“Just your latte today, Rick?”

At this time of year, it’s still dark out when you look up and see Rick Flag enter your shop at around 6:30am. He wears a thick coat and gloves over his work attire, a laptop bag stuffed with papers slung over one shoulder easily.

The shop is toasty and dry to combat the morning mist outside. When he enters, he’s already taking off the scarf around his neck in one precise tug.

Rick brightens when he sees it’s you at the register.

“[Y/n], didn’t see you yesterday.” He greets as he removes his gloves. With a hand now free, he gives a quick run of his fingers through his mist-damp hair, smoothing it back over his scalp.

You smile, “My day off, miraculously.”

“Noted.” He says, and you’re too distracted by his thoughtful smirk to discern what that might mean. He glances at the pastry case beside you. “And maybe somethin’ else today.”

“Oh? What are we thinking? Croissant? I’ve got sweets and savories.”

“Sweet, huh?” He hums. “Yeah, think I’d like something sweet.”

His eyes flit over you momentarily. You had your usual spiel locked and loaded— the long list of cookies and sugary pastries ready for any kind of customer. You falter, losing your train of thought.

“We, um. I’ve got a cinnamon coffee cake. Goes well with your latte.” You offer quickly. You flash him a small smile.

“You’re the boss.” He says, returning the look.

“I’ll bring that right out to you, Rick.” You reply, as always.

“Take your time.” He counters, as always.

You had remembered the day he first came in a few months ago; You learned quickly that he was on the faculty at the university up the hill. He liked his lattes with foam, and extra hot, as he tended to take his time by the window, grading or answering emails until it was time to walk up to his office. He was always on the dot, and always opening up his laptop at the same small table by the window.

You glanced up from the bar to see Rick place his coat over the back of the chair opposite him. Even from across the room, you could see his broad shoulders strain a little beneath his fitted dress shirt. Your eyes trail down to see it tucked neatly into his slacks, his leather belt cinched firm. His clothes normally wouldn’t stand out on any other professors, but on Rick, they seemed to accentuate every broad part of him. That, or you were beginning to develop an obsession. You tear your eyes away when he moves to sit in his chair, turning your attention back down to the mug in your hands.

You gently pour your steamed milk in, drawing up three branches that twist together at the bottom. You usually chose leaves for Rick— Big detailed ones, or a few small ones with branches like today. You poured hearts for most other customers, especially the college students that flooded in during the afternoon. —But you felt a heart for Rick would be a little on the nose at this point.

You set his drink and warmed cake down beside his laptop. Rick doesn’t hesitate to look up at you thankfully. “’Preciate it, [Y/n].”

You place a hand on his shoulder briefly, “Have a good morning, Rick.”

He orders the coffee cake the next day, and the day after. Eventually, you add setting a piece aside every morning as part of your opener tasks.

“[Y/n],” Your coworker hollers one day. When you see several boxes of pastries and the extra large coffee travelers, you grown. “It’s just a delivery! You can come right back.”

You load up the shop van with all the event items and make your way up the hill. You rarely had a reason to visit the expansive campus except for deliveries— You graduated far too long ago. Still, you park outside the humanities department building, familiar with the layout already. The faculty loved their coffee and pastries on any occasion. 

You help the staff set up the coffee and plastic displays when it occurs to you for the first time that this is Rick’s department. You recall the conversation, smiling to yourself when you remember that as much as he didn’t like feeling cooped up in his small office, he had mentioned the view of the quad was pleasant in the early morning. You glance out the window, the large patch of greenery and trees in fact beautiful in the morning light.

Opening one of the extra boxes in the back, you search for a slice of coffee cake and slip it onto a plate. Easily holding two to-go cups of the medium roast from the travelers in the other hand, you make your way upstairs curiously, your eyes falling on every name and number by every threshold. 

His door is open when you tap the plate against the oak frame twice. Rick is scribbling something on a clipboard in his chair. He’s got a dark sweater vest on, his tie neatly knotted underneath it. On his face, his reading glasses are slipping down his nose. He grumbles something to himself, lost in thought. 

When he finally glances over, he does a double take, sitting up straight. Rick takes the glasses off. 

“[Y/n]?” His pleasant surprise eases your tensing shoulders. You hoped it wasn’t untoward, coming up here. You tell him as much, explaining that his department ordered some breakfast.

“Right— The meeting.” He looks down at his watch, cursing under his breath. 

“I can just leave these here.” You offer him the plate and coffee. Rick hurries to stand and takes them from you, setting them out on his desk. 

“No, come in. And close it, please, I don’t need Waller on my ass about on-time being ‘late’.” He chuckles, gesturing to the door. You arch a brow as you shut it, amused at this mildly frantic Rick. He didn’t seem like the type late for anything. 

“My boss.” He iterates. “She’s uh, something else.”

You hum, nodding. “Been there.”

You step further into his office, taking in the neat bookshelves and files all squared away. The only thing that seemed remotely out of place were the papers he was currently working on scattered around his laptop. Rick is removing the lid off one of the coffees and taking a sip. 

He nods in approval. “Almost like the ones you used to make.”

You blink, “Used to make?”

“My pour overs.” And just saying it brings back the memory of his first days standing in front of your menu board, back when you didn’t even know his name. You always took your time with his pour overs in the morning, when there was no rush to distract you. 

“Oh wow, why did you ever stop ordering those?” There’s the usual self-deprecating joke on your tongue— perhaps you weren’t as skilled with the hot water as you thought. But Rick’s smile is kind and genuine. 

“Just wanted to change it up. You said ristretto shots and oatmilk, and I was converted. Just like with these little bastards.” He huffs, holding up the coffee cake. He takes a bite, setting it back down to wipe the cinnamon and sugar off his hands. 

“Yeah, I like all my coffee a little too sweet I think.” You pull a paper sleeve from your purse will stir sticks, creamers, and other fix-ins, offering them to Rick. He takes the bag and you remove several small packets to put in your cup. 

“Honey?”

“Yeah, never tried it?” You open the packets with your teeth and tip them into the black liquid. 

“Just with tea.” He admits, leaning on the desk beside you. 

You grin as you squeeze the last of the honey out of the plastic, a bit of it getting on your forefinger and thumb. You draw them away from the cup—You hated a messy cup— And without thinking you put your finger in your mouth, quickly licking it clean. When you glance up, Rick is still beside you, watching your every motion. You blink, a heat rising in your cheeks. 

“You should try it.” 

Rick stands up and unfolds his arms. He reaches for your hand, pulling it to him. Your heart leaps in your throat when he parts his lips, slipping your honey soaked thumb into his mouth without a word. He looks at you with his hooded gaze, his eyes slipping closed as he savors the taste sliding over his tongue. You swallow, your pussy clenching at the wet, warm sensation— At Rick’s blissful expression. His cheeks hollow as he sucks at the pad of your finger gently a few more times. 

You swallow, stepping closer. When Rick is done he draws your finger from his mouth and guides your palm up, placing a kiss on your wrist.

“Not bad.” He muses, releasing you. 

When you grab him by the tie, you make sure to give it a tug, yanking him down to crash your lips to his. You taste the honey, taste the muffled groan he releases as his hands fly up to tangle in your hair. He pushes it all back, bundling it in one hand as the other slides down your jaw to wrap around your neck softly; He doesn’t apply pressure, only steps in closer to meet your kiss with the same aching want. He pushes you back until your hip meets the desk, and he releases your neck to push all the papers to one side blindly, lips still on yours.

You pull away, laughing a little breathlessly, “I— The coffee—”

As if to agree, he immediately pulls away, snatching up the two cups and placing them on a small table by the door, locking it while he’s there. He returns to you, undoing his necktie, and you help him by tugging the last of the fabric off from around his neck. 

You scoot up to sit on the desk, carefully laying the tie down beside you. When you look back up, Rick is slotting himself between your legs, taking your face in both hands again. 

Rick kisses you firmly this time, the slow slide of his lips causing a heat to swell in your belly. You grasp his hands in yours, your mouth parting for his tongue. Bringing your legs up, you wrap them around his strong thighs, coaxing the two of you closer until your hips are flush. You gasp when you feel the outline of a thick bulge straining against his expensive slacks. 

“You’re going to be late for that meeting.” You note between deep, languid kisses. Rick doesn’t even bother opening his eyes, his watch forgotten on his wrist as you rub your thumb over the face. 

“Fuck the meeting.” He murmurs against your mouth. 

Still, the both of you hurry to undo the buckles and buttons and zippers between you, the franticness returning to spurr you both on. The leg of your jeans gets caught on your ankle as he presses you back against the cool desk, the both of you grinning as he finally gets them off and tosses your pants over one shoulder. He rucks the front of your shirt up, retuning to the spot between your legs so he can mouth at your neck and chest. You whimper when Rick nips at your breast, his hand dipping into the cup of your bra to draw out your stiff nipple. He laves his tongue over your flesh, groaning when he bites down. 

Your hands fly up to his peppered locks, switching between carding your fingers through them and gripping a handful to tug as you writhe beneath his touch. 

“Fuck, you taste good.” He mutters against your skin. You blush at his words— You’d never heard him swear so much just ordering coffee. When you squeeze your thighs around him, Rick makes his way back up your flushed body. You watch him slip his hands into the waistband of his black briefs, whimpering again when you see the large cock he pulls out. He strokes himself a few times before nudging his way between your legs, and you lift them again to wrap around his middle. Your head falls back when he presses the head of his cock to your sex, the slickness on your folds allowing it to glide in without any resistance. 

You and Rick share a groan when he pushes into your hot, aching pussy. Your eyes flutter shut at his size, his length filling you up until you’re arching off the desk faintly. When your hips are pressed together again, Rick waits for you to relax around his girth. 

He slides his hands up and down your soft thighs. “Fucking beautiful.”

You rock your hips, tearing a ragged moan from Rick’s throat. He takes it as his cue, slowly pulling out his cock before pushing it back in again at that same, steady pace that has you clawing for more. You whine as your walls stretch around him. 

You reach for his arms, his shoulders, and making sure your wrapped around him squarely, Rick is pushing you up the desk, joining you. He plants his knees, drawing your legs up with his arms until he’s folding you over, burying his face in your neck as he begins fucking your tight cunt.

“Feel so good.” You gasp into his hair.

“Yeah? How long you been thinking ‘bout me fucking you like this?” He says. His lips drag over your jaw, placing wet kisses over your chin. He silences your little keen with his mouth, swallowing it greedily. “I see you, watching me every morning. —Fuck— Starin’ at me. Fucking pretty thing.”

Your face reddens as he showers your collarbone with more hungry kisses. He devours your neck as he thrusts into you, his cock sliding over the bundle of nerves deep inside you. You didn’t expect how big he was, how he fills up your entrance and stretches you tight. You dig your heel into his side, moans spilling freely now with every pump of his cock inside you. 

“Think about fuckin’ you every morning, darling.” He whispers against your ear, and your eyes roll up into your head when you feel a hand slip between the two of you, Rick’s thumb finding your clit in a simple stroke. You cry out, hands scrambling to grab at his broad back. He moans against your cheek. 

“Oh, fuck, don’t stop.” You plead. “Don’t stop.”

Rick traces quick circles over your slick clit. You feel the band inside you pulling tighter, that white hot feeling overwhelming you. 

“Too much—” You whimper. Your hips stutter, trying to draw away from his touch but also bucking up to meet him. Rick noses at your neck, breath hot on your throat.

“You can take it, sweetheart. This tight pussy’s taking my cock so well.” You press your face against his as he lifts his thumb to his lips, tasting you. You lean up to wrap your own lips around it too, and Rick watches you like he may just come right then and there. When the thumb returns to your clit, you push yourself up on your elbows, burying your face in Rick’s shoulder so you can moan without being heard behind the heavy office door. 

“You gonna come pretty for me, [Y/n]?”

“Yes— I—I’m gonna,” You can barely say, every rough thrust of his hips knocking into your pussy sending you up the desk. You cling to him as he fucks you harder, his own hips stuttering desperately. He continues to mouth at you, to fuck you and finger you all at once. The words tumble out, “Please—please, please—”

You pant as you feel the familiar coil of your climax build, a fullness pressing against your abdomen as Rick continues to work your clit, your g-spot. 

You bite down on Rick’s shoulder as you come, wetness gushing around Rick’s cock. You feel the warmth drip down yourself, feel it pool between you and Rick.

Rick swears as you clench around him tightly, eyes fluttering shut as you pour your moans into the space between his neck and shoulder. He bucks into you a few more times until he stills, one more thrust sending him over the edge. He spills into you, his groan in your ear sending a pleasant prickle up your spine. 

You sigh when he falls atop you a little, still careful not to press all his weight down onto you. You brush your fingers through his hair as you come down from your climax. 

“Jesus,” Rick mumbles against your throat, kissing you there again. He pulls away to look down at you, his hand cupping your flushed face. “First you get me hooked on cakes and lattes, now this.”

You grin. “If you come in next week I can make you something special.”

“Yeah?” He breathes. You didn’t mean for it to come out so suggestively, but you don’t mind the idea. 

“Just for you.”

Rick’s lips twist up in a boyish smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling, “Bright and early then.”

“6:30?”

“What if I came in a little earlier?” He murmurs. He dips his head down, capturing your lips again. 

|=

It feels like you're walking through a dream. Arriving at your designated sections slower than your typical pace yet before you even realize. There's a heavy curtain hanging over your awareness. A thick haze over your thoughts- one that you thought would lift once you cleared the tree line. Stepped out into the pulse of violence as the team launched their attack but you can't seem to meet the heart pounding slam of it like your teammates. Always one pace, one jerk of the bolt of your gun behind the rest.

Rick notices it first. Probably because it's his job- his mission and you're his responsibility.

Something in that last thought is distracting.

His his his his.

But you shove it down as mercilessly as you down your enemies until Rick's voice cracks over the comms.

"Status report."

You're the last to reply, uncertainty entering your usually sure voice.

"Almost at quadrant seven," you say, the sound of Boomerang's rifle cracking behind you, more distracting than it should be. There's a tingle up your spine that has nothing to do with your usual adrenaline- a restless feeling over your skin like you're aware of Boomerang's movements at your back for more than the mission. There's a long pause from Rick before he replies and you curse yourself for not reaching your assigned quadrant yet- knowing you're holding up Boomerang reaching his too.

"Alright, just do your best like I know you can," Rick says and you can't help the chirp that escapes you- keening at the sliver of praise that probably isn't directed at you at all- Rick's always encouraging the whole team. But you hoard the praise regardless. Feel it fly through your blood like a runner's high. Let it bolster your efforts to perform well which fails maybe even harder than before.

What came as easily as breathing to you any other day now feels like a chore- hand shaking around the gun in your grip. Every slight action requires extra attention. What had been thoughtless muscle memory becomes horribly forced.

Trigger's voice lilts over the comms- smooth and amused, "Some of us aren't pulling their weight," he says and you want to scream because you know the message is meant for you. Instead you bite back the irritation, renewed motivation to reach your quadrant in record time strikes through you like lightning.

You don't need to give Trigger yet another reason to look down on you. No one on the team knows you're an Omega but sometimes the way Trigger looks at you makes you think he might have suspicions. In any case he has lecherous intentions and your skin crawls at the thought of his snake eyes on you this morning when you'd been warming up your rationpak- like you were a meal he intended to choke down and swallow whole.

His unsettling attention broke when Rick appeared just before you'd dove into your tent so Trigger wouldn't see the shiver his attention had created. Scarfed down your breakfast and then an extra dose of your suppressants- just in case. Just to be on the safe side out here. You knew Rick would keep the pace of the mission on time and have you back in the relative safety of Waller's prison before you run out of meds. Next time you might even dare to ask Waller for extra. Being around this many Alpha's might be throwing you off.

When the first shot misses you don't think anything of it. Just take a tight breath and lift your gun from where it's tilted down slightly- let off another shot and the red mist when it strikes your enemy is all you need to keep moving. Within seconds you're posted up behind the crates- your dedicated position in this coordinated attack and it's only when you miss the next two shots that a creeping nag at the back of your mind begins to worm it's way into your awareness.

"Getting rusty, kid," Boomerang quips over the comms, his rough twang of an accent in the taunt making you bristle while something in your gut tugs hot and suddenly your hands are shaking as realization dawns.

fuck fuck fuck fuck

it can't be

not here

Dread dumps ice down your spine even as you become aware that your body is hot- burning- feverish with sweat and heat that's for more than your previous hours running through the jungle. You can't pass off your short fuse and snappy attitude this morning on the humidity any longer. Not when Boomerang is speaking through the comms once more- this time calling out your lack of reply- and there's a swirl of something in your gut. A fluttering that you try to ignore- to not associate with Boomerang's face and form- because there was a time when you'd fuck an Alpha like him and you're trying to put that part of your past far behind you. Where Waller won't use it against you.

"What? Got no smart retort for me? You were so quick to give me shit about breaking camp this morning and now nothing?" Boomerang says, amusement lacing his tone.

"Fuck you," you grit out, voice wavering in a way that you hope he doesn't notice.

"There she is," Boomerang offers. "My spicy little Omega," he continues and you seethe even as something in the back of your mind latches onto the phrase. A path you're helpless to follow even as you try to focus on the foray into violence that your team is executing in front of you.

you're supposed to provide cover not imagine what it'd be like to be someone's Omega.

provide. cover, you grit out, releasing another few shoots that only spray the cement behind your enemies heads.

You lift your gun to try again and when there's only a breathtakingly empty click beneath your finger you duck behind the crate. Nerves skittering over the realization that you forgot to reload- trembling hands sliding over your ammunition and gun as you try to complete the task even as your shoulder hisses with pain. You hadn't dropped fast enough and the volley of fire upon your crates indicates that your enemies have decided you're the weak spot of the team. And they're not wrong, you realize with a mix of heart wrenching fear and rage, because you've dropped your gun twice now before the magazine slides into place with a satisfying click.

Scrambling to crouch and return fire, you ignore the red wetness that courses down your arm for the task that's been set out for you. Straining your ears- you wait for a break in the crack of bullets that cover your position when the pain starts. A cresting wave of a cramp that starts at your navel and works it's way down between your legs. With a furious roar you lift and point your gun over the edge of the crate, the weapon waving in your hands before you even get a sightline on your target.

"FOR FUCKS SAKE OMEGA LOOK WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING AIMING THAT THING!" Boomerang's voice cracks over the comms and guilt slams through you as hard as the command he's driven into his words. You knew he'd be traversing your section to get to his. You knew that this morning before this feral, basal need began infecting your brain. Mind clouded- dragged through sludge to just arrive at the fact that you're now a threat to your team.

You freeze- watching Boomerang glare at you from behind his own set of crates in front of you- watching as his anger flickers with concern when you don't move. Your gun gone silent in your grip, your body frozen beneath his regard- waiting out in the open like an idiot.

Boomerang's kind enough to say the order off the comms.

"Get down! Fuck!" Boomerang growls at you, voice booming across the distance separating you- the last curse snarled as he realizes the state that you're in when your body drops to the dirt- to the depths of your agony as you realize he's unhappy with you. And while he's not your Alpha- you curse the way you respond as though he is.

Fuck, you're in it now, you realize- panic filling you alongside a deep need that you hadn't felt in years. Not since you'd been locked up and assigned to Task Force X- Waller's suppressants had been effective to this point. But now it's like you'd never even heard of them. Had never laid eyes on the pills or ever even known the concept of suppressants.

There's a scrambling beside you and Boomerang's face filters into your view- his brows furrowed in concern- in restraint you realize as he tugs his bandana from his neck and over the lower half of his face in an attempt to block your scent.

"Christ- fuck you're really- I was only joking- I didn't know-," Boomerang says, gaze raking over your form- curled in on yourself and tears streaming from your eyes.

"We gotta tell Flag," Boomerang says- no argument in his tone even as something sympathetic pours from his eyes when you shake your head and try to sit up. Boomerang shoves you back down- yanks his hand away from you like you've burned him when you make a noise that you're both trying to ignore when you give in to his touch. His focus is drawn between his return fire on the enemies and the way you're biting your bottom lip bloody as you try to restrain the cries of need that threaten to burst from you.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Boomerang says as he stands and moves away- one hand providing cover for himself and the other wrapped around his comm.

"I can't- your scent- I can't think," he says as you try to register the first apology he's ever directed at you even with the fact that he's leaving you. Alone. Vulnerable. Fear like you've never known scrabbles through you and Boomerang hates to use an Alpha command but you have to be safe until Rick gets here.

"Stay down," Boomerang orders, a remnant of relief coursing through him when you listen even as guilt fills him as his footsteps separate you. If he doesn't keep pushing on to his quadrant then your odds of making it out of here alive are slim. Plus Rick has the emergency suppressants. No use having two useless team members.

"Flag, sector seven is weakened," Boomerang says through the comms before his frame disappears from your line of sight.

"What? Status report, Boomerang," Rick's voice filters through the comm- surprise lilting his voice even as a steady pattern of gunshots echo behind it. You can see him in your mind's eye- calm and composed even in the center of a storm. The best sort of Alpha there is- your hindbrain helpfully supplies.

"Is someone down?" Rick shouts just to be heard over his gun.

Boomerang huffs over the comm and you want to sink into the ground beneath you. Disappear and not have to hear the rest of this conversation. Shame threatens to eat you alive and put you out of your misery if one of the enemies doesn't come over and do it for you.

"Taste the air, Flag," Boomerang supplies- cryptic in a way that he never is and your mind supplies the reason- the series of red flags that you've kept track of this entire mission until now. The answer arrives with a laugh over the comms- a dark chuckle that turns your blood to ice.

"Someone's in heat," Trigger's voice titters over the comms behind his laugh- insidious and dripping with something you don't want to name. Flag's response is immediate.

"Plan O in effect immediately. If anyone other than seven deviates from their position I will execute on sight."

There's a smidgen of relief that runs through you at Rick's words- warms you- until you realize that Flag's position is damn near exact opposite to yours and Trigger's lies closer.

fuck fuck fuck

You have to follow Boomerang. He won't like it but at least he's safe.

Rolling to sit up you nearly wretch when the pain from your gut strikes down your legs but you push forward, stumbling over the ground, gun heavy in your hand as you try to maintain cover. It's easier only for the fact that Boomerang appears to have adopted a take no prisoners attitude to his section- for your sake you realize with a gratefulness that would be there even without your hindbrain evaluating his Alpha qualities.

Rick's voice appears over the comms, gritted with threat.

"Trigger you better be in the goddamn building," It's a warning that makes you relieved and worried at the same time. Flag's moving faster than you anticipated- if he's at Trigger’s section then he's nearly at yours. But if Trigger is missing from his then there's a chance-

You reach the safety of the trunk of a thick tree- scooting yourself up small behind it as you search the path you've just come from for Trigger. It's empty. You should keep going until you reach Boomerang but your breathing has picked up and the action of moving has nearly robbed you of all your typical strength. Scrunching yourself up tight, you try to even your breaths and remain as quiet as possible.

Rick will be here soon. He'll know what to do.

Footsteps approach and you're struck with an acrid scent that makes you want to choke.

That's not Rick.

Rick smells like pine and smoke and something that's just him. He's the best smelling Alpha you've ever come across- even with you being on suppressants.

The ugly scent becomes thicker and your hand clenches tighter around your gun.

"Ohh, silly Omega," Trigger’s voice is so close.

"Didn't Waller tell you about my file?" he taunts, voice light and dangerous.

"I love it when they try to hide from me," and suddenly there's fingers at the back of your neck, pressing so hard it hurts and you can't do anything as you're hauled upright- gun falling out of your grip while you scramble at the hand that appears at your throat.

Trigger sneers into you as you fight his hold, thrusts his face close to yours and inhales deeply- loudly and lewdly.

"Aren't you a treat? It's almost like Waller placed you on this mission just for me," Trigger says, smiling wide as you glare back in defiance.

"Fuck you," you spit at him and Trigger flinches only minutely- a false façade of control settling over his features.

"Oh, I intend to. Now be a good little Omega-," Trigger sneers, hand dropping from the back of your neck to your inner thigh, fingers digging cruelly into the flesh there when he wrenches it away from your other leg as he wedges his own between. The Alpha command is clear in his voice when he says, "and behave for me." Dark laughter falling around you as your body grows slack in his grip.

As much as your hindbrain submits- the rest of you doesn't.

You're spitting vitriol at Trigger as his mouth bends to your neck, his hand loosening its grip there to reveal your marking glands when you feel his entire body still.

"You're disgusting," you continue, grateful that your words have halted his progress. "Shittiest excuse for an Alpha that I've ever seen," you continue before Trigger huffs into your throat and releases you.

Oh shit, you think as you drop to the dirt, proud of yourself for half a second before Trigger's gaze cuts to the side and he bares his teeth for entirely different reasons. It's only then that you realize he's favoring one leg- how you missed the sound of the gunshot amazes you except for knowing how loud your fear had been at Trigger attempting to claim you.

Following the bastard's eyes, you see Rick standing to the side and your breath catches at the sight of him- bristling with rage at Trigger. Your next inhale is still stained with the scent of Trigger but there's something stronger in the air that has your jaw dropping to collect more of it.

Rick's scent.

Hot with the bite of his aggression at the scene before him- gun cocked at Trigger's stupid fucking head.

"I warned you," Rick says.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Trigger snarls before his lips quirk in amusement when Rick's hand holding the gun dips lower, Rick's gaze cutting to yours for the briefest of moments. Concern rampant behind his brown eyes as he takes in your state.

Trigger takes advantage of the lapse in Rick's concentration- moves to launch forward but you're quicker. Leg snapping out to meet his injured one and you feel the flesh and bone crack beneath your boot and Trigger screams when he drops. A mix of outrage and surprise and pain that has him turning back towards you in fury, hands clawing in the dirt to reach you.

Rick's on him before you can blink- barrel of his rifle pressed to the side of Trigger's jaw before he fires once- then again only higher- and Trigger is nothing but a wet puddle soaking the dirt. You'd flinch at the violence Flag has used against Trigger if you could dreg up a modicum of sympathy for the asshole but you can't. Not when the phantom of Trigger's hands still presses into your skin- and so you focus on Rick instead.

He's already gathering you up in his arms and running. Long legs eating up the ground beneath you as he moves towards Boomerang’s section.

The scent of Rick is overwhelming to you and your already fried nerves. It's like electricity runs over your skin wherever he touches you. The contact of him against you only drives your need higher and you can't help your cry when he sets you down and his hands leave your body.

"I know, sweetheart," Rick says, deep voice lowered to soothe as he rifles through the utility pouch strapped to one of his thick thighs. Rick kneels beside you- gaze trained somewhere over you and you hear someone moving near your head before Rick's looking at you again. Brown eyes concerned beneath his furrowed brow. "I know it hurts, honey. Hold on."

"Shit, Flag," Boomerang’s voice shouts over you and you flinch beneath the angry Alpha's tone. "Fucking take care of her before we all cark it," Boomerang orders before the sharp sound of gunfire erupts somewhere just outside your awareness.

Rick ducks down- face swimming closer in your narrowed vision and you keen at the proximity.

Fuck, he smells so good. Like cozy nights around the campfire. Warm and safe and amazing.

There's a rolling chuckle above you and you sigh- soft and pleased.

You made your Alpha laugh.

A sweet pleasure bleeds into the pain that wracks you- a nice reprieve from the moments you've been gasping through. Your vision widens- takes in most of Rick's broad frame- enough to see his hands uncapping a syringe.

"Lift your shirt, honey," Rick orders and your hands obey with eagerness- pull the hem of your shirt to your ribs before one of his hands wraps firmly around your wrist.

"That's enough," he says, a quirk of a smile at his lips which you note are held parted- his chest rising and falling in careful restraint as he breathes you in.

The large hand just beneath yours disappears only to pull at the waistband of your tac pants. It's embarrassing how quickly you lift your hips in response as Rick tugs down the garment but he only yanks it down enough to reveal your hips.

"Take a deep breath, darlin'," Rick orders and you nod loosely, just grateful to have his touch on you until it bites at your lower stomach where his warm hand is spread. It's suddenly sharp and stinging just inside your hip and you flail under his hold.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Rick says, voice strained with something you suddenly can't name anymore as the curtain in front of your awareness thins. Slides to nothing- like it had never been there in the first place. Rick withdraws the syringe and cracks it in his fist, bending the sharp on his boot and tossing it into the foliage behind him while his other hand straightens your clothing.

"Is it working?" Rick asks- face concerned as he's searching yours before you scoot to sit up on the crate that Boomerang crouches behind.

It's all you can do to nod- a tiredness pulling at what feels like your bones.

"Smells like it," Boomerang supplies in between gunfire and you manage to mutter a soft fuck you at him even as you rub at your throat in embarrassment.

Rick's gaze cuts to Boomerang's back in disapproval before it settles back on you- relief in his features until his gaze falls to your shoulder.

Rick startles. Stares at the injury like he's surprised he didn't notice it earlier. He sucks in a breath before he swallows hard, hands diving back into the pouch at his leg to pull out more medical supplies. When his hands reach forward to collect your shoulder you note there's no maddening need to throw yourself into his grasp. But Rick's hands shake as he injects the blood clotting cream into the wound and you clamp your hand over your throat even harder, hoping to dampen some of your scent from before he'd treated your heat. Worried that you've weakened the team- compromised the mission and it will get back to Waller.

"Did they tell you?" Boomerang's voice cuts back to the two of you and Rick lifts his head from where he's bandaging your shoulder.

"Tell me what?" Rick says, jaw clenched when Boomerang meets his gaze and Boomerang catches his meaning with a shrug of his shoulders before his attention falls to you.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Wouldn't have made those jokes if I’d known," Boomerang says and Rick's warning growl draws both your attention.

"Known what?" Rick almost roars, challenge clear in his narrowed eyes and Boomerang shrugs his shoulders again.

"Nothing," Boomerang replies and then he's back shooting. You consider his apology before his question weighs heavier in your mind.

"Did they?" you turn to Rick, his focus on arming himself and you once more.

He thrusts a gun into your hand and meets your eyes for a long moment before he shakes his head.

"No- but I figured there had to be someone. They don't usually add the emergency suppressants to my mission kits. Not unless-," Rick says, suddenly avoiding your eyes, his teeth gritted like he's said too much.

"Unless what?" you ask.

"Unless you're assigned," he says with a sigh, an apologetic look. Like he pities you.

A new ugly flame of fury ignites in you- alongside the one that burns at the betrayal of your body- you're upset at Waller.

Did she have to make it so fucking obvious?

Rick seems to sense your rage because he sighs in sympathy but you're already scrambling to crouch. Intent to drive out any doubt of your abilities and skills through sheer force. Boomerang adjusts himself beside you, let's you slide into the opening at his side with a look back at Rick that you don't care to decipher.

You don't miss the next shot. Or the next hundred.

|=

The missions bleed into each other and you hardly notice that you're assigned to more except for the fact that you have to watch Waller's smirk every time she passes the med kit to Rick before the team disembarks and her gaze slides to you like she's apologizing for your sake.

You have nothing to be sorry for, you seethe.

Not when it was her own damn suppressants that failed you.

You're three times over your usual dose and some days there's a nagging sense in the back of your mind telling you that soon even that won't be enough. But Waller keeps you riding the edge of your heats like setting you on the edge of a knife- waiting for you to fall and fuck up. One less Omega for her to deal with, you realize with bitterness and fear alike. Wondering when you'll stop being a walking prophecy and instead be a dead one. Another failure of Task Force X- of your biology.

The only ones sympathetic to your plight are ironically your teammates. More empathy in a drop of their blood than Waller's entire being. They know what it means for you to get out. The constant need to prove yourself useful so that you won't be removed from the mission roster. Lose any chance of getting out from beneath Waller's thumb.

Harley helps you keep an eye out for any more Triggers of the world in your midst. Identifies the red flags sometimes before you even see them. Navigates the odd social hierarchy of the prison and the missions with her arm threaded through yours and a look on her face that dares anyone to fuck around and find out.

Boomerang slips you extra rations and doesn't tease you as much as before. Sometimes you think you hear a smidge of respect and awe in his tone when he watches you work- suspect that he's never seen an Omega of your build and bravado. A soft regard in his usual rough demeanor that says he's impressed that you're enough to compete with the best Alphas.

You dump your sweat and blood- and when no one's looking- your tears into the missions like never before. Unwilling to give Waller another millimeter of justification to pull you from the roster.

You vow to not show weakness in front of Flag. It's hard when he cements himself to your side- refuses to leave you alone during active combat. Towers at your back- oozing menace and protection at your enemies to the point of distraction. To the point that one day when you all return to camp- sweaty and exhausted and swaying on your feet- you snap.

Growl when his hand wraps around your elbow- gently pulls you back to center when you sway a little too far off your balance as you wait in line for the showers. The need for sleep nearing hauling you to your knees.

Rick's hand disappears from you faster than a blink and he murmurs an apology through the reflexive growl in his own chest and you hate that you know it's for both of his actions.

You know he's not angry with you- just sitting high on the adrenaline of the last few days- his hackles raised to challenge any perceived threat to his position as team leader. Rick's not reactive like that- at least never with you. It's in the apology he offers as soon as the first vibrations start in his chest, shaking the air between you.

"Sorry- I just didn't want you to fall," he supplies- so soft and sweet that you almost tear up, instead turning your head from where you'd been glaring at him to stare at the shower door where Boomerang idles behind it. On purpose- you think- with the way his voice lifts on a song that sounds far too pleased for the simple luxury of warm water.

"I'm fine," you retort, ignoring Rick's huff behind you, the shuffle of his feet on the gravel as he tries not to argue with that obviously false statement. You know that you're a liability to this team but you can't help but be annoyed at how much he cares.

"I don't need your pity," you throw out, careless in a way that's dangerous in the presence of some Alphas- arms folded tightly over your chest and you stiffen when you hear the hitch of breath behind you. Shrink as you close your eyes and wait for the impending storm of Alpha rage to descend on you.

"Is that what you think? Is that why you're running yourself ragged?" Rick's voice lifts softly behind you and your shoulders drop a fraction.

"Think that you have something to prove to me, darlin'?" he continues, voice heavy with a sigh.

When you only return silence Rick pulls himself upright from where he slouches on the pillar, walks around to your front- hand finding your chin and lifting it so you meet his eyes.

Rick's jaw is set- teeth clenched not in anger but in earnest as his large brown eyes search yours.

"Does this feel like pity?" Rick asks, eyebrows quirking- imploring you to sense the energy radiating from him. The heady scent of him that concentrates just beyond his hand on your chin. Your lips part- trying to draw in as much of his scent from his wrist where it hovers between you before you shake your head because no- It's not pity. It's never been pity. This is potent Alpha protectiveness. Your mind short circuits for a brief moment- wonders what it would feel like if Rick was your Alpha. How the protectiveness would shift. The potent quality of it now already nearly knocks you off your feet- but what if it was more?

"Good," Rick says, hand dropping from your face before he strides out of view. Leaving you to stare at the empty spot that was him and the shower door beyond as Boomerang appears- flashes you a devilish smirk before he holds the door open for you in a fashion that is far too chivalrous for his usual self.

You hear Rick's huff and Boomerang's amused chuckle when you step inside the room.

That night instead of crying in your tent you cum hard around your fingers- imagining Rick's hand instead of your own. What it would be like to be his- an idea you haven't dared entertain since the embarrassing mission where you're pretty sure you'd voiced that thought out loud.

|=

From that day on you pay closer attention to how Rick treats you.

Suddenly it makes sense how quickly Rick had appeared on the day of that mission with Trigger. Rick knew he needed to get to you. Maybe even before Boomerang had alerted him over the comms. Rick must have known from the second or third mission where you were assigned to his team that you were an Omega. He's a smart man- and Waller hadn't been subtle.

And yet he'd never treated you differently. Never hesitated to ask your opinion on strategy- relied on you for some of the most skilled tasks during missions. Trusted you to brew the team coffee every morning and not burn it- or poison it- like some had according to him.

Rick trusted you.

Hadn't started coddling you until recently.

You're staked out on a hill, monitoring the compound below you with Rick beside you when you broach the topic.

"You've always let me do a recce on my own," you say, trying to keep your voice casual even as Rick stiffens beside you, caught off guard by your clear challenge of his team assignments.

"Afraid I'm gonna go rogue?" you tease, biting your cheek when you realize the alternate to your scenario- the one that could be you descending back into the uselessness of your hindbrain. Rick seems to gather where your mind has drifted because he lowers the binocs and stares at you until you lift your gaze to his. Like what he has to say is important and he needs you to know it.

"What happened back there wasn't an accident,” Rick says, voice hardened- brown eyes set on you with a fierceness that makes you squirm.

Did he think you'd activated your heat on purpose?

You scramble to address the accusation.

"You think I did that on purpose?" you ask, voice edged with anger. You thought he trusted you but what if all this was Waller's protocol- to ensure you didn't weaken the team under the guise of an accident. Rick's eyes widen at your response- the tight set of your jaw and then he's the one scrambling.

"Shit, no darlin'- that's not what I meant-," Rick says, eager to dispel the notion, taking a deep steadying breath before he continues. Rick clicks off his comm and nods at you to do the same of yours. When the line empties Rick speaks.

"I think Waller replaced your suppressants with a slow acting activator," Rick tells you, brows drawn down and mouth a tight frown when he finishes. Suddenly you realize he's waiting for your input.

"I took an extra dose that morning because Trigger was looking at me like I was a meal. I thought it would help-" you explain and Rick nods.

"I know," he gruffs.

"What?"

"I can hear the pills in your bag and when you take them in your tent," Rick supplies and suddenly you're burning inside- wondering what else his super serum Alpha hearing is capable of picking up.

Fuck, had you moaned his name last night when you came?

Nothing in Rick's features indicates anything of the sort and you breathe a short sigh of relief until he speaks.

"I can smell you," Rick says, gaze held carefully away from you when he says it.

"I- w-what-?" you stutter, wondering if pitching yourself down the cliff and into your enemies grasp would be a quicker death than the one you're about to die of. Embarrassment chokes off your words.

"Your scent-" he grits out, takes a deep breath- through his mouth you note- tasting the air that surrounds the two of you like he's trying to gather it, memorize it. Like you might never sign onto his missions again after this conversation.

"It's always been sweet. Ever since we first met," Rick admits, eyes flicking to yours briefly.

"I don't think she gave you enhancers then. Not until we started working together," he reports and you're inclined to agree. Rick's scent has always been strongest on missions. You'd always assumed it was the close quarters- the sweat and grime of your shared work. The lack of bars and glass that typically keeps you apart.

"But it was so strong. Even then," Rick admits, heaves a nervous breath as he shares this intimate awareness of you.

"Yours was too," you quickly chirp, eager to soothe his anxieties and Rick gives a soft smile- shorter than you wanted but it's enough to make you swell with pride.

"It's not just the strength… you smell good," he says, nearly snarling the final word and the deep gravel of his tone drags over you somewhere in your gut and then lower.

"Christ, even with the suppressants I knew you were the best smelling Omega I'd ever known," Rick says. "So when it started concentrating on the missions I knew something was off. Can see how hard you try to hide yourself."

"And I didn't know if you and Harley- or Boomer- if you had something going on that could have been causing it-" he tells you.

"They're my friends," you tell Rick. "They're on suppressants too. They wouldn't have been able to tell if I was an Omega. Waller medicates the Alphas too."

"I figured." Rick nods.

"But an activator would overpower even that," you say, realization dawning.

"That's how I knew," Rick says and you nod in agreement.

"But why-" you ask and Rick smiles but you hate it- how it doesn't reach his eyes- how it's full of sarcasm- lips pulled tight over his bared teeth.

"What better way to take out a Task Force X team than throwing a heated Omega into their midst?" he supplies- the words dry in his mouth when he continues, "Just a bunch of Alphas ripping each other apart," he says and you shudder.

"Trigger was there to act as his namesake I think. Someone to kick off the claim ruts," Rick whispers, but you don't miss the way his voice is hardened with steel, eyes drawn back and flaring with the muzzle flash of his rifle from that day.

"You think he and Waller-" you ask, horror filling your entire being. Rick's nostrils flare as he huffs, eyes cutting away from you as his fists clench before his head drops. A startling display of submission as anger rolls through his frame.

"I hesitated-" Rick chokes out into the dirt and you don't know what he means until he continues.

"When I saw him- I shot him in the leg without a thought just to get his fucking hands off you and then I-" Rick heaves a growl that sounds pained- anguished. Your hand is on his shoulder in an instant- squeezing- anchoring him and Rick shifts beneath your touch- lifts his head to find your gaze- eyes fierce upon you.

"I'm sorry, Omega- I hesitated and it would have cost you everything-" Rick says and you realize you haven't been the only one berating yourself over that day.

"Rick-" you breathe out, intent to calm his self admonishment. "It's okay. You protected me,"

He only shakes his head, grits his teeth.

"I should have-" he begins but you cut him off by soothing your fingers over his face, the hard set of his jaw clenching beneath them. Your purr is soft- barely a sound but Rick's eyes close when the faint click of it reaches his ears, the first flicker of something like peace that you've ever seen aside from when he's asleep flashing over his face under your reassuring gesture. But then his brows are furrowing, a large hand coming up to grasp yours and pull it away. You fret at the action and Rick is quick to speak.

"I don't deserve you, Omega," he says. "Especially not you calling me your Alpha," he adds, large brown eyes solemn.

Sadness fills you as you bring your hand back to yourself and Rick resumes monitoring the compound below you in silence. You're tired of things being decided for you. Of everything in your life being out of your control. Omega or not you want to be able to make your own decisions. And Rick is someone that you've wanted for a long time.

It's what bolsters your voice when you speak.

"Then why do you keep protecting me?" you ask.

Rick sighs before he turns back to you.

"I'm scared Waller's going to alter your meds again. That next time it happens you'll be too far away for me to reach you in time," Rick explains.

"So that's it?" you ask, voice bolder than you thought. He shoots you a warning glare but you continue anyway.

"You're just following your training?" you ask and something in the way Rick huffs tells you that you should back off but you don't- keep pushing the subject with a force that surprises even you.

"There's no other reason?" you query, your own anger igniting when Rick growls low.

"Quit," he orders but the word is clipped with restraint and something darker in his eyes.

"No- I'm not going to stop until-" you begin and suddenly Rick has you pinned beneath him- both wrists caught up in one of his- his thumb working reflexively over one of your scent glands.

"Enough, Omega," Rick grinds out, large body trembling over yours where your legs are trapped beneath his but you note that he doesn't use his Alpha commands- never has on you.

"Until what?" he asks, voice hard as he searches your face.

"Until I bring you back to Waller's prison covered in my scent, filled with my seed and give her everything she wants?" Rick asks and even though you keen at his words- desperate for them- a deep seated dread fills you just as the same as it does him.

"What do you think happens then?" Rick asks again and you blink back tears, avoiding his gaze when his mouth drops to your jaw and he inhales deeply. Pulls your scent into his mouth with a greediness that sends your hips rutting into his.

"Tell me," he orders and you whimper, struggling into a submission that you hadn't anticipated when you started this. You shake your head adamantly, sobbing out a no, refusing to put words to Rick's irrefutable logic.

He sighs into your throat, breath stuttered with his own sob.

"I'll tell you what happens, darlin'," Rick says, voice softer as you cry beneath him, "You'll be removed from my team, locked up somewhere I'll never see you again. No chance of getting out. Of working off your sentence with Waller," Rick heaves out, voice strained with pain. "And I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened," he finishes before disengaging from you. Rises to his feet, the separation between you like a wound- sharp and raw.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Rick says, the words filled with regret and pain and you curl away from them- away from him with a loud sniffle.

"This-" Rick says, the thread between you reverberating with your frustration. "This has to be enough," he says and you don't know if it's for you or himself. A reminder of all the ways you're allowed to exist to him and the ways you can't.

"Okay," you whisper even though it isn't. Feels like it never will be for as long as you live.

Rick crouches, smooths a large hand over your face and crown- activates your comm with a crackle and helps pull you to sitting. For a long time you stay in his arms, trying to contain your cries as Rick holds you firmly to his chest until eventually Boomerang's voice appears in your ears, hailing you both back to camp.

The walk back is quiet. Heavy with the confessions and realizations shared as the sun sets. The golden light splaying over Rick's wide shoulders where he strides ahead of you in a way that makes you jealous. Mounts your frustration to near bursting so that when you return to camp you brush past Boomer and whatever silly quip he has about you and Rick being on watch together and collapse in your tent.

Upset as you are, you try to keep your cries quiet now that you're aware of Rick's super hearing. He's only trying to protect you. Why make him suffer more than he already has? The next day you put on a neutral face even as your heart lies shattered in your chest and try to keep up with the team as best you can. Wondering if Waller's plan might have been multifaceted- you're so distracted that when the next mission comes around you decline it. Afraid you'll get someone hurt with how fractured your mind feels- all your focus pulled onto Rick.

|=

At first Rick thinks that you're avoiding him. He doesn't resent you for it- only wishes that he could see you for more than brief glances into the common space at the prison. Wishes he could hear your voice- see the way your eyes sparkle when you smile- make sure that you're eating enough. Swallowing his pride, Rick checks in on you through Harley and Boomerang- gathers enough to set his mind at ease when he finds out you're not signing up for other missions instead of his ones.

But then he arrives at the prison one day to collect his team and the red alarms start screeching loud and constant. Alpha fight. Your section. Rick's moving before his mind catches up. When he arrives to your section the guards are subduing Harley who’s screaming bloody murder- only pausing when she spots Rick through the glass.

"Rick!" she hollers, fighting against her restraints with renewed zeal- surprising the guards and Flag when she breaks free and runs towards him. Hands slamming the glass with every word she speaks.

"Wallah's got her and Boomie on fuckin Mahloy's team. Can ya believe that?" Harley asks, waits for the understanding to arrive in Rick's face, smiles wide when it does although Rick sees the furrow between her different colored brows.

"Go get em tigah!" Harley screams through the glass as the guards collect her once more- now much more subdued than a moment ago and Rick knows why Harley and Boomer weren't on the team roster this morning.

Waller's trying to keep this under wraps.

Rick storms through the prison, arrives at Waller's office and wrenches open the locked door with ease. Slams it open and ten pairs of startled eyes settle on him where he takes up the entire door frame. There's one pair of eyes held carefully away from his bristling form.

Waller's.

"Where the fuck did you send Malloy's team?" Rick demands.

Waller smiles for a flash at the monitors overhead before she frowns and regards Rick.

"If I didn't know you Flag, I'd say you're behaving like an unhinged Alpha," Waller says and Rick bites back his growl.

"Where. Is. She." Rick grits out, uncaring at the collective gasp that ripples through the room. The quirk of Waller's lip.

"To finish what she couldn't the first time," Waller says and Rick seethes.

A Beta stands behind Waller.

"They're heading to Leece, Rick. Left two hours ago," the woman says, eyes glinting in solidarity even as Waller's head snaps towards her.

"Stand down, Beta. This isn't your fight," Waller orders and the woman merely clenches her fists.

"It is now," the woman replies and Waller huffs a laugh before turning back to Rick only to find him gone.

Waller growls at Rick's absence before she laughs maniacally.

"Just wait until he finds out Malloy's emergency kit is useless,” she says before the back of her head lights up with pain and the world goes dark.

|=

It starts on the plane this time. You're strapped into a seat in the deepest part of the hull- furthest from the ramp and with Boomer sitting like a pillar of animosity between you and the rest of Malloy's team.

You'd warned him. Drew the rag up over his face when the fog of your thoughts began to form before you’d boarded the plane. Told him about why the last time had gone as it did and what you think will happen this time. Boomer's hands are white across his knuckles where he grips his weapon, eyes cutting over the company surrounding you as he takes short sips of the air through the cloth.

"Think Waller fucked with my meds too," Boomer tells you under his breath, his voice a near constant growl.

"Not surprised. She hates when her plans don't work out the first time," you say, fingers clutching the straps that hold you upright in your seat as pain courses through you. Boomer groans beside you, boot tapping a nervous pattern on the metal when the Alpha across from you suddenly rouses from his sleep- eyes settling sharp and hungry upon you.

Your stomach swoops as the plane turns into its descent and you unclasp the buckle of your straps when you see the Alpha across from you do the same.

"Stay behind me, love," Boomerang orders when he stands and steps forward, intercepting the path of the Alpha towards you.

Malloy perks up in his seat at the confrontation.

"Settle down boys there's no need to fight-" but the words die in his throat once he's tasted the air. Eyes finding your form as you hang on the netting of the hull to remain upright and the men in front of you.

"Oh fuck," Malloy says, hands scrabbling for his emergency kit. The woman beside him snatches it from his grip.

"Hold on, Mal. Don't you think we deserve this? Why else would Waller place an Omega on our team?" the woman says with a slick smile turned towards you.

"Give that back, Parasythe," Malloy orders but there's a waver in his voice.

A man beside Parasythe pipes up.

"I heard about this. She's the bitch that killed Trigger!" he accuses, thrusts a finger at you before he unbuckles and stands. Boomer's got one hand wrapped around the front of the original Alpha's armor, holding him at bay but his focus diverts to the new threat.

"Malloy get your fucking team in check," Boomer orders and Malloy's scrambling to obey, hands lifting his gun to Parasythe.

"Give me the fucking kit, Parasythe. Or we're all dead before this plane touches ground," Malloy barks and Parasythe seems to consider his words for a moment. You're too focused on the man that was beside her as he approaches, fighting the gravity to reach you. You edge along the hull, approaching a man that keeps his gaze held carefully to the floor. When you get to just before arm's reach his gaze flicks to you, fear all over his face and a plea behind his eyes not to approach. But he's represented less of an issue than the rest so you press forwards.

He startles, jumps up and darts across the hull, knocking into Parasythe and the kit falls from her grip. Parasythe snarls- hands wrapping around the man's neck before she pauses.

"You're like her," Parasythe hisses into his face as he shakes his head furiously.

Now the man's behavior makes sense. The careful avoidance of you- the fear that he'd have to mimic an Alpha if you neared him. You can only hope he'll survive Parasythe's murderous wrath as Malloy collects the kit. Behind you there's the sound of fists and wood hitting flesh. Pained and strained grunts as Boomerang tries to keep the two Alpha's at bay.

Malloy drags you to the ramp and begins rifling through the kit, eyes intent on the threats behind you.

"I'm sorry- Waller didn't tell me about you," Malloy cringes and looks at Parasythe and the man clawing back at her, "Or Petri. If I had known I never would have let you on my missions."

You snort derisively at the captain's attitude.

"We're not useless. Petri's holding his own," you say, chin tipping at the Omega that's effectively restraining Parasythe.

"Bet Waller didn't fuck with his meds like she did mine," you spit as Malloy produces the syringe of suppressant. He looks at it uncertainly before you.

"Do you know how to use this?" Malloy asks and you gape at him.

"They trained you for this," you say even as you collect the syringe and pull up your shirt, slamming it into the softness of your lower stomach.

"I wasn't paying attention- never thought that I'd ever have to-," Malloy says sheepishly and you scoff, roll your eyes for a brief moment so you can keep Boomer's progress in your sights.

"Whatever. It's not working," you report, grab the blade at your thigh and post up to fight anyone that gets past Boomer.

"What?!" Malloy gasps, fear filling his face once more.

"It's not working," you gruff. "Actually I think it's made it worse," you say with a cringe, blade clanging on the metal as your knees join where it's fallen.

The world jumps and jumps and your joints scream as the plane lands.

Beyond you Malloy hits the ramp switch. You feel the vibrations beneath you as it falls and thunks into the ground before Malloy's dragging you backwards. Where Malloy's footsteps descend another pair stomps up.

The smell of pine and wood smoke and Rick fills your senses. There's a terse conversation above you before Malloy's grip renews and you're dragged once more. Rick's broad frame climbs the ramp and disappears into the hull just as Malloy tugs you behind a tree.

"You need to help- help him," you urge Malloy when he merely frets in front of you.

"He's gone against procedure. Against Waller. She'll have both our heads," Malloy tells you.

"She'd have you dead. Why do you think the serum didn't work?" you retort and Malloy's gaze settles on you with disbelief.

"The only reason it didn't work is because you're mated to Flag!" Malloy says, outraged that you'd think otherwise.

You lift your chin, displaying your scent glands.

"Not mated," you grit out. "Waller's doing. All of it."

Malloy seems to consider your words before he sighs, hesitation gripping his features.

"Well, you two smell the same," Malloy tells you, "Has to mean something."

"Not if we all die here," you say, gathering a storm behind your gaze and you direct it at Malloy.

"Alright, jeez I'm going," Malloy says before he rises and trots out of view.

An eternity later Boomerang appears at your side- bloody and grinning like a fool. His hands sweep over your face as he looks you over before his smile drops into a concerned frown.

"Is Rick-?" you ask weakly and Boomer nods with his whole body.

"He's fine sweetheart, just wrapping up things with Malloy. You on the other hand-" Boomer's voice drops off as he registers your sweaty, breathless form.

"The serum didn't work?" Boomer asks, more out of politeness because your scent is so strong that he's not sure how Flag hasn't ripped him away from you yet.

You shake your head.

"Shit," Boomer curses before he stands and stalks off.

More eternity. It's all pain and need until Rick appears and you groan.

Rick drops to his knees- hands carefully lifting your face to his. Rick presses a soft kiss to your lips and your body reacts with fervor, hands scrambling up in his armor and tugging him to you but Rick doesn't budge. You whine- nearly cry when he pulls away and shakes his head.

"Not like this, sweetheart. I'm getting you out of here," Rick says.

"What about Waller?" you manage, surprised that the thought has formed even with the heavy curtain over your thoughts.

"Waller's been demoted," Rick informs you.

"The chip?" you ask weakly as Rick hauls you into his arms and starts carrying you towards the tarmac.

"Deactivated permanently," Rick tells you, remembering the conversation he had with the beta, Kit, back at base. Rick diverts from your predicted path of the plane to a truck across from it just as Boomer arrives, holding up an emergency kit with a grin.

"Pilots got their own personal kit," Boomer informs you before Rick is setting you down in the backseat of the truck. They make short work of administering the medication and you all wait with held breaths until you suck in air that's not choked with pain or need.

"You're a genius, Boomie," you tell your friend and he smiles before he looks between you and Rick.

"Where are you headed?" he asks.

"Somewhere safe. Lie low for a bit. There's gonna be some reforms to Waller's system. Figured we'd wait those out," Rick says.

"Is that allowed?" you ask.

"When have you ever been concerned about what's allowed?" Boomer teases before he slaps the roof of the truck.

"Well, I'm off to help Malloy give a little lectie to his team," Boomer says.

"Give 'em hell, Boomie," you say and he salutes you with a smile that softens when he sees the thank you in yours.

Boomer punches Rick's shoulder playfully before jabbing a finger in his face.

"Keep that one safe or Harley will have your ass quicker than shit, yeah?" Boomie says and Rick smiles through a short nod before he helps you into the passenger seat and you go your separate ways.

|=

The neon lights of the diner sign behind your head buzzes as you sag into the booth with a satisfied sigh. The cleared plates separate you from Rick where he regards you seriously across the table.

"The only time I've seen you look that serious is when you're thinking of breaking rank," you tell Rick with a smile that he doesn't return. Not even a little bit and you worry.

Rick sighs before he shifts in the booth.

"What I told Boomer wasn't entirely true," he admits with a sigh.

"Boy scout Flag is a liar?" you quip, enjoy the warning look Rick throws at you even as his lips quirk slightly.

"I have no intention of bringing you back there. Even with Waller gone," Rick says, no hesitation in his admission.

Your eyebrows almost reach the ceiling.

"Are you saying I'm a fugitive? And you're aiding and abetting?" you ask.

Rick shakes his head.

"You never should have been in there. Kit sent me your file and I read it on the way over," he says. "You saved a kid."

"I killed someone," you say quietly.

"Out of self defense," he replies.

"Doesn't change the fact that they're dead because of me. No matter the reason," you say.

"They deserved it," he counters.

"And justice says I deserved this sentence. I should be nearly done working it off," you reply.

"Justice also allowed Trigger to work off his. How does that make sense?"

You shrug because it doesn't.

"And you've already worked off your sentence," Rick says.

"What?" you ask, shock sending you to the edge of your seat.

"Waller didn't notify you. Didn't notify anyone. Just let you keep volunteering." Rick bites off the words. "Look, what I'm trying to say is that I've processed your release and you're free to do whatever you want now. You don't have to stay with me. There's a bag in the back of that truck with everything you need to start a new life.”

"So that's it?" you ask, mirroring your words from that day on the hill.

Rick stiffens across from you.

"There's no other reason?" you ask, eyes glittering with challenge and Rick takes a sharp breath when he meets it.

"There might be another," Rick tells you, hand fidgeting with his empty coffee mug as he smiles to himself.

You lean forwards, hands wrapping around his, fingers trailing to his wrist and then further, letting your scent gland brush over his, enjoy the way Rick's lips part and his eyes close at the contact.

"Darlin' keep that up and this whole diner's gonna know all my reasons,” Rick says, the warning light over his tongue as his other hand grasps yours, pressing your gland further into his own. Brown eyes snap open when he hears your short intake of breath and the way you squirm in your seat. Catches the needy sound you make that you try to bury in your throat from the noise of the diner around you.

Rick releases your hands only as long as it takes to slam a few bills onto the table and then he's collecting you from the booth and pushing you out of the diner and into the truck. His large hand never leaves yours until it’s doing all the things that you- and Rick, too, as he tells you through fervent kisses- imagined doing in your tents for so long.

|=

It’s never happened to Rick before.

But he knows it’s your cadence, your calm demeanor. It’s how you ground the others in the face of danger all around them, especially Rick. Your voice comes through the comms with a level command that puts him at ease and distracts him all at once.

You’re one of Argus’s operations coordinators. When it’s not Amanda Waller herself taking charge of the more pertinent missions, it’s you and a select few who step up to the plate. But you in particular- your level-headedness that never breaks or slips into a hollering fury- it’s hypnotic. At this point it’s almost Pavlovian the way you take over the comms when the mission shifts over to your expertise and Rick knows he’s in good hands. He feels comfort and support and your steady guidance all at once.

And it had started to become a major problem, workplace wise. Because after a while, Rick knows he wants you more than a colleague should.

But with a demanding agency like Argus. There was never any time. You were just as busy as Rick before and after an operation. And he didn’t just want a fling. He needed more of you, outside the war room walls, and he needed you badly.

He’s up in comms often enough. He’s caught your glances. Catches them with his own tentative smiles when no one else is looking. He knows it’s not just in his head. You speak in his ear with distinction on missions. Not just because he’s team leader. They’re extra words of comfort. And they draw Rick Flag like a siren song.

You confirm his theory one day as all the analysts talk shop around the operations table. You move toward Rick’s chair silently, until finally he glances down at his elbow and sees you’ve slid a folded Argus memo slip over to his coffee mug without a word. You keep your eyes on the meeting with patient ease. Afterward, Rick pulls the slip out of his windbreaker while he’s alone in the elevator. He bites back a smirk. In your neat scrawl, your personal number.

You couldn’t meet in person, but the two of you could start the conversation.

Rick soon learns there’s a different side to you over text. Where your interactions in person are always professional and to the point, your messages to Rick were sharp, witty, and gave him everything he’d hoped for. He hopes that he, too, gets his own point across. He doesn’t have your way with words, but you never seem to mind it.

[You]

I need a drink.

You send during a particularly rowdy pre-ops meeting. John and Emilia are beginning to shout about the best point of infiltration, while the other minor analysts cower with information at the ready. Across the room, you look neutral, but he can tell. You’re bored at the back and forth; Rick’s learned you’ve got a poker face to rival his own. He sniffs idly, reaching to rub his brow as he sneaks a glance down at his phone under his desk.

[Rick] If these two stop hollerin any time soon I might actually be able to take you out one of these days.

He hits send with bated breath. In fact, he spares himself from a glance in your direction where he hopes you’re typing from behind your clipboard.

Rick’s break up with June had been rough. Shortly after Midway, or rather, despite everything that they'd gone through together in Midway, June blindsides Rick Flag with the talk. It wasn’t him, it was her. He keeps a tight lid on his devastation for months. It had been more than a year since then. But although you joined Argus after the Suicide Squad had developed into a permanent operation, he knows you’ve heard the rumors.

Colonel Rick Flag kicks ass in the field. But keeping his woman happy? The score was widely known. Rick sighs through his nose and flicks his eyes over the room full of desk jockeys. Gossipy fucks.

Rick swallows thickly after the meeting when Waller pulls you and the other coordinators into her office.

He furrows his brow when he looks down at his phone again.

You don’t shoot him back a text, but a file. Rick opens it and sees the operations schedule for everyone over the next month or so. You’ve highlighted the rows with your name and his. It’s clear to see you’ve figured out where your rare and fleeting days off have matched.

Next weekend.

The whole weekend, actually.

Rick sits up in his seat, a little too eagerly, and a little nervous all of a sudden to boot.

Shit- you were lining it right the hell up, weren’t you? A real date night. With drinks in town and maybe dinner. Well he’ll be damned.

Friday night it is.

+

Rick drags his fingers through his hair, brows knitted together at his reflection in the driver's side window of his truck. He puts his baseball cap back on, then takes it off again, repeating the swipe of light brown locks from his forehead. No, that doesn’t seem right either. Rick considers moving his hair down to the side rather than straight back.

Aw, hell.

When he yanks the cap on and off a third time he huffs, finally tossing it back inside the vehicle all together.

He swears under his breath when his phone buzzes in his back pocket. Rick makes his way to the large garage elevator as he checks your text.

[You] Here. By the fountains.

He'd arrived thirty minutes early, and somehow he was already making you wait.

The Promenade in town is always busy on Friday nights. The storefronts glittered and trees flickered with lights, the tables and chairs outside of each restaurant packed with people. Rick never had a reason to find himself here, but it was mutual ground for the two of you to approach each other for the first time outside of work. It's easy to find the large fountain pools the two of you are meant to meet at.

Rick's got on a plain crew shirt and a bomber jacket, his black jeans new and still pressed straight from when he bought them earlier that week— Just for this. You'd both decided to keep it casual— Keep it real— Much to his relief.

How many weeks would this make it? Nine? Ten? Nearly three months of your back and forths over your phones. Tonight’s new territory for Rick Flag.

Rick had moved on since June, of course. Even downloaded a dating app with only slight apprehension. His first three real matches had ended up being single dates— Hook-ups to be exact. Hook ups he could handle. But this?

Ah shit. Shit shit shit. There you were- you weren’t in your normal comms room attire. You pull a cardigan over yourself against the evening chill, and your blouse flutters a little when you turn. Rick looks you up and down and swallows.

You're standing by the fountain's edge, your eyes searching the people passing by your vicinity. Rick doesn't even have to wave to catch your attention. When you meet his eye, he inhales sharply, the reality of tonight with you finally concrete in front of him.

You brighten. "Hey," you greet first.

Rick stops before you, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets for a moment before he quickly takes them back out. For some bizarre reason, like he’s about to formally meet a peer, his first instinct is to shake your hand. He catches himself before he raises his arm. What was he, stupid?

"Hey." Rick remembers to say with a nod.

You chuckle. "No flag hat?" Your eyes flit over his hair and face. You can hardly see the top of his head from where you stand close to him. Before he can answer, you reach forward and take his torso in a firm hug, ripping the bandaid off. You immediately note the way he smells and feels— Clean and warm and firm.

Rick jerks his hands out of his pockets— Which had nervously retreated— again. He returns the gesture with some surprise.

He envelopes you in his arms, and when he leans down his voice is right beside your ear when he smiles back, "Figured you hated it so much I should just leave it at home."

You pull back with a grin now. Rick sported his American flag cap inside HQ like a second skin. You brought it up often, encouraging that he shouldn't hide his head of pretty hair underneath it all the time. Well, teased it, was more apt.

[You] What is it with 40 year old men and baseball caps?

[Rick] Hey. What's my age got to do with it?

[You] Nothing :) You just really take the whole 'Flag' thing to heart, huh

"I don't hate it." You say, rolling your eyes. And Rick wants to breathe a sigh of relief at how easily the two of you slip into the banter you’ve come to exchange. But it’s one thing to text. It’s another to hear your voice, relinquished from your duties in the comm room, your smile as bright and light to match. You make it obvious you’re in a good mood, and the tension in Rick’s broad shoulders ease.

Now, if only he could hear you better in this damn bar he picked out.

It’s just a short stroll away. The area is warm and vibrant and relaxed. You take a seat at a tall table, the cool night air drifting in through the wide open windows. Your feet dangle on the seat while Rick sits with one foot on a rung, one foot on the ground. Together you order several tapas plates and a pair of drinks to start, and you chuckle when Rick orders himself a Bourbon and Branch.

“What?” He says above the din. You take a sip of a margarita glass rimmed with salt, and Rick watches your pink tongue dart out softly over your lip to catch a piece of it on the rim.

“I’m surprised you order them with water.” You snort. Rick smiles. You loved to tease him.

But on a weekend, the bar is so packed and only gets louder. Finally, after another drink, Rick picks up his stool and moves it closer, perpendicular to you. You grin.

“That better?” He murmurs at you, no longer needing to shout. You feel warmth spread through you from your chest to your toes- partly because of the tequila, but mostly because of the way Rick’s knee presses into yours. The two of you conspire together this way, your cheeks nearly pushing together. Goosebumps spread under his collar at the way you turn to speak directly into his ear, your breath like citrus and mischief at once. You can’t know how much he wants you in his ear in and out of work.

“Here.” You encourage Rick to try something else besides straight liquor tonight. Moving the straw out of his way, you make to pass the glass to him. But instead of taking it, Rick folds his large hand over yours and brings the rim to him. His bottom lip is warm as he presses it to the edge of your thumb. He takes a long pull of the drink and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. In return, Rick Flag watches you flush. A thrill passes through him. At the way he can capture your full attention with a simple, physical gesture.

“Not bad.” He muses.

At the movies, the two of you have more luck. He picked the bar, but you picked the flick. When you reach the empty theater Rick wonders if you’ve done it on purpose. It’s an older movie, nearly completely cycled out of showings, and when you get to the top row, there’s no one there to bother the two of you way in back. In your defense, you point out that the two of you never had time to see movies, and maybe you were in luck, catching this last showing.

Except that to Rick’s smug satisfaction, it’s a complete and utter dud.

The artsy display on screen is more… interpretative than you anticipated. And in between the long stretches of silence and droning dialogue, you find your eyes drifting back over to Rick after thirty minutes or so.

He leans into you, chin in hand. Before he can ask if he can make fun of one of the dullest things he’s ever seen, you’re beating him to the punch. You overestimate the distance, and when you whisper into Rick’s ear, your lips brush over the shell, sending a shiver up the Colonel’s spine. “Okay if we talk through this one?”

Christ was it ever. He smirks, a little more alert now. Rick sits up and lifts the arm rest between the two of you, slipping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. You go back and forth, making fun of the dramatic characters with champagne problems. But Rick’s mostly focused on your breath in his ear and your hand on his as he squeezes your waist until the very end.

Finally, the Promenade clears more by the time you’re let out. You and Rick stroll slowly to the end, past a few other couples keeping the night going. Rick can’t help but feel his chest puff out a little when you slip your arm boldly into his, moving closer as the two of you come to a stop by the fountain from earlier.

“You parked in the garage?” He nods over the building across the street, hoping to extend your stroll even further. That and he wasn’t gonna let you walk back to your car alone, that was for sure. But you shake your head. “The street actually. Free overnight.”

Rick cocks a brow, a sly smirk forming. “And why’s that?” He murmurs, playing dumb.

You grin up at Rick. When you tug at the edges of his open jacket he leans down without resistance, meeting you halfway as you push up on your toes. You slot your lips against Rick’s in a warm, chaste kiss, a hum escaping you as he slips both his strong arms around your waist. He pulls you flush to him with ease. The two of you stand there, learning the new sensation of each other’s mouths. Rick had gotten so familiar with the words that left yours over the months, and now he was eager to entice all the sounds out of you left unexplored.

You both agree on Rick’s truck. He’s sobered up- especially after such a sobering movie, he teases you. You’re getting there but, ever the strategist, you know it’s safer to pick the towering soldier over yourself and your little coupe.

When you slip into the passenger side of the truck, you let out a small ‘oop’ when you accidentally sit on something.

Rick glances over when you yank the offending object out from under you.

“Aha! You did bring it!” You burst, waving the flag cap at him. Rick snatches it from you sheepishly.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He mutters through his teeth, smothering his grin. He tosses it in the back, and in one fluid motion, Rick reaches up to take your face in both his hands, pulling you in for another kiss. It’s deeper and filled with more passion, now that Rick has no doubt in his mind that you want this as much as he does.

There’s no middle console. Just the smooth upholstery. You both slide over the space until you’re pressed together again, your hands moving to explore one another with a little more privacy. You rake your fingers over his chest and abdomen, humming as you appreciate every hard line. Rick too, wanders your curves. And your heart flutters at the way he runs his touch along your soft sides, fingers making contact with the skin beneath the hem of your blouse.

In truth, Rick isn’t the only one who hasn’t done this in awhile. You, like him and nearly everyone at Argus, pour most of your life into its demanding operation. You had been content with evening drinks in groups and the occasional lunch with some of the other agents; But your eyes and ears had always been on the lookout for Rick Flag. He was a solemn, polite man around you, despite the fact you knew he was more gruff with the squad and other operatives. His tentativeness caught your attention after just a few missions. But what you appreciate most was that he seemed to truly listen to you. On the field, and off.

You chuckle breathlessly when you realize all these months of flirting have led up to not much talking now. Rick hums deeply in question as his hands slip under your shirt, his rough fingers scratching pleasantly against the small of your back. He busies himself with kisses along your neck and you gasp at the way his lashes flutter along your jaw.

“You trying to get me to fool around in your little pick up truck, Flag?” You tease in his ear. He grins against your pulse. A heat rises in Rick’s cheeks, out of your view, and he knows he can’t blame it on the alcohol anymore. Your timbre runs right through him, warm and smooth like honey.

“You don’t think it’s little.” He goads.

You scoff, pushing at his shoulder as he chuckles. But it soon dissolves into a moan when you nip at his earlobe, and Rick’s hold on you stiffens. You marvel in the deep sound you elicit so easily from such a large man. It goes straight to your core, and you curiously do it again as your hand wanders down between his thighs. You run your finger along his inseam until you’re met with what you’re looking for. Rick’s length is thick and straining under your light grasp. – Not little was right. He pauses from kissing your collar bone.

“That for me?” You purr.

Rick’s forehead falls atop your shoulder. “Been needing you all night, darlin’.”

You keep your mouth on the shell of his ear, feeling how hot it’s growing between your lips as you lick and kiss him languidly there. All the while, you stroke Rick through the fabric of his jeans, your own sex hot and wet and wanting. “The night’s not over, Colonel.”

Rick captures your lips with his with more fervor than ever, his fingers pushing through your hair to cup the back of your head to his. You squeeze your thighs together in your seat with a soft moan.

It takes everything he’s got to tear away from you. You buckle up with amusement as Rick puts his hand on the back of your headrest and reverses out of the garage without wasting another minute.

It’s his truck, but it’s your apartment. Your place is much closer than base, just a few blocks away from the Promenade. And Rick will be damned if he’s waiting to roll through two sets of security checkpoints and a long walk up to the barracks to make you his.

You don’t bother with the living room lights, stumbling backwards into your apartment as Rick pulls you in close again. He breaks apart long enough to nod to the couch, “Here?” He murmurs down at you. Your knees hit the edge of the seat but you shake your head, your noses brushing. Your head spins with the way his hard length is pressing into your waist, the scent of your familiar apartment mixing with the utterly unfamiliar and intoxicating scent of Rick Flag. You grin as you continue your walk backward to your bedroom. You slip your hands around Rick’s belt and deftly begin relieving him of it.

“Easy there, cowboy.” You tease him as he fumbles for the doorknob.

The yellow glow of the street lamp outside is enough light. Rick slips his jacket off and lets it fall to the floor as you do the same with your cardigan. You yank the hem of his shirt out of his pants eagerly, and you both tumble onto your comforter before it’s up and over his head. Rick tosses it aside.

He takes a moment to look at you laid out and breathless, your legs wedge between his thighs. Rick then leans down, takes the moment to trail kiss after kiss up your body, and you watch as the sharp geography of his back muscles flex under your touch in the low light. When he reaches the swell of your breasts, you cup his face in your hands and drag him up to meet yours, the need to taste him again overwhelming.

When your name leaves his lips like a plea, Rick drops his hips down to roll against yours. You moan when you feel his cock twitch through all your bottom layers.

“We’ve still got too many clothes on.” You point out astutely. And Rick Flag can’t agree more. He buries his face between your breasts once again, mouthing at your cleavage as he reaches down to yank your button blouse open in one simple tug between his fists. The buttons fall onto the hardwood floor off to the side with a stunning clatter.

“Rick!”

He’s pulling your bra down, taking a nipple into his mouth with ravenous abandon as he thrusts against your thigh again. “‘Said I need you, darlin’. I’m burnin’ up.” He growls.

Your hands find the button on his pants. When you pull his waistband down, his cock springs free, falling heavily in your grasp.

“Mm need you too,” You whisper in his ear. “I need you, Rick.”

The man groans, peppering your neck with kisses. You pump your hand around his hot length once and he rolls his hips into your palm without hesitation.

Rick falls back on his knees and guides your legs up. He makes quick work of your pants, a happy smirk evident as he slides them up off your legs. He kisses your calf slowly, your knee, each open-mouthed kiss sending a shiver through you. Rick puts himself between your legs until your knees are hitched over his strong arms, and he leans back down over you to capture your lips once more. You keep stroking him as he shucks the last of his clothes off, leaving you both bare and ready. Finally, you line him up with your entrance, already so wet with want. You both shudder as he slides into your cunt.

“Oh, fuck, Rick.” You grab his broad shoulder as he sinks into you, your other arm wrapping around the back of his head. You press your cheek to his, your breath hot in his ear and in his head. “Oh, please, I need it. Need you to fuck me.”

Rick whines, his deep voice hitching when he pushes the last of himself inside. You think you almost can’t take all of him, until he slowly presses down and bottoms out. You wrap your legs around his waist, dragging your nails down his back. You stretch around him, your hips eagerly moving to feel that hot slide of friction. He gives you another long moment, until you’re rolling your hips again. You thrust yourself on Rick’s cock with a whimper, and the move ignites the fire you know is lying in wait. Rick swears into the pillow beneath your head.

“Feel so good.” You croon. Rick begins thrusting, mouth latching onto your neck as he braces his arms on either side of the bed. You’re soft and warm and heavenly beneath him, your core molding around him with every thrust so tightly Rick quickly finds himself lost in you.

Despite the fact he can’t seem to keep his eyes open, his breath heavy and gone against your skin, you marvel at his stamina. You continue to whisper in his ear, extracting one desperate, helpless sound from the Colonel after the other. He’d last forever if you told him to. Come right then and there with a single word, if that’s the command you poured into his ear. Rick slips a forearm under your lower back and hikes you up as he keeps fucking you. As if drawing you closer could let him possess you even more- every inch of skin sliding against skin bringing him undone. You moan. You arch your back now, meeting his thrusts at a new angle that hits you til you’re crying out with every breath. “Yes- Just like that. Yes- yes- yes–”

You scramble to keep your hold on his shoulder. “Touch me,” You beg him, “Touch me, Rick, please?’ Rick nods frantically, reaching down between you. You cry out when his thumb meets your swollen clit. Quick, slick circles glide over you. Heat blooms across your cheeks. “Rick, Rick, oh please make me come.”

Rick obeys. His only reply is his breathless, blissed-filled panting. He’d do fucking anything for you in this moment. Follow any command. It’s just as he’s out in the field, in the dark, and your voice is the only thing that’s gonna save him. Your walls squeeze him tight as you come, your mouth right in his ear as you scream lightly, your arms clinging to him in ecstasy– everything he’s needed since he knew he needed you.

Rick comes before you’re even done, joining your breathless pleas with a combination of a shudder and a groan. He punches his hips, once, twice, as you come down, his spend filling you up with a delicious heat.

Rick nearly collapses onto you. Careful not to crush you at the last second with one arm, he props himself up over your prone body, his legs slotting with yours.

“Jesus Christ,” He pants. His face disappears into the crook of your neck again. You take a moment to catch your breath, your fingers pushing through Rick’s hair gently with a smile. Rick nuzzles your neck before placing a kiss on your jaw.

You capture his lips softly, the kiss a slow and tender thing. You relish the silence of the bedroom- how the only sounds are the ones you’re orchestrating with the man above you. Music in the ether you’ve been waiting to hear ever since you laid eyes on him. You stay like that until you’re drifting; you open your eyes when you didn’t know you closed them, and you know it’s time to sit up a little, move around a little. You crane your neck at the glowing red numbers on your nightstand clock. You can’t remember the last time you stayed up this late without Argus or Amanda goddamn Waller being the sole reason. The action stirs the resting man in your arms as well, and you’re sorry you’ve disturbed Rick from such a blissful slumber.

When he sits up, Rick seems to blink around the dark room, taking in his surroundings for the first time.

It’s an out of place feeling. Rick’s the man to find every entry point and exit in any given room. But here, with you, his attention was wholly enveloped. That’s what you did to him. You watch him curiously as he searches around the floor. When he finds his shirt by the nightstand and picks it up, you raise yourself up on an elbow and arch a brow at the soldier.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You inquire curiously.

Rick pauses with his shirt halfway on. It dangles around his neck loosely, and you laugh at how it’s clear Rick Flag does things a certain way- his muscle memory driving him to get dressed promptly. Efficiently. And with unnecessary haste.

But you’re not insulted. In fact, you’re a little amused. Because you’re confident when you hitch your leg around the back of his thigh that it’s all it will take to make him stay put. Rick is nearly two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle and you delight in the way every single one stills beneath your touch.

You know the uncertainty in his eyes isn’t a reflection on you. You know it from hours of texting. Of the careful, deliberate unguarding of Rick’s thoughts. He’d been hurt, like many people. Like you have, more than once or twice in your own life. You knew about his routine with lesser flings just as he knew about your aversion to the ominous idea of dating in the first place. It’s unfamiliar territory for you both. You level him with hooded eyes, inviting and patient.

“You’re not going anywhere, Rick Flag.”

“I– no?” He tries.

“We’ve finally both got a weekend off. I’m not done with you yet, Colonel.”  You reach for the shirt bunched up around his neck and pull him forward. Rick crawls back over you, his small, pleased smirk returning. “That so?”

“That’s an order, actually.” You purr, tossing the shirt off his head.

Rick’s arms wrap around you tightly, the goosebumps along his tattooed biceps making his pleasure at the idea loud and clear. He lies back down with you, slotting himself beside you. His form dwarfs your body as your fingers find that sandy blonde hair you’ve come to adore. The tension eases. In his muscles, in his worries. For the first time in a while, Rick’s not worried about a damn thing.

The habitual thoughts of tomorrow, tomorrow disappear at your behest, replaced with the sound of your gentle breaths. Rick sighs against your jaw.

Never let it be said that Rick Flag can’t tease.

He’s deliberate— calculating— a straight-faced bastard about it. Half your friends would call you a liar, but you’ve been a victim of it first-hand many times.

You’ve felt his gaze from across the helicraft. Flickers of heat that level you for a brief moment before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Felt his touch brush across your spine in the elevators back at Argus. Callous-rough fingers ghosting the small of your back, even as you press up against your coworkers in such a tight space. You flit your confused eyes at him in the reflection of the doors when no one’s paying attention, see him lock his hazel ones with yours in another daring stare.

It’s on his breath too. In the way it breezes down your neck as you both stay utterly still— utterly quiet in the shadows on a recon mission. You take a step back into your hiding hole as men hunt for the two of you, search the empty corridors, pressing your back to Rick’s chest as you wait in silence for the all clear. You feel the brush of his nose and lips against your cheek, and you know even in the pitch black that it can’t possibly be an accident.

And when you turn your head in the darkness, you feel the way his lips stay to graze your jaw, your neck. The tease almost turns into a full blown invitation then. Almost.

You think about his lips even as the fighting breaks out. Even as Harley ignores your calls to fall back, and your heart pumps as you jump into the fray after her. Bullets whizz past you, picking off enemies one by one, and you know that Rick’s attention is still on you through the scope of his rifle, watching you even through the haze of gunfire.

Rick says very little when you and the rest of the squad touch back down at Belle Reve. You take it upon yourself to give the crew the lecture this time, your blood still boiling from all the near-death— And all the tension that’s been coiling tight inside you for weeks on end. The reason hovers over your shoulder. Rick stands behind you, hands folded at his front as you lay into your ragtag group. And when you’re done, he disbands them back to their cells with a simple nod.

You hurry back to the Argus building without waiting for your colonel to catch up. You’re halfway out of your tactsuit when Flag enters the locker room. He makes his way to his own locker down the row of benches, and you have to stop yourself from glancing over at him as you quickly pull a shirt down over your chest.

“Seem a little wound up, Lieutenant.” He drawls casually, undoing the velcro on his gloves in slow, deliberate tugs. The sound tears across the space between you. You roll your eyes, using the motion as an excuse to put your gaze in his direction. You plunk down onto the bench behind you, reaching down to undo the laces on your heavy boots.

“That was a shit show, even for us.” You mutter.

“Reminded me of Waller the way you tore into everyone.” He muses, and you balked at the comparison. You’re soon distracted, however, when you glance over at him this time and catch him as he thumbs the gun holsters from off his broad shoulders, a smirk playing on his lips.

You swallow. “Well, you weren’t saying anything.”

He quirks a brow. “Didn’t I?”

Rick yanks down the zipper of his black jacket, revealing the matching black undershirt beneath it. He seems to mull over the plane ride back to base. “Must’ve been thinkin’ about something else.”

You leave your other shoe untouched, forgotten— because Rick is walking over to you now, one hand deftly pulling the black shirt over his head. The muscles of his stomach seem to flex as he raises his large arm, his torso completely bare. He stops short at the end of the bench, bunching the shirt up in his hands. Rick locks eyes with you, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip thoughtfully before disappearing again.

“...Something else?” You finally ask dumbly, his words processing with far more delay than they ought to. You crane your neck up at Rick, his stature easily dwarfing over you as you stay seated.

Rick shrugs. When he drops the shirt beside you, your breath hitches. You watch, entranced, as the colonel’s fingers find their way to the metal belt buckle resting snuggly against the trail of hair leading down his firm abdomen. They seem to glide over the steel for a pointed moment before curling around it and undoing it with a soft clink.

“I’ve been a little distracted lately.” He admits— confesses— Like he’s the one sitting down, staring dumbfounded. The word ‘distracted’ snaps you out of your daze, and you jolt to your feet.

“I— ” You flush when your elbow collides with your open locker door, causing it to swing and clang against the one beside it. You quickly snatch at it before it bangs against the wall of lockers again, and when you look back at Rick, he’s already leaning against the cool metal beside you, belt all the way off and furled around one fist.

“Think you might be a little distracted too.” He notes. His eyes give you a hungry once over, head tilting. With a simple flick, he undoes the button of his tact pants, tugging the fabric until the zipper slides down in one, languid motion. The arm still holding his belt presses against your locker as he seems to wait for you to respond.

You blink, feeling dizzy at the sudden proximity. It’s no use hiding it; Your eyes, glued to the hint of pale blue boxer briefs now peaking from the black V of his pants, trail up the hard stack of muscles at his stomach, up past his chest where goosebumps raise across his skin still sweat damp from the mission. When you meet his eye again, Rick’s smirk falls, that hunger returning in earnest when your lips part but no words fall out.

You moan before his mouth even meets yours, his hand darting up to catch your jaw as he crashes his lips down onto yours. You fall into your locker door again, this time uncaring at the clatter that rings out across the room. You swallow Rick’s growl as he presses his body to yours, his knee pushing between your thighs as your hands fly up to skirt over his hips and waist. You find purchase at his front, your fingers curling around the elastic just above his pelvis. You note distantly the sound of his belt falling to the floor, his other arm winding its way around you as Rick Flag brings both your bodies flush together.

Rick breaks the kiss to press his forehead against yours. When your eyes flutter open, you find his hazel ones boring into yours. “You’ve been watching me for weeks. Makin’ me wait.” He growls. Rick runs the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, drawing a shutter from you.

Your lips move of their own accord. You whimper as you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around it eagerly. The broad thigh between your legs jerks, the telltale press of Rick’s hardening cock digging into your hip.

“I’m not waiting another goddamn second.” Rick rips his hand away, both palms sliding around the back of your thighs to hitch you up. You gasp, arms snaking around his neck as he tears you away from the wall of lockers. Your teeth clack as you meet for another ravenous kiss, moans mixing together as Rick guides you both down to the bench.

One article of clothing after the other falls to the floor as you both tear at one another, Rick’s large hands easily yanking the rest of your uniform down your hips. He tugs your other boot off as you push his briefs down over the tight curve of his ass, the fabric snagging around his muscular thighs due to the way he’s straddling the bench. Rick breaks apart from you to chuckle, his cheeks and chest flushed a deep red.

You huff. “What?”

He shakes his head, catching his breath. “You really know how to take me apart, you know that?”

You stare up at him, incredulous, your forefingers still hooked around the belt loops at his sides. “I take you apart? I’ve never met a bigger tease in my fucking life.”

Rick’s grin is boyish, his hands running down your bare legs as he leans down to press his lips to your neck. You moan, the breathy sounds going straight to Rick’s length. You feel it twitch against your thigh. Reaching down between you, you slip your hand into his underwear, your grasp curling around his thick cock. Rick groans loudly into your shoulder when you give him a slow stroke and you can feel the smile that presses against your skin.

“So fucking wet.” Rick grinds out, reveling in the way you whimper and drag your nails down his back. You think you catch a fresh cut or bruise at his shoulder blade, because Rick seems to buck faintly, a hiss escaping him as his eyes flutter shut at the pleasure-pain. When he finally sinks his cock into your entrance, the two of you moan in unison.

You yelp when Rick Flag takes one of your legs and throws it across his chest, his arm wrapping around both your knees as they hang over his shoulder. Taking over your grasp, he guides his cock to your entrance, swiping the swollen head over your folds. You shutter as your slick coats the tip easily, your insides aching for him to push into you.

Rick leans over you, making your knees nearly meet your chest. He turns his head as he waits for you to melt around his girth, to stretch and take his cock down to the hilt. He pushes his face against your leg in the meantime, lips trailing wet kisses across your skin.

“Rick,” You shudder, rolling your hips, despite your position. Rick bucks involuntarily, a hand falling down beside your head to brace himself above you on the bench. You turn and nip at his wrist, tongue laving over the band of his field watch.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He breathes. Rick leans up, both arms wrapping around your legs as he finally drags his cock out halfway and slams back into you roughly enough to make you yelp in surprise. He does it again, until he begins thrusting into you over and over, fucking you right there in the middle of the locker room. You grip the bench beneath you on either side, eyes squeezing shut as the tight coil inside you starts burning hotter.

“You're...so big,” You whine between his thrusts.

When he’s within reach, you tangle your fingers in his short-cropped hair, dragging him down into another kiss, goosebumps on your neck raising when you swallow his eager groan. He kisses you back with a hunger fervor, exchanging sounds with every thrust. Rick hikes a knee up onto the bench to angle himself into your bent body, the new position sending a white hot burst of pleasure up your spine. Your toes curl behind him as you tug his hair again. “Right there.”

Rick growls in response, thighs ringing out against yours in quick, short slaps. He bends forward, folding you in half as he fucks you roughly. “I know you can take me, darlin’. You feel that?”

“Yeah?” The guttural sound that reverberates from him has your back arching. “Gonna come around my big cock already?”

“Shut up.” You say, slapping his shoulder. But you burst into laughter all the same. The action causes you to clench around his length and Rick stifles a moan, keeling over. He comes back up trying to smother a grin.

“I told you about laughing, baby. You’re gonna have me comin’ too soon.”

You reach up to take Rick’s face in both your hands, pressing your lips to his, drinking in his pleased moan.

“Good. Want you to come.” You whisper, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting down just the way that has him groaning again, his hips stuttering their steady pace. Rick pulls away swiftly, has to bury his face in your neck again to hide the way you easily make him come undone. But you chase him, press your mouth to his ear as you run your nails over the nape of his neck.

“Come on, Rick.” You coo. You suck a wet kiss just below his earlobe. “Don’t you want to fill me up?”

“Fuck, [Y/n]—”

You groan in his ear, rolling your hips to meet his as his pace quickens erratically. You chase your own high as he loses himself in you, that white sensation in your belly building as he fucks you close and fast enough to rub friction over your aching clit. “Fucking me so good, baby, keep going. Please. Please.”

It’s a chain reaction, the wave of pleasure slamming into you, your walls clenching around Rick like a vise. Rick shutters against your neck as he comes inside you, hips locking to bury his spend deep in you as you cry out again and again. He fucks his come into you a few more times as you ride out your orgasm, his heavy breaths filling up your ears as the ringing ebbs away.

You feel kisses trail over your chest, jumping over to pepper across the side of your leg still draped around the Colonel’s shoulder. He rests his cheek against your calf for a moment, content to watch you blink dazedly at the ceiling.

After a moment, you reach down to pass him the nearest article of clothing you find— His undershirt from earlier. Rick cleans you up carefully, tucking himself away as you sit up.

He gathers you in his lap before you find the strength to get dressed again, stealing another kiss as you chuckle.

“What are we thinking? Hit the showers for round two?”

“I was thinking we could save the shower for your place.” Rick murmurs against your cheek. “March you through Argus with a little bit of me still inside you.”

You snort, pushing his face away. “Pervert.”

“Tease.”

“Again, I’m the tease?”

He shrugs his bare shoulders, “The way you bark orders and tear hides? Can’t hardly think straight with you on missions, darlin’.”

Rick's standing with his back to the wall on the other side of the presentation room when his phone buzzes in his pocket. You watch as his brow furrows, eyes still on Waller's presentation up on the big screen as he takes it out discreetly.

[You] $10 says Blackguard's going to ask the dumbest question you've ever heard.

Rick's face doesn't betray anything as he glances over at you from across the room. You, however, have to hide your smile behind your clipboard, turning back to the screen.

[R. Flag] No bet. When doesn't he.

He's barely pressing send when Hertz raises his hand from his seat, giving Waller a wave when she attempts to ignore him.

"Yes, Hertz?" She finally gives in.

"If this place is so impenetrable, how're we supposed to get in?"

Boomer snorts from up in the back seats. "Probably with the fuckton of C4 we're s'pposed to lug all the way there, dickhead."

You bite your lip, eyes shooting over to Rick again, who has the diligence to not break into the slightest smile. He does however roll his eyes minutely, returning your silent look. Your heart gives a little flutter when your phone buzzes again.

[R. Flag] Jesus Christ.

[You] You really let him run around with guns out there, huh.

[R. Flag] Hasn't tripped and blown his own brains out yet.

Rick watches as you have to hold your clipboard up higher, your shoulders shaking a little. That gets the corner of his mouth to turn up in a small smile.

You turn your attention back to Waller for awhile after that, fingers still itching to shoot the Colonel another text. It had been like this for months, your little exchanges with him peppering your weekdays at Argus. You swallow and look around to make sure no one is paying attention to you when you pull up your camera roll, still hesitant to press send when you find the picture you're looking for.

[You] You know what I was thinking? I think we haven't had date night in awhile.

Your simple text has Rick arching a brow down at his hand. But before he can reply, another message from you hits him. Rick's eyes widen, phone flying back into his pocket reflexively, as if someone might have seen.

You're posing with the camera aimed at yourself from the neck down, the flash illuminating your skin— a lot of it. You're holding the cups of your lacy bra over your breasts — barely — the straps limp against your shoulders, the clasps clearly undone as the garment hangs by just your palm. You're pressing your knees together as you sit on a bathroom counter, and Rick knows even from just looking at it for a millisecond that it's his bathroom. Your matching panties are low on your hips, peaking from in between your squeezed thighs.

Rick's eyes flit over to you for a moment, his mouth pressed into a line. You pointedly keep your eyes on the Wall's screen, suddenly interested in the briefing.

[R. Flag] When the fuck did you take that?

[You] I stopped by while you were on your last mission. Missed you.

[R. Flag] Yeah? What'd you get up to by yourself?

[You] Slept on your side of the bed. Thought about you for most of the night. Really pictured you there with me.

Rick runs a hand through his hair. He gives it a moment before he looks back down at his phone, stepping over behind another operative so that no one sees him paying more attention to his hands than Waller.

[R. Flag] And what was I doing, exactly.

[You] What weren't you doing to me?

Rick huffs to himself under his breath. He shifts his weight onto his other foot, flashing you a glance before looking back down at his phone. It takes longer than you expect for his next reply, as if he's considering his message carefully. Finally, you look down with eager eyes at what he might say next.

Only it isn't a worded message, but an image downloading onto your screen. You blink, waiting for it to load, until suddenly it appears.

You inhale so sharply you choke. Florence arches a brow at you as you pat your chest, shooting her an apologetic smile. From across the room, you can see the grin Rick Flag is smothering behind a closed fist.

A little more prepared, you look back down at the picture on your screen.

Rick is standing in front of the same bathroom counter featured in your selfie, but instead of pointing the camera at himself, he's pointing it at the mirror. You can see the sly smirk at the top of the image, the rest of his face cut off from view. He's wearing nothing, clearly fresh out of the shower, his skin still glistening as he holds his phone in one hand and in his other—

You press your back against the wall as you get a good look at Rick's hand wrapped around the base of his thick, hardened cock, the head glistening with a bead of precum. You notice it now, how his chest is flushed in the picture, the muscles of his abdomen pulled tight as he flexes into his firm grasp.

You turn off your phone screen, clearing your throat quietly as the meeting goes on, everyone oblivious. Everyone except the smug asshole now chuckling to himself from the corner of your vision.

"How long have you been keeping that one to yourself?" You hiss later, in between fevered kisses. Rick presses a smile against your lips, hitching your legs up around his waist.

Your eyes flit over to the bathroom door. Rick moves to kiss your neck unhurriedly, tongue dragging over the sharp dip of your collarbone, making you stifle a moan.

"Don't worry. Already locked it." He says, his deep voice echoing off the empty Argus bathroom walls.

You tug at the short hair of his temple, pulling his head away firmly. "You're the worst."

"Yeah?" He leans back, leveling you with a heavy-lidded look, his kiss-swollen lips now shining. "You didn't like my reply? Cuz I was thinkin' maybe you might've loved it."

He pointedly rolls his hips against yours, the friction making you rock up to meet him. You shift yourself atop the lip of the sink, squeezing your thighs together so that he has to step closer to you.

You scoff, flushing. "Just shut up and fuck me."

A low, hungry sound leaves Rick's throat at the demand as his mouth returns to kiss your neck. The image flashes behind your closed eyelids again— That smug smile, and that full length you were aching for now. Rick nearly jumps when you rip the button to his uniform pants open, your hand slipping inside faster than he can get the zipper undone.

part one

You’re seventeen when you first notice Rick Flag, but it’s certainly not the first time he’s noticed you. He’s taller and a bit more stoic than the rest of the friends in his circle, standing out against the black backdrop of tonight. His scowling face remains in place as always- always the default when he thinks no eyes are on him.

But yours linger tonight. Around that perpetual, thoughtful frown.

You let your friends drag you to the bonfire, the taste of spring dying off as summer and the end of your junior year approaches. There’s woodsmoke in your hair and a can of cold soda between your fingers. You’ve taken off your jacket despite the desperate chill still clinging to the air of late April. You’re seventeen, and you already know you’ll remember this night long after it’s over.

The thought crosses your mind just as he appears in your periphery. You sit with your feet dangling over the edge of the small bridge, river water rushing gently beneath you. A soft click pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance over to see the cherry glow of a flame in the near-dark. Rick Flag takes a long pull from his cigarette before putting the lighter back into the breast pocket of his flannel. He returns the glance like he’s just realized you’re there too.

You’re tempted to say something. To fill the silence. Instead, you let your eyes drift over him; Sandy blond hair, bleached brighter from months of swim practice. He’s got wide shoulders and long limbs, and you faintly remember one of your friends talking about his growth spurt over the last summer. You try to recall what he looked like before this year, this evening, but you can’t. You’ve always been at the edges of each other’s lives up until this moment. At least from your perspective. Always brushing but never intersecting.

Rick feels you seeing him—really seeing him— for the first time. It’s up close and in person, and the greeting falls from his mouth with a sudden nervous lilt, a hesitation you’d never expect from the captain of the water polo team.

“Hey.” He mutters, giving you a wave with the cigarette between his fingers. You let the word hang there between the two of you for a good while.

“Your name’s Rick, right?” You finally say, taking a sip from your drink.

He nods, shoving his hand in his pocket when the wind picks up. You feel the goosebumps raise but you let the wind blow right through you.

“You’re Maribel.”

You snort, “It’s just Bells.”

“Right.” And he nods again, looking as if he’s really committing the note to memory.

“What’s got you so down, Rick Flag?”

His brows pinch together then, eyes flicking back to you. He presses his pale pink lips around his cigarette. “What d’you mean?”

You shrug down at the river. “Always seems like something’s bothering you.”

The stubborn uptick at the corner of his mouth tells you that you’re right on the money. You return the smallest hint of a smile but say nothing more. Rick takes another drag from his cigarette before he gives it a good flick, sending it into the dark water below.

“Just should’ve brought a thicker jacket.” He murmurs. And you’d never admit it to him then, but the tightlipped smile he shoots your way brightens your night like no bonfire could.

It’s from that night on that your circles finally seem to intersect. He’s there, at school, greeting you every morning on his way to class. In the library, where you notice that he’s in there more often than you ever thought, his studies just as important to him as his demanding sports regimen. He’s got the kind of full plate you could never handle— And you really thought you filled up the hours of your life with as much as you could then.

When he begins to seek you out at lunch, at your usual bench outside, you think maybe he’s looking for your other friends— the ones who actually bother talking and hanging out with his own group.

Rick huffs, shaking his head. You watch him drop an old analog camera around his neck. It hangs from a leather strap, the words ART DEPT. scribbled in sharpie along the worn material. “I was lookin’ for you.”

“Yeah?” You grin, squinting up at him through the sun. “Wanna take my picture?”

“If it’s alright.” Rick’s ears flush at that, reddened skin hidden beneath wisps of his golden hair.  “—I’m taking the class.” He clarifies quickly. “I’m not just takin’ people’s pictures, I mean.”

You laugh, and a rare, soft smile crosses his features again. When you move to set your book down, Rick quickly stops you, asking you to keep going on like you’re still reading. The faint click of the camera goes off a few times before you look up at him again, and you know then. You want this boy in front of you, in your life.

But you only get one summer with Rick Flag. One last senior year before life will part the two of you in ways you’ll never even expect. So you make the most of it; You meet him before school and long after. You start showing up to swim meets and water polo games, much to the surprise of friends who have been trying to get you to come for four years. You memorize the route to his childhood home, and Rick knows the inside of your bedroom like his own. Knows where all the dishes are in the kitchen, and where you keep all the snacks, despite your many complaints that he eats way too much of your food.

But he’s a growing teen, and every day that passes your heart swells more and more at the sight of him. Winter arrives, and you always seem to find yourself in one of his flannels or hoodies rather than your own on colder days. Rick moves his studies from the cold library to the warm, bustling diner you work at in the evenings. And you saddle up to him with as many cream sodas as he can drink while he works. You watch him pull long sips from his straw as you sit across from him on your breaks, your chin in your hands, and a smile.

“What are you saving up for?” Rick inquires one night. The night before Christmas Eve, in fact. The two of you don’t have any classwork over the winter break, but he still turns up— Still wants to be near you even as you work the shifts no one else wants. You bite your lip, eyes darting down to the sticky counter between you.

“Nothing, really.” You finally admit. For as much as you had in common with perfect, magnetic Rick Flag, there were some things you haven’t told him about yourself. You know he’s smart enough to put it together, how your mother is never home, always working hard at the hospital in town. There are some struggles Rick isn’t accustomed to. But he levels you with a patient, open expression. One you know you can tell everything to.

“It mostly goes to the rent. Or for everyone’s clothes and school stuff.” You sigh. “But it’s okay. Luckily I won’t need much for college soon, because I uh. I got the scholarship, by the way.”

Rick’s brows shoot up, chasing your darting gaze when you chuckle, flushing.

“Bells. Bells. You got it? When were you gonna tell me?” He all but shouts.

Rick rounds the counter with a grin and pulls you in for a big hug. You smother your laugh in his broad chest as you avoid the amused looks from the line cooks and other waitresses. The two of you sway back and forth on straight legs while Rick holds you.

Finally pulling away, he digs into the pocket of his heavy coat and pulls out a box wrapped in Christmas paper. “Good thing I brought this as congrats, then.”

You blink from the gift back up at him, unable to hide your grin. You snatch up the box eagerly, and Rick laughs at how you tear at the paper. “For me?”

Your silly mood dissipates when you open the box, a small, shining necklace inside. The locket looks fine and delicate, with a matching chain that you lift from the dark velvet. You shoot him a look, your brow furrowing, and Rick looks back at you unwavering.

Inside the circular locket are two pictures. A small black and white photograph of your two younger brothers on one side, both smiling toothily back at you. It must be one of Rick’s photos from photography class, you think, your gaze shifting over to the other photo.

It’s of you and Rick, cheeks pressed together as Rick snaps another photo of the pair of you— You remember the day faintly, one of many spent together over your one, perfect summer.

“Gang’s all there. You ‘n your boys.” He murmurs down in your ear. You grip the perfect little gift tightly in your palm.

“I… hate you.” You mutter. Rick snorts. “Your gift is so much better than mine!”

Rick’s belly laugh has him doubling over, even as you shove past him over to your school bag underneath the register. You return with a box of your own, the contents heavy. Rick rips the paper open just as eagerly as you had, glittering wrapping paper falling onto the formica.

“You got me… Paper.” He notes, turning the set over. You punch him in the arm. “—I like paper.”

“It’s not just—” You huff, grabbing the box with the clear plastic lid, opening it up. You dig out the top sheets, revealing a bundle of velvety envelopes, gold leaf seals, and a case of pens. “It’s a stationary set. So you can write to me when you’re training at boot camp or— you know. Just, somewhere far away…”

The last sentence dies on your lips quietly.

You’d done everything in your power to avoid the topic of Rick’s eventual departure. Of your own departure, off to your own college, but mostly his; You’d learned early on that he wasn’t just going to go to join the military. He’d had a whole plan laid out, to join in his family’s footsteps, and move toward something that very clearly wasn’t going to spare any time for you.

And that was okay. It had to be okay. You had stolen some of Rick’s time— Had made the most of what you could. It wasn’t like you to ignore it any longer.

“I didn’t tell you right away because… I don’t know. I didn’t want to derail the news of your own acceptance letter, you know? ” You admit. “It’s such a big deal. And I’m really just lucky I got the grant I needed.”

You were proud of your achievement. But you knew how much Rick’s own ambitions meant to him. Even still, when you lift your head, there’s a sudden blankness you’re met with that you don’t expect.

Rick reaches over, folding his warm hands over yours. “You’re not just lucky, Bells. You’re gonna do so many great things.” He says quietly. He takes the letter kit from your grasp, a smile finally returning as he taps the lid. “And you’re gonna tell me all about it while I’m gone.”

You fidget with the edge of your apron. “There’s something else in there for you.”

“Oh?” You stop Rick before he reaches back into the box.

“Just— Just wait to read it until after they ship you out.”

“What?” Rick only tries to wrangle the box out of your hands harder now, “That’s months away!”

“Rick, don’t!” You plead, but you laugh all the same as the two of you wrestle over the gift. “Promise me, please?”

Rick stops teasing you. With soft hazel green eyes, he nods, tucking the box under his arm. “Alright. I promise.”

You spend Christmas Day with your family. You declutter your room of most things you can’t bring with you to college. Your younger brothers are excited that they’ll no longer have to share a room with you out in the world now. Your mother tears up often over the break, sad to see her only daughter so much older so soon.

Your family accepts that they’ll be saying goodbye to Rick Flag soon too. The boys are too young to understand just how long he’ll be gone. That his goodbye weighs more than they think. You split your time between your house and his, but you both know there’s one place that’s easier to exist in than the other.

You get along well with his mother, but there have always been reservations between you and Rick Flag Sr. You don’t know what you could have done to earn his ill favor in the short time you’ve gotten close to his son. You think it’s most likely that you live in a part of town he doesn’t think his son ought to be frequenting. But there’s also a part of you, a small, glad part of you that thinks Flag Sr. doesn’t like how important you are to Rick. Your Rick. And the idea that your presence in his house has loosened his tight grip on his son makes you happy to play the role of unwanted guest for the time being. You were a patient person— something Rick’s father couldn’t seem to wrap his head around.

You don’t lie to yourself anymore. You can’t stay away from Rick for more than a day. Not even for Christmas. Nobody’s surprised when you hurry out the front door when the sun finally sets, your backpack full of the new books you’ve gotten for Christmas, ready to show the boy you can’t stop thinking about. You pull into Rick’s driveway on your old bicycle, a grin on your face. Your breath hangs in the air in this cold, but your insides are always warm when you pass the little mailbox with the word Flag painted in neat script on the side.

Your smile dies away at the sound of raised voices, at the sudden realization that you don’t care whether or not Flag Sr. will ever like you one day.

“I got in, didn’t I? That’s what you fuckin’ wanted.”

The slap rings out across the lawn, through an open window. “You watch your fuckin’ mouth, boy. You’re a shoo-in because you’re my legacy. You remember that.”

You drop your bike and hurry around the house when you hear the back door slam, hurry before Rick disappears off somewhere else.

He hears you approach before you can get close. You stop when he turns to look at you like he’s a deer caught in your headlights. The hurt on his face deepens when you see the red mark across his cheek, and he turns away again, continuing his path to the family’s detached garage. He keeps his bare arms close to his sides, only a t-shirt on his back out here in the cold.

“Rick— wait.” You whisper, like his father might hear the two of you all the way out here. You catch up to his long strides as he opens the side door to the garage, following him inside and clicking on the light for him.

Rick says nothing. He lets you close the door and cut off the rest of the world from the pair of you. Rick paces the empty space for a few turns before finally taking a seat on a bench against the wall. He pushes his face into his hands as he rests there with his elbows on his knees, and you cautiously shoulder off your backpack, setting it down beside him carefully. He’s shaking, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the temperature or something else.

When you sit down, Rick flinches.

Slowly, you cup your hands around his face, careful not to press too much against the burning skin beneath his eye. Wet eyes shine over at you, wild and searching. He looks so lost. So unsure. You’ve only known Rick Flag a year, but all the deep frowns- all the distant, stoic looks click into place like the shutter on an old-fashioned camera.

“Are you okay, Rick?” You ask softly.

The shaky breath that caresses your face makes your chest ache— the short, cut-off sob slicing at your ears in the quiet garage like a knife.

“No one’s ever asked me that before.” He whispers back, lips dangerously close to yours. You brush the hair from his forehead, at a loss for words. Rick’s eyes flicker down to your mouth briefly, and you flush, unsure if this is the moment. The moment you’ve imagined every day since that night on the bridge— just not like this. Part of you wants to march inside the Flag home and say something utterly stupid. But you know you’re incapable of leaving him alone like this.

You want to tell him that it’s all not true. That everything Rick’s earned, it’s because of the long nights you’ve seen him toil over schoolwork, of hours at practice, being a good leader and a better friend to his entire team.

But you think of that scowl. Of Rick’s thoughtful, tired eyes always drifting off to somewhere far away when he thinks no one is looking. Of stiff shoulders whenever his father enters a room, and of your mother, never complaining whenever Rick stayed over, just a little longer.

“You stay here if you want, Rick.” Your mother once told him, taking his chin in her hand as she passed the dinner table once. You remember your mother’s nurse’s eyes, catching the faint purple mark wrapped around your best friend’s neck— The one he’d told you was from a rough scrimmage match a few days prior. “You’re welcome home here too, honey.”

You realize it now, in the dark, the difference between a rough elbow during a water polo match, and the heavy hand of a father.

Rick lets you pull him closer, pull his face to the crook of your neck. He’s a foot taller than you— broad shoulders almost more than you can get your arms around. The two of you stay like that forever, for no time at all, just the two of you. A wetness blooms on the collar of your shirt, and the feeling makes your blood boil.

So you say nothing. You steal a piece of this moment for yourself, commit to memory the soft feeling of his head pressed to your cheek and his warmth radiating in your arms before you pull away to drag his face back up to look at you. He’s still hunched, still caging himself in his own growing, broad body as if he’s attempting to shrink away and disappear.

But when his eyes catch yours again, Rick Flag looks at you like you’re so much more than you ever thought you were to him.

You’re seventeen, and your first kiss is a soft, tentative thing on a quiet Christmas night.

Rick’s half-lidded gaze slips closed as you press your lips against his, answering his silent question. Slipping his large hands around yours, Rick feels the way you drag his face closer, feels the way you do what you’ve always done- loved him for everything he is, expecting nothing else. Nothing more.

You’re the first to pull away, catching your breath with a wide stare. Rick’s pulse hammers in his head, fear and doubt returning to his flushed face.

“Let’s go somewhere.” You insist. Brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, you keep his head above those waves of doubt you know are always crashing around him.

Rick presses his lips together, chin wrinkling as he tries to hide any more vulnerability from your full gaze. He shakes his head no, “‘m already in trouble.”

“Exactly.” You say, shooting him a big grin. Your hands want to touch every inch of his face. He lets you card your fingers through the hair at his temples soothingly, lets you scratch at the fuzz at the nape of his neck. It’s there again— That sudden need to stare at his scowling lips— To kiss it and the stinging red mark on his face until he can worry about nothing else.

You stand up, taking his long fingers in yours and leading him out the door where he follows willingly, stumbling after you in a daze. You lead him out of the dark.