#rick flag x reader headcanon

[starrydali]

hii i got a request for a luke castellan fic🤭

so i thought of it the other day.. what if its during a capture the flag game but reader and luke get carried away with yk.. making out or smth and they get caught !

do what you want with it, i just thought it could be cute😊

Friends With Benefits - Luke Castellan

∘°∘♡∘° Stoppp I love this so much♡

✧˖*°࿐*✧.┊You and Luke have always been close friends, but lately, things have been a little… complicated. You're not quite dating, but you're not just friends either. Stolen kisses here and there, moments where the line between friendship and something more starts to blur. ✧. ┊

The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. You were supposed to be patrolling—Luke was supposed to be patrolling—but instead, you were backed against the rough bark of a tree, his lips brushing against yours in a way that sent your thoughts spiraling into chaos.

“Luke,” you mumbled between kisses, though you made no effort to stop him. “We’re going to get caught.”

He pulled back slightly, his face so close that his breath warmed your skin. His smirk was maddeningly cocky, the kind that made you simultaneously want to shove him and kiss him again. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and full of amusement. “You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” you shot back, your hands resting awkwardly on his chest, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

Luke just chuckled, leaning in again, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth before moving to trail down your jaw. “It’s adorable how you think anyone’s paying attention to us right now.”

You were about to retort when—

“Luke Castellan.”

The sharp voice cut through the quiet of the woods like a blade. Your head snapped toward the source of the sound, and your stomach dropped. Annabeth.

She stood a few feet away, arms crossed and a look of utter disbelief etched on her face. For once, her calculating gaze wasn’t directed at some strategic move in Capture the Flag—it was pinned squarely on the two of you.

“Oh gods,” you muttered under your breath, stepping away from Luke so fast you nearly tripped over a root.

Luke, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit fazed. He leaned casually against the tree, his arms crossed over his chest, and gave Annabeth his most infuriating grin. “Hey, Annabeth,” he said, as if she’d just caught him skipping chores and not...well, this.

“‘Hey, Annabeth?’” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. Her eyes flicked between you and Luke, her expression a mix of shock, confusion, and something that looked suspiciously like secondhand embarrassment. “What the hell was that?”

You opened your mouth to explain—or maybe apologize—but no sound came out. Your face was burning so hot you were sure it could rival Apollo’s chariot.

“We were just...uh...” Luke began, his grin widening as he glanced at you.

“Don’t,” Annabeth interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t even try to explain.”

Luke shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, if you insist.”

“Luke!” you hissed, swatting his arm.

“What?” he said, feigning innocence. “I’m not lying. She told me not to explain.”

Annabeth groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I cannot believe this. You two are supposed to be best friends.”

“We are,” Luke said, the casual tone in his voice almost convincing.

“Best friends don’t...” Annabeth gestured vaguely between the two of you, clearly at a loss for words.

You wanted to sink into the ground and disappear forever. “This isn’t—it’s not—”

“Not what it looked like?” Annabeth supplied, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded furiously, though you weren’t entirely sure what you were agreeing to.

Luke, ever the opportunist, slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Come on, Annabeth,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “Can’t two best friends share a kiss now and then without it being a big deal?”

“No!” Annabeth snapped, her face incredulous. “No, they can’t!”

“Well,” Luke said, his smirk practically glowing in the dark, “guess we missed the memo.”

Annabeth threw her hands up in frustration. “You’re both unbelievable.” She turned on her heel and stalked back toward the creek, muttering something about idiocy and never being able to unsee things.

As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to Luke, your jaw dropping. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he said, his expression far too pleased with himself. “That went better than I expected.”

“Better?” you repeated, your voice a mix of disbelief and mortification. “She’s never going to let us live this down.”

“Probably not,” Luke agreed, his grin softening into something almost fond as he looked at you. “But hey, at least now you know what you're dealing with.”

“And what exactly am dealing with?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

Luke’s gaze flicked briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “A best friend who doesn’t play by the rules.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, leaning in just enough that your noses brushed.

You shoved him lightly, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “Come on,” you said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him in the direction of the creek. “Let’s actually do our job before we get caught again.”

“Whatever you say, best friend,” he said, his laughter echoing through the trees as he followed you.

✧. ┊ Send requests! :)

[mordredisacoolname]

HEADCANONS: SU!SIDE SQUARE/BIRDS OF PREY CHARACTERS

Are they top or bottom/sub or dom

MALE READER

CHARACTERS: HARLEY QUINN, DEADSHOT (FLOYD LAWTON), RICK FLAG, CAPTAIN BOOMERANG (GEORGE "DIGGER" HARKNESS), EL DIABLO (CHATO SANTANA), POLKA DOT MAN (ABNER KRILL), THE HUNTRESS (HELENA BERTINELLI), BLACK CANARY (DINAH LANCE), VICTOR ZSASZ

Warnings: N/SFW, amab reader implied, ADULT CONTENT READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harley Quinn

-I can see her being both a dom and a sub

-really depends on her mood at that moment

-she can be all submissive and a pillow princess one moment, and the next thing you know she's on top of you pinning your hands down

Deadshot/floyd Lawton

-he's a top one hundred percent

-I like to think he tried bottoming for a man one time (whether it was you or not) and didn't like it

-now for the other question, is he a dom or a sub?

-he can be both, but either way he'll be in charge

-you're on top of him controlling the pace? Nah ah, he's secretly the one in charge

-you don't know how it's possible but it's all going according to what he wants

Rick flag

-I see him being a switch

-depend on his mood

-when he's angry he wants to fuck you to defuse the tantion, but when he's in a good mood he likes getting fucked by you

-but he's totally a sub

-he likes letting go of control and trusting his partner to do what's right

Captain boomerang/George "digger" harkness

-he'll never admit this to anyone besides you but he really likes being fucked

-he's a sub, no questions

-at the beginning he only tops, too embarrassed to ask you to top

-however when you do, his world flips upside down

-he won't admit he likes it right away, saying it was "ok", but he just keeps thinking about it and eventually submits to his desires

-oh how he loves being so roughed up he cant feel his legs for the next two days

El Diablo/chato Santana

-he's definitely a sub top

-he likes when you ride him

-gripping his shoulders and setting the pace however you like

-he also really enjoys being teased and tied up

Polka dot man/Abner krill

-I feel like he enjoys fucking someone rather than being fucked, even tho he doesn't really mind either way

-he's very shy at the beginning, so you think he's a sub

-and even tho he really likes being told what to do, he also enjoys being in charge very much

-but when he doms he's a soft dom, doesn't like hurting you

The huntress/Helena bertinelli

-I see her as a switch

-enjoys both subbing and domming, but prefers subbing

-likes letting go of control and just feeling good without doing much

Black Canary/Dinah Lance

-oh she's definitely a Dom

-will literally destroy you

-she has so much energy, when you have sex get ready for at least two rounds

-she's also a teaser, likes seeing you desperate and begging for her

Victor zsasz

-he likes displaying himself as a big tough guy, how dare you suggest him being on the bottom

-but he is

-he can be a sub and a dom just fuck him hard

-will literally let you do anything to him, scratch him, choke him, slap him, he's all yours

-but if you say something about it to others you better run

-also he's totally a brat

[princessmisery666]

Okay now I’m crying 😭 this is so freaking beautiful 😍 and he deserves it all (cause fuck that ending!!).

I need all of this, lazy mornings, long nights, talks that cover everything and nothing 💜🥰

Thanks you @femalefilmaker too 💕💋💜

It’s time for another

✨ Late Night Thought ✨

(I need an official name for this bc I bombard ur box wayyy too much & bc *sighs* reality is absolute garbage. Plus, I enjoy chatting & thinking with cool people 😎) So, *claps hands together* on to it then. Ok, *clears throat* here goes:

Domestic!Rick x the Reader

(I feel that should be a thing, btw)

Takes place after Rick’s officially retired from his Squad days [& after he survived death, helped take down Waller by anonymously ratting her out to the public, & “came back from the dead.” But, that’s another concept for another day…. ]

It’s just him & the reader & their 2 large fur babies. 🐾 🐶

Every morning consists of kisses & hugs & delicious breakfast & warm coffee. But on weekends & holidays, it’s even better.

The reader has her own busy career & hobbies going on while, despite being retired, Rick does his own thing. It’s either desk jobs (but that might be too boring for him) or lucrative hobbies. Or maybe he teaches. Maybe he went back to school to teach. (Not gonna lie, I can see that. History, specifically, bc the boy’s probably a big ol’ nerd is secret.) 🤷🏽‍♀️ The boy is just doing something that’s calming, enjoyable, & keeps his mind, body, & spirit going while also making money.

Bc of their busyness, both absolutely cherish the days/time they have off & with each other.

That means staying in bed. Enjoying coffee outside while admiring nature. Walking the dogs together. Taking their own long walks together. Cooking & baking & dancing. Just being together & at peace.

When it’s cold, they both bundle up. Rick’ll just wear sweatpants & either his quarter zip or one of his old hoodies to brave the cold. He doesn’t care for a jacket or socks while hanging out on the deck with the dogs. The Reader thinks he’s nuts for this.

They love to stay in & chill out. Watch movies or freak out about their favorite show for the billionth time (they’ve seen all the seasons at least 50 times already but it’s still their favorite). Sometimes, one or both will fall asleep. If it’s the Reader, Rick carries her upstairs & crawls into bed with her. He watches as she breathes, in & out, brushes a hair to the side, & kisses her head before wrapping himself around her & letting his eyes shutter for the night.

Rick loves this. He loves all of it. He couldn’t have asked for anything more. It always feels like a second chance for him. But, that’s because it is. A chance to start over, start fresh. A chance to have the life he always wanted but never thought he could have. A life of pure peace.

Good night… ✌🏽😘😴

Oh my god 🥺 this is just so damn perfect 💞💖💓 the tenderness. I think you pretty much created perfection, so here’s just some emphasis on your beautiful idea:

Domestic!Rick Headcanons || Rick Flag x Reader

You and Rick Flag really wonder if he’ll ever adjust in the beginning. He never planned for it really. After Corto Maltese, his ‘resignation’ is so sudden he worries who he’ll be without the purpose he’s been given all these years.

It’s you who suggests the hobbies. You made enough money for the both of you, but Rick fear the aimlessness. He was tempted to use his experience to delve into less legal jobs if that’s what it took to not feel like such a fish out of water in a civilian world.

But he spends a few months recovering with you at home, and the way he acclimates to it surprises the both of you. There’s so many things Rick forgot about.

Breakfast from scratch. Taking care of the front and backyard. “Someone’s gotta do the laundry and walk the dogs.” He tells you when you ask him if he’s thought of what he wants to do again. You’re a busy spouse. You’ve got an administrative position you’ve been working for ages, and when you get ready in the morning nowadays, you never thought Rick would be there everyday to kiss you goodbye.

Your house is his house now, and you always sigh about how you wish you had the time or patience to really make it a home. Rick starts spending his days fixing things— He hires professionals in the beginning, but then he starts learning how to fix the place up himself; installing new hardwood, building the shed in the back. His little touches take over the house.

Rick discovers fulfilling ways to keep his hands occupied that don’t involve taking a life, but of creation instead.

Rick loves reader’s golden lab, but you suggests maybe he should get one of his own. He ventures to pound one day and spots a young Newfoundland dog in the corner of one cell, saliva pooling at its mouth and its haunches drawn— its careless owners gave him up after a biting mishap and left it outside the pound without so much as a note. At two years old and 130 pounds, the staff didn’t even get a name. Rick signs the papers the same day.

Rick Flag is a disciplined man, entirely set on making sure his pet is just as controlled. That idea gets scraped after about a month. Everyday Rick spent training Charlie to be an obedient guard dog could be spent soaking in the sun out on the deck, or laying on the couch watching television together instead. Rick can’t even stick to calling him by his real name— you always hear Rick calling for Bud or Bub or My guy around the house.

Rick doesn’t expect to have the patience for watch television either. You dissolve into the laugh-crying kind of tears when Rick, whose been so out of the loop he hasn’t even heard any spoilers for most major shows, shoots up off the couch after a particularly dismal season finale of a show one night. You watches him pace the living room at 11PM, ranting about how the show runners completely disrespected the time of anyone watching to just end it like that.

His conviction is ridiculous, given the subject, and you smile sleepily, head in the crook of your arm as you watch Rick care about sometime so funny, so not important. It’s says everything about where he is now. Where he’s finally allowed himself to be.

Rick used to be a light sleeper. An operative can’t snore or sleep through danger and make it out alive in his line of work. But as time passes, the tense notion of rest changes for Rick. There’s still the terrors— the subconscious, terrible things that will never truly leave him. But there’s also you, there, in the middle of the night, and more importantly in the morning, when a new day brings another chance at life with you. Rick begins to embrace nights of restful sleep, and the idea of all this being the kind of paradise he deserves.

[parkquimin]

COD fic recs lmaoooo

NONE OF THESE WORKS ARE MINE I'M JUST GIVING LINKS TO ONES I THINK Y'ALL SHOULD READ

Ghost aka Simon Riley

Ghost of Christmas Past

Ghost x Gn! Reader

Ghost w/ a Petite S/O

Gn! Reader | Slight NSFW

Good, Good, Great

Fem! Reader | Roommate AU

I Never Missed You

Fem! Reader | Bodyguard AU

Neighbor AU!

NSFW | he fucks you in your jacuzzi | AFAB! Reader

Physical touch hcs

I'm p sure it's gn reader

Simon Riley Worshipping You During the Deed

Gn! Reader | NSFW

white flag ✹ proglogue

Gn! Reader | Basically reader's house burns down and Ghost unwillingly takes them in | Yummy yummy hurt/comfort

John Price

The Faceless Child (Masterlist)

AFAB reader | Adoption found family EEEEEE

König

The King With No Name

Fem Reader | Medieval AU | Slay unconventional gender roles in the dark ages

Yandere sugar daddy König.

Fem reader

Valeria Garza

Fantasy AU with Valeria!

SFW | i'm p sure gn reader

Valeria Garza Headcanons

Suggestive but I don't think NSFW | fem reader

Valeria x female SO (sfw + nsfw headcanons)

Multi

Fights and Fast Cars

F**k Rick

Ghost & König w/ an S/O who Wears Glasses

Gn! Reader | Slight NSFW

more nsfw threesome könig and ghost headcannons

AFAB reader

opposite of a meet cute

GN reader | Basically how you meet

the 141 when you have amnesia

Hurt/Comfort | GN reader

Too Quiet

Platonic 141 x Gn Reader

Toxic Situationship Simon x Reader x Golden Retriever König

Wounds and Apologies

p2 of Fights and Fast Cars

5 times you took care of the 141st, and one time they took care of you

SFW!

[homosexual-radio-host]

Fic Masterlist

Am I doing this shit right?

Fic rec details

Intro post

Mw2

SoapGhost smut bottom Ghost

SoapGhost smut headcanons

König x male reader (Bottom König)

More König x male reader (Bottom König)

141 x teen male reader finding out he s/h (platonic)

The Last of us

Joel and platonic male reader hurt/comfort (tw! sa)

Rick And Morty

Rick x Ford Pines

Our Flag Means Death

Frenchie x male reader

Sander Sides

Sander Sides x trans male reader

Doom Patrol

Larry Trainor x male reader smut

Peacemaker

Adrien Chase x male reader smut

[mayhem24-7forever]

👀, 🤡, 🎶, 💖, 💞, 🤩

hello love! thank you for sending these so i have something to do on this drive!

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

I’m usually so nervous to tease wips like this because I have a history of promising things that I never finish but I have been adding a little to the next chapter of what I have nicknamed the “Potato Flag saga” AKA my Adrian Chase x Flag!reader series Lose You Too. This next chapter is when shit really hits the fan as y/n learns who killed Rick… 👀👀

🤡 What’s a line, scene or exchange that you’ve written that has made you laugh?

I actually tend to go back and forth thinking that this is funny or thinking it’s cringy and wanting to scrub it from the internet but rn i like it. It’s the entire Brie and Brad exchange in No Stressing, Just Obsessing (x) bc I just really loved writing such a chaotic sibling relationship with annoyed but begrudgingly protective older brother with sarcastic little shit younger sister.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on a loop?

I have specific character playlists for each character I write. Recently I was working on a Steve Harrington x reader x Eddie Munson fic and so I was listening to Need You Tonight by INXS (because it’s what I named the fic after), Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler (because it is sooooo Steve Harrington coded fr) and 18 by Anarbor (because it reminds me of Eddie) a lot!

💖 What made you start writing?

The original fandom I wrote for (the HBO war fandom) was just so small that if I needed to write or I wasn’t gonna have a lot to read. Now I do it because it’s a great way of making my maladaptive daydreams actually productive and worth something.

💞 Who’s your comfort character?

This changes all the time because I think I have undiagnosed ADHD and jump from obsession to obsession at an alarming pace but probably Steve Harrington from Stranger Things or Robert “Bob” Floyd from Top Gun: Maverick bc they just make me feel safe and happy and I keep coming back to them time and time again.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Honestly probably Bob from Top Gun: Maverick. He has just enough canon information to get a real sense for his personality but also so much that’s unknown bc he was a relatively small character so I have a lot of room to play around with headcanons and stuff.

Thank you for the ask my love! 💕 I was thoroughly entertained for a long time on this car ride 😂

[blackbat05]

Period. Just Period.

Rick Flag x Reader

A/N: As the title says. My monthly self coping mechanisms.

Genre: PG-13

Notes: A couple of headcanons when you get hit with the monthly P. (I use this gif cuz I can😬)

You wake up feeling groggy and out of sorts. Walking to the toilet, your in for a nasty surprise.

Rick comes back from his morning run and sees steam coming out from the shared bathroom.

“Babe?” He carefully opens the door to let the gust of steam rush out.

Rick sees you standing under the shower, letting the warm water trickle down your back. For a moment, he thinks you’ve became a statue.

“Shark week?”

Your groan was all the answer that he needed.

Rick observes you quietly as you drag your body out, changing into your work clothes. Before you can put on your pants, he snatches it away.

“You’re clearly in no state to go to work today.”

Shooting down all your protests, he makes you call in sick, watching you from the side.

Once satisfied, Rick takes it on himself to change you into your comfy sweater and sweatpants, bundling you into bed.

You got to admit, being cared for every month like this was very endearing.

He brings you anything that you want - your phone, some snacks and tea, and a hot pack that is now spread on your belly.

Rick has ever asked you how it was like - he wasn’t mocking you or anything, but he was genuinely curious.

So you tell him it differs from person to person. But on some cycles, you feel like you were being stabbed repeatedly.

Upon telling him this, Rick sincerely wishes he could actually shoulder some of the pain. You tell him that you appreciated his thoughts and that he was already being very supportive and helpful!

By being a giant space heater of course.

He literally does everything for you during that day.

Including washing your bloodied underwear which you were a little embarrassed by. But Rick brushes you off.

“It’s just blood. I’ve seen plenty of those darlin.”

He makes porridge that you savor deliciously for lunch. By now, you’re feeling slightly better. Rick suggests that the two of you can go for a walk before dinner later.

The fresh air on the boardwalk certainly helped. Leaning on him, you enjoyed the cool breeze that made you forget momentarily about your period.

After piping hot bowl of macaroni from the Chinese Restaurant, you find yourself back home and tucked into bed by Rick.

“Goodnight baby girl,” he kisses the top of your head. “Sweet dreams.”

You couldn’t have asked for more.

[charnelhouse]

easy to do, i'll do it for you

Pairing: Rick Flag x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.5K Warnings: Oral sex. Self-destructo reader. Rick being a lovesick fool. Waller sux. Summary: Rick Flag offers to wake you up in the best way. A/N: Ayooo i'm going into the reader's powers in another fic, but shit required more time. This is just a smutty little drabble.

Sometimes he thinks that he burns in all the ways you don’t.

You’re cool and detached at times. Self-destructive at others. You get the way scarred girls get: tone-deaf with a taste for violence. Your big eyes like straw nests and all the birds have flown the coop - bye-bye Ricky - see yah at the next mission.

He replies as he always does. “Yes, ma’am.”

He bows his head while you try and smother the slight quirk of your mouth. It’s an uncontrolled movement on your part - a quick flash of desire that snaps across your solemn face before you shove it down somewhere bleak.

He flares up like a lit gasoline river and thinks that he’d call you ma’am ma’am ma’am for the rest of his damn life if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

***

He’s hooked on you - attached like an IV drip and any jerky, too-forward movement could rip him from your vein. He wants to be a grounding force for you - a presence. You’re easily spooked especially when it comes to feelings and so he keeps on you - keeps to your heels.

I’m here. I’m here. You might not always like it, but I’m right here.

They’re out in the jungle - rain pelting the thin skin of his tent. He holds you close to him - wrapping you in the circle of his arms and he likes watching you like this - no furrowed brow or constant pout. The lack of a stone wall to keep your hurts away from the public stage.

You’re not entirely unguarded though - maybe sticks or twine as a rickety barrier - even in sleep.

He noses at your ear - the swell of your cheek and you’re hot - warm from his frame cradling you against him for hours. Sweaty from the sleeping bag.

“Flag,” you mumble - lashes fluttering, but lids still screwed shut. “Sleep.”

“It’s morning, darlin,” he says - his southern drawl always too damn thick in the morning - as if his damn hometown has clambered up the walls of his throat while he was dreaming.

“Gross,” you reply as you curl your fingers into his shirt - as you burrow yourself further into his torso.

He doesn’t recall the timeline that led to this. He doesn’t count the days or the seconds or the way Waller had gleefully shortened your sentence by the month instead of the year.

“That’s unfair,” he growled, gripping the edge of the table. The collar of his suit was sticking like a second skin - itching something fierce. “You gave the others years off.”

“She’s dangerous,” Waller shrugged. “She needs to be held in check.”

“You mean her abilities are valuable.” His fury was threatening to shatter his composure. He was losing it and Waller relied on that - relied on him to show his secrets because he was too fucking genuine and forthright to hide them.

“You’re getting angry, Colonel Flag,” she observed. “Not sure why - thought you’d enjoy being able to have her under your control.”

He left. He left before he said something he’d regret because Amanda was downright depraved when she wanted to be and she’d find another way to add to your sentence. “She breathed in my direction” or some shit.

He hadn’t even been with you then. He had felt something for you - yes - but he wasn’t sure what it was. Not really. He just wanted to do right by a girl who seemed like she’d been dealt a horrible hand her entire life.

It had all just fallen together - one wave of realization after the next crashing into him until he couldn’t fucking stand up in order to wade into the sea. You’re in love with her. You’re in love with her. Just accept it.

So he gave up. Gave in. Submitted, he supposes.

He’d cornered you at a bar in New Mexico. They’d been letting loose after a mission and he had found himself choking on his own tension - a wire strapped around his neck. Everything else in chaos - Boomerang breaking bottles while Harley tried resetting the juke box to only play Patsy Cline.

He only had eyes for you - just like that old song. A blind - blind love - the moon may be high - but I can’t see a thing in the sky. His mama - mother - used to listen to it and stroll around the kitchen while he did his math homework.

“What is it, Flag?” you smiled. “Come to critique my fighting skills?”

“No, ma’am,” he swallowed. “I-I wanted to tell you something I’d been thinking about...for a while now and...well...I’m going fucking crazy if I don’t just say it and -”

“Oh shut up,” you interrupted before you were on him. Your fingers skidding across his scalp and your lips parting for his tongue and it had been like one of those movie kisses. He’d bent you back until your head hit the wall and he’d cupped your jaw and grunted like a wild fucking animal. The whole of him screaming with desire and heat and he would have fucked you on the floor of that dingy little bar if he wasn’t so focused on trying to swallow you by way of your mouth.

***

“We gotta wake up,” he prods as he shakes you lightly.

“I’m not paid enough to wake up this early.”

“You aren’t paid at all.”

“Exactamundo, Ricardo.”

“What if I give you something?” he tries - stroking your shoulder - your hip. “A reward?”

Your eyes fly open for that. “Hmmm?”

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against the warm skin of your temple. He grabs your chin and presses a kiss to your lips - still slack with sleep. He doesn’t stop. He travels down your body - lifting your cotton shirt above your tits so that he can drag his tongue across your nipples - your belly - the piece of flesh above your cunt.

It’s a reward for him too in a way. He feels closer to you like this - a step in the right direction as he tries to translate the entirety of you. You’re easier in the morning - more soft and tender. Your old terrors barely register - barely scrawl their claws across your consciousness and it’s like - for a moment or a few - you’re just his.

He shucks your sleep-shorts off before he slants himself between your knees. He presses against your inner thighs - pushing you open wide for his eyes and his mouth. There’s the wet seam of your pussy - already shiny with slick from his touch and his words and he starts there. He shoves his face against the wet flush of your sex before he thrusts the flat of his tongue through your folds - creating pressure from hole to clit. Your knees snap closed against his ears - your hips bucking beneath his chin.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs - tracing his fingertips up the hot slit of your cunt - nudging them across the bud at the peak. “Relax - let me make you feel good.”

You loosen up - falling back on your elbows. He keeps his eyes on you as he starts to lap at your pussy - the taste of you like musk and salt until it gets steadily clearer with each slide of his tongue. Your expression falls apart - your brow unwrinkling - your lower lip yanked white between your teeth.

“Oh,” you whimper. “Oh - oh - shit - Flag.”

“Yeah?” he mutters as he breaches you with his fingers - two then three so he can stretch you a bit. He massages the molten, dripping channel of your sex. He curls them so that they draw up against the area that’s tangled with nerves. “Is that nice, honey?”

Your head falls back. High-pitched broken sounds spouting from your throat as you grind into the hump of his nose. He can feel your lower muscles bearing down on him - your walls flexing around his knuckles as you twist up into a desperate knot of pleasure. He has to work fast because there’s shit to do - orders to give and strategies to design. He’s probably woken the whole camp already with how loud you’re moaning, but he doesn’t care - can’t care at all - because it’s like one more light-up sign for the others: she’s mine mine mine.

You had told him once - in the soft purple-dark of his bedroom with his body curved arounds you - that no one had given you pleasure like he did.

It’s like I’m out of control and it should be scary, but it’s not. It’s good and I know that you’re there at the end of it - I know that you’ve got me.

Well - that had made Rick walk straighter - his chest puffed out with pride and you had tried to lessen its significance the next day. Yeah - I say a lot of things when you’ve made me squirt like four times in an hour.

Still - he remembered. He held onto it and he made it his mission to do nothing, but please you when he was able.

“You gonna cum, baby?” he rasps as he bites into your inner thigh - as he fucks his fingers into your gaping pussy at a rapid - deliberate pace. “You’re squeezing me so fucking hard.”

It’s obvious - the echoing squelch of your cunt taking him again and again. He knows you’re careening towards the finish line because you’re barely able to get out a full word. Just panting and crying and your muscles seizing up. He dips his head and latches to your clit just as he scissors his fingers up and there’s that push of liquid from somewhere nestled inside your core. You go rigid - torso curling into itself as you rip at his hair as you climax violently into his face - his hungry mouth.

“Fucking Christ, Rick,” you wheeze - nails still digging painfully into his skull. He doesn’t mind it. You called him Rick.

“Shhh,” he soothes - the color of a tease in his voice. “You’re okay. Took it like a champ, sweetheart.”

You glare at him. “Let’s see how fucking controlled you are. Get on your back.”

“We don’t have time, honey.”

You arch an eyebrow - your features gilded in a challenge. There’s the static of your abilities swelling across your skin - turning the air to vapor. He’s struck dumb by you sometimes - struck out by your loveliness and fuck it - they don’t have to do anything until high noon.

“You can make time, Colonel.”

He swallows the rest of his protests.

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Imagine Trying to Cheer Nanaue up With a Makeover:

A/N: I love Nanaue/King Shark from The Suicide Squad very much and I haven’t written an imagine in forever, so here’s a silly thing I came up with at like 2am a couple of nights ago. Also Reader is a part of the Suicide Squad in this so... yeah. Also, this was beta read but it was beta read at 5am so... yeah, lol.

    “Do you think he ever gets bored of like… just wearing jeans?”

    Cleo stopped staring out of the bus’s window to glance down at you slumped against her shoulder, then to where Nanaue was sitting across the aisle pouting. She looked back at you and after a moment gave a low-energy shrug. “I don’t know, I don’t think he seems to mind. He’s probably more upset about the fake moustache.”

    Poor Nanaue, not being allowed to join the rest of Task Force X-slash-the Suicide Squad in the gentlemen’s club to find the Thinker. Your skills on the team included using technology to make realistic illusions that would have dealt with the “King Shark doesn’t have a feasible disguise” problem that DuBois and Rick were using to keep Nanaue out of the public eye but when you offered up the suggestion, you were shut down by the secondary issue of the demigod seeing every living creature as food. So there you were, feeling bad that Nanaue couldn’t join the fun as the bus slowly pulled up to the club.

    “Well, guess it’s time,” Cleo commented at you. She lightly shrugged and you moved off of her so she could place Sebastian on her shoulder instead. Then she stood up and adjusted the dress she was wearing as her own disguise. 

Sebastian gave you a cheerful wave and squeak as he passed and you smiled and gave him a quick head pat in return. You however made no other move to prepare to leave the bus, which had Cleo quirking an eyebrow at you and shooing you to move so she could get past.

“I don’t think I’m going to go,” you said as you pulled your legs up onto the chair and wriggled your way across the seat to give her room to get out.

“Why not? It might be fun.” Despite her very casual attempt to convince you, your rat-controlling friend shuffled past you into the aisle.

“Might be,” you admitted, “but it’s not fair that all of us aren’t able to go. Besides, I don’t drink and clubs aren’t really my scene.”

Cleo snorted and offered you a smirk. “And you think it’s mine? Or his?”

She pointed and you looked over at Abner, the Polka Dot Man, who was trying to decide whether or not he should tuck in his shirt while Dabois and Rick tried to brief the team in the aisle next to him, with very little success.

You smirked back. “To be fair, you look very pretty. Like my grandma. In her coffin.”

The comment earned you a flick to the forehead, which made you snicker. Then Cleo shoved her hand into your face as she flipped you off but she had a goodnatured smile on her face all the while. “Fuck you.”

“Hey,” Rick suddenly hollered in your direction, and the two of you jolted to look over; he was coming your way. He stopped in front of you and Cleo, grabbing the back of the seat in front of you as he threw an expectant look your way. “What are you doing? Get up, we’re about to go.”

You frowned and looked over at Nanaue again, who had now moved to grumble in the back of the bus. His back was facing the rest of the team in pouting defiance.

“[Y/N],” Rick scolded, “no.”

You turned back to the man with a puppy dog-eyed pout. Outside of Harley Quinn, you were the longest reoccurring member of the Suicide Squad–killing, robbing, and being good at your job had a habit of doing that to people under Amanda Wallace’s thumb–so you and Rick knew each other well. Well, not well; you barely knew each other really, but you had a love-hate relationship that you enjoyed. That is, you loved to give him shit and he was forced to admit that you were a pretty good asset and thus had to endure you. 

“Ricky,” you whined, flinging yourself over his arms, “he looks so sad, though.”

Rick sighed but made no move to remove you. He knew that if he actually tried to wrangle you, you would do the exact opposite of what he ordered you to do, so he tried half-hearted reasoning. “We are this close of being done here, [Y/N], and this whole thing would be a lot easier if you could just… illusion us in and out of there.”

You gasped, eyes growing starry as you stared up at him. The expression changed from lovestruck to morbidly amused in a flash as you smirked, “Aw, Richard, are you saying you need me?”

“I’m saying it would be easier–”

“Say please~”

“No.”

“Please~?”

Rick looked like he wanted to bash his head into the nearest wall. The thought made you giggle. After a few moments of what you assumed was silently begging whatever higher powers existed to give him patience, the soldier’s eyes rolled back to glare at you. “Please, would you just–”

“What’s going on?” DuBois yelled from the front of the bus. You peeked over Rick’s shoulder and saw his older war buddy glaring. The man, first name being Robert and alias being Bloodsport but you liked DuBois better, was messing with his mundane clothes like everyone else with. You supposed that being imprisoned for a while with only orange jumpsuits to wear would make any other clothing feel a little odd. 

You answered before Rick could with an aggressive wave in DuBois’s direction, just to make sure he knew who was talking. “I’m not going!”

DuBois’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. “You’re not going? Why?”

“They are,” Rick tried to intervene, “Just give us a minute–”

“We don’t have a minute!”

“We also don’t need a minute!” you chimed in. You sat high up on your knees on the bus seat and tapped Rick’s nose with a finger. “I’m not going. The idea of needle-head man freaks me out and it’s probably smarter to leave Nanaue versus a very nom-nom-looking human bus driver, yeah?”

You heard shuffling from behind you followed by a questioning sound from the shark-man in question. “Nom-nom?”

“No,” Rick, DuBois, and Cleo sounded at once, then Rick gave you a glare.

The kindly stating that you weren’t going didn’t seem to work but pointing out that you were more qualified to keep Nanaue from eating people than Milton was definitely a swaying argument. Just for added effect, you clasped your hands together and gave Rick your best puppy eyes and smile once more, although it once again cracked and turned into an expression that was a little more unsettling when you pleaded, “I’ll be good, I promise! C’mon, Dick Flag!”

“Heh, dick-flag,” Cleo snorted next to you.

Rick frowned but you could tell his resolve was cracking. “You’re not much better than the bus driver. Probably worse. You killed 500 people in two days because you said they all looked like your ex.”

Your eye twitched. “They did! At the time. And if he hadn’t cheated on me and stolen my money, it would have never been a problem.”

DuBois broke first. “Flag, we don’t have time. We’ll figure out something else, let’s just get the hell out of here.”

For a moment, Rick looked like he was preparing to argue further but he quickly decided it wasn’t worth it. He pointed a warning finger at you before turning and walking to the front of the bus, then out of it. One by one, the other squad members followed, until Cleo and Sebastian came up the rear and the two waved at you before departing.

“And then there was three,” you chirped to no one at all, although you were still in the presence of the pouting Nanaue and Milton the bus driver. You sat and waited until your teammates disappeared into the club, then twisted in your seat to face your sharky companion. “Hey, Nanaue!”

Nanaue only grunted in response. After being disappointed twice now, he wasn’t willing to take the bait for a possible third.

You had no intentions of disappointing him, though. You hopped over the back of the bus seat, then the next two, until you were sitting in the same row as him with only an aisle separating you. You waited there for a moment to see if you would earn anymore acknowledgement and when you didn’t, you slid over to sit directly next to him.

The so-called King Shark’s small, dark eyes watched you but when you got closer, he harrumphed and turned as far away from you as he could without literally leaving the bus through one of the windows. You gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder but his only response was to cross his arms and growl over his shoulder at you, “Go away.”

“But Nanaue, how will we go explore the town without each other?” you asked. In the meantime, you pulled up the sleeve of your disguise’s puffy blouse and fiddled with the dials on an augmented arm brace that you wore underneath. Once you were satisfied, you pressed a button on the brace an a small puff of pink smog was released from a grate on the device’s wrists. For anyone else, the puff was simply a small billow of colored air that smelled a bit sweet, but you knew that there was an army of microscopic nanobots following your orders. As the smoke dispersed, you pulled down your sleeve again and wafted a breeze in Nanaue’s direction.

“No exploring,” Nanaue pouted, “No disguise. No fake moustache.” Then he caught a whiff of your brace’s work and shifted to catch you still waving air at him. “Ew. What is that?”

“Well,” you started, then paused as you took a glance at the bus window to confirm your nanobots were working. The reflection in the glass showed you sitting next to a random, albeit large, human man instead of a sharky hybrid and you grinned. With a point at the window to draw Nanaue’s attention there, you continued, “It’s not a fake moustache but it’s one heck of a disguise.”

Nanaue looked at the window, then grunted in confusion at it. You drew his attention to the reflection itself and then he growled at the reflection that didn’t seem to look like it belonged to him, only for him to be surprised that that the human reflection moved with him. You watched with an amused little smirk as he executed some tests; he raised a webbed hand and the human reflection followed, he tilted his head and the reflection did the same. It took him a little while to get to the most obvious conclusion–that the human reflection following his movements was in fact his own–but then he looked at you as he raised both hands to his face, patting lightly. He groaned confusedly with a twinge of sadness, “Human?”

“Oh, gosh, no,” you said as you quickly shook your head. You placed your hands over the shark-man’s own and squeezed, giving his face a squish. “You’d be much less fun that way, promise. I just gave you a little disguise of your own so you wouldn’t feel left out on the party! You’re still all sharky-like, I just changed what everyone else sees.”

“Party?” Nanaue echoed as he dropped his hands. His head lurched to look towards the club where the rest of the team had gone.

“I mean we could go in the stuffy boring bar,” you admitted with a tilt of your head and a bored sigh for effect, “or we could take a walk on the town. Check out the stores, try some of the local cuisines, have a nom-nom chaser or two…”

Nanaue’s eyes shined like little black pearls; he didn’t get some of the words you were saying, like cuisine, but he certainly understood nom-noms. He got to his feet, jostling you and the entire bus in the process, and pushed into the center aisle. In the process, one soft, silvery hand engulfed your own human-toned one and Nanaue dragged you after him. “Friend and Nanaue get nom-noms!”

You would have clapped if you had both hands free but you simply grinned and followed Nanaue off the bus, much to bus driver Milton’s dismay.

~~~~~

“Nanaue~” you sang from your perch on a chaise-style lounge chair in a random clothing boutique. The rest of your sentence faded off a bit as your eyes caught a particularly interesting tidbit in the magazine that you were perusing and you casually kicked your feet as you looked the text over. Towards the end of the reading, you remembered that you had been saying something and shook your head to refocus. “Nanaue, how’s it going in there?”

Some grumbles sounded and the curtain that separated from you from the dressing room that your companion was in shivered. From the gap between the floor and the curtain’s end, you could see Nanaue’s feet turning, and a bulge appeared caused by his dorsal fin appeared briefly in the fabric as his back faced the exit. Eventually, he got twisted around enough in the tiny space to be able to grab the curtain, but rather than pulling it open properly, he yanked it off it’s rail completely and tossed it to the side.

You tossed your magazine to the side and clapped as he wriggled himself free from the dressing room and stepped out into the viewing area. “Look at you! What an outfit for a man! So much better than some of the stuff that everyone else was wearing, like that god-awful yellow shirt that Rick had on. Didn’t fit him too bad, though.”

Not too long into your and Nanaue’s tour, you managed to find a store that sold clothes for larger men. With some minor editing–like tearing a hole in shirts for a fin and hemming some pant legs–you were able to come up with enough outfits for Nanaue to give you a little fashion show and the demigod, high on exploration and human flesh, was in a good enough mood to give you what you wanted. Instead of his usual and only pair of ratty shorts, Nanaue now wore a pair of what looked like jeans but were made with a stretchier fabric along with a tank top and a brightly patterned button-up polo shirt. 

“And I thought the jean jacket was the best one.” You chirped as you hopped to your feet. You tried to circle him and assess the outfit from all angles but to no avail because Nanaue started turning with you. You checked out the outfit in the three old mirrors that faced the viewing area from different angles instead and noticed the collar of the overshirt twisted oddly–probably because it wasn’t really a shirt meant for people with fins on their backs–so you stepped up to Nanaue and fixed it for him. Then you stepped back and placed your hands on your hips with an approving nod. “This one’s definitely the best. What do you think?”

Nanaue shrugged but then appeared to notice one of the mirrors for the first time. He eyed himself a bit and flapped his arms, then shrugged again. “Okay.”

“That’s all?”

“Mhm. Hungry.”

You sighed but you couldn’t really blame him. He was quite big, after all.

“Well, let’s head out then. Sorry for the lack of cash, Ms. Shopowner, Ma’am! You’ll just have to put it on our tab.” You waved over to the counter, where the bloody remains of an arm sat on the glass, then headed toward the shattered front window of the boutique with Nanaue in tow. “Wait, do clothing stores even have tabs? Hm.”

Nanaue shrugged yet again and grabbed the leftover arm as he ambled after you. 

[endmeprettyplease]

HC for Joel characters (which ever ones your comfortable with) taking care of sick reader????

Ahh! thank you for the ask! I hope you enjoy! Also I’m sorry I haven’t seen For All Mankind:( or else I would have included Ed.

Taking Care of Sick!Reader (Rick Flag, Takeshi Kovacs, Stephen Holder)

Rick: 

With Rick gone on missions so often I believe he values the time he does get with you greatly. The first time he comes back from an OP and sees an “I’m sick:/” text, he forgets about how awful he smells from a week in the jungle. As well as how sore and tired he is. He’s immediately rushing to the pharmacy by your apartment, purchasing everything anyone would need for a cold or flu. Not even bothering to give you a call to ask what you meant by ‘sick’. When he finally arrives at your door he practically barges in, much to your amusement, dumping two bags of medications, canned soup and a jug of orange juice on your counter. I don’t think Rick would ever hesitate to kiss or cuddle you when you’re ill, in fact he’d encourage it. Loving the quiet and cozy domesticity of it all, loving feeling useful and needed. He’d heat up the soup, apologize, and comment on how it's “Not as good as his mom’s, but it’ll do the job.” He’s also completely un-phased by the idea of catching what you have.

I think the next time he leaves for a mission he’ll sniffle with a smile, bushing off a comment from Harley about how he’s looking even paler than her.

Takeshi:

When Takeshi is worried he gets defensive and irritable. When he’s worried about you? He’s borderline neurotic. So when he wakes to the sound of your choked off coughs coming from the bathroom he nearly takes the door off the hinges. Seeing you looking so pale, eyes and nose red he’s pissed. Angry that you're sick, but more angry that he can’t do anything about it. He reprimands you like it’s somehow your fault and yet tells Poe to have medication delivered to your room in the same breath. Takeshi will make you take whatever pills Poe says is best and tuck you into bed with a frown like a grumpy dad. He’ll press his lips to your temple under the guise of checking your temperature, telling you he knows this is just to avoid the stake out you were supposed to accompany him on. If you show any concern about him catching what you have Takeshi will roll his eyes and grumble that ‘Envoy’s don’t get sick’. When he goes out he totally won’t be watching the live feed of his room to make sure you’re resting, and he absolutely won’t forbid Poe from allowing you to leave the hotel if you try. 

When he inevitably catches what you had, definitely don’t laugh or comment when he coughs. Just leave a glass of water and two cold tablets on his end table and pretend you didn’t notice he took them.

Stephen:

I recently re-watched The Killing, and for some reason I feel like Stephen would be terrified of catching your cold too. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still great support and help. Just definitely ‘I’ve got your back…..from right over here’ vibes. You send him out for cough syrup and he’s coming back with 3 different kinds, trying to talk you into using a neti pot with some weird herbs he’s sure will cure you. Stephen is absolutely making homemade chicken noodle soup with extra chili flakes and lemon to ‘clear’ your sinuses. Good luck asking for a snuggle and don’t even think about a kiss. He shows his love in so many other ways you don’t really mind though. Fawning over you, fluffing pillows and tracking your temperature. Anything you need, he’s on it.

If he does get sick? Let’s say that the whole “no kiss, no cuddle” rule goes out the window. He’s like a big whiny cat who wants to live on your lap. You might need to take a day or two off work.

[pedrosbish]

loverboy

summary: rick gets caught staring at you by his teammates and gets picked at for it

pairing: rick flag x lieutenant!reader

It’s so humid in Corto Maltese it’s suffocating, the night air not enough to cool down the sweat that forms underneath Rick Flag’s hairline. The stupid yellow shirt with a random bunny on it sticks uncomfortably to his skin and he heaves out a heavy breath as he reloads one of the guns that rebel soldiers had to spare. 

And they had a lot to spare after his stupid fucking team, the second and unknown Suicide Squad wiped out the ones guarding the camp from the local government. 

He should have expected them to do something this idiotic but he was hoping, somewhere deep in his heart that hasn’t been awake since his relationship with Dr. June Moone, that maybe you would stop them from crossing over that line. 

Rick can tell you tried in the way you had momentarily closed your eyes in what can only be described as utter exasperation when the team burst into the tent only to find him laughing at something Sol Soria had said, the question of how you had all managed to make your way through her defences stopping everyone in their tracks and mumbling excuses under their breaths. 

You had dragged him out of the tent to explain that Harley had been captured by the Corto Maltese government and the worry in his eyes had made you pause, drag him into a tight hug and whisper into his chest that you thought he was being tortured or had been killed after the complete fuck-up at the beach. 

He had squeezed you tightly and whispered back into your hair that he had thought the same, holding out hope that he was wrong. You had looked up at him at that moment, glancing at his lips before looking into his eyes again and damn did he want to kiss you right then and there. 

But the two of you had separated from each other when the others exited the tent, Dubois making eye contact with Rick and sending a smirk his way when he noticed that both of your faces were flushed from almost being caught. 

He looks up at you from his gun and the corner of his lip twitches at the sight before him: you’re sitting on one of the crates of supplies for the camp, warily eyeing the rat, Sebastian, who sits atop Ratcatcher’s shoulder, his tiny paw held out towards you as he lets out little squeaks. 

She nods encouragingly at you and you hesitantly raise a finger out to him, a gleeful grin on your face when you manage to shake his paw. When you let go, the rat scurries down Ratcatcher’s arm and slowly crawls over to you, one paw on your thigh until you nod your head at it, gently scooping it up onto your lap. 

He nestles into your stomach and you scratch small circles onto his head much to the delight of the rat who further snuggles into you. 

Its at that moment you look up, making eye contact with him from across the makeshift camp they had all set up in the dying sunlight. The van’s headlights shine onto you and even in the poor lighting you look beautiful, almost ethereal when you shoot him a wide smile as you softly stroke at the strange rat on your lap. 

He allows himself to smile back at you, showing a softness that he doesn't show many people these days and it has Dubois and Peacemaker chuckling to each other as they stand beside him. 

“Well, you see Dubios, I would ask what the plan is but our dear Colonel Flag is too busy making lovey-dovey eyes at our Lieutenant.” 

Flag rolls his eyes and looks away from you to the two who stand on either side of him. “I was not.” He continues fiddling with the gun in his hand, avoiding looking at them. “I was just, y’know, checking on ‘em. The fight on the beach was tough.”

“Sure,” Dubois smirks and Peacemaker nudges him in the ribs with his elbow when you move to stand up and come towards them. 

“Hey boys,” you lazily salute the two Suicide Squad members, an amused grin on your face when you see the way Rick’s cheeks glow. “You picking on our leader over here?”

Flag glances at them over his shoulder, squinting his eyes in what he hopes is threatening enough to keep them quiet. Dubois sends a smirk his way before throwing an arm over the man’s shoulders, winking at you. 

“Nah.” He claps Rick on the chest hard and an ‘oomph’ sounds escapes his lungs. “He was just going to tell us the plan. Weren't you, loverboy?”

[lacontroller1991]

Make You Cum (MultiJoel HC)

Requested by anon: Joel's characters reacting to reader being really good in bed and making them cum hard

Warnings: General Smut Warning, 18+ only

Main Master List || HC Master List

Colonel Rick Flag:

Rick Flag is a simple man when it comes down to it, he doesn't need a whole lot of fancy things in life, nor does he need any toys in the bedroom. He spent most of his life pleasing women (or trying to, sometimes he failed) with only his hand and his dick. SO WHEN he started dating you and started getting physical with you, one of the first things he noticed was the fact that despite you having a quiet presence in the streets, in the sheets you are chaotic. When you first suggested pegging, he immediately shut it down, claiming that he doesn't want anything being shoved up his ass, BUT one night - out of sheer curiosity - he let you use a strap on, and Rick Flag would never admit it but he came out of the bed room a changed man. He especially loves the part where your hand is still wrapped around his cock while driving into him from the back and whispering praise after praise, it was the first time in his life he came that hard while having sex.

Takeshi Kovacs (Sex Master):

Takeshi-san is a sex fiend, there is no denying that, so of course he's cocky in bed. He's very domineering and very controlling, often manhandling you (with your permission) throughout the night and bringing you to pleasure over and over again. Never would he have thought that by you simply taking control, flipping him over and riding him - clenching down on his cock and moaning loudly, your hands roaming all over yourself - he's not necessarily ashamed to admit it, but he definitely came quicker and harder than he was planning to. On the occasions now, he will have you take complete control and he gets the most satisfaction from that.

Ed Baldwin:

I hate to say this, but with Karen, sex was very.... basic. Their honey moon and once a month ritual of sex was solely to make a child. Once they had Shane, sex was more of a compulsory thing at that point, kinda like "oh I'm married to so and so, we should probably have sex". So when Ed finally splits from Karen and starts dating you, he expects the same missionary position with the same goal, to make a kid. But after the first time he had sex with you, in different positions, he didn't really know what to do with himself. After all, your outlook on sex is for fun and pleasure and when he tells you about his past, you make sure he knows that that's not how its supposed to be all the time. The first time you showed him different things, he was a little flabbergasted at the notion of some positions, but when he tried said positions, he definitely came harder than he ever did with Karen.

Stephen Holder: (Side note, look how cute this gif is)

Despite Holder having the "playa" vibes, he's definitely never been with a girl more than a handful of times (and most of those were blowjobs from random hookers) and in those times he definitely didn't know what he was doing. So it goes without saying that when you first had sex with him and when you introduced a vibrator into the bed room - placing it between yours and his body as you ride on top - the moment you cum on his cock, Holder immediately follows, shouting at the sensation of the vibrations from the vibrator and the way you clamp down around his cock. Post vibrator experience, Holder is very very receptive to being submissive and he has the most explosive orgasms out of all of the above, solely because he never really though it would feel as good as it does.

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

Joel Related Tag List: @aestheticallywinchester @loverhymeswith @xoxabs88xox @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @witchygagirl @the1redrose @ratcatcher2world @green-socks @heart-0n-fire @weallhaveadestiny @yourjacketisnowdry @rachelh1992 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @tompetersebbuckyhazleo @knivesareout @bubblegloopswampwitch @waspswidows @burntghoost @mattymurdocksbitch @katjnordstrom96 @bb-skyrunner @11thstreetvigilante @yespolkadotkitty @heresathreebee @klmurr @madkovacs @wxr-zxne @wtfobiwan @skvatnavle

[script-nef]

Warning: 18+/smut, bath sex, cockwarming, casual blood and whatnots, size kink (?) just a bit

Coming back from missions is always hard. Even though he washes off at the base like everyone else, there’s still something there—a second layer sticking over his skin and tightening after the dirt and blood is cleared, more suffocating than the heave-inducing stench of copper—that no one else seems to understand. The mandated therapist says it’s normal, the cost of taking lives, but Rick believes her less and less as time goes on and he returns from increasingly dangerous missions.

He’s basically a corpse walking when he closes the front door behind him, half lucid and tired that it’s a wonder he made it home. The fucked up thought of how funny it would be if he dies from a car crash after this mission—surviving an ambush, rescuing the target from a high-security room defended by half-military men, getting them to safety away from the shower of bullets while taking everyone else out. A low chuckle escapes him as he toes off his boots and stumbles through the living room and kitchen, hands out just in front of him to walk around tables and chairs in the darkness. His feet thump into the legs of something, but he’s half out of his mind to process the pain.

Miracle, getting home alive.

The bedroom door creaks open and he shuffles in as quietly as he can, trying not to wake you.

But the bedside lamp flickers on, revealing you with half-closed eyes, sitting up in bed, and the only thing that goes through his head is ah, fuck along with oh, shit because it feels like it’s been fucking years since he’s last seen you even though his brain retaliates and fact checks him—it’s only been three days—but you look so soft and warm and everything from the mission was harsh and cold. Cute little yawn as you try to shake the sleep from your eyes and it feels like you’re ripping the heart from his chest. Or maybe he’s giving it to you voluntarily.

He’s crossed the room before he realised, kneeling next to you on the floor and wrapping his arms around you, tugging your upper body half off the bed so that he can breathe you—the smell of your shampoo, of the laundry detergent, your simple perfume, the smell of home—in. You let out a small sigh as he noses against the column of your neck and up to your ear, placing gentle kisses along the way.

And yet that’s still not enough to shake the feeling off of him.

As if you sense his discomfort, you pull away and place your lips against his. Gently at first, so soft that you wouldn’t leave any lipstick marks if you had them on.

“You okay, baby?”

He can feel himself slipping again, wanting to fall unconscious because he knows you’ll take care of him. The tension brings him back into the land of the awake and a groan leaves him. He’s so tired.

“Okay, stay here for a second.” You escape his grasp, slipping out like it’s nothing, and giggle at his whine that’s smothered as he lands face-first onto the duvet. He doesn’t move, obedient to a tee, but he hears the flickering of lights, the bathtub running and the ever-so-annoying beeps from the microwave. One of his eyes roll because he promised to buy you a new one but keeps forgetting. Another groan.

You come back with a warm glass of milk, lifting his head up with one hand on his cheek, guiding his lips to the rim of the cup. It’s so nice, you’re so considerate, so loving, so sweet, so perfect. His head is floating by the time the cup is done, and a small voice in his head can’t help but ask what type of magic you’re putting on him. But he doesn’t mind if you never stop.

“C’mon, big boy. Let’s get you clean and nice.”

“I've already showered.” He murmurs into the skin of your shoulder, rumbling at how good your nails feel against his scalp.

“Well, then you can take a bath now. Relax, let the muscles loosen.” Pulling him to his feet, you somehow lug him over your shoulders and into the bathroom, pouting because he’s not helping you; in fact, he’s purposefully dragging you down and shifting all his weight onto you because it’s so fucking adorable seeing you struggle. He wants to trap your body in his arms, lock your legs down with his and suck unforgiving marks onto every single inch of reachable skin while you mewl and try to escape. Try being the keyword. Maybe tomorrow.

“You gonna help me with that?” The bathroom’s steamed up now, thick and visible mist basically slapping him in the face when you open the door. But there’s the oh so familiar smell of lavender and honey and the tension in his shoulders and biceps and thighs and everywhere loosen just a bit. He nuzzles into your hair.

“If you want, baby. I'm here for you, remember? Clothes off.”

The fabrics peel off and he throws them into the laundry bin, neck crick-cracking painfully, then submerges himself into the hot water. His eyes flutter shut as he lies back on the wall of the tub, legs out all the way and toes popping at the stretch. He barely catches onto the sound of you discarding your own clothes in time to see you slipping into the tub.

One look at your naked body—the swell of your ass and how your nipples pebble in the heat—and he’s hard because fuck, you’ve made him into a sex deranged fool, latching onto you with only one thing in his mind. A small smile lets him know that you’re going to give him exactly what he wants. And fuck, he’s blessed.

You sit between his legs, head resting against his chest with a hand on the floor to support you while the other flutter against his skin. You just stay there, mindlessly tracing the scars that tattoo his body and litter kisses against his collarbone. He can feel his eyes closing and hazy thoughts take over.

He hates going overseas. Hates it with a passion now. He’s too far away from you for far too long, holed up in some shitty motel or—if the circumstances are bad—a damp and cold container box with everyone else exuding misery and bad smells when he can be here, home, spooning you in cotton sheets or engraving his name into your brain or eating breakfast out of your hands. He thinks about leaving Task Force X and the constant missions and fucking Waller making his life hell. Leave, join another team or even go independent, stay at home more and have domestic sex because that shit is beyond amazing. It was a long time coming. After the next mission, after the one with the fucked up government and top secret project and more bad guys. He can already see you squeal and hug him as tightly as you can when he delivers the news.

A touch to the head of his cock brings him out of his thoughts with a groan, head tipping onto the edge of the tub with a thud. Your nails leave a trail of burning sensation and his knee jerks up, splashing water onto the tiled floor and up against your chest.

“Darlin’, fuck—”

“Sorry, did it hurt?” He can’t do anything but chuckle.

“Nah, it felt good. Thought I was going to cum just from it.” He catches your mouth in his, one hand cupping your cheek and so large that it could cover half your face. You moan into the kiss and that’s enough to get him to wrap the other hand around your thigh, pulling you so that your clit slides against the base of cock to make you shudder and slump against him. He grins and presses another kiss to your ear, nibbling on the lobe and bucking up against you again.

You twitch against him at the constant stimulation and grip on his arm, mouthing at the skin near his jaw and sucking hickeys as if your life depends on it. He sighs at your desperation, out of either adoration or accomplishment, then decides to put you out of your misery by burying himself in one stroke. The stuttered breaths are delightful but the way you squeeze him, like you’re trying to become one with him, is downright fucking sinful. You turn boneless and so loud, whimpering yes and please, please, please and deeper and I missed you so much with so much reverence and lust that he doesn’t know if the last bit was directed at him or his cock.

But he’s the same because it’s always like this when he comes back; the reunion sex is always the best because nothing you have—not your fingers nor the toys you keep in a drawer somewhere that he loves to use whenever he wants to tease and leave you as a warbling mess—are as thick or as long as he is. Your pussy always chokes him no matter how much he prepares you and leaves him in danger of spilling inside you in a matter of seconds. Your walls attach to him, moulding over every single ridge or vein and suck him in deeper until your pelvis sits on top of his and he can see the outline of his cock through your belly. Even then you’re insatiable—trying to ground him deeper and deeper—and he fucking loves it. You’ve damned him.

That’s what you’re doing right now, settling on top of him with heaving gasps and pulsing sex, pulling the control away from him. So he gives it away without reluctance.

“Just, hah, relax, baby. Want you to cum for me. Want you to be my good boy.” You whisper against his ear and he moans, trying to listen to you and stay still even though every single instinct he has is screaming at him to push you down, bind your hand in his and thrust inside you until you cum so much that you would avoid being in his grasp for days. To plunge himself against that spot that he knows so well and cherishes so you turn cross-eyed and drool in ecstasy.

But you start contracting around him—softly and slowly, fingers pressing down on him through the flesh of your tummy, legs twisting closed to choke him that extra inch—and he swears he can see stars overpowering the ceiling lights. His eyes roll back and his hands instinctively close around the round of your ass, wanting something to ground himself with because he’s already halfway to heaven.

You tighten sharply around him when he takes a tit into his mouth, sucking on the bud and scraping his teeth against it as carefully as he can. His thumb presses the bundle of nerves and you tighten impossibly more, determined to choke him.

Your walls flutter with each rub, your gasps drowning out the splashes of water and reverberating in the wonderful acoustics of the bathroom. It sounds like you're moaning from his cock spreading you open from all directions, fuelling his ego and pushing him through that last spurt, he can feel his thighs locking in, toes curling as you whimper I’m coming, baby, you’re too big and smash your mouth against his and he’s—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He cums in you without a warning, just a groan from deep within his chest, his arms pulling you against his chest as warmth paints your insides white and fills you to the brim. He keeps you in his embrace, riding out his high along with you, turning into a mess as your insides milk him for all he’s worth and keep him in heaven as long as you can. It feels like someone’s punctured his lungs at how he runs out of breath but at the same time it’s the first time that week that he’s gotten a gulp of fresh air, here, in this damp and way too humid bathroom instead of the open air on the pier that he had his mission on, the one where he turned away from the smell of brine to prepared for the bloodbath.

He falls out of you when you move back, chest heaving and radiating with that post-fuck glow, reaching out for a towel to dry yourself and him off. The back of his head thunks against the bath and lets his spine rest there, a sigh drifting out of him.

“Good?” He barely hears your words, consciousness departing into the grips of sleep and he can breathe in deep, the choking covering long gone and nothing but the smell of flowers, the cooling warmth of the water, your fingers interlocking with his and the feel of your mouth on his cheek to tell him that he’s back home. Next to you.

[lunaticsandidiots]

flag & forehead kisses

read on ao3

synopsis: flag’s a forehead kiss man

pairing: rick flag/gender neutral reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: fluff, smut if you squint (there’s like 1 paragraph), mentions of anxiety, mentions of violence, post corto maltese!flag (so i guess it’s lowkey a fixit?)

a/n: god i miss him so fucking much

Flag was never a man of too many words. His father raised him in his own image, to be a strong, stoic, silent man who only ever opened his mouth to acknowledge orders, or to perhaps bark them, when he reached the rank to do so, but never to express his feelings. Feelings, according to Rick Flag Sr, were a weakness. His son did not have weaknesses. Until he met you. Since the day he met you, all Flag wanted to do was tell you just how much he loved you. But he never learnt how.

Sometimes he’d get so wrapped up, so tongue tied and speechless and giddy all he wanted to do was rip out his own heart and gift it to you, if that was what it took for you to understand. Of course, this wouldn’t work in reality, a point you’d had to drum into him many a time with your hands held tenderly over his heart, thumbing at the faded scar. Instead, his pent up feelings of admiration and love trickled out in small, sweet, physical gestures, like a kiss to the forehead.

It all started with the sweet, romantic ones. Not long after you first got together, Flag had called you up to ask you out on a date. He’s not the most expressive guy in the world, but you could hear him holding his excitement back as he stumbled over the details of a messy plan. Luckily you managed to catch the key phrases to piece the puzzle together yourself - ‘finished work early’, ‘7pm’, ‘pick you up’, ‘darlin’. Even after he ended the phone call, Flag still found a way to make you giddy.

His fist rapped against the door right on 7, and the hollow, wooden echo agitated the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. The sight of him waiting at your doorstep, with his cropped, brown hair neatly slicked to the side, and his defined physique trying and failing to modestly hide behind a tight, patterned button-up, and the delicate bunch of roses clutched in his sturdy hands, had taken your brain and turned it to jelly, though luckily his excitement was palpable enough to fill the silence. He showered you with compliments too exuberant to fully process as he swept you into his arms and planted a strong, amorous kiss against your hairline. All you could do was sigh a big, love-struck, doe-eyed,

‘Hi’.

It wasn’t long after this, that the gesture became Flag’s little secret signal, a simple motion to encapsulate his feelings too deep and complex to express with words. He also appreciated the simplicity of the gesture. There were many occasions where, if it were up to him, he would have stayed in bed all day with you, listing off all the things he loved about you and all the reasons why. But due to the nature of his job, copious mornings were started with an impatient phone call from Waller, demanding his presence at Belle Reve immediately, and though it wasn’t the favourable outcome for either of you, Flag felt relief at the knowledge that even if all he had time for was a quick peck to your temple before he was dashing towards the gates of hell, you’d know exactly what he meant.

Sometimes, Waller would keep him chained to the job from the crack of dawn until well after the sun had set. You always tried to stay up for him, sometimes to greet him with the table set for two, sometimes with a tumbler of whiskey and a cuban cigar, and always with open arms and listening ears.

But sometimes, after a long day of working and a long night of waiting, you just couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. But even in those instances, you would feel yourself being gently stirred from your sleep at some point during the night by a strong pair of arms. Sometimes they’d scoop you up from the couch and tuck you into bed. Other times they’d snake around your waist, accompanied by a warm, familiar body wrapping around you from behind. And following the arrival of those strong arms, always came a firm, but gentle kiss to the top of your head. You weren’t always awake for it, but even then, you could always feel its warmth shimmy its way through the layers of sleep, and the comfort it brought you made you feel as though you were sinking into the mattress.

There were a handful of occasions when Flag wouldn’t come home, to cradle you in his arms and plant that silent, reassuring gesture at the top of your head. He had warned you of this possibility a good deal before this ever happened, that due to the nature of his job, sometimes he’d be gone for a few days. Flag took utmost care to explain to you as much of the nature of his job as he was legally allowed, and told you not to worry - sealed with a kiss. But that didn’t stop you.

The first time it happened, your legs ached from constant bouncing, your bottom lip was bruised and raw from constant biting, your nails were chewed down beyond a healthy level and you didn’t think you’d ever been that sleep deprived in your life. You had no idea where he was, what he was up to or when he’d come home. Or if he’d come home at all. Your hand sprung up and clapped itself over your mouth to muffle the involuntary scream of anguish that escaped at this grim possibility.

The sound of the barrel turning in the deadlock on your front door turned your blood into ice-water. You could feel the thoughts pounding at the edge of your skull, begging and pleading for it to crack open and you couldn’t tell if that swirling black hole in the pit of your stomach was rage or relief. The edge of your shoulder collided painfully with the sharp corner of the door, though you barely flinched at the imminent bruise, as you flung yourself into his arms.

A long, monotone wail started to thrum in your vocal cords like the world's loneliest, saddest cello playing it’s accompaniment for the otherwise silent stream of tears cascading down your face. ‘He’s okay’ you reassured yourself. ‘He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay’, ‘I’m okay darlin, I’m alright. I’m here now sweetheart’, his deep, slightly southern drawl took over your mantra of consolation. You let the vibrations of his resonant voice wash away your angst, your head pressed securely against his chest as he whispered reassurance after reassurance into your hair, peppered in between fervent, doting kisses.

There were several kinds of forehead kisses within Flag’s small mental rolodex of affection. Their differences were subtle, almost undetectable to the untrained eye, but for the two of you, each pace and pressure spun a completely different love story. The short, sweet pecks to your hairline often succeeded a lighthearted jest. A slightly longer one, accompanied by the presence of his hand against the small of your back sung silent words of encouragement and affirmations of safety.

There was one, however, that he rarely exploited in public. The last time he did, a lecherous, unseen force seemed to have wrenched all strength from your knees and beckoned your eyes towards the back of your skull, momentarily possessing you until you had successfully whisked him away to somewhere secluded and boldly found a new home for your hand in his slacks. The way he let his lips linger on your skin to mutter amorous praise, only just loud enough for you to hear conjured such vivid memories you’d swear up and down they were a lucid dream.

It was the same kiss through which he would growl his most salacious devotions into your hairline, kissing down your face until your foreheads were glued together with sweat, your open mouths swapping spit and carnal cries of pleasure. The same kiss that preceded his grunting and gasping and babbling of exaltations as he rutted deep inside you, lewdly exclaiming that your body was heaven as he buried himself even deeper. The same kiss he dusted all over your face after pulling you into his arms under the blankets, whispering every iteration of ‘you did so good for me darlin’ until you fell asleep.

You loved them all for their own reasons, you’d tried many times and passed many hours by trying to decide on a favourite, until you came to the firm conclusion that there cannot possibly be just one that tops them all. Flag could never bear to tell you that you were wrong, but the way that this one kiss made him feel was tangible proof that there could indeed be a favourite. And funnily enough, it technically wouldn’t have occurred without Waller’s hand. It was another instance of the devil woman plucking Flag away from his routine, away from safety, away from you, to dangle him over the boiling cauldron of danger for a few days in the name of patriotism.

Your beloved Colonel returned home a few days later; sweaty, dirty, wounded, and stumbling straight into your arms. By this point, this song and dance was far from your first rodeo, so the first aid kid was ready and waiting, sitting proudly atop a fluffy towel next to the shower. If Flag didn’t know you like he did, if he wasn’t as exhausted and vexed as he was, if he had his wits about him, he may have protested or tried to shut down your petting with a wall of ‘i’m fine’s and ‘don’t worry sweetheart’s until you gave up and went to bed. But he was spent. And you were you. So he let you coax him into the shower. He let his eyes flutter closed and wearily smiled as he melted into the feeling of your fingertips scrubbing his sandy scalp. He let you sit him down on the couch and he gladly accepted the tumbler of whiskey shoved into his hand as you perched yourself above him on the arm of the sofa to patch him up.

You took a little longer than you knew you needed; the slow, nonchalant sequence of his eyelids drooping shut with a goofy grin, then flying open again ‘just to get one more good look atcha babe’ told you he was in no rush, and no great pain. You had just enough bandages to finish your handiwork, applying the last one as tenderly as you could while making sure it would still do its job to keep the deep gash on his forehead closed. And right next to it, you placed a slow, gentle kiss on his soft, tanned skin. Your hands cradled his face, drawing soft circles around the peak of each cheekbone with your thumbs. Flag looked upward from behind his eyelids and inwardly thanked the lord your hands weren’t near any of his pressure points, for if they were he was sure you’d be convinced he was going into cardiac arrest. It was right there that he decided that he was truly yours forever, and planned to make good on that the second he was physically able again to get down on one knee again.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

NSFW Alphabet: Rick Flag

Someone said they wanted it and I’m not entirely sure I’m qualified but I had the inspiration to do it and I don't see myself getting off the Rick Flag train anytime soon so. Have fun? 

I tried to be gender neutral with this but some of it probably reads as female reader, sorry in advance.

Obviously nsfw, so anyone under 18 can politely fuck off.

Smut-ish below the cut!

• A= Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

It probably depends on where you are. Out in the field? He'll make sure you're good, spare a torn piece of cloth to clean you up all while he keeps his hands on you and slips any clothes or gear back into place. Might be quick and efficient but he does give you the softest fucking kiss before you head back to the group. It's all about the looks and silent conversations that you two bounce back and forth.

It drives Harley nuts because no one else but her notices. She thinks it's fucking adorable though.

At home he can ask those questions out loud, can rest himself against you, inside you, and just breathe. Definitely pulls you in as close as physically possibly for as long as he can.

• B= Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

On himself: shoulders. I don't know why don't make me explain

On his partner: he likes the hips and ass, likes to grab (when he knows he has permission of course) and squeeze and hold. He likes to leave marks and slightly tender spots.

• C= Cum (anything to do with cum basically. . . I'm a disgusting person)

I get the feeling he likes to come on you, especially on the thighs or ass/lower back depending on if he's taking you from behind or not.

I feel like it might have something to do with marking you? Like maybe he can't leave physical marks (especially if you two work together) but this way he can have that image of you in his head, fucked out and panting for him to cum, please Rick, cum on me, anywhere. And it just does things to his brain that can't be put into words, the sight of his cum slipping across your skin.

It's completely up to you about how to clean up. Tell him to lick you clean? Absolutely, he's on it. Wanna drag your fingers through it and suck them clean while he watches? He'll watch and wait for you to be done, so he can get you messy again.

• D= Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not really dirty, I guess? But he keeps a sexy picture or two of his partner on him during missions. Polaroids maybe, not trusting of technology for something like this. The pictures don’t last long, he'll always burn them, he doesn’t want to chance them being found by the wrong people and he tells himself he won’t bring one next time but he always does.

He doesn’t even have to look at it for it to get to him, just knowing it’s tucked away in his tac vest, pressed as close to his skin as possible, makes his heart pound. It’s something no one but you and him can touch.

• E= Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Man fucks, okay? Not a crazy amount but when he does, he fucking does it. Maybe not a lot in his younger years, while he was growing into his height, but he learns quick and is great at adapting.

• F= Favorite position (this goes without saying, will probably include a visual)

God or whoever gave him some damn fine shoulders that were meant to have legs draped over them so he can and will do that while he’s buried deep inside you. Give him full permission to manhandle you and/or tell him how to position you and just enjoy.

•G= Goofy (are they serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Usually sort of serious, especially after a mission that goes wrong (more so than usual) or if there's a close call involving both of you. That intense, good 'ole fashion "holy shit we're both still alive" fucking.

But if he ever is on the goofy side it's probably more by accident than anything but he likes the sound of your laugh and he just rolls with it.

I mean, considering his job, he has to have gotten pretty good at just rolling with the punches.

• H= Hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)

When he gets the chance to he'll keep up with trimming but nothing fancy.

• I= Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

He can be romantic in his own way. Don’t expect candles and flower pedals or soft music. Well, your favorite music at least. He will  pick up on all your favorite things, stuff you share little by little just by being together and try his damndest to give you a special evening with all those things rolled into one.

His intimacy feels like it would be more subtle, close to the chest, but very intense.

• J= Jerk off (how often, what are they thinking about)

Yes. How often depends on the level of crazy he is currently surrounded by at the moment. But on the whole, not a lot. He likes to save that for you.

When he does he usually thinks about his partner *see D=Dirty secret.

• K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Competency kink: I think he has one. Someone that can do their job and do it really well, who just gets shit done? Sign him the hell up to yearn from a far until someone locks you two in a closet or something to work it out.

Frottage: Let him fuck your thighs. Or sit on his lap, pin has hands to your hips and tell him you’re going to make him come without taking off a single piece of clothing or he’s not coming at all DRY HUMPING IS SEXY FIGHT ME

• L= Location (favorite places to do the do)

Shower, bed, against the wall so you can cling onto his shoulders for dear fucking life. On Waller’s desk if he could get away with it. On the jet maybe.

• M= Motivation (what turns then on, gets them going)

Kick his ass while sparring and it will definitely turn into a much more fun form of exercise. Or in a real fight, if you pin him, expect to see a thoroughly pissed yet aroused Rick Flag.

Alternatively, gentle touches. Teasing, like I say down below, he can dish it but he can’t take it.

• N= NO (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Blood or knife play. Nope. He’s had too many nightmares about you covered in blood and injured for that. Not to mention the amount of times he’s seen you in real life, injured and bleeding.

He’s fine with leaving bruises and even some light welts but nothing that breaks skin.

• O= Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He invites you to sit on his face, no I will not be taking criticism. He loves to be able to have a grip on your thighs and ass while he makes you shake and he doesn’t consider it a job well done until you're practically melting against his mouth. 

Is not afraid to take direction, tell him what works, grab his hair and guide him.

As far as receiving, he won’t outright ask or expect it. But is a big fan of slow, sloppy bj’s I have no explanation, yet again, I just know that have his legs shaking. Likes to grab your hair but not really take control, more just moving along with you. Cradles your jaw and throat with one hand and if you deep throat him? Game over.

P= Pace (are they fast or rough? slow and sensual? etc)

Listen, if you ask him (or just flat out tell him) to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name, he will ask just to make sure you mean it and then he will wreck your shit. Sometimes that’s all he needs too.

But rough doesn’t always mean fast. He’ll put his weight behind his thrusts and oh fuck, have fun walking tomorrow. Also have mercy on your neighbors and just get rid of the headboard.

Q= Quickie (their opinions in quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

It comes ha ha get it comes? with the territory that quickies will happen. He’ll take what he can get out of them and what he wants is to make you come as many times as he can so he can have the sound, taste and feel of you fresh in his memory and that’s that on that.

As for what he prefers? Quickies have their charms but he would much rather take his time and not have to worry about anyone walking in on you two or having to stop to go break up a fight between the crazy ass criminals that are his team. 

• R= Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)

He takes enough risks in his day-to-day life so probably not anything crazy as far as public stuff but experimenting is very much on the table for him. More comfortable with it in a relationship or with someone he's known for a while.

S= Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

2 rounds but oohhhh does he make them last. He makes full use of his mouth, fingers, and any toys you both feel comfortable using until you’re begging him to just fuck you.

“What’d you think I’ve been doing, honey?”

“You know what I mean”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get there, just cum on my face one more time, I know you got one more.”

• T= Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't see him personally owning any but he wouldn't at all mind using them on/with a partner if they were available.

• U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will tease you like there is no tomorrow. Can totally dish it out but can't take it, not for as long as he likes to think he can.

Slowly drives you crazy. Absolute king of undressing you with his eyes from across the room and pinning you in place with a look. Can and will drag it out until you're the one to grab him and drag him somewhere that's relatively private to let him know what you think about all that teasing.

• V= Volume (how loud are they, what sounds they make)

Sort of quiet. But he does make these deliciously low sounds that you can feel when his chest is flush against you, making you shiver. But you can get some achingly good sounds out of him if you encourage him, let him know you like it.

• W= Wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

This may just be me but this man is a switch that leans toward the submissive side.

• X= X-ray (let's see what's going on in those pants, pictures or words)

He’s 6 foot 2 inches tall. You do the math aka I’m blushing too hard just thinking about it.

• Y= Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Pretty in the middle as far as sex drive goes, unless he’s been away from his partner for a good while, then be prepared for a whole weekend in bed.

• Z= Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Doesn’t knock out right after, unless he’s dead tired. Has trouble falling asleep on a good night so he probably gets up to get something to clean you both up with and settle in with you in his arms (or him in yours) to focus on the sound of your breathing, your pulse, hoping it helps him get some sleep.

[blackbat05]

Home is where the heart is

Dad Rick Flag x Mom Reader Headcanon

A/N: School said it was time for a cute headcanon to distract myself from the craziness! Hope you enjoy the brief stuff that I came up with!

Genre: PG-13

Notes: Super fluff. Alternative universe from the suicide squad.

***

Being in active military duty, Rick had to be away for long stretches of time.

Every time he was away, you wished he would come back sooner. Safe and sound.

All of this is still very applicable. Especially with two young children who clearly miss their dad.

Ethan, your older boy is a splitting image of his father.

Although he’s only eight, but you had one matured and responsible son.

‘Daddy’s coming back today right?’ He asks you from the living room as he plays with four year old Anna.

You nod, glad to see the look of excitement on your son’s face before he rushes off to his room.

‘Ok Anna, we’re gonna make a card for Daddy!’ He spreads out a large piece of paper in front of his little sister who returns him a toothy grin.

The result was two kids who were covered in glitter and sparkles as they anxiously wait with you at the arrival area of the airport.

Then, you see a group of soldiers coming towards the exit. Its got to be them.

There you see him. That familiar fluff of blonde hair.

Walking beside his partner and a loyal friend of the family - Robert Dubois, he finally sees the three of you.

Forget whatever aches and pains he has. He’s just glad to make it back home alive. In time to come, he’ll tell you how Robert saved his life. But for now, he just wants to hug his precious munchkins and beautiful wife.

‘DADDY!’ Rick opened his arms wide to allow his kids to come barreling in like mini rocket launchers.

Robert gives you a hug before turning his attention to your little ones. You can finally hug your husband after god knows how long.

‘I miss you.’ You muttered as he wraps his arms around you. ‘Thank god you’re alright.’

‘I told you. I’m coming back to you and the kids. No matter what.’ He gives you a much needed kiss.

‘Let’s go home.’

***

A/N: As always, thanks for reading and the support! May not be as active now but really appreciate all the love!

Also my “brilliant” brain just realized that I actually had a tag list and forgot to tag the wonderful people? Please forgive my fish brain .😭😭😭 I have one more fic coming soon and I already tagged in my draft in advance!

Tags: @loverhymeswith @lacontroller1991 @weallhaveadestiny @torchbearerkyle