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lacontroller1991 · 1 year

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Bull Ride (Rick Flag x F!Reader)

Main Master List || DC Master List

Warnings: SMUT 18+, language, dirty talk, sexual suggestions, drinking, innuendos, girl on top, unestablished relationship, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), creampie, uncovered feelings, tipsy sex with consent

Inspired by a conversation with @a-reader-and-a-writer a long time ago.

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Rick looks over his shoulder for the ninth time in a row, his hands gripping his mug a little tighter each time as he watches you laugh in amusement, a smile never leaving your face as you watch man after man get tossed from the mechanical bull. Rick grumbles at the sight, swirling his beer around before downing it and making his way over to the crowd.

Tapping on the announcer's shoulder, Rick asks to be next as he catches your eyes from the arena, a perfect brow raised in question.

"Alright folks, our next contestant is Rick!" The crowd cheers around him but his ears tune out all the others, only focusing on the way you cheer his name. The man places a worn cowboy hat on Rick's parted hair before giving him a slap on the back. "Good luck." Rick nods as he hops over the barricade and straddles the mechanical bull. Gripping onto the handle with one hand, Rick holds onto the hat as the bull slowly begins to move. After picking up pace, Rick's body flows with each rough thrust of the bull. People around him cheering and screaming in support as Rick manages to stay on the bull longer than most of the previous riders.

You, on the other hand, can't help the way the blush slowly blooms under your skin as your eyes fixate on his posture and how it moves in tandem. And his hips. His damn hips. "Hot damn." A girl next to you mutters as she twirls a finger in her hair, her heated gaze watching Rick's body. You roll your eyes in annoyance as jealousy creeps in. It's not like he's yours. He's merely a friend, a coworker, but damn you wish he was yours. You take another sip of the drink in your hand as the bull starts to slow down.

"Alright, easy there cowboy. Don't wanna show up everybody now," the announcer jokes as the bull comes to a complete stop, allowing Rick to slip off with grace and make his way over to you, a shit eating grin on his face, but before he can make a comment, the girl from earlier steps in.

"Howdy cowboy. Wanna take me for a ride?" You have to resist the urge to kick her ass into the floor as Rick lightly places his hands on her arms and pushes her to the side, unveiling you.

"Enjoy the show?"

"Oh for sure. You were definitely entertaining," you comment, plucking the hat off his head and placing it on yours, a sudden surge of confidence flowing through you. "Though I'd like to see what else those hips could do, Colonel."

Rick chuckles, taking the drink out of your hand, the adrenaline from the ride and alcohol coursing through his veins and giving him the courage to flirt back. "Well darlin', that's if you can handle the ride."

"What makes you think I can't, Colonel?" Rick blushes as your manicured hand traces down his covered abdomen. "I don't think you could handle the rider."

Rick takes a step closer, walking into your touch and you can't deny the pure energy that flows between the contact. "Why don't we get outta here and find out?" Your previously hooded eyes shoot wide open as you take in the meaning of his words and for a second you can see the regret in Rick's eyes at the bold suggestion. "I mean, we don't actually have to. I was just flirtin'. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He mentally beats himself up as his eyes roam the room, finding interest in a random hole on the wall. He knows he shouldn't have said anything. He knows he should've stuck to just keeping things professional but a hand on his forearm stirs him from his thoughts as he looks down at you, sporting a soft smile.

"No, no." You're quick to reassure him. "I could go for a ride."

You and Rick kiss each other with a blind passion, teeth clanging against each other as he backs you and him through the door to his apartment. Falling onto the couch, Rick's hands fall to your hips and drag you on top, your legs straddling either side of his legs as his hands roam around your body.

Breaking away, the two of you pant as you hastily get undressed, dying to have full skin on skin contact. Slipping off his lap, you shove your pants and underwear off before yanking your shirt off, sitting naked on his couch as he shoves his pants down enough for his cock to spring out and slap against his stomach, precum leaking out of the tip. He immediately grabs his member and gives himself a couple of pumps as you reposition yourself over his lap.

"Are you sure about this, we can stop." You shake your head, pushing his hand away and grabbing his member, running the tip over your wet folds.

"1000%. You have no clue how many times I've thought of this." Rick smirks at your comment, his hands falling to your hips.

"Is that so? You think about this? About us?" You nod, jolting forward slightly when his tips nudges your clit. "How often?"

You don't know if now is the time to be admitting your feelings for the colonel, but judging by the way he's looking at you with hope in his lustful eyes. Might as well. "Every night."

Rick resists the urge to break out in a big grin and hop from his chair in excitement at your proclamation of attraction, after all, it means that he has a 99.9% chance that you would say yes to a date if he would ask and he likes those odds. Instead, he hangs his head and smiles softly, a perfect ash blond lock falling to his forehead and you immediately push it back, causing him to look up at you from his position. "How about we take this to the bed?"

"I think I'd like that." Rick nods his head before standing up and carrying you to his bedroom as your hands mess with his short cropped hair. It doesn't take long before he is laying you out on the bed and slotting himself between your legs, his large frame covering yours.

"Are you absolutely sure?" His normal hazel eyes now seem a dark brown in the dark of the night as he stares down at you, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Smirking, you wrap your legs around his waist and flip him over to where you situate yourself on top, breasts heaving with each breath causing Rick to drool. He always knew you like to be in charge, in fact it sometimes causes arguments between the two of you, but now? Rick doesn't think he minds you in control. "I did say I was gonna ride you, didn't I?"

Taking control of the situation, you grab ahold of his member before lining him up with your sex and slip him in as the both of you groan at the sensation. You had always fantasized about how Rick would feel buried in you, fantasized about how big he is, but in comparison to the real thing, your fantasies severely underestimated how it would actually feel. "Fuck darlin'. You're so tight."

Blush blooms underneath your cheeks as you hesitantly roll your hips, watching his face and gauging for a reaction. Much like on the field and in the office, Rick shows little to no expression at the movement of your hips. Normally you would pass off his stoic behavior as just him keeping to himself, but you really don't think now is the time for him to be silent. Stilling yourself, you place your hands on his chest, being very careful to avoid the angry scar down his left pec. "Y'know Rick, my job would be easier if you gave me some sort of clue as to how you feel."

Rick honestly didn't realize his stoic behavior. If he's being honest with himself, he's just trying to keep his cool and to not cum in you. If he did, he doesn't think he would be able to forgive himself for embarrassing him in front of you, especially during sex. Instead, Rick's large hands place themselves on your hips as he guides you along his member, sitting up and sliding deeper into you, the tip of his member hitting your cervix, causing you to gasp while Rick smirks. "Trust me darlin', I feel amazing." He captures your lips against his, your hips moving in tandem with each other as he slides in and out of you with ease. "Don't think I'll be able to last much longer with the way you rock those hips."

If you thought he already had a southern accent, the alcohol and the lust make it ten fold and if you didn't know who you were with, you would probably assume that you weren't with Rick. Still, his accent, his scent, the way he feels in you, the heat of his skin, and the way he holds you in his grasp has your orgasm approaching. Knotting your hands in his hair, you let mindless fingers pull at soft tufts as your pants get louder, spurring the colonel on. "That's it, darlin'. Use my cock to make you cum."

One more thrust is all you need before you're letting out broken moan into the night as your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure radiating down from your head to your toes as Rick continues to thrust up into you with the sole intent of bringing his orgasm. Noticing how his hips start to falter, you grab his chin and turn it towards you, a different kind of ferocity in your eyes. "I want you to cum. I want you to cum in me, Rick. Make me yours."

"Fuck." Rick's eyes roll back in his head as he spurts his hot cum in you while you rock your hips against his to coax him through his orgasm. After a minute of collective breathing, he gently picks you off his lap and sets you down beside him on his bed as his hand finds yours. "I want to do that again."

"Right now?" You question with a giggle as he brings your had up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles that sends butterflies to your stomach.

"Well, I'll need a couple of minutes before round two, but I'm talking about permanently. Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Smiling, you roll onto your stomach and rest your chin on his chest. "I think I'd love to. But now," you drag a finger down his chest, twirling a strand of his happy trail between your fingers, sporting a grin that has Rick's cock twitching, "I wanna do that again."

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Author's Note: So this is the first full length Rick fic I've posted in a while but I hope you guys enjoy!!!!!!

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @a-reader-and-a-writer @fairchildflag @infatuatedjanes

Joel Related Tag List: @aestheticallywinchester @loverhymeswith @xoxabs88xox @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @witchygagirl @the1redrose @ratcatcher2world @green-socks @weallhaveadestiny @yourjacketisnowdry @rachelh1992 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @knivesareout @bubblegloopswampwitch @waspswidows @burntghoost @katjnordstrom96 @bb-skyrunner @11thstreetvigilante @yespolkadotkitty @heresathreebee @madkovacs @wxr-zxne @wtfobiwan @alieninoklahoma @sociiallydiisoriiented @violetmuses @neon-supernova

#rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #joel kinnaman #rick flag #colonel rick flag x reader #colonel rick flag x you #colonel rick flag #colonel flag x reader #colonel flag x you #colonel flag #the suicide squad #dceu tss #tss #suicide squad #releasetheayercut #rick flag smut #reader insert #female reader #lacontroller1991

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loverhymeswith · 2 years

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Nothing Will Ever Be the Same

Pairing: Rick Flag x F!Reader

Summary: Jotunheim has fallen and Project Starfish is on the loose, but all you really care about is Rick.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, presumed character death, language, mention of blood and injury

A/N: Thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer for the prompt and for reminding me that today is in fact the anniversary of a very special film being released. Happy anniversary Rick Flag <3 This was supposed to be a smutty drabble, but it turned into something else.

Pain, the likes of which you’ve never felt before, sears through every cell in your body. Your heart feels as if it’s been ripped from your chest. Death and destruction might be your bread and butter, but this… this was never part of the plan.

Before you, dust settles over the ruins of Jotunheim. “We need to go back,” you scream, struggling furiously against the tight grip that Dubois has around your waist.

“Don’t be stupid," he growls over the distant rumbling of a city being destroyed. "You wanna get yourself killed, too?”

You continue to thrash against his hold, fingernails scratching uselessly at the tough leather of his suit. "Let me go," you screech. "Let. Me. Go."

The assassin tightens his grip, his head bent low to ensure you hear every word he's about to say. Like you, he is coated in blood and regret. "It's over. He's gone." The blunt tone isn't enough to hide his sorrow, those four words clearly weighing heavily on his tongue.

And just like that, the fight leaves you. In Dubois' arms, you go limp. He's gone. Tears stain your filthy cheeks and your knees buckle, but your friend doesn't let you fall.

"C'mon." Dubois turns you away from the rubble. "You know he'd want you to keep going. We've still got to stop that thing."

The sound of your violent sobbing masks the distant noise of destruction as the unleashed "Project Starfish" wreaks havoc on the streets of Valle de Mar. Dubois grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his steely gaze. "Pull yourself together Lieutenant."

Technically, you're the commanding officer now, but you don't want to pull yourself together. You don't want to be strong. Rick is gone and nothing will ever be the same again.

It had been a clash of personalities in the beginning. Disagreements on the battlefield that gave way to heated arguments back at base. But you had quickly discovered your passion and temper was better suited to the bedroom. Rick was the gasoline that fueled your flames and when he fucked you for the first time, it felt like the two of you might set the world alight.

Post-mission trysts started bleeding into early mornings, fighting over who was going to use the shower first and how you probably shouldn't turn up to work at the same time. But despite your best attempts at subtlety and discretion, the shift in your relationship from colleagues to something more did not go by unnoticed by the rest of the squad. Over time it had become an accepted fact. Even if there wasn't quite a label for what you meant to one another, it was clear enough for everyone to see this was more than just friendship with benefits.

"I can't do this without him, Robert." Your body trembles under the crushing weight of your loss.

"You can. You will.” Dubois' hand drops to your shoulder, softly squeezing. “Now let’s go. We need to move out."

Before you can argue, before you can tell him he'll never understand, movement on the periphery of your vision sends you whirling around. Dust is rising from the ruins and you watch, frozen in terror, as the pile of bricks and debris begins to shift.

Dubois is already reaching for his gun. It's an unconscious reaction, the way your arm stretches out to stop him. "Wait," you murmur hesitantly. Fear has given way and something like hope now stirs in the pit of your stomach.

"If it's Pissmaker-"

"It isn't."

The two of you wait on bated breath until eventually out of the rubble a figure emerges. The t-shirt is more crimson than yellow and it looks like he's crawled through hell to get here, but there's no mistaking the figure now staggering towards you.

"Rick."

Dubois starts to curse, but you don't hear the rest of his statement because you’re already sprinting through the wreckage to reach your battered and bloody soldier.

Rick spots you approaching and his jaw slackens. The relief you find in his expression is undoubtedly a twin to your own. You can barely dare to believe your eyes. When you finally close the distance, throwing yourself into his arms, you weep against his chest. “I thought I lost you.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart," he grunts against the shell of your ear.

A half-laugh, half-sob escapes your trembling lips, but you feel Rick stiffen in your embrace. Quickly pulling back to study him, you find his face drawn in pain. "You're hurt."

"It can wait."

Regardless of your audience, Rick cups your jaw in his filthy hands, pulling you swiftly towards his lips. His kiss is fierce and claiming. A promise – you hope – that he's never going to leave you again. He tastes of blood and sweat and tears, but you don't care. He's alive. Nothing else matters. Not Waller or Project Starfish, not Dubois or the rest of the squad. As his warm tongue slips across the seam of your lips, your fingers trace the lines of his face, mapping every curve, every scar. Committing him to memory. You came too close to losing him today.

Suddenly from behind you, there’s an exasperated groan. Dubois. “Alright you two, get a room.”

Several hours later, that’s exactly what you do. After the city has been saved from the giant starfish and the island has been liberated from military control, you and Rick find yourselves alone in the bedroom of an abandoned apartment, the owners either deceased or they have fled.

The remaining squad members are similarly scattered throughout the building, seeking shelter and rest while you await extraction back to home soil. Although judging by how things went down with Waller, you probably shouldn't hold your breath. Maybe she’ll leave you out here to rot.

Rick sits on the bed before you, stripped down to his boxers. He's fidgeting impatiently as you finish wrapping a clean bandage around his waist. There’s barely a square inch of his body that isn't wounded in some way. "Hold still," you grumble, bending over his seated form. "I'm almost done."

As you might have predicted, Rick had refused to sit out the final battle, despite his host of injuries requiring immediate attention. You'd patched him up as quickly and efficiently as possible before the fighting started, but most of the dressings have since needed to be replaced. The moment you tie off the final bandage, Rick’s hands land on your waist and he tugs you gently into his lap.

"You should really get some rest," you admonish as his lips start to trail a path of soft kisses along the column of your neck.

"Don't wanna rest, darlin'." His warm breath tickles as he nuzzles the sensitive spot just below your ear.

By all rights you should both be exhausted, but the adrenaline of the mission still courses through your veins. The terror of coming so close to losing him has yet to fully relinquish it's tight grip around your throat, and though you can see for yourself that he's alive and breathing, it's somehow not quite enough.

Judging by the heated expression darkening his hazel eyes as Rick watched you work, he feels it too, and now with only a thin layer of cotton between the two of you, there's no hiding where his thoughts are headed. Your fingers skim over his stubbled jaw, tilting his head and forcing him to meet your concerned gaze. "What if I hurt you?"

"You won't." Rick’s voice is rough before he lowers his head again, sharp teeth grazing your throat. "I just need to feel you,” he mutters. “To remember that this is real. It's not a dream. We made it out. We're gonna be ok."

You make love to Rick on the edge of a stranger's bed. It's clumsy and sweaty and he's grunting in pain but he won't let you stop. His face is buried against your neck, wet lips whispering words of almost incoherent praise. Broad hands are splayed across the curve of your spine, a burning brand keeping your body firmly moulded to his own. Your fingers dig into the flesh of his wide shoulders as you roll your hips over the length of him, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

"We're gonna be ok," you repeat breathlessly as you feel him reach his climax. “We’re gonna be ok.”

Joel Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @babblydrabbly @sociiallydiisoriiented @yespolkadotkitty @lacontroller1991 @ed-baldwin @fairchildflag @heresathreebee @phoenixhalliwell @mayhem24-7forever @weallhaveadestiny @lavenderluna10 @katjnordstrom96 @kirsteng42 @s-u-t @littlefreakingfangirl @bewitchedignition @immyownlittlebitch @xoxabs88xox @justin-hammers

#rick flag #joel kinnaman #rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #tss #dceu fanfic #the suicide squad #colonel rick flag

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simu-ladora · 3 months

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#the suicide squad #tss #rick flag #joel kinnaman #peacemaker #john cena #dc #dceu #dcu #james gunn #meme #flagmaker

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tuxedosaurus · 2 months

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Realized that I’m not excited for the upcoming DC movies because I feel like James Gunn has vastly different priorities than me for what would be in a superhero story.

His might be structurally sound with good filmmaking but they’re also filled with crude jokes, gore, and a shit ton of cursing. And that just drags it down for me

I think superhero stories should be complex & compelling WITHOUT a coat of paint that would appeal to edgy 14 year old boys.

#james gunn #dc movies #marvel movies #dceu #mcu #dc comics #dc #marvel comics #marvel #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #suicide squad #the suicide squad #tss #peacemaker

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suicidesquadexchange · 9 months

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The Suicide Squad Exchange: Reveals for Day 1!

Post-Work Drinks with the Gals by cemeterysmile for Liminal_Spaces_In_Untraced_Places

The next time you're down look inside, not around by trinipedia for Merryandrew

Squad She-nya-nigans by coffeecakecrumblr for Dont_forget_peanuts

The five steps to a good movie night (Aka Squad as a fond found family) by Liminal_Spaces_In_Untraced_Places for coffeecakecrumblr

Nightlights by paintedcow for Af_erer

View the collection on AO3

Come back tomorrow for more reveals, and please consider leaving a comment for our wonderful artists and writers!

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lady-murderess · 2 years

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I really didn't like making this, it was so much hassle. But here, have the husband ✨

#rick flag #rick flag jr #colonel rick flag #colonel flag #the suicide squad #tss #joel kinnaman #joel kinnaman gifs #joel kinnaman edit #joel kinnaman gif #joelkinnamanedit #lady murderess #gamsgifs #my gifs #dceu

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hgstuff · 2 years

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harley quinn headers

like or reblog if u save and pls don't repost without credits ✨

requested by @nicozzor

#harley quinn headers #harley quinn #the suicide squad headers #the suicide squad #tss headers #tss #dc headers #dc #dc comics headers #dc comics #dceu headers #dceu #margot robbie headers #margot robbie #movie headers #movie #film headers #film

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cordialsilence · 9 months

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I'm still going to pirate it though

#the suicide squad #TSS #suicide squad #DC #DCEU #james gunn #netflix

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goupii · 10 months

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also i am not sure people are aware that owen is actually TECHNICALLY canon to the suicide squad/tss/peacemaker timeline in the dceu. it's only on a prop so it's not Explicit but it's real and he's a little baby. the littlest baby

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robocops-a-christ-allegory · 10 months

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I know Im biased because its the only things I liked from the DCEU but my take on people saying Gunn should reboot TSS/Peacemaker for the sake of Fairness is why should he get rid of the only DC movies that performed well with audiences. How is that logical. Im sorry we all wanna pretend everyone didnt hate batman vs superman right now but Im not convinced the average movie goer knows or cares about whats going on with the DC Universe so the idea that people are gonna be Confused isnt a good argument either. Everyones already confused.

#'But it wont make sense!' I still have to correct people who think superman is marvel #like its fine. you know most people arent paying that close attention to this shit right #Im a comic book fan but I dont care at all about the movies so I barely even know whats going on #Also people were sharing around a interview where Gunn said the previous movies were messes and #everyone was like 'oh my god so callous...and hes in charge of DC...' like Im sorry hes acknowledging The Facts Here?#I think its actually cool he didnt pretend all of the sudden that those movies were good.#Im not a Gunn Defender I have issues with him like him Saying The Flash Movie Is Good-#and him defending ezra miller. But I dont think him being like a business man is a issue

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lacontroller1991 · 7 months

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Branded (Rick Flag x GN!Reader)

Main Master List || DC Master List

Requested by @witchygagirl - If you're still doing them can I request

You have a tattoo where your soulmate first touches you for Rick Flag

from this prompt list

Warnings: Heavy gun usage, gun fire, battle, blood, language, battle wounds

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The gunfire rings out around you as sand flies everywhere. If it wasn’t for the light of the continuous gunfire, you definitely wouldn’t be able to see. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be back in Spain, sipping on your sangria on the beach with men waiting for your beck and call. Instead, you’re in the middle of a gunfight on a random ass beach in South America, all because you killed a few people. Ok. Maybe a lot of people. Thus began your time in Belle Reve.

When Waller had initially come to you with the proposition, you had shunned her away, openly mocking her for ever assuming that you would join her little Task Force. With the more days that passed and the more people you saw leaving, you soon changed your mind, leading you to now. Hands wrapped tightly around your gun as you hide behind a rock, trying to cancel out the screams of your comrades.

Now you know why it’s called the Suicide Squad.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your commander yells at you, crashing beside you and catching his breath. “We need your help out there!”

You look over to him, eyes wide in panic as your lips slightly tremble. “I can’t. My power can’t activate under stress.”

“You’ve got to be fucking me.” Rick groans from beside you, reloading his gun as he shakes his head in disbelief. When he looks back at you, terrified, he realizes that you’re not joking. “Look at me. Look at me!” He grabs your face with his dirty hands and turns you to him. “This is life and death. Either you fight or you die and I don’t intend on letting any more of my people die. Understand?” You nod your head as he nods his head. “Ok good, on my mark, we’re going to make a run for some better cover. Ready?” He asks, getting into a crouching position as you follow suit, gripping onto your gun like your life depends on it. “Go!” You and him run through the gunfire, firing your own weapons back as you watch men fall to the ground. You feel a rush of pride but it’s short lived when you feel a searing hot pain rip through your leg, causing you to fall to the ground. You try to stand up, but fall short, your leg burning in pain causing you to let out a sharp cry of pain as you look down, the sand underneath your leg getting darker and darker. Just like your vision.

Hearing your cry of pain, Rick’s head whips back until he spots you lying on the sand, clutching your leg. He’s already clear of the gunfire and he could proceed with his mission, but there’s something about you that is preventing him from going forward. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles to himself before fixing his gun and running back into the line of fire, making quick work to grab your ankle and drag you towards the bushes. “I hope I’m right about this.”

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You wake up to birds chirping at people talking though you don’t know where you are. You remember being shot, and then dragged through the woods by Rick, but besides that, you have no clue what’s going on. Moving to sit up, a warm hand places itself on your shoulder, not letting your rise any higher than that. “Woah there, just relax, you’re safe.” You turn your head to the voice and see your commander sitting there with a soft smile on his face.

“Colonel Flag? What’s going on? Where are we?” He removes his hand from your shoulder and places it in his lap, but something is off about it. Did he always have that tattoo on his hand?

“We’re safe, that’s all that matters. We’re waiting for an evac off this hell hole,” he murmurs, looking around the makeshift tent as you nod, turning to look into the mirror on the desk across from you, confusion all over your face.

“What the hell is on my face?” You try to inspect it a little closer, but again, Rick’s hand pushes you back down, a blush on his face.

“Well, uh, you know how some people get tattoos where their soulmate touches them for the first time,” he comments as you nod your head. Of course you do. Everyone in the world knows that. And only some are lucky enough to have that. “I think we’re soulmates.”

“I must have a concussion because this can’t be real,” you comment, but he shakes his head, grabbing the mirror and holding up to your face, placing his hand next to the mirror. In the mirror you can see the exact same symbol on your face that’s on his hand.

“Concussion or not, it’s real.” He comments as the sound of a helicopter echoes in the distance, causing his head to look outside. “That sounds like our ride. We’ll discuss this later, ok?” You nod your head in confirmation as he gives you an awkward pat on the back, not really sure where to go, but at least you guys will have each other.

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General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @fairchildflag @a-reader-and-a-writer

Joel Related Tag List: @aestheticallywinchester @loverhymeswith @xoxabs88xox @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @the1redrose @ratcatcher2world @green-socks @weallhaveadestiny @yourjacketisnowdry @rachelh1992 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @knivesareout @bubblegloopswampwitch @waspswidows @burntghoost @katjnordstrom96 @tavners @yespolkadotkitty @heresathreebee @madkovacs @wxr-zxne @wtfobiwan @alieninoklahoma @violetmuses @neon-supernova

#rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #Joel kinnaman #rick flag #colonel rick flag x reader #colonel rick flag x you #colonel rick flag #colonel flag x reader #colonel flag x you #colonel flag #the suicide squad #tss #dceu tss #reader insert

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loverhymeswith · 2 years

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Motivation | Rick Flag x F!Reader

Summary: You weren't expecting your secret trip to Belle Reve's swimming pool to end in a private rehab session with Colonel Rick Flag. But you're glad it did.

Word Count: 4K words

Warnings: Description of injury, talk of scars, use of walking aids, rehab

A/N: I guess this means the hiatus is over. Thank you @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta reading, and thank you @sociiallydiisoriiented for helping me through my slump 💖

Staring through the floor-to-ceiling window, which looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned once in Belle Reve’s sixty year history, your stomach drops; this was not part of the plan. According to Task Force X’s rigid training regime, the prison’s swimming pool is supposed to be vacant right now. And you should know - under normal circumstances you would have departed the pool along with your squad almost an hour ago. Judging by the commotion taking place on the other side of the glass, however, this seems to be far from the case.

Stepping back until you are mostly hidden by the ancient, rusting lockers that run along the centre of the changing area, you watch on with a mixture of concern and frustration. Two frazzled-looking prison guards are attempting to disperse a fight that has broken out at the shallow end of the pool. At this distance, you can’t quite pick out the team members involved in the scuffle, but there is at least one face you do recognise. From her position on top of the lifeguard tower - an entirely unqualified position for the princess-of-crime, who has only recently graduated from her water-wings - Harley Quinn observes the spectacle with unbridled glee.

As the scene unfolds, your eyes wander to the far edge of the pool. A broad figure in a tight navy t-shirt and loose-fitting swim shorts stands with his hands on his hips. Although no sound carries through the filthy glass, you know Colonel Rick Flag well enough to take a guess at what kind of expletive-laden sentences might currently be streaming from his parted lips.

Ignoring the tiny flutter in your chest that seems to make an appearance whenever Rick is nearby, you retreat into one of the changing cubicles before anyone notices your presence. It’s been a couple of months since your injury, but you’re in no hurry to see any of the squad. In fact, ARGUS’s unpaid sick-leave policy is the only reason you’re here at all. It’s far from ideal, but all employees are entitled to free-use of the prison pool, and with no paychecks coming in until your leg is healed, you’re in no position to be picky.

There’s a whole host of excuses as to why you aren’t quite ready to face the squad today, not least because of the thick purple scar running from just below your left hip, all the way down to the middle of your calf. The doctors continue to remind you how lucky you were not to lose your leg, but it doesn't make acceptance any easier. While you’ve never been particularly concerned about body image, this latest scar is just another permanent and ugly reminder of exactly how dangerous your job can be. Of how close you came to losing everything.

You’re not left alone with your dark thoughts for very long. Chaos follows the Suicide Squad wherever they go, and pandemonium soon descends upon the previously unoccupied changing area; shouting, screaming, and the occasional grunt of pain. Remaining sequestered within your tiny cubicle, you wait for the cacophony to end. With any luck, your plan to slip in and out of the pool unnoticed remains intact.

Only once Harley’s high-pitched cackle finally fades into the hallway and down the corridor do you dare to step out of your sanctuary. Taking care not to slip on the copious amounts of water now drenching the grey tiled floor, you adjust the straps of your standard-issue swimsuit, and gingerly make your way to the poolside.

Late afternoon sunshine streams through a gap beneath the yellowing blinds, reflecting off the surface of the water. With the pool finally deserted, it’s almost peaceful - providing, of course, that you ignore the fact you’re in a maximum security prison that hosts some of the world’s most dangerous criminals.

As you reach the water’s edge, contemplating how you’re going to tackle your entrance, the supplies cupboard at the other end of the pool flies open. No longer straining beneath the tight navy t-shirt, a set of wide, tanned shoulders emerges from the narrow doorway. Apparently, the pool isn’t quite as deserted as you’d hoped.

In retrospect, Rick’s discarded t-shirt is clearly visible on one of the wooden benches lining the walls. But even without the clothing as a clue, you should have figured that he’d be sticking around for a while. Tidying up the equipment has always been one of your responsibilities, and you know for a fact that Waller doesn’t have spare lieutenants lying around at her disposal.

Torn between fleeing or staying rooted in place, your stomach lurches uncomfortably. Realistically, you’re going nowhere fast. The wound itself might have healed, but the pain in your leg persists. To say you're not as light on your feet as you used to be would be an understatement. The injury has affected your mobility in other ways, too. It killed you to trade in your beloved stick-shift for something automatic, but the doctors warned you it could be up to a year before you see any real improvement.

In the end, Rick turns around before you can even consider executing an escape plan. You notice his double-take as he spots you, hazel eyes brightening while the furrow in his brow fades. Rather than shouting across the pool - you suspect he must be hoarse from hollering at the squad all afternoon - he starts to lope over, his grin widening with every step.

“Damn, is it good to see you," he calls out, rapidly closing the distance. "How you been holdin' up?”

Rick's smile has always been infectious, and despite your discomfort at realising you’re not alone, you feel your own lips twitch upwards. "I'm ok." It's not quite a lie. More of a half truth. But Rick doesn't need to know the details. You can guarantee that he has been beating himself up over what happened. He told you as much during his visits to your hospital bed.

Folding your arms self-consciously over your chest, you subtly shift your weight, hoping he doesn’t notice how you favour your good leg. Hoping he doesn’t notice the walking stick you hid away at the back of the changing area. Because you can be sure that he’s watching you carefully, assessing you for any sign of weakness.

Tightening your jaw against the constant throb of pain, you allow your own gaze to travel over Rick. It’s hot and humid in the pool area. His damp hair is swept back from his face, and a thin sheen of sweat clings to his golden skin. A handful of scars have been added to his collection too, but he looks good. Healthy. Alive. And that makes the sacrifice worth it.

Deciding it might be better not to allow Rick the opportunity to probe you about your wellbeing, you continue.“I wasn’t expecting you to still be here. Lesson overrun?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a long-suffering expression swiftly replacing his earlier joy. “Boomer tried to drown Blackguard. Repeatedly.”

You offer him a sympathetic smile. “And you stopped him because…?”

“We’re a little thin on the ground lately.” He gives you a pointed look. “And I could really do without the paperwork.”

“That’s a lame excuse, Flag. We both know I do all your paperwork.”

The lines around Rick’s eyes crease in amusement. “When did you say you were comin’ back?”

“I didn’t.”

The statement hangs in the air, and Rick’s smile falters. It’s only now that he seems to truly register your appearance; the swimming costume, the tightness to your jaw, the scar. In credit to the colonel, he doesn’t blanch. You know he’s seen much worse. Even so, you don’t fail to notice the briefest flicker of conflict passing over his handsome face.

After a beat, he seems to compose himself. "So, you here for a swim?"

You hum your confirmation, looking out across the pool. The water seems awfully inviting right now. Anything to avoid staring at Rick's glistening chest. Anything to hide from his concerned gaze.

"You know there ain't a lifeguard on duty," he points out, folding his arms to match your stance.

"Think I can manage."

He shakes his head. “I’ll stick around for a bit.”

“That isn’t necessary.” You really don’t want him here for this.

“Yeah,” he tells you, leaving no room for argument in his tone. “It is.”

Perhaps it’s just his damn hero complex, or maybe he sees beyond the charade - sees the spectre of pain that no amount of forced smiles and pleasantries can truly hide. Either way, you know you’ve lost. Rick Flag is an immovable object, and right now, he’s not budging from the pool.

Setting your frustration aside, the temperature of your blood seems to rise by several degrees as you watch him lower his large body down, stomach muscles bunching, until he’s sitting over the edge of the pool.

Your injured leg is now directly within Rick’s line of sight, and you try not to cringe. From a distance, it isn’t pretty. But up close? It’s more of a trainwreck. Your shattered kneecap, on top of multiple fractures to your femur and tibia, had required at least three operations and five metal pins to correct.

Of course, it could have been much worse. Though at the time you were slipping in and out of consciousness, delirious with pain and blinded by the bright white lights of the ER, you can vividly remember the doctor’s words as she removed the makeshift splint and bandages. “You’re one hell of a lucky woman. Whoever made this brace probably saved your leg.”

That had been Rick.

Not only had he ultimately saved your leg, but he’d also been waiting by your bedside when you came round from the initial surgery. Dosed up on morphine and drowsy from the anaesthetic, you don’t remember much of that first visit, but you do know that after such a disastrous mission, it was a miracle he was faring any better.

Fighting back the memory of that terrible time, you focus on the surface of the water, at the ripples pooling around Rick’s thick calves.

“They give you a trainin’ plan?" Your look of confusion prompts him to continue. “The doctors. Figured that’s why you’re here. Physical therapy?”

“Right.” You’re not particularly inclined to admit that you threw the ‘training’ plan out of the window, rejecting the doctor’s advice of rest and recuperation. You’re sick of sitting on your ass waiting for things to improve. There’s at least a dozen reasons why you need to get back to work, and the man in front of you may or may not be one of them.

Correctly reading your hesitation as doubt, Rick flashes you what he must imagine is an encouraging smile. "So, you gettin' in?"

"Uh, sure." Despite your calm facade, inside you're panicking. Because Rick has taken a seat at the deep end of the pool, and you know perfectly well that even if you managed to navigate the rickety metal steps by his side, there’s no way you’ll be able to keep your head above water for more than a few seconds.

"I'm, umm… I'm just going to take it easy." You gesture towards the shallow end, and hoping Rick doesn’t read too much into your uneven gait, you begin a slow walk along the poolside.

Your injury might be far from a secret, but the fear of Rick’s pity - or even worse, his guilt - means you don't want him to know just how bad it really is. Without your cane, the short walk takes every ounce of strength you possess, the pain slicing through your weak and damaged muscles with every step.

When you reach your destination, you notice that Rick hasn't followed. In fact, it seems he has returned to the supplies cupboard. While his back is turned, you use the opportunity to awkwardly lower yourself down to the ground. Your venture to the pool felt like a great idea at the time, but this would be so much easier if Rick wasn’t around to watch you fail.

"I don't need those," you insist, when he starts to approach with an armful of foam floats.

After dropping the floats onto the ground, he takes a seat beside you. "When was the last time you swam?" There’s no evidence of humour or teasing in his voice, and it almost makes it worse. Especially as you realise he’s not expecting you to answer.

Studiously avoiding his scrutiny, you focus instead on the sunlight glittering off the water’s surface. Only when Rick softly murmurs your name do you finally force yourself to meet his eye.

"Look, I can help, but you gotta be honest with me.” He levels you with a steady gaze. “None of this stoic, sufferin’ in silence bullishit. Alright?”

“You’re one to talk.” After all, Rick is the master of resilience; you’re just a quick study.

“Do as I say, not as I do, remember?”

You pull a face, but ultimately allow him to continue. This banter between the two of you is a balm, and already you can feel the cracks starting to form in your armour. Perhaps having him around isn’t the worst thing in the world.

"Now, I'm gonna hazard a guess you ignored everythin' the doctors said, decidin' you know best as usual?" He arches his brow.

You respond with a weak smile and rub your leg idly. "I just need it to get better, and fast. Waller doesn't like broken things."

Rick angles his body towards you, his expression darkening. "You ain't broken. And even if that was true, who cares what she thinks."

"I have bills to pay, Rick. Rent. I can't afford not to work." Waller has already rejected your request for desk duty, informing you she needs soldiers, not paper-pushers.

Rick grits his jaw. "Don't worry about the bills. If anythin’, let me worry about them. I can talk to Waller. You just focus on gettin’ better.”

"But-"

“No buts.” He cuts you off abruptly. “I need you back by my side. Can’t wrangle those fuckin’ idiots without you.”

Your resolve is rapidly weakening, and really, it’s no wonder. Rick is well versed in the art of persuasion. Time and again you’ve watched him convince teams of super-criminals to work together for the good of the US government. In your experience, that is no easy feat.

When he’s satisfied you’re not going to argue, Rick reaches behind and pulls across one of the larger floats. "I ain't exactly an expert, but when I was shot in Qurac I had a good few months of physio." He slaps the leg in question, drawing your attention to a pale, silvery stripe along the top of his thigh. "So, I'm sure we can figure somethin' out."

Before you can change your mind, Rick shifts so that he’s kneeling by your side. "Now, lay your leg down here on the float. Need to see what we're workin' with.”

Despite your lingering uncertainty, you do as he says, carefully manoeuvring your injured leg until it’s outstretched before him. The soft layer of the foam beneath you helps mitigate the slight discomfort of the angle.

"Tell me where it hurts, ok?”

A swarm of butterflies erupts in your stomach the moment you feel Rick’s warm hands land on your skin, but you manage to nod stiffly. He starts to apply the slightest amount of pressure, his hands moving along the length of your leg with delicate precision. For the most part it's not painful, but when he reaches your knee you suck in a sharp breath.

"OK.” His hand disappears, and he sits back on his heels. “We're gonna take it slow. Let's see how you get on with walkin'. You got some swellin’, but the water should relieve the pressure.”

Recovering from the shock of his touch, it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t an expert.”

With a surprising amount of grace for someone of his size, Rick slides into the water. “When you’ve been injured as many times as I have, you learn a thing or two about recovery.”

It’s sound logic, you have to admit, and when he beckons for you to join him, you find yourself swinging your leg back towards the pool without hesitation. You don’t fight either, when his hands land on your hips, supporting your weight as you lower yourself into the water.

When he’s confident you’re steady on your feet, he removes his hands, but not before giving your waist a subtle, yet reassuring squeeze.

“Now what?” You look up at him expectantly.

Rick grins, a hint of mischief gleaming in his hazel eyes. "You know those canine hydrotherapy videos you and Harley love so much?”

“The dogs in those funny little tanks?"

“Exactly. Picture that. ‘Cept without the treadmills."

Spirits rising further with each passing minute, an unexpected laugh bursts from your lips, and you reach for Rick’s shoulder to steady yourself. “Ok, but you know the dogs usually get a treat afterwards, right? Some kind of motivation.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged." His lips curl into the suggestion of a smirk. "What did you have in mind?”

Perhaps you imagine it, but you could swear his gaze darkens as he waits for your response. “Just buy me a coffee when we get out of here.”

You can’t quite shake the feeling that you could have asked for more. Indeed, for a split second, he appears disappointed by your request. Still, it’s too late to change your answer, because all of a sudden he's dipping below the surface of the water, only re-emerging when he's several feet away.

When he breaks the surface, the urge to push his sopping hair back from his brow threatens to overwhelm you. Forget the coffee, maybe this is the kind of motivation you really need. The desire is short-lived, though. Before you can start to examine your feelings too closely, Rick proves himself perfectly capable of rearranging his hair all by himself.

“Start walkin’ towards me,” he calls across the pool, oblivious to your moment of insanity.

Gathering your wits, you bite back a sarcastic retort, choosing to refrain from commenting on how Harley has been right all this time. Rick is a bossy son-of-a-bitch. It’s just unusual for you to be on the receiving end of his commands. When it comes to Task Force X, the two of you work so well together you can usually predict each other’s moves ahead of time.

Just like how you predicted he would try to intercept that bomb.

What Rick couldn't predict that day, was you intercepting him first.

Pushing the awful memories to the back of your thoughts once again, you set your mind to the task at hand: putting one foot in front of the other. Rick was right, the water does ease some of the pressure, but it doesn't completely relieve the pain.

From his position in the centre of the pool, Rick waits patiently. He's watching you with those keen hazel eyes shining bright with belief - belief in you. You can't help but feel it's misplaced. You've barely taken five steps and already your body is telling you to give up.

"While we're here, there's somethin' I wanna get off my chest." His voice, deep and clear, echoes across the otherwise empty pool. "Never properly got a chance to thank you. For savin' me."

"Can we not talk about this right now," you grunt, forcing yourself to take another step forward.

Rick's response is far from what you're expecting. "I think it's the perfect time to talk about it. But if you want me to stop, you're gonna have to get your ass over here and make me."

It seems an unfair ask. Even if you were capable of covering the distance to where he stands, you're not going to reach him quickly. Plenty of time for him to keep running his stupidly pretty mouth.

"I can't," you protest.

But Rick simply shrugs. "I ain't gonna pretend that I wasn't pissed. That was a pretty fuckin' reckless move. And you're goddamn lucky that beam didn't fall a few inches higher."

You don't want to hear it. Doesn't he know how many times you've replayed the scenario? Wondering what you could have done differently. How you could possibly have gotten the both of you out of that building in one piece.

"You would have done the same for me." Gritting your teeth against the pain, you succeed in taking another two steps forward.

"You're right. But that doesn't make it OK."

Irritation begins to set in. "You know, this wasn't the motivation I had in mind," you snap. "Coffee would have been just fine."

His lips quirk into a crooked smile. "Darlin', you can have whatever you want if you make it over here."

It takes far longer than you would like, but by some small miracle, you do reach him. Panting, and spluttering, the water is now up to your chin. You could swear he's been creeping backwards, but equally as exhausted as you are triumphant, you can't quite bring yourself to care. You've done it.

Rick is beaming. "That's my girl." And before you can start to wonder about the implication of his statement, he takes you by the waist, and lifts your head and shoulders clear of the surface. Instinct forces you to wrap your arms around his neck as he proceeds to wade back to the shallow end. Unlike your own journey, he covers the distance in less than a minute.

"Knew you could do it," he tells you, setting you carefully back on the edge of the pool. "So name your price."

"Huh?"

He's standing in the gap between your thighs, making it near enough impossible to form a single coherent thought.

"Your reward," he clarifies, with a sly grin. "Don't tell me that you're gonna settle for coffee."

An unnamed force draws your attention to Rick’s mouth, where his tongue darts out, sweeping away a drop of water from his bottom lip. You're no stranger to taking risks. Pushing Rick out of the way of the bomb was a huge one, but this… this, might be the biggest risk you've taken yet.

"I don't want coffee."

As emboldened as you are from completing the exercise, it's still with a shaking hand that you reach out and brush back the lock of hair that has fallen over Rick’s temple.

Unfazed by the unexpected gesture, and the way your touch lingers a moment too long against his brow, Rick’s eyes are fixed on you. For once, no quickfire retort leaves his mouth. He simply waits on bated breath for you to continue.

You can have whatever you want.

It's no longer a question of what you want. That much has become clear. Your feelings for Rick have lain dormant for a while now, but they've always been there, waiting for something. A sign. A wake-up call. Maybe your last mission was just that.

Because unlike Rick, you're no hero. Saving his life wasn't an entirely unselfish act. You certainly wouldn't have done it for anyone else. Yet in that split second, just before Rick could reach the device, you didn't even have to think.

Barreling into his path, you had managed to catch him unaware, the unexpected force of your body knocking him back into the stairwell. Slamming shut the heavy iron door, you had effectively removed him from the direct range of the explosion. Moments later, as you were thrown back by the blast, and the building started to collapse around you, you remember feeling nothing but relief. Rick would survive. Even if you wouldn’t.

And you'd do it all over again.

All of a sudden, you realise just how close Rick is standing. Close enough now, wedged between your legs, that you barely have to tilt your head before your lips are touching. He doesn’t pull away.

Your first kiss is soft and uncertain - a startling contrast to the solid, confident man before you. There’s a moment of hesitation, just a beat, where you withdraw from his lips to find him watching you wide-eyed. But his surprise rapidly fades, and there’s no fear, no judgement. In fact, he acts like it's the most natural thing in the world. Large, capable hands rise to cup your cheeks, and just like that, he’s pulling you back in for more.

Your own hands fly to his warm, slick chest. Rick’s tongue darts out again, this time sweeping across the seam of your lips, and deepening the kiss. He tastes like mint and chlorine from the pool, and as you finally get the chance to run your fingers through the silken lengths of his hair, you know without a trace of doubt, this is infinitely better than coffee.

You tell him so, after you've finally parted.

Cheeks flushed, and a dazed smile spreading across his face, Rick hums his agreement, before adding, “Same time tomorrow?”

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#rick flag #joel kinnaman #rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #the suicide squad #tss 2021 #harley quinn #dceu fanfic #oneshot #colonel rick flag

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