For Guard: Are You Planning On Doing Anything From Ichigo's POV, A Scene Or Anything? Yoru-nee's Reaction

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.

Jason, stubs his toe: Damn!

Bruce: Language!

Alfred, drops a plate: Oh fucking hell!

Bruce looks horrified and Jason looks excited.

Alfred: Master Bruce, I would suggest you close your mouth before you catch flies.

Stucky & bed sharing. Especially when it's randomly casual. Like oh not enough beds? No prob we can share. Or fuck that was an exhausting mission I need a nap shove over. Just. My heart bursts.

This goes along well with that trope of “we’re totally a couple but we don’t know we’re a couple” that I absolutely fucking love tbh.

They share all the beds. All of them. They sleep together, nap together - in fact, I daresay they don’t get in a good sleep unless they’re together. 

And they know all of each other’s worst sleeping habits.

If Steve sleeps on Bucky’s left side, he kicks during the night. Steve is the worst cover hog of all time but he makes up for it by also being a human octopus. 

Bucky cannot even begin to tell you how many mornings he’s woken up trapped by the limbs of Steven Grant Rogers. No matter how they fall asleep, no matter if they’re not even touching when they fall asleep, when he wakes up, Steve is plastered right to him.

His life is so hard.

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im obsessed with the difference between the Wayne family and the Kent family. like i can imagine Clark and Bruce working on some kind of case at the watchtower when Kon storms in angrily talking about how Jon won’t stop whining to play games on his phone and it’s really getting on his nerves and Clark needs to go and tell him off bcs he won’t listen to Kon, and Clark sighs before turning to Bruce with an eye-roll like ‘kids amiright?’ and then they hear a far off scream from Dick on the other end of the watchtower that’s like ‘BRUCE JASON KEEPS DRESSING UP AS NIGHTWING AND KILLING PEOPLE IN BLUDHAVEN AND NOW IM BEING INVESTIGATED FOR FUCKING MURDER AGAIN!’ followed by an evil Jason-like cackle and a crash, and Bruce just grunts and stands up to go investigate with a chuckle, returning Clark’s look like ‘oh don’t i know it haha’ as if the two are in any way comparable and Clark isn’t staring at him like his whole family is insane

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.

1 & stucky

Bucky insists on putting their furniture together on his own, no help from anyone.

Steve knows why, of course. It’s the same reason why everyone on the team has hand-knitted scarves and hats and gloves. Same reason why their apartment is decorated in an odd mismatch of arts and crafts; pottery and homemade potpourri, random photographs in handmade frames, a wooden rocking chair that Bucky made at the Tower on a particularly bad weekend.

“It feels good,” Bucky told him one late evening; he only ever confessed these things at night. Steve understands. The darkness has been their secret keeper for as long as either of them can remember. “Rememberin’ that I was made for more than just killin’ people.”

So, yes. Steve knows exactly why Bucky prefers to do things himself but sometimes, well. Sometimes he just wishes Bucky would be practical about things.

Like now.

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I’m just sitting here thinking about how Bucky’s been treated as a thing since 1945. How every touch he’s known in seventy years has been to hurt and harm. He doesn’t even remember good touches, they took it away from him.

And Steve waking up to a future where he’s completely alone. How no one touches him anymore, not even friendly pats on the back or shoulder bumps or the occasional hug because he’s Captain America, not Steve, and you just don’t do things like that with a legend.

And because of all of this, they both experience skin hunger, so touch-starved that every little touch they share feels electrified.

They hug for the first time post-CATWS and even just the simple press of their cheeks feels like too much, they literally cannot bring themselves to pull away. Just stand there and hold each other and maybe the team shifts uncomfortably around them, like, are they ever gonna let go? but neither of them seem to notice.

Maybe they weren’t anything romantic before the fall, maybe they really were just best friends with the kind of history/bond that spans lifetimes. But in this new place, where every gentle touch makes Bucky marvel and Steve shudder from sense-memory, they find that they need each other differently than they did before.

It’s not overly apparent at first, they both just go on as they always have, but things are markedly different. Not just the nightmares and the wariness, the inopportune flashbacks, etc.

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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-

Out of curiosity, and because you've mentioned it before: how do you think a friendship between ichigo and aizen would go down? *tosses in a time travel bit, just in case, because why not?*

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Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. In general, I’m not a huge fan of Ichigo & Aizen interaction unless Aizen’s just there to fill the enemy role. It’s not like I hate it, it’s just I’m usually not interested in it.

But.

Let’s say Yhwach wins. Soul Society is destroyed. Most people are dead. All that good-bad stuff. Ichigo gets sent back. Along with Aizen. They’re basically the only two powerhouses left, and SK figures if anyone can stop his son, it’s these two with all the knowledge and experience they have against Yhwach. And also if anyone can keep Aizen in check without literally locking him up, it would be Ichigo.

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What if: Both Ichigo and Urahara were booted back in time in the Swinging Pendulum universe?

Notes: Idk if I’ll continue this later (once those later SP canon parts are written). But I was in an UraIchi mood, and I’ve been trying to write some more of SP so here’s hoping this helps me get past that writer’s block.

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