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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Fizzing Through the Line

Summary: Things go a little differently for the two Suicide Squads on Corto Maltese and Rick Flag remembers all the moments he stole with you.

A/N: Writing about this absolute Himbo is cathartic. Why? No idea. But please be aware that I jump back and forth between the “present” in bold and the “past” unbolded. Hopefully I didn’t mess up the formatting too much. I hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Rick Flag/F!Reader (and a surprise or two)

Rating: PG-13 for guns, violence, and like two sentences of non-explicit mention of sex (I promise to try my hand at Rick Flag smut with my next bit of writing)

Word Count: 6.2k

Or read on Ao3 here!

You were bleeding. Why were you bleeding? Why-

Rick pressed a hand over your stomach, trying to stop the flow of crimson pooling beneath you, as another gently cupped your face. He didn’t even care about the dozens of guns pointed at his head. All he saw was you.

“H-he took it. He took the drive.” Blood choked you, spurting out with your next breath and spattering against Rick’s stupid yellow shirt. “You hafta g-get it.” More blood dribbled down your chin.

“Honey, c’mon, it’s okay,” he said, pressing a little harder against your stomach, trying to believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “You’re gonna be okay.”

And you smiled with blood coating your teeth and a wheeze of an embarrassed laugh. “Honey… I like when you call me h…”

Rick isn’t sure when it started.

He remembered when you were brought in to Belle Reve, he had just come back from another Task Force X mission and was running on three hours of sleep and half a cup of burnt coffee. He’d wanted to go home and sleep for a week. But he turned his head when he heard the communal doors open below the room that acted as the impromptu meeting place to debrief with Waller—it was like he had no choice in it at all. And there you were.

One of your shoelaces was untied as your eyes darted from corner to corner, wall to wall, person to person as you were escorted with a surprisingly small (for the given circumstances) group of guards and only a singular pair of handcuffs on your wrists.

You didn’t belong here.

Every time he had to go to that god-forsaken heap of stone and metal they called a prison, he saw you. He watched. He listened. But he…couldn’t bring himself to approach you.

What would happen anyway?

The other inmates largely left you alone, except for Harley who always made it a point to slide next to you when she was let out of confinement, not on a mission with him, or escaped. Rick found himself smiling when he witnessed Harley coax a laugh out of you, nose crinkling with the sound.

“What’s she in for?” He asked one day, trying to sound impassive as he looked over the files of the other newcomers. Waller had been busy filling the ranks of Task Force X after a half dozen metahumans and criminals had been killed on the last mission. The stack he was sorting through had to be several inches thick and he pretended to be really and truly interested in the pieces of paper in front of him but Waller’s calculating gaze moved to him and he tried his best to hold it, to not wither under the powerful woman’s stare. He hoped he succeeded.

“Take a look. Her file starts on page 48.”

He flipped to the page, trying hard to not seem too keen but quickly read every bit of information Waller had. “She’s in here for…destruction of private property?”

You had leveled an entire building and the surrounding parking lot and farmland in an instant. The photos of the ‘incident’ were…impressive, to say the least. It looked like a bomb had gone off. And there you stood, in the middle of the rubble, looking sad and confused and covered in dust. Apparently, you had spent most of your time here alone and trying to learn how to control your powers. You had been to blame for the power outages that had been plaguing the prison for the past handful of months—and the charred hole in the west wing.

He turned the page and resisted the smile he felt pushing at his lips when he read a bit more of your file and the pictures Waller had dug up. You had worked in accounting. You looked so proud in your button-up shirt and skirt patterned with sunflowers. A cute worker bee at Wayne Enterprises. Your smile was so…gentle.

“She was exposed to some sort of experimental gas they’d cooked up at Wayne Enterprises. Lucius Fox kept her for observation, spirited her away to one of the smaller facilities Wayne Enterprises owned outside the city. It was a good thing he did because if she had been in the center of Gotham, she would have killed millions of people.” Waller crossed her arms over her chest with a slick smile. “She must’ve had a hell of a lot of pent up emotion if she could do that much damage.”

And Rick could understand why. Your file grew more and more depressing the more he read. Watched both your parents die in a bank robbery, executed right in front of your ten-year-old eyes. State placed you in a distant relative’s custody and you had the broken bones and bruises and spilled blood to prove how much they detested the extra mouth to feed. But you escaped. You survived. You clawed your way through school as you bounced from friend’s couch to friend’s couch, always afraid to stay too long. You got a full-ride scholarship to a well-respected university in Metropolis, and you took it, only coming back to Gotham after you had earned your CPA license and had secured a well-paying job at Wayne Enterprises.

And then it all went to shit, apparently.

Rick snapped the large file closed and looked at Waller. “So, she’s unstable.” The word felt wrong on his tongue. He knew it was a lie. He’d seen enough to know that you…you were one of the good ones.

“She’s powerful. You’ll see.” Waller left after telling him to take a look at the rest of the folder and mentioned, almost off-handedly (but Rick knew her too well for that) that there was more to your file tucked in the back.

And so, when the door closed, Rick took a few minutes to flip through the pages of other ‘recruits’ before giving up the act and flipped the binder to the back and pulled out the manila envelope that had your name on it. There was a disc that he quickly pushed into the computer’s drive and waited to boot up. There was also pictures of you throughout your years at Wayne Enterprises. Helping your department win the chili cook-off, volunteering at the Wayne Foundation’s school supply giveaway, smiling at your desk when surprised with flowers by your coworkers for your birthday. There was even a picture of you in Wayne’s arms at some gala. You were laughing as he spun you around.

You looked…happy.

The computer chirped and Rick turned and pulled up the files on the disc. It was pictures of the crime scene at the bank and a few more of the destruction you had caused…and then a video. Rick clicked on it. He expected to see surveillance of the damage or an interview with you when you were first brought to Belle Reve. What he was greeted with instead was you, unconscious, on a tiny gurney.

“Mister Wayne, I am busy. I would appreciate if you told me what you need so I can be on my way,” Waller’s voice rang out on the computer’s dented speakers.

There was an answering sigh before Rick watched the infamous billionaire, Bruce Wayne, sit on the edge of the hospital bed and gingerly run his knuckles across your cheek. It was…soft. It was strangely intimate in a way that made Rick’s stomach twist.

“She’s refused any sort of legal counsel.”

“And I’m sure you took full advantage of that.” The billionaire’s hand gently landed atop of yours on the white sheet of the hospital bed and he gave it a squeeze. “Feeling like she needs to atone—she’s always been fond of punishing herself for things she didn’t do.”

“She took a shorter sentence in here, with me, knowing full-well what operation I run. She was made aware of the terms.”

“I know you can be very persuasive when you want to be.” That was not a compliment, despite the smile on the man’s face. “If she dies-”

“She made her choice, Mister Wayne. Just as you make yours every time you put on that ridiculous ba-”

The video stopped.

Rick let out a yell and dragged you closer as the building collapsed, needing to keep you close and his frantic gaze found Cleo who had tears tracking down her cheeks. She hurriedly explained what she had learned, about the experiments, about the fucking alien that lobotomized its victims to use their bodies as extensions of its own, of how the American government was behind all of it. “They experimented on children, Colonel Flag. Y/N wanted to tell everyone, tried to take a drive from the computer and…” she sniffled and Sebastian patted at her cheeks, trying to comfort her. “Peacemaker took the drive and…”

The building finally fell and the rest of the squad ran just as a giant fucking starfish rose from the wreckage.

“Hey, Sweetcheeks,” Harley said, booping you on the nose with a bright, near-feral smile.

“Back again, Harleen? I didn’t know you were coming along today.”

Harley basically collapsed into the seat beside you with a happy sigh. “I just couldn’t stay away from ya for too long, y’know?”

You hummed, and it looked like you were fighting a smile. “I read what happened with Black Mask. I thought you’d be out of here for a little bit longer.”

Harley shrugged. “Everything’s sorted, fer now, anyway.” She leaned her head on your shoulder, another smile pushing at her blood-red lips. “I met a lady. I think you’d like ‘er!”

“Oh?”

“She’s a doctor. Real smart. She’s watching Bruce 2 for me.”

When you listened to Harley talk about her newest…girlfriend? Lover? Partner-in-crime? your eyes momentarily skittered over to Rick. And he felt his entire body jolt like he’d been zapped with something and he tried to look away—really, he did!—but then you smiled and he had to smile, too.

The mission was easy, really. Easy as it could be for the aptly nicknamed Suicide Squad, anyway. There was a megalomaniac with an army and a plan to take over the world. It was all…old hat by now. How many times had he and his team of criminals saved the world? Too many.

But this was the first time he had you under his command. It was interesting, to say the least.

And the plan went well. Harley was being Harley and had a little bit too much fun taking out anyone who stood in her way but he managed to rein her in just enough to rescue who they needed to rescue and then watch you…gentle, always-smiling you, throw out your arms to your side and scream.

He’d seen it before, on videos and in pictures. He knew what you were capable of. You. The force of nature in skin. But seeing it in-person was an almost holy experience. Something like lightning burst from your chest and toppled the building they’d just come from. It scorched the earth and left a copper tang in his mouth, made the hair on his arms raise like he’d stuck his finger in a socket. The scent of ozone made his mouth dry.

It was beautiful. You were beautiful.

It was over in seconds and he watched Harley swing her stupid bat as she walked to your side with a hum. “Need a nap, huh, Sweetcheeks?”

And then you passed out. Killer Croc scooped you up in his arms before you could hit the ground. The motion was so smooth it made Rick think he’d done it before. Maybe he had.

The senator they’d just rescued gawked at Rick’s side. “She’s controlled, right?” The words were tumbling out of the man’s mouth and Rick felt the exhaustion bubble up into rage. On instinct, his hand inched toward the sidearm on his hip. “We can’t let her out if she can’t be-”

Thwack.

Rick turned to see the senator face down in the dirt. A familiar pair of beat up boots were behind him and Boomer was tucking away one of his boomerangs with a sniff. “He’s a rude one, nah? She just helped save his life.”

Rick turned and watched Harley fuss over you in her own way as Croc carried you back to the waiting jet. His hand fell back to his side. He wouldn’t shoot him.

Yeah.

Yeah. The senator was rude.

In the confusion and chaos of literally letting a giant starfish loose on the city, their team had stumbled upon Peacemaker, trying to call in the jet to pick him up.

Harley shot him, twice.

And Rick didn’t even blink when he heard Waller get knocked the fuck out over the comms when she threatened to blow everyone’s heads off when they wanted to save the city from the rampaging kaiju. His hand was coated in your blood. You were barely breathing—but your heart still beat. He could feel it.

And when it was all over, the remnants of his team stepped to his side, trying to help the woman in his arms as best they could with their nonexistent supplies. You weren’t even supposed to be here. You were a last-minute addition to the second team. You were supposed to be safe. But you had smiled at him and taken Cleo downstairs with you, “she’s never seen an alien before, Colonel!” And you promised that you would make quick work of getting rid of the alien so you could go home. Home. With him.

“I’ve called someone. They…they should be here soon.” He hoped. He prayed. He begged whatever higher power might be listening. He couldn’t lose you. Not now.

Rick watched DuBois hold the disk up with a sigh. “We have two options-”

“No. You have one.” He looked down at you. You hadn’t moved. “Just…just go. You’ve earned it.”

“Flag-”

“Go.”

You were one of the few who was sad when Floyd got out. He’d done enough missions with Task Force X to qualify for an early probation and he was given an ankle bracelet and sent on his way. Floyd had rapped his knuckles against your forehead, the same as he did with Harley, before he walked out of Belle Reves’ gates.

It was temporary, he knew. But Rick still didn’t like how your chin wobbled when the gates slammed shut.

“Deep breaths, Sweetcheeks,” Harley murmured. “You’ll see him again.”

Rick hated it.

He hated seeing you sad.

But he hated even more that he could barely get a moment with you. He’d learned from his relationship with June that nothing was sacred to Amanda Waller. Nothing. With Enchantress gone and their relationship falling apart not long after, Waller was on the hunt for something or someone else to use to keep him on a short leash. Rick didn’t want to paint an even bigger target on your back.

While everyone else got ten years off their sentence with each successful mission, you only got two. Your initial sentence was significantly shorter, to be fair, but Waller knew exactly what she was doing. She was going to keep you under her thumb for as long as possible.

“Hey Flag.” Harley’s unmistakable voice snapped him from his thoughts and he turned to see her unnaturally pale face alarmingly close to his. “You keep starin’ at her.”

“Harley-”

“I know she’s real cute but you’re gonna give her a complex or somethin’.” It was a tease, Rick knew it. “But she’s awful sad right now, y’know?” And Harley might have been clinically off her rocker but Rick listened when she seemed genuine. “I bet you could make her smile.”

“What?” And why was his throat suddenly dry?

“Cuz, she looks at you, too.”

And that was how Rick Flag found himself in the prison’s cafeteria, sharing a Rice Krispy treat with you. The way you smiled when he handed you half of the sugary treat he’d bought from the vending machine was well worth the $1.75 he’d paid for it. He’d pay it over and over again if you smiled at him like that.

“How many of these missions have you gone on?” You asked, a bit of the treat squirrelled away in your cheek. “You seem…really calm about all of it.”

Rick nodded and poked at the bright blue wrapper in front of him on the dented table. “First mission had us up against a seven thousand year old deity from a different dimension so…anything after that seems pretty normal.”

“That was your girlfriend, right?” As soon as the question escaped your lips, you winced. “I-I-I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. Harleen just talks so much and-”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hoping it sounded softer rather than angry. “ ‘s fine. I know Harley’s got quite the mouth. But she’s right, June was possessed. Made everything a little more complicated.” He sighed and looked down. Damnit Harley.

But then your hand, a little sticky from the treat, covered his on the table. You gave it a single squeeze before your touch retreated again, leaving his skin warm and buzzing, like he’d gotten too close to a live wire. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand complicated.” You smiled at him but it didn’t quite reach your eyes and Rick felt something twist in his chest.

“Want another block of sugar? You tell me yours, I tell you mine?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

And then your smile lit up your entire face. “Yeah. Yeah…okay.”

Oh, this was dangerous.

That was when the tears came. They spattered against your bloody and dirty cheeks as they rolled down his face before he leaned down just enough to press his forehead against yours. “Stay with me. Please. Please stay with me.” He’d crushed his satellite phone after he had cashed in his Hail Mary. Waller didn’t need to know that, too.

He expected a jet, if he was being honest. But when the ground rumbled and strangely familiar red boots appeared in front of him, Rick didn’t question it. Fucking Superman knelt down beside him sighed. “Hold her down.”

“What?” But his hands did curl a little tighter around you, watching as this alien’s eyes started to glow an inhuman red-yellow. The infamous heat vision scourged down into you and the terrible, familiar scent of burnt flesh met his nose—but it was over just as quick as it began. And you hadn’t moved—hadn’t moved an inch even as Superman burned you from the inside out, probably stopping the internal bleeding.

“You’re on Wayne’s payroll?” Rick ground out.

Superman smirked as he pushed his fingers at the wound, humming when he found whatever he had done satisfactory. “I owed him a favor.”

A jet landing nearby captured their attention, it was sleek and black and familiar—and the side unfolded to reveal…Batman. “What the fuck.”

“She’s alive,” Superman said, stepping to the Bat’s side. “I’ve done what I can for now but she needs a hospital.”

And that was how Rick found himself on a much-too-nice to be a public hospital’s waiting room chair, still covered in dirt and grime and your blood that had dried to an awful red-brown on his hands. The door he was sitting outside opened and a doctor stepped out. “Colonel?” He shot to his feet. “She’ll see you now.”

Rick went on missions. Rick watched a few more of his team get picked off, one by one. He watched some of them (mostly Harley…multiple times) escape, yet again. He begrudgingly and accidentally befriended (most) of the criminals under his command. It happened over and over again, almost like clockwork.

It was exhausting.

But he had started to realize that the strange, more-than-dangerous people he had fought side-by-side with were more loyal friends than almost anyone he had met. And then there was you. Soft, gentle, capable-of-immense-destruction you.

You were put on the team for missions more often than not, Waller preferring to have nothing to ‘clean up’ afterward. Rick didn’t mind. You were getting more and more powerful and had more and more control over your power.

And he liked talking to you.

He’d push his earpiece into a discarded soda can or into the glovebox whenever the mission was over and he’d wait until the rest of the team was asleep and then you’d slip to his side with a smile he would swear he saw in his best dreams. And you would talk for hours on the way back to Louisiana. About anything, about everything.

“Have you read that book I leant you?”

“Did you watch the extended editions of Lord the Rings yet?”

“What do you mean you’ve never had stuffed crust pizza?”

“You should sleep. You look tired.” Your warm, soft hand rested against his cheek for a moment after you brushed a bit of grime away from his heated skin. He welcomed the slight sting that came with the touch. It meant you were close. “I’m sure the pilots know where we’re going by now, Colonel.”

He liked the way you called him Colonel. It was a bit of a tease, a friendly poke at his rank. But it sounded nice on your tongue. “Only if you get some shut-eye too.”

Your smile was small but you nodded.

He expected you to just lean back in your seat and close your eyes. But he felt his next breath stutter in his lungs when your head found a place to rest on his shoulder.

He expected to lose a few teammates every time they went out. He expected his piss-poor pay and cold, calculating looks from Waller. He expected to see things out of his wildest nightmares trying to kill him.

But he hadn’t been expecting you.

He whispered your name when the jet was about to land and made sure you were awake before he slid from his seat to talk to the pilots and call in to let Waller he’d be in her office in about ten minutes.

“Goodnight, Colonel,” you whispered before you walked down the ramp to be greeted by guards who placed familiar handcuffs over your wrists and lead you away.

“Goodnight, honey,” he whispered to himself, watching you go.

He expected the succinct meeting with Waller and her even more brusque dismissal. He expected his shower to be a little too cold when he washed the grime and dirt and blood from his skin. He expected to sleep poorly on the little couch in his office so he could finish his paperwork first thing in the morning (and make sure you slept okay and maybe smuggle another Rice Krispy treat to you just so he could see you smile).

What Rick wasn’t expecting was Bruce fucking Wayne to be seated in his tiny little office.

“Hello, Colonel Flag.”

“…Mister Wayne.”

“Your security here,” the billionaire pursed his lips, “leaves something to be desired. I was able to bribe my way into your office without much.”

“The security here is some of the best in the world, Mister Wayne. But even the guards here know your face and how much you’re worth. They know that you could probably spare a dollar or two to get through these gates without much fuss.” Rick sat down in his too-small office chair and bit back a grimace at the stench of his clothes. He didn’t get to shower yet. “Is there a reason for you to be here? Waller left five minutes ago but I’m sure she’d still take your call.”

“I am here to see you.”

Rick only stared at him.

“I have been told you are close to Y/N. Friendly.”

“I also call Harley Quinn a friend and I think Robert DuBois might be, too.”

Wayne’s answering smile was all teeth. “You know how to pick them.”

“What is your purpose here? I am tired, Mister Wayne.”

“I’m sure you are. I’ve heard about your exploits in Norway.”

Rick, again, didn’t deem that comment worthy of an answer and let the billionaire squirm, for just a moment.

“Y/N is…”

Rick hated how this man said your name. Like he cared. And maybe he did.

“She’s special. Even before all this. She’s always been special. And I want to make sure she’s okay here.”

Rick’s hands curled into fists. “You know what we do here, what this team does.”

“I do.” Bruce stood and re-buttoned his suit jacket—it probably cost more than Rick made in a year. “And that is why I am offering you a…helping hand.” He set a business card on Rick’s desk. “If you need anything, if she needs anything, I’ll come.”

Rick was quick to grab your hand as you reached out to him. The familiar fizzing sensation had him smiling and tears rushing to his eyes.

“Hi, honey.”

You were tired and bandaged and stitched back together but you smiled and pulled his dirty hand to your face, letting his rough fingers curl around your cheek. “Call me honey again.”

Rick wondered if anything could ever be normal.

He’d once thought about getting out of the service and starting up his own security firm somewhere on the coast. Finding someone special to settle down with. Owning a home. A kid or two. A dog.

But that was before Amanda Waller. Before Dr. June Moone. Before everything.

But right now, he was watching you and Harley traipse through the ruins of some secret hideout of yet another metahuman hell-bent on revenge with an almost gleeful abandon. And while he was busy choking out a guard, trying to be discreet, he listened to you giggle alongside your friend as you picked off the others with a bat and a knife or a bolt of electricity from your talented fingers.

No…this was not normal.

But he liked hearing you laugh.

And when the mission was wrapped up in an untidy bow and only one of their team among the dead—a guy who insisted on being called Killer Moth which was one of the dumbest codenames Rick had ever heard—Rick felt good. Tired but good.

As they waited for the Humvee to arrive to spirit them away from the destruction they had caused, he felt your hand slip into his, a small bit of energy rippling up his arm in greeting, feeling like a bit of fizzing soda beneath his skin.

“I found some Rice Krispy treats,” you said and he turned to see your other hand holding a box of the blue-wrapped treat.

Rick glanced out to see the rest of the team bickering over…something, it didn’t really matter, and so he tugged you into the shadow of an alley and you two shared a few of the sticky-sweet treat with small smiles.

No, it wasn’t normal. But it was good.

You were free.

You had your life back.

Sorta. As much as was possible with being a metahuman, anyway.

Rick watched as Lucius Fox carefully cut open your neck and removed the device that had kept you under Waller’s thumb. Wayne made sure your file was cleared and no one would ever know that you were locked away in prison for a crime you couldn’t control. You were going to be released from the hospital soon, and guaranteed a job at one of the quieter offshoots of Wayne Enterprises—the job would be waiting for you, whenever you wanted it.

But you still had a few surprises up your sleeve. The first came when Batman had dropped into your hospital room (in the middle of the fucking night like a creep) to check on you and you murmured, “Mister Wayne?”

Rick felt his hands curl into fists at his sides when he watched the fucking Batman smile.

“I’d recognize that chin anywhere.”

The second was that, after speaking with Bruce, you had managed to secure Rick’s freedom, too.

Bruce leaned against the doorway, now visiting in the day time in his three piece suit, with a smirk. “I got an encrypted email from someone you might know. Sent me a pretty interesting file.”

“Just get to the point, Wayne.”

The Billionaire straightened his shoulders. “Y/N asked me to help you. So did our mutual friend, Harley. So I did. Waller has agreed to free you from your contract with ARGUS in exchange for Wayne Enterprises providing a bit of silence.” He reached out and patted Rick on the shoulder. “You have a job waiting for you at Wayne Enterprises, if you want it.”

“I-I-I’m sorry.”

His ears were ringing and he felt ever hair on his body standing on end and something was on fire behind him—but he still heard you.

“He had a gun and I thought…” Tears were lining your lashes while ash coated your skin. Dirtied hands curled over your stomach as if you were trying to shield or hug yourself.

And Rick wasn’t sure what was worse.

This mission had been awful. Nothing had gone to plan and Rick had more teammates to bring home in body bags than alive. The bolt you had let out had lashed right by his cheek and had found a home in the body of the Elliot Caldwell aka The Wrath. The gun he had pointed at the back of Rick’s head was a melted mess in the dead man’s hand.

“C’mere,” he said, voice harder than he had wanted.

You followed his instruction, inching toward him with your chin tucked to your chest.

But his own dirty hands, covered in dirt and blood, tipped your head up and he tried to be gentle when he wiped away the tears on your cheeks. “Thank you.”

Your eyes went wide. “But I killed a teammate-”

“You saw a threat and neutralized him. You kept me alive.” He felt an unsteady smile push at his lips. “And you…you know the rules, yeah? I die, everyone dies. You saved a few people here today. And, truthfully, it isn’t like I haven’t killed a teammate or two.” And your answering smile was small and you hiccupped, trying to tamp down fresh tears. “Thank you.”

You only nodded and moved to turn away but Rick grabbed your wrist and pulled you close and-

-and he didn’t even realize what was happening next. You were so soft and warm against him, and he could feel how his body reacted to the literal electricity coursing through you. It tasted like heaven—you tasted like heaven and something sweet. And he nearly snarled at the soft little whimper you let out against his mouth as his large, rough hand anchored itself on the back of your neck.

You were too good. And he would drown in you if given the chance.

The payout from the government to keep his mouth shut was substantial, to say the least. So, instead of thinking about taking that job in Gotham, he took you on a vacation.

You watched the snow fall with a smile on your face. You’d both had enough of beaches for a while. And he loved “making sure” you were warm each night. It was quiet here. Peaceful. And thankfully out of range of most cell towers so you were undisturbed for a blissful month.

Your finger trailed down his nose, pulling him from his reverie. He smiled at you, watching as the snowflakes landed on your hat, the one with the abnormally large pom-pom at the end you insisted on buying at the market. “What’re you thinking about? Looking kinda serious.”

His smile grew wider and his hands settled on your hips, pulling you a little closer. “Thinkin’ about you, honey.”

“Sap.”

It had been an almost blissful year. As blissful as it could be when he was trying to herd supervillains like cats through some of the most dangerous missions ever concocted. But now he had you. Rick had you and knew what your lips tasted like under the cover of darkness. Knew that, before all this, you’d wanted a family, a home. Knew that you liked sweets so much because you’d been denied them for so long when you were growing up. Knew that you were ticklish behind your knees. Knew what you sounded like when he was stretching you open. Knew what you looked like when you reached that peak in his arms.

“I love you,” you murmured to him, thinking he was asleep. The mission was almost over. The next day you’d take out so-and-so and then be back on a plane to Louisiana.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, eyes opening to smile at your surprised face and then rolled right on top of you to show you how much.

He knew you. And you knew him.

And that was the kicker. That was the punchline in another patient game Waller had created.

“You know she’s mine until her sentence is over.”

He hated this.

He hated this stupid game.

He hated that there was a picture of you in his arms on that stupid stretch of road, a smile on your beautiful face as you looked up at him. They’d been caught. Red-handed.

Waller crossed her arms over her chest. She almost smirked. And then her fingers pushed a thick stack of papers in his direction. “Five more years of your time and I’ll make sure L/N is taken care of. My higher ups are getting a little interested in her. You and I both know what that can entail.” Waller handed him a pen and flipped to the end of the contract. “Your choice.”

It wasn’t a choice. And Rick signed.

Maybe Rick shouldn’t’ve been surprised to see Harley show up on your doorstep. You two did live in Gotham after all. Harley’s playground.

“Hiya, guys!” Harley let herself in, followed by a pair of hyenas who were surprisingly well behaved. “Can you do me a favor?”

“No.” “Yes.”

Rick sighed and looked at you as you smiled.

He still couldn’t tell you no. The plan he had and the ring he’d hidden away would have to wait.

Rick felt the familiar fizz of electricity when he pressed his lips to your forehead. “You okay?”

“Never am when you go out without me,” you answered with a huff of a laugh, tugging at his holster to make sure it sat straight across his broad shoulders.

Neither of you liked the mission parameters. A small team, all things considered, for an island nation who suddenly had a new regime that happened to not align with America’s “morals”? It all felt…wrong. Not that you would be surprised to learn that Waller was withholding information. But this felt different. Not because the entire mission revolved around an extraterrestrial. And Rick had been given command of a few familiar faces and a few others that neither of you really knew nor trusted. And you were benched for this mission. Waller’s orders.

“Harley’ll be there. Boomer, too.”

“The rest of them, though? I don’t like this.” You turned to press your face into his chest and he breathed in a greedy lungful of your strange scent of ozone and sticky-sweet treat you loved to eat whenever Rick would sneak it to you.

“I’ve gone through worse.”

“We’ve also gone through better,” the words were muffled.

Rick reached up to let his hand find its familiar place on the back of your neck, thumb skirting over your pulse, feeling it thump-thump-thump, as calm as could be when you were in his arms. “It’ll be okay, I promise. After this…we can-”

“I still have another eighteen years on my sentence.” Your shoulders slumped.

“You had fifty when you first came.” That earned him a smile. “You’ve gone through all those missions without too much trouble. I’ll come back and then-”

“And the next nine?” You asked, looking at him with a frown.

Rick adjusted his hold just enough to hold your face as gently as he could. “Yeah. The next nine. And then whatever comes after that because I will be beside you the entire time. I promise.”

And then you kissed him and he tried to ignore how it tasted like tears. He would come back to you.

Everything had been worth it.

Every single bit of it.

You survived. He survived. And you were smiling at him with tears in your eyes with a ring on your finger and he got to call you wife.

And yeah, Harley and her girlfriend were currently hogging the dance floor and two hyenas were barking outside the reception and Floyd and DuBois were comparing guns at one of the tables while their daughters rolled their eyes. Cleo, Abner, and Nanaue were sitting in front of a table covered in half-filled bottles of liquor, looking half-asleep already. And Bruce fucking Wayne was nursing a cognac and standing next to a guy who definitely looked like Aquaman but you only smiled when Rick asked who he was. It didn’t matter.

None of that mattered.

All that mattered was the livewire that was your hand in his.

You stood, still holding his hand. “C’mon, Colonel. Dance with your wife.”

He stood, smile starting to hurt his face but he didn’t care. “Yes, honey.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think!

#rick flag x reader #rick flag imagine #suicide squad imagine #rick flag

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Hi, I was the anon who asked if you could write something because I felt crappy. I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. I was just looking for something short and sweet. I'm having existential anxieties a lot (pandemic hasn't helped) and struggle feeling as if I have a purpose in life. I'm crap at everything I do. I've tried to find comfort in believing that you don't have to have a purpose but it's hard to really believe. I lost my job recently bc of the pandemic and it's been hard finding another.

Any pedro character, although my favourites are Javier, Ezra and Frankie. Don't worry if you can't write anything tonight or don't have time etc. I will be fine and you aren't responsible for any anons that ask you to cheer them up so plz don't pressure yourself. Sorry for asking :/ and being a downer.

Oh my love, this has been in my inbox for a few days now. I’m sorry I’ve only just got round to doing it. Please don’t apologise for being a downer or asking! It’s what I’m here to do :) I hope this helps ease your anxiety and makes you feel better.

Comfort Blanket [Frankie Morales x Reader]

Warnings: mentions of anxiety/descriptions of a panic attack, Frankie is a soft dumb dorky himbo

Rating: PG-13

Your cheeks were painted with your tears, and they glistened under the dull bathroom light. You thanked your lucky stars that this had happened whilst you were home alone. You couldn't deal with having to face Frankie. You knew he'd confront you about this. You knew he wouldn't understand and he'd demand answers. You were always so happy and smiley. Even the guys (Will, Ben and Santiago) said you were such a positive influence on the group. But you were only human, and as you sat against the cold tiled wall, your elbow leaning on the toilet seat, you weren't feeling very positive. You weren't feeling... anything really.

Anxiety had consumed you to the point of sickness, and it was uncalled for. You'd spent hours sobbing, holding your head in your hands and furiously tugging on your hair. It felt like you were choking. The feeling of impending doom swarming your body, drowning you. You couldn't breathe. Your chest felt tight, your vision became hazy and your mouth dried up.

Frankie was just a phone call away. He'd want to know. If you were scared or hurting, he'd want to know. You knew what your boyfriend was like. He loved you so much. But you didn't want to worry him. He'd ask what was wrong and you wouldn't be able to answer him, because you didn't even know yourself. It was pointless burdening him with this. Just for once, you had to be independent. You had to face this alone.

You hadn't even heard the front door lock click open. He'd gotten home early and you were too busy whimpering in the bathroom to hear his usual greeting, "Honey I'm home!"

The words were cheesy, and they often earned a roll of your eyes. But it was yours and Frankie's special thing— and you loved it. Frankie dropped his keys in the bowl kept on the kitchen counter and padded through your small apartment. He was confused when you weren't there to greet him the way you usually were. Sure, he had gotten home from work earlier, but you'd always run into his arms and embrace him the second he walked through the door.

Frankie padded through the living room, down the corridor, thinking you might be in the bedroom. He paused midway when he passed the bathroom, freezing in his footsteps when he overheard your cries.

He stood outside the bathroom. You'd been together for six months and Frankie had never heard you cry before. He didn't know how to approach you. He felt an anger, wanting to know exactly who and what had hurt you. The sobbing stifled for a second and Frankie breathed a sigh of relief. Until you started again. Frankie opened the door.

You looked up at your boyfriend with glazed eyes, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He wasn't supposed to see you like this. You hid your face in the crook of your elbows with shame, muffling your sobs.

"What's wrong?" He asked hesitantly.

You let out an even louder and infuriated cry when you couldn't answer his question. You shrugged your shoulders helplessly and let your tears soak your clothes as you held your knees to your chest. "I just... I just..." you gasped for air, unable to get any words out. Frankie understood. He knew how you were feeling.

"One sec." he said, holding up a finger before bolting out of the bathroom.

He dived into your shared bedroom, fell to his knees and stretched out his arms to pull out a box that he kept under his bed. It was your bed too, and yet you had no idea he kept it there. It was a relatively small sized cardboard box, messily stuck shut with strong masking tape. He carried the box back into the bathroom and slouched down next to you. He took a deep breath and passed you the box.

"What's this?" you sniffed, letting your fingers curiously trace the tape.

"It's my panic box. Inside this box is everything I need to help me calm down when I'm anxious or upset. Open it." Frankie urged, nudging you playfully. You giggled at his touch and wiped your eyes, trying to regulate your breathing. Frankie wrapped an arm around you and held you close as you peeled away the tape.

Inside the box was an array of things. The first thing you picked out was a soft fluffy blanket. It looked old, slightly rugged, torn in the corners and even sewn up with patchwork. It had a distinct smell too. It wasn't a bad smell. You couldn't describe it. It just smelled like Frankie. You shot him a questioning look.

"This," Frankie said, taking the blanket from you and opening it up. He draped it over you both. "Is my comfort blanket from when I was a kid. It's been with me through everything. Heartbreak, death, even the times when I was upset for no apparent reason... my comfort blanket always seemed to fix things. The least I can do is share it with you." Frankie smiled sheepishly and he noticed the way your eyes sparkled in delight.

"I had no idea you kept a comfort blanket." You confessed with a shaky exhale. You relished the feeling, grabbing a fistful of the material knowing that the blanket was probably not much younger than Frankie. That the blanket had been there for him throughout everything.

"Well, I do," Frankie shrugged. "But uh— don't tell the guys."

You giggled. "Thank you for sharing this with me." you sniffed, immediately beginning to feel so much better.

"Keep digging through the box." Frankie ordered, taking your hand and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

You nodded, reaching back into the box with your free hand. Inside was a scented candle, miscellaneous packets of candy and chocolate, an old teddy bear, and what could only resemble something you kept locked away in your nightstand drawer.

"Frankie!" you gasped, taking the device out of the box and turning to him. Your jaw had dropped and you were trying to contain a smile. "What is this? It looks like a—"

"Don't say it!" Frankie said quickly, snatching the pink device from your hands. He flicked a switch and it started buzzing. You slapped a hand over your mouth in disbelief. "I know what it looks like, okay. But it's a back massager." He pressed two more buttons and demonstrated how it changed speeds and settings.

"Frankie... I don't think—"

"It's a back massager!" Frankie exclaimed defensively, cutting you off. Once again, your dorky himbo boyfriend had you lost for words.

You burst into a fit of giggles as Frankie pressed the vibrating device into the small off your back. "Frankie stop it!" you laughed as he crawled on top of you.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" He quizzed with a smirk. You squealed as he poked his fingers into your side, tickling you, and only making your laughter grow. You had been smiling so hard, your cheeks began to hurt. You pulled the baseball cap off Frankie's head and tossed it to one side so you could tug on his dark curls. He finally lifted off you and switched the ‘back massager’ off. "I'm glad you're smiling." Frankie admitted, pressing a soft and chaste kiss into your cheek.

"Frankie, I love you so much." You admitted, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend. He picked you up, letting the comfort blanket fall to the floor and carried you to the living room. He dropped you on the sofa and tossed you the television control.

"I love you too," he cooed, smoothing out your hair and kissing your forehead. "Why don't we have a movie night, huh? I'll order take-out and bring us a few beers in."

"Okay." you sniffed happily. As you watched Frankie wander into the kitchen, you wondered how you'd ever gotten so lucky.

You knew now that even when you felt like you had to be independent, there was nothing wrong with letting Frankie comfort you. He could make you smile and laugh like nobody else could. He knew the exact way to cheer you up whilst still being considerate and sensitive of your feelings. He loved you so much, and for as long as he was with you, you knew you'd never be alone.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #triple frontier

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