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the-librarby · 5 days ago

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Jason Todd, modern au rambles II

Part I

Spring was arguably the best season to study outside while on campus. You were deep in thought as you scanned through research articles, there was a deadline at the end of the week and your motivation anxiety had finally made an appearance to get this thing done.

You’re only momentarily plucked out of your train of thought when Jason’s phone buzzes on the table with an incoming phone call. You watch curiously as he peers over his glasses at the screen before smoothly silencing the call without a second thought.

“Dick?” You question curiously.

“Brother,” he supplies, leaning his head on his hand as he continues to read on from latest required novel.

You purse your lips in thought, “Is Dick his actual name or are you being an ass?”

He snorts, “I think Dick is enough of a joke for me to make up anything funnier.”

The phone buzzes again with the same name, this time Jason huffs and silences it with an eye roll. You can hear him mutter something about being dramatic.

“You aren’t worried that it’s something urgent?”

“He’s just being annoying, knows I’m out right now and wants to be nosy.”

You hum in acknowledgment and drop the subject, returning to your assessment. The breeze is nice and the sun feels good against your back, there aren’t many people on campus at this time in the afternoon which is relaxing. After another attempt of calling, Jason sighs and dog ears the page he’s reading before putting it down altogether.

You watch as he adjusts his glasses over his nose, annoyance plain as day on his face.

“I’m getting a coffee, want one?” He offers, standing up from the bench.

You blink, nodding before your speech can keep up, “Uh, sure, iced coffee please.”

He nods and walks off towards the campus cafe a few metres away. You watch until he disappears around the corner and take a moment to look around, your eyes are starting to get tired from focusing for too long but you still have a fair chunk of writing to do.

You’re honestly glad Jason doesn’t try to distract you while studying, although you love chatting with your other friends it’s always an excuse to procrastinate than actually collaborate.

The sound of a phone vibrating captures your attention, leading you to see Jason’s phone on the table.

Dick

Again.

You were wary about answering on his behalf but this was the what? Third call? Fourth? He really wasn’t letting up— it had to be something urgent. With nervousness, you pick up his phone and answer the call, a voice immediately filters through upon answer.

“What the actual fuck is the point of you having a phone?” The tone is smothered by good natured annoyance.

You open your mouth to respond but it continues, “I know you have this whole I’m unreachable vibe that you think is cool, but I promise picking up the phone every once in a while doesn’t make you—”

“Sorry!” You cut in, raising your hand in concern, “This is Jason’s friend, I answered on his behalf in case it was an emergency, he’s actually,” you look towards the direction of the campus cafe, but he was nowhere in sight, “Getting coffee right now.”

There’s a long pause that makes you look at the screen to double check if the call is still connected, the call log stares back at you with a picture of an unfamiliar person that has slight resemblance to Jason if you squint close enough at the tiny image.

There’s the sound of something clinking— in the kitchen maybe? And then a loud clearing cough, “When you say friend, you mean someone he hangs out with? Regularly?”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Yes?” You draw out uncertainly.

“And you’re saying this of free will?”

The uncomfortable pause from your end makes him backtrack, “Wait, sorry,” he laughs, “That’s so rude of me, I’m Dick, Jay’s older— much more handsome, brother,”

You laugh and introduce yourself in return, shoulders relaxing from their tense posture, “So this call isn’t an emergency?”

He huffs, “No, just trying to confirm if his highness is gracing us for family dinner at mine tonight,”

You nod briefly remembering something about a dinner being said when you met up, “Oh yeah, I’m pretty sure he said something about that— we’ll be wrapping up soon, I’ll make sure to pass on your message,”

“Wait,” he cuts in, “How would you feel about fucking with him?”

Out of the corner of your eye you see a familiar tuft of blonde hair making their return, “You have five seconds to explain until he sees me,”

“Okay—give me your phone number and I’ll text you my address, when he’s here I’ll let you know so you can come over. I just want to see his face when I make him answer the door.”

You stifle your laugh behind your hand to not raise attention, quickly you recite your number with your palm cupped over your mouth barely finishing when Jason comes with earshot. At first he’s respectful, assuming you’re talking to someone else so he places your coffee down in front of you. You smile politely and nod in thanks.

“Yeah, sounds good!” You reply enthusiastically.

He barely registers what you’re saying as he looks around for his phone— maybe he should return Dick’s call. He frowns and pats his pockets, he could have sworn he left it on the table. He looks over at you once more, face morphing into one of fear when he sees his phone case pressed against your ear.

“Who are you talking to?” He finally asks.

You move the receiver away from your ear, “Huh? Oh, just Dick,” Jason watches as you focus on the voice—Dick’s voice—filter through, “Yeah, he’s here—how’s he look? Like he wants to fucking murder me,”

“Murder Dick,” he corrects, launching over the table, “Give me the fucking phone—Dick! I’m gonna kill you!”

Dick squarks in your ear, “It’s not my fault you didn’t answer!”

Jason looks venomous as he makes a swipe for his phone, you yelp and lean back out of reach trying not to fall out of your seat, “I gotta go Dick, nice chatting to you—”

Jason hears the tail end of Dick’s goodbye as he finally retrieves his phone out of your grip, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Jay!” He cheers, “So nice to hear from you, how are you? Can I expect you at mine, say, seven?”

His eyes narrow suspiciously as you try to calm down, it feels like his gaze is assessing every clue that might show in your face and body language, trying to uncover what you two possibly talked about.

“Yes, seven.”

You make a mental note of the time and try not to make a show of nodding along in case Jason somehow catches onto yours and Dick’s scheme—he was freakily good at noticing things, you found that out the hard way. You lower your laptop screen, leaning your elbows on the table as you watch him hang up the call.

The coffee in your hands is refreshing as you take a sip, Jason eyes you suspiciously as he places his phone screen down on the table.

“What was that about?”

You hum, “Nothing at all, Jay,” you laugh, “Your brother seems nice,”

The nickname makes a shiver crawl down his spine that he pointedly ignores, “What did he say?”

You sigh and place the cup down, “Honestly nothing, he was just wondering if you were going to show up for some family dinner?” You mock confusion, “I only answered because I thought it was an emergency. Turns out he’s just—concerned?”

“Annoying,” he corrects.

You shrug, “Either way, seems like he really wants you there. Should we wrap up?”

Dinner at Dick’s was always a taxing experience. He loved his siblings, he’d fool around with them any day in Dick’s living room just to hear them laugh even if all the noise eventually gave him a headache. He finally taps out when Damien knocks his glasses off for the umpteenth time.

“Victory!” He cheers as he stands to his knees, peeling off each limb that clings to some part of his body.

He huffs and drops him with a rough thud against the floorboards, face flushed red from the warmth of his hoodie, “You’re gonna break my glasses you brat,” he spits without venom as he picks them up.

“Studying hard huh?” Dick chimes in as he stirs something on the stove. “Who was that girl by the way? She sounded nice,”

Jason grunts and places his glasses on the side table near the couch, “None of your business,”

“Girl?” Tim calls out from the table suddenly interested, “What girl?”

“Ooh! Mystery girl?” Stephanie perks, “Fill us in, Jay,”

“No—no mystery, no girl, just a friend,” he flusters, trying to shut down the growing interest, he’s always hated attention.

“Friend!” Tim shouts, “Didn’t know you were capable of that,”

“Alright,” Dick calls, “Let’s drop it, mystery or not, he’s clearly not ready to talk about it.”

He’s on alert as he tracks Dick’s movements from the kitchen to the dining room table. It’s not like him to be on his side, or care for his privacy, and his open body language is trying too hard for it to be sincere. Before he can interrogate there’s a knock at the door.

Dick startles, “Oh, B must have seen my text. Could you get that Jay?”

All eyes are on him as he walks towards the door, surprised at the unexpected visit from Bruce. When he opens the door he freezes, not faced with Bruce’s massive figure, but you, standing sheepishly with a bottle of wine.

“Is there room for me?” You ask, biting your lower lip, shoulders trembling in part nervousness and part amusement at the shocked expression on Jason’s face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He whispers, crouching down and trying to shut the door behind him.

“Who is it, Jay?” Dick calls out. Fuck.

“You should leave now, I don’t know what Dick said to you—but you do not want to be here,” he stresses.

You wave him off and shove him aside, when you look in you spot three others, “Hi, hope I’m not intruding, I was invited by Dick?”

Stephanie gasps, “Oh my god, Dick, you invited her? You’re such an asshole,” she laughs.

Dick gapes, “I am not! I’m just extending the hospitality, I host friends all the time!”

“Do not act like this applies to Jay, you can’t fool me—I know your game,” she points, “And I want to be in on it next time,”

You bat Jason’s hands away as he tries to shove you out while they’re distracted and introduce yourself. Dick is the first to invite you in, gracefully taking your bottle of wine with a sincere thanks. When Tim snaps out of his shock, he stands and politely introduces himself and Damien.

“You can sit next to me,” Stephanie offers, “Tell me all about how this,” she points between you and Jason, “Happened.”

Jason feels like a ghost in his own body as he watches the others gravitate towards you, taking their seats at the table. There’s one spot left across from you which he’s forced to take, still feeling the remnants of shock that Dick would pull something like this he can only listen as the others ask questions about you.

“Jay? Jason, you okay?” You frown in concern.

He grits his teeth but smiles tight lipped, “Just fine,”

“Should I go? It was just meant to be a joke,” Great, now he feels like an asshole.

“No!” He sighs, “No, stay, this has nothing to do with you,” he glares at Dick.

His brother makes a show of gulping, “He’s gonna beat the shit out of me later, let’s make the most of it. Quick, we need to recite every embarrassing memory we can about Jason and shatter his image.”

He knows it’s game over when all voices start to chorus with different stories.

#just the sillies really #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader

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the-librarby · 25 days ago

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IN THE RING V

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

18+ MDNI

You find yourself back at the ring, not behind the bar, but in the crowd. It was finally time to see Ghost up close.

.･:★ holy fuck ok, sorry guys I’m so late but it’s here. Not proofread or edited like usual of course. Have fun, this is the final instalment of in the ring. I possibly won’t have any fic updates from here for a while due to work.

I’ll always appreciate comments and asks though should you wish to send them in. Thank you so much on all the love on this fic, endlessly appreciate each and every person who took the time to send me kind words.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

The ring is lively as ever when you approach it. Conversations are echoing off the walls as you squeeze through groups in the corridor before approaching the mouth of the venue. You don’t pay any mind to the bar, it’s not what you’re here for, and quite frankly it’s the least of your worries. The amped up anticipation feels thick tonight, but part of you rationalises that it’s just in your mind. The ring is the same as it always is, but what you’re here for has changed.

The opponents aren’t in yet, but it’s getting close to time, you can tell by the way all the men pool together either standing or sitting on makeshift benches and crates as seating. You’re not sure where this supposed saved seat is, for a moment you poke around the edges of the crowd, looking for an unnoticeable way in until a loud whistle gets your attention. Mark is barely looking your way but waves you over with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Part of you doesn’t want to approach, but you owe it to him to be honest. He’s been nothing but respectful since your employment despite his roughness, and he is your boss at the end of the day— should you still have this job. The crowd is pliable with loose limbed bodies, most barely looking your way as you push through and step over the bench until you reach Mark. Upon approach you realise there is a spare seat next to him, it’s only a fold out chair but it’s yours nonetheless by the way Mark points to it.

You smile softly and take a seat beside him, the ring look much bigger up close, your neck stretches just to get a good look at it.

“Didn’t think you’d come back,” Mark says, looking at the ring, “Thought you got scared off for good.”

You look down at your lap, picking at your cuticles as you think over your answer. Is scared the right word? You didn’t feel scared of the ring, your heart still pumped with its usual adrenaline and even though you could consider the bad experiences you had as more than enough reason to quit, you had been taken care of.

“Can’t scare me off that easily,” you reply, peeking at him through your peripheral vision.

Mark’s shoulders relax into the chair, “Good,” he nods, “Can’t have Ghost quittin’ on me,”

That makes you frown in confusion, “What’re you talking about?”

Mark turns his head and scoffs at the furrow of your eyebrows, “Didn’t tell you?” He asks before shaking his head, “‘Course he didn’t. Bastard threatened to quit the ring if you ever left, s’why I had to play bouncer for that bloody stunt that happened.”

And suddenly all the puzzle pieces fall into place. You hadn’t even noticed, so much of what Simon had done for you still remained in the shadows and would remain that way until you incidentally stumbled upon information like this. How much more was he hiding? How much of the Ring’s operations ran through him? You thought of him just as a fighter, that this was an outlet he came to when his day job got boring, but clearly he has more ties here than you know of.

You clear your throat, “Thank you,” the sincerity is a bit lost over the loudness of the crowd but you continue, “Really, Mark, thank you for all you’ve done for me—”

He waves you off dismissively, “Save it girl,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, “Show’s startin’.”

The door to the dressing rooms opens revealing tonight opponent, he’s new, someone you haven’t seen before. The crowd murmurs about his promising build, when he ducks through the ropes he doesn’t perform any theatrics to get the crowd going. You watch as he rolls his head from side to side, shaking out his arms as he awaits his match.

The door opens again not long after revealing Simon. Your eyes watch with rapt attention as he makes his swift entrance, his mask is on like it always is before a fight. Up close you can see the details of the skull more closely, you can’t imagine what goes through his opponents mind upon seeing that for the first time. He stands with his back towards you on his side of the ring, you can’t help but think it’s intentional that he placed you here as he looks over his shoulder directly at you.

You can’t gauge what his expression is beneath the mask but he’s undeniably staring at you, Mark’s curious glance your way just solidifies it in your mind. Eyes are glued to him as he reaches for the top of his mask, pulling it off his head and tossing it over the ropes in your direction. It lands at your feet with a soft thud, you don’t hesitate to reach out and grab it, holding it safely in your lap.

Ghost looks towards his opponent and reaches out with both closed fists. For a moment it’s tense as they stare each other down but his reaches out and taps Ghosts’ fists with his own before receding.

The bell rings signifying the beginning of the round.

You clutch the mask between your fingers in attempt to wrung out the anxiety buzzing through your body. It’s so much worse watching the fight up close, the cheering and shouting is deafening— especially when one of them goes down. Every now and then you catch yourself taking in big gulps of air from when you’ve unintentionally held your breath. Mark watches stoically beside you, he’s not moved since the fight started unlike your fidgeting. You’ve wanted to walk out at least twice but refuse to leave Simon unattended, doomed to think something horrible will happen without your watchful eye.

“He’s showin’ off,” Mark grunts.

At first you think you mishear so you lean closer, not taking your eye off the ring, “What?”

“Dickhead is showin’ off, draggin’ out the fight,” he says a bit louder, but annoyed nonetheless.

This makes you take your eyes off the fight, “Why would he do that?”

Mark looks at you with a raised brow, “You tell me,” when you don’t respond he looks back at the ring, “Never had somethin’ to show off for, now he does don’t he?”

The implication makes heat rise to your cheeks, and cross your arms over your chest. You didn’t think he was capable of being boastful, always so blunt and precise in terms of fighting. But he wasn’t necessarily like that outside the ring was he? The idea of this fight being a show, an excuse to prove what he could do was a downhill spiral of thoughts that you did not want to entertain until the fight was over.

You’re not sure what possessed you to stand up, mask clutched in your hand as you cupped both over your mouth, “Get the fuck on with it, Ghost!”

You didn’t expect your voice to be heard over the shouting but you swear you can see Simon’s ears perk up so you continue, taking a step closer until Mark plucks at the edge of your shirt to stop you from walking any further.

“Is this a show or a fight? Fucking end it!”

The crowd erupts with roars of agreement.

By some miracle the fight names its victor not long after that. Simon stands panting, fist raised in call-out of his achievement, his opponent, utterly battered but still managed to get in some heavy blows himself—you can tell by the way Simon breathes shallowly— accepts the hand held out towards him as he stands. Both shake hands before he exits the ring.

Simon approaches your side of the ring where you’re already standing by the edge. You watch as he crouches down before sitting, shuffling his legs off the edge and resting his arms on the lowest rope. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, blood fresh on his eyebrow and knuckles, bruises are already starting to bloom on his jaw and various other places you haven’t taken note of yet.

Few wolf whistles can be heard from the crowd but neither of you pay either mind, trapped in the bubble that seemingly encloses around the two of you. Suddenly remembering the mask in your hands you lift it and place it on the mat between his spread thighs.

“Dropped this,” you say.

He exhales deeply, still catching his breath, “Keepin’ it safe for me?”

You smile coyly and step closer until you’re just on the outskirts of his thighs, you reach out to pat just above the skin of his knee condescendingly, “Well I’d hate for you to lose it.”

Simon zeros in on the way your hand is placed on his sweaty skin, if it wasn’t clear to outsiders before it definitely was now. He’d never wished for attention before, but part of him hoped James was seeing every part of this.

He leaned out over the ropes until his face was inches away from yours, a smirk curling the corner of his lips, “That you I heard screamin’ my name before?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to avoid the laugh that’s bubbling in your chest, you fail miserably as you sink your nails into his thigh, “Might have been— do you always put on a show?”

He scoffs at the accusation, “I’m no actor,”

“Showing off then?” You raise a brow.

Simon tilts his head, gaze briefly flicking down to your lips, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Instinctively you lean back to keep his face in view, “Yeah,” you breathe out, “Can see what so many come to see you,” when he gets close enough you gently shove him back by placing a hand on his chest, “You need to shower,”

He looks briefly offended, “What’re you tryin’ to say?”

“I’m saying you need to hurry up if you want to get out of here,” you trail off, “With me.”

His eyes droop as he stares at you for a moment longer, the crowd around you starts to disperse and gravitate towards the bar but the conversations are loud drowning out your other senses. When you’re certain he won’t lean in again you remove your hand and wipe the sweat off against your jeans.

Taking advantage of your momentarily distraction, Simon ducks his head through the gap of the ropes and nudges his nose against yours, the confusion of it makes you look up until he presses his lips against yours. You’re shocked more than anything, that Simon would openly kiss you surrounded by so many people who have known him as Ghost— an unbreakable fighter.

He tastes salty from the sweat, and when it borders on metallic you pull away, now really urging him to get up through your impatience. Simon looks self satisfied and ultimately plays along with your persistence this time as he rises to his feet.

“Don’t stray too far,” he warns, “I’ll meet you by the entrance.”

You only nod as you watch him dismount the ring and head off into the changing rooms. You pick at your nails anxiously, biting at the corners as eyes scan around the room. There are still lots of people surrounding the bar and talking to each other in post celebration. While everyone is in here you decide to find a more quieter waiting spot outside, near the door to the venue.

The air is fresh against your skin making you instinctively sniffle and tug your jacket around your shoulders. There’s only a few others outside smoking under the dim of the streetlights. You lean back against the brick wall opposite the door and count by the minutes thinking about what Mark mentioned about Simon. From the start you had heard nothing but conflicting things about Ghost, it seemed cliche to think maybe it was as simple as others not knowing the face underneath the mask. But it was the only explanation you could land on that explained both statements of notorious fighter— and dare you say caring? Being true simultaneously.

The door swings open, rattling as it bounces off the brick wall beside it. When you look over, a figure dressed in a black tracksuit steps out looking around expectantly. When his head swings in your direction you step off the wall, seeing Simon’s familiar face framed by his hoodie, covered by a black surgical mask.

You smile as he falls in step beside you, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie. The walk back is quiet at the late hour, your nose and cheeks feels progressively cold against the wind, and you’re sure your fingers are frozen.

But still one question has been eating away at you, “Are you going to quit the ring?”

Simon watches as you cups your fingers over your mouth in attempt to warm them up, “Where’d you get that idea?”

“Mark said you threatened to quit after that whole—,” you gesture with your hands trying to land on a word, “incident.”

Simon reaches out for one of your hands mid air and tugs it towards the warmth of his hoodie pocket, holding it there with both of his. The temperature difference is enough to have your fingers tingling in relief.

“Said I’d quit if you left,” he clarifies, “As a threat, he’ll do anythin’ to keep me ‘round, was the only way to get rid of that dickhead,”

You laugh at his blunt cockiness, wriggling your fingers until they lace between his in his pocket. The movement pulls you close enough until your arm is pressed against his.

“Awfully sure of yourself,” you muse, looking up at him, “What if he decides to drop you because of your demands?”

Simon meets your gaze with a raised eyebrow, “I’d quit before he found a better fighter than me, love,”

You nod in agreement, “Can’t argue with that.”

Tension begins to rise in your shoulders when your apartment building comes into view. It’s anticipation that builds in your core when you slip your hand out of his pocket and walk up the stairs ahead of him. You run out of words to explain your nervousness as you unlock the door, thankfully your mind goes quiet when you feel a hand tugging at your waist. You turn around and lean back against your front door, cautiously looking around your empty hallway as Simon closes in, his mask now removed.

The expectancy in his gaze makes your skin tingle you can’t help but press your fingers against his chest to pause his downward sweep. You peer up at him through your lashes and smile coyly.

“Just here for a drink right? Cup of tea?” You offer.

He pauses, facial expression immediately morphing into forced neutrality, “If that’s what you want,”

You laugh, it’s all you needed to hear. You curl your fingers into the fabric of his hoodie and forcibly tug until he’s inches away from your face.

“I’m just fucking with you Simon.” you whisper.

He sighs in exasperation, sinking his fingers into both your cheeks within the grip of his hand. The way he squishes your face causes your lips to pout ridiculously.

“You’re a nightmare,” he mutters.

You frown, “‘M’not,” you mumble between squished cheeks.

He smiles in amusement at your slurred speech, “Stop talkin’.”

The kiss is awkward against your pouted lips making you laugh, when his grip relaxes you hum, tugging him closer by your grip on his hoodie until his weight is flush against you. It’s a comforting weight, stuck between him and the door to your apartment as he kisses the breath out of you, deep and consuming. You don’t even hear him reach with his opposite hand for your door handle until you feel the support of the door suddenly shift.

You yelp in surprise as it swings open, clutching desperately against his hoodie with both hands to stop your fall. Simon barely budges with your added weight, swooping forward to hook his hands under your thighs and pull you upwards until your legs wrap around his waist. You blink at the adjusted height, staring straight into his smug expression.

You scoff as you wrap your arms around his neck, “Got a kick out of that did you?”

“Might ‘ave.” He states, turning around so you can see into the dark of your apartment, you can hear as he nudges the door shut with his foot before balancing you effortlessly against it.

You inhale sharply through your nose as he kisses you again in the dark of your living room. Nothing can been seen nor heard save for your soft panting, which taper off into quiet moans as you thread your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Simon eventually pulls away with a groan, “Can’t ‘ave you soundin’ like that after a kiss,” you rest your head back against the door as he presses his nose just under your jaw, “Wanted to take my time with you.” He mourns, pressing a kiss agains the soft skin of your neck.

The unsaid admittance of his failing self restraint makes your gut tense, “C’mon then.” You arch impatiently off the back of your front door and grind your hips into his. The fabric of his pants offer no resistance against the imprint of his cock which you can feel throb against the seam of your jeans.

He squeezes both of your hipbones in his palms and knocks you back with the forceful thud. Simon presses his cock much more incessantly against your jeans with an upward grind, you can only clutch onto his shoulders as he drags you up and down by your hips against the imprint of his pants. It’s warm, and you can’t feel much against the denim expect for the occasional way the seam bumps against your covered clit.

Simon has his neck buried in your neck, panting breaths hot against your skin, he seems perfectly content in his dry humping until your whine reminds him of your presence.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, hips stuttering as they pause, “Where’s your room?”

“Sure you don’t want to finish?” You tease, tugging lightly at the ends of his hair.

“Don’t fuckin’ start.” His hand trails down to the button of your jeans, tugging them open harshly before burying his fingers beneath. Your nails sink into the skin of his neck when his fingers curls between your wet walls.

“Fuck,” you hiss at the unexpected intrusion, clenching tightly as it buries itself deeper, “Fuck, Simon, pause—”

A second finger joins, rough in its movements, it’s luck that you’re still wet enough to accomodate the slide in. You moan pitifully, dragging your hands down to his shoulders as you lean back against the door. The limited space between your jeans presses Simon’s hand against your cunt so close that he might as well be holding it as his palm grinds against your clit.

“What’s wrong love?” He murmurs with faux concern, you could almost see the smirk in the darkness of your apartment, “No words for me this time?”

You scrunch your nose, arching forth as his fingers curl deep into your cunt, “You’re a sore fuckin’—” you moan at the way his palm digs against your clit, dropping your hips down as much as you can for more stimulation, “Loser,”

He barks out a laugh, hoisting you up with his other hand under your ass and pressing closer as support, “You’d be the first to think that,”

You grip the wrist closest to your cunt for leverage, rocking your hips forward against his palm, “Be sure to spread the word,”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, “Mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, sweet’eart.”

You’re barely even listening to his chastising comments as you chase the feeling of your orgasm. He can feel it in the way your nails sink into his wrist, your hips start to stutter as they sink into deeper grinds. When you least expect it, he slips a third finger in, the stretch leaves you feeling breathless as your lips part in soundless moan.

You squeeze your thighs tighter around Simon’s waist, he hasn’t budged once this whole time while holding you— an impressive feat you could admire when not on the brink of coming. When the stretch starts to not feel like you’re going to burst you grind down once more, Simon tilts his hand slightly so you can get better friction against the heel of his palm. It’s not long until you’re seeing stars, thighs trembling as they try to close in around his incessant curling.

You let go of his wrist, holding onto his shoulder for better grip instead as he slowly withdraws his hand, finding better purchase on your hip.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he finally says, lifting you off the door.

You huff, clutching his shoulders as he moves towards the couch, “You were always the talkative one,”

He tilts his head, “Was I?”

It’s miraculous that he doesn’t knock into any of the furniture as he drops down onto the soft cushions, “I distinctly remember you being the one always starting conversations.” You reply, reaching over to flick on one of the lamps beside the couch.

In the soft glow you can see the way thinks over your comment, before he can dismiss the idea with a snarky comment you reach for the hem of his hoodie pulling it up until he hoists it the rest of the way off. Greedily you gaze down at his chest, up close and without restraint you can see all his acquired scars which litter most square inches, all having a story you don’t know of yet. Instead of raising attention, you draw your gaze over to the bruising of his ribs, it’s an array of purple and yellow in its healing process. Carefully you graze your finger tips against it.

“S’fine,” he reads your mind, “Stop fussin’ over it, I’ve had much worse,”

You raise an eyebrow, fingers paused in their assessment as you look up at from your place on his lap, “Do you ever get check ups?”

“Don’t need ‘em,” he states, his own fingers plucking at the edge of your top.

“What do you mean, don’t need them?” You ask, flicking at his knuckles when he tries to ignore your questions in favour of taking off your clothes, “You need them more than anyone, what do you do when you suffer a major injury?”

He huffs, “Throw on an ice pack, go to bed, then work in the mornin’,”

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head at his apt explanation, “Simon, that’s appalling,” you gasp, “How have you not died of internal bleeding?”

He sighs roughly and rolls his head back against the couch, “Please darlin’ I’m not ‘ere for the lecture— I’m achin’ take mercy on me tonight.”

You pause in your tangent and look down at Simon’s lap, he’s tented in his pants, possibly hard long before you came. You sigh and drop the subject, reaching for the edge of your own top you pull it off unceremoniously and drop it on the floor. Before hands can reach for your bare waist you step off his lap, and kick your shoes off. Simon watches from the comfort of your couch as you peel your jeans and underwear off in one go.

He drags his hand down his face as he stares, barely containing himself as you take your sweet time crawling back onto his clothed lap. He hikes his hips, helping you shove his own pants down until his cock springs out against his abdomen. Without drawing out any time you hover over him, free hand resting against his shoulder as the other holds his cock in place. He grabs your hips for support, and watches mesmerised in your decent as you sink down onto him. It’s a lot, the size, the position, Simon’s unconscious impatience as he tugs at your hips.

Eventually you find yourself seated back on his lap with his cock buried deep into your cunt. Simon groans at the wet heat that surrounds his, stilling himself with whatever remaining restraint he has to not start fucking into you.

“‘nough mercy for you?” You pant, gripping harshly at his shoulders.

“That’ll do, love.” He groans, cautiously shifting your hips forward.

The movement makes you clench, the threads of your last orgasm still leaving you sensitive against the stimulation. Carefully you lift yourself up halfway before dropping back down, it’s enough to have Simon sinking his fingers into your hips, urging you to continue.

It’s not an easy slide at first, despite the stretch of his fingers Simon’s cock was no easy feat, it’s thick and long enough to hit places his fingers couldn’t reach before. It’s only a small mercy that keeps you going when the shift of your hips has the head of his cock hitting that spot deep in you.

“Fuck,” it seems like the only word you can manage to utter between your panting breaths.

Simon thrusts his hips upwards, meeting yours halfway, “Keep goin’ doin’ s’well sweet’eart.” He strings.

You whimper when your thighs begin to burn, resorting to grinding desperately in his lap. He tilts his head up from where it was resting against the couch and stares down at the way your hips swivel without any rhythm, just trying to chase any feeling as your orgasm approaches.

Barely holding it together himself, he grabs your thighs and urges you to twist off his lap and lay down on the couch. There’s barely any delay as he sinks back into you, propping one knee on the couch while the other plants itself on the floor for leverage. He holds your waist, kicking your leg over his hip as he drags you over his cock. You moan at how deep he manages to thrust in, but mostly affected by the way he seems to not really account for you being human but rather a toy he can easily use to bring himself off.

You brace your hands against the arm of the couch pushing yourself harder against his hips as he pulls you closer. He groans, transfixed by the way his cock disappears into your cunt over and over again. His movements become more sloppy as he tips over the edge, holding your hips in place as he repeatedly slams home until he stills completely.

You grasp blindly at the couch with one hand while the other holds his hip. It’s hot as he comes inside you, you clench your eyes shut at the sensation. When his thumb flicks rapidly over your clit your hips involuntarily arch, already close it doesn’t take you long until you’re clenching around him in your last orgasm.

In the dim light of your apartment you can see the mess Simon has made as he slips out of your cunt dripping the last bit of his come against the mound of your pussy. You can only pant through your open mouth as taps the head of his cock against it.

You rest your arms above your head, completely boneless and only mildly uncomfortable at the dripping sensation of his come leaking out— you would definitely need to deep clean the couch later. Simon plants his hands either side of your chest before leaning down to kiss you once more, it’s soft and lazy, something you bask in with the approaching wave of tiredness you feel.

“You stayin’?” You murmur against his mouth when he parts, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Do you want me to?” He asks, equally sated but aware enough to pack his bags if you asked.

You smile, reaching up to cup his face. He looks tired, more tired than you’ve ever seen in all the nights you’ve spent together at the ring. You sweep your thumbs over his cheekbones in a soft caress, “Yes, I want you to.”

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #cod x you #simon ghost x reader

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