#mask writes

[strangermask]

WOOO NINJAGO FIRST ELEMENTAL MASTERS SHORT FIC

Ninjago: The First Elemental Masters

Night Light

Synopsis: The first elemental masters were separated from First Spinjitzu Master and are forced to take shelter in a grundle hole. Now the four sit around a fire, unsure of what to say to each other:

Word Count: 2,532

Author’s Note: This is set near the very beginning where they all barely know each other. We get to see them bond for the first time in their journey together.

— — — — —

The elemental masters got separated from First Master during a battle with some bandits. The four acquired minor injuries during the fight, and now they were trying to find shelter. It did not help that it was raining as well. “Dragons, could they not have picked a better day for this?” Akiharu asked.

“Oh, do not complain!” Yoshimochi scolded. “Bandits never pick a day to accommodate their targets.”

“Oh forgive me, your nobleness.”

“Can both of you be quiet?” Yukito asked. “We are not here to discuss our misfortune, we need to find a place to recover.”

“What place could we recover in!?” Akiharu asked. “In case you have not taken in our surroundings, there are nothing but trees!”

“Over here.” Sai said, grabbing Akiharu’s hand. The serpent took the human down a hole, the other two companions following out of panic. “Stay behind me.”

Sai grabbed a purple fruit with blue polka-dots from his bag and squashed it. He spread the juices at the entrance of the hole. He snapped his fingers, making a small fire, then lit up the entrance. Immediately, a horrendous smell emitted through the hole.

“By Overlord, what in the cursed realm is that smell?” Yukito asked.

“Do not worry, you will get usssssed to it.” Sai answered. “It will keep usssss sssssafe.”

“From what?”

“Grundlesssss. Thissssss issssss a Grundle hole—”

“This is a what?”

“I know it sssssoundsssss bad, but I have come to learn a few tricksssss to avoid them. For example, they only hunt at night due to their eyesssss being sssssensssssitive to the daylight. With that, I’ve noticed they tend to sssssteer away from thessssse fruitsssss I found. If you sssssquisssssh the fruit and light the juicesssss, it givesssss off a sssssmell that wardsssss them off.”

“I can see why.” Yoshimochi said. “It smells like a rotting corpse.”

“Exactly! They already avoid it without the sssssmell, ssssso why would they bother usssss now?”

“… You seem quite excited about this.”

“Oh, uh, apologiesssss. I sssssuppossssse I got a bit carried away. I-I will make a fire now.”

A fire was started. The four were surrounding it, not saying anything to each other. To be honest, there was not much to say. They don’t know each other well, having been selected randomly by the elements. They were all too different from each other. A son of a nobleman, a peasant from the streets, a demon of cold, and a serpentine prince. What common ground could you find?

However, the curiousity in Akiharu grew more and more about the serpentine prince.

“Alright, I cannot take it much longer.” He spoke. “How do you know so much about grundles? Is that a common predator in your lands?”

“O-Oh, uh,” Sai cleared his throat, “not entirely. Our tribe hasssss defensssssesssss againssssst predatorsssss, but my father isssss very ssssstrict about who can and cannot ssssstay.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father hasssss thisssss belief where if you cannot handle the wild, you cannot come back to the tribe. He isssss more ssssstrict about that belief with my brothersssss and I. He will sssssend usssss in the wild every once in a while to tessssst usssss. Though, he tendsssss to sssssend me out more than my brotherssssss. Thusssss I tend to have more wildernessssss knowledge.”

Yoshimochi and Yukito turned their heads to the serpentine.

“You would think he wasssss trying to kill me by sssssending me out ssssso much.” Sai chuckled. It changed to a frown. “It would not be hard to disssssprove. I have… never really been a favorite of hisssss.”

Akiharu straightened his posture: “What makes you think that?”

“…I am the runt of my brothersssss. I am not asssss ssssstrong nor have any ssssspecial abilitiesssss. I am half blind which isssss not favorable for hunting, fighting, or even leading. Cursssssed Realm, I ssssshould not even be alive.”

“Woah, hey, hey. Who told you that?”

“Well, when I hatched, I wasssss weak and pathetic. My father wanted to throw me away to be eaten. However, I made it through thanksssss to Andrai. We were both born from the sssssame egg, and he wasssss much more healthy than I. And even in infancy, he cared for me. I would not be here if it weren’t for him. My father likesssss to hold that againssssst me.”

“Well that is stupid.

“What?”

“What, because you were born a bit unhealthy, you are worth nothing? I mean, he sends you out on these survival things, and you come back alive every time! How does that not say you are strong?”

“Well, it isssss not that defining.”

“Oh please, you probably know more ways to evade a predator then spikey over here.”

“Excuse me?” Yukito raised an eyebrow.

“You heard me.”

“Let usssss not get ahead of ourssssselvesssss.” Sai said.

“While Akiharu is being a bit brash,” Yoshimochi stepped in, “he does have a point. I do not see your father’s reasoning to dismiss you.”

“I appreciate your wordsssss, I do, but you all do not have to sssssay thessssse thingsssss. After all, I am not asssss dessssserving of an element like you all.”

Yoshimochi and Yukito blinked at that. Akiharu, on the other hand, shrunk into himself.

“… I would not say that is true for me.” Akiharu said.

Sai tilted his head: “What do you mean?”

“Well, you see… I am not that very honorable considering everything in my life. I do not tell people this to save myself the trouble but… I do not have a family or name to fall back on. My parents perished when I was really young, and I did not have a family name.”

“You are an orphan?” Yoshimochi asked.

“Uh, yes. I have been alone on the streets since I was a child. And when you are a little girl with no one to guide you, you end up having to guide yourself. Sometimes that means by holding up lies.”

“Wait, a little girl?” Yukito raised an eyebrow.

“Oh shit, uh.” Akiharu stumbled on his words, taking a gulp. “Please do not tell anyone, especially the First Master, but… I am not a man?”

The three stared at Akiharu.

“You are a woman?” Yoshimochi questioned.

“Yes.”

“This entire time?”

“Yes.”

“Wh— But I thought— You seem so much like a man!”

“That is the whole point of this charade. I had to do some tricks to get this way.”

“But why would you pretend you are a man and not a woman?”

“Well, a thing you learn on the streets is you survive better if presented as a boy. You get more opportunities to make money, you can get away with minor acts of crime more easily, and you get taken a bit more seriously. I mostly did it to pass a day on the streets. But then I got chosen to be the Master of Earth… and I did not feel like I could reveal my little secret.”

Akiharu could feel the stares of his teammates, but he couldn’t recognize that each stare brought a different feeling. Yukito gave the feeling of curiosity. Sai gave the feeling of empathy. Yoshimochi gave the feeling of horror… To fake who you are just to live?

“Does… Does it make you uncomfortable that we refer to you as a man?” Yoshimochi asked.

“Not really.” Akiharu clarified. “To be quite honest, I have gotten used to it and I have found an appeal to it. But that does not make it any better, does it?”

“… Well, you said it was to pass a day on the streets. If you think about it, it is like how Sai has learned to survive the wilderness.”

“… Are you trying to compare wilderness survival to street survival… as an attempt to make me feel better about my deception?”

“I-I mean, well, I, uh—”

“No, no, I can sssssee it.” Sai chimed in. “Yesssss, very different sssssituationsssss, but in a way they are sssssimilar.”

“Can you explain how?” Akiharu asked.

“Doing what we can to make it passssst a day alive.”

“… Huh. I guess so. Never would have thought of it that way.” Akiharu turns to Yoshimochi. “Didn’t know such a nobel could see that.”

Yoshimochi’s face turned red, “I— Well— I have to be. It is expected by my father that I see all of the details.”

“You see all of the details?” Akiharu teased.

“… No, but I am trying to get better.”

Sai noticed Yoshimochi becoming a bit nervous.

“Isssss sssssomething troubling you, Yossssshimochi?” Sai asked.

“Oh, uh, it is not important.” Yoshimochi. “It is only a minor thing that is rather silly.”

Sai scooted closer to Yoshimochi. Akiharu rested his head on his hands as he stared at Yoshimochi. He looked at Yukito, who only shrugged and put his hands up. The lightning master sighed.

“Well, if you must insist.” He began. “I supposed my… trouble is living up to my family’s name. I am the only son, and I must hold the Koizumi family high. I have to leave a good mark… but I will admit, there are times I wished I did not have such a burden. I would rather spend my time in a farmhouse with the animals then try to upkeep the family’s name.”

Yoshimochi, feeling he is being too whiny, quickly cleared his throat.

“Again, it is only a minor and silly trouble. I cannot compare it to anything else, especially since I’m lucky to have my luxuries.”

“Oh, Yossssshimochi.”

“D-Did I say too much?”

“Get over here.” Akiharu said as he pulled in Yoshimochi. “And quit being so humble. You are making me feel guilty for thinking you were only another stuck-up noble.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mostly assumed because of past experience. But here you are, acting like you are not allowed to complain because you are rich.”

“Well, I mean—”

“No, no, no, that is how you begin to hide your true feelings. My Mama always told me: ‘If you do not express how you feel, then your feelings will stay buried until something forces it out’. And, well, it can get nasty when buried feelings are forced out.”

Yoshimochi’s face turned redder and spoke quietly: “I suppose so.”

The two boys and serpent turned to the demon.

“… Please do not tell me I am supposed to share something.” Yukito said.

“We all shared something personal about us,” Yoshimochi began, “it is fair you do the same.”

“Please, like you three could empathize with me. I am a Demon of the North, I am an immortal being of ice.”

“Well I think even immortal beings of ice have emotions.” Akiharu smirked.

Yukito glared at the earth master.

“If it makesssss you uncomfortable, you do not have to ssssshare.” Sai offered.

Yukito turned to the serpentine. Unlike the humans, Sai held an actual genuine face. He was respectful and a little too kind for a serpentine. In Yukito’s experience, kindness means nothing but trouble. However… The serpentine stood no threat, and the demon wasn’t uncomfortable sharing his life.

Yukito let out a sigh: “Alright fine. If you must know, then I will share a fraction of information about my life. I have an older brother and sister who hate me along with the rest of the demons in the Northern Quarters. So I am usually on my own avoiding everyone who wants me dead. And before anything is said, this is quite normal in my territory. I am used to it by now.”

The humans were shocked. Sai did not show a clear emotion. He got up and slithered towards Yukito, giving him a hug.

“Wh-What—”

“I needed a hug.” Sai explained.

That was a lie. The serpentine was only hugging as an attempt of comfort. Comfort that Yukito didn’t need since he did not have a problem with his life. Being hated is normal among all demons. You could trust no one, and anyone could leave you to die in the dust.

… But Yukito will accept the hug. Only for Sai’s sake. He would most likely become sad if the hug was rejected.

Yoshimochi let out a sneeze.

“Ewwwww.” Akiharu cringed. “You sneezed on me.”

“Oh please, you probably have more illnesses than my sneeze.”

“Oh, how dare you! You are shattering my fragile wounded orphan heart.”

“Do I speak of lies?”

“No, I agree with you.”

“Then why did you—”

Yoshimochi let out another sneeze.

“Oh fuck, I think I am getting ill from the rain.”

Sai pulled away from Yukito and went straight for the bag. The serpentine pulled out a big blanket and wrapped it around Yoshimochi.

“May I asssssk you to trussssst me for a moment?” Sai asked.

“I am scared of what that is implying, but yes?” Yoshimochi hesitantly answered.

Sai wrapped his tail around Yoshimochi as if cradling eggs. The serpentine then grabbed a small vile and spoon.

“Sai, may I ask what you are doing?” Yoshimochi questioned.

“It isssss a warming technique ssssserpentine mothersssss ussssse for their young.” Sai explained. “It isssss usssssually usssssed for vipersssss or when a child isssss ill. What I have in my handsssss isssss medicine that ssssshould prevent illnessssss but will make you feel tired.”

Sai gave Yoshimochi the spoon of the medicine. It caused him to gag.

“That tastes terrible.” Yoshimochi commented.

“Unfortunately that isssss one of the downfallsssss of medicine.” Sai chuckled.

“Do you have an extra blanket?” Akiharu asked.

Sai smiled and handed Akiharu another blanket from the bag.

“Why do you have two blankets?” Yukito asked.

“Emergency.” Sai beamed. “Alssssso I get cold easssssily.”

Akiharu laid his head on Sai’s tail, Yoshimochi eased up, feeling the drowsiness from the medicine kick in.

“Can we all promise to not tell a soul what was discussed tonight?” Yoshimochi yawned.

The other three agreed. No one really needed to know what they talked about in the grundle hole.

“I shall keep watch if anyone comes to find us.” Yukito volunteered. “You all should rest for the night.”

“Thank you, Yukito.” Sai thanked.

“… It is not much trouble.”

And so, the humans and serpentine fell asleep as the demon kept watch. This group of mortals is strange. Especially Sai. When there is bickering, he’s able to dispute it. He offers comfort and kindness to everyone. It seems so silly and unneeded.

And… admittedly, Yukito can’t make sense out of it. Especially with everything the serpentine went through. He has experienced hatred and danger for all his life. He knows his father wants him dead and has tried to kill him. Yet despite all of that, Sai somehow chooses to be kind. Perhaps he’s hiding his true intention? No one can be that kind.

Yukito let out a small sigh. He’ll just keep an extra eye on Sai. The other two aren’t much threatening. They are a little annoying though. The bickering was getting tiring, and it was driving Yukito nuts.

And so the rainy night continued until sunrise. Although the four may not know it yet, they all have more in common than they think. And it is that common ground that will bring them together as the closest and bestest of friends.

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[mischievous-thunder]

Logie bear's full of adamantium and alcohol, Wade. What else do you expect?

[charliejaneanders]

The United States has always been a terrible place to be sick and disabled. Ableism is baked into our myths of bootstrapping and self-reliance, in which health is virtue and illness is degeneracy. It is long past time for a bedrock shift, for all of us.

Long covid has derailed my life. Make no mistake: It could yours, too.

[cyber-skeletons]

The differences between TFP and Earthspark Optimuses are sooooooo fucking funny. TFP OP is burdened with "I've never seen Prime laugh, cry, or lose his cool," he responds to "Hey Optimus you wanna see something funny?!" with the numbest dead-eyed Eeyore "No," he's just generally Haunted and Stoic every waking moment

Then we have Chuckles McGee with his looney toons ass face winking and making finger guns and giggling nervously and spamming the group chat with emojis and cracking jokes and making "graphic design is my passion" self-help pamphlets

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[akanemnon]

I thought this game didn't have random encounters!

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[nothingbutnowhere]

I'm just imagining getting Simon to take better care of himself. Which includes using actual cleanser instead of scrubbing his face with dish soap to get the eyeblack off, using proper moisturizer so his face doesn't get so itchy under the mask, and treating his acne. Salicylic acid proves to be not enough, so you show him how to use benzoyl peroxide. ("A little goes a long way, so I better not see this half empty tomorrow.")

And it's working! His skin is looking better and he even seems pleased about it!

Eventually he's called for a mission and you send him off with his skin care, making him promise to use it, and to get home safe.

24 hours later your phone pings in Simon's special ringtone. You hurry to check the message. And burst out laughing at the picture of his mask laying on the bed, face print bleached orange from the benzoyl peroxide.

Another message pings, this time from Johnny, a picture of Simon looking confused with his bleached mask on.

"were callin him lt pumpkin now"

...

More Simon: masterlist

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[iambrillyant]

“walking down your authentic path can be one of the loneliest roads to travel on because the longer you’re on it, the more you realize that only a select few will be compatible with who you are with no mask on.”

— billy chapata

[simply-ewok]

simon riley hates seeing those dumb videos that pop up on everyone’s phone. they’re addictive. filled with nonsense and ads. and then you tell him you’ve lost hours to them scrolling on a single app? no. what the fuck do you mean, lass? he hates when you press him to “just look, si! pleeeaasee, see?” and it takes him forever to even amuse you by glancing briefly at your screen, only to see a picture to music of two bottles (ketchup and mustard) with the caption “us” below it. and the first time he responds with a blank stare at you, but while he shakes his head as he walks away even he would hate to admit that he smiled… time goes by and you show him another odd reel here and there, him always playing the unapproving lieutenant, before eventually, you notice he’s asking you “what’s tha’ one wi’ the two cats again?” or “i like tha’ one of th’ dog”, and you can’t help but giggle, knowing full well what you accomplished.

it evolves to the point of you sharing your brain rot memes with him and you’re able to hear a stifled chuckle from beneath his mask, despite his efforts to hide it.

[strangermask]

I have Casey Jr fic in good Timeline future

[siplick]

Late night letter

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

shameless

minors. dni.

your roommate, biker!JASON TODD, still hasn’t taken his helmet off.

readers can expect: a helmet wearing jason todd x fem!reader in an undefined relationship. reader in a dress and makeup. use of nicknames like “baby” and “sunshine.” implied consent but not explicitly stated. thigh riding and some dirty talk. minor, minor amounts of fingering.

he’d just gotten home from a ride, the same time you’d gotten back from shopping. you always did the same thing after, so he’d settled himself into a chair to give you and your new clothes an audience. but the mirrored panel he’s watching you through doesn’t give you the same privilege.

you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if he likes the clothes or not.

he’s been silent the whole time, too. if you didn’t know him better, you’d worry he was mad at you. but you know him well. sometimes you think better than he knows himself. jason just doesn’t talk if he feels like he doesn't need to..or if he’s extremely distracted.

he’s leaning back in the chair, his arms crossed. the motion is making his forearms bulge. the fabric of his flannel straining, already rolled up to his elbows.

your brain is light and fluttery at the idea of his arms holding you close. his hips meeting yours with each thrust. his helmet on.

you’re itching for him to touch you. itching.

you twirl in the new black dress you got, hoping to catch a reaction of some sort.

he tightens his grip on his bicep. shifts in his seat, spreading his legs wider. the fabric around his crotch is definitely more taut than it was when you started.

but he says nothing.

you practically gulp, turning around to go put on the last thing you got.

you come back out in a new red dress. the ruching up the sides pulls the fabric tight against your skin. it ends mid thigh, but you might’ve hiked it up a little higher. might’ve reapplied your lipstick before coming back out. tousled your hair a little bit. who’s to say?

you come a little closer this time, spinning again. you stop, propping a hand onto your hip.

“what do you think?” you turn to the side.

his head tilts. he says nothing.

“okay, well, this was the last thing.” you turn, starting down the hallway.

jason mumbles, the words lost into his helmet. you stop in your tracks. spin back around.

“hm?” you step closer. “did you say something?”

the bulge in jason’s pants is too obvious to ignore now. he shakes his head, beckoning to you, patting his leg.

you have to hold yourself back from practically running to him.

you sit yourself down on a thigh, his hand immediately finding the curve of your ass. electricity runs up your spine. his other hand settles on your upper thigh, slowly inching closer to the junction of your legs. warmth unfurls in your belly at the sensation of the leather of his glove on your bare skin. you lean in, throwing your arms around his neck.

still nothing.

you’re looking at yourself in the mirror covering his eyes. it irks you. you want to see his eyes, the dark slashes of his eyebrows. the corner of your mouth rises as you bring your face in, and plant a lipsticked kiss on the plastic of his visor. jason pinches your waist. his cock twitches behind the thick fabric of his pants. he’s grateful he has his helmet on. it’s hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks.

he recovers, flipping up his tagged visor. just to make a show of rolling his eyes at you. his grip on your thigh tightens as you study the sliver of his face he’s letting you see. a tuft of hair covers his forehead, his telltale white streak cutting through the darker hair, into his right eyebrow.

he looks at you through half-lidded, deep blue eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

you smile at him, batting your lashes. the itch grows stronger.

he rolls his eyes, again.

“feelin’ feisty today, huh, sunshine?”

you nod, humming in agreement. jason tightens his arms around you, bringing you closer. his eyes narrow, the look in them making the heartbeat between your thighs pound harder. you squeeze your legs together. jason glances down, then scoffs, shaking his head.

“you’re shameless.” he decides.

you nod again, blushing a little as you concede.

he adjusts you, grabbing at the fabric around your hips, pulling it up until it’s bunched around your waist. he pauses when he sees the lace of your underwear covering your sex, his own heart pounding in his ears. he fights the urge to clear his throat, a nervous tic he has that you’d pick up on immediately. he can’t fuck this up. he’s been desperate to touch you since the last time you let him, done nothing but think about the pretty little sounds you’d made. he’s gotta play this just right.

“were these really necessary?” he hooks a finger on the waistband, raising his eyebrow. a giggle bubbles out of your throat as you stand up.

“..my underwear? yeah, i’d say they might be.” it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you do, before pulling off them off.

jason grabs them from you, wrapping the lacy fabric around his wrist like a bracelet. at your shocked face, he shrugs.

“just for safekeeping, sunshine. i’d say don’t get your panties inna twist about it, but ‘s a little late for that.”

he looks up at you in his helmet, and even though the lower half of his face is covered, you can practically see the cocky smile he’s wearing. you set yourself back onto his leg, straddling his thick thigh. the rough fabric of his riding pants meets the smooth skin of your inner thigh, a wet spot already forming.

“well? show me how bad you want it.” he settles back.

you brace your hands on his shoulders while he folds his own gloved hands on his stomach.

you move your hips, starting a delicious rhythm. the friction makes you moan, feels so good you don’t even realize you’re making a sound. you rock yourself back and forth, back and forth. the movement jostling your tits.

jason’s eyes flicker down, his eyebrows raising. a low groan emanates from his throat. the sound takes you to another level. he reaches up, pulling the front of your dress down. his eyes flare in response, breaking his tense posture to reach up with a gloved hand and palm one.

the worn in leather on the delicate skin of your chest feels like heaven. he pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. the combined stimulation drives you to move your hips faster, gripping your fingers into the sturdy angles of his shoulders.

your hands on him has his cock aching, no doubt leaking pre all over the front of his underwear. he can’t believe what you’re able to do to him without even trying.

“that’s right, baby.” he takes in how your face changes, pleasure so acute it’s unmistakable on your features.

“use me, just like that.”

you pick up the pace just a little, your toes curling as his eyebrows raise and he nods his encouragement. his big hands sink into the flesh of your tits, kneading them as you move.

“that’s right, you’re so close, keep going—”

it builds up, and up, and up, the waves cresting as your thighs clench around his, your back arches, you throw your head back. jason is humming is approval deep in his throat. he swipes your clit a few times with his leather-clad thumb, drawing out your orgasm, making your thighs tremble.

“needed that bad, huh?”

your face grows hot, and you flip his visor down.

he pushes it up again, rolling his eyes at you as the corners of them crinkle with what you can guess is a smile. jason caresses your thigh with his hand as you slump into his chest. your breathing matches his, and he brushes your hair out of your face.

“i like this dress.”

[temeyes]

simon riley, ang panget mo talaga (affectionate)

[otaku553]

A long while ago I got an ask for a writing prompt of Sabo and Deuce interacting and then I wrote half of it and stopped. And then I found it again a few days ago and decided to finish it