... One Of These Days, We Probably Are Going To Hear About That Ass In France In Detail, Right? (gigglesnorts

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?))

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.

Short snippet from the Bleach I Knew You AU.

But before I begin. *Insert deep sigh here.*

Secretlypansexualmango, if you see this, it was supposed to be a response to your ask. Unfortunately, it took a hard left-turn and ended up in. Uraichi shipping territory? Look, IDK, I'm asexual, I don't get it either. Anyway, since I don't know your shipping preferences and don't want to accidentally respond to your ask with something that squiks you, I will be officially responding to your ask in another post that is less likely to be unexpectedly unpalatable. Thank you for your patience, and, uh, I hope this doesn't turn you off the au! (*laughs nervously*)

Without further ado, the snippet:

Breaking into the Shiba family grounds is easy. By sheer comparison, breaking into Shiba Ichigo’s room specifically is almost a challenge, but it’s not anything that Kisuke hasn’t planned for.

The strange, modified kido, and the odd wards Ichigo has placed, are simple to bypass with a bit of fancy footwork and precisely-timed counter-kido. It’s practically child’s play to get past them, now that he's roughly figured out how they work and where they all are.

His job is made even easier by the fact that, for some reason, Kisuke’s spiritual pressure doesn’t wake Ichigo up. Quite the opposite, in fact. He seems to sleep deeper when Kisuke is nearby and has let Benihime out a little.

He has theories about that.

He’s tired of them being theories.

He’s here to get evidence.

Kisuke bypasses the final seal and slides Ichigo’s window open, slipping into his room. He lets his spiritual pressure permeate the air a little thicker than he would in normal company, and as expected, Ichigo’s spiritual pressure slows down as he falls further into slumber.

… And Kisuke is supposed to believe that the first time they met was two months ago? When this is Ichigo’s reaction to his presence? When Ichigo is one of the most paranoid people Kisuke, an ex-onmi agent, has ever encountered?

Kisuke is a genius. He doesn’t need to be in order to see the flaw in that logic.

Kisuke steps further into the room, gliding softly over the old wood floorboards. He pauses in the middle, taking a moment to debate where to start.

Well. Why not with the simplest?

He’s caught it a few times, the barest trace of his own power lingering around Ichigo. A fascinating phenomenon, when he can’t recall a single time he’s drawn shikai around him, let alone used enough power to leave a long-lasting trace.

He draws closer to Ichigo’s bed, until he could reach out and touch him if he wished.

Ichigo breathes deeply, evenly, no sign of waking up. At some point, his covers ended up half kicked-off. Possibly from the heat, probably from nightmares. Regardless of the reason, Kisuke can’t help but think that he looks strangely fragile this way, surrounded by the evidence of his restlessness.

He puts a hand on the the hilt of his soul-partner. “Awaken, Benihime,” he murmurs.

She stirs within him, gently, in a way that is oh so rare. Like the softest, most gradual of ocean tides, she rises, her fragrance of wet iron washing through the air around them.

And together, channeling her power through his eyes, they see.

Glowing crimson threads that they have no recollection of weaving wrap protectively, lovingly, around Ichigo. A thin but strong filament, sewn through the skin from just below Ichigo’s ear all the way to his opposite shoulder, sutures closed what must have once been a deadly throat wound. Another one, obviously originally meant to keep shut a gash down the length of Ichigo’s forearm, keeps it companion.

And beyond the battlefield sutures there are more threads. Hundreds of intangible and deceptively thin and absolutely unbreakable strands of Benihime’s power wrap around Ichigo, crisscrossing over themselves — around his throat and across his face and down his torso and up his arms, visible wherever his bare flesh is exposed — seemingly serving no purpose.

Benihime’s power surges at the sight, a hot delight running through her as she sees Ichigo so thoroughly caught in her webs. Kisuke’s fingers suddenly, urgently ache with the urge to touch, to tighten, to add more.

Soul King.

No purpose other than, it seems, to satiate their own possessiveness.

Kisuke exhales a shaking breath. Closes his eyes for a brief moment. Gets the heat in his blood under control.

No purpose other than to alert themselves, perhaps? Did they know that one day they wouldn't recognize Ichigo anymore, and left this as a clue?

(And oh, what a clue. What a clue it is.)

He lets Benihime’s power fade, taking his hand away from her hilt. He’s self-aware enough to know when he needs to stop tempting himself, and he’s gotten the evidence he came for — far better proof than he could have ever anticipated.

He takes a step back, and the motion is the most unnatural thing he’s done in a long, long time.

He has questions. He has a few theories, too. Amnesia, caused by a very specific type of parasitic hollow. Dimension travel. Time travel. He doesn’t have enough information yet to figure out which is most likely, but he has finally confirmed beyond doubt that Ichigo is his, has been his, and something tried to steal that from him.

Fury flares within him, burning through his veins, and he can’t do this right here.

He takes another step back, this one just as unnatural as the last.

He can’t ask, yet. He can’t get closer, can’t wake Ichigo up with a soft hand on his cheek, can’t tell him that he’s there now, can’t promise him to take care of it all if he would just let him in again.

No.

Shiba Ichigo is in the middle of a chess game — a dangerous one, a complicated one — and Kisuke can’t see the whole board yet. Tipping his own hand might trigger a whole plethora of traps, including another round of amnesia, and he refuses to risk the knowledge he’s regained.

He will have to be careful. He will have to move cautiously.

He casts one last look at Ichigo, lets his eyes trace over that delicate throat that he now knows almost bled out. That delicate throat that had to be held together with Benihime’s webs. That delicate throat that he doesn’t remember stitching back together, despite the fact that he used his bankai to do it.

He was made to unknow a person he loves. He was made to unknow a war. He was made to unknow the fact that danger lurks still in the shadows of Soul Society.

He will know the end of this game. And Ichigo will learn that there is no universe in which Kisuke does not protect what’s his.

Kisuke turns. Takes another unnatural step away from his favorite, infuriating puzzle. And then he wrenches himself out of the room, out into the night, closing the window behind him and leaving as unnoticed as he had come.

Your thoughts on sex pollen? Maybe Steve gets dosed on a mission and he needs *someone* to help him take care of it, but he and Bucky aren't together yet (just both in the mutually pining stage). So Bucky volunteers to take a bullet for Steve, to get to have him this close (but not really). Steve's crying out "I love you, I love you" the whole time and Bucky just tries his best to ignore it, because it's just the drugs talking, right? And after, Steve must feel so bad for "taking advantage."

My thoughts on sex pollen are “hell yes,” tbh.

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Jason goes full cat 2

time travel fanfic idea where Jason comes back to before he was adopted, him and Batman still meet and he still ends up being adopted by Bruce Wayne, but he just refuses to acknowledge Batman and Robin, he acts like a civilian boy, he has over thirteen extracurriculars that Bruce does his best to keep up with. He regularly works out and trains all the fighting he's learned over the years, he goes on a gap year before college to recuperate the all blades and pretends to be the civilian in a family of crime fighting vigilantes.

He's doing pre-med and keeps nagging his siblings to go to college too (Cass, Tim), Duke is the one who spends more time with him bc everyone else is nocturnal and sleep through the day, but Jason likes to drive Duke to his classes and pick him up so they can have lunch together, Damian had a hard time at first, because Jason speaks every language that he speaks and all bat related things have to stay at the cave, his league training didn't prepare him for a civilian brother.

During an attempted kidnapping during one of the Wayne galas, Jason's whole plan almost gets blow up because one of the guys has taken a woman hostage and his Red Hood fried brain just pounced on the dude with all his might, wrestled him for the gun and kept him stuck under his boot with the gun pointed between the guys brows.

He had to pretend to be scared when Batman came to the rescue and act like he didn't know how to handle a gun.

+ Alfred 100% thinks Jason was on a children gang and that's why he's so good with knives, guns and rifles, but who's he to say anything about people's past

Jason and Dick falling back into being brothers after Jason gets resurrected except both of them keep forgetting that although Dick is still older, Jason is now very much not a small little Robin anymore.

Dick, pointing to an ugly old guy on TV: that’s you

Jason, gesturing to a pug: that’s you

Dick: *flicks the side of Jason’s head*

Jason: do that again and i’ll smash your face in

Dick: bring it on, little wing!

Jason: *jokily shoves Dick off the couch*

Dick: *flies two feet and smashes through a glass table*

Tim and Damian watch Dick try and sneak up on Jason from behind to shove him in the pool but Jason doesn’t even budge, and they see Dick’s eyes widen in regret before he gets judo-flipped into the water. Jason tries to jump in after but forgets how big he is and manages to both land directly on Dick’s flailing body and cause a wave big enough to drench Alfred standing at the other edge. Damian turns dead eyes onto Tim,

Damian: promise me we’ll never be that immature.

Tim: we can learn from their stupidity

Alfred, dripping onto the tiles, Jason and Dick struggling in the background: please see that you do.

What do you think that Steve and Bucky do in cannon with the D/S verse when one or the other has a nightmare? Like the nightmares of the shit that really happened. Where they can't say that it was just a dream because it happened. It happened and it's like they're in that moment again. When one of them was dead, then they thought that they were going to die. When everything in the world was crashing down. When it's all too much too fast and they can't get out of their heads?

That really depends on the nightmare!

Like, say for instance that Steve had a nightmare about Bucky falling. He wakes up with so much self-hatred and guilt because he believes it’s all his fault and for a number of reasons.

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Okay but has Rhapsody in Pink (RiP 🤣) Steve been waiting his entire life to get dicked down like that by Bucky or what? Imagine him point blank telling-- nay, begging Bucky to do to him everything he would kill another man for doing hnnnng

I always told myself I would never do head canons are blog ficlets or whatever for my Rhapsody in Pink Steve and Bucky because they were too special to me to risk turning them into a tumblr ~performance item... but fuck it. I simply cannot resist this ask.

So Bucky has definitely been through a trauma. Hydra chemically castrated him and ripped his sex drive away from him, and now as a result his recovery has been marred by these really jarring sexual desires (a base desire he already had, but now turned up to eleven). But I am in love with the idea of a recovering Bucky who learns to reclaim his mind and his body by turning the consequence of his trauma on its head and “using” it for something he wants. And it’s his right to do that, because it’s his trauma—but he can’t learn to do all of that without the help of the love of his life.

... Because Steve—while first and foremost being in love with a man he thought he could never have (until now) for approximately the past one hundred years—sort of gets off on the idea of Bucky being an absolute ‘pervert’ for him (and that would be Bucky’s word, not mine). It makes Steve feel wanted and sexy, even if it kind of makes him feel like a pervert himself for wanting Bucky to want all of those nasty things from him. Basically, Steve’s kink is Bucky having this visceral desire to do depraved-sounding things to him, and he’s got some internalized kink-shame about it, but then he kind of... gets off on that shame. But again: this complicated double-shame is Steve’s issue, so Steve gets to “use” it however Steve wants.

All of that said... Jesus fucking Christ, Steve has absolutely waited his entire life to get dick like this. 

[Warnings: nsft / 18+, Dom/Sub, dacryphilia, many anal things, sex toys, derogatory names and self-slut-shaming, fantasies about some... pretty hardcore BSDM stuff. No Ao3 archive warnings would apply, but read at your own risk.] 

Here is a list of a few things I imagine happens in their bed after the end of Rhapsody in Pink:

Bucky learns to accept that it’s okay that his own orgasms feel fucking feral anytime he gets Steve to cry on his cock

Steve learns to accept that it’s okay to be proud of how smooth and “tiny” (Bucky’s word, not mine) and pink his own asshole is

They learn together that Bucky has a natural penchant for the most disgusting dirty talk:

“Yeah, sweetheart, wanna mess up those sore, puffy tits, hold ‘em together for me”

“Gonna smack this sweet hole while it’s squeezin’ my dick”

“Right there, Stevie, keep your head right fuckin’ there, be good for me while I fuck my cock between these fat, pretty lips”

Bucky pries it out of one very blushy Steve that he has a dildo in his closet, but, he just—he can’t. Steve can’t bring it out. It’s one thing for Bucky to know how much Steve likes the things Bucky does to him, but it’s another thing entirely for Bucky to see his filthy toy (Steve thought it was a really big dildo when he bought it; it’s really not) and know what a desperate fucking, just... slut (Steve’s word, not mine) that he was before all this. Still is.

... But Bucky needs it. He needs to see Steve use his little shame toy on himself so badly that one day he ties his own dick and balls up in a cock ring and fucks so many subsequent orgasms out of Steve that Steve is sobbing and begging for a break and his entire face is a red, snotty, tear-stained mess, until eventually Steve craves a reprieve from the overstimulation so badly that he agrees to get his toy out. 

(Steve pauses when he finally gets in the closet, but then Bucky follows him in and fucks him one more time over the shoe-rack just for the hesitation. Bucky milks his prostate until Steve frantically grabs the box and gets it down.)

Steve does beg Bucky to do—or at least tell him about—all those dark, depraved things that he said he would kill another man for doing to Steve. Bucky tells him about the visions his mind-fucked head has shown him of tying Steve down to the Avenger’s kitchen table with clamps on his chest and a cage on his cock and fucking Steve dry in front of anyone who could walk in. He tells Steve about the dozen different times Bucky came from thoughts of choking Steve until his face was blue and his dick was wet. He tells Steve about his drug-addled dreams of having two of himself so that he could fuck Steve with two cocks at the same time. He tells Steve about the time he jerked off so hard to the image of Steve’s ass swallowing down his vibranium fist that his dick started to bleed. They don’t actually do any of those things, though, because it’s never been that Bucky wants really them, but the thought that Bucky wants him enough for his withdrawal-sick mind to even imagine those things makes Steve come from nothing but listening and rutting his dick against Bucky’s jeans. 

(Okay... maybe they do try that last one. And maybe they use Steve’s loose, stretched body and his little shame toy to get as close to that other one as they can without time travel or cloning.)

... But first, before any of that, Bucky wakes up the morning after he first fucked Steve and spends an hour kissing his hole slow and wet and sweet and loving, just like he’s kisses Steve’s mouth.

Steve cuddles Bucky every night and congratulates him for learning to take his own body and mind back.

Hopefully I didn’t ruin my babies for you too hard 😅

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