#martin whitly imagine

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Science Behind the Madness (Martin Whitly)

Martin Whitly x Fem!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: You're lucky to have a sexual partner so versed in the science behind the female orgasm.

CW: medical play (gloves, patients chair, medical talk), thigh slapping, daddy kink, overstimulation, dirty talk, verbal humiliation. vaginal fingering

Prodigal Sons tag list: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“Did you know,” Martin says as he slides one gloved, lubed-up finger across your soaked slit. “The behind-the-scenes of the female orgasm is really quite fascinating.” He’s grinning that killer shark grin that you love oh so much. It’s not cute, that’s for sure, in fact, it’s terrifying. A true darkness lay beneath that grin, those eyes. And yet, despite this, that darkness turned you on like nothing else. 

“I-is it?” You stutter, clit already pulsing despite the fact Martin hadn’t even done anything yet. 

“Oh, yes,” he said, absent-mindedly fingering at your slit. His eyes didn’t leave yours for a moment. “See, right now? Your sweet little cunt is lengthening, the cells in your vaginal walls lubricating you. That’s called the ‘excitement’ stage. Not an overly scientific name, I know.” 

You squirm in the stirrups of the patient's chair, cunt clenching on nothing. Martin laughs, and flicks at your clit teasingly. 

“Even that pretty clitoris of yours is starting to swell, isn’t it? How sweet, I’ve barely touched you and you’re so needy for me.” Martin’s tongue flicks across his front teeth, his eyes finally splitting from yours down to look at your pussy. He spreads two fingers across your slit now, splitting your labia apart. Your cheeks flush at the vague humiliation of the act. 

“Oh, but not just your clit, hmm? No, your nipples, too, they start to engorge. I’ll bet they’re starting to get perky, now, aren’t they?” 

You whimper, chewing on your lip. You’re going to start grinding on his fingers soon if he doesn’t finger fuck you to within an inch of your life in the next two seconds. Martin seems to understand this and tuts mockingly before sinking those two fingers to the knuckle inside you. You groan with relief, that deep ache inside easing. 

“Oh, there she is. Look at that. Looks like you’re entering the plateau stage, sweetness,” his fingers start to move, stroking your inner walls and stretching you out before beginning to thrust. You moan openly, to which Martin shushes you with a loving grin. “Now, during the plateau stage, all your other senses are washed away as your brain starts to focus on your orgasm.” 

His fingers start thrusting harder, and you struggle to keep your knees from closing. Martin wouldn’t appreciate that, and he’d have to punish you. You weren’t in the mood for a punishment just now. He chuckles. From his angle, he can almost see your clit twitching and pulsing with pleasure. 

“Oh I know, darling, you want Daddy to play with that pretty clit, don’t you? Can’t cum without it, I know. It’s very common, actually,” his fingers fuck into you harder as he continues. “I believe it’s something like eighty per cent of women can’t finish without clitoral stimulation.” 

Your head drops back into the headrest. You’re panting, chest heaving and sweat beginning to bead along your skin. God, you want to cum. Martin knows exactly how to keep you from doing so, however. He’s got your insides mapped out like a surgical textbook. He knows exactly what spots to hit to make you keen, which spots to avoid that hurt, or which spots to ruthlessly slam into you to make you cum harder than a fountain hose. 

Right now, though, he’s making you wait for it. 

“Where was I?” His fingers slow, and he rubs his thumb over your clit in soft, thoughtful motions. “Oh, yes, the plateau stage. Do you notice how you’re breathing harder now? That’s part of the plateau stage, darling.”

His fingers start stretching you out again, thrusting back and forth, aiming directly for that spot that makes you see stars. 

“Some of the outer parts of the vagina start to engorge with blood,” he continues, completely engrossed by the view of his fingers disappearing and reappearing from your sopping cunt. “Your heart rate, respiratory functions and blood pressure continue to increase as you get closer to that precious orgasm.” 

You bite back the moans threatening to slip loose, and your thighs shake with the effort of staying open. 

“And when you orgasm, and you will- fucking- orgasm for me, darling, that’ll be a whole bunch of vaginal and pelvic floor muscle contractions. Oh, look at that, so close for daddy, hmm? Such a good girl for me, come on.” 

You’re getting so close now, muscles starting to tense, your mouth opening in a silent plea.

“That’s it, oh, look at you. Such a prime example of the female form, hmm? So exquisite. My darling, come for me.”

 

When you can’t even utter a word, and you seem to just be leaning against that precipice, Martin scowls, flashing a murderously determined look towards you. 

“My dear,” he warns. “If you don’t cum for me, you’re going to regret it, I promise you.” He brings his other hand forward, slapping lightly at the inside of your thigh. Your whole body jumps, and Martin tuts. “Come on, little slut, cum for Daddy. Right. Now.” 

His words push you over the edge, orgasm ripping through you. Martin laughs, fucking you through the waves of pleasure. Fucking you through those contractions. You moan wantonly, muscles finally giving in and starting to relax.

“There we go, right there, sweet thing,” Martin says, all smiles once again. “That’s the resolution stage. Post-orgasm the blood pumps back through your system and away from your pretty little cunt.”

 

His fingers had started to slow as your orgasm drained out of you, your clit pulsing pleasurably. It was almost too much. 

“Another interesting fact for you, my dear. Males tend to need time to recuperate after orgasm,” he goes on. You whimper as his fingers start to speed back up again, abusing your, overstimulated G-spot. “But women? Oh, they can go over, and over, and over again. Essentially no recuperation time.”

He scrunches his cheeks up teasingly, standing up from his chair to lean over you, his arm pistons back and forth harder now and without mercy. He was going to make you cum whether you wanted to or not. 

“Isn’t that just- fascinating? I think so. You’re going to cum for me. One more time. Or two, if I feel like it. Daddy wants to watch you come undone on his fingers. And if you’re a good little whore, daddy will fuck you good and proper later, honey, hmm?” 

You nod, head dropping back onto the rest behind you. Your whole body is convulsing with the stimulation. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re reaching that peak again, much to Martin’s visible pleasure. 

“Oh, that’s it. Cum all over daddy’s fingers, darling.” 

You whine, legs twitching with the aftermath of your second orgasm. Martin pulls the glove from his fingers, tossing it into the bin in the corner of the room. 

“See? Now, wait until I tell you all about the benefits of toys, my dear.” 

Martin smirks deviously. 

“That will certainly be a night to remember.”

[avocado-writing]

You write so well for all the Michael characters !!! Question do you have any hcs about what kinks the different characters would have? Like Aziraphale or Boldwood or Blum or Whitley ? Or any other ?

I’ve definitely done kink lists for Aziraphale & Roland before so —

martin whitly

Medical kink. Obviously. Loves to finger you when you’re in a patient’s chair and he’s wearing rubber gloves. something about how shiny you get on his fingers like that drives him wild.

dirty talk kink. Well, you have to have phone sex, they’re not very lax about him having conjugal visits… yet.

any kink where he gets to cum all over your face or chest I think. Likes seeing evidence of having fucked you, doesn’t let you wipe it off afterwards either.

William Boldwood

Look he’s a sweet 1860s bachelor. His kink is looking after you. But ALSO

creampie kink. Loves finishing inside you. Loves that he gets to finish inside you now you’re married!

And to that end… pregnancy kink. Not that he ever expects it to take because he’s so HORRENDOUSLY OLD (forty). But when it happens, he’s ecstatic.

His kink is you.

[multifandomfix]

Imagine Martin Whitly kidnapping you.

Well dressed. Warm smile. Easy charm. How had all that come to this?

You woke to a dim light above you, your head pounding and the same man you’d considered to be such a catch was standing in front of you with a grin.

“M-Martin,” you stumbled, finding hard to speak over the fogginess of your mind.

His smile dropped to a more serious expression. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on Dr. Whitly now. You will be undergoing surgery and I think it’s best to keep things professional.”

You couldn’t quite make sense of what he was saying, finding his words hard to follow in your current state, but you hadn’t the energy to ask for clarification.

As he prepared surgical tools at a table several feet off, you began to piece things together. Dr. Martin Whitly wasn’t the man you thought him to be and you were overwhelmed with the sudden urge to preserve your own life.

“I could prove useful to you,” you said.

“Could you now,” Martin asked, clearly amused at your offer.

You didn’t have a plan for where you were going with this, but the fog was beginning to lift, so you pressed on. “I know people, young women, who won’t be missed. No family, flighty with friends, looking to make a little extra cash. I could bring them to you.”

“And what exactly would you get out of this?”

“You.” This answer seemed to surprise him. “You’re an easy man to fall for, Dr. Whitly. I don’t just want my life or my freedom. I want you.” It was a play on his vanity, but it was the only thing you could rely on, and prior to today, the complete truth on your part.

“Prove it and my answer is yes. Deceive me, and I will hunt you down.”

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @nclgsticore, @ayanthegreat28, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @rukia-28, @malfoyfeed

Martin Whitly: @locke-writes

[littlebatpup]

(GIF isn't mine) Martin Whitly x Reader Summary: AU where you and Martin met during med school (reader being a few semesters behind because they started later), set before he's put in prison. Word count: 995

You were sitting at your desk, studying for exams like you had been for the past weeks. But as of recently, it felt like a drag. You were wondering why you were doing what you were doing. If it was worth it. If you could keep up with the speed of things, with the competition. If you deserved to be studying at University. It was a spiral you fell into more and more often lately. You didn't notice the door of your apartment open nor that your Boyfriend Martin stepped into it. He knew that you had upcoming exams and suspected you'd be sitting at your desk studying. That's exactly where he found you after he had taken off his jacket and shoes. However, he didn't expect you to mindlessly stare out the window. You also didn't seem to have heard him enter your room, which made him worry cause you usually heard every little sound. He carefully walked closer to your desk to not scare you. "Love?" he asked quietly, making you whip your head around in your chair. Staring at him for a second as if he were an alien. Once you realized it was him your gaze softened though it still held some sadness and fear caused by the endless spiral of what-ifs that almost constantly occupied your brain. "Oh uhh hi Martin. What are you doing here?" you asked. He told you that he thought you two could maybe spend a nice evening together, cook something, watch a movie, or something. Something about the way you looked irked him though. This wasn't how you usually looked, not the happy eyes that usually looked up at him. Something was up he knew that. "Darling, you look like you're almost about to burst into tears. What's wrong?" Martin asked, concern laced in his voice. "And don't tell me it's nothing, I know something's up." he added in a serious tone. You let out a big sigh, he wasn't wrong but you also didn't wanna unpack everything. It all felt too small to be a 'real' problem like it wasn't something you should feel so worried and upset about. Martin stepped even closer to you, turning your chair so that you were directly opposite him. He lifted a hand to your cheek and let his thumb softly glide over your skin. You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of him seep into your skin. Knowing you couldn't stop him from asking until he had an answer you told him. Told him about how you were stressed about exams and the competition, and how you were questioning why you even studied. However, you left out the aspect of whether you deserved to study or not. Martin knew you in and out so he knew you were keeping something from him. He looked at you with a stern but concerned face, prompting you to tell him the rest as well. You closed your eyes before you told him the last bit. "I feel like I don't deserve this, don't deserve studying." You teared up after this statement. Martin just lifted you up from your chair and pulled you into a tight hug, which in turn made you cry out everything. Martin stroked your back in comfort and whispered words and phrases of reassurance. Once your crying had calmed down to sniffles he pulled you from his chest so that he could look at you and hold your face with both of his hands. "You deserve studying, darling. You deserve to be a student. You deserve everything that you have." he told you. The earnest in his voice was clear as day and he hoped that it seeped into your mind. Pulling you into him again, you two stood there, in your room, wrapped around each other, for a little while longer.

"Now I don't think I can really take away the stress about competition or the thoughts about you deserving to study or not. However, I think we can do something about feeling stressed out in general." You looked at him with curious eyes while he smiled slightly.

"What do you say about comfort dinner and then a movie after. I can cook or we can cook together. We can cuddle up for the movie and you can just turn that smart brain of yours off." "Mhmm cooking together and movie night sounds good." So off you went into the kitchen to collect the ingredients you needed and started cooking. Whenever Martin wasn't occupied by preparing something for dinner he walked over to give you the occasional kiss or hug, knowing that the physical contact would help you feel better.

After dinner, which you and Martin thoroughly enjoyed, you got settled on the couch. You were sitting next to him, head somewhere between his chest and shoulder. Martin had given you the choice of movie, which meant your favorite movie was just about to start. You snuggled deeper into him and he put his arm around you, holding you as tight as possible.

You enjoyed the movie – with the occasional comment from either of you here and there – up to about the halfway mark, at which you felt the sleepiness creep in. You changed position so that now your head laid in his lap. Not long after his hand found its way into your hair, playing with different strands of hair and occasionally scratching your scalp too.

“You comfy down there love?” Martin asked in a soft voice, one that was reserved for the quiet times you two spent together. You only hummed a confirmation; you were too comfortable and sleepy to answer properly right now.

 At this very moment, in this place, being so close to Martin, you felt safe, loved and so content with everything. Your head being quiet for once. You fell asleep not long after, the last words you heard were Martin’s soft whispers, “Goodnight my dear, have a restful sleep.”  

[brightmalcolm]

Here’s a question for while you’re bored at work: What would you imagine as the ending of PSon? (How many seasons, who lives, final scene, stuff like that….)

Thanks for continuing to keep our fandom alive, Penny!!

Ugh that’s a great question…okay so I’m going with the assumption that Martin DOESN’T die from Malcolm stabbing him even though I think that would be more interesting, bc I think it would be kinda hard to keep the show going for more than one or two seasons if he died. I think 5 or 6 seasons would be a good amount for the show? Like of course I’d love as many as possible but sometimes shows can go on for TOO long lol.

I think pretty much everyone would live, except I kinda see Martin dying by the end of the show? idk how he WOULD die but I think it would give Malcolm the closure he could never get when his dad was alive. And I honestly imagine the show ending on a pretty positive note??? Like I don't really see Ainsley going full serial killer, although I think the show may continue to hint at it. I don't think Malcolm and Dani would like get married or anything but I think they'd end the show trying things out as a couple. And the ending is basically Malcolm being able to break the cycle of abuse and trauma and actually live his life.

So final scene I think would be everyone on the team and Malcolm and his family talking and everyone just kinda enjoying themselves after solving whatever the big new serial case was. And it's hinted that everyone is really moving forward, especially the Whitly family.

Idk I basically have two ideas for where the show could go, this one I think is where the showrunners WOULD have gone but I think there's also a possibility it could have gone darker with Martin actually dying from the stab wound and Malcolm having a full break down that he never actually recovers from. But I will be positive and give Malcolm some happiness and closure bc he DESERVES IT!!!

[leahsflwer]

Michael Sheen master list (With his characters)

In here you shall find a list of characters including Michael Sheen himself followed by imagines on each of them! My requests are always open so feel free to do so <3

Includes SMUT ♥️ || FLUFF 🤍 || ANGST 🌧️

Michael Sheen (himself) -

Aziraphale -

Lucian -

Aro Volturi -

Thorne Jamison -

Martin Whitly -

Miles Maitland -

Dr. William “Bill” Masters -

Other -

[writethrough]

I've been waiting for this for so long ! Someone finally accepting Malcolm Bright fic requests ! I love this character so much for so many reasons. So, maybe you could do a Malcolm Bright x Reader or a Malcolm Bright x Original Female Character fic where reader / OC is either his girlfriend or best friend (whatever you decide ☺️) and she stays in at his loft for a few days to take care of him because he is homesick, and she comforts him when he has night terrors. He feels so loved and cherished and valued that he eventually tells her more about his intimate fears (he already told her about his disorders, Martin Whitly, the girl in the Box, Watkins, but he feared she will run away if she found out about his most obscure thoughts and fears because of so many past rejections) and then she reassures him and tells him that she loves him. - 😩 Eventually Malcolm opens up to her more and allows himself to show his vulnerability to her by crying on her shoulder while they hug. You get it. Just pure sweetness and care 🤍

Thanks ;) And please take care 🤍

So Be It

(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Language (one little f-word), sick Malcolm, softboi Malcolm, pining

Word Count: 1849

A/N: Soft Malcolm makes my heart briefly melt from its icy chamber. Sweetness and fluff are my guilty pleasures if you couldn't tell from my other fics! I don't think I used pronouns in this so I'm marking it as gender-neutral—hope that's okay! I'd like as many people to enjoy it as possible. Thank you for the request! And for being patient as I work through my ask box. I hope you enjoy!

“Malcolm, I say this with love, but you are the bane of my existence,” you said after opening every cabinet in his kitchen. Stale crackers and tea bags. That was it.

You had barged into his apartment after he hadn’t responded to any of your texts this morning. You knew his schedule by heart, and no matter what, he texted you back before he left for work. When an hour had passed without you hearing from him, you used your spare key and waltzed right in to find him bundled up on the couch, nose red and tissues littering the coffee table.

He groaned. “I’ve been busy with cases.”

“So busy you couldn’t have groceries delivered?” You crossed your arms even though he couldn’t see you over the back of the couch.

“I forgot,” he whined. One thing you knew about Malcolm Bright: he got whiny when sick. You imagined if you weren't so in love with him, you'd find it annoying.

You huffed, picking up his phone from the coffee table and placing a grocery order.

“There. It’ll be here in an hour,” you said, gently lifting his head so it could rest in your lap.

“Doesn’t that cost more?” His eyes were closed, and a blanket was pulled up to his chin.

“I’m sorry, which one of us actually owns their apartment?”

He peaked up at you through one eye. “Touché.”

You carded your fingers through his hair, and he let out a sigh of contentment.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know.” His voice was raspy from his sore throat.

“I kind of do. If not to help you get better than to keep you here. I’m afraid if I take my eyes off you for too long, you’ll sneak off to work.” You smiled warmly. Sometimes you thought Malcolm loved his job a tad too much. But it was endearing nonetheless.

“I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. My head’s killing me,” he said, squinting up at you.

“Get some rest. I’ll be here if you need me,” you said.

—

An hour later, there was a knock at the door, and you silently cursed as Malcolm stirred.

“(Y/N)?”

“It’s okay. Just go back to sleep.”

You carefully shifted him off your lap and grabbed the bags from the deliverer. It wasn’t much, just the basics, honey, and soup ingredients. He hadn’t eaten anything since you arrived, so you put a slice of bread in the toaster as you finished putting away the stuff you didn't need for the soup.

“(Y/N)?” Malcolm stood on the opposite side of the island, eyes rimmed red. He looked like a kicked puppy.

Striding toward him, you placed a hand on his forehead.

“Go lay back down. You’re burning up and need your rest,” you said.

He only groaned and leaned his head onto your shoulder. God, you hated seeing him like this.

You rubbed up and down his blanket-covered arms. “C’mon, honey, why don’t you go lay in your bed, and I’ll bring you some toast.”

He mumbled an “okay” in your neck and shuffled toward his room.

A few minutes later, you brought him his food and more tea.

“Thank you,” he said, his big, wet eyes gazing at you.

You brushed a stray hair out of his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but his shoulders shook ever so often.

“Do you want me to get you a hoodie?” you asked, watching as he took a small bite.

“No. I’m too hot,” he mumbled.

“Okay, finish that, and I’m gonna get your next dose.”

You returned, and he’d laid the half-eaten toast on his nightstand and sipped at the tea.

“Here.”

You switched the mug for the medicine and placed the cup down to hand him the glass of water. After swallowing, he didn’t say a word as he shuffled underneath the blankets.

“Get some sleep. I’ll work on some soup for later,” you said, using your hands to push off the bed.

But one of his stopped you from beneath the sheets.

“Please stay,” he whispered.

Taking in his current state, you couldn’t help the throbbing in your chest and the overwhelming urge to hold him. You wanted to take all of his pain away and keep him from ever feeling like this again.

He tried not to rely on people. The fact that he was asking you to stay and not pushing you out told you how terrible he felt. You’d do anything he’d ask.

“Of course.”

You slipped under the covers facing him as his eyes closed. It didn’t matter if he’d fall asleep right away you’d stay right here just so he wouldn’t wake up alone. Just so he’d have some comfort.

You and Malcolm had met when you were children. It was after his father's arrest. He had isolated himself from the other kids at the park, and you couldn't have that. So, you marched right up to him and told him you would be his best friend, and that's been true ever since.

An hour or so had passed as you admired his relaxed features. It wasn't until you were both well into your twenties that you developed feelings for him. He had swung by to drop off a book he told you about and ended up staying for three hours—you had only seen him two days prior. Once he left, your mom came into the kitchen with this little smile on her face. You nearly spit out your drink when she asked when Malcolm would ask you on a date.

You laid in bed that night when it hit you. You liked Malcolm.

A whimper broke you from your thoughts.

Malcolm shifted, still asleep, and this time, a whispered "no" slipped through his lips.

You'd seen how bad his nightmares could get. You knew it was important you didn't startle him, but you weren't about to lay there and let him relive whatever horror he conjured.

Slowly, you wiggled closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Laying on your back, you brought his head onto your chest and smoothed his hair.

"Shh, it's okay. It's not real," you whispered.

As your fingers threaded through his hair, his whimpers slowly quieted, and he inhaled softly. It was a few moments before he spoke.

“Thank you,” he whispered, eyes still shut. He didn't need to pretend with you. And he was grateful for it. 

“For what?” You had told him he didn't need to thank you for this. The first night you witnessed his night-terrors, he wouldn't stop apologizing. He couldn't even look you in the eye. But you reassured him, even told him about the nightmare that haunted you. It was then you both promised one another that if you needed the other person, you'd call and be there—it didn't matter when.

“For taking care of me. For staying with me so I wouldn’t be alone. For…For making me feel like…like I’m worth being cared for.” He blinked, hoping you couldn’t hear in his voice that he was fighting tears.

You swallowed and moved until you were facing him.

“You are worth everything.” You made it a point to keep your eyes locked. “You never have to thank me for prioritizing you. You’re my…You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”

You were walking a dangerous line. He had been a profiler for fuck’s sake. It was a miracle he hadn’t figured out you loved him already.

“It’s just…I know-I know you’re always here for me and will always be,” he sniffled, “I just can’t wrap my mind around why you’d want to stay. I keep,” he shakily inhaled, “I keep waiting for the day you leave and never come back.”

Your eyes were wide the entire time he spoke.

How could he think about all those things? No. You knew exactly why.

And it didn’t matter how long it took to prove to him otherwise—you’d do it—happily.

You cupped his cheek so he couldn't hide.

“I know you’ve been through so much, more than anyone should have to go through, but those things don’t scare me. They never have. You’re stuck with me, Malcolm. Even when you want me to leave you alone—especially when you want me to leave you alone. I’m gonna be here, no matter what. I promise.”

Tears were streaming down his face now, and he didn’t care. Not when you soothed his every insecurity. Not when you looked at him like he was important to you. Not when all he wanted to do was reach out and hold you and tell you how he’d fallen in love with you for those very reasons.

His arm wound around your back and slid you toward him. His head buried itself in your neck as he shook with a fresh wave of tears. You held him, running a steady hand up and down his back.

“I’m right here.” You placed soft kisses on whatever skin you could reach. “I promise. I’m right here.”

He quieted slowly, his body relaxing into yours as he was left sniffling, but he never let go of you. He wanted nothing more than to stay like this for the rest of his life. He wanted to feel your warmth. He wanted your hand on his back to become his new heartbeat. He wanted to never be without you.

He ever so carefully pulled away just enough to meet your searching gaze. And before he could say a word, you did.

“I love you.” It was the only thing that could settle his fears for sure. Even if it backfired, it’d be worth it to reassure him. He would believe you and know he was worth everything to you, and if you embarrassed yourself, so be it.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, the barest of smiles gracing his face.

You let out a breathy laugh, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes. He loved you, too. He loved you, too.

Your best friend. The person you told everything to and the only one who seemed to understand you loved you.

“I’d kiss you, but I don’t want to get you sick,” he said, squeezing your fingers.

“I think that ship has sailed. We’re nearly on top of each other.” It didn’t matter if you got sick. You were too happy to care.

He smiled, the first one you saw all day.

“I want our first kiss to be special. And I can’t breathe too well right now. Pretty sure that would ruin it.”

“How about this then.” You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, staying there a few seconds to try and push all the love you had into his skin.

You settled back, and his eyes were still closed, his lips slightly parted. You weren’t sure if his flushed cheeks had darkened or not.

“I hope I get better soon.” He said upon opening his eyes. 

You giggled, pulling him back onto your chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

^ "feisty, i like that :)"

- hmmm, how about some Peter Vincent x Martin Whitly?

X

Oh no, the terrible people ship (affectionate).

As always, this au with these two has Peter as a vampire who still does vampire hunting, both real and fake. Don't question why Martin is free, in Vegas, or why no one seems to be arresting his ass.

On with the fic!

--

Peter didn't like that when he came up to his penthouse, the lights were off, and it was too quiet. All he could see was what the windows provided, which wasn't much in his collection rooms since the windows were shit, and he could faintly hear the sounds of Las Vegas outside his home, but still.

Even in the near-darkness, his eyes could still make out the shapes of his hall of weapons and tools. A nice feature from his fucking awful predicament of being a bloodsucker.

Where was Martin? Why were the lights off?

And why did it feel like someone was watching him?

Peter swallowed, setting his leather jacket aside, tossing it on one of the display cases, as he walked through the different displays, his steps careful, his ears open for any sounds. "Martin?" He asked into the empty room.

He swore he heard something and whipped right around, but there was nothing.

Fuck, must have been his imagination. Maybe Martin stepped out? The man did like to sneak about, doing who the fuck knows what, hopefully not killing anyone. Except vampires, that was the deal. Only kill vampires (and any serial killers, since apparently that's what 'redeemed Martin Whitly' did now).

But still, as much as Peter had warmed up to the guy, trusted him even, he still didn't like that Martin was, technically, a fucking evil monster who may or may not actually be insane. It was hard to tell, you never know if you being deemed insane by the US courts actually meant you were.

"Martin?" He called out again, his damn bat hearing not picking up on anything. Useless, stupid vampire ability. He could hear people celebrating their Vegas wedding three stories down, but he couldn't hear if his partner was-

Peter gasped as he was slammed right into a display case against the wall, his face pressed into the glass by a hand on his head. Fingers were in his hair, the grip not too tight, but that was as a warning. One of his arms was twisted behind his back, pinned there, his other arm pressed behind his torso and the glass.

He shivered, feeling hot breath against his cold skin, and he squirmed, trying to escape the hold, he even tried to kick to see if he could hit whoever had his pinned.

There was a low chuckle and he bit down on his lip, eyes flashing marron, trying to see the man behind him.

"Feisty, I like that." He heard the familiar voice and Peter wiggled about more, hissing.

"Martin! You son of a bitch!" How the hell was this man stronger than him when he was a literal monster!? Fuck, maybe vampires actually needed to hit the gym once in a while.

"Welcome home!" Martin said in a cheery voice, but clearly was not making any move to let go. "How was the show?"

"Brilliant, as usual, now let me go! What the hell are you up to anyway?!"

Martin laughed and Peter felt the human press himself against his back, making Peter more trapped. "Oh, I thought I'd give you a nice greeting when you got back. Do you like it?"

He was pressing more against Peter, and the vampire wasn't sure if he should answer that he was starting to. So, he just continued to squirm and complain, but that-

Ah.

Alright, okay, scary greetings might be welcomed around here. Maybe.

--

I'd like to think that Peter kinda sucks as a vampire, he doesn't really do anything to hone his abilities, minus turning into a bat to fly around and escape his problems for a bit by being tiny and hiding in places.

[babysgarage]

insane that michael sheen makes about 50 million facial expressions as aziraphale and millions of expressions for every other role he plays, and none of them overlap. i can't imagine aziraphale pulling the same faces as miles maitland, martin whitly, bill masters, michael sheen from staged, aro, etc. truly the spider georg of facial expressions

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Study Bunny (Prodigal Son One-Shot)

Martin Whitly x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: You ride Martin's thigh.

CW: daddy kink, medical talk, possessive behaviour(ish)

Prodigal Son: @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Martin was far too perceptive for his own good, you thought. He always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking even before you did. It was a little uncanny, to be completely honest. If this was the twenty-four hundreds or something, you would have been concerned that he’d implanted thought reader chips in your head or something. 

“Oh, my dear,” he’d said one day when you’d questioned him about his ability to know what you were thinking- not about the chips. “I’m just exceptionally good at reading people.” 

You weren’t really sure whether it was people in general, or just you. He did spend an awful lot of time with you, after all. It made sense he’d get used to you enough to read your face. 

Anyway, you were thinking about all this while perched in his lap in his study. Martin was peering over some anatomical diagrams in preparation for a surgery he had in the morning. You’d been planning to leave him alone to his study, but you had found yourself in his lap somehow anyway. That sort of thing had a tendency to happen, you’d noticed. 

What could you say? Martin was a convincing man. And quite cuddly. How could one resist such temptation? 

“Dear, you’re staring again,” Martin commented without looking at you. You blinked twice, clearing your brain from the fog that had been seeping through the corners. 

“Was I? Sorry,” you replied sheepishly, dropping your head onto his shoulder. Martin chuckled, and you saw his cheek muscles move with his smile. He sighed and put the paper down on the desk. He turned his attention towards you and placed both his hands on your hips. 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, and the sharpening of Martin’s gaze let you know that he did not fail to notice it either. 

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. You know, I’ve noticed you tend to have heightened feelings of arousal and hormone spiking around the mid-month mark.” 

You blinked. Did you? 

“Yes, my dear. Interesting, I know.” 

You felt his fingertips press a little harder into your hips, and the resulting whimper it pulled out of you was as embarrassing as it was telling. Martin chuckled- a wolf’s grin on his lips, and dragged your hips just slightly against his thigh. 

You bit your lip, taking the initiative and rocking yourself ever-so-slightly against his thigh. Martin grinned wider if that were possible, and leaned back in his chair so he could appreciate the sight in front of him. 

You rolled your hips harder, delighting in the jolt of pleasure ricocheting up your spine. Martin let out what could only be a possessive growl and pushed his knee up for you to rut against. 

“That’s it. Fuck, my love. Stunning,” he grunted, voice like gravel. “Watching you fuck yourself on my thigh like this? Fucking gorgeous, my dear.” 

You whimpered, pleasure shooting up your nerve endings and setting you alight. Your muscles were aching with strain, but the pleasure far outweighed the delicious stretch and burn. 

Martin started bouncing his knee, sending jolts of pleasure into the mix, giving you a different sensation to take your ecstasy from. 

“Mm, maybe I’ll have to conduct a little study on you- when do you reach your hormonal cycles? How do we measure when they’ll be coming up?” Martin leaned in to whisper darkly in your ear, saying, “when are you most pathetic for my cock? Hmm? Yes, I know, dear. Pathetic little thing just wants to cum.” 

You were getting close now, having him speak to you like this and with his hands on your hips rocking you against him- you would never have lasted long, anyway.

“Would you like that? Daddy’s little study bunny? Oh, look at you. Yes, I know,” he growled possessively, eyeing you hungrily, all thoughts of his upcoming surgery forgotten. “Fucking cum for me, my love.” 

And cum you did, whimpering and moaning as your hips jerked against him erratically, releasing with such vigour that your whole body shook atop him- much to his delight. 

“That’s it. Oh, my good little dove.” 

You panted, dropping your head back onto his shoulder and letting out a giggle as the endorphins flooded your system. 

“Fuck, I love you,” you panted. 

“I love you, too, my dear,” Martin replied, pressing a soft kiss to your sweaty forehead and turning back to pick his papers back up. 

“I’ll just finish these notes and we can retire for the night,” he said, already losing himself in the papers. You nodded, yawning tiredly. 

“Sounds good to me, beloved.”

[avocado-writing]

Greetings, I am a transmasc with raging dysphoria atm, and I’m having thoughts(TM)

I want Roland Blum to help me try on suits that match his and tell me how handsome I am

I want Martin Whitly to wrap me in his cardigan and cuddle me and call me his ‘lovely boy’

I want Crowley and Aziriphale to kiss me and call me a hunk and reassure me that I am THEIR man no matter what anyone else thinks

Shit I’m in my feels :( /hj

first off I am sorry mate, I feel u

Roland seeing you have suits off the rack which don’t fit well at all, so after tearing you a new arsehole about how bad you look he takes you shopping and has several suits made to your measurements. He drops several thousand on you but it’s worth it because of how good you look 😌

Martin Whitly may be a serial killer. But he will 👏 do 👏 your 👏 top 👏 surgery 👏 and does an amazing job of it too 😌

and aziraphale and Crowley? They’re gnc too. They understand and support you no matter what 😌

[addiemilfgomery]

i recently listened to 1989 (taylor's version) so here is a list of songs i think belongs to jessica whitly (i should probably studying for my mid-terms but...):

welcome to new york - pre-canon jessica, before martin.

out of the woods - her view on her relationship with gil. taylor swift herself said that this song is about a person who has so much anxiety about her relationship, someone who just fears that the other shoe would drop no matter how good it is, and it's SO jessica.

bad blood - martin whitly.

how you get the girl - whatever happened between her and gil in season 2.

clean - her after what happened to martin. what was it that she said to gil in season 1, episode 9? all the time, i keep thinking that we'll get through it; get through him? this could be interpreted differently because of her problems with sobriety, but i interpret this with the aftermath of martin's discovery. she keeps thinking that she'll be clean of him, that she'll forget, but she's still in limbo. like what she said to ainsley, he could haunt her forever. BONUS:

"slvt!" - now this one is a bit reaching, but this is how i'll imagine jessica would have been about her relationship with gil if there had been a 3rd season. she's finally letting go, ignoring what the public thinks about her, FINALLY just letting herself want to be with gil.

[littlebatpup]

Hellscapes and Slow Mornings

(GIF isn't mine) Martin Whitly x Reader Summary: Exam season has just finished and the realization of it hits. A few tears and cuddling ensue. Word count: 441

Three months. Three months of continuous studying for exams. Three months of continuous stress, relief over a passed exam, and disappointment over failed exams. Three months of emotional rollercoasters. And here you were, a random Friday morning after the hellscape of your exam season, lying in bed with your partner Martin. You couldn’t believe that you didn’t have to get up and study for the rest of the day. You couldn’t believe that you were able to spend the day like you wanted to. You had fallen into this mind-numbing routine of getting up and studying until going to bed.

And as your mind caught up to your current reality tears started streaming down your face. Soft tears with the occasional sniffle. You didn’t realize that Martin had seen said tears until a hand made its way to one of your cheeks to wipe them dry. “Hey…What’s wrong, Love?” he softly asked, hand still gently stroking your cheek.

Strangely, a smile grew on your face. So much relief just washed over you. Cuddling closer to Martin you replied. “Nothing, just… happy to be finished with exams.” Martin hummed in acknowledgment, knowing how much exams had stressed her out. “You can relax now, Dear.” he said while pulling you in closer, one of his hands stroking your hair. The other rubbing comforting circles on your back.

At some point, one of your arms had also made its way to return the favor of back rubbing to Martin. You stayed there tangled up in bed for a while longer. Just relishing the time you could spend together. It felt like you had all the time in the world now. "Can we stay like this forever?" you asked, the sound muffled because you were still lying close to Martin. He pulled away to look at you with a half-smile. One of his hands made their way up to cup your cheek and softly stroke your cheek. "You and I both know that, while it would be a tempting idea, it would drive both of us crazy at some point." you knew he was right, you both needed your work and studies to keep occupied and sane. "Right... it would. But we can stay like this for just a little bit longer, right?" Martin gave you a slow nod in reply and you cuddled back into him, letting his warmth envelop you. It was a nice and slow morning, for both of you. It didn't happen often but when it did it was nice and warm and comfortable. Just you and him in your own little bubble with no one and nothing interrupting your peace.

[laikuh]

okay this ep is wild. let's recap malcolm's fantasy world:

first he imagines martin is a normal surgeon and not a convicted and caged serial killer

and also that ainsley is not a bloodthirsty journalist, but an accomplished doctor like martin

then he transitions to imagining himself in a relationship with dani and apparently living together

then he imagines gil is the insane person at clairemont psychiatry whose accused of being a crazy serial killer. he also imagines himself ARGUING with gil about how martin loves him and isn't a murderer

then martin shows up, shuts down gil, and leaves with malcolm back to the crime scene where they have a heart to heart that concludes with malcolm imaging martin saying the above, to which malcolm nods, satisfied

they continue solving the case together and martin is consistently helpful in malcolm parsing out what his subconscious is trying to say

he also imagines martin, dani, and jt all getting along too aka martin is thoroughly a part of malcolm's support team

malcolm then solves the case, saves his father, and gets a ton of praise and reassurance from martin, who hugs him tightly

and the whitlys celebrate that night as a family and malcolm says "it was a group effort--couldn't have done it without you."

the malcolm gets closer to waking up and his hallucination of martin tries to talk him out of wanting to wake up by leveraging the fantasy family and his fantasy relationship with dani

i honestly don't know where to begin dissecting this, so im just gonna put the recap here

[talescfshadows]

He can see the hatred and contempt in Malcolm's eyes when he stares up at him. Good. Hatred was a useful tool, it was that hatred and anger that would keep Malcolm alive long enough to go through his trials. It was that hatred that would help him find his calling, and enable the two of them to become partners like John had been with Martin. He was fine with Malcolm directing that anger at him―at least for the time being―because he knew once Malcolm had survived his trials, he'd be able to look back on all of this and feel gratitude for what John had done. This would be good for Malcolm; he just couldn't see that yet.

❝ You're a real smart-ass aren't you? ❞ He just had to get that little factoid out didn't he? Well sadly, this wasn't news to John so whatever point Malcolm had been trying to make had missed its mark. Did he really think John wouldn't have known something like that? He had been Martin Whitly's partner, the man who'd used his kills to experiment on what the human body could endure before death. The man regularly shared his knowledge with John; including how long someone could go without food and drink for. How else would he be able to starve someone so effectively and not have them die before they'd atoned for their sins?

He doesn't react beyond a small roll of his eyes when Malcolm quoted Job at him, accusing him of trying to play God. ❝ I'm not trying to be God. ❞ John wasn't crazy, and he knew his scripture far better than he imagined Malcolm would. It had been drilled and beaten into him until it took up residency in his brain, guiding his every decision. ❝ But, I am his instrument. I was called to save people, I'm a savior and everything was going perfectly until you came along and ruined it all. ❞

A quick burst of anger left him, his voice having raise and the chair kicked back as he'd stood up. Taking a brief moment, he let out a long breath and pushed the anger down. He couldn't allow Malcolm to get under his skin. ❝ I do what I do because it's my calling, you'll understand that soon enough. ❞ Malcolm just needed to complete his trials and then he would be able to see things the way John did.

❝ We do not do what we do for reward Malcolm. ❞ He couldn't expect someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth to understand that. Malcolm had grown up with everything handed to him on a silver platter. He'd never really had to work for anything in his life, and coupled with how his generation sought praise or acknowledgement for every little thing they did and well...of course he'd be seeking a reward. ❝ You need to learn to humble yourself little Malcolm. That arrogance and superiority of yours has already gotten you into enough trouble hasn't it? ❞ John would probably never been able to take Malcolm if he hadn't tried to come after him by himself. ❝ Though I suppose the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. ❞

Picking up the chair he'd kicked over, he placed it back in front of Malcolm and sat down, hands rubbing together as he rested his elbows on his knees. ❝ You should be focusing less on what's going on in my head, and more on how you're going to survive your trials. I'm not going to hold your hand through it. ❞ He knew Malcolm was trying to get into his head, to throw him off his game or gain some sort of advantage. It hadn't worked up until this point, and it wasn't going to work now. He wasn't going to be unsettled by the likes of Malcolm Bright.

He coughs, wet and shallow. The world around him is blurry, and he can make out some shoes that look like his father's and maybe for a second he wants to call out for him. He wants to feel his father's arms circling his body, holding him and petting his hair to tell him it's all going to be okay. Malcolm can't recall the last time he'd felt his father's embrace. He can't recall a time his father had ever really done so, despite the fact he had, in fact, been a good father once upon a time.

Sat in his lap as a child in his office, dark basement illuminated by dim lights, folders and medical text strewn across the desk. His father's exuberance, his father's knowledge, passed on to the son, his prodigal son, his legacy. Only when Malcolm looks back these days can he see the grooming. He sees the killer that Doctor Whitly had tried to turn him into. He sees blood-stained knives, one in his hand, a grown man doubled over, sliced, stabbed, maroon flowing down small hands and wrists like rivers to stain his sweater.

'It's show time, my boy. Make your old man proud, huh?'

These are not his father's sneakers. That is not his father's smell. Malcolm coughs again, head lifting, weak and bleary blues focussing and unfocussing as Watkins crouches before him. He'd snarl if he could, the noise leaving him nothing more than a garbled, wet whimper stuck in his throat. He hasn't the energy to swat away John's hands. The cold air of the room grounds him slightly, the cooler floor beneath him, puddled, pooling blood is sticky but he focusses on the texture. The iron stench. He's bleeding out in this room, and though Malcolm has faced many a dangerous situation in the past, this one takes the cake.

He's not certain he can make his way out of this one. Not on his own. Wary eyes flick around the room impatiently, not exactly looking for an exit, as he knows there is none, but looking for the hallucination of his father. It's the only solace he has had in the silence before John began to speak, and that makes a guttural laugh leave him despite himself. The laugh comes wet - another cough is soon to follow.

"Angus Barbieri," He starts, a slight wheeze to his voice; strained though sure. Confident, though he's shaking. "1971. He survived for 382 days without solid food."

It's a quip with the intention to simply argue; to give himself more time to think. Anger filters through him now. It crashes like a wave. He has already been through trials. Plenty of trials. He's a non-believer. A recovering Catholic. Malcolm himself spent three days without food and water, locked in that closet, screaming for help, please, somebody help me, please!

Malcolm allows the silence to linger, blinking lazily up at the towering figure crouched before him with a sigh. The sigh is petulant - a childish huff, a bratty disregard for politeness and etiquette that he'd been raised with. A thick swallow, a wince as he tries to adjust himself a bit, and he glances at the blade glimmering near him. "Have you an arm like that of God, or can you thunder with a voice like his?"

The Book of Job had been the only scripture Malcolm thoroughly enjoyed; however, he had often disagreed with the atrocities. Job's trials due to a fucking bet with the Devil. He stares the Devil down now, and that irks him, because he rather thought himself the son of Satan himself already. This wasn't a trial. This was a misstep.

Malcolm finally growls. It's time to switch things up; he'd already started.

"What reward do I receive for being a dutiful follower?" He sneers, hands shifting so he can brace himself against the cold floor. He attempts to sit himself up, kneeling before John, body hunched with the pain and an undignified whine leaving him as one hand shifts to cup the stab wound on his abdomen. "I think your Lord might be a little disappointed that you're trying to play Him right now." Despite the very fact he kneels before John now in contrition.

"Tell me, John. That voice in your head - what does it say?" He's trying to be attentive, but the blood loss has him swaying. He nudges the chain, head lolling back in an exaggerated flinch, exhaustion making every movement feel like he's wading through thick water.

[brightmalcolm]

I'm having prodigal son thoughts about the potential, lost season three now that I'm lurking your blog again. I think if they made it, they would've have had Martin die and Malcolm go on trial for it. There would have been a huge debate for the first part of the season about what charge they would hit him with ("he killed a serial killer" vs "it was self defense" vs "it's straight up murder" vs "he's a whitly"), but ultimately bc Malcolm is the Surgeon's son and some politics in the DA's office, he would've gotten charged with murder in the first degree.

Also, the murder charge would create the opportunity to have flashbacks to the Martin's original trial back in the 90s (I feel like they were holding off showing that for a reason for the first two seasons). There would be parallels between the cases, Jessica reliving everything again, Malcolm's guilt, Ainsley might be pushed to try to exploit the case as a reporter (or even start killing people (like the DA) to try to protect Malcolm), and the Martin hallucination would return.

The prosecutors may try to use Malcolm's mental health as an angle and we may possibly have gotten Malcolm spending time in a psych ward (which I would have been interested in seeing how they portray that, after my own time in one) and maybe forced to go off his meds.

Season three exists in my head. Fox can't cancel my imagination (gripping the edge of the sink as I say this)

definitely agree with this! I know a lot of the fandom says it's self defense so malcolm wouldn't get arrested (and I agree it was self defense and we as the viewer know this but no one else was with martin and malcolm when it happened) but I think it would be more interesting and dramatic from a storytelling perspective if malcolm did get in some legal trouble for what happened. also I think if they killed martin, they wouldn't want to get rid of michael sheen, so he'd be in flashbacks, like you mentioned, and I agree we'd see malcolm's hallucinations of him get worse. I can just imagine martin haunting him and telling him it was all his fault and he is just like he is now, just another killer.

I think it would be interested if they went back to what they hinted at with the FBI firing malcolm in the pilot, with people assuming malcolm must be mentally unstable and thus dangerous, and how that would influence the perspective of people who think malcolm is guilty. ainsley would try and control the narrative through the media, but that might just backfire on her to the point where she takes matters into her own hands like you said. and of course the NYPD team would support him but outside of them, the general public thinks he must be guilty, and that he and martin were somehow working together. and maybe we could finally find out about that flashback of martin guiding malcolm to stab a body in the woods during the infamous camping trip!!!

there is just so much that could be done with season 3, it's a shame it didn't get renewed but I know I'm preaching to the choir with that one :(