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whataloadofmalarkey · 3 years

Note

BESTIE PLEASE rick flag x reader where she doesnt know how to swim either (like weasel) and blackguard pushes her off the plane thinking she was joking?? or sum like that thank u bff

BESTIE I LOVE THIS REQUEST!! thank you, I had a blast with this one and got carried away! I hope you enjoy this almost 4k creation of madness I whipped together in about an hour!

RICK FLAG X READER: "BREASTSTROKE"

“And then I sold Bernie for $20. $20, Y/N! Do you know what I can do with that kind of money? Five breakfast sandwiches. Five!” Harley squeals beside you, gripping onto your arm excitedly.

You wince, nodding non-committedly as you turn back to the front of the aircraft where the Colonel points to varying areas on a map of the island approaching below. He turns back to the group, folding his arms over his broad chest.

“Is that clear?” he asks the band of misfits in front of him, a variety of nods, grunts and hollers shared in response, “Ok, good. Gear up. We drop in four minutes.”

There was a burst of movement throughout the aircraft, with members of the new team scrambling for their various weapons to check over. You sigh from where you are strapped into the seat, frustrated that the plan was not in fact clear for you, having been subjected to Harley's nonsensical rambling for the past ten minutes. You had hoped Flag would have said something, told her to shut up (you not quite having the heart to) but he seemed to be so used to her ignoring him to blabber after so many years.

You decide to follow the lead of the others and pat yourself down, despite not having any equipment on your person. Why have weapons when you have your abilities? You didn't know how to use guns or arrows or katana-swords or - javelins? (You frown, noticing the odd choice of equipment belonging to the bright blue-cladded blonde beside you.) Besides, your powers have served you well in the past. Flag had even commented to Waller once that the squad would not have had half the successful missions you all had if not for your abilities. And that's high-praise from the usually assured, stubborn soldier.

You had blushed under the weight of his statement, your cheeks burning rather humiliatingly - an impressive and overwhelming sensation that you decide not to give any thought to on the very often occasion you recall Flag's praise (the small smile on his face and genuine gleam in his eye as he said it, in particular, also burning behind your eyelids).

The occasional compliments and reassurances was one of the thing you noticed. That something about the man was changing from when you had met all those years ago, when he had first whisked you out of your cell and plunged you and the others into Waller’s wicked scheme. Task Force X - things had changed so much for the team since the battle in Medway. Only yourself, Harley, Harkness and Flag were left. Even then, you have all changed yourselves. Sure, Boomer is still… well, Boomer. Harley, since having finally broken up with that clown, seemed much more resolute and impossibly somehow more joyous (if not reckless). With you, your abilities have grown stronger, mostly down to the support of the man now sending you a quick glance from the other side of the helicopter as he checks over the gun in his arms.

Rick, he’s probably changed the most. His past threats and ridicule are now words of encouragement and kindness. Where he once viewed you as something less than human, he seems to see an ally now - as you do him. A friend, maybe? Where there was once a strained hostility, is now- well, you’re not too sure what it is. It’s still tense between you, very tense… And your stomach continues to twist whenever you are near him… And he makes your nerves feel as though they are on fire with the briefest brush of arms as you fight side-by-side… But, it doesn’t feel the same as before. No, things have definitely changed…

"Remember," said Colonel speaks up before you can ponder on ‘but how?’. He shouts over the whirring of the aircraft and chatter of the criminals, "No powers or weapons are to be used until we hit land. Don't give Waller a reason to get trigger-happy and you lose your head. We take cover, then wait for orders of our next move. This is all about the element of surprise."

You nod along with the others, though are unable to piece together the rest of the plan. You're sure it's simple enough, you'll catch on. Or you'll improvise, as the squad usually ends up doing anyway.

Flag passes you by as he heads for the opening ramp of the aircraft, shooting a quick, private smile you have become so reliant on to settle your nerves before these missions. You nod back, a small automatic grin tugging at your own lips as you unbuckle your harness and stand to follow after him. Cautiously side-stepping past the werewolf - no, weasel - you move to stand beside him, Blackguard also having moved to the ramp on your other side.

“On the green-signal above us, we jump,” he orders to the crowd behind you.

“Sure, boss,” Blackguard drawls, dripping with sarcasm.

As the ramp continues to open, a small slither of the island below being revealed to you, you turn to look at the soldier, that involuntary smile brightening your face as you catch his eye.

“You ready?” he smirks, voice low as to attain privacy between you both despite the crowd gathering behind.

“As always,” your heart hammers eagerly, tearing your gaze away from that infectious, adventuresome light in his eye, “Though, if we are jumping to land from the craft, shouldn’t we have some sort of parachute-?”

You almost choke on your words as the ramp fully opens, revealing the landscape below you - or rather, body of water below.

Your balance falters, stumbling a few steps backward away from the ramp edge and the deep ocean below you!! The backs of your legs hit the bench, you almost stumble into the seat - but Flag’s hand reaches out to grip your shoulder to steady you before you can fall.

You feel dizzy as you gaze down to the water - even dizzier as you turn to look up at the man who is shaking your shoulder, gently yet firmly enough to keep you standing. His brow is cut sharply by a frown, though his eyes are wide in concern.

“Y/N?” his voice echoes through the pounding in your ears, his evident apprehension biting at your already chilled nerves, “Are you OK? Y/N?”

Rick gives your shoulder a slight shake, his fingers digging near-desperately into your numb skin as he encourages a response.

Your gaze has turned beyond him again, away from the crowd of eyes you can feel burning into you from the rest of the squad - equally as confused as one another. You are fixated on the water, shuddering with every wave that crashes.

“Y/N?!” the soldier almost shouts this time, desperate for an explanation as to why you are almost faint beneath his hold.

You snap your head to him, eyes sore as they begin to sting with tears.

“We have to-?” you try, swallowing hard as you attempt to form the words around the ever-rising fear, “I can’t- I need to.. to swim?!”

The Colonel loosens his hold on your shoulder slightly in surprise, watching worriedly as you inhale sharply after stuttering out the word.

“Yeah, uh,” he tries, clearly unsure what exactly is happening and how to best resolve it,” didn’t you listen to the plan?”

“No! I couldn’t!” you shout, uncontrollably harsher than you mean to be, “Harl wouldn’t shut up about that damned taxidermied beaver and breakfast burritos!”

“Sandwiches,” the unmistakable accented voice speaks up from the crowd, Harley stepping forward with another excited squeal, “Breakfast sandwiches!”

Rick shakes his head, ignoring the other woman as he continues to study your panicked expression, “What’s the problem?”

You inhale again, sharper this time as your gaze drops from him to the floor. Your cheeks heat, as they have done so often under his stare, the blush embarrassingly violent against the terrified paleness of your skin.

“We can’t use our powers?” you squeak, remembering hearing that during the briefing you couldn’t concentrate on just a few moments ago.

“Not until Waller gives the word,” Rick reiterates, though shaken by the sudden change in your attitude, “Y/N, what is it?”

“I can’t-” you sigh, closing your eyes and shuddering as you feel his hand drop from your shoulder, “I can’t swim.”

Rick only frowns, his mouth dropping open slightly in surprise. He is not entirely sure he heard you correctly, your whisper almost going unmissed by most in the aircraft. Well, not all.

“HA!” the young bleach-blonde stood beside you screeches out a bellowing laugh, “You can’t swim?!”

You cringe as you hear murmurs from the others in the aircraft.

Blackguard continues to howl, obnoxiously, “You have Hydrokinesis and you can’t swim?!”

There are a few other sniggers and incredulous chuckles amongst the crowd now, one you recognise to be Boomer - and then also the sound of Harley shushing them to be quiet, showing a clearly rare sign of sympathy. Your stomach drops.

Opening your eyes, you look up to catch Rick’s eye, seeing him already looking down at you with an unreadable expression - confusion, disbelief, irritation, concern? The elusiveness of his silence builds into anger inside of you. Your fists clench at your sides as Blackguard lets out another screech.

“You can’t… swim?” you hear Rick murmur, slowly as if trying to believe it himself.

You sigh, embarrassed, “I can control water, why would I ever need to?”

“HA! You’ve got to be kidding!”

You whirl around to face the obnoxious young man beside you, shaking with fury and fear.

“I’m not,” you mutter through clenched teeth. This only makes the youth laugh harder, clutching at his stomach.

“It’s a joke!”

“It’s not a joke.”

“You,” Blackguard steps forward and points a finger into your face with the hand not on his stomach, “can’t swim!”

“No, I can’t,” you say, a harsh hand coming up to slap his finger away, something that spoils his jubilance. He stands a little straighter, his face falling into a menacing grin as he glares down at you.

“You seriously expect us to believe that?” He says, voice lower and more cruel than before.

You lift your arms and push your palms roughly against his chest, accentuating every word, ”I. Can’t. Swim.”

Blackguard stumbles back slightly, shooting a worrisome glance to the close edge of the ramp, quickly regaining his composure. He squints his eyes as he steps close to you, the amused smirk never quite leaving his face.

“Prove it,” he growls, though still amused.

You guffaw, but before you have the chance to question his strange request - he pushes you.

“Y/N!” Rick yells as you trip over the edge of the open ramp, his stomach instantly sickening. He easily pushes Blackguard brutally to the floor in his haste to reach the edge of the ramp and search for you.

His heart leaps to his throat, almost choking on it. Rick watches you fall, plummeting to the ocean below. Watching for a moment, willing you to use your powers somehow in some way to protect yourself. He curses loudly through a clenched jaw hearing your body collide with the waves in a violent crash.

He can hear Waller screaming in his ear, not quite hearing her words but assuming her to be ordering him to stay put. To wait for the signal. To leave you for dead.

He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even think.

He jumps.

---

He finds himself whispering your name amongst the chaos, almost like a prayer. Rick has never considered himself a religious man, not after the things he has seen. The things he has done. But it is worth a try now, right? When you are cold and limp in his arms, limbs splayed across his lap and sand sticking to your wet skin.

His hand remains by your neck, eagerly pressed against the faint pulse beating there, somewhere close to the bomb so cruelly implanted into it when you had first met all those years ago. Things were so different then. He would not have cared for, let alone cradled, you-

Another explosion goes off somewhere behind him, forcing the soldier to duck his head and cover your body with his own. Debris scatters around you both, Rick gripping onto your jacket and legs, easily able to tuck you into him as closely as possible and avoid any more harm. A flaming pile of metal lands close by, a remnant of the aircraft you had both not so long ago been standing inside. He shuffles closer to it, you still being held securely onto his lap as he maneuvers over to sit beside the flames. He has to get you warm, the icy touch of your skin chilling him to the core. He removes his hands from you just for a moment to remove his jacket. Though wet from his dive after you, he places it around your upper body, hoping the extra layer will help.

“Come on, L/N,” he pleads once more, voice muffled by the chaos around him. Flag grips the jacket around you, clinging desperately, “Please, Y/N… Please…”

He lowers his forehead to touch against yours, body shaking as gunfire surrounds the pair of you. He can hear Harley cackling with glee as she fires another bazooka flare, the whipping of Harkness’ boomerangs as they slice through the enemy’s necks, the spluttering of your cough-

You’re coughing! Body convulsing in his lap as you push against him. His head snaps up, seeing your wide-eyed gaze meeting his as water drips out from your lips. Rick has no time to feel glee as concern floods his nerves, pulling you to sit upright against his chest as you continue to cough. He rubs a hand along your back, willing the air to return to your lungs. After a moment, he feels you collapse back against him, panicking for the briefest moment that you have once again fallen unconscious before he sees your eyes turn up to his from where your head now rests on his shoulder.

“Y/N,” he breathes, almost wincing at how pathetic he sounds. But he doesn’t care. You’re still here. You’re still with him!

“Ri-” you choke on some more water, then reach a shaky hand up to wipe at your mouth, never removing your gaze from him, “Rick?”

He allows himself to smile, gripping his jacket around you tighter. You return the grip on his arms, pushing yourself further into his hold to stabilise yourself.

You continue to catch your breath, something rather difficult with the soldier looking at you with that something in his eye again. You copy the movement of his chest against your back, your own rising and falling in pattern with his until your breath returns to a more controllable pace. Your shaking soon subsides, the heat rolling from his body sparking your skin alight. You both sit there for another moment in silence, looking at the other - both unsure what to say, both acutely aware of the anarchy existing around you, both intentionally blissfully ignorant as you bask in the feeling of the others’ arms.

An explosion resounds somewhere to the side of you, shaking you out of your bliss. Rick subconsciously pulls you tighter towards him, you don’t resist. Both too weak and too greedy for his touch to even want to try.

“You pulled me out?” you croak.

He nods, biting his tongue. What does he even say now? How terrified he felt when that bastard pushed you out of the aircraft? How sickened he was hearing your body collide with the water? How he almost drowned himself in his frenzy to recover you from the water? Risking the mission to get you to relative safety? That he might even lo-

“Thank you,” you exhale, his thoughts ceasing and heart seizing as you blink slowly, a slight upward turn to your lips as you nuzzle gently into his neck.

Another explosion. Harley cackles again somewhere in the distance.

You tense in his lap, suddenly reminded of the others you had been sent on the mission with. Harley, Boomer, Javelin guy, the Weasel. Reminded of-

“Oh! That dickwad!” you seethe, water spitting from your mouth as you move to stand, “Where is he?! When I get my hands on him-”

“He’s already dead, Y/N,” Rick informs you as he tighten his grip to prevent you from moving, knowing you refer to the man who pushed you from the aircraft, Blackguard, “Had his face blown-off.”

“Damn,” you exclaim quietly. Rick is unsure whether you are expressing shock at the brutality of it or disappointment at the stolen opportunity to get revenge.

The Colonel tries to contain his fury now that you are conscious, but can’t help himself from shaking his head disappointingly as he asks, “Why didn’t you help yourself?”

“What?!” you exclaim, pulling away from Rick slightly to stare incredulously at him, “What are you-”

“You could have died, Y/N!”

“It wasn’t my fault! That asshole-”

“You could have used your abilities! I’ve seen what you can do!-”

“I was scared!” you shout, voice trembling. It silences the soldier. He just looks at you, eyes softening in immediate understanding and regret for his misdirected outburst, “I was scared and I panicked and it is humiliating and- and if it wasn’t for you…”

Rick nods, understanding and not wanting to think about what could have been if he hadn’t acted so fast. You exhale.

Another moment passes, neither saying anything.

“So, what now, Colonel?” you say, your head tiredly rolling back onto the man’s shoulder - your burst of anger having drained most of your limited energy. However, the sound of gunshots and yells around you snap your head back upright, forcing you to attempt to get to your feet, “We should help the others! The mission-!”

A tug at your arm pulls you back down into the soldier’s unmoving lap, his hand slipping into yours and the other moving to rest on your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What?”

He swallows, looking down to where your hands are entwined between you. His voice bubbles with regret, “I should have stepped in. It should never have gotten that far. He should never have- I should never have allowed that to happen to you.”

“Rick-”

“I was too busy thinking about Waller,” he frowns, lost in his thoughts as his hold tightens around your hand, “Why would she not have included it in your file? She knew it could sabotage a mission. Why send you on this mission knowing that in the first place? You've done enough, proved yourself on dozens of occasions now! What’s her plan? Why would she-”

“Because she’s a bitch.”

Rick splutters, his face unwillingly splitting into a grin as he snaps his gaze to that mischievous glint in your eye he has become so fond of. You fight off a smirk of your own, raising an eyebrow, “Am I wrong?”

Rick doesn’t answer, knowing the woman is listening to and watching their every move. He has already acted too irresponsibly- no, sentimental - no! That doesn’t sound fitting either. He has already pissed Amanda Waller off already tonight, putting his own interests and impulses before the mission plan. He knows he will live to regret it later, she is not exactly a forgiving woman when it comes to disobeying orders. Waller is a tyrant like that - not that he would ever refer to her as such aloud.

“She put a bomb in my neck and has threatened to blow it every day for four years. It is no secret that evil hag wants me dead,” you quip.

Rick knows you are right. And the thought infuriates him. He holds onto you a little tighter. So no, perhaps he will not live to regret it. Waller, do your worst.

“Where’s my comm?” you suddenly ask, looking around the sand from your position on his lap.

“It was damaged in the water.”

“Gimme yours,” you order, and he does so, pulling it out his ear and handing it over.

You hold it up to your mouth, locking eyes with Rick and smirking as you speak into it, “Nice try, Mandy. I'm still standing.”

And with that, you throw the comm-piece into the burning debris beside you.

“Now, on your feet soldier,” you say, groaning with the strain as you begin to stand. Rick almost reaches out for you again to pull you back but resists, the yells of the squad around you dragging him back to the harsh reality of the situation. You reach a hand down for him, which he takes as he rises to stand beside you.

Reaching back down to the sand to retrieve his gun, surprisingly un-water-logged, he hears you snigger.

“What?”

“So, you’re a strong swimmer?” you grin, a mischievous arch to your brow that has Rick raising one of his own, “Must be to have pulled me out.”

“Get to the point, L/N,” he says, untrusting but curious.

“Maybe you should teach me,” you say as you take a few, slow steps closer to him, “All the different forms and positions…”

Rick stays quiet, both unwilling to fall into the trap of some sort of tease yet also hyper-aware of how close your chests are now you have moved to stand in front of him. You see his eyes squint distrustfully as you begin to extend your arm, your hand brushing slowly against his arm as it rises to his shoulder, then his neck, barely skimming the skin. He finds himself drawing, if possible, closer - eager for your touch.

“Doggy-paddle, front-crawl,” you list slowly, your hand eventually resting against his jawline, thumb glazing across his open bottom lip, “breast-stroke-”

The soldier blinks, eyes now blazing as he stands, frozen.

You stroke your thumb back down to his jaw. Your hand then moves along his neck, around to the base of his hairline, fingers slowly raking upwards to his scalp.

He swallows. Hard.

Rick can feel your breath on his chin as your other hand follows the same pattern, slowly moving from his jaw, to the sides of his head and to the base of his neck.

He represses a shudder. Only stares at you, entranced.

Your hands languidly move from the back of his neck to his jaw again, thumbs stroking his cheeks before you remove your hands from his face entirely.

The soldier blinks. Blushes.

You smirk, holding your now wet-again hands between you both. His own hands remain tightly around his gun, barely restrained from reaching out for you. He watches as you begin to move your fingers, languidly, the water droplets collected from his face dancing along your palms, vibrating with an unseen energy only your vitality can produce.

Your smirk turns into a grin, the water now circling fluidly in the air around your palms.

It is just as beautiful as the first time he saw your powers, Rick thinks. Just as beautiful as the first time he saw you.

“Come on, Colonel,” you say with a smile, turning to face the chaos of the beach. He nods, his own expression falling into an eager smirk, raising his gun in preparation, “Let’s have some fun!”

#rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag imagine #the suicide squad #suicide squad #tss #tss spoilers #the suicide squad spoilers #joel kinnaman #fyp #harley quinn #dceu #whataloadofmywriting

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whataloadofmalarkey · 3 years

Note

Can I get a Rick x reader where r was on the distraction squad with him at the beginning and she survived but was thought dead on the beach and then finds the squad sometime between Operation:Harley and Jotunheim, and then whatever happens but Rick survives? And r doesn't have to be a "villian", like maybe a soldier w/ powers?

Thank you for your request! OK, so this isn't quite what you asked for in terms of timeline, but I thought it worked best to be different from my other one-shots. Hope you like it!

RICK FLAG X READER: "I THOUGHT I'D LOST YOU"

“Flag!” you scream, hoarse voice lost amongst the chaos around you as you watch the soldier run along the beach, shooting down the enemy as he goes.

“Oi!” Harley shouts to him from beside you where you are pressed up against some rocks, sheltered from bullets, fire and falling debris. She tries to help you catch his attention, “Hey! Loverboy!”

"For the last time, Harley, we are not-" you groan, "Now is really not the time."

You send a sharp glare her way, met with a sly snigger and mischievous glint in the woman’s eye, before snapping your gaze back to the man. You shout once more and watch as his eyes immediately find yours, you desperately waving him over. He nods, turning back to look down the barrel of his gun as he fires more shots towards the enemy, before running hastily over to your position. He skids in the sand, falling into a crouch beside you.

“You OK?” he asks, worriedly, glancing you over.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, uncertain, “You?”

He just nods, gripping his gun tighter as he glances around the rocks to the line of enemy fire coming your way.

“I am OK too,” Harley quips, with a slight roll of her eyes, “Thanks for asking.”

You ignore her, reaching an arm out to touch his as he catches his breath, “Rick, what’s our next move?”

He just exhales, eyes wide as he takes in the scene around you. You do the same, unsure what to do - even Harley is quiet. And that’s when you know things are all falling to shit.

It is a bloodbath.

Weasel is dead. So is Blackguard. Javelin, too. In fact, they nearly all are. It might not be long before you are too.

You can hear Rick calling into his comm for Waller, pleading for her assistance. He curses when he is met with static, ripping the device from his ear and throwing it into the sand.

His gaze turns to you, his eyebrows turned upward slightly in the middle as his bottom lip falters in the smallest of quivers. You deflate, your grip on his jacket sleeve pulling you instinctively closer against him.

“Shit,” you exclaim under your breath.

Rick reaches an arm around your waist, pulling you further into his side as he continues to survey the anarchy surrounding you. He shouts out to Mongal, who ignores his cries as she runs to leap onto the helicraft, it subsequently spinning out of control and into the trees. You duck your head, Rick’s hand resting on the base of your neck to push it down further under his shoulder. You can hear Mongal's screams amongst the explosion.

Boomer runs past you, his unmistakable cackle rising above the gunfire as his boomerangs slice through the enemies’ necks. You lift your head in time to see the blades of the helicraft obliterate the trees, splinters flying through the air - impaling Digger. He collapses to his knees in the sand.

“Boomer!” you hear Harley shriek in shock, having also witnessed his impalement. And that’s all it takes for you to get to your feet and take off running toward your wounded old friend. You can feel Rick attempt to grab onto your jacket, to pull your back down into him. You push away his fingers gripping onto your wrist, determined to reach your friend and do something, anything to try to save him!

“Y/N!” you hear the soldier scream behind you as your feet take you closer to the other man. You collapse to your knees in front of him, eyes scanning Boomer and surveying the extent of the damage.

“It’s alrigh’, bub,” the man laughs, somehow still smirking despite the splinters. Just as you go to reach out to him-

“Y/N, NO! WATCH OUT!”

Upon hearing Flag’s cry, your head snaps up to look behind Boomerang, seeing the helicraft collapse onto the sand and an explosion of flame burst into life - soaring in your direction.

You reach a hand out to Boomerang in your panic, but the man stays put on his knees, sending you one last smirk before whispering, “Go…”

“Y/N!”

Rick’s voice pulls you backward, turning on your knees to retreat towards cover. Tears for Boomer streaming from your eyes as you run, you feel the heat of the explosion sting your back. You push harder, desperately willing your legs to move faster. Your muscles burn, your back now scorching from the approaching flames.

Breathing hard, you squint, seeing a blurred silhouette of Rick moving towards you, abandoning his position behind shelter to reach you. You feel yourself reaching an arm out ahead of you towards his figure. You see his arm lifting too, fingers outstretched as you run closer. You're so close to reaching him-

Something else explodes. A force throws you in the air. Flames skim your skin. You hit the floor.

Someone shouts your name. The sound is muffled by the ringing in your ears.

Your vision blurs then fades to black.

---

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The leaves rustle beside the group.

“That.”

The squad raise their weapons, forming a defensive circle in the darkness of the jungle.

The leaves continue to rustle until something suddenly emerges from the bushes. Peacemaker fires a shot at the figure that appears, Bloodsport raising his weapon higher before faltering as he takes in the stranger. The man beside him tightens his hold on his gun, seeming ready to fire another shot. Bloodsport holds out an arm, pushing the gun down to face the floor before he has a chance. Peacemaker sends him an offended glare before turning to look at the stranger himself, hold on the trigger of his gun easing as he notices: a woman. You.

You stare back at them, eyes wide. You are covered in grime, your clothes ripped and torn. There is a sharp bleeding cut above your eyebrow, and ashy streaks splayed across your arms and chest.

You are faced with three men, a woman, a rat who seems to be waving at you? And a… a shark?

“Who the fuck are you?” a man wearing red, white and what seems to be a shiny toilet seat on his head asks, distrusting.

“Who the fuck are you?” you retort, voice dry, as you catch your breath, eyes still darting confusedly between the mismatched misfits in front of you.

“Dubois,” Bloodsport tenses hearing Waller’s voice through his earpiece, “They are from the first Task-Force. They are with us.”

He nods, turning to the others, “They are on our side. Waller’s given the all-clear.”

The others seem to ease, lowering their weapons. You exhale, “Waller? You’re another squad?”

Bloodsport nods, a frown creasing his brow as he studies you, “What are you doing here?”

“I was on the beach,” you say, your head aching as you recall the hazy memories, “We were here to fight. It was a mess. A huge fucking mess... I tried to help Boomer. He’s dead. And then -”

Your eyes begin to sting with hot tears as you exhale the name, “...Rick.”

Your vision blurs as you raise your head to meet the still distrusting and confused eyes of the other squad. You shake your head, swallowing your sob and continuing your explanation, “I was hit by the explosion. Knocked out. Next thing I know I am waking up in some supremacist camp being poked at by enemy soldiers. They must have taken me from the beach. I got away, have been trying to find my way back all night. See if I can find my team, if I can find-”

You bite your tongue, unwilling to say his name again in front of these people, fearful of the pit opening in your stomach and threatening to swallow you whole. You dread to think what has happened to him, where he is. If he is even alive-

“How did you get away from the bad men?” The woman asks, cradling the rat in her hands.

You shrug, “Honestly? It’s all a bit of a bloody blur.”

“You said ‘Rick’?” Bloodsport questions, “Rick Flag? As in the Colonel?”

Your heart skips a beat, “Yeah- yes, he’s my- he’s my, uh, leader.”

“Well,” he says, raising a brow, “He’s been taken by the enemy.”

“Shit,” you feel sick, dizzy. You never should have left his side.

“And we-” he gestures to the strange group around him, the shark smiles friendly at you with its intimidating set of teeth as the rat continues to wave, “-are on a rescue mission to get him back.”

“He’s alive?” you ask despite your shock, heart beating even faster now.

“Presumably,” Bloodsport informs, “His tracker is still active. Waller’s directing us to the camp now.”

You lips split into an open-mouthed grin, tears falling freely down your cheeks and cutting through the grime as you hold your stomach and begin to laugh. He’s alive! You are sure the others are looking at you as though you are insane. But the talking shark and man with glowing coloured balls protruding from his skin make you feel as though you couldn’t care less.

“Alright,” Bloodsport says, sending you a weary glance as he moves past you, the rest of the squad following behind, “Let’s go!”

-----

“Sorry it’s so flamboyant,” Polkadot-man winces as the squad stalks over to the enclosed hut, having just brutally taken out an entire enemy camp with knives, bullets and, well, polkadots.

You scoff, having watched the entire ordeal in amazement from the bushes, not having a weapon of your own after losing them on the beach, as Ratcatcher 2 shrugs, “I think it’s cool.”

Dubois moves forward, slowly approaching the entrance to the hut, veiled by a ragged curtain. Your heart leaps to your throat the closer you get - he should be in there. You should be relieved. But you cannot help fear what state he is in. If they have harmed a single hair on his pretty head-

Bloodsport pulls back the curtain, you raising your fists as the others lift their weapons, preparing for a fight. You can’t quite see into the hut from your place at the back of the group, but the first thing you hear is laughter - his laughter - suddenly caught short and then followed by his voice, “Dubois?”

“Flag?” Bloodsport says, confusion lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, Waller said you were taken captive.”

“Uh, not quite. These are the resistance fighters, they saved my life.”

Oh… shit. A guilty silence falls over the squad.

They just slaughtered innocents, fighters on our own side. Oops!

But you don’t care. You push yourself past Peacemaker and Dubois to the front of the group. All you care about is- “Rick.”

You stare at the man sitting at the table in front of you, barely even having time to register his lack of clothing or the wound bandaged up on his side amidst your relief at seeing him alive.

You watch as his eyes focus on you, widening as his eyebrows turn upward in the middle, his lips opening in surprise. He looks as though he has seen a ghost. Rick stands suddenly, the chair he had been sitting on falling violently to the floor behind him with the force of his movement. His eyes never leave yours as he hastily crosses the room in just a few strides until he is only inches away from you.

You stare at each-other, eyes only leaving the others to glance over wounds for a moment before finding one another again.

He swallows, jaw tightening as he does.

You can hardly breathe as you wait for him to say anything, do something!

“Y/N?” he exhales deeply, you can feel his cool breath fanning your heated cheeks due to his proximity.

Your face breaks out into a smile, his own mirroring yours as he takes another slight step forward, your chests pressing up against eachother as his arms envelope your frame. Squeezing you around your sore ribs - not that you could care for the pain in this moment, when all you want to feel is him - he buries his face into your neck as your own arms encircle his shoulders. Uncaring for the numerous eyes on you both, you hold eachother for another moment, indulging in the feeling.

“I thought I'd lost you,” you feel him mutter quietly into the crook of your neck, his voice breaking.

You place one hand on the back of his head, pulling him tighter into you. He responds immediately, lifting you slightly from the ground as he squeezes back with as much enthusiasm - like he doesn’t want to let you go. You suppose you wouldn’t mind.

You smile as you whisper back a promise, “Never.”

#rick flag #rick flag imagine #rick flag x reader #the suicide squad #the suicide squad spoilers #tss #tss spoilers #joel kinnaman #whataloadofmywriting

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whataloadofmalarkey · 2 years

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THE BEST OF TIMES, THE WORST OF TIMES | TOMMY SHELBY X OC

So, this is a rewrite of my original fic. Most of the content is the same for the first chapter or so, just rewritten to suit my plans and improved (?) style, seeing as it has been almost five years since originally uploading! I am sure most of you have moved on by now, and I don't blame you! I almost had too, but with the new and final season approaching I thought it was worth giving this another shot! I have a plot worked out for the entire show up to season six and am very excited for what is to come! So I hope you can all forgive me for abandoning this fic and will watch this space!

Thank you to those of you who have read this story within those five years and sent messages of encouragement, it helped persuade me to give this another go! Comments and feedback is highly encouraged and welcome if you would be so kind, it really does help keep me motivated to write, and I really do enjoy doing so!

AO3

FF.net

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whataloadofmalarkey · 3 years

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OSCAR KILO (O.K.): steve arnott x oc

who here loves line of duty?

who loves our idiot son steve arnott?

who loves a slow burn romance?

who loves colleagues to friends to best friends to lovers fics?

exactly. we all do. so get reading!

just uploaded my latest chapter of this fic yesterday! thank you to everyone who has read and supported this work so far, I love you all so much!

warnings: some language, some descriptive detail of violence (as in the show) and a very, VERY slow burn

read here on ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980916/chapters/63188119

or fanfiction.net:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13677602/1/Oscar-Kilo-OK

#line of duty #bbc line of duty #steve arnott #kate fleming #ted hastings #edward hastings #matthew cottan #dot cottan #lindsay denton #roz huntley #line of duty fanfiction #line of duty x reader #line of duty x oc #steve arnott fanfiction #steve arnott x oc #steve arnott x reader #fanfiction #ao3 #whataloadofmywriting

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whataloadofmalarkey · 4 years

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ok. it is happening. I am writing a Steve Arnott x OC fic.

the outline plan alone is currently 30K+ so please prepare yourselves for looooong, slooooow burn goodness (hopefully).

not expecting anyone to read it but this fandom is dry as hell and I am here to quench our thirsts.

so drop me a message or reblog/like/comment to be added to a taglist for when and where I am dropping it!

#bbc line of duty #bbc drama #steve arnott #steve arnott x oc #steve arnott x reader #kate fleming #ted hastings #fanfiction #line of duty #line of duty x oc #line of duty x reader #writing #whataloadofmywriting #oscar kilo fic

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whataloadofmalarkey · 4 years

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OSCAR KILO (Steve Arnott/Original Female Character) - BBC Line of Duty - MASTERPOST

Chapter One: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Two: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Three: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Four: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Five: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Six: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Seven: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Eight: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Nine: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Ten: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Eleven: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Twelve: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Thirteen: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Fourteen: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Fifteen: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Sixteen: AO3 / FF.net

Chapter Seventeen: AO3 / FF.net

#steve arnott #steve arnott x reader #steve arnott x oc #kate fleming #kate fleming x reader #kate fleming x oc #ted hastings #matt cottan #matthew dot cottan #edward hastings #line of duty #bbc line of duty #line of duty x oc #line of duty x reader #fanfcition #oscar kilo fic #whataloadofmywriting #writing

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whataloadofmalarkey · 4 years

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so here we have it! I have finally uploaded the first chapter of my new line of duty/steve arnott fic!

felt the need to quench the thirst of this currently dry fandom with a looong, slooow burn about our favourite singular-brain-celled anticorruption officer! the plans for this fic alone is currently 30k+, so I hope the fic itself gives you something you are looking for in all of that!

make sure to follow/subscribe, like/kudos and message/comment with your thoughts and constructive feedback - it would be very much appreciated!

#line of duty #line of duty x reader #line of duty x oc #bbc line of duty #steve arnott #steve arnott x reader #steve arnott x oc #kate fleming #kate fleming x reader #kate fleming x oc #ted hastings #writing #fanfiction #whataloadofmywriting

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whataloadofmalarkey · 7 years

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The Best of Times, The Worst of Times (Tommy Shelby x OC)

Hello everyone! Here is a way too long Tommy Shelby x OC one-shot. I’m planning a multi-chapter fic and wanted to experiment with some ideas - so feedback on this would be much appreciated!

“What’s that?” 14 year-old Thomas Shelby asked as he approached her. The boy had been playing a match of football with his brothers and a few friends when he noticed her sat beneath a tree. He recognised her as the sister of his friend and current team-mate, Charles Anderson.

The girl raised her head to look at him. She seemed startled by his arrival, almost dropping the object in her hands, but quickly covered her surprise by lifting it toward him, “It’s called a book.”

Tommy was taken aback by her patronising tone. Did she really think he didn’t know what a book was? He was on the verge of confronting her about it when he caught on to the playful glint in her eye. She was teasing him.

He held back a grin as he rolled his eyes, “I know it’s a book. I meant, what are you reading?”

She smiled up at him and turned the cover to face the boy, “’A Tale of Two Cities’.”

“Charlotte Brontë, right?” he prompted, trying to impress.

The girl giggled at his undoubting and somewhat cocky expression. She shook her head, “Dickens.”

“Oh,” the boy’s face fell in defeat, causing her sniggering to escalate. He moved to sit beside her and attempted to change the subject, “What’s your name?”

“Maggie. Or Margaret if you want to get cut,” he raised a brow at her bluntness, though he could tell she was still just taunting, “Yours?”

“Tommy. Or Thomas if you want to get cut.”

The pair exchanged an approving smile as she extended her hand, “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“And you, Margaret,” he replied as they briefly shook hands.

“You’re a friend of Charles?” Maggie asked the boy beside her.

“Yeah, he’s your brother, right?”

She nodded, “And you’re a Shelby?”

“I am. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” she shrugged, “You have that way about you.”

“What ‘way’?”

“A pompous walk. Your brothers have it too.”

Tommy’s brow creased in confusion, “What the bloody hell does ‘pompous’ mean?”

“Arrogant, egotistic, boastful-“

“Excuse me?” Tommy shot her an incredulous look.

She continued, “Conceited, flaunting, pretentious-“

“Alright, I get it.”

She ignored him, “Flatulent, selfish, ostentatious-“

“That’s starting to get annoying.”

“Imperious, overbearing, supercilious-“

“-Ok you made that one up. That’s not a word.”

She then began to giggle again, laughing at the astounded expression on the boy’s face. Tommy guffawed at her nerve. Even at 14, he wasn’t used to people being so direct with him –especially a girl. He just stared at her, watching her laugh. Her cheeks had reddened and her eyes were creased shut. She had placed a hand over her stomach as she bent forward, her curls falling into her face. Eventually, despite his attempts to resist, Tommy found himself laughing too. The way her eyes glistened as they reopened ignited something within him. Pure joy seemed to invade his senses, making him forget, even just for a brief moment, all the misfortune his father was causing with his reckless antics. It had been a while since he had laughed like this.

Through his blurry eyes, Tommy noticed the book had fallen from her lap. He picked it up and studied it. Noticing his movements, Maggie turned to face the boy, still beaming. Her breath caught slightly as his eyes lifted from the book to reach her own. Just as her books would describe, they were a cloudless blue. Or perhaps they were azure whirlpools that she wished to dive into and drown in - she was certainly experiencing a similar spinning motion as he gazed at her. It was as if all the novels she had read were manifesting into reality and creating her own romantic hero.

“Read to me.”

His voice broke through her reverie. She blinked as she noted his arm outstretched, motioning for her to take the book back.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she looked at him, perplexed, “What?”

“Read to me,” he replied. Tommy nudged her upper arm with the corner of the book.

She let out a short chuckle and hesitantly took the novel from him. As they passed it, their fingers barely brushed– but they certainly felt it. Their eyes snapped to lock onto each other’s. Tommy’s heart clenched. Maggie’s skipped several beats. Both unknowingly held their breath. This was definitely something she had read in a novel. Frozen, the book remained held between their two bodies-

THUMP!!

A football flew toward them at a powerful force and hit the tree above them, instantly destroying the moment. Their gazes broke to watch as the eldest Shelby brother ran toward them.

“Sorry, Tommy!” Arthur yelled as he retrieved the ball. He turned to throw Maggie a quick, apologetic smile before turning around and resuming the match.

Maggie released a long breath, almost grateful to have been distracted. The boy beside her cleared his throat and looked back to her, “So…read to me?”

She dropped her gaze to the book before offering him a soft smile, “Sure.”

Tommy struggled to keep himself from grinning at his victory. He shuffled slightly to lie back in a more comfortable position on the grass.

“Just don’t think I’m going to re-read the first 67 pages just so you can follow what’s going on,” she sneered, cheekily, “If you get confused, read it yourself.”

“Maybe I will,” he found himself smiling at her, “It’s no problem. Just pick up from where you left off.”

He watched eagerly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and opened the book to the correct page. Quietly clearing her throat, she began, “’For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. And when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you…’”

The years progressed and the pair grew closer.

After the war, Tommy was not the same. No one was. He became riddled with nightmares. Blood, wires, mud, the damn shovelling. He hardly slept. The increasingly dark shade beneath his eyes was a clear indicator of that. The headaches too. He would not reveal any of this to the others, of course. No matter how much he craved comfort, he could not ruin his image. And so, he kept his torment to himself.

But Maggie knew. She worked it out for herself. He allowed her to. Maggie volunteered as a nurse. She was in France. She saw the horrors too.

Often she would stay late to clear up the betting shop for the boys. She would hear the whimpers and muffled yells coming from his room. Knocking gently and waiting for his approval, she would unobtrusively close the door behind her and sit beside him on the bed. After handing him a glass of water and placing a cool, wet towel on his head, she would reach over to his small bookshelf. After choosing a book, she would open it and begin to read. No other words would be spoken before or after. All he needed was reassurance that he was safe and not alone. He didn’t need to explain himself. She understood. She was there for him.

In a complete contrast to his hot, heavy illusions, her serene tone created a calm, content atmosphere. The words would drip from her tongue into his hear and instantly numb his senses. Eventually, this ease would allow him to drift into unconsciousness.

He would wake to find her gone. However, the book would always be placed on the table beside him as a reminder of her visit, like a notification that she was genuinely present. It would become a regular occurrence. They had silently agreed to never discuss what happened the next day. It was their private, almost nightly ritual. They wanted to separate the War from their civilian lives. There was no need for it to distract them from their day-to-day lives.

On this particular day, Tommy knocked on her apartment door. She opened it with a warm smile, “Tommy! What can I do for you?”

“There is a family counsel at 6 this evening. Be there,” and with that, he began to walk away.

She called out, “But, I’m not family. What’s going on?”

He stopped on the street and turned back to her. There was a hint of playfulness in his eye as he spoke, “’Family not only needs to consist of those whom we share blood, but also for those whom we would give blood.’”

Maggie stood bewildered in her doorway before a grin brightened her features. He had to suppress his own smirk.

“Thomas Michael Shelby,” she drawled in astonishment, “Did you just quote Dickens to me?”

Tommy turned from her confounded expression and sauntered down the street without a word.

Maggie let out a short laugh as she watched his retreating form. Once he had turned the corner, she closed her door and reflected on what he had said. Their relationship had now gone beyond acquaintances. Beyond friendship, in fact. He considered her family.

That night, Tommy stopped by Maggie’s apartment. She had not been present at the family meeting and he came to find out why. Knocking on her door, he called out for her. No response.

He knocked again. No response…except for the small sound of female weeping.

His heart began to beat wildly. His mind became frenzied and swam with endless disastrous scenarios. Before he could consider any other action, he ran to her back door she always forgot to lock and barrelled into her front room. His heart shattered at what he saw.

As a victim himself, he recognised the symptoms almost immediately. Maggie was sat in the corner of the room. Her knees huddled to her chest. Her arms gripped onto them so fiercely that the nails seemed to be breaking skin. Pale tear marks streaked her dark red cheeks.Her eyes were sore, wide and staring straight at him. Her cries had quietened.

As if realising he had caught her, she suddenly struggled to her feet and wiped at her wet cheeks. She looked guilty. Her eyes remained glazed as she tried to avoid his.

“T-Tommy?” she spoke, her voice timid and almost inaudible. It was not the smooth and confident voice that read to him every night. That’s when he realised; she was broken. Like him, the War had ruined her.

“Maggie,” he greeted, attempting to keep his voice strong and assuring.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” she sniffed.

“You weren’t at the meeting. I came to see if you were alright.”

“Oh,” she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve again and attempted to smile at him. She failed.

“Maggie?” he called to her, gently.

“I’m sorry about the meeting, I completely forgot,” she quickly replied, as if trying to avoid the question he would no doubt ask.

“Maggie.”

“I was just…cleaning the apartment,” she avoided his gaze and looked behind him, “Did you break my door?”

“Maggie.”

She made to move to the door, “Because if you did, you know you’re paying for a new one, right? Because I don’t have the mon-“

He reached out for her arm as she passed. The touch made her freeze and turn to him suddenly. Tommy almost flinched as her red-rimmed eyes locked onto his.

“Maggie.”

She knew what he was going to ask. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Are you alright?”

There it was.

“I’m fine,” she tried to say as convincingly as possible. It didn’t work.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking,” she almost spat.

Tommy simply continued to looked at her, unconvinced by the bravado she tried to portray. His gaze seemed to snap something in her and she burst into tears again, shaking her head frantically.

Tommy reached out for her. She felt his cool palm press against her burning cheek. The other hand found its way to the back of her head and cradled it to his chest. Easing into his arms, Maggie allowed herself to sob. This was the first time she had cried in front of someone else since she was young. Even after the news of Charles’ death, she refused to let others see her this way. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was scared people would see it as a weakness. Being a nurse on the front line did not allow for tears. She had a job to do and she had to get it done. There was no time to grieve. But without the War, there was nothing to distract her from thinking of what she had witnessed.

Her hands gripped onto his upper arms, as if to stable herself.It was then that he noticed her legs were shaking uncontrollably. Tommy was worried she would fall. Removing his hands from her face, he reached down and picked her up behind the legs. Once she had wrapped her arms around his neck, he led her to the bed and lay her down. Once she had manoeuvred under the covers, he knelt beside the mattress.

Reaching out for her hand, he looked at her sincerely, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. I understand. Just don’t lie to me and tell me you’re ‘fine’.”

She just looked back at him for a moment with those red eyes before slightly nodding her head. Tommy nodded too and made to move away, but she tightened her grip on his hand.

“Stay,” she whispered.

Maggie watched as Tommy looked down at her before gently removing his palm from her hold. He began to walk away. He was going to leave her in this state. Maggie wasn’t angry with him for that decision. He was a busy man with things to do. Also, seeing her in this state may awaken his own trauma. That’s the last thing she wanted.

Closing her eyes, she saw the haunting images. Maggie allowed more silent tears to leak from beneath her eyelids. They only re-opened when she felt a pressure on the mattress beside her. Fluttering her eyes open, she saw Tommy had returned…with a book.

He had gone to the shelf in the next room and picked up ‘Great Expectations’. How could he leave her in this state? Especially after all she had done for him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. Tommy wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to dealing with emotions. So, he decided to start by trying out her technique. Besides, it worked for him, didn’t it?

He climbed onto the bed and sat beside where she lay. He crossed his legs, opened the page she had marked as her current place and cleared his throat.

Tommy began to read, “’love her, love her, love her. If she follows you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces – and as it gets older and stronger, it will tear deeper – love her, love her, love her.’”

He paused when he heard her sniffs cease and breaths even out. Looking down beside him, Tommy saw that Maggie was asleep. Her face, although still blotchy, was showing signs of returning to its regular pallor.She looked at peace.

Gently sliding from the mattress, he placed the book on her bedside table, as she always did for him. Looking back to her, he could not resist reaching out to brush the hair from her forehead. He found his fingers tenderly caressing her cheek for another minute, before he leaned over and placed his lips delicately to the side of her mouth. Without a word and cautiously avoiding making any sound, he picked up his cap, angled it on his head and left the apartment.

The words he had read resonated as he made his way home: love her, love her, love her.

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