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freedvmrouge · 10 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Roy Harper/Slade Wilson, Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson Characters: Roy Harper, Slade Wilson, Jason Todd Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Roy Harper, Alpha Slade Wilson, Omega Jason Todd, Dom/sub Undertones, Subspace, roy and slade's alpha pheromones basically heighten jason's omega subby-ness, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hand Feeding, Caretaking, Sub Jason Todd, Established Relationship, POV Roy Harper, POV Jason Todd, POV Slade Wilson, POV Alternating, hints at dom roy/sub slade Summary:

Roy comes home to his partners, and the entire place is filled with comforting pheromones and safety. Roy and Slade take care of Jason amidst his slip into said pheromone-induced subspace.

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meaninglessblah-writes · 8 months

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three word prompt: "You look lost” for SladeRoy please 🥹

For you, always. Thank you for the prompt! ❤️

"You look lost," Roy accuses, and can't help but tense when the mercenary turns. He thinks he manages to mask it by crossing his arms over his chest, leaning casually in the open doorway of his room.

From the way Slade's eye sparkles with amusement, Roy thinks he might not look so unaffected. "I think I'm exactly where I need to be, actually," Deathstroke replies.

The asshole doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed at being caught red-handed rifling through Roy's personal belongings. Doesn't even have the humility to sneak around, bold as anything as he helps himself to the contents of Roy's room.

Roy doesn't even bother asking how Slade managed to bypass the Titans' Tower security grid. "Dick's room's that way," he says, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "Third on the left down the hall — you can't miss it."

"I'm not here for Grayson," Slade returns, unhurried. Roy feels like prey beneath that gaze, heat gathering beneath the freckles on his cheeks.

"Is it just my panty drawer you're here to dig through?" Roy doesn't even know why he's not dead yet. It's not like there's any sentimentality between them. Just because he spent a night in Wilson's bed one reckless weekend in Kentucky.

Slade arches a cool brow. "Didn't think you had enough panties to need a whole drawer. But I have to admit, these are cute."

He lifts a hand, red lace dangling from an outstretched finger. Damning as anything.

That flush burns to the intensity of a forest fire. It incinerates whatever braincells Roy had left, because the next thing he knows, he's stalking across the room to snatch the red panties from the mercenary and stuff it into the nearest drawer.

"That's none of your business." Roy doesn't even know where Slade found those; he's pretty sure he lost them under the bed after a wild night. "It was a dare anyway," he snaps, fumbling for plausibility.

Slade looks unconvinced. Whatever, he's not here to prove himself to Deathstroke the Terminator. "The things teenagers will do these days," he hums, and goes right back to rifling through Roy's drawers.

"What are you looking for?" Roy demands, flabbergasted.

Then he realises, with a mortified strike of dread. Slade has dug through Roy's clothes, nearly to the very back of the chest of drawers, and Roy knows back there he'll find—

"Wait," he yelps, just as Slade's hand closes on grey, washed out fabric.

Slade unearths the clothes, sending t-shirts and sweats tumbling to the floor at Roy's feet. He feels his face wash white, and then fill with a rush of blood when Slade's crooked brow turns on him.

He brandishes the official-looking Fort Knox Army Base sweatshirt at him, the faded and flaking lettering damning. "A souvenir, hmm?"

Roy's mouth moves, but no words surface. "I—"

Slade bundles the sweatshirt up and tucks it under his arm, shouldering past Roy. "Doing some thrift shopping after a night in my bed, Arsenal? I'm not a museum gift shop."

Roy doesn't point out that his own sweatshirt was unwearable because Slade had the audacity to get come all over it. Nevermind that it was Roy's own come, the bastard.

That sweatshirt was one of the most comfortable he'd ever worn, long in the sleeves and spacious. Notwithstanding it had to be at least forty years old, by Roy's estimate. He's not keen to see it walk out of his sight.

Besides, he kind of liked sneaking out of Slade's apartment wearing the old man's clothes. And maybe, if he were being entirely honest, Roy's worn it more than just the once.

"You weren't using it," he tries for, following the mercenary out into the hallway.

"You dug it out of my laundry hamper," Slade says, gruff and unimpressed. Roy tries not to marvel, again, over the fact that Deathstroke the Terminator keeps a laundry hamper. "I'm taking back what's mine."

"What if I pay you for it?" Roy tries desperately.

"Not for sale," Slade says, and Roy catches up to him at the elevator, blocking his path.

"I could wear it," Roy blurts, and can practically feel the heat radiating from his face. Slade's brow creases, like he's not grasping what Roy's trying to offer. He looks anywhere but at Slade's face when he says, "I'll wear it while you, uh—"

Slade's eye clears with understanding, and Roy almost wishes the ground would open up and swallow him.

Behind him, the elevator pings.

#meaninglessblah answers #i-am-verybusy #230707

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