#the mask x reader

[upon-sunflower-trails]

loutish lover (stanley ipkiss x reader)

requested: yes, by Phantom_Clown on wattpad <3

sorry for making the reader neurodivergent-coded i didnt mean to i swear...

When you had first started working at Edge City Savings, things had seemed bland- boring, even. You rarely conversed with your coworkers, strategically planning ways around having to interact with any of your peers.

What could you say, you were antisocial. Making halfhearted plans with 'friends' only to cancel last minute, finding half-assed excuses as to why you couldn't go to the fifth engagement party or baby shower in a row- these were your most refined skills.

These skills, of course, extended to your coworkers. Get-togethers, promotion parties, all the works. You found them to be simple and shallow pleasantries. Make faux promises but never RSVP, your life motto.

To be quite honest, you held a certain disdain for all of your coworkers. They were corrupt, face-value, backstabbing perverts. The one time you had dared to put your trust in a peer, some woman whose name you didn't care to retain, had embarrassed you in front of everybody ever incessantly begging you to come to a company party. She had told you it was a costume party, so of course, you dressed as immaturely and over-the-top as you wanted. 

Let's just say that an extravagant cosplay of your childhood fictional crush didn't necessarily blend in with the slutty, chip-n-dale dancer nature of the  party.

Though, despite your coworkers' various faults and shortcomings, you always had slightly less distaste in regards to one man in particular.

Stanley Ipkiss. With a last name you had mentally poked fun at for ages, you realized he wasn't necessarily as twisted and perverted as any of the other citizens of Edge City.

It all started when he had approached you that night at the costume party. He wore a half-hearted costume, just some callback to a cartoon character you were sure was relevant some forty years ago, as you stood there in your embarrassingly gaudy display.

"I like your costume," he chirped. You glowered in response, but upon laying eyes on his smile, you could immediately tell it was genuine.

"Oh. Thank you." Your tone was straight-to-the-point; there was no other way to be in your opinion. You always held that honesty was best, even if at the expense of others.

Stanley shifted uncomfortably, a drink in his right hand. You leered at it for a moment, not noticing the way the man's skin turned redder under your bored gaze.

"I suppose you're here with somebody," you deduced. Stanley straightened up, almost sploshing some of the liquid out of the cup.

"Well, yes, I mean... h-how could you tell?" He replied sheepishly, fidgetting with his shirt. You pointed to the cup he held, as though it was obvious.

"Clearly, you aren't drinking water. And I already checked all of the refreshments in this place- anything that isn't water reeks of alcohol. You can't drive yourself home after drinking that. Simply put, you would wreck and die." Your blunt delivery threw your coworker off.

"But, I mean... yes, you are right. I-I'm here with Maggie, heh... she's really swell, I mean... can you believe she said yes to coming here with me? I mean, only under the condition that she could bring a plus-one, of course! But he's pretty great too, heh!" Stanley's smile stretched across the majority of his face. You bit your tongue, wanting to point out how obviously the woman he had fallen head over heels for probably left him to go make out with her 'plus one' in the bathroom.

Instead, you opted for a much more subtle approach.

"You talk a lot." You hadn't predicted that the guy would practically deflate at your words, nearly dropping his cup from disappointment.

"Yeah, I guess I do... well, um, I don't want to bother you!" He began to scramble away as you tilted your head in confusion.

"Bother me? I never said anything of that nature." Both of you seemed confused now. Stanley stared at you, and you stared at something in the background. The noise of the party was beginning to get under your skin.

"Well, but, I mean... you implied it! You sound fed up with me, so..." he trailed off, most likely due to embarrassment. Your eyes widened slightly, and you grit your teeth.

"No! No, my apologies. I am not annoyed with you in the least. If anything, this conversation is all that's keeping me at this hellish party. I don't mean to come across as rude, my teachers always told me that I needed to work on it... I-I really just sound like that most of the time, I'm always told that I'm being mean, but I... I just say what comes to mind." You finally finished your ramble, and Stanley flashed you a goofy grin. You picked at your nails, staring down at the ground beneath you.

Stanley cleared his throat. "Well, good to know. Hey, you may be one of the most reasonable and intelligent people I've ever had the pleasure of working with. It was nice meeting you...?" You could tell from the look he had given you that he was asking for your name- you remembered what you had been taught growing up about tone of voice.

"(Y/N) (L/N). Th-that's my name, if you were asking for it. I know your name, though. You're Stanley Ipkiss. You're a clerk at Edge City Savings, though not many people choose to open up accounts with you. You only have one friend at work, but his name escapes me now. Mr. Dickey always picks on you and seems to hold some sort of grudge against you. You always have some kind of interesting tie to go with your suits, even if they're not very practical." Stanley seemed a bit taken aback by your overload of information, blinking rapidly to catch up with what you had just said. You bit the inside of your cheek, embarrassed by your sudden outburst. "Um, I'm sorry."

Stanley shook his head, chuckling a bit. "No, no, don't apologize! It's really amazing you remember all of that- in fact, it saves me from having to give any sort of introduction. I-I'll see you around, (Y/N)!"

As he walked away, you knew you had to leave the party as soon as humanly possible. From there, you spent the rest of your night in your apartment indulging in your most intense interests until you passed out fron exhaustion, totally wiped.

---

You weren't exactly sure why you had decided to show up at the Coco Bongo. Maybe it was your morbid curiosity of witnessing the lowest of the low just to make you feel better about yourself. You couldn't be sure.

Although, you knew deep down what your reason was. You had heard a few days prior that Stanley would be at the club. Your poor heart yearned for any reason to 'accidentally' bump into him, as your workplace crush only blossomed more and more. And so, you had made the executive decision between your heart and your brain to doll yourself up and try to 'accidentally' run into your crush at some lowlife club.

You had immediately regretted your decision. The music was loud, and the grimey guests were louder. Every woman who seemed to step foot on stage was immediately objectified, even if she had little to no talent.

You just felt awful. Every wolf whistle only helped the bile in your throat to rise another inch.

That was, until, you heard a literal wolf whistle.

You spun around in your seat to be greeted with some kind of... lime green abomination.

"The fuck?" You muttered to yourself.

Well, upon further inspection, only its head was lime green. It donned some sort of yellow suit and matching fedora. It was gawking at the woman onstage, though it took the act of gawking to the extreme.

"Um, excuse me," you began. The 'creature' turned its attention towards you. Once you were sure it could hear you, you continued. "Could you really not make such a fuss? I'm having a difficult time right now."

A flash of recognition seemed to pass over the thing's eyes. It opened its mouth to speak, before literally clamping its lips shut. By zipping them together.

Muffled words from the green guy fell upon your deaf ears as you closed your eyes in frustration and turned away, resting your head in between your hands.

"God, why do I resign myself to such unfavorable fates?" You questioned yourself, assured nobody would hear you.

Of course, though, you were wrong.

The masked being sprung to your side, snaking a hand around your shoulders.

"Look, (Y/N), it's really not so bad. You and I here, together, we could have the time of our lives! The other guy was a wimp, but I can show you what a real fun time could be together," it purred, winking in an exaggerated fashion. You narrowed your eyes, smacking the warm hand off of you.

"How do you even know my name?" You hissed. The thing seemed to freeze up (again, literally) at your question. At this point, you were confused as to how the entire clubs eyes weren't on the two of you. A lightbulb flashed above its head as it thawed itself out, drawing a rose from its back pocket.

"Ma cherie, your name is written in my heart." You were confused by the sudden French accent. At this point, you were too afraid to ask.

You stood up suddenly, swatting the rose away from you.

"Look, I came here in the hopes I'd find somebody, but clearly he isn't here. Now if you could please let me leave." Your bluntness didn't seem to offend the... man?... surprisingly enough. If anything, it seemed prepared for your sharp tongue.

"Who are you here for?" The genuineness of its tone struck you, and for some reason you felt compelled to spill your guts to this strange thing.

"Well, he's just my coworker, but I've been developing some kind of weird crush on him that I know can't be reciprocated, and I overheard he'd be coming here so I wanted to see if I could 'accidentally' bump into him and make conversation and maybehewouldseehowawesomeIamandaskmeoutonadate but anyways it really isn't that important, and it was a farfetched dream anyways, so um... I think I'll be going now, anyways, um, thanks!" After your confession, you tried to hightail it out of there. However, the thing stretched its arm out (cartoonishly so) and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

"What's his name." The demand immediately set you on edge, and you felt more vulnerable than before.

"Stanley... Ipkiss. Um, why?" You murmured. A smile crept onto the masked face, and you tried to ignore the familiarity of the grin.

"Oh, him and I go waaaaaayyyy back! Oh, I just gotta get you two together!" It announced. You shook your head, pulling your hands away.

"No, no! You can't tell him, ever! Now if you excuse me, I will be on my way now!"

You had convinced yourself the interaction meant nothing. You tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach, and brushed off the meeting as something to never be repeated. Your brain tried to fight against any common sense that nothing about what happened that night was normal. And for a while, it worked.

That was, until, The Mask had made a name for itself in Edge City.

---

After it had been revealed to the city that Stanley Ipkiss was The Mask (and then was, for whatever reason, pinned on Dorian Tyrell, which wasn't something you were willing to buy into), you wanted to quit your job. The embarrassment was simply too much to bear. You saw Stanley every day at work now, and knew that you had basically confessed to him that night.

You did everything in your power to avoid him. You would rather talk to Mr. Dickey than him- you could take being berated, as long as it meant you didn't have to confront any feelings.

But of course, your life could never be easy.

"(Y/N)." You knew that voice- you had spent hours of the day memorizing it. Your head snapped up from your desk to meet Stanley's eyes.

"I'm not going to talk about it, so forget it. Go be with Tina, or whoever it is you like."

Stanley chuckled dryly at your response. "That's what I love about you: your bluntness. Among other things, of course. Your killer personality, your honesty, the way you tend to ramble... all very endearing things that help me fall for you."

Your face burned, and you refused to look anywhere besides your desk.

"Listen, this isn't very funny. Let's just both forget this happened, okay?" You spat. Stanley crouched down to your level, gently turning your head to meet your gaze.

"(Y/N)..." Stanley whispered, smiling softly. "I don't want to forget, okay? I feel the same way that you do... understand?" He nodded and ensured you were really taking in everything he'd said.

You couldn't help the slight soft smile that'd crept onto your face at his words.

Stanley's breath hitched slightly, breathing out a chuckle. "What a beautiful smile," he muttered. Your smile grew even wider, and you covered your mouth quickly with your hand.

Your face flushed even more as Stanley pressed a kiss to your cheek, clasping your hands in his own.

The same bright smile you had become infatuated with was now beaming back at you as he said,

"I love you."

[montimer]

The mask x gn!reader

How would he act around his crush

He'll usually have this smug smile on his face when hes around you

His intentions are pretty clear. He flirts and attempts to kiss you (he will unless u push his face away)

His jokes are endless. Especially if he has made you laugh, even a smile can bring one to his face too.

When he first saw you his eyes popped out and had a heart in them.

Everytime he sees you he'll go up to you.

He might try to impress you with some dangerous stunt or smt.

He talks a lot, and i mean a lot.

He'll hug and try to get as close to you as much as he can.

He will jump into ur arms when he gets spooked.

He'll be all over the place if you compliment him. He even brags about it to a random stranger that happened to be near by.

He pulls out flowers to give to you at random times.

He loves to be alone with you, and its a plus point if ur introverted, now you're all his.

Yes he can be pretty obsessive.

Once he decides to give you a long confession (that he wrote in a paper last night, putting all his feelings into it)

He might act a bit nervous the longer he rambles.

A kiss will convince him to stop speaking and focus on how good it feels.

Good job you got a crazy looney protector bf

[writeyouin]

Stanley Ipkiss X Reader – Me, Myself, And I

Description: After Stanley uses the Mask to rescue you, he becomes infatuated with you. The problem is that both he and The Mask wish to date you, so Stanley is forced to compete with himself.  

A/N – This is a gift for a user who was very nice on A03 and liked my previous Mask fanfic.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You sat on a bench, waiting in Edge City Park for Stanley to arrive for your first date there.

The park was the place you loved most in Edge City. It was one of the few beautiful areas, free of the stench of pollution, the noise of the cars, and the masses of people. Usually, you were glad to be there, but waiting alone there in the evening didn’t feel entirely safe and you felt on edge as you wished for Stanley to hurry up so you wouldn’t have to be alone for long. Granted, Stanley wasn’t big or tough, but he was decent and you felt safe around him.

Besides, he’d met you in the park on more than one occasion. While he worked in the city, you were his dogwalker, taking Milo out for a long daytime strut, as well as several other dogs that travelled in your pack. Yet, though Milo was supposed to be working diligently during those hours, his boss would often send him on the coffee run, treating him more like an errand boy than a skilled accountant. So, to get back at his boss, Stanley would often take the scenic route through the park, occasionally running into you, Milo, and whatever other dogs you had on a day.

After months of dancing around your crushes on one another, Stanley had finally gotten up the nerve to ask you out, and you had suggested something casual in the park. Yet, while you loved Stanley’s company, you were cursing his tardiness as the last traces of light left you stranded in the dark, waiting for his arrival.

Each rustle of the leaves made you nervous. Yet, when there was nobody there, you chided yourself for being so afraid to stay out at night. You tried to relax, wondering what was keeping Stanley so long when you saw movement in the corner of your eye.

Your head snapped in that direction and you immediately stood up as a group of thugs headed your way, hooting and hollering at one another. There were six of them, four men and two women, all with mohawks and angry makeup. Fortunately, their attention was on one another and not you so you started walking brusquely away from them, hoping they wouldn’t pay you any heed.

“HEY!” One shouted.

You ignored the guy, hoping that he was yelling at his friends or perhaps someone else… anyone that wasn’t you.

He yelled after you again, and you hurried away faster, hoping to see any normal civilian that you could latch onto, finding safety in numbers.

The group ran up to you, getting in your face, laughing and jeering as they mocked you, asking what a sweet little thing like yourself was doing in their park. You were terrified, not only by the gang, but by the fact that they had made your safe place scary; even if you somehow got out of this unscathed, you knew that the small park would never feel the same as it once did, and you would mourn that loss deeply.

While you were being harassed by the gang, Stanley had been on his way to meet you, red and sweaty because he was late. When he saw you in the distance surrounded by the gang, he hid behind a tree. It was not the move of a coward, but rather of someone desperately trying to formulate a plan to save the person of their dreams.

Stanley peeked out from behind the tree. There were six of them; even with you, those odds were hardly fair, especially when he could see metal chains sticking out of their back pockets, and some knuckle dusters on one of the women.

Upon spotting a snake with green gems for eyes on the back of the punk gang’s jackets, Stanley recognised them as the Emerald Vipers. They often hung around the alleyways near his apartment; to see them this far out likely meant they were expanding their territory, and that was never a good thing.

Well, if these Vipers wanted to see something Emerald, Stanley would provide. He reached into his jacket pocket where his mask hung waiting for him. He hadn’t intended to bring it out with him, but its hold on him was growing stronger every day, and he couldn’t resist it.

After donning the mask, Stanley’s body became a whirlwind and when he stopped moving, he was in armour and holding a hobby horse between his legs.

“A vicious attack by dragons.” He narrated dramatically. “A lone knight to battle them. His noble steed, Patsy. And true love’s kiss to be won. So romantic,” He gushed, clapping his hands to his cheeks in an overexaggerated blush.

He grabbed the hobby horse’s reins “Away Patsy, away!”

With that, The Mask ran to your rescue, a trail of fire igniting the grass as he ran speedily in your direction.

“Stop, you hoodlums!” He ordered, placing himself between you and the gang. “You shall not attack one’s true love, for I shall vanquish-”

You screamed as one of the thugs hit The Mask across the face with a thick metal chain. He fell to the ground and little birds circled his head, though two of the tiny bluebirds left their post to try and pull him up by the shoulder plates.

The Mask shook his head, drew himself to full height, and then looked bemusedly at the thug, “Just like your mama used to hit.”

“What?!”

Before any more questions could be asked, The Mask grabbed his hobby horse, wielding it like a golf club.

“Four!” He cried out as he used it to knock the thug into the air and way off into the distance.

“What the-”

The other gang members were on edge now, and ready for a fight with whatever weird manner of being was in front of them. But the Mask dodged every hit, kick, and punch, except for those which would have hit you had he not absorbed the damage for you. It didn’t matter how many hits he took’; they didn’t seem to affect him. It was like he was made out of rubber since he always seemed to bounce back with a quip or a pun.

After five of the thugs were taken down in various ways, each arguably more hilarious or strange than the last, there was only one left. She tried to run away, but The Mask donned the apparel of a French artist. He painted an exact replica of the park on his easel, including the fleeing Emerald Snake. Then, when it looked like the Snake was almost free, The Mask added a black hole into the painting, and so it was that the final assailant fell into a rabbit hole, and it didn’t look like she would emerge any time soon.

Although you thought the Mask was done and were about to thank him for his heroic rescue, he wore one final costume, becoming a cleaner and sweeping up the downed gang members on a comically large dustpan and brush, before dropping them next to the bin.

“Keep the trash outta the park,” He said with a mocking shake of his head.

“Uh, excuse me,” You said quietly, uncertain of how to get the hyperactive character's attention.

He turned to you with a sly smile, his outfit switching to that of a forlorn poet in slim bay breeches and a white satin poet blouse.

“Oh, my sweetest love, one need not ever fear the dangers this cruel world might bring, for with the rising and setting of the sun, I have vowed to be thine protector in green. What sayest you to this, so that our hearts may meet in gentle kiss?”

“I um-” In truth, you weren’t sure what to say to such an overdramatic character, and since you didn’t know him, he made you more than a little nervous.

“Thank you for saving me,” You said after a minute. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come when you did.”

“But of course. I would have travelled treacherous fjord, swam the deepest ocean, crossed the harshest desert if only to rescue you,” He took a step closer to you with each declaration until he was almost pressed against you.

“With that said,” He grabbed hold of you, dipping you down suddenly, “What say we do like the French and make out?”

“Wha-”

The Mask kissed you, cutting off your annoyed protest. You squirmed against him, kneeing his groin and making him drop you as he squeaked in response, the attack not hurting as much as it would have if he were only Stanley. You scrambled away and took off running. Granted, you would have to explain to Stanley why you had stood him up the next day, but you were sure he would understand once he heard your side of the story.

“W- Wow,” Stanley pretended to be dumbfounded as you explained the events of the previous night over coffee in the small café at the end of your street.

“I know right, it was so weird,” You said, caressing your cup for warmth.  

“So… After this Mask guy rescued you, you didn’t fall for him, or find him cute or anything?”

“What?” You laughed. “Are you mad?”

Stanley shrugged apologetically, a goofy grin playing at his lips, “Oh, you know, masked vigilante, a daring rescue, and he sounds like something of a charmer to boot. I wouldn’t blame you if you had some kind of attraction to him.”

You shook your head smiling, “Call me crazy, but that being straightforward just isn’t my type.”

“Not your type huh, then what uh- What is your type?”

“Hmm… Well, I like someone shy, sweet, he has to like animals, a little goofy… Someone who might just be sitting right in front of me.”

Stanley swallowed nervously. Okay, it was time for the first kiss. He knew that. You were giving him all the signs. The problem was that he’d already had his first kiss with you. Or rather, The Mask had, and while he wanted to kiss you, he was nervous that if he did, you would find that you secretly preferred The Mask.

“Stanley? Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah…” Stanley stood up abruptly. “I- I’ll be right back.”

He strode quickly into the bathroom, his head a mess of thoughts, some his, but some which definitely belonged to someone else… someone green with envy. He hadn’t lied when he said he would be back soon, but when both he and The Mask wanted your attention, he wasn’t sure which version of him would be back.

Stanley was used to competing with other men for women’s attention, but he never thought that he would have to compete with himself.

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[valluvslana]

:3

[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?

[lilly-townshend]

hey STEB NATION (me and 5 other fish enthusiasts) how are we feeling

[heavenbarnes]

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”

[ricemerc]

— Do you really wonna see what's under that mask? I know how to untie ropes, honey /ᐠ-⩊-ᐟ\

[aryxchse]

"rafe!" you called, smiling on the couch as you watched the tiktok video.

the trend 'when im running away from a serial killer, but it's just my boyfriend dressed in ...' has caught your interest, and well.. it kinda suited your boyfriend.

"yeah?" he called, altough he was already walking to you, taking a seat at the edge of the couch. you sat straight and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, replaying the video.

the woman mockingly ran and her boyfriend came from behind, and the woman turned around, saw her boyfriend and began unzipping her crop.

"you wanna do this sweetheart?" he asked with an amused grin, turning his head to you. you mirrored his expression and nodded. "mhm, that'd be cool."

"k' baby, we can do that. i got a mask," he murmured as he stood up, and you happily clapped your hands, getting up as well.

"and i got a crop like that!" you called with a chuckle, and he almost laughed at the irony.

——

"i want you to flash me by the way, that's our deal." he winked, putting on the mask he had, only showing his eyes. he wore a full black outfit, tight shirt and normal jeans, showing off his body.

you drooled, yet you were as hot as he was, with your closed from the front with a zip crop and shorts.

"alright, alright," you nodded, smiling as you put the phone, and starting ten seconds timer before you both stepped out from the room.

the video was slow motion, and you ran to room, rafe walked behind you with his scary yet hot frame, and you turned around; strutting your way to him, opening your zip.

the video was long ended, with you opening your crop and rafe holding your waist, now replaying what you got.

the thing video didn't got was how rafe threw you over his shoulder, making you yelp yet laugh. "where are you taking me exactly?"

"my room," he stated with a grin as he made his way. "to appreciate those tits."

you chuckled. "alright.. but the mask stays."

"hell yeah."

the video is this fellas !!!

edit ;; i dunno if someone already wrote this idea by the way, i watched the video and it reminded me rafe <3

[gojosprettyprincess]

I CANNOT stop thinking about getting pounded against the wall by pyramid head, the only thing keeping you still against it so you don't fall is his big strong hand choking your neck soo tight that you could barely even breathe while your leg is wrapped around his hips and he's pistoling his fat veiny cock so deep inside of you with every hard thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix and exploring your tight walls with every rut of his hips against you, oh and it's big, it's long and so fucking thick it stretches your cunt so wide and open around him. He fucking ruins you and obliterates your poor little hole for anyone else that's gonna have you next so the only thing that your pussy would be useful and good for is his cock and his cock only, that's how much he stretches you and craves your hole, into a perfect match for his girth.

You're moaning and screaming but what's the point? It's not like anyone can hear you, you should’ve never let your curiosity get the best of you because who knows? Maybe no one is ever gonna see you again because he's gonna keep you there with him and fuck you and use your (his) tight hole whenever he fucking wants and feels like it to please himself, your his little plaything now, his little cum dump to fuck and fill with his load over and over again.

[upon-sunflower-trails]

clarice's oneshot masterlist!!

loutish lover (stanley ipkiss x reader)

stone face (ace ventura x reader)

[bewitchedsouls]

princess treatment with simon

warning : use of the word wife

• simon is the kind of man to tell you to sit down as he gets on one knee and puts your high heels on for you and straps them when you’re getting ready to go out for a date night

• simon who will come up behind you, move your hair to the side and gently run his fingers down your naked back and feel the goosebumps as he goes to the bottom of your dress to zip it up for you without you even asking

• simon who will open every door for you, (don’t you dare get out of that car yourself), if you even try he will gently put you back into the car, close the door on you and then proceed to open it again, because simon is a gentleman and will never be caught not opening the door for you

• simon who escorts you into a room with a hand placed on your lower back as he rubs slowly up and down to soothe the both of you

• simon who will pull out your chair for you and once he’s pushed it back in before taking his own seat he will lean down and place a gentle kiss to your temple

• simon who tells you before you even leave the house to keep your purse at home because you are his beautiful wife and he believes you shouldn’t pay for a single thing

• simon who tells you to pick anything you want from the menu, any drink, any food, don’t even look at the price because he does not care, you deserve the world and he’s slowly trying to get that for you

[pedrasacorn]

Imagine saying something to Red Hood and he BENDS DOWN TO HEAR YOU BETTER

With that little “Hm?”

[bi-writes]

your lieutenant won't take off his mask for you. ehhhh, but you can make it work, right? (18+, ghost x fem!reader)

"no one sees my face. not even you, bunny."

but you don't mind. his face surely isn't the thing that drew you to him in the first place. no, it was when you were sitting in a loud room, and it immediately went quiet because ghost shuffled in. when you watched him duck his fucking head to get through the door only to stand there broader than the width of it. when he looked down at you with what was definitely a scowl under that mask and grumbled out "little bunny" at you in the filthiest voice you'd ever heard.

he could call you those names all he wants; he likes bunnies.

it doesn't bother you, that he doesn't want to take off his mask. you can still kiss him nasty through it.

as far as you're concerned, that's his face. you pet it like it is as least, cupping his cheeks and pulling him close, nuzzling your nose against his. he huffs underneath it, but he never pulls away, and you lick a fat stripe over the bony cheek of his mask, whining when you taste salt and sand and gunpowder.

you soak it with your spit. you cradle his head, tilting it this way and that, flattening your tongue and licking over his jaw. he holds back a groan as you kiss him open-mouthed through it, pinching his fat cheeks and planting wet kiss after wet kiss over his puckered lips. his lips part easily for you, shaky breaths like music to you, and whenever you let out a soft moan, he can't help the way he fists your ass and pulls you closer.

you want him to taste you. you force his neck back, pulling his chin down, and you lean over him just enough that you can spit on the front of his mask. you press your face to his after, using your tongue to soak it into the fabric, and you practically purr when you feel his tongue pressing back, cotton practically dripping with your saliva as he sucks on it.

you can't wait to sit on his face next. top 10 ways to die, water-boarded by pussy has to be one of them.

[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.

[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”