It’s not even clean.”
You tossed the knife away. If Vigilante was here to kill you, he would have by now. Unlike you, he had nothing against guns.
“Eh. Tried to go after a murderer.”
“An actual murderer?” you questioned, skeptically. You knew of Vigilante’s infamously loose moral code. He nodded.
“Yeah. Real bad guy.”
“Did you get him?”
“Yeah. Not before he got me, though.”
Vigilante lifted his hand off his costume, revealing a huge wound.
“I need, um... help.”
“Yeah. But, okay, I'll make you a deal," he said, holding out his finger, woozily, "You help me... I won't kill you."
You were sure he couldn't, even if he wanted to. It looked like there was more blood on your floor than in his whole body.
"I just - I didn't have anywhere to go."
"How about a hospital?"
He shrugged. You knew what he meant - a hospital probably wouldn’t be very understanding of his injuries - or how he’d attained them.
“Fine. I’ll patch you up-”
His eyes lit up.
“...On one condition.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “What?”
“I want to see your face.”
“What? No. No!” he squealed, backing away from you. You sighed.
“Alternatively, I can just wait till you bleed out all over my floor, and take your mask off then - you know, before I drop you off at a morgue.”
“Why is it so important, anyway?”
“...I don’t know. You’ve been trying to kill me for three years, I’d kind of like to know what you look like.”
“I don't know what you look like, either,” Vigilante pointed out. “And I tried to kill you because you’re a criminal.”
“Yes, I am. I’m a criminal because I steal medicine for people who can’t afford it. That’s a lot of people, and they need my help.”
“...Oh,” said Vigilante, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t know... that was why. I thought you were stealing the medicine ‘cause... drugs.”
“Well, I’m not. You gonna take your mask off, or not?”
“Yes. Okay. Fine. Yes!”
You knelt down, beginning to undo the clasp, sliding it over his head-
And revealing... maybe the face of an angel.
“Your turn,” said Vigilante, and you eyed him.
“No way. That’s not part of our deal.”
“Look... if you show me your face, I promise not to come after you again. Okay?”
“I’m trusting you here, okay?”
“You can trust me.”
Holding your breath, you lifted the mask off your face and shook your hair out.
“Here I am,” you said, quietly.
“Wow,” said Vigilante. “You’re... hot.”
You scowled. He tapped his wound.
“Could you... I’m still kinda dyin’ here.”
“Oh, yeah,” you said, grabbing a needle and antiseptic from under your sink. Vigilante’s eyes lingered on your concentrating face as the first stitch went in...
And he didn’t flinch at all.
Rick Flag (DCEU) x Reader
Summary: You and Colonel Flag get into a heated fight after a failed mission. Things heat up even more when you use each other to release your anger. Part of the Enemies While Lovers series.
Word count: 1,792
Warnings: Unprotected vaginal sex, rough sex, hate sex, semi-public sex/car sex, creampie, semi-public oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, degradation, demeaning names (including c*nt), established relationship, uneven power dynamic (colonel/lieutenant)
Another unsuccessful mission. While you and Rick miraculously make it out with your limbs intact and your hearts still beating, most of the squad is killed, and any who aren’t are clinging to life in operating rooms across the hospital. Yet, instead of blaming poor intel like he should be, Rick is busy blaming you for the failure.
Inside the hospital, he expresses his rage in seething glares and stiff posture. The muscles of his jaw bulge under the tightness of his gritted teeth. His nostrils flare with each sharp, furious inhale. His skin flushes red and the veins in his neck stand out like vines around a tree trunk. He bottles himself like a rocket ready for launch, and as soon as you’re in the empty parking garage under the hospital, he clears his rage for liftoff.
“Again!” he barks. “You blew an entire operation again!”
“Oh, fuck you, Flag. It wasn’t me who blew the operation and you know it. It was blown before we got there.”
He pivots to face you. Jabbing his forefinger at your face. “You were supposed to close off ranks—”
“There weren’t ranks to close off!”
“But instead, you went rogue.” He chops his hand aggressively through the air to emphasize his point. “If you’d just followed the fucking plan—”
“If I’d followed the plan,” you interject, “we’d both be dead right now!”
You steal the brief pause before Rick can speak again and blurt out, “God, you’re infuriating. I saved your life—for the second time, mind you—and all you can do is scream at me!”
A thick silence settles heavily over you, charged and crackling. The fury fueling it is palpable. It raises the hairs on your arms and prickles at the cold sweat dripping down the nape of your neck.
The colonel looms menacingly over you with a sickening snarl etched into the lower half of his stern face. An animalistic rage radiates off of his towering figure in toxic fumes. He points at the Jeep parked beside you.
“Get in the car.”
When you refuse to move, he repeats himself.
“Get in the fucking car.”
Against every rebellious instinct, you stomp to the Jeep, slump into the passenger’s side, and cross your arms over your chest. It’s childish, but you’re too angry to care.
The sound of the driver’s side door slamming shut echoes through the vacant parking garage. Rick props his left elbow on the ledge below the window and tightens his right hand into a fist around the car keys. He keeps his eyes forward when he speaks.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed. You realize that, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t gonna get myself killed,” you dismiss. “I know what I’m doing.”
Rick snaps his head toward you.
“Do you?” he says. “Do you know what you’re doing? Because I don’t think you do. If you knew what you were doing you’d know that pulling the kind of bullshit you pulled today is a real easy way to end up six feet under.”
He brings his head back to center and stares blankly at the concrete wall ahead of him. “You got lucky, twice, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get lucky a third time. If you keep on like this, you are going to die. And I won’t let that happen. I can’t let that happen.”
You snort. “It almost sounds like you care.”
“Yeah, well,” says Rick, “you’re more useful to me alive than dead.”
Face softening, he looks over at you again. The corner of his lips twitches. “When you’re not being a pain in the ass, you’re a pretty good soldier.”
“Aw, I’m touched,” you say mockingly, then add cruelly, “and you’re a pretty good commander when you’re not being a total asshole!”
You’ve sworn at him hundreds of times, but for some reason this is the last straw. The harsh angles return to his face. His skin blushes brick-red.
He boils over.
“What’s your fuckin’ problem?!” he yells.
“What’s my problem?” you squawk. “What’s your problem?”
Rick unfurls his fist around the keys, mumbling something vulgar about you under his breath, and lifts them to the ignition.
Oh, hell no, you’re not riding in a car with this fucking maniac right now. You snatch the keys away from him before he can start the car.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rick shouts.
“I’m not letting you drive like this,” you answer.
“Like hell, you aren’t!”
Rick lunges at you, but you easily keep the keys out of his impulsive grasp and wedge them in the narrow cavity between your seat and the car door. Rage burns behind Rick’s deadly glare.
“Give me the keys,” he demands.
“That is an order, Lieutenant!”
“No!” you repeat. “I’m not giving you the keys, because you’re gonna kill us if you try to drive while you’re angry. I’m part of a black ops team people call the Suicide Squad. I will not die in a fucking car crash.”
A growl churns in his throat. “I swear to god, if you don’t give me those keys right now, I’ll—”
“What?” you interrupt. “You’ll do what exactly?”
Rick’s chest heaves. “I’ll fucking… I’ll…”
You scoff, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Jackass.”
Fuming, you look away and shake your head.
This motherfucker. You can’t believe he has the audacity to ream you out for something you didn’t even do. Then to say that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing? He thinks you’re going to get yourself killed. What a fucking joke. He would be dead if you hadn’t intervened this time and the last, and the fact that he can’t see that is such bullshit. Who the hell does he think he is?
“You know, Flag,” you start again, “if you’re gonna take out all your anger on me, at least fuck me while you do it.”
The speed at which his lips find yours verges on inhuman. He moves with a desperate urgency, bitter with frustration. His tongue sweeps into your mouth and tangles with yours. His hands roam greedily over your body before settling on the back of your neck and the middle of your spine. He slides into the center of the row seat and yanks you toward him.
It’s instinctual, Pavlovian, the way you both strip your pants and underwear. In seconds, Rick’s bottoms are pooled around his ankles, and yours are kicked haphazardly under the seat. You gracelessly straddle him and slam down onto his hard cock.
You bounce wildly, your feverish pace maintained by the assistance of Rick’s bruising grip on your hips and your claw-like grasp on his shoulders. You channel all of your irritation into the hasty slap of your skin against his as you use him for your release.
The screams tear through your throat, “Yes, Flag, yes! Fuck, your cock feels so good in my pussy. I’m gonna make myself come all over it. Yeah, I’m gonna use you to make myself come.”
Rick grunts under you, regressing into a mindless, feral being: savage, primitive, and carnal, desiring only the snug clench of your cunt around his shaft. Though powerful and intimidating, he’s almost passive in this position. He doesn’t try to dominate you or prevent you from doing exactly as you say you will. Because he wants that, too.
“Touch my clit,” you demand. “Touch my clit while I fuck myself on your cock.”
Rick does as you command and rubs your clit frantically. You slow to an eager roll of your hips and lean back to accommodate his large hand.
You keep your eyes on the colonel. He focuses his attention on the motion of his hand, his eyes wide as he fixates on the center of your pleasure.
“You like touching my clit, Flag?” you croon. He moans in the affirmative. “I bet you like tasting it even more.”
A spark shoots through his gaze and, in seconds, you’re on your back with Rick’s head wedged between your thighs.
He feasts on you, gluttonously diving face-first into your dripping cunt. His ministrations are impatient and needy. He moves as though he’s attempting to sate the famished monster roaring within him.
“Yes,” you cry, “yes! Eat my pussy, Flag. Taste me. Make me come with your tongue.”
Rick hums obligingly. He moans into your cunt and laps eagerly at your folds. He sucks your clit between his lips and bats it with the tip of his tongue.
You dip your head back, accidentally smacking your skull against the car door handle. You cry out, but whether it’s from knocking your head or the ravenous pull of Rick’s mouth, you don’t know. Does it really matter anyway?
Your orgasm builds. You feel the strain hot in your core. Like an elastic stretched to its limit, it threatens to snap. With each flick of Rick’s tongue, you move closer to the release you so desperately crave.
“I’m gonna come,” you sob. “Oh, god, Rick. You’re so good. You’re gonna make me come. Keep going, don’t stop. I’m so close.”
Rick sucks your clit into his mouth and you crash into climax.
“Oh, fuck!” you wail. The pleasure courses through you. It’s intense, tearing through your body, demanding its power be felt in full force. You sink limply into the seat and breathe in wheezing whimpers. Rick lunges on top of you and catches your weak breaths in his mouth.
You feel his cock slip into your drenched cunt with ease. He bottoms out with a low groan and sets a gentle pace. As your airy voice regains its wanton rasp, he hastens the snap of his hips. Soon, he’s railing into you.
It’s dirty, filthy, far from proper. You secure your palm around the nape of Rick’s neck and bring his face to yours. Strangled moans travel from one mouth into the other. Lips trail across chins. The kiss is messy and searching. Absentminded. An afterthought, as Rick drives himself toward climax.
You sense the coming orgasm in the stutter of his hips and the mangled growls clawing up his throat.
“Come on, Flag,” you urge him. “Come inside me. Fill me up.”
Rick’s head sags into the curve of your shoulder as he ruts into you and crests his climax. With a grunt, he empties himself inside of you, jolts twice, then stills. He lifts his head to meet your blissful stare.
Clothed chest to clothed chest, you maintain eye contact. Something strong and sour clings to the haze between you. You don’t understand it. You don’t recognize it. But if you didn’t know any better, you may find it akin to respect.
But that’s impossible, isn’t it? You? Respecting Rick Flag? No way in hell.
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Recommended: Pledge Allegiance (Rick Flag x Reader)
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