Latest Posts by rlacodus - Page 2

the adventures of cool ranch and spicy nacho

Hello, I just discovered your blog and I wanted to say I love your writing!! I was wondering if you have any sub!steve headcanons you would like to share? :D

i'm not always great at thinking up cohesive headcanons, so take a little fic where bucky fucks steve straight into subspace!

NSFW 18+

-

“Oh, fu-uck…”

Bucky’s tongue is rough against Steve as he grips the sheets hard beneath him, ass canted up and cheek pressed into the soft linen pillows. His cock is curving up towards his belly, red and straining and spent, leaking with the remnants of his last release. He isn’t sure how long they’ve been at this-- Bucky taking him apart with his tongue and fingers, drawing pleasure out of his very core and guiding him to a comforting, suspended place he can’t seem to find anywhere else. There aren’t many places that are quiet for him these days, but underneath Bucky’s gentle touch, the world dampens out.

Bucky hums and the vibrations send a jolt through Steve, gasping as his tongue curves and digs deeper into him.

“Christ, Buck, I--” he cuts off with a strangled groan as one of Bucky’s fingers slip in alongside his tongue, crooking outwards and spreading him open as he pulls away.

Bucky hushes him when he whines at the loss, a gentle hand resting between his shoulder blades.

“I’m going to fuck you now, alright?” Bucky asks, his voice low even though he sounds just as wrecked as Steve feels.

Desperate, Steve nods. “How d’you want me?”

There’s a moment of silence as Bucky seems to think, then the hand between his shoulder blades dips to his waist.

“On your back,” Bucky says, then he’s urging him to roll over and Steve is pliant under his touch.

His legs spread automatically, eyes half-lidded and dazed as he watches Bucky drink him in hungrily.

“So pretty,” Bucky murmurs, reaching out to brush some of Steve’s sweaty hair off his forehead. His fingers trail down over his temples, across his cheek, making Steve shiver as he latches onto his gaze. Commanding and gentle in equal measure. A thumb brushes over his lips-- metal-- and he nips softly. “Good boy.”

The praise goes straight to Steve’s core and-- oh. They don’t always do this. It feels sacred, still. New territory. Slipping into these roles where Steve lets go of the wheel for a few wonderful moments. But Bucky’s words are already seeping into the crevices of his mind, drawing out any residual stress and pushing him towards the edge.

Bucky’s hand is still moving, down his jaw and across his collarbone, before coming to a stop on his neck. Steve’s eyes widen, lips parting, and Bucky’s eyebrows raise.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks. “I was wondering if you’d like this.” He increases the pressure of his hold marginally and Steve whines, head tilting back and hips canting up. It’s exhilarating-- dangerous. His heart pounds and he wants. He wants so goddamn bad.

“Please,” he whimpers, and Bucky lets go, soothing his disappointment with a kiss.

“Just gotta get myself ready,” Bucky mutters against his lips. “Won’t be a minute.”

It’s almost Pavlovian the way the cap of the lube opening makes Steve’s legs spread wider, hole fluttering around nothing. He whines a little more insistently, and Bucky hushes him again, slicking up his cock and reaching down to finish prepping Steve as well. A moment later, he’s hitching Steve’s legs over his shoulders, taking his strong thighs around his neck and pushing in.

Bucky’s fingers are incredible-- his tongue even better. But Steve is certain there’s nothing as fulfilling as his cock, thick and heavy as it pushes past that tight ring of muscle. They’re both breathing heavily, soft whines sounding adjacent to Bucky’s low grunts as he bottoms out. There’s a moment of stillness as they adjust to the sensation, as familiar as it is.

Then, Bucky growls, and Steve’s eyes roll back as he starts to thrust into him.

He lets himself go, the world around him going wholly mute as everything zeroes into the place where he and Bucky are joined together. He scrabbles for purchase on Bucky’s biceps, shoulders, back-- but it’s no use as Bucky takes his hands and pins them over his head.

“Stay still,” he says, and Steve is helpless but to listen, going limp as Bucky fucks him harder, his other hand going back to his neck and--

Oh god. Oh god. It’s so much more thrilling in the moment. Held down where Bucky’s pinning him, knowing that his safety is quite literally in his hands, but trusting him with the very bones of his being. Bucky won’t hurt him. Bucky has control.

And it’s that notion alone that has Steve stepping off the ledge, his body free falling into open air before drifting higher, higher, higher--

He comes with a cry, thighs tensing around Bucky’s neck as his release paints his chest. It isn’t long before Bucky follows, groaning low and long as his cock pumps inside Steve. There’s a distant sensation of come seeping out of his ass, but Steve could care less. He feels like he could live inside Bucky-- take refuge in his very soul.

Static fills his mind, and it takes a few minutes for the world to come into focus as Bucky pulls out, catching his release with a towel they keep on hand and gently cleaning them up. The care only does more to push Steve further out of his mind. Higher. Lighter. He could be floating, he thinks. He could be floating over his goddamn body and it feels so good.

He blinks and Bucky is hovering over him, eyes soft and concerned.

“You with me?” he asks. It sounds like his voice is being fed through a shoddy speaker.

Steve smiles, reaching for him. Bucky obliges, taking him into his arms and rolling them over. Pillowing his head on Bucky’s chest, Steve hums in content.

“Are you feeling floaty?” Bucky asks, lips brushing Steve’s ear. It was the way Steve had described the feeling the first time they’d found this space between them and he nods. “Mmm, fucked you straight into subspace, didn’t I?”

“You knew what you were doing,” Steve slurs. “Jerk.”

Bucky laughs, his chest shaking against Steve’s ear. It makes Steve smile wider.

“What,” Bucky teases. “Can’t enjoy my fella when he’s all soft for me?”

Steve scowls. “Never said that.”

Bucky snugs him closer, browsing his nose over his brow.

“That’s what I thought,” he pauses, kissing his temple. “Mine.”

Steve lets his eyes drift shut, hand resting over Bucky’s heart. Instinctively, he listens for his heartbeat. It’s strong. Steady. Sure.

“Yours.”

-

thanks for reading, y'all!

okay so i have this really self serving and inconsequential headcanon that steve really likes apple juice??? but only when he’s like,,, sick or upset. and essentially,,,, just. bucky always keeping little boxes of motts apple juice in the fridge and in his day bag for steve to grab when he’s upset or feeling anxious 

like in central park one day, steve has a little panic attack and bucky just talking him through it on a bench and then pulling out some apple juice and

“here, stevie” 

and steve just *sniffle* “thanks, buck”

this is definitely a thing that sammy first noticed like,,, while they were on the bucky hunt. like in hotels, steve would always go for the apple juice and one morning he wakes from a nightmare and sam’s like

“can i getcha anything, man?”

“um…. is there any way you could get me some apple juice from the breakfast bar?”

and sam’s just like “oh– sure.”

anyway yeah apple juice is his comfort drink

Frank Castle x Steve Rogers - regret (ao3)

"Frank," Steve whispers, afraid to say any more for fear of breaking the moment- whatever it was.

"Yeah, baby," Frank responds, his voice low and husky, the way it always got when he had Steve naked and mewling in his bed.

One of Frank's hands reaches up to caress Steve's neck, pulling back the neckline of his sweater further, stretching the material until it exposes the expanse of pale skin that Frank used to know so well. He presses his thumb to a dark, purple bruise there, making Steve whimper.

"He do this to you? Hm?"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64061896#main

How is Steve Rogers like the biggest rebel and the baddest bitch who fucks the system continuously but also the most righteous and honourable man who ever lived hOW

In reference to this post, I do legitimately wonder what exactly Nick Fury’s expectations of Steve were.

Assuming his two primary sources for Steve Rogers Anecdotes were Howard and Peggy (and I think they were), there’s no way he would have gotten anything approaching an accurate account for who Steve was as a person.

I honestly don’t think Howard knew Steve well.  All his reminiscences are going to be fundamentally colored by the fact that, despite the epiphany he comes to in the S1 finale of Agent Carter (he says something like, ‘he was good before I got my hands on him, wasn’t he?’), Steve’s successes as Captain America are in part his successes because he helped make Captain America.  So all the stories Howard could tell Fury (and, sorry about your horrible childhood, Tony) are going to portray Steve in a very specific way, turning him into the ultimate war hero, the ultimate super solider, the ultimate weapon that Howard helped create.

I doubt Peggy’s telling a lot of truths either but for different reasons.  Or, well.  Peggy doesn’t lie about Steve, but there are certain things she doesn’t say about Steve.  Because everyone knows and mourns Captain America, but she’s one of a small handful of people who actually mourn Steve Rogers.  There are things about him she keeps private and safe for herself.

Like the fondue story?  I am positive that never made it into the global Captain America narrative.  I also don’t think it’s a story Tony or Sharon ever heard.  Howard doesn’t tell it because it’s not a Cap Story, it’s a Steve Story, and Howard’s far more interested in the former than the latter.  Peggy also doesn’t tell it because it’s a Steve Story, and the world isn’t owed any more of Steve Rogers than they already have.  They can keep Captain America, but Steve is hers.

But I honestly believe that if Nick got half a shot of whiskey in Colonel Phillips, he would spend literal hours dragging Steve Rogers through the mud.

“Rogers?  Biggest pain in my ass that ever lived, and that’s before Stark and Erskine got their god damn hands on him.  I’ve had a hemorrhoid or two tried to compete, but nope.  It was Rogers.

“That son of a bitch probably spent six weeks AWOL altogether thinking he knew better than me, the SSR, and all the Allied powers put together.  At the end of it, he’d come into my office, stand at attention, salute.  Then I’d maybe get one ‘yes sir, no sir’ out of him before he started arguing with me about whatever damn fool thing he’d just done.  Which, I shouldn’t have to tell anyone, is not how the god damned United States Army works.  Rogers never did manage to grasp that concept.

“Don’t ask me about vehicle requisitions.  I don’t even know how many cars those idiots wrapped around how many trees.  I finally had to order the motor pool to stop giving him motorcycles at all.  He kept throwing them at the enemy.  That worked for maybe a month.  He started stealing them, and I gave up.

“Once I ran into Barnes just staring at a wall looking whey-faced, terrified, and madder than a hornet.  So I said, “What did that captain of yours do this time?” and he says, “He charged a fucking tank,” and I say, “Of course he did,” and he says, “Dumb bastard wasn’t even wearing his helmet,” and I say, “I don’t understand how you kept that boy alive long enough to con his way into the army in the first place,” and Barnes says, “You’ve got no god-damned idea, sir, you really don’t.”

“You know Carter shot at him once?  I’ve never envied another human being so much in my whole life.

“Steve Rogers gave me most every grey hair on my head, don’t you let her tell you any different.  I had a full head of thick black hair in 1943; by ‘44 I looked like someone dropped a pound of drywall on top of me.  I aged a year for every hour I spent in Rogers’s company.  When I die, if the coroner doesn’t list my cause of death as Steven Grant Rogers, it’ll be god damned perjurous.

“I could have court-martialed that jackass on at least 16 separate occasions, and we wouldn’t have won the war without him.  God rest the son of a bitch.”

….so we have to assume that Fury never talked to Phillips I guess.

BUT OH GOD DO I WISH HE HAD

Nicholas J Fury spent one weekend in the 90s hanging out with a cool lesbian and then spent the next twenty years trying and failing to find another superhero with her general degree of competence or emotional maturity

if i was 26 and had just woken up from a 70 year suicide-induced coma with no one in the present remembering who i am and instead conflating me with the ever changing image of the role i played in ww2 that now serves as american propaganda and 2 weeks ago i was watching guys get half of their faces blown off and a week after that the love of my life fell off of a moving train with me only being able to watch and then i had to like... deal with a billionaire nepo baby war profiteer calling me an old man and saying there's nothing special about me i would have started killing people. but unfortunately it happened to steve rogers. and he has, like, morals. so

DOMESTIC AU sleepy rogers gets sassy 

Bruce has to spend a day working an important mission with the league at the watchtower but the kids are bored so he tells them as long as they don’t disrupt the JL’s work they can hang around the watchtower and then get takeout on the way home. they succeed in keeping themselves to themselves but don’t quite manage not being disrupting. this is because Tim convinced them to do a tiktok trend.

*the league, pouring over case files in serene silence*

*heard faintly from three rooms away*

Tim, Damian, and Jason: we listen and we don’t judge,

Jason: my original plan for terrorising B after coming back to Gotham was to start leaving him a bunch of creepy voicemails Taken-style, and the only reason i scrapped it was because i just genuinely couldn’t remember Bruce’s phone number.

*Bruce lifts his head, squinting slightly*

The kids: we listen and we don’t judge,

Tim: when i was nine my camera broke because a rogue that Batman was fighting threw the car i left it in off a bridge and i was so mad at Batman that i sold photos i’d taken of Bruce Wayne wearing a thong on his private beach to the Gotham Gazette to buy a new one

*the rest of the league also lift their heads, staring at Bruce uncomfortably. Bruce shifts in his seat*

Jason: THAT WAS YOU?

Tim: YOU’RE JUDGING WE SAID NO JUDGING-

Damian: i feel like we should be able to judge OCCASIONALLY.

*the league, eyeing each other*

Clark: they wont… post that video online, right?

Bruce, sighing: to the family groupchat, probably.

*heard again from across the watchtower*

The kids: we listen and we don’t judge,

Jason: back in the league Damian’s hamster died and we told him it was natural causes but it’s actually because i set it loose during a meeting and Ra’s freaked out and stepped on it.

Jason: OK DRAWING A SWORD MEANS JUDGEMENT DAMIAN PUT IT BACK-

Diana: should you be… checking on them?

Bruce, dead inside: what am i supposed to do about it?

Ollie: aren’t you in charge of them?

Bruce, completely seriously: i’m not in charge of anything anymore.

The kids: we listen and we don’t judge,

Damian: when I was a child I was forced to kill 183 people and I dream of their faces every night

Tim: Damian I don’t think you understand the game.

Bruce, getting up: I’m going to go-

The rest of the league, simultaneously:

Clark: see if the kids are-

Diana: we can handle this-

Barry: you got this buddy-

Ollie: yeah go- go take a break-

Just thinking about Dick freaking out over losing his title of best uncle to Jason.

Dick showing up to take Lian out and give Roy a break only to hear she's having a fun day with Jason

Dick walking into the room with the toy he knows Lian really wanted, only to find out Jason got it for her first.

Dick showing up to game night at Roy's only to find Jason already there.

Just Dick getting increasingly frustrated and his rival Jason having no clue well the the rest watch on in humor and exasperation. Roy finds the who thing hilarious.

Picturing it all coming to a head when Dick is babysitting Lian and she shows him a new photo they put up. Dick all dejectivly being like, "look, it's you and your favorite uncle."

The pure shock and joy he feels when Lian tells him he wrong and her favorite uncle is "you uncle Dickie, duh!"

The door opening and Lian shouting "Papa!" As dick turns to excitedly tell Roy what Lian said only to see it's Jason who's holding Lian.

Dick just bluescreening.

I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

Jason: *walks into living room and pauses, looking at tim* uh Tim: *frowns as he looks up from a book* what? Jason: um. Tim: dude. Spit it out. Jason: *still staring* you like that book? Tim: yeah I’m really loving it! It’s a new bestseller, Steph recommended it. It’s a fun fantasy. ‘S got dragons and the romance is nice and Jane Austen-esque. You should read it, it’s right up your alley. Jason: uh. Okay. I’ll, uh, look into it. And, uh, what about the author? Know anything about them? Tim: *frowns* aside from the fact that there’s like, no information about them, no Jason: *chuckles nervously* ah, yeah. Haha.

Jason, later to his editor: hey can we change my pseudonym? I wanna use “Todd Peter” and see how long it takes for my brother to yell at me editor: Jason that’s not how pseudonyms work

Bruce watches from the shadows above, perched on a rooftop, his gaze fixed down below. He tells himself that he’s scanning the Arkham Knight armor for design weaknesses, but his attention keeps drifting to the lines of Jason’s waist. It's crafted for efficiency and intimidation, yet there is something almost scandalous about how it fits him. The armor cinches his waist, and the fabric clings to his skin, making his shoulder appear even broader. He shouldn't notice the way it hugs his body perfectly. Jason presses his fingers against his helmet, sneering something into the comms, then starts walking. Hips swaying, stalking forward like a goddamn feline. The pointed ears are a mockery of a bat, but Bruce sees nothing but a cat.

The light from the city frames Jason's body, showcasing his slim waist and Bruce can't help but wonder what it would feel like to press his fingers into the soft skin, to hold him down and never let him run off again.

A wave of nausea crashes over him as it usually does when these thoughts claw their way into the back of his mind, grabbing on like a parasite until they drain his thoughts and leave him thinking of little else. It's a sickening familiarity. Jason turns his head suddenly, tilting it upward toward the rooftops. Bruce knows he's shrouded in darkness from where he is standing, hidden from being spotted. But Jason pauses in his steps, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the curve of his hip exaggerated even further as he places one hand there. His stance is almost suggestive.

Bruce feels his entire body stiffen as he can't tear his eyes away. The stance, the way his armor pulls tight across his waist and hips, and the way his fingers tap idly against himself, as if taunting whoever might be watching, entirely ripped apart all of the self-control he prided himself on having.

The suit doesn't only protect Jason—it weaponizes him. Bruce is convinced it's with purpose, serving as a distraction for all of his enemies. Jason finally moves again, but the damage has already been done. The image is seared into Bruce's mind and he knows it will come back to him, late at night when he's lying in bed. He hates himself for it.

Robin!Jason, who constantly references different books at random times by quoting them and joking about characters, except Bruce doesn't have much time to read everything that Jason goes through. Of course, he understands some nods towards classics, but Jason is an avid reader, so it is hard to keep up with him sometimes. Jason tries to drag him to watch some movie adaptations, but he falls asleep in the very beginning of it.

And then Jason dies.

Bruce goes through all his library obsessively to the point he remembers the page of every little bookmark Jason left, and he knows his little notes on the margins by the heart. He watches movie adaptations, too, even though Jason only ever watched it to hate on them. He finds new books, books he thinks Jason would like if he was alive, and reads them, imagining what kind of analysis would Jason finalise by the end of it; his opinion not always matches with Jason's, but that doesn't matter. Bruce just likes to imagine.

Years pass, and Jason returns to Gotham. Not as a boy Bruce missed so much. Or, at least, he thinks so.

But then Jason does some bitter, irritated reference, comparing them to characters of one of the books he had on his shelf, and Bruce catches himself thinking... well, they still think similarly, but the conclusion they drew had always differed from each other. It is a different situation, of course, but... but maybe he could try to make this work.

Because, if anything, Bruce is tired of imagining. Especially, not when he finally has a chance to get everything back.

On the next day after their fight, someone sends Jason a copy of a new book from his favourite author - the one that he still hadn't read - his old set of colourful bookmarks, and a little note.

Let me know what you think.

Bruce gets the book back in a week, full of frantic notes, a bunch of bookmarks, and a short note explaining what each colour means (a mystery he didn't resolve years ago, after he passed away).

And, oh, God. He completely forgot how fast Jason read sometimes.

Once you start thinking abt omega Jason Todd ur life is over— like FU C K

Tits. Ass. Thighs. TYPICAL OMEGA ASSETS OK? OK. also idk. Him in a collar? Stunning. Also something about nesting is absolutely insane. God. FUCK. AAAH.

also jay having 'only omega child' syndrome? beautiful. Hiding his designation usually... gap moe... or OR USING IT TO HIS ADVANTAGE????? Jesus Christ. I'm going to die. Also. Heats. He's warm and flushed and curled up. What more do you WANT ????

only omega child syndrome YES YOU GET ME BABE !!!!!

these are my exact omega jason thoughts and rambles and bestie can confirm because we are the same @jstodd 🙌🏽

he most definitely either doesn't understand how painfully attractive he is/how badly alphas drool after him or he's so aware that he uses it to his advantage. yes he can afford whatever he wants but also he's gonna have fun batting his pretty eyelashes at toxic alphas to get them to waste their money on him. he WILL drag them around for the girls who were done dirty by them. leading cocky alphas on is his game.

on the other hand is a jason who never realizes when someone is flirting with him because he has like zero familiarity with the concept of someone actually liking him (he died when he was 15 and awkward give him a break + his self esteem is like below zero). it's just a constant of jason being insanely clueless when alphas flirt with him and the bats not understanding how someone so smart and capable can be so oblivious. (bruce is secretly glad jason doesn't realize because he's rejecting all of these alphas and bruce's protective alpha father side doesn't have to get.. involved)

yes he has overprotective siblings and an overbearing father. yes he absolutely despises it and wishes he knew more omegas.

Been thinking about Bruce, tying Jason down and worshipping him. Paying special attention to every single scar, whether visible or not, that he caused.

A soft kiss pressed to Jason's abdomen, feeling it flutter as Jason tenses. Little nips of teeth between Jason's legs, the fractures having healed years ago, but the ache remains. Licking along the faint scar on Jason's neck, and kissing back down it to Jason's collarbone.

Bruce whispers sorry after each one. So quiet in the room, and only just loud enough over Jason's gasps. It's not enough. It'll never be enough for his boy. Bruce could say "I'm sorry," and "please forgive me," and "I love you" until he was blue in the face, but it would never be enough to chase away the guilt.

So he worships, and lavishes Jason in a way that he hopes conveys the depths of his feelings.

Until Jason is shaking and sobbing and feeling seen and loved and remembered. Bruce resting his forehead against Jason's as he finally sinks down on him, both breathing the same air, reminding each other they're alive.

Possessive Brujay? I think it would be interesting if they were both equally possessive in their own (toxic) ways.

your wish is my command 🫡🫡🫡

after jason's resurrection, something changes between them. when bruce finally gets him back, he swears never to lose him again. he can't go through it again—the guilt, the grief, the loss.

bruce becomes possessive, but he hides it behind a mask of concern. he tells himself it's for jason's safety, that jason needs him, which makes it easier to push away the guilt of his behavior.

it starts with bruce hovering over him, always watching. he had always been controlling, but it's different now. more intense. bruce isn't just concerned about jason's safety; he's fixated on keeping him safe.

whenever jason talks to someone else, there's a dark look in bruce's eyes, a possessive flash, like jason is something to be guarded. and bruce always knows where jason is, like he's tracking his every move.

every time jason tries to go off-grid or leave gotham for a while, bruce is already there, making sure he never strays too far from the city—too far from him.

he shows up unannounced at jason's apartment, keeps critical information from him, brings him into the batcave for medical check-ups even when jason feels fine.

bruce even subtly sabotages jason's relationships, wanting him for himself. as jason tries to reconnect with the family, things mysteriously fall apart. texts go unanswered, calls get ignored.

and the most fucked up part is that jason doesn't care about any of that.

because his need for bruce's attention runs deeper. he craves his approval and hates how much he needs it. he wants to be the only one bruce sees, the only one bruce cares about.

jason goes out of his way to provoke him—flaunting his independence as red hood, breaking rules, taking reckless risks—just to see bruce react, to feel that warm flash of anger, that possessive rage that tells him bruce still wants him, still cares.

the more bruce tries to control jason, the more he pushes back. jason wants to see how far bruce will go to keep him. jason thrives on it.

then, one night, after an argument gets too heated, it just happens. it's rough, desperate, all of the tension and the need to own each other, poured into that moment. the next morning, they don't talk about it, don't even look at each other any differently.

but it keeps happening.

every time their bodies crash together, it's like a power struggle, but jason knows exactly what he's doing. he pushes, provokes, teases, waiting for bruce to snap, and stop holding back. jason knows, after everything that's happened, he shouldn't like it this much. he should hate giving up control, hate letting bruce have that power over him.

but he doesn't.

instead, he loves it. he loves the way it feels when everything is in bruce's hands, when bruce pins him down and takes what he wants, when he shows jason who is in control. it only makes him want bruce more. jason lets him have that control, because he likes feeling bruce's power.

the risks keep getting bigger, more dangerous, almost suicidal. jason stepping into enemy territory without backup, defying direct orders, putting himself in harms way on purpose, just to see if bruce will save him in time.

and bruce always does.

every fight is a test, every argument a challenge, and bruce rises to it every time. jason gets a rush whenever he successfully pulls bruce out of his controlled world, every time he sees that mask crack and the raw, possessive want underneath is exposed. he thrives on being the one thing bruce can’t control.

bruce wants to control him, to own him, and jason lets him think he can—until the next time he pushes back.

but there are times when jason hates how much he likes it. but the thought never lasts long—not when bruce's attention feels so good, not when his hands are on him, claiming him.

it's intoxicating—a twisted game. jason pushes and bruce pulls, and neither of them wants to stop it. their equal possessiveness and obsession feed off each other, and they're insatiable.

bruce subtly ruins every romantic relationship jason ever has. he tells himself that he's protecting jason, watching over him like a father would, that they simply aren't good enough for him. he would never allow himself to acknowledge the real reason behind it.

every time jason starts seeing someone, bruce finds something wrong with them. he will make background checks, quiet investigation, anything that might expose a flaw or a secret.

when he finds something, he will use it. dropping hints, a stray comment to jason that makes him doubt the relationship.

if he doesn't find anything, bruce will create something. carefully manipulate situations or planting subtle lies or rumors.

if jason brings someone to the manor, bruce's demeanor is cold, detached. but he's careful, never overtly hostile, but enough to make his presence feel slightly oppressive.

and sometimes, bruce doesn't stop there. if that isn't enough, he will interfere directly. messages go missing, phone calls gets interrupted, misunderstandings are fueled by bruce's careful meddling.

with each ruined relationship, bruce feels a sick satisfaction, knowing jason will always come back to him—alone, hurt, and in need of comfort, even if jason never says it out loud.

and every time, bruce is there, arms open, grip tightening, pulling jason deeper into the life he has so carefully constructed for him. jason was never meant to belong to anyone else—he's always been his, and bruce will do whatever it takes to make sure it stays that way.

PROMPT: Dick or any of the other Batfam members see bruises on Jason and think he's in an abusive relationship. Jason shuts any and all conversation on the topic down. They bring their concerns to Bruce, who sort of just...blue screens (those are HIS handprints on Jason's hips, after all) and then seems to brush it off. They're not happy with this response, so naturally a family full of detectives will want to investigate...until they wish they hadn't.

dick is the first one to notice the bruises. they're faint, but unmistakable. a handprint on jason's hip. he doesn't say anything at first, but he holds jason's gaze, making it obvious that he's seen it, silently asking for an explanation, if things are okay. but jason doesn't offer any. he just glares back.

"what happened?" dick then asks.

"none of your damn business," jason sneers, then turns to leave.

tim notices it next—the red marks around jason's wrists.

"what is that?" he frowns.

"you've never seen a bruise before? that happens in our line of work. sounds like you've been slacking off," jason says, shrugging it off before exiting the room.

the family discusses it among themselves. they've seen the signs before, they know what they're looking at. jason's unwillingness to talk about it speaks volumes. those are not some incidents that occurred during a mission. so they're determined to help, whether he wants them to or not.

they decide to go to bruce, to see if he knows something—because nothing goes on without bruce knowing about it.

but when they tell him, something strange happens. bruce freezes. and for a moment, he doesn't move, doesn't speak. it's almost like watching a machine short-circuit, something behind his eyes going blank.

when he finally speaks, it's dismissive. "jason's fine. leave it."

they don't. of course they don't. they're a family full of detectives, they can't just let something like this go.

so they do what they do best instead. they investigate.

they start by tracking jason's movements, try to figure out who he's been seeing. it's a breach of privacy, they know this, but they tell themselves it's for jason's well-being.

but the more they dig, the more confused they become. because nothing adds up. there's no one suspicious in jason's life, no new relationships. none of his enemies would leave marks like that. none of it makes sense.

then they notice something odd.

jason's occasional training sessions happen more frequently, stretching far longer than necessary. and they always happen late at night, when no one else is around.

suspicious, tim pulls up the surveillance footage from the batcave, expecting catch something. but after a few nights of reviewing, he notices something strange—the footage is incomplete. the cameras are turned off for a few hours, right around the time jason shows up.

it's strange, to say the least. they're detectives, and speculation isn't enough. they need hard proof.

they debate it briefly, knowing they're about to cross a line, but eventually they decide that there's no other way. they have to actually spy on jason.

so they do.

they carefully set up their own hidden cameras and microphones in the batcave. they justify it by telling themselves it's for his own good—they're only trying to protect him.

a few days pass until they decide it's time to look at what they've caught. they fast forward through a lot of the footage until something catches their attention. jason is there, late at night, just like before. but he's not alone.

he's sparring with bruce.

they watch, not really alarmed at first—it's normal for everyone to spar with each other. but then the session takes a turn. bruce's hands starts to linger a little too long on jason's body. each hold, each grip seems deliberate.

jason's back hits the wall, hard. bruce steps in close, his hand finding jason's hip, fingers digging in. the bruise that had been there before suddenly makes sense. jason doesn't pull away, doesn't really resist, but something in his expression shifts. there's almost a defiance in his eyes, as his hand shoots up as if to strike.

bruce is faster, or maybe jason didn't even try. but his grip locks around jason's wrists in one smooth motion, pinning them above his head, trapping him against the wall. for a long moment, neither of them moves. their breathing is labored, heavy in the silence, and they just stare at each other.

bruce's hold tightens, his thumb pressing against the pulse on jason's wrist. jason doesn't even flinch. a wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. the hand on jason's hip travels up, fingers trailing along the line of his body. it moves with purpose, until bruce's fingers splays across his throat, settling there with a grip that's perfectly balanced—tight enough to thrill, not enough to really hurt.

bruce tilts jason's head, angling him exactly the way he wants him, and then he leans in. the kiss is slow, sensual, bruce's lips claims jason's like it's the most natural thing in the world.

like it has been going on for god knows how long, right under their noses.

the room is silent, the footage still playing, but no one moves to stop it. both of them are frozen. tim feels his stomach twist as he tries to process what he's seeing. dick looks like he's stopped breathing, eyes locked on the screen.

they should have seen it earlier, should have put the pieces together before it got this far.

tim shuts off the footage in a sudden, quick motion. the screen goes dark, but the image of bruce and jason stays burned into their minds.

they got what they came for. they uncovered the truth, just like they set out to do.

but now, they wished they hadn't.

i got inspired by THIS amazing post 🤠 The room was dim. The only source of light was the soft glow from the streetlights outside, filtering through the moth-eaten curtains. Bruce's hands were gripping Jason's hips, the cheap bed creaking under their shared weight and movements.

Earlier that night, Bruce had been out on patrol, moving across the rooftop with practiced ease. He had spotted Jason below, next to a group of drug dealers bleeding out in the alley.

Bruce had reacted immediately, dropping down without a sound, landing behind him. He couldn't remember the words they had exchanged with each other. It always went the same anyway, stuck in an infinite loop, like a curse.

Jason had thrown the first punch, and soon they had been locked in a dance of violence and bruises.

But the second Jason had ripped his helmet off, revealing his flushed face, unruly hair and dark eyes, Bruce lost the fight.

The rest of the night was a blur after that. They had stumbled into the first hotel they could find, somewhere where no one asked questions. The receptionist had barely glanced up from her phone when they asked for a room, and even if she had, she would be under the impression that Batman was investigating a crime.

And now, here they were. It always ended the same these days. For each time Bruce interacted with Jason, his willpower crumbled more and more.

Jason's Red Hood gear was carelessly scattered across the wooden floor, along with pieces of the Batsuit.

Then Jason leaned in, his lips brushing against Bruce's ear. "Come on, dad..." Bruce froze. His thrusts slowed, until they stopped completely, his body going rigid. The word hung in the air between them, and for a moment, he forgot how to function.

Jason always tested him, pushed his limits, but this—this was different. Bruce could feel his smirk against his skin as Jason pressed his mouth to his neck. "What's wrong, dad?" he hummed against his skin, feigning innocence.

Bruce's breath caught in his throat. He felt a flash of heat roll through his body, his arousal stirring inside Jason. The word ricocheted inside his head, over and over. He shouldn't like it. It was wrong. This was wrong. But his body didn't listen to him.

Jason shifted slightly, leaning back against the pillow, looking up at Bruce with sparkling eyes in the dim light.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a vibrating through Bruce. "You like it." His tone sounded triumphant, taunting, like he took great pleasure in finding out how fucked up Bruce was.

Bruce swallowed hard, trying to regain some sense of control, but every rational thought was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears, the haze in his mind.

He wanted to deny it, but all he could think of was how badly he wanted Jason to say it again. But to his disappointment, Jason remained quiet now, his legs wrapping around Bruce's waist and tightening around him to try and create some friction, silently telling him to move again.

So Bruce did, picking up the pace again, each movement harder than the last. The sound of Jason's teasing voice still on repeat in his mind.

Jason's breath hitched, his hands grabbing Bruce's arms, digging into his skin. His name was spilled from Jason's lips as he moaned softly, but that's not what Bruce wanted to hear, and he was too ashamed to admit it out loud.

Another moan escaped Jason's lips, and it should have been enough. It should have been.

But it wasn't.

Jason had planted a seed and Bruce couldn't think about anything else.

Jason's head tipped further back against the pillow, exposing the sharp line of his sensitive throat. "Bruce—" He moaned again, his voice breaking as his legs pulled Bruce closer, impossibly deeper. He was doing it on purpose, deliberately withholding the word. Jason could—much to Bruce's dismay—read him like an open book. This was just like another game between them. Jason would push, tease, and taunt, to see how far he could go before Bruce broke. And Bruce, no matter how hard he tried to resist, would always end up playing along, drawn deeper each time, like a moth to a flame.

Jason's hands slid from Bruce's arms to his neck, pulling him down until their lips nearly touched. "Say it," he murmured. "Say you like it."

The words clawed in his throat, refusing to leave him. The pace slowed again, almost coming to a stop.

Jason kissed him. Bruce's blood from his split lip mingled between them, a gift from Jason during their earlier fight.

"I... I like it," Bruce confessed when they broke apart.

Even in the darkness of the room, Bruce could see Jason's smirk, the cocky satisfaction radiating from him. "You like what?"

He was going to make him say it.

"You know what," Bruce muttered, his voice strained. He didn't want to play this game, not when his shame was threatening to consume him.

Jason's fingers tightened around the back of his neck. "Do I?" he teased.

Bruce's heart pounded. The need for Jason to say it was greater than all the other shameful feelings. "I like it when you call me dad," he finally admitted. Jason's smirk widened into a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with delight. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" His voice then dropped even lower. "Are you going to keep fucking me, dad?" Bruce's entire body tensed, a surge of arousal pulsated through him. Jason's hands trailed down Bruce's back as he whispered the word again, "Dad." The sound of Bruce's voice—that word—was all it took. Bruce's movements grew desperate, almost erratic, each thrust deeper into Jason, as his soft moans dragged him closer to the edge. "That's it," Jason groaned. "Just like that, dad."

Bruce couldn't hold back any longer. With one last thrust, he reached his climax with an unexpected intensity, his vision going white and blurry from the sensation.

Jason followed shortly after. His body tightened around Bruce as he choked on the word that had destroyed Bruce completely. "Dad."

For a short minute they were both still, breathing heavily. Bruce finally pulled out, before collapsing onto the mattress beside Jason.

Jason laughed, breathless, his white strands clinging to his forehead. "You're sick."

And Bruce silently agreed with him.

Bestie, I am begging for more insight into your little blurb with Bruce watching SladeJay! (But also, genuinely no pressure--please delete if uninterested in expanding, no worries.)

Like, obviously he's jealous and wants Jason calling HIM Daddy, but I need to know what happens after; how Bruce handles having this knowledge. Does he make it known he saw/heard them? Does he try to get Jason to call him Dad/Daddy "out of nowhere"? Does something escalate things between them, and Jason calls Bruce Daddy on his own? Would saying it not feel the same when Jason's with Slade after? Does Bruce try acting like Jason's Daddy? Asdjfkl !!

Don't mind me, just obsessing over this.

Anon thank you so much for the ask!! I, too, am obsessed over this xD. Please be aware that this got loooong, and I'm sorry but it also got angstier than I had predicted (angst midas touch attacks again.)

First of all, I think he wouldn't make it known that he saw them.

Right in the moment, Bruce is too occupied commiting every detail of Jason's body, and how he moves, and his voice to memory. He doesn't even realize that he's staring at the scene, he just... Does it. He stumbles upon them by accident. Then he has to stay quiet so they don't see him. Then he has to find a way to leave without they noticing him. Then he hears Jason saying that goddamn word. Then he needs to see the rest... And so on.

Then, immediately after, he doesn't say anything because Bruce would be deeply ashamed and guilty of his initial reaction. That's his... Jason. And seeing him having sex with Slade should be a concern (because of who Slade is) AND NOT A TURN ON!!!

Whatever happened, he did once adopt Jason, and he did want him as his son. There's a lot of self loathing and regret involved there. His wanting Jason in any other way is a consequence of how things aren't what they were supposed to be. It's a reminder of his failure. If he hadn't failed, he would never be looking at Jason like that (and yeah, that might or might not be true, but it's something Bruce believes in a 100%. He needs to believe that).

To reveal that he saw them could potentially expose his own reaction to what he saw.

Afterwards, after he's thought about it all, after he's more or less accepted the clashing of his guilt and self-loathing against the desire... Well, then he doesn't say anything because it might give Jason the idea that he's jealous, and Bruce knows that Jason will double down on whatever's going on with Slade to spite him, and Bruce wants Jason AWAY from Slade. Also, the clandestine knowledge is a weapon he can use to get what he wants.

He's also a bit worried, because wasn't Jason interested in redemption? 🤨 Fucking Slade Wilson doesn't really seem like taking steps in that direction. Doesn't Jason see that there's a much better option available? One that will take him to proper redemption 🥺 how dare Jason throw that away? AND HOW DARE WILSON just take what's Bruce's like that??? He must know that Bruce would not accept that!

Bruce can't really fault Slade, though.

The next steps depend on whether or not Jason and Bruce had a sort of decent relationship prior to the Sladejay reveal. Either way, I think Jason sees Bruce as his, well, it's difficult to put into words all the good and bad things Bruce is and represents for him, but the point is that Bruce is, for better or for worse, the most important person in his life, and he would give many concessions to have him in his life.

So, Jason is completely weirded out and suspicious when he starts to get invitations to spend time with Bruce. To patrol together. To go to the Manor. But he also can't help but soak the attention that Bruce is giving him. He hasn't even cleared out his suspicions that there's something (vigilantism related) going on, but he's weak for having Bruce willingly spending time with him. Just the two of them, even. It's even getting in the way of his booty calls with Slade, but hey, Jason rearranges his schedule.

Meanwhile, Bruce is... Moderately happy. He can't get enough of when Jason cracks a joke, or when he doesn't tense for a fight in his presence. When they patrol together, it's all less bittersweet than he would have expected. And all of that is Good! Sometimes he almost thinks he could be happy with what he has... Actually, not really. The desire and lust for Jason didn't go away in the meantime... In fact, they only got worse. He's sure that Jason doesn't want him that way, but he has some hope that he's wrong...

He does get Jason to try and call him "dad", but much to Bruce's absolute ruin, Jason replies with a "you're not my dad". And Bruce's just completely lost, because that was one of the things that was still holding him back. To know that Jason doesn't consider him his father, eases his conscience (but also hurts because it's a reminder that the boy Jason once never got out of that grave).

Now, on Jason's side... We can go two main ways: 1) he's sooooo unwell about Bruce too, but never thought he had a chance (because he kills(ed), because Bruce once adopted him, and good god, he's already messed up, he doesn't need to add wanting to fuck the guy who was once his sort of father in the mix); or 2) he doesn't see Bruce that way, but he's still unwell about Bruce (just not romantically/sexually), and so he would sleep with Bruce just to maintain the closeness they developed.

The thing is, they do inevitably end up in bed either way, and it's good like Bruce imagined it would be, to have Jason like that (he's always known he has Jason in every other way, and sleeping with him feel just like a natural progression), but Jason doesn't call Daddy in their first time. Which is fine. Bruce is not complaining, and definitely not obsessing over that.

The second time, it doesn't happen either. So, the third time, Bruce decides to call Jason "Son" while he's fucking him. Jason might have said that Bruce isn't his dad, but he once tried to be, and Jason still wants his approval, so Bruce is sure that there's some wires crossed in Jason's head, and he can use that.

Well, Jason does call him "daddy" then, and it's much much more than Bruce could have expected, because not only does he call him that, but contradicting his previous words, he then actually calls Bruce "dad". Not "daddy" and neither of them can pretend that he didn't mean it. Bruce has one of the strongest orgasms to Jason gasping "dad, dad, dad, please" in his ear.

And Bruce has denied Jason many things in the past, but this is something he can give him. Always.

"Would saying it not feel the same when Jason's with Slade after?"

Yeah, it wouldn't feel the same. With Slade, it was hot and just little bit fucked up. With Bruce it's much more... Ah... Meaningful in a sad sort of way. It's the, hm, only moment Jason ever feels loved by Bruce (regardless if Jason was already romantically/sexually interest in Bruce, or if he's just going by the "if I can't be a good son, I'll be a good fuck 👍" sort of way), and that's what does it for him.

tl;dr: son issues meet daddy issues, and Bruce explores Jason's daddy kink (or is it dad kink?) to resolve (?) his son issues.

Jason had started to notice that Bruce's gaze lingered sometimes—just a second too long. At first, he brushed it off as coincidence, that it held no deeper meaning. It wasn’t abnormal to sometimes stare while your mind was drifting off. But the glances kept happening. It had been quite late at night in the Batcave, and they were the last ones there, running through some data side by side, keeping it surprisingly civil. As they talked, Jason noticed Bruce’s eyes drift—not to the screen, but to him. Bruce’s gaze slid from Jason’s eyes, over the line of his jaw, to the curve of his lips, then back to the monitor. And once Jason noticed, it was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the glances; whenever Jason stood a little too close, Bruce would tense. It was barely noticeable, but easy to catch with a perceptive eye. Intrigued, Jason began testing the boundaries, seeing how far he could push before Bruce would finally tell him to stop. It started innocently enough. Just a casual touch here and there, or leaning in a bit closer than necessary. Each time, Bruce would tense, his eyes lingering before something like frustration would cross his normally stoic face. But Bruce would never acknowledge it—he never said a word. Jason was finding it harder to resist pushing even further, wondering just how much Bruce would allow.

・・・・・

Bruce sat by the edge of the couch, arm leaning against the armrest, newspaper in hand. The lamps were off and the only source of light came from the warmth of the fireplace. Its flames casted shadows across the room, occasionally making a comforting cracking sound.

Jason stood at the doorway, watching the way Bruce's eyes would scan over the articles, pretending to read, like he wasn’t drowning in his own thoughts as usual.

Without announcing himself, Jason sauntered into the room, making his way toward the couch. He could feel the warmth from the fireplace brush against his skin as he passed it, his long shadow making Bruce glance up from the paper.

He didn’t say a word as he flopped down onto the sofa, sprawling out lazily. He stretched his legs out, brushing against Bruce’s thigh as he shifted to get comfortable. Jason felt Bruce stiffen, informing him that he had the older man’s attention. He carelessly reached for a book on the coffee table, his arm extending as his shirt pulled up with the motion, exposing a sliver of his midriff.

Jason retracted back into the couch, book in hand, leaning comfortably against the cushions. His shirt was still ridden up, and when his eyes flicked sideways, he noticed how Bruce’s gaze was locked on his exposed skin. Jason didn’t move to adjust it, he simply flipped open the book as if he hadn’t noticed and it was all an accident.

Bruce shifted, just slightly, the paper crinkling in his hands. Jason sprawled out further, one arm resting sluggishly against the back of the couch, his legs extending along the length of the couch. His calf brushed against Bruce’s knee this time. Bruce lifted the newspaper, blocking Jason from view, but it didn’t stop Jason from feeling the way his body stiffened again.

He wasn’t interested in the book at all, his eyes just glossing over the words. With a casual sigh, he let his head roll back against the armrest, his shirt riding up even higher. The fabric of his t-shirt barely covered his stomach now, exposing the sharp lines of his lower abdomen to the warm light of the fire.

The sound of Jason’s exaggerated sigh seemed to catch Bruce’s attention, the newspaper lowering just a fraction. Jason angled his head slightly, peering under the book in his hand, and his eyes locked with Bruce’s. Neither of them said a word. Jason watched as the shadows danced across Bruce’s face and his furrowed brow.

He saw Bruce’s eyes briefly flick down toward his exposed skin again, the muscles in his jaw slightly tightening, barely visible. Jason let his attention drift back to the book, but the sentences were nothing but an uninteresting blur in the background.

He glanced over to Bruce again, catching him staring.

Bruce snapped the newspaper shut with a sharp crackle, then stood abruptly. His movements seemed stiff, off. “I… need to check something in the cave,” he muttered, his excuse half-hearted and weak, like even he wasn’t convinced by it.

He didn’t look at Jason as he turned on his heel, leaving the room with quick steps. Jason let out an amused breath, his lips curving into a full smirk as he watched Bruce leave. He could still feel the tension lingering in the room.

・・・・・

Jason stood in the training room, muscles tense and ready, waiting for Bruce.

Bruce entered, focused as ever. He offered no small talk, not even a greeting. He went straight to business.

“Ready?” he asked.

Jason smirked, giving him a lazy nod. “Always.”

They soon fell into the familiar rhythm of their sparring. They had done this countless times before. But after a while, Jason’s tactic shifted. He began moving closer than he needed, dragging his body just a bit too intimately against Bruce’s with every dodge and strike.

Each time their bodies connected, Jason made sure Bruce felt every inch of skin, every press of muscle. It was subtle at first, like there was a reasonable explanation behind it.

Jason threw a punch, aiming for Bruce’s side. But he quickly caught his arm with fingers tightening around Jason’s wrist. The impact made them step closer, their chests nearly touching. Jason glanced upward, looking at Bruce through his dark lashes, his breath brushing against Bruce’s jaw.

Bruce froze. His gaze dropped, landing on Jason’s lips for just the briefest of moments, and the air between them felt electric. But then suddenly, Bruce let go, stepping back. The movements were a little too sharp, like he was trying to create distance both physically and from his own thoughts. But the tension still lingered, thick like smoke.

Jason wasn’t going to give him that space, though.

Bruce looked almost rattled, clearly still unfocused. So, without warning, Jason surged forward. Bruce blocked his attack, but Jason didn’t stop. He pressed harder, his strikes swift, strong, determined. He ducked under Bruce’s counterattack, slipping past him, and then sweeping his legs out from under him.

Bruce’s back hit the mat with a solid thud, but Jason wasn’t going to give him a chance to recover. In an instant, he straddled Bruce, knees planted firmly on either side of his hips, pinning him down to the ground.

Jason leaned in, his face inches from Bruce’s, their heavy breaths mingling. “Seems like I got you this time,” he murmured with a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

Bruce said nothing, just stared up at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Jason shifted slightly in his lap, and he could feel Bruce stiffen underneath his weight. There was something darker flickering across his eyes, something Jason wanted to investigate further. He shifted again, pressing down more firmly, his body aligning perfectly against Bruce’s.

He could see Bruce grinding his teeth together. And then his hands moved, gripping Jason’s thighs, fingers digging into him. In one swift motion, he shoved Jason off, rolling them over until he was standing.

“Stop playing around,” he muttered, sounding rougher than usual.

Jason chuckled at that as he sprawled out on the mat, unbothered. “Is that what we’re doing?”

Bruce didn’t reply, but Jason got up to his feet again and they began sparring. Punches were thrown and blocked in quick succession, but Jason wasn’t playing fair. He continued to push closer whenever he had a chance and each time, without fail, Bruce would be thrown off by it. It was almost unnoticeable, but Jason knew him well enough.

As they moved, the fight grew more intense and suddenly Jason found himself being spun around, slammed chest-first into the wall. Bruce’s body pressed against him from behind, one hand firmly between his shoulder blades, and the other wrapped around Jason’s wrist, holding it above his head.

Bruce had him pinned and Jason didn’t resist. He glanced over his shoulder, the smirk back on his lips. Bruce’s grip was firm, his body flush against Jason’s, trapping him completely.

Jason leaned back into the warm, steady body behind him. “Getting a little rough, aren’t we?” he teased.

For a brief second, Bruce’s grip on Jason’s wrist tightened as he seemed to tense. His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but Jason had noticed it, felt it. But just as fast, Bruce’s hands released him.

He stepped back, his face was unreadable and his movements seemed a bit stiff.

“We’re done,” he muttered, turning his back and walking toward the exit.

Jason’s smirk lingered as he watched Bruce leave and pretend like everything was still normal.

・・・・・

Jason pulled off his gloves and threw them onto the bench with a heavy sigh. It had been a long night, one that had left everyone involved worn out. His body was still buzzing with the aftermath of the adrenaline. Bruce was a few feet away, unbuckling his utility belt in silence, face as expressionless as ever.

Jason peeled off the top of his suit, letting the armored material fall to the floor. He removed the shirt afterwards, tossing it next to the gloves. His muscles were slightly aching after tiresome fighting, the sweat on his upper body glistening slightly in the harsh light of the cave.

Jason bent down to remove his boots. The subtle scent of sweat and leather filled the air, mixing with the slight metallic tang of blood from earlier wounds, and Bruce’s expensive cologne.

Jason glanced over, catching Bruce’s gaze lingering on him for just a moment too long before he quickly averted his eyes, focusing on removing the rest of his gear. There was a tension in Bruce’s shoulders, and he was doing that thing again where he pretended everything was normal, and Jason’s behavior was nothing out of the ordinary.

“You still owe for that back there, you know,” he said playfully, mostly to fill the silence.

Bruce grunted in response, a noncommittal sound that did nothing to contribute to the conversation. He seemed focused on his own suit, but his movements had slowed down.

Jason saw his opening. He moved closer, his fingers reaching for the clasps of Bruce’s suit before he began working them free.

Bruce froze, his head snapping up to look at Jason, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

Jason didn’t flinch, didn’t stop. His lips twitched into a smirk as he worked the last clasp free. “What does it look like? I’m helping you out.”

He gripped Bruce’s gauntlets and tugged them off, letting them fall to the floor with a low thud. Jason reached for Bruce’s cape next. His arms slid around Bruce’s neck, fingers easily working the fastener that held it in place. Jason leaned in close, his bare chest brushing against Bruce’s hand and lower arm.

The shift in his posture was obvious; his body was taut and he turned his head away from Jason. But he was still rooted to the ground, eyes fixed on the wall as if he was determined not to acknowledge how close Jason was, how their skin was touching.

The cape came off, pooling below Bruce’s feet.

“I’ve got it from here,” he muttered and turned abruptly to leave, like he always did.

Jason had grown quite fond of the game they were playing.

・・・・・

The Batfamily had gathered around the long table in the cave, discussing the night’s mission in detail. Jason had agreed to assist them, now sitting at the far end by the table. Tim and Dick were currently talking over each other, and Jason wasn’t really listening to them.

Bruce was standing next to him, at the head of the table, telling them to quiet down and barking orders as usual.

Jason leaned further back into the chair as his legs stretched out under the table. His elbow rested on the table, with his thumb supporting his chin and the middle and index fingers pressed gently against his lips and nose, seemingly uninterested in the meeting.

His attention lay elsewhere.

Slowly, carefully, he let his leg brush against Bruce. The touch left no room to question whether or not it had been an accident. He let it linger. And Bruce stilled for the slightest second, a flicker of awareness passing over his handsome features before he quickly regained his composure.

But Jason wasn’t done.

Bruce was in the middle of giving instructions to Tim when Jason shifted again, this time allowing his knee to press against Bruce’s leg.

Bruce’s voice faltered for just a moment, the flow of his words slightly halting. But he refused to acknowledge it, kept his eyes ahead. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to continue. “Tim, I need you to—”

Jason shifted his knee again, rubbing it deliberately against Bruce’s upper leg. He felt him tense immediately, stumbling on the words. “To—uh… to monitor the surveillance—footage…”

Jason smirked, partially hidden behind his hand. “You okay there, Bruce?”

He received no answer to that, instead, Bruce pressed on with whatever he was talking about. “…and cross-check it with the logs Oracle has provided.”

The others nodded along, caught up in the debriefing. Bruce sat down on the chair behind him, probably thinking it would help him regain control of the situation. That was a big mistake. Because his reaction only fuelled Jason’s confidence, only spurred him on to push further, and explore where the boundaries lay. To see when Bruce would finally acknowledge him, to stop pretending nothing was going on.

Jason shifted a little, letting his fingers lightly brush against Bruce’s thigh. He felt Bruce tense immediately at the touch and heard the slight hitch in his breath. But still, he did nothing, didn’t even look at Jason. He kept his concentration on the others, jaw tight, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

His fingers continued to trace a subtle, slow line along Bruce’s thigh. Barbara was talking in the background, agreeing with whatever Dick had been saying, and Bruce nodded along, clearly trying his best to stay focused.

He let his hand slowly slide higher, and that’s when he felt it—the unmistakable hardness under the fabric of Bruce’s pants. Jason sucked in a breath by the surprise. He couldn’t deny the thrill, the way his heart picked up its pace. And Bruce could pretend all he wanted, but the proof was right there. He found this just as thrilling as Jason did.

Jason’s hand inched just a bit closer, fingers brushing over the bulge. Bruce’s entire body stiffened, the tension in his shoulders so taut it could snap at any given moment.

And then suddenly, Bruce’s hand shot under the table, grabbing Jason’s wrist, gripping it tight enough to hurt. Jason glanced up at him, watching the way Bruce tried so hard to keep his composure and focus on Tim’s yapping in the background. Bruce didn’t meet his eyes, his jaw clenched as his fingers tightened around Jason’s wrist, preventing him from moving any further.

Bruce didn’t say anything, instead, he just squeezed his wrist harder as a silent warning. Jason’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned back slightly, letting his hand fall away. Bruce still refused to look at him.

The rest of the group continued to plan the mission, but Jason’s thoughts were far away, wondering how long Bruce could go on without acknowledging whatever this thing was between them. 

・・・・・

The mission hadn’t gone according to plan at all, in fact, it had gone sideways fairly quickly. It left the Batfamily stranded in one of their backup safehouses. The place was cramped with barely functional amenities. They had crashed in whatever space they could find.

Jason had ended up sharing a small bed with Dick, but every time he started to drift off, Dick would roll over, nudging Jason further and further toward the edge of the bed. He was tired and sore, and after a while, his patience wore thin.

With a frustrated sigh, he got up and left the room to find somewhere else to sleep. But every corner he checked was already taken, filled with the sound of quiet breathing or snoring. The wood boards under his feet creaked wearily as he made his way down the dark hallway. He stopped outside of Bruce’s door. Of course he had his own room.

“Screw it,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the door open.

Moonlight slanted through the moth-eaten blinds, casting a faint glow across the room. Bruce was lying on his back with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. Jason padded over to the bed and without overthinking it, he carefully lay down on the other side. The bed shifted slightly under his weight, and Bruce’s breathing changed just enough to show he was awake too.

They lay in silence, staring up at the dark ceiling. Even after a long mission, Bruce still managed to smell good.

Jason was too exhausted to pick up his usual teasing, even if now would have been the perfect moment. And somehow, the air felt different. Maybe it was the rawness of his body after the mission, or the quiet of this isolated safehouse—it felt like they were somewhere completely else, almost like in a dream.

After a long stretch of silence, Jason turned his head, just slightly, to check if Bruce had fallen asleep. But Bruce was already looking at him, the faint glimmer of moonlight catching in his blue eyes. His expression was unreadable, and the atmosphere between them felt thick in a way it never had before.

For the first time since this whole thing began, Jason didn’t dare to push it any further. Bruce didn’t look away, he held Jason’s gaze. The way Bruce looked at him made his heartbeat quicken and suddenly, he didn’t feel as bold anymore. His confidence wavered under Bruce’s steady, dark eyes. There was something so calm about it, yet intense enough to make him feel bare, exposed.

For a few long, quiet moments, neither of them moved, their breaths almost in sync at this point.

But then suddenly, in one slow, careful movement, Bruce leaned in. His body shifted slightly closer, closing the small gap between them. Jason’s breath caught, his pulse drumming in his ears, and he found himself frozen in place. He’d been teasing, pushing—even fantasizing about this—but he’d never truly expected Bruce to actually do something about it. Now, with him leaning closer, his presence invading Jason’s senses—it felt surreal.

The faint warmth of Bruce’s exhale ghosted over his skin, making his skin tingle, his pulse racing. Then Bruce’s lips brushed against his, softly at first—almost like testing the waters. Yet it was enough to send a sudden jolt of electricity through Jason’s nerves. It was only when Bruce leaned in a fraction closer, lips pressing more firmly against his, that Jason felt his mind start to unravel, his nerves catching fire.

But soon Bruce deepened the kiss with a quiet confidence, like this was nothing but another skill he’d mastered. It was like Bruce knew exactly how to kiss him, drawing sensations out of Jason he hadn’t even known he could feel, making his mind go entirely blank. He’d kissed before, sure, but nothing had ever left him this breathless, this affected.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, kissing lazily as if nothing else existed outside of this room, but eventually, they drew apart. Neither of them said a word. Bruce lay back down, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Jason mirrored the movement, feeling slightly dazed and more relaxed than before, finally able to drift into sleep.

When he woke, though, Bruce was already gone. Jason wasn’t surprised. He got up and stepped into the hallway, hearing soft voices drifting from the kitchen. As he made his way toward them, he saw some of the members awake, talking over coffee. Bruce was standing by the window, already dressed, hands in his pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Bruce looked up when Jason entered, their eyes meeting for a split second. There was no hint of acknowledgement from last night in his gaze. He simply greeted him with nothing more than a curt nod.

Jason felt a flicker of something unwanted—disappointment, frustration—but he buried it deep, slipping into a mask of indifference. He joined the others, leaning against the counter, forcing himself not to glance in Bruce’s direction.

Jason found himself wondering how, in a game he’d thought he controlled, Bruce had so quietly taken over, leaving him feeling unsure and strangely exposed.

・・・・・

i've been occasionally writing this when i wanted to write more FUN and not so serious scenes! fyi i'll probably take a break from writing since dragon age veilguard is released tomorrow! but let me know if you'd like me to continue this, and i might need to pause dragon age lmao. (literally all it takes is for one person to say pls do this 🥺 and i'll drop everything for you cause i love validation and people telling me what to do (jk) (or am i?))

Bruce truly hates magic with every pump and beat of his heart.

What kinda curse is Slang, anyway?

“This is the best day of my life.”

“Bro really thought he ate with that.” Bruce physically feels a full body shiver, charged with nausea and cringe. “This is level 10 cringe. Can’t have shit in Gotham.”

Dick is his earth bound angel, but he laughs like a demon at him, holding onto Jason for support, pledging his eternal loyalty to Zatana and her pettiness.

—

“Hey, old bat, hook me up with an adrenaline shot.”

What he wants to say is Jay, do not try and fight with 6 bullets in your stomach.

What comes out instead, through Bruce’s grit teeth and intense, fierce glaring, “Not you trying to go back to your corpse era. See how I only took 2 shots? Very demure. Very mindful.”

Jason passes out from blood loss, but mostly laughter.

—

“Chat, is this real?”

Stephanie barely bites back a full belly cackle. “I think he just asked us if we copied.”

“I wish I was Jason, 15.”

—

“This is not a slay environment. Killing is flop behavior.” He keeps his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands. Trying to convince Damian not to stab someone doesn’t seem to work.

Damian gives him a pat like he’s a pitiful cat. “I’ll only stab the non lethal areas.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Thoughts on selkie jason todd?

SELKIE

Look I’m a sucker for mythological creatures and selkies hold a soft spot in my heart (although I get anger issues reading the og myths most of the time because literally the number of people that considered it okay to steal the selkie’s seal skin and then had the audacity to be sad when the selkie found it and LEFT is frankly astounding, like, bro).

But Selkie!Jason is such a sweet concept I’m just gonna list some headcanons below 💚

Remember Jason’s red hoodie? That’s his seal skin. Living on the streets, the only truly secure place for him to keep it was on him. And the first time Alfred took it to wash it (not realizing what it is) he went downright feral thinking Bruce was trying to trap him. The hoodie was returned to Jason posthaste, but Bruce and Alfred simply assumed that Jason was so protective of it because his mom gave it to him or something.

Once Jason gets used to the manor he takes to safely stashing his seal skin in his room. Bruce and Alfred held to their promise of never going inside without their permission, so he finally relaxed after a couple tense months.

Bruce finds out about Jason’s Selkie heritage by accident when Jason sneaks out of his room at night to take a dip in the pools deep inside the cave system running below the manor. Bruce panics when Jason goes inside and doesn’t come back up for air for several minutes and dives in after him. Only to come face to face with a wide eyed baby seal.

It takes forever for Bruce, Dick, and Alfred to find Jason in the cave systems afterwards. Dick manages to coax him out by pretending to drown until there’s suddenly a little seal pup nudging him back towards the surface.

All the cuddles. Have you seen baby seals? They are ADORABLE.

Jason ends up feeling safe enough to just— leave his seal skin lying around the manor. At first it’s a test, to see what the others will do now that they know. But everyone either pointedly ignores it or picks it up to hand it back to him if they need the space. Eventually Jason even allows it maintain its natural form of actual seal skin instead of a disguised hoodie or jacket.

When Jason dies, his seal skin is still lying on the armchair in Bruce’s study where left it. Nobody dares to touch or move after Jason’s death. Bruce cannot bear to bury it with his son.

(When Jason comes back he thinks Bruce stole his skin)

No matter if you choose to consider that Jason had the worst time ever in the League of Assassins or that, quite opposite, it was more or less okay, I think we all should unite and agree that Jason would be Ra's bane of existence. This boy is a brat. A certificated one, even. He is not an easy boy to handle, never and ever.

Ra's, after locking Jason up away from the society for a few days: Now. Do you realise what I am trying to say to you? You should focus on your studies. On your trainings. Forget about easy, normal life, about teenage shenanigans. Find peace. Throw unnecessary thoughts away.

Jason, yawning: Yeah, okay. Sure.

Ra's waking up in the 5am because someone is blasting NSYNC's Bye Bye Bye on the whole castle: Talia. What is this?

Talia, shrugging: Jason found old music speakers. He says he is... focusing like this. Just like you advised him to.

Ra's with his eye twitching: Is. he. Now.

Ra's: (accidentally trips on his cloak)

One of the Assassins, in their local comms: Chat, clip that

Ra's, frowning: What is that? What had you said? What is this nonsense?

Assasin: Uh, general had taught us—

Ra's: STOP LISTENING TO HIM, FOR GOD'S SAKE

Ra's: Talia, we need to send the boy to All-Caste. I think he needs some time away. From us. From me. Specifically.

(A certain amount time later)

Ra's, sighing in relief: Finally, peace—

Jason, spawning behind his back: Hi.

Ra's, groaning: YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE THE CLEANSING CEREMONY, OH MY GOD

Jason: Wanna check All Blade? It is kinda cool.

Ra's, pausing: ...Yeah.

Ra's farewelling Jason, who returns to Gotham: I have nothing to wish upon you. Be as annoying to Batman as you were to me.

Jason, smirking: Aw-w, I barely unleashed my annoyingness with you, Ra's. Bruce is going to suffer more.

Ra's: ...Good.

Ra's, closing the door behind him: Barricade the castle. Set bombs. I DON'T WANT TO SEE HIM HERE EVER AGAIN!!!

Also Ra's a half of a year later, watching footage of Jason terrorising everyone's life in Gotham, with tears in his eyes: That's my grandson. I am so proud of him.

Talia, raising her eyebrows: You tried to drown him in the Lazarus Pit. Twice.

Ra's: Shhh.

Talia: Then I'll invite him on holidays this year.

Ra's: NO.

Jason goes full cat 2

There’s something off about Bruce.

Dick’s eye is trained for detail; He has to calculate every leap, every step, every breath, every count. He’s a showman. Everything is routine, and routine is everything.

Injury isn’t unusual, especially for his father .He out stubborns Tim in resisting medical examinations, after all.

For Bruce, secrets are protection. He lied about every injury he had when Dick was Robin, suffering in silent agony as the pain grew and grew, a tradition he carries on from Jason to Damian.

If Bruce screams, it’s bad.

“God fucking dammit, how the fuck does he do this? Who the fuck breaks their femur AND just carries on? Jesus FUCKING Christ.”

Bruce curses under his breath, profanity hushed. Dick’s veins freeze, blood turning to stone. He guesses his shock is obvious because Jason mirrors it to perfection.

One; Bruce doesn’t curse.

Two; He definitely doesn’t curse in a jersey accent.

The unease is pungent. Alfred practically tastes it, vitriolic as anything. His chest is taut, pulse slow, “Sir,” it’s cautious, “Shall I prepare the supplies?”

‘Bruce’ waves his hand, voice gruffer, lower, smokey, “Yeah, thanks, babe,”

Alfred blinks. And whoever pretends to be Bruce, blinks back, almost like a deer being cornered by an English hound, smile a bit boyish and unsure.

“…Thomas?”

“… Okay, you’re gonna laugh—“

Dick is reeling, because apparently:

His dead grandparents have been possessing his father throughout the years and they, wards to the best detective in the world, never caught on.

“Look, I get you’re pissed, BUT,” It’s so unbelievably weird watching Bruce be so expressive;

His hands move energetically, like they have their own voices, and his rain soft voice catches on fire when his father talks through him,

“This IS 50% MY body, technically.“

“Thomas, dear, that is not how that works. Come now, you’re scaring our grandchildren.”

And Jason’s voice is uncharacteristically soft when he speaks, more posh, more elegant . That is not his brother.

Alfred passes out, to no one’s surprise.

Jason’s alcohol tolerance is exactly 0.09%, which Dick knows. Which is the primary reason he roped his siblings into playing a drinking game.

At most, Steph, who likes to think she’s fluent in Jason, — or Batboys with repressed emotions, at least, — anticipated the following:

Angry shouting, maybe some swear words God definetly didn’t approve of, trying to fist fight Alfred’s plants, painting the Batmobile pink, and the works.

She definitely didn’t expect a ruby cheeked Jason to cry in Bruce’s lap.

“What the fuck are we gonna do if we don’t know eachother in the next life, huh?!”

Tim piped up with an a nerdy rant, — technically, if life were to reinvent itself into another existence, it’d simply be an alternative universe being created, — but Jason simply throws his shoe at him.

Bruce, much to Damian’s pride, doesn’t look shaken in the slightest. If he can handle his mother, he can handle everything,

“Sweetheart, I really think that’s not going to happen, thought,” he assures him with gentle conviction.

“But we’re not gonna know eachother! What the FUCK. I want to be your son in every life. I’m gonna kill God.”

“Please don’t kill God.”

“We’re Jewish, what do we care?!”

“Jay,” Bruce promised, “I would find you in every universe.”

That was supposed to make Jason feel better, not make him cry harder. But it’s cute Bruce tried, Dick thinks.

He still grounds all of them for paining the Batmobile, thought.

I know the fandom mostly agrees that Jason is that one always unemployed sibling in the family, but let me offer you a slightly enhanced concept - unemployed sibling Jason, who is the busiest sibling in the family.

No one can get hold of him. Like, ever. And it is not like he is lying, he is genuinely always has something else to do! Something random and unexpected, and, honestly, all his family can think is: what the hell?

Bruce, frowning: Remind me again, why the dinner in the circle of the family today doesn't suit your... schedule?

Jason, shrugging: I have a book club evening in the nursing home. We are discussing Margaret Atwood's Penelopiad tonight. Can't miss it. Also, Jennet-

Alfred, confused: Who is Jennet?

Jason: One of the old ladies in the nursing home, duh... Anyway, yeah, Jennet is having a birthday. She would be hella mad if her favourite grandson missed it, you know?

Bruce: ...Jason, you are not her-

Jason: (leaves)

Dick: Hey, wanna join me for tomorrow morning's training?

Jason, sighs: Sounds nice, but I have classes tomorrow.

Dick, confused: Classes? Since when you are enrolled in college?

Jason: Oh, no. I am a substitute teacher in one of the school's around.

Dick: WHAT-

Damian, calling Jason in the middle of the day: Can you pick me up from school? Others are busy, there is an emergency in the town.

Jason: Damn, sorry, kid, but I am not in the country right now. By the way, do you want to talk with your mother?

Damian: ...What that supposed to mean? Where are you?

Jason: I was planning to visit All-Caste, but first decided to meet up with Talia. I am kinda in Egypt right now, anyway.

Damian: ...

Tim, already used to Jason's constant busy status, sighing: I bet you won't agree if I call you on the lunch tomorrow?

Jason: Uh, no. I have plans. But if you tag along with me, we can get lunch together later.

Tim, surprised: ...Okay. What do you have tomorrow? Knitting club? A shift in library?

Jason: Nah, graduation ceremony.

Tim: Right, you are a substitute teacher.

Jason: No, no. My graduation ceremony. I am getting my PHD in literature.

Tim: SINCE FUCKING WHEN-