#tauriawritessmut

[ladytauria]

and this one for jaycest!!! i think it would be good for them: i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty.

hehehehe hi bean <3 thank you so much for the prompt~ i had a lot of fun writing this fic~

Pairing: Jason Todd/Female Jason Todd Rating: Explicit Words: 8.7k Warnings: None

>> AO3 <<

“You know, I’m pretty sure I told you to rest,” Jacie says as she clambers out onto the fire escape. One day, she’ll figure out how Richelle manages to look graceful while climbing out windows, because she sure as hell doesn’t. It always leaves her feeling clumsy and ungainly.

Jason spares her only a brief glance as he takes a drag from his cigarette. “I didn’t ask you to mother me.” He’s braced against the railing of the fire escape, looking rumpled in a sweatshirt that’s seen better days, and a pair of sweatpants he’s tucked into his Docs.

Jay rolls her eyes. “Stop needing mothering, then.” She plucks the cigarette from between his fingers and raises it to her own lips, ignoring the way he splutters.

She’s been in this universe for three days. According to the Constatines, it’ll be at least another two weeks before they have a workable way to send her home. Until then, Jason and she have to stay close. The Constantine of this universe fixed it so that they would work as each other’s “anchor”, keeping them—and their dimensions—stabilized.

For now.

Considering that they’ve had to stay in such close quarters, she’s gotten to know her counterpart quite well over the last few days. He reminds her of her pit bull rescue, Fitz. He’s the sweetest little lamb now, but when she first brought him home? All snarls, biting the hand that fed him before it could hit him first.

Jason is the same way. Loud and brash, bristling at any perceived insult. His uniform design only makes the image stronger; a face mask like a muzzle over his mouth, the red lenses of his domino glinting in the dark like some feral creature…

He burns with an angry kind of pain that makes her fingers itch to stroke his hair the way she’d stroked Fitz’s fur, and assure him that everything would be alright.

…fuck.

She really is mothering him, isn’t she?

She takes a drag off of her bummed cigarette, feeling the smoke fill her lungs before she exhales, watching as the cloud dissipates into Gotham’s ever-present smog.

“I don’t need mothering,” Jay grumbles, crossing his arms. The position looks more protective than confrontational. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t.

Jay’s been in his shoes before. She remembers what it was like, to be a revenant instead of a person. Fitz had been what changed that; the reason she started to carve herself a new life, one chip at a time. Now, she has a dog, a window garden, and a… well. Something almost like a girlfriend, if she can ever get up the courage to voice what she wants. A place to come back to, when the violence was done. A place to feel safe.

Jason doesn’t have that. He hasn’t found his reason… yet. Two weeks is plenty of time for Jay to, perhaps, nudge him in the right direction.

She takes a second drag off of the cigarette, and then offers it back to him. He’s still scowling at her when he takes it from her, raising it to his mouth to take a drag of his own.

Jay takes a moment to study him—the tight set of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he holds himself carefully still. He reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose. The shadows under his eyes seem so much darker in the night. They make him look older.

“Tired?” she asks. She resists the impulse to gentle her voice—though it does lose some of its roughness.

Jason looks at her. His eyes are so green; it swirls within the blue like a maelstrom.

Her heart aches.

The Lazarus Pit didn’t make them angry, didn’t strip them of their control, didn’t turn either of them into some kind of monster, the way some might like to believe. Their actions, hers and Jason’s, were all their own.

But…

While madness wasn’t one of them, the Pit did come with side effects. Especially for them. Neither of them had been in full possession of their faculties when they took their swim—it was the Pit that seeped in and filled up the cracks like a twisted form of kintsugi. Uranium instead of gold; toxic, green, and more powerful than anyone really had the right to possess.

On the days when she felt the green more strongly, the gaps in her memory always felt wider, deeper. She could feel all the hollow spaces where once a life had been lived. It made her feel like an imposter. A ghost. Something that lived and shouldn’t.

And at the same time… the green would pulse and writhe, washing away the aches and pains of places her brief dip hadn’t been able to fully heal, of even new injures, and compelled her to move.

Those nights had once ended in fire and explosions—in bruised knuckles and blood dripping down her nose, coating her tongue—in the burn of alcohol on the back of her throat—in another body tangled with hers, blood welling under her nails as she raked them down their back.

Live, the Pit said, and she did. Destructively, dangerously. The only way someone—something—like her deserved to.

She knows that the only reason Jason isn’t out there doing the same is because she’s here.

“If I say yes, are you going to tell me I should have listened when you told me to rest?” he drawls, mouth quirking up at one corner—but there’s no real humor on his face. He watches her warily, like he expects to be lectured; made to feel like he’s at fault, somehow, for the nightmares and the restless itch he feels under his skin.

Jay brushes a curl from his forehead. “No,” she says gently. “I would ask you if there’s anything I can do.”

His Adam's apple bobs—and then he scoffs derisively. “What, you gonna come tuck me in?”

“If you ask me nicely,” she says. It would be easy to say the words playfully—to make this a joke, a tease that she can take back on a whim. Jay doesn’t. “And if you ask me really nicely, I might even kiss you goodnight.” Her voice trails off into something low. Intimate.

The way color blooms over his cheeks is precious.

He rips his gaze from hers, staring down at the cigarette in his hand. She watches a muscle in his jaw jump once, twice—then he stubs the cigarette out on the railing and flicks it into the alleyway below.

“The hell does that mean?” he asks finally, voice gone rough around the edges. It would sound harsh, gruff, if she didn’t know him half as well as she does. But she does, because she is him, and so his face, his body… It’s all an open book to her.

“It means… that I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

“Why?” His voice cracks, splinters around the word. She cups his cheek, giving him plenty of time to pull away if he wants.

He doesn’t.

Instead he leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut before they open again. He looks so pained.

“I know what it’s like on bad nights,” she whispers. “And… you don’t deserve to suffer, Jason.”

He doesn’t. Neither does she. The latter is harder to believe, but god, she’s trying.

Maybe—

Maybe this is just as much for her as it is him. Maybe if she can believe it for him, if she can help him see it—

Maybe it’ll be easier to face her own worst nights.

Jason searches her face. Jay waits patiently, until finally—he exhales, shakily, and turns his face into her palm. His breath ghosts over her wrist as he whispers, “Okay.”

Jay’s lips turn up, slightly. “I told you you had to ask me,” she reminds—and this is playful, except for all the ways that it isn’t.

The flush on his face darkens. “I… Will you… will you please tuck me in?” His voice peters out into barely a breath, gaze dropping again.

She steps a little closer to him, so she can pull his face forward. “Of course, baby,” she croons, kissing the apple of his cheek. “I’d be glad to.”

>> AO3 <<

[ladytauria]

4, 23, 27 whichever kiss you like better for dicktim

[this was for the different types of kisses meme, and 27 was for Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap. i did also kind of include 23: A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating, but not really.]

i love all of them, & if i could have figured out a way to work in all three i would have! but 27 i hadn’t gotten before so i decided to go with it <3

this turned into smut sdfghjk and then i also ended up with two different endings--one with cuddles and one with more smut (implied). i decided to post the "cuddles" version on tumblr, but the "more smut" version will be on ao3!

>> AO3 <<

Dick has barely put his book down when Tim slips into his lap. It’s surprising—but hardly unwelcome. “Hi,” he says, tipping his head back a little.

“Hi,” Tim replies, a little smile on his mouth. He straddles Dick’s thighs, trailing his fingers over his throat. His touch is cool—Tim has always run a little colder than average. Makes him nice to snuggle with on summer nights… not that Dick ever needs an excuse to pull him close.

“Can I help you?” Dick asks. He skims his hands over Tim’s legs, stopping at Tim’s ass. He can’t resist squeezing. He grins as a flush steals over Tim’s face, his eyes fluttering.

Tim rocks back into Dick’s hands. “Mm. I think so." His voice is a little breathier than before. “There’s this, hm, pesky problem I have.”

Dick tips his head back. “Oh?” he raises his brows and squeezes again, a little more firmly.

Tim exhales softly—not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, but a little of both all the same. “Mhmmm,” he draws out his hum. “See, no one’s kissed me since breakfast.” He throws in a little pout; bottom lip sticking out like the sweetest of temptations. 

Dick laughs. He can’t help it. Tim’s whole face brightens at it, the moon to Dick’s sun.

"That is a problem." Dick says, as Tim leans down, their noses brushing, strands of his hair tickling Dick's cheeks. "Let me fix that for you," he murmurs as he closes the distance between them and slots their mouths together.

Tim sighs into his mouth, melting against Dick’s body. He tastes like artificial grape and sugar. Dick’s mouth twitches.

“Zesti?” he murmurs against Tim’s mouth.

“Mhm. Shut up and kiss me,” Tim demands, tangling his fingers in Dick’s hair and tugging.

Dick laughs, and kisses him again; licking into Tim’s mouth and chasing that taste through every crevice of Tim’s mouth. He drinks in every noise Tim makes, every twitch and shudder of his body.

He could do this all day; kissing Tim, feeling him fall apart in his arms, over and over again.

His body has other ideas. His cock is chubbing up under the heat of Tim’s body on his.

Tim’s next moan is breathier. More of his weight falls against Dick, putting them chest-to-chest. He can feel Tim's length, hot and half-hard, pressing against his belly.

Dick snakes a hand between their bodies, squeezing Tim lightly through his pants. Tim gasps; Dick swallows it, and then pulls back just enough to say,

"Should I kiss you here, too, Timmy?"

He's treated to Tim shuddering; his fingers digging into Dick's shoulders, blunt nails biting into his skin through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The pricks of pain make his belly tighten, the heat in his groin growing hotter.

Tim rocks his hips. "Tempting," he says, a slight husk to his voice that makes Dick want to sink his teeth in him.

So he does, biting Tim's lip and getting another soft gasp. Tim rocks against him again, harder, making both of them moan.

"But not what you want, is it, pretty bird?" Dick hazards, stroking Tim once through his pants before grabbing his ass with both hands and yanking him forward, rolling their hips together. Tim's grip on him turns bruising.

"A-ah— Yes, fuck, Dick, please—"

Dick laughs, kissing Tim again. "You wanna get off just like this, hm? Make a mess out of yourself?"

Now that he's said it, Dick wants to see it. Wants to watch Tim grind on him until he comes, until there's a wet patch on the front of his pants. It would be so obvious, too, in the light blue sweats he's wearing.

And then maybe he can put Tim on his knees, have him suck him off while Dick rubs at his groin with his foot, making Tim get hard again while soaked in his own cum.

Tim shudders again. He rocks his hips.

“C’mon, Timmy,” he whispers. “I wanna see you. You’re so pretty when you fall apart for me.”

“Ah— Dick.” Tim gasping his name is one of the sweetest sounds Dick has ever heard. He pulls him in a little harder, putting more pressure on Tim’s cock. It puts more pressure on him, too—it’s hard to resist the urge to rock up into Tim’s heat, but he manages.

There are some perks to iron clad self-control. He’d thank Bruce, but that might get a little awkward.

Dick presses kisses along the length of Tim’s neck, sucking bruises into the skin there. “Love the way you say my name, pretty bird,” he whispers. “Say it again for me?”

“Dick— Dick, Dick, please, I—”

His shoulders are going to have bruises in the shape of Tim’s hands for days. Dick is looking forward to it.

“Yes, Tim, baby— C’mon, come for me—”

Tim stills in his hands. A shudder rolls down his spine, his breath hitching. Dick’s eyes are trained on his face; he’s breathless with wanting. Tim’s lips part. His face is beautifully pink, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Dick can feel the heat of his release even through their clothing; the way it spreads. He lets go of Tim’s hips as Tim collapses against him, panting into Dick’s neck.

Dick holds him, stroking over his spine as he peppers kisses against the side of his head. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Tim shivers—Dick feels him mouth at his neck before his hand creeps between their bodies.

“What about you?” he asks, pressing the heel of his palm against Dick’s crotch. The pressure feels amazing, and Dick moans, letting himself grind up into it.

“You wanna—wanna stroke me off or suck me?” Dick’s voice is distinctly breathless now too, and he can feel Tim’s smirk against his skin.

“Stroke you.” Tim pulls away, so he’s looking down at Dick—a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I want—I want you to come all over my hand so I can lick it clean.”

Dick shudders. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he tells him, before grabbing the back of his neck and bringing him down into another kiss.

It’s not as gentle as the other one—this one is hot, messy, more teeth and tongue than actual kiss. Tim works a hand into Dick’s sweats, getting his hand around Dick’s cock. Trapped as it is, it’s hard for him to get a good rhythm going, but that hardly matters with Tim atop him like this, panting into his mouth and still soaked with his own come.

It doesn’t take him long to come—and he nearly comes twice when Tim raises his hand to lick Dick’s spend off of it.

“Death of me,” he repeats.

Tim just laughs at him before sticking two fingers in his mouth to clean off the rest. He hollows his cheeks, maintaining eye contact with Dick the entire time.

Dick can’t get hard again, but definitely not for lack of trying.

He throws his head back and groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Menace,” he says to the ceiling, and hears Tim laugh again.

“Your favorite menace,” Tim teases, before he shifts, moving so he’s sitting sideways in Dick’s lap, his head tucked against his shoulder. Dick’s arms wrap around him automatically. He rests his cheek atop Tim’s head.

“Yeah,” Dick says. “Definitely my favorite.”

[ladytauria]

You have too many wips I want to know more about ;-; but I will be strong and only ask about the jaytim teenage fantasies

haha, you’re definitely welcome to ask about more than one!

jaytim teenage fantasies is a duo of fics that has jaytim acting out two fantasies they had as teenagers. tim goes first, and it’s honestly kind of an accident. they’re talking about crushes, and robin, and tim confesses that many of his earliest fantasies involved robin

he ends up narrating one to jason, while acting out portions of the scene—

“You’d rescue me—from a mugger, maybe, or from falling. You whisk me off somewhere safe, where you can make sure I’m okay… and lecture me about recklessness.” Tim’s mouth quirks. “I’m grateful. Not just for the save, but for everything. I don’t bother listening to the lecture.” Shocking. “Instead, I have to ask. How do you do it? How do you protect Gotham, and watch out for Batman, and still live a normal life? It must be so hard.”

Jason can picture it.

Being fifteen again, when Robin was losing its magic. When he looked around Gotham, seeing not the people they’d saved—but the one’s they hadn’t. The ones they failed. He’s fighting with Bruce more and more, questioning everything. Even school doesn’t offer an escape. And Dick—well. Dick is great, but busy. Distant. And always fighting with Bruce.

He’s lonely. He doesn’t think he’d realized how much, then.

And then—

There’s Tim, looking at him with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, faintly awestruck and painfully earnest. In Jason’s mind, he’s not 12, 13 as he would have been, but 14. 15, even. Younger than him, but not young.

“It is. I know it is, now, and even then I suspected. You brush it off, though. After all, you’re Robin. This is what you do. And I say, ‘Yeah—but. You deserve to get something back. To be taken care of.’”

Fantasy-Tim’s cheeks grow red, while real-Tim’s pinken.

“’Let me make you feel good.’ And I drop to my knees.”

Jason’s breath catches. He’s flushed. His skin prickles; his cock stirs. Teenage-him probably would have panicked and fled, or tried to stop him; face tomato-red. Fantasy-teen Jason stays, biting his lip, back pressed against the wall, thighs parting.

He wants. He’s nervous. But he needs this. Needs someone’s soft touch. Concern. Affection. Fifteen-year-old Jason needed so badly for someone to care.

“I know now it’s a one-piece, but in the fantasy…” Tim pauses, then smiles and says, “In the fantasy, the panties come down easy.”

Jason shivers. His nipples feel tight—his whole body feels tight, like he’s too big for his skin. Teenage-him, scaly green panties around his knees; cock flushed and red, drooling at the sight of Tim pretty & pink-cheeked in front of him.

The way his pulse would have raced; his breath quickened.

“I doubt I would have been very good at it. Even teen me could admit that,” Tim says. “But I would have made up for it with eagerness. There’d have been a moment, a pause where I tried to figure out how to start.”

Fuck. He can see the look of concentration on fantasy-Tim’s face; that little furrow between his brows, the determination in his eyes. The way his gaze would have flicked up, toward Jason, then steeled.

His hand around the base of Jason’s cock—the way real-Tim’s hand is wrapping around it now. He curls his fingers into the sheets, feeling almost bad for the way fantasy-Jason has to scramble at brick.

side b focuses on one of jason’s fantasies—being tied up in wonder woman’s lasso, being made to ask for and admit everything he wants done to him. they can’t get her lasso, so they decide to mimic it as best they can with some (modified) truth pollen and rope~

i don’t have anything written for this yet unfortunately—it’s been giving me trouble lmao

side a is mostly finished, i’m just considering expanding the beginning, haha. but i’m waiting to post them as a set!

[curious about my wips? send me an ask about one of the ones listed here.]

[ladytauria]

the sweetest indulgence

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Explicit Words: 7,622 Chapters: 1/?

Content Warnings: Underage, Age Gap, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Reverse Robins, Unhealthy Relationships Portrayed Positively, Explicit Sexual Content

Tim didn’t intend to keep the omega he brought home after investigating a trafficking ring. Really, he didn’t—no matter how tightly his instincts latched on to him. But when Jason goes into heat, those same instincts get the better of him, leading him to bite and claim Jason as his own. Tim can’t bring himself to regret it, even if he should. Instead, he focuses on proving that he’s a good mate. It goes surprisingly well… at least until the other bats decide to stick their noses where they don’t belong. Or, the sweetness of honey from Tim's POV.

I first started writing this to help me figure out what was going on in Tim's head, so I could write him more accurately, and uh... It spiraled into an actual fic <3

This one will be updated slower than the main fic, since I'm... fairly behind on it, but I hope you enjoy this look into Tim's head!

A list of posted chapters & their summaries will be below the cut. Each chapter will have its own tags/warnings in the Top Note on AO3--please mind them as you read! (And do let me know if I miss anything <3)

chapter list

i. a gift, pretty and bruised

Tim is given a gift.

[ladytauria]

the sweetness of honey

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Explicit Words: 77,329 Chapters: 10/?

Content Warnings: Underage, Age Gap, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Reverse Robins, Unhealthy Relationships Portrayed Positively, Explicit Sexual Content

Jason tries to sell off his first heat to make ends meet for the upcoming winter. When he’s taken by traffickers instead, he’s sure that’s the end of him—until he’s rescued by a mysterious alpha. That “rescue” comes with a price: Jason’s heat hits shortly after, and… one thing leads to another, and now Jason and Tim are bound together by a fledgling mate bond. It’s not the first time Jason’s had to make the best of things, but… he finds it a little bit easier this time, especially as he grows to genuinely like Tim. Unfortunately, just as Jason is starting to settle into mated life, Tim’s ex-pack starts getting involved, and they don’t exactly approve of Tim’s choice in mate...

(see the tim pov version here)

My first longfic for DC! This is a highly self-indulgent Reverse Robins AOB AU. It started as a 15k one-shot, but after some encouragement, turned into... this: the slow exploration of a developing relationship.

A list of posted chapters & a summary of them is below the cut. Each chapter has content warnings in the Top Notes <3 Please mind them, and the fic tags!

I hope you guys enjoy—or keep enjoying xD—this fic as much as I do! <3

chapter list

i. a five hundred dollar lure

Jason intends to trade his first heat for enough money to survive Gotham's upcoming winter. He's picked up by traffickers instead.

ii. a gift, pretty and bruised

The leader of the trafficking group decides to give Jason as a gift to a mysterious alpha. Jason is strangely drawn to him.

iii. dousing the flame

Jason's heat comes. Tim's willpower is tested--and fails.

iv. the dawn of a new normal

Three days later, Jason's heat fog dissipates. He finds himself sporting a brand-new mate bite on his neck.

v. prescription: communication

Tim takes Jason to see Leslie, and then the two finally have a much needed talk.

vi. a little bit of spoiling

Jason and Tim have a pleasant day out... and then a less than pleasant night in.

vii. further entanglement

Jason builds a nest with Tim.

viii. care and keeping

Courting realizations and the care and keeping of nestmates.

ix. a quiet night in

The rain keeps Tim inside for the night, so he and Jason share a quiet night in.

x. unexpected guest

After another morning spent enjoying each other’s company, an unexpected guest causes all the questions Jason has been biting back to bubble up to the surface.

[ladytauria]

*★,°*:.☆(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★* 。 When their partner comes from a fight, all injured, with a smile because they won. But they are not happy, because what the actual heck? - sladejay AWOOOO ♡

heheheh thank u so much for the prompt love <3 i had a good time writing it... thank u for all ur help with it, too~

Title: taking a bird in hand Rating: Explicit Pairing: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson Word Count: 8.7k

There are consequences to self-destruction.

>> AO3 <<

Jason's body throbs.

His shoulder aches from where he had to pop it back into place, and he can't put any weight on his left leg without his knee twinging in pain. Blood and sweat are sticky on his skin; his cuts sting where sweat drips into them.

All of the pain, all of the discomfort, is secondary to the way his blood sings.

His landing on the fire escape lacks its usual grace; the metal clatters beneath him, the railing shaking when he reaches out to stabilize himself. When his better leg is no longer wobbling under him, he disables the traps on the window and slips into the brownstone he shares with Slade.

Only after the shades are drawn and the traps have been reset does Jason fumble for the latches of his helmet. He pulls it off with a low, mechanical hiss. Cool air washes over his face, and he tips his head back to enjoy it, running a hand through his hair.

The living room light is on. Jason can see the back of Slade's head—can hear the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone. His mouth twitches as he straightens.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls, waltzing toward the couch with a feral, predatory grin. “Did you miss me?”

Not for the first time, Jason is struck by how… normal Slade looks, when he's not clad in the Ikon suit. Sitting on their shared couch, wearing nothing but a Henley and loose sweats, he looks almost… domestic, save for the knife and whetstone in his hands. There are more knives laid out on the coffee table. Jason spots a few of his spares among them—some of his favorite cooking knives, too, alongside a separate whetstone.

He ignores the way that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

Instead, he lets himself drink in the sight of Slade. The top buttons of the Henley are undone, exposing his collarbone and a generous smattering of gray chest hair. Braced against the back of the couch, Jason has a great view down the front of it, and he takes shameless advantage of it.

Slade hums, drawing the blade of the knife over the stone before raising it up to examine it. Light glints off of the blade. “How was patrol?” he asks, the subtlest curl of warmth in his words. He sheaths the knife and twists to look up at him. “Did you—” He cuts himself off, brows knitting. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jason knows him well enough to know the bite in his voice is concern, not anger. “Oh, y'know. Couple'a assholes got in some lucky hits.” Jason shrugs. Nothing he couldn't handle. He trails his fingers over Slade's nape. “I could use a shower. Wanna join me?”

He’s rewarded with a shiver—but then Slade shakes his head, pulling away from Jason’s hand. “Kid, you need medical attention. Not sex.”

“Or…” Jason leans down so his lips are brushing Slade's ear, voice dipping into something low and suggestive. “We could do both.” It wouldn't hurt to take care of his injuries first, honestly—his knee could use a wrap, and the way the cut on his thigh throbs… he probably needs stitches. Then… maybe he can talk Slade into picking him up, fucking him against the shower wall. No risk of popping his stitches that way.

Jason pouts when Slade's only reply is a snort.

Slade sets the knife and whetstone aside before he stands and rounds the couch. Despite the irritation on his face, his grip on Jason’s arm is nothing but gentle as he steers him toward the bathroom.

The pace is too quick at first—Jason stumbles, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Slade immediately shifts, wrapping his arm around Jason’s waist instead.

“The bats just let you walk off like this?” Now the bite in his voice is definitely anger.

Jason’s brow furrows. “What bats?” There better not have been any bats in his territory tonight.

Slade stills. “The ones you called for backup.” His voice drops to something low. Dangerous. A lesser man would be looking for an exit.

Jason scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t need back-up.”

Not for a group of small-time thugs guarding a weapons shipment. Jason will begrudgingly admit that they were more skilled than he expected. They landed several good blows—but Jason gave as good as he got.

Better than he got, even, because in the end, he was the only one able to actually walk out of there. Sure, he feels like one big bruise, but he’s had worse. It only hurts to breathe a little.

Slade grunts, disbelieving.

Jason’s hackles raise. “I didn’t. I had it handled,” he bites. He goes to shrug Slade’s arm off, but he doesn’t get the chance before Slade manhandles him to the bathroom.

The easy way Slade moves him never fails to get him hot. Even now, when Slade is being obnoxiously careful with him, he can feel his pulse quicken, his stomach tighten.

As soon as Jason is perched on the closed toilet seat, Slade digs their first aid kit out from under the sink. It’s one of several spread throughout the brownstone, though this one is the most substantial. It takes up more than half the sink counter when Slade opens it.

“Armor off,” Slade orders gruffly.

“I can do this myself,” Jason grunts. He rises to his feet to do just that, but Slade stops him with a hand on his chest.

“You can.” The acknowledgement mollifies Jason… but only slightly. “Let me help anyway.”

Jason debates being difficult and refusing. However… he does want that shower. Preferably as soon as possible. He’s not above acting counter to his own interests just to be petty, but… This time, he decides it’s not worth it.

His shoulder muscles protest as he shrugs out of his jacket, but the pain is easy enough to ignore. He disables the traps on his armor with fingers far less graceful than usual, and then fumbles with the latches until finally, he gets it off. Jason lets both fall to the floor with a thud.

One of them will pick them up later.

He undoes his belt and pops the button on his tac pants, only to still as Slade kneels between his legs. His breath hitches; thighs spreading on reflex. His leg twinges.

Jason isn’t fast enough to hide his wince. Not from Slade.

Slade’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Injury report?”

Jason rolls his shoulders carefully in response. “Dislocated my left shoulder. Popped it back in before I left. Twisted my knee. Got a cut that needs stitches… Normal bruises and scrapes.” He shrugs. “Nothin’ serious. I told you.”

Now that the adrenaline is starting to fade from his system, his side hurts a lot more than it did before. Breathing is a hell of a lot less comfortable. His left side always gives him trouble—he probably just aggravated the muscles or something.

Nothin’ a hot shower and a little endorphin rush can’t fix.

Although the way Slade is acting, he thinks the only action he’ll be seeing tonight is with his hand, and maybe a toy. Disappointing, but Jason will manage.

“Where’s the cut?” Slade asks, scanning Jason’s body.

“Outer thigh.” Jason taps his right leg.

Slade grunts. He goes for Jason’s boots first, deft fingers untying Jason’s laces and then dropping them neatly next to his armor. Jason rises as Slade tugs his tac pants down. The blood from his cut has started to dry; the fabric clinging to his skin and tugging at the edges of his injury. Worse, though, is the way Jason’s torso muscles protest. He grits his teeth against the pain, but he’s breathing a little more heavily when he settles again.

He’d be a fool to think that Slade didn’t notice.

The old man doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he rises again, taking out a cloth and wetting it. His expression is tight; the blue of his eye stormy. Still, when he sweeps the cloth over Jason’s skin, he’s nothing but gentle.

There’s more blood than Jason thought. It turns the white cloth pink. Slade balls it up when he’s done and throws it into the sink. It smacks against the first aid kit, rattling it loudly enough Jason almost flinches. Normally, this is the part where Slade pets him like he's a spooked horse (and Jason despises the way it works, the way he instantly feels settled under Slade's touch). This time, though… Slade doesn't. He grips Jason's leg—still careful not to hurt him—and manipulates it to get a better look at the cut.

It leaves Jason feeling… disquieted.

He keeps his mouth shut.

The cut is maybe four inches long, though not very wide or deep, and definitely in need of stitches.

Jason looks away when Slade reaches for the local anesthetic. It’s not something he would normally allow himself, but—angry at him or not, he trusts Slade.

The pain of the needle is brief, and followed by a numbing sensation that spreads down his thigh. Slade reaches for the suturing kit. Jason leans back and closes his eyes. The feeling is more acute this way, even dulled as it is, but it’s better than watching the needle drive in and out of his skin.

He doesn’t open his eyes again until he hears the soft snip of the thread being cut. Slade’s stitching is neat and precise. He doubts it will leave much of a scar—if any at all.

Slade wraps a bandage around Jason’s thigh to protect the cut, and then he sits back on his haunches, lifting Jason’s leg carefully to examine his knee. The flesh is swollen and tender, hurting no matter how gently Slade touches him. He hums, and then gets out a wrap, binding Jason’s knee tightly.

“Satisfied?” Jason asks. His voice is hoarser than he expected. He clears his throat.

“No. Shirt off. I don’t like the way your breathing sounds.”

Jason huffs. There’s nothing wrong with his breathing. “I’m fine,” he says. “I just need a shower.”

Slade’s eye narrows. “Humor me.”

Jason huffs again, but this time he listens.

It’s not like he won’t have to strip anyway, he supposes. He tugs his undershirt off—or, he starts to. His side screams when he goes to raise it over his head, causing him to drop the shirt with a low, pained groan. Slade is there immediately, smoothing a hand down Jason’s back. Jason leans into the comfort without thinking.

Slade waits until the pain has faded, Jason's muscles loosening, before gripping his shirt and pulling it up. He guides the arm on Jason's uninjured side through the hole and lifts the shirt over his head and down the injured arm so Jason doesn't have to raise it. Then, he sits back on his heels.

The set of his mouth grows tighter.

Jason follows his gaze, looking down at his side. It’s bruised a splotchy purple, and Jason grimaces.

Okay, so maybe Slade had cause to be worried.

Slade mutters an apology before his fingers start probing at Jason’s side, pushing down on each rib. At first, the pain is… manageable, but then—

Jason hisses, full body cringing away from Slade’s touch.

Fuck.

Jason is acutely familiar with the pain of a cracked rib. God fucking dammit. He’s going to be laid up for weeks. Three, at least.

“We’ll do x-rays in a bit.” Slade stands again. “Stay here.” He fills one of the small paper cups they keep in the bathroom and hands it to Jason alongside two capsules of Tylenol.

Jason downs them without complaint.

“Still think you didn’t need back-up?” Slade asks him, his voice low.

Jason scoffs. “I walked out of there, didn’t I?”

Slade clenches his jaw. His eye grows stormy. “If one of them was even slightly luckier, you wouldn’t have.”

“They weren’t.” It’s Jason’s turn to stand, then. His bad knee is on the same side as his potentially-cracked rib, so as long as he keeps his weight on his right side, it’s not so bad. Slade’s hands settle on his waist, steadying him. Even now, in the face of Slade’s anger, there’s still a part of Jason that relishes in the way they make him feel small.

“They could have been,” Slade snaps, holding Jason just a little bit tighter. Jason half-expects him to shake him.

“But they weren’t,” Jason stresses. His grip on Slade tightens a little. God. He’s so tired all of the sudden. He doesn’t want to argue—he wants to shower. Sleep. He doesn’t want to have to deal with Slade’s displeasure. His disappointment. “I—Can we not, right now?”

Slade studies him.

Jason doesn’t know what he sees, but whatever it is... he nods. “Yeah, kid. We can talk about it later.”

Jason expects him to leave, but he doesn’t. He stays right where he is… and Jason is grateful for it as he slumps. He lets his head fall forward to rest on Slade’s shoulder, where he breathes in the scent of him. Slade holds him up, holds him steady, until Jason is ready to pull away.

>> continue reading on AO3 <<

[ladytauria]

honey, cardamom, and coffee has me like 😍😍😍

hehehehe

just for u, have this little in-between drabble i'm not sure what to do with yet (under a cut for smut)

Two years, and Jay couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was pathetic. He knew it was. Pining after an omega he was never going to see again was bad enough… but it being an alternate version of himself? The doctors at Arkham would have a field day with him.

Hell. Bruce would have a field day with him.

He’d probably enjoy having an excuse to finally toss Jason in with all the other undesirables.

But… in the quiet moments, when it was just him and no one else…

He couldn’t keep the thoughts, the memories, at bay. He’d close his eyes and feel the press of a plush chest against his back, radiating warmth as hands cupped his pecs, fingers expertly tugging at his nipples. He'd lost track of how many times he'd found himself humping his pillow or fucking his fist, imagining it was Jason's cunt.

And when he came, it was to the memory of his own voice.

"Good pup."

[ladytauria]

the honor of undoing.

Pairing: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Words: 7,678 Warnings: Underage Sex, Omegaverse

There is no greater privilege than helping an omega through their first heat.

yknow at one point i thought this was only going to be like 4-5k... i was a little off i think fghj

>> AO3 <<

“B… I’m scared.” Jason’s voice is small and thin.

He’s never looked smaller than he does right now, swallowed up in the sea of Bruce’s nest.

Bruce is still in awe of his presence here. Perhaps it shouldn’t be. Jason is the pack omega. It’s only customary that he would spend his heats in the den of his pack alpha—but for this one, for the first one, Bruce had told Jason they could spend it anywhere, so long as it was somewhere Jason felt safe.

Jason had still chosen Bruce’s den—and now he’s here, spread out in Bruce’s nest; his skin pink and glistening slightly with fever, the air thick with the scent of his pheromones. The trust being placed in him is enormous. Bruce bears it gladly. 

He rumbles comfortingly, blanketing the boy with his body purely on instinct.

“I know, Jaylad,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to Jason’s forehead. The skin is warm, almost feverish, under his lips. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.” The alpha in him would gladly tear out the throat of any threat who dared to enter his den—or, it would if Bruce had even a fraction less self-control.

Jason bites his lip. “I know,” he whispers. Despite his words, the fear lingers on his face. It’s in his eyes, wide and searching, flickering over Bruce’s face.

He noses Jason’s cheek until he tips his head back, allowing Bruce to press kisses to the underside of his jaw. Here, every breath comes perfumed with Jason’s honey-sweet scent, and Bruce can feel his own swelling in response. Cover-protect-claim. Jason’s nostrils flare—his eyes flutter.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of,” Bruce says—Commands, almost.

Jason shivers. “It’s going to hurt.” If his voice was thin before it’s practically emaciated now; just a little ghost of a thing, breathy and soft.

Bruce's cock throbs.

He ignores it.

“It won’t.” He makes his voice solid and sure. “We’re not going to do anything without making sure your body is ready to handle it—and if I’m wrong, and you do feel any pain, you’ll tell me. Immediately. I’ll make it better.” An order and a promise.

Jason swallows. Bruce feels the movement more than sees it. He hums, skimming his lips over Jason’s skin. Small fingers tangle in the hair on the back of Bruce’s head, the touch hesitant until he hums his approval.

His pulse flutters under Bruce's lips, racing beneath the thin skin, and his teeth ache with the desire to bite.

Bruce barely even tries to resist.

It’s just a little thing; the briefest nip over Jason’s pulse. It draws the sweetest gasp from his boy’s lips. Bruce pulls back, just enough so that he can see Jason’s face—see his wide blue eyes framed with thick lashes, and the faint flush coloring his face, climbing down his throat and spreading over his collarbones.

“What else?” There’s a husk in his voice now.

Jason's tongue darts out, wetting pink lips, making them glisten in the low light of Bruce's nestside lamps.

“I— What if—” His eyes dart askance, unable to keep holding Bruce's gaze. “What if I disappoint you?”

His voice is so soft Bruce almost can't hear him. Honestly, he isn't sure he even does, or if he simply reads the words off Jason's lips. His rumble grows louder, deeper. He nips Jason's cheek this time—feels those fingers tighten in his air. “You could never,” he says, and there's a touch of a growl in his voice. A growl that makes that honey-sweet scent thicken, makes Jason’s breath hitch as he shudders beneath him.

“Are you sure?”

His voice cracks.

So does Bruce's heart; a hairline fracture, running parallel and perpendicular with a hundred others. He's lost count of how many were put there by his pup.

He'll gladly take a thousand more.

Bruce rubs their cheeks together before nosing his way back down Jason's face, his neck. He trails soft, nibbling little kisses as he goes, until he reaches Jason's left scent gland, the one near the juncture of his shoulder. It’s swollen with his heat. He drags his tongue over it, pressing it flat against Jason's skin. Here, the pheromones are thicker, sweeter. He swears he can taste honey on his tongue, with the slight spice of cloves, a hint of milky-pup, and of course, the sharp, bitter tang of salt. He knows it’s just a trick of his brain; the intertwining of scent and taste.

“You're mine,” Bruce rumbles, shifting so that Jason's body is caged protectively under his; his bulk, his heat, shielding Jason from the rest of the world.

>> AO3 <<

[ladytauria]

omg yeah not sure i want to know more about the brujay first heat WIP (the snipped u posted a whole back was CRAZY or the dick tim hands on sex ed one

hehehe, why not both?

brujay first heat was smth that i meant to have ready by the end of kinktober and then… did not. it’s aob + underage, with alpha bruce & omega jason, & basically just bruce spoiling & lavishing jason with attention for his first heat <3

i don’t remember what i shared snippets of last time ahskdjkdj and picking one is so hard… ah i’m so excited to finish this one, lmao, there’s so many little moments i like

While Jason is much shier about his body than Bruce is, it's not the first time that Bruce has seen him.

It is the first time he's been allowed to look properly. To see the way his time at the Manor has softened his body. Bruce had known about the little paunch in his stomach, had seen glimpses of his ribs, the way the jut of them is no longer clearly visible under his skin.

And he'd seen hints, teasing little glimpses of Jason's breasts. They're cupped in a soft, cotton bra now; buttery yellow, trimmed with a bit of lace. 

It's cute, though with his heat like this, Bruce imagines that lace must be itching terribly. He slips his finger under it, and follows along where the cups meet Jason's skin. 

"Did you put this on for me, Jaylad?"

Jason makes an aborted movement to cover his chest before curling his fingers into the nest instead. "Yeah. Do—" He swallows, adam's apple bobbing with the movement. "Do you like it?"

His silly boy.

Bruce is deeply, inextricably fond, and he's sure it shows in his smile—his scent. "I do," he says. The urge to shower Jason in finery has always been strong. It will grow stronger after this, now that he knows his omega would wear it to please him. Reigning it in will be difficult. Jason's body is still changing, shifting; he'll have to keep that in mind for anything he buys. It would be a travesty for Jason to love something only to grow out of it.

Bruce could replace it easily, of course, but that would never erase the moment Jason tried to put it on and failed.

"I like it very much, Jaylad." Bruce bends his head, kissing the lace at the top of the cup, sitting at the swell of his breast.

More than anything, he likes that it's yellow.

It’s Jason’s favorite color. He could have picked any color in the world to wrap himself in—could have marked himself as Bruce’s by wearing black, could have challenged him with Nightwing blue. But instead, Jason had picked yellow. Indulging himself. The rumble in Bruce’s chest deepens. His boy has come so far.

and then for dicktim, i shared one snippet of them already—you can find that here—but, here’s another—

Tim is probably a bad person.

Here Dick is, vulnerable and needing Tim’s help… and Tim is taking and advantage.

A lie by omission is still a lie.

That said—Dick knew about his relationship with Steph. Beautiful, pregnant Steph, whose hormones often left her flushed and slick with desire. Tim would hardly have been a good alpha if he’d left her wanting, would he? If Dick assumes he’s a virgin, well—

That’s his own fault.

Maybe Tim should feel guilty for playing into it the way he is, but he can hardly help it when it makes Dick look at him like this. Like only the thinnest of threads is holding him back from leaping over to devour him.

His scent has gotten thicker. Headier. Tim’s head is cloudy with it. The world has shrunk down to the confines of Dick’s nest. Nothing outside of it matters.

Only Dick, thighs spreading to reveal a glistening pink pussy. His hand catches Tim’s wrist, guiding his fingers there. Tim bites his lip, watching Dick’s face as he strokes over puffy folds. He keeps his touch light. Tentative.

Dick shudders at the touch, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen bunching. He blinks, lashes fluttering. “Just like that,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” Tim strokes again, a little more boldly. He keeps his touch light—heat has clearly made Dick more sensitive.

[curious about my wips? send me an ask about one of the ones on this list!]

[ladytauria]

a night of revelations

Pairing: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson Rating: Explicit Words: 10k Content Warnings: None

Jason knows Slade would rather be with Dick.

i've been craving a fic where jason is insecure about slade's history with dick, to the point that the thought wouldn't leave me alone and i finally had to give in and write it dfghjk

MAJOR thank you to @paprikadotmp4 probably would not have been able to write this fic without her---or if i did, it would have taken twice as long and been half the length ;) thank u sm for all your encouragement, help, and sprinting with me! <3

also a big thank you to paprika for betaing this for me <3 and providing a couple of the lines i used dfghjk truly doing so much of the heavy lifting xD

>> AO3 <<

Jason knows Slade would rather be with Dick.

The man has never said as much, but Jason's not stupid. He's seen the way Slade looks at Dick—can read an entire history in the way they move with each other, the glances they exchange.

Jason thought he could handle it.

It’s hardly the first time he’s been someone’s second choice. He thought as long as Slade never called him by the wrong name, he would be fine.

He should have known better.

Jason has the terrible habit of catching feelings for anyone he sleeps with more than once. He thought he would be safe with Slade. Slade’s an asshole. He’s gruff, stubborn, emotionally unavailable, and—honestly—kind of a deadbeat.

Exactly the kind of guy Jason thought he wouldn’t fall for in a million years.

But…

Slade is—good. For him.

He shouldn’t be.

But…

He’s honest. He doesn’t lie to Jason.

Doesn’t withhold information ‘for his best interest.’ He gives him the facts, no matter what they are, and lets Jason make the decision.

And whatever decision Jason makes, he respects.

Slade treats Jason like an equal. A partner.

He doesn’t get upset when Jason is prickly, doesn’t chafe at his humor. Doesn't judge Jason's coping mechanisms—or lack thereof. Jason can be himself, and Slade just—

Accepts it.

It’s… refreshing. Invigorating. Part of what drew him to Slade in the first place.

And Slade himself…

He’s funny. His humor is dry. Sharp. Almost always delivered in a slow, deadpan drawl. They play off of each other, the two of them, in a way that leaves Jason feeling giddy.

There’s also a softness to him, under the gruff exterior. Jason is one of the few who get to see it—experience it. The gentleness in Slade’s hands when Jason is injured. The sweet tooth he rarely indulges, the fondness he holds for animals—especially the pathetic strays Jason can never stop himself from feeding.

And—he’s trying, with his kids. He reaches out to them—haltingly, stiltedly. Keeps tabs on them from a distance. Never hesitates to answer on the rare occasion they ask for help.

Each moment softened Jason a little more, lowering his walls bit by bit. He hadn’t even noticed it was happening until it was too late.

It’s just his luck, to fall for someone who will only ever see him as second-best.

>> AO3 <<

[ladytauria]

Oh I see what we are doing now *ahem*

-Abyss left the ask box-

-Person with the most perfect Mustache you've ever seen-

*Strokes it* Trick or Treat my fine lady

*squinting* that’s a very fine mustache you have there, dear, but I SWEAR I’ve seen your face before

hmmm… well. while there are still several ideas hidden in my documents for some reason I feel compelled to give you my OTHER idea I had for my dear friend @deepwithintheabyss

jumping into this one without a lot of worldbuilding to try and curb the length dfghjk also this is a little rough/messy… i’d love to flesh it out a little more perhaps. call this a first draft version haha

It’s not until after Zatara has left that Tim gets to process how odd all of this is.

Alvin and he stand across from each other in Tim’s living room. It’s almost like looking in a mirror—both of them dressed in the same loose sweats, the same ratty Gotham Knights sweatshirt.

Alvin tilts his head. “So… are we going to fuck?”

Tim chokes. “What?” Of all the questions he could have broken the silence with—

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Alvin’s lips twitch. “I know better.”

If Tim is always this smug-looking when he’s right about something, he can understand why Steph says he has a ‘punchable’ face. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it,” he grouses.

His objection is mostly on principle. In a world of alternate universes and time travel (proven multiple times over now, Bruce), it’s hard not to consider, to think about, what might happen if Tim was faced with another version of himself. Hell—Tim has met another him. Though, granted, that meeting didn’t go particularly well.

But. There was always the possibility of meeting another him, someone who wasn’t a fascist asshole. Someone, well—

Someone more like Alvin.

A magical doppelganger, created by an artifact related to Tim’s latest case. A perfect copy of him, down to his last memory at the time of creation. It answered a lot of questions Tim had—but more immediately… it opened up entire realms of possibilities.

Alvin steps closer, and then closer still, until they're almost touching. “Do you really want to keep arguing?” His voice is low. Husky. Tim has heard himself sound like that before, but always—always from inside his own head.

No. No he doesn’t.

But Alvin knows that already.

There is no hiding from him, Tim realizes. Alvin knows him better than anyone ever has—or ever will.

The thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

Rather than answer, Tim steps even closer, crossing the distance between them. He tangles his fingers in the hairs at the back of Alvin’s neck, gripping his nape. Their mouths crash together, both of them making the same soft sound. They almost harmonize. Tim feels his belly tighten—his nipples harden, rubbing against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. He shivers, his skin tingling.

Alvin’s hands slip under his shirt. Tim gasps. Alvin’s fingers are cool against his skin; his grip steady, firm.

The slide of their lips is slow, unhurried. It’s good. Not the best kiss Tim has ever had—their lips are chapped in just the right way to catch against each other. But… even despite that, it stokes the steady warmth growing in his belly, making him sigh against Alvin’s mouth. He gives into the urge to lick into Alvin’s mouth and Alvin lets him, slackening his mouth so Tim can lick into him and taste.

Alvin tastes like nothing at all.

It would be disappointing if it the reason why wasn’t so thrilling. Of course Alvin’s mouth doesn’t taste like anything—it’s Tim’s mouth.

His grip tightens in Alvin’s hair. Alvin moans. He sucks on Tim’s tongue, pulling an echo of the sound from his own chest. He steps forward, slotting his leg between Alvin’s. His thigh presses against his groin. He can feel the shape of Alvin’s cock, hot and half-hard, through their sweats. It makes his mouth water. He swallows—Alvin’s tongue chases his back into his mouth as his hips roll, grinding against Tim’s thigh and groaning. His nails bite into the skin of Tim’s waist, and Tim gasps.

“A-ah—” He has to break the kiss to pant.

Alvin takes the opportunity to bury his face in Tim’s neck, biting at the delicate skin there. Tim is sure that he’s leaving bruises. It’s something he loves on a good day, but the idea that the bruises would match the shape of his own mouth—

“Fuck,” he says, his twitching, cock rutting against nothing, nothing at all.

In all of his elaborate fantasies, Tim had never imagined rutting against his doppelganger like he’s still a teenager. But now that it’s happening—

Why not?

Why not get off just like this?

Like Alvin is thinking the same thing—and fuck, he probably is, because they’re the same—he slots his own leg between Tim’s. They’re tangled together, pressed so close they’re almost one person.

Alvin bites—Tim shouts, his hips stuttering forward, and moans breathlessly when this time, he meets the hard muscle of Alvin’s thigh, the friction sending a wave of feeling skittering over his nerves. He pulls at Alvin’s hair, good and hard, the way he knows makes his nipples feel tight, his scalp tingle. His other hand drops down to Alvin’s ass, gripping the swell of it, pulling him forward to rub against Tim’s thigh.

Alvin gasps, moans. He scratches at Tim’s back, his waist, and abruptly, Tim needs to be naked. He lets go of Alvin to grab the hem of his sweatshirt and pull it off, over his head. He tosses it aside carelessly. Nothing crashes, so wherever it landed is probably fine. Alvin makes a soft, eager noise, then he follows suit.

They’re identical, of course. Lean and wiry and covered with a dark dusting of hair, thickest at his belly. Scars litter their skin—some of which only they can see, too faded for anyone else to find without serious exploration. There’s a mole next to one of his nipples. Tim’s only really ever seen it in the mirror before; it’s too far down for him to pay much attention to when he’s lying in bed, touching himself.

Right now—

Right now, it’s like his vision has narrowed down to it, and he shoves—gently—at Alvin, until his knees hit the back of the couch. Alvin lets himself fall, lets Tim crash on top of him, gripping at his shoulders while Tim trails a rough, wet path from his neck to his chest. His knees hit the floor. Alvin’s legs lock around his middle, ankles crossing at his back.

He knows just how to touch himself… with his hands. With his mouth—

With his mouth it’s clumsier, messier. He doesn’t know quite how roughly he can bite, how hard he can suck. But he figures it out, letting the gasps and moans Alvin makes guide him. Alvin’s fingers find his hair. He tugs, that perfect way that Tim likes, and he moans. His hips rut forward, against the couch.

He feels dizzy with want.

It reminds him of his task, just a few moments ago. He pulls off of Alvin’s nipple and shucks his pants. The position makes it awkward, clumsy. He would feel embarrassed if he didn’t know that Alvin was just as messed up as he is.

He reaches for Alvin’s pants next. Alvin’s belly tenses, showing off the muscles in his abdomen as he lifts his hips, letting Tim slide them over the swell of his ass and then down his legs. Tim doesn’t bother with their socks, climbing back up to plaster himself against Alvin instead. They move, the two of them, until they’re horizontal; Alvin lying under him, his head propped up slightly on one of Tim’s throw pillows. The other one is kicked to the floor. He can feel Alvin’s cock against his belly, hard and hot and leaking precum.

Alvin looks up at him, his face flushed, his eyes dark, hazy. This is what Tim looks like when he’s having sex. His cock pulses. He needs— He needs to see what he looks like when he comes.

He holds his hand up to Alvin’s face. He doesn’t have to say what he wants—Alvin knows, licking over Tim’s palm, holding his gaze as he does. Tim’s mouth is dry.

As soon as his hand is wet, he shoves it between their bodies, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks. They moan in perfect unison; the exact same breathless, desperate pitch. Tim starts slow, smearing spit and precum over their cocks until the glide is slick and smooth. Then he speeds up.

If he was masturbating alone, he would alternate between slow and fast; keep himself hovering over the edge until it was almost too much to take. Then, and only then, he would let himself cum.

Later, he’d be more than happy to test both of their limits. To act out every filthy fantasy they’ve ever had, but never had anyone else to to try it with.

Right now, though—

Right now, he’s getting an outsider’s perspective of his own orgasm and he wants nothing more than to see it through. So he does, hitting that perfect speed, that perfect tightness, twisting his wrist—pulling out all of the stops until he can almost taste his peak. Alvin writhes under him. He claws at Tim’s back, leaving streaks of red over the smooth skin there. Tim will look at them later; compare the spread of his fingers to them and flush at the idea that anyone else would look at him and think he’d found some random hook-up to take home.

Only Tim would know the truth.

Well.

Tim and Alvin.

“C’mon,” he whispers. “C’mon, baby—wanna—I wanna see you cum.” He shifts slightly, bracing more of his weight on his knees. He gets his other hand involved, then; tugging and twisting at his nipples, starting with the neglected one from earlier, the one without the mole.

Alvin grips Tim’s shoulders so tightly Tim is sure he’s drawn blood, and then—

He arches, mouth opening, panting their abdomens in white. Tim barely refrains from following him over the edge—staying as present as he can as he drinks in every detail. It’s not the same as watching himself on video. Even his highest definition camera can’t capture the rush of blood under Alvin’s skin, the glisten of sweat on his skin, the way his eyes move under the lids and his lashes flutter against his cheeks.

He gentles his hand, stroking Alvin until he collapses against the couch, chest heaving as he pants. He looks up at Tim with hazy eyes—his expression lazy, fucked-out. If Tim cared to psychoanalyze himself, he’s sure he could think of several interesting notes about the way he leans down to capture Alvin’s lips in a kiss.

Tim isn’t interested in digging that deeply.

Not this time.

Alvin only lets the slow, lazy kiss continue for a few minutes before he threads a hand in Tim’s hair and tugs him off. His lips curve upward, and then his legs tangle with Tim. He’s suspended in the air for one breathless moment before his back hits the couch, knocking the remaining air out of his lungs.

“Your turn now.” Alvin’s voice curls around the words in a low, dark promise.

Tim shudders, arching into his touch.

He can probably get away with taking a few days off. If anyone asks— He can just tell them it’s for science.

[ladytauria]

a kiss that tastes of the flood/dessert they are eating and jaysteph!!

hehehe so i wasn't originally intending to include smut in this--my original thought was that it would be fade to black, but... idk, jay & steph had other ideas

anyway, this is a little under 4k. i hope you enjoy! <3

>> AO3 <<

“I’m dying,” Steph says, her voice muffled where her face is pressed into one of Jason’s thighs. She grimaces when another cramp lances through her gut. Fucking shark week. Steph wants to bite something. Probably Jason, since her mouth is currently mashed up against him.

He’d understand.

Probably.

Jason runs a hand over her hair, fingers stroking over her curls. “You’re not dying,” he says fondly. “The ibuprofen will kick in soon.”

Steph jerks her head up, balancing on her elbows. “Not dying? I am bleeding out as we speak—and you, my loving boyfriend, have the audacity to say that I am not dying?” 

His eyes crinkle, shoulders shaking as he suppresses his laughter. “You’re right—how cruel of me. I’m sorry, darling, how ever can I make it up to you?” 

Steph wrangles the grin off of her mouth, twisting it into a thoughtful frown instead. It’s hard when all her lips want to do is twitch upward. She rolls over, onto her back, head pillowed on his thighs, and taps her chin. “Hm… It was very rude of you,” she tells him, and he nods seriously. “To earn my forgiveness, you must… Draw me a bath. And… hand feed me chocolates.”

Steph’s joking, of course. She’d never turn down the chance to either a) spend time naked with him or b) stuff herself with chocolate, but she doesn’t expect Jason to actually do it.

Obviously that means he does.

He’s contrary like that.

“If that’s what you need, baby,” Jason says, drawing a finger down the bridge of her nose; a feather light touch that makes her shiver before he eases out from under her. “Wait here.

She pushes up onto her elbows again. “Wait— You don’t really have to—”

“I know,” he says, pausing by the arm of the couch. “But… you know I don't mind taking care of you.” There’s something hesitant, almost shy about the way he looks at her.

Steph softens, shifting up onto her knees. She reaches a hand out, and Jason presses his cheek to it, letting her cradle his face while he looks at her with those sweet, sweet eyes.

“Let me?” he whispers.

And, well. How’s she supposed to say no to that?

“Okay,” she breathes, stroking her thumb over his cheek. “Take care of me, then.”

Jason turns to press a soft, lingering kiss to her palm. Steph’s chest feels so full. It’s almost enough for her to want to pull him back to her and tell him to wait, that she wants to sit with him for a while longer. She lets him go instead, watching as he heads down the hall to the bathroom. A moment later, she hears the water running. She gives it another minute or so before she gets up, going to lean in the bathroom doorway and just… watch him.

Jason has rolled up the sleeves of his Henley, revealing his forearms, and the dusting of hair there. Also the freckle Steph likes to kiss sometimes, when she’s holding his hand or snuggling with him. When the water is hot enough, he plugs the drain, letting the tub fill just how she likes it. Then, he drops one of her bath bombs in the water—lilac and chamomile. The water foams, turning a pale shade of purple, and the scent wafts through the air. Jason adds epsom salt, too, and then lights a couple of her candles.

He passes her in the doorway, putting his hand briefly on her waist as he does. “Go ahead and get in,” he murmurs. “I’ll be back with the chocolates in just a minute.”

It’s Steph who flushes this time. She bites her lip and nods, flushing a little harder when Jason smiles. He kisses her ear before he leaves.

For a moment, she just stands there, watching him leave. This is so far from what she thought she would have when she asked him out months ago.

Although…

Asked him out isn’t quite the right phrase. She’d propositioned him. He was hot, she was hot, both of them were single… why not do something about it? He’d laughed and told her something about not putting out until the third date, and… Steph had taken it as a challenge. Been determined to woo him.

It had taken her a couple of tries to get it right. To see past the persona that he puts forth, or— No. Not the persona. To see past her own biases and assumptions about who he was as a person. Some informed by Bruce, and some… Some all her own.

Jason isn’t at all like what she expected. He’s so much better.

Steph strips, dropping her clothes in the hamper before sinking into the warm water. She sighs softly at the heat enveloping her, the way it soothes her sore muscles. Jason returns a moment later, holding the box of chocolates he’d bought when she asked him to pick up some tampons.

He kneels next to the tub. “Do you want me to wash your hair first?” he asks, twirling a strand of said hair around his finger.

She bites her lip. “Yeah, please?”

Jason smiles at her. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and Steph wants to kiss them.

So she does—cupping his cheeks in her hands, holding his face still as she kisses first one corner, and then the other. Water drips from her skin onto the bath mat. Steph doesn’t care.

When she pulls back, Jason’s eyes are wide and round before, between one blink and the next, they turn soft, shy-but-pleased.

“You’re so sweet to me,” she murmurs. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

His face darkens. “Sap,” he accuses, turning his face into her palm. She laughs, thought it fades when he looks at her through his lashes, and then murmurs: “Besides, I’m the lucky one.”

Steph wants to kiss him again. She doesn’t. She just strokes her thumb over his cheek, adjusting her hand so it can stop at his lower lip. “We’re both lucky.”

He kisses the pad of her thumb. “I can agree to that.”

“Good.” Her hands linger on him for a moment longer before she finally withdraws them. She adjusts, shifting until she can lean back comfortably. Jason takes that moment to fill a cup with water. He covers her eyes with his hand. The warmth of it seeps into her eyelids, making her feel almost drowsy. She hums contentedly as her shoulders drop, loosen.

His hand slips away once her hair is wet. Steph is a little sorry to feel it go.

The wet strands cling to her back, her shoulders, her arms. Jason gathers them in his hands in clumps, gently squeezing the water in to make sure they’re soaked all the way through. Then he reaches for the shampoo, squeezing it into his palm before he massages it into her scalp.

Steph melts. God. He’s so good with his hands. Jason is indulgent, lingering even after he’s worked up a good lather. She can hardly help the little noises she makes, or the way she pushes into his hands like a kitten. He laughs softly at her, but that doesn’t phase her in the slightest. Especially not when he gets his nails involved, scratching lightly at her skin and making her sigh.

It does have to come to an end eventually, though.

“You take care of me so well,” she murmurs, lips barely moving as he rinses away the shampoo. Her eyes are shut too—she can’t see his face, but she can feel the way his hands still for a moment before he says,

“Just returning the favor.”

The warmth in his voice makes her heart swell, pushing against her ribs. She loves him so much. She opens her eyes, just a little, just enough to see him, looking soft and pleased and—

Just as in love as she feels.

She aches with the need to kiss him, but for now, she doesn’t; letting her eyes fall shut again even as she hears the click of her conditioner being opened. He works it into her hair, detangling as he goes, until the strands slip through his fingers.

While her hair is conditioning, Jason washes her body. There’s nothing sexual about the way he touches her. He doesn’t tease or try to work her up—but he’s not clinical, either. It’s… Steph doesn't really have words for the way it makes her feel. She doesn't know how to express her appreciation, her gratitude, either, except to hope she can do the same for him.

Jason takes his time, the same way he had with her hair. He touches her all over, from her neck to her toes, leaving no part of her to yearn for his touch.

Despite his lack of teasing, her body responds anyway; a low curl of arousal unfurling through her veins, warming her from head to toe. It’s easy enough to ignore; to bask in the comfort and security of his touch.

Then, it’s back to her hair again: rinsing out the conditioner, shielding her eyes with his hand and giving the curls gentle squeezes to help them retain as much moisture as possible.

When he finishes, he rinses and dries his hands before reaching for the box of chocolates. He selects one of the pieces and holds it to her lips.

The chocolate has melted a little in the humidity—Steph sucks it from his fingers automatically, her eyes lowering to something half-lidded. The sweetness mixes with the salt of his skin; the lingering tang of soap. It adds a bite, a bitterness, but that only makes her want to do it all the more. To lick clean these fingers that have cared for her, and treated getting to do so as a reward in itself.

Jason’s pupils widen, darkening the green-blue of his eyes.

“Good?” he asks, a husk in his voice that warms her even more.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “You should try one.”

“Mm… in a minute,” he says, holding another to her lips. She takes it too. This one is even sweeter; a caramel center that spreads over her tongue. She hums, low in her throat.

So it goes, the water cooling around her as he feeds her piece after piece. She’s polished off half the box before he finally makes a move.

This time, when she swallows, Jason's hand drops to her jaw; his eyes on her mouth. It’s obvious what he wants, and Steph is more than ready to give it to him. She tips her head back, eyes closed, welcoming the way he kisses her. He runs his tongue over her bottom lip—she parts them, allowing his tongue into her mouth.

He licks into her, chasing the taste of chocolate through every crevice of her mouth. She moans, curling one of her hands into his shirt, uncaring of the way water spills over the side of the tub.

His hand slides down her neck, her shoulder, to her breast. This time, the touch is very much sexual. He palms it, squeezing gently before swiping his thumb over her nipple. Steph shivers, moaning again, tugging at his shirt to pull him closer.

His other hand comes up to cup the back of her neck. He continues to play with her nipple, alternating between squeezing and rolling her breast and pinching and tugging her nipple. Her skin is flushed, hot—and there’s an ache in her belly, her sex, that has nothing to do with her period.

She has to break the kiss when she starts to grow dizzy. Jason doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lingers, kissing and nibbling at her jaw.

“Jason…”

He nuzzles her and then pulls back, pupils blown, something hungry in his eyes that makes her toes curl. His hand slides down her side, her stomach.

“Do you want to move this to the bedroom?” Jason looks at her through heavy-lidded eyes. The way his fingers toy with the curls on her mound leaves nothing to imagination.

Steph swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Are you— I’m on my period.”

Jason shrugs. “So? I don’t care if you don’t.”

“Okay,” she breathes, biting her lip.

He kisses her again—more briefly this time. It still steals her breath away. When he pulls away, he drains the tub. Before Steph can stand on her own, he scoops her into his arms. She gasps, arms flying around his neck and holding tight as he shakes with laughter.

Steph slaps his shoulder. “Asshole.” She can't keep the laughter out of her voice.

He just grins at her, the skin around his eyes crinkling and his eyes squinting so she can barely make out the color. Just the glimmer of them. Her stomach flips—and just like that, her irritation, faux or not, fades.

She huffs. “You’re too handsome for your own good.”

It’s funny, watching him try to keep a straight face. Jason is one of the most gifted liars and actors she’s ever met. He’s also one of the worst.

He swallows and says, “Flatterer.”

“I just call it like I see it.” Steph doesn’t even try to keep the smirk off her face—though she does press it against the corner of his mouth.

Jason sighs, but she can feel his smile.

He blows out the candles before carrying her out of the bathroom and down the hall to her bedroom, kicking the door shot behind him. She half-expects him to toss her into the bed—her body tenses, breath stilling in her lungs as she braces for the weightless feeling of falling.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, Jason sets her down gently, tenderly, before bracketing her with his body. She toys with the hair at his nape. He noses at her cheek, getting her to tip her head back so he can kiss his way down her jaw.

“What’s not okay right now?” he asks against her skin.

Steph shivers, sweeping her hand down his back. “Not your mouth,” she says, almost reluctantly. She loves the way it feels when he goes down on her, loves how much enjoyment he gets out of it, but— Not tonight.

She feels him nod. “Anything else?”

“Just the usuals.” She turns her head, reaching for the bedside table where she keeps the condoms. Jason eases back so she can prop herself up on her elbows and grab them.

Over the years, Steph has gotten fairly comfortable with sex and her sexuality, but when she passes the condom to Jason, she feels… shy, almost jittery. Her heart is beating a little too fast, her stomach flipping and tumbling. It’s something she knows doesn't go unnoticed. She mentally crosses her fingers, hoping that Jason won't say anything about it.

He holds the condom, but doesn’t tear it open yet. Instead, he smooths his hand down her side, the movement reassuring. “Everything okay?”

Well. There goes that idea. She bites her lip. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

He nods. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” She holds her arms out, and he comes to her, letting some of his weight settle over her body. The pressure feels good. So does the warmth. “I love you.”

Jason kisses her. It’s soft, sweet, and she melts into it. She’d like to say that her anxiety melts away too; that this silent reassurance eases all of her worries and has her eager for more. It wouldn’t be true. It does ease, settling in her belly rather than try to claw its way out of her chest. Steph knows that’s all she can ask for.

“I love you too,” Jason murmurs when he pulls away. “We’ll take it slow, and you can back out at any time.”

There’s a tugging in her chest. She'd told him the same thing once… though in different circumstances. I love you, she almost says again—but she bites the words back, throwing her leg around him and rolling her hips against his.

“Slow doesn’t mean glacial,” she teases. “You’re not even naked yet, sweetheart.”

He laughs. “Undress me then.”

She grins. “Don’t mind if I do.” A familiar thrill swoops through her stomach when she flips them. It comes from the knowledge that he lets her manhandle him—that he enjoys it. It makes her feel powerful, confident, when she straddles his hips

The way he’s looking at her only adds to the feeling; his pupils blown wide, eyes heavy lidded, tongue running over his lips.

She grins at him. If he was wearing jeans, this is where she’d pop the button of them, smirking cheekily. Instead, he’s wearing sweats. She hooks her fingers in them, and his boxers too, and pulls them down, tossing them aside. His cock springs free.

“Mm… you’re so hard for me.” Steph wraps her hand around the base, giving him a long, slow jerk. Jason moans, hips rolling. “Can't wait to have you inside me, baby.”

His throat bobs. “Steph—”

She grins at him, giving him another pump, twisting her wrist at the head before letting go. Jason bites his lip, hips jerking like he can follow her. Then she grips his shirt, pulling it off and over his head.

“There,” she says, running her fingers through the hair on his chest. “That’s better.”

Jason’s hands settle on her waist. “Much better,” he agrees. His hands slide up her sides. Her skin prickles under his touch, making her shiver. “Do you want to ride me?”

Steph hums thoughtfully—the sound turning to a moan when he touches her boobs, cupping them in his hands and squeezing. “Ah… I seem to recall someone promising to take care of me.” She tweaks one of his nipples, grinning at his gasp.

Jason laughs breathlessly. “I did, didn’t I?” He gives her boobs another little squeeze before dropping his hands back down to her hips. Her core tightens just before he flips them again. Her back hitting the bed still knocks the breath out of her.

Jason kisses his way down her neck. Steph tangles her fingers in his hair, tipping her head back to give him better access. When he gets to her pulse, he sinks his teeth into her skin. Her grip tightens on his hair, moaning, pussy clenching around nothing.

“Jason—”

He lavs his tongue over the bite mark before pulling back. She hears the package tear, and looks down to watch him roll the condom over his cock. She clenches again, biting into her lip. The nerves had helped smother the ache of emptiness, but it’s back again, and stronger than before. Her heart beats hard, mouth dry with anticipation. She shifts, bending her legs at the knee and spreading her thighs wider.

“Mm… Ready?” His voice is breathier, huskier. It makes her shiver.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

He lines himself up with her, and then bears down. At first, all she feels is pressure—then, slowly, he presses in. There’s no resistance. He glides into her as easily as he ever has, even as she clenches and flutters around him.

“Fuck—you feel so good.” Steph grips his shoulders, nails biting into his skin.

“H-hah. That’s my line.” Jason grins at her—though it fades as he pushes further into her, his eyes fluttering, lips parting around a soft sound of pleasure.

Steph wraps her legs around him, helping to draw him further into her. “Yeah? Does my pussy feel good around your cock?”

His hips twitch. “Yeah. You’re so—fuck. You’re so hot.”

Steph clenches around him deliberately, adoring the way his hips stutter, a moan filling his chest. “Good. ‘Cause I—I love the way you fill me up, baby.”

“Ah— Steph…” He tucks his face into her neck, their hips flush now. He’s let his weight settle over her again. It feels even better now that they’re joined together—connected as deeply as two people can be.

She cups the back of his head, turning to kiss and nibble at the shell of his ear. “Don’t get shy on me now,” she teases breathlessly. “You’re taking such good care of me, it’s only—unh, only right that I praise you for it.”

He sinks his teeth into her again, worrying another bruise not far from the first. She gasps, then moans, digging her nails into his shoulder. His hips roll, pulling out an inch or so before pushing back in.

“A-ah— God, Jay. Keep going, sweetheart, I want to feel you—wanna feel good with you.”

Jason doesn’t pull back very far. His thrusts stay shallow, his cock never leaving her more than an inch or two. Steph is in no hurry to reach her climax. She’s more than happy to keep him close and keep murmuring praise in his ear as the pleasure builds sweet and slow. It’s easy to get lost in it, until the muscles in her belly start to tighten. Jason’s thrusts pick up speed in response. His hand slips between their legs. It doesn’t take him long to find her clit, or to start circling it in time with his thrusts.

“C’mon,” he whispers. “Wanna, wanna see you come for me, gorgeous.”

Her breaths deepen, hips moving in time with his, his name on her tongue. The pleasure builds in waves, climbing higher and higher with every move until—finally—it crests, washing over her, her body seizing as she shudders through her climax. She can feel Jason’s breath as he pants. His own orgasm isn’t far behind.

“Please—please—Jay—” If her muscles weren’t turning to jelly, she’d tighten her legs around him, pull him closer, encourage him to seek his pleasure in her body. As it is, she’s limp under him. He must understand, though, or maybe he just can’t bring himself to leave the warmth of her, because he slows, but doesn’t stop. Not until his own orgasm rocks through him as he groans her name right into her ear, hips stuttering until they still, his cock pulsing inside her.

He moves off of her just enough so that his full weight isn’t bearing down on her. She holds him through the aftershocks, stroking his back, toying with the curls at the back of his neck. It helps ground her as much as it does him. When their breathing has slowed, Jason shifts again, though he doesn’t move off of her. The movement does cause his cock to slip from her—Steph doesn’t even want to know what kind of mess they just made out of her sheets, god.

That’s a problem for later Steph. Right now Steph is more than happy to stay in bed, cuddling with her boyfriend.

Bonus:

“Feel better?” Jason asks, the question nearly lost where his face is tucked into her shoulder.

“Mhm,” she hums. “Much better.” She leans her head against his, lips turning up. “So much for that bath.”

He laughs. “Mm, well. We could always split a shower here in, oh. Half an hour or so.”

Steph laughs brightly. “Maybe we should have started there. These sheets are going to be a pain in the ass to wash.”

“…yeah, probably should have put a towel down first,” Jason says, sounding sheepish. “Good thing we’re both pretty good at cleaning up bloodstains, huh?”

>> AO3 <<

[ladytauria]

i love all of the wip snippets that you've posted <3 and i'd like to know more about gen jason sexploration and sladejay gun fucking please 👀

hehehe thank you, i'm glad!!

so jason sexploration is supposed to be a series of moments where jason explores his personal relationship with sex & sexuality... aka, masturbates a lot, lmao.

the first scene takes place when he's 15. the second will take place during lost days, when he's around 17? 18? and then a third at 19, after the events of under the red hood. i haven't picked out ages for the other moments, lmao, and then i'm also contemplating a 'bonus' +1 scene where he has sex with another person... unsure if i will write that with a ship or with an OC tho, if i do it at all.

i think i've shared snippets of it in the past but i don't think i tagged them well, so i will share again!

Jason got his first ever erection almost a year after living in the manor. He’d been sparring with Bruce when it happened—humiliatingly, Bruce had warned him about it before they ever started training. Jason’s only consolation was that Bruce had been just as awkward about it as he was, and they’d silently agreed not to talk about it after.

Jason hadn’t forgotten about it, but… he’d been so sure it wouldn’t happen to him that when it did—

He’d burned with humiliation, and taken the coldest shower he’d ever had.

It’s been almost two years since. Jason still pops boners during training. On patrol. At school, even, like he doesn’t have enough problems. He wakes up with them. It’s—

He doesn’t like it, but—he’s gotten more comfortable with it, over the years. No longer as humiliating, now it’s more… annoying. He’s gotten better at getting rid of them without needing a cold shower, though it’s still the surest remedy.

Lately, though…

Lately Jason’s been curious about… about what it might feel like.

It’s… It’s not that he’s never wondered before, it’s just… everything else always eclipsed his curiosity.

Tonight is different.

Jason doesn’t know what about it is, but— It is.

He doesn’t patrol tonight. His homework is finished. He has both one of his favorite books and the next book in a series he’s reading on hand, just in case this goes badly and he needs a distraction.

He locks his door. It’s kinda weird. He hasn’t—he hasn’t bothered locking his door in… a while. But. He doesn’t want to be caught with his pants, literally, down.

Jason dawdles a few extra minutes, making sure he’s got everything he needs. Towel? Check. Lube? Check. He takes a breath. Holds it. Exhales.

Other people do this all the time. It’ll be fine.

He pulls off his clothes, leaving them neatly off to the side. He… his nakedness feels—almost wrong in the quiet room. He almost wishes he’d left his clothes on, but—bad enough the towel will end up soiled.

He lies back, cock already semi-hard. He drizzles the lube in his hand, almost flinching at the cool of it. He lets it warm to his body temperature before tipping it over, letting it pour onto his cock before he wraps his hand around the base.

It’s—

Weird.

Feels okay, though.

He’s— Jason can’t bring himself to look up videos, or anything. Doesn’t want the history, the evidence on his phone, not when everything about it feels shameful and wrong.

He knows it isn’t.

It’s normal. Healthy, even. Unfortunately all the scientific evidence in the world can’t make the feelings go away.

Jason goes slowly, alternating the pressure of his hand as he strokes, finding what he likes best. Unbidden, his eyes close. He pictures—no one, really. A body. Soft and feminine, hands a little calloused.

His hand speeds up.

Breasts, heavy and round and perfect, pressed against his back. Kisses pressed over his shoulder. A hand splayed flat over his belly, holding him close, holding him still.

“A-ah—“

sladejay gunfucking is a potential sequel for taking a bird in hand, which i actually wrote before i had even really started that fic, lmfao.

it is... more or less exactly what it sounds like, tbh.

“Are you really that desperate?” The sneer dripping from Slade’s words shouldn’t turn Jason on, but it does. “Can’t even wait till we get home for me to fuck you?”

The words hit Jason right in the chest, and he gasps, unsure whether to nod or shake his head.

Slade understands anyway. “Fine,” he growls. He bypasses the traps on Jason’s tac pants. It’s a move that normally wouldn’t be that hot—except he does it with one hand. Jason’s cock throbs. Slade jerks his pants down, yanking them over the swell of his ass, down to the thickest point of Jason’s thigh where they catch. Slade leaves them. He tears one of his gloves off with his teeth. Jason’s belly swoops. “Lube,” he demands.

Jason’s hand shakes as he pulls out one of the packets he keeps in his inner jacket pocket. Slade snatches it from him and tears it open with his teeth. Lube splatters onto Jason’s exposed thighs—he cries out at the chill of it. There’s just enough left to coat Slade’s fingers.

Slade doesn’t bother with any build up. He smears the lube over Jason’s hole, making him gasp—and then cry out as Slade shoves two in at once. He shoves his fist into his mouth to muffle himself.

There may be no activity in this area now, but the last thing he wants is for someone to come running and find the Red Hood being fucked by Deathstroke.

Or—

Fuck.

The way his cock throbs at the thought… maybe part of him does want that.

He can examine that later.

Slade ignores his prostate. He pumps his fingers hard and fast, scissoring them every couple of thrusts. Even with the lube there’s a slight burn. Jason relishes in it, his hips working, riding Slade’s fingers as best he can.

He whines into his fist when Slade pulls out the last time. The whine turns into a yelp when Slade smacks his thigh—the sound loud, seeming to echo in the quiet place. Then something presses against hole. It’s cold, blunt. He looks down, eyes wide, and finds Slade pressing a gun against his hole.

And not just any gun.

That’s Jason’s favorite.

He whimpers.

It’s not in protest.

He doesn’t know how Slade got it out of his holster without him noticing, but he doesn’t particularly care, either. The gun bears down harder. Jason’s rim gives to the force of it. He moans, tossing his head back. It hits the cold, hard rooftop, sending a dull pain through his skull. He hardly registers it; focusing instead on relaxing his muscles to accommodate the pistol barrel being slowly pushed inside of him.

Slade huffs a laugh. “Should’ve figured you’d like this,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “This is meant to be a punishment, Jason. Maybe I should have belted you first.”

Jason whines again.

Both of them know that wouldn’t have done any good, either. Slade has whipped Jason’s ass red and raw before fucking him hard before. All it accomplished was giving Jason a mind-blowing orgasm.

If Slade really wanted to make Jason think twice, he’d do what he did after that time—

Making him sit on a textured mat while writing lines. ‘I will call for back-up if I need it,’ is a phrase imprinted on his mind now.

His ass still throbs thinking about it.

“If—If this is a punishment,” he says breathlessly, “then remind me to—uhn, fuck—earn them more often.”

Slade snorts. “You misbehave enough already.” He rocks the pistol a little more firmly, and Jason clenches around the barrel.

[ladytauria]

i will def do the wip game later this month bc rn my wips look like "essay 1" "essay 2" "essay 3" etc haha BUT!!! i would like to know more about the tenderest of touches break the hardest of hearts pls!! and also maybe the jaytimsteph pls

oof no not the essays xD good luck on them!!

tenderest is a stray!tim au featuring identity porn, angst, and gratuitous amounts of smut haha. the plot is more focused on the emotional core of their relationship than the actual under the red hood au they’re in lmao

tim was stray around the same time jason was robin, and they played a similar cat and mouse game as their mentors… until jason died. tim mourned him deeply and resented batman for taking a new robin, even though he understood why he needed one. still, he can’t bear the thought of another one dying, so he’s a bit protective… esp any time joker is released.

jason sees this as a betrayal—an endorsement of robin. however, he’s less angry at tim than he is at bruce. he doesn’t intend to deal with tim much at all, but tim keeps his eye on all the doings of gotham and he immediately starts investigating red hood.

this leads to jason deciding maybe keeping tim closer is better, especially when tim is on board with his killing the joker. there’s still a lot of fighting between them, though—tim doesn’t approve of some of jason’s methods no matter how necessary jason sees them as

which leads to the opening scene (an early draft so forgive the repetition):

‎

Stray isn’t sure how they got here.

One minute, he and Hood are arguing—fighting—over Hood’s use of excessive force, and the next, Stray’s got him pinned to the ground, all of the fight leaving him as Stray slots their mouths together.

It’s a bad idea.

He knows it’s a bad idea.

Hood’s dangerous. He climbed his way to the top of Gotham’s underworld in the span of just a handful of weeks; establishing himself as a kingpin to rival Black Mask. He’s terrifying in his ruthless efficiency, and if ever decides to turn on Stray—well. Stray doesn’t plan on going down without a fight, but he’s not confident about his chances.

It’s terrifying.

Even more so because, if there’s one thing Stray prides himself on, it’s his network. There’s not a lot going on in Gotham that he doesn’t know about. In information trading, he comes second only to Oracle. But despite his best efforts, Hood remains a mystery. He’s dangerous. Working with him is bad enough. Fucking him, or being fucked by him? Almost certainly a step too far.

Curiosity kills cats, and in this life, satisfaction won’t be enough to bring him back

He can’t bring himself to care. Not with Hood solid and warm beneath him, mouth opening to his tongue. The moan Stray gets is deep and throaty, sending heat straight to his groin.

Stray takes his time, licking into Hood’s mouth like he belongs there; like Hood belongs to him. He tastes the lingering echo of tobacco and smoke; traces of the tea blend Hood favors over coffee. Hood’s hands flex in Stray’s grip. It would take nothing, nothing at all for him to break it—push Stray away, flip their positions, whatever he wants to do. But he doesn’t. He lets Stray hold him down, and that—

It’s heady. It’s power that goes straight to his head—or, maybe just his cock, which strains valiantly against his jockstrap.

He pulls back when his lungs make it clear he needs to breathe, dammit, and settles back into his haunches. He settles his hands on Hood’s chest; clawtips resting lightly on the red bat. Hood’s face is flushed and pink, lips swollen and slick. He’s just as breathless as Stray; and for a moment, they just—sit there. Staring at each other.

With the helmet gone, and only the domino mask in the way, Hood looks—familiar. Stray sees, for a moment, a cheeky smile and wild curls, and aches.

‎

the rest of the fic will follow a similar line, hehe; meeting up for ill-advised kinky sex & blurring the lines between them more and more until it all comes to a head~

‎as for jaytimsteph! this is being written for a prompt from @waffleinator-inator <3 jaytim are in an established relationship, and steph is pining soooo hard.

Steph will always be a little bit in love with Tim Drake.

It’s something she’s come to accept about herself, the same way she accepts that her curls will always have a mind of their own, that her stretch marks are here to stay, and that her left knee will always ache before it rains.

She also knows that it’s best they stay just friends. Not that that’s a hardship, or anything. Tim is a hell of a lot better friend than he was a boyfriend—though in hindsight, Steph can admit she wasn’t a stellar girlfriend either. They were young and dumb—or, well, younger and dumber—and now their history was too fraught to ever think about trying again.

Steph loves being Tim’s bestie, even when that means biting her tongue about his relationships.

Especially with Jason Todd of all people.

Steph can honestly say she never saw that coming.

Like, sure, okay. He’s hot. Steph can admit that, she’s got eyes.

He’s the kind of guy you could actually climb like a tree—tall and broad and thick to boot, with thighs made for biting and pecs Steph is pretty sure would fit nicely in one of her bras. He’s also handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with his twice broken nose and the scar curving up his cheek and his full, kissable lips. His curls always manage to be perfect, too—artfully messy, even when he falls asleep on the couch or takes off that helmet of his.

It’s enviable, really.

Some day she’ll ask him his secret.

But… Steph always kind of saw him as a walking bad idea. The kind of guy baby Steph would have adored, which… Steph loves baby Steph—or she’s trying to—but she had shit taste in men. And Jason, with his leather jackets and guns and daddy issues (and mommy issues too, come to think of it)—

He certainly fit the bill.

Except—

Despite all outward appearances… Jason is a good guy. He’s smart, and funny, and passionate, and kind, and—

Ugh.

Steph kind of hates him a little.

Because, like. Steph can handle thinking about Jason sometimes, in a not-so-friendly, maybe-a-little-bit-sexy way. Tim, too—or even both of them together. Maybe sometimes it gets a little awkward but… Fantasizing is human, and Steph is an adult. She can picture them fucking her and each other six ways to Sunday, doing whatever the raunchiest part of her brain cooks up, and still behave normally around them after.

She’s a grown woman. Her hormones are not the fucking boss of her.

So. Attraction? Handled. Steph has that shit on lock.

What she cannot handle is—

Feelings.

[curious about my wips? send me an ask about one from the list]

[ladytauria]

against expectation

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Words: 8.6k Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: Mildly Dubious Consent

Jason knows how he smells. When mating season comes around, he’s prepared to spend it the way he always does—alone, in his den, doing his best to block out the howls outside. Albeit this time with a little more self-care involved. He’s not prepared for Tim to show up at his door, in rut and ready to chase him. The surprise is the only reason he accepts the challenge. Omega Jason Todd Week Day 6 → Free Day

thank you to @deepwithintheabyss for supplying the title & also reading this over for me <3 (and helping me with the chase scene~) mwah, ily

>> AO3 <<

Jason hears the first howl as he leaves the bathroom. He scowls, scrunching a towel over his curls.

Moonlight pours through his curtains; casting the parts of his den not lit by lamplight in deep blue shadow. The second full moon of autumn has come… and with it, mating season. Jason’s least favorite time of year.

All over Gotham, alphas, and betas, are beginning their hunts. They’ll track down whoever has caught their scent, and—should their prey be willing to run with them—hunt them until sunrise… or they catch them.

His glands ache. Scent pours off of him, so thick none of his usual tricks to suppress it help. The shower eased it a little, but it still burns his nose; acrid like smoke and too-sweet like rotting fruit. His senses are sharper, too. It’s not just his nose—it’s his ears, eyes, even his skin is more sensitive, making him twitchy.

Just about the only good thing about it is that Jason, and all other vigilantes, get the night off.

Jason digs through his drawers until he finds a pair of pants that don’t bother his skin. He doesn’t even bother digging for underwear. He knows from experience that nothing will feel right, and he’ll just end up yanking them off at some point. Tonight…

Tonight is about comfort.

It’s not usually.

Usually, this time of year, Jason holes himself up in his least favorite safehouse. Least favorite, because he always has to burn them after; his scent sunk in so thick even the best scrubbers are unable to get rid of it. He spends his time pouring over casework or doing equipment maintenance, misery pouring off of him in droves.

This year, Jason is trying something different.

Something gentler. Softer.

He’d begun the night with an epsom salt bath, scented with a little oil. Something light. Delicate. The kind of scent he wishes he had. He’d trimmed his nails, taken care of his cuticles… even taken the time to shape them before painting them. A full mani-pedi in his bathroom. Then he’d rubbed lotion into his scars, his calluses, until his skin was as close to baby-soft as he could get.

Now, he has a pair of headphones waiting by his nest, next to a stack of books and movies… and a box of stupidly expensive chocolates, just as an extra treat for himself.

Jason is determined to make this… if not a good night, at least a less miserable one.

After pulling his sweats and a very loose shirt on, he crawls into his nest. He had made it fresh that morning; the blankets, sheets, and pillowcases all freshly washed and soft. The whole thing smells light. Airy. Jason allows him a moment to simply breathe it in before he wraps himself up in blankets and pulls his laptop over.

A movie first, he thinks, running his finger over the stack. Something familiar. Comfortable. Pride and Prejudice first, then… the Princess Bride. Both guaranteed to sweep him away for a while. He puts the headphones on. Not noise-canceling. As nice as it would be to block the howls out completely… Jason’s hackles rise just thinking about cutting himself off from one of his senses.

By the time the movies are over, the howls should have died down.

Warm and comfortable, with chocolate blooming on his tongue, he could almost fall asleep. Almost. His instincts are too sharp, anticipating a hunt that will never come.

>> continue on AO3 <<

[ladytauria]

Omg your WIPS are so intriguing--are queries limited to one?? If it's one I would love to hear about dicktim (which autocorrect wants to turn into suck Tim) sex ed. And if it's not I also wanna know all about JayTimSteph falling in love!!

no not limited to one at all!

so the dicktim one was supposed to be done in time for dicktim week for the prompt “hands on sex ed” but… that didn’t end up happening, lmao. it’s aob, with alpha!tim & omega!dick~ dick invites tim over, but oh no, he’s out of suppressants and his heat is coming… won’t tim be a good alpha and stay with him? he promises he’ll teach him allllll about how to be a good alpha & please his partners~

Dick is a bad person.

He’s spent a long time trying to deny it, to believe it when his friends tell him he’s being too hard on himself, holding himself to ridiculous standards.

Those denials might work when he’s beating himself up after being stretched thin across cases and civilian obligations. They fall flat in the face of the low, insistent pull of preheat building in his core.

A preheat that should have been prevented by his suppressants.

The pharmacy auto-prompter had texted to remind him to pick up his refills three times before finally leaving him be. That had been a little over a month ago.

If anyone asks, Dick is still going to tell people he forgot.

Buying condoms on his last grocery run was just a coincidence.

Inviting Tim over shortly after he started to feel the tell-tale cramps in his gut and thighs was another one.

He’s pretty sure people will believe him. Dick will be the only one who knows the truth.

He’s gotten accustomed to living with guilt over the years. He thinks he can handle this too.

Tim shows up five minutes early. He lets himself in through the front door. The lack of traps has his brow furrowing adorably before Dick slots himself into Tim’s space.

“Hey there, baby bird,” he greets, a touch softer than usual. He doesn’t need to tip Tim’s face up. By now, the baby alpha knows exactly what Dick wants, face flushed pink in anticipation.

Dick nuzzles him, rubbing the tips of their noses together before nosing against his cheek. Tim smells good. The milky scent of puphood has almost faded entirely, drowned out by a warm, nutty scent. Dick’s mouth waters. He wants to chase it to its source—tease out more of it, and the hint of alpha musk underneath.

It’s harder to pull away than normal. Dick does it anyway, ignoring the way his belly cramps.

Usually, this is when Tim ducks away, adorably pink cheeked as he excuses himself to put away his things or whatever other task he can cook up for himself in the moment.

Not today.

Today, Tim’s lashes flutter. He looks—almost dazed, the blue of his eyes hazy. His flush darkens… and then he drops his bag as he steps into Dick’s space.

They’re so close they’re almost touching. Dick can feel the warmth radiating off of Tim. He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He thinks Tim watches it—thinks his gaze lingers on his lips, but he can’t be sure.

It might just be a desperate, foolish hope.

Tim scents him. Dick hardly dares to breathe. His pulse quickens. He can feel it—can feel the flush in his skin grow warmer, the ache in his groin grow more pronounced.

It’s not like the scentings he gets from Bruce, or his team, or Babs. Tim is thorough about it. Deliberate. He lingers, until Dick is coated in his scent.

It feels wonderfully possessive—like Tim wants to leave no room for doubt as to who Dick belongs to.

More wishful thinking.

More likely it’s the mark of an inexperienced alpha. Tim is a pup still—much more likely to be scented than to do any scenting of his own.

Still.

Dick clings to the fantasy. If all goes well, after all, it might just become reality.

and jaytimsteph i shared a little bit about here! but have another snippet bc i really love this wip, haha. writing steph’s pov is sooo fun!

Jason’s apartment is one of Steph’s favorite places to be. It’s open and spacious without feeling empty; well-decorated without feeling cluttered. Comfy-but-mismatched furniture and books tucked into every out-of-the-way space. Large windows letting in lots of natural light, exposed brick walls, hardwood floors. Swords and knives on the wall; healthy, vibrant plants on every surface; mementos from various countries on shelves.

And it was clean. Steph was pretty sure he dusted. (Which. Steph couldn’t think about that too long without picturing maid uniforms, and honestly. What was it about these two that turned her into a horny teenage boy? Ridiculous.)

Steph shows up at six with the brownies tucked under her arm. Jason welcomes her in with a smile, looking unfairly handsome in an old, faded tee and sweats. His socks have cats on them; grey ones, wearing chunky black glasses.

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as she steps in.

Steph pauses, looking down. Sure enough, the flannel she’d thrown on over her lounge clothes is Jason’s.

“Oh. Oops.”

She doesn’t even remember borrowing it.

Or who she borrowed it from—it’s equally as likely that she could have gotten it from Tim or even Cass. The three of them basically share a closet, which is also full of pilfered items.

Jason snorts. “It’s fine. It looks good on you.” His eyes sweep over her, but don’t linger—no matter how much Steph wishes they would.

[curious about my wips? send me an ask about one of the ones listed here]