#Martha x reader

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N continues driving…

Y/N: Martha? they won’t bother you ever again. I promise.

Martha takes Y/N’s hand…

Martha; don’t let them take me.

Y/N: they won’t ever find us.

Martha: I love you

Y/N: I love you too, my butterfly

For @lifespectator

[dandelionpixels]

martha jones + reader

(platonic)

ask: Hey! Can you do a doctor who story please with Martha Jones, where reader is another companion, and just snapshots of them becoming friends and building between them? Like moments of them supporting each other, bonding, being protective of each other?

- You weren’t sure about going with them, you had a family and things keeping you home. But they both looked at you expectantly and Martha put her hand out and you agreed to go on a trial run. You grab her hand, and Ten grabs your other one, and she pulls the both of you inside.

——————————

The fourth night you spend onboard is the worst. The first three had been full of so much adventure you couldn’t even see straight. But it was a slow afternoon and you were spending too much time alone and you missed your bed and your clothes and everything was so new.

Martha found you in your ‘room’ Ten had given you, sitting on the floor, back against the wall. You looked up, tears threatening to spill, “Please don’t ask if I’m okay.” Martha fake-salutes, “Got it.”

She approaches and sits next to you, “I’m sure you’re okay, you seem brave. But this is a weird trip, and I wouldn’t blame you for being homesick. I miss my parents and my brother a lot.” You look at her and she pulls out her phone to show you her camera roll, “This is them! I saw them last week but time passes kinda slowly here.”

You groan, “This is stupid, I want to be here.” Martha shakes her head, “It’s not stupid. The Doctor is- he’s different. He doesn’t have anything calling him home really. Which just means he can forget that other people do.”

She grabs your hand, “Let’s take you home, just for a night. I promise we won’t leave you.” You wipe your face, excited despite yourself, “Really?” She nods, standing up and offering you a hand. You grin and let her pull you up her, rubbing your eyes clear and letting out a slight laugh, “Good, because I really need a change of clothes.”

It’s easier after that, knowing you can go home whenever you want, and come back.

——————————

A couple days later, you guys are at an unbelievably crowded plaza at some planet a million miles away. The three of you stepped off the Tardis and were immediately swept away by the crowd, losing sight of each other. You only heard Ten shout, “Meet up at the tower!” before losing track of them completely.

You find yourself a slightly secluded corner and look around for the ‘tower’ he mentioned. It’s not as close as you would’ve liked, but you definitely see it. You zip up your jacket and push back into the crowd, forcing your way through. You stop to try a couple samples of something you hope is dyed to be that color.

As you get pretty close to the tower, you realize how big it really is. Definitely something all three of you should be able to find.

With your head on a swivel, you’re spinning around looking for either of your friends when you back straight up into a very tall man(?) and almost trip. You turn around and start apologizing profusely, hoping you’re not too far from the Tardis for the translation to work. He glowers down at you and mutters, “Tourists.”

You offer a sheepish smile and he shoves past you, grumbling under his breath. The shove isn’t gentle, and you trip again. But this time someone grabs you under your arms and sets you back upright. You spin around to see Ten’s grinning face, and just manage to get out, “Doctor! Thank Y-,” before he wraps his arms around you, “I knew you’d find me. Now, have you seen Martha?”

Slightly out of breath, you laugh, “I think you found me. And no, I was hoping you had!” Ten shakes his head, spinning around to look for her. He looks back at you, “Do you think she got lost?” You peer behind him and grin, “Nope.” He cocks his head confusedly and you just laugh as Martha jumps out from behind him. “Boo!” Ten jumps and his face splits into a grin as he grabs her and spins her around.

When you all stop laughing, Ten offers each of you ab arm, “Stick together this time?” The two of you nod eagerly and interlock your arms with his. Linked together, the three of you shove back into the crowd to explore.

——————————

You’re actually home the first you see Ten’s protective tendencies and you start to understand how he could be feared through the galaxy. You’re wanted to stop at home to pick up some stuff and Martha and Ten decided to tag along to see your hometown.

As you walk down your favorite street, you give them a dramatic explanation of the town’s history. You point out various things on the skyline, telling them which buildings are which.

You’re mid laugh when you hear the too-familiar sounds of beer bottles rolling. You groan, and turn around to see a man leaning against a building. Martha makes a face, “Is everything-,” You nod, “It’s fine. It’s Tod. He’s just- he’s the town dipshit.” The man seems unswayed by your words, and waves tauntingly, “I thought you left town.”

Gesturing for the other two to follow you, you try to walk past, “Yeah, I’m only home for today.” Tod whistles, “Shame,” Ten’s expression darkens and he talks under his breath, “Who-,” You wave him off, “He’s no one. Let’s just go.”

As the three of you pass him, Tod whistles suggestively one more time, “Come on, just come home with me and you’ll forget ab-,” You don’t even notice they’re not walking beside you anymore until you spin around to see what stopped Tod’s taunting. Ten is over at the wall, arm up to push Tod up against it. Martha is standing beside him, fists clenches at her side.

You stand there dumbstruck until Ten starts speaking, “I am instructing you to find a single more valuable use of your life. Because if I hear any stories of you harassing the people in this town, and trust me I’ll know, I will come back and I will ruin any chance you have at a life. Capisce?”

Tod doesn’t move. Martha waves a hand in front of his face, “Got it?” He nods quickly. Ten drops his hand and in a second, he’s back to his normal self. He spins around and trots back over to you, grabbing your hand, “Okay?” You nod. Martha grabs your other hand, “We got you.”

——————————

misc.

- One night after a particularly draining couple days, you guys all get back to the Tardis and without thinking about it, pile into Ten’s bed. You curl up close because Ten keeps his room chilly, and you’re all asleep before you can even register where you are. It’s the best sleep you’ve ever had.

- You and Martha take Ten on a self-proclaimed ‘Earth-tour’ where you take him to your favorite restaurants and shops and parks and make him try all sorts of things. He’s overjoyed to have his own human tour guides.

- One week, you have a couple nights with reoccurring nightmares. After three or four, you end up at Ten’s door, embarrassed but too scared to be alone. He’s already up, sitting on his bed with a magnifying glass and a funky rock. It makes you smile but he sets everything down, waving you inside. He pats the bed and when you sit next to him, he gives you a quick hug and offers the magnifying glass over. You take it, and you guys spend the night looking at his collections up close.

- Matching halloween costumes. Ten doesn’t really get it but he’s happy to be included. You and Martha spend days picking out the perfect trio, and end up using the costumes during a historical Halloween event many years in the future.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Nah, because everyone says that Damian speaks Arabic. LIKE, OF COURSE, BUT WHICH DIALECT THOUGH? Lebanese? Palestinian? Yemeni? Saudi? Or perhaps the league has its own accent and dialect? Does he understand the different North African dialects???

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you.

this is def an experimental format!! i got this idea while reading the character letters. in the POV of an unknown interviewer (not reader). reader uses they/them.

🔗⚰️📰🔮❤️‍🩹💉🌪️✂️🍀🩰🔫🪡🤹🧲🦋🐍

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🔗 Ada - "Yes, that's my lover. I would say our relationship falls within the typical scope of that sort of thing. Of course, I believe we share something special, but everyone does when they're in love, don't they?" She covers all her bases in one decisive breath, leaving little room for me to comment.

⚰️ Aesop sits perfectly upright, fingers threaded at his knees. His eyes drift to the side and he seems to begin speaking mid-thought. "I had... cautioned myself not to upset their perception of me," he explains. "But they pried, and stayed, regardless of what they found... For that, I'm grateful."

📰 Alice has kept a sharp eye on me the entire time, but it's at this question that she drops the formalities. "I wasn't aware you would be prying into my personal affairs. Where did you learn that name?" Her frankness pins me in place. For some reason, I end up apologizing.

🔮 Eli can't help a sheepish smile from blooming across his face. "Well, truthfully... I don't use this term lightly, but they might be the love of my life." He has been consistently grounded with his responses, so I'm surprised to catch him flustered, however subtle it is. Personally, I'm touched.

❤️‍🩹 Emil considers for a moment. He doesn't meet me in the eye, instead pinning his gaze on nowhere in particular. A faint smile ghosts his lips. After a while, he answers, simply, "Safe."

💉 Emily's hands are folded neatly on her lap. At the mention of that name, her shoulders tense, but she otherwise maintains her composure. "Someone I trust." Her answer is vague and cautious, but acceptable. I'll try to uncover a deeper meaning behind that 'trust'.

🌪️ Ithaqua - "Mine." He is curt and to the point. Yours? I echo, hoping he'll elaborate. His head tilts to the side, and while I can't see the face behind his mask, a sense of dread suddenly overcomes me. I decide not to press further.

✂️ Jack stretches out his hand of blades, flexing each finger in front of him. I can't deny the cold sweat that drips down my spine just by being in his presence. "May I respond with a question of my own?" he says to me. "Suppose a butterfly loses its way, and winds up caught in a spider's web. Wouldn't you agree that the more it writhes and struggles, the more exhilarated the spider becomes?" I don't have the courage to hear out the rest of this analogy.

🍀 Lucky - "I've always been known as a pretty lucky guy, but the luckiest day of my life was when I met them! I remember it was the—" He drags me down a long-winded story about their life together. I get the idea. Eventually I'm forced to cut him off.

🩰 Margaretha twirls a curl of hair, a meek blush dusting her cheeks. "Have you ever been in love before? You're never prepared for the magic of it all. I feel a new rush with them everyday. I know, realistically, all good things come to an end, so I tried to remind myself to expect the worst, but they've proven over and over that... I'll never feel safer than in their arms." After rambling for some time, a look of surprise flashes across her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh, but I've just never met someone who feels so much like true love before."

🔫 Martha doesn't miss a beat. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name." I look down to double-check the name written in her file. Her watchful gaze follows my line of sight. Are you sure? I try. "Must've been some confusion somewhere," she insists. The next day, I realize all my files on her and (Y/N) have gone missing.

🪡 Matthias - "Wh-What?" he starts, but keeps going before I can repeat the question. "Oh, uh, an ally, I guess." Well, I gathered that much. When I press for more details, his head sinks low, fingers grasping at the armrest. "I don't know what they saw in me. Was it out of pity?"

🤹 Mike's eyes light up and he blinds me with a contagious smile. "(Y/N)'s a sneaky one, and I mean it—they've got me under the trickiest spell of all. Guess what happens every time I think about them?" Egged on by his grin, I take the bait. You get lovesick? I guess. Suddenly, he tosses a handful of butterfly glitter in my face. "I get butterflies!" Very funny, I sigh, exasperated with these carnies. Why did he have that on hand in the first place?

🧲 Norton leans back in his chair, scowling. "What's that got to do with anything?" He snaps a couple times in my face, urging me to "stay on topic." It's hard to say if this question struck a nerve, as he's been uncooperative for most of this interview, but my suspicions point me to prod further. After all, it'd have been much easier if he just said he didn't know them.

🦋 Vera's face contorts into a leery, hostile glower. "Why do you ask that?" Before I can say anything to mitigate the rising tension, she catches herself, and her expression softens slightly. "I'm sorry. That's... someone quite dear to me, so your question took me by surprise."

🐍 Yidhra's follower goes pale, clearly unnerved. "She won't answer that," she tells me through shallow breaths. "Th-This isn't my place to say, but I'd advise you not to involve yourself with that person." As if on cue, I get a sensation I can only describe as a hand slowly wrapping around my neck. It disappears when I move to scratch it. Must've been my imagination.

Part 2

[yandereforme]

Yan Batfam x Singer! Single mom! Martha lookalike! Reader

( I know it’s a lot but they are all important to the plot)

Part 1:Beginnings and first encounters

You are Bruce’s bio daughter. Your mom, who didn’t know who the father of her kid was, gave you up to your aunt to be raised by them, but you didn’t know until your adoptive parent’s funeral that you weren’t their biological daughter. You had twins recently with a shitty ex of yours who you broke up with not long before the funeral after he tried to hurt your daughter for crying.

After the funeral, where you learn that your bio mom wasn’t sure who your bio dad was, but that she knew he lived in Gotham, you decide to move to Gotham. In part due to your biological father, in part due to avoiding your ex(who had refused to be listed on the birth certificate since you gave birth during a break in your relationship), and in part due to the basically free house your bio mom had owned in Gotham. So, you moved with the twins to an abandoned, slightly dilapidated house just outside of Crime Alley, and got yourself to work.

You got a job at the Ice berg Lounge, in part due to there being an opening, and in part due to you helping two women who worked there who apparently worked right under Mr. Cobblepot?

You quickly got a reputation as a singer with a knack for knowing just what song fit a customer. It was a bit of a game between you and the other workers, where they would point out a person and you would sing a song based on their vibes. You always managed your hit home with your songs, leading to you becoming one of the most popular performers at the Iceberg Lounge.

That’s what leads to Red Hood coming in one night. He had heard about you from a few of his men, and wanted to know what all the hype was about.(This take place after the Red Hood arc, where he has already been established as a crime boss and the Batfamily know his identity, but he hasn’t made up with any of them)

Cobblepot asked you to sing a song for Red, and pointed him out to you. You knew who he was, you were just outside his area, and honestly you kind of liked what he was doing for the community, so you were willing to preform, even offering to sing two songs about him(something you had only done a few times with regulars who you really liked.

Jason accepted. You started off with You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid by The Offspring. You didn’t usually do a lot of rock songs, but that song resonated with you when you looked at him.(Jason loved the song. It was angry but fighting music, and your voice was really good. He understood why so many of his men praised your music(he just couldn’t understand why you looked so familiar))

The next song was different. You didn’t usually sing two songs, and the few times you did, people tended to vary reactions, from shock to anger to accidentally setting off a break down. But you had promised. You just hoped Red Hood wouldn’t hate you for the next song(you didn’t understand why it felt so right to sing the next song, when it didn’t seem like a Red Hood song, but you didn’t want to question it now.)

Then, you sang Good for you by Olivia Rodrigo, and everyone froze. (Jason didn’t know how you knew this anger of his. How did you know how he felt about Bruce replacing him? How did you know?) No one understood the song, especially when the recipient was a murderous crime boss, but they didn’t interrupt.

After you finished the song, you looked at Red Hood. He was sitting ramrod straight. You couldn’t see his face, but his posture was very tense. Slowly, he stood up, and walked to the stage. You didn’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t for him to drop $200 in your tip jar, and leave without a word.(Jason’s head was spinning. The green wasn’t invading, but it surrounded the edges of his vision. He needed to leave. He had to come back again, probably as a civilian, but for now, he needed to leave.)

After that, you got even more visitors, and a raise in your salary. You even made a new friend, Jason, and you were even starting to consider sending your kids to daycare instead of a baby sitter(you wouldn’t do that. You liked your arrangement with the street kids, where you would pay them in food and cash to watch your kids during the day. You liked taking care of them, but they needed to feel like they were doing stuff for you, so you didn’t make a fuss.)

Then, the Joker got out of Arkham.

Edit: I hope you guys enjoy this. This will probably be a series. I’ve had this idea for ages but never got around to it before now. This isn’t related to my Bruce or Jason series, which I will do, but I just wanted to finally put the on here. Please comment any suggestions for the kids names, or what you want to see next!

[magiccath]

The Doctor's Coat

Tenth Doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which you're not that cold, you just like wearing the Doctor's coat (ft. a bit of Martha) (Based on a request from @internet-stranger-says-hi)

As always, it was supposed to be a relaxing trip. A normal weekend getaway in a fancy hotel. The Doctor felt a bit bad about all the running you had been doing, so he wanted to treat you and Martha. 

But, trouble followed the Doctor, that much you knew. So, frankly, you weren’t that surprised when you ended up running around the massive building fighting off homicidal aliens. At this point, it was just another day for you. As annoying as it could be at times, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Doctor gripped your hand tightly in his as you ran, his fingers firmly intertwined with yours. He was very prone to grabbing your hand at the slightest suggestion of danger, but you seemed oblivious to this. Surely he must do that with everyone, right?

“I’ll hold them off!” Martha called from behind you, going down a separate hall from you and the Doctor. You knew she could more than handle herself, but you still worried. You didn’t like it much when the three of you separated. The Doctor, on the other hand, was more worried about getting you to safety. You were always his first priority. 

He turned a corner sharply, almost ramming into the wall. His dirty old Converse thudded against the garishly patterned carpet as he rushed for the hotel’s kitchen. You struggled to keep up with him, desperately trying not to trip over yourself. 

The Doctor led you through the winding halls at a surprising speed, the walls rushing by in a blur. You weren’t sure where you were, or where you were going. The only thing you did know was the Doctor would get you to safety. He always did.

He dashed through the closest door, casting worried glances over his shoulder. In his rush, he didn’t pay much attention to where you were going. He guided the two of you into a room without really looking inside and shut the door behind him. You were too busy catching your breath to pay much attention either.

“We should be safe in here,” he said reassuringly, peering out of the small window on the door. He still seemed entirely oblivious to your surroundings. 

Your breathing started to steady and you looked around the room. A frost covered the walls and the metal racks, small crystalline structures stuck to anything they could latch onto.

“You put us in a freezer,” you pointed out, starting to feel the chill on your skin. It wasn’t unbearable, just noticeable. 

The Doctor looked around, just now realizing where the two of you had ended up. 

“Well…” he winced, peeking back out again. The kitchen appeared to be empty. 

“We should probably be safe to make a run for it,” he suggested, pacing back and forth. “We could reconvene with Martha and get out of here?” 

“Let’s,” you shivered, the cold starting to penetrate your sweater. The sooner you could get out of here the better.

The Doctor moved to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He yanked it repeatedly and even tried kicking it. He pulled the Sonic Screwdriver out, buzzing around the door. Slowly, he turned back to look at you with a nervous smile.

You’d seen that look many times before. You’d seen it when he left you stranded on Mars on accident, when he crashed the TARDIS into the side of your Grandparent’s house, and when he neglected to tell you he replaced the ship’s toilet with a DIY chemistry lab.

“You locked us in here,” you gasped, throwing your hands up in frustration. 

“I’m sorry,” he winced. You could see on his face how much it upset him. As frustrating as the situation was, you couldn’t bring yourself to get mad at him. You never did, no matter how bad he messed things up.

“It’s ok,” you whispered, shuffling your feet. You could handle a bit of cold, it’s not like the Doctor did it on purpose anyway. 

“Here,” the Doctor said, slipping his coat off, “take this, it should help keep you warm.” 

“What about you?” 

“I don’t get cold,” the Doctor shrugged, pushing the coat into your arms. You stared at it for a moment, surprised to even be holding it. The Doctor’s coat was one of his most prized possessions, even if something just like it could be found in just about every charity shop across London. 

Slowly, you slid your arms through the coat, shrugging it on. The fabric was a well-loved cotton, softened from years of wear and wash. Strangely, it was very warm.

“Better?” The Doctor asked, worried. You wrapped the coat tightly around yourself and smiled, nodding your agreement. 

This was much better, and not because you were a little cold. The coat smelled like the Doctor - exactly like the Doctor. It felt like being hugged by him, and you relished the feeling. You burrowed further into the jacket, closing your eyes blissfully. You could stay like this forever.

“Hey,” The Doctor put his hands on your shoulders, “don’t fall asleep on me,” he urged, figuring that you were much colder than you were. 

“Martha should be around soon and she’ll get us out, I promise,” he reassured, rubbing his hands up and down on your arms to create friction. You peered out from under his coat to look him in the eye. His face was riddled with anxiety, his big brown puppy dog eyes staring at you with worry. 

You blushed a deep red, finding his concern adorable. You really were fine, especially now that you had a coat to keep you toasty. Even if you were cold, you wouldn’t really mind it considering the circumstances. You were wrapped up in the Doctor’s coat as he rubbed your arms lovingly - it was like a dream.

The Doctor misread your blush and assumed that the cold was flushing your face. He moved his hands up to your face, cradling it. He knew his hands weren’t exactly warm, but maybe the contact could keep the cold out. His thumbs rubbed soft, concentric circles into your skin. He traced the words of a language only he knew into your skin, trying anything to comfort you.

“I’ll get you out, it will be ok,” he reassured again. He moved his hands to wrap the coat tighter around your body, pulling the collar up to shield the lower part of your face. “Hang in there for me,” he urged, eyes still pained with anxiety.

You let out a soft shiver, the constant contact making you incredibly flustered. Again, the Doctor misread your responses to his affections. His mind was running a thousand miles an hour, trying to figure out a way to warm you up. If he lost you to frostbite due to his own obliviousness he would never forgive himself.

“Shh,” he hushed, even though you hadn’t said anything. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms again, desperately trying to warm you up. 

“I’m so sorry that I got you into this situation,” he sighed, still rubbing you gently. 

You shook your head quickly, “s’alright.” You would never admit it to him, but you were really enjoying this. Maybe being trapped in a freezer wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

“No,” The Doctor shook his head, “it’s really no-”

Suddenly, the door to the freezer opened and Martha popped her head in. “What on Earth are you two doing in here?” She asked, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. The Doctor was known to do weird things, but this had to be high up on the list of strange hiding places. 

“Martha!” The Doctor cried, overjoyed to see her. “Hurry, we need to get them out of here,” he urged, already guiding you out of the freezer. He practically pushed you out, his hands never leaving your body.

“Please check on them, they’re freezing,” he urged, guiding you to a seat. You were perfectly capable of directing yourself, but the Doctor seemed adamant on it. He was babbling incoherently, waving his hands about in distress.

“How long were you in there?” Martha asked, she had split from you less than an hour ago. Surely you couldn’t have caught frostbite in that little time. She leaned down in front of you, her fingers resting against your neck to check your pulse.

“10, maybe 15 minutes?” The Doctor started wringing his hands anxiously. 

After taking your pulse she placed both hands on your face, gauging the temperature of your skin. You were chilly, but nowhere near cold enough to warrant the Doctor’s distress. 

“They’re fine,” Martha shrugged. 

“Are you sure? Check again,” the Doctor begged, his eyes still seeping with anxiety. 

Martha sighed exasperatedly, “I’m sure.” 

Behind her, you turned a deep scarlet. It was embarrassing to watch the whole interaction, but you were too flustered to admit that you really just liked wearing the Doctor’s coat. It was easier to let them argue than admit you had a crush.

“Look!” The Doctor cried, pointing at you, “They’re all flushed! Something has to be wrong.” He fiddled anxiously, bouncing slightly on his feet. Looking at him you’d think you had grown a second head or something terrifying. 

Martha looked over at you, her eyebrows furrowed. You avoided her gaze, picking at your hands absentmindedly in your lap. She quickly picked up on what was happening and rolled her eyes.

“Seriously?” She whispered to you sharply. You pursed your lips, shrugging slightly in response. 

“What’s going on? Is everything ok?” The Doctor asked, growing more worried by the minute. 

“Please tell him, this is getting ridiculous,” Martha groaned, her eyes pleading with you. There was only so much of this she could put up with.

“Tell me what?” The Doctor was hovering now, fiddling anxiously, “is everything alright, what’s wrong?” he asked you this time, moving closer to you. 

“I’m gonna give you a minute,” Martha said, her eyes darting between the two of you. You tried to open your mouth to protest but she was already slipping out the door, leaving you alone with the Doctor.

He crouched before you, his hands resting on your knees, “what’s wrong?” He asked, looking up at you. You could tell he was holding his anxiety back, trying not to let his own worries affect you.

“I’m fine,” you blushed, looking down at the floor. You really didn’t want to admit your feelings for the Doctor, especially like this. You supposed you didn’t have much else of a choice, Martha had made sure of that.

“I-I just,” you whispered, not really wanting the Doctor to hear you, “liked wearing your coat.” 

“You what?” the Doctor gasped, surprised. He wasn’t entirely sure he had heard you right.

“It smells like you,” you mumbled the justification more to yourself than him. 

“You’re not sick?” He asked, clearly more worried about your health than your confession. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” you let out a small chuckle, “nothing to worry about here.” 

“You’re not cold?” 

You shook your head, you were far from cold now. In fact, the anxiety was making you sweat.

“You just liked wearing my coat?” He clarified eyebrows furrowed as his brain struggled to keep up. Could this mean you liked him? He tried not to get his hopes too high.

Embarrassed, you nodded your head meekly. God, this was awful. You wanted nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Is that so?” He laughed, a cocky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Oh shush,” you scolded, hitting his arm lightly. Of course, he found this amusing.

He smiled softly at you, his eyes softening as he realized you were going to be ok. Better than ok. He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your cheek in his soft hand.

“Are you trying to say you have a crush on me?” He smiled inquisitively. 

Your eyes widened, your face turning the deepest red it had been since getting into the freezer. Perhaps he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

“Maybe,” you whispered, it’s not like you could really hide it anymore. The Doctor’s face immediately lit up, a large grin taking over his entire face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you frowned, confused by his sudden excitement. He should be upset, kicking you out of the TARDIS, or making excuses for reasons he couldn’t love you back. Instead, he was still sitting there looking at you with that stupid grin. It was impossible to fight back the small smile tugging at your lips when he was looking at you like that. 

“What if I told you I had a crush on you too?” He whispered mischievously, his eyes twinkling with excitement. 

You stiffened, shocked by his admission. “If you’re having a joke I’m gonna throw you into an exploding star.” 

The Doctor chuckled, the sound dancing around the room. “No, I’m not.” 

“You really fancy me?” 

“How could I not?” He hummed, stroking your cheek gently. You were stunning. You were always stunning to him, no matter the conditions.

The Doctor leaned closer to you, hoving slightly over your lips. His warm breath fanned your face, sending shivers down your spine. He stayed there for a moment, giving you plenty of time to pull back. When you didn’t, he brought his lips gently into yours. 

He kissed you like you were his entire world, his hand still holding your face. He was soft and gentle, but incredibly loving. You melted against him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him closer to you.

Martha silently poked her head in the door to check on you, just in case. She sighed when she saw the two of you in a tight embrace, closing the door to go handle the alien invasion on her own. 

[blindmagdalena]

The Athenaeum Portrait

18+ 4.7k homelander x f!reader. established relationship, first time having sex, reader has a complicated relationship with sex, abuse of superpowers for cunnilingus, overstimulation, penetrative sex, lite sublander, praise kink, slight coercion, unhealthy dynamics, implied codependency, implied verbal abuse.

Your relationship with Homelander is a delicious, precarious thing. Like a perfectly ripe peach, its closeness to something bruised and rotten makes it all the sweeter.

AO3 link. inspired by this anonymous prompt. thank you! 🖤

Homelander did not enter your life so much as he bull-rushed into it, a living whirlwind that uprooted you and hurled you into a familiar yet strange new world as unceremoniously as the tornado that took Dorothy to Oz. 

Vought Tower sparkles just as vibrant as the Emerald City, and provides no less surreal of a backdrop to your new life. Homelander's penthouse is a bizarre caricature of personhood, loaded with hundreds of years of American history. It would ring false, just another aspect of his brand, if not for the fact he can—and often does—regale you with a laundry list of historical facts on any piece in the collection.

This is how you find out that Gilbert Stuart is one of his favorite painters. When you ask Homelander why that is, he shrugs. "He painted over a thousand portraits, and he's most famous for the one he didn't finish. Ironic, huh?"

The Athenaeum Portrait, it's called. An unfinished portrait of George Washington that was replicated and sold by Stuart over a hundred times before his death.

The original was never completed.

The more time you spend in proximity to him, the more you start to understand why the piece resonates with him. You see replicas of him sold throughout the world on a daily basis, his face synonymous with Vought’s branding. There is a completeness to the commercial image of Homelander, America’s wholesome hero, but behind closed doors, you see his frayed and unfinished edges.

You feel his desperation for someone who will complete him in the way he touches you. He takes hold of your hands and brings them to the places where he is sketched at best, a ready and yielding canvas for your fingers. He likes when you stroke his hair, and sometimes touching his face turns his eyes glassy. There is a woundedness to the way he seeks your love, like he’s never entirely sure whether to expect the carrot or the stick.

You’ve never raised the stick to him, but it’s clear that those who came before you certainly did. It’s difficult to imagine that a man as powerful as him has been hurt like this, but he is a painfully obvious man at times, wearing his emotions like the scars his impervious body will never show.

When you lie down to read on the couch, he’s drawn to you like a magnet. He has no problem making space for himself within your bubble, sprawling on top of you, snaking his arms around your middle, his head settled on your sternum. You smile to yourself and rest your book on the top of his head as you read.

He gives a small grunt of complaint, but you’re fairly certain he’s smiling, too.

For every night of domestic bliss, so too are there sudden perils. Unexplained nights of absence, wild mood swings, fits of paranoia. He fights as many battles in his own mind as he does on the city streets and on foreign soil, a living weapon used to the fullest extent by Vought and the American government.

It feels like you lose him temporarily, like he becomes someone else. He paces around you like a caged tiger with his teeth bared, daring you to give him a reason to bite. You never do, and he never does, but sometimes you worry just how close of a call it was.

Occasionally he comes to you spattered in muck and bloody viscera. On these nights, he can’t seem to comprehend your presence, your gentleness, your love. It’s as if these concepts ring false in the wake of everything he has been made to endure. It’s suspicious to him that you would love something so repulsive, so opposite of everything Vought has polished his image into being.

He screams at you for this, takes you by the shoulders and demands you explain what he cannot understand, but you can’t. You can’t explain something that you don’t always understand.

Your relationship with Homelander is a delicious, precarious thing. Like a perfectly ripe peach, its closeness to something bruised and rotten makes it all the sweeter.

When things are good, they’re very good. He’s sweet, a romantic who learned everything he knows about romance from jewelry ads and Valentine’s Day specials. He brings you roses on random days of the week and adores showering you in gifts, especially the kind you wear. He tends to gravitate towards soft, velvety fabrics for your clothes because he likes the feel of them. He buys you perfumes that smell like vanilla and pink pepper. He likes fresh, warm scents. Nothing too floral or artificial.

Most importantly, he likes you. There’s rarely a day that the two of you don’t make each other laugh. His sense of humor is strange, but in the same way that yours is. Sometimes it feels like you’re two aliens creating a brand new language that only the two of you will ever know. The more time you spend together, the less the people outside of your relationship seem to understand you.

Not that it matters much. You spend the majority of your time with him these days, consumed by the excitement of this thrilling new thing the two of you share. Homelander is profoundly tactile, always needing to feel or touch you in some way. He loves to kiss you, content to make out languidly with you until your lips start to chap.

You’ve learned to keep lip balm on hand at all times.

Inevitably though, his hunger for intimacy outgrows quaint touches and kisses. You’re cuddled up together on his couch, only half paying attention to the movie playing. Homelander is nuzzling at your neck, pressing warm, wet kisses to it while his gloved hand slips beneath your shirt, fondling your breast through your bra. There’s something endearingly innocent about it, like a fumbling teenager piloting the body of a man in his forties.

Sex is nice enough. You have nothing against the act, but you’ve never felt as though you get as much out of it as the partners you’ve had in the past. Homelander’s touch feels good to you because it’s his, and because you know he wants to make you feel good in his enjoyment of you. You reciprocate by pushing your fingers into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, eliciting a sweet, rumbling moan from him against your neck.

“Want you,” he mumbles fervently against your skin, his need so palpable it gives you goosebumps. “Can I have you?”

You knew this was coming. It’s not that you don’t want to fuck him, it’s that he’s not the only one whose portrait feels incomplete. You’re a fully grown adult, and never in your life have you managed to pleasure yourself to completion. In your youth, you’d just faked it for partners once you’d had your fill. With Homelander, you’re not even sure that would work. You’re not sure you would want it to.

He’s got a thing about lies, even little white ones.

You swallow and softly say, “Yes.” Ultimately, you do want him to have you. You just hope that what he gets doesn’t disappoint him.

He smiles into the crook of your neck, withdrawing his hand from beneath your shirt. He kisses you as he gathers you effortlessly up into his arms, carrying you to his bedroom. His strength is another aspect of why sex has made you nervous: the internet is full of horror stories of accidental sexual mutilation occurring between humans and supes. 

However, Homelander seems hyper aware of your fragility versus his power. He’s never harmed you. It seems to come naturally to him after years and years of navigating a world not made to withstand him. In the same way you’re capable of handling an egg without shattering it, he has learned how to hold you.

He lays you down on the bed, and then begins the ritual of shedding his signature suit, starting with his belt. You recline, content to watch him, but your gaze seems to make him uncharacteristically self conscious. You’ve never seen him without his suit before, another little quirk that you’ve largely just accepted to this point.

“Aren’t you gonna…” He gestures vaguely to you, expecting you to undress as well.

“Just enjoying the show,” you say coyly, attempting to lighten up a bit of the tension in his expression.

It doesn’t work. The furrow of his brows deepens slightly. “Ah, well. Y’know, the suit, they uh, pad it up some, so don’t–it’s different,” he says, fumbling over his words.

Your expression softens. “I know. It’s okay. I’m excited to see you,” you say, sitting up. In solidarity, you pull your shirt off first, and then wiggle out of your pants, kicking them off the bed. Homelander smiles at this, and works his pants off the rest of the way, kicking off his boots as well, leaving behind just a pair of dark red briefs. You sit up on your knees to help him with the fastenings of his suit top, which he seems to be the most apprehensive about.

To distract him from it, you kiss him. He melts eagerly into the press of your lips, slipping his tongue between yours with that same hunger to taste, to feel, to have. He’s bolder now that you’re no longer playing the part of spectator, shrugging his top from his shoulders and letting it fall with a surprisingly heavy thud to the floor. His ungloved hands skim up your sides, warm and positively thrumming with excitement.

You explore him as well, mapping out the slopes of his body that have previously been hidden from you. He’s leaner, more manageable than the ridiculous bulk of the suit. Part of you had always assumed there was a level of exaggeration in the chiseled, over the top musculature of the suit, but his build is still more slender than you expected. Regardless, it does nothing to detract from his raw strength as he catches you by the backs of your thighs and flips you onto your back, startling out a giddy bark of laughter from you.

He grins down at you, descending to catch you in another slow, consuming kiss, making space for himself between your legs. His lips trail from yours to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck. He turns his head to messily suck two fingers into his mouth, and then slips his hand down the front of your underwear. He finds your clit with surprising precision–someone definitely taught him that–and begins to rub slow figure-eights over it, as gentle as he is deft. It does feel good, so you close your eyes and try to simply enjoy it for what it is, for the touch and warmth and intimacy of it all.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t come. This is still nice. You can feel his desire for you in the heat of his body, in the hot huffs of his breath wafting across your skin between kisses. He eventually slips a single finger inside you, patiently working you open. You drag your nails up his back and into his hair, breathing deeply, willing your mind to pause and let you experience this pleasantry in the same way you would a hot bath or a nice massage.

However, no matter how you try, the looming matter of expectation weighs heavily on your mind. You’ve never been comfortable with the attention being solely on your pleasure: it feels like dangling a treat in front of someone on a treadmill. They’re running for something they’ll never reach.

“Hey,” Homelander calls quietly, yanking you from your mental downward spiral. You see him above you, no longer tucked against you, working your skin with his lips and teeth. His brows are slightly furrowed. “You’re quiet. Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” you exhale, the question immediately putting a wash of guilt through you. “No, not at all, feels good. I’m just really in my head right now,” you admit, cupping either side of his face. “You’re doing great, I’m ready. I want you inside me,” you tell him in a breathless flurry, pulling him down into a kiss. 

He does relax at that, sinking in against you for a moment before lifting himself back up. He shucks his underwear down and then pulls yours off as well, lifting both of your legs over his shoulder as he slips the panties completely off of you. While he does that, you unclasp and toss your bra aside. He turns his head to kiss the side of your leg before he lowers them both back down around his waist, lowering himself back down atop you.

The thick head of his cock presses wetly to your cunt, sliding up and down, spreading his slick and yours. You can already feel his excitement in the tension of his body, his shoulders drawn tight beneath your hands. You knead them, rolling your palms against steel-woven muscle. “That’s it,” you encourage, working to relax the both of you. “Nice and slow, mmm… Fuck, you’re big,” you say, biting your lip as he spreads you around the girth of his cock.

“You’re tight,” he moans in response, already sounding frayed. He moves his hips in slow, slightly jerky motions–clearly holding back for your comfort–until he finally bottoms out, keening so sweetly in your ear you can’t help but stroke his hair, hushing him.

“Good, good, feel so good in me,” you coo, the words a familiar script. He shudders for the praise, kissing down your chest, mouthing hungrily at your breast, the same he’d been fondling earlier. His mouth is hot and wet, perfectly pleasant as he sucks at your nipple, moaning into your skin. You cradle his head in both hands, adjusting to the onslaught of sensation. 

It’s been awhile since anyone fucked you. The feel of it is just as alien as you remember, but you’re distracted by the persistent swirl of his tongue alternating with the pull of his lips as he lavishes attention on one breast, and then the other. With his bare skin against yours, you’re more aware than ever of the superhuman frequency of his body, how he seems to literally vibrate with restraint and eagerness in equal measure. It’s like there is a line of semi trucks driving by you, the bed itself buzzing with it.

“You’re amazing,” you marvel quietly, tightening your legs on either side of him to feel that preternatural hum against even more of your skin, tingling your inner thighs. “You feel amazing.”

He grunts out a needy, strained noise at that, followed by a jagged thrust deep into you. To your surprise, you realize then that he’s coming apart, dull nails biting crescent marks into your skin, clutching you as tightly as he dare allow himself. You thought that maybe his powers would give him superhuman stamina as well, that he might fuck you raw before he came, but if the shaky cadence of his thrusts are any indication, he’s already holding himself back.

“I can feel how bad you wanna come,” you murmur, carding your fingers through his hair. “Mm? You can, you can come in me,” you say, feeling his whole body shiver from your words. You clench, tightening up around his cock so suddenly that it makes him gasp.

“Fffuck, fuck, oh god, y’can’t–fucking Christ, you–mmm, fuck!” He rasps, choking on his own breath as he comes, burying his face between your breasts at the same time he slams in deep, fading into tight, erotic little whimpers as he loses himself to the rhythmic clench of your cunt. You do it purposefully, milking him of his orgasm, enamored with how thoroughly you’ve reduced a demigod to these simpering noises. The flood of come is hot inside you, already dripping out where your bodies are connected.

All that, and he still never lost control. You doubt his fingerprints will even bruise, though you find a part of yourself wishing they would. 

Homelander comes down gradually from his high, limp against you, breathing shallowly against your skin. He looks dazed, eyes only half open. It’s cute, which isn’t a word you necessarily would have ever thought to associate with The Homelander before you started dating him. When he looks up at you, you smile, already more satisfied than you’ve been with sex in your life.

“That was playing dirty,” he tells you, voice a touch fried.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” you respond simply, watching as he nuzzles into your hand.

He rumbles out a low hum, kissing your palm. “Which means it’s my turn to make you feel good,” he says, moving to slide out of your hands. You stop him, taking hold of his arm.

“You don’t need to,” you assure him, tugging gently to lure him back up. “Really. That felt incredible.”

He frowns, looking every bit like a confused puppy. “But you didn’t come.”

“I know,” you say, that ball of tightness coiling back up in your gut. “It’s okay.”

He exhales an incredulous little scoff. “What kind of boyfriend d’you take me for? I’m gonna make you come,” he says, shrugging off your hand as he moves down your body, sliding out of you.

“Homelander,” you implore, reaching out for him. “Really, it’s okay, you don’t need to–”

“What, you don’t think I can?” He asks. You can see the challenge in his eyes, but you also recognize the potential of a stinging wound to his ego in those words.

You sigh, folding your arm over your eyes as you lay your head back. “It’s not that I don’t think you specifically can, I’m… Eugh.” You take a deep breath. “It’s not something that I do. I can’t. I’ve never been able to,” you say to the darkness of your arm, fingers rolling apprehensively. “And I don’t want you to take this as some kind of challenge, and then be upset when it doesn’t happen,” you say, speaking from very specific experience.

The space between you is silent for long enough that your curiosity beats out your apprehension, and you lower your arm. Homelander stares at you from between your legs, expression pinched, eyes flickering slightly, as if he’s solving the world’s most complicated puzzle in his brain. His eyes narrow softly, his bewilderment showing.

“Like… You haven’t come… Ever?”

“Ever,” you confirm. “It’s not that I haven’t tried, there’s just something broken.”

He processes that a moment longer. “But all of this still felt good, at least… Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course it did, I liked it. You really do feel amazing,” you assure him, lest he think you were lying with what you said earlier. “It just never finishes for me. That’s all.”

“Alright,” he says, the gears in his brain clearly turning. “So. Sure, no crossing the finish line, but I can still, y’know. Take you for a cruise? A little joyride?” He asks, making you laugh softly.

He really is cute. Sweeter than one might expect, too.

“A joyride?” You echo with a quirk of your brow, smiling.

He smiles, too. “Yeah. No destination, just a little drive.”

“I can do a little drive,” you say, feeling that knot of tension in your gut begin to untangle itself.

“Good,” he purrs, shouldering down between your legs. “Gimme that pillow,” he says, which you promptly do. He slides it under your ass, adjusting your hips until the angle is just right. He smooths his hands up and down the outsides of your thighs, glancing up at you. “Now, you just sit back and relax. Close your eyes, and imagine some smooth jazz.”

“I hate jazz,” you laugh.

He laughs as well, breath rolling over your wet pussy in hot waves. “Well, fuck, imagine something you do like.”

Relaxing back against the bed, you exhale a deep breath, closing your eyes. The first wet, hot slide of his tongue makes you jump a little. He responds by gripping your thighs and pinning you still, which does admittedly run a little thrill up your spine. You test his grip by pushing against it, and when that fails, pulling away, but neither grant you any leeway.

“Squirming already?” He asks between drags of his tongue.

“I like feeling your strength,” you say through a pleased little smile.

He gives an intrigued hum at that and spreads your legs wider, forcing them down against the bed. To even your surprise, that pushes a small, thin noise out of you. Encouraged, he presses his tongue inside, lapping up the mess he made inside you. It feels fine enough, but after a bit of his tongue pushing in and out of you, you give his hair a little tug. “Clit,” you say simply, a command he happily obliges, drawing back up to suck your clit between his lips.

Without the looming pressure to achieve some kind of euphoric release at the end, you find yourself more capable of simply enjoying this for what it is. Homelander is good at this, but it’s really his persistence that elevates the experience. At no point do you feel him begin to waver or slow, or shift and breathe in impatience. He’s relentlessly consistent, swirling his tongue and lapping at you like he’s starved for the taste.

You sigh, idly scratching his scalp as you toy with his hair. “Mmm, that feels good,” you say, more aware of the effect your praises have on him. He makes an appreciative noise, nuzzling into your cunt. One odd thing is that your clit is starting to ache in a way you’re unfamiliar with. You shift back a touch, but Homelander pulls you right back in.

“Greedy,” you accuse, which draws a low laugh from him, the rumble of it making you shiver a little. You must be growing oversensitized. You’ve lost track of how long he’s been at this.

He pulls back, and the cool air almost stings for the loss of his hot mouth, but that ache was beginning to grow uncomfortable anyways. You’re just about to thank him for his service when a whole new sensation steals the words right off your tongue. You don’t even know how to describe it: hot, pressure, but weightless. Your whole body jerks, but Homelander keeps you still, forces you to endure whatever the fuck it is he’s doing now.

“Wh-what the fuck is that?” Watching him, comprehension dawns; he’s blowing on your clit, lips pursed, forcing out a concentrated stream of warm, almost hot air that has your thighs quivering in his grasp. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, equal parts bewildered and overwhelmed. You try to close your knees, but once again, his hold is completely unrelenting, keeping them spread wide. Immediately that same ache is skyrocketing back up, spreading tightness low in your belly.

“Hold on,” you groan, gripping his hair tighter. You expect it to end before too long, for him to at least need to inhale, but beyond all logic and reason, he just keeps going. The heat of it is surreal, the weightless pressure of it constant. Your toes curl, heels digging into the bed while every muscle in your body starts to lock up.

Homelander’s gaze flickers up to meet yours, nothing pure wicked delight in his eyes. Just as suddenly, he descends upon you, tongue feeling hotter and wetter than ever as he dotes on your clit with it, focusing it with alarming precision. The abrupt change in sensation makes you thrash, stumbling over a stream of nonsense as you pull at his hair, that aching tightness now so prominent that you can hardly take in a breath.

“That’s enough, that’s–fuck, Homelander, it’s too much, it’s too much, s-stop, s–” your pleas erupt into a gasp because he’s focusing that stream of air right back on you again, the feel of it so surreal, so indescribable that your brain can hardly function around it. Your eyes roll back, you writhe, but he’s so much stronger than you’d ever really wrapped your mind around. He’s entirely unyielding in a way he’s never felt in your arms, against your body on the couch. He’s more inhuman than he’s ever been, and it’s driving you wild. 

Tears gather in your eyes. This  assault of sensation walks the knife’s edge of pain, but never quite falls over it. Your whole body is throbbing, and you feel like you’re going to fucking explode. He twists that knife by taking you again with his tongue, swirling and slick in contrast to the dry pressure of his breath.

“H-Homelander, Homelander, please, I’m–I’m–fuck!”

The world turns white, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You hear yourself make a strained noise you’ve never heard before, but it might as well not even be you. You’re somewhere outside of your own body, floating in a torrent of indescribable sensory input that is so alien to you, you don’t even feel real anymore. Homelander isn’t holding you still anymore, but you can still feel him slowly lapping at your throbbing clit, watching you through foggy eyes as he licks you through your first orgasm, no doubt tasting and smelling the endorphins that flood your body.

Every single taut muscle in your body snaps like the strings of a marionette, leaving you to collapse limply on the bed, panting through it as your soul gradually descends back down into your body. Blissfully, Homelander ceases his torment and joins you, laying sideways with his head propped up in his palm while his other hand rests on your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper eventually.

“Please, you can still call me Homelander,” he says, sounding just as smug as one would expect him to be after such an accomplishment. If you had any power whatsoever left in your lifeless arm, you’d smack him. However, he quickly makes up for it by drawing you gently into his arms, kissing your forehead. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” you say, more malleable than ever as he adjusts you both beneath the blankets. “I thought I was going to die.” It’s only a slight hyperbole.

Homelander laughs softly, beaming at you with pink cheeks and a sly, delighted little smile. “See? Nothing’s broken,” he murmurs at your ear, catching you off guard. That had been such an offhand remark, you didn’t expect to hear it come back around.

“What if I hadn’t? What if all that, and nothing happened?” You ask, adjusting slightly while he entangles his limbs with yours, bodies slotting together like jigsaw pieces. You’re both jagged in all the right ways, fitting nicely together.

He gives a small shrug, stroking his knuckles up and down your spine. “Still would’a been a hell of a ride. Not everything has to be finished to be good.”

Slowly, you smile. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Loving Homelander isn’t always easy or good. There are times when he makes it hard, and there are times when you make it hard, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in this lifetime, nothing worth doing is ever easy. Love may start as an incidental thing, a passion that ignites as readily as tinder, but the upkeep of it is more like pottery. It’s messy, and even once you get the shape of it right, you don’t always know how it will react to the heat necessary to give it solid form. It can be broken, it can be fixed, it can even be remade, but never is one the same as the last.

Still, even when it hurts, when it’s frustrating, when it doesn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, the euphoria of creating something so beautiful keeps you coming back to it. When the same love that burns you can also warm you against the cold, coat your throat like honey, and fill your night sky with stars to guide your way in darkness, it becomes impossible to let go of.

To love something is to heal it. Everything that is loved is beautiful, even things that are unsightly, unfinished, unappealing. Even things that are broken.

Finally, you think you understand why Stuart never finished his original painting.

He loved it precisely as it was.

[idyllcy]

oops... i got married || TO SOME STRANGER!??!?!?

word count: 1.4k || Fic 5 of oops... i got married

summary: I'm gonna be fr with you. Your new malewife is a little sus

You get married as a joke.

Yes, there are limits to how much you can drink. Yes, there are limits to how insane you can get while drunk— but apparently getting married is not within that limit. You get married to some random guy— SERIOUSLY. SOME RANDOM DUDE. You wake up to a legally signed marriage document and them in your kitchen, and you blink at the confirmation email on your phone and then at your new lover at the door.

"You're going to be late for class."

"What the fuck?!" 

You pause at the sight of your new husband, some random man, white hair and red eyes, and you pause. Did you get transmigrated? Are you in an isekai fic? Is this your main character moment? Seriously, how the hell did you manage to bag some random ass man!???!!? WHAT. WHY IS HE HOT.

"Wait." You pause. "How do you know I have class?"

"The backpack." He points. "Now, hurry on up now."

That does NOT explain how the hell you met your husband. Yet, you don't have time, grabbing breakfast from his hand as he waves goodbye to you at the door. Great day to pay expensive ass rent but live right next to campus. You wonder if your husband lives someone. You feel kind of bad that he had to take you home after you got plastered yesterday. But. That does not excuse the fact that he looked suspicious as fuck while staring at you sleep. Also, how the hell did he agree to marrying you? WHY.

You huff as you walk back to class, pausing and blinking when a piece of the ceiling breaks off and slams into where you were sitting, somehow missing all of your belongings by a hair. You blink, stupefied, grabbing your stuff from under the ceiling as you evacuate the lecture with the rest of the students. Someone hates you... or something. You don't know. You're surprised you didn't just die while drunk. Sometimes pianos fall out of the air and try to bomb you. Also, you have a husband to go home to now! He'd be sad if you suddenly died... right?

Wait. What even is his name?

"Casper." Your husband rolls his eyes as you pout. "You forgot your own husband's name?"

"Uh huh." You blink. "Are you just going to be my househusband now?"

"I don't see why not. Anything interesting happen today?"

"Oh!" You grin. "A piece of the ceiling slammed into my seat, but luckily for me I was in the bathroom. My stomach problems saved me for once."

Your husband gives you a smile half between concern and amusement. (he would have to try harder next time— what. that was not him. who said that.) 

"I'm glad you're safe."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." He pauses. "Do you get acid reflux in the morning?"

"If I eat and sleep immediately after." You mumble. "Why?"

"Hotpot." He hums. "Spicy hotpot. Eat up."

Your eyes light up, brightening as he hands you a bowl of rice, watching as you dig in, humming happily as you watch him put his own bowl down.

"Is it good?"

"Mhm!" You beam. "Where'd you learn to cook?"

"I live alone." He hums. "Someone has to do the housework around my place."

"How about currently?"

"I live a little... far away." He pauses. "It would be hard for me to see you every day if I don't live at your place. Besides, my job is in the area."

"Will you move here? Or..."

"No. My management provides housing for free." He smiles. "Oh, the food's going to get cold."

You pause. "Can I apply?"

"No. We don't take applications."

"WHAT." You groan. "Ugh. I knew it was too good to be true. You probably sold your soul for it or something."

Casper doesn't speak up, placing a slice of lotus root in your bowl. "Eat up."

You raise a brow but don't pry further. It's not your problem if your husband sold his soul. At least he's hot.

Maybe he's secretly trying to eat your soul... demons... that checks out honestly. You did have a bad stroke of luck when it came to unfortunate situations, and you had an even more comedic one when it came to avoiding them. Always nearby, never you. You wonder if that would curse your husband. Though, from the looks of it, your husband would probably steal someone's soul before that curse could even lay a hand on him.

"What are you looking at?"

"You're very hot." You grin.

You laugh when you notice your husband turn red.

The vast majority of your days pass relatively calmly, and you grow into a comfortable pattern with your husband... that is until your husband shows up with a black card and tells you that he can cover rent for the rest of your life— that raises some questions. What does your husband even do for work? What is he doing with his life? How the hell does he have a better credit score than you? Where is his money even coming from?!

You force him into the corner of your house one afternoon with a broom in hand.

"Sunshine, I really think—"

"Spit it out." You stare him down. "What do you do for work. I refuse to believe I'm in a kdrama, so spit out something you can back up."

Casper presses his back against the wall, eyes darting to the wall as you shake the broom at him, and he grimaces.

"I'll get fired if I tell you—"

"NO ONE HAS A CAMERA IN MY HOUSE SO SPIT IT OUT"

"I'm a grim reaper."

You pause, blinking at your husband, words processing in your brain.

"I'm a grim—"

"They hire people for that?!" You blurt, pausing. "Wait. No. You're spouting nonsense at me."

"I am not."

"You are."

"Am not."

"Are!"

"Not!" Casper turns around to face you, shaking as your grip tightens around the broom. "Please... go through my closet?"

"So your job is literally... murder?" You pause. "My stay at home househusband is secretly some insane man who goes around killing people?!"

"It's not—"

"Then what is it?!" You raise a brow at him, unconvinced.

"We get a list." He sighs. "And we get everyone's name."

"Wait." You pause. "Why the hell did you agree to marry me then!?"

"That's not—"

You shake the broom at him.

"You were supposed to die years ago but kept avoiding death so I've just decided to marry you to see WHY you're not DYING." Casper braces himself for the broom's impact, but you're too stupefied to give him a proper answer.

"I'm supposed to be dead?"

"Well..." He grimaces. "You can't really... die." 

"I'm immortal?"

"Your... soul." He pauses, turning his head to the side. "Your soul is endless, and you constantly give life to those around you... including me."

You pause. "So you married me because I'm a natural healer? Wait. No. You married me to kill me?! This isn't some josei manga, you know?!"

"Yes, but." Casper sighs, shoulders relaxing as you drop the broom. "You are so lovely."

"You're just saying that."

"I am not." He mumbles. "I would have just taken your soul if you were not."

"Oh, so this is pretty privilege?"

"It's not—"

"Wow, Caspie. I thought you actually loved me." You pretend to sigh. 

"I do—"

"You didn't kill me because you think I'm lovely? If that doesn't—"

Casper grabs your wrists, holding them in place as he blinks at you, grumbling. "Would you shut up and listen to me for just a second? Goodness, sunshine, I love you. I'd go mad if I did not have you as my beloved."

You tilt your head at him, and he sighs.

"I love you. I'm not going to try killing you anymore."

You sigh, shaking your wrists loose as you press your lips to his, humming. Casper doesn't argue with it, humming as his lips slot against yours, hands moving down to your waist. 

"So we aren't getting a divorce?" You mumble.

"No." He grumbles. "What do you want for dinner?"

A smirk spreads on your face as he sighs.

Still. He loves you.

[weebsinstash]

I would ruin him. (Clark)

My Adventures With Superman Clark hits me as the kind of yandere where you fuck him after a few casual drinks because he's just so cute and dorky like just the nerdiest shy little hunk you can't help but spank his bubble butt and ride him till he's about to cry and then later on you find out you took his virginity and that casual fucking doesn't exist in his world and he wants you as a serious partner now and won't really take no for an answer

Like lowkey he gives me Izuku energy with how he's, a sweet dedicated uwu baby (like motherfucker LITERALLY makes the cat mouth in one episode) but can be an absolute menace when you upset him or rather, when he's worried for your wellbeing. You can scream and yell and say the most awful things to him and he won't raise a hand against you but if anyone hurt you... well. I mean. They'll be grievously injured is all I'm saying.

Just the idea of absolutely wrecking his shit in bed just like really giving it to him and blowing his poor lil country boy mind as you permanantly punch the hole in that v card of his and afterwards you're just, back at the office like it's nothing, thinking you just got some amazing dick but nothing else, meanwhile he thinks you're like. Dating now 😭 god could you even imagine if you two start regularly getting coffees or like, doing small things together, and you just take it as like hanging out platonically and, he thinks you're going on dates and are officially dating and one day he just outright catches you with another man and is CRUSHED that you basically just say "what??? We had a one night stand, I thought that was just a casual thing?? Bro you thought us hanging out as friends was a date????"

Clark going home taking off his glasses to cry in front of his shrine of photos of you with candles and everything 😭 he's kept receipts from getting coffee or catching a movie together, bought a tube of the same kind of hand cream you use so he can have something that smells like you and also uses it too (it's good stuff, thanks for the unintentional recommendation!), he's got like notebooks with flowcharts and ideas for future potential dates, all sorts of personal notes about you, what you like, plans for the future together, some real over the top shit, bro is practically planning for marriage

You could quit your job to avoid this man and he'd be stalking you as Superman but I think it'd be hilarious if you said "Clark I know that's you :/" just, almost right away. Or, he gets on your good side as Superman while you avoid him as Clark, so, some real miraculous ladybug love triangle shit. LMAOOO imagine going to let Supes get in those guts because you think he's so hunky and cute and he's like absolutely blowing your back out, really taking charge, it's amazing, and you flip him over and it's. Seeing him on his back with his hair all tossled already with him inside of you that THEN you're like "oh shit CLARK???" but like he won't let you hop off until you've both finished either 😩❤️

He's just so. Cute and young in this new show. I want to like. Be the milf neighbor he chases after. I want to invite him in for some lemonade after he helps cut my grass and I suck him off so good he comes back every single week to "help me around the house" 👌 I fix his glasses and ruffle his hair as he leaves my front step with a blush. I wave to him with a wine glass in hand in my fuzzy pink robe and thank him for 'fixing my plumbing' and that I'll see him again Tuesday 💅

[toastedkiwi]

Stalker

Summary: Bruce is wanting some answers from his baby mama.

Pairing: Surgeon!Bruce Wayne x Intern!Reader

Bruce climbed into his bed. He relaxed back into the pillows. He turned to you. You’re focused on the iPad he bought you. You’re reading a book in dark mode.

“I’m gonna interrupt you and your steamy book,” Bruce said.

“I don’t read steamy books!” you exclaimed flushing with embarrassment and holding your iPad to your chest.

“I’ve read some of the lines in your books, my love,” he smiled. “It’s steamy. Thankfully, it’s pretty tame compared to some of the stuff I’ve seen.”

“What have you seen?” you asked worriedly.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” Bruce said reaching out and brushing your hair back.

“That doesn’t leave me at ease,” you said.

He slid closer and wrapped his arms around you. You automatically leaned into him laying on your side facing him while still holding your iPad to your chest. He kissed your forehead and adjusted the blankets.

“Let’s not talk about the smutty books. Let’s talk about your stalker tendencies,” Bruce said holding you closer.

You squeaked. You tried getting away but you won’t let go of your iPad. It might help your escape to let it go but you can’t have him seeing the books you read.

“So, six years ago, we met but I, for the life of me,” Bruce said hiking his leg over yours. “Can’t figure out when. Also I feel like a perv because doing the math, you must’ve been freshly 18.”

You whined.

“Please tell me I’m not a perv, my love,” he said.

“You aren’t,” you mumbled.

“That’s good. So, we have one issue and you’re a stalker,” Bruce teased.

“I’m not a stalker.”

“Tell me why,” he said making you look at his eyes.

“You bumped into me. You seemed to be on.. an important call but you were smooth. I didn’t fall on my ass because of you,” you muttered.

He smiled softly and said, “all the stalking because I caught you, my love?”

You said, “nobody’s caught me before.”

“I’ll always catch you,” he said. “Or I’ll call Superman to.”

“I don’t want him,” you said quickly and with a shake of your head. “I want you.”

“Glad to know I’m the only one you’ll stalk,” Bruce said.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it stalking— and I honestly didn’t think you’d ever look at me,” you admitted. “Like at all.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re you,” you said.

“I’m me?”

“Yes.”

“That explains… EVERYTHING, love,” Bruce said sarcastically.

“Good,” you said with a nod.

He kissed your forehead and then your cheek.

“I love you very much,” he reassured. “You know that? You got nothing to worry about. I only want you.”

“Even if I’m stalker?” you mumbled.

“As long as you don’t steal shit from my family and sell it on the black market,” Bruce said. “I can handle a bit of stalking, my love, especially if it’s you.”

“I still wouldn’t classify it as stalking. More like observing,” you said.

“Observing?” he questioned pulling the iPad out of your hands.

“Yes,” you said. “I observed you for six years.”

He smirked reaching over and placing the iPad on your nightstand. It got him positioned on top of you caging you in.

He asked, “and what did you observe? What were your findings?”

“Well, you didn’t seem that happy,” you admitted.

“My mother would say the same thing and Alfred,” Bruce admitted. “Actually they would team up and constantly tell me—- it was very annoying at the time.”

“What about now?” you asked very quietly.

“I’m very happy. I’ve got you, my love. I’ve got our son, Damian. And I’ve got Ace,” he smiled.

[fandomnerd9602]

Serenity

Martha x Wick!Reader

For @lifespectator

Martha sat on the edge of the dock, her feet gently dipping into the cool lake water. The serene surroundings of the secluded lake house were a stark contrast to the chaotic and tumultuous life she had left behind. She had finally started to feel a semblance of peace, though the shadows of her past still loomed large. It was here, in this tranquil isolation, that she met you.

You had come to the lake house to escape the relentless buzz of the city and the chaos that came with being the son of John Wick, the legendary Baba Yaga. Though your father was a legend in the underworld, you had chosen a different path, seeking solace in nature and simple living. One look at Martha, with her guarded eyes and quiet demeanor, and you felt an inexplicable connection.

Your lake house was almost right across the small lake from her rental. Her very soul seemed to call to yours the moment you saw her. She gave you a simple, doe-like wave, you offered her one back. A simple little exchange but it got the connection going.

As days turned into a week and a week into two, you and Martha began to spend more time together. At first, it was awkward, both of you carrying the weight of your pasts and unsure how to even interact with each other. But you built a nice little friendship which developed into a little dates here and there. Home cooked meals, shared movie watching experiences, little things here and there.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the water, you sat beside Martha on that same dock. The silence between you was comfortable, a testament to the bond you had formed. She turned to you, her eyes searching yours, as if seeking permission to let down her final walls. You reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and in that simple gesture, Martha felt a love she had never known before. It was a love that promised safety and acceptance, something she had been yearning for all her life.

And with that, she leaned and hugged you tight. You held her as if it would be the last moment. A warmth radiated between the two of you. The kind of warmth that your heart had yearned for in so long, the kind that only family and a safe haven can offer.

In the quiet of that moment, Martha realized that she had found her sanctuary not just in the lake house, but in you. And as you held her close, you knew that in Martha, you had discovered a kindred spirit, someone who understood the complexities of living in the shadows of a tumultuous past. Together, you began to forge a new path, one filled with hope and the promise of a future untainted by the darkness that once enveloped your lives.

You’d do everything in your power to protect Martha, the young woman who held your heart, from the cult she fled from. And if they ever came looking for her, they’d have to deal with you first: the son, the protégé of the infamous Baba Yaga.

[maitanii]

[BONTEN HEADCANONS]

AN: I love Bonten, and I wish we could have had more info about the organization. But I know how sad it must have been to everyone there. They were empty and no one accomplished their dreams. These are just my thoughts and headcanons about them <3

my masterlist!

- Ran doesn't sleep as much as he used to. In fact, he usually sleeps around 3 or 4 hours per night. The slightest sound makes his body be on full alert mode. The first thing he does when he wakes up is text Rindou.

- Kokonoi doesn't sleep. He can't. Sanzu gave him some pills so he could just take a nap for 1 hour but he refused. His nightmares are way too real and he knows if he closes his eyes, he will have one again.

- Rindou lives under Ran's apartment. They both decided that they wanted independence but still keeping the security of being close to each other. At first he thought that it was the best thing ever, but after getting inside of Bonten... it wasn't that great. (he sleeps in Ran's couch from time to time).

- Kakucho's apartment is completely empty. He doesn't need any decoration or extra furniture. His futon, a bathroom and a kitchen is all he needs. He doesn't even know who he is anymore, why decorate a bunch of white walls?

- Kokonoi lives close to a shop called D&D motors. What a coincidence.

- I said it before but Mochi is the only executive I can picture marrying someone (maybe it's because I don't know too much about him). He lives with his wife in a penthouse full of security cameras. Sometimes he can sense the sadness in his partner's eyes and thinks about leaving them so they can live a happy life. But now, they're fully into the criminal path in life, and there's no turning back. They know who they are.

- Sanzu doesn't have a daiy routine. Most of his days are a blur and he's only conscious after he kills someone. And its not because he's high all time, but because he disassociates a lot from reality. Sometimes he can't distinguish if something happens in real life or if it was all in his mind. Mikey slaps him in the face when he sees that he's not here, and Rindou brings him a glass of water and something to eat.

- Aside from Mochi, they don't have a love life. Sure they have fallen love or had a crush, but at the end of the day, they're still the same guys who have a sense of loyalty and will to protect who they love. So they chose to not commit to anyone. It's better that way.

- Rindou shared some nights with a woman some 5 years younger than him. She used to make him food and offer him to take some leftovers when he left. He realized he fell in love when he spent a whole night at her place cuddling and watching movies. He finally felt the same joy he did when he was 17. So after he left her apartment the next morning, he broke his phone so she wouldn't contact him again. And he never turned back.

- Kakucho used to frequent a bar in Tokyo because he had business to do with some big guys who owned the place. It was all going according to the plan. But then he saw a waitress being harassed by a man while he was having a conversation and he lost all the concentration. Excusing himself from the table, he went straight to the man and punched him in the face. The girl looked at him with teary eyes and thanked him a thousand times. After he returned to the table, he gave some extra money to the owners of the bar so they can free that girl from the job. He left the place after making the deal that Mikey ordered to him and never returned.

- Ran fell in love with a single mother and the moment he met her kid, he knew it was over. Either he left in that moment, or he stayed with them (and made their lives more complicated). He left an insanely amount of cash with them to pay everything until the kid was 18 and never looked back. Sometimes he lies awake at night wondering about what could have been.

- I'm sorry but Mikey is a virgin. I can't picture him having a high libido while being in such a depressing state.

- Sanzu... he's complicated. Sure he hooks up with some random people from time to time but he thinks he has never fallen in love. And if he did, he wasn't aware that was love.

- Kokonoi only sleeps with blond people. He searches for someone that's not here anymore, but maybe if he drinks more wine, he'll be able to see her face and hear her voice again.

- About their accidents and close to death experiences, they all care about each other in some kind of level. Mikey made clear that their interests come first, but they can't help it. So when someone is shot, even if they have to continue the mission, they know better than to leave them to die. (I don't think this applies to Takeomi tho)

- Rindou was once shot twice while he was on a mission with Kakucho and Kokonoi. They both knew they couldn't leave him to die. Kakucho threw his body over his shoulder and ran to the car while Kokonoi made sure no one was following them. They don't know how they did it, but Rindou arrived alive to the headquarters. Ran didn't speak that night. After he made sure Rindou will be okay, he went to see Kakucho and Koko and bowed his body as low as he could.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Money in massive amounts is never clean.

To amass a certain level of wealth, there’s inevitably a little blood on your hands. That's why I prefer the Wayne family with a touch of moral ambiguity—keeps things interesting.

Sure, we can say Thomas Wayne was a good guy (I mean, "good billionaire" sounds like an oxymoron, but I’ll let it slide since he's fictional). He’s a surgeon, sometimes a co-CEO, and in some versions, he even takes a shot at being mayor. But let's be real—his wealth didn’t come from rainbows and fairy dust.

No, the Wayne fortune wasn’t built on saving puppies and planting trees. Somewhere in the family history, there’s probably a dark corner filled with skeletons, or you know, a handful of emerald mines for exemple. I wouldn't be shocked if Thomas's great-great-grandfather named a labor camp after his wife—romantic, right? Sweet sentiment aside, you don’t just wake up one day swimming in billions without a few questionable "business decisions" sprinkled in.

Yeah, the Waynes are old money, but we’re talking about billions—like "richer-than-Queen-Elizabeth" money. Battinson alone is worth what, 9.2 billion? And in the comics? Bruce is probably a trillionaire, and that fortune didn’t just materialize from charitable bake sales.

You can’t convince me that all of the Wayne money is squeaky clean. Even if Bruce himself isn’t aware of it, some of that fortune likely came from, oh I don’t know, oil deals that were less "above board" and more "we took it from the Middle East." Because, like I said, you don’t build an empire like the Waynes’ without some shady dealings. Let’s face it, billionaires don't get to that level of wealth by being saints.

Now with the new Penguin series, we’re about to see how wealth is really made—without the rose-tinted glasses. Sure, Oswald Cobblepot is a mobster and criminal, but money is money. You can work hard, play by the rules, and become a millionaire—that’s fair, that’s normal. But billionaires? I guarantee you they’ve done worse than Penguin to reach their fortune.

Fictional or not, it makes for a more grounded and realistic Gotham and I do hope Reeves will explore this idea.

In Nolan’s trilogy, we had the shiny, perfect Thomas Wayne and his oh-so-virtuous family, but we never really dug into how the Waynes probably weren’t doing great things for, you know, the rest of the world.

In the Snyderverse, we got that backstory about the Waynes being hunters and building their fortune by selling furs to the French, if I remember right—but still. You don’t become that filthy rich by just selling that.

We always pin the morally questionable label on the Kanes or the Arkhams (Martha Wayne's family), but the Waynes? They’re consistently portrayed as Gotham’s golden dynasty.

Anyway, that’s my ramble for the day.

[shuichiakainx]

[jokingmisfit]

Heathers Characters as Contacts in my Phone

Heather C- ❤‍🔥Mythic Bitch❤‍🔥

Heather D-  😼Heather Puke😼

Heather M- 🐥Ducky🐥

Veronica- 🩵Love in Blue🩵

JD- 💣Trench Coat💣

Martha- 🦄Sweetie🦄

Kurt- ⚠Sexual Harassment⚠

Ram- ⚠Sexual Harassment⚠

[martha-oi]

•°Captain Syverson°•

°• @sillyrabbit81 •°All her works are amazing!°•

Even If You Don't Mean It •° this one started it all for me♥️°•

Pulled in line

Riding high

Cure for boredom - Cure for boredom part two

Work then play

Pink or black

Close shave

Sy loves quickies

Attached

And so much more

Girls' night needs

Lookout

Candy cane

Blood hound

Wrapped

Cotton tail

Curious inspired by this

Fuse

°• @littlefreya •°is one of my favorite also°•

Lines in the sand

Feral collision part one - Feral collision part two

Shades of Green

Bring it on

Captain cunnilingus

Let me in - Set me free

Waking up the beast

The Captain and the Maiden

Knockers

Florist Sy

Salt & Iron

Buns in the oven

Kiss me in slow motion

Cosy

Tough luck

The beast

Home sweet home

Peach pie

Husband's duty

Pictures of you

°• @angryschnauzer •°

No I in team

Bubbles

By The Waning Crescent Moon

°• @shewriteswhenthewordscome •°

Gray sweatpants season

Returning the favor

Smutbomb

Reading is FUNmental

°• @raccoon-eyed-rebel •°

What's the occasion?

°• @feralrunaway •°

Lower

Yrsa

The predictament

°• @loganbcrnes •°

you are the bane of my existence and the object of my desire

°• @delicate-moon-princess •°

The night of many firsts

°• @wolvesandhoundshowltogether •°

Kissed by fire 🔥

Pearls

A girl chest friend

Of beard and ranks

Good ol' boy

Dog tags

°• @mayloma •°

Sweet things

°• @viking-raider •°

Sy's therapy barn

°• @geralts-yenn •°

Bonfire - Something like that

Dad Sy

°• @augustsprincess •°

Plenty of room

°• @just-chirpin •°

Eyes that see - night terrors

°• @nashibirne •°

Truck stop - Pick up

°• @doll-r-t •°

A warm italien night with the captain

My sweet peach

A cold tent and a warm captain

My baby bear

°• @capncassas •°

Supply run - Twinkies, Ho-Ho's and Ding Dongs

Pretty as a peach °• this one is🔥😩•°

Box truck surprise

°• @gummydummy19 •°

Spanking - the do over

Balance

°• @princess-of-riviaa •°

No strings

What a man

Wet dreams

My Captain - your sergeant

°• @scorpiobitch95 •°

Sugar and the bull

Namaste

Hoodie love

Magenta

°• @mrsarnasdelicious •°

Touch starved

Overseas hero

°• @followyoursecretsmutblog •°

Mine

°• @thelastsock •°

He very much gives a fuck

Handprints on the glass

°• @hertzwritings •°

Yes professor

°• @zealoushound •°

A dose of serotonin

Watermelon sugar

°• @witchersmistress •°

Bite me Sy