#Callofduty

[thespiritualmeatgrinder]

tagging this with trending tags so it can reach more people!!

no one else is posting these so heres some links to support afghan women and girls:

donate to malala fund afghanistan initiative

donate to women for women international

this petition only has 80 out of 5000 signatures

this petition from 2021 still hasnt reached the 500k mark

[peachetteprice]

Jeweller!Price receives your engagement ring in the post, along with a candidly snapped Polaroid of how it used to fit on your finger, hand beside your face as one might show it to a best friend in a dimly lit Wetherspoons, squealing over its opulence and rarity.

Within the package, there's a note, explaining - in short - that after gaining baby weight and birthing your daughter, it no longer fits, and although you vetted it through your husband that you would fit it to a silver chain to wear around your neck, which he initially accepted, he simply won't stand for it any longer, for one poor reason or another.

The letter is sad. Sadder than Price might have imagined, littered with a thousand reasons to leave that limp-cocked (it's there, between the lines) excuse of a betrothed, that he understands you might not have meant to litter, but it exists there on the page regardless, beside the residual saline stains of your tears that you shed as you penned it.

Naturally, Price doesn't re-size the ring.

He leaves it as it is, mostly, though buffs the surface a little to dull the shine and engraves a microscopic, but fairly legible 'J.P' on the inside of the ring, then returns it to sender with a strongly-worded letter of recommendation, alongside a Poloroid of that pretty, wasted ring around the first knuckle of his pinky finger, as the rest of his fingers squeeze his thick cock, veins bulging and pulsing as if the picture were alive, dribbles of cum trickling along his inflamed head.

What a shame that your husband never manages to successfully trace your ring after it got 'lost in the post on its way back from the welder's'.

:(

Pt. 2

| Masterlist |

[spicelold]

Riley !

[naconaco]

[schizo-bbgs]

Ghost ^(2)

[onefr3ddieo]

male back study

[snookkit2]

they live in my head rent free btw

[la-petite-lapin]

Unlikely Friendships | Part Three

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 3.5k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions of drinking, swearing, vague injury description (Simon's scars), mention of guns/shooting (not serious), Simon being a protective guy with feelings, it's not gonna be a slow burn- its a wildfire

In the month that followed, you brought Sunnie back to base a grand total of three times.

Every Saturday afternoon, without fail, come rain or shine, Simon would take a strategically timed walk around the base. He'd also just happen to pass the gate to the visitor's car park, intercepting you before you could set off in search of Daniel.

He'd even taken to calling you Sweetheart in his head. It seemed entirely fitting.

Today was one of those days.

He left the gym at 1, giving himself plenty of time to shower and mellow out in his room before slipping on his trainers and balaclava. As he ducked out of his suite to start his stroll, he grabbed his trusty hoodie - slinging it over his shoulder - and the tiny yellow gift bag that had been taking up residence on his desk for the best part of a week. It was silly really; daft that he'd felt the need to rush out to the shops on his free day to pick up something for Sunnie.

She'd mentioned it on a whim, he was sure, but the week prior, she'd been telling him all about this new Jellycat that had just came out. It felt like fate when he saw it in a Waterstones while browsing for some new reading material. Like second nature to scoop it up into the wide cradle of his arm and carry it over to the tills.

He didn't even feel awkward when the young female cashier assumed it was for his daughter.

Disturbingly, Simon was growing fonder of both you and Sunnie each time he saw you. Your last outing had consisted of him taking the two of you out for ice cream, and eagerly listening to everything his tiny, newfound friend had to say. He was genuinely interested in Sunnie's stories; even though he thought her friend Tara sounded like a bit of a catty bitch, which is probably a horrible thing to think about a child.

So, imagine his surprise when he made it to the gate. You were leaning against the passenger-side door, phone raised to your ear and Sunnie nowhere in sight.

Despite his happiness to see you, Simon couldn't help but feel a little wounded by her absence.

Had she chosen not to come? Had you finally realised just how dangerous he was? Were you here to tell him that neither of you were coming back ever again?

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His palms were sweating in his gloves; a thin sheen developing on his forehead, dampening his mask. Fuck. What if this was the last time he would ever see you?

You crossed the stretch of concrete between your car and the gate, his eyes not leaving you once. It didn't take long for you to spot him, lifting one hand to wave as you quickly checked for any other cars driving about on the lot. Finding none, you jogged across to Simon, completely surprising him by wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing your cheek into his chest as you mumbled, "Fancy seeing you here."

It only lasted a moment before you pulled away, but it was one of the best moments of his life.

Clearing his throat, he managed to get out a soft, "Where's the little'n?"

Your lips quirked up into a smirk. "What? No hello, how are you, or anything?"

Simon cursed himself. You were right. He was a rude prick...

You let out a laugh, bright and brilliant. "Relax. She's at my mum's house for the weekend. I forgot to mention it last week because I was so distracted by-" Your voice trailed off as you smiled up at his masked face. Not wanting to freak him out, you kept the ending of "how good you were with Sunnie" locked up tight behind your sealed lips.

"Ah," Simon said softly, visibly relaxing. "Don't want to sound impolite, but how come you're here then? I mean, you only normally come to bring Sunnie to base."

A thought crossed his mind and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. The unspoken idea that you might be there to see Daniel.

You let out a wistful sigh, hand making a sweeping gesture towards the main buildings that made up the military base. "Well, you see, I have a friend who lives here, and I thought I'd drop by and check up on him."

He grinned under his balaclava. "Is that so?"

You nodded somewhat bashfully, a big dopey grin forming on your lips that he instantly adored. "Yeah. You might not know him though. He doesn't get out all that much."

Simon made a wounded gesture, clutching at his chest. With a guffaw, he reached across to ruffle the hair on top of your head. "Well, it's much appreciated. I do like the company: yours and Sunnie's."

That was how the two of you ended up in a pub a short drive from the base, tucked into a corner booth beside the small, tiled patch of ground that passed for the dancefloor.

The music was loud despite the fact that it was barely 6 o'clock - an obnoxious compilation of early 2010s dance hits - and the lighting was dim at best. The smell of stale beer permeated the air, and the wooden floors were sticky with it, but neither of you cared.

Two hours in and you were on your third drink, your thigh pressed against Simon's much thicker one as you pressed your lips to the spot where his balaclava covered his ear, whispering something about him driving your car back to the base. His focus sharpened when you added something about maybe staying the night on his sofa.

That wouldn't do. No; you'd have his bed, and he'd figure something out.

He leaned back against the padded backrest as you stood, pointing in the direction of the restroom sign. With a nod, he motioned to stand to let out out of the cramped booth, but was beaten to it when you slipped between his knees and the table edge. The view of your jean-clad ass was almost enough to give him a heart attack, but not enough to stop him from watching you walk away.

With you gone, he slipped his phone out of his pocket, checking the taskforce group chat.

SOAP: aye, lads SOAP: Si's gone out with a lass! PRICE: a lass? SOAP: THE lass!! GAZ: oh, Sunnie's mum GAZ: well done mate ;)

Grumbling, he fired a quick reply into the chat.

GHOST: ha, ha, ha GHOST: fuck you all

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he downed the rest of his beer - his first and only drink of the night. Contemplating getting up for a pint of coke, he turned his gaze to the bar. But, before he could get there, his gaze snagged on something that boiled his blood.

You were standing halfway between the booth and the restroom door, some preppy blond fuckwit standing in front of you with a sleazy grin decorating his too-thin lips. Simon couldn't see your face, but your body language was a mix of anxiety and boredom. The epitome of please stop trying to hit on me as you tried to edge around him towards the restroom door. Though, this guy clearly wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Standing up and unfurling himself to his full height, Simon stepped away from the booth and towards you and the asshat. With slow, measured steps like a jaguar on the prowl, he stepped up behind you, placing a large paw of a hand on your shoulder.

You relaxed back into his touch - like you recognised him from that alone.

A primal growl rose up in Simon's throat.

"Are you lost, mate?" he asked, letting just a hint of the malice he was feeling peek through into his tone.

Poor preppy blond looked like he wanted to die on the spot. His jaw slackened, mouth falling open a couple inches.

Simon huffed a laugh. "Want my advice? Move on. Find someone more-" He made a show of looking the other, shorter man up and down "-in your league, maybe."

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the offensively loud voice of Sean Paul as the blond awkwardly walked away. Simon let out a deep exhale, shoulders easing back to their usual, resting position, as you spun around in his hold.

For a second, he thought you were about to give him hell - ask him what the fuck his problem was - but instead, you just laughed. A rich, honeyed laugh that lit a fire low in his belly.

"I- I can't believe you just did that!" Your eyes were bright as you looked up at him, a tipsy buzz softening your features slightly - bringing a flush of colour to your cheeks. "That poor guy!"

Simon winced, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I-uh... panicked? Didn't like the thought of someone making you feel uncomfortable."

A cooing sound left your lips as you reached your hands towards him. One palm rested flat against his collarbone, the other on the side of his neck. You were so close that he could smell the floral notes of your perfume; the faint cocoa butter scent of your body lotion.

"My knight in shining armour." Simon thought he was going to die when you leaned up, pressing a kiss to the patch of mask under his left cheekbone. You drew back, angling yourself in the direction of the restroom. "Wait here for me?"

Simon nodded clumsily, works evading him as you turned and disappeared through the swing door. He stayed there on that exact spot - frozen like an obedient dog waiting for its master - until you came back, wiping the last traces of water from your hands onto the thighs of your jeans. The moment you saw him, your eyes glimmered.

Your approach was quick and smiley, nudging him backwards until he could feel the coolness of the wall against his back.

"Simon." You said his name like it was a question.

"Yes, sweetheart."

You swallowed, throat working as you stared up at him with those soft, dazzling eyes of yours. There was something so casually vulnerable in your expression; so endearing.

"Why do you wear that mask?" you asked.

Simon froze up. "Uh- what?"

"The mask." You bit down gently on your bottom lip, trapping it between your front teeth. "Why'd you wear it?"

He tamped down on the urge to create distance between the two of you with a bone-weary sigh. Gently, he brushed a loose piece of hair away from your perfect face. "Because, sweetheart, when I was just starting out in my service, something bad happened. I, uh- I have a lot of scars on my face, so it's not very nice to look at. Don't like getting stared at either."

He could almost see the cogs turning in your head as you processed the words he'd just spoken. After a moment, you said, "Would you ever show me?"

Would he?

Not even Soap had seen his face. He hadn't let a single living soul see it since all hell broke loose in Mexico, ruining his life in the process. It wasn't even something he'd considered.

Until now.

Until you.

"Yes," he croaked, throat impossibly dry.

Just like that, you sobered up. "Now?"

He nodded once.

"Should we- do you wanna go back to the barracks?" you said softly, barely audible over the music. "Somewhere you're comfortable."

Simon nodded, intertwining his gloved fingers with the hand hanging down at your side. It felt oddly intimate as he led you through the crowd, guiding you back towards the front door of the pub.

The ride back to the base was quiet; you staring out of the window and Simon's eyes focused on the road ahead with laser-like intensity. Then, as you pulled up at a red light, Simon reached across the centre console and placed a hand on your knee.

From anyone else, it wouldn't be much, but - from Simon - it was everything.

Anticipation thrummed through your veins as you sat, perched on the edge of Simon's uncomfortable mattress. You'd seen the inside of Daniel's room; knew that he - like most of the other guys in his squad - had changed their rooms up the moment they'd gotten the keys for them. New desk chairs, maybe even a couple picture frames up on the walls. Bookshelves, even. But not Simon.

No, this was a standard issue army mattress if you'd ever felt one. It was like sitting on a sandbag.

Any buzz you may have acquired from the three glasses of wine you'd drank at the bar was long gone. Instead, it was replaced by the electric hum of nervousness.

You'd asked to see his face; he was letting you.

Or at least you thought he was, whenever he decided to stop hiding in the bathroom under the guise of 'washing his hands'. It had already been fifteen minutes.

Feeling more than a little bad for essentially forcing him into revealing his face to you, you rose from the edge of the bed, taking a few short steps to the en-suite door. You rapped your knuckles softly against the wooden frame. "Si?"

"I'll be out in a second."

"Simon... you don't have to do this?" A long, silent pause. "I've changed my mind."

You barely had time to take a step back before the door swung inward, leaving you face-to-chest with Simon's hulking frame. His arms were folded across his broad chest, biceps and forearms corded with thick muscle under the indecent skin-tight shirt he was wearing. Licking your lips, you looked up to realise that he was staring at you.

"What d'you mean?" he grumbled, voice muffled by his mask.

You breathed out a sigh. "I mean, obviously you aren't comfortable or ready for this. I'm sorry for putting you on the spot." Poking a finger at his rock-solid ribs, you added a joking, "Besides, I need to set up the sofa for the night."

There was a pause that somehow felt like both a second and an infinity, before Simon unfolded his arms. Then folded them again. Unfolded. "No."

"Huh?"

Simon leaned against the bathroom doorway, filling it with his sheer size. "I said no. I'm going to show you my face. Now." Before you could interject, he held up a single gloved finger. "Because I want to and need to, not because you asked. This is about to make my therapist a very happy man."

You cocked your head. "You have a therapist?"

"Mandated by Price. He's very pleased with himself," Simon grumbled begrudgingly. Under his breath, you could hear him mutter something along the lines of "just like a plaster-"

Without warning, Simon raised his hand and gripped the back of his balaclava, pulling it off and over his face in one fluid motion. Leaving you standing in front of a complete stranger.

He was beautiful. Truly, genuinely beautiful.

Hazel eyes peered down at you from under thick, straight eyebrows - one of which was disrupted by a thin line of scar tissue. The bridge of his nose was slightly crooked, but smattered with a generous helping of freckles. It looked like it had been broken and reset a few too many times, but only added to his rugged appeal in your opinion - giving his face character. And then there was his jaw, sharp and prominent, covered in a slight 5 o'clock shadow. His hair - scruffy from being tucked away under the balaclava - was short and the colour of wet sand on a beach.

His lips were pursed as he studied your reaction - or lack thereof - but they were full and plush. Almost feminine.

And the scars. Two harsh, thick lines of scar tissue curved up from the corners of his mouth, one on each side, each about an inch in length. They stood out; pearlescent against the rest of his freckled skin. There was another scar trailing across his left cheekbone, and another, smaller one bisecting his bottom lip on the opposite side.

Your eyes dropped a little lower to find once across his neck - as if someone had attempted to slit his throat and failed.

But - to you - he looked nothing short of handsome. In fact, he was very attractive.

"You look-" you faltered over the words, too entranced by his plush mouth.

Simon visibly deflated. "Hideous."

"Shut up." The words left you - harsh and fast - before you could stop them. Your eyes widened, shocked by yourself. "I- I mean, you're being too harsh on yourself. There's nothing wrong with your face, Simon - you look adorable."

Hesitantly, he repeated, "Adorable?"

You winced inwardly. "Sorry. Force of habit when you spend most of your days with a four-year-old." Taking a breath, you lifted a hand to gently stroke the skin of his cheek. "You look very handsome. Bet you could attract many a young lady if you wanted to."

His eyebrows drew together, and you savoured it. Savoured watching his expressions unhindered by the mask for the first time since you'd met. "Alright, slow down there. One second, I'm taking my mask off, then you're trying to marry me off to the nearest woman. I'm hardly some sort of Victorian maiden, love."

You both laughed at that. On an inhale, your chest brushed against Simon's, and it was only then that you realised how close to each other you were. There was literally only a hair's breadth between you both.

Simon dropped his hand to your hip and squeezed gently. "Thank you. Thank you for this."

"For what?"

"For being you. About this." A smile spread across those perfect lips of his. "I don't think I could have done this with anyone else."

You could feel heat rising to your face. Not knowing how else to react, you rocked up onto your tiptoes and leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek.

Instead of letting you back down to the floor, Simon caught you around the waist with his arm, holding you to him. He angled his face down, staring into your eyes with a fire that you hadn't seen from him before.

It was possessive and passionate - verging on animalistic with its raw intensity. Just like him.

He said your name, his voice soft yet firm, like a lover's caress. He said something else too, but you were too focused on him to hear it.

"Simon?"

"I asked if I could kiss you," he said quietly.

You nodded, breathless. "Yes. Please, Simon - yes."

Rough calloused fingertips dragged up the delicate skin of your ribcage as his hands dipped underneath your t-shirt. He dipped his head, closing his eyes and pressing his warm mouth to yours. Falling completely into the moment, you lifted your hands to tangle them in his hair, tugging slightly as he slipped his tongue between your parted lips.

The kiss was soft and sweet; gentle and full of promise.

You broke the kiss, only for a second, to growl at him. "Please put me on the bed."

Simon chuckled, the sound warm and pure. It melted your heart and lit a fire low between your hips. Then - stamping it out - he said, "No."

You blinked. "No?"

He shook your head slowly, the movement steady and sure - like the movement of his hands as they cupped your cheeks. His smile was earnest as he added, "You've been drinking. When we go there, I want you to be stone cold sober."

When. The certainty in that single word thrilled you.

It sounded remarkably like a promise.

Instead of arguing with him, you nodded slowly. "Okay. I can see the logic behind that." Then, just to quell any lingering vestiges of self-doubt that lingered in the corners of your mind, you asked, "Are you sure you actually want this at some point? I don't want to bully you into anything or make you feel like you have to do-"

"Sweetheart, I'm going to stop you there. Respectfully, if I ever turn you down, grab my gun and shoot me in the head. Because - at that point - I've clearly lost it."

He ended that sentence by pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to your forehead.

Amused by the frankness of his tone, you choked out a laugh. "Well, that's a strong way of saying yes."

Simon's smile widened, his head tilting as he took a half-step back. "We can cuddle tonight if you want though," he said cheerily, turning towards the bed. "I'll warn you: I'm the little spoon."

You wouldn't have rather had it any other way.

Simon ducked back into his bedroom, coming back a few minutes later in a pair of basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt. He tossed a spare one to you, encouraging you to shuck off your jeans and get comfy. You didn't argue.

As you curled into his back, both of you fighting to navigate the uncomfortable twin bed, you couldn't help but smile. Something told you that you'd just made a big leap with Simon. Hopefully, the first of many.

a/n: I'm baaaaack!... (most likely) and I've also come to the decision that this series will not be a slow burn merry christmas ;) - lapetitelapin <3

[annaphoenix1994]

It Goes On - Simon Riley x OG Female Character Fanfiction Novel - Book l Masterlist 1 & 2

Assigned by Station Chief Kate Laswell, Case Officer Kiera Dutton is assigned to track and locate the missing American missiles as well as the threat of Quds Force Major Hassan Zyani. Befriending Ghost during her missions was not indeed part of her plan, but it was hard to ignore the reckoning that yearned for the other over time. How soon will Ghost let her break down his walls he had worked so hard to put up over the years? This will be no easy task, he would think. Boy, was he wrong! Yellowstone x Call of Duty Crossover! Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, songs, characters, businesses, places, events, locations, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner (Paramount Network and Activision Publishing). Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended for malicious use. Song inspiring this series: "It Goes On" by Zac Brown and Sir Rosevelt

Masterlist Below:

Part Two Masterlist:

Author's Interpretation of Characters

Aftershock

Borderline

Cartel Protection

Close Air

Interrogation

Reconnaissance

El Sin Nombre - 1

El Sin Nombre - 2

Devil's Deal

When the World Fades

Dark Water

Uncharted Territory

Whiskey Fever

Everlasting Lover

Something in the Orange

No Stone Unturned

Hell or High Water

Ain't Gonna Drown

Among Us

Silver Run

No Kindness for the Coward

White Flag

Beat

Aftermath

Homeward

Familiar Touch

Dutton Christmas - 1

Dutton Christmas - 2

Dutton Christmas - 3

The Storm

Yours

Touching Your Enemy

Friends Close, Enemies Closer

The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie

War Stories

Vague History

Tensions High

Sabotage

Black Powder Soul

Meaner Than Evil

Intertwine

Let Me Love You

Help From a Friend

Triangle Betrayal

No Mercy for the Coward

The Interrogation

By Your Grace

Fire Away

Grounded

Loose Ends

Plans

All I See is You

Letting Go

Double Trouble

Across the Pond

Granny Express

Valentine's Day

Distant Memories

Cut My Roots Away

Big Chief

Veruca Salt

Assurance

The Ball

No Russian - 1

No Russian - 2

Sound the Bugle

Violence and Timing

Home is Where You Are

The Night Terrors

MacTavish's Return

"Our World Just Got Better"

Nesting

Welcome to the World - 1

Welcome to the World - 2

Uncle Johnny

Family of Four

Preparations

Happy Birthday, Baby - 1

Happy Birthday, Baby - 2

The Perfect Ring

Price and Evie

Daddy's First Heartbreak

No Such Thing as Quick

British Teddy

Baler Harrison

A Mother's Touch

A Bitter Surprise - 1

A Bitter Surprise - 2

Rough Start

The First Stepping Stone

Antics

Thankful - Part 1

Thankful - Part 2

Ghost the Brat Tamer

Christmas Plans

Baler's First Christmas

"You Keep Me Sane; I Keep You Wild"

Baler Riley

To be continued... (Masterlist 2 above)

[whateverdraws1008]

DAMMNN ROACH, LOOKIN GOOOODD~

[eggnogs-fever-dream]

Made a doodle a while ago of them kissing 👉👈

[peachetteprice]

I think I blacked out when I wrote this - CW; infidelity, miscarriage, squirting, oral sex... John Price being the biggest fucking DILF of a married man.

Everybody says John Price Dad's Best Friend, John Price Dad's Best Friend; SHUT THE FUCK UP.

John Price Husband's Best Friend?

-

It was a really a stroke of misfortune that you met Peter before John.

He was a nice enough man; he wore a tie to your first date, for God's sake, but he was, what some might call, rough around the edges. He laughed too loudly and finished it off with a piggish snort. He dribbled Kopparberg onto his torso when drunk. He was sloppy in bed. He never remembered your wedding anniversary, even though it was the same day as his own parents'. He always forgot to clean his beard hairs from the bathroom sink.

The town you forged your career in, and indeed the town you settled down in, was small, the lot of you cramped into townhouses up and down the street like mill workers, always seeing the same faces and saying 'lovely day, isn't it?' to the same few people.

Peter went wherever John did; it had been that way since they were 11 years old. You figured that out when you finally met the man, two months into your relationship, pregnant with Pete's son, when Pete followed him to the bathroom to talk motorbikes, whilst John had tried to ask how you were feeling all evening - you hadn't touched your pasta once. John came to your wedding - he was the photographer, in fact. He was right alongside you for the welcoming of your first child, your second, your third that never quite made it to birth, and you were there whilst his wife Linda had her first, her second, her miracle third. Lovely woman, Linda. A tad abrasive to the ears whenever she spoke, but lovely nonetheless - she held your hand as you delivered your stillborn when Paul was away in London and told you it simply wasn't meant to be.

Of course, that was the cruelty of the village life - everyone knew everyone, for better and for worse.

John accompanied Linda to every parents' evening and listened attentively when you explained that their third child, their son Owen, may possibly qualify for autism, and John held her as she sobbed and spit vitriol about it all being one big joke that the universe was pulling on her - the joke that she had three gorgeous, darling children with a man who bought her flowers and chocolates every time they had sex, whilst yours put a towel on the bedsheets for 'splatter' and a hand over your mouth when you were being 'annoyingly loud'.

Something changed when Peter crashed his 1987 Ducati and was hospitalised for three days. It was all a bit touch-and-go, really. He required a skin graft on his knee and a rod through his hip and a dozen injections that sent him right to sleep whenever he woke up and wanted to talk. John sat right beside you throughout the whole debacle. Each day. Every night. He rested his hand on your knee. He wiped the tears from your eyes. He hugged your shoulders.

Something certainly changed. Three weeks after his hospitalisation, Peter wished for a celebratory dinner. Everyone was invited. John, Linda, their three children, including little Owen, who sat in the corner with his tablet and played colour-matching games whilst the others scarpered around the house; Peter, you, your two children, Linda's friend Holly and her husband Ben, Rachel and Samuel. Everyone was invited, and they all wanted to play Scrabble at the end of a long evening, but you were never one for finding the right words.

"How are you?" John asked as he sat down on the sofa. It was just the two of you at that point.

No kids - they were cavorting about upstairs - no television, no phone conversation, no distractions, just the lamp on the little table emitting a warm glow against the hollow of his face, and four glass-fulls of red wine in both of your stomachs.

He had his arm around the rear of the sofa, elongated. His fingers could touch your hair, but he made sure not to let them.

"Fine, thanks." You smiled, and that was about it for the the sorts of conversations you found you had nowadays - Peter and Linda tended to have a lot more things to talk about between the four of you than you and John combined. Life had sucked the whimsy out of the both of you - you realised it when Linda was five months gone with her first.

Eleven years ago, that was.

There was a hoot in the background from Samuel - he just won Scrabble. Yahtzee, he posed for them to play, and they all readily agreed.

"How are you really, I mean?" John asked. He was closer, now, idling with his watered-down Scotch in hand.

On Tuesdays, there was the PTA at the school. The headmaster raved at there being a new curriculum scheme added to the roster, and you hardly had the time to get your head around it. There was swimming on a Wednesday from four until five, football on Thursday for your son from six until seven, Netball on Friday for your daughter from five until six. The kids needed their lunches packed daily but they didn't want ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches because they apparently didn't like ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches even though for the past 5-8 years all they'd eaten was ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches and tuna sandwiches, so your son had chicken and lettuce and your daughter had egg mayo. Of course, the dog needed walking after work every evening and before work every morning, and Peter had decided he didn't want to walk the dog every evening and every morning so it was up to you to walk the dog every evening and every morning. You'd recently been tolerating a burning pain in your abdomen that the GP told you was probably not likely to be cancerous, but nonetheless had advised you not to rule it out as a possibility, and above all of that, you hadn't gotten over your third child in your third bedroom that stayed a nursery since the day he never came home.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. "Just busy, I suppose."

John smoothed a hand over your knee, and there it was again - that feeling of having lost something you never had in the first place. "Well, you look good for 'just busy'."

You surprised yourself when you laughed.

"How's Owen?" You probed - as his teacher, John couldn't keep quiet.

"Yeah, well, he'll get over his mum not loving him," he joked, but the sincerity wrought his usually jovial features to a stand-still. "God."

Silence was wonderful with John.

"Where did it all go wrong, hey?" He scoffed. It would have been a throwaway comment had it come from anyone else's mouth. "Three kids, a wife, and a thriving career. I should be bloody over the moon."

In truth, John had only found Linda because he was lonely at the sight of you and Peter. You knew that the moment he brought her out and paraded her around the bar, how awkwardly they kissed, and how he glanced at you as if to say 'look, I have one, too, now, now we're all happy'. She was a bright thing back then. Not so much, now. Sometimes, you wondered if he'd pay to have someone else - someone who'd love him the way he was meant to be loved.

John swirled his drink and drank a bit of it. Just a sip. And, right as you thought he was going to stand, he swept a hand round the back of your neck and kissed you tight. Then, he left without another word.

Since then, all John had done was steal.

When Peter went to the garage to show him the headlight of the Ducati he totalled, John took you on the sofa, sunk his hand into your panties, and got you off in a matter of minutes. He was all hot cum, sweat and fur, nothing half a man like Peter. Snogged you until you came undone and set you straight before Peter could ever know. At dinner parties, whenever he said he didn't have time for board games, you found him in the bathroom and he fucked you against the wall. You bit the flesh of his palm to stop yourself from screaming.

You palmed his cock beneath the dinner table when nobody was looking.

John bent you over in secret, forwards, backwards, twisted you sideways, claimed you from behind, let you ride him as you vented about your day, made you feel him in places you barely knew you had the nerves available there for feeling. He pumped you placidly until you squirted mid-weekend and warmed his face with your cunt in the evening, pulled you taught against his abdomen when you took his cock down your throat, and at the end, instead of chucking the towel into the wash and smothering you so you were quiet, he asked if you were alright, bought you flowers and chocolates, said he was sorry about the baby and promised to have you properly in the next life.

| Masterlist |

[gugapuppy]

Abortion - Part 6 (A!Ghost x O!Soap)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

═══════════════════════════

Just angst and miscommunication, B!Price and A!Laswell too.

═══════════════════════════

Price was smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of whisky with Laswell, they had spent the whole day discussing future missions and mediocre terrorists who were popping up here and there.

Laswell was about to tell him about how his wife blew up the cooker when suddenly his mobile phone rang, vibrating in his pocket, he pulled it out and saw Farah's name on the screen.

He signals Kate to pause and answers the mobile, worried that Ghost might have been badly hurt on the mission.

"Commander Karim-"

"Price." The captain frowned, trying to understand why Ghost was on the other end of the line.

"Ghost? Why are you calling me with-"

"She lent me her mobile phone, I left mine behind." He cuts Price off again, who takes a deep breath, looking at Laswell who was looking worried.

"What's this about Ghost?" The other end of the line is silent for a moment.

There's a pause before Ghost continues. "How... how's Johnny?"

At that moment, Price looks at Laswell and puts him on speakerphone, not that Ghost will realise. "The sergeant's off duty, Gaz's with him. Why did you call me, Lieutenant?"

On the other end of the line you can hear Farah saying something, and then a deep breath before Ghost speaks. "Price, Soap, he's..."

——🧼——

A week has passed since the appointment with Gaz's sister, and the date set for the operation is in two days' time.

Gaz asked if Soap had changed his mind, and he almost thought about cancelling, but he didn't, he needs to put himself first. Even if sometimes he feels suffocated.

They were watching Netflix after eating lasagne. Soap was comfortable and almost asleep on Gaz's shoulder while purring furiously, when a knock on the door made him blink hard.

Gaz got up to open the door while Soap watched from the sofa, and he didn't expect to see a visibly worried Laswell and Price.

"Price, Laswell, what are you two doing here?"

"Where's Mactavish?" Price said, already looking inside and locking gazes with John. "There you are."

Soap got up from the sofa and approached, Gaz waited for Laswell to enter and then closed the door.

A scent of uncertainty began to exude from Soap, causing Laswell to cover her nose momentarily and move closer to Soap in an attempt to calm him down.

"How are you, Soap?" Price asked, giving Gaz a quizzical look.

‘’Fine, fine... Why are you here Price?"

Price swallowed dryly before saying. "I got a call from Ghost, and he talked about-"

"I can explain!" Soap cut him off quickly, knowing why they were there now. "I didn't cheat on him! I swear it! Captain, Laswell you have to believe me, please!" He begged hard, Gaz walking over to stand next to him.

He knew that Price would defend Ghost to the end, he was afraid that in Price's eyes he had become an adulterer, even though he had never done anything.

The fact that Ghost called him and not Soap also hurt, knowing that Simon really didn't want to talk to him.

"Soap, we know, calm down." Laswell put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Ghost called us just two hours ago, and he explained a few things."

"He said about your... pregnancy." Price says calmly, pointing to Soap's belly. "I should have pressed you about what was going on with you two, I'm sorry Soap."

"It's not your fault Captain, Simon made his choices, I tried, I swear I tried to talk to him." Soap's hands, which had been at his sides, now covered his stomach. "What... else did he say?"

Price and Laswell exchanged glances before continuing, as if they were in front of a bomb. Well, maybe they were.

"He wants to apologise to you when he gets back, he said he can't wait for the pup to arrive and raise him-"

A whimper and an angry grunt escaped Soap's mouth at the same time when he heard Price's sentence.

Now Simon has decided he wants to be part of the pregnancy?! Not at all. He's decided he wants to raise a ‘traitor's’ baby now?! Whatever Simon thought, it won't change anything now, it can't change.

Does Soap still miss Simon? Yes, maybe that's why his heart tightens and his eyes water at the thought, but if he stops now, what's the chance that it won't happen again?! He needs to keep himself first.

Soap will repeat this phrase like a mantra until the end, he can't lose himself.

If Simon wants to be involved in a pregnancy and have a baby, it certainly won't be with Soap. Apologies at this point are nothing but meaningless words, no, there's no going back.

Gaz shouting makes Soap refocus on the conversation.

"Do you really think he can come back as if nothing had happened?!" Gaz stands in front of Soap.

"Gaz, you don't know what Ghost-"

"What he's been through? What happened to him? Why he abandoned his partner when he needed him?" Each sentence is spoken with a finger sword to Price's chest.

"Sergeant, lower your tone."

"Or what? You'd rather carry on defending Ghost while it was Soap who was thrown to the wolves! Are you even listening, Captain?!"

"Stop!" Laswell roars, making them both shut up. Soap can smell the bitter odour of stress coming from Laswell, and the alpha tries to remain composed in front of everyone. "Enough arguing between you two, that's not why we came here Jonathan."

She turns to Soap, more composed. "I apologise Soap, this is not how our conversation was supposed to go." Soap snorts a little indignantly. "We came here to tell you that you're off work until you decide what you're going to do about your pregnancy, Kyle will also be off work for a while to help you with whatever you need."

Out of the corner of her eye, Soap sees Gaz's shoulders relax, even though he's still staring at Price. "And Ghost won't be allowed to come to you without your consent."

She puts a hand on Soap's shoulder. "Whatever you need, I'm here to help."

Soap nods a few times. "Thanks Kate."

She looks at Price, eyes alight with seriousness. "Let's go." Gaz escorts them to the door, bidding them goodnight.

When he returns Soap is already sitting on the sofa, hands covering his eyes, trying to rethink everything that happened in that conversation, why Simon has now decided after weeks to try and contact him.

He still has the nerve not to call him directly.

Little whimpers escape him, Gaz puts an arm around his head and hugs him, ruffling Soap's hair, making him purr after a few minutes.

"I'll always support you mate, whatever you decide." Gaz whispers in Soap's ear.

══════���════════════════════

Sad, really sad.

But anyway, Soap is starting to freak out, and Price and Laswell haven't told us about Ghost's exams, it's just a fucking mess!

[naconaco]

[schizo-bbgs]

(Task Force) SAS ghost

I wanted to draw a left-handed shooter setup (even adjusted the gas masks filter for this one :3) I'm pretty happy with the result!

[onefr3ddieo]

FUCKYE I SURVIVED. happy 2025!!