#namor headcanons

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

Ooo is anyone that writes for Namor interested in writing this request??🤔🤔 It’s a Dad!Namor request!

(platonic/dad!) Namor oneshot where Namor finds a little human/surface dweller girl (around 5-6 years old) who has nowhere to go, and takes her in as his own? Maybe she had been wandering around the beach, and found some of the fruit from Talokan, and maybe it happens to have the Vibranium herb infused in it, she eats it (not knowing that it had the Vibranium herb in it and what it can do) she transforms and suddenly can’t breathe air, running into the water purely on instinct, and she of course, can now breathe underwater. She’s shook and also terrified, but also amazed, ending up swimming around not really knowing what to do or what was happening, when Namor finds her and realizes what happened (that this little surface dweller ingested Vibranium herb and transformed, therefore only being able to breathe in water). He takes her to Talokan, and adopts her as his own? + her one day calling him “daddy” and him getting super emotional 🥺

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

God, I love Marvel Comics...

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.

[demigoddessqueens]

Hello dear author,

Would you be interested in writing a love story between one of Namor's generals (female) and him. She is second in comand after Namora, and is fiercely loyal to him, she would die for him. But she is only half talokan (one parent from land, one from talokan- maybe Namor found her and granted her passage and a place is his city). Anyway, she can hear his silent call for his soulmate (maybe he has a special name with which he telepathically calls her, tries to find her, but she keeps quite, thinking it might be a mistake). While on one of his visits to the outside world he stumbled upon a girl who bewitches him, and he is under her spell. Lots and LOTS of angst, but before they are married, on their wedding day reader calls him by his name (Real fact: his mother gave him a name that no one else knows. For his enemies he is Namor, for his people he is K'uk'ulkan, but only he remembers his birth name) and tells him her name that she knew for so long. That snaps the spell on him, they defeat the witch and marry.

Many thanks, can't wait to hear from you if you think you would like to give this story a go.

It’s been so long since I got a Namor request 😄 thanks nonnie!

Masterlist 11

You and Namor are inseparable. Everyone knows you two are the closest of confidants, maybe even friends, aside from Namora and Attuma

Despite your split parentage, Namor held that against you. The past pales in comparison to the present, and he’s always held you in the highest regards.

All of that changes when you least expect it.

He begins to hear her sirens song, curious as to who comes near his waters.

You see him less and less as days turn to weeks to months, and finally a full year. No sparring, or meetings or jests or inside matters as you did before.

The day you meet her is worse than any training or duress you’ve undergone. All of Namor’s attention focuses on her, the citizens begin to adore her, and you are but a mere afterthought.

Is your heartbreak from the jealousy? Or did you simply wish he was only for you, in any other capacity? That his happiness hinges on your “permission”?

You can barely register what you feel upon his prompt announcement of engagement and soon to be nuptials

As the ceremony goes on, you’re nowhere to be found. Hidden away, you can’t bear to t

A name cherished and given by his mother, who loved her surface home before retreating to the ocean.

Just at that moment, the haze clears from his eyes. The washing realization comes over Namor as he sees the panicked expression of the one who stole him away and the up

Once he finds you, you’re more shocked than ecstatic to see him here.

“Can you ever forgive me?”, “…maybe, but I would like to try again…”

An embrace feels more rewarding and healing than a kiss would in this moment.

[wanderingmind867]

DC and Marvel both love Atlantis. And their interpretations of Atlantis are usually pretty similar, but I see some differences. I still want to compare it to the Greek and Roman stuff Rick Riordan writes about. DC's Atlantis feels more Grecian, I guess. Aquaman's Orange Chainmail or whatever reminds me of Camp Half-Blood. And Namor is Roman backwards, and he just screams the regal and imperious attitude of characters like Octavian at Camp Jupiter.

But there's so much more than that. DC and Marvel both delve into the prehistoric culture of Atlantis. Paul Kupperberg created Arion, the ancient sorcerer from DC's Atlantis. But Marvel's Atlantis has Kull the Conqueror and figures like the sorceress Zhered-Na (who died for predicting atlantis's fall, and then led a cult onto the mainland). Roy Thomas and Steve Gerber really fleshed out Marvel's Atlantis. So we have different writers, and different backstories, but it all goes back to sword and sorcery style mythos.

So this is why I really think we just need to have a reveal that DC and Marvel's two seperate versions Atlantis were seperated by the gods ages ago, perhaps during the time of Kull and Arion. The gods knew there would be fighting between their children, should they ever meet, and so they hid them from each other. I mean, come on! It makes so much sense! Rick Riordan's ideas and concepts just work perfectly in this setting! Why do I feel like I'm the only one who's noticed this!?

[namor-shuri]

The similarities/ dissimilarities of Letitia Wright x Shuri + Tenoch Huerta x Namor

Twitter post

[sapphiewritesstuff]

Dude I need a hardcore yandere Namor x reader!

Where your Riri’s friend and specialize in chemistry and biology so you know how to make different materials for her and even make money off the side with selling your stuff to the government. And Namor definitely wants to kill you like the scientist but after finally seeing you in person has a change of heart, his mind convincing him it’ll be a waste on someone so intelligent to die, especially someone so beautiful- Namor then rizzes you up enough to manipulate you into staying with him after the war

(Extra points for tension and possessive)

love your work please drink more water 💧❤️❤️❤️

Hi!! Thank you for the request and I’m really really glad you like my work, thank you for supporting me <33 I will try my best with this ask, as I usually don’t write hardcore Yandere, so if it’s not what you expect I’m sorry, but I am a soft girl at heart and Namor is my bby girl <33

Warnings: GN! Reader, Yandere, Violence, manipulation, kidnapping, Namor is dark but not darker than he is in the movie, isolation, punishments, murder, not proofread.

-You were kidnapped along with Shuri and Riri, knocked unconscious by Namora and taken to Talokan.

-Namor takes an almost immediate interest in you, wanting to talk to you and learn more about you. At first, he tries to excuse it as trying to get closer to the enemy, even though he doesn’t treat Riri the same way, but later learns to accept that he thinks that you’re beautiful.

-He accepts the fact that you're a genius, your inventions and experiments are like none other, and it intrigues him. Talokan could use someone like you, it would be a waste to kill you.

-The more time he spends with you, the more infatuated he becomes. Everything about you is perfect, from your brain to the way you act to the way you look, he needs you as his own.

-You plead with him to let Riri and Shuri go, but never beg for your own freedom, and Namor respects how selfless you are.

-Nakia soon comes to rescue the three of you, but as Namor started keeping you in his private hut, she was unable to take you back to the surface.

-You told yourself that they would come back for you, that they were just planning their next move, but days turned into weeks, and nobody ever came.

-Namor took pity on you, he hated seeing such a beautiful person be ruined by the surface dwellers, but he knew that he could use this to his advantage.

-One day, he sat down beside you, taking your face into his hands, and very firmly, yet gently, told you words that you'll never forget.

-"They're not coming for you, my love."

-He 'takes care' of the Wakandans soon after. (Interpret that as you will, if Wakanda and Talokan become allies he convinces them that you're in Talokan willingly, you're too afraid to say differently.)

-Life with Namor isn't spent as a captive, if you can overlook not being allowed to leave Talokan, he treats you like royalty (which you are, he has already made you the other ruler of Talokan through marriage). His touches are soft, and he feeds you only the freshest of fruits.

-Namor has a temper, there is no denying that, many poor servants have been subject to his yelling and wrath after disrespecting him or you.

-Despite this, he never lays a finger on you.

-Punishments? He doesn't like hurting you, his little scientist, but he knows that if he doesn't teach you, you'll stray away.

-He isolates you. You have been down in Talokan for god knows how long, with Namor being your only interaction, as much as you hate to admit it, it's nice having someone to keep you sane. Namor knows this, and uses it to his advantage. Whenever you act up or break one of his rules, he'll ignore you until you're begging for him to look at you again.

-He also makes you watch as he guts some innocent who 'wronged' you in his eyes. Sometimes it's an act of love ('look at what I would do for you!'), other times it's a punishment ('this is what happens to people you get too close to, it's your fault, stay by my side and nobody will have to suffer')

-You'll never see the surface again, he knows that the government will just come after you, he must keep you here to protect you and his kingdom. He's doing this for you!

-If you ever try to escape, god help you.

[lunathebee]

Ooo hiii! I’m sorry for all the rambling!!

Can I please request a Newlyweds!Namor x fem!human!reader oneshot where he’s helping her adjust after taking the vibranium-infused herb? Teaching her how to swim, trying to teach her how to defend herself in case of emergency, also teaching her Mayan + him being really soft with her, lots of kisses, hugs, and cuddles (Namor puts on a tough front but I just KNOW he’d be a complete softie for his wife), also he’d be sooo worried about Y/n because while she can now breathe underwater and will age as slow as he does, she’s still more vulnerable because she’s only human, not a mutant + Namor spoiling the heck out of Y/n🥺🥺

Pairing: Newlyweds!Namor x fem!human!reader

Warning: none just fluff

A/n: This is such a cute scenario, we live for soft!Namor ^^

Summary: Namor thinks you need to learn Mayan more; you prove him wrong by saying one word only.

"Easy, slow and steady, my pearl." Namor smiled while holding Y/n's hand and guiding her to the cold water. "Are you sure you're ready? We can wait as long as you want."

"I think I'm ready." Y/n said while biting her lips, feeling how the water slowly rose up as she walked forward. This is the first time Namor has allowed her to be near the ocean ever since she took the vibranium-infused herb, which is such a long time ago.

While Y/n thinks Namor is overreacting, he assures her that it's for her own safety (and his too; Namor can't bring himself to see any water incident).

"Can we see Talokan now?" Y/n smiled while tilting her head, she can't wait to just dive down and see how marvelous the kingdom is, now that Y/n can breethe under water, what can possibily stop her?

"What? Not yet, Y/n; you need to learn all kinds of things first! Like defending yourself, or learning Mayan, or even swimming—do you know how to swim yet?" The king chuckled; he is sure the only reason his sweet little pearl can still talk his ears off is because he is holding her waist. Namor's finger digs harder into Y/n's skin, like a reminder she still needs to depend on him.

"I- I mean we can learn them, you can teach me everything, we have all the time in the world"

A smart answer from Y/n to ignored Namor's direct question. The cold water now submerged her chest, but somehow it still can't stop the heat rushing onto her face. Life with Namor still seems new and unfamiliar to Y/n, but it is oh so exciting and lovely.

"K'ilkabech? (Are you hot?)" Namor asks, his voice full of teasing hints. The king just wants to kiss his beautiful queen's face, but she keeps hiding it!

"Namor, you know I didn't understand when you said anything in Mayan." Y/N scolded before spalshing water at her husband playfully. The action made Namor let go of Y/n instantly due to surprise. The woman wasted no time taking the opportunity and diving down to the blue ocean, letting it control her body.

Namor follows right behind Y/n; he knows she is able to breathe under water now thanks to the herb. Something that sounds dangerous to humans now turns into a game of cat and mouse.

"Gotcha, not so quick now, little pearl." Namor thought and quickly catching up, hugging Y/n from behind, peppering kisses all over her face before swimming upward so that she couldn't escape another time.

"Don't think this is over; you still need to learn Mayan, my dear."

Y/n puffs up her cheek cutely like a pufferfish after Namor's comment. "I know how to speak Mayan"

"Say something to me then?"

"In k'áatech (I love you)" ♡ ♡ 

[imperiuswrecked]

It's actually so funny that I headcanon Namor as the most pansexual man to ever pansexual but Orm is like a Virgin with a capital V. He's so confused he doesn't even know what he likes or even if he's into sex or romance at all.

He became a king at such a young age and went to work being a ruler and didn't get a day off till he was nearly 40 and then he just kinda goes "huh. Maybe I should try that dating thing?" But then remembers the assassins that lurk around every corner of his paranoid mind and decides he better not risk it.

[enaspaces]

compilation of my “bp characters on twitter” memes lol

bonus:

[pilesofpillows]

What If… Namor & Ramonda Tried Something Different

BPWF HC… don’t judge me

I know it sounds crazy, I’m aware. But I’m also aware of Angela and Tenoch’s chemistry. And the tension on the beach?! Whew chile…

So like what if instead of popping up randomly like a malicious psycho at the river border during a grief ceremony, Namor came correct? What if he explained why he was mad and what Wakanda’s choice to go public meant for him and the people of Talokan?

It could start simple. He shows up at the river border which causes chaos obviously, but in the light of day, so it’s clear that he’s there to start a discourse.

Namor starts by explaining who tf he is. And his history, so we have a clear understanding of how similar Wakanda/Talokan really are. And how the invention threatens them both…

Namor asks Ramonda to find the scientist. Ya know, treating her like the queen she is an equal… Would be helpful if she could handle it for the safety of his people but mainly just neutralize the threat please

Ramonda agrees because she’s nice and reasonable when you’re not threatening her only remaining child

Shuri and Okoye go to get Riri and are a bit shocked when they find out she’s 19 because it’s fucking shocking she’s a child! And they don’t want to “neutralize” a child.

They take Riri back to Wakanda so we can talk to Namor again. The Bridge scene never happens (as much as I love it)… and Ramonda calls Namor and explains the sitch…

Namor uses his 500 year old brain and agrees that killing a child is both reprehensible and irrational. Because it will not stop people seeking vibranium nor will it protect Talokan, but an alliance between the two nations just might

And what better way to seal an alliance than with marriage?

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

I feel like I’ve read all the fluffy Namor fics😭😭 Please send me the softest Namor fics!!! I need the fluff🤧🤧 (also if anyone has opened requests for Namor, please let me know!! I have lots of request ideas to send in🤧🤧)

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Realizing They Are Jealous

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has always told himself he’s not the jealous type. He knows better. He’s seen what obsession does to a person, how it corrodes and twists and turns something good into something dark. He swore he’d never be that guy, the one who grips too tight, who loses sight of what matters. And yet, as he watches some stranger lean in close, flashing a smile that’s just a little too confident, he feels it coil inside him—hot, sharp, unexpected.

- His fingers twitch, and he clenches his fists like he’s bracing for a fight, even though there’s no real battle here. Just words, just glances, just you laughing at something someone else said. And Peter—who has fought gods and monsters, who has lost more than he ever thought he could survive—finds himself standing frozen, drowning in something far more terrifying than any villain.

- He tries to be rational. Tries to remind himself that you’re not his, that he has no right to this feeling clawing at his ribs. But then your head tilts, your lips part in that familiar, effortless smile, and it hits him like a fist to the gut: he wants to be the reason you smile like that. He wants to be the only one.

- The moment passes, the stranger moves on, and Peter still can’t breathe right. He should let it go, should shake it off, but when you turn to him, bright-eyed and oblivious to the war raging in his chest, all he can do is force a grin and hope you don’t notice the way his voice strains when he speaks.

- Later, alone in his room, he presses his forehead against his hand and exhales shakily. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Because Peter Parker? He’s never been good at letting things go. And now, he doesn’t think he can let you go, either.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark doesn’t get jealous. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He’s been around the block too many times, seen too many people come and go, to let something as petty as jealousy get under his skin. He’s Tony Stark. He’s seen it all. So when he spots some smooth-talking nobody leaning into your space, flashing that kind of grin he perfected years ago, he should laugh it off. Should.

- But he doesn’t. Instead, there’s a flicker of something sharp and ugly curling in his chest, something possessive and unfamiliar. It’s ridiculous, really. He could have anyone, could fill a room with people hanging onto his every word, but none of them matter. Not the way you do.

- He swirls the whiskey in his glass, eyes narrowing as he watches the way you tilt your head, the way your lips quirk in amusement. It’s harmless, he tells himself. You’re just being polite. But his jaw tightens all the same, and suddenly, the ice in his drink isn’t the only thing cold in the room.

- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Tony Stark never needs to. Instead, he waits until you’re alone, leans in with a smirk that’s just a little too sharp, and says, “Didn’t know you had a thing for guys who wear cheap cologne.” You roll your eyes, laughing, but there’s something in his voice that makes you pause. Something raw beneath the bravado.

- Later, when you’re gone, Tony leans back against his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But now that he does, now that he’s seen what it would be like to lose your attention, he knows one thing for certain—he’s not going to let that happen again.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers likes to believe he’s patient. He’s fought wars, survived decades of loss, and carried burdens most men would crumble under. He’s not impulsive. Not reckless. He’s better than that. Or at least, he thought he was—until now.

- The sight of someone else standing too close to you, their voice too low, their gaze lingering just a second too long—it sparks something in him, something old and primal and dangerous. His fingers tighten around the coffee cup in his hands, his jaw locking as he forces himself to breathe.

- He knows he has no claim on you. No right to this feeling twisting inside him. But that doesn’t stop the way his chest tightens, the way his pulse kicks up in something too close to fight-or-flight. He’s fought wars, but this? This is different. This is personal.

- He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t stake a claim—Steve isn’t the kind of man to do that. But when you finally turn away from the conversation, when your eyes meet his across the room, there’s something there—something in the way he looks at you, steady and unyielding, that makes your breath catch.

- And maybe, just maybe, you see it too. The truth of it. The confession that lingers in the space between you, unsaid but undeniable. Steve Rogers is a patient man. But even he has his limits. And when it comes to you? He won’t let someone else take what should have been his.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

- Thor Odinson does not know jealousy the way mortals do. He does not simmer in silence, does not let resentment fester like a slow-growing storm. No, when Thor feels, he feels. And right now, he feels the weight of something heavy, something possessive, something undeniable.

- He watches as another person captures your attention, as their voice fills the air where his should be. And though he does not doubt your loyalty, though he knows the strength of his own heart, something inside him rumbles. A warning. A storm brewing on the horizon.

- He does not shrink. He does not sulk. Instead, he acts. With slow, deliberate steps, he crosses the room, placing himself at your side with the ease of a warrior reclaiming his place on the battlefield. “Ah, my friend,” he says, voice rich with warmth, though his grip on his hammer is just a fraction too tight. “Are you enjoying my beloved’s company?”

- The title slips from his lips before he can stop it. Beloved. It is instinct, raw and unfiltered, and when you glance at him in surprise, he meets your gaze without hesitation. There is no retreat, no denial—only the thunderous certainty of a god who knows what is his.

- And in that moment, as realization dawns in your eyes, Thor Odinson understands—there is no turning back from this. And by the gods, he does not want to.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is not a fool. He sees things others miss, reads between the lines of every conversation, every fleeting glance. He is a god of mischief, a master of deception. And yet, for all his cunning, he did not see this coming.

- He did not expect to feel the sharp sting of jealousy as someone else’s words make you smile. He did not expect the coil of irritation tightening in his chest as he watches you lean in, drawn into a conversation that is not with him. And above all, he did not expect the slow, creeping realization that follows: he cares.

- The thought unsettles him. Love, affection—these things are not meant for him. He has been cast aside too many times, burned by his own foolishness, by the cruelty of fate. And yet… here you are, undoing him with nothing but a laugh that isn’t even meant for him.

- He does not confront it, not directly. Instead, he sidles up beside you, his presence a whisper of silk and shadows, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Surely, you do not find them that charming?” The words are laced with amusement, but his fingers twitch at his sides.

- And when you turn to him, curiosity flickering in your gaze, he holds it—holds you—longer than he should. He will not admit it. Not yet. But the seed has been planted, and gods help him, he does not know if he has the strength to pull it free.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton isn’t the type to take himself too seriously. Life’s too short, and his luck’s too bad for that. He rolls with the punches, cracks a joke when things get tough, keeps it light—because that’s what keeps him sane. But watching someone else flirt with you? Yeah, that’s not funny.

- He tells himself he doesn’t care. You’re not his, you don’t owe him anything, and really, it’s probably his own damn fault for never making a move. But still, there’s this tightness in his chest, a slow-burning irritation curling in his stomach, and suddenly, he’s gripping his drink a little too hard.

- He could walk away. Should walk away. But instead, he lingers at the edge of the room, watching, waiting, fingers tapping against his thigh like he’s counting down the seconds before he does something stupid. And when you laugh at something that guy says? Yeah, that’s when he snaps.

- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Clint Barton is too smooth for that. Instead, he saunters over, slides an arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and grins at the guy like he’s already won. “Hey, sweetheart. Who’s your friend?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. A warning.

- And when you glance up at him, confused but not pulling away, Clint feels something settle inside him. Something warm, something right. Maybe he’s been an idiot. Maybe he’s been avoiding this for too long. But he knows one thing for damn sure—he’s not letting anyone else steal what should’ve been his all along.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff is a master of control. Of reading a room, of keeping her emotions locked behind an unshakable mask. But this? This is unexpected. This burn in her chest, this sharp, cutting edge of irritation curling along her spine as she watches someone else pull you into a conversation that should be hers.

- She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t let a single crack show. But her eyes follow every movement, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against her thigh, the only outward sign of the storm brewing beneath the surface. It’s ridiculous, really. You’re not hers. You’re free to do whatever you want. And yet…

- Yet, when you tilt your head, smiling at something they say, something inside her snaps. It’s subtle, barely there, but she moves—slipping through the crowd with effortless grace, coming to stand beside you, close enough that her presence demands attention.

- “Interesting conversation?” she asks, voice smooth as silk, but there’s something dangerous in the way she tilts her head, in the slight smirk playing at her lips. The person flirting with you hesitates, suddenly unsure, suddenly feeling like prey in the presence of a predator. And Natasha? She enjoys it.

- Later, when you’re alone, she leans in, voice softer now, more real. “You should be more careful,” she murmurs, fingers brushing yours. “Some people don’t deserve your attention.” And though she doesn’t say it outright, you hear the truth behind the words. She wants you for herself. And Natasha Romanoff always gets what she wants.

Bucky Barnes aka. The Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes has been through hell. He’s lost more than most, suffered in ways he doesn’t talk about, and rebuilt himself from the ground up. He knows better than to let himself get attached. But when he sees someone else standing too close to you, when he watches them steal your attention, something inside him goes cold.

- It’s not anger. Not exactly. It’s something deeper, heavier, a pressure in his chest that won’t ease no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He doesn’t like this—this feeling of being on the outside, of watching you smile at someone who isn’t him.

- He clenches his jaw, looks away, tries to focus on something else. But then, as if the universe is testing him, he hears it—your laugh. Soft, genuine, warm. And it wrecks him. Because that laugh? It’s his favorite sound. And he doesn’t want anyone else to have it.

- He doesn’t move right away. He’s still figuring this out, still sorting through the mess of emotions he doesn’t know what to do with. But when you finally turn to him, eyes bright and unknowing, he meets your gaze and holds it. And for the first time, maybe ever, he lets the truth slip through.

- “Didn’t think I was the jealous type,” he admits, voice rough, words meant just for you. And when your lips part, surprised, he only smirks, shaking his head. “Guess I was wrong.”

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock is a patient man. He has to be. He’s spent his entire life walking the razor’s edge between control and chaos, between justice and vengeance. But this? This is different. This isn’t a courtroom battle or a rooftop fight—this is you, smiling at someone else, and it is unraveling him in ways he doesn’t expect.

- He can hear everything—the steady heartbeat of the person flirting with you, the subtle shift in your tone, the way your breath catches just slightly before you laugh. It’s innocent. Harmless. And yet, his grip on his cane tightens, his jaw locks, and he hates the way his pulse betrays him.

- He’s never been good at sharing. It’s not in his nature, not when it comes to things that matter. And you? You matter. More than he’s willing to admit. More than he should ever let himself believe.

- He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t step in. But when the conversation ends, when you finally come back to him, he tilts his head and murmurs, “They seemed… interesting.” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, something unreadable behind his glasses. And when you chuckle, brushing it off, he exhales slowly, forcing himself to let it go.

- But later, when it’s just the two of you, his fingers linger when they touch yours. His voice is softer, quieter when he says, “Just—don’t let someone else take what they don’t deserve, okay?” And though he doesn’t say it outright, you understand what he means. He wants to be the only one.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle doesn’t get jealous. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Jealousy is for men who have something to lose, for men who still believe in the kind of love that doesn’t end in blood. And Frank? He doesn’t have that luxury.

- But then he sees you—sees them, standing too close, talking too smooth, and something inside him goes black. His blood turns to fire, his muscles coil tight, and suddenly, he has to remind himself not to break something.

- He watches. Silent. Dangerous. The kind of quiet that makes lesser men nervous, that turns a warm room cold. And when your laughter rings out, light and unknowing, Frank swears he feels something crack inside him.

- He doesn’t make a move. Doesn’t say a word. But when the conversation ends, when you finally turn and meet his eyes, there’s something dark and unreadable waiting there. Something that should scare you. But it doesn’t.

- Later, in the dead of night, he exhales smoke into the silence and mutters, “Should’ve killed ‘em.” And maybe he’s joking. Maybe he’s not. But either way, Frank Castle knows one thing for sure—he’s never letting anyone else think they have a chance with you. Not while he’s still breathing.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector has always been a man of war. His heart is battle-worn, his soul stitched together by vengeance and duty. Love? Love is dangerous. Love makes you weak. But when he sees someone else’s hand resting just a little too long on your arm, when he watches their eyes linger on you the way only he should be allowed to—Marc feels something snap.

- It’s not a rational thing. No, it’s visceral, instinctual, an old wound torn open and bleeding jealousy into his ribs. His fingers twitch, his vision narrows, and for a brief, fleeting second, the weight of Khonshu’s will presses against his skull. Hurt them. Make them regret it.

- But then, you laugh—soft, unknowing, untouched by the storm raging inside him. And that’s what stops him. That’s what saves him. Because you don’t need his darkness. You deserve something gentler than him.

- So he stays where he is, jaw tight, fists clenched, shadows curling around his thoughts like whispers in the night. He doesn’t interfere. Not yet. But when you finally turn to him, oblivious to the war he’s fighting inside, his voice is low, rough, edged with something he doesn’t dare name.

- “Let’s go.” It’s not a request. And when you blink up at him, confused but willing, Marc exhales. You’ll never know just how close he came to losing himself for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm doesn’t do jealousy. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s too cool for that, too charming, too damn good-looking to ever feel threatened. But the second he sees someone else trying to steal your attention, the easy confidence he’s built around himself starts to flicker.

- He keeps it casual at first—leans against the bar, crosses his arms, smirks like he’s just so amused by whatever’s happening. But beneath that cocky grin, his fingers tighten against the glass in his hand, and the tips of his ears burn hot.

- He tries to laugh it off. Makes a joke at your expense, something playful, something light. But when you don’t immediately turn back to him, when you keep talking to them, the flames inside him rise, licking at the edges of his restraint.

- “Okay, that’s cute,” he finally mutters, before striding over and slinging an arm around your shoulders with deliberate ease. His smile is bright, a little too sharp, as he looks the other person up and down. “You make friends fast, huh?”

- He plays it off well. Too well. But later, when you’re alone, he mutters, almost to himself, “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, he exhales. Yeah, he’s in trouble. Big trouble.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has spent his life solving impossible equations, unraveling the mysteries of the universe, conquering the unknown with nothing but his mind. But this? This is a problem he doesn’t know how to fix.

- He sees you—sees them—standing too close, exchanging words he can’t quite hear over the noise of the room. Logic tells him he has no reason to react. You are not a variable in an equation he controls. And yet, the sharp sting of possessiveness coils in his chest, irrational and unrelenting.

- He tells himself to let it go. There is no scientific basis for jealousy. It is an emotional impulse, a flaw in human reasoning. And yet, his fingers tighten around the pen in his hand, his mind fracturing into a thousand calculations, each one ending in the same conclusion:

- He does not want to lose you.

- Later, when he finally speaks, it’s careful, measured, spoken in that calm, analytical tone that betrays nothing. “You seemed… engaged in that conversation.” It’s not an accusation, not quite, but when you tilt your head at him, curious, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s already lost the upper hand.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t do jealousy. She’s far too confident, far too aware of her own power, to feel threatened by someone else’s presence in your orbit. And yet, when she sees them flirting with you—sees their hand brushing your arm, sees your lips curve at whatever they said—she feels something sharp and territorial curl inside her.

- She doesn’t react immediately. No, Felicia Hardy is far too strategic for that. Instead, she watches, waits, lets them think they have a chance. And then, just when they start to relax, she makes her move.

- “Mind if I cut in?” Her voice is silk, smooth and effortless, her fingers trailing along your arm as she steps between you and the intruder. She doesn’t even have to look at them to know they’ve already lost.

- She leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice dropping to something only you can hear. “Careful, kitten. You don’t want to get tangled up with the wrong person.” And when you shiver—when you look at her the way she wants you to—she knows she’s won.

- Later, as you walk together, she smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You should be more careful who you flirt with.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, she only grins wider. You were always going to be hers.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange has never been the kind of man to fear losing something. He has conquered the impossible, rewritten fate, bent the very fabric of reality to his will. And yet, when he sees you with them—sees you laugh, sees you lean in—he feels something disturbingly close to fear.

- He tells himself it’s illogical. That he has no claim to you, that what you do is none of his concern. But the words taste hollow in his mouth, and the air around him hums with restrained magic, with emotions he refuses to name.

- He doesn’t intervene—not at first. No, Stephen Strange is not a man of petty impulses. But when the conversation lingers too long, when he sees them touch your arm, he exhales sharply and moves.

- “I wasn’t aware we were entertaining guests.” His voice is even, his expression unreadable, but there is something unmistakably sharp in his gaze as he steps beside you. The other person stiffens. Good.

- Later, when you question him about it, he only lifts a brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the way his fingers graze your wrist, the way his magic lingers against your skin? It tells a different story. One he isn’t ready to say aloud. Not yet.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is a king. A warrior. A god among men. He has no reason to feel jealousy, no reason to regard anyone as his competition. And yet, when he sees another lingering too close, their gaze trailing over you with something unearned, his blood boils.

- He watches, expression composed but dangerous, as they speak to you, as they dare to bask in your presence. Do they think they are worthy? Do they believe, for even a moment, that they can take what Namor has already claimed in his heart?

- He does not interrupt—not immediately. No, Namor is patient, calculating. He waits for the perfect moment, stepping forward with regal, effortless confidence, his presence alone enough to command attention. His fingers brush your arm, a deliberate, possessive motion. “My dear, surely you do not waste your time with this one?”

- His voice is smooth, edged with something sharp. The poor fool who thought they had a chance swallows hard, sensing the shift in the air. Namor does not need to fight for you. He simply reclaims what is his.

- Later, when you tease him about it, his only response is a slow, knowing smirk. “You belong at my side, and my side alone.” And when you see the certainty in his gaze, you realize—he’s not asking. He’s declaring.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has never been a man of peace. His soul is battle-worn, haunted by fire and vengeance. But nothing—nothing—burns quite like the sight of someone else trying to steal your attention.

- His jaw tightens, his grip on the edge of the bar going white-knuckled as he watches. He tells himself to let it go. He’s not the type to get jealous, right? But the Rider in his chest—the monster wrapped in fire and bone—growls in warning.

- He doesn’t make a scene. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves, slow and deliberate, stepping into the conversation like he was always meant to be there. His presence alone is enough to shift the atmosphere—dangerous, electric.

- He doesn’t glare, doesn’t threaten, but when his dark, firelit gaze locks onto the poor bastard who thought they had a chance, the message is clear. Back off. Now. And they do. Because everyone does, eventually.

- Later, when you ask if he was jealous, he scoffs, looking away. “Jealous? Nah. Just didn’t like their face.” But the way his hand lingers on your hip, the way his body hums with unspoken possession? Yeah, he’s a terrible liar.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock knows jealousy. It’s been his constant companion—festering, clawing at his insides long before the symbiote ever took root in his veins. But this—seeing you smile at someone else, seeing their eyes linger on you—it’s a different kind of ache.

- “We do not like this.” The voice slithers through his mind, low and possessive, the symbiote pressing against his ribs like it wants out. Eddie grits his teeth, his fingers flexing as he tries to shove down the urge to tear something apart.

- He tells himself it’s fine. You’re not his. Not really. But when that idiot reaches out—when their hand dares to brush against you—Venom surges forward before he can stop it. A dark, twisted growl bubbles from his throat, something inhuman.

- The poor bastard nearly jumps out of their skin. “What the hell was that?” they mutter, backing away as a shadow flickers over Eddie’s eyes. And when you glance at him, brow furrowed, he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Must be the wind.”

- Later, when Venom whispers, “We should eat them,” Eddie just mutters, “No, we shouldn’t.” But as you walk beside him, unaware of the war raging inside him, he wonders—what would it take for you to see that you’re already his?

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa is not a man ruled by petty emotions. He has been raised in the art of restraint, taught that a king must always remain in control. But when he sees another vying for your attention, when he watches their hand hover too close—his restraint is tested.

- He does not react immediately. No, he simply observes, his expression unreadable, his mind already three steps ahead. There is no need for outbursts, no need for crude displays of possession. T’Challa wins wars with patience and precision.

- And so, when the moment is right, he moves—effortless, calculated, undeniable. His voice is smooth as he steps into your space, his hand settling gently at the small of your back. “Forgive my interruption,” he says, gaze flickering to the would-be suitor, voice full of quiet authority. “But I believe I was promised this dance.”

- The other person falters, unsure, outmatched in a game they did not even realize they were playing. T’Challa does not need to fight for you. He simply reminds the world who he is.

- Later, when you tease him about it, his lips curve into something soft, something secret. “You are… precious to me.” And though he does not say more, the look in his eyes is enough. You are not just a passing fancy. You are a queen, and he will not let anyone take you from him.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is not jealous. Jealousy is for the weak, for the foolish, for those who lack the confidence to take what they want. But when she sees them—sees you—laughing at something someone else said, her knives feel heavier at her hips.

- She does not make a scene. No, Elektra is far too skilled in the art of subtlety for that. Instead, she watches, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Not with violence—not yet.

- When she finally moves, it’s with all the grace of a predator circling its prey. She doesn’t touch you, not immediately, but she steps into your space like she belongs there. And when she finally speaks, it’s a soft, amused purr—“Surely you don’t find them interesting?”

- Her hand traces your wrist, feather-light, but the weight of it is undeniable. She doesn’t even look at the other person. They don’t matter. They never did.

- Later, when you tell her she was jealous, she only smiles, slow and dangerous. “Jealous? No. But if they touch you again, I’ll consider sharpening my blades.” And something about the way she says it makes you wonder—was she joking?

[wanderingmind867]

I find it kind of funny that Aqualad and Kid Flash have a rivalry. Aqualad grew up (from what little i understand) practically as Aquaman's foundling. He has no friends besides his father figure and millions of fish and sea creatures. Wally West had a normal childhood, raised by two loving parents in a small town apparently in the Nebraska area (the DC wiki said Blue Valley was Nebraska, I think. But I always pegged it for missouri, like Central City). But y'know... I think I can understand why they'd be jealous of each other now. They might be envious of each other's lives. Huh. Wow. I think I accidentally put more thought into this than even Bob Haney did when he started their little rivalry. But I can't say that for sure. He's dead now, and I can't ask him. (The Brave and The Bold #54):

[karisomk]

My Talokanil Headcanon:

If you're going to use this or add it to your list tag me for credit.

The reason turtles are receptive to people cleaning their shells is because of the Talokanil started this practice.

Turtles sometime get build up of barnacles on them including miss. And the Talokanil help them by carefully prying off the barnacles. Also giving them a gentle scrub to get the moss off. So when a human does it.

They come in waves cause it's like "oh you're a friend too!"

This task is often given to young Talokanil occasionally over seen by Namora or Attuma when in Talokan. One of the first responsibilities for the young to learn their relationship with sea life.

[honmyoseagull]

C’m’on, Namor Nation, where’s the humor?

OK. Someone at least has to be not even remotely serious about the Talokan theme.

When I first saw the topic, I thought of this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment in the Wakanda Forever movie when we see Talokan denizens playing this mesoamerican ancestor to basketball underwater.

And I said to myself: underwater? But it changes everything with so different a gravity! It’s easier to reach the hoop! Then, the devil constantly sitting on my shoulder started cackling, obviously, when we got to know more about Attuma in the movie and this competitive streak of his.

So… Here’s a doodle, because frankly I’m too tired, I have too little time, and I very much hope someone who draws better will give me a good version of this one day. (I BEG YOU. I NEED THE LAUGH.)

Attuma is totally the one who’ll get too enthusiastic and competitive and will find himself going right through the hoop with the ball. AND GET STUCK. To Namora’s utter delight. And Namor’s utter despair. (Because imagine the number of Talokan youths he has seen in the same predicament over the centuries… right?)

...

...

I regret nothing, @imperiuswrecked​. Or will bear the shame, proudly.

[sapphiewritesstuff]

Can you pls do one where Reader already has a kid and Namor and the child getting along.

I combined this with another ask about reader being pregnant with another man's baby, and learning to trust men again after the father of the baby left them.

Warnings: AFAB! GN! reader, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, not proofread

-Namor would def fall into the role of dad with any child, even if it’s not his own biologically

-He has such a deep desire to be a father. He filled that role for Namora and Attuma in a way, but there was still always that aching hole in his heart

-You and Namor met not long after your past lover left you cruelly, and Namor was there to help and comfort you. He was even there when you first found out you were pregnant, and he swore to stay by your side and take care of you.

-Namor had a good heart, deep down you knew that. It showed in the way he interacts with his people and the way he's so patient with you, but your heart is still shattered from the actions of your last lover.

-It takes you a while to fully trust him, but when you wake up to him rubbing your swollen tummy while talking to the baby as if it's his, you knew that he was the one.

-Namor cries tears of joy at the birth of your child. He gently scoops them up into his big arms and sighs when it all hits him, when he all takes it in.

-At first, he fears that the baby wouldn't like him, that they wouldn't have the bond a father and child should have, that he isn't capable of being a father. Those fears melt away when the baby smiles and laughs, reaching out for his Papa.

-Namor and baby are two peas in a pod!

-You walk in on them sleeping soundly, your baby being held safely in Namor's arms.

-Any snarky comments about the 'real' father of the baby will be instantly shut down, Namor does not appreciate any slander towards him or his family.

-In short, Namor is new to this whole family thing, but he'll try his best, because he loves you with all his heart.