edits-i-made

[edits-i-made]

hi so i dunno if you're taking requests rn, but i just had this idea. how would the slashers + heath ledger's joker react to a female slasher like the slit-mouth woman (kuchisake-onna)?

(Particularly enjoyed writing this request. Hope you enjoy reading it just as much.)

Jason Voorhees

At first, Jason is startled. You appear out of the mist at Crystal Lake, asking your question in a tone that bleeds sorrow and wrath.

“Am I beautiful?” When you unveil your face, expecting screams, Jason doesn’t react. He’s seen his own reflection. He’s used to monsters—and he’s not afraid of you.

You sense his sadness, his childlike loneliness. He senses your pain too—the agony beneath your question. You don’t need to speak often. When you drift close to him, scissors in hand, he simply steps aside and lets you pass. You’ve asked others that question and been feared. But when you ask Jason, it’s the first time someone looks at you without flinching or lying. He doesn’t answer. He just nods, and that’s all you need.

Sometimes, you sit together at the lake. Not talking. Just being—two spirits burdened by their own myths. You both wear your pain, your monstrosity, like a shroud. He doesn’t flinch at your scars. He sees you and you see him.

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t scare easily. Most would flee at the first glimpse of your split mouth or your quiet voice—but not him. When you first appeared in his shadow with that haunting question, he just…stared. He doesn’t care what you look like. Beauty means nothing to him.

But power? Yes.

When you move like smoke across the floor or disappear behind doors without a trace, it doesn’t unsettle him—it impresses him. There’s a moment of mutual understanding. You both are predators born from trauma, shaped by myth. He doesn’t run from you—he follows. You don’t speak much. Neither does he. But there’s an eerie synchronicity between you. He walks beside you sometimes, as if drawn in by the same invisible cord that binds killers to their shadows. 

Bubba Sawyer

Poor Bubba. The first time he sees you, he screams.

You appear in the darkened hallway of the farmhouse, your mouth hidden behind a blood-speckled mask. You whisper, “Am I beautiful?” and his chainsaw slips from his fingers. But you don’t move. You wait. And eventually, he stops shaking.

You’re terrifying—but you don’t mock him. You don’t yell. You just ask, in a voice that seems far more sad than cruel. Bubba grows curious. He notices how you stare at mirrors too long, how you touch your cheek as if remembering something. He starts trying to communicate. He brings you fabric. Maybe masks. You tilt your head curiously when he shows you his face in return—the mask of another’s skin sewn over his own.

Over time, Bubba grows attached. He brings you flowers. Tries to smooth your hair with awkward, gentle hands. He doesn’t understand you, but he likes you. You’re not afraid of him—and you’re even scarier than he is.

Thomas Hewitt

You’re dangerous. Thomas knows it the moment he hears your steps. You glide like a spirit, scissor blades clicking softly at your side. You ask the question—and he hesitates. He looks at you the way he looks at broken things: with sorrow, not fear. He’s seen enough cruelty to understand what likely put those scars there. He doesn’t speak, but he touches his own face, as if to say: me too. You don’t talk much either—but your silence is a comfort, not a threat. When you pass each other in the house, it’s like a ghost drifting through the halls. You both come from worlds that judged appearances harshly. Your disfigurement doesn’t repulse him. It makes him see you as a friend…

Norman Bates

When you reveal your slit mouth, Norman stammers, trying to hide his discomfort. But he forces a smile, tries to be polite.

You see through it.

He fears you. Not because of your face—but because of your femininity twisted into violence. You’re what “Mother” warned him about. A woman who kills. A woman who seduces with sorrow, then punishes with steel. He tries to stay away. But he’s drawn to you, like a moth to flame. And “Mother”? She hates you. Screams in his head about you. “She’s a demon! A whore! Get rid of her!”

However, he slowly becomes obsessed.

You’re haunting, sorrowful, yet otherworldly beautiful. He fixates on the way your eyes don’t match your smile, the way your voice quivers like an old record. Mother whispers warnings. But Norman can’t look away. You awaken something in him—something that he cannot escape from and neither can you.

Brahms Heelshire

The first time you step into his manor, Brahms watches from the walls. He sees you touch the mirrors gently. He hears your question whispered into the empty air. “Am I beautiful?”

You do not raise your voice. That haunts him more than screams. Brahms becomes fascinated. You’re quiet, ghostlike, never seeking attention. He relates to that. Eventually, he leaves you notes: Yes, you are beautiful. He leaves you masks, ribbons, small tokens. He mimics you.

He wants you to live in the walls with him.

Forever.

Jack Torrance

It’s late. The halls are quiet. He’s got a drink in hand that doesn’t exist, muttering to himself about being misunderstood. Then you appear.

Your scissors click gently as you walk.

“Am I beautiful?”

Jack stiffens. Turns. Blinks. He tries to place you—are you a ghost? A nurse? A hallucination? His grin flickers at the corners of his mouth, like a man deciding whether to be charmed or terrified.

You remove your mask. He sees the bloody slashes carved across your face.

And Jack?

He laughs—this deep, cracked bark of a laughter. “Honey,” he finally speaks, “you should see what I look like inside.” He taps his head. “Now that’s ugly.”

But then his face shifts. Gets darker.

He steps closer. “Tell me—did someone do that to you? Or did you do it to yourself? Because if it was someone else…maybe I can go pay ‘em a visit. With an axe.”

He sees something in you—a madness like his own, just…colder. More deliberate. He respects that. Maybe envies it. You’re the kind of woman he might fall in love with in a fever dream and kill in the same night. He is a man who never respected his wife all that much as a living husband—perhaps this is his chance of doing something right for once.

Pennywise

He’s fascinated by your ability to strike fear—not through brute strength, but through intimate horror. You play with your prey. You tease. You make them question their sanity. Pennywise lives for that.

But he also senses your rage—something deep and old and personal. You weren’t just made a killer…you were shaped by betrayal. And that’s something he deeply respects and understands. He was betrayed when he was human…betrayed by people he thought he could trust.

He sees you as a fellow predator. Maybe even a rival. Maybe…a perfect partner in fear.

As for your question? Are you beautiful?

Well…

“I can’t say. Lost the ability to see any beauty in this world a long time ago. Sorry, sugar…” Pennywise replies…He even adresses you a sad smile—or so you think.

Penny

You ask, “Am I beautiful?” in that soft, silken tone of yours, mask covering the cruel slashes underneath.

Penny’s reaction? He laughs.

Not mockingly—but like a kid who’s just been handed a brand-new toy with blood on it. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what true beauty is. He claps, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes lighting up with glee.

When you reveal your slit mouth, expecting horror?

He leans in. Nose almost touching yours, eyes roaming the scars with genuine curiosity and fascination. “Now that’s a smile. Puts the Joker’s little face-carving habit to shame.”

He doesn’t fear you. He adores you.

He’ll follow you around like a bloodstained puppy, offering you balloon animals shaped like scissors, whispering ideas for new victims. He’ll dramatize your legend, spin tales about you to the other slashers, and try to impress you with circus tricks and cannibalism.

Freddy

You’re in his domain.

It starts like all his dreams do—darkness dripping down the walls, a school hallway melting into a boiler room, the air thick with smoke and rot. Then you appear, quiet, floating at the edges of the dream like a ghost that doesn’t belong to him.

That alone pisses him off.

He narrows his eyes and lets out a raspy chuckle. “Now what the hell are ya supposed to be, sweetheart?” he growls, leaning back against a pipe, claws scraping casually against metal.

Then you ask him: “Am I beautiful?”

Still masked. Still eerily still. Freddy’s smirk falters just slightly. He’s seen monsters. He is one. But there’s something uncanny about your voice—smooth, tragic, intimate. Like a lullaby hummed while drowning a child. He watches you with new eyes, no longer a predator staring at prey, but a predator sizing up something worse.

And then you remove the mask.

The slit mouth. The scars. The smile that wasn’t born—it was carved.

Freddy doesn’t flinch. He stares for a beat too long. Then licks his lips and grins wide—mocking, hungry, but undeniably impressed. “Now that’s a smile to die for.”

He paces slowly around you, claws tapping. “You’re not just a ghost story, huh? You want ‘em to look. You make ‘em answer. Then you rip ‘em apart when they get it wrong. But there ain’t no good answer, is there?”

He doesn’t flirt with you. He knows you’re not the kind of killer who can be seduced or baited. You’re deliberate. You’re a question with no right answer. You enjoy watching people unravel in the pause between “yes” and “no.”

“Tell me, sugar,” he rasps in your ear, “what do you really want? Screams? Blood? Or simply for humanity to pay for what they did to you?”

He’s testing you. Trying to get in your head. He might offer you a place in his dreamscape, a shared playground of screams. But deep down, he’s nervous. Because he knows if you ever forced an answer out of him, he might not survive. Because there are NO right answer.

Bo Sinclair

You’re leaning against the side of the gas station, late at night, scissors glinting in the moonlight. Bo comes out, wiping his hands off with a rag, grease and blood still on his knuckles. He’s muttering about tourists until he spots you.

Still. Silent. Masked.

“Am I beautiful?”

Bo freezes mid-step. You’re blocking the way to his truck. Mask on. Posture stiff. Hair obscuring part of your face like a porcelain doll that’s been dropped too many times.

He looks you up and down slowly. “Well, hell. You’re either real bold…or real stupid.”

He doesn’t scare easy. But something about you—it’s off. The way you tilt your head, the way you wait too long for a response—it crawls under his skin in a way that no tourist ever has.

When you remove the mask? When he sees your slashed smile, that bloodstained elegance, the ghost-like patience in your eyes? He still doesn’t flinch. But he does back up half a step. “Shit,” he mutters, voice quieter. “You ain’t no tourist.”

Bo isn’t afraid—he’s calculating. If you’re dangerous, that means you can be useful. But if you’re unhinged? That’s a different game.

“Yeah,” he drawls, eyeing you warily. “You’re beautiful, alright. Beautiful and…fuckin’ terrifying.”

He starts flirting after that. Not because he wants to win you over, but because flirting is his favorite defense mechanism. “Ya ever get tired of that scissor routine, sweetheart? I got a place for ya in Ambrose if ya want. Ain’t every day I meet a woman who makes me nervous.”

He sees you as dangerous, potentially useful, and maybe someone who gets what it’s like to wear a mask—literally and emotionally. He flirts to mask his unease. Will 100% watch his back around you.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent sees you first from a distance. You’re standing completely still in front of Trudy’s wax museum, head tilted towards the door like you’re listening to something only you can hear. Your presence is so still, so unnatural, he doesn’t think you’re real at first. He watches through the gaps in the curtains, completely silent, until you finally speak:

“Am I beautiful?”

It echoes—not just through the air, but through something in him. When you remove the mask, Vincent doesn’t react with horror. He studies. Tilts his own head like a mirror to yours. You’re an anomaly. Something broken yet whole. Tragic, cruel, and quiet. You remind him of his own face—scarred and hidden. You carry pain like art. That slit smile is grotesque, but there’s precision in it. Drama. Story.

He doesn’t speak, but he slowly raises his sketchbook, flipping to a blank page. He draws you. Later, he’ll sculpt you in wax. Not as a monster—no. As a goddess of vengeance.

If you linger long enough, you’ll catch him leaving you small offerings: a wax figurine. A ribboned mask. Scissors carved from bone…

Lester Sinclair

You cross paths with Lester in the woods near the outskirts of Ambrose. He’s dragging a roadkill bag, whistling low, when he hears your voice behind him:

“Am I beautiful?”

He turns around slow. Real slow.

You’re standing at the tree line. Motionless. Holding scissors that catch the dying light just right. You’ve got a kind of sadness in your tone that he can’t quite put his finger on.

He stares. Doesn’t move. Then offers the most honest thing he’s got: “…I dunno yet.”

You blink. Maybe you’re thrown off. Most people either scream or lie.

But Lester just shrugs and looks you in the eye. “Don’t mean nothin’ if ya look beautiful, miss. That ain’t the part that matters.”

You show your scars. You wait for the scream, the flinch, the rejection.

But Lester just…nods. “I seen worse. Hell, I been worse. You’re still walkin’, right? That’s somethin’.”

He doesn’t try to flirt. Doesn’t try to run. He treats you like someone real—like a human being. Later, he might offer you a ride in his truck without asking questions. He won’t try to fix you. He just figures maybe, if you’re killin’ folks, there’s a good reason behind it. And if not—well, everyone’s got demons.

Might even offer you jerky and a juice box.

Ghostface Eddie

Eddie’s seen blood. He’s spilled it, soaked his Ghostface robe in it. He’s chased prey through their own homes while laughing in their ears. He lives for the adrenaline—the theatrics. A true performer.

But the first time he sees you? You don’t run. You don’t cry. You don’t even breathe like someone alive. You’re standing there—long coat, scissors glinting, mask hiding a promise of horror—and the first thing you do is tilt your head ever so slightly and ask:

“Am I beautiful?”

And Eddie? He actually shuts the hell up for a second. There’s this moment—this brief, rare flicker of silence in his always-running mind—where he stares at you and just processes what’s happening.

“…Okay,” he finally says, voice breaking into a nervous chuckle. “What the fuck are you?”

Then you take off your mask. The slit mouth. That slow reveal. The look in your eyes like you’re watching to see which version of yourself he’ll react to—pretty or monstrous.

He doesn’t flinch. He stares. Lips parted, something akin to fascination blooming behind his dark eyes.

Then he finally reacts…

“…That’s metal as fuck.”

Eddie lives for unpredictability. For chaos in beautiful packaging. And you? You’re a ghost story brought to life. He wants to understand you. Wants to know why you kill, how you kill, whether you truly smile under that mask or if that’s all someone else’s handiwork.

“Do you ever get tired of asking? Like, does it matter what the answer is? What if I said you were the most beautiful damn thing I’ve ever seen—what would you do? Would you kill me?” His grin widens, daring. “Always wanted a pretty woman to take me out.”

Heath Ledger’s Joker

You show up during one of his heists. Face hidden. Voice soft. “Am I beautiful?”

Joker laughs—not because he finds you funny, but because he gets it. He claps his hands, points at you, and practically howls.

“You’re askin’ me that? Look at this smile!” he says, pointing at his own grin. “We match!”

He loves you. He sees your question as performance art. Your violence? An aesthetic. Your mask? Symbolism. You are, to him, a tragicomic masterpiece of society gone wrong.

“You and me? We’re chaos. You ask, and they lie. I don’t ask—I take. But that grin?” He smiles, touching his own face. “Now that…that’s art.”

He follows you around like a man possessed. Tries to make you laugh. Tries to get you to go off-script. He pushes buttons just to see if you’ll lose it. But in quiet moments, he stares at your face—not in pity, but respect. He knows that behind that smile…there is a woman who suffered far more than she should have.

Society is broken. You are just another one of its victims.

[edits-i-made]

Vigilante ready and jealous joker?

Reader usually fights with joker but has recently been fighting other villains and going on patrol with other people. Joker gets mad about the reader seeing and fighting other people than him. Semi love and hate relationship?…idk have fun w it

EYES ON ME

pairing: the joker x male reader

Joker was waiting in your safehouse. Legs draped over the arm of your reading chair, fingers toying with a switchblade, smile painted on crooked like a child’s drawing of glee. You knew he’d be there the second you stepped through the door and smelled singed fuse wire in the air.

“Evening, sugar,” he drawled. “How was your night?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. “You know,” he continued, tone lilting like a deranged lullaby, “you’re developing a nasty little habit of not calling me. Not texting. Not even a ‘Hi, Joker, I didn’t die tonight, sorry you weren’t there to see me get sliced in half again!’”

“I was working.”

“Oh, working,” he scoffed, sitting up now, the grin peeling off his face. “With who this time, huh? Pretty Boy Robin again? That smug bastard with the white streak in his hair?”

“Red Hood.”

“Oh of course,” he spat. “Gun-happy, daddy-issue-having, leather-wearing cliché. He probably popped a boner the second you agreed to partner up. Bet he talks about you to Batman like you’re his rebound.” You didn’t reply. “And Nightwing,” he said, eyes wild now, “don’t get me started on that perky ass with a badge. Flashing teeth like a toothpaste ad. That smile is fake, y’know. He’s always had a stick up his ass and he wants to replace it with you.”

"You're jealous."

He went still.

“Jealous?” he echoed.

“Yeah. You’re acting like a clingy, psychotic ex who can’t handle a few new patrol partners.”

“Oh, so now I’m just an ex?”

“Don’t twist it—”

“I am the main act, darling,” he snapped, voice crackling. “You were made to cross swords with me. I kill, you chase. I bleed, you kiss it better. And now I have to hear about you frolicking across rooftops with Batgirl? That freckle-faced, ‘golly-gee’ wannabe Oracle knockoff?” Joker hissed, like the name physically scorched his tongue.

“She’s the kind of girl who carries a med kit and calls it a weapon. I bet she thanked you after you saved her—like this is some kind of teen drama and not a city drenched in blood.”

“She held her own.”

Joker laughed—a harsh, rattling sound that didn’t match the grin stretching his face.

“Oh, I’m sure she did. Bet she giggled when you knocked out that thug. Did she clap for you, sugarplum? Bat her lashes like you’re her big strong boyfriend?”

You stared flatly at him.

“She’s seventeen, Joker.”

“And still trying to fuck you.”

You sighed, stepping away to peel off your gloves, but he followed, words spitting like acid.

“Do they all line up for your attention now? That it?” He circled you like a vulture with lipstick. “You’re the hot commodity in Gotham. Nightwing winks. Hood growls. Batgirl fumbles her comms whenever you say her name. Meanwhile I’m burning down banks, carving your name into meat and misery, and you can’t even send a text?”

You grit your teeth. “I’m not obligated to respond to your crimes.”

“But you used to,” he snarled, voice tightening. “You used to come running the second I left my mark. You’d show up with that fire in your eyes, like you missed me. Like you couldn’t stand the city being touched by me unless you were there to feel it too.”

“I got tired.”

He went still.

“What?”

“I got tired of giving you all my attention, only for you to gloat about who you’d kill next. So yeah. I stopped chasing.”

His mouth twitched. Eyes narrowed.

“Tired of me?”

“I didn’t say—”

“You said tired, darling,” Joker snapped, stepping closer, the grin gone now—replaced by something hungry and wounded. “You said tired. But you’ve still got energy for those Bats. For them.”

He was breathing harder now, nostrils flared, voice raw with something almost human under all the theatrical fury.

“I’m not doing this.”

“You are doing this,” he hissed, grabbing your collar. “You think they see you? That they can handle you the way I do? That they’ll love every broken, ugly thing inside you and smile about it?”

You grabbed his wrists and yanked them down. “They’re not murderers.”

“Neither were you.” His voice cracked. “Before me.” That confession made the air heavier than the heat from your busted heater. Then Joker chuckled—low, choked. “You were so bright when we met. Full of rules. Morals. But now? You know what I see when I look at you, sugar?”

He tilted his head, wide eyes gleaming.

“I see me.”

You shoved him. He stumbled back but laughed like a man on fire. “Keep pushing me, baby! Burn me up! Because if I can’t have you the way I want—” His voice went ragged. “—then no one gets to.”

[edits-i-made]

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

-

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

-

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

-

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

[edits-i-made]

I'm the person who asked for Justice reader x DC villains + adopted son. I can't believe you answered! 🥹 I would like a continuation of this but after spending some time the three of us together (marriage vibes) maybe the government or another vigilante arrives and thinks he has the vigilante reader and the child kidnapped so he tries to take them away. I feel like this would touch a nerve with some who said they didn't want the child. I loved how you wrote everything, dad Bane has me. 💕

perfect! I'm glad you asked for a continuation because I felt a bit bad not being able to flesh it out more, as I genuinely believe it would be a slow burn for these rogues

Tw for a little bit of violence, nothing too graphic/explicit

Riddler/Edward Nygma

He likes the kid now. I mean it was one hell of an adjustment period for him.. he had to get used to not being the centre of your attention.

He would be as good as an emotionally stunted man can be. He would play games with the child whenever he has the time.

Not throwing a ball of course, but board games galore! even the odd video game if he feels it's good enough for him.

many nights are spent bonding together, especially if your child is curious and interested in learning.

if they're an older child they can maybe assist him in his projects if it's safe, if they're younger he would have them propped on his knee while he works.

this kid is going to be ahead of the game in terms of critical thinking, and would have a brilliant understanding of mechanics and coding.

now, if anyone ever attempted to take either of you from him, especially since you're there willingly- what do they think he is?!

honestly he's going bomb level threat. very much ruthless in his endeavour to get you or your child back. He even puts his pride aside to recruit some help from his fellow rogues.

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

He is still slightly emotionally distant. Like not to the point that its harmful to the child, but its just who he is.

He would read to them whenever he could.

like I said before they're not allowed anywhere near his lab in fear of coming into contact with anything harmful.

However, Jon as the intelligent man he is, obviously has a fail safe for if the situation ever occurred. He has multiple vials of cures in his office.

many nights are spent, when not busy with his plans, cuddled up on the couch together reading to your child. He'd be a bit embarrassed to do voices if front of you, He'll only do it if your child is younger.

He has the cutest little mini scarecrow costume for your kid, per their request.

they definitely trot happily about the house in it! imagine how fun Halloween will be for them!

May whatever god or entity out there have mercy on the soul of someone who tries to harm or take this child from him.

they will suffer a fate worse than death. As fear permeates their mind and soul, scarecrow will be the last thing they see before departing to the empty void.

TwoFace/Harvey Dent

Again like I stated before, they will try hard to rehabilitate as much as they can.

They want to be a present and loving father. They will be everything that their own father wasn't.

they genuinely love this kid. They will bring them to the park and be the dad who plays airplane, pushes them on the swing, plays hide and seek and goes to all of their events, be it sports games or recitals.

he's the dad who has no idea how to work technology and tries to film these events but ends up recording the ground or the head of someone sitting in front of him.

They would've probably had some surgery to reduce the scarring on their face, purely for the hope his child would have a "normal" dad.

They don't want them to be bullied because of them.

They would even approach Bruce Wayne in hopes of rekindling a friendship. Although Bruce is already there to monitor them.

Bruce would be able to pull some strings to get them a good job. He probably paid for the surgery like in BTAS.

However shit hits the fucking fan if someone tries to kidnap the child or you. All their hard work out the window just become some lowlife thought he became weak and vulnerable. He brings down a fight like no one has seen. Hell, he even recruited Penguin and Black mask to hunt them down.

Black mask/Roman Sionis

Oh yeah like this kid is spoiled rotten.

Genuinely, you will need to tell him to stop giving into their every whim to stop them becoming demanding and spoiled.

He will stop....slightly...

They will be that kid who has the best tutors, aids, and tuition paid. they'll be sent to the best private school available.

You'll have to make sure they stay humble at this point.

This is an incredibly paranoid man. your child will have bodyguards 24/7.

Even if they're playing in the park, there's body guards standing just out of sight.

expect your child to walk into your room one day and have drawn a black skull on their face with marker and a big ol' grin.

one of those dads who will be a little soft and let your child sleep in your bed and enforce rules like bed time.

If he's doing paperwork they can sit on his knee or hang out in his office.

They wont be able to sit with him while he's working if he's meeting people as he doesn't want them to come into contact with anyone like that. He wont let them use them against him.

That being said, if someone was to ever have the bollocks to take your or your child they're so fucked. They're getting strung up and tortured. They're going to wish they were dead. Even if they spill their guts and tell him any other names who know of your child's existence he's still going to keep them and tear them apart until there's nothing left.

Bane

Best dad. unironically. He's doing airplane too and teaching this kid how to play any sports.

Your kid is most likely going to go into a self defence sport, if not multiple considering banes encouragement.

If they prefer to go into something like dance or theatre or art he'd still encourage them just the same!!

This massive man will be clapping so hard during any performance, recital or match. so proud.

He is so good at doing homework with your kid. They're going to be well above the rest of the class.

He will be the dad that helps with the science project. While the other kids are making volcanoes, your kid is rocking up with a fully operable laser.

He's not too worried about your child, especially if they're older as he's trained them to the highest degree possible.

Now, Bane is a man of stoicism, despite his calm exterior, he still feels unbridled fury. If someone took your child, or you, they would know why Bane was the man who broke the Bat.

They will not know peace when bane inevitably hunts them down.

Let this be an example for anyone else idiotic enough to oppose him or target his family.

[edits-i-made]

Just wanna say love ur headcannons and how u write the characters! Oooh I was also wondering what about the rogues reaction to the vigilante with a symbiote? Like a Venom type hero? I feel like Scarecrow would definitely be interested in that kind of thing…

Love this idea!

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

Fascinating!! simply fascinating! with a face like that and with teeth as sharp as knives.. are you certain you want to be on that team?

I mean think about you two as a duo. you supply the tangible fear.. and he supplies the enhancer.

does genuinely want you to consider it.. and he wants to know where you procured such a.. pet. he wants one.

would want to talk to your symbiote! just out of curiosity more than anything

Riddler/Edward Nygma

Oh well... he's a little jealous!!

he wants to be that close to you! and the fact you have a little pest interfering with your possible romance/rivalry will piss him off.

he might even deem it cheating if you're both working on his riddles together.

will have an ongoing beef with your symbiote. there'll be jabs thrown between both parties. it will probably love when it gets the chance to punch him in his stupid smug face. plus his organs are well taken care of... yum!

its safe to say your symbiote does NOT like Eddie (wait.. Eddie?)

TwoFace/Harvey Dent

oh cool... so there's two of you in there.. they quite like that.

especially if you two have disagreements on how you should handle things. they're like "omg someone who gets it!"

genuinely loves the idea of this. unlike most people you two encounter, they completely recognise the differences between you two. will address both of you in conversation or a fight.

as far as they're concerned your symbiote fronts to protect you like harv does for Harvey.

he loves it.

Bane

oh that's very interesting. he's fascinated by you.

will ask you, or should I say both of you, a million questions about the origin of your symbiote. what is it? where did you two meet?

he's going to be studying you thoroughly during battle. will even take a step back and watch you fight his goons just to study you two!

will attempt to find its weaknesses, strengths and everything in between.

is even more fascinated when he finds out the only reason you two can work is because your fundamentally compatible and a different host wouldn't last.

Killer Croc/Waylon Jones

oh that's super cool! AND it can talk?!

quite happy to meet another metahuman.

will bond with your symbiote over meat, flesh and such.

your symbiote will say something like "I could really go for a kidney right now.." and Waylon like "man me too. I get that."

wants to go head to head to compare strength.

your symbiote will love Waylon.

what a catch! plus he gets its dietary needs!

[edits-i-made]

This idea came to me while eating lunch and watching this movie.

[edits-i-made]

Heeeeyyy what would the villains' reaction be if they found out that the vigilante is like Elle Woods from Legally Blonde, like she wears pink, studies law and loves taking care of herself (and Was there that prejudice, not on their part, that she was a dumb blonde?)

Principalmente Harv, bane e Waylon 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Sorry i have other asks but as soon as I saw this I had to answer because this is literally me tf?? bitches lovvvee pink and self care!!

Twoface/Harvey Dent

Oh man they dig it. so heavily. You don't even know.

You look that good and study law?? they are smitten. they practically cream their pants

They also love the contrast between your real self and you vigilante persona, especially if you have a black or dark costume.

their on their knees begging, just for one chance. oh please oh please. all of a sudden this bitter and defensive criminal is absolutely weak for you.

Seriously, you show up during a heist and waggle your finger at them and he's ordering his goons to put everything back and pack back up into the van.

they'd kill to have you on their arm doll. imagine showing up to a party or gala, them dressed in their usual black and white suit and you in your pink glittery dress/suit.

they're happy to give you help on your college essays and even brilliant techniques for the courtroom, they were literally the best lawyer in Gotham.

overall, what a sexy couple you two would make!

Killer Croc/Waylon Jones

Oh you're so pretty and cute and-

he's so flustered upon discovering this about you.

but now he truly doesn't think he has a chance. you're such an attractive and a person with such potential! especially in terms of your career.

I mean he could never imagine someone like you, clad in pink and perfectly dressed would ever walk down the street arm and arm with him.

he is crushing on you big time and it is obvious. he's very reluctant to fight you. He's also very likely to hand himself up to you, knowing you would probably be able to give him legal advice.

he would always want to look spick and span or you, he practically polishes his scales and makes sure he doesn't smell bad or like a sewer.

if you start dating he would want to look amazing for you, please take him clothes shopping for stuff that actually fits and suits him!!

Bane

I don't think this man would ever judge on appearance. I don't believe the thought of "bimbo/himbo" would ever cross his mind.

he thinks you're attractive and smart. that's it.

so lord knows if anyone undermines your intelligence based on appearances in front of him.

he's got them on the floor, giant boot on their head, squeezing it like a grape, while asking them what makes them think they are any smarter now.

he loves the contrast of you two. you're a person with brilliant style and pretty in pink, next to a terrifying man clad in black wearing military pants and boots with muscles as big as your head.

your appearance doesn't mean he wont fight you just the same.

admires your aspiration to be a lawyer, especially if you look out for the little guy.

he thoroughly enjoys any conversation you two share about law, or politics.

Black Mask/Roman Sionis

Oh honey. oh baby. he thinks you're so hot. a pretty thing like you shouldn't be out there fighting men like him, getting into scraps with goons.

I mean come on.. you be his, and he'll get you whatever glamorous outfits and illustrious accessories your heart desires.

you'd look amazing together darling. imagine how you'd look together?? you with your gorgeous pink outfit and him with his black mask and white suit. what a pretty picture.

plus you've got brains too! what a perfect person. an all rounder.

Riddler/Edward Nygma

HOOOO MAMA. that's hot.

yes, he's vain and an asshole so yes at first he thinks you're a bimbo/himbo.

But! he does recognise that thus far as a vigilante you've been exceptionally quick with his riddles and puzzles, thus he does acknowledge your intelligence.

he also respects t=your aptitude for law, its a respectable career path, despite his feelings that the system is completely broken and idiotic.

This is a well dressed and refined man. He would appreciate your sense of style. would even reccomend a great tailor for suits and dresses!

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

That's very.. interesting. he is the kind of guy to just focus on the education part of it, not so much your appearance.

Not in a bad way, he does find it cute, but he's more impressed by your education!!

You would look amazing together though, very comical. the master of fear and the person who loves pink and a sunny disposition. very cute!

especially if he's out of costume. this gangly unkempt man with a knackered pair of glasses while you look as glam as usual.

[edits-i-made]

It'd be a little funny if the rogues S/O saved them with a metal chair. One of those foldable ones

It seems like they lost, Batman hovering over the rogue, ready to take them to Arkham until BANG

Batman falls down

Behind him stands S/O, metal chair still in hand, suggesting that maybe they should escape now

Like c'mon Batman is never living that down. Especially if S/O isn't a rogue. Like he just got knocked out by a rando civilian who just so happens to kiss up on a rogue

Omg this is brilliant. Bruce is fucking scarlet. like how embarrassing. Dick isn't ever going to shut up about this now time for the rogues reactions!

Riddler/Edward Nygma

oh my god. that was so hot babe you don't even know.

genuinely will take a minute to commit this to his photographic memory. my god.

once you yell at him to get the fuck up and start running, he's by your side hand behind your back escorting you out.

he will also never forget this. both you and also the batman. this will be a jab he makes to the bat frequently.

"riddle me this batman, what has four legs, no heartbeat, and is the batman's kryptonite?" such a dick.

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

oh you brilliantly smart mouse.

he's already hopping up, spraying the bat in the face and then hroo hraa-ing outta there.

you're going to be showered with compliments. especially since you definitely saved his burlap. this man cannot go against batman in a 1v1. he's made of bones and straw. the wind can knock him over.

briefly ponders the possibility of batman having a fear of chairs after this. maybe by being sprayed after the attack has developed a new synapse?

TwoFace/Harvey Dent

hummanah hummanah. they've fallen for you all over again.

"what a woman/hunk"

their eyes genuinely pop out of their head.

they flip a coin and flee with you in tow. don't be surprised if they throw you over their shoulder as they do.

will be talking about that for ages. tells Penguin, Riddler -anyone who will listen really.

Their men will give you a nod of approval when they hear about it.

harv is ecstatic about this. his first reaction was that it was hot, whereas Harvey was the more concerned party.

Bane

oh my god.. you've certainly picked up on things form the ring.

thinks its hot also.

would never expected that from you! but I suppose watching batman reach for his tank was the limit for your gentle disposition.

he's relived he gave you that defence training now.

he's slightly more relaxed about your safety now he knows you can handle yourself.

but not completely obviously.

Black mask/Roman Sionis

HOT HOT HOT x10. its like the word is flashing in his brain with an alarm sound.

"doll that was the sexiest thing anyone has done ever"

you will be whisked away by him into his car and will gush over you in the backseat (okay that sounds wrong.. >:) )

you will be treated to a wonderful dinner and showered in gifts! somehow more than usual.

he's also telling everyone. he's gonna goad Red Hood with the fact his dad got whacked so easily by a fucking normal person?? like no prior training.. how embarrassing.

[edits-i-made]

Can I ask for Croc and Bane with a short s/o? Just any general hcs having to do with height differences or how they see their s/o. (For example, do they feel extra protective of them, do they feel they need to be more careful?)

Killer Croc and Bane with a short reader

I mean if you wanna get technical, EVERYONE is short to them.

Tw: there's like one Suggestive line

Killer croc

- oh my god the (affectionate) clowning around he would do with a tiny s/o.

- Have you seen that meme where a short person puts their camera on their taller partner to see how they "look" to said partner? He wants you to do that and is probably guffawing at your reaction. You're so tiny! That's how he sees you all the time!

- He tries his best to not use too much strength with you. He just knows he's fucking ripped and big w/ claws. He's more worried about past/current anger issues hurting you more than you being small.

- In fact, you being so small means he can pick you up like a sack and sling you over his shoulder like it's nothing. (He thinks its SO funny if you fuss about it.) Yeah, he could do it to any of his partners given his strength but it's so EASY with you, fun size!

- oh you are going to get so many goofy ass nicknames related to your height- fun size, short stack, baby bird, his little beignet..... and he knows how ridiculous they sound.

- He will be very protective in certain venues, however. Concerts where you got standing? He is a wall blocking anyone from pushing at you. Crowds he's practically growling and snarling to give you breathing room. If anyone tries picking on you, he's There and Terrifying.

- he has tied a balloon to you so as not to lose you. When you point out he's so fucking tall there's no way he could lose you, he just gets this dumb smile on his face.

Bane

- He's the one that tends to act more like he might break you. I mean, he's actually broken people before. Snapped batmans back like a fucking twig that one time. He's acutely aware how easily he could.

- Yet you might notice thats A-Okay especially if you have any skin/body sensitivities. Him being careful is Good because even him being "gentle" is strong. He still picks you up around the waist like you weigh nothing if he needs you to move. Gives a light chuckle if you say anything.

- Talk about the big spoon. When you sleep next to each other, his body almost curls AROUND yours because of his size in comparison to yours. It's kind of like having a heated, weighted blanket. Nice during the winter but you'll probably want to make a pillow barrier in summer or you'll die.

- If you're ever somewhere you can't see above a crowd and it's appropriate, he's picking you up to put you on his shoulders. You can see, he gets his head between your thighs. Win-win.

- if hes ever feeling cheeky, he'll pick you up bridal style and pretend to use you as a weight, curling you up towards his body and kissing your face.

- The one time someone tries picking on you because they think you're just tiny and easy pickings, he literally steps to them... breaks thier nose with barely any effort. Word gets around, and no one tries that shit again, that's for sure.

[edits-i-made]

DC Rogues with Nurse Reader

General Headcanons + GN!Reader (gender not specified)

follow up post to this!

Riddler/Edward Nygma

Its obvious that you'll be answering a lot of riddles, right?

For every tablet he takes you'll either need to answer a riddle, and if you cant do that, you'll have to give him some gossip at least!

After awhile of building up a repour, he will flirt with you.

This, at the beginning, might be a test to see if you're easily manipulated in order to help him escape, but after awhile of you rebuking his efforts, he'll find himself disappointed that he cant get your attention.

He might ask you why you chose to work here, in this hell hole. he wants to know about you.

if you get him a pack of cards or some sudoku puzzles he will really like you. you might be spared come the next breakout...

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

"tell me, what's your biggest fear.." buddy I just walked into your cell just take your fucking medication.

Do tell him though. otherwise he will slowly begin psychoanalysing you and it will get uncomfortable real quick. suddenly he's bringing up your relationship with your father?? you're the patient here man.

if you're diligent, respectful and indulge his questions, he might actually acknowledge your existence.

ask him about his work, as a psychologist that is. He will go full lecturer mode and tell you about his work in parts over multiple visits to him.

bring him a book or two from the library to ease the boredom.

if you treat him well, lets say next time there's a breakout, he might not spray you with his latest formula.. just yet.

TwoFace/Harvey Dent

He's hostile. regardless of who's fronting. as his cell is divided in two, one side in shambles, the other nice and neat so you can tell who you're dealing with from day to day.

respect the coin. if he denies bloods or medication, come back later. the only other option would be the guards holding him down and forcing it, which sucks for everyone, and they will lose trust in you.

its better to work around them, and respect them.

please get his coin for him. the guards take it frequently as they're unruly and tend to be difficult.

you'll win their favour by just being kind. plus on the next breakout, you won't immediately be shot on sight!

Killer Croc/Waylon Jones

Oh poor Waylon. my heart aches for how he's treated, especially in the Arkham games. like an animal they want to forget even exists.

He is a human, and if you treat him like one, you will immediately be better than every other staff member there.

you will rarely have to get bloods, to monitor his condition.

be gentle with him. he feels a lot of pain due to his condition. don't add to it.

it will get to a point that Waylon will get pissed if its a different nurse. you take blood well and it doesn't hurt too much and doesn't leave a massive bruise under his scales.

Bane

For the most part he's just silent and calm. He understands you're just doing your job and he doesn't really care to resist.

The only things he questions you on is what specific medication he's taking, the side effects and how it will effect his body.

his body is his temple and he takes care of it!

get him a book, he wants to keep his mind sharp whilst in here.

he also uses recreational time to lift weights and exercise.

Harley Quinn

Shes brilliant. such a treat to care for.

genuinely so understanding! i mean she was a psychologist here after all. she also cared about her patients and appreciates that you do too.

She will natter on about all the asylum gossip! trust me, you'll learn a lot about the other inmates.

please talk to her! a bit of human companionship does her well. it stops her from going anymore crazy than she already is.

Poison Ivy/Pamela Isley

oh sweet child, you're disillusioned with the world. She hates the idea of a meat bag like you coming anywhere near her.

However, if you respect her, she'll let you tend to her.

Please ask her about plant and gardening tips, she'll be happy to indulge. plus you'll actually know why your orchid plant hates you and keeps wilting.

you're a meat bag that she tolerates.

[edits-i-made]

Hi, I've read all your posts and I loved them all. Now, we could have the DC villains with their love, who is a vigilante (female reader), find a child and, as a result, they begin to raise him together. ❤️

thank you so much that's so sweet :(

this is fun considering another child related request I received recently! luckily for this child they have you here to influence the rogues! if there's any specific character you'd like and/or anything fleshed out Lemme know!

Riddler/Edward Nygma

oh no. nonono we're not keeping it.

nono! he's not gonna hear it! he doesn't care how much you want it!

...well okay.. you've worn him down.. but don't expect him to "hang out" with "it"

okay he deserved that smack but seriously why are you doing this to yourself! he's enough of a child as is!

Don't let it get its narstie child hands on his stuff! its not a toy >:(

Despite all of that, it is quite sweet when they start warming up to each other.. he's showing them how to solve basic puzzles and trying not to be too critical (extremely hard for him so please be patient).

he will be getting them a tiny green suit tailored along with a matching bowler and cane. so cute.

imagine this asshole showing up for parent teacher meetings and being the poor teacher who "had the nerve" to give his kid less than an A+

he's a bit emotionally unavailable but tries to make up with it through quality time. be this teaching them programming, computer science, and playing board games.

Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

ugh you really want it?? fine. but you have to take care of it, feed it and walk it.

I've always imagined him being that odd uncle who's off-putting because he's literally insane but other than that he's cool..

he will teach them reading, writing, spelling and basics like that.

this child will have half the house off limits as Jon's paranoid they'll touch/break some of his lab tech or worst case scenario come in contact with some of his toxins.

he understood terror at an early age and will not want to inflict that on his own child.

with his background, he also studied child psychology so he understands the importance of his presence in their life.. despite how reluctant he may feel about it.

will read them bedtime stories. he's surprisingly good at the voices!

imagine how much fun Halloween will be for this kid! despite how many schemes he might have for the bat and Gotham, this kid will have a whole day dedicated to them. trick or treating and age appropriate films will ensue!

TwoFace/Harvey Dent

okay I can see this going one or two (haha) ways. either this guy is like "no absolutely not" or they decide to try turn over a new leaf.

They will not be their father. end of.

they will be present, loving and kind. no voices will ever be raised towards this kid.

he would, for the first time in awhile, be conscious of his scarring. its a brilliant tool for crime, he looks scary and intimidating.

but as a father? they don't want to be stared at in public, scare other children in the park or at their child's school... and most of all, they don't want their child to be embarrassed or ashamed of them.

they want to be an actual family.

Harvey is doing most of the talking and fronting now. Harv is still present, as he always was, watching over Harvey as alters do.

Harv's fond of the child. believe me, if any harm came to them from either rogue, thug or GCPD, Big Bad Harv will make his comeback.

Black Mask/Roman Sionis

Oh okay you want it? sure doll... just like, keep it away from his office, yeah?

Honestly he's kind of chill about the whole thing, almost indifferent.

at first he's lowkey expecting you to get bored and that'll be the end of it.. but when you don't, suddenly he's kind of freaking out.

its like when dads are calm during the pregnancy but when the baby's coming its actually happening and they panic.

He's worried about safety even more now. this is an extremely paranoid man. now its increased tenfold.

this child is going to have bodyguards galore. to and from school, when they're outside, hell- they sneeze and they'll have a tissue handed to them by one!

No matter how much you protest he's going to spoil this kid. no matter what they want. oh? they're six and want a pink elephant? done. they want a fully functional crane for their sandbox? already in the post.

kind of emotionally unavailable because he's so connected to crime he wants you and your child to not miss him too much if he dies.

Bane

Oh hell yeah he's down. excellent lineage! this kid will be powerful and strong! but still, they will have a childhood.

he's such a good dad :( it actually makes me sad.

he's nurturing. both within the ring and outside of it.

this child will be strong physically, mentally and emotionally.

this massive man has a humungous heart. yes, to others he's calculating, stoic and reserved.

but he will be going to the park with this kid and getting on the fucking seesaw. that's such a funny image oh my god. could you imagine being another parent and seeing that??

he raises this child to be a protector from bullies and an advocate for themself too.

despite all this he is TOTALLY that dad who loses his mind when doing Math homework. MATH IS MATH why did they suddenly change it?? when did long division get so convoluted??

the child will cry, as did we all. but they'll go and get ice cream after to cheer them up :)

[edits-i-made]

PLATONIC! BANE X CHILD READER THOUGHT:

-I can just imagine Bane with a young child reader.

-He's walking around Gotham City: being all intimidating and stuff. Meanwhile, you're just chilling in his arm and drinking a juicbox.

-Everyone is staring at you, but too intimidated by Bane to say anything.

-You just continue to sip on your juice, waving hello at them. Not really noticing Bane giving the people death glares in order to make them smile back.

- "Y'know what, this place is great. It's whimsical and fun! :)"

"What are you looking at motherfu-"

-Like, I don't know why, but I can just see him as that type of big Macho dad who will dress up as a fairy princess in order to have a tea party with their kid.

- One of those scary guys with a soft spot for his kid.

- He's in the middle of beating someone up

"We have ways of making you talk- Oh, Y/N Papa is working right now. Oh my Gosh, did you draw this? This is amazing!"

[edits-i-made]

For DC, would you mayhaps write about picking them up when they aren't expecting, or just didn't think you could, almighty writer?

DC COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You pick them up as if they weighed absolutely nothing

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth, Zatanna Zatara, Dinah Lance, Wally West, Victor Stone (Cyborg), Garfield Logan (Beast Boy) & Lobo

Reply to anon: If I understood your request correctly (I really hope so), I love you for this request, it was so fun to write this headcanon.

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

- It is a rare thing to catch Bruce Wayne off guard, a feat most would deem impossible. He is a man of precision, calculation, and control, his every move rehearsed in the dark solitude of his mind long before it is executed. And yet, when you lift him into your arms with the ease of a shadow passing over the city, all his legendary foresight shatters in an instant. His breath stutters—just once, imperceptible to anyone but you—and his gloved hands instinctively grasp your shoulders, as if to confirm the absurd reality of what is happening. The weight of Gotham’s protector, cradled so effortlessly against you, is a secret victory that sends a slow smile curling at the edges of your lips.

- "Tch," he exhales, the sound more air than voice, his dark eyes narrowing in something between astonishment and begrudging amusement. "You’ve been holding out on me." His pride does not allow him to admit the full extent of his surprise, but the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly against your arms betrays him. Bruce Wayne is not a man who enjoys being caught unaware, and yet—there is something in the way you handle him, something in the unwavering steadiness of your grip, that quiets the usual tension that knots his body like a bowstring drawn too tight.

- He does not struggle. He does not order you to put him down. No, he merely tilts his head, calculating, the sharp angles of his face betraying the ghost of a smirk. "I assume you have a reason for this," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp against your ear. "Or do you just enjoy surprising me?" It is a challenge, an invitation, and perhaps, in some small way, a confession. For all his formidable strength, for all the ways he has trained himself to never relinquish control—there is a part of him that does not mind being held by you.

- Later, when the moment has passed and Gotham calls him away once more, he does not mention it. But you notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his fingers brush against your wrist just a little longer than necessary. And when, the next time, you reach for him with that same effortless power, you swear you see the corner of his lips quirk upward—just for a second—before he allows himself to fall into your embrace.

Kal-El (Clark Kent, Superman)

- The sky belongs to him, the very air bending to his will, the world itself no heavier than a breath upon his palm. And yet, when you lift him into your arms, when you cradle the Man of Steel as if he were something as light and effortless as a whisper, it is his turn to be left breathless. His blue eyes widen—just slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of disbelief that dances through them like a shooting star. "Whoa," he exhales, the sheer sincerity in his voice making you laugh. "Did you—did you just—?"

- He does not finish his sentence, because the answer is obvious. He is here, weightless in your grasp, and despite all reason, he cannot quite seem to wrap his mind around it. He has lifted mountains, shifted tectonic plates, carried entire cities upon his back—but this, this is something entirely different. He peers down at you with a mixture of awe and delight, a boyish grin breaking across his features, and suddenly, he is not Superman, not the Last Son of Krypton, but simply Clark—a farm boy who has just been shown a new miracle in a world that he thought he had seen from every angle.

- "Well," he laughs, resting his hands lightly on your shoulders, his touch warm, steady. "I guess turnabout is fair play." He is not used to being the one lifted, the one held, and there is something undeniably endearing about the way he lets himself be carried, as if surrendering to the simple joy of the moment. His grin softens into something fonder, something gentler, and his voice dips to a lower timbre, laced with that impossible tenderness that only he can wield so effortlessly. "You are full of surprises, aren’t you?"

- Later, as you stand together beneath the open sky, he will wrap his arms around you and lift you high into the air, spinning you in a slow, weightless circle, as if to remind you that the universe still bows to his strength. But the truth, the quiet, unspoken truth, is that he will remember this moment—not for the sheer impossibility of it, not for the surprise of being lifted, but for the way you looked at him as you did it. As if he was something precious. As if he was something worth carrying.

Barry Allen (The Flash)

- One second, he is standing before you, mid-sentence, hands moving animatedly as he rambles about some impossible feat of science, some breakthrough that only his mind could possibly keep up with. And the next—he is airborne. Suspended. A blur of red and gold frozen in time as you hoist him effortlessly into your arms, his entire train of thought derailing so spectacularly that for the first time in what is possibly ever, Barry Allen is at a complete and utter loss for words.

- His blue eyes blink, wide with sheer, unfiltered astonishment. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, as if struggling to find a logical explanation for what just happened. "What—how did you—" He pauses, glances down at himself, then back at you. "Okay. Alright. This is fine. This is normal. Totally normal. This is a thing that happens." His words come faster now, a breathless tumble of disbelief and delight, and despite the initial shock, there is no fear—only pure, infectious amusement.

- And then he laughs. Oh, he laughs—bright and bubbling over, like the crackle of lightning against an open sky, his body practically vibrating with sheer giddiness. "I mean, I know I’ve swept you off your feet before, but this—this is a whole new level." His arms loop around your neck, dramatic and theatrical, his head tilting back as he lets himself be cradled as if he were some fairytale damsel. "Be honest, you’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?"

- He will tease you about this for weeks, recounting the moment with exaggerated flair to anyone who will listen. But there will also be the quiet moments—when he leans against you just a little more than usual, when his hands linger at your waist as if remembering the steady strength of your arms. And maybe, just maybe, the next time you catch him at full speed, he will let you lift him once more—just to feel, for a fleeting moment, what it’s like to be caught by you.

Diana of Themyscira (Wonder Woman)

- The daughter of gods, sculpted from sacred clay, raised among warriors whose strength is the stuff of legend. To surprise Diana is no easy task, for she has spent centuries honing herself into something divine, something unyielding. And yet—when you lift her into your arms, when you cradle her as if she were no heavier than a whispered prayer, the Goddess of Truth is rendered momentarily speechless.

- Her lips part, her brows lifting ever so slightly, and though she does not gasp, does not falter, there is an undeniable flicker of astonishment in her gaze. "You are stronger than you appear," she muses, her voice warm, touched with something akin to admiration. A warrior recognizes another, and in this moment, she sees you in a new light—not merely as her love, but as something formidable, something unexpected.

- And then, she smiles. Not a small smile, not a coy smirk, but something radiant—something that reaches her eyes, that sets her entire face alight with unmistakable joy. "Impressive," she hums, resting a steady hand against your shoulder. "Though, I must admit, I rather enjoy this perspective." There is a teasing lilt to her voice, a challenge dancing at the edges of her words. It is rare for anyone to hold her in such a way, but she finds, quite unexpectedly, that she does not mind it at all.

- Later, she will return the favor with ease, sweeping you into her arms without effort, carrying you across battlefields, across cities, across oceans. But in that moment, in the quiet space between surprise and laughter, she allows herself to rest in your hold, to relish the warmth of your embrace, to be held—not as a warrior, not as a princess, but simply as a woman who loves, and is loved in return.

Arthur Curry (Aquaman)

- Arthur Curry is not a man accustomed to feeling small. He is a king, a warrior, a force of nature bound in muscle and salt, the weight of oceans resting upon his shoulders. He has wrestled sea monsters the size of mountains, stood unyielding against the fury of the abyss, and emerged from every battle with the untamed, feral grin of a man who belongs to the storm. But when you lift him—when your arms curl around him with a strength that defies reason, hoisting him off solid ground as if he were nothing but driftwood—his entire world tilts. His golden eyes widen, stunned, his calloused hands gripping instinctively at your shoulders as if the sea itself has betrayed him.

- "What the—?" His voice is a startled rumble, a sharp bark of laughter cutting through the shock. His thick brows furrow, then lift, his expression wavering somewhere between indignation and absolute, boyish delight. He has never been handled like this, not even by the tides he calls home, and it is as absurd as it is exhilarating. "Alright, alright, I get it," he grumbles, though his smirk betrays him. "You’ve been hiding those muscles from me, huh?" There is no protest, no attempt to reclaim his dominance—only the rough, teasing warmth of a man who knows when to yield to the unexpected.

- He tests you, just a little, shifting his weight in your arms as if daring you to drop him. But you don’t. Not even close. And something in his grin turns sharper, more wicked, because he loves this—loves being surprised, loves the way you refuse to let him be the only powerful one in the room. "Damn," he chuckles, low and approving, his gaze sweeping over you with something hungry, something possessive. "That’s actually kinda hot."

- When you finally put him down, he doesn’t step back. No, he lingers—crowds close, his massive frame still buzzing with the thrill of it. And then, without warning, his arms are around you, hoisting you off your feet with ease, spinning you in a full, dizzying circle before crushing you against his chest. "Had to return the favor," he murmurs against your ear, voice thick with laughter. "But next time, sweetheart? Give a king some warning before you knock him off his throne."

Hal Jordan (Green Lantern)

- Hal Jordan is weightless before you can even blink. A man accustomed to soaring, to the rush of flight beneath his ribs, he has never once imagined himself being lifted—not without the emerald glow of his will forging the sky beneath his feet. But now, here, in your arms, held effortlessly with no ring, no power beyond the sheer impossible strength of you—Hal is, for the first time in his life, truly speechless.

- "You—hold on, what?" His voice cracks, laughter bubbling out of him in a disbelieving rush. His hands press against your shoulders, his pulse hammering with something electric, something wild. "Oh, no way. No freaking way." His mouth splits into a grin, bright and reckless, his green eyes alight with sheer, giddy amusement. "Are you messing with me? Is this some kind of—?" But no, there’s no trickery, no constructs at play, just you, standing solid beneath him while the world spins wildly out of sync with everything he thought he knew.

- And he loves it. Oh, he loves it. Because Hal Jordan lives for the unexpected, for the thrill of new frontiers, for the rush of facing the impossible head-on. And you—lifting him like he’s nothing, standing there with that knowing smirk—you are a whole new adventure, and he is utterly, shamelessly hooked. "This is amazing," he declares, wrapping his arms around your neck, leaning in close, grinning like a devil who has just been handed the keys to heaven. "You do realize I’m never gonna let you live this down, right?"

- He doesn’t stop talking about it. Ever. The next time the League gathers, he flings an arm around your shoulder and grins at the others. "You guys won’t believe this," he announces, smug and gleeful. "This one? Picked me up like I was a damn sack of potatoes. I mean, look at me! Look at this!" And when the teasing inevitably turns back on him, when Barry is cackling and Diana is arching a knowing brow, Hal just shrugs, utterly unapologetic. "Hey," he says, looping his arms around you once more, flashing you that impossibly charming, infuriatingly smug grin. "What can I say? I’m into it."

Oliver Queen (Green Arrow)

- Oliver Queen has spent his life dancing on the edge of danger, slipping through shadows and fire with the unshakable confidence of a man who always lands on his feet. But this—this was not in his playbook. One moment, he’s standing there, all easy smirks and smooth arrogance, and the next? His feet leave the ground, his entire world tilting as you lift him with effortless strength, cradling him as if he were something delicate. And for the first time in years, Oliver Queen has no immediate comeback.

- "…You’ve got to be kidding me." His voice is flat, stunned, as his hands instinctively grip your shoulders. His green eyes blink once, twice, his mouth parting in absolute disbelief. "Did that just—did you just—?" And then it happens—the breathless chuckle, the slow realization, the sudden shift from shock to pure, unfiltered amusement. A wide, toothy grin breaks across his face, bright as wildfire, and before you know it, he’s laughing, full-bodied and unrestrained. "Oh, I love this," he gasps between chuckles, eyes gleaming. "I love this. Are you seeing this? Someone take a picture—no, wait, don’t, I have a reputation to uphold."

- He throws himself into the bit immediately, draping an arm over his forehead as if he’s some swooning noble. "My hero," he sighs dramatically, peeking at you from beneath his lashes. "How will I ever repay you for saving me from the perils of standing?" His grin is wicked, challenging, but there’s something beneath it—something warm, something fond, something that lingers even as his laughter fades into something quieter, something real.

- Later, when he’s sprawled beside you, still smirking, he nudges your side with his elbow. "You know," he muses, tapping his chin, "I think I might need saving again sometime soon." And then, without warning, he flings himself at you, arms wrapping around your neck with all the grace of a man who knows damn well you’ll catch him. "Quick, sweetheart," he grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Before gravity kicks back in."

John Constantine

- John Constantine has seen many things in his life—things that would shatter the minds of lesser men, things that slither and whisper in the dark, things that crawl beneath the skin of the world and rot it from the inside out. But this? This is something else entirely. One second, he’s standing there, cigarette between his lips, coat draped lazily over his shoulders, and the next? He’s airborne. Lifted. Weightless. And utterly, utterly done with this reality.

- "Bloody hell," he curses, his usual rasp of sarcasm momentarily failing him. His cigarette nearly tumbles from his lips as he grips at your arms, wide-eyed, indignant. "You having a laugh, love?" But you don’t waver, don’t so much as break a sweat, and that realization sends something flickering through his gaze—something wary, something intrigued, something dangerously close to impressed.

- "Well, that’s just embarrassing," he mutters, exhaling smoke through his nose, tilting his head as he eyes you with newfound consideration. "And here I thought I was the one with all the tricks up me sleeve." He shifts in your arms, testing the hold, then smirks, lazy and sharp. "Alright then. Carry on, darling. Just make sure you don’t drop me—I’d hate to spill me pint."

- Later, when he’s sitting with you, fingers tapping against his glass, he glances your way with something softer hidden beneath the bite of his words. "Next time," he murmurs, swirling his drink, "maybe give a bloke a warning before you decide to turn his world upside down, yeah?" But there’s no real protest, no real annoyance. Just the lingering, undeniable truth—he liked it. He liked you. And that, perhaps, is the most dangerous magic of all.

Roy Harper (Arsenal)

- Roy Harper has been thrown, knocked down, and sent flying more times than he can count. But this? This is different. One second, he’s standing there—grinning, cocky, weight shifted lazily onto one hip—and the next, his feet leave the ground. For the first time in a long time, Roy Harper is caught instead of doing the catching. His mouth opens, a sharp inhale of surprise, his arms flailing for balance, but there’s nothing for him to do except accept it. And he absolutely, completely does not know how to handle that.

- "H-hold up—wait—what the hell?" The words tumble from his lips in a startled bark of laughter, his hands instinctively clutching at your shoulders. His blue eyes are wide, scanning your face for some kind of explanation. "You just—how did you—?" His brain stutters over itself, trying to make sense of it. It’s not that he thinks you’re weak—hell no—but he knows how heavy he is, how solidly he’s built, and the fact that you lifted him like he was nothing? That’s something else entirely.

- Then, of course, the reality of it sinks in, and Roy Harper, being Roy Harper, does what he does best—he leans into it. "Damn, babe," he whistles, his signature smirk creeping across his face. "If I’d known you were this strong, I’d have made you carry me around ages ago." He shifts slightly in your arms, testing your grip, then settles in with an exaggerated sigh, draping an arm over his forehead like a damsel in distress. "Guess I don’t need to hit the gym anymore—got myself a personal lifter right here."

- And when you finally put him down? He doesn’t walk away. No, he sticks close, bumping his hip against yours, looking up at you with a mix of mischief and something warmer. "You’re full of surprises," he murmurs, his voice dropping just slightly, almost thoughtful. And then, with a wicked grin, he adds, "So... how do you feel about carrying me to bed, sweetheart?"

Koriand’r (Starfire)

- Koriand’r is no stranger to flight, to weightlessness, to the effortless way she moves through the sky with the sun’s fire at her back. But being lifted by you—by your hands, your strength, your unwavering confidence—is something she has never felt before. And it stuns her. Not out of fear, nor shock, nor disbelief—no, it is something softer, something warmer, something that spreads through her chest like the first rays of dawn.

- "Oh!" The delighted gasp slips from her lips as her arms instinctively wrap around your neck, golden eyes blinking in wide-eyed surprise. For a moment, she simply looks at you, studying your face, as if committing this feeling to memory. And then, as quickly as the surprise came, it melts into sheer, unrestrained joy. "Oh, my love!" she exclaims, her voice a bright melody of laughter, her fingers tangling in your hair as she tilts her head. "This is wonderful!"

- She does not hesitate to make herself comfortable, resting easily in your hold, her warmth seeping into your skin like sunlight. "You are so strong!" she praises, her voice dripping with admiration, her eyes glowing with pure, genuine awe. "Why did you not tell me before? We could have done this so many times!" There is no embarrassment, no hesitation—only the full, boundless embrace of a woman who loves fiercely, who takes nothing for granted, who cherishes this moment for all it is.

- And later, when you place her back down, she does not simply walk away. No, she hovers, her hands still cradling your face, her lips pressing a kiss—soft, lingering, grateful—against your cheek. "I must carry you next," she declares, her voice rich with excitement. "It is only fair!" And then, before you can protest, she sweeps you into her arms, laughing as she soars into the sky, twirling you through the air in a radiant, dizzying dance of love.

Kara Zor-El (Supergirl)

- Kara Zor-El is used to being the strongest person in the room. She has spent her life holding back, careful with every touch, every movement, every breath, always hyper-aware of her own power. But you—lifting her so effortlessly, holding her as if her strength does not matter—it knocks the breath from her lungs in a way no villain, no kryptonite, ever has.

- "Wha—wait, what?" Her voice is higher than usual, startled, her hands gripping your shoulders instinctively as her legs dangle in the air. Her wide, blue eyes blink rapidly, scanning your face for some sort of answer. "You—you picked me up?" She sounds offended for a split second before the reality of it truly hits her, before the corners of her lips twitch and something suspiciously close to a giggle bubbles in her throat. "You picked me up."

- And then she’s laughing—full-bodied, bright, joyful—because it’s so ridiculous, so absurd, and so absolutely wonderful. "Oh my god," she wheezes, her head dropping against your shoulder as she shakes with laughter. "I love this." She leans back, resting easily in your arms, grinning up at you with an expression so full of delight it’s almost blinding. "How are you this strong? Have you been holding out on me? Are you secretly Kryptonian? Oh my god, are we long-lost cousins? Should I call Clark?"

- When you finally put her down, she immediately tests you again—jumping at you with zero warning, wrapping her arms around your neck, trusting you to catch her. And when you do? She beams. "Again," she demands, eyes bright with exhilaration. "Again!" And suddenly, she’s obsessed. She will never let this go. You have doomed yourself to a lifetime of Supergirl dramatically flinging herself into your arms at the most inconvenient moments.

Slade Wilson (Deathstroke)

- Slade Wilson does not like surprises. He is a man who calculates every outcome, who moves with precision, who keeps his world meticulously controlled. He does not get caught off guard. But this—the sudden shift in gravity, the impossible strength behind your touch, the way his feet leave the ground—this is a surprise so profound that, for one fleeting second, the legendary Deathstroke is stunned.

- His single eye narrows sharply, his body tensing instinctively, a thousand battle instincts screaming at him to react. But there is no attack, no enemy—only you, holding him like he is something fragile, something weightless, something you can control without effort. And that—that—is what truly catches him off guard. "Well," he rumbles, his voice dangerously low, "this is new."

- He does not panic. He does not flail or struggle. No, Slade Wilson merely analyzes, his sharp mind whirring as he studies your face, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly—so slowly it’s almost imperceptible—the corners of his lips twitch into something that is almost amusement. "You’ve been keeping secrets," he murmurs, the faintest ghost of a smirk curving his lips. "That’s dangerous."

- When you finally set him down, he does not step away. No, he lingers, his presence a solid, immovable force as he tilts his head, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. And then, just as you think the moment has passed, he reaches out—gripping your wrist with a strength that rivals your own. "My turn," he states simply, before sweeping you up effortlessly, his smirk widening as he watches your expression shift. "Now, let’s see how you handle surprises."

Kent Nelson (Doctor Fate)

- Kent Nelson is a man who has lived through centuries of battles, his mind tethered to the ancient wisdom of Nabu, weighed down by the knowledge of the cosmos. He is not easily shaken. He has fought demons, walked through dimensions where the laws of gravity bend and break, and seen the rise and fall of civilizations. And yet, for all his experience, for all his wisdom, nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the moment when you pick him up like he is no heavier than a feather caught in the wind.

- His body stills immediately, the flowing gold of his cloak pooling in your arms, his gauntleted hands frozen mid-motion as if his mind is struggling to catch up with his reality. He has faced eldritch horrors that defy comprehension, but this—this is something else entirely. "...Interesting." The word is measured, calm, but you can hear the faint edge of bewilderment in his voice. Beneath the helmet of Fate, his expression remains unreadable, but you can feel the way he is processing. Analyzing. Calculating how this is even possible.

- "There are few beings in existence who could accomplish this," he finally murmurs, and the weight of his words is almost laughable. But there is something else beneath them—something softer. Awe. Intrigue. A deep and abiding reverence for the unknown, for the mysteries of the universe that even he has yet to unravel. And right now? You are one of those mysteries. A puzzle he had not anticipated, but one he finds himself eager to solve. His fingers trail along your shoulder, light as a whisper, as if trying to feel the power beneath your skin.

- And then, in a rare moment of levity, the corners of his lips curve into something that is not quite a smile but something like it. "I wonder," he muses, "if Nabu knew about this." There is an unmistakable note of amusement in his voice, and you can tell—tell—that he is already planning the next time he can test your strength again. Doctor Fate may be bound to destiny, but Kent Nelson? Kent Nelson has just discovered something infinitely more interesting than fate itself: you.

Rachel Roth (Raven)

- Raven is used to control, to restraint. She has spent her life mastering herself, holding back, ensuring that nothing—not a single tremor of emotion—escapes without her permission. But control means nothing when you sweep her off her feet without warning. One moment, she is standing in the comfort of your presence, and the next, the world tilts—her balance stolen, gravity defied—and she finds herself cradled in your arms.

- "What—" The word is cut off, her breath catching in her throat, violet eyes wide and blinking as if she has glitched. It is not fear—Raven does not fear you—but it is shock, raw and unfiltered, slipping past the walls she has so carefully constructed. No one lifts her. No one dares. She is Raven, daughter of Trigon, wielder of darkness, but you—you lift her as though she is made of something far lighter, far softer. "...How?" The question is quiet, but laced with something dangerously close to wonder.

- And then, after a long, weighted pause, her lips part again. "Put me down." The words are flat, carefully neutral, but the telltale blush dusting her pale cheeks betrays her. You hold her a moment longer—just long enough to see the way her fingers twitch as if fighting the urge to grab onto you—and then, finally, you comply. The moment her feet touch the ground, she crosses her arms, tilting her chin slightly as if regaining her composure. But the faintest flicker of amusement sparks in her eyes. "You could have warned me."

- But later—later—when she thinks you aren’t looking, you catch her staring at you. Calculating. Considering. And the next time she finds herself in your arms? There is no sharp inhale, no startled demand to be put down. There is only the way her hands rest lightly on your shoulders, the way she allows herself to lean into your warmth. And if, just once, you hear the quietest whisper of "Again." as she buries her face in your neck, well... you say nothing.

Zatanna Zatara

- Zatanna is a performer. She has dazzled crowds, charmed audiences, and bent the very fabric of reality to her will with a flourish of her hands. She is a woman who makes the impossible look effortless. But what she does not expect—what she cannot predict—is you pulling a trick of your own. One moment, she is speaking, hands gesturing mid-sentence, and the next, she is in the air, her words dissolving into a startled gasp as she finds herself in your arms.

- "Well, hello there!" she exclaims, blinking in surprise before laughter spills from her lips, bright and genuine. "Was that part of the show? Because if so, I think I missed my cue." Her dark lashes flutter as she tilts her head, studying you with a slow, appreciative smirk. "And here I thought I was the one full of surprises." The twinkle in her eyes is unmistakable, a magician recognizing another masterful trick.

- "You have to tell me how you did that," she continues, wrapping her arms around your neck in a movement so seamless, so graceful, that it’s as if she was always meant to be there. "Strength spell? Secret training? Or—" she leans in, voice dropping to a playful whisper, "are you actually just a natural-born showstopper?" There is no flustered stammering, no embarrassment—only delight, only curiosity, only the unmistakable thrill of discovering something new.

- When you finally place her back down, she takes a step back, then claps her hands together. "Again." The demand is immediate, playful. "I need to know if it was a fluke! We must test this thoroughly." And just like that, you have created a monster. Zatanna will not let this go. From this day forward, any time she catches you off guard, she will jump at you just to see if you’ll catch her. And when you inevitably do? She’ll flash you that signature grin and purr, "Abracadabra, darling."

Dinah Lance (Black Canary)

- Dinah is a woman who stands her ground. She is not used to being swept off her feet—not figuratively, and certainly not literally. So when you do it, when you lift her with effortless ease, her first instinct is not to gasp, nor to flail. No, her first instinct is to fight. Her muscles tense instinctively, her fists clenching as if ready to counter, before her brain catches up and realizes—oh. Oh.

- "No way," she breathes, blinking as her lips part in pure, undiluted shock. "No. Freaking. Way." She actually leans back in your hold, looking at you with something between disbelief and sheer respect. "You’re kidding." Her voice wavers with something suspiciously close to laughter. "You did not just pick me up." But you did, and it is glorious.

- And then—because she is Dinah Lance—she grins. "Damn," she exhales, whistling low. "Okay, okay, I see you." And just like that, her shock melts into admiration, her blue eyes practically glowing with mischief. "Guess I better step up my training, huh? Can’t have my own girlfriend outmuscling me." She claps your shoulder when you set her down, shaking her head with a smirk. "That was impressive."

- But from that day forward? Dinah challenges you. Random push-up contests, lifting competitions, anything to test just how strong you really are. And if you ever lift her again? She just throws her head back and laughs, wrapping her arms around your neck and whispering, "Alright, babe—you win this round."

Wally West (The Flash)

- Wally West is used to moving faster than the eye can see, faster than thought, faster than the speed of sound. He is kinetic energy made flesh, a man who cannot be caught, cannot be contained. He is motion incarnate. So when you lift him off his feet—effortlessly—the sheer absurdity of it freezes him in place. His body, which has always been a blur of momentum, stops. And for the first time in his life, Wally West is utterly, completely still.

- "Whoa—whoa, whoa, whoa!" His voice cracks mid-exclamation, his arms flailing comically before his brain catches up. "What just happened? Did I trip? Did I pass out? Did I break the time stream again?" His hands immediately pat down his own chest, as if confirming that he is still in his body, that this is, in fact, reality. But the reality is this: you are holding him, carrying him without effort, and that? That should be impossible.

- His blue eyes widen, blinking rapidly as he stares at you in stunned disbelief. "You picked me up?" The words are barely above a whisper, his voice laced with an almost childlike awe. "You—just—picked me up?" And then, all at once, his expression shifts. His lips curl into a slow, mischievous grin, and a spark of amusement ignites in his gaze. "Oh, I see how it is," he drawls, looping his arms around your neck as if settling in. "You like sweeping me off my feet, huh?"

- From that moment forward, he turns it into a game. He will actively try to surprise you, using his speed to dodge your attempts—only to deliberately slow down at the last second so you can catch him anyway. And when you do? He laughs, bright and carefree, resting his forehead against yours with a smirk. "You got me again," he murmurs, voice warm with adoration. "Guess I’m falling for you all over again."

Victor Stone (Cyborg)

- Victor Stone is not easy to move, let alone lift. He is composed of reinforced titanium alloys, advanced cybernetics, a living fusion of man and machine. He knows exactly how much he weighs. He knows the sheer impossibility of what you are attempting. So when you do—when you lift him without struggle, without hesitation—his internal scanners glitch.

- "No way," he mutters, his voice layered with static interference as if his systems are struggling to process. His red cybernetic eye flickers slightly, running rapid recalibrations, recalculating physics itself. "Hold up—nah, this ain’t right." His brow furrows, fingers flexing as he subtly shifts his weight in your arms, testing your grip. But you do not falter. You hold him—steady, sure, unyielding. And for the first time in years, Victor Stone feels weightless.

- "I don’t know whether to be impressed or offended," he finally says, his tone a perfect balance of deadpan and deep amusement. "Like, damn, babe—this whole time, I thought I was the strong one." But beneath the teasing, there is something softer. Curiosity. Admiration. And something he does not voice, but you know he feels—trust. He has spent years reinforcing himself, ensuring that no one could ever carry him again, that he would never be helpless. And yet, in your arms, he does not feel lesser. He feels safe.

- When you finally set him down, he exhales a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. "Alright, alright—you got me," he admits, rolling his shoulders. "But next time? You gotta let me return the favor." And sure enough, he does. He waits for the perfect moment—when you least expect it—before scooping you up effortlessly, his deep laughter echoing as he grins down at you. "Yeah, see? Feels kinda nice, don’t it?"

Garfield Logan (Beast Boy)

- The moment you lift Garfield Logan, his brain short-circuits. His limbs flail wildly, his mouth opens in a silent gasp, and his entire body goes stiff as if he has just been yeeted into an alternate dimension. His emerald green eyes go comically wide, and his next breath comes out in a strangled, "WH—?!"

- "Did you just—?" His voice cracks mid-sentence. "Did you just pick me up?!" His hands instinctively grasp at your shoulders, but his fingers don’t clutch—they cling, as if his entire existence depends on holding on for dear life. "Dude. Babe. Love of my life. My entire world. Are you—are you even real? Because this? This should be illegal."

- And then, the realization fully hits him. The shock melts into something else. Something dangerous. His lips twitch, his expression morphing into pure gremlin energy. "Ohhh, this changes everything," he cackles, his voice practically vibrating with mischief. "You know what this means, right?" He leans in, his green skin practically glowing with delight. "You are now legally responsible for carrying me everywhere."

- And true to his word, he commits. The moment you set him down, he refuses to accept it. He will dramatically throw himself into your arms at every opportunity. Walking? Nope. Lifting weights? Absolutely not. Why would he ever do that when he has you? "Babe, please," he whines, arms outstretched, giving you the biggest, saddest puppy eyes imaginable. "I was made for this life. I belong in your arms. Carry me. Carry me like one of your French girls."

Lobo

- Lobo is not used to being moved—by anyone. He is a Czarnian, a being of unmatched strength and durability, a walking tank with enough raw power to go toe-to-toe with Superman. He has never been overpowered, never been handled. So when you do it—when you lift him with ease—his entire soul leaves his body.

- "What the frag?!" The expletive leaves him in a near roar, his crimson eyes blazing with shock. His first instinct is to fight, muscles tensing, but then he realizes—you’re not even struggling. You are holding him like he weighs nothing. The Main Man. The Last Czarnian. In your arms. And it is so baffling, so completely ridiculous, that he just... stares.

- And then—then—he starts laughing. Howling. "Oh, this is priceless," he chokes out between laughs, his voice booming. "You just—pfft—you just picked up Lobo like he’s a damn kitten?!" His laughter is raucous, unrestrained, but there is no resentment. No wounded pride. If anything, he looks at you with a newfound respect. "Alright, babe, I see how it is. You got guts."

- But Lobo is not one to be one-upped. "Next time, though?" He leans in close, his grin sharp and challenging. "I ain’t goin’ down without a fight. You wanna sweep me off my feet? You better earn it." And true to his word, he tests you after that—deliberately throwing his weight at you, seeing if you can keep up. And when you do? When you always catch him, every single time? He lets out a deep, satisfied chuckle, wraps a massive arm around your waist, and murmurs, "Damn. I really hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

[edits-i-made]

Promptober Day 18

Baking and decorating cookies

Slade Wilson x reader

Word Count: 230

Keep reading

[edits-i-made]

Deathstroke dating an easy-going s/o

My dear, it's just one big adventure, he always says yes to new challenges and opportunities and never turns down any exciting risks. A life with him involves a lot of laughter, a lot of spontaneous actions that lead to amazing stories, and plenty of passion and intensity. In other words, he's a lot of fun when he wants to be.

He'd never turn down the chance to be with someone special like yourself, even if you were a little younger or more relaxed than him. As long as there was mutual respect, trust, and a spark between you both, no age gap or personality difference could come in the way of you having a great time together. Besides, having someone who's more laid-back could be a great complement to his more intense personality, and help to balance things out in a way that makes you both happy.

Well the first thing to note is he's a pro at playing hard to get, so if you think you can come along and wrap him around your little finger, you’re sorely mistaken. He has a reputation for being dark and mysterious, and let me tell you, he's not the type to fall for anyone or anything easily. If you happen to catch his eye, you can expect to be treated to a lavish and luxurious date, complete with fine food and entertainment.

If someone was younger and had a more easy-going personality, he could see himself being the more protective one in the relationship. He might end up feeling like he always needs to make sure you're happy and taken care of, even if you don't realize it. He would try to encourage you to be independent and stand on your own two feet, but he'd also be there to lean on if needed.

He could definitely appreciate someone with a more laid back personality. But, if you were significantly younger than him, he’d be worried that you were in totally different stages of your lives. It’s hard to connect with someone who hasn’t experienced the same things you have, you know?

If his kids were fond of you someone he was attempting to have a relationship with, then that would obviously be a good thing. But he won’t want to rely on their approval to determine whether or not the relationship will succeed. It needs to be a decision he makes himself. Ultimately, he's looking for someone who can understand him and support him through all of life’s challenges. If they get along well with his kids, that’s just a bonus.

If you were someone who likes to have long, in-depth conversations, he would honestly be delighted. He appreciates it when people can open up and talk to him about their thoughts and feelings. However, he wouldn’t want this to be the sole basis for your relationship. He also wants to be able to have fun together and share memorable experiences. In fact, he’d say that’s a crucial component of any successful relationship.

I’ll tell you about the mind games. He likes to keep you on your toes, not knowing what he's thinking or how he’ll react. He likes to keep it interesting. There’s also chemistry. You either have it or you don’t, and when you do, it’s electric. And last but not least is the passion. When he says he's passionate about someone, he means it. He’ll never settle for anything less than 110%.

Dating him is not easy, even he'll admit that he can be a bit of a loner, he doesn't always enjoy the company of others. However, when he's committed to someone, he always gives you his full attention. He may not be the most romantic, but he'll make sure you know how much he cares. He might not always express it, but he feels deeply. He'll always do his best to protect and provide for you, even if it means sacrificing his own needs.

I'm not going to lie, he's a pretty intense person and he's not afraid to show it. He can be ruthless in his work and he has a dark sense of humor. He's not everyone's cup of tea and he knows that, but he also believes that there is someone out there who is able to appreciate who he is and what he has to offer. If you can handle a guy with an edge, then you might just find yourself drawn in by his charms and his intensity. But that's for you to decide…

He has a tendency to push people away or run away when things get too serious or too intimate. He can get caught up in his own self-doubt and insecurities, and that can make it hard to open up and be vulnerable with someone else. However, once he lets his guard down and let someone in, he's 100% committed to making the relationship work. He does his best to be patient, loyal, and passionate, and he always gives it his all.

He is looking for someone who can hold their own and keep up with him. Someone who's smart, capable and independent. Someone who's not afraid to challenge him and push his limits. He's attracted to people who are confident, assertive and know what they want. You may clash at times, but that's part of the fun. As long as there's mutual respect and trust, you'll always work out your issues and come out stronger in the end.

He is a bit of an old-fashioned guy. He likes to take things slow and get to know someone before he gets too serious with you. He's not a fan of casual flings or meaningless encounters, he's more of a relationship guy. That doesn't mean there's no room for the occasional bit of fun, of course, but when it comes down to it, he's looking for something deeper and more meaningful. That means being patient, understanding, and willing to put in the effort.

There's more to being with him than just the surface stuff. He can be a surprisingly thoughtful and caring person. He'll spoil you with gifts, take you out to dinner, and make you feel like the most important person in the world. But also don't get on his bad side, because it won't end well for you (in a non-lethal sense).

Because you don't want to see him when he's angry, because you wouldn't like him when he's angry (just kidding, kind of). But seriously, when he's angry, it's best to give him some space to cool off. If you try to interfere, you'll have his full attention, but it won't be pleasant for you.

He can be a bit of a contradiction at times. On the one hand, he's a man of action and he often lives in the moment. This can make him seem reckless or irresponsible at times. On the other hand, he's a deep thinker, and he has a strong sense of morality and principles. This can make him seem detached or aloof at times. So dating him means having to deal with both sides of his personality and learning how to navigate those different sides. But overall, he is someone who is passionate, intense, and always looking for a challenge.

Dating him can also be exciting and thrilling. He's not afraid to take risks, and he's always keeping things interesting. He's always ready for a new adventure and ready to try something new. He's up for anything, be it traveling the world, trying new things together, or just exploring the city. Life with him is never boring, and it's always filled with excitement and adventure.

He's a bit of a workaholic at times, so it can be hard for him to balance his personal life with his professional life. He can be overly independent and self-sufficient, which can make it difficult for him to rely on you or admit when he needs help. He also has a darker side, a side that he keeps hidden from everyone except his closest confidants. That side is violent, ruthless, and selfish, and it's always a struggle to keep it under control. However, the darkness makes him who he is, and it's the reason why he's such an effective mercenary.

Besides getting caught up in his emotions and insecurities, he's not always the best at showing affection and expressing his feelings, so you might have to get a little creative in that department. He also tends to be a bit of a control freak, and he might struggle to give up control in certain situations. He can be stubborn and set in his ways, but if you stick with him and work with him, he'll do his best to compromise and make your relationship work.

He can be a protective and possessive partner, and he often feels a strong sense of responsibility towards his partners. He wants to make sure you're safe and taken care of, and he can become fiercely protective of you if he feels like you're in danger. However, this doesn't mean he's controlling or possessive - he knows when to back off and give you the space you need. But overall, he's a loyal and dedicated partner who's always there for the person he loves.

[edits-i-made]

Dating Slade Wilson (AKA Deathstroke) Dating Headcanons:

◆He falls for you fast and from afar. He won't say anything at first, but he has his eye on you. Getting to know you and your routine. He just likes the way you look, sound, and act, and would be cheesy and cliche, but somehow smoothe with asking you out.

◆He'd take you out to expensive restaurants and classy theater shows, but he's the type to flirt with the waitress, he's a massive flirt!

◆If your feet hurt from the shoes you're wearing, he'll pick you up and carry you back home in his arms.

◆Daddy vibes? Silver Fox vibes totally!

◆Sometimes you won't hear from him for days or weeks. What he's up to, he won't tell you outright, it's already dangerous enough to take you out in public, but he'll let you guess his job. Again he won't say yes or no, but he purposely let's his body language lean towards a yes or no. You have an idea, but nothing concrete.

◆He wants you safe and to know you're safe. If you wear certain jewelry everyday, there's definitely a secret tracker on them. If worst comes to worse, he wouldn't be opposed to putting one in you somehow...he just would have to figure out how without injuring/harming you.

◆If someone lays eyes on you, checks you out for too long, god forbid feels you up, that person will be missing their eyes or whatever body part touched you the next day. You're his, and he doesn't share.

◆Affection in the form of words is rare. He'll tell you when you look pretty/gorgeous/exquisite/etc. but won't say he loves you. You have to say it, and he loves when you say it. Expect gifts from time to time; bouquets, trinkets, notes, but you'll never know when you're going to get them.

◆Calls you Darling, Doll, and Sweetheart most of the time, very rarely will you hear Baby, if anything it's Baby Darlin or Baby Doll

◆Can and will cook from time to time, will decide how good you've been if you deserve something fancy or not

◆He will slap your ass on the regular and laugh if you give him a dirty or confused look

[edits-i-made]

I was reading through ur recent headcanons and Deathstroke reader reminds me of Tanjiro from demon slayer.

HEAR ME OUT!!

Like u broke his katanas (how fucking dare u) or disarmed him (the nerve 😒) and then next thing u know is this man headbutting the living daylights outta u.

Like yk how Tanjiro is be headbutting demons like it's nothing now imagine reader knocking Bane out with a simple bonk to the noggin.

Jus a thought

-🦦

LITERALLY DEATHSTORKE!READER FR!!!

Imagine your reader's target, and you think you have the one-up on them because you disarmed them, broke their katana, or maybe even made them drop their guns. Next thing you know, you get head-butted with so much force that you're basically unconscious or dead. I really like the idea of the reader having a rock-solid head, like Tanjiro. I can just imagine Jason fighting a greater opponent, thinking he has the one-up on them and finally taking the reader home, his $20 million helmet cracked almost in half because of a headbutt. He's seeing stars, damn, little Robins looking like a cartoon character after getting hit with an anvil.

Also, the reader has no self-preservation at all: “Damn, my arm is broken! Shit, I might just have to use my legs.” Oh damn, my leg's broken! Shit, I might just have to use my skull. It's a serious beatdown, and you end up with a bleeding forehead while the person beside you is basically in a comatose state and having spasms.

What a way to take down your targets or enemies! Ras literally warned his assassins about you because of your stone head. You actually beat up the elderly man for stealing your little brother Respawn, and now he's just a little bit afraid of you. When his assassins come back empty-handed, without the white-haired boy, how many of them are wounded or dead? It's really because of that stone head of yours. Five of them have brain damage, five are dead, but honestly, that's what they get.