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Clark Kent had zero idea that he wanted to get manhandled until Bruce Wayne picked his big ass up, flung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and walked out of the League conference room with him like he weighed nothing at all. And damnit, Bruce didn’t miss a step or show any sign that he was heavy. He had the nerve to just keep walking, face blank and eyes forward, as though he wasn’t carrying well over 200 pounds of Superman around like a rag doll.

Clark has never been so conflicted.

On one hand, he’d been in the middle of speaking—and making a damn good point, thank you very fucking much. Bruce had disagreed with everything he’d said to the point that he’d snatched the cowl off mid-meeting, like he wanted Clark to see he was rolling his eyes in plain view. And Clark can admit that after the third eye roll, he’d gotten loud and belligerent. Then, out of nowhere, right after Barry had made some silly joke to break the tension in the room, Bruce had stood up, rounded the table, grabbed Clark by the waist, and flung him over his shoulder. And Clark, too shocked by it all, hadn’t done a thing to stop it.

Which leads to the other hand. Because yes, on one hand, Clark is outraged that Bruce went this far to shut him down in a disagreement. Mister dark and broody, Mister I’m Always Right Because I’m Batman, just couldn’t handle anyone with a different point of view, so he physically removed the opposition. Self-righteous, arrogant, bullheaded, stubborn, and yet—and yet—and yet…

Clark has never been so turned on in his fucking life.

It occurs to him, as Bruce exits the conference room with everyone else watching in shocked silence, that he should be furious. He can’t remember what he’d been saying—knows it was a good point but damn, what had the meeting even been about?—and now look at him. He’s face down, ass up, cape askew, wide-eyed and struck stupid. He thinks he even squeaked in shock when Bruce had adjusted him from his left shoulder to his right without so much as a grunt. Just seamless, effortless, strong, so strong and powerful—

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking (well, Bruce walking and him just dangling), but suddenly they’re in an empty break room and Bruce is sitting him down on the counter, arranging himself between his legs and opening his mouth to growl—

“If you’re determined to act like a brat, then I’m going to treat you like one.”

Did Clark say before that he’s never been so turned on in his life? Scratch that. Fuck that. Whatever he said then doesn’t even begin to compare to right now.

Bruce blinks and the fight in him seems to evaporate into thin air. “You…are not supposed to be enjoying this.”

Oh, great. Now, on top of everything else Bruce is inexplicably capable of, it seems like he can also see Clark’s toes curling involuntarily in his boots. Either that or the deep breath Clark took to calm down looked more like helpless swooning. Fucking wonderful.

And you know what? He could be embarrassed by all this. He probably should be. Maybe even righteously indignant at the disrespect, the absolute gall it took for someone who’s supposed to be his equal cutting him off in such an extreme way. But something about getting tossed around has his brain short-circuiting and his heart fluttering, so he takes years of mutual lingering glances and tension and decides to be brave (see: stupid and horny).

“What are you gonna do about it?”

Bruce grins. “If I’d know that was all it took, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

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Alfred getting dementia would be so terrifying. Over time, he gradually gets worse at minute tasks he never could've forgotten before, and it's a reckoning for the Bats to put it together about him and try to shield Bruce from it. A lot of it, especially worsening due to sundowning would go unnoticed as most Bats aren't home then. Alfred, for his part, begins exhibiting odd behaviours he can't explain, or remember engaging in. He starts telling stories about Martha and Thomas, starts wandering the grounds in search of them, and even as he realizes what's happening to him, his moments of lucidity get fewer and fewer.

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Suprise

It's seriously so hard to draw using your fingers but at least Dickie looks cute here

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Happy pride! Graysons an ally and supports brucebat..

Based off the Lego Batman where Graysons happy because he thinks he has two dad's

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fellas is it gay to memorise your best friends heartbeat so that you always know how he's feeling and where to find him?

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Superbat commission

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The JL all being attracted to Bruce Wayne and trying to flirt with him in their civilian identities at parties and such and Bruce always making a point to not flirt with them specifically. He just acts completely uninterested and brushes them off but then will flirt heavily with the next person to pass by, so that they know he isn't having an off night or anything, it's just them he's not interested in and it makes them all so mad and offended and Bruce has so much fun.

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Hal, at the watchtower after being given an obvious once over and then unimpressed look from Bruce Wayne: Barry, would you sleep with me?

Barry: What?

Hal, desperate for validation: I'm an attractive guy, right? It's not like I want him to fall in love with me or anything but I'm at least good enough for a few minutes in a coat closet, right!?

Barry: What the fuck are you talking about?

Batman: Maybe if you got a nose job you'd be more up to standard

Superman, bitter about his own failed attempts at flirting and definitely not pouting: Hal, you're very handsome, Bruce is obviously blind and wouldn't know good-looking if it hit him in the face

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Hal Jordan wasn’t drinking too much. He wasn’t. He was just unwinding after a long week, alone in his apartment, being responsible. With a few beers. And maybe a little whiskey, just a little. There was a space documentary on the Discovery Channel that he’d seen before, about Russian and American satellite programs in the 1980s, and he was watching it anyway. Unwinding. A thought occurred to him and he was not giggling drunkenly while he sent Barry Allen some messages. He was just chuckling, calmly, because it was a little funny and he was a man with a refined sense of humor.

Hal Jordan fell asleep on his couch, which was intentional because his couch was comfortable, and woke with a pounding head a full hour after his alarm had given up. It was a rare day off, so it didn’t matter, which is why he’d been okay with some drinking the night before. He had vague memories of sending Barry something hilarious and he scrambled for his phone, unplugged the charger, and checked for a reply. He blinked. He blinked again.

With a rapidly growing sense of dread, a feeling not unlike being sucked into the wide maw of a blood-thirsty planet-eater, he checked his other messages.  Hal Jordan was sitting on the couch in his apartment when his world ended.

With the panic of a man given an hour or less to live, he made his arrangements.

With the desperation of a man pleading with the Fates, he made a last-ditch effort to save himself, pacing frantically and aimlessly in his living room while he typed.

Resigned, his head throbbing like a klaxon, he sat down to die. Many miles away, Bruce Wayne sat at his desk in his locked office, making a noise like a wounded animal with lung problems. It was laughter.

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Can we please get more superbat with nonverbal Dick? They’re all just so cute!

They’re telepathically bonding

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I think it'd be funny if the identity reveal was super anticlimactic. Clark has an interview scheduled with Bruce Wayne about some new project or initiative the company is doing and he walks into Bruce's office and sits down and through a combination of sounds/smells/matching injuries/whatever just immediately recognizes him as Batman and is so surprised he can't contain his reaction and he's just like "Batman...?"

And Bruce loses the Brucie Wayne posture immediately, rolls his eyes and just says, unsurprised and a bit condescending, "Superman."

And then they just sit there in silence, staring at each other, Clark very confused and Bruce clearly annoyed at how quickly Superman recognized him. And when it becomes clear Bruce isn't going to say anything further, Clark looks down at his notes where he has some questions written down and, without knowing what else to do, just awkwardly starts with the first question.

The following interview is one of the strangest he's ever done. Bruce gives some very typical Brucie Wayne answers but all completely deadpan, hardly any inflection. He's also clearly grumpy the entire time. Aside from Bruce not acting like Brucie Wayne, there is no further mention or acknowledgement of their superhero identities. Clark goes back to Metropolis in a daze and still isn't convinced that the whole thing wasn't a fever dream.

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Things Bruce hates about his kids:

They all want to be the one to jump on the grenade

They all will shove their sibling off a building with no remorse

They all act as though he, genius in his own right, is a bumbling moron in the face of technology

They can't read his mind or alternatively trust him enough to do whatever he wants

*refer to previous* They are right sometimes maybe

Costume design

They will tackle a gunman when he could do it instead

They talk a lot, and each accuse the others of doing so

They’re younger than him and force him to stifle panting

The way they run holding Batarangs terrifies him

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sometimes dick gets nightmares when bruce isn’t around. alfred’s sense of propriety vs dick’s big ol’ puppy dog eyes <- a battle for the ages.

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Robins trying to emulate Batman's posture: cute, adorable, sometimes a little scary depending on the circumstance

grown up ex-Robins trying to emulate Batman's posture: scary, but everyone knows who they're trying to be

Batkids out of the suit, in civilian clothes, suddenly standing/looking a little too much like Bruce: terrifying

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This is so funny to me

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You ever think about how often Bruce goes to introduce a vigilante/anti-hero/ex or current villain to the League and ends up revealing too much about his taste in partners?

He's like, this is Ghostmaker/Catwoman/insert love interests here, they occasionally do bad things. But currently they're on an upswing so we're trying out not doing the bad things.

And someone *cough*Hal*cough* goes to make an exes joke and the uncomfortable silence is far more telling than literally any information the Bat has ever offered up in a meeting.

Hal: Oh, he does crime sometimes? Does he occasionally do you too?

Bruce:.....

Minhkhoa: Cackling, in tears behind the mask

Hal: is this why you turned me down? Is it the lack of crime? I CAN change that you know

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They don’t hate Clark, not really. But the first time Bruce shows up with a faint bruise on his throat and that rare soft look in his eyes, the one that says he’s let his guard down for someone, the kids notice.

Dick corners Clark first. Smiling, charming, terrifying. "You break him, I break you. Metaphorically. Probably."

Jason’s more direct: "You’re invincible, right? Cool. Means I can shoot you and you’ll still hear me out."

Tim hacks into the Watchtower comms just to monitor all conversations involving "Kent", "Wayne", and "emotional compromise".

Damian doesn’t even pretend. "Never let your guard down"

Clark takes it all with patient. He understands that Bruce is hard-won and fragile in ways no one sees.

But later, when Bruce is curled into his side on the couch, half-asleep and mumbling complaints, Clark whispers into his hair, "Your kids threatened me today." Bruce huffs a laugh. "They'll like you." Clark smiles. "Good. I’ll earn it. For you."

And the next time they all have dinner together, the kids don’t threaten him, they just pass him the salt. That’s progress, well, that's what Clark thinks.

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I like to imagine that as stoic and guarded Bruce is, him while having nightmares is the opposite. Like when it's just his subconscious and he's not actively trying to hold anything in he's far from quiet. When he dreams about his parents and he watches the bullets sink into them and they fall to the ground he screams. When he dreams about Jason, watching the warehouse explode and picking up his son's limp form, he wails, unable to stop himself when not fully conscious. Because there's no one to save face for, no one to protect. He's allowed to just hurt.