#raes kinktober fics

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Ribbons

CW: light BDSM, some teasing, being recorded during sex, light praise kink. 18+ MDNI ~1.2k words

You never thought buying the dark, velvet fabric would lead to this. You didn't even have a plan for them initially, buying the ribbons more for the fact you liked the deep, red color that reminded you of your boyfriend rather than for an actual purpose.

Jason was more than happy to find a use for them. The smooth velvet criss crosses over your arms, twisting over your wrists into perfect knots, effectively tying your limbs to the headboard above you.

"So perfect like this, baby," Jason murmurs, fingers tracing patterns over every inch of skin he can reach.

He'd been like this for what feels like hours. Light touches, almost teasing as he touches everywhere but where you need him the most, "So pretty all tied up with my colors."

"Jason," You plead, almost begging as he trails the pads of his fingers over your inner thighs, ignoring the wetness pooling between your legs.

He hums softly, idly rubbing his palm back up your stomach to pinch your nipple, "I'm just admiring you, doll. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

You gasp, arching slightly into his touch as you tug at your binds, "You're teasing."

"I'm taking my time," he counters, hand finding purchase against your throat, not to squeeze, but to rest, counting the thrum of your pulse against his skin, "Enjoying my sweet partner."

You use your best puppy dog eyes, twisting against the knots locked across your skin, "You can enjoy me in another way, Jason."

He grins devilishly at you, eyes locking with yours as his fingers leave your throat to track the rise and fall of your chest, "I could, sure. But I'm too busy trying to memorize how you look right now, doll. Can't you be patient a little longer?"

You whine in protest, mind racing for a solution to get what you want, "You don't have to memorize me."

"I want to," he drawls dismissively, palming your waist to admire how his hand seems to swallow you up.

"No, I mean, you wouldn't have to," You start, voice quieting to a mumble, "if you had something to remember this by."

His hand stills against your skin, considering, "Yeah?"

"Then we both could get what we want?" You ask, voice pitching in uncertainty as you turn your head to the side, trying to hide the sheepish look growing in your face.

He taps your cheek, drawing your attention back to him, "And what do you want, sweet thing?"

"You," You breathe out, squirming against the ribbons holding you down, "want you."

He nods thoughtfully, idly stroking the velvet looped around your wrists, "where?"

"You know where," You huff, testing the knots again.

"Be specific," he suggests, lazily following the lines of your body down to your stomach.

"Lower," You nearly whimper, trying to lift your hips to guide him.

His hand comes to a stop against your stomach, spreading his fingers to press down lightly, "Here?"

"No, I–" You trail off with a groan, pulling at the ribbons again before meeting his sly gaze, "I want you inside."

His eyes light up, face all teeth and pride, "There you go. Good job, pretty. Knew you could do it."

He dips his head down to kiss you, swallowing every noise you make as he pulls your thigh up to his hip. He's distracting, head-spinning, and you fail to notice his free hand reaching for his phone as he kisses you senseless.

It's only when he pulls away, leaving a line of spit between you, that you notice him holding his phone up to capture your face.

"Smile, sweet thing," he purrs, and you do, eager to please. He coos at you, angling your face up with his fingers below your chin, "Look at you, all wrapped up in my colors and needy. Being so good for me."

He hums in approval, aiming the camera for your wrists before slowly tilting it down. The glinting lens captures your attention so fully, you almost miss him lining his cock to your dripping cunt, "Gonna keep being good for me, pretty?"

You nod quickly, "yeah– yes, gonna be good, so good–" he cuts off the rest of your mindless babbling when he eases his dick into your fluttering walls. It draws a needy, high-pitched whine from your throat.

He echoes your noises with a moan of his own, grabbing your waist with his free hand to hold you still.

Heat spreads across your skin, and the way his eyes seem to glaze over at the way you clench around him only makes you keen higher.

"Perfect," he groans, lowering the camera to capture every inch of his cock sinking inside you, "Taking me so well. Made for it, baby, made for me."

You mewl, tugging hard at the ribbons holding you down, "Jason, Jason, I wanna–"

"Shh, sweet thing," he soothes, slowly rocking his hips back and forth, his phone catching every drag of his cock, every noise your cunt makes, every movement you make to buck your hips closer to him, "I got you."

He finds the pace that makes your head falls back, pulls noise after noise from your lips, makes your eyes cross, and your words lose meaning.

He grinds his dick against the spot that has you seeing stars, and a knot starts to twist in your stomach, pleasure building higher.

Your babbling reaches a fevered pitch, matching his own blissed out groans. He rewards the way your eyes flutter at the camera with a harsh thrust, making your back off arch the bed.

"That's it, that's it," he praises, and his fingers find your clit to draw tight circles, until you soak his cock with your release.

He snaps his hips into your pussy until he finds his own climax, spilling inside you with a low moan, "Yes, so– so good for me, pretty."

He kisses you when you whine in response, and only pulls away when you're dizzy and panting.

He doesn't forget about the camera in his hand, though, focusing on the dazed, hazy look on your face before lowering his phone to where his dick is still twitching inside you.

He pulls out slowly, like he's relishing the way his and your cum drip out of you, the mess you made of his cock.

"Beautiful," he murmurs when he slips out.

He uses his fingers to gather up the mix of fluids leaking out of your gaping cunt and slowly pushes it back in, recording every second and every spasm of your aching hole, "You good, doll?"

"Mhm," You half whimper, and he finally drops the camera, expertly untying the knots on your wrists.

He lifts each of your hands, littering your skin with quick, soft kisses along the red marks covering your arms, "Wasn't too much?"

You shake your head, mind a little foggy, but no less euphoric, "No. Was nice."

He smiles at you, soft and adoring, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, "Gonna get you cleaned up, sweet thing."

You hum contently, more interested in rubbing the soft velvet between your fingers, "Can we do that again sometime?"

"Course, doll," he agrees easily, carefully massaging the soreness out of your arms, eyes full of promises, "I'd cover you head to toe in your pretty ribbons, if you'd like."

"I'd like," You admit quietly, soothed by the softness in his voice, the gentleness in his touches.

Jason presses more kisses to the curve of your wrists, gaze locked on every motion you make with sheer devotion. His voice lowers to a hushed vow, "Whatever you want, pretty. Anything at all.”

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Enmity

CW: Sex Pollen, hate sex, swearing, light choking. Written with AK!Red Hood and AFAB reader. 18+ MDNI ~3.2k words

The mission was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out of the greenhouse Ivy left behind. It was recon, more than anything. Just a way to get intel on the strange drug being pushed on the streets with her name attached.

It was supposed to be routine, simple. But Gotham never seems to care about your thoughts or feelings, because just as you picked your way through the locked door, Red Hood makes his presence behind you known with a gruff, "Took you long enough. You're getting slow."

You whirl around to face him, you imagine he can picture the harsh glare emanating from under your domino mask, the clear annoyance that his presence brings.

Red Hood is a nuisance. It doesn't matter that he's filling a void that Batman's death left behind, or that sometimes he actually helps people. It doesn't matter that the person under the helmet is Jason Todd.

None of that matters because he's not really Jason Todd anymore. You refuse to believe he ever can be again. After all, it's the Arkham Knight's fault that Gotham has been left in chaos, that Bruce and Alfred are presumed dead.

It's his fault that everyone you've ever cared about is scattered to the wind. So whatever 'good' Red Hood is doing, well, he's only cleaning up a mess he created. You hate him for it. Hate him for coming back as someone you don't recognize. Hate him for not coming back for you.

He doesn't seem to react to your blatant displeasure, brushing past you into the overgrown greenhouse, "This Ivy thing has been nothin' but trouble for weeks. Thought you'd have it dealt with by now," he drawls.

"She's dead because of you," You snap, practically on his heels. You know he's right, in a way, but you're stretched thin, tired, and still dealing with the fallout from the evacuation he caused.

If your comment bothers him, he doesn't show it, lazily looking around the space for any disturbances, signs someone else has been here besides the two of you, "Do you have anything on this?"

Admittedly, you don't have much. Oracle’s been trying her best, but with most of the system wiped, it's been harder. The last thing you want to do is tell him that, so you grumble, picking over some discarded lab supplies strewn throughout the room, "Just the police reports."

He snorts. It makes your chest tighten, and you drill him for what he knows in return, "You have something better?"

He shrugs, almost mocking, "You asking for my help, Doll? Thought you could handle all this on your own?"

"I don't need or want anything from you," You say lowly. He turns to face you, and for some reason, it makes you feel picked apart. You suck in a breath, "But people are getting hurt."

He stays quiet for a minute, and the air seems to go heavy with things unsaid, arguments never mended. Finally, he talks again, voice even through the modulator, "It's some kind of aphrodisiac. Just amped up."

You make a face, going back to exploring the greenhouse, "Amped up?"

"What, you interested? Need some help with your sex life, sweetheart?"

It takes most of your training not to whirl around and throw some kind of projectile. But you know he's trying to rile you up. He's been like this since he's come back. Always testing boundaries.

"Don't make it weird," You mumble instead, fingers twitching for your utility belt despite your better judgment.

You think he's grinning behind the helmet over your reaction, but you doubt he looks kind about it, "It's just potent. Supposed to knock people out for days after. Sounds like the kind of stress relief you need, don't you think?"

"I don't need a drug to have–" You curse and shut yourself up, heading over for some knocked over canisters.

He follows, practically breathing down your neck in a taunt, "I dunno, doll. You seem pretty pent. I doubt any loverboy you have dicking you down is doing a good job of it."

"You're an ass, you know that," You snap, trying to focus on the scene in front of you.

"I remember that being your type," he sneers, and you really wish he would just focus.

You reach for one the canisters, one that doesn't look broken, half-hoping to get a residue sample.

"Wait–" Red Hood barks, a warning, but it's too late. The canister seems to explode, sending a bright colored pollen into the air. It's a thick cloud, and it seems to melt into every line and crease of your suit.

It's awful, you immediately feel hot, dizzy, and you can't stop coughing. Even as Red Hood grabs your arm, hauling you away from the pollen and out of the greenhouse, it just seems to get worse.

You both stumble when you make it out into the fresh air, and he sounds like he's going to hack up a lung, even through his helmet.

The cold air helps a little, but it doesn't stop the itch that starts to spread across your skin, a need. You think he feels it too, as you catch sight of his hands digging into knees from the corner of your eye.

You let out a string of curses, staggering to your feet, "I need to go."

You don't get very far until he's grabbed your wrist. It's embarrassing the noise that curls up from the back of your throat.

"It's too dangerous," he protests, and you're almost surprised at how coherent he sounds when your brain feels foggy and dazed, "You won't make it."

"I can't stay here," You retort, but you can't find the strength to pull away. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to collapse into him, to finally, finally get what you need from him.

You know it's just the pollen. But that doesn't mean your feelings aren't real.

"I have a safehouse–" he starts, fingers never leaving your wrist.

You laugh, but it's getting harder and harder to ignore how hot your skin is. How much you need to get your armor off, "I'm not going anywhere with you."

He tugs you closer, and you hate that you don't even attempt to pull away, "You are so fucking stubborn. Use your brain for one minute, you hear me? You're going to get yourself hurt."

The anger in his voice catches you off guard, but honestly, you could care less. All that matters is that he closer, that's he's–

You cut off that line of thinking immediately, "I– fine. Just let go."

If he's reluctant as you are about it, he doesn't show it. He only drops your wrist. The walk to his safe house is a blur. Your head feels heavy, your vision swims, and the overwhelming need keeps burning in your gut.

All you can focus on is his back, that each step he takes is measured, and that he keeps looking back at you.

You nearly stumble every time he does, and not even a high dosage of the pollen seems to stop him from insulting you, murmuring something along the lines that you can't even keep yourself upright.

You half expect him to ditch you the next time your steps falter, but he waits every time. If your mind was any more clear you'd linger on why. He hates you. Should hate you. You're part of the reason he was stuck in the at cell, after all.

"It's here," he grumbles, voice clearly tight as he jumps down the fire escape, shoving a window open.

You follow him closely, voice equally as ragged, "Maybe a shower will help."

"It won't. There's only one way through it," he supplies, almost bored.

You tense, but your mind is already spiraling with all the things you'd like to do with him. Your mind can't seem to settle on one. Flashes of his mouth between your legs, fantasies of sinking yourself down over his lap, dreams of him pinning you down and making you cry his name.

You shake your head, it's just the pollen. You definitely don't want him that way. You don't imagine what could have been if he was never taken.

"No, no," You stumble out, fingers twisting into your clothes, trying to ignore the urge to just tug them off, "We aren't doing anything."

"I'm not happy about it either," he snaps, "But your little boytoy isn't here to help."

"I don't have a–" You start to hiss, but a surge of want builds in your gut, and your voice trails into a groan.

He visibly stiffens, "You don't?"

You scowl at him, "It's not your business if I did."

He laughs, and your heart seems to stutter when he pulls his helmet off. He looks a wreck. Hair matted to his face, pupils blown wide, and so visibly desperate, "It's– fine. Say it's not. Then it won't change anything if you let me fuck you."

You freeze, and you really, really want to agree. You can't blame him for being desperate, if pollen is affecting him the same as it is you, you think he'd say that no matter who you were, "You're the worst," You grit out instead, "Why would I ever–"

"Pretend it's not me," he breathes out and steps forward. You know you should move away, should even try to hit him, but when his gloved hand cups your face, you lean into it, "Or don't. And you can tell me you hate me until your throat is raw."

His fingers catch the edge of your domino mask as he says your name, voice low, nearly a croon, "Cmon, doll, ya know ya want to. I'll take care of ya."

The string of curses that leave your mouth are needy, the rough leather of his gloves leaving your skin tingling and your legs pressing together, "Fine. Yes. But when it wears off–"

He doesn't seem to care enough to let you finish, ripping the mask from your face and crashing his lips to yours. It's all teeth and groans and a desire to do anything to get rid of the ache setted in the pit of your stomach.

You're not sure if he tears off your armor or if you do, but you are sure that he's being greedy for someone who acts like you're a bane on his existence.

He sucks at the pulse of your throat, squeezes every inch of your skin he can reach, shoves his leg between yours to grind his thigh against your clit.

It's dizzying, and you're the pollen makes you just as eager to have his skin against yours.

You don't mean to still at the sight of his scars. But you've finally managed to tug off his shirt, they remind exactly who has their fingers fisted into your hair.

"Don't," he hisses, feverish in his attempt to bite as many hickeys into your shoulder and neck as he can.

You don't know what he's telling you not to do, but you think it might have something to do with the way your face fell, the guilt that flashed in your eyes.

So, you don't. You tug him by the back of his neck into another bruising kiss that leaves you both panting, "Are you gonna take care of me now? Or were you all just talk?"

Jason Todd isn't just talk. He wasn't as the Arkham Knight, isn't as Red Hood, and certainly isn't now. He makes that clear when he digs his fingers into your waist, helping you drop the last of your clothes to the ground as he guides you back towards the counter, "If you need something, doll, you should use your words."

The fever building in your body seems to spike at how his eyes glint, the ravenous need that never leaves, even as he palms the curve of your ass and licks the line of your jaw.

"Just hurry up," You half snarl, the itch underneath your skin, making you feel frantic.

"Fucking impatient," he huffs, but the twitch of his cock against your bare skin gives away his equal desperation. He grabs you by the hips, spinning you around to face the counter.

"Jason-" you gasp, and he sucks in a sharp breath, forcing you forward, a hand spread over your back until your hands are flat on the counter.

“That’s it, sweet thing. Be good and hold yourself up,” he murmurs, and you almost keen at how the cold granite distracts from how his skin seems to burn against yours.

He nearly laughs, voice ragged, at your reaction, his hands running down your sides until he reaches your thighs. He nudges them apart, forcing you to stand with your legs spread, “Keep them like that," he orders, and in the moment, you think you'd listen to anything he says.

He rewards you for listening, or maybe he's just as driven by the pollen in his system, but he doesn't waste another second.

His hand keeps you bent over the counter, as he presses the head of his cock to your entrance, "C'mon," he half babbles, "open up for me, baby."

It's all-consuming, head spinning when he finally pushes between your folds, carving his way steadily into your aching pussy. It soothes the heat in your skin for a moment, before it comes back hotter, more desperate.

You choke back a needy sob, not wanting to give away how much you want this, but the way your walls clamp around his dick makes it clear how much you do.

He does laugh this time, and his hand leaves your back, sliding up your body to wrap his arm around your neck.

Your eyes snap wide, and he presses his chest into your back, forcing you to feel every inch of him as he works his cock deeper into you. His arm flexes, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to be a threat.

"Gone quiet," he taunts, "Where'd all your spunk go?"

"Go to hell," You start, and if your weight wasn't braced on your palms, you'd reach up to claw his arm in protest, "you aren't even helping with–"

He snaps his hips forward, and pushing all the air from your lungs as a shrill cry leaves your throat.

Jason lets out a guttural moan at your reaction, “There it is. No hiding how good I make you feel, pretty thing."

"It's not you," You choke out, dizzy with pleasure as his hips find a steady rhythm that drags his cock back and forth against your walls. If it wasn't for his arm securely wrapped around your throat, you think you would have collapsed to the granite below, "s'just the pollen."

He bites at your shoulder, hard and purposeful, "Bullshit. Bet you'd be this tight without it. Bet you'd beg me to fuck you full." He delivers his words harshly, nipping at the shell of your ear as he chases his release, driving his dick harder into your cunt.

The noises ringing through the room are sinful, flesh on flesh, the squelch of your pussy as wetness slicks his cock, "Bet you'd like it too," he groans, "shit– you'd love it."

You mewl, half-delirious with bliss, a part of you wants to be angry that this is the most he's said to you in months, but his cock is twitching against the spot that makes your vision blur, and all you can do to just take it, rambling out some barely thought out comeback, "Wouldn't– I'd– anyone but you."

He growls, tightening his arm around your neck and pressing his entire weight into you. Your arms buckle, and he follows you down into the counter, making the hard granite dig into your chest, waist, and thighs.

"It's not anyone else, though, is it," he mocks, punctuating his words with a harsh thrust of his hips, "It's me inside you. Or are you fucked so dumb you forgot my name?"

You choke, eyes rolling back as you clench down on his cock, strings of curse words falling from your lips before you finally manage to whine out his name.

"Again," he demands, intent and focused, even through the feral haze of pollen as he drives his dick harder into you, "Say who's fucking you again."

"Jason," You half sob, every complicated feeling fleeing from mind. All that matters is the way the tip of his cock brushes against your cervix, the feeling of his free hand working its way between your thighs to rub your clit.

He sucks a dark bruise under your ear, and when he pulls your head further back into his shoulder with the muscles of his arm, it sends you spiraling over the edge.

He's not far behind, relentlessly fucking you through it until he's painting your insides with his cum. He doesn't stop until a mix of his and your releases are leaking down your thighs, a sticky mess of evidence of what you've both done.

He pulls out without a warning and finally releases his chokehold on your throat, making you whimper and whine at the loss of him, your cunt clenching around nothing.

You shiver, panting and dazed. It helped. Really helped, if you were being honest. But it wasn't enough. Your skin starts to itch again without him inside you, your gut starts to burn with a heavy ache.

You push yourself off the counter instead of showing it, avoiding his gaze as you turn, looking for your suit with hazy eyes. As if you'd give him any more hints of weakness, "I should go."

He snorts, catching your jaw between his thumb and forefinger to angle your face up, "Apparently I still haven't screwed the stupid out of you. Pollen's still in our system."

"I'm fine," You protest, but he cuts that line of thinking off immediately when his hands grab at the back of your thighs, lifting you to sit on the edge of the counter.

"You," he drawls, already grinding his hips into yours, "are a mess. And I said I'd take care of you. You feel taken care of?"

You meet his gaze. It's dark, hungry. A perfect mirror of your own. You stomp down the complicated, longing feeling in your chest at the color of his eyes and set your jaw, "No."

He grins wolfishly at your denial, and nudges his hardening length against your cunt, "No" he prompts, a clear desire to hear more of your voice.

"No," You breathe out, unable to find your usual malice in your tone, "It was disappointing."

"Poor baby," he coos, and your head falls back in ecstasy when he finally slips his cock back into your pussy, "Let me make it up to you."

He does. Again. And again. Until you're not sure where you end and he begins. Then he does again. And again. Until the pollen wears off and neither of you have any more excuses to find release in each other.

And then he does it again.

You devour every moment with a reckless, torturous abandon. Until the line you set so passionately as hate, gets too blurred to remember. Until neither of you are convinced it was ever hate at all.

And then he does it again.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Hi rae!!! I have a confession to make... i have notifs on for your blog because I love your work sm!

As for JT thoughts, well...

I simply think dropping to your knees and nuzzling your face into Jason's bulge and whining for it would make his heart thud hard in his chest. Especially if you grabbed and kneaded at his thighs to keep him close.

Waterworks

18+ MDNI; You are so right, nonnie. This gave me an idea, and I ran with it soooo, uh, surprise dacryphilia blurb? Happy kinktober? ~800 words

Jason hadn't meant to ignore you. He was just tired, and it really was taking all of his focus to pick through the case files in his hands.

He hadn't meant to tune out your voice calling for him. Not the first time, not the second time, and definitely not the third.

He can't say he's not pleased with the outcome, though.

How could he not be? You'd dropped yourself between his thighs, eyes pleading and trying to keep your lips from wobbling, "Did I do something to make you angry," You had asked, voice wavering.

It made his brain short-circuit, the way tears started to prick at your eyes. It shouldn't have made his head go cloudy and his fingers twitch, but you've always looked so pretty when you cry.

It's half out of surprise, and half out of a desire to see the wet tracks down your face that he only manages a "what," in response.

"You've been ignoring me all day," You nearly whimper, and his cock jumps at the sound.

Instinctively, he moves to close his legs, to hide the evidence of how much he likes the sight of your tears threatening to spill over.

It only makes your eyes go wider and your fingers dig into his thighs, "You are mad. You're mad at me."

Your words come out in a choked accusation, and he really should be worried about why you think he's angry, but he's having a hard time thinking straight when you pull your lower lip between your teeth to stop it from shaking, and your tears finally start to fall.

He exhales in one low breath, his hand coming up to cup your face and catch the first of your tears on his thumb, "Doll, no. I'm not mad."

You sniffle, eyes darting down to avoid the weight of his gaze. He knows his pupils must be blown wide, that his face must be a little too sharp, but he doesn't soften his features.

He takes the moment you look away to lick your tears off his thumb, savoring the taste.

"You are," you whine and hide your face between his thighs, nuzzling the fabric of his clothes, "you haven't talked to me all day."

Jason's breath catches, and his heart nearly skips a beat, but he finds himself almost annoyed that he can't see your face anymore.

He should stroke your hair. Should comfort you and whisper soothing words. He won't.

He threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck instead, and pulls your head back, intent on seeing the streaks of tears down your face, "I was busy."

"Too busy for me," you ask weakly, eyes finally meeting his again.

He shouldn't say it. Shouldn't hurt you. But your eyes are so glassy, your breathing shaky, and the slight pout set on your lips drives him to say, "yeah."

It's pure satisfaction, to hear the whimper that leaves your throat, to see your tears fall faster as you immediately drop your gaze again.

He groans, desperate and needy as he ducks his head to kiss you.

It surprises you, he can tell by the way you stiffen, then melt into the kiss. Jason doesn't hesitate to grab your hips and haul you into his lap, setting you against the stiffening tent in his pants.

That surprises you, too. He likes the noise you make because of it, drinks it down with the taste of salt on your mouth.

He only pulls away when your lips are swollen and your breathing is shallow. He almost enjoys the dazed look in your eyes as much as the pretty tears stained on your skin.

He uses the moment to guide your hips back and forth, slow and steady, and only a glimpse of what he really wants from you.

"I'm sorry, doll," he murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw and brushing away the last of the streaks on your cheeks. He'd really like to lick them away, but he'd hate to push you too much.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he soothes, punctuating each word with a gentle roll of his hips against yours, "let me make it up to you?"

He grins at your hesitant nod, and decides then and there to see how else he can make you cry. To discover if your tears are just as sweet and pretty when you're squirming against the sheets, hazy and blissed from each release he's pulled from you.

He presses a quick kiss to your lips as his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your clothes, brushing his fingers over your skin eagerly.

He devours the way your eyes flutter closed, the way your eyelashes clump together, still wet and heavy from your crying, "This what you wanted? Just some attention?"

You keep your eyes closed, and only offer half a nod as you follow the way his hips rock into yours.

Jason can't help but smile at the sight, only a little disappointed at how quickly your tears have dried up once you've gotten his attention.

It doesn't really matter, though. You're already chasing the feel of his hand on your skin, and he's sure he can draw the kind of pleasure from you that'll make tears fall from your eyes.

When he does, he doubts you'll even notice if he follows the lines running down your face with his tongue.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

☆Rae's October Fics☆

October is just around the corner! Ah, I'm so excited, I'm serious when I say it's my favorite time of the year. I'll be posting a few kinktober fics, some spooky fics, and a couple that are a mix of both. I can't promise what dates they'll drop, but I will tease the concepts/tropes below! (Fair warning, this may bleed into November, and fics may be removed or added)

Spookfest

☆Blood Bag (DC vs. Vampires AU)

The Vampire King won, he turned his family into vampires, took over the world. So where does that leave you? In a castle, as Red Hoods personal supply of blood.

☆The Blood Stench | Zombie Apocalypse AU Part Two

Jason's ability to blend in as a zombie comes as a surprise, but a useful one. He's settling into his new life, the fact that you want to be around him, when a group hostile survivors takes you. He's going to show them exactly what someone who reeks like death can do.

☆Werewolf!Jason x Vampire!Reader

Gotham is cursed. No, really, some magic user put a curse on Gotham. Civilians, rouges, and heroes alike are running around as monsters, and a familiar looking werewolf saves you from what could have been a dangerous encounter.

Kinktober

☆Monster-Fucking feat. Witch!Reader x Demon!Jason

Your coven warned you about using the ancient ritual to summon a familiar, but the spell said it would deliver your perfect match, a part of your soul. Unfortunately, or maybe not, the cat or raven you were expecting doesn’t appear at all. (He has a tail, it's relevant)

☆Ribbons + Being Recorded

There's something about being able to save how pretty you look on his phone that Jason loves. Especially if it includes the sound of your voice. And the ribbons in his color tied around your wrists.

☆Hate Sex + Sex Pollen ft. AK!Red Hood

There's a limited number of vigilantes in Gotham. So no matter your, admittedly complicated, feelings on Jason, if Ivy's plants are being trafficked throughout the city, you owe it to her to work together and stop it. The problem is, it's not just plants she left behind.

☆Predator/Prey Slasher/Masked Killer AU

Based on all the classic horror movies. There's a serial killer in Gotham, granted there's a lot of them, but this one is different. He wears a mask, only is known as Red Hood and leaves the police stumped. Your boyfriend tells you not to worry, and you don't, until you come home early to see him wearing the mask that's been all over the news.

☆Threesome + Marking ft. Roy Harper

You and your roommates have an agreement. It's great, at first, but you're starting to have a hard time denying the feelings growing in your heart for both of them. They only make it harder every time they leave your skin covered in signs of your time together. You clearly haven't caught on to the way their eyes always seem to track the marks.

☆Bonus fic: Dacryphilia

There's something special about seeing you cry