Love Letters to Men who wear Masks

[maskeddevotion]

Not all heroes wear masks, villains do too

I just wanna love them. Here is my altar. Take me.

drabbles: dark romance, angsty yearning, possessive/protective

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Multi-fandom (DC, Invincible, AuDHD hyperfixations): currently Dilfson! and Invincible!variants

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Dark Romance through Fiction Writing and Imagination-Devotion

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[maskeddevotion]

Little Angel Kisses

I was possessed by something and wrote the first 2.7k of this in 40 minutes. I swear I have no idea if this is someone's OC. Excuse me, have you lost one of your characters? I think they might have tumbled into my brain! (Please take them home, there's not enough room in here for more voices.)

I'm still marking this reader x, but you could argue it is an OC. If you do, I probably won't be bothered arguing back. That is a lot of effort. 🤣

Tags: GN!Reader, Red Hood, fallen vigilante!reader

Warnings: implied mental health concerns, mentions and implications of death, mild suggestion of hate-sex (super mild)

w.c. 5.5k

Read on AO3 here.

"Come on, Jaybird. Just a little kiss for luck." You smile, eyelashes fluttering in the dark.

"You are seriously the most annoying person to have on patrol. Ever." He mutters, not looking away from the alleyways below. That red mask covers half his face, and you know there's some kind of gadget wizardry going on with the domino eye mask. He can probably read people's thermal readings, or their aura, or maybe little speech bubbles pop up for their inner thoughts.

"Brings good luck, you know. Kiss an angel, get good luck for the rest of the year."

"You're not an angel, you're a demon in disguise."

"Eh, close enough." You shrug, grinning at him.

He's solid, put together in a dark and dangerous way, more fear-inspiring than any old bat without really needing to try. The beat up red vest has bad boy written all over it- when you'd suggested sequins, he'd tried to chuck you off the balcony.

You remember still, when he was whip lean and learning a body made from pieces of death. When the scars still ached and pained him. When he looked at your face in terror instead of with a grimace of annoyance. You've come a long way since then, but you know what the others say.

Jason didn't come back right. Some of the pieces were wrong. Broken.

And yeah, he's got a temper. Did he always have a temper? No idea, but he has one now. You can see it in the way his fingers clench tight, the low grunt of disapproval as he realises the thugs downstairs are moving their cargo early.

"Cheeky buggers." You mutter, shoving your hands deep into your jacket pockets.

He makes a small noise of assent, a hum that trails off into thoughtfulness.

"Uh oh. That sounds like you're hatching a plan."

"I need you to…" He pauses, straightening, turning to face you. One hand curves towards your face, slow and gentle, stroking across your cheekbone. "I need you to pay attention. For one minute. Please." There, that exasperated tone. Slightly fond, you can tell, but also like he's trying so hard to keep his temper behind his teeth, to leash his tongue and trade barbs for pleasantness. "Listen carefully."

You smile, the way you always do, when he touches you like he cares. When he puts a little ounce of tenderness into his life, like someone or something might actually be worthy of his love. He doesn't really believe it, but his body says it in the gentle stroke of his fingers, and that's enough.

For now, anyway.

"I'm listening. You know I always listen to you."

"Mmhmm. Sure." His eyes don't leave yours- well, the domino mask doesn't leave your face, but you assume his eyes are glued to yours. That beautiful sea-green gaze, so full of hurt and wonder and incredulity that someone, out there, has cared enough to stay and watch the monster be reborn.

"I need you to go down there, and cause the biggest distraction of your life. You won't get hurt."

"I never do." You chuckle, leaning forwards, your lips pressing against the red plate armour covering his face.

He tenses, but he doesn't pull away. Good. He's learning so well. Gentle hands beg gentle touches, gentle words coax gentle kisses. And soon he'll be gently asleep in your lap, where he belongs, whilst you watch over him and stroke his hair and tell him that everything will be okay.

That his family doesn't really hate him, they're just scared for him.

That the Joker really did deserve to die.

It's okay to kill to protect others.

Red Hood is the hero Gotham needs.

It's okay to be a soldier for someone else's war, as long as you remember to live a little after you come back.

When your life is given back to you, you can't waste that chance.

You press your forehead to his. "I'll always come back to you, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. You're like a fucking disease I can't get rid of."

"Rude." You snort, but you turn your face towards the alley, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Don't miss me too much."

You jump.

You hear the muffled bang of his grappling line, firing at the building opposite. You try not ot be too surprised. Who needs tech anyway, when you've got a little bit of magic? Your wings unfurl, catching a lucky draft, and you skitter across the walls until you practically tumble into the gang, your feet on their heads.

"Whoops! Don't mind me, just dropping in." It's good cover, of course, because now they're screaming at you; they don't see Red Hood lunge for the truck. They don't see him knock out the getaway driver in one brutal punch.

In fact, they're still trying to tackle you, smoke and shadow, dancing and twirling out of hand's reach as you weave and dive between the men. "Come on, come on. Keep up a little!" You fake a yawn and you're rewarded with a glancing blow across your cheek.

Yeah, you can't die. Not really. But you can still feel pain.

It feels like life.

You laugh, ducking again, leading them away from the truck. From the corner of your eye you glimpse Jason yanking at the handle, pulling with those massive hands. Inside, the terrified faces of captives held hostage turn, as one, to stare. Well, fuck, his quick thinking had gotten him where he needed to be before any of the others. Ha. Take that Tim-who-probably-needs-to-fix-his-sugar-addiction-if-he-ever-wants-to-sleep-again Drake. Energy drinks just can't get you where you need to be- on Jason's level.

"Will you stop fucking around and fight back?" He curses into the night. Some of the thugs, dancing a perfect tango of fruitless violence and heavy man-sweat, pause when they hear that voice. Good.

"Oh yeah, that's right." You grin again, sweeping low only to surge upwards, the top of your head meeting someone's jaw. You bite your tongue. "Oh god. Oh fu- no, wait. Ouch. That's so painful."

He's freeing the prisoners with a speed and efficiency that suggests he's done this a million times before, but really, you tell yourself it's because he's worried about you. Blessed little fighter that you are, sticking it to the criminal element any way you know how- which, to be honest, isn't that many ways. Scrappy, distracting and handy- at least you can play to your strengths.

And then he descends, a shadow of red death. He sweeps through the remaining men like a whirlwind of terror, devastating not with a sword or the gun at his side, but with brawn trained in the years between death and life. A living titan of peak physicality. Powerful beyond human comprehension, without dipping his toes into the realm of superpowers. Controlled beyond any doubt, trained to kill and not to restrain. The discipline writes itself in knuckles painted red.

You step back, still trying to distract the thugs, but your eyes flicker to him more than they should. More than you should ever let yourself feel.

Of course he's violent when he does his job. A lesson in brutality keeps the streets clean. Violence is silenced by blood, and Jason Todd knows how to make a man bleed. He's bled himself so much it's all he really knows now.

"Jason…" Your voice breaks out over quiet, heaving breaths. You shift closer now, the sway of your shoulders a silent surrender as you close the gap between you. "Hey. You did good, Jason." You cup his cheek, wipe away the blood splatters from the bared skin of his forehead. You trace over the scars and knicks of hands far too weathered by time and pain for a man of his twenty-or-so years.

Every breath heaves in his chest, ragged and broken, turning oxygen into a desperate luxury. But your voice grounds him. He looks up, not a monster at all, but a boy lost in his memories, lost in that acid green void that swallowed his soul and retched it up different.

"Jason." You say again, stroking his hair, bringing his head to your chest in a soothing embrace. "Look. None of them are dead. You did so good. Unconscious enough to be questioned. All the victims freed. Look-"

You gesture at the line of terrified humans, rubbing their wrists and casting anxious glances down the alleyway. It's some kind of freedom, maybe, but they're so scared they won't run and take it. Little lambs that he led away from the slaughter.

"You did this. You saved them."

The rhythm of his panting slows, leaving him cold, replacing adrenaline with pain.

"If we go now, you won't have to see them. Not Batman. Not Nightwing. Not any of them, if you don't want to."

His head buries into your chest, nodding slowly like he can shake the memories burning his brain. He grounds himself in you, his hand snaking around your waist, fingers finding skin beneath the tactical gear he makes you wear, before digging deep. Like warm metal bands, except these are a privilege to wear. The prettiest shackles a man's ever offered you.

"Come on." You murmur, pressing your lips gently to his hair. "Up, up and away, Jaybin."

"That's Superman." He grunts.

"Yeah. Close enough." You shrug, and with a sweep of your shadowy wings, you hold him close and bring him back to the rooftops.

In a blur of minutes and feet, you're tumbling back into his apartment. His hands aren't steady as he unlocks the door, but he's doing better. He flinches less at the darkness. Shadows don't curl around him. You can see it now: there's clarity in every stride, purpose written into the hard lines of his shoulders.

He all but crashes onto the couch, the soft whoosh of dislodged air hiding his sigh.

"Mask off. Clothes too… you can't sleep in your combat gear." Your voice softens now, tiptoeing across the threshold of domesticity. The side of Jason that he wishes would stay buried. If he could be a monster, if he could be the hero Gotham needed, then that would be enough. A singular purpose to define him; a mind that needn't struggle.

Why now does he have to live a life beyond the darkness?

"Come on…" Gently, you sit beside him, fingers reaching for the straps of his red armour. He groans softly, fingers flexing against your thighs as piece by piece, you remove the shell of a man who wishes he wasn't quite so made up of broken parts.

The domino mask comes next. You tug it off, working away the adhesive, careful not to catch any of those tumbling black curls. You tug down the hood. You draw the red vest from his shoulders. He's slimmer now, not the bulky predator, but an overlarge house cat perched on the couch, trying but failing not to take up too much room.

"You did so good…" You murmur, fingers tracing the angled jawline, the blood-splattered cheekbones, carding gently through his hair. The little white forelock has always drawn your eye- the mark of an angel kissing him in his eternal sleep, before he was thrust back into the waking world.

"Mmm…"

"I know. I know." You pat his shoulder, your voice soothing. You find the locks on the back of his ridiculous tactical piece and strip him of his armour a little more.

He lays there for a long moment, silence settling in an unspoken truce between you, then slowly sits up. His gaze travels to your face, and now you can see the concern in the depths of the sea, the way cold calculation gives way to worried concern. Makes him more human, and less like night's greatest menace.

"You got hurt. Your cheek is all grazed…" His voice is soft reprimand, but there's tenderness in the way his fingertips brush the skin near the purpling bruise.

"Happens." You shrug, smiling at him.

"Shouldn't have. Not when you're with me. Shouldn't have let you get hurt."

"Silly." You murmur, leaning forwards. You hesitate, your hand bracing on his shoulder, the space between you barely a breath. "You can't watch out for everyone, all the time. Because who'd watch you?"

He pulls back a little, his gaze pinning you down. You tumble into that vast ocean, where the brilliance of light is slowly eclipsed by the a darkening fear. "I don't need watching." He closes the distance, lifting his hand to cup the back of your head. "But I remember you telling me that was your job." He leans in, his lips brushing yours, soft and sweet. As your mouth parts, he deepens the kiss, warmth spreading from your lips across your cheeks, breath hitching and fingers catching at his waist.

The moment shines and fizzes in your mind, stretching into eternity as your heart skips a beat.

Jason's way of saying thanks isn't measured in words, but in the way his hands press you into his life, the way he drinks all your soft sighs and tiny whimpers.

It's a long moment before you can think again, and longer still before you pull away, reluctant and pained. But still you smile for his gentleness, a treasure so rare he guards it like a dragon with nothing left but a ransacked hoard.

"It is." You answer, your smile mischievous. You shift, straddling his hips. Something selfish ignites inside of you, perhaps inflamed by the kiss, and you grind gently up and down. "I do an excellent job."

"Mmhmm…" He doesn't push you away. Sometimes he does, and you know that's when the darkness is at its deepest, a thick, tarry poison spreading through his soul. That's when he's getting pulled back into that abyss, the fractured parts separating until he screams from it.

But he keeps you here, one hand settling on your waist, letting you rub against him, quelling that dark beast that surges like a titan from the deep. "Still… Don't like it when you get hurt."

The admission is soft, and your heavy grinding slows a little. You tilt your head at him. "Nobody likes getting hurt, Jay. Except masochists, probably, but I'm told there are a very specific set of circumstances that must be followed, or I dunno, it's not… Whatever." You chuckle softly, and he snorts back, shaking his head with a boyish curve to his face "You are cute." You murmur, delight shining in your eyes.

"And you're reckless. Stupidly so, sometimes. But also… cute." His other hand strokes your face, as if he's learning you all over again. "How did I get so lucky?"

"Hmm? Oh, angels and demons decided you needed someone who could keep up with you. Boom, here I am." You tease him, your hands reaching for the fastening of his pants. "Perfection made whole. And mostly mortal. Fun."

You slide down, and he shifts for you, spreading his legs so you can settle between his thick thighs. "Why are you always so good?"

"I'm not." You nuzzle, breathing warm air over his clothed dick. The scent of musk fills your mind, settling like a haze over your will. "Sometimes I like to be good. Especially for you."

"But why? What do you want from me?" His voice is quieter now, his gazed fixed on you as you free him from his pants-prison. Those compression pants go first, pulled down, and then the sturdy underwear, leaving nothing but a most riveting sight of his swelling cock, twitching to attention beneath your eager hands.

"Nothing. Nothing from you. Everything for you." You murmur, stroking along the shaft. He's half-erect, the head growing and hardening beneath your fingers as you kiss his velvet skin. You press your thumb to the slit, coaxing beads of pre-cum as you bask in his low groan of animal need.

"I don't believe you." He manages, head thrown back against the couch as another moan tears from his throat.

"You always say that." You murmur, your lips wrapping around his flushed head. You suck, hollowing your cheeks just like you've learnt. There's a particular rhythm to his arousal. He likes it hard at first. He likes knowing you can match his roughness, that you can give as good as you get. He likes to know you'll make him feel every moment, that you'll drown him in pleasure as readily as you'll save him from the dark.

And then he likes it slow. Drawn-out. Effort poured into every curve and flick of your tongue, licking and kissing his length in uncomplicated worship. Gentleness in your fingertips, the pressure soft but constant as you remind him of his worth with every stroke.

You suck gently, lips pouted, an angel's kiss that rises and falls with breathy moans. Your hands rub up and down, swiping the drool from your mouth to slick his length, ringing neatly around the thickening member to wring the guttural cry of desire from his bared chest.

"You make it sound so easy…" His voice is rough, a low rumble you feel in his gut, dragged out of him alongside the moan he's trying to suppress.

"Easy? Jaybird…" You pull off him, your hands still clasped around his meat, a perfect circle of tights fingers that coaxes a little thrust of his hips. "Nothing about this is easy. You're not easy. But giving this to you? Letting you know that you're loved no matter what… that's not even a question. It just is."

He huffs a sigh, and one large, corded arm drapes over his face. He leans his head back, cushioned by the back of the couch, and spreads his legs a little further apart. Keep going. Never stop pouring your love into me.

He hates that he loves it so, that he craves you.

You take the shift as carte blanche to eat your full. You hasten your pace, head bobbing up and down with thick moans of need; for all that Jason plays a very long game, you're not known for your patience. The obscene sucking sounds fill the room. You focus on relaxing your throat, on pushing deeper and further than you've ever done before.

For a man reborn in darkness, there's a guilty innocence in his wide eyes. He takes your efforts like a punishment: knowing you would choke on his dick to bring him to his pleasure leaves him uncomfortably vulnerable.

He hides it with a soft moan of satisfaction, doing his best to hold on to you, his hand splaying in your hair. "Mmm. God. Fuck." He mutters, stroking you gently as you grunt and huff around his thick cock.

You cup his balls, fingers paying a trembling tribute to the taut skin. His dick fills the entirety of your mouth, the tip now touching the back of your throat, your heart hammering away as your mind melts. The musk of his sex is overwhelming now, your eyes rolling back, lost to a heavenly pleasure you'd rather make in his body.

Careful. Easy. Just like you practiced. Your thoughts are dream-like, floating by without a care. Deeper and deeper- how deep can he go? Can he feel how much you love him if he fucks down your throat? Can he feel how fast your heart is beating? How much you ache for him?

"Like that, baby… just like an angel… fuck…" He mutters, but his voice cracks. Tension runs down his thighs, turning them to stone around your head.

He's holding back. He's pulling away.

His hips retreat as your lips try to crawl down his shaft. You grumble in protest, and his fingers grip the hair of your scalp, lifting you away from the base of his dick. "Fuck, you always do this. You take me in like I'm all you crave. You know how fucked up that is?" His voice is hoarse, his gaze dark as he pulls your head up.

"I'm not afraid of you. I'm not gonna push you away." You mutter, defiance heating your tone to a smouldering flame, brittle with embers of anger. "You think you're not allowed to feel pleasure? You think pain is the only thing you deserve?"

"It's the only thing-"

"No. There's more to life than pain. I'm giving you another chance to breathe deep. Don't run from it." You sit up in his lap, following the pull of his hand as he controls the dynamic of your desire.

He stares at you, his eyes widening slightly. He doesn't quite believe you, still, after all this time.

"I haven't left yet, have I?"

It's a challenge wrapped in tender threads of love. You still, holding your breath, pitched above his thick, glistening cock like you're waiting for death on a battlefield. (A thousand cuts ain't gonna cut this one, it's gonna be brutal and bloody, if you have any say in it.)

"No. I don't think you can. Even if you chose to."

He stares at you, his voice soft but that seafoam gaze hard, like he can take all the love out of you and disprove it with a frown.

"Every chance. Any chance. If you gave one to me, I'd take it." You murmur. You shift your hips downwards, then roll them across his crotch. He flinches, groaning softly. "All I want is for you to be happy."

"Fucking… Love out of duty isn't love." He growls, his his hand shifting from your hair to your shoulder, trying to hold you steady.

You rut again, grunting in impatience. "Duty is a form of love, don't you know that Robin?"

"Don't."

"You did it for years, didn't you? And you loved him the whole time."

"Stop."

"This isn't duty."

You pause, watching his gaze, the dark and dangerous churning of the sea, volcanic anger and pain bubbling beneath, boiling the water and turning his love into something raw and twisted.

"This isn't pity."

You move again, slower, a stroke that takes the measure of him, that yanks desire from his throat with a soft groan.

"This is because I love you. And you're too stupid to accept it."

"Shut up." He growls, but some of the edge has evaporated. The grip on your shoulder loosens slightly. You bow your head into the crook of his neck, your lips catching his ear, soft and sweet, pressing in gentle worry.

"I would never abandon you, Jason. I would never blame you for the blood on your hands. I would never cast you out for wanting to protect yourself." You lace your fingers around the back of his head as you ease yourself across his lap, grinding and panting softly. "You seem to think this is difficult. That, somehow, this is painful. But not for me. Not from where I'm sitting. I see someone beautiful with cracks in his soul, but you seem to think I want to look away?"

You kiss down his neck, holding your body still, teasing the glistening tip of his dick. "No. The way the shadows play against the light? The way it carves beauty from imperfection? It makes you all the more wonderful. It makes you all the more magical. They just can't see it." You nip his neck, and you feel him start, his breath catching before the tension leaks from his shoulders. He melts into the couch, melts into your touch. "You can't see it either." You chuckle.

"Fucking tease."

He doesn't pull gently, but instead rips the buttons of your tactical pants, then forces them down your hips. You shimmy a little, soon bared to him, holding your breath in anticipation.

"You're like a disease." He repeats, bringing his finger to your mouth, running it across your bottom lip in silent question. You part for him, eyes wide in silent supplicant for his attention. His finger slips in, brushing your tongue, touching the inside of your cheek. Then with your drool, he slides his hand over your core, finding the clenched muscles of your hole. One slicked finger pushes in gently, and your breath hitches. You don't look away from his gaze, dark, smouldering master of suffering. He doesn't look away from you, incandescent beauty, a fiery angel of devastation and despair.

"You said that already." You whine softly, your hips twitching as you fight the urge to sink onto his hand. His finger stirs you up inside, dragging against your walls, stretching you open for him.

"You fucking feed me all this love, and I'm sick with it. Sick. Pathetic. I'm- I'm pathetic for drinking it up. Every time you do this to me, I just get sicker and sicker." He growls, resting his forehead on yours. "And it's all I want." The words are quiet and cracked, his eyes closed in sweet surrender.

He pushes a second finger in, eyes snapping open just to see you squirm. "Fuck. You want to drown me in love and watch me die? Suffocate me in kindness and see me fade? Fine. Don't think I can't make you suffer as well."

You gasp, arching your back as he pumps faster, deeper. "Good." You manage, faint and unthinking, losing your mind to the fire he's ignited inside of you. "I want that. Want you to let go, put it in me, let it all out."

"I'm not going to hate-fuck you."

"I know. Cause you love me. Something, something, you're pathetic with it."

"Shut up." He groans again, his fingers pushing deeper. The invasion leaves you hot and dizzy, makes you moan into his neck. He smells good- faintly coppery, mostly musky, and somehow with a hint of menthol and coffee. You want to bathe in it.

He rubs the sweet spot that makes your thighs clamp and tremble, quivering on the edge of ecstasy.

"Such a big fucking mouth on you. No wonder you could fit my whole cock inside." He grins at you now, a wolfish sharpness that makes him prettier, not meaner. "Let's see if you're ready."

He pulls his hand away, angles you over his lap, and braces his hips as he takes you to heaven.

Well, an earthly heaven, but close enough. Your head tips back, another lilting moan torn from you as he stretches you open. "Oh- oh Jason! Yes!" It always spins your mind how thick he is, how deep he seems to go; not that you've had another, because Jason is your first. Your most treasured.

If all men were like this, why would anyone leave their mate?

"You always love it when I pierce you like this. You like feeling my cock rearranging your insides?" He breathes the words into your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you almost entirely off his cock. Without warning, he yanks you back down, hips surging to meet you, burying himself to the hilt. You gasp, twisting in his grip, but his grip turns to steel, holding you steady. Not a prisoner, but his, captive for everything that that's worth. He pulls you up and slams down again, harder, fucking himself deeper into you until you're mewling and he's leaving bruises on your shoulders. "No, absolutely not. You think you can run from me now? After all the shit you've talked about loving me and staying with me?"

"Not- not running." You fight a gasp, clench your teeth, and lose the battle with your dignity. A lewd wanton moan breaks free, your whole body shuddering. He flexes his hips, pulls out, and takes another thrust at your soft centre. This one's slower. This one makes every inch count, makes your breath hitch. Sweat beads and prickles against your skin, a diamond sheen in the low ambient light of night.

"There, see. Doing so well." He switches now; his anger has dimmed. He's fucked away some of the incredulity, turned his vulnerability into a weapon with which he makes your hole weep with desire and desperation. His hands turn gentle, less restraint and more exploration. He teases, brushing over the curve of your ass as he grinds upwards, driving his cock into depths unknown, exploring the secret parts of your body like it's the only treasure he wants to keep.

"Maybe you are a masochist? You like it when I hit you deep." He murmurs, kissing along your shoulders, grinding his hard cock into every willing, giving fibre of your being.

You hum, a soft sound, a broken little whimper that reflects the hazy desire and love inside of your mind. "Takes one to know one." You exhale, and he can't help but laugh.

It's the most beautiful sound in the world, stripped of teasing but full of promise, something sweet lingering in his dimpled cheeks and precious green eyes.

He's lost in you now. The thrusts slow, each a celebration of how hard you make him, how willing your body is to accept him. Soft moans flow like liquid gold from his tongue-slicked lips. You catch each drop of sound, pour it into your heart like a balm, anchor yourself to his pleasure like you need it to survive. You fall upon his cock, split in half by velvet-wrapped steel, then roll like a wave, cresting as you press against him. Chest to chest. Scars to scars.

"Jason…" You whimper in his ear.

"I know, angel. I know." He murmurs back, arms sliding over your back, pressing you flush against him. Anchor. Guardian. Protector. Who is who in this twining of sweaty, messy bodies? With every thrust you lose yourself more, the boundaries blurring between giving and taking, between want and need, between life and death.

You are his. He is yours. The world tilts on its axis, righted. No broken souls where two bodies join. Pain and desire are breathed into every wanton moan and carved with every wilful stroke. There's no room for mercy, no room for pity, just an exultation spoken in the most primal language: love and fucking.

"Gonna make you see God now." He murmurs. His pace quickens, a slick slapping of flesh upon flesh, grunts of raw pleasure filling the room. His abdominals tense, the scar tissue bulges: his solid core grinds against you as his hips buck up. You take it all, welcome solace for his pain and pleasure, knees quivering as he pushes you over the edge.

Release comes in a long and fluting moan, one that casts to the heavens for all the other angels to hear. You feel his cock throb inside of you, a crescendo of pleasure torn from those sweet cherub lips, your name moaned in prayer as he throws his head back. He pants against your throat, needy and sated, the monster within settled for now.

"Yeah," you sigh as your body trembles. You rest your forehead against his damp curls, reaching up to gently loop a finger through that angel-kissed strand. "I found him… saw him… love him…" You press a tender kiss across his brow, feel the hitch in his throat, the gratefulness he can't speak in words.

Later, after you've both dabbed each other's bodies with towels, after the heat has passed and you're left soft and boneless in each other's arms, he falls asleep. You cradle his head in your lap, gently carding through those thick curls, eyes tracing the cobweb of scars that leak shadow and regret. Still beautiful. A man to be treasured, a patchwork soul reassembled from the darkness, learning to embrace love and life again.

In that soft quietness of post-sex sleep, you think a truce has been reached between the light and the dark; Jason makes peace with life as he sleeps, his face relaxing into something more fitting the youth of his years. Since you swore to protect him, there have been less nightmares and more magic in his dreams. Now there's a hint of sweetness in the faint smile on his face. You glimpse the man he deserves to be beneath the scars and fluttering lashes.

You lose yourself in this vision of beauty: a broken soldier with a heart of glass, that gentle hands and tender words have helped put back together, piece by piece. Not in your image- never so selfish as to put your wants above his needs- but in the hope of Jason finding peace, of finding something just for him, that reminds him to be happy.

You need this for him. He's yours, after all. Your charge. Your protégé. Dragged back from the depths of the underworld and given a second chance at breath. His happiness is proof to all of you angels out there, watching over the fallen, that reaped souls may find solace in kindness, in pleasure.

That it's never too late to give up on your dreams of, someday, hopefully, being reborn yourself.

Those clipped and shadowy wings of yours might be invisible to all but him, but he knows who you are, deep down. He denies it. He believes you're somehow better.

But you're just as broken as he is, aren't you? You fell in the hopes of helping someone, and they turned your sacrifice into shackles that bloom from your shoulders, transformed your spirit into a guardian angel.

And his happiness- in your arms, or wherever it may be- lets you believe in your own.

[maskeddevotion]

Blackbird on your Shoulder

Omni-Mark x F!reader

Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, begging, crying during sex, oral, fingering, implied bromance somewhere

WC: 11.7k

Read on AO3 here.

That impassive, icy exterior tells you nothing, except that he is an unrepentant asshole war criminal with a tendency to lurk where he's unwanted.

He's not your Mark Grayson.

But Omni-Mark- what a stupid name- is trying so hard to atone. A quiet, self-effacing hero cast upon the backdrop of your GDA-life...

Why is he here? Why does he keep trying? No amount of good deeds can wash the blood from his hands.

And why does this stupid, pathetic shadow of a man hang on your every word?

Hate is so easy, but love is much harder.

"Please. Please say yes." He looks up at you, his deep, soulful brown eyes haunted. Pain digs furrows into his boyish face, ages him beyond the trials of the wars he's fought. His fingers wrap around your thighs, bracing himself against the pillar of your humanity, praying for your mercy, for your surrender. "Please… I'd do anything."

"Mark," you hiss. "Not here. Not now."

Especially not now.

You hear the cries of fussing children, mothers and fathers calming their charges in quiet, fearful tones, hidden further inside the caves. Earth's last bastion of fortified defence has been reduced to a network of caves on the European continent.

"I'll give you anything- anything at all. Just name it!" His voice is breathy with desperation. "Please. Just say yes."

Your attention snaps to him, eyes burning with an anger so potent it threatens to consume you whole. It's been a little over two years since you chose to stand by his side. You watched him face the worst a world could offer, saw him teeter on the brink of boyhood and fall into being a man.

Or maybe he'd always been one. Maybe he'd never been a boy at all, and the passing days had only made him wearier, sadder and more lost in himself. When was the last time you saw him smile?

You cup his face as gently as you can muster, but you still feel the agony in your heart, coursing through your body like a thick, viscous poison. "How can you give me anything? You've already given the Earth away. To them. You've got nothing left."

[maskeddevotion]

Some Original Content

I'm on holiday at the moment. I flew overseas to visit family.

I worked on some Original Content whilst flying. I've been thinking a lot about selective mutism in the face of trauma; I have some experience with being non-verbal whilst dealing with prolonged trauma, so this might be a form of self-reflection or processing. Who knows. Dress it up in a third person narrative and it makes it easier to handle, right? Haha...

I've posted What's in a Name on Patreon. It's free to read (I've adjusted my Patreon to make it free with optional tipping, please don't feel obligated to pay or whatever). 💜

[packoreo]

Please. Your art style is so good. I'm a Tumblr newb and I saw your Len art pop up, missed the chance to follow you, THEN SPENT THREE DAYS TRYING TO FIND IT AGAIN. 🤣 (How can I be so bad at this oml. 😨)

I hope it's not a bother to ask, but if you have time, would you do a doodle of stupid pyjama boy Shiesty Mark? I have totally normal, absolutely sane levels of affection for him. 🥹🥰

Dw i often face the same problem trying to find people i know on tumblr too, IT IS A PAIN but ty for liking my art ‼️ 💗

Anyway, here’s your beloved Shiesty, thank you so much for the request 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️🩷. I’ve been looking for an excuse to point out how funny his lack of gloves is and this was perfect

[masked-sym-speaks]

I AM NOT NORMAL. I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS RIGHT NOW. 🥹🥰

[maskeddevotion]

Hiii, i hope you’re doing well! I came from ao3, from that one jason todd fic. This is just a humble request, if you could continue to write it?☺️ of course it’s no bother to accept this request. Thank you so much for writing such an amazing fic❤️❤️

Hey! I'm not sure which fic you're talking about- I haven't published on AO3, so you may have been looking through my bookmarks maybe. 🤔

I do beta read for laptopsocks Under Pressure, who does incredible Jason Todd characterisation. 😍 So lucky I get to work with a lot of talented writers. 🥰

Hopefully you're able to get your Jason fix. 💜

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[wumblr]

all of the numbers that are divisible by 17 sound so absurd. 51? 68? 85? ridiculous. 102? absolutely not. and don't even get me started on 119

[wumblr]

34 and 136 i can believe, but i feel like i shouldn’t. it’s 102 in a trench coat

[red-swimmerz-deactivated2021082]

did we just run out of posts to make

[wumblr]

no, i haven't made a post about every number yet

[swinginsportscutebasketball]

I'm sorry to let you know that 100,000,001 (one hundred million and one) is divisible by 17 and because of that, so is every 16-digit number that is four digits repeated four times e.g. 1234123412341234

[wumblr]

[maskeddevotion]

oh my brain. 🥹🥰 this feels so good.

[greenfinchg-illustration]

Day 11- #MerMay2026

🐚 - Merthology - 🐚

[maskeddevotion]

Some people post dream body pics, and I'm just saying, I could get *so much done*. 😎

[maskeddevotion]

Eeep! So sorry!

Hey folks! I'm so sorry- I deleted the Tumblr app and forgot to check the phone browser. I'm not dead, I'm just busy. 😅🫣 (Work has been crazy and bad, but I am also more active on Discord.)

Right, down to business! For those who were asking about playable fics posted on Glimmer, I have a list of what's happening. (Kinda.)

Legacy of Blood is undergoing its 3rd overhaul. There was a crazy amount of writing in the background/author portal- like, 30k-50k words. Glimmer was suffering really badly with context and memory issues because of this. This affected the quality of the story, so I'm in the process of rewriting and condensing everything. Testing is going well, but it still has struggles with transitions and tone. 🫠 this is killing me. I want to cry.

Advent of Blood: the OG. If you've played this and want to cry/hurt Mask, valid. I hear you. This isn't actively being written right now. (It was initially meant to be a one-shot game fic, a friend asked for a cabin in the woods style scenario.) Episode 3 is drafted in my head, but the problem with Advent is that it'll suffer the same issues as OG Legacy in that, the background writing is too much for Glimmer.

Advent of Love: the smaller, single-variant continuation of Advent of Blood. This is feasibly the better series to continue. It got unpublished when I tried to leave Glimmer altogether. (Addiction is terrible. I am a weak woman. 🫣) I don't know that I'd bring this back, since Advent of Blood is there. No idea. Honestly probably not.

Grayson VS Grayson: if you ever played one of my first big fics, wow. 🥹🥰 You stuck around way longer than I thought. (I'm honoured, seriously. I don't know what to say and I'm uncomfortable with this feeling.) It ran really well on V1, but it's pants on V2 (yet again, too much writing in the background. Glimmer weeps.) I was readapting it and rewriting for V2, but it's a huge project. Slow work. I still have the old episode 3 partly written- I think about 3k of prose so far. 😞 Not high on the priority list for now.

I am working on some cool writing projects in May. I'm on a little 3-person writing committee for a 20 person event. I've been introduced to DiscoverWrite and I've got three stories in various states of progress drafted for there. Love writing. 🥰

Tldr: Legacy isn't dead, just needed another SERIOUS rework to help Glimmer cope. Hope to have it back up by the end of May at the latest. Sorry for not being active here. 🙏💜

[maskeddevotion]

Hey, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but it is illegal to be placing your fanfiction behind a paywall! You can very much be sued for it and websites like patreon, ko-fi, even ao3/tumblr/watrpad, etc. will not let you make money in any capacity off of fan produced works featuring characters you don’t have the rights to for legal reasons as copyright and IP owning companies (like DC) can and have previously involved these websites in lawsuits because of it

Hey there! Thanks for writing and sharing your concerns. ❤️

I definitely don't intend to break any rules, and will comply with any letters or demands made in regard to my works. :)

I started Patreon in the hopes of sharing my writing processes.

- All fandom content is published freely in due course (being a Patreon sub gives you early access)

- Some fandom content will be written and published solely on Patreon, but freely available to all paying and non-paying members (lottery prompt fics)

- Original works (fantasy and sci-fi fiction) and early drafts of longform fics are on Patreon until published in their appropriate places.

I don't want anyone to feel forced to support me financially in any way. I'm just grateful to talk to friends, fellow writers and anyone who might be a fan on a platform that feels cosy and open to interaction. ❤️

Thanks for your patience! 😊

[maskeddevotion]

Sparks

Guess who got soft-modded by Patreon again. :') I'm going to try and appeal it, but in the meantime, early release of Sparks!

Maybe ko-fi is better, who knows...

Ahh, villain!Dick, you have captured my heart for some time now. I don't know why I'm so obsessed with secret!dom Dick. I think it's this idea that someone so pure, so genuine, so utterly committed to heroics, has a dark side that needs just as much love and attention as the rest of him.

I apologise in advance if I haven't caught all the warnings/tags here. <3

Tags: Gender neutral reader, Villain!Dick, Vigilante!Reader

Warnings: estim, sadomasochism, bondage, noncon/dubcon, fear kink, disassociation, choking on p, praise and degradation, training, bulging throat

wc: 2.7K

Gotham is drenched in a deluge that turns darkness to ink, and makes every shadow come alive. You feel him before you hear him: a firm grip wrapping around the back of your neck, lifting you bodily off the ground to a gasp of surprise. Footsteps muffled by the rain, a form made of darkness, a slash of blue, the sleekness of a predator.

"Finally found you." He leans in close, a breath against your ear. You can hear the wide smile in his voice. The pleased purr of dangerous desire wraps itself around your mind. "To think Red Hood wants to put a bullet through your head and call it done. A waste. He's never appreciated subtlety."

You shiver. You can't help yourself. Of the murderous Bat-family, who maintain their iron control over Gotham with ruthless brutality, this is probably the most terrifying one. Devastatingly charming and as equally twisted, Nightwing doesn't take prisoners, he takes prey.

Before you can struggle, he's pulling you against his firm, rain-slick chest, his lips brushing your neck as he tastes your skin. The hand that gripped your nape releases you, reaching instead for the grapple and line he uses to fly around the city. Cord wraps around your body, immobilising you completely as he pulls it taut, and then with a practiced throw he hoists you up to the vigilant gargoyle overhead.

This is what Nightwing does. He plays with his food before he devours them.

"You sunuva…" You thrash helplessly, twisting in the web of carbon rope and knots binding you.

"Such a pretty little face, and a filthy little mouth to go with it." He smirks up at you, grabbing your ankle to haul you a little closer. The pulley system is rudimentary but effective. He tugs the rope, you go up; he pulls on you and down you go: a toy for his amusement.

His smile is wicked, teeth glinting razor sharp in the moonlight as he drags you closer. He fists your compression top, crowding against you in a dizzying sensation of weightless shadow; then drowns you in the first of biting passions- a kiss that sears itself into your body, a possession so intense you shudder with weakness. His teeth pull at your bottom lip, and he grins into your muffled moan. There's a hint of copper in your mouth before his tongue thrusts deep, his hand tangling in your hair to hold you in place.

There's no escaping him. Even if you could, would you choose to? Death lays below you, on the shadowy streets of this living hellscape. His rough hands on your skin is better than a quick and splattered end.

"I knew you'd taste good. All sweetness and hope." Nightwing murmurs. His hand shifts from your hair to your jaw, tilting your face to admire you in the weeping starlight. Then he pushes on the tip of your chin, stretching your throat for him in an elegant arc. There's a tense moment where he seems to consider where he might draw crimson lines upon your body, imagining the best places to make you bleed. But then he drags his thumb against your bottom lip, savouring your whimper, coating it in a red sheen with your bloody saliva. "Still, so pretty. It'd be a shame to break you too quickly."

He yanks harder on you now, pushing your face against the solid muscle of his abdomen. Chiselled from marble beneath the dark of his outfit, you're sure of it. Your heart catches in your throat as the smell of him, musk and overpowering masculinity, lightning and rain, fills your senses. He's dragging your face over his crotch, letting you feel just how real his want for you is. The hardening cock beneath your cheek and mouth makes you far too aware of your own vulnerability, bound and trussed, hanging from one of Gotham's oldest sentinels.

"Fuck. You." You hiss in a breath, trying to jerk your head away. His grip tightens and he grins down at you, his whisper teasing against your ear.

"Maybe you'll be lucky. Maybe."

Easy enough for him to unsheathe himself, to drag his cock out and jerk it in a few, rough strokes. Before you have a moment to appreciate the serious piece of equipment he's normally covering up, he's shoving the tip against your lips, smearing precum over your face. Slightly salty, deliciously pungent, something inside of you wakes up in a needy growl. You can't help it as your tongue darts out to taste, nor do you think too hard about the sudden throb between your legs as your blood rushes to unexpected places.

He holds you by the hair of your scalp, keeping your mouth open by sticking a finger in the hinge of your jaw. "Good. Take it." It's a simple command. His dick is hot and thick, invasive and filling as he forces himself down your throat. "I like you when you're quiet."

The words set off a scream of defiance inside of your mind, but it translates, loosely, to a garbled groan around his girth. He stops you from biting down by keeping his finger there- you can feel his index curling inside, pressing against the wet skin of your inner mouth, catching your teeth. His hips surge forwards, but he's using the momentum of the pulley too, dragging you onto his dick, watching you as your eyes widen and water with shimmering, pleading tears. "So beautiful. They could never appreciate as fine a thing as you…" The growling and the posturing have fallen away now; his voice has softened, his gaze captivated by how your throat stretches for him.

Your mind goes blank, maybe with shock, but certainly at the fullness of his dick as it rubs against the narrowing of your throat. He groans gently into the night, slowly inching you right down to the base, pressing you to his abdomen. It's so complete a taking that your sense of self dissipates where he touches you, where he fills you up. The primal need for air wars with that deep sense of losing yourself in him. You'd let him string you up again, you'd let him fuck himself into your mouth, filling you until all you can think and breathe is him. Nightwing.

Gently he pulls back a little, and you gasp, choking for that precious air that clears the dark spots from your vision. You sway in his grip, weightless and suspended, and then he pistons into you again. Again and again, his dick strikes the back of your throat until you're stuffed full of him, choking, gasping, gagging. His fingers move down from your mouth, gently rubbing against the mound he's creating inside of your throat. "So good… have you done this before? Were you someone else's slut before you were mine?"

And by god, are you his. He's going to make you his before the night is out. You can feel it in the trembling of your pressed thighs, the way your head wants to slump over his dick and lick him up. If it weren't for the tight grip of his hand fisting your hair, you're sure you'd be prostrate before him in a daze.

His thrusts are decisive if shallow, giving you a chance to breathe every time he pulls back. He strokes your chin, murmurs encouragement for you to use your tongue. Your brain has turned to mush in his iron grip, your tongue wrapping around his shaft, curling along the frenulum and making him jerk and shudder into you. Saliva drips from the corners of your mouth, mingling with the tears falling down your cheeks and over your chin. "Like a dog, really. I could train you. You'd be so good for me." His fist relaxes, stroking your hair as he pumps back and forth inside of your mouth a few more times. Then he pulls away, not giving you the treat you crave. "Tell me. Tell me you'll be good. Stop interfering with Gotham, and I'll give you everything you twisted little mind desires."

Why is his smile so angelic, when the truth is Nightwing is a demon born to torment you?

You nod, shakily, because you're still catching your breath. You don't even know why. Gotham under the rule of the Bats has been a place of darkness and terror. You can't remember the last time you felt peace, except now, when Nightwing was spearing you on his dick. "'m good… please…"

The thought of him holding you tight, of never letting you go… you're different, right? Special? He won't hurt you like he would the rest, right?

He chuckles softly. "I know. I know you will be. I'll teach you." He draws out one of his escrima sticks, the glow of blue electricity twisting his face into something monstrous. He studies it for a moment, touching the base of it so the blue glow fades. "Here, now. It's a simple request. Ask for what you want nicely."

He slides the weapon between your legs, and a crackle of electricity sends a heated jolt against your most sensitive parts. You twist in the ropes, bucking and flailing, seeking escape he'll never give. The current travels through you, setting your nerves on fire, making you gasp.

"Please. Please let me go."

He draws the half-staff back, tilting his head. "That's not what you want. Come on, ask properly."

He rubs it against your sensitive spots again. Your back arcs, grunting as the surge of electricity fills you with a throbbing, pulsing heat, your body rocking helplessly as the sweetest parts of you sing in unwanted ecstasy. "N-no… not…" You can barely form words, torn apart by the pleasure and the pain he's gifting you.

"You can do it." It's such a wide smile, it'd swallow the night. It'd devour you whole. The electrical current amps up at a touch of his thumb and you gasp, feeling your body seizing as waves of pained pleasure override your mind and your will. "Do it. Say it. Ask for it."

"Please…" Your voice cracks, a sob breaking free of your control. The tears come back, falling in earnest as you feel yourself cum. "Please. Please give… me… give me… your cock…" The words tumble out in a helpless moan as you fuck yourself into the ropes, seeking friction, anything to drive your mind from empty to full of him. The intense pleasure makes your back prickle and arch uselessly against the bonds.

"Ah, there we go. Of course! Yes. Anything to make you good." He's pulling the escrima stick away, stroking your cheek like you've been the best behaved pet in the world.

You've cum, after all. It's a beautiful show. You've soaked your underwear, leaving a slick chafe between your thighs that makes you whine with need. Nightwing's self-satisfied chuckle matches the lazy feline smirk. It paints his face in shades of earnest sadism, all feral and unhinged around the edges. "I like it when you're obedient. Shows you're clever. That you're mine." His voice is a soft and gentle purr, a reward for all the hard work you've shown him so far.

He hauls you closer, bundling you to his side. Corded biceps twitch against your waist, a reminder that he owns your body now. Soon he'll stake a claim on your soul.

He jumps, running up the concrete wall with the help of the rope in one hand, his body a perfect moving image of the athletic acrobat he was born to be. If the air hadn't been squished out of you during his somersault flip onto the back of the gargoyle, you might have gasped in amazement. As it is, you barely have enough time to blink and gather your wits before he's pressing your body down against the stone guardian, shoving your face over the precipice, making you stare at a grisly death twenty stories below.

"You're going to be good, right?" He murmurs close to your ear. Your mouth is too dry for words, but you nod, body shaking in his hands. He grips your hips now, his balance flawless as he manhandles you against him.

He rips your vigilante suit with little preamble and only slightly more finesse, his fingers finding your wet hole in a matter of moments. "What a mess… damned delightful." He murmurs, one gloved finger slipping inside, curling to find your weakness. He grins as your hips jerk against him. "Ah ah… don't move too much, wouldn't want you to fall."

With those words, he grabs you, one hand on your neck, the other on the bottom of your torn suit, and hauls you over the edge.

Your heart stops for one frantic moment, a final beat as you confront your death. The world spins, black and grey, rain and road, buildings and a man above you who doesn't care if you live or die. You're not special, you're not his toy, not his food, not his favourite. Your whole body lurches as gravity tries to take you away from him. Your core clenches, your whole body tightening, slick and wanting.

But he hasn't let you go. There's no tumbling into deadly darkness. He's forcing you face first back onto the uncaring gargoyle, making you eat the stone with your cheek. "See? Trust me, not a good way to go… I've seen it happen before." He pets you, a frightened animal to be reassured. "Relax. I'll make you feel better. I'll take good care of you."

You don't speak in words again, but your delicious little moans do all the talking for you. You mewl and writhe as a second finger enters, now scissoring, curling, reaching inside of you for that sweet spot that'll make you believe in gods again. He thrusts hard, determined to rip the pleasure from you whether you like it or not. When you cum with a cry, he continues to fuck you hard with his fingers, growling as you whimper and submit to him. "Perfect. Just like that. You're already such a slut for me…"

He's pleased. He's really pleased with you. And he's going to show you just how much by thrusting brutally into your opened hole. You've hardly caught your breath, still coming down from the last orgasm when he spreads you open, stretching you, making you gasp and groan again. "Take it, just stay with me and take it. You can do this." The gentle encouragement is underlined by brutal thrusts of his hips, the slap of his pelvis and thighs against your body as thunderous as the storm itself.

"Hnn. Hhrrnn. Nnghh… Nightwing… please…" You're begging now, hanging over the gargoyle, gripping its morose head for dear life as the world spins beneath you. The pleasure short-circuits your brain, turning you into some simple, needy creature, begging for his cock.

"Shh, that's it. That's right. I'm here, I've got you. Gonna fill you right up, mark you so you never forget the night you broke for me, okay?" Why is his voice so sweet when his cock is committing your body to sin? Your hips thrust up, presenting, a silent plea for more, and he groans in his own pleasure. He pulls you against his chest, and with a final, brutal thrust, impales you deep. Nightwing's whole body shudders, tense, as thick ropes of cum fill you up. Your own climax comes at the sensation of his hot seed spilling inside of you, colour and sound exploding inside of your mind, blanketing your senses in a tempest of dopamine and desire.

You're not you anymore- you're just an extension of his will, you're just the body he holds to warm his dick, to carve himself into your soul.

He holds you close as he pants for breath in your ear. "You're my favourite, you know? Been watching you for ages now… Always knew you were different. Special. I'm glad I got you first. Glad I get to keep you now…"

And you whine, in need, in desperation for his touch, because this is where you belong: right here in his arms, perched on the end of his cock.

[maskeddevotion]

Sparks - Promo

I've been obsessed with Villain!Dick for ages now, and this took me like a lightning strike sometime last week. I've been really unwell for a few months now, and finally got things sorted out 2ish? weeks ago. So writing isn't quite like drawing blood from a stone anymore. Sparks is already on Patreon for early access! I'll release it here on Tumblr in a couple of days! (It's Wednesday here, so probably Friday night. <3)

Tags: Gender neutral reader, Villain!Dick, Vigilante!Reader

Warnings: estim, sadomasochism, bondage, noncon/dubcon, fear kink, disassociation, choking on p, praise and degradation, training, bulging throat

Word count: 2.7k

Little teaser below the cut!

Why is his smile so angelic, when the truth is that Nightwing is a demon born to torment you?

You nod, shakily, because you're still catching your breath. You don't even know why. Gotham under the rule of the Bats has been a place of darkness and terror. You can't remember the last time you felt peace, except now, when Nightwing was spearing you on his dick. "'m good… please…"

The thought of him holding you tight, of never letting you go… you're different, right? Special? He won't hurt you like he would the rest, right?

He chuckles softly. "I know. I know you will be. I'll teach you." He draws out one of his escrima sticks, the glow of blue electricity twisting his face into something monstrous. He studies it for a moment, touching the base of it so the blue glow fades. "Here, now. It's a simple request. Ask for what you want nicely."

He slides the weapon between your legs, and a crackle of electricity sends a heated jolt against your most sensitive parts. You twist in the ropes, bucking and flailing, seeking escape he'll never give. The current travels through you, setting your nerves on fire, making you gasp.

💜💙 Tip jar tier gives you early access, but no pressure or stress! 💙💜

Sparks | Splatter Ink Sym

Get more from Splatter Ink Sym on Patreon

[maskeddevotion]

Hello! I hope this doesn't come off as rude, I really like your writing, but could you maybe please tag the works that mention a belly bulge? I only ask because it pretty much codes the reader as skinny, and as someone who's plus size, it's honestly a bit distressing to run into with no warning.

Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to cause distress in any way. I'll go ahead and tag that in the warnings over the course of the day!

I'm new to Tumblr and reader insert writing as a whole (always been more of a third person novellist) so I'm still finding my feet with tags and writing style in general. 😊 Thanks for your patience whilst I learn! ❤️

[maskeddevotion]

Valentine's Day with Mark Grayson(s)

Cake Wars

I tried to write something small for Valentine's Day and it was not small. Haaaaa.

Warnings: Bondage, breeding kink, exhibitionism, degradation, abduction?, foodplay, forced dating?, belly bulge, possible substance use?

Main!Mark: 464

Lensless!Mark: 1052

Shiesty!Mark: 584

Mohawk!Mark: 755

Omni!Mark: 1382

Viltrum!Mark: 1002

Sinister!Mark: 1627

Total WC: 6.8k

Main!Mark pulls out all the stops… to make sure the house is empty! Mom and Paul are out-out, and going back to his. Ollie is doing his first human friend sleep-over. And you? He's been promising you quality time for months. ("Sorry Cecil, better call your backup heroes, cause my phone is off!") The bed exists somewhere under a mountain of rose petals, and Mark definitely took the challenge of speed-lighting one hundred candles seriously. (Hard to do as a Viltrumite due to air displacement.)

He wants blindfolds, dipping sauces and strawberries. He wants slow kisses and a strip-tease to the god-awful sleazy jazzy playlist Music Streaming App suggested for V-Day. And when he lays you down on his bed, as gently as a lamb but grinning like a wolf, he wants our sweet, whole-hearted moans. He wants those ahs to be punctured with praise for him. "Oh god! Yes Mark! Right there!" Oh, those gentle first strokes are tender, expressing all of his love for you, for your unending patience. Then he's rougher, faster, harder, to a chorus of bed squeaks and your screams of his name. "God, don't stop Mark! Keep going! More, more!" He drags your thighs close around his waist, his super-powered grip on your hips as he works into you. Your pleasure is his heart's desire, his cock digging deeper into the soft piece of heaving, rubbing against your velvety wet walls. His cockhead kisses your womb and you squirm and mewl beneath him. "Come on, sweetie. Let's come together." He smiles at you, with such radiant love that you forgive him for taking away your ability to breathe or form a coherent sentence. You've gone gaga for his cock and that's okay.

Because you know, after he comes inside of you, he'll take good care of you. Three heavy, final thrusts of his dick, stretching you out to an impossible fullness, and he's buried deep. Hot seed fills you, tiny little grunting thrusts pushing it deeper, overwhelming your already sensitive cunt. You can feel the rush of your own orgasm, the hot flush of your cheeks as you know he's marked you so fully from the inside. Your pussy clenches, milking the last of him as he groans, back arching, a beautiful curved profile in the candlelight. As you come down, you whine softly, thighs pressing around him, core clenching as you try to force him out. "Sorry sweetie, did I overdo it?" He's sheepish but not regretful as he pulls out. He leans down, kissing your clit, humming in appreciation for how you taste of both of you. Your shiver of anticipation makes him grin, his face brightening. "Oh yeah? Want more? Cause I will never stop loving you baby… And I have you all night."

Lensless!Mark approaches Valentine's Day like a game, much like everything else in his life. He's hidden a bingo sheet under his pillow of all the nasty things he wants to do to your body. Who's going to moan the loudest? You. Who's going to have fifteen orgasms? You. Who's going to pass out out and wake up with cum-face? Well, a boy can dream, but let's be real here: you. He's gone the extra mile for this fuck-fest and loaded up with a collection of sugary treats and energy drinks. Cans of whipped cream, gummy snakes, heart candy and sour straps line his chest of drawers.

But the piece de resistance is the harness and pulley system he's rigged in his room, a step further in the rope games the two of you enjoy together. Colourful soft silk looks beautiful wound around your body, pressing into your delicate skin. The expertly woven knots create tight pressure and no pain. Even now, he's grinning as he ties you up on his bed, wolf whistling when he finishes. "Look. at. you, babes. My little snack, all trussed up and ready to go." He gathers you up in his arms, kissing you like he's trying to inhale your hair, deep and moaning into your mouth. He nips your lip as you part for him, then trails hot kisses down your neck as he carries you over to the harness. He straps you in with wandering hands, squeezing your breasts made prominent by the shibari, squeezing the fat of your thigh to watch you shudder and gasp. He loves knowing he can have you anywhere, unresisting. And you love knowing he's taken the time to slow down, to stay still, to focus wholly on your body.

He starts with the whipped cream. He shakes the can, and sprays the cold delicacy all over your nipples and breasts. His other hand settles between your thighs, stroking the intimate creases where hip meets pelvis, a teasing, trailing sensation against your sensitive skin. "You know what to say if this gets too much…" He murmurs, his eyes devouring you already. He leans down, pierced tongue darting over your erect nipples, lapping up creaming and making you buck into the rope. The other hand moves unerringly between your slick folds, stroking your slick over the lips of your pussy. He hums in delight around your breast, grinning as you groan in want. His index finger flicks your clit as he nips the point of your boob, catching it in his teeth before sucking. As you buck in the ropes weightlessly in the ropes, his index finger slips inside you, unfurling expertly, stroking down the walls of your cunt until he finds the spot that makes you sing.

Len knows how to unmake you. Your body has been his playground for a while now, and you're his favourite toy. He, proudly, loudly claims he was made for two things in life: fighting and fucking you. He's good at both. A second finger stretches you out, and he's rubbing his cheeks into your creamed up breasts, a sigh of contentment as he makes a mess out of both him and you. His fingers pump faster, listening to your heart as you moan and twitch in the gentle prison he's made for you. "Babes, you sound so good like this. Oh yeah, gonna make you cum. I can hear it in your heart. Sing my name! Do it." A third finger now, a stretching pressure that makes you lose your mind. "Be good for me and I'll give you even more." He purrs, licking your body as you squirt around his hand. "Oh fuck, soaking me already? Fuck, you're so slutty." He says it like it's the highest praise- and as you clench around him, head tilting back as you moan for him, it really is the nicest thing he's called you today.

"That's one babes. Let's go for more!" He sing-songs in that sweet, frustrating way of his. He pulls his fingers out, rubbing your cunt with the heel of his palm to watch you shudder in overstimulation. And then he's back with the whipped cream, spraying the whole of your front, drawing patterns in cream and laughing to himself. He presses heart candy into your nipples, and then grabs what looks like a giant shaker. "Look baby! I even got sprinkles for you." You stare up at him in a daze. Because he's about to sprinkle all over you. That boyish laugh is an infection and you're sick for him.

The multicoloured sprinkles turn your body into a wrapped up rainbow of sugary delight. He moves now, adjusting your body slightly on the harness. The suspension makes you feel weightless, a doll for him to touch and move as he so desires. "Ooh, so wet." He murmurs, pressing his hard cock against your entrance, teasing you with the tip as he covers himself in your slick. "So tight. You always take me so good." Like he hasn't done this a million times already- somehow still loving how fucking tight you get for him when he pushes into you in one solid stroke. He holds you steady as the force of him makes you swing away, and before you have time to adjust to him, before you can catch your breath, he's pulling back out and then in with a slap of skin against skin. His moans are just as filthy and sweet as yours. "Fuck yes! Fuck! Always wanted to fuck a cake!"

He pulls you around him, pressing deeper inside of you until you're sweating through the ropes at the impact of his cock against your walls. He leans down, licking stripes along your cream-covered navel. He rubs the bulge he makes in your pelvis, watching himself with a feral grin and an expression of awe as he holds his pace and fucks in tiny little strokes, hitting the spongy wall where cunt meets cervix. "Gonna cum!" He mutters, pulling out even as you squeeze his dick tight, hand shifting to rub himself out all over your stomach. His eyes are glued to the mess he makes, fingers mixing through the cum and cream all over you. "Awww, you make the sweetest little cum-cake. Cumcakes, that's your new name."

Shiesty!Mark doesn't give two shits about Valentine's Day, and is an asshole. But fortunately he's dating an asshole too, and you're about to remind him exactly why he should be worshipping you at your feet. It starts with him creeping home at ungodly hours of the morning, then him stretched out on your bed, arms folding behind his head in a rare moment of relaxation. You tug his stupid tracksuit pants down, hoisting down his boxers, and then you're gripping him, stroking his dick until he's firm and heavy in your hands, his thick girth leaking beads of precum to a gentle melody of him groaning and cursing you for teasing him in equal measures.

You bow your head over his member, coquette beneath a veil of thick lashes, kiss the tip and lick the salty cum, and then bite him. Hard.

"FUCK!" His body jolts, pushing himself to sitting as he stares in disbelief at you. You press your hand on his chest and push hard, although he doesn't move unless he wants to. "You forgot about Valentine's Day?" You ask, grinning up at him from where your hold his dick as a prisoner. "Didn't forget… just don't give a fuck about one day when I can have you whenever I want." Gruff but somehow soft, a plea that's wrapped up in his force of will, his desperate desire to conquer you without needing to be conquered in turn.

"Uh huh. Sure buddy. Sure." You bend your head again and his body is still. You can feel the tension in his abdomen from where he's trying not to squirm, not so how how much he's waiting for the next bit of pain or pleasure you'll give him. You open your mouth wider, your cunt clenching as you swallow the meat of him, tongue wrapping around his shaft. His pleased moan of triumph quickly turns to another cursed fuck as you graze your teeth up and down his length, letting him feel how exquisitely you can manipulate him through his dick, how quickly he'll say whatever needs to be said just to get you to play nice for a moment. Your pull off until your teeth catch his tip, the pressure just enough to hold him place. His face is wide, brown eyes full of wonder and adoration as you hold him there on the edge.

And then you bite down again, and he bucks, groaning once more. You can't hurt him, not really- Viltrumite dick is as tough as it is hard when they're ready to go. But the sensation isn't lost on him, the pain turning to pleasure as you suck and bite him in equal measure. "Fucking hell…" He mutters, and then submits to your touch at last, watching with a dazed expression of love as you punish him for forgetting again. He cums in your mouth, filling your throat with a thick, salty load. Before you've even pulled off, he's holding your arms, hoisting you bodily over him until he can rip a hole in your pants and seat you on his still-hard cock. "You wanna play dirty babe? Gonna hold you here and impale you over and over again until you cry. Got it? I'm gonna show you the best fucking day just to shut you up." And then he laughs as he makes good on his promise and threat, bouncing you up and down on his cock until you're gushing over him, pleading for him to cum.

Mohawk!Mark expects the gifts and the adulation- it's what he's used to, after all. He chased you hard until you finally said yes, and the afterglow of triumph still carries through every moment he fucks you, smug and smirking, until you're begging for him to release you. Loving Mohawk isn't easy, but he always goes extra hard when you call him 'my king', 'my emperor', or fuck forbid, 'master'. It's more than just a kink- it's the natural order of things in his mind. You, on your knees, servicing him, is the way the world should be.

So imagine his confusion when he bursts through the door of your shared apartment and you greet him with an off-hand wave, busy with your own self-care routine involving a lot of towels and nail polish. The shit-eating grin falls away, replaced by something meaner, a dark look of furrowed brows and sharp teeth. The air grows more and more heated. You flow from one activity to the next, never leaving yourself open, dancing with danger as the tension escalates. It's not long before he's catching your wrist, trying to pull you into him, and you're having to bat him away with a hand. "Not now, Mark. Give me five minutes." Five minutes, ten minutes, there's always another five to go. He's trailing you in a way that says it's entirely accidental, but his eyes never leave your face, never leave that slowly growing smile as the teasing ramps up.

It's when you're getting changed from sweats to a cute little dress that he snarls- a pure, animalistic sound that vibrates from head to toe. "I know what you're fucking doing." You turn that sweet smile on his face, batting your eyelashes in a picture of innocence. "What's that?" You prompt, and his dark look of fury turns into a grin, still just as potent, but now vicious in the way he wants to rip you apart. "Testing me. Taunting me. Acting like you're too good for me. Well, fuck you too."

"Oh, really?" Your voice is so sweet it's liquid syrup in the air. You turn to him, your body an open invitation, boobs packed tight into a dress two sizes too small and a hem too high to be reasonable. His eyes travel the length of you and you can practically feel the huff of air from his nose.

"Fuck. I'm going to fucking ruin you. Get here now." It's that deep, bossy timbre that sets you off, a mad little giggle that delights in his fury. He doesn't wait, he's too hungry for that, but he crosses the room in two long strides and pushes you up against the wall. "You fucking little tease, look at this. You've been playing me all day." He mutters into your ear, but his hand has reached beneath the flimsy cotton of your dressed and pulled your panties aside. He strokes the slick, sweet as anything, and then shoves his fingers in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, breath hitching. "Taste that?! Know what that is? That's you, fucking praying I'll open your legs tonight and fuck you into tomorrow." He laughs, a low sound that tickles against your neck. Then he's biting your neck, sucking huge hickeys into delicate skin.

He's a fast worker when he wants to be, effective and practically cruel in his treatment of his employees. First it's up against the wall, spreading you with his knees whilst he frees his cock and fucks you, clothes still on. Then it's on the bed, your face planted into the covers, your dress around your waist as he holds your arms back and fucks you like a doll. He grunts when he cums, slapping your ass and chuckling roughly at the sound of your moans. The third time he comes, he's holding your hip with one hand and the back of your neck with the other, folding you against him so he can work deep inside of you. You're bruised, ego shattered, and mewling for more as he fills you with his cum, sticky seed spilling out and running down your thighs. "You love being used. Love it when I can fill you up over and over again. Tell me you fucking love me."

And you do. In a broken whisper, ego shattered beneath your emperor's touch, you tell him how much you love it when he fucks you into a stupor.

He does it again, just because he loves the sound of your moans.

Omni!Mark is so soft and sweet with you, and Valentine's Day is a Big Day in his internal calendar of events. He never got a chance to make it meaningful until he met you, and so he goes way, way overboard. It starts with a restaurant meal, but he's booked out the whole restaurant in some fantasied idea that that privacy is better this way. There's a cook, a waiter, and the two of you; he's picked out every meal, lost sleep over pairings and trying to figure out whether you'd be in the mood for salmon or steak.

But he's here now, the picture of formality in a handsome button down shirt and a blaze that cuts his muscular figure in sharp, beautiful lines. Omni, in a suit that isn't red and white, that doesn't flutter with a cape… Somehow more vulnerable and undressed than he's ever been before, the hesitant smile, the shy gaze as he holds out your seat for you. Of course, you're dressed to the nines as well, something that catches the eye and makes a dent in his mind. You can tell he's lost the moment you arrive because his breath catches and his words fail. Speechless? Omni does silence, but not like this, not in a way that suggests his brain is entirely broken by the very vision of your beauty.

Every breath is measured, the conversation unnaturally stilted as the entree arrives (a shared tapas of dips, cured meat and pickled veg). Omni is holding his breath, waiting for your first bite as a sign of approval. Your smile is warm, cheeks flushing beneath his observant gaze. His thoughts hatch a million dreams of how this night might end. You only imagine one.

With the second course- vodka cured salmon salad- the conversation exploded after an accidental dollop of sweet mustard turned Omni as bright red as his costume. The fumbling evaporated, laughter easing the nerves. His knees brush yours beneath the table- an impossibility unless he stretches…

The third course- beef Wellington- comes with sparkling red cocktails. The strawberry liquer and dark berries hides the white wine well, giving you courage. You lean forwards and capture him in a daring kiss, letting him taste the sweet poison you both so eagerly sip. He lingers, his breath warm against your jewel-stained lips, his eyes a smouldering burn of burnished amber and old wood. He smells clean, like crisp apple and sunlit frost, and your heart thuds as your senses are besieged, swimming in him.

Dinner is finished but dessert is yet to be served. Your foot brushes his beneath the table, ankles touching. His cheeks are a pleasant red, dark eyes fixed on you, widening as you trade a blush for a coy smile and a look that invites sin. The waiter is out back with the cook, helping in the kitchen. Would Omni dare? Not without a little push, perhaps. You nudge him with your foot, trailing the tip of your stiletto heel up his calf and settling against his thigh. His body goes still, breath held hostage by your beauty and touch.

"Something wrong?" He asks, his voice a low, rough whisper.

"Sore feet." You wiggle your toes in his lap, and his brows shoot up.

"Let me help…"

The Roman straps come loose, his careful fingers unwinding the soft leather, gently rubbing along your calf. "Let me know where…" He murmurs, his gaze fixed on his plate. His fingers follow the line of your arch, the thin stockings turning his touch to a shivering feather upon your skin. Your breath catches as he traces along, settling on the pads of your flexor tendons, rubbing gentle circles into the soft, sensitive flesh beneath.

The waiter comes out. He doesn't pause, but instead shoots you an oblique look, his smile wan and lazy as he answers the waiters questions. You surely can't, breath held so as to not make a sound. He touches each of your toes in turn, running along the joint, pausing at the tip before playfully exploring the next. Yes, dessert is coming.

You exhale a huffy breath, grinning at him over your cocktail. It's real love now, a joyous, child-like feeling blossoming in your heart. It's mirrored in his expression, a quirk of his lips, the most polite flash of white teeth you've ever seen. And then he's disappearing beneath the table, your leg pressed to his hip as he crawls on his hands and knees to close the distance.

You feel his breath between your thighs, and then his hands are pushing up your dress. He trails his fingers in wonder over your bared thighs, an appreciative slowness over the garter belt, the fabric neatly portioning your tender skin for his delectable kisses. "Mark," you whisper, threading a hand through his hair, fingers carding the messy spikes.

He doesn't ask permission, not this time. A stiletto heel loosely pointed at a man's dick does things to his brain.

He rubs your core through silken underwear, nosing at the wet patch slowly spreading across the dainty cream undergarments. His other hand settles on your hip, brushing across the crease, pressing in when your body stiffens at his touch, or when your whimper or gasp. It's a reminder that you're here, in semi-public, and you need to be quiet for him. You need to be good.

Omni noses aside your panties and breathes heat over your clit and pussy. His tongue is tentative, as if he's uncertain where to start in this banquet of delight and tantalised senses. A careful nuzzle of his face against your slick cunt, and his shyness falls away. He bathes in you, drinking your essence, lapping softly like he belongs right here, under the table and between your legs. There's no meal grand enough to pull him away from his elixir you offer him, the drink of gods so sweet and dangerous that he might very well give his heart and soul for more. His tongues presses in with boldness, striking at the heart of your feminine pleasure to draw a lewd moan from your throat.

The waiter coughs from somewhere behind your shoulder, and you grip his hair tight, holding him still against your dripping cunt. "Ma'am, your boyfriend..?" He begins, laying a heart-shaped, dark chocolate and Frangelico marscapone cake before you.

"Rest room." You managed behind a too bright smile and watering eyes.

"I see." He says, in the kind of quiet confidence of a man who knows full well where this particular rest room might be. "I'll leave this here, but let me know if he would like it reheated."

Omni doesn't wait. He strains against your hand, shucking your rules just as he gave up fear and shame. This moment is all about you, all about your love, his love for you in particular. He wants you to moan as loudly and wantonly as you wish, he wants to gorge on you, fill his senses with you, and he won't be satisfied until you coat his tongue with the proof of your love.

His fingers join his tongue. One at first, curling in as his mouth moves to your clit, sucking it between his lips. A second one parts you more, and then his tongue moves, pressing his nose to your clit before shifting downwards. He licks long and deep, up and down your entrance until you're quivering, thighs shaking, then slips inside.

"God, this cake… This cake is so good."

He hums in pleasure at your words, the sensation making your mind white out. Dark chocolate cake reaches your tongue as you stroke his hair faster, encouraging him to match your pace. His soft sighs and grunts make your tummy flutter. He is a man hard at work and enjoying every moment of it, and he's all yours.

His fingers press again, and you crack, the pleasure so intense that you joke back in your seat, hips arcing. He holds you down, careful, and drinks every drop of the dribbling arousal now escaping your convulsing cunt.

When he emerges a minute late, it is with the dazed look of a victor who enjoyed the best of spoils. You dab some Frangelico mascarpone on his face, just for good measure.

Viltrum!Mark is still learning about all of Earth's silly little traditions, but Valentine's Day is fascinating. A whole day to show you how much adores you? There's just not enough time! How can you possibly understand the depths he'd go to, just to see your face? The dimensions he'd cross just to find you again? The people he'd remove, permanently, just to give you a place beside him as he takes hold of the Empire. You're his, every day of the year- but on this most special of Day of Love, he needs you to know more than any other just how far he'd go.

The morning starts with a trip to your favourite destination. He remembers how lovingly you speak of the museums you visited there, the sightseeing, walking alongside heroes of the past and soaking in the culture. He holds you hand as you walk those very same paths, listens with keen attention as you tell him stories of an Earth he's only just begun to love in earnest.

In one of your favourite botanical gardens, he leads you to a tunnel woven of wisteria and cups your face, his gaze bright and full of desire for you. He's always been attentive- a remarkable fondness for detail and planning keeps him disciplined when his mind might otherwise wander. But in this moment, his whole, entire being is focused on you. You are the pinacle of his world, the summit he wishes to earn and conquer at the same time. He tilts your head up and presses his lips to yours, a soft enquiry that deepens at your moan. He draws you close, his hands pressing against your back, your chest against the firm plane of his muscular body, the plain white shirt a stark testament to the warrior beneath. The kiss becomes demanding the longer it lasts, his tongue dancing with yours, his teeth catching your lip whenever you try to pull away. Control and dominance fight- Markus understands the language of love in the same way he knows the plans of war. This battleground has been mapped and charted, and now he plans to take you across the field and show you exactly what loving him means.

He holds your body firm in the shade of a sprawling oak, roses planted all around, the air thick with sweetness and lust. He's got you in his lap, his between your thighs as the other cradles you against your chest. He plays your body like a dulcimer, strumming from your moans of passion as his fingers find your core and search for the pleasure that takes you beyond stars and into a universe of his devotion. There's no relenting, his kissing stealing your breath as he coaxes your orgasm in a gush of your sweet slick. He rubs your clit through the waves of your aftershock until you're whining in protest at the overstimulation. "Mine," he whispers as he watches you submit to his fingers, "to love and to hold." His smile is sweet even as he wrecks you with sin.

Next it's in the shadows of some hallowed monument, as dusk settles and tourists scatter. He feeds you pieces of strange, alien fruit dipped in chocolate as you settle onto his cock. Large and thick, you cling to his shoulders and open wide at his whispered command. A hand on your hip helps you move and keep your rhythm, and Markus stifles his groans against the heat of your neck, trailing kisses as you rock against him. His hips thrust, cocking fucking deeper into you as you get wetter and your aborted moans become filthier. The quiet groan of release fills your ears like music and makes you shudder in turn, milking him for all that he has to give. He holds you gently after that, that deep, soulful brown gaze fixed on yours, searching to see if you understand yet how much he loves you, how much he'll never let you go.

It's the hotel that really takes the cake- a reservation you hadn't known about until he flies you to the balcony and leads you into a room with a large bouquet of flowers and a selection of tiny chocolates. He tells you he's learnt more than he ever thought possible at your side, talks to you about your favourite flowers, recounting the stories of love woven into each of them. He's spent so long planning this, finding things you might like, that you can't help but melt against him, wrapped up safe and tight in his embrace. He presses you down into the bed, gentle but firm, and you don't notice the pillows beneath your hips until he's brought your ankles above his shoulders and is fucking you with that quiet, intense desperation that underlines his every action here in your world. He's fucking you to claim, filling you deeper than ever before, holding you tight and pressing his cock to your womb in the hopes of a union that'll outlast the silliest of traditions.

"Take me, take all of me, I need to see you filled with me." He whispers into the dark. Heat flushes your skin, your ravaged cunt slick with a need for this man that can't be quenched. A heat rises inside of you, making you whine and moan for more, making your walls pull him in further. The smile he has for you is tender and affectionate, and he cups your face before he comes, calling you beloved, calling you his queen. His pace quickens, your breath catching as you feel his dick throb inside of you, painting your insides with cum that never seems to end. "So full of me," he says, but he doesn't move away. Instead, his hand reaches down, gently stroking over your abdomen. "Soon, so full of me. Us, together." That dark smile, so full of pride and love for you, marks the moment you'd realise he'd give you the world if you gave him yours.

Sinister!Mark isn't officially your boyfriend- or even a friend, really. At best, he's a work acquaintance, and this solely because he comes to your place of work both in that ridiculous (adorable?) bumblebee suit and in dark leather pants and a matching sleeveless jacket. He smiles the same- a sharp and pointed grin, teeth pressed together like he's trying to remember if he's doing it right. When he's not wearing goggles or those edgelord red sunglasses, his eyes are a warm, soft brown, as sweet as chocolate and as endearing as a puppy's. He was, perhaps from the start, the most awkwardly pleasant guy you've ever met.

You'd never had such a bumbling break-in until Valentine's Day, when two supers crashed in through the front and immediately started arguing with each other.

"This is so fucking stupid man." The first yells, an aggressive drawl in his voice. He's wide across the shoulders and posturing like he's about to break another wall.

"Just do it! You think I like being on the hook for a fucking favour." The second's wearing a black ski mask with a skull print, but the top's been cut to give space for a messy mohawk.

The first turns to you and your work colleagues and says, face mask muffling the growl, "give us all your fucking money. I don't fucking know."

Ah yes. This will go swimmingly.

They don't move much before a third crashes through, adding debris to shattered remains of the wall.

Your heart quivers in your chest. "Bumblebee." You gasp, breath catching in your throat.

The second one, with the mohawk, barks a shout of derisive laughter, which is probably his last given how hard Bumblebee hits him in the face. The mohawk guy is bodily sent flying through a wall, groaning but somehow not dead. The first turns, hands raised to the heavens in what you assume must be a prayer for mercy. "Oh, fuck off!" He curses.

Bumblebee doesn't hesitate: he grabs him and catapults him through the roof with one mighty swing.

The next breath he's hovering beside you, in all of his majestic heroism. You know you're meant to fear him- the media outlets go back and forth on whether his change of heart is genuine, or a front for a cunning attempt at a second war. But you're not afraid- not of him, not of that creaky smile that opens his door like an old oak door with unoiled hinges.

His smile is hesitant as he meets your gaze, cheek smeared with blood. "You're not hurt are you?" His voice is sort and hoarse, like gentleness dripping from an open wound.

"No."

It's not quite the answer he was expecting, or wanted, but his arm wraps around your waist in a most genteel fashion, and his arms hold you tight, sweeping you off your feet.

"Not gonna let them hurt you."

His whisper is the last thing you hear before air pressure or wind force or the strange, unfathomable dynamics of flight turn your consciousness dark. He holds you close as he flies, his most precious pet.

When you wake, it's amongst soft black bedding, the duvet warm and the pillows fresh beneath your face. As you stir Bumblebee solidifies into your vision. He's handsome, if you forget how his smile might break at the seams, how his fingers hesitate as he reaches to thread them through your hair.

"I made you cake."

You blink at him. "Sure." Your brain catches up. "Where are we?" Like somehow knowing will normalise this entirely.

"My place." He answers, and that predatory smile softens slightly. "I thought it'd be nicer. Safer." There's something dark and intimately cosy about the space- his bedroom, surely- but your eyes stray to the windows with security bars. Pretty, with an ornate, gothic swirling patterns.

He's got the cake now- it's surprisingly big, shaped like a heart, the scent of dark chocolate wafting tantalisingly through the room. "Did you bring me here to eat cake?" You ask him, softly, not quite believing the words that spilled out of your mouth in a haze.

He looks away, as if trying to decide what the best move might be. "Yes. Is that… wrong?"

"No." Your voice, but your brain has slowed down. You lift your gaze to meet his, the lingering darkness tinged with a hint of warmth. Deadly, yes. Your heart is pounding with the knowledge that this man has killed for far less reasons than not eating cake.

But you kind of really want to try it. It smells good.

"Can I have some?"

He looks at you, trying to see the trick or the lie in your words. Your heart continues a tango in your chest and you wonder if he can hear it. Does he know how much your heart races when you imagine his hands on you? Does he know how wide you smile when you get to watch him leave? Maybe. Or maybe this is purely innocent cake.

He doesn't have a knife. He doesn't have a fork, or a spoon, but he picks a piece with his hands and offers it to you. Slowly you open your mouth, and he slips it in, his smile widening as you receive him, cake and fingers and all, and suck thoughtfully.

"Good?"

"Amazing." You moan, and he pulls his fingers away with a grin.

"Can you guess what I used?" He picks a second piece up for you, waiting until you open your mouth to feed it to you. Your brows pucker as you think and chew, your hand reaching for his to keep his fingers in your mouth again. There's a metallic hint that sets your pulse racing and you find you want to devour him more and more. You suck a little more urgently, and his breath catches.

"No, I don't know. What is it?"

"Blood. It's a coagulant. Strengthens the flavours, too." His smile is so wide, the gleam of sharp teeth captivating you. You can't think, although you probably should. He's not intimidating, he is utterly overwhelming, and he looks at you like you're the centre of his world.

How much does he know about you? How much has he seen of what you truly are, so pitiful and desperate to feel alive again that you'd take the fear of never knowing which breath might be your last over the safer devotions of pretty much anyone else.

That you'd welcome his kiss, his touch, if he could make you feel like you belonged, with him, to him.

Those brown eyes are inscrutable, but you would throw yourself into the depths of his soul just to see where you might fit. Your gaze meets his, the intensity kindling into a live fire that consumes you both.

In a swift surge of movement, the plate is on the floor and his hands wrap around the back of your neck, holding you still. His eyes pierce yours, the intense gaze wonder and terror in equal parts. Before you can blink, he steals the breath from you in a heated kiss, hands gripping you tight, holding you still as dismantles you in an urgent press of tongue and teeth. There's an urgency to him, understated and vicious in the way he wants to claim you.

You're never going to leave. You know this… Right now, even if you wanted to run, his hands have moved to grip your shoulders. He's pushing you down, gently yes, but there's no choice in this, no backing out. He has you right where he wants you; you showed him an ounce of interest, and now he's returning the favour. The hot and desperate kisses against your neck are a mark of his wanting, sure, but the way his knee rubs against your core, the way he grinds his hips, telling you just how much he's wanted to fuck you without uttering a single word.

The soft little whimpers he draws from you as he humps you over your clothes make him chuckle against your throat. "That's it, let go for me. Show me exactly who you are underneath that mask of politeness." He's coaxing your surrender now, pulling down your panties with eager hands and hungry eyes, watching as your arousal trails from his fingers with a single stroke.

When he thrusts into you, piercing you with a single stroke, it opens you up to a new world of pleasure and pain. "Bumblebee…" You moan, lifting your hips to try and meet him. Fuck, he's big, and he doesn't seem to realise just how much, if the brutal pace is anything to judge by.

"Sinister." He corrects you with a wicked grin, hands pressed to the sides of your face as he lowers himself, grunting with animal need as he fills every inch of your pussy.

"I don't think you are." You murmur back, nipping at his stubbled jawline, before pressing a needy kiss to his lips. You drag him down on top of you, taking his weight, the full brunt of his cock as he shifts the angle. You moan and arch as best as you can as he hits the spot that makes your vision swim and your gasps turn soft and high. Your moans come quicker now- he fucks with the intent to make you cry and scream, and he wants your cum all over his cock.

"That's it. Say my name, tell me how much you want this. I'd give you everything if you let me keep you. Just stay here and you'll never have to worry about anything…" It's the sweetest of promises, one lover to another, only you'd never realised before that's what he was meant to be.

[maskeddevotion]

Dad!Jason

Don't get me wrong, when my friends sent me girldad!Jason I was SO LUDICROUSLY HAPPY. But imagine boydad!Jason, who sees himself in his son, recognises that innate, youthful bravery, that awe and wonder that gave him magic. All of that was hiding beneath the grit of surviving the worst that life had to offer, and brought back because Bruce gave him a chance. Imagine how much Jason would give to make sure his son never suffered what he went through. Imagine how much Jason would protect him, not through discipline and punishment, but through gentle correction and endless love. You know his son would never suffer the way he had, because Jason would give his very SOUL, his whole LIFE, to protect his family. We've seen it. We know he would do it again. You know why I'm happy for girldad!Jason? Because, at least for one frame, it looks like DC is giving him a chance. :') I need this more than I need an actual life tbh. Jason Todd deserves to be a family man. He deserves a life rich with laughter and full of love. (I really don't mind who you ship him with, the more ships the merrier, I'm just going to sit over here and play with my own ships.) Give Jason lots of children and a happy family please. <3 And I guess detective/vigilante work idk. I don't mind that part so much.

[maskeddevotion]

The Grounding Act

I've been wanting to explore this concept for so long! Omega Jaybin, who after being resurrected in the Lazarus Pit, becomes an Alpha. Not only does he have to deal with different pheromones, he has to protect his Omega side from the pain his world would inflict at the merest hint of weakness.

Alpha and Omega hang in the balance, and you are the key to tempering his urges.

Warnings: blood, canon-typical violence (Red Hood fights bad guys), use of sex toys, omegaverse themes, pegging, dom/sub/switch shenanigans, suggestive dub-con (in line with Omegaverse)

Word count: 2.8k

Fists fly in a symphony of muffled cursing and grunts of pain. Weave, dodge, swing: Jason moves like every fight is a choreography, like violence is rote-learnt.

The four men before him are burly, big in the same way he's become. From the smell- sweat, coppery blood and musk- they're Alphas, each and every one of them. That desperate need to force his fist through their throats and beat them into the ground rises like bile in his mouth.

But worse than that, especially during a tangle with Sionis' men, is the prickly sweat running down his back. The ache in his joints. The heat girding his pelvis. Red Hood swears, he spits, he curses and he throws another punch. One man goes down, and another retaliates, a swinging throw that grazes cheek and jaw.

Jason snaps, pushed to the edge. The low whine builds amidst the snarling. One of the three remaining pauses, cocking his head in surprise, fists rising to defend himself. An answering bulge in the man's pants suggests he's aware of more than he realises in this moment.

No, Jason screams in his head. Not now. He steps back, resets, a shrug of his massive shoulders to dispel the shuddering warmth pooling in his gut. He can feel it in the fight, worse than usual. That unfurling heat begging for release, for satiation, imploring peace and turning his scent from deep earth and amber to something floral and fresh.

"Fuck," he hisses, teeth gritted. He starts forwards, and the leader sees the provocation, takes another swing with a roar. Jason doesn't move, doesn’t even charge the thug down. Knuckles meet his cheekbones and eye with a crack, and the world erupts into spotty darkness. Jason's vision swims for a moment, a curse muffled as he bites his tongue.

The taste of blood drags his mind away from the honey sweet smell of slick gathering at the base of his cock and balls. The echoes of fragmented pain ripple across his mind, eye surely blackened, cheekbone vibrating with a possible fracture.

It separates him again. Jason Todd and Red Hood. Idealist and vigilante. The yearning nurturer and the unchained beast, one to tame the darkness inside, the other to bring Gotham to its knees.

Pain the Divider, and Death the Unmaker, forged Jason anew in the green fires of a mortal hell. They robbed him of his innocence, of his purer magic. It is to those relentless taskmasters that he cleaves: suppress Jason, keep Red Hood alive.

Pain becomes him, and he becomes pain.

A flurry, a whirlwind, a force of chaos unleashed. Red Hood strikes; hesitation is deadly, and the only chance of escapes rests on a prayer and swift feet.

It is a short minute that lasts an eternity in the heat of battle. The end is punctuated by soft snarls and heavy panting. One unconscious Alpha, one dead Alpha; Red Hood towers over them in the alleyway, fists bloodied and bruised, his body a colourful testament to his enduring resilience.

The violence wraps around his throat in a choke. He coughs, sagging against the brick wall, as sweet, indolent pheromones wash over him.

He'd promised you no more bloodshed. He'd promised you no more death.

But it's the only thing that keeps Jason's heat at bay, and even now, drenched in sweat and blood that's not his own, the fire rises. The inferno builds, stealing his strength, making him weak and desperate.

He needs you.

He doesn't crawl home. He doesn't limp. But a hangdog expression haunts his face, and if he had a tail it'd droop between his legs. He lets himself into your apartment, a guilt-ridden spectre of bloody revenge.

His smell wafts through the shared space, softening in relief at the quiet solace that greets him. That Alpha musk, the deep earth of Red Hood's resurrection and the warm, heated amber of his heart fades, replaced by swirling lemongrass and bright neroli. The threat and pressure of engineering gang warfare has passed: in your shared sanctuary, his soul is calmed, gentled.

Padding steps and a soft whine stir you from your slumber. The door cracks open, and you rise, chastened by the vision of your Jason, pale beneath a sweaty flush, the scars drawn taut across hollowed cheeks.

"I need you." He croaks, his voice lilting high into a soft whine. "Need you, baby..."

You don't hesitate. You go to him, your fingers reaching to stroke the tension from his brow. His hands settle at your waist, subconsciously rubbing blood into your sleeping shirt, tracing little circles- primal marks of his violence, his ownership of you.

You're his Omega.

And he is yours.

"What happened? You're not due for months…" You murmur, the smell of him drying your throat, pitching your voice lower in calm reassurance. You feel your body react, a surge of warmth pooling between your thighs.

"I dunno…" He murmurs as he nuzzles your neck, lips sucking eagerly at your scent gland. "Too many suppressants, too many Alphas, too much stress…" He trails off in a groan, mouthing at your pulse. "Please baby. Need you so bad. Need to feel you."

Your dear sweet Omega. Your poor Jason, brought low by the world, now resting on your breast.

"I've got you, love. Lay down." You guide him to the bed, pushing down gently between his shoulders. He folds willingly beneath your tempered strength, moaning face-first into pillows scent-marked by you both, hips raised in presentation. Home is right here, in the safety of your secret nest, away from a world that would condemn Jason Todd for the existence of Red Hood.

You reach into your night stand, finding your lube and the cool silicone, blood red strap-on. There's only one way to soothe your precious boy- one hand strokes over the mound of his ass, thick flesh and tight muscle twitching at your teasing touch. The other prepares the harness, deft fingers working through the straps. For a moment you pull your hands away, lips brushing the rise of his beautiful skin, breathing warm care and love over his glutes and sacrum. He shivers, whining softly for you, as you insert the vibrating part of the double-ended dildo into your wet cunt, and clip the harness into place.

"I've got you, my love." You murmur, pressing soft kisses down his dividing line, pausing as you reach the tight ring of his hole. "I'm going make you feel so good, we'll both forget how much blood you walked home with."

The chuckle that escapes him is rough and low. "Sorry baby," he adds, shivering as you lap at the hole nestled beneath his scrotum. A bounty of honey sweet slick leaks in abundance, and you moan as you drink your fill, tongue probing deeper.

"Don't need to work you open too much… Look at you, love. Came home panting for me, didn't you big boy?" Your teasing is met with an affectionate grumble. Then your mouth moves from his ass to his neck as you lean over him, settling over his back. You kiss the soft tip of his ear and are rewarded with a pillow-muffled groan. So easy, your sweet Jason. So willing and pliant for you.

"Stop fucking teasing me and give it to me, babe. I am literally soaking the bed." Jason could conjure complaints for anyone or anything, but the soft, petulant, whinging tone of your Omega sets your heart to pounding. A lump forms in your throat, but you swallow down your eagerness and lick his scent gland.

"God, you taste good, sweet thing." He rumbles, almost like a purr, and you smile against his skin. You shift, letting him bear your weight as one hand reaches to wrap around his stiff, swollen member. The other rests against his hole, rimming it gently, pushing it open with a tenderness that draws a soft, pitiful moan from somewhere deep and cracked inside of him.

Broken pieces of a vulnerable whole, and entirely yours to cherish and protect.

"I got you…" You whisper against his skin, dragging your teeth over the raised skin of his scent gland. Your finger moves in now, no longer opening but stroking along the walls, searching for that all-too familiar spot that'll bring him to his knees. The gentle invasion is met by a buck of his hips, searching for your friction, for the release you've promised him.

"Fuck baby. More. Harder. Fuck me harder." He groans, his hips writhing beneath you as a second finger joins the first. Gentle strokes of his cock have him biting the pillow, his low, thrumming moans all the encouragement you need. Your thumb rubs against his tip, spreading the flow of precum across the swollen cockhead. One stroke, two: the pumps are gentle, a sultry play of your fingers across velvety skin. You've brought him to his pleasure many times before, and shifting between soft and rigid pulls turns him to putty in your hands.

His hips are shaking, following the motion of your strokes, rocking into the sheets. "Such a good boy for me." You murmur, tuned in to his rhythmic grunting as he ruts . You pull your fingers from his wet heat, slick two knuckles deep. He keens low at the loss, burying his head in the pillows, learning patience by your loving hand.

You rub his slick over the silicone dick, add a dollop of lube for good measure, and thrust. His back arcs beneath you, his breath held in a strangled gasp as you slide inside of him, stretching, filling him. "Like that. Fuck, baby. Fuck, you know how I love it."

Hard and soft. Jason needs both, your tenderness and the pain of the world, to control and connect his fractured self. His hips surge back, meeting yours in a slap of skin that weaves beautifully with your moans. His go high, a breaking, mournful cry as you clamp around the head of his dick, denying his orgasm. Yours are drawn deep from your chest, a long continuous ahh, cresting and dipping as each thrust drives the vibrator deeper into your cunt. The vibrations, ramping up now, pleasure your that intimate spot. Sweat beads along your forehead, decorating your breasts in a pale sheen as you fuck yourself and your boyfriend into a semblance of peace.

"Let me come!" He gasps, lifting his head to face you. His profile is surely cut from a Roman bust, as beautiful and as deadly as a centurion, broken only by the hand of the goddess. It steals your breath- even at his most vulnerable, his most undone…

No. Especially at his most vulnerable- angels would weep to keep him in their arms.

And he's yours. Everything that he has, he gave to you when he trusted you with both fragile parts of his soul.

"Wanna cum together. Please."

It takes just one word to undo you in turn.

And then you do. The orgasmic explosion rocks through both your bodies, slick gushing down your thighs as the vibrator strikes true. You plunge the length of your shuddering cock into his depths. Your hand releases his cockhead, and he thrusts forwards with a guttural cry, spilling into your sheets, coating them with thick spend only an Alpha could produce.

You feel him tense beneath you. "Fuck. Fuck I need…" His voice cracks, hoarse and raw. Every muscle in his back goes taut beneath your sweat-slick breasts. He's pulling away from you now, shivering with urgency. He's always been stronger than you, bigger than you. His face turns, his bright green gaze pinning you in the dark, wild and feral with need. No longer blue, his soul has tumbled back into that ancient, half-buried grief and pain. His death and resurrection glow in eerie verdant tones, casting the broken cracks of his face in a nightmarish hue.

It's no longer Jason who holds you, but Red Hood at his most dangerous. You are his Omega, his obedient, devoted girl, and he will fuck you until you beg for mercy. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, pushing you back, sweeping your legs out until you lay flat on the bed. His hands unfasten the harness, a low groan of pain escaping you as he yanks out the vibrator, your cunt squishy and moist, a final, desperate suction on the silicone toy.

"Good. You're ready for me. Gonna knot you tonight, pretty girl. Gonna push my seed right inside you." Your thighs tighten at his words, and you suck in a breath as you stare up at him. A wolfish grin spreads across his face, eyes darkening as he leans in and bites your soft thigh, hard.

With a gasp your legs fall apart, inviting him in for the claim. His head dips lower, tongue seeking your quivering cunt that delivered so much pleasure before. "Beautiful. So beautiful. Fuck, I don't say it enough. My pretty little Omega. I'll keep you here in this bed till we're both done." His tongue curls, sliding against your folders, nose pressed against your clit as he nuzzles you. There's tenderness in the gesture, a reverence for your prostrate body like you're the only goddess he worships, and he your only supplicant.

The only Alpha you'll ever need. The only Omega you'll ever want.

Your pussy dances, twitches for him as his tongue laps deep inside of you. "So open for me. Taste so good. Can't hold back now." The words tumble out, thoughtless, the needs of an Alpha ruling his mind. He leans back on his knees, shuffling closer. Red Hood draws your legs up his muscular, bruised chest until your ankles settle over his shoulders. His hand strokes his cock and then he's there, brutish and determined to break you, pushing in with a groan that summons one of your own, to the tune of filthy need.

"Jason…" The plea escapes on a plaintive breath, and he chuckles softly. That green gaze is still there, but you know Jason is too. Behind those eyes, behind the warrior who spares none, is a soul that's faced the void and now reaches for your light. A tender smile wraps around his wild, driving instincts. He's thick, filling you, slipping his length one inch at a time. You both moan again, sweeter now that you're at home in each other.

"Mine," he whispers into the dark, his fingers fluttering over your abdomen as his dick rounds you out. "Mine," he says again, like it's a challenge to the world to try and break something as perfect as you and him. "All of you. Every whisper of love. Every moan of need. I'm keeping you. I'm never giving you up." It's the fight in him, the cruelty of pit madness that spurs his violent instincts. And yet with you, the claiming doesn't break you, the madness doesn't quite brean him. It just brings you a little closer to the darkness, where you and Jason dance on the edge of the abyss, tangled together in hope and fear.

A rise before the fall.

His hips rock into you, a frantic, hungry pace that has you screaming his name and clawing at the sheets. The headboard rocks with the motion of your body, and the bed creaks in its own loss. You feel his dick rub your fluttering walls, your own slick cushioning the swollen member inside of you. You pull him deeper with spasms that never seem to end, your ankles locking behind his nape to keep him close. He growls low, not a threat, but a savage joy. "Good fucking girl," on one breath, "never gonna leave. Never gonna let them take you," on the next. And he presses harder, determined to make every word truth.

You can feel the base of him swelling, his heat turning to rut, your own cries unfurling into a keen of pure, raw pleasure. He shudders as he pushes his knot inside, stretching you to a burn that mirrors the desperate need that held him in thrall. "Fuck, Jason!" It's a cry of your surrender, and his seed spills inside of you, hot ropes filling the precious little space where his dick strokes the tented walls of your cervix.

"Take me. Take it all." Hoarse and raw, he bends over you, grazing your neck again until sharp teeth sink into that sensitive gland on your neck. The pain if his mating bite is exquisite, the fullness one of mates made whole inside of each other. He doesn't stop cumming, pumping you hard as he bites, your body spasming in exhilarated climax, but caged beneath his own.

Heavy thrusts turn gentler as his instincts are sated, at least for a while. He has you, all of you; you are his and he is yours. His arms wrap around your back, pressing you closer to him as he nuzzles and scents you again.

Your Alpha. Your Omega. Your Jason, fractured and whole again.

[maskeddevotion]

The Grounding Act - Promo

I've been in love with the idea of dual-gendered Alpha/Omega Jason Todd for a while now. I haven't really read all that much Batfam Omegaverse, so I'm really just making it up as I go along.

Anyway, it seized me today whilst at work, and I absolutely had to get it out of my system. It's been released early on Patreon, but will be here and on AO3 a little bit later on (maybe Monday or Tuesday?).

Here's a sneak peak if you want! <3

Warnings: blood, violence, use of sex toys, suggestions of dubcon, knotting

Tags: F!Reader, Omega!Reader, Alpha!Red Hood, Omega!Jason, Omegaverse, P in V, Pegging, Biting, tender praise

Word count: 2.8k

Fists fly in a symphony of muffled cursing and grunts of pain. Weave, dodge, swing: Jason moves like every fight is a choreography, like violence is rote-learnt.

The four men before him are burly, big in the same way he's become. From the smell- sweat, coppery blood and musk- they're Alphas, each and every one of them. That desperate need to force his fist through their throats and beat them into the ground rises like bile in his mouth.

But worse than that, especially during a tangle with Sionis' men, is the prickly sweat running down his back. The ache in his joints. The heat girding his pelvis. Red Hood swears, he spits, he curses and he throws another punch. One man goes down, and another retaliates, a swinging throw that grazes cheek and jaw.

Jason snaps, pushed to the edge. The low whine builds amidst the snarling. One of the three remaining pauses, cocking his head in surprise, fists rising to defend himself. An answering bulge in the man's pants suggests he's aware of more than he realises in this moment.

If you want to read more, feel free to come check out my Patreon! =^^=

The Grounding Act | Splatter Ink Sym

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