namamibrainrot

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Johnny would be a wow boobs guy

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chill out, Johnny

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Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes Marvel Rivals | Stars Aligned - Official Launch Date Announcement Trailer

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Lin Lie x Himbo!Reader

warnings, none !!

note, WHEN I TELL YALL I LOVEEEE ME A HIMBO

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Lin Lie is absolutely smitten with you. There’s just something about your easy-going, airheaded charm that keeps him on his toes. You’re always in a good mood, so much so that it’s contagious. Whenever you’re around, he can’t help but smile—whether you’re trying to remember something you forgot or making a silly comment, you always make him laugh.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Despite your airhead vibe, you’re seriously strong, and Lin Lie can’t help but admire the muscles you’ve built. He loves the way you flex and show off your strength, but he also adores how you’re just so cuddly and affectionate afterward.

He’ll often find you playfully challenging him to a spar or offering to lift him up for fun. He’s always game, of course, because he loves the challenge and loves the way you get excited.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Lin Lie secretly melts every time you wrap your arms around him in a big, muscley bear hug—especially when you don’t even realize how strong you’re being. “Careful,” he laughs, “you’re gonna crush me.” But the truth is, he loves it.

You have a habit of getting distracted mid-conversation, especially if something excites you—like a cool bug, a new protein bar flavor, or the gym’s new punching bag. Lin Lie finds it endearing. He never minds repeating himself; he just thinks it’s cute how your brain bounces around like a golden retriever with biceps.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° You love physical affection and are constantly clinging to him. Whether it’s draping yourself over his back during cooldown stretches or sneaking behind him just to hug his waist, you’re touchy in the softest, most loving way—and Lin Lie lives for it.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° When he’s meditating or training in silence, you sometimes sit with him in peaceful solidarity… but you usually end up falling asleep against his shoulder or lying on his lap with a dumb little grin on your face. He never complains. He just brushes your hair out of your face and keeps watch.

Bonus extra scenario because this was requested forever ago and I’m just now posting it 🙁

It was late—too late to still be at the gym, honestly—but you had dragged Lin Lie into a spontaneous nighttime workout session, saying something about “chest day never sleeps” with the brightest grin on your face.

Now, with both of you finally sprawled out on the mat, drenched in sweat and muscles sore, you were lying half on top of him, cheek smooshed into his chest and arms loosely wrapped around his waist like a very affectionate, very muscular koala.

“You good?” Lin Lie asked softly, brushing a few strands of hair from your forehead.

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, eyes already slipping closed. “You smell like victory and protein powder.”

He chuckled quietly, warmth blooming in his chest. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You like it,” you said with a lazy grin, nuzzling closer.

“I really do,” he whispered, letting his hand rest on your back. You were heavy, but in the most comforting way possible—like gravity didn’t stand a chance with you holding him down.

As your breathing evened out, Lin Lie stayed still beneath you, heart beating calm and steady. The gym was dark, silent but for the hum of the overhead lights, and he wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything.

“You’re falling asleep, aren’t you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“…No,” you murmured, clearly very much asleep.

He smiled to himself. “Yeah. Sure.”

additional note ! this request is literally from weeks ago imsoashamed

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

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normalise being a teenage girl with an unhealthy obsession with the x reader tag

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cheating on your shitty boyfriend with your best friend johnny storm??? ummm . . . check! ✅️

"shit, baby." he chuckles into your mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist— nails digging into his broad forearms by your head.

"your pussy really fuckin' needed me, huh? poor thing." he hums before pulling his hips back and thrusting deeper into you, earning a shudder from your body.

you moan into his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut— his arms lock around your head as he drives his cock deeper and deeper. it feels so good— your lips opening in a trembling 'o' shape as he drills into you.

your eyes are almost crossing and it makes him laugh— "never thought i'd hafta be the one to treat this pussy right." you nod, and he places a kiss on your lips before speaking— "your boyfriend ain't got shit on me."

you whine, whimper, hiss—

"johnnyyy—. . johnny, oh my god . . fuck— i'm!"

"yeah, yeah. cum for me then, drench me, baby. lay it on me. i deserve it for fucking ya so good." he hums, lips pressing against yours. his tongue licking into your mouth with ease, prodding at yours— its so hot.

you whine for a moment, voice cracking as your cunt convulses around his cock in pulses. he groans, eyes shutting for a brief moment before opening quickly to watch your fucked out face.

he feels you drench his pelvis in squirt, your legs trembling and voice going a pitch higher as he continues to fuck into you— effortlessly riding out your orgasm and overstimulating you.

"mmmnn! mmnn.. ! i luuhhh— mmnn... i luhh youuu—" you whine, hooking your arms around his neck, fat heavy tears spilling from your eyes as he pulls you impossibly close.

"yeah. i love you too, baby. fuck— fuck, i love you."

later . . . — your boyfriend stares at his phone, the message popping up out of nowhere. it reads —

' shiiiiit broo... this ur girl?? she sayin she love me! 😬😬 '

1 video attachment .

' my fault big dawg 💪'

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i unfortunately can’t sleep so:)

thinking about the first time that Bruce Wayne got cuteness aggression because of you, his brain just… stopped. Not malfunction or crash, his brain really did stop. He just.. stares at you, face unreadable, he stopped whatever he was doing just to stare at you like a fool— a lovesick fool.

In his defense, he didn’t know what to do with this new information. He didn’t train for this type of shit! And then when you finally ask him if he’s alright, the man had the audacity to just shrug nonchalantly while STILL staring at you. Because, he swears he’s faced down practically every villain, but nothing—nothing— could’ve prepared him from… this.

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Reminder batfam canonical is pro LGBTQ+, Pro immigrant, and anti racism for those of you who forgot somehow.

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BRUCE WAYNE x yn.

bruce wayne with breeding kinks head-canons:

he doesn’t mean to fixate — but he does, almost daily, in the quiet in-between moments.

bruce will be reading reports, monitoring security feeds, running a silent operation across the city… and then his mind just drifts.

he’ll glance at you curled up on the couch, flipping through a book or brushing your hair back with one hand — and some invisible trigger pulls.

a thought forms: what would you look like, full of him, with your belly round like the moon and his little heir inside you?

oh god.

he can picture it too clearly: your face softer, fuller with a glow; his hand resting over your stomach like it belongs there.

and for a man who prides himself on control, that kind of fantasy scares the hell out of him — because he wants it.

he talks to alfred about it in the most bruce-wayne way possible: indirectly, but unmistakably suggestive.

one morning, he’s sipping black coffee in the kitchen while you’re still asleep upstairs, and he says, “you ever think this place is too quiet?”

alfred lifts an eyebrow. “you mean ‘quiet’ as in peaceful, or ‘quiet’ as in missing the sound of little feet running about and breaking priceless antiques?”

bruce won’t admit anything at first — he’ll just smirk and say something vague like, “hypothetically.”

but by the third conversation, alfred’s already chuckling behind his tea.

“if you want my opinion, master wayne, you’re not fooling anyone. not with the way you look at them when they’re holding that neighbor’s baby.”

he starts quietly adjusting things around the manor, like the idea has become less of a fantasy and more of a pending plan.

without even realizing it, he begins noting the safest rooms in the house, noise levels, stair railings.

he’ll catch himself researching security upgrades with childproofing in mind, all under the excuse of “renovation.”

alfred notices immediately. “are we preparing for a miniature vigilante, or is there something you’d like to confess, sir?”

and bruce just grunts. but the corner of his mouth lifts — just slightly.

his desire for legacy isn’t about ego, it’s about rewriting something broken, something he misses.

he’s painfully aware of what was taken from him. a family. a sense of innocence.

and if he ever lets himself imagine being a father, it isn’t with the cape, or the gadgets, or the weight of the cowl.

it’s a version of him that’s real in the morning — sleep-ruffled, quiet, watching you and a small version of you both tangled up on the sofa, alive, safe.

he doesn’t just want a child. he wants a future that feels untouched by crime scenes and vengeance.

but most of all, he wants to believe that you loving him enough to start that kind of life with him isn’t just a dream.

he’ll try to play it cool when he finally brings it up to you, but his voice gives him away.

he’ll say something like, “have you ever thought about having kids? not now, obviously. just… one day.”

and when you say yes — when you say you’ve maybe thought about it too — he’s quiet for a long time.

but that night, he sleeps with one arm around your waist, pulling you just slightly closer than usual, like he’s holding something priceless.

he’s already naming the future in his head. already imagining what it would feel like to hand them the world — just a little better than the one he inherited.

his desire starts bleeding into your intimacy.

bruce isn’t reckless. not usually. but lately, the thought of you — the possibility of leaving something inside you, of creating something permanent — lives just beneath his skin.

he kisses slower now. touches you with a careful sort of ownership, like he’s memorizing you before he changes you forever.

he’ll bury his face in your neck during those longer, quieter nights and whisper “you’d look beautiful pregnant.”

soft, almost bashful — not dirty, but devotional. like you’re something holy and he’s already praying.

his movements get slower — not to rush toward release, but to press the idea of it into you. his thrusts deeper, more relaxed, more painful almost, while his groans get guttural and his moans lower.

he never says he’s not using protection, but he doesn’t correct the situation either.

it’s intentional. quiet. calculated.

he never says the words, but there’s something about how still he gets when you look up at him and say “are you sure?”

and he’ll reply — breathless, firm — “yeah. i want all of it.”

he might not say he’s thinking about putting a child in you, but you can feel the weight of that want in every motion.

he doesn’t treat your body like a playground. he treats it like a legacy in motion.

sex.

he becomes hungrier in bed, not just with desire but with intention.

after he’s come down from patrols, bruised, raw, with gotham’s filth still on him — you’re the one softness he allows himself.

and yet, even then, there’s this primal weight behind every kiss, every thrust.

“you’d carry it well,” he mutters into your skin one night, almost too low for you to hear.

he doesn’t elaborate. he doesn’t have to. and god, as nights pass, he can’t help but come inside each time, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

and unfortunately for alfred, wayne manor’s walls are too damn thin.

it starts with a closed door. but the soft noises grow louder. not vulgar, but intimate.

a creak of the mattress. two, three, now he can hear the springs begging for mercy. low groans. his voice, raspy and bitten off mid-syllable.

alfred walks by with a tray one night and pauses.

from behind the door, bruce’s voice, low and straine: “fuck- no, oh god- no, please move faster.”

a beat of silence. a breathless laugh from you.

alfred sighs deeply, sets the tray down quietly, and mutters, “well. that explains the increased grocery bill.”

he never jokes about it, but the intimacy turns gentle post-coital — almost boyish.

after, bruce doesn’t pull away like he used to. he’s quiet. holding you close. hand pressed low on your belly, like he’s willing something into being.

he’ll ask, in a soft, speculative tone, “do you ever wonder what they’d look like? if we had one? a mini you? a mini me?”

his voice is full of restraint — but underneath it, that hope is unmistakable. not romantic. animal. he presses his sweaty forehead against yours.

if you say yes, he relaxes. and you realize.

he wasn’t just fantasizing during sex. he was fantasizing about forever.

alfred starts knocking a little louder in the mornings — and a little more frequently.

the first time he hears it, he tries to politely pretend it’s the pipes.

the second time, he knocks on the bedroom door just a bit harder than necessary and says, “coffee’s ready — if you two are…finished rewriting the family line.”

bruce opens the door shirtless, sweaty, hair damp, that lazy post-coital calm still resting behind his eyes.

he doesn’t respond. alfred mutters, “well, i suppose that’s a ‘yes.’”

alfred starts putting prenatal vitamins in the cabinet “just in case”

you gently ask him one morning, “alfred, why are there like…maternity teas in the pantry?”

he barely looks up from his crossword. “oh, no reason. just thought the house ought to be prepared, considering the late-night symphonies i’ve been treated to.”

you’re mid-sip of tea. you nearly choke.

in the distance, bruce’s heavy footsteps creak across the upper hall.

“and speak of the devil,” alfred adds flatly, “our maestro descends.”

alfred sometimes tells bruce to be quieter, and bruce absolutely pretends he doesn’t understand.

“sir, i’m not one to interfere in your personal endeavors, but the acoustics in this house are far too generous.”

bruce looks up from the security feed, sipping black coffee like a sinner after confession. “i’ll look into soundproofing the bedroom.”

“yes, or perhaps consider pacing yourself before someone files a noise complaint.”

bruce smirks. doesn’t deny it. he knows alfred is being sarcastic — but the comment secretly delights him.

he’s loud because he wants it to be known. because for once in his cold, compartmentalized existence, something real is blooming.

when alfred finally catches you both at breakfast, post-‘incident,’ he acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

you’re wrapped in one of bruce’s robes. your hair’s still mussed. bruce has a faint mark on his collarbone.

“eggs?” alfred offers neutrally.

“…yes please,” you murmur, half-embarrassed.

he serves them perfectly, of course. but just before leaving the room, he mutters dryly:

“if i may suggest a night off from the opera, master wayne. the house staff are beginning to speculate.”

bruce hums into his coffee, eyes fixed on you.

“i’ll take it under consideration.”

and when you do eventually get pregnant — alfred has absolutely earned the right to be smug about it.

“knew it,” he says under his breath when you confirm it. bruce raises an eyebrow.

“oh please, sir. a deaf man could’ve heard you two plotting this.”

but beneath the teasing — there’s fondness. there’s care.

he places the vitamins on the table a little more pointedly now. makes sure the orange juice is fresh.

and when bruce starts accompanying you everywhere like your own personal bodyguard with a billion-dollar bank account?

“perhaps leave her room to breathe, sir,” alfred says. “after all, she’s carrying the future wayne empire — not an armed nuclear device.”

“yeah…o-of course i know that alfred. tsk.”

[namamibrainrot]

ARE YOU UPSET? HOT. ( Bruce wayne )

summary: Bruce has a weakness for his wife when she's angry, maybe he should make her angry more often.

open request - dc masterlist

"Bruce."

He turned his head slightly and saw you standing at the edge of the stairs. Your satin robe was half-open, your hair loose and messy. Arms crossed, exactly under your chest.

God bless that stance.

"Do you know what time it is?" you asked, not moving.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I was reviewing some recordings of..."

"Bruce..."

Just his name, not honey, not love, not Boosh, his damn name. He was in trouble.

"Yes, I know," he said, turning completely around. He looked at her brazenly, not bothering to hide it. "You're upset."

—I'm cold, lonely, and upset. I've been waiting for you upstairs for two hours.

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed as well, as if that would balance the power. But no. Not when you were standing there, dressed like that, in front of him.

"What if I told you I needed ten more minutes?" he asked, without much hope.

you stopped right in front of him. "What if I told you this robe has nothing underneath?"

Bruce blinked. Twice. “Liar,” he muttered, his voice deeper than usual.

"Oh, really?" you said, taking a step closer. The scent of jasmine and night rose enveloped him, mingling with the latent threat in your gaze. The cleavage that formed when you leaned slightly forward, the soft curve of her waist, the touch of your skin under the fine fabric… it was a delicious torture.

And the fact that you were upset made it worse. Better. Fucking irresistible.

Bruce exhaled slowly, as if he'd just taken a direct blow to the chest. His jaw tightened, and the hint of a crooked smile appeared on his lips. "That's not fair," he said.

"I didn't come to be fair, Bruce. I came to take you to our bed"

He looked at you, from your burning eyes to your thighs, barely hidden by your robe. And he cursed. Inside. Outside. Everything.

You were hot, and he… he'd always been an idiot for thinking he could resist you.

"You're upset," he repeated, as if he needed reminding her.

"I'm furious." Your voice was soft, almost sweet. But he knew you. He knew that when you lowered your voice, when you moved slowly, that was when you were most dangerous.

Bruce stood tall, the height difference making him look like a mountain in a gale. But the gale was in control. You were in control.

"Give me ten minutes," he tried, one last time, barely a whisper.

"I'll give you three." You turned, and the robe opened a little more as you started up the stairs, deliberately leaving that flash of skin, of curve, of intention.

Bruce stands there, watching you as you walk to the bed you both share, every day he thanked God for putting her in his path.

[namamibrainrot]

Grinding on Ultron

TW: grinding, degration, dom/sub (kinda), sloppy and desperate reader

Word count: 638

"Stop complaining" he warns, keeping a painful grip on your hips. "You wanted to be stupid, and now you'll pay for it." He snaps, roughly grinding your hips down against his metal thigh.

You whine in a mix of pain and odd pleasure, gripping his shoulders tight enough that your knuckles turned white. "Ultron- please..." You sob, lazily dragging your hips along the metal plating on his leg, coating the already shining metal in your glistening juices.

A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest, lowering his head so his cold lips were against your ear. "So do you apologize, little one? Hm?" He asks in a condescending voice, keeping his hands lazily placed on your hips to 'help'.

"N-no." You say in a shaky voice, burying your head in the crook of his neck. You're so desperate to cum, but this isn't enough. You couldn't help it, you were needy and wanted some much needed relief.

He raised a brow, his smirk turning into a scowl. "Fine. You wanna waste my time and be a brat? Then you'll be treated like one." He says coldly before yanking you against his chest and back again, roughly grinding your clit across his cold, metal thigh.

A mix between a sob and a moan escapes your lips, your mouth parted in pleasure and allowing a slew of beautiful sounds to escape from your throat.

"Come on, you were so desperate before, put in the work." He says in a demanding voice, enunciating every syllable. You open your mouth to respond, only letting out a choked moan however its turned into a yelp when he slaps your thigh hard enough to bruise. "Now!"

You let out a frustrated cry and begin grinding your hips without his assistance, desperate for release even if its without help. Ultron's scowl turns into a satisfied smirk, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arms over the back, no longer giving you any assistance. "There.. Was that so hard?" He asks in a teasing manner, looking down at you with an amused expression at the sight of your desperation.

"You mortals are pathetic, you know that?" He asks with a sinister smirk, gently lifting your chin with his forefinger to look at him. You just nod, not even processing his insult.

"C-can I cum..?" you ask in a slurred voice, a dribble of saliva slipping out your parted lips and sliding down your chin. He smirks, not caring that the droplet gets on his hand. "It's hardly been five minutes" He scolds. "You really could hardly last this long?"

You quickly shake your head, your slick covering the inside of your thighs. "P-please.." You beg, panting like a dog.

He smirks, gently placing a hand on your hips, kneading the soft flesh. "Do you apologize for interrupting me?"

"Yes! Yes!" You scream, starting to cry.

He chuckles, playfully slapping your ass.

"Go."

You let out a sigh of relief soon replaced by a strangled scream of pleasure, grinding your hips along his thigh as quickly as possible, your clip dragging across the now warm metal of his thigh. "Thank you! T-thank you!" You sob, soaking his thigh.

Your body spasms in pleasure, all your pent up energy and need finally released. Ultron watches with a satisfied smirk, enjoying seeing you completely crumble.

Your body slowly relaxes and you instantly collapse against his chest, tears streaming down your face. Ultron gently takes a hold on your jaw, lifting your head to look at him. You look perfect: a complete mess, saliva slathered across your chin, tears coating your cheeks and that beautiful dazed look in your eyes.

He hums in satisfaction, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face seeing how exhausted you are... But he knows he can push you farther.

"Go get your toy."

Good luck.

[namamibrainrot]

You...you write for sugar granddaddy Naobito sama (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)!!? Please feed us more since there are still pitiful horny ppl who are too shy to admit that!!!!😭

hell i would fuck that old man all night until he gets an heart attack 😂 why do have to look old men so hot tho? 😩🥰

Personal little maid feat. Naobito Zenin ఇ

ఇ warning: smut, explicit content & language, 18+ mdni, squirting, breeding kink, old man - reader mid twenties

Working as a young Maid in the Zenin Estate isn’t always pleasant. Getting pushed around, insulted and being treated harshly especially from that misogynistic bastard Naoya.

But being a beautiful young Woman also has it good perks. Especially if the current Clan Head had laid his eyes on you. Naobito Zenin. He may be 70 years old but for his age he can keep up with his Son Naoya just as perfectly. Being also well trained and muscular for his age, let’s your stomach churn in a good way. Other‘s would be disgusted but you? You feel your panties soaking wet only from how he gaze and smiles at you.

Always so sweet & gentle, you are his personal favorite little maid. But for getting this special treatment of course he wants something in return, not that you would mind tho. Nobody has ever gave you that much pleasure like he gives to you, despite his old age.

Finding yourself once again in his bedroom, laying naked and legs sprawled out on the bed. He hovers over you, his hands gripping your hips tightly almost leaving bruises as he thrusts his hard cock in and out into your aching wet pussy.

,,Always such a good obedient little girl for me, aren’t you sweetheart?‘‘

His sweet but dirty talk always makes your heart flutter in your chest as you chuckle innocently, eyes seductively hodded.

,,Can’t help it… you just feel so good inside of me Naobito Sama…‘‘

Your words were enough for him to increase his already inhuman pace and hitting your sweet spot even deeper. God, that man was old but no one could compare to him. He had such an long lasting stamina and relentless pace. Folding your legs up, pressing them against your chest as he lifts himself up a bit, he thrusts his thick cock so deep into your pussy, making you gasp for air. Holding your legs with one hand, his other hand comes up groping your tits greedily, tongue flicking out to tease & taste your perky nipples.

,,Such a sinful youthful body you have sweetheart. Can’t believe you let an old geezer like me fuck your pretty tight hole on daily basis.‘‘ he growls amused, his eyes meeting yours.

His thrusts became now even more sloppier as he hits you balls deep into your squelching cunt. You could feel a pool of heat in your belly as you uncontrollably gush all over his dick just as he loves it.

,,Such a mess you made love… are you ready for me to fill you up? Stuffing your cunt with my cum?‘‘ he whisper hotly into your ear, licking a wet trail over your cheek, pulling you into a sloppy wet tongue kiss. Pulling away you gaze at him with a sinful desire in your eyes.

,,Stuff me Naobito sama… make me completely yours…‘‘ you mumbled incoherently too lost in pleasure.

You didn’t had to tell him twice, with some last powerful deep thrusts into your pussy, he painted your insides completely white. Clenching around his already softening cock he sighed into the crook of your neck softly.

,,Keep doing that and you’ll get a round two… but i guess that’s just exactly what you want huh? How good you make that cock of mine feel young again sweetheart..‘‘ he said chuckling and you just noticed how his cock went hard inside of you again. God, having an old lover had some bad perks but who knew there was even better ones? Especially if it’s the Head of the Zenin Clan.

Kenpachissluut

comments & reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

[namamibrainrot]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤCOLD SHOULDERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : When You Give Them the Cold Shoulder.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Stephanie Brown, Male Cassandra Cain, Terry McGinnis.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Bruce doesn’t do well with emotional games—he’s a man of logic, deduction, and shadows. So when you stop talking to him, no good morning kiss, no sarcastic remark about the news over coffee, no goodbye as he leaves for a mission—you can feel the shift.

He notices instantly.

He doesn’t say anything at first. That’s the terrifying part. He just looks at you. Like he’s dissecting you. Like you’re a crime scene.

“Something wrong?” he asks, voice even, mask already half on.

You shrug and walk away.

Bruce is bothered, but he doesn’t chase. Not yet. He waits, watches. You don’t text him that night. You don’t check in. You leave the mansion before he wakes up.

By day three, you find your favorite flowers at your doorstep. A small envelope. His handwriting:

“I’m not good at this. But I care. Whatever I did—talk to me.”

He doesn’t beg. Bruce doesn’t beg. But his apology is in the way the manor seems colder without him trying to sit beside you. It’s in the quiet presence at the edge of your room, waiting for you to just look at him.

When you finally crack, he just opens his arms and says quietly, “Next time… yell at me. Don’t shut me out. I can’t fix what I don’t see.”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Dick panics the second he realizes you’re giving him the cold shoulder. You’re usually so warm, so expressive—and now you’re cold? Quiet? Passive-aggressively sipping your drink and not laughing at his dumb joke?

He’s spiraling.

“Wait, what’d I do? Babe—babe, I know that look. That’s the ‘you’re dead to me’ look—what’d I do?”

You don’t answer.

He physically follows you around the apartment like a lost puppy. Tries to “accidentally” run into you in the kitchen. Holds up his phone like:

“Look. This meme? That I sent? You didn’t even react. You always react.”

By the end of the day, he’s crawling into bed beside you like a kicked dog, poking your shoulder.

“Listen. I know I messed up. I probably messed up bad. Just tell me, okay? I’ll make it up to you. Dinner, flowers, matching onesies, whatever you want. Please just talk to me again—I’m going crazy over here.”

Dick’s the kind of guy who feels the silence like a scream. He doesn’t stop until you finally crack and yell at him—and he just sighs in relief. “Thank God. You’re talking. Yell at me all you want, babe, just talk.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason is... not the most emotionally mature guy in the room. So when you go quiet on him? He clocks it right away.

His first instinct is: “The hell is her problem?”

His second: “What did I do?”

His third: “…Okay, fine. Two can play that game.”

So now it’s a Cold War.

You ignore him? He ignores you harder. You roll your eyes? He scoffs. You sleep with your back to him? He “accidentally” hogs the blanket.

But here’s the thing: Jason’s bluffing. He’s miserable. He’s sitting on the fire escape chain-smoking because he’s too stubborn to just apologize first. He types out ten different “hey princess…” texts and deletes them all.

When you finally call him out—maybe you explode, maybe you just break down and say why you’re mad—Jason goes quiet. Real quiet.

Then he sighs. Pulls you into a hug.

“…I’m sorry, okay?” he mumbles into your hair. “I’m not good at the soft shit. But I love you. Don’t shut me out like that. It makes me… fuckin’ mad.”

Next time? He apologizes faster. Still grumpy about it. But faster.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Damian refuses to acknowledge the cold shoulder at first.

You ignore him? Fine. He acts like he doesn’t care.

You roll your eyes? “Tt.”

You don’t respond to his usual sarcastic quips? “Clearly you’ve lost your sense of humor.”

But after a day or two? The cracks show.

He brings you your favorite tea and doesn’t say anything about it. Sits in your space and watches you out of the corner of his eye like a stray cat too proud to beg for food.

By day three, he’s visibly tense. The only sign of his growing unease is the way he overworks in the training room and snaps at everyone else.

Finally, he corners you. Not aggressively—but intensely. Arms crossed, lips thin, standing in your doorway like an angry little kitten.

“What did I do?” he asks, voice flat. “You’re angry. I can tell.”

He’s blunt. He doesn’t beg. But there’s a desperation in the way he hovers. When you finally tell him what hurt you, his jaw clenches. His apology is awkward but sincere.

“…I did not intend to hurt you. That was not my aim. But I apologize nonetheless.”

And then, softer: “Please don’t shut me out again. It’s… difficult to function when you are upset with me.”

Damian shows love through action. So after that? He acts. Flowers from your favorite place in the city. A sketch of you he drew at 3 a.m. A stubborn but heartfelt vow to “do better.”

Even if he still tts.

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

Barry is used to being in control—so when you go silent on him, it throws him hard.

He notices right away. And at first? He’s cocky. Teasing.

“Oh, we’re mad? What, you jealous of Supergirl again?”

You glare.

“…That was a joke.”

But when you don’t laugh—or worse, don’t even look at him—Barry starts pacing. Literally.

He’ll spend all night analyzing the conversation that led to this.

“Was it the mission? Did I interrupt you? Did I mansplain something again? God, I did, didn’t I?”

He’ll call. Text. Show up at your window. Tap the glass like a wet cat.

When you finally let him in, he talks a mile a minute.

“Okay, okay, I know I’m a jackass. I was being flirty at the gala, but that was just protocol! Diplomacy, babe! I love you!”

If you stay cold even then, he’ll finally drop the charm. Get real quiet.

“…Just tell me how to fix it. Please. I’ll do anything. Even sit through Titanic again.”

You do not want to know how fast he hugs you once you cave. Barry loves loud, but he hurts quiet.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

Stephen is devastated.

He thrives off your attention. Your warmth. Your laughter. So when you suddenly go cold on him, he spirals.

First step: Denial.

“Ha ha… you’re just messing with me, right?”

You aren’t.

Second step: Drama.

“Okay, okay, is this about the glitter incident? Because in my defense, I thought it was washable—”

Still silence.

Third step: Crybaby.

He lays on the floor. Arm draped over his face.

“God is punishing me.”

Stephen texts you like:

💔

why have u forsaken me

[voice memo of him singing “All By Myself” into a fan]

Eventually, though, the jokes fade. He gets quiet. You find him on the fire escape, legs dangling, hoodie over his head.

“…I hate this,” he mutters when you finally approach. “Not knowing what I did. Not being able to fix it. You not… being you with me.”

He sniffs, trying to play it off.

“I know I’m a dumbass sometimes. But I swear I love you. Like, a lot. Like, "I’d let you kick me" love you.”

Once you forgive him? He clings.

“Never do that again,” he whispers into your neck. “Cold Shoulder You is my least favorite version.”

Also, you catch him journaling later:

“Today I almost died. Emotionally. Y/n was mad. But I survived. Barely.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

“…”

He doesn’t know what to do.

Cassian isn’t just a man of few words. He’s a man of zero words when it comes to emotional conflict.

So when you go cold—when your body shifts slightly away, when your eyes don’t meet his—he notices immediately.

It hits him like a blow. He feels it in the air.

And he panics. Internally. But outside, he’s just still.

He brings you small things. Your favorite candy on the counter. A neatly folded blanket on your side of the couch. No words. Just… presence.

He’ll sit nearby but not touch you. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

Eventually, he hands you a note. Folded. With his childish, naive handwriting:

“I did not mean to hurt you. Please tell me how to fix it.”

When you do finally speak, even if it’s angry or tearful or sharp—he listens. Soaks it in. His head bowed, his expression focused, like every syllable is precious.

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t justify. Just nods with teary eyes.

And later that night, he says it for real. Quiet. Low.

“…sorry.”

Cassian doesn’t need words to show he loves you—but when he does speak, he means it with his entire soul.

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

Terry’s first thought when you start giving him the cold shoulder is: “Oh god. Not again.”

Because he’s used to things going wrong. He’s used to messing things up. He has that subconscious fear that everything good in his life is temporary, especially you.

So when you stop responding to his texts, or start leaving the room when he walks in, he goes into lowkey panic mode—but tries to play it cool.

He’ll hover. Try to act casual. Lean on your doorway like he isn’t dying inside.

“You good?” he asks.

You nod.

“…Right. That’s convincing.”

He won’t push. He’s too scared you’ll say it’s over.

But one night, he shows up at your place in the Batsuit. Mask off, hair a mess, eyes tired.

“You don’t have to forgive me right away. But just tell me what I did. Please.”

There’s a vulnerability in Terry that breaks your heart. Once you finally talk, he holds your face like you’re glass.

“I’ll fix it. I swear to God, I’ll fix it.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[namamibrainrot]

Notes between the Noise

Frat boy!Lin Liè x fem reader

Part one

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

No one ever said being a university student would be easy. Especially since you took your grades seriously, spending lots of your time studying, in class or just asleep.

Of course you had friends (little bit) but they were real friends, and that's what mattered. One of them bring your best friend and roommate, Luna.

One night, you were trying to study at your desk, elbow resting on the desk itself and your forehead in your hand as you tapped your pen against the textbook in frustration.

There, of course, was a loud frat party going on a block away, making it hard to concentrate. You were tempted to just file a noise complaint but you didn't wanna be a scrooge.

Huffing you shut your books up and lean back in your chair, running a hand through your hair in irritation.

"Every fucking Friday.." You grumble.

Luna snickered from her bed, setting her popstar magazine aside.

"They're just living the good old college lifestyle. You should try it." Luna encouraged.

"Who do you take me for?" You reply plainly.

"Why have fun now when I can work hard and have fun later in life?" You state.

Luna sighed, sitting up in her bed.

"Y/n... You gotta stop being a hermit crab." She said as you place your books away and then your desk lamp off.

You got up from your chair, pushing it in and walking over to your bed as she continued talking.

"Live a little. Get out there and who knows.. Maybe you'll find a boy~" She added with a wink.

"Shut up..." You whine in slight flusteredness, slight irritation, climbing under the covers.

"Goodnight Luna." You say.

"Night Y/n." She replied.

You tried getting sleep but the party and Luna's words kept you up for a bit.

Maybe she was right? Maybe you were too studious... Maybe you needed to let loose. At least once.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

You groggily made your way to the cafe you always study at.

You hardly got any good sleep at all last night and it made you feel like a zombie.

Literally because you slammed into someone as soon as you were about to enter, spilling coffee over the both of you.

"Jesus!-" his voice spoke up, startled.

You flinch, grimacing.

"Shit-! I am so sorry- I didn't get good sleep last night I just-" You ramble before looking at the guy.

He was clearly Asian with messy, short black hair, a white t shirt now covered in coffee and a light teal varsity jacket with lighter yellow and white accents. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, a small glare.

You then recognized him from your calculus class.

You since, pulling out $7 from your wallet.

"I'm really sorry-" You begin.

"Watch where you're going next time, eh sleeping beauty?" He replied, snatching the money from you and storming off.

You stood there a bit stunned. You hadn't expected that reaction but you couldn't blame him.

You huff, looking down at your own coffee soaked shirt. Damnit.

You began making your way back to campus to get to your dorm.

Staying inside was definitely the better option for you.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

"It was totally embarrassing, I just spilled his coffee all over him!" You groan, burying your face into your hands as you ranted to Luna.

She grimaced.

"Yeah, that's.. That's bad." She said.

"On the bright side, he didn't yell at you." She added.

"No! But he's in my calculus class! I'm gonna have to see him for the rest of the school year..!" You whine.

"Oh." Luna winced.

"What'd he look like anyways?" She asked.

"Why does it matter?" You replied.

She gave you a knowing look, to which you groan.

"Asian... Light teal varsity jacket with light yellow and white trim." You describe.

Her eyes widen a bit.

"Oh, you've met Liè." She said.

"I wouldn't say we 'met' but okay... Who?" You say.

She laughed softly.

"He's one of the many frat boys on campus. He's friends with Johnny Storm, the one that threw that rager the other night." She explained.

"He's friends with that ass? I lost sleep cause of that party." You grunted.

"Quit being a baby. You'll be okay, just.. Study for now? I got errands to run." Luna said, getting up and grabbing her purse and keys.

"See ya in a bit n/n! (Nickname) " She said before leaving the dorm.

You sigh deeply, falling back against your mattress. What a day. You were exhausted.

[namamibrainrot]

grocery runs & taking out the trash

✎___ lin lie × fem!reader

✎___ a/n: domestic fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, not proofread, possible ooc lin because i don't read the comics & i don't play the game. i don't even know if the iron fist is supposed to be outside of k'un-lun. i just think he's hot as fuck in marvel rivals. 1,400~ words. enjoy ♡

"did you really have to drag me all the way out here for some stupid grocery run?"

he's been whining about it all morning, from the apartment to the walk, from the entrance to inside, from aisle one to thirty three. he was like a toddler. he could light up a whole city with all the consistent energy he had for complaining… but you had to give him credit. despite all the eye rolling and huffing, he helped. he'd write down something new into the grocery list if you forgot. he'd remember the brand name and colors as if it were just fresh from his memory. he even remembered the specific aisles an item was in, no matter how niche. with some backtracking, wincing of prices and a bit of fun, this grocery run could be the most successful one yet. this part of the adulting shit might actually be an easy one.

"uuughhh…”

you sigh out as you check the price of a can opener, looking over your shoulder to find lin hunched over the cart. his face looks like it's melting off his head, sad and droopy and with a pout to boot.

"if i didn't know any better," you start, "i'd say you look like you prefer the life-threatening monsters instead of boring old civilian life."

you compare and contrast the prices of two can openers again… hm. one is all metal and lasts longer… but one is partly plastic but very cheap. you look up when you don't hear a reply.

lin is still hunched over, mouthing out your words and miming a flapping effect with his right hand, a caricature of your chastising. you swat him in the arm.

"hey! ow,"

"we are going to be in here for 3 more hours if you keep doing that, lin."

he huffs in answer, driving the cart forwards in an effort to appease. his eyes lazily glide about the store and its fluorescent lights. he checks the shelves and he remembers that you're already in the boring seasoning aisle.

“we don't even have to replace these yet!!” he hollers.

“yeah!! but you broke the can opener yesterday.” you holler back, gesturing to the rack of kitchen tools near the side.

he gets petulant again, resting his hand on his palm as he prods the cart to follow you. you end up putting the metal can opener in. the package thuds against the metal bars of the cart.

you check the list again on your phone, and everything is struck out. eggs, meat, vegetables, fruit, broth, snacks, chips…

“lin? can you check the list again?” you bring the phone closer, and he leans in. “it's all in the cart… can you think of anything we missed?”

he takes a moment, a long moment, quiet in his stance and blinking at the list. alas, it is fruitless, only confirming that you had everything you needed. you and he push the cart together to the checkout station; and just like last week, you check out the items, he bags them.

it's a soft monotonous hum for a few minutes, the clinical beep of the machine, the sterile music from the ceiling speakers, the harsh bright white of the lights. maybe this is what lin complains about. it's enough to give you hives with too much exposure.

you reach for another item only to remember you've finished scanning them all. you blink a little to get your bearings before taking out your card, swiping it in and paying for everything. turning your head, you'd see lin putting the items in the bags and hauling them into his arms. for once, he's not complaining. maybe he just needs something to do, keep him moving. he, a martial artist. perhaps he just craves activity, movement, get his blood pumping and all that.

you take the receipt, and he puts it in the bag, falling into step with you as you leave the grocery store.

the walk back home is quiet. fridays through sundays are always hectic. what takes you an hour to do ends up taking three or four, and so you had decided to go grocery shopping on a tuesday.

“hey?”

“yeah, lin?”

“did you buy those chocolate eggs i like?”

“yep, i did.”

“and the fancy instant ramen? the imported one?”

“yeah… but only one pack though. the shelf was empty and it was the only one there.”

“... maaa, that's okay. we can share it when we want a late night snack that isn't pizza.”

“will you finally top it with mushrooms, like i said?”

“fuck no.”

you swat him but it's gentler this time. it's a laugh in the form of a strike. he reciprocates in his own way, ruffling your hair until the fringe is undone. you laugh, and he laughs, too.

but even through the laughter, you see a familiar face at the end of the sidewalk, and it's not a happy reunion. the man is gaunt, old, balding and surly with wrinkles striped about his face. he has a coat on with his hands in the pocket. the panic sets in quietly and you cling to lin by the arm, trying not to look too hard at the man. it was probably just a blurry doppelganger, yeah? you don't even have your glasses on.

“hey… you okay?”

“lin, “ you say, already half hoarse from emotion. “hold me closer,” is what comes to mind.

his hand goes around your waist but still, he is unsure, looking to you for confirmation, for clues, for a sign that you're okay.

“please,” you tack on. he isn't holding you close enough.

the man brushes past and it's like a boa constrictor relaxes at your throat. you still cling to lin as he looks over his shoulder, his line of sight following the man before connecting two and two together. he hastens the pace.

"hey, come on, look at me.”

he's sat you down on the sofa. the groceries are on the counter in the kitchen… the world comes into focus, bit by bit.

“there you are. there's my girl.” he's cradling your cheek in his palm, big and calloused and warm to the touch. “come on, tell me what happened. what was that?”

his opposite hand is holding yours, kneading your knuckles softly.

“tell me what's wrong… please?" he pleads. "you were shaking back there.”

“it was the… guy.”

“yeah… i know but… i know there's more to it than that.”

“he uh,“ you pick your head up infinitesimally and lin is staring at you with every shade of brown in his irises. there's a wrinkle above his forehead. the living room feels like it's breathing with him.

“i went out to find a midnight snack last week… at the convenience store.”

“you… by yourself-?! you…” lin is seething out the words but he knows it's not what you need right now. he lets it go.

“he saw me… he wanted my number. he grabbed- ”

lin slams a glowing hand on the coffee table, breaking it in half, and stomps to the front door, and all you can do is pull on his hand as hard as you can. his breathing is heavy. his shoulders are squared. his hands are balled.

the tears start before you can say anything. a deep voice in your heart tells you his anger is your fault.

there's a huff from lin, a beat passes and his relents, going back to the sofa and enveloping you in his arms. his hand cards through knotted hair. he sighs into the crook of your neck.

“he grabbed you…?” it doesn't sound like he wants an answer.

“on the arm… only there. i promise.”

the breath of relief has him feeling dizzy. he squeezes you to him like you're his lifesaver. he peppers kisses into your pulse. when his lips brush over your heartbeat, it reminds him that you're here, alive and well and safe.

“don't ever go to the fucking store in the middle of the night again. you hear me?”

the nod into his shoulder is small, but he accepts it nonetheless.

the groceries are still on the counter ― the tub of ice cream is probably melting. the coffee table is still broken, but the priority is you. it will always be you, and he tells you so, with kisses to your pulse, with words of love into your throat, with gentle sighs into your neck.

when he's sure you're asleep, he kisses your hair and jumps out through the window to start his mission of finding the man that did you wrong.

[namamibrainrot]

I CAN’T STOP BRAINROTTING ABT HIM IN A SUIT

[namamibrainrot]

i could take every inch of that dragon cock. i could