Tim doesn't encourage the public, they do it themselves.

ne dislocated shoulder and two minor intergalactic incidents later, and all Tim wants is a shower, a mushroom and swiss cheeseburger, and a blowjob, preferably in that order.

Tim has a thing for buying sex toys (in bulk, Jason suspects) and Jason is constantly putting his foot in his mouth about what things his lover likes.

Jason's the Red Hood and being the Red Hood gives him sex magic. Duh.

The costume version of the Red Robin uniform that Cass provided Jason with has been altered to fit his proportions. The fabric is form-fitting but not uncomfortable, and the bandoliers snap across his chest without issue… except for the sordid way they frame his pecs. Between the chest action, the absence of a cup, and the feathered cape, he really feels like he's about to turn tricks. But, well… he can't complain. At least he has it better than Tim.

“Quick! How do I help an omega that’s nearing critical heat?” Jason asked. “What?’ Roy asked. “The hell ya need to know that for?” “Because I got one with me right now and-- Ah!! Hands! Hands!” Or the one where Jason goes to drop off groceries at the Nest only to get dragged into helping Tim through a critical heat while Roy gives advice from the sidelines.

“You know, just out of curiosity,” Red Robin begins, and Jason twists to face him, “are you from Gotham?” “What gave it away?” Jason drawls as fire sirens start up in the distance. “My anger issues, or my apathy in the face of the new supervillain flavor of the week?” (Or: That time Jason moves to New York and becomes a meme.)

"Timmers sucked me pregnant," Jason blurts, and Tim watches in morbid fascination as Bruce goes through the five stages of grief in a millisecond. "I thought you said you weren't… sleeping together," Bruce says reproachfully. "He means that I, uh, impregnated him with my teeth. When I drank his blood. No sex involved," Tim explains. "It was an accident. I didn't even know I could do that."

Tiny Tim: all i want is for someone with a monster cock to fuck my brains out until im drooling, is that too much to ask? He sets his phone down and makes it about 5 seconds into reorganizing the granola bar shelf before realizing his fatal error. With a feeling like ice water being poured down his back, Tim snatches his phone back up and has to input his password 3 separate times before he calms down enough to type it correctly. Oh. Fuck. Tim is mentally adding this whole situation to the Top 10 List of Worst Things That Have Happened to Him Ever when he sees a new notification come in, not from one of the group chats this time. Jason Todd: wanna fuck? Or, Tim accidentally sends a text message to the wrong group chat, but it all works out in the end.

The news that Timothy Drake, Gotham’s cryptid millionaire, has shot the Joker dead during a public live-stream hits the world like a freight train—and that is just the opening salvo of his bugfuck plan. Maybe there exists, in the multiverse, a configuration of Jason Todd who will weather this with decorum, dignity and self-respect. This version of Jason Todd decides that the life of an academic is not, really, all that rewarding. In contrast, the life of Timothy Drake’s live-in house-husband is looking more appealing by the second.

Tim gets tired of constantly having to remove all the bugs Batman and Oracle plant in his apartment, so he cooks up a scheme to make them regret ever listening in. But he'll need some help, of course.

Maybe it was because he didn’t have time to read the gossip columns; maybe it was because he seriously underestimated the audience’s power to “Ship It”, but Bruce didn’t *immediately* cotton onto the fact that his scheme made half the country think that his son was in love with, well, his *other* son.