#sladeakj

[ladytauria]

Very interested in your sladejay - collars wip!!!

hello my love <3 i answered that one here---i would give you another snippet but i don't have one... i do have the summary for the idea, if you're curious about where it's going:

Collar → BDSM or AOB AU with sub or omega Jason. He desperately wants to be collared by Slade, but the idea also reminds him of barbed wire around his neck. ((Breaking down into tears when Slade wraps the softest thing Jason has ever felt around his neck; a delicate scrap of orange silk/velvet, just for him.))

[ladytauria]

Omgggg I want to ask about all the wips bc I love your writing so much but if I had to pick two... Tell me about the Jaycest it's not every day? And SladeJay collars?

heheh ofc, i would be happy to!

so jaycest i have actually shared soooo much of hahah. in chronological (fic) order:

the original draft of the first scene

the first snippet rewritten + some extra bits

some musings on the lazarus pit

gonna come tuck me in?

sit down for me?

enjoying the view

a bonus ask i took inspiration from

i don't think i can share any more snippets without copy + pasting the entire fic ;)

but the basic premise is fem!jay is stuck in (a loose interpretation of) canonverse. she's a little better off than jason is--her life is more stable, she's processed more of her emotions, etc.--and decides she wants to help him a little ;) this obviously translates to them fucking about it, with a litttle mommy kink and possible some lingerie kink too, i'm still waffling lmfao

sladejay collars!! i got a lovely anon asking about this one too, and normally i would break up the snippet to share twice, but there's not enough written for it lmao.

it's set in the arkham 'verse and based around the whumptober prompt: collars

Sometimes, when he’s lying in bed at night, Jason finds himself touching his neck. In the dark, he can picture it so clearly; a thick band of orange and grey wrapping around his throat. It would look good there, he thinks. The brightness of the orange would draw the eye. It would be the first thing anyone saw when they looked at him. Not the scar marring his cheek, but proof that he was wanted.

That he belonged to someone; someone who had chosen him for him, and not because he was a convenient tool to use against the Bat.

That’s as far as his imagination can go.

The second he starts thinking about the feeling of it—the way it would tighten every time he swallowed, the weight of it on his neck, the feeling of it against his skin—

His pulse races. His skin feels clammy.

But even if he manages not to think about it, even if his imaginings stay visual-only, his fingers will catch against one of his scars. It doesn’t matter how light he touches. He’ll find one, touch one, and he’ll jerk his hand away as if he’s been burned.

His eyes will snap open again and he’ll stare, sightlessly, at the ceiling, trying to keep his breathing even.

His Dom is only ever a room away. He could go to him.

He won’t.

He will shake, shudder, as his breaths hitch until finally, finally, he manages to soothe himself.

And then he’ll roll onto his side, squeeze his eyes shut, and try to think of nothing, nothing at all.

(It never works. If he manages to sleep, it’s only to dream of Arkham; of a barbed wire collar digging into his throat, marking him, scarring him, forever; of cruel words whispered or shrieked into his ear; of dropping with no one to help bring him back up.)

All of this to say—

Jason really, really wants Slade to collar him.

He's also too broken to ever deserve it.