#riley-researches

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Tf is his waist so small for

I am unwell

#this image is the bane of my existence #its for research #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #art #sleepy's thoughts #simon riley #fanart

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 9 - Pneumothorax

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Accidental injury with knife, descriptions of wounds, wound care, field medicine, allusions/symptoms of lung collapse, blood, ingestion of bodily fluids, gagging

Something your nightmares have never been able to truly capture is just how unnervingly easy it is to push a knife through flesh. The smallest knife cuts through Simon’s skin easier than the MRE packaging. Something dangerous flickers behind his eyes as he looks down at where you’ve pushed the knife into the side of his chest.

Everything is eerily still for a moment. And then he looks back up at you and grins so hard you can tell through the mask.

The knife slips from between your numb fingers. It stays lodged between his ribs for a moment before falling to the ground. You scramble to your feet to stand over his still kneeling form. “Oh god. Simon.”

The way you’d slipped and rolled must have put the knife exactly where it needed to be to slide around his vest. His shirt underneath is ripped enough that you can see pale skin and so much red blood. The wound is bubbling, blood thinning in the cold rain. “Oh, god, Simon, what do I do?”

“Punctured a lung,” he whispers, barely a breath.

“You need a doctor,” you say, and it feels stupid, so obvious, but, “I don’t know where we are. How am I supposed to call for help?”

“’M okay, Precious,” he grunts. And then he stands up, like he’s not at risk of lung collapse. He points at the muddy backpack that flew from your shoulder as you’d grappled with him. “Get the bag.”

The bag? “We’re not playing games anymore!”

“’S got medical supplies in it,” Simon answers. He crouches down to pick up his own pack, and his chest makes a wet sound. “’N another gift for you. C’mon, we’ll go back to the cabin.”

Your heart is in your throat, but at least the cabin has running water. With the medical supplies, you can at least try to clean him up before driving him to the nearest hospital. Wherever that might be. You prop his arm over your shoulder and do your best to brace his good side.“Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

As you start to walk, the edge of the roof is barely in view through the drizzle. You’re so glad you were already on your way back to the cabin when he’d tackled you. Why did you have the knife out? You’d been playing with it, cutting shapes into a big leaf. He should have seen it, he’d run at you from the side. But that’s why he got you something so small, right? So someone attacking you wouldn’t see it, so you could have the element of surprise.

“Call Price,” Simon says, suddenly, knocking you out of your worried spiral.

You look up at him, then at the cabin that’s barely ten meters away. “What?”

“Use my phone. You know the code,” he says again, “Call Price, tell him we’re at the empty north cabin.”

Before you can ask “What?” again, or even, “Who the hell is Price?”, he starts slumping into you. And then all 18 stones of him are in a semi-controlled fall. You try your best to not drop him, gasp when he hisses as your arm presses against the hole in his chest.

The only thing in your head, as Simon slumps into the mud, his blood all over your hands, is that the weather didn't hold out the way you both expected.

Simon’s phone isn’t on him, or in his little knapsack. It’s one of the scariest things you’ve ever done, leaving him there in the dirt to run into the cabin. At the same time, it’s… familiar. Leaving a man to die while you call for help that can’t possibly arrive in time.

This is different. The first time you’d stabbed a man, you’d meant to do it.

The cabin is a little abandoned thing that Simon had fixed up a bit in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the room you’d woken up in, it has a wet room style toilet and shower and a counter with a hot plate. The rest of the weirdly clean little building is just one empty room leading to the only external door.

You hand shakes as you paw through the pile of stuff in one corner of the main room. Simon’s left his battered old phone in the pocket of his jeans, like he always does. Your hands shake as you punch in his passcode. You’re jogging back to his side as soon as you select the only named contact in the phone.

By the time someone picks up, you’re back on your knees by Simon’s side, relieved to see his eyes fluttering.

“Price,” a man answers.

“Hello?” You try not to let your voice get to frantic. “Simon’s hurt. He said to call you. We’re at the north cabin.”

“Empty,” Simon grunts, barely audible.

“The empty one,” you clarify. The line is silent. “Hello?”

“He’s wounded?” Price asks, cool and almost distracted.

“Punctured lung,” you say. “He passed out, but he’s kind of conscious now.”

The man on the other end hums. “That does sound a bit serious.”

“Please,” you insist. “I don’t know where we are, please call an ambulance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And then the line goes dead.

Your hands are shaking when you touch Simon’s face. “He hung up. Simon, I’m so sorry, he hung up. I don’t know if I can get you into the car. I don’t know if there’s enough time for anyone to get here.”

“’S fine, Precious,” he says, barely a whisper. He looks just as peaceful as if he was at home, in bed. The mud and blood and burbling chest wound ruin the illusion. “Been in worse shape’n this. Price’ll come.”

“We don’t need him here, we need you in a hospital!” It suddenly strikes you that Simon had mentioned medical supplies. “Should I try to stop the bleeding? Gauze and pressure, right?” You grab the backpack and tear it open. There’s gauze, antiseptic gel, and bandage wraps. You also find a small bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Splash of alcohol first,” Simon says, closing his eyes. When you slap him, he glares up at you with one eye. “Oi.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me!”

“’M no’. Just restin’ m’eyes.”

“Not that either!” The way his accent is becoming more pronounced, and his words more slurred, sets your already galloping heart racing. You uncap the alcohol and tip it, not at all gently, over the wound. “Stay awake.”

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon growls, followed by a pained wheeze. “Okay. Fuck. Gauze next, you’ll have to hold it down. Don’t have enough bandages and too much mud, besides.”

The first piece of gauze gets soaked with rain and blood immediately, so you open another couple of packages and press. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you tell him over his hissing. Tears finally start catching up to you. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“’S fine,” he sighs. One big, muddy hand comes up to pat your shoulder. “Shouldn’a come at you from the left. Better t’ stay low and come at you from the right.”

“I still might have stabbed you,” you protest. “I shouldn’t have had that stupid knife out, I should have known better-”

“You couldn’a known.”

“I should have,” you insist, and the tears are falling even faster now. “I didn’t need to be playing with knives, I knew you were out here, that you’d start chasing me any moment.”

“’S part of the game,” Simon sighs with a lazy grin. “Weren’ supposed t’ stab me in the chest, but tha’s on me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to stab you at all, Simon,” you sob. “I never wanted…! I don’t…!” Simon’s eyes flutter closed again, and you feel your heart break. “Simon, please, stay awake. I’m sorry. Please, Simon. I don’t hate you, I’m sorry.”

You're not sure how much time passes. But you jump when a hand touches your shoulder, whip around to put yourself between Simon and whoever’s come up behind you. A white man with a beard you would absolutely expect to see walking around in the woods looks between you and Simon with raised brows. He brings a cigar to his lips and takes a pull.

“Simon,” the man says. “You broken?”

“No, sir,” Simon says. When your gaze snaps to him, his eyes are bright behind his mask.

“She said you punctured a lung,” the man you can only assume is Price points out.

“Affirmative.”

“John Price,” he finally introduces himself. He offers you a hand up. When you look between his hand and where you’re keeping pressure on Simon’s wound, he chuckles. “Let’s get this drama queen inside, shall we?” Then Kyle appears at his elbow with a grin and an arm full of blue tarp.

“How’s the hobby search going?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into tears.

John Price had guided you inside while Kyle somehow maneuvered Simon onto the tarp to drag him the last few meters to the cabin. Now, there’s another tarp laid out on the floor, with Simon’s clammy, pale body on top of it. Knelt next to him, Kyle mutters something to himself, focused but relaxed. He’d complimented you on a clean strike, once he’d gotten Simon inside and cleaned the wound enough to look at it. Apparently, you probably could have done a lot of damage before killing him outright, if you’d really wanted to.

The sucking sound from Simon’s chest as he chuckled had made you run outside to throw up.

“You meet my girl, Skipper?” Simon eventually wheezes. There’s a big patch of of gauze taped over the wound. That side of him, from shoulder to hip, is the only part of him that’s really clean, besides his now-unmasked face. He winces when Kyle does something with the tubing sticking out of his chest. It’s still trickling blood, but that seems to be better than the flood from when Kyle had first pushed a thick needle between his ribs.

“I have,” John Price says, blowing a cloud of smoke. “You haven’t been keeping her here long. Surprised she stuck around to make sure you’d be okay.”

It strikes your ears as… absurd. The idea that Simon had whisked you away to this tiny, sparse little building for, what? For good? Nonsensically, you want to point out that there’s no kitchen, and Simon knows you like to prep and cook when you’re stressed. MREs wouldn’t cut it for long.

And then it occurs to you that John Price knows Simon. Knows him well enough that he expects you to die.

“She’s had Riley here on a leash for half a year,” Kyle informs him. He pats Simon’s cheek condescendingly, ignores his growl of annoyance. “Poor bastard’d been going mad, cooped up with nothing to do since Soap’s been locked up.”

“Eight months,” you whisper. You’re sitting on the edge of the tarp by Simon’s good side. You sip some water and offer it to Simon. He lets you tip the bottle carefully to his lips. “We met eight months ago.”

“Christ,” Price says, rolling his eyes. “I told you to keep a low profile.”

“’ave been,” Simon grunts.

“And, that little excursion at the ski lodge was what, exactly?”

Simon tilts his head to look at you, mischievous smirk under the black makeup around his eyes. “Had to make sure our first date was memorable.”

You want to smack him. The thought makes you feel guilty since you’ve already stabbed him today. You compromise by petting through his hair, right where the scar you gave him sits, then give his ear a little tug when you get to it.

“Hope it was worth it,” Price says. “You going to get rid of her, or am I?”

Simon is up and standing in front of John almost before you see him move. The back of him is still spattered with dirt and blood, silvery scars in stark contrast. You watch his chest expand, hear the whistle and bubble of air and blood through the tube you can’t see. You take one look at Kyle’s startled, worried face and quickly get to your feet.

When you come around his side, you shiver and shrink back a bit. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Simon’s face this frigid. He’s completely closed off as he stares down at Price, doesn’t even spare you a glance.

For his part, John remains completely relaxed. He takes a lazy pull from his cigar and blows the smoke from the side of his mouth, away from you. “Touched a nerve, have I?”

“She’s good people,” Kyle pipes up, coming to stand across from you, so everyone is in a loose square. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t made no trouble yet.”

John doesn’t look away from Simon. “That so?”

You reach out for Simon’s hand, then think better of it. You touch his back instead, in case he needs that hand. You step closer but stay a little bit behind him. “Simon?”

“She’s talked to the police, you know,” John says. “After your stint at the hospital, and again after your little date.”

That startles you. “I never-”

“Hush, now,” John says.

Simon flinches at the same moment that you feel your back straighten. “Excuse me?” You take a step forward into John’s space. “Maybe you forgot, but I called you here to help. If I wanted him dead, Simon would be dead right now. If I wanted him arrested six months ago, he’d have been arrested.”

“Precious-”

“No, Simon.” you interrupt him, staring into John’s eyes. “He practically lives in my apartment. He drugged and kidnapped me literally last night. He made me touch Brandon’s skull, and then I stabbed him this afternoon. I’ve been at the scene of two mass murders and now I’ve almost killed someone else. What the fuck makes you think you can come in here and talk about me like you know anything about me? Like you think I’m an idiot? Why do you think you get to shush me?”

The man doesn’t react except to pull from his cigar again. Your clothes are stiff and damp and uncomfortable, but you resist the urge to fidget. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Kyle look from you to John and back again.

“If you ever have him arrested, he’ll be out in a day,” John finally says. “You’ll be dead before then.”

“Oh gee,” you mock. “I wonder why that never occurred to me. Making the serial killer angry might get me killed. Shocking.”

Simon’s hand gently touches one of your wrists. “Easy, Precious. Price ‘s just lookin’ out.”

You let him take your hand. “He can do less of that, thank you very much.”

Simon reels you back against his front. He props his chin on top of your head and kind of sags some of his weight onto you. “Don’t think he can, love. Fundamentally incapable. Has to take care of his men.”

“Well he’s my man, now,” you grit out. “So you can fuck right off, John.”

For whatever reason, that cuts the tension. Kyle barks a laugh before he can stop himself. John tips his head back and huffs out smoke. Simon just presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Kyle told me you were a little off,” John says. He props a foot on his knee to stub out his cigar on the sole of his boot. “Simon’s been real tight lipped, but I see why he likes you. Not much self-preservation to speak of.”

Of all the stupid conclusions he could have come to…!

Simon’s hand covers your mouth before you can tell John exactly what you think of him. “She’s helping me find new hobbies.”

John just shakes his head. “I don’t want to know. Kyle, how long is he recovering?”

“Three weeks. Two, if he avoids aggravating it,” Kyle answers.

Simon hums. “’M gonna aggravate it.”

“Goddammit,” John swipes a hand down his beard. “Soap’s supposed to be my troublemaker, not you.”

The murderous stalker isn’t the problem child? You snort behind Simon’s hand. Hopefully, you never meet this Soap guy.

“Fun as all of this is, I’m on shift in four hours,” Kyle says, looking at his watch. “Need to get home and sanitize. Riley, usual wound care. Drain’s gotta come out in three days. And you need antibiotics. Seriously.” He looks at you. “Make sure he gets them and takes them. All of them. His feet will fall off.”

“No they won’t,” you say when Simon drops his hand to wrap around your shoulders, just as he says, “Fuck off, Garrick.”

“Take the damn antibiotics,” John says, standing from his seat. “Be ready for a call in three weeks.”

“Affirmative.”

“And you,” John holds a hand out to you to shake. Waits for you to take it and gives a firm shake. “Let me know if you get tired of him hangin’ all over you.”

“So you can kill me.”

He gives you an amused grin. “I’m not in the practice of wasting valuable assets.”

“I’m sure you meant that in a way that’s not offensive,” you answer. “I’ll do my best to never call you again.”

“Smart girl.” He gives Simon a nod, and then he and Kyle are out the front door.

The shower head sputters and spits, but eventually produces surprisingly warm water. Not hot, but warm enough that you don’t feel bad herding Simon in to get clean. Warm enough that you groan when you step in with him.

There’s a silicone bulb hanging from the tube in Simon’s armpit, compressed to create some kind of vacuum. It’s pink with blood and other fluids. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so you use your hands to gently wash you both with a generic body wash. When you start rinsing dirt and an errant piece of leaf litter from your hair, he smirks and leans in until your back is pressed against the cold tile.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but panic. Your hands go to his hips in case he’s losing his balance. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just braces the arm on his wounded side over your head. The drain site looks a little red, but not concerning, so you check the edges of the waterproof bandage Gaz placed to make sure it’s still set.

That’s why you don’t realize what he’s done until a splash of his blood hits your cheek and drips into your mouth. You can’t really rear back, trapped against the wall. All you can do tilt your face away and sputter as he empties the drain onto the side of your neck to drip down your collarbones.

He grunts a disagreeing sound when you lift your arm, catches your hand before you can lift it very far. His hand comes up to your cheek, two fingers touching where his blood has dripped to your chin. He pushes his hips into you, and you can feel where he’s getting hard.

When he speaks, it’s little more than a whisper. “You were supposed to slash my arm, you know.”

“Wha-”

He’s not gentle when he shoves his fingers into your mouth. For all that he was laid out on the floor less than an hour ago, you can’t force his hand away with both of yours. It’s all you can do try to fight the urge to gag as you barely hold him at bay.

“Knew you’d like the gifts,” he growls down at you. “But you were s’possed to slash, hm? That’s what a good girl like you does, chased in the woods. Easy to drop a knife that way.” He uses his fingers in your mouth and thumb under your chin to make you stare up into his eyes. “Where’s a sweet thing like you learn to keep a knife close to the body? Felt you let it slide, flat. Felt you push.”

Had you? You hadn’t felt it, just the anxiety spike of being attacked, the cradle of his hand shielding your head from the ground. Just his huge body and that skull mask, on you suddenly, without warning. You can’t answer, can’t even try without gagging. Simon gives your jaw a little shake.

“You could have killed me, today.” He grinds your body between his and the wall for a moment, before stepping back. He drags you under the spray of water, other hand cradling the back of your head. You struggle to cough, try to turn your face down. Your heart races as you do, knowing it’s only because he let you.

And then he slips his fingers from your mouth and brings your face to his chest. He holds you as you cough, pets over your back. You cling to him, because what else can you do? When you finally look up at him, his pupils have all but swallowed the blue of his eyes.

“Fear looks so good on you, Precious.”

Taglist: @mishaglass, @oceanicexolorer, @whitetiger846, @iknownothingpeople, @fruitdoom, @achillesquartz, @hindi-si-ikay, @ahopelesspedantic

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #cod #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #simon riley x you smut #manic pixie dream ghost #gaz appreciation nation #price is right #this one was a monster and fought me every step of the way #but it's finally here #i did a lot of research for this one but i'm not a doctor

[sprout-fics]

dunno if imissed thurs thots bc time zone is an arse but i pilled an allnighter and needed some smit to keep going bc coffeee aint doing it job anymore so heres a copy paste of my idea from when i was actuallyawake

hallo! so taking a page from the spider verse movie, what if reader did yell out a safeword? there is an “aftercare for a red moment” hole in the fic community (or im just blinded by the algorithm who knows)

So this is a really interesting concept, and also a good way to discuss proper sex practices, so thank you anon!

For those unaware, the color system (Green, yellow, red) is typically associated with BDSM practices. Green is all clear, yellow is slow down/change tactics, and red is full stop, change into aftercare mode. However this system is not exclusively designed for kink related practices, it can be a useful tool for even vanilla sex. Please remember to always check in with your partners and obtain enthusiastic consent before engaging in sexual activities. I am not an expert in this area, so please remember to do your own independent research if you are curious about this topic.

(Warning: Uncomfortable sexual scenarios and use of safe words, please read at your own discretion)

The Color Red

(TF 141 reacting to you using a safe word during sex)

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

You’re not really sure what does it, but something inside you drops abruptly, without warning as Soap’s hand wraps around your throat. 

There’s not even any pressure, just a heavy grasp that circles under your jaw but it’s enough to make something in you rise in panic, blood chilling and breath seizing inside your chest

He’s still hunches over you, your legs wrapped around his hips, brow scrunched in pleasure, voice dragging as he tries to angle himself just right to graze against the soft spongy part of you he knows will make you go boneless in his arms

Whatever pleasure was tightening low across your hips dies as a cold, fearful wash of dread takes its place, the world spinning as you drop fast.

“Red.” You croak, voice trembling, abruptly, entire body going rigid with panic.

It’s over in an instant. Soap knows what the word means, is trained to respond at the first instinct of discomfort, and within a blink his hand is gone, his weight off of you

You curl over onto your side, eyes wide and shoulders trembling, wetness still on the inside of your thighs but air rising sharply as hyperventilation threatens to take over

Soap’s weight is off the bed, giving you space, but when he notices your breathing he kneels beside you at once, eyes brimming with worry

“Hen, sweetheart, it’s alright.” He coos softly, words echoing as a steady stream, a reminder to his nearby presence. “You’re safe, we’re done. Breathe for me, You’re alright.”

“Johnny.” You gasp, reaching for him, and he obliges instantly, maneuvering you both so he sits against the headboard and puts your head into his lap, positioning a pillow underneath it. 

“I’m here.” He reminds you, a hand stroking along your shoulder in soothing circles as you try to control your breathing, listening to him breathe alongside you. Deep inhale, hold for 4, out for 7. Repeat.

“What do you need, hen?” He asks after a few minutes, after the panic has faded to a dull bite, once you stop shuddering and instead curl into an exhausted heap at his side.

You sigh out a shuddering exhale, feel his thumb graze across the top of your shoulder. Gentle, patient, devoted.

“You, Johnny.” You tell him at last. “Just you.”

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

“Red.”

You gasp it out unexpectedly in Gaz’s bed, hands secured above your head as he bends over you, three fingers curling inside you, smug smile plastered over his face as he tries to wring another orgasm from you despite you telling him you can’t, and him finding another, another anyways

Now, however, it’s finally too much, and when he presses just right the sensation it summons is less pleasurable and more aching, stretching an overworn muscle that leaves something twisting unpleasantly inside you

“Oh shit, doll.” He gasps at the word, and slowly withdraws his fingers to not cause you additional discomfort. You whine, but the sound catches in your throat, pleading and tender. “I’m sorry, shh, take a breath for me.”

He reaches up above you, pulls at the rope and it comes loose easily, allows your hands to sink into the pillows and reduces the strain on your shoulders. 

“Hey, hey, I got you.” He murmurs as you shudder, face contorting at the unpleasant ache inside you

He drags you into his arms, and you don’t complain at all, curling into his steady frame as he tucks you against his chest

“You did good.” He tells you at once, reassuring, gentle. “Promise you did good. Just take your time.”

You nuzzle against the coarse, curly hair of his chest, feel him stroke a hand against your back as the ache inside you dies to a low murmur

“I’m okay.” You tell him after a few minutes, taking all the time you need to fully relax into his embrace “It just…it was so much.”

Kyle exhales then, a breath you didn’t realize had been holding. His form goes a little lax against you, relieved by your words

“I’m sorry, doll.” He tells you at once. “I should have stopped sooner.”

You shake your head a little, remind him gently “That’s what the colors are for. I’m alright, just-” and you wince. “Tender.”

You feel him smile into your hair, mouth tugging just an inch, his body warm, solid, reaffirming against yours

“We can fix that.” He tells you softly. “How about I run you a bath and get you cleaned up, hmm?”

You nod, pause, and then crane your head up to plant a kiss against his lips

“Sounds wonderful.”

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Sex with Simon can usually be an intense, emotional affair, an experience where you try and carve space within each other through touch, seeking a balm to the brokenness, soothing to the fear and hurt 

Yet there are also times when you both just need release

Which is where you are now, face down, his hands hauling yours behind your back, hips slapping against your pelvis with a rapid, brutal intensity that’s going to leave you pleasantly sore for days

His voice is a grinding, rumbling presence that doesn’t allow you to drift entirely off, forcing you back into the presence of him. A hand tangles in your hair, presses you down into the sheets as he growls lewd, filthy praise down at you

Yet there’s a hint of malice to it, and normally you’d welcome it, send it right back to him, teeth bared and spirit a bright flame that burns against his darkness

Now, however, each word seems to puncture through you, as he hisses ‘Slut. Pretty little whore.’ down at you

You want to take it, want it to feed the coiling need as he buries himself inside you, but tonight it sounds almost like Simon means it.

It hurts.

It forces you to drop so fast it gives you whiplash, mind reeling and you have to remind yourself to say the word that bleeds across your tongue.

“Red.”

Simon stops instantly, removes his hand from your hair like he’s been burned.

You barely even notice, caught in your own turmoil of thoughts, trying to find your way out of the labyrinth. You don’t even notice as he pulls out from you, but the sudden emptiness only feeds the fall, makes a sob curl in your throat as you try and fail to swallow it down

He’s gone from the bed, you notice, and if anything it makes you panic more.

“S-Simon.” He try, voice wavering, and as if you’ve summoned him he appears back at your side, his voice gentler now but strained, guilty

“Here, pet.” A hand against your spine, a feathering touch given only as a mild offering before you give him permission to touch you, to which you gasp “Please.”

The touch becomes firmer, fingers pulling at the rigidness coiled in your frame, and after a moment there’s the cool touch of a washcloth that wipes the sweat from your skin.

“Y-you didn’t mean it, did you?” You try at last, not moving yet, knowing he’d only hush you back into stillness, make sure you didn’t push yourself too fast too soon

Simon takes a moment to process, realization washing over him at why you invoked your color.

“No, never.” He tells you, voice a little distant, and you know the faint unhappiness that colors his own voice isn’t for you but for him, tearing at himself for causing you hurt

You take care of him too, knot your fingers between his in tender reassurance, reminding him that even as he hovers at your side, you stay beside him too

Captain John Price

You’re trying to soldier through it, the pain that wraps around your thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder, braces it on the broad planes of his frame

Your hands are fisted in the sheets, chest heaving as Price forces his tongue into your cunt, fingers digging red marks into your opposite leg. There’s pleasure coiling n your core with every stripe of his tongue, dragging whimpering moans from your throat

It’s soured, however, by the wrapping on your thigh, the stitched bullet hole radiating pain. The sharp ache drowns any potential pleasure that rises inside you and you try to grit your teeth against it, force it down in pursuit of the warmth of price’s breath against your folds

You can’t. You can’t do it, not with tears beginning to well in your eyes and the sounds coming from transitioning into whimpers of pain. 

“John.” You manage, strained, and for a moment Price is so absorbed in his task he almost doesn’t hear you. “J-John, red. Red.”

Price’s head shoots up, his ears attuned to that word specifically, and when he does you see slick coating his chin, his eyes flickering brightly in worry.

A sob bursts from your chest at the sight, dragging with pain, eyes hot and wet as you press a hand to the red blossoming bandage. 

He surmises the situation quickly, and instantly he’s rising off you, nearly vanishing from you entirely, giving you a bit of space before sitting back down beside you and gently bending your leg onto his lap

“Shh, it’s alright love.” He reassures you, a hand reaching up to stroke at your sweaty forehead, against your brow bunched in worry. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

“I’m sorry.” You blurt out even as his fingers knead into your calf. “I didn’t- it hurts.”

“Never apologize for using your colors.” The captain tells you sternly, and he holds your eyes on him, levying you with a disciplining stare that ensures your compliance. You nod, sniffling, and it makes some of the grimness melt from his eyes, tendered with affection

“Where are your pain meds?” He asks then, a hand gently tracing over the bloodied bandage, and you nod to the bedside drawer.

He nods absently, one hand still braced on your leg, the other reaching past you to withdraw the bottle from the assembly of items there

“You’re going to take these.” He tells you without question, drawing your gaze back to him once more. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and then get something warm in your stomach so they go down sunny, yes?”

You sniffle and nod at him, still feeling a little embarrassed, still in pain. Yet it’s softer now with his touch as his eyes turn to you fondly.

“Might even get you some hair of the dog for good measure.” He offers, and it at last summons a shy but warm smile from you

------

Again, if your partner every signals they are uncomfortable during sex, stop, talk, and proceed as needed. If anyone ever disrespects you signaling you are uncomfortable or blatantly ignores your safeword, do not engage with them further. Stay safe, stay sane, and stay consensual

#simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #cod imagines #fucking outing myself with this post rip #Minors I will fucking steal your kneecaps don't even fucking look at this post I will block you at lightspeed #mdni #18 + only #minors do not interact #minors dni #my writing #my headcanons #blank blogs dni #don't ask me how I know this I've spent too much time researching #also before you ask yes all the cod men respect safewords that's not even a question

[helcef]

Keepsake

Back to ignoring canon after this

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #cod fanart #cod mw3 #mwiii #mw3 spoilers #digital art #artists on tumblr #call of duty fanart #cod #mwiii spoilers #soapghost #ghostsoap #art #im not drawing angst anymore this shit sad #did you know drawing sad things makes u sad #cerberulix art tag #did a bit of research on id disks i was gonna draw the boxy kind initially..

[gomzdrawfr]

Im going to be quite busy since uni started and I have to do my placements and research papers, so I won't be doodling as much as before </3 but today I bring you this :)

#gummmyart #doodle #I wanna be carry around in a huge hoodie too... #it's been very cold here im dying for anything warm man /cries in single #drowning in assignments hghhh #been fighting with other classmates over research titles and manage to secure one yesterday #gonna carry out the research for about a year ish oh boy #that's clinical year for ya #but im excited for it despite knowing im gonna be hella tired #new chapter in life amiright #anyways #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap

[shyravenns]

Just a quick doodle of Simon/Ghost from @yeenybeanies dnd au! He’s a (holds up reading glasses) gloom stalker ranger/soul knife rouge! Honestly, the design for him was so cool and I’ve been meaning to draw a centaur au and this was the perfect excuse to do so.

#sorry if the lower half is too horse like #ghost cod #simon riley #dnd au #gift art #artists on tumblr #myart #simon ghost riley #go check out yeeny’s dnd au #it’s very well researched and I’m in love with all of the designs #the only time I ever draw ghost as a white man is if I’m drawing someone else’s design for him LMAOOO

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃Mercurial:

Ghoap x male reader

Chapter One/Prologue: Abstain

"I found you, I found the door."

-Mitski, I Want You

(please mind the tags, I don't know how the UK train system works, English isn't my first language apologies for any mistakes <3)

You kiss them goodbye on the doorway, you make sure their jackets are zipped up, you promise to keep the windows locked and to not go out at night, Simon smiles, his eyes crinkling above the surgical mask.

"Gonna be good for us, hare? Sure hope so."

It's half joking, half threatening and desperately hopeful.You focus on the spot between his eyes as you nod, stomach twisting into knots and hands sweating.

You press your ear to the metal door and listen to their footsteps fading away then you rush to the balcony and watch the black, truck you repainted last month go down the road, through the U turn and disappear, your knuckles white against the railings your forearms stiff, eyes so wide and unlinking untill they water and force you to blink. You're scared that any moment now the other shoe will drop, they'll turn the car around and John will ask you if you really took them for such fools as Simon rumages through drawers and wardrobes laying every bit of your pitifull escape plan on the floor, like a wolf gutting a hare. Then you'll be driven back to the lonely, stuffy shack in the woods in the trunk, hogtied and gagged, feeling every bump on the road.

The trunk opens and you shut your eyes against the onslaught of white hard light, nose stinging from the cold as you curl into yourself out of both fear and well deserved shame, guilt. They're talking above you, familiar voices blurring together and becoming white noise. You feel like an insect pinned down, getting dissected.

Someone places their hand over your eyes, rubbing at your red, runny nose with their calloused thumb.

"Oh lovie."

"Carefull Si, cannea back out now."

There's silence for a second and you know they're exchanging the kind of look that saves their lives out on the field, the kind of look that explains and understands.

"Gotta let him learn his lesson ,hmm?"

"No other choice left."

Simon runs his hand over your face and rubs at your neck, that still smells of someone else. Mature and cold with hints of narcissus.You can see his internal conflict in his darkned eyes and see you can see his attachment, his love, his despration winning out.

You look up at them at Simon's wide set face and his unfocussed eyes dried out from lack of sleep, John bends down and picks you out of the truck setting you down on aching feet, still clad in socks as he flicks his knife out, a flash of fear goes through you, gutted by the same knife you had bought for him on his birthday, how fitting.

"Run 'n I'll break ya legs,."

"Last resort Si, might never heal proper again."

"Wouldn't tha' a good thing by now?"

You hear a sigh, both exasperated and heartbroken.

"Hope not."

Simon holds you in place by the shoulders as John cuts the ropes away, his jaw is set but his sweet blue eyes are wet, tired and you can't help the immense guilt you feel at putting them through this, for pushing them so far, for staying when you knew you'd do this.

Then you lift your face and see it, the cabin it's a box really, no windows and only one heavy door, John had mentioned his father had built one for hunting ,you wonder if it's the same one. You look over the dark wood walls and the door padlocked from the outside, your fear snowballs, all consuming and rattling your ribs. The idea of being trapped in the small, dark space is nauseating, it terrifies you in a way so primal, so reflex you think you'll bolt for a second, you think you'll beg scream, anything, anything. John straightens up and caresses your face.

"Just for a little while hare, just 'till Si n' I are back from this misson, then we'll come 'n get ya, promised we'd never leave eachothe, remember?."

He rips the tape off your mouth and gives you a soft sweet kiss, familiar lips failing to settle you for the first time, well groomed stubble scratchy against your moist skin, Simon presses his cheek against yours.

"It has everything ya need and we'll be back before you know it, just behave yourself and you'll never have to see this place again."

His voices is gravel against your skin, his breath smoke but you can't focus on them pressing against you on either side or the ropes laying undone on the grass.

All you can see is the cabin, the padlock, the wardens, the convict.

You had stayed for a long time in that cabin, long enough for your food to start running out, long enough to grow both lovesick and resentfull, long enough to get yourself together and fix the old, busted hunting camera you had found shoved between the wall and the bed.

You bought two flasdrives a week ago before their deployment and hid them in your tool box, on one you upload images of the cabin, of chains, of bruises, dents in the wall and your room ransacked time and time again.You know it's not a strong case and it's not meant to be. It's supposed to be a reminder for what you did, what you're running from, your sentencing.

On the other flash drive you upload all your happy memories, screenshots of loving wordsand jokes, selfies together, pictures of gifts and vacations, the apartment you saved up for with them. To keep you warm, souvenirs from the last place you settled in, from the last place you let yourself be loved.

You tuck them into the struddiest back pack you own, four changes of clothes, underwear, very basic toiletries, some fancy jewellery you'll have to pawn off later on. The money, fake ID and passport you had hidden in the inner lining of one of the coats John's forgotten about a long time ago, discarded at the back of his closet.

You pack the bag in under ten minutes just the way you practiced, the hard part is the note, you write over and over again palms sweaty and hands shaky eventually you settle on;

'Stay safe, I love you, goodbye.' Flowery language and false promises feel ingenuine when you're leaving everything the three of you have worked for, everything they'd tied their hearts to , it feels cowardly when you're running away. You leave the crumpled up notes on the top of the trash and your shared card on the table. You keep your promise ring in your pocket.

The walk to the train station is torture, every loud step is Simon, every wide shoulder or brown jacket is John, you feel like you're drowning in a pool filled with snippets of them, like driftwood caught in a storm much bigger than he'll ever comprehend. You either dread the day they'll be nothing but memories or salivate for it, you can't decide with the overwhelming panic, the sick excitement.You buy a day pass and a burner phone before you throw away your cell phone.

The bus ride is calmer, when you don't think about the pub you met in, the small flower shop you routinely bought foxgloves and bluebells from, the record shop Johnny loves, the workplace Simon insisted he drove you to whenever he could; the lufe you're betraying, the blessings you're running from.

You sit arms crossed and face hidden under your hood as you watch the city flash by, the further away from home you get the more guilt you feel; guilt for letting them in, guilt for misguiding them, guilt for aggravating them again and again and again untill either one snapped, guilt for leaving when you had just convinced them you wouldn't even think of it.

You swallow it down and watch the city speed away colors blurring like oil paint.

Next Chapter >>

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x male reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap x male reader #ghoap x reader AU #tw toxic reader #tw implied cheating #tw codependency #tw controlling realtionship #tw implied abuse #tw first fiv ever basically #fic #Mercurial #tw mentions of starvation #flower symbolism #i researched too much for #tw shitty writing #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x male reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x male reader #simon riley x john mactavish x reader #angst

[alwaysshallow]

also. who screams fake dating trope?

#a lil bit research purposes #call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty gaz #captain john price #cod #mw2 #cod mw2

[thorougly-melted-brains]

I’ve been really bored and researching kilts so fun fact there are official clan Mactavish tartans! The ones listed/shown here are all registered to both Scotland’s tartan register (which I was delighted to find existed) and the clan’s official website.

I’m not an expert, if you have additions or corrections please send them. Historical fabrics/clothes and their significance is one of my favorite things, I am happy to learn and edit this post.

This specific one is Thompson Red Mactavish (#228-230, accounting for multiple versions):

It’s similar to Ancient Red Mactavish, also just called Mactavish* (STA** #797, not pictured). Ancient Red has more a historical precedent, first recorded in 1850.

*Given discrepancies between the official website and the register, I can’t tell if they’re actually the same. They’re given different dates, and the tartans are slightly different.

**The current register, Scottish Register of Tartans (STR) was only founded in 2008. The Scottish Tartans Authority (STA) predated it, so some original numbers remained.

There’s also Cash (Mactavish) (#12604):

To my knowledge it doesn’t have a huge usage beyond those with the surname Cash, only designed and registered in 2019, I just thought it was pretty.

There’s many more. A lot of specific tartans come from diminutives (such as Cash) or anglicizations (such as Thompson) of surnames.

(Can you tell I have a thing about etymology.)

Anyways, something something married SoapGhost with Soap somehow wrangling Ghost into his family tartan. Thats it, computer send twe

#this has been your daily Melt research rabbit-hole #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #misc.

[emberphantom]

OH OF COURSE THESE TWO HAVE THE SAME BLOOD TYPE IM GONNA SCREAM.

(I'm like 89% sure that's what this refers to bc this it how it looks on dog tags so.)

ahem anyway feel like this is important information for fic writers so 👀 the more you know ✨🌈

#ghostsoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod:mw2 #mwii #modern warfare 2022 #if im wrong y'all gotta tell me lmao #but i dont think i am.... #i did some cursory research to confirm and i was lile yeah no tjats gotta be it. #unless it stand for some kinda ops thing but literally thats how they designate blood type on dog tags so

[hunterbunter3000]

You are correct it is a goose 🫶 (because I am a hilarious goose) also I have this headcannon that könig & or ghost get panic attacks sometimes. (Use that as a hurt/comfort thing as you will) I also SUCK at lore for CoD so anything I know is blurred together with actual things and then just mostly fanfics and such so don’t smite me pls 💔

But yea I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort ESPECIALLY with sweetheart cuz she’s badass but kinda like group mom yk?

- 🪿

OKAY GOOD ITS A GOOSE THANK YOU LOL

But ugh hurt/comfort is like- I feel like everyone is a sucker for hurt/comfort 💀 ME INCLUDED (it depends on the h/c but yeah I can snort it all day)

And it's okaayyyyy if you don't know the lore!! I only know about 3/4 of it, but on the top of my head? Jeez it's like BLANK LOL so you're completely fine for not knowing the lore, and I've been a fan of CoD since a child 😭

And OMGGG YOU SEE SWEETS AS A BADASS AHEHHAHWJAJ MY LIFE IS SO COMPLETE-- but yeah she's the milf of the group (IM NOT SORRY FOR WHAT I JUST SAID)

I can definitely see Ghost and König having panic and anxiety attacks (I have another ask like this and I still need to answer it dammit. I HAVE ALOT OF ASKS STILL- LIKE 38 LOL)

The first time Sweets saw Ghost have a panic attack, she panicked a bit herself because she's trying to figure out how to calm Ghost down. She's just cursing to herself, brain just overthinking everything

(Sweetheart: Should I hug him? Will that make it worse? Okay wait, don't touch him-- but does he even know I'm in here with him? Just touch him- NO DONT-- FUCK WHAT DO I DO?? DO I TOUCH HIM OR NOT?? MAYBE GET WATER? BUT-- JUST DO IT OH MY GOD NO FUCK-- )

So she gets on the floor with him and is so hesitant. But she gently soothes his arm that's huddled on his bent knees. "You're okay..." She lowly says to him. She sees its kinda working, so she sticks her hand in the fire more. "You're gonna be okay, Simon. It'll pass."

Simon.

She used his real name. She's talking to the man who's having a panic attack, not Ghost. Not the calm, collected Ghost. Simon.

It took a bit more for him to calm down with her soothing touch and low but soft tone, telling him to focus on his breathing. Ghost sighs, looking at his hands. Sweetheart's places her hand in one of his, the warmth immediately going to his already dizzy head. He looks up, eyes locking with hers. She's concerned about him. Worried.

But she wears a soft smile for him. "Do you need anything? Maybe some water?" She asks, her thumb rubbing his thick skin. Comfort.

Simon gulps and clears his throat, eyes leaving hers. "Yeah. If you can." She nods, "Of course. I'll be right back." She gets up but was stopped by Simon's hand. Please.

"P-please. Please don't leave." He whispers. I need you right now. I need you so much.

She smiles as she shimmies in-between his legs and wraps her arms around his neck. "Wait--" She rings back, like Simon was made out of acid. "Oh gosh, do you want to be touched right now? I'm so sorry, I didn't even think--" She was cut off from Simon yanking her into him. His ear right where her heart is, hearing the rhythmic thump. It's calming. You're calming.

She relaxes into him, wrapping her arms around him once more, her hands combing his hair. Simon closes his eyes as he sighs in content. He's learned something about himself. About Sweetheart. She always has a warm presence. A presence that makes you feel at home. Safe.

You are my peace.

(I have never had a panic attack, so I apologize deeply if this is incorrect.)

#thank you goose anon! #again sorry if this is bad-- i did some research last night but idk of i did it justice 😭 #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost headcanons #call of duty modern warfare 2 #mw2 ghost #black fem reader #black reader #cod oc #cod x y/n #black!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #ghost x female reader #task force 141 x reader #ghost x 141 sweetheart #141 sweetheart headcanons #141 sweetheart #hunter's ask lounge ☕️ #goose 🪿

[asgardswinter]

Unfriendly reminder that you’re a piece of shit if you headcanon Ghost being an abuser and rapist when hes a victim himself :)

#like read his wiki please #and actually do research on his character instead of watching ahitty tiktok vids #hes a victim of abuse & rape #because he’d hate you bitches for making him into a monster #he literally hunted and killed people like this why would u think he’d like u #idc if hes fictional ur headcanons r harmful #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod fandom

[ruintine]

as a fellow curly-haired ghost enjoyer i have to point out that this man doesn’t know shit about hair care. especially not curly hair, that’s a whole different monster. you take the mask off on a good day, that’s a frizzy chunky horrid mess if it’s long. not soft, for sure. crusty. dry as the sahara. give this guy some moroccan oil and a wide-toothed comb

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #ghoap #ghost x soap #those tags are relevant bc soap would research the shit out of it #he’d know ghost’s specific curl type and the best protective styles for the mask #ghost is too stinky to give a shit about that. buzzcut fanart is so real

[yeyinde]

I want your opinion on the cod boys, what's everyone's favorite drinks? Who's snobby about it and who will drink literally anything as long as it gets them drunk. Which one is a wine snob and which one drinks straight vodka ??

i love this so much, op!!

Ghost: drinks Bourbon, likes it neat (room temp, and nothing else) in a glass. would probably drink Lucky Seven Spirits "The Jokester" 6 Year Old Bourbon Whiskey or Wild Turkey 81 Proof Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. might enjoy a pint of Guinness. doesn't really drink much else. dislikes tequila.

Price: scotch, likes it neat with a little bit of water on the second sip, and a pint. would probably drink Johnnie Walker's Red Label (occasionally splurges during the holidays and buys himself the coveted and rare Blue Label; the ones in his possession are prized. if he ever offers you a glass of this, know you're special to him) or Ballantine's Finest Blended Scotch Whisky. His favourite pint would either be Peroni or San Miguel. a bit of a snob in the sense that he won't drink anything else. hates vodka. don't even ask him to drink any.

Soap: whisky, scotch, and pints. He isn't too picky and will drink whatever he feels like when he's out. would probably drink the Famous Grouse, or Crown Royal Canadian Whisky (even though his Scottish friends rib him for being a traitor). he would drink what is on tap if they didn't have scotch ale. dislikes gin.

Gaz: wants to like beer, but he just doesn't. prefers mixed drinks, especially vodka. likes sherry, too. a little bit of a sherry snob and despite what he says, only goes to this one tapas in Spain for the sole fact they serve the best sherry. will drink whatever gets him drunk, but is learning on how to refine his palate under Price's tutelage. and the fact that the man is never too far away from glass of scotch. enjoys Gonzalez Byass Apóstoles Sherry 30 Years or Don Benigno Cream Sherry. for mixed drinks enjoys vodka cranberry, Pimm's, Sherry negroni. his most coveted drink is NV Fernando de Castilla Singular Oloroso Sherry.

Alejandro: a snob when it comes to tequila. he only drinks extra añejo. he drinks a glass with his dinner and does it the proper way: small sips, neat. he always has a bottle of Siete Leguas D’Antaño extra añejo and Maestro Tequilero tequila añejo classico on hand. drinks Mexican wine as well. MD Vinos – Cabernet Sauvignon (red) and La Cetto – Sierra Blanc Sauvignon Blanc (white). his most coveted drinks are Tears of Llorona Extra Añejo and Don Julio Ultima Reserva.

Rodolfo: he doesn't drink it straight too often, and prefers cervezas or mixed drinks. enjoys Michelada, wine, beer, and tequila. would drink Monte Xanic – Grenache Rosé Wine, Indio or Bohemia (beer), Jose Cuervo Reposado (tequila), and Cantaritos made with Milagro Silver. enjoys the holidays the most when he can buy Noche Buena.

#this was a lot of fun! #i did so much research on drinks lmao #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #cod headcanons #cod mw #cod mw headcanons #gaz headcanons #ghost headcanons #price headcanons #soap headcanons #Alejandro headcanons #rodolfo headcanons

[pure-oddity]

Hey! It's murder time :3

(Also not proofread, if i stare at something too long I'll just never do anything with it.)

Pt.1 Part.2

Butcher/slasher ghost au: Part 3

He's known as the reaper - he thinks it's a bit on the nose but who's he gonna complain to??

Outfit is simple, a lot of it comes from his time in the SAS - skull mask included.

His goal is to clean, plain and simple. He doesn't want to walk side by side with some bottom feeding murders, doesn't want to risk serving perfectly good meat to abusers. The idea makes his skin crawl.

Considers his work just, has little faith in the justice system - the cops here have been...less than efficient in his eyes. Unwilling to go as far as needed, constrained by the law (or worse, they show sympathy to the pathetic things and let them off easy). So Simon takes things into his own hands.

The only part of the whole experience that he MIGHT feel some guilt for enjoying. Is the fear of those he hunts. Because isn't it so ironic, to spend your life terrorizing others only to die scared, confused, alone and in agony at the hands of someone larger and stronger than you? The irony certainly isn't lost on simon, and he gets a little thrill out of it.

Considers the whole thing his ghost time, because it's not all that dissimilar to what he was doing in the military right? Taking out the bad to protect the good, getting dirty so the world stays clean. He's got a few less resources sure, less hands - but he makes due. He dons his old husk, and cleans up his little corner of the world.

It starts with a jerk at a pub. He's people watching again, nursing a glass of bourbon in a shadowy corner - trying to observe and adapt behaviors he think will help him settle in better. A man walks in, simon notes he looks agitated but also - excited? Watches him walk to a group of girls, previously abuzz with excitement chatting away. He watches the life be sucked from the whole table as the man approaches, watches as he leans towards one of them hand on her arm in a grip that he knows is meant to hurt. Watches as her demeanor changes to something more reserved and afraid and Simon can't take it - seen all he's needed to. Walks over silently, every bit the predator he knows to be.

was just gonna intimidate the guy a bit, send him running off tail tucked between his legs - see if maybe he could charm the poor girls into settling down and enjoying themselves again (maybe even on the sly recommend a womans domestic abuse shelter for the poor victim).

But then he sees how much the fucker is enjoying this. Enjoying the poor girls fear, enjoying ruining their night and ending their harmless fun. Enjoys hurting the poor woman and, well.

Simon only stops when the man passes out from pain. Face a bruised and swollen lump, nose shattered and blood dripping everywhere - maybe missing a few teeth. Simon grabs the guys shirt and uses it like a cloth, cleaning the reminents off his hands. Spares a glance at the girls, is unsupervised to see them afraid - but still saddened by it. He tips his head at the main victim, then makes his way outside to wait for the police. He lights a cigarette, leant against the wall of the building and glances to the side as he puffs a cloud of smoke when he hears the door chime again. It's the main woman and he nearly chokes. She's trembling and her eyes well with tears, and she places a tiny palm on his bicep.

If she feels his body jolt she doesn't say anything and her hand remains there - a burning itching feeling barely blocked out by his hoodies sleeve. How he loves and loathes it at the same time.

She thanks him for what he did, and while he doesn't ask questions, she offers answers anyway. Said that she'd left him ages ago - went to a lot of trouble running from him, uprooted her whole life and moved cities over when she realized the police wouldn't do anything. Only for the bastard to find her again. Says that while what Simon did was terrifying, she's grateful that he stepped in. Scared to imagine what the fucker would have done had he managed to get her out of the building.

It makes Simon want to hit him again, but he refrains. Instead he pulls as much softness and care from his soul that he can - tells her that it's okay and he'd do it again. That no one should be treated like that, that she didn't deserve to have her life messed with like that. And that with how thorough he was with that man's face, there's a good chance he won't so much as look at another woman again.

She smiles at him. His heart near bursts. Tells him that's what she's hoping for - but is ready to run if things go belly up anyway. Pats his arm and makes her way inside, content to wait in the warmth as the police finally arrive on the scene.

Everyone is questioned, the man is brought to a hospital and Simon is free to go after some questioning. The girls from the table all having jumped to his defense, and apparently the bottom feeder threw the first punch? Simon doesn't remember the hit really, but sure.

The idea that the scumbag could come out of the hospital with a vengeance worries simon, because it makes sense. Embarrassed and in pain, all those feelings likely to be taken out on the poor girl.

Pulls some connections. The fucker gets sent to prison - drug charges or something, not really concerned with the why - and it's still not enough for Simon.

Watches for news of his release obsessively, makes it so he'll be one of the first to know of the fucker is so much as considered for early release.

And a month later (what a fucking joke) when the day comes and Simon catches wind that he's going after the poor girl again? Simon takes care of it.

And it just continues on from there.

Watches someone beat on a defenseless animal? Body found 3 days later. Animal is given to a loving home

Catches an attacker stabbing some random victim? The body is found within hours - victim wakes in the hospital and has no recollection of how they got there or who saved them.

Sees a guy spike a drink? The guys found dead a day later (and the bodies of the ones who were making and selling the drugs haven't yet been found)

But the world isn't so black and white. There's a lot of grey.

The animal abuser had previous animal abuse charges attached to his name, yet he still got ahold of an animal. The shelter or breeder who did this is just as responsible for not double checking who they were giving pets to.

Considers those bystanders just as bad and deserving of punishment. Thinks of all the harm that could have been avoided had people just done the bare minimum.

The mugger had been arrested and released more than once, making the police responsible for not doing something to prevent this.

And the drugger, did this at the bar - multiple people sitting on either side of him, every chair full, and no one saw anything? The bartender, a few feet away didn't think to stop it? It makes simon just so fuckin mad.

And thus the reaper is born.

#simon riley au #simon ghost riley #butcher simon #slasher simon #or serial killer?? #i def need to do research into the terms #like is there a difference? #regardless the man is murdering #odd blurbs

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

#simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley x johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #for research purposes